University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Enter Iphigenia, Ægina holding her.
Iphig.
Ægina, cease to stop me: Go, return
To my abandon'd Mother: Th'angry Gods
Must be appeas'd; see how they are provok'd
By our Efforts to rob them of their Victim.
Behold what Storm is gathering thick around us:
Consider to what State the Queen's reduc'd;
See how the furious Camp prevents our Flight:
How with bold Insolence their pointed Spears
Stop up our Passage—

Ægin.
Dear Madam, stay:
Don't run to certain Ruin.

Iphig.
All hopes are vanish'd:
Our Guards repuls'd: My Mother in a Swoon:
Oh! Why should I expose her any more?
Or wait her feeble help in vain? No, rather
Let me fly from her, whilest her troubled Senses
Will suffer me to meet my cruel Fate.
See, see how all conspires for my undoing,
For even my Father when he bids me Live,
Commands my Death.—

Ægin.
He, Madam? How!

Iphig.
Achilles, I suppose, offended him,
Too eager to defend his injur'd Love.
Yet, as he hates him, I must hate him too.
My Heart must offer up this Sacrifice,
This horrid, cruel, Sacrifice of Love.
Arcas declar'd to me my Father's Will:
He orders I shall never speak to him.

Ægin.
Oh! Cruel Father!

Iphig.
Oh! Fatal Doom! Oh! Rigorous Decree!
The milder Gods demanded but my Life;
Then let's obey: Let's die:—What do I see?
Heaven! 'Tis Achilles.

Enter Achilles.
Achil.
Come, Madam, follow me: Fear not the Tumult
Of that weak crowd that presses round this Tent.
Do but appear: You'll see this Multitude
Ne're dare to stand the fierceness of my Blow,
But open of themselves to let you Pass.
My Friend Patrocles, with some other Captains
That follow my Command, fly to your Succour
With all the Choice of my Thessalian Troops.
The rest assembled near my Tent will offer
Th'impenetrable Bulwark of their Ranks.
Behind this shelter you may bid defiance
To all your Persecutors: Let who dares
Approach Achilles's Tent. But, Madam, is't thus
You second my Efforts? And answer me
Only with Tears? You try'd their feeble Succour
Before your Father, yet 'twas all in vain.

Iphig.
My Lord, too well I know it, and therefore
I have no hopes but from my certain Death.

Achil.
Oh! Name not Death: Consider by what Tie
You're join'd to me: Consider all my Bliss
Depends on you.—

Iphig.
No, No: The Gods did ne're intend
To fix your Bliss on my unhappy Days.
Our Love deceiv'd us: 'Tis by Heaven decreed
My speedy Death shall cause your Happiness.
My Lord, consider what a Crop of Glory
Vict'ry presents to crown your warlike Toils.
Yet all those Fields of Honour will prove barren,
Unless besprinkled with my fatal Blood.
In vain my Father strove t'evade the Sentence
That Calchas had pronounc'd: Th'immortal Gods
Loudly declare their Will by the whole Camp
Combin'd for my undoing.—

Achil.
Madam,
Achilles will encounter the whole Camp,
And silence their loud Threats.

Iphig.
My Lord,
Let not my Life deprive you of your Honours:
Make good the Oracle: Go, Signalize
That famous Heroe promis'd to our Country,
And wreak you Grief upon its cruel Foes.
Now Priamus turns Pale: Now Troy alarm'd
Does fear my funeral Pile, and dreads your Tears.
Lay waste the hated City: Leave my Death
To be lamented by the Trojan Widows.
I die contented with these pleasing Hopes,
That if my cruel Stars do not permit,
I should live happy with my dear Achilles,
Yet After Ages will record my Name
With your immortal Deeds, and that my Death,
The Spring of your fam'd Actions, will begin
The wondrous Story.—
Farewel, my Prince: Blest Off-spring of the Gods
Farewel.—

Achil.
No, no: You shall not take your fatal leave:
In vain your cruel and perswading Arts,
Slily endeavour to deceive my Love,
And serve your barbarous, inhumane Father;
In vain you're obstinate to your undoing,
And strive to make my Honour an Accomplice;
That Crop of glorious Laurels, that Renown,
I find them all in saving what I Love.
Who, for the future, would court my Assistance,
If I could not secure my promis'd Bride?
My Love, my Honour, both bid you should live.
Madam, obey their Call, and follow me.

Iphig.
What! Sir, rebel against my Father!
And so deserve that Death you bid me shun!
What must become of my Respect, my Duty?

Achil.
Discharge them both in following a Husband,
Your Father has approv'd. In vain he strives
To rob me of that Title; I'll ne're suffer
The Violation of his solemn Promise.
Madam, your Self, whom rigid Duty aws,
Did not you own him as your Father, when
He gave You to me? Do you only follow
His sovereign Will when ceasing to be Father,
He Murders his own Daughter?
But, Madam, we waste Time, and my just Fears—

[Goes to lead them away
Iphig.
What! My Lord, would you force me from my Duty,
And hurried by your fierce and impious Passion
Compleat my cruel Woes? How can you be
Less tender of my Honour than my Life?
Alas! My Lord, spare Iphigenia:
Spare my Affliction. I have broke already
That rigorous Law I ought to reverence.
I'm guilty even to hear you speak: Let not
Your unjust Vict'ry go any further.
Use with this Hand I'll fall a Sacrifice,
To my wrong'd Duty, and so free my self
From your unkind and dangerous Assistance

Achil.
Well: I have done: Go, cruel Fair, Obeys
And meet that Death you Court: Resign to Calchas
A Heart which I find more hate for me,
Than Duty to your Father. A just Fury
Seizes my Soul, and animates my Courage.
If th'angry Gods are fond of Death and Murder,
Their Altars did ne'er reek with so much Blood
As I shall spill; My angry Love shall cancel
All Duty and Respect; the Priest shall first
Be sacrific'd, and satisfy the Gods.
The funeral Pile broke down with my own Hands
Shall swim adrift amidst your Murderer's Gore.
And if in this wild havock, your own Father
Should fall, you'll see th'effect of your rash Duty,
And know the fatal Blow your Honour Guides.—

[Exit Achilles abruptly.
Iphig.
My Lord! My cruel Lord! But he flies from me!
[Goes to stop him.
Just Heaven! By whose unchangeable Decree,
My Death is order'd, here whilest yet alone,
End both my Life and Fears: Let all your Bolts be spent
On Iphigenia's devoted Head,

Enter Clytemnestra, Arcas, Eurybates, Guards.
Clyt.
Yes: I'll defend her against all the Army:
Base Villains, you betray your hopeless Queen.

Arc.
Madam, do but Command, you'll see us Fight
And die in your Defence. But yet Consider
How little you must hope from our weak Hands.
What can we do 'gainst all your numerous Foes?
'Tis not a giddy Crowd we must encounter,
But an embattled Camp, whose furious Zeal,
Supports the Priest with superstitious Boldness.
All's deaf to Pity: Tenderness is silenc'd;
Calchas alone bears Rule and domineers,
'Tis rigid Piety demands the Victim.
The King himself, bereft of his Command,
Bids us give way and shun th'impetuous Torrent.
In vain th'invincible and fierce Achilles
Would strive t'oppose the Storm with dauntless Courage;
Madam, what can he do? What Valour could dispel
That Multitude of Foes that will surround him.

Clyt.
Then let them come and prove their impious Zeal.
On forlorn me: Let their blind Fury take
The weak Remainder of my wretched Life.
Death, Death alone is able to unclasp
My grasping Hands from Iphigenia.
My Soul shall first be sever'd from my Body
Than I from my dear Daughter—

[Lays hold on Iphigenia
Iphig.
Oh! Madam! What cruel Star did rule
That inauspicious Day when you brought forth
Th'unhappy Object of your tender Love?
Alas! What can your weak Efforts perform,
Abandon'd as we are? You must encounter
Both Gods and Men confederate to undo me.
Meet not the Rage of a fierce Multitude:
Let not your Fondness lead you to the Camp,
Against a Husband's Orders, and alone
Strive not in vain to save me—
Don't aggravate my Woes with the sad View
Of a dear Mother basely dragg'd along
By a licentious Band of furious Soldiers.
Go—let the Greeks appease the angry Gods;
And leave for ever this detested Shore.
Fly from the sight of those devouring Flames.
Which would oppress your tender Heart with Grief
While they consume your Guiltless Daughter—
And, as you love me with Maternal Fondness,
I beg you ne're reproach my Father with my Death.

Clyt.
What! Not reproach the wild Barbarian,
Who leads his Daughter to a Murdering Priest!

Iphig.
Madam, Consider
All he has done to save me, and prevent
Your cruel Woe.

Clyt.
Oh! By what Treachery
The barbarous Man deceiv'd me!

Iphig.
Madam, He but resigns me to the Gods
That gave me to him: Yet Death takes not from you
The only off-spring of your nuptial Joys.
Your mutual Loves have still another Pledge
Is young Orestes: May he prove less fatal
To his dear Mother, than his wretched Sister.
Madam,
You hear the Voice of an impatient People.
[Shoutings within.
Summon your Constancy; Pray, let me go—
Now take my last Farewel—

[Clytemnestra faints.
Arcas,
Lead to the Altar.

[Exeunt Iphigenia, Arcas.
Clyt.
Where? Where's my Daughter?
[Recovering.
No, no, you shall not go alone—
But I am stopt—
[Guards stop her Passage.
Villains, treacherous Villains let me go
Or satisfy your Thirst of Blood in me.

Ægin.
Madam, what would you do? Where would
[Holding her.
You run?

Clyt.
Alas! My Spirits waste in fruitless struggles:
I still relapse into that faint disorder,
Which I had scarce recover'd—Must I live
Only to die a thousand Deaths!

Ægin.
Curst be that treacherous, inhumane Serpent
Your Daughter cherish'd in her friendly Bosom.
Curst be Eriphile, whose jealous Fury
Reveal'd our Flight to Calchas and the Camp.

Clyt.
Oh! Monster, whom Tisiphone brought forth!
Monster, whom Hell convey'd into our Bosoms!
Monster of Envy, Jealousie and Rage!
What! Shalt thou live! Must thy black Treachery
Remain unpunish'd! But why should my Grief
Demand so poor a Victim?
Shall then just Neptune see his Banks distain'd
With innocent Blood, and not devour the Grecians
In the dark Bottom of the watry Deep?
Shall then the Winds, whom they so long accus'd,
Be Partners in their Crime, and not destroy
Their guilty Fleet?
And Thou, immortal Sun, who on this Shore
Beholdst the Son and Heir of bloody Atreus:
Thou, who disdain'd to light the barbarous Feast
Of his inhumane Father, now withdraw
Thy Beams, and shine not on this impious Deed.
But now, Oh! Heaven! Oh! Earth! Oh! Wretched Mother!
With fatal Garlands Iphigenia crown'd,
Like a tame Victim, waits the cruel Knife
Her Father has prepar'd; the murderous Priest
Is just ready to strike—Hold, Butchers, hold;
The Blood you spill derives from mighty Jove—
Hold—Hold.

[Runs off with her Maids.
[Exeunt Omnes.
While a Symphony is playing an Altar is rais'd near the Sea-Shore.
Enter King Agamemnon weeping; Menelaus, Nestor, Ulysses, Arcas, &c.
Calchas the High Priest; Iphigenia between two Priests; Eriphile, Doris.
A CHORUS of PRIESTS.
The INVOCATION to DIANA.

As Iphigenia is leading to be Sacrific'd the Sun is Eclips'd; Skrieks in the Air; Subterranean Groans and Howlings; Thunder.
Calch.
What mean these Horrors!
The Sun withdraws his beamy Light; the Air
Is fill'd with hideous Skrieks, and gloomy Hell
Sends up fierce Groans and Subterranean Cries.
Almighty Jove himself, with threatning Thunder,
Declares his Wrath; all Nature is in Pain.

Eriph.
Oh! Doris, how I tremble.

[Clashing of Swords within.
Enter Achilles, Patroclus, and Followers.
Achil.
Where! Where's my Iphigenia!
Hold, Murderers, hold!

Calch.
My Lord, contain your Passion: I bid you, hold.
The Gods themselves are angry—They must first be heard.

[Thunder.
Calchas goes behind the Altar to consult the Oracle and then returns with a wild, staring Look, trembling Hands, &c.
I'll speak, I'll speak: Let all the Camp be silent:
Achilles be attentive—
The Goddess we adore unfolds the Oracle,
And speaks Her Will by my prophetick Tongue.
Another Princess of the Blood of Hellen,
Another Iphigenia must fall a Victim.
From Hellen ravish'd by bold Theseus
A Princess sprung call'd Iphigenia,
Who still remains unknown.
I saw, I saw my self th'unhappy Fruits
Of their unlawful Love; and even then foretold
Her fatal Doom—
By Destiny's impulse, and her own Furies,
She's come to Aulis with a borrow'd Name.
She sees, she hears me: There she stands: 'Tis she
Points to Eriphile.
The Gods demand.—
As Calchas is going to lay hold on Eriphile; snatches the Knife.
Eriph.
Butcher, avaunt! Let not thy impious Hands
Prophane that Blood from which thou sayst I spring
Now, Doris, all my Fears are come to pass:
[To Doris.
Yet, tho' the angry Goddess bids me die,
I fall a Victim to a greater Power.
Almighty Love now strikes the fatal Blow:
[Stabs her self.
Achilles, Dear—Achilles.—

[Dies.
Iphig.
Unhappy Maid!

Thunder and Lightning; The Altar is lighted; The flat Scene opens, and discovers a Heaven at a distance; Diana, in a Machine, crosses the Stage; the Priests worship as she passes.
Calch.
Great Sir, the Gods are satisfied;
[Gives Iphig. to Agamem.
And Iphigenia is yours again.

Agam.
Must I believe my Eyes! Oh! Sir! Oh! Daughter!

[Embraces her.
Achil.
Oh! Infinite of Joy!
Arcas, fly to the Queen,
[To Arcas.
Tell her the Princess lives. My Lord, I hope
[Exit Arcas.
You will forget—.

[To Agamemnon.
Agam.
Yes: I forget all:
Nay, I forget my self, I'm lost in Joy.
The Gods are reconcil'd and so shall you and I.
[Embraces him.
My Daughter shall be Yours: The Queen shall give her;
Thus I will recompense her cruel Woe,
Thus I'll atone for my Barbarity.

[The Winds and Sea roar; Shoutings.
Achil.
Oh! Transports of Delight! Oh! Rapturous Bliss!
My Love is crown'd; The Winds begin to roar,
And fill our spreading Sails; to Troy, to Troy,
To Victory and Fame.—

Calch.
Let After-Ages learn from this great Day,
To reverence the Gods's supreme Decrees:
For they are just, and ever recompense,
True Piety, and spotless Innocence.