University of Virginia Library

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Clytemnestra, Ægisthus.
Ægis.
Of this erewhile I warn'd thee; now, behold
The time for hope is gone, and come for fear.
Fortune, the gods, and favourable winds,
Bring, with full sail, Atrides into port.
I who, a short time since, might have withdrawn
From Argos, and have left thy fame unspotted,
Now must avoid the presence of the king;
Of his imperial and despotic will
Leave thee the victim: and myself shrink back
I know not whither, banish'd from thy sight,
And die of grief. Behold, to what I am,
By thy exaggerating hopes, reduced.

Cly.
Why should'st thou fly? Of what fault art thou guilty?
Why should'st thou fear? 'Tis I that am the culprit;
But in my heart alone; how can Atrides
Discern what passes there?

Ægis.
True love, like ours,
How can it e'er be hid? Alas! already
'Tis but too manifest: how, then, hop'st thou
The king should never know it?

Cly.
Who would dare
To tell it to the king, before he knew
Whether he should be punish'd or rewarded
For the infamous disclosure? Thou know'st not
The endless artifices of a court
Invented crimes are often there alleged;
But real ones, and those especially
Which may offend his pride, are oftentimes
Not to a king divulged. Although from fear
I am not quite exempt, yet not for this
Is hope entirely banish'd from my breast.
I only ask of thee, Ægisthus, now,
Do not deny it me, a single day.
The danger I have hitherto conceived
Distant and doubtful; hence I find myself
With an appropriate remedy unfurnish'd.
Leave me to shape expedients to the time;
I'll scrutinize the monarch's looks and gestures.—
Thou might'st, perhaps, some time remain in Argos
Unknown to any one.

Ægis.
Thyestes son,
Unknown in Argos?

Cly.
For a day at least
I hope he may; and, to mature my projects,
A day will be sufficient. On my faith
Do thou meanwhile implicitly depend.
Know thou, that, sooner than abandon thee,
I am resolved to tread in Helen's footsteps.

Ægis.
Know, that I rather would a thousand times
Perish, than e'er contaminate thy name.
Of mine I do not speak; by unjust fate
That is condemn'd to eternal infamy.
Ah, could I be assured, that I should lose
Nothing but life, if I remain'd in Argos!
Son of Thyestes, in Atrides' court
I must expect contempt and insolence.
And what would be the consequence, if he
Discover'd afterwards that I adored thee?
Inevitably then I should obtain
That death so much desired, how infamous.
Who knows? To witness me, in horrid torments,
Thou would'st then be compell'd; at the same time,
By that vain-glorious insolent, to hear
Thyself most bitterly reviled; if that
Indeed contented him. 'Tis love alone
That thus instructs me to be apprehensive;
For thee I tremble. Thou should'st quite forget me;
Thou yet hast time. I am obscure by birth;
Leave me to perish in obscurity.
Yes, to my fate, whate'er that fate may be,
Abandon me. I to myself from thee
Prescribe eternal exile. For thy spouse
Resume thy former fondness; though not love,
Yet heaven and fortune make him worthier of thee.

Cly.
Heaven, reason, fortune, all, and all in vain,
Oppose my love. Grant this day to my prayers,
Or by my frantic words I shall defeat
All thy contrivances to guard my honour.
With a deliberate recklessness I rush
To death, and e'en to infamy: I rush,
Defying all restraint, myself to pierce
In tones of agony, Atrides' ears
With our unholy flame, and by one stroke
Thee and myself to ruin. 'Tis in vain
To wish thy destiny from mine dissever'd.
Fly, and I likewise fly; die, and I perish.

Ægis.
Unfortunate Ægisthus!

Cly.
Quickly, speak,
Can'st thou deny a day to so much love?

Ægis.
And can'st thou ask it? What ought I to do?

Cly.
Swear that thou wilt not leave the walls of Argos
Before to-morrow's dawn.

Ægis.
Dost thou to this
Compel me?—with an oath I promise it.

SCENE THE SECOND.

Electra, Clytemnestra, Ægisthus.
Elec.
The day is calm; the passion of the winds
And of the roaring billows is no more;
Our hope is now matured to certainty,
And every apprehension changed to joy.
The wish'd-for port to gain th'Argive prows
Advance; and at a distance one beholds
Their sail-yards tower, dense as a moving wood.
Mother, thy spouse is safe; my father lives.
I learn, that first he leap'd upon the strand,
And, with swift step, advances towards Argos:
Already he is almost at the gates,
And yet thou standest here.

Cly.
Remember thou
Thy oath, Ægisthus.

Elec.
Will Ægisthus, too,
Go forth with us to meet the king of kings?

Cly.
'Tis an unworthy triumph thus, O daughter,
With bitter words to wound the unfortunate.

Ægis.
Perhaps to Electra's ears, Ægisthus' name
Is too offensive. With Ægisthus' heart
She is yet unacquainted.

Elec.
With that heart
Better am I acquainted than thou think'st.
Were it as well known to my blinded mother!

Cly.
By the fierce discord of thy ancestors,
O daughter, thou art blinded. Of Ægisthus,
Save that he is the offspring of Thyestes,
Thou knowest nothing. Wherefore, then, disdain
To hear how pious, humble, and discreet,
He is, how worthy of a birth less guilty?
Conscious of that disgrace, erewhile he wished
To fly from Argos, and withdraw himself
From prosperous Agamemnon's haughty presence.

Elec.
Why does he not go now? what keeps him here?

Ægis.
Be calm: I stay but for a little while.
The sight of one who never hated thee,
But whom so much thou hatest, by to-morrow
Shall be for ever from thine eyes removed.
I swore it to the queen a short time since,
And shall make good my words.

Cly.
What a hard heart
Dost thou possess! Ah see, to the fierce rancour
Which all thy accents breathe, he nought opposes
But patience and humility.

Elec.
I came not
His rare perfections to investigate.
My duty led me hither to acquaint thee
With Agamemnon's coming; and to tell thee
That all the Argives, of all ranks, all ages,
With joyful plaudits, festively, in crowds,
With emulous haste, rush forth to escort him hither.
Ere now I should have rush'd into the arms
Of my long-wished-for father; but could I,
A daughter only, thus anticipate
A mother's footsteps? Thus the first usurp
The fond embraces to a consort due?
Why dost thou now delay? Ah let us go,
'Twould be almost a crime to tarry longer.

Cly.
Electra, thou dost know, and know too well,
The infirm state of my afflicted heart.
Canst thou exult thus to transfix that heart
With these repeated blows?

Elec.
The gods can witness
How much I love thee, mother; how my breast
Bleeds with compassion for thee: love impels,
And pity likewise, to whate'er I do.
Would'st thou be found thus at Ægisthus' side
When first the king accosts thee? Thou disclosest,
By longer tarriance, what thou wouldest conceal.—
Let us depart.

Ægis.
Ah! lady, I beseech thee,
Go; and persist not in thy own destruction.

Cly.
I could not tremble as I tremble now,
If t'inevitable death I went.
Oh dreadful meeting! moment of despair!
Whence can I summon such a fund of courage,
That 'twill not at his presence all forsake me.
He is my lord; and though I have not wrong'd him,
Except in thought, I cannot, cannot see him,
Without, at the first glance, betraying all.
I cannot, and I will not, feign affection ...
Oh day! to me of woe unutterable!

Elec.
Rather to us a day of consolation!
I feel that I shall now regain my mother.
Feel'st thou remorse? no longer art thou guilty.

Ægis.
Wert thou e'er guilty? Thou hadst cause to think
Thy husband dead; and, mistress of thy actions,
Thoughtest to give to me thy bridal hand—
Who can ascribe a thought like this to guilt?
He knows it not, except thou tell him of it.
Thou art not guilty; nor, when in his presence,
Hast cause to tremble. Thou wilt soon discover,
That his invulnerable breast retains,
For thy slain daughter, no compunctious pangs,
From his example learn to be secure.

Elec.
Dar'st thou with thy mortiferous tongue assperse
The name of Agamemnon? Let us go.
Ah, mother, let this be the last advice
That thou wilt hear from him.

Cly.
Thy oath, Ægisthus:
Remember thou hast sworn.

Ægis.
One day remains.

Cly.
Oh heavens! one day? ...

Elec.
Too long for one that's impious.

SCENE THE THIRD.

Ægisthus.
Ægis.
Hate me, Electra, hate me; by Ægisthus
More fervently and fatally thou art hated:
And thou wilt learn, that my tremendous hate
In imprecations does not spend itself.
Ægisthus curses whom he hates ... by death.
At last, in all thy branches, thou art fallen
Within my power, abominable race!
With what regretful pungency I thought
The angry waves had feasted on Atrides!
Had it been so, oh how had I been robb'd
By greedy billows of a mighty vengeance!
'Tis true, that, by their death, Atrides' children,
For Atreus' execrable deadly feast
Had made atonement: thus, Thyestes, thus
I had in part thy bloody thirst appeased.
Thy vengeful and retributory oath
In part I should have ratified ... But what?
Shall this revival of their sire redeem
From death his offspring? Lo! the train here comes
Of the victorious king. Hence, hence, and yield
To the tumultuary, insensate joy
Of the giddy people; glad they know not why.
Your triumph shall be transient. I am here
A stranger to all feasts but those of blood.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

People, Agamemnon, Electra, Clytemnestra, Soldiers.
Aga.
At last I see the wish'd-for walls of Argos:
This ground which now I tread is the loved spot
Where once I wander'd with my infant feet.
All that I see around me are my friends;
My wife, my daughter, and my faithful people,
And you, ye household gods, whom I at last
Return to worship. What have I to wish?
What does there now remain for me to hope?
How long and tedious do ten years appear
Spent in a foreign country, far from all
The heart holds dear! With what profound delight,
After the labours of a bloody war,
Shall I repose? Oh home, beloved asylum,
Where peace alone awaits us, with what joy
Thee I revisit! But am I, alas!
The only one that tastes of comfort here?
My wife, my daughter, silently ye stand,
Fixing upon the ground unquietly
Your conscious eyes? Oh heaven, do ye not feel
A joy that equals mine, in being thus
Restored to my embrace?

Elec.
Ah, honour'd father!

Cly.
My lord ... to-day we have felt vicissitudes
Too rapid and too opposite .... Now driven
From hope to grief, and now from grief driven back
To unexpected joy ... Ill can the heart
Emotions bear so sudden and discordant.

Elec.
For thee till now we have trembled. Here report
Spread of thee various and tremendous tidings,
To which the turbulent and stormy winds,
Which have for many days the ocean vex'd,
Made us yield credence; to ourselves a source
Of deep anxiety. At last thou art safe;
At last from Troy a conqueror thou return'st,
So much desired, and for so many months
So much desired in vain. Father, at last
Upon this hand, upon this hand of thine,
On which, before thou didst depart from hence,
I, but a child, infantine kisses printed;
I, now a woman grown, more fervently,
More reverently, the adult kiss impress.
That warlike hand, which made all Asia tremble,
Will not disdain a simple virgin's homage.
Ah no! I feel assured, that, to the heart
Of my most tender father, to behold
Once more, to clasp his well-beloved daughter,
Matured in age, devoted to his will,
Will be a grateful spectacle, far more
Than vanquish'd kingdoms, and submissive monarchs.

Aga.
Yes, daughter, dearer to me far than fame
Are the fond ties of blood; ah! could I be
As happy as a father and a husband
As I am as a warrior and a king!
But I reproach not you; myself alone
And my hard destiny. Already heaven
Has robb'd me of one daughter: to complete
My measure of parental happiness
At my return, she only now was wanting.
But heaven forbids it, and I must divert
From the dire subject my regretful thoughts.
Electra, thou art left to me; art left
To thy unhappy and afflicted mother.
How, as a fond companion, by her side,
Her only solace in my tedious absence,
Her endless tears, her anxious restlessness,
And all her sufferings, hast thou shared with her,
Thou tenderest of daughters! How many days,
How many nights, in calling me to mind,
Have ye consumed together! Likewise, I,
Amid the frequent fierce vicissitudes
Of military enterprise; 'mid blood,
'Mid glory, and 'mid death, for ever saw
Your image present, your anxieties,
Your tears, conjectures, and inquietudes.
Oft in my helmet bonnetted I wept
In silence; but, except the father, none
Were conscious of these tears. But now the time
For grief is at an end: and Clytemnestra,
From her dejected look, and tearful eye,
Alone I do not recognize.

Cly.
I sad? ...

Elec.
Joy, when it is excessive, overcomes
As much as grief. Father, allow her time
To calm her scatter'd spirits. She would fain
Say more than I can say, and hence says less.

Aga.
Nor has she spoken to me of Orestes.

Cly.
Orestes?

Elec.
Ah! come to embrace him, father.

Aga.
Heir of my throne, my only hope, Orestes,
Support and consolation of my life;
Till in these arms a thousand times I've clasp'd thee,
I will not to these weary limbs allow
A moment's rest... My consort, let us go;
Let us make haste t'embrace him: that dear son,
Of whom, though thou speak'st not, thou art the mother;
Him, whom I left an infant at the breast,
Quitting him with reluctance... Is he grown?
What are his sports? resembleth he his father?
Hath he the seeds of future virtue in him?
Do his eyes sparkle with a noble ardour,
If he beholds a brandish'd sword, or hears
Of glorious exploits, or heroic deeds?

Cly.
I cannot any longer check my tears!

Elec.
Ah, father, come, and thou shalt see him: he
Expressly is thy image; since from hence
Thou wentest, never have I quitted him.
Age of simplicity! oft as he heard
His father named by us—“When, when,” he cried,
“Shall I behold him?” Hearing afterwards
Of Troy, and arms, and foes, in thy defence,
With childish eagerness, he would aspire,
Equipp'd with arms, to brave thy enemies.

Aga.
Ah! say no more; let us depart. Each instant
Seems death to me that I delay to see him.