University of Virginia Library

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Agamemnon, Electra.
Aga.
Am I return'd to my own family?
Or have I only changed my enemies
By change of place? Electra, do thou calm
Thy father's horrid doubts. Within my palace
I find a new reception; to my consort
I am become a stranger; yet, methinks,
She might ere now composure have regain'd.
Each word of her's, each gesture, and each look,
Art, alienation, diffidence, constraint,
Successively announce. Am I become
To her so terrible, that, in her heart,
No genial feelings I can now excite,
Nothing but terror? Where are they all gone,
Those chaste yet warm embraces? whither flown
Those soft and artless accents? those dear proofs
By thousands, and by thousands, of a love
Indubitable, which, with such a pang
I left—where are they? which, with such a hope
So fond, so flatt'ring, and so dearly cherish'd,
I wish'd to see again; ah! tell me why,
Instead of finding them in more abundance,
They are all fled, no traces of them left?

Elec.
My king, my father, thou dost in thyself
Unite such attributes, that thou excitest
Reverence no less than love. Thy wife hath lived
A prey to sorrow for ten tedious years:
It is not possible, in one brief day,
To shake off grief confirm'd to habitude.
Her silence ...

Aga.
How much less was I at first
Confounded by that silence, than I now
Am by her studied artificial phrases.
How seldom is a genuine tenderness
Wrapt in the pomp of words! There is a silence,
The child of love, more eloquent than speech,
Conveying meanings language cannot utter:
And there are gestures fraught with thought, and feeling,
The heart's involuntary messengers:
But neither are her silence or her speech
Suggested by affection: that is certain.
What boots the glory now with which I'm laden?
The laurels, 'mid such dire vicissitudes,
With so much bloodshed gain'd; if I have lost
In gaining them—a blessing far more precious—
My peace of mind.

Elec.
Ah banish such a thought!
As far as it depends on me, as far
As on my mother it depends, shalt thou
Enjoy among us perfect peace.

Aga.
Yet whence
Is she become so different to herself?
Ah tell me whence? erewhile, when in my arms
She placed Orestes, didst thou then observe?
While I was fill'd with transport, and ne'er thought
That I enough had kiss'd him, or embraced him,
Didst thou perchance behold her sympathize
In my paternal joy? who would have thought
The child was her's as much as it was mine?
Our common hope, Orestes, the last pledge
Of our affection; or I am much mistaken,
Or these were not the unconcealable
Spontaneous symptoms of a gladden'd heart,
Nor the affections of a tender mother,
Nor the endearments of a loving consort.

Elec.
Somewhat 'tis true she's changed from what she was.
The sunshine of pure joy has ne'er return'd
Since that tremendous day, when thou wert forced,
As a condition of the general safety,
To immolate thy daughter. Such a wound,
If in a mother's heart 'tis ever heal'd,
Is heal'd with difficulty; from her mind
Ten years have not yet banish'd the remembrance
Of the inevitable stratagem,
At the same time compassionate and cruel,
By which her daughter from her breast was torn.

Aga.
Unhappy me! Does not my recollection
Of that event suffice to punish me?
Was I, than she, on that tremendous day
Less wretched? Was not I as much a father
As she a mother? But could I alone
Deny her to the exasperated cries,
The rabid turbulence, the menaces
Of multitudinous and madden'd warriors;
Who, from a cruel oracle, received
Potent incentives to their fiery rage?
What could I do alone 'mid such a crowd
Of haughty kings, thirsting for fame and vengeance,
All equally impatient of restraint?
Those barbarous kings all heard a father's groans,
Yet with that father not one shed a tear:
For when the angry gods in thunders speak,
Nature is silent, innocence in vain
Lifts up her voice: the gods alone are heard.

Elec.
Ah trouble not with bitter recollections
This joyful day, the day of thy return!
If I spoke of it, 'twas but to diminish
The just amazement which arises in thee
At the constrain'd deportment of my mother.
Add to her former grief, that her sad mind,
Thrown back upon itself, in solitude
Has prey'd upon its powers: she has not had,
Except her children, any one to whom
She might impart, and thus assuage her grief.
One was too young, and I perhaps, though willing,
Was ill adapted for a comforter.
Thou knowst, that bitterness of soul, when smother'd
Inwardly festers, and augments itself.
Thou know'st, that, to drag on in loneliness
A heavy heart, is death, not to joy only,
But e'en the power of joy, is life and being
To every phantasy of sickly minds.
Th'expecting thee so long, and every day
Trembling for thy security, thou see'st it,
How can she ever be what once she was?
Pardon, I pray thee, the infirmities
Of an enfeebled mind; all brooding thoughts
Drive from thee. Quickly, at thy cheering presence
The spectres of despondency will vanish.
Believe it, father, ere long thou wilt see
Her tenderness, her faith, her love, return.

Aga.
At least it cheers me to indulge the hope.
How would it sooth me, if, without restraint,
She would unfold to me her inmost thoughts?
But, meanwhile, tell me, to what purpose comes,
Where I am king, the offspring of Thyestes?
What does he do here? What does he expect?
I only have learn'd here that he's in Argos.
It seems to me, as if, in naming him,
All felt embarrassment.

Elec.
Of Atreus thou,
He of Thyestes is the offspring; hence
Springs this embarrassment? Ægisthus exiled,
Here came for an asylum; he has foes
E'en in his very brethren.

Aga.
In that race
Fraternal hatred is hereditary;
Perchance the imprecations of my sire,
The anger of the gods, occasion this.
But that he should, near to the son of Atreus
Seek an asylum, not a little strange
To me appears. Already I've commanded
That he forthwith should come into my presence;
I wish to see him, from himself to learn
His present fortunes and his future projects.

Elec.
Father, there is no doubt that he's unhappy;
But thou who dost discriminate at once
The various characters of men, wilt learn
Whether or not he merits to be so.

Aga.
Behold, he comes. Who knows if he conceals
A base or noble heart, beneath a form
Of more than ordinary gracefulness.

SCENE THE SECOND.

Agamemnon, Electra, Ægisthus.
Ægis.
Can I, devoid of fear, present myself
Before the glorious conqueror of Troy,
The sublime king of kings? I contemplate
The majesty, the splendour of a god
On thy august and all-commanding brow ...
August, but at the same time merciful:
And from their thrones the gods oft bend their looks
On the unhappy. Such Ægisthus is.
Ægisthus, hitherto the sport of fortune,
Has common ancestors with thee: one blood
Runs in our veins, from whence I dare to seek,
Within these walls, if not relief, a shelter,
Which might avail, from my oppressive foes,
Who also are my brethren, to protect me.

Aga.
Thou mak'st me shudder, when thou thus recall'st
That we from one blood spring; 'twere surely better
For all of us to turn our thoughts from thence.
Thyestes' sons, by a decree of birth,
Are interchangeably condemn'd to hate;
But not condemn'd to chuse for an asylum
The court of Atreus. Hitherto, Ægisthus,
Thou wert, and still thou art, to me unknown;
I neither hate nor love thee; yet, though willing
To lay aside hereditary discord,
I cannot, without feeling in my breast,
I know not what, of strange and perplex'd feeling,
Behold the countenance, nor hear the voice,
Of one that is the offspring of Thyestes.

Ægis.
That the magnanimous Atrides cannot,
E'en knows not how, to hate without disclosure,
This I well knew: a heart sublime like thine
Is inaccessible to base designs.
The valour thou, and not the enmities
Of thy forefathers, hast inherited.
Thou knowest how to punish, ... or to pardon,
Who dares offend thee; but who, like myself,
Is wretched, and, to thee unknown, might claim
Thy pity, though he were a son of Troy.
Thee Greece selected, not by accident,
The leader of its lofty enterprise;
But deem'd thee monarch of all kings that were,
In courtesy, in valour, justice, faith.
Such I repute thee also, nor e'er deem'd
Myself more safe, than when beneath the shade
Of thy renown; nor did I recollect
That I was born the offspring of Thyestes,
But that I was the victim of misfortune.
It seem'd to me, that, in adversity,
My blood's defilement had been thoroughly cleansed:
And if thou shudderedst at Ægisthus name,
I hoped that afterwards thou wouldest feel,
Within thy royal and generous breast,
Profound compassion for me, at the names
Of exile, wretched, mendicant, oppress'd.

Aga.
And if I felt compassion, wouldest thou
From me endure it?

Ægis.
Who am I, to dare
Despise a gift of thine?

Aga.
Thou? Thou art sprung
From the most deadly enemy of my father:
Thou hatest me, and, more, art bound to hate me.
Nor can I blame thee for it; our forefathers
Eternally have separated us;
Not us alone; our sons, and our sons' sons,
To all posterity. Thou knowest well,
The impious Thyestes did defile,
Ravish'd the spouse of Atreus. My father,
When he had slain them, at a horrid banquet,
Gorged the adulterer with his children's flesh.
Why should I utter more? Legends of blood,
Ah, why recal thy dire vicissitudes?
The bare recital stiffens me with horror.
I see in thee Thyestes and his furies.
Canst thou with other eyes contemplate me?
Do not I represent to thee the image
Of sanguinary Atreus? 'Mid these walls,
Which thou dost see stain'd with thy brothers' blood,
Oh, canst thou linger, nor in every vein
Throb with the recollection of the past?

Ægis.
Horrid, 'tis true, was the revenge of Atreus,
But it was just: Those children that Thyestes
Saw at the execrable banquet placed
Were fruit of incest. He their father was.
Yes; but clandestinely the faithless spouse
Of the unavenged and too much injured Atreus
Bore them to him. The outrage was enormous,
But greater was the punishment. Brethren they were,
'Tis true, but, to forget this sacred tie
Thyestes was the first, Atreus the second.
It seems as if the anger of the heavens
'Gainst me had not yet ceased: thy race, less guilty,
Is crown'd with every blessing. Other brethren
Thyestes gave to me; and, not as I,
Are these from incest sprung; the wives of these
I never ravish'd from them; yet towards me,
Far more than Atreus was, are they incensed.
They have entirely driven me from the throne:
And, more, to injure me, from me have taken
My portion of hereditary wealth;
Nor that suffices: cruelly they seek,
Having depriv'd me of my heritage,
To take my life. Thou see'st, if, without cause,
I seek for an asylum.

Aga.
Thou hast cause
To seek one, but thy choice is ill directed.

Ægis.
Where'er I drag my feet, the infamy
Of my paternal name and of my birth
With me I drag; but where should I less blush,
When I give utterance to Thyestes' name,
Than in the presence of the son of Atreus?
Thou, wert thou less elated by success;
Thou, wert thou friendless as Ægisthus is,
The weight thou then would'st feel, feel all the horror
Which is annex'd no less to a descent
From Atreus than Thyestes. Do thou then
Participate in my calamities.
Atrides, act thou towards me, as thou would'st
That others should towards thee, wert thou Ægisthus.

Aga.
Ægisthus I? .. Know, whatso'er had been,
However adverse, desperate my fortune,
I never would have turn'd my feet, no, never,
To seek Thyestes' throne. I hear a voice,
And such a voice proclaiming in my heart,
That I should not place confidence in thee,
That 'tis to pity closed. Yet, since thou wilt
Solicit my compassion, which I am not
Accustomed to refuse, I will endeavour,
(Far as my name and power have influence
In Greece,) in thy hereditary rights
To re-instate thee. Meanwhile, go thou far
From Argos. Near to thee I should drag on
Days of anxiety, and restless nights.
The son of Atreus and Thyestes' son
One city cannot hold. Perhaps e'en within
The boundaries of Greece, we still should be
Too near each other.

Ægis.
Dost thou drive me hence?
What crime dost thou impute to me?

Aga.
Thy father.

Ægis.
Does that suffice?

Aga.
It is too much. Go hence;
Nor let to-morrow's dawn find thee in Argos.
The help solicited thou shalt obtain,
Provided that I hear thou hast obey'd me.

SCENE THE THIRD.

Agamemnon, Electra.
Aga.
Electra, would'st thou think it? in his presence
I felt throughout my soul a shrinking back
I never felt before.

Elec.
Thou hast done well
Thus to dismiss him: never do I see him
Without a strange antipathy.

Aga.
Our sires,
In characters of blood, in us have graven
An interchangeable and lasting hate.
Reason, perhaps, may teach me to suppress,
What neither time nor reason can destroy.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Clytemnestra, Agamemnon, Electra.
Cly.
Ah, why with fresh delays protract the hopes
Of thy expecting people? Even now,
Upon the sacred altars, incense smokes.
Along the paths, engarlanded with flowers,
That to the temple lead, innumerous crowds,
Like waves, succeed each other, who, to heaven,
With loud acclaim, shout Agamemnon's praise.

Aga.
I should, ere now, not only have indulged
The wishes of my people, but my own,
Had not Ægisthus, in a conference,
Detain'd me here, perhaps longer than I wished.

Cly.
Ægisthus?

Aga.
Yes, Ægisthus. Tell me now,
Why heard I not from thee he was in Argos?

Cly.
My lord ... I deem'd not he would find a place
'Mid thy so many other cares.

Aga.
Ægisthus
Is on his own account to me indifferent.
But he, thou knowest, from a blood descends
Fatal to mine. I do not now suspect
That he came here to injure me, (and could he?)
But yet it seems to me that his appearance
Is ill adapted to the festal homage
That waits on my return. I have commanded,
That ere to-morrow's dawn he goes from hence.
Meanwhile, let joy unmingled revel here.
Oh, consort, to the temple now I go,
Thus to propitiate the heavenly powers.
Ah! let the genial smile return to illume
Thy countenance. Those smiles were once to me
Pledges of peace, and of beatitude;—
This heart can never rest till they return.

SCENE THE FIFTH.

Electra, Clytemnestra.
Elec.
Oh better consort of the best of kings!

Cly.
Alas! I am betray'd: thou hast betray'd me.
Electra, didst thou thus observe thy promise?
Thou to the king revealedst that Ægisthus—
Or whence ...

Elec.
I never named him to the king;
Elsewhere he learn'd it. All are emulous
To gain his favour in a thousand ways.
All wish to make themselves important to him.
Rather should'st thou feel wonder, that he did not
Know this before.

Cly.
But what imputes he to him?
Of what does he suspect him? Didst thou hear
Their conference? Why does he drive him hence?
And he, what did he answer? Did Atrides
Of me make mention to him?

Elec.
Be composed,
Oh mother; in the bosom of Atrides
Suspicion hath not enter'd. He ne'er dreams
Thou could'st betray him; and from hence art thou
Bound never to betray him. To Ægisthus
His words were not those of an enemy.

Cly.
But yet he's banish'd instantly from Argos.

Elec.
Oh, happy queen! thus from the brink thou art snatch'd
Of a tremendous precipice at once,
Ere thou advancest farther.

Cly.
He will go!

Elec.
By his departure will thy secret be
Effectually conceal'd; thou yet enjoyest
Th'entire affection of Atrides' heart.
More than aught else he wishes for thy love:
Impious detractors have not yet infected
His bosom with their poison; all is yet
Untouch'd. But woe, if those base miscreants,
And wicked as they are base, but, for a moment,
Discover in your confidence a flaw!
They then will emulously tell him all ...
Ah, mother! ... let compassion for thyself,
For us, and even for Ægisthus, move thee!
Banish'd from Argos, he will be secure
From the king's vengeance.

Cly.
If I lose Ægisthus,
What have I then to shrink from?

Elec.
Infamy.

Cly.
Leave me, Electra, to my terrible fate.

Elec.
Ah no! What hop'st thou? what would'st thou attempt?

Cly.
Thou innocent daughter of a guilty mother,
Leave me. Thou never more shalt hear me name
Ægisthus. Thee I'll not contaminate;
My poor, unhappy daughter, should not share
In my flagitious sighs.

Elec.
Ah, mother!

Cly.
Go.
Leave me to my own thoughts, and to the flame
That now devours me.—I insist upon it.

SCENE THE SIXTH.

Electra.
Elec.
Unhappy me! ... unhappy mother! ... Ah
What a dire tempest gathers o'er our heads:
If ye, celestial powers, do not disperse it,
What will become of our devoted house?