University of Virginia Library

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.