University of Virginia Library

SCENE THE SECOND.

Ægisthus, Clytemnestra, Orestes, Pylades, Soldiers.
Ægis.
Come,
Come, oh consort: thou may'st once more hear
Tidings, which even yet I scarce believe.

Cly.
Barbarian, dost thou force me to this torture?

Ægis.
Let us examine.—Strangers, then to me
The King of Phocis hath deputed you
As trusty messengers?

Py.
E'en so.

Ægis.
Do ye
Bring certain news?

Py.
My lord, a monarch sent us;
We to a monarch speak: can there exist
Suspicion of imposture?

Ægis.
But your Strophius
Till now ne'er gave me pledge of amity?

Py.
This then will be the first. I can't deny
That he already many years ago
Had different sentiments: he felt compassion
For the unfriended fortunes of Orestes;
But yet, if once he granted him a refuge,
He always strenuously to him denied
Arms and assistance; and against thyself
Strophius would ne'er wage war.

Ægis.
Perhaps openly
He dared not wage it. But of this enough.
Where did he perish?

Ores.
He!

Py.
The Cretan soil
Gives him a tomb.

Ægis.
And how, or ere to me,
Was his death known to Strophius?

Py.
Pylades
The news bore quickly to his father: he
Was present at the sad catastrophe.

Ægis.
To him a destiny so premature
What there occasion'd?

Py.
His too youthful ardour.
Every fifth year, in Crete, by ancient usage,
Renews commemorative games and rites
Of festal sacrifice to highest Jove.
Desire of fame, and natural love of pleasure,
Drew to that shore Orestes: by his side
His Pylades inseparably stood.
A warm desire for honour prompted him,
On a light car, within the wide arena,
To seek the noble palm, for rapid coursers:
Too much intent on victory, there he lost,
By gaining it, his life.

Ægis.
But how? Relate.

Py.
Too fierce, impatient, and impetuous,
Now with a menacing cry he press'd them forward,
Now with a whip, which, stain'd with blood, he whirl'd,
So furiously he lash'd his ill-train'd steeds,
(Which, in proportion as they were more swift,
Became more mettlesome,) that past the goal
They flew.
Chafed by the reins, and deaf to all his cries,
With which he vainly sought to quiet them,
Their nostrils fire emit; and to the air
Waved in wild masses their luxuriant manes;
In a thick cloud of dust involved, and vast
As is the circus, swift as is the lightning,
Through all that amplitude, with all that swiftness,
Backwards and forwards, up and down they flew,
“Eccentric now, and now orbicular.”
The tortuous whirlings of the chariot bring
Discomfiture, fear, death, on every side;
Until the fervid axle being driven
With terrible force against a marble column,
Orestes fell o'erthrown.

Cly.
Ah! say no more:
A mother hears thy words.

Py.
Ah! pardon me.
I will not tell thee how, dragg'd by the reins,
He stain'd the ground with blood ... His friend, in vain,
... Ran to his aid ... Orestes in his arms
Breathed the last sigh.

Cly.
Oh luckless death! ...

Py.
All wept for him in Crete; such was his grace,
His beauty, and his courage ...

Cly.
Tears, alas!
Who would not shed for him, except alone
This infamous usurper? ... Much-loved son,
No more must I behold thee; never more?
But ah! too plainly do I see thee pass
The waves of Styx, and clasp thy father's shade;
Too plainly see you both direct towards me
Th'indignant look, and burn with horrid rage ...
Yes, honour'd shades, 'tis I, and I alone,
That am your murderer ... Inhuman mother!
Consort most guilty!—Now, Ægisthus, now,
Art thou not satisfied?

Ægis.
Thy narrative
Has certainly the character of truth;
That truth will soon be ascertain'd. Meanwhile
Remain within my palace; a reward,
Such as is fitting, ere ye hence depart,
Ye shall receive.

Py.
Yes; we will here remain
At thy command.—Come, come.

Ores.
Let us depart,
Let us depart; for now I can no more
Refrain from speech.

Cly.
Oh thou, who dost relate
The sad event, and not exult with joy,
Ah stay awhile thy footsteps, and inform me,
Why thou hast not to his sad mother brought
The sacred dust of her beloved son
In a funereal urn? A tragical,
Yet welcome gift! to which I have a claim
Before all others.

Py.
Pylades perform'd
His obsequies; from the funereal rites
Excluding every one, himself alone
His dust collected, and with tears embalm'd it.
This sad, and last commemorative pledge,
Of the most noble, true, and holy friendship
The world e'er saw, he for himself reserves:
And who would seek to rob him of his treasure?

Ægis.
Who would e'en seek to ask him for his treasure?
Let him possess it: yet a friend so matchless
Claim'd a more signal token of regard.
I am astonish'd, that, with the defunct,
To prove the entire devotion of his soul,
He did not burn himself upon the pyre;
And that one tomb did not contain the relics
Of so sublime, unparagon'd a pair.

Ores.
And must I yet be silent?

Py.
It is true,
The grief of Pylades caused not his death;
Perchance, his pious fondness for his father
Induced him, though reluctantly, to live.
Sometimes the test of courage it becomes
Rather to live than die.

Ægis.
Does Pylades
Detest me then, as much as did Orestes?

Py.
We are his father's messengers: he wishes
With Argos to renew a strict alliance.

Ægis.
But he's the sire of Pylades: 'twas he
That, as he were his son, received Orestes;
Defended him, from my revenge withdrew him.

Py.
But since he's dead, is not thy rage diminish'd?

Cly.
What was Orestes' crime?

Ores.
That he was son
Of Agamemnon.

Ægis.
How darest thou thus? ...

Py.
My lord, ... where doth not fame spread deeds like these?
How much Atrides held thee in abhorrence,
All Greece knows well; and that against thy life
Snares he contrived; that thou wert thence constrain'd
To watch Orestes ...

Ores.
That thou hast endeavour'd,
A thousand and a thousand times, t'ensnare him
To an opprobrious death, all Greece well knows;
It also knows, that merely at his presence
Thou would'st have trembled ...

Ægis.
What is this thou sayest?
Who art thou? Speak.

Ores.
I am ...

Py.
He is ... alas!
Ægisthus, check thy rage ... he is ...

Ægis.
Who is he?

Ores.
I am ...

Py.
The son of Strophius ... Pylades.
Nought hath induced him thus to come to Argos,
But a desire to contemplate the spot
That gave Orestes' birth. He hither comes
To weep with his friend's mother. To my care
Strophius committed him: to cause in thee
The less suspicion, in a humble bark
He came, laying aside all royal pomp.
He, when he heard Orestes' name pronounced,
Could not be silent: thus I've told thee all.
Do not thou deem him criminal, oh king,
From inconsiderate words; do not suspect
That aught, but what I've told thee, brought him hither.

Cly.
Oh heaven! And is this Pylades? Oh come,
My second son, ... and let me hear from thee ...

Ægis.
Thy fond protection, queen, avails him not.
Whoe'er he be, I am not bound t'endure
Such haughty words ... But what! thy ardent look,
Inflamed with vengeance, thou dost fix on me?
And why dost thou irresolutely bend
Thine eyes upon the ground? To me ye were not
By Strophius sent as messengers; ah no;
Ye lie, and ye are traitors.—Guards, in chains
Bind them this instant.

Pyl.
Hear me, I beseech thee.
And canst thou, from a vague suspicion, thus
The rights of hospitality defy?

Ægis.
Suspicion? fraud is graven in thy face
And apprehension.

Ores.
In thy guilty heart
They are engraved.

Cly.
Ah! tell me: perhaps the news
May not be true?

Py.
Too true, alas!

Ores.
Already
Tremblest thou lest Orestes should revive,
Unrivall'd mother?

Ægis.
What audacity!
Some dreadful mystery is conceal'd beneath
These words of thine. Ere thou receivest for them
The punishment thou meritest ...

Py.
Oh heaven!
Ah hear me.

Ægis.
I will know the truth. Meanwhile
Bind them with fetters in a horrid dungeon.
Ah! there can be no doubt; these impious miscreants
Are creatures of Orestes.—Guards, for them
Prepare the bitterest torments: I myself
Will strictly question them, and from their lips
Learn their designs. In short, I will discover
Whether Orestes be alive or dead.