University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Eriphile and Doris.
Eri.
No, never, never was my Soul as now
Disquieted, and torn with wild Distraction.
With envious Eyes I see her glorious Danger,
Behold her Great, triumphant in her Woe.
Didst thou not mark her Pride, when she perceiv'd
Achilles greatly mov'd with her Misfortunes?
This Heroe, terrible to Humankind,
Who never weakly melted into Softness,
Bred in his Youth, and harden'd to Destruction,
Who first receiv'd, as busie Fame reports,
His Food from Savages, while in a Desart
The Infant-God was nourish'd by a Tygress;
—Yes, he relented—Gods! I saw his Eyes
Shed the big Drops; yes, his whole Soul relented,
And all the Heroe sunk into the Lover.
—What Racks—what Tortures would I not indure?
What lingring Ages of Despair and Death,
To draw one Tear from this immortal Man?

Doris.
Let her enjoy her fruitless Pride, and die.

Eri.
No, no, she will not die; her haughty Lover,
Achilles, will remove all Obstacles.
Her gentle Resignation to Heav'ns Will,
Her pious Tears, her Heart that bleeds to part
With Life and him, and all this Pomp of Grief,
Will more indear her to his Soul than ever.

Doris.
He dares not rob the Altar; haughty Calchat
Will arm the People and the Gods against him.

Eri.
Dost thou not see how cautiously they act?
The fatal Sentence is with Care conceal'd,
Nor does the Camp yet know their Royal Victim.
Yet Agamemnon doubts, and feels his Blood
Rebel against the Dictates of the Gods.
Oh Doris! how, how will his staggering Mind
Sustain th'Attacks of Nature?—his Wife's Rage?—
His Daughters Tears?—and fierce Achilles' Wrath?
No, no; the Gods in vain doom her to die.
I am, and I alone must still remain
Unfortunate—and yet, if I must perish,
Why should I fall alone!—it shall be done.

Doris.
What horrid Image strikes your feverish Mind?
Why does your troubled Fancy raise new Terrors?

Eri.
I'll instantly proclaim, through all the Camp,
The Gods demand their Victim, Iphigenia,
That still their impious King keeps back the Sacrifice;
That dreadful Vengeance waits to punish all
For Agamemnon's Sacriledge—I'll blow
The murmuring Soldier into mad Sedition.

Doris.
Think cooly, Madam, think what Consequence.

Eri.
Troy will inrol my Name among her Gods,
And all her Domes breathe Clouds of grateful Incense,
If thus I can disturb their Peace, thus break
Their strong Alliance, cherish their Divisions;
Arm proud Achilles against Agamemnon,
And turn their sharpen'd Points to civil Fury.

Doris.
I apprehend your rash Design; but see
Where Clytemnestra comes—let us avoid her.

Eri.
Yet Doris, let us still with care consult
What further must be done to make secure
This Sacrifice—'tis pleasing to the Gods;
'Tis seconding and aiding their Commands.

[Exeunt Eriph. and Doris.
Clytemnestra and Agamemnon meeting.
Agam.
Why, Madam, are my Orders disobey'd?
I sent by Arcas, to demand your Daughter;
Do you with-hold her from the sacred Rites;
Why will you still dispute my just Commands?

Clyt.
Sir, you shall be obey'd; but is there not
Some kind fore-warning Power that moves within you,
And bids you wish these Rites might be delay'd?

Agam.
The sacred Shrine is dress'd; the Priest prepar'd.

Clyt.
But where's the Victim—Cruel Agamemnon.

Agam.
Hah!—then the fatal Secret is reveal'd.

Clyt.
Come forth my Child, attend your pious Father;
Enter Iphigenia, and kneels to Agamemnon.
Kneel, kneel, and thank him for his tender Love;
He comes himself to lead you to the Altar.

Agam.
Rise, Iphigenia—Wherefore dost thou kneel,
And weep, and sigh? Why are thy mourning Eyes
Dejected, fix'd on Earth? Oh! 'tis too plain,
Arcas, perfidious Arcas, has betray'd me.

Iph.
Complain not, Sir—you shall not be betray'd,
Your Will shall be submitted to—I'll dye.
My Life is yours, you but recal your own.
With the same Heart contented and resign'd,
With which I thought to find my promis'd Lord,
You shall behold your Victim meet the Blow.

Agam.
Fairest Example of exalted Virtue:
Oh glorious Maid—my Child, my Iphigenia!

Iph.
And yet if this respectful Love, this Duty
Appears to Merit any Recompence;
Might I not wish—surrounded thus with Honours,
Not to be torn away by sudden Death?
So sudden, I can hardly say, Farewel;
Or call you by the much lov'd Name of Father.
Yes, I have been the Pleasure of your Eyes.
Once prodigally kind you lov'd your Child;
How ofen have you held me in your Arms,
And thank'd the Gods in transport for the Blessing?
Nor wou'd you blush to own the honest Weakness;
—Oh, with what Joy, what Fondness wou'd you hear
My Infant Tongue presage your glorious Battles;
How often did I then foretel the Fate
Of haughty Troy—and dress my Victories
In childish Eloquence—I little thought
That I must first fall by my Father's Hand,
And pay with Agamemnon's Blood the Triumph.

Agam.
Oh, why dost thou repeat this moving Tale?

Iph.
Not that I fear the Blow, or shake at Death,
Do I remind you of your former Goodness;
My Heart is truly jealous of your Honour.
Believe me, were my Life alone concern'd,
I wou'd not thus recount your former Love;
Nor wound you with the tender dear Remembrance,
—But on my Fate, the Weal, the Happiness
Of an indulgent Mother's Life depends:
And that brave Prince, the Godlike Son of Thetis,
A Prince who might, if the just Gods had pleas'd,
Have given new Honours to your deathless Name:
For your permitted me to hear his Passion,
And favour all his faithful Vows of Love;
He knows your Purpose, be the Judge your self,
How his unconquer'd Spirit beats and rages,
Lost in a wild of Passion and Despair.
—Oh Pardon, Sir, these strugglings of my Soul,
To save a tender Mother and a Lover.

Agam.
Daughter, 'tis true; I know not for what Crime
The mighty Gods ask from our House a Victim,;
But you are pointed out; the Blood of Helen
Must stain their Altars, and prevent their Judgments:
—Oh think not, Iphigenia, that my Love
Waited 'till you petition'd for your Life.
What have I not endeavour'd to preserve you?
This Morning I recall'd those fatal Orders
Which summon'd you to Aulis—but in vain.
Some Power unseen broke thro' my weak Attempt,
Deceiv'd the Care of an unhappy Father,
Who impiously protects what Heav'n condemns.

Iph.
Let us then yield to Heav'n—lead on, my Father,
The Gods and Agamemnon ask my Life,
—Lead on—'tis impious to contend or grieve.

Agam.
Greatly resolv'd—Oh thou brave Child of Virtue,
In thee our high Alliance with the Gods
Shines forth;—yet I applaud with Pain,
With Torture, thy Heroic Resolution.
—We must obey—the dreadful Hour is come;
Go then, resign thy dear important Life,
To intercept the Vengeance of the Gods,
Least it shou'd fall on Greece—there let 'em know
'Tis Agamemnon's Blood that saves his Country.

Clyt.
Inhuman you confess your guilty Race,
Sprung from the Blood of Atreus and Thyestes:
Is this the happy pleasing Sacrifice,
With so much Care, such Artifice prepar'd?
Think'st thou with Tears to moderate thy Crime?
This Oracle it seems calls for her Life.
Will Heav'n be honour'd by a barbarous Murther?
—If for the Crime of Helen, Helen's Race
Must bleed; recall Hermione from Sparta:
Let Menelaus with his Daughter's Life
Absolve, and so redeem his ravish'd Spouse:
This Helen, who disturbs Europe and Asia,
Is she a Prize worthy your great Contention?
A shameless Woman; Theseus stole her first
From Lacedæmon, long ere Menelaus
Espous'd her: Yes, we all have often heard
Calchas declare, a Princess then was born
By that stoln Marriage, who is still unknown.

Agam.
Wilt thou presume with Arguments to stop,
Or contravert the Dictates of the Gods?
Against high Heav'n, our Reason and our Power
Are weaker than autumnal Leaves, blown off
And scatter'd by the Winds—Vain Arrogance.

Clyt.
It must not, shall not be; no, Agamemnon;
I will preserve my Child, or offer up
A double Sacrifice to angry Heav'n.
—Yes, Iphigenia, if I cannot save thee,
The cruel King shall never part us more,
For if we must not live, we'll dye together.
[Exit Clytem. leading Iphigenia.
Agamemnon alone.
Just Heav'n! why am I not divested, stript
Of Nature, Reason, and Humanity,
And harden'd to perform your bloody Laws?
Oh, wherefore have I yet a Father's Heart?
'Tis too too much;—And yet Heroic Virtue
Is wrought in Fire, and he must bravely bear
The Storms of Life, who works his Way to Glory.

Enter Menelaus.
Mene.
Oh, Son of Atreus, haste and save your People,
Your Glory, and your Duty to high Heav'n:
Calchas, incens'd at your Delays, demands
Why you detain the Victim of Diana.
New inauspicious Omens fright the Priests,
No other Sacrifice will be receiv'd;
The lockt-up Winds do yet refuse their Aid.
Oh, think your lingring Army here must perish,
Must perish all; our Wrongs be unreveng'd.

Agam.
Oh, Menelaus! Brother! Helen's Rape
Will amply be reveng'd; the rigid Gods
O'er-rate yon Asian Towers; tho' Victory
Crown all our Toils, the Victor is undone.
—Must Iphigenia dye for Helen's Crime?
Is Virtue made the Martyr of Dishonour?

Men.
Not for the Crime of Helen, but the Wrongs
Of Greece, we arm—had they return'd, or punish'd
The lawless Ravisher, they had not broke
The sacred Laws of Nations—Nor had then
These glorious Chiefs assembled here in Arms,
Drawn forth in dreadful bright Array of Battel?
—Why are those awful Powers above concern'd
To give our Arms Success? why do they ask
This spotless Victim, but to purifie
The Grecian Camp, and give a Wind for Troy?

Agam.
Wherefore shou'd Iphigenia's Life alone—

Men.
What Blood is worthy chast Diana's Altar,
But Iphigenia's? Who but Agamemnon
Shou'd vindicate his injur'd Subjects Wrongs?
Oh, King of Men, which of us wou'd not bleed
To save, or to augment his Country's Glory?

Agam.
Oh, dangerous heighth! oh, Glory to be pity'd!

Men.
Away, Atrides; think no longer; Act.
We climb on high with Labour, the Ascent
Is steep and arduous to consummate Virtue.

Agam.
Shall I then, Menelaus, must I see
The Butcher Priest, surrounded by the Croud,
The barbarous Multitude, slaughter my Child,
Open her bleeding Breast, and while the Heart
Yet beats, with Horror see the streaming Blood
Gush in tumultuous Torrents from the Wound?
While with erected Eyes, and crimson'd Hands,
Calchas consults the Gods, grown exorable,
And satiated with Blood, inclin'd to Mercy.

Men.
And can your obstinate, hard Disobedience?
Can all your Fears, or Menaces, or Arms,
Now Heav'n demands her Life, preserve your Child?

Agam.
Suppose these Priests abuse the Name they Worship.
At first Beasts only bled, now Human Gore.
With frequent Sacrifice distains their Shrines:
In holy Leading-strings the Infant Bigot,
Like the devoted Brute, follows his Priest,
And bleeds, to magnifie the pious Pomp.
O Luxury of Pride!—Oh impious Pagentry!

Men.
Take heed of impious Thoughts; when Heavenly Wrath
Descends in sweeping Plagues, and thins your People;
When you and all your Race, to future times,
Accurs'd, shall groan beneath its Iron Rod;
It will be then too late to call for Mercy.

Agam.
It may be so—Perhaps th'offended Gods,
To satisfie their Justice for my Crimes,
Command her Death—Perhaps the subtle Priests
Have forg'd this rigorous Sentence—Oh, my Soul!
How shall I act?—the struggling Passions meet,
Distract, divide, and tear me from my self—
—Now pleading Nature strikes my Soul with Horror,
And cries aloud; O murther not thy Child,
By a too hasty Zeal and credulous Fear!
—And now the Conscience of my Royal Duty,
And what I owe to Greece, returns, and checks
My tender Fear, and calls it Sacrilege.
—Immortal Orb! bright Source and vital Spring!
[Kneeling.
Diffusive Being!—And thou, Father Jove,
Father of Gods and Men, inlighten me,
That I may know and execute thy Laws.

Men.
I see your Nature's stirr'd, I see, I feel
With you, your Soul is fond of Iphigenia.

Ayam.
In her I had laid up Treasures for my Age,
And hoarded Joys to bless the calmer Evening
Of busie Life—I know no other Comfort:
Let me confess a Father's Weakness to thee:
[Falls on Menelaus's Neck, and weeps.
Support me, Gods!—Now all my Soul is open,
Oh, let me thus, thus let me speak her Loss!
—But 'tis the Will of Heav'n, and I obey:
I know you'll say these Tears are most unmanly.
I've done—And yet 'tis the last tender Debt
I e'er shall pay her pious Love and Duty.

Men.
Now, on my Soul, the Chords of his big Heart
Are tortur'd on the Rack—Oh, Son of Atreus!
Think you are yet a King, supreme of Men.

Agam.
Had I been bless'd with humble Poverty,
Freed from this Yoak, this haughty Yoak, Ambition,
And cover'd by Obscurity from Danger,
I had possess'd in Peace my Iphigenia.
Merciless Gods! take back your Purple Glories,
Strip me of Subjects, Titles, Power and Rule:
Oh, give me only, give me to preserve
My virtuous Child!

Men.
My flowing Eyes, my Heart,
With Sympathic Sorrow feel thy Grief:
Let all our Wrongs be unreveng'd; for mine
I give 'em—I release 'em to thy Sorrows:
—Repose your self—We will at least defer
This bloody Sentence—I'll return in haste
To Calchas, and oblige the angry Priest
To wait a second Order from the Gods:
Yet we shall gain one Day, and that improv'd,
With ardent Prayer, may soften or avert
The Wrath of Heav'n, and save your Child and Honour.

Agam.
Words are too poor to thank thee; haste my Friend,
Intreat good Calchas, too severely good,
That till to Morrow's Sun revisits us,
He will defer this awful Sacrifice.

Mene.
Calchas this Morn seem'd much concern'd, and mourn'd
This dreadful unrelenting Call of Heav'n.

Agam.
Haste then and try to move him; tho' I doubt it;
The Pity of that Priest is Cruelty;
His pious Zeal mourns and destroys at once.
In Ægypt thus, from the fermented Mud,
The genial Sun raises a monst'rous Brood;
Th'amphibious Wonder quits his watry Den
With hideous Rush, and sweeps the trembling Plain,
Destroys all round; yet then with pious Tears
He mourns, he murthers, weeps, but never spares.

[Mene. and Agam. part.
Agamemnon meets Achilles.
Achil.
My Lord, an idle Rumour flies abroad;
It hardly yet has gain'd on my Belief;
'Tis said, (it shakes my Soul when I repeat it,)
'Tis said that Iphigenia dies this Day
By your Command—That, deaf to all the Cries
Of Nature, of Humanity and Blood,
You will your self deliver her to Calchas;
That she was summon'd in my Name to bleed,
And that these Nuptials only were suppos'd,
To blind and cover the detested Purpose.

Agam.
Oh, what a Season has he chose t'insult
[Aside.
My tortur'd Heart, and load me with Reproaches?

Achil.
What am I now to think?—'Tis for your Honour
To silence these inglorious base Reports.

Agam.
Young Prince, I never render an Account
Of what I do—or publish my Designs.
My Daughter has not yet my last Commands;
When she's inform'd, if it concerns the Camp,
Or you, you'll know my Pleasure in your Orders.

Achil.
I know too well your barbarous horrid Purpose.

Agam.
Then wherefore do you ask me what you know?

Achil.
Why do I ask?—Oh, Heav'n! can I believe
That thus you dare avow your barbarous Zeal?
My Faith, my Love, my Honour must oppose you.

Agam.
But you, who thus in Menaces pronounce
Your haughty Will, forget to whom you speak.

Achil.
'Tis you forget my Love—'Tis you forget;
Achilles neither does, nor suffers Wrongs.

Agam.
And who committed, Sir, this Trust to you?
Which way are you concern'd to interpose
Between my Honour and my Family?
Say? Am I not her Father? Or are you
Her Husband?—Whence this busie Insolence?

Achil.
By Heav'n she's mine, intirely, wholly mine:
Your Word has made her so, and this right Hand
Shall guard my sacred Title to her Heart:
Did she not come to Aulis, to conclude,
By your Command, this Marriage? Faithless Man!

Agam.
Complain of Heav'n, be angry with the Gods;
Accuse their Priests, the Camp, the Grecian Princes;
Accuse Ulysses, Menelaus, Nestor;
But first and chief of all, accuse your self.

Achil.
Oh, give me Patience, Heav'n! am I concern'd?
Do I partake in your unnatural Guilt?

Agam.
Yes you! Who, grasping at yon Eastern Conquest,
Murmur'd at Heav'n and this destructive Calm.
And when I would have here dismiss'd the League,
You spread th'infectious Fury thro' the Camp,
And ruin'd all my labour'd Care to save her;
For then you only talk'd and thought of Troy,
Conquest and Troy—Haste then—Prepare to sail:
Her Death opens our Course—Go satisfie,
If ought can satisfie, your mad Ambition.

Achil.
Gods! must I suffer! must I bear all this?
And dare you add, to all your Perjuries,
The boldness to impose on me your Crime?

Agam.
Keep down your swelling Heart; and know that Pride,
That fiery Thirst of Fame, has ruin'd all;
My Child is sacrific'd to your Ambition.

Achil.
For me! For my Ambition!—But I'll curb
This rising Heat, and reason cooly with you.
—Tell me then—Tell me calmly, Agamemnon,
Which way was I concern'd for Helen's Rape?
Why, from the peaceful Fields of Thessaly,
Have I led on my faithful Mirmidons,
Deaf to the Voice of my Immortal Mother,
And careless of my dying Father's Words?
Why do I fondly seek that Destiny,
To which they say I am foredoom'd in Troy?
What Fleets have sail'd from swift Scamander's Flood
To pillage Thessaly?—What Ravisher
Has stole my Wife or Sister from Larissa?

Agam.
'Twas not for me you arm'd, but Asia's Empire.

Achil.

Agam.
Hence then—Return to Thessaly—Draw off
Your Powers—And by your Absence, let us gain
Order and Discipline—Go, Leave the Camp;
I disengage, I free you from all Ties
To me, or to my Daughter—By the Gods,
We shall have Heros numberless to fight
For injur'd Greece—tho' the proud Son of Thetis
Be never heard of more—Troy will afford
Immortal Laurels for the Victor's Brow,
And Dangers worthy the brave Warrior's Toil:
For you, I find we should have dearly bought
Your haughty Aid—But who created you
The Arbitrer of Greece?—Away, rash Youth,
Give Laws to Slaves, command your Mirmidons,
They'll march, and bend, and tremble at your Nod;
Hence then, and let your Subjects feel your Rage;
I ask less Courage, Sir, and more Obedience;
I break, I cancel thus the sacred Bonds
That held us in Alliance.

Achil.
Thank those Bonds
That tie my Hands, and now, even now, restrain
My Rage—You are my Iphigenia's Father,
Or else, by Jove, Immortal Jove, I swear,
This Chief, this boasted Chief of twenty Kings,
Had never brav'd the Son of Thetis more!
But I am Calm—Remember, Agamemnon,
I have my Love, my Glory to defend;
And when you aim at Iphigenia's Life,
The bloody Passage only lies thro' mine.
[Exit Achil.

Agamemnon alone.
Agam.
Thy Folly has destroy'd what it would save;
My Daughter was too powerful while alone
Thy Love; thy Insolence has ruin'd all,
And hastens the dire Blow that thou would'st stop:
I must not pause—No, I must meet his Force;
My Glory thus is thrown into the Ballance;
Achilles' Threats have fix'd my wav'ring Heart,
My Pity now wou'd seem th'Effect of Fear.
—Euribates.

Enter Euribates.
Eur.
My Lord.

Agam.
What would I do?
Can I at last pronounce these bloody Orders?
Troy, Victory, Revenge, the Grecian Welfare,
Are promis'd the Rewards of my Obedience:
But all these Glories, these triumphant Laurels,
Must spring from Iphigenia's Blood alone.
—She shall not die—I yield to Love, to Nature;
Nor will I blush to own my generous Pity;
But then Achilles, arrogantly vain,
Will claim the Merit of his haughty Rage;
Yes, he'll believe I give her to his Threats,
And tremble at the Terror of his Arms.
—No, no, I'll humble the proud Mirmidon;
He loves her—She shall live—But not for him;
I'll give her to another—Let his Rage,
His Jealousie redouble—Haste, Euribates,
And let the Queen and Princess both attend me;
Bid 'em dismiss their Fears.
[Exit Euribates.
—Oh, righteous Heav'n!
If yet, if yet it be your rigid Will,
My Child should die, I know my fond Endeavours
Are weak and powerless—But forgive my Love,
That forces me to wait till 'tis confirm'd,
Till you demand your Victim once again.

Enter Clytemnestra, Iphigenia, Eriphile, Doris, Ægina, Euribates, and Officers.
Agam.
Go, Clytemnestra, go, secure her Life;
I render you your Daughter, take her hence,
Remove her far, far from this fatal Shore;
Arcas commands the Guards that shall conduct you:
I have remitted his Offence—This Charge
Demands your Secresie and Diligence:
Neither the busie Priests, nor yet Ulysses,
Suspect our Purposes; be swift and silent,
Conceal her so, the Soldiers may believe
That I retain her here—While you alone
Return to Argos—Guards, attend the Queen.

[To Officers waiting.
Clyt.
Oh, Sir!

Iph.
Oh, Royal Father!

Agam.
No Words, no Thanks; we must not part in Form.
Haste; fly; prevent the speedy Call of Calchas;
I'll favour your Escape, and feign some Reasons
To make him, for one Day at least, suspend
The fatal Pomp—Farewel—The Gods defend you.

[Exeunt Clytemnestra, Ægina, Euribates, and Officers at one Door, and Agamemnon at the other.
Eriphile, Doris.
Eriph.
This, this way, Doris, let us follow 'em.

Doris.
Where would your restless Passion hurry you?

Eriph.