University of Virginia Library

SCENE THE FIFTH.

Ægisthus, Clytemnestra.
Ægis.
What groans are these?
Say, what has happen'd? what new cause of grief?

Cly.
Yes, now exult, in tears, eternal tears,
I have fresh cause of grief: ah, cease to stand
In tremulous and mute astonishment.
At last, for once thy wishes all are granted;
That fierce, that terrible, that cruel foe,
That foe who never injured thee, is slain.
My only son, alas! no longer breathes.

Ægis.
What dost thou say? Orestes? Is he dead?
Whence hadst thou the intelligence? who brought it?
Scarce can I think it true.

Cly.
Not think it true?
No, no; improbable thou judgest it,
Since he so often has escaped thy sword.
But if thou'rt not persuaded by my tears,
My fury may convince thee. Even now,
All, all my unextinguish'd love returns
To my maternal heart.

Ægis.
Canst thou adduce
No other proof?

Cly.
Proofs thou shalt have enough
To satisfy that ravening heart of thine.
Yes, word by word, Ægisthus, thou shalt hear
The dreadful story told; and at each word
Thy soul will brighten with Thyestean joy.
Strangers there are in Argos competent
To satiate thy inhuman appetite.

Ægis.
Have strangers ventured to appear in Argos
Without my knowledge? Why was their arrival
Not first to me divulged?

Cly.
Does it afflict thee
That thou wert not the first within my breast
To plunge the dagger? Such a pious deed
Belong'd especially to thee: Ægisthus
Should to a wife and mother, and none else,
Such grateful tidings bring.

Ægis.
What thus excites,
Lady, thy sudden anger? Didst thou love
So fondly thy dead son, who, when alive,
Thou scarcely recollectedst?

Cly.
What say'st thou?
Never did I, no never, cease to be
The mother of Orestes; and sometimes
If I a mother's love conceal'd, to this
Maternal love impell'd me. I suppress'd
Much of the fondness that my heart conceived,
Towards my son, only that he might be
The less exposed to thy clandestine snares.
Now that he is no more, no more I feign;
Know that Orestes was, and ever will be,
Much dearer than thyself ...

Ægis.
Thou sayest little.
Yet I was dearer to thee than thy fame.

Cly.
The fame of her who is espoused to thee
Should not be spoken of. I gave to thee
My fame, my husband, and my bosom's peace;
And of my only and beloved son
The all I gave to thee, except his life.
But thou, impell'd by horrible revenge,
And a corrupt ambition of the throne,
Whate'er I gave to thee, did'st deem a nothing,
While aught remain'd to take. Who ever saw
A heart at once so cruel and so false?
To thy nefarious, ill-feign'd tenderness,
Which I believed in a disastrous hour,
Tell me, ah tell me, was the child Orestes
Ever an obstacle? Yet scarce the pulse
Of dying Agamemnon ceased to beat,
Ere thou didst openly, with threatening voice,
Demand Orestes' life. Thou, franticly,
Exploredst all the palace: then that sword,
Which thou daredst never, with thy infirm arm,
Plunge in the father, bravely thou didst brandish;
Thou wert a hero 'gainst a powerless infant.
He from thy fury was withdrawn: that day
Fully I knew thee; but, alas! too late.
Unhappy son! what did it then avail
That from thy father's murderer thou wert rescued?
A premature death in a foreign land
Awaited thee ... Ah, thou hast kill'd my son,
Usurper, parricide; his death is thine!
Ah, pardon me, Ægisthus ... pardon me ...
I was a mother; ... and am now no longer ...

Ægis.
Provided that Orestes be no more,
Thou may'st indulge in tears and execrations.
Tell me: to whom these messengers first spoke?
Who are they? where did they first land? who sent them?
Where lodge they? are they heralds from a king?
Why, ere elsewhere their business they proclaim'd,
Did they not ask in Argos for Ægisthus?

Cly.
For thee they ask'd: from Strophius they come:
Unlucky fortune threw them in my way:
All I would hear in spite of their reluctance.
Two, but unlike in character, the men
Are in thy palace lodged. The one refused,
Compassionate and cautious, to disclose
To me the bitter tidings; but the other,
Impetuous, fervid, and ferocious, seem'd
To triumph in my grief: he no less joy
Will feel in telling, than in hearing, thou,
The melancholy tale.

Ægis.
But, why to me
Should Strophius now expressly send such news?
He always was th'ally of Agamemnon:
This all men know. Did not this very Strophius
Shelter his son? Lastly, did he not give
To him a refuge in his court?

Cly.
'Tis true,
He did at first; but now for many years
He has from thence been absent: since that time
Of him we heard no more.

Ægis.
Fame spake of him;
But who can know the truth? Yet 'tis most certain
That from his earliest years he did possess,
As an inseparable guide, and guard,
Defender, friend, the son of Strophius,
That Pylades of his whom I abhor.
In short, towards me Strophius was always hostile:
Whence has he changed?

Cly.
Dost thou not know, by proof,
Now that thou art made a king, what constitutes
A monarch's heart?—Barbarian, perhaps to thee
'Tis grateful thus t'hear me asseverate
That which cost me so much? Go, thou hast heard
Sufficient for thy purpose; go, and leave me.—
Strophius conducive to his interests deem'd
Orestes; hence withdrew him from thy power;
Hence welcomed him, and loved him ... regally:
Hence banish'd him, when useless he became,
Or detrimental; hence he sends to thee
A prompt ambassador t'announce his death.
Thou in this fashion once thyself didst love me,
Before I slew my husband, and bestow'd
On thee his kingdom; so thou hatedst me,
When I no more could serve thee; and so now
Thou dost despise me. Thus are mutable
In monarchs, virtue, honour, faith, and love,
Changing with every tide of chance and fortune.

Ægis.
Thou should'st remember that I left to thee
The choice between Ægisthus and Atrides:
Thou madest the choice. Why then, by endless taunts,
Constrain me to atone for thy own deed?
As much as thou deservest it, I love thee.

Cly.
Ægisthus, to my importuning taunts
I put an end. Despise me if thou canst;
But never dare to tell me that thou dost so.
If to a crime accurs'd love drove me, think
To what that love when scorn'd, remorse, revenge,
And grief, may drive a woman in despair.