University of Virginia Library

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Ægisthus, Clytemnestra.
Ægis.
Oh, queen, this is our last, our last farewell!
Alas! from whence I fain would have withdrawn,
I see myself proscribed. Yet do I not
Regret, remaining thus, to have obey'd thee.
At thy command, and for thy dear love's sake,
T'have suffer'd such an outrage, pleases me,
If thou accept the homage. But my heart
Feels a far different and severer grief,
In thus forsaking thee, and never more
To have the hope of seeing thee; no, never.

Cly.
I feel, Ægisthus, that I well deserve
The most severe rebukes; yet from thy lips
Since no rebuke I hear, thy wretchedness,
The horrors of thy unjust destiny,
Too keenly rend my self-accusing heart.
On my account thou suffer'st such disgrace;
And I am ready, for thy sake, t'endure
Outrages, anguish, death, and, if need be,
E'en infamy itself... Now is the time
For action. Shall I ever leave thee? Ah,
Think, while I breathe, that this can never be.

Ægis.
Perhaps, then, thou art determined with thyself
To ruin me. What else canst thou perform?
Ah, cease! it is in vain to contradict
The absolute will of monarch absolute.
Thou know'st his arguments consist in arms;
Nor hears he other arguments from others.

Cly.
We may, if not oppose, at least delude him:
Grateful the attempt would be. He has decreed
To-morrow's dawn for thy departure hence;
And that to-morrow's dawn shall witness me
Companion of thy flight.

Ægis.
Oh, heaven! what say'st thou?
Thou mak'st me tremble. Dear as is thy love,
So much, and more, thy fame to me is dear.
Ah no! I ought not, nor will I permit it.
A day would come, though late, would come at last;
A fatal day, when I should be constrain'd
To hear thee call—e'en to hear thee pronounce—
Ægisthus author of thy infamy.
Banishment, death, (towards which, from thee scarce severed,
I rush with hasty steps,) would be to me
Less hard, than, wretched me! ever to hear
Such dire recrimination from thy lips.

Cly.
Thou only art the author of my life:
And shall I ever be compell'd to name thee
The author of my infamy? e'en thou,
Who in my bosom dost a dagger plunge,
If thou possess the heart t'abandon me ...

Ægis.
Rather should I most wantonly immerge
That dagger in thy breast, if I constrain'd thee
To share my fate. Alas! were it accomplish'd,
This meditated flight, who could secure us
From the avenging anger of Atrides?
What refuge is there from his powerful arm?
What shelter? Was not Helen fugitive?
Into his realm a powerful monarch's son
Conducted her; but what did it avail
That the seducer had both arms and courage,
Ramparts and battlements? By dint of force,
Within his very palace, and beneath
The eyes of his own father, at the foot
Of sacred altars, 'mid the cries, the tears,
The bloodshed, and the menace of his subjects,
Was not his mistress wrested from his arms,
And with her both his kingdom and his life?
I, destitute of all alliances,
A wanderer, and an exile, what can I
Perform? Thou see'st it clearly, thy design
Is in itself abortive. Thou alone
Would'st have defied the infamy in vain
Of ignominious flight: and I, possess'd
And destitute of thee at once, should gain
The eternal blot, the merited disgrace
Of a seducer. In this ill-judged flight,
If thou persist, this is the destiny
That stares us in the face.

Cly.
Thou clearly see'st
The obstacles, and nothing else: true love
Ne'er condescended to be so discreet.

Ægis.
Never, oh never, did true lover drag
To certain ruin the beloved object.
Suffer that I alone in peril be;
And thou wilt learn whether I condescend
To know, much less to care for obstacles.
I see most clearly, that at less than nothing
Thou valuest thy life: I see most clearly
Thy love is dearer to thee far than fame.
Yes, more, far more, than I deserve, thou lovest.
Ah! could I heal again thy wounded heart,
Heaven knows that at the risk of all I prize,
I fain would heal it! ... all ... all ... would I do ...
But cease to love thee: that I cannot do:
I can die easily; and now I wish it.
But if I am constrain'd, at a great risk,
To see thy fame and life exposed for me,
Oh, lady, chuse more certain means than flight.

Cly.
More certain means? what other means are left?

Ægis.
To be a banish'd man ... to fly ... t'expire; ...
These are the only means that I have left.
Thou, far from me, deprived of every hope
Of seeing me again, wilt, from thy heart,
Have quickly driven my image; great Atrides
Will wake a far superior passion there.
Thou, in his presence, many happy days
Wilt yet enjoy. These auspices may heaven
Confirm. Now can I not to thee evince
A surer proof of love than by my flight.
Terrible, hard, irrevocable proof.

Cly.
If there be need of death, I'm fix'd to die.
But is there nothing left to try ere this?

Ægis.
Another step, perhaps, e'en now remains ...
But unbecoming ...

Cly.
And it is?

Ægis.
Too cruel.

Cly.
But certain?

Ægis.
Certain, ah too much so!

Cly.
How
Canst thou then hide it from me?

Ægis.
How canst thou
Of me demand it?

Cly.
What then may it be? ...
I know not ... speak: I am too far advanced ...
I cannot now retract: perchance already
I am suspected by Atrides: perhaps
He has the right already to contemn me:
Hence do I feel constrain'd, e'en now, t'abhor him:
I cannot longer in his presence live:
I neither will nor dare. Do thou, Ægisthus,
Teach me, and be it whatsoe'er it may,
A means, by which I may withdraw myself
From him for ever.

Ægis.
Thou withdraw thyself
From him? I have already said to thee
That now 'tis utterly impossible.

Cly.
What other step remains for me to take?

Ægis.
None.

Cly.
Now, I understand thee. What a flash
Oh what a deadly, instantaneous flash
Of criminal conviction, rushes through
My obtuse mind? What throbbing turbulence
In every vein I feel!—I understand thee:—
The cruel remedy ... the only remedy ...
Is Agamemnon's life-blood.

Ægis.
I am silent.

Cly.
Yet silently thou askest for that blood.

Ægis.
Nay, rather I forbid it. To our love,
And to thy life, (of mine I do not speak,)
His living is the only obstacle;
But yet thou knowest that his life is sacred:
To love, respect, defend it, thou art bound,
And I to tremble at it. Let us cease.
The hour advances now; my long discourse
Might give occasion to suspicious thoughts.—
At length receive Ægisthus' last farewell.

Cly.
Ah! hear me ... Agamemnon to our love ...
And to thy life? .. ah, yes, there are, besides him,
No other obstacles: too certainly
His life is death to us.

Ægis.
Ah! do not heed
My words: they sprang from too much love.

Cly.
And love
Reveal'd to me their meaning.

Ægis.
Hast thou not
Thy mind o'erwhelm'd with horror?

Cly.
Horror? ... yes ...
But to part from thee! ...

Ægis.
Would'st thou have the courage?

Cly.
So vast my love it puts an end to fear.

Ægis.
But the king lives surrounded by his friends
What sword could find a passage to his heart?

Cly.
What sword? ...

Ægis.
Here open violence were vain.

Cly.
Yet ... treachery ...

Ægis.
'Tis true, he merits not
To be betrayed ... Atrides ... he who loves
His wife so well ... he who, enchained from Troy,
In semblance of a slave in fetters, brought
Cassandra, whom he loves, to whom he is
Himself a slave.

Cly.
What do I hear?

Ægis.
Meanwhile
Expect, that when of thee his love is wearied,
He will divide with her his throne and bed:
Expect that, to thy many other wrongs,
Shame will be added; and do thou alone
Not be exasperated at a deed
That rouses every Argive.

Cly.
What said'st thou? ...
Cassandra doom'd to be my rival? ...

Ægis.
So
Atrides wills.

Cly.
Then let Atrides perish.

Ægis.
How? by what hand?

Cly.
By mine, this very night,
Within that bed which he expects to share
With this abhorred slave.

Ægis.
Oh, heavens! but think ...

Cly.
I am resolved ...

Ægis.
Should'st thou repent? ...

Cly.
I do
That I have so long delayed.

Ægis.
And yet ...

Cly.
I do it;
I, e'en if thou wilt not. Shall I let thee,
Who only dost deserve my love, be dragg'd
To cruel death? And shall I let him live
Who cares not for my love? I swear to thee,
To-morrow, thou shalt be the king in Argos.
Nor shall my hand, nor shall my bosom tremble—
But who approaches?

Ægis.
'Tis Electra ...

Cly.
Ah!
Let us avoid her. Do thou trust in me.

SCENE THE SECOND.

Electra.
Elec.
Ægisthus flies from me, and he does well:
But I behold that likewise from my sight
My mother seeks t'escape! Infatuate
And wretched mother! She could not resist
The blameable desire for the last time
To see Ægisthus. They have here, at length,
Conferr'd together... But Ægisthus seems
Too much elated, and too confident,
For one condemn'd to exile. She appear'd
Like one disturb'd in thought, but more possest
With anger and resentment, than with grief.
Oh heavens! who knows, to what that miscreant,
With his infernal arts, may have impell'd her!
To what extremities have wrought her up! ..
Now, now, indeed, I tremble! .. What misdeeds,
How black in kind, how manifold in number,
Do I behold! .. Yet, if I speak, I kill
My mother: .. If I am silent? ...

SCENE THE THIRD.

Electra, Agamemnon.
Elec.
Oh, my father,
Tell me, hast thou seen Clytemnestra?

Aga.
I
Thought she already was in these apartments.
But she will soon be here.

Elec.
I wish she may.

Aga.
'Tis certain I expect her here: she knows
That here I would awhile converse with her.

Elec.
Father, Ægisthus lingers yet in Argos.

Aga.
One entire day, thou know'st, I have allow'd him:
'Tis almost spent: to-morrow he will go
Far from our sight for ever. But, what thought,
Oh daughter, thus disturbs thee? Restless looks
Thou castest round thee, and a mortal paleness
Steals o'er thy face! Whence this inquietude?
A thousand times upon thy faultering tongue
I have heard Ægisthus' name, and then thou pausest.

Elec.
I know not why; yet do I wish him gone...
Believe me, that a night is a long space
For one that perhaps watches both place and time
For mischief; in the darkness of the night,
Guilt from its lurking place creeps forth, that shunn'd
The eye of day. My father, I conjure thee,
Ere the sun rises, banish him from Argos.

Aga.
What dost thou say, Electra? Is he then
Hostile to me? Hast thou discovered this?
Dost thou suspect him of projecting plots?

Elec.
No plots have I discover'd .. yet .. I think not.
But he's Thyestes' son... Upon my heart
There weighs an unknown, and a fatal presage.
Perchance my terrors are extravagant,
Yet they are not without a cause. Oh father,
Thou art call'd upon, believe me, not to scorn them,
Although I cannot, and perhaps know not how
To give them utterance. Meanwhile I retire
To guard the dear Orestes. Once more, father,
I do assure thee, that, to speed his absence,
Is to accelerate thy peace, and ours.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Agamemnon.
Aga.
Fierce and implacable revenge of Atreus!
How dost thou live connatural with the blood
Of thy descendants! At Thyestes' name
They shudder. But ought I to be amazed,
If merely at the presence of Ægisthus
Troy's conqueror is dismay'd, that seeing him
A simple maid should fear?—If he has plotted
One nod of mine annihilates at once
Himself, and all his plots. But, is it fitting,
That, from suspicion only, I should steel
My heart against him? 'Twould be cruelty,
Thus his already intimated exile
For a few hours to hasten. If I tremble,
Lastly, is this his fault? Should he for this
Be punish'd?

SCENE THE FIFTH.

Agamemnon, Clytemnestra.
Aga.
Come, consort, come; and from my heart dispel,
For thou alone canst do it, every doubt,
Which, on that heart, Electra hath impress'd.

Cly.
Electra? ... Doubt? ... What has she said to thee? ...
Oh heaven! ... She loves thee so; ... yet on this day
With false suggestions she oppresses thee? ...
And yet, what doubts? ...

Aga.
Ægisthus ...

Cly.
What of him? ...

Aga.
Ægisthus, he, of whom thou ne'er to me,
As yet, hast spoken, seems to interrupt
Electra's comfort and tranquillity.

Cly.
Hast thou not sentenced him to banishment?
What can Electra fear from him?

Aga.
Ah, thou
Art not, as we are, of the blood of Atreus:
A stranger's mind cannot conceive the horror
That, in our race, Thyestes' race excites.
Yet to the terrors of a timid damsel
I do not yield, so as to change the hour
Fix'd for his banishment: I am content
To know that he is going to a distance.
I now shall have my heart relieved from care.
It now is time, full time, beloved consort,
That thou unfoldest to me the deep grief,
That weighs upon thy heart, and which I read,
In spite of all thy efforts, on thy face.
If not to me, to whom wilt thou reveal it?
If I be the occasion of thy grief,
Who better than myself can mitigate,
Or expiate it, or divide it with thee? ...
Oh heaven! but thou art silent? From the earth
Thine eyes dost never raise? Immoveably,
Suffused with tears, they're fix'd... Alas! what thou,
Electra saidst to me was too, too true.

Cly.
Too true? ... Electra? ... Did she speak of me? ...
Dost thou believe her?

Aga.
Yes, she has, to me,
Betray'd thee; and she has reveal'd to me
The fountain of thy grief.

Cly.
Oh heaven! ... Perchance
She has described my faith toward thee as dubious? ...
I clearly see it all; Electra always
Little regarded me.

Aga.
Thou art mistaken.
She spoke to me, of thee, as it behoved
A duteous daughter of a much-loved mother:
If otherwise, should I have listen'd to her?

Cly.
What did she say then?

Aga.
What, without a blush,
Thou should'st have told me of thine own accord:
That bitter recollections, in thy heart,
Of thy devoted daughter haunt thee yet.

Cly.
Of Iphigenia? ... Now I breathe....—Ah, yes,
That day will ever more be fatal to me. ...

Aga.
What can I say, that thou already know'st not?
In every heart, except in thine, I find
Pity for my misfortunes: but if tears,
Maternal tears, or bitterest reproach,
Could mitigate thy unconsumed affliction,
In tears, or in recriminating words,
Why not indulge? Though I deserve it not,
I would endure it. Why not weep with me?
Dost thou despise my tears? Thou knowest well
I were not able to refrain from them,
At the remembrance of my luckless daughter.
Further, oh consort, if thou hatest me,
Ah tell me so: avow'd dissatisfaction
Is more endurable than feign'd regard.

Cly.
Perchance the cause that in thine eyes I seem
So much more alter'd than I am, arises
From thy not being what thou wert before.
I will e'en speak it out: perchance Cassandra,
Ah, yes, Cassandra, is the cause, whence I
Am now less acceptable to Atrides...

Aga.
Oh heaven! Cassandra? Consort, what dost thou
Impute to me? and canst thou think this true?
When the best spoils among us were divided
Of ravaged Troy, to me th'illustrious damsel,
Deprived by the victorious Grecian sword
Of parents and of country, was awarded.
The accustom'd, and the fatal, law of conquest,
Ordain'd, that, bound in fetters, I should bring her
With me to Argos; an affecting instance
Of the uncertainty of human greatness.
I pity, it is true, Cassandra's fate,
But thee alone I love. Know'st thou not this?
And as a proof of this, to thee I yield
The royal captive: if it be thy will,
Withdraw her from my sight, and exercise,
Over her lot, unlimited controul.
Thee I conjure alone to recollect
That she's the wretched daughter of a king
Once powerful; that to treat her with disdain,
Would be unworthy of thy lofty station.

Cly.
Dost thou not love her? ... wretched me ... oh heaven!
And dost thou yet so faithfully love me?
But can I e'er consent to take from thee
Thy lawful spoil? Ah! no; she's thine by right:
She has already cost thee too much toil,
And too much jeopardy, and too much blood.

Aga.
What boots it to insinuate, and speak not?
Rather disburthen by severe rebukes
Thy pent-up bitterness, than thus convey
Unutter'd, yet intelligible meanings.
If it be such a thought that troubles thee,
And in thy heart if jealous phantasies
Find a reception, thy inquietudes
Are by the roots effectually torn up.
Come, consort, come, and be by thine own eyes
Persuaded, that Cassandra, in thy palace,
Can be alone thy first obedient handmaid.