University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Clytemnestra sitting in a disconsolate Posture, and her Attendant.
Attendant.
O Clytemnestra! O my royal Mistress!
Can then no Comfort sooth your Woes a while?
E'er since that flaming Signal of sackt Troy,
That Signal fix'd and promis'd by the King,
Was seen some Nights ago, nor Food has pass'd
Your loathing Lips, nor Sleep has bless'd your Eyes.
Or if, perhaps, a transient Slumber hush'd
Your Sighs a moment, and restrain'd your Tears;
Sudden, you, starting wildly, would exclaim
Of Guilt, Egisthus, Troy and Agamemnon.
Sure, 'tis too much, my Queen.

Clytemnestra.
Away! away!
Since my lost State admits of no Relief,
To that sad Comfort of the Wretched leave me,
To yield me to my Sorrows.

Attendant.
Hear me, Madam,
Once the dear Burden of these aged Arms!
My tender Care from Life's first opening Bud!
My Joy! my Glory! hear your faithful Servant,
And let me add your Friend.—In Reason's Eye,
That never judges on a partial View,
Far less than your Misfortune is your Guilt.—
Your Guilt—Forgive me, 'tis too harsh a Word,
For what deserves Compassion more than Blame.
I know the treacherous ways by which you sunk,
From pleasing Peace, to these unhappy Fears,
This anxious Tumult.—

Clytemnestra.
Hide me from the View!
All Comfort is in vain.—Away!

Attendant.

Clytemnestra
, rising.
Alas! too true! You touch the Source of Woe.
Why did you leave me, barbarous Agamemnon?
Why leave me weeping o'er a murder'd Daughter?
Why helpless leave me to a troubled Mind?
Ah! why yourself betray me to a Lover?
What Arts Egisthus us'd too well I know;
All that can softly steal, or gayly charm,
The Heart of Woman—Hence, dear sad Ideas!
Destroyers hence! And dare you tempt me still,
Perfidious Syrens! in that very moment
When your false Charms have wreckt my Peace for ever?
Oh, Nature! wherefore, Nature, are we form'd
One Contradiction? the continual Sport
Of fighting Powers? Oh! wherefore hast thou sown
Such War within us, such unequal Conflict,
Between slow Reason and impetuous Passion?
Passion resistless hurries us away,
Ere lingering Reason to our Aid can come,
And to upbraid us then it only serves.
Tormentor, cease!

Attendant.
You wrong yourself too much.
Think, Madam, how for Years you baffled Love:
Nor could Egisthus, tho' he touch'd your Heart,
Tho' many a midnight Tear, and secret Sigh,
To me, and me alone, disclos'd the Pangs,
That dim'd your fading Cheek; yet could he not,
With all his Arts, his Love, Submission, Charms,
O'ercome the struggling Purpose of your Soul;
Till Melisander, to a desart Isle,
He banish'd from your Ear.

Clytemnestra.
Ah Melisander!
Given to the Beasts a Prey, or wilder Famine;
Ah perish'd Friend! serene directing Light,
By Agamemnon left to guide my Councils;
Whom every Science every Muse adorn'd,
While the good honest Heart enrich'd them all;
Oh hadst thou still remain'd, then I, this Day,
Had been as glorious as I now am wretched!
There breathes a felt Divinity in Virtue,
In candid unassuming generous Virtue,
Whose very Silence speaks; and which inspires,
Without proud formal Lessons, a Disdain
Of mean injurious Vice. But lost with him,
With Melisander, Reason, Honour, Pride,
Truth, sound Advice, my better Genius fled;
I friendless, flatter'd, importun'd and charm'd
Was left alone with all-seducing Love;
Love to the Future blind, each sober Thought
Each Consequence despising, scorning all,
Save what it's own enchanting Dreams suggest.
What could I do?—Away! Self-flattering Guilt!
I should have thought, when Honour once is sully'd,
Not weeping Mercy's Tears can wash it clean;
And that one Blot on mine diffus'd a Stain
O'er the proud Honour of a wedded King,
And o'er my Children's, my poor blameless Children's!
Whose Cheeks will kindle at their Mother's Name!
I should have thought—Would I could think no more!
To think is Torture!

Attendant.
What avails it, Madam—

Clytemnestra.
O Melisander! If the Dead could hear,
I would invoke thy friendly Influence now,
Would wish thee present in this Hour of Trouble.
Perhaps there is in Wisdom, gentle Wisdom,
That knows our Frailties, therefore can forgive,
Some healing Comfort for a guilty Mind,
Some Power to charm it into Peace again,
And bid it smile anew with right Affections.
No! fruitless Wish!—It cannot, cannot be!
Egisthus, who may henceforth give me Laws,
Dread of Discovery, that worst Tyrant, Shame,
And my own conscious blotted Heart forbid it,
Forbid Retreat—

Attendant.
Madam, behold the Man,
Who, then upon the Watch, observ'd the Signal
Of conquer'd Troy, and now attends your Orders
To give a full Account of what he saw.

SCENE II.

Clytemnestra, her Attendant, and the Man who observed the Signal.
Clytemnestra.
Are you then sure that you beheld this Signal?
Or was it not some Vision of the Brain,
That painted, while you slept, your waking Wish?
Or else perhaps some Meteor of the Night?

Man.
Madam, Troy doubtless lies one Heap of Ruins;
I saw the Signal of it's Fate distinctly.
The Night was dark and still. A heavier Gloom
Ne'er cover'd Earth. In low'ring Clouds, the Stars
Were muffled deep; and not one Ray, below,
O'er all Mycenæ glimmer'd, or around it.
When strait, at farthest East, a ruddy Light
Sprung up, and, wide-encreasing, roll'd along;
By turns diminish'd, and by turns renew'd,
A Wave of Fire: at last, it flam'd confess'd,
From Isle to Isle, and beachy Point to Point;
Till the last Blaze at Nauplia ended, plain.
A glorious Sight! and as a Greek rejoic'd me.

Clytemnestra.
How sits the Wind?

Man.
It blows from Troy, direct;
A bold and steady Gale.

Clytemnestra.
'Tis well. Retire.
Your Care and faithful Pains shall be rewarded.

SCENE III.

Clytemnestra, her Attendant.
Clytemnestra.
He comes! he comes! the hapless Victor comes!
Even now his trophy'd Vessel streaks the Main,
And ploughs the Billows with triumphant Prow;
Or, by glad Crouds receiv'd, perhaps, he hails
His native Shore, and presses on to Shame.
Even now with Glory charg'd, with Conquest gay,
Crown'd with the Laurels of ten famous Years,
He dreams to join them to the peaceful Olive;
And, after rugged Toils and perillous War,
Soft to repose him on the Myrtle Bed
Of calm domestic Bliss. How vain the Hopes!
How short the Prospect of believing Man!
I dare not look before me, dare not paint
The rising Storm.

Attendant.
Behold Egisthus, Madam.

Clytemnestra.
Leave me.

SCENE IV.

Clytemnestra, Egisthus.
Egisthus
, after some Silence.
And is it thus, O Clytemnestra,
Thus that, in Hours of Danger, Lovers meet?
[pausing.
Still coldly silent, still the Look averted,
Where not one Softness glows? While Anger, Fear,
Disgust and sick Repentance, shifting, cloud
Your vary'd Cheek. 'Tis plain, you never lov'd.

Clytemnestra.
Oh that I never had!

Egisthus.
You never did.
The very Power to wish it proves you did not.

Clytemnestra.
He ne'er deserv'd my Love, who dares suspect it.

Egisthus.
Not to suspect it Weakness were and Folly.

Clytemnestra.
Nor only doubt; believe your Doubts.

Egisthus.
I do.

Clytemnestra.
You do!

Egisthus.
Nay more, am of their Truth assur'd.

Clytemnestra.
'Tis base, ungrateful, an ungenerous Insult,
To tell me this. Urge not too far, Egisthus,
Urge not too far my guilt-dejected Spirit.
Tho' you have trampl'd on my haughty Virtue,
That noble Pride of Soul, which knows no Fear,
And bears no Insult; yet to you, at least,
To you of all Mankind, I will be bold,
As I had never err'd, will be a Queen,
The Blood of Jove, be Clytemnestra still.

Egisthus.
Be temperate, Madam: I have told you nothing,
But that I am not worthy of your Love.

Clytemnestra.
Curse on that Pride! which, with affected Brow,
Humility conceals. And am I then so vile,
So lost to Reason, Honour, common Honour;
As without Love, that all-compelling Fury,
Without debasing, thoughtless, blind blind Love;
To bow me from the Height of happy Life,
To this low fearful State of coward Shame?
Mistake me not—I would not waste one Word,
One passing Word, affronted thus, to save you
From Jealousy's worst Rage; did not, alas!
A kind of mournful Justice to my self
Tear from my swelling Heart the mean Confession.
How art thou fallen! to what Dishonour fallen!
Unhappy Clytemnestra!

Egisthus.

Clytemnestra.
Ill-fated she!
Who must forgive.

Egisthus.

Clytemnestra.
'Tis true! 'Tis true!
Alas! methinks, in every hollow Blast,
That shakes this Palace, Agamemnon comes.
Yes, yes, Egisthus, still a Proof remains,
A matchless Proof of Love, I mean to give you.
Glad will I throw this regal Pomp aside,
And, instant, with you seek some distant Country,
Some gloomy Thracian Dale, where piny Hemus
May wrap us in impenetrable Shade:
There, there, the coarsest Life, fed by hard Toil,
Will be luxurious Ease to what I feel,
To this big Pang that labours at my Heart,
And fires my mingling Passions into Anguish.
Quick! let us fly, Egisthus, fly this Moment!
The next may seize us, bind us down to Shame,
Detested Shame!

Egisthus.
What! Clytemnestra! fly!
That is indeed the Road direct to Shame,
To Infamy for ever. He who flies,
In War or Peace, who his great Purpose yields,
He is the only Villain of this World:
But he, who labours firm and gains his Point,
Be what it will; who crowns him with Success;
He is the Son of Fortune and of Fame,
By those admir'd, those specious Villains most,
That else had bellow'd out Reproach against him.
Besides your Husband, your vain-glorious Husband,
Proud Agamemnon, who ten years has warr'd
At Troy, to scourge your Sister Helen's Rape,
Dream you that he would not pursue our Flight,
Tho' we took shelter in Cimmerian Shades,
And drag us back, the Scorn of hissing Greece,
To then deserv'd, to true unpity'd Shame.

Clytemnestra.
Excuse my weaker Heart. But how, Egisthus,
How shall I bear an injur'd Husband's Eye?
The fiercest Foe wears not a Look so dreadful,
As does the Man we wrong.

Egisthus.
Madam, your Fears
Cast a false Glare upon your troubled Reason,
That blinds it quite.—An injur'd Husband he!
He wrong'd! No, Clytemnestra never, never,
Can never wrong her Tyrant Agamemnon,
Tyrant of common Greece; can never wrong
The Man who leaves her ten regardless Years,
For the vain Honours of a foolish War;
Nay, who consum'd those Years, if Fame speaks true,
In nothing less than War: instead of War,
In shameful Squabbles with his nobler Friends,
About their Captive Females, training out,
An amorous Revel rather than a War,
Far from his Country, Family and Queen.
And can you wrong this False-one? Think of Aulis,
How basely to that Port you was betray'd,
And what dire Nuptials waited there your Daughter.
Think with what Price he bought his cruel Trophies.
Behold the first-born Blossom of your Youth,
Your Iphigenia, her mild Eyes dejected,
Her Cheek o'ercast with Fear, her Bosom bare,
An helpless, harmless uncomplaining Victim,
Stab'd by the murderous Calchas; whilst her Father,
Her unrelenting Father, to protect
The Sacrifice, stands by. Behold, she bleeds,
Pours the rich Stream she drew from that fair Bosom,
Falls like a drooping Flower untimely cut,
And all to purchase for her Sire's Impatience,
From some fell Demon that bely'd Diana,
A rising Gale. The Gale begins to blow,
The Pendants flutter; when away he goes,
Gayly he goes; and leaves a wretched Mother,
To weep her murder'd Child.—If yet one Spark
Of wonted Spirit burns in Clytemnestra,
If she still lives to Justice and to Nature,
These these are Wrongs, that call aloud for Vengeance;
And there are Hands that boldly—start not, Madam—
That will with Pride avenge you.

Clytemnestra.
Ha! what Hands?
What Vengeance, say? Touch not so wild a String;
It wakes new Discord in my jarring Soul.
To the just Gods, not us, pertaineth Vengeance.
I cannot, will not, e'er consent to—Gods!
Where roves my Tongue?—You did not mention that,
You did not mean it sure—Oh spare, Egisthus,
In pity spare my last Remains of Virtue!
Oh make me not beyond Recovery vile!
A Horror to myself!—How wretched they,
Who feel, yet cannot save, their dying Virtue!
[A Shout heard.
What means this Transport of the madning People?
Oh my presaging Heart!—Save me!—Again!
Ah! little think they how their Joy distracts me!

Egisthus.
Some move this way—Resume your Temper, Madam.

SCENE V.

To Clytemnestra an Officer belonging to the Court.
Officer.
Madam, the King is near, from Nauplia comes;
But such rejoicing Crouds around him throng,
As makes his Journey slow. Just now arriv'd,
Talthybius brings the News, and craves Admittance.

Clytemnestra.
Conduct him hither.

SCENE VI.

Clytemnestra
, alone.
Oh too faithful Signal!
Now must I take another Step in Vice.
Down, stubborn Heart! and learn Dissimulation:
Yes learn to smile, tho' Sorrow wrap thee round;
Learn to be Friends with Baseness.—See! how gay
This Herald strides along! Mistaken Man!

SCENE VII.

Clytemnestra, Talthybius, with some Grecian Soldiers that attend him.
Clytemnestra.
Welcome, Talthybius; welcome, ye brave Greeks.
How fares the King?

Talthybius.

Clytemnestra.
There, set it down.
I own, Talthybius, the soft Moisture fills
My Woman's Eyes, while on the sudden Turns
Of Fate I think, on Fortune's sad Reverses.
Oft when blind Mortals think themselves secure,
In height of Bliss, they touch the Brink of Ruin.
But sure your Voyage has been wond'rous quick,
Not three full Days:—Is all the Fleet return'd?

Talthybius.

Clytemnestra.
And why?

Talthybius.
Madam, compell'd
By sacred Pity. On the foaming Beach,
A miserable Figure beck'ning stood,
Horrid and wild, with Famine worn away.
His plaintive Voice, half by the murmuring Surge
Absorpt, just reach'd our Ears. In Greek he call'd,
And strong adjur'd us by the gentle Gods,
That make the Wretched their peculiar Care,
To bear him thence, from savage Solitude,
Into the chearful Haunts of Man again.

Clytemnestra.
What?—Of Condition look'd He?

Talthybius.
So he seem'd;
Tho' dim'd by helpless solitary Life.
The King regards him much—Forgive me, Madam;
I see the rueful Image but disturbs
Your generous Soul.

Clytemnestra.
I thank you, good Talthybius;
And from the King himself will learn the rest.
This Ring, on which a Victory is carv'd,
With curious Art, befits the News you bring:
I am your Debtor still; and, Soldiers, yours.