University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Clytemnestra, Attendant.
Clytemnestra.
Arriv'd so soon!—I am not half prepar'd:
My Features all are sunk with conscious Shame;
My Eyes are yet too tender to dissemble.

Attendant.
Madam, be firm. Wipe off these gloomy Tears,
In which too plain is read your troubled Soul.
Just now the Trumpet spoke the King's Approach.

Clytemnestra.
'Tis come, at last, the trying Hour is come!
Oh that my Heart were hard, and Features false!—
Again these Trumpets swell—

Attendant.
A moment, Madam,
A moment will betray you.

Clytemnestra.
Open, Earth,
And swallow up my Shame!—What can I do?
Where look? what say? Confusion! Torture!

Attendant.
Madam—

Clytemnestra.
Ah, Coward that I am! Was there no Dagger,
To save this ten-fold Death?

Attendant.
Hark! loud and near,
The Triumph comes.

Clytemnestra.
Well.—give me Breath—

[Endeavouring to compose her Agitation.
Agamemnon
, behind the Scenes.
A Moment,
Leave me, my Friends.

Clytemnestra.
Ha! heard you not his Voice?
Yes, yes, 'tis he! Go, bring my Children hither:
They may relieve me.

Attendant.
O remember!—

Clytemnestra.
Heavens!

SCENE II.

Agamemnon, Clytemnestra.
Agamemnon.
Where is my Life! my Love! my Clytemnestra!
O let me press Thee to my fluttering Soul,
That is on wing to mix itself with thine!
O thou, for whom I live, for whom I conquer,
Than Glory brighter! O my Clytemnestra!
Now, in this dear Embrace, I lose the Toils
Of ten Years War; Absence, with all its Pains,
Is by this charming Moment wip'd away.
All-bounteous Gods! Sure, never was a Heart
So full, so blest as mine.—
[discovering her Disorder.
But whence, my Fairest!
What mean these Tears?—Not Tears of happy Love,
Such as I shed.—What means that clouded Look,
Whose downcast Sweetness will not shine upon me?
Why this cold Meeting? Why unkindly damp'd
My Ardor thus? Oh speak, my Clytemnestra!

Clytemnestra.
Forgive me, Agamemnon; but I cannot,
Alas! I cannot see your Face again,
Without reflecting where I saw you last.
Aulis is present to my Eyes anew,
The Ships, the Chiefs, the Guards, the bloody Calchas,
All the dire Pomp of Sacrifice around:
Anew my Daughter bleeds, basely deceiv'd!
And when I see that awful Brow, that doom'd Her,
Need Agamemnon wonder at my Tears?

Agamemnon.
Why will my Clytemnestra add new Stings
To what here rankles but too deep already?
Ah! why impute to me the Work of Fate?
'Tis not indulging private Inclination,
The selfish Passions, that sustains the World,
And lends its Rulers Grace; no, 'tis not thence
That Glory springs, and high immortal Deeds:
The Public Good, the Good of others, still,
Must bear fond Nature down, in him who dares
Aspire to worthy Rule; imperious Honour
Still o'er the most Distinguish'd lords it most.
Was it for me?—Let even your Passions judge—
For Agamemnon was it, when ordain'd,
By common Voice, the General of the Greeks;
While twenty Kings beneath my Banner march'd;
And while around me full-assembled Greece,
Indignant, kindled at your Sister's Rape,
On her old native Foe demanding Vengeance,
On faithless Asia: Was it then for me,
To quench this glorious Flame? And to refuse
One Life to Thousands, to those generous Thousands,
That for my Honour, for the dearer Honour
Of Clytemnestra's Family, stood all
Prepar'd to die? If to the mingled Voice
Of Honour, Duty, Glory, Public Good,
Of the commanding Gods, I had been deaf;
And, in the feeble Father, poorly sunk
The Greek, the Chief, the Patriot and the King,
Greater than King, the General of the Greeks;
Then you yourself, my Clytemnestra's Self,
Must (let her Heart avow the Truth) have scorn'd me.
Nor think it was an easy Resignation.
Oh Clytemnestra! Had you seen within,
What here within my tortur'd Bosom pass'd;
To that my Battles since were only Sport.
No, not the kindest Mother, bath'd in Tears,
As o'er her agonizing Babe she hangs,
Feels what I suffer'd then—You may remember—
Again the Father melts me at the Thought—
You may remember how I hid my Face;
Asham'd to let the Greeks around behold
The Tears, that misbecame their General's Cheek.
Then cease to blame what rather merits Pity,
I might add Praise.—He, who the Father's Heart
More tender has than mine, too tender has it.
I love my Children, as a Father should;
Besides, I love them from a softer Cause,
I love my Clytemnestra.

Clytemnestra.
Had, alas!
Had Agamemnon lov'd me, would He, nay,
Could he have left me in the Rage of Grief,
My Daughter yet fresh bleeding in my sight?
Left me so long? Love surely must have found,
In the wide Round of ten revolving Years,
Some way to see me, to prevent these Sorrows—
Why was I thus abandon'd, Agamemnon?

Agamemnon.
Let me kiss off these Tears—O beauteous Tears!
If shed by doubting Love, if shed for Absence.
Instead of these Reproaches, ask me rather,
How I that Absence bore: and here all Words
All Eloquence is dumb, to speak the Pangs,
That lurk'd beneath the rugged Brow of War.
When glaring Day was clos'd, and hush'd the Camp,
Oh! then, amid ten thousand other Cares,
Those stung the keenest that remember'd Thee,
That on my long-left Clytemnestra thought,
On what wild Seas and Mountains lay between us.

Clytemnestra.
Unhappy Man!

Agamemnon.
What says my Clytemnestra?

Clytemnestra.
Unhappy Mortals! by vain Words deceiv'd,
To their own Pride, to joyless Honour Slaves.

Agamemnon.
He, he, alone, can claim a Right to Bliss,
Who has fulfill'd the painful Task of Honour.

Clytemnestra.
But what avails a Right to vanish'd Bliss?

Agamemnon.

Clytemnestra.
Oh!

Agamemnon.
Turn not away;
There is relenting Goodness in thy Look.

Clytemnestra.
Alas! untimely Fondness—Agamemnon!
Too generous Agamemnon! you distress me.
Would you were not so kind, so tender, now!
Or ne'er had been so cruel!

Agamemnon.
'Tis unjust
To call me cruel. Fate, the Gods, our Fortune
Were cruel to us both—What could I more
To sooth our parting Woes, and ease my Absence?
I left you Melisander to advise you,
Left you the wisest, faithfullest and best—
Oh whisp'ring Nature! Are not these my Children?

SCENE III.

Agamemnon, Clytemnestra, Electra, Orestes.
Agamemnon.
My Daughter! my Electra!

Electra.
O my Father!

Agamemnon.
Come to my Arms, my Boy! my dear Orestes!
In whom I live anew, my younger Self!
And thou, Electra, in thy opening Cheek
I mark thy Mother's Bloom: even so she look'd,
Such the mild Light with which her Beauty dawn'd.
Oh thou soft Image of my Clytemnestra!
My other Iphigenia!

Electra.
Oh my Father!
My Joy! my Pride! my Glory! whom, in Dreams,
I oft have seen, as if return'd from Troy;
But still unwelcome Morning, with a Tear,
Wip'd out the dear Illusion of the Night.
And is it then no more a faithless Vision?
Oh 'tis my Father! whose Departure hence,
And Iphigenia's Death I just remember.
How glorious, Iphigenia, was thy Death!
A Death I envy rather than lament.
Who would not die to gain immortal Fame,
Deliver Greece and crown a Father's Glory?

Agamemnon.
Come to my Arms again, my generous Daughter!
And Thou my Son! O that thy tender Years
Had suffer'd thee to share our Toils at Troy!
'Tis War that forms the Prince: 'tis Hardship, Toil;
'Tis sleepless Nights, and never-resting Days;
'Tis Pain, 'tis Danger, 'tis affronted Death;
'Tis equal Fate for all, and changing Fortune;
That rear the Mind to Glory, that inspire
The noblest Virtues and the gentlest Manners.
Where shall I find, to teach Thee these, Orestes,
Another Troy?

Orestes.
How happy had I been!
To have beheld what I must only hear.
But I will hear it often, every Day;
Will learn your Story, study your Example;
Will try to mix your Virtues with your Blood,
And not disgrace the Laurels I inherit.
My Bosom flutters with I know not what—
—Forgive me, Sir, I am too young to say it—
But something here I feel, which bids me hope
That I shall not betray my Father's Honour.

Agamemnon.
Son of my Soul!—Look here, my Clytemnestra!
Look here and weep with Tenderness and Transport!
What is all tasteless Luxury to this?
To these best Joys, which holy Love bestows?
O Nature! Parent Nature! Thou, alone,
Art the best Judge of what can make us happy!

Enter an Officer belonging to the Court.
Officer.
Egisthus, Sir, attends.

Agamemnon.
Go, bid him enter.
Retire, my Clytemnestra, my dear Children:
We soon shall meet again, till then farewel.

SCENE IV.

Agamemnon.
Obey me, Features, for one supple Moment:
You shall not long be tortur'd. Here, in Courts,
We must not wear the Soldier's honest Face.
He little thinks I have him in the Snare
Of Melisander, whom, in my return,
I from that desart Island chanc'd to save,
To which the Ruffian—

SCENE V.

Agamemnon, Egisthus.
Egisthus.
Health to Agamemnon!
And Happiness responsive to his Glory!

Agamemnon.
Cousin, I greet you well.

Egisthus.
Forgive me, Sir,
You have surpriz'd us with this quick Return:
For by that Signal, whose illustrious Flame
Rejoic'd all Greece, we did not hope your Presence
These three days hence. Forgive, that, unprepar'd,
We only with that Joy, that Transport, wonder,
Which swell each Grecian Bosom, thus receive you.
And truly such a Burst I have not seen
Of that best Triumph. City, Country, all,
Is in a gay triumphant Tempest tost.
I scarce could press along. The Trumpet's Voice
Is lost in loud repeated Shouts, that raise
Your Name to Heaven. Ten thousand Eyes, below,
Ake to behold the Conqueror of Troy.

Agamemnon.
The noblest Praise that can salute my Ear,
The sweetest Music, is my People's Joy.
But sure your Tongue has done it ample Justice;
Trust me, you blazon a Description well.
I have not heard so much obliging Speech
These many Years.

Egisthus.
Misconstrue not my Zeal:
On the full Heart obedient Language waits.
I feel so deep your Glory, Agamemnon,
As mingles with my Joy a sort of Passion,
That almost touches Envy. O ye Gods!
Has, while I liv'd, a War, the most renown'd
Which any Age e'er saw, or shall again
Be seen; a War, whose never-dying Fame
Will cover Earth, and reach remotest Time,
Has such a War adorn'd my Days, and I
Not shar'd its Glory? Pining here, unknown,
In nameless Peace—how have I lost my Life!

Agamemnon.
This Ardor is the Mode. But know, Egisthus,
That ruling a free People well in Peace,
Without or yielding or usurping Power;
Maintaining firm the Honour of the Laws,
Yet sometimes softening their too rigid Doom,
As Mercy may require; steering the State,
Thro' factious Storms, or the more dangerous Calms
Of Peace, by long Continuance grown corrupt;
Besides the fair Career which Fortune opens,
To the mild Glories of protected Arts,
To Bounty, to Beneficence, to Deeds
That give the Gods themselves their brightest Beams:
Yes, know, that these are, in true Glory, equal,
If not superior, to deluding Conquest:
Nor less demand they Conduct, Courage, Care,
And persevering Toil.

Egisthus.
Say thankless Toil,
Harsh and unpleasing; that, instead of Praise
And due Reward, meets oftner Scorn, Reproach,
Fierce Opposition to the clearest Measures;
Injustice, Banishment, or Death itself:
Such is the Nature of malignant Man.
Not so the Victor's Meed: Him all approve,
Him all admire.

Agamemnon.
Yet tho' a toilsome Task,
Tho' an ungrateful Labour oft to rule;
I not so hardly of Mankind, Egisthus,
Presume to judge. Truth, Wisdom, Courage, Justice,
Beneficence, and to the Public Good
A constant Tenor of well laid Designs;
These must be awful in the worst of Times,
Be amiable, dear; while Worth, at last
Will light up Worth, and Virtue kindle Virtue.
You was however eas'd of half the Toil,
By him I left to counsel Clytemnestra,
By Melisander.

Egisthus.
Would to Heaven I had!

Agamemnon.
You much amaze me.—Is not Melisander
Wise, just and faithful?

Egisthus.
Sir, I own
He wore a specious Mask—

Agamemnon.
Beware, Egisthus;
I know his stedfast Worth, and will not bear
The farthest Hint that stains the Man I love.

Egisthus.
Then urg'd by Truth, and in my own Defence,
I boldly will assert him, Agamemnon,
To be more apt to trouble and embroil,
Than serve a State. A certain stubborn Virtue,
I would say Affectation of blunt Virtue,
Beneath whose outside Froth, fermenting, lay
Pride, Envy, Faction, Turbulence of Soul,
And Democratic Views, in some sort, made him
A secret Traitor, equally unfit
Or to obey or rule. But that I check'd
His early Treasons, here, at your Return,
You might have found your Kingdom a Republic.

Agamemnon.
O I shall lose all Patience!—
[Aside.
You do well,
To give your Accusation open Speech.
Meantime, remember, you must fully prove it,
You must!—And he who Melisander proves
The Wretch you have describ'd, proves Man is vain,
And saps the broad Foundations of all Trust.
I know he would not patiently look on,
And suffer ill Designs to gather Strength,
Awaiting gentle Seasons; yes, I know,
He had a troublesome old-fashion'd way,
Of shocking courtly Ears with horrid Truth.
He was no civil Ruffian: none of those,
Who lye with twisted Looks, betray with Shrugs—
I wax too warm—But he was none of those,
Is none of those dust-licking, reptile, close,
Insinuating, speckled, smooth Court-Serpents,
That make it so unsafe, chiefly for Kings,
To walk this weedy World—Pardon my Heat—
I wander from the Purpose—You, Egisthus,
Must prove your Charge, to Melisander's Face
Must prove it.

Egisthus.
Surely—Since the Princely Faith
Of your own Blood you doubt—

Agamemnon.
Friendship and Truth
Are more a-kin to me than Blood.

Egisthus.
You shall,
You shall have Proof; but to his Face you cannot.

Agamemnon.
But to his Face I will!—I cannot! why?

Egisthus.
He wanders far from hence, I know not where.
For when I found him an undoubted Traitor,
Tho' he the heaviest Punishment deserv'd,
Yet in regard to that Esteem, which, once,
You deign'd to bear him, Banishment alone
Was all I did inflict.

Agamemnon.
I thank you, Sir—
O you are wond'rous good!—But tell me, how,
How durst you meddle in the Sphere assign'd
To Clytemnestra? He was left to Her;
To be her Counsellor I left my Friend,
Left Melisander; left a Man, whom long,
Whom well I knew; perhaps, to check you, left him:
And you pretend, you!—But I will be calm—
These Passions in a King to his Inferiors,
Who cannot answer equal, are not comely.
Forgive my Transport—A more quiet Hour
Shall sift this Matter to the bottom, shall
Do Melisander or Egisthus Justice.

SCENE VI.

Egisthus.

SCENE VII.

Clytemnestra, Egisthus.
Clytemnestra.
Here let me kneel, Egisthus, grasp thy Knees;
Here let me grow till my Request be granted.
Now is the very Crisis of my Fate.

Egisthus.
What Sight is this I see? Rise, Clytemnestra!
Thou fairest most majestic of thy Sex!
It misbecomes thee much this suppliant Posture.
O there is nothing, nothing, sure, which you
Need stoop to ask! speak, and command it, Madam.

Clytemnestra.
Then let us henceforth be, as if this Love
Had never been betwixt us.

Egisthus.
Cease to love thee!
What wild Demand! Impossible!—Even now,
Endear'd by Danger, by Distress endear'd,
I for thee feel a fonder Pang, than e'er
I felt before.

Clytemnestra.
No! these deluding Words
Can charm no longer; their Enchantment flies;
And in my Breast the guilty Passions jar,
Unkind, unjoyous, unharmonious all.
Ah me! from real Happiness we stray,
By Vice bewilder'd; Vice, which always leads,
However fair at first, to Wilds of Woe.

Egisthus.
Ah! Clytemnestra! didst thou love—

Clytemnestra.
No more!
Seduce my Soul no more! Here will I stop—
Beyond this Line 'tis Misery, 'tis Madness,
The Furies flash their Torches, Vultures tear,
The mingled Tortures of the Damn'd await me.
Oh! if your Passion be not meerly selfish,
If the least Tenderness for me you feel,
Drive me no farther down the Gulph of Woe!
To Happiness I bid a last Farewell;
I ask not Happiness; no, that I leave
To Innocence and Virtue; Peace, alone,
Some poor Remains of Peace is all I ask,
Not to be greatly wretched, plung'd in Horrors!
And yet, who knows, the heavenly Spark, that sleeps
Beneath these Embers, yet may spread anew
Its chearful Lustre—All may yet be well—
For Agamemnon was so kind, so gentle,
With such a holy tender Flame he burn'd,
As might have kindled in a barbarous Breast
Humanity and Virtue.

Egisthus.
All Pretence.
I guess his Aim; I penetrate his Purpose.
On you he lavish'd Fondness, while on me
He lowr'd Destruction. Doubtless, with his Ear,
Some Villain has been busy; and he means
First to divide us, then, with greater Ease,
To ruin both.—And can you then be caught,
Caught with these common prostituted Speeches,
That oft have sicken'd on the glowing Lip
Of many a Trojan Slave? Chryseïs had them;
Briseïs too: and now Cassandra, she,
Who, liker a triumphant Queen than Captive,
Is every hour expected—

Clytemnestra.
What Cassandra?

Egisthus.
O it imports you little what Cassandra!
Thus poorly, tame you ne'er will want Cassandra's.
What is become of Clytemnestra's Spirit,
That she can thus forget her high Descent,
Forget her Rank, her Honour, nay forget
Her Injuries?

Clytemnestra.
But what Cassandra, say?

Egisthus.
Why Priam's Daughter, the prophetic Princess,
The proud, the young, the beautiful Cassandra:
So vain of Heart, she dreamt Apollo lov'd her,
And, on her plighted Faith to crown his Love,
Bestow'd the Gift of Prophecy; the Gift
In her possession, she deceiv'd the God;
Whence he, provok'd, with this Condition dash'd it,
Of never gaining Credit. So the Tale,
The Fable runs—Yet, on my Soul, I think,
Did she give out, she should be Queen of Argos,
She were indeed a Prophetess.

Clytemnestra.
'Tis well.
You mean it for an Insult this, you do.
What else could tempt you to deride me, Sir,
With such Extravagance?

Egisthus.
Mistake me not,
I mean it, Madam, for a serious Truth,
I mean it for a Certainty, if thus
You droop, unnerv'd with these dejecting Fears.

Clytemnestra.
Cassandra Queen of Argos!

Egisthus.
Yes, of Argos;
While Clytemnestra in a Prison pines;
Where she may weep, and moralize at leisure.

Clytemnestra.
By Heavens! she visits first her Father's Shade!

Egisthus.
There shone your native Self. Let bright Revenge,
I should say Justice, dissipate these Clouds,
These melancholy Whims of ill-judg'd Virtue,
And show you burning with your former Lustre.
Madam, our Fates are blended: know, we stand
Or fall together. Shame Contempt and Ruin,
Or Safety Love and Glory, is our Choice.
And need we doubt a Moment?

Clytemnestra.
But, Egisthus—

Egisthus.
I know the Purpose of thy pleading Eye.
Of that hereafter—We shall meet again—
My Presence now is wanted in the City.
Fear nothing—Thou shalt know before we act,
Thou, for whose sake alone I act and live!