University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Agamemnon, Melisander.
Agamemnon.
Domestick Pleasures spread their Charms in vain—
O for the Hour of Vengeance! I, till then,
But stalk about, the Shadow of a King.
Heard you from Arcas aught?

Melisander.
Be patient, Sir.
As yet the Time permits not his Return.
Arcas is zealous ardent in your Service,
And will not fail his Duty.

Enter an Officer belonging to the Court.
Officer.
Sir, Cassandra
Is just arriv'd.

Agamemnon.
Conduct the Princess hither.
This Priam's fairest Daughter, Melisander,
Is a young Princess of engaging Beauty,
Rais'd by Distress; of noble Sense and Spirit
But, by Poetic Visions led astray,
She dreamt Apollo lov'd her, and the Gift
Of Prophecy bestow'd, to gain her Promise:
The Gift once her's, the chastly-faithless Maid
Deceiv'd the God; who therefore, in Revenge,
Since he could not recall it, made it useless,
For ever doom'd to meet with Disregard.
E'er-since the lovely Visionary raves,
With Dignity; foretels the Fate of Nations;
And, judging of the Future from the Past,
Has oft been wond'rous happy in her Guesses.
Some strange some recent Instances of This,
Confirm her in her venerable Madness.

Melisander.
Be not too rash in judging, Agamemnon;
For we, blind Mortals, but a little know
Of boundless Nature—Hark! the Princess comes:
I hear her Voice, I hear the Voice of Sorrow.

SCENE II.

Agamemnon, Melisander, Cassandra attended by Trojan Captives.
Cassandra
, entering.
O hostile Roofs! O Ilium! O my Country!

Agamemnon.
I cannot blame your Grief, unhappy Princess!
But, if it can relieve you, here be sure
Of an Asylum, safe as Priam's Palace.

Cassandra.
O sweet Abode! O Palace of my Fathers!
My Heart bleeds Transport while I think of Thee;
Think of the Days of Innocence and Joy,
That shone upon me there. How chang'd, alas!
Ah! what a Scene, when I beheld thee last!
Rage, Blood, and Flames, and Shrieks of Murder round me!
The Sword of Pyrrhus, and a feeble Father!
Where was you Hector then? Where all his Sons?
O Priam's numerous Race! what are you now
Become? Ah me! the desolating Gods
Have laid their Hands, their iron Hands, upon us.

Agamemnon.
From past Misfortunes, Princess, turn your Eye—

Cassandra.
'Tis true, the future may full well suffice.
Th'avenging Sisters trace my Footsteps still,
The Hunters still pursue the trembling Doe.
Where am I?—Gods!—Black heavy Drops of Blood
Run down the guilty Walls—With the dun Shades
Of Night ascending, lo! successive Troops
Of Trojan Ghosts are flocking to the Banquet:
Permitted by th'infernal Gods, they come,
To feast them with the Horrors of this Night,
To snuff the Blood of Victims—Ha! the Car,
The gay triumphal Car, is turn'd, at once,
Into a mournful Bier, that nods along,
Solemn and slow—Yes, Troy shall be aveng'd:
I shall the Vengeance see; and yet not see
Thy Light, returning Phœbus.

Agamemnon.
Fair Cassandra,
Indulge no more these melancholy Views,
These Visions form'd by gloomy-minded Grief.
We will each Art each tender Art employ,
To sooth your Sorrows, to restore your Peace.
You come not to the proud unfeeling Race
Of Yesterday: we know the Turns of Fortune;
Have drank the Cup, the wholesome Cup, of Sufferings,
That not inflames but moderates the Mind.
Then fear not, Princess; let me call you Daughter!
Your Treatment shall be such as well becomes
The Dignity of Woe, becomes the great
The fair Unhappy. Nought shall touch your Honour.
I know, I feel your Beauty: but here dwell
The Gods of Hospitality and Faith;
The Hymeneal Powers are honour'd here.
Yes, I will shield Thee, equal with Electra,
With my lov'd Daughter, in thy Friendship blest.

Cassandra.
In spite of swelling Tears that choak the Way,
Of bitter Tears by big Remembrance shed,
I own thy Goodness, thank Thee, Agamemnon.
Mean time, in vain, are all thy generous Cares,
On my account. The Gods of Death will, soon,
Extend o'er me their all-protecting Wing.
I shall not long, I shall not want Protection:
But, who, devoted Prince, will give it Thee?
Even while we talk the secret Wheels are turning,
That lift the Vile, and lay the Mighty low.
I pity Thee, the House of Pelops pity:
Forgive me, Troy: I pity thy Destroyers.

Enter an Officer.
Officer.
A Messenger from Arcas, Sir—

Agamemnon.
'Tis well.
To my Apartment lead him—You, mean while,
[To Melisander.
Attend the Princess; grace her with such Honours,
As suits Her to receive, and Me to give.

SCENE III.

Cassandra, Chorus of Trojan Captives, Melisander.
Melisander.
Fair Princess, stop these Tears. Exert that best
That noblest Virtue, which can master Fortune,
An equal Mind.

Cassandra.
Not for my self I weep!—
But, oh my dear Companions! How for you
My Bosom yearns!

Chorus.
We have together liv'd
Together let us die!

Cassandra.
Together liv'd!
At This ten thousand Images awake,
Ten thousand little Tendernesses throb.

Chorus.
O Days of Youth! O careless Days! Untaught
To weep, if Love not own'd the pleasing Tear.

Cassandra.
O Woods! O Fountains! O delightful Meads!
That lent us Flowers, the Prime of blooming May,
To deck our Tresses.

Chorus.
O the yellow Banks
Of fair Scamander! in whose silver Stream,
We us'd to bathe, beneath the secret Shade.

Cassandra.
O chearful Ida's airy Summits! where
The Gods delight to dwell.

Chorus.
O silent Troy!
Whose Streets have often echo'd with our Song.

Cassandra.
O the lost Labours of a ruin'd People!
O Country! Freedom! Friends! Relations! All,
That gives or taste or dignity to Life,
All all is gone, beyond recovery gone!

Chorus.
Then let us die!

Cassandra.
For me, the hunted Hart
More fervent pants not for the cooling Stream,
Than I to wrap me in the quiet Shades
Of Death. But, ah! my helpless Friends, for you
I feel it's keenest Anguish.

Chorus.
Not for us,
Feel not for us. What Comfort have we left?
What Hope, what Wish in Life?—One healing Pang,
And then we weep no more.

Cassandra.
Refreshing Thought!
And then from Bondage, Pain, from every Ill,
For ever free, we meet our Friends again;
Our Parents, Brothers, Sisters, Lovers meet.

Chorus.
Then let us die! and sudden be the Blow!

Cassandra.
The Gods assent.—Behold the happy Shore!
But, ah! there lies a stormy Sea betwixt!

Melisander.
So sings the plaining Nightingale her Woes.

Cassandra.
Ah, far unlike the Nightingale!—She sings,
Unceasing, thro' the balmy Nights of May;
She sings from Love and Joy, while we, alas!—

Melisandra.
Behold the Queen—Deep-wrap'd in Thought she seems.—

Cassandra.
O direful Musings!—Lead us from her Presence.

SCENE IV.

Chytemnestra.
Sweet Peace of Mind! whence Pleasure borrows Taste,
Daughter of Virtue! whither art thou fled?
To what calm Cottage, to what blameless Shade,
Far from these guilty Walls? O Walls! O Race!
To Horrors doom'd!—Before me gathers fast
A deepning Gloom, with unknown Terrors big.—
Not quite unknown.—Gods! what a dreadful Hint
Flash'd from Egisthus, when I saw him last!
And to what desperate Actions cannot Safety,
Ambition, Love and Vengeance drive the Soul!—
Distraction lies that way—yet, how escape?
Shame urges on behind, unpitying Shame,
That worst of Furies, whose fell Aspect frights
Each tender Feeling from the human Breast.
Goodness it self even turns in me to Gall,
And serves alone to heighten my Despair.
How kind was Agamemnon! generous! fond!
How more than usual mild! As if, on purpose,
To give these Tortures their severest Sting.
Happy! compar'd to this tormented State,
Where Honour only lives, with inward Lash,
To punish Guilt, happy the harden'd Wretch,
Who feels no Conscience, and who fears no Crime!—
Oh Horrid! Horrid! Oh flagitious Thought!
How is it with the Mind that can endure
A Thought so dire!—My sole remaining Hope
Is Death, kind Death, that amiable Sleep,
Which wakes no more,—at least to mortal Care.—
But then the dark Hereafter that may come.—
There is no Anchor that against this Storm,
This mighty Sea of Doubts and Fears, can hold.
Hopeless, I drive.—One Thought destroys another.—
This Stranger too!—Should it be Melisander—
Is there a Fear, however idle, wild,
And even almost impossible, which Guilt,
The feeble-hearted Guilt not entertains?—
I order'd his Attendance.—See, he comes.

SCENE V.

Clytemnestra, Melisander.
Clytemnestra.
Are you not Stranger, he, whom Agamemnon,
By an amazing Chance, in his Return,
Sav'd from a desart Isle?

Melisander.
Madam, the same.

Clytemnestra.
I much admire your fortunate Deliverance,
And wish to hear your Story: Why there left,
And how sustain'd. Indulge me with it, Stranger.

Melisander.
Madam, I come this moment from the King,
Charg'd with a Matter which requires Dispatch:
But that transacted once, without Delay,
I will attend your Orders.

Clytemnestra.
Then, it seems,
You are not quite a Stranger in Mycenæ.
What is your Country?

Melisander.
Greece.

Clytemnestra.
What Part of Greece?

Melisander.
I am of Athens born.

Clytemnestra.
But in Mycenæ,
Have you not in Mycenæ been before?

Melisander.
There are not, Madam, many Parts of Greece
To me unknown.

Clytemnestra.
Why thus avoid my Question?—
Have you been here before?

Melisander.
Madam, I have.

Clytemnestra.
Here in this Palace?—Ha! why stand you silent?
You keep your Eyes unmov'd upon the Ground.
What should this mean? Beneath that rough Disguise
There lurks, methinks, a Form, which somewhere I
Have seen.

Melisander.
The Dream of Fancy, that the more
It is indulg'd, perplexes still the more.
I tarry here too long; the King's Commands
Admit of no Delay.

Clytemnestra.
'Tis so! 'tis so!
Air, Features, Manner, Voice, this study'd Haste,
The Shifts of one unpractis'd in Deceit,
All all conspire—One Image wakes another,
And thick they flash upon me!

Melisander.
You grow pale,
You tremble, Madam; that Mistake, I find,
Concerning me turns wilder and disturbs you.
Let me retire—

Clytemnestra.
A Moment—stay—

Melisander.
In vain,
I find it is in vain to wrap me longer
In these Evasions.

Clytemnestra.
Melisander!

Melisander.
Madam—

Clytemnestra.
And can it be? Behold I then the Man,
Whom I so long have number'd with the Dead?
Almighty Gods! Behold I Melisander?
But, ah! how chang'd! how darken'd with Suspicion!
Yes I am deem'd the Author of his Woes.

Melisander.
Madam, forgive—

Clytemnestra.
Why else from me conceal
Your wish'd Return—I plainly am distrusted—
By Agamemnon too—It was unkind,
Unjust, unfriendly, shocks me, Melisander.

Melisander.
Indeed you wrong me, Madam, wrong me much;
To judge me apt or to conceive or spread
Distrust. I would have perish'd by my self,
Unknown, unwept, in helpless Solitude,
Rather than here return, to this full World,
To set my Mistress and her Lord at variance.
O think me not a busy Peace-Destroyer!
Accursed is the Wretch, to social Life
The most inhuman Foe, who in the nice
The tender Scenes of Life, dares rashly meddle,
And sow Division between Friends and Lovers.

Clytemnestra.
The generous Heart is ever slow to blame.
But, Melisander, not to me were owing,
Not in the least to me, those cruel Woes,
This worse than Death, which you so long have suffer'd.
Instead of That, your Fate, how, whither gone,
If carry'd off, or secretly destroy'd,
Was all a mournful Mystery to me,
Dark as the Night on which you disappear'd.
Did you but know, here in my secret Soul,
What undissembled Pangs your Absence rouz'd;
What I have felt for you, and for my self,
In losing such a wise and faithful Friend;
Knew you but these, O knew you, Melisander,
How your Disaster has been truely mine,
You never could suspect me.

Melisander.
Witness Heav'n!
I never did—Your Heart I know disdains
A Thought that looks like Cruelty or Fraud.
From the first moment that his Ruffians seiz'd me,
I had no doubt, I knew it was Egisthus.
Some time before I mark'd the rising Storm,
And meant to warn you, as it sudden burst,
And bore me far away, far from all Means,
Even from all Hope of lending you assistance.
Ay! there I suffer'd most. My Fears for you,
At once by Guile and Violence beset,
Took off the Point of my own proper Woes.
But when your awful Virtues struck my Thought,
Your Wisdom, Spirit, Resolution, Truth;
That dread Effulgence of the spotless Soul,
Which smites the hardest Villain into Shame;
My Fears appear'd impertinent and vain.
Yet doubtless, Madam, you have had occasion
For a firm ruling Hand and watchful Eye,
For every Virtue; and I truly joy,
That Agamemnon finds, at his Return,
Egisthus by your Conduct thus restrain'd.

Clytemnestra.
By Heavens! he tries me.—O suspicious Guilt!
[Aside.
Your Words are friendly, but your Deeds are doubtful.
No, Melisander, Friendship with Distrust
Can never dwell. And that I am distrusted
To me is certain—In a Matter too,
That much concern'd my Peace, concern'd my Honour.
For did you even ascribe your Woes to me,
You could not manage with more distant Caution.

Melisander.
Whence is it that the noble Clytemnestra,
Who us'd to shine in a superior Sphere
Of fair Serenity and candid Peace,
Should to these Doubts descend, these dark Suspicions?
For me, I here attest the Gods, my Soul
Ne'er knew a Thought, that swell'd not with Esteem,
With Love, and Veneration of your Virtues.
And for the King, no young enraptur'd Lover,
In all the first Effusions of his Soul,
New to the mighty Charm; no Friend, who meets,
After long Years of dark and silent Absence,
His happy Friend again, feels livelier Joy,
Than Agamemnon feels, while his glad Tongue
Runs out in endless Praise of Clytemnestra—
But I must wait his Orders.—

Clytemnestra.
Do your Duty.
I too must go, must to Egisthus, strait,
[Aside.
Impart this dreadful News.

SCENE VI.

Melisander
, alone.