 | Myrrha |  |
SCENE THE FIRST.
Cecris, Euryclea.Ce.
Come, faithful Euryclea: now the dawn
Scarce glimmers; and to me so soon as this
My royal consort is not wont to come.
Now thou canst tell me all that thou dost know
Of our afflicted daughter: even now
Thy troubled countenance and half-stifled sighs
Announce to me ...
Eu.
Oh queen! ... Unhappy Myrrha
Drags on a life far worse than any death.
I dare not to the monarch represent
Her horrible state: the troubles of a maid
Ill could a father understand; thou canst,
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That thou wilt hear me.
Ce.
It is true, that I
For a long time have seen the lustre languish
Of her rare beauty: obstinate and mute,
A mortal melancholy dims in her
That fascinating look: and, could she weep! ...
But before me she's silent; evermore
Her eyes are, with tears never shed, suffused.
In vain do I embrace her; and in vain
Request, entreat her, to divulge her grief;
Her grief she contradicts; while day by day
I see her by that grief consumed.
Eu.
A daughter
To you she is by blood, to me by love;
Thou that I brought her up know'st well: and I
Exist in her alone; and almost half
Of the fourth lustre is already spent
Since every day I've clasp'd her to my breast
In my fond arms ... And now, can it be true,
That towards me, to whom she was accustom'd
From earliest childhood to speak all her thoughts,
E'en towards me she now appears reserved?
And if I speak to her of her distress,
To me too she denies it, and insists,
And seems displeased with me ... But yet she oft,
Spite of herself, bursts into tears before me.
Ce.
Such vehement sadness, in so young a heart,
At first I deem'd to be the consequence
Of the irresolution which she felt
In the oft-urged selection of a consort.
The most illustrious, powerful potentates
Of Greece and Asia, all in rivalry
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To Cyprus flock'd: and, as respected us,
She was the perfect mistress of her choice.
These various impulses, unknown, discordant,
Might in a youthful bosom well excite
No slight disturbance. She his valour praised
In one; his courteous manners in another;
This was endow'd with ampler territories;
In that were majesty and comeliness
Blended consummately; and he who caught
Her eyes the most, she fear'd the least perchance
Might gratify her father. Thoroughly
I, as a mother and a woman, know
What conflicts, in the young unpractised heart
Of a timid virgin, might be well excited
By such incertitude. But when by Pereus,
Heir of Epirus, every doubt seem'd banish'd;
To whom for power, nobility, and youth,
Valour, and comeliness, and sense, no one
Could be compared; then, when the lofty choice
Of Myrrha gain'd the sanction of her parents;
When she, on this account, ought to exult
With self-congratulation, we behold
The storm more furiously arise in her,
And more insufferable agonies
Consume her every day ... At such a sight
I feel my heart as if asunder torn.
Eu.
Ah, had she never made that fatal choice!
From that day forth her anguish has increased:
This very night, the last one that precedes
Her lofty nuptial rites, (oh heaven!) I fear'd
That it had been to her the last of life!—
Motionless, silent, I lay in my bed,
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On all her movements, made pretence to sleep:
But months and months have past, that I have seen her
In such extremity, that all repose
Flies from my aged limbs. I for my daughter
Th' assistance of benignant sleep invoked
Most silently within myself; o'er her
For many, many nights he has not spread
His downy wings. Her sobs and sighs at first
Were almost smother'd; they were few, were broken;
Then (hearing me no longer) they increased
To such ungovernable agony,
That, at the last, against her will, they changed
To passionate tears, to sobs, to piercing screams.
Amid her agitation, from her lips
One word alone escaped, “Death! ... death!” and oft,
In broken accents, she repeated it.
I started from my couch; precipitous
I ran to her; and scarce had she beheld me,
Ere, in the midst, she suddenly repress'd
Each tear, each sigh, each word, and, recomposed
In royal stateliness, as if almost
Incensed with me, in a firm voice she cried,
“Why comest thou to me? What would'st thou? Hence!” ...
I could not answer her; I wept, embraced her,
Then wept again ... At length my speech return'd.
Oh how did I implore her, how conjure her
To tell me her affliction, that, at last,
Thus in her bosom pent, would, with her life,
My life destroy ... Thou surely, though a mother,
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And more persuasive love.—She knows it well
How much I love her; and, at my discourse,
Once more the torrents from her eyes gush'd forth,
And she embraced me, and with tenderness
To my fond importunities replied.
But still, inflexibly reserved, she said,
That every virgin, when the nuptial day
Approaches, is oppress'd with transient grief;
And she commanded me not to divulge
Her anguish to her parents. But, alas!
So deeply rooted is her malady,
So fearful are its inward ravages,
That I run tremblingly to thee; and beg
That, by thy means, these rites may be delay'd:
To death the virgin goes, be sure of this.—
Thou art a mother; ... I say nothing more.
Ce.
... Ah! ... choak'd by weeping, ... scarcely ... can I speak.—
Whence can this malady arise, ah whence? ...
What other suffering, at her youthful age,
Is there, except the suffering of love?
But if by Pereus she is inflamed,
By her spontaneously chosen, whence,
When on the point of gaining him, this grief?
And if another flame feed on her heart,
Why hath she chosen Pereus herself
Among so many others?
Eu.
... Her fierce grief
Doth not, I swear to thee, arise from love.
She always was observed by me; nor could she,
Without my seeing it, resign her heart
To any passion: and she would, be sure,
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But, in her love, a sister. Her deportment,
Her countenance, her sighs, her very silence,
Ah! all convince me that she loves not Pereus.
She, if not joyous, was, before she chose,
Tranquil at least; and thou know'st well how she
Delay'd to chuse. But yet, assuredly
No other man pleased her ere she saw Pereus:
'Tis true, she seem'd to give to him the preference,
Because it was, or so at least she deem'd it,
Her duty to chuse one. She loves him not;
To me it seems so: yet what other suitor,
Compared with noble Pereus, can she love?
I know her to possess a lofty heart;
A heart in which a flame that were not lofty
Could never enter. This can I safely swear:
The man that she could love ... of royal blood
That man must be, or he were not her lover.
Now, who of these have ye admitted here,
Whom at her will she could not with her hand
Make happy? Then her grief is not from love.
Love, though it feed itself with tears and sighs,
Yet still it leaves I know not what of hope,
That vivifies the centre of the heart;
But in her deep impenetrable gloom
There glimmers no coy radiance: in her wound,
Festering and irremediable, there lurks
No sanative balsamic antidote! ...
Ah, could the death that she invokes for ever
Be granted first to me! I should at least
Not see her thus by a slow fire consumed! ...
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Thou dost distract me! ... To these marriage rites
Never will I consent, if they are destin'd
To take from us our only daughter ... Go;
Return to her; and do not say to her
That thou hast spoken with me. I myself,
Soon as the tears are from my eyes dispersed,
And my face recomposed, will thither come.
Eu.
Ah, quickly come. I will return to her;
I am impatient once more to behold her.
Oh heaven! who knows if she has not once more
Been with these frantic paroxysms seized,
While I have thus at length with thee conversed?
Alas! what pity do I feel for thee,
Unhappy mother! ... I fly hence; but thou,
Ah, linger not! ... The less thou dost delay,
The more good wilt thou do ...
Ce.
How much delay
Costs me, thou may'st conceive: but I will not
Call her at such an unaccustom'd hour,
Nor go to her, much less present myself
With visage incomposed. It is not fit
To impress her either with distress or fear:
So modest, timid, pliable is she,
That no means with that noble temper can
Be too indulgent. Quickly, go; repose
In me, as I in thee alone repose.
| Myrrha | |