University of Virginia Library

SCENE THE THIRD.

Electra, Clytemnestra.
Elec.
Mother, and must it be, that we are condemned
By unpropitious fate always to tremble;
That thou, in vain, should'st languish for thy husband;
I for my father? If day after day
Perpetual impediments arise
To keep from Argos her victorious monarch,
What profits it that we have long since heard
That Ilion's towers lie levelled with the dust?

Cly.
Is the report well founded, then, that told us
The Grecian fleet were shipwrecked or dispersed?

Elec.
Different reports are prevalent in Argos:
Some say, that even to the Hellespont,
By turbid and impetuous south winds,
Our fleet was driven; while others swear to have seen
Their white sails glimmering on the coast of Argos;
Too many, also, are there who affirm
That 'gainst a rock the royal prow was dash'd,
And that they all who sail'd in her were drown'd,
Together with our king. Unhappy we!
Mother, to whom now must we credence yield?
How rid ourselves of doubt? How be exempt
From fear's disquietude?

Cly.
The rebel winds,
That would not be appeased, except with blood,
At his departure, now, at his return,
Perchance require a human sacrifice.
My children, what a solace to my heart
Is it that you are in safety by my side!
At least, as I did ten years since, I need not
Now tremble for your sake.

Elec.
What do I hear?
And doth the memory of that sacrifice
Still press upon thy heart? tremendous, fatal,
But indispensable it was. If Heaven
One of thy daughters as a sacrifice
To-day required, exultingly to-day
Would I approach the sacred altar; I;
To save for thee thy consort, for the Greeks
Their chief, for Argos its imperial splendour.

Cly.
I know how dear to thee thy father is:
Ah, didst thou equally thy mother love!

Elec.
Alike I love you: but my father is
In imminent danger; ... yet when thou dost hear
His hard vicissitudes, not only I
Do never see thee weep, but scarce, alas!
I see thy countenance change? Ah, didst thou love him,
Mother, as much as I! ...

Cly.
Too well I know him.

Elec.
Oh Heaven! what say'st thou? thus thou didst not speak
Of him some months ago? Till there had past
Almost a lustre from the time when first
The Grecians sail'd from hence, I myself heard thee
Each day sigh more and more for his return.
To us thou talked'st of our father's exploits:
In these thou lived'st; foster'd us with these;
Speaking of him, I saw thy cheeks bedewed
With tears of genuine sorrow ... Thou hast not
Seen him since then; he is what then he was:
But thou art changed too much; ah! is there then
Any new cause, that thus may render him
So different to his former self, to thee?

Cly.
What dost thou mean? new cause? ... my unchanged heart
Was always thus an alien from his love.
Ah! thou know'st not ... what shall I say? ... Oh daughter,
If I revealed to thee of this sad heart
The inmost thoughts ...

Elec.
Oh, that I knew them not!

Cly.
Alas! what do I hear? My secret, then,
Has she discover'd? ...

Elec.
Oh, that I, at least,
And only I, thy secret had discover'd!
But know'st thou not, that, in external semblance,
Those who most reverently surround the great,
Malignantly, intensely, greedily,
Their every motion watch? Thou, and thou only,
Now hearest not the murmur of the people;
Thinking that that from every man is hidden
Which thou but ill concealest, which alone
To thee none dare impart. Love makes thee blind.

Cly.
Love?
Ah me! who hath betray'd me thus?

Elec.
Thyself;
And long has it been so. From thy own lips
It was not likely that I e'er should hear
Of such a flame. To speak of it to me
Would have cost thee too much. Beloved mother,
What art thou doing? I do not believe
That a flagitious passion fires thy breast,
Involuntary fondness, sprung from pity,
Which youth, especially when 'tis unhappy,
Is apt to inspire; these, mother, are the baits
By which, without thyself suspecting it,
Thou hast been caught. Thou hast not, hitherto,
Each secret impulse rigorously examined;
A bosom conscious of its rectitude,
Hardly admits suspicion of itself;
And here, perchance, there is no ground for it:
Perchance thy fame thou yet hast scarcely sullied,
Much less thy virtue: and there still is time
To make atonement with one easy step.
Ah, by the sacred shade, so dear to thee,
Of thy devoted daughter; by that love,
Which thou hast ever shewn and felt for me,
That love, of which to-day I am not unworthy;
How can I more persuasively adjure thee?
By thy son's life, Orestes' life, I pray thee,
Pause on the brink of this tremendous gulph,
Beloved mother, pause. Afar from Argos
Banish Ægisthus: stop malignant tongues
By thy deportment: with thy children weep
The hardships of Atrides: and frequent
With them the sacred temples of the gods
To implore his swift return.

Cly.
Banish Ægisthus?

Elec.
Wilt thou not do it? but thy king, my father,
Merits not thus to be by thee betray'd:
Nor will he suffer it.

Cly.
But; grant ... that he ...
No longer lives?

Elec.
Thou mak'st my blood run cold.

Cly.
What do I say? ... Alas! ... What do I wish?
Ah, weep the errors of a misled mother,
A mother, past recovery misled.
The lengthen'd absence of a cruel husband, ...
The merit of Ægisthus ... the decrees
Of an o'erruling destiny ...

Elec.
Oh Heaven!
What sayest thou? The merit of Ægisthus?
Ah! thou know'st not the vices of his heart:
Springing from such a blood, it cannot be
That of one genuine virtue he's possest.
An exile, vile, the fruit of horrid incest;
Dost thou a successor like him project
For the king of kings?

Cly.
Alas, and who am I?
Am not I Leda's daughter, Helen's sister?
A blood impure as their's runs in my veins.
An unknown force, of which I am not mistress,
And maddening impulses from vengeful gods,
By arts ensnare me, or by force compel.

Elec.
Helen? and dost thou yet account her sister?
Ah, if thou wilt, try to resemble her;
But do not be more culpable than she.
She had no son, though she betray'd a husband.
She fled, but did not from her own descendants
The sceptre snatch. And to Ægisthus' hands
Would'st thou not only yield thyself, but yield
Thy sceptre, and thy children?

Cly.
If that fate,
Oh daughter, wills, that I should be bereft
Of Agamemnon, dost thou think that I
Should from Orestes seize his father's throne?
To me a husband, but not thence a king,
Would be Ægisthus; rather he would be
A father, a protector, to Orestes.

Elec.
Rather would he be an atrocious tyrant;
Of thy defenceless son the foe; and (ah!
I shudder as I think of it!) perchance
The murderer. Oh my mother, wouldst thou trust
Thy son to one who pants t'usurp his throne?
Trust Atreus grandchild to Thyestes' son? ...
But I transgress with thee in vain the bounds
Of filial duty. Both of us indulge
The hope that still the great Atrides lives;
My heart assures me of it. His appearance
Will of itself suffice in thee t'extinguish
Each less illustrious flame; and I, as ought
A duteous daughter, swear to thee, for ever
To hide th'important secret in my breast.

Cly.
Wretch that I am! In all thy words I own
The voice of truth: but in my darken'd breast
The flash of reason shines so transiently,
Leaving no track behind it, that I tremble.