University of Virginia Library

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Orestes, Pylades.
Ores.
This is my palace, Pylades.—Oh joy!
Beloved Pylades, embrace me; now
The day at length arises, when I may
Relieve thee from thy long calamities
Endured in my behalf.

Py.
Love me, Orestes;
Listen to my advice; this, this alone
Is the relief that for myself I ask.

Ores.
At last we are arrived.—Here reigns Ægisthus;
Here Agamemnon fell by murderous hands.
This palace, though I left it but a child,
Is yet familiar to me. Just heaven in time
Conducts me hither. Twice five years have past,
This very night, have past, since, slain by treachery,
My father made these palace walls resound
With dolorous cries. Oh! well I recollect it.
Electra, swiftly through this very court,
Carried me thither, where, with pitying arms,
Strophius received me, who, no less to me
Than to thyself, has proved himself a father.
And he, all trembling, through that secret gate
Fled with me; and behind me there resounded
A long confusion of lamenting voices,
Which made me weep, and shriek aloud, and tremble,
I knew not why. Strophius, who wept himself,
Smothering my howlings with his hand, embraced me,
And with his bitter tears bedewed my face;
He to the solitary shore, where late
We landed, meanwhile with his burden came,
And to the prosp'rous winds unreef'd his sails.
In manhood I return, at length in manhood;
Of hope, of courage, anger, and revenge,
Full I return, whence I departed once,
Weeping, a helpless child.

Py.
Here reigns Ægisthus;
And here, with fearless voice, thou speak'st of vengeance?
Incautious! Dost thou such beginning give
To such an enterprise? Thou see'st already
The morning dawns; and even yet if night
Here reign'd for ever, these are palace walls;
Speak, then, in whispers: every wall may hide
A spy beneath its shade. Ah let us not
Now lose the harvest of so many vows,
And of so many wanderings that, at length,
After such danger, to these shores conduct us.

Ores.
Oh sacred shores! 'tis true, it seem'd to me,
That unknown powers from you repell'd me back:
Since we from Crissa had our anchor loosed,
The winds seem'd always to forbid my progress
Towards my native shores. New obstacles
By thousands and by thousands always rising;
New perils made me tremble, that the day
Would never come when I should plant my foot
In Argos. But that day at length is come—
I am in Argos. If I have surmounted,
Beloved Pylades, all forms of danger,
To thee, and thy inflexible regard,
Do I ascribe it. Ere I hither came,
The avenger of such infamous misdeeds,
Perhaps to no dubious test the gods would bring
Courage in me, in thee fidelity.

Py.
Courage? thou hast too much. How many times
For thee I've trembled! I am pledged, thou know'st,
Every vicissitude to share with thee;
But, oh reflect, that nothing yet is done
Of what we have to do. We are arrived;
No more. Amid the multifarious means
To such a task, 'tis fitting now that we
Inflexibly adhere to one alone,
And that the best; and that we should resolve
What pretext to select, with what feign'd name
T'invent a reason for our coming hither;
An adequate foundation we should lay
For such an edifice.

Ores.
Eternal justice
Will be our sure foundation. To myself
That blood is due for which athirst I come.
The surest means? Behold it in my sword!

Py.
Oh youthful turbulence! For blood thou thirstest?
Others, defended by a thousand swords,
Thirst also for thy blood.

Ores.
T'appal Ægisthus,
Already self-appall'd, my name suffices:
Too potent is my name; and of what temper
Can he a breast-plate or a shield possess,
That I can pierce it not?

Py.
He has a shield,
A tough, impenetrable, doughty shield—
His innate baseness. Round his person throng
Innumerable satellites; and he,
Trembling, though safe, stands in the midst of them.

Ores.
To announce me, and disperse these satellites,
Were the same thing.

Py.
To announce thee and be slain,
Were the same thing; and slain by what a death!
Even these satellites possess a faith
And courage of their own: they from the tyrant
Draw their subsistence; nor would have him dead,
Except themselves destroy him.

Ores.
In my cause
The people then ...

Py.
Dost hope that in the heart
Of the base people, hatred or regard
Can ever be perpetuated? Spoil'd,
Degraded, now it sees one tyrant fall,
And now another rise; not one it loves,
And yields to all; forgets an Agamemnon,
At an Ægisthus trembles.

Ores.
'Tis, alas!
But too, too true! ... But thou dost not, like me,
Before thine eyes behold a murder'd father,
Bleeding and unavenged, who asks, expects,
And threatens me to vengeance.

Py.
Hence am I
More qualified that vengeance to obtain.
Oh hear me. We to all are here unknown,
And wear a stranger's garb: unquiet tyrants,
Whether from inclination or from fear,
Watch narrowly the movements of a stranger.
Soon as the day-light dawns, and we've been seen,
We shall be dragg'd into Ægisthus' presence.—
What shall we say?

Ores.
Strike: in the miscreant's breast
A thousand wounds inflict; and hold our peace.

Py.
Camest thou for certain death, or certain vengeance?

Ores.
Provided both be certain; first to slay,
And then be slain.

Py.
Orestes, by our friendship,
And by thy murder'd father, I beseech thee
A little while refrain: for a few hours
Yield to my judgment, I will give the rest
To thy revenge. Rather than with the sword,
Baseness should be assail'd by artifice.
Ægisthus should believe us messengers
Sent from my father; bearers to himself
In Argos, of thy death.

Ores.
Belie my name
To an Ægisthus? I?

Py.
Thou may'st be silent;
Thou need'st not lie, for I will speak for thee.
The imposture will be mine, and mine alone.
We shall perceive th'emotions of Ægisthus
At such intelligence, and shall discover
Electra's destiny.

Ores.
Electra! ... Ah! ...
Much do I fear that she no longer lives.
Tidings of her I never have received.
Ægisthus certainly would never spare
The blood of Agamemnon.

Py.
But the wife
Of that Ægisthus is Electra's mother.
Perhaps she has saved her; and if it be so,
Think that she still is in the tyrant's power;
And that we might, only by naming her,
Ensure her death. In a far different guise,
Thou know'st that Strophius himself, with arms
And troops, might re-establish thee in Argos;
But open war, however prosperous,
Would give thee nothing but thy throne and sceptre.
Meanwhile the impious tyrant would escape,
And of his rage (if he has not ere now
Slain her) Electra would remain the victim;
Thy sole beloved sister; she to whom
Thou ow'st thy life. Thou see'st th'imperious need
There is for caution. Lofty is thy purpose;
A purpose mightier far than to regain
A throne usurp'd: defeat it not, Orestes.
Who knows? thy mother perhaps is penitent ...

Ores.
Ah! speak not thou to me of her.

Py.
Of her,
Nor aught besides.—I only ask of thee
To listen to my counsel. If thou wilt not,
Those gods that by thy side have planted me,
No longer will protect thee.

Ores.
I yield all,
I swear to thee, except the deed of death.
I will behold the murderer of my father;
Behold him, nor unsheathe my thirsty sword.—
Be this the earliest effort of my virtue,
Oh father, which I consecrate to thee.

Py.
Silence; methinks I hear a stealing footstep ...
Behold! a lady in a mourning garment
Advances from the palace. For a while
Let us withdraw ourselves.

Ores.
She comes this way.

SCENE THE SECOND.

Electra, Orestes, Pylades.
Elec.
For once, Ægisthus a short time is absent;
I now, without constraint, may bring my tribute—
What do I see! Two youths who, by their dress
And by their mien, I do not recognise.
They watch me, and seem strangers.

Ores.
Didst thou hear?
Ægisthus' name she mention'd.

Py.
Ah! be silent.

Elec.
Oh, youthful strangers, (for I deem ye such,)
Say; to these walls what brings you?

Py.
Let me speak;
Stand thou apart.—Strangers we are, 'tis true;
Here we come bearers of important tidings.

Elec.
Are they intended for Ægisthus?

Py.
Yes.

Elec.
What tidings can these be? ... Pursue your steps;
Ægisthus now is absent. In the palace
Ye may repose yourselves till he return.

Py.
And his return?

Elec.
Before the day is spent;
In a few hours, is certain. Thanks and honours
He will bestow on you, as is your due,
If grateful be the tidings.

Py.
They will be
Grateful, though perhaps unlucky to Ægisthus.

Elec.
How my heart beats!—Unlucky? Are they such
That I may know their import?

Py.
Pardon me.
Thou seem'st to me a lady of high birth;
But that the king should hear these tidings first
Appears to me incumbent ... By my words
Thou seemest troubled? ... What? ... Can any news
Brought from a distant country interest thee?

Elec.
Interest me! ... no ... But from what land are ye?

Py.
Grecians we are; from Crete we lately came.
But in thee, more than from thy mourning garments,
I, from thy looks, thy gestures, and thy words,
Trace the impression of profound distress.
May I enquire? ...

Elec.
What sayest thou? ... in me?
Thou know'st that pity in a woman's heart
Is easily excited. Mournful news,
Although it have no reference to myself,
Afflicts me. Hence, though I express'd a wish
For you to speak it, spoken it would grieve me.

Py.
Oh gentle-hearted! would'st thou deem the wish
To know thy name presumptuous?

Elec.
To know it
Could not advantage you; and to my grief,
(Since grief thou see'st in me,) to speak my name
Would surely be no solace. It is true,
That, far from Argos ... some solicitude ...
Some fond anxiety perchance ... to me
Might yet have reference.
But, no! I clearly see that your arrival
In no wise is connected with myself.
Yet, when a stranger lands upon these shores,
Involuntary feelings rush upon me;
I feel my timid heart, 'twixt hope and fear,
Fluctuate tumultuously. Yes, I'm convinced
You ought not to reveal to me the purpose
Of your arrival. Enter: I meanwhile
Pursue my pilgrimage to yonder tomb.

Ores.
Tomb! what tomb? where? and whose?

Elec.
Dost thou not see?
Yonder? Atrides' tomb.

Ores.
Oh sight of woe!

Elec.
And dost thou shudder at it?
And have the tidings of the horrible death
That he received in Argos reached your ears?

Py.
Where have they not been heard?

Ores.
Oh sacred tomb
Of the king of kings, requirest thou a victim?
Thou shalt have one.

Elec.
What is it that he says?

Py.
I heard him not.

Elec.
Did he not speak of victim?
And why? Say, is the memory of Atrides
Sacred to him?

Py.
Yes: but a little while
His father he has lost; each mournful object
Excites emotion in his pious heart;
Strange fits of phrenzy seize him suddenly.—
Compose thyself, Orestes. Art thou mad?
How can I ever trust in thee?

Elec.
His eyes,
Motionless, eager, terrible in aspect,
He fixes on the tomb ... Oh thou, who art thou,
Thus generously daring? ...

Ores.
Leave to me
The transport of revenge.

Py.
He hears thee not.
Pardon, oh lady, his frenetic ravings.
Regard not what he says: he is insane.—
Art thou determined then, at all events,
Thus to betray thyself?

Ores.
Into the traitor,
Time after time, my weapon will I plunge
As many times, as from his horrid wound
Thou shedded'st drops of blood.

Elec.
He's not insane.
A father didst thou say ...

Ores.
A father, yes,
Was torn from me. Oh rage! and he remains
Yet unavenged.

Elec.
If thou art not Orestes,
Who art thou, then?

Py.
What do I hear?

Ores.
Orestes?
Who, who invokes me thus?

Py.
Now art thou lost.

Elec.
Electra calls thee thus.
I am Electra, who, with both my arms,
Thus press thee to my bosom.

Ores.
Where am I?
What said I? ... Pylades, alas! ...

Elec.
Dispel,
Orestes, Pylades, dispel all fear.
I do not feign a name. Orestes, thee,
From thy rapt ecstacy I recognised;
And from my grief, my tears, and my affection,
Acknowledge thou Electra.

Ores.
Thou dost live;
Oh sister! thou dost live? and I embrace thee.

Elec.
Eventful day!

Ores.
And do I clasp thee thus?
What inexpressible delight I feel!
Yet oh, that bitter sight! my father's tomb.

Elec.
Be calm a while, I pray thee!

Py.
Oh, Electra,
How have I sighed to know thee! It was thou
That saved'st my Orestes, of myself
The better part; think, if I do not love thee.

Elec.
And thou hast been his guardian friend: to me
Thou art a second brother.

Py.
Ah! do thou
Join then thy prayers with mine; ah, undertake
With me to check the imprudent eagerness
Of that impetuous spirit. To despair,
Orestes, would'st thou drive us? Every instant
Would'st thou that I fear for thee? Hitherto,
Pity, love, vengeance, have conducted us
In safety hither; but if thou art thus
Unguarded ...

Ores.
Pardon me ... beloved Pylades; ...
I was transported ... what is now thy wish?
But oh! what reason e'er could be controul'd? ...
What feelings, at a sight so unexpected! ...
I saw him,—yes, I saw him with these eyes.
His head he lifted from the sable tomb;
His fleshless fingers from his face removed
His grisly locks; coagulated blood
And tears, upon those livid cheeks of death
Stood glistening. Obvious to my sight alone
He was not: for upon mine ears there fell
A fearful and a melancholy voice,
Whose tones yet vibrate in my inmost heart:—
“Imbecile son, why dost thou still delay?
“Thou art arrived at manhood; hast assumed
“Thy sword, and still thy father's murderer lives.”
Oh fierce rebuke! ... He on thy tomb shall fall,
Slain by my hands; his veins shall not retain
A drop within them of his impious blood.
Thou, thirsty shade, shalt quickly drink it all.

Elec.
Ah! calm thy rage. I also often see
My father's squalid spectre stalk around
That gelid tomb, and yet I hold my peace.
At every step, within these palace walls,
Thou wilt behold the impress of his blood,
Yet thou, with dry eyes, wilt be forced to see them,
Till, with fresh blood, they are by thee effaced.

Ores.
Electra, how much more than empty words
Would deeds content my heart! But, till the day
For action comes, my anguish I will smother.
Meanwhile, since born to weep, let us at least
Shed tears together. Shall it then be true
What I no longer hoped for? In thy bosom
Shall I shed tears of love, of grief, and anger?
Tidings of thee I long had ceased to hear;
I fear'd that thou had'st fall'n the tyrant's victim,
And rather came prepared t'avenge thy death,
Than thus to clasp thee to my breast.

Elec.
I live,
And I embrace thee: this is the first day
In which I have not quarrell'd with my life.
The impious fury of the cruel tyrant,
Stung e'en to madness that he could not slay thee,
Convinced me thou wert living; but, alas!
With how much apprehension did I hear
That thou had'st left the hospitable home
Of Strophius!

Py.
Purposely my father spread
Such a report, that hereby, unassail'd
By treacheries of Ægisthus, he might live
In greater safety. I, throughout this space,
Ne'er left him, nor will ever leave him.

Ores.
Death
Can alone part us.

Py.
No, not e'en death.

Elec.
Oh thou unparallel'd and faithful friend!
But now inform me, how will you appear
Before the cruel and suspicious tyrant?
Here to conceal you were impossible.

Py.
We will present ourselves as messengers,
Bringing the tidings of Orestes' death.

Ores.
The artifice is vile.

Elec.
Less vile than he,
Whose cruelty compels you to deceive.
There is none better or more sure; but use
Discretion. When you are introduced to him,
'Twill be my care t'adjust for you the whole;
The time, the place, the mode, the implements
For his destruction. Yet I keep, Orestes,
That sword I keep, which in her husband's breast
She plunged, whom we no longer since have dared
To call our mother.

Ores.
Tell me how she fares,
That impious woman? What life does she lead?
How does she force thee for the crime not thine
To make atonement, that thou art her daughter?

Elec.
Thou canst not picture to thyself her life.
All would, and ought to, pity it, except
The children of Atrides ... and perchance
E'en they will be constrain'd to feel compassion.
By terror and suspicion always haunted;
E'en by Ægisthus treated with contempt:
Loving Ægisthus, though she knew him guilty;
Repentant, yet perhaps capable once more
Her trespass to commit, if the base flame,
At which she is incensed, and blushes, willed it;
Now wife, now mother; yet ne'er wife or mother.
Remorseless thoughts, by thousands and by thousands,
Distract her heart by day; and horrid phantoms
Scare from her nightly pillow quiet sleep.
Behold the life she leads.

Ores.
May heaven inflict,
That which by nature we are forbidden to do,
On her a terrible and lasting vengeance!
But yet to-day she must decide to be
Either a mother or a wife; she must,
When at her side, transfix'd by me, she sees
The vile adulterer weltering in his blood.

Elec.
Ah, wretched mother! yet thou hast not seen her;
Who knows the impression that she may produce?

Ores.
My father I have heard; and that suffices.

Elec.
Yet such a mingled conflict in thy heart
Wilt thou experience, that, against thy will,
Thou wilt be forced to weep, and recollect
She is thy mother. She is still towards me
Indulgent; but the infamous Ægisthus,
Who only spares my life to her entreaties,
Much as he can oppresses me. Yet I
Have hitherto endured his cruel gift,
The day expecting, when I might to thee
Restore the sword stained with my father's blood.
Although a woman, I have oft been tempted
With my right hand to grasp it; but, at last,
Orestes, thou art come, and come in time.
To-day Ægisthus, from himself to banish
My importuning presence, had decreed
My instant nuptials with an abject slave.

Ores.
I come unbidden to these impious nuptials,
The gods shall have an unexpected victim.

Elec.
My mother, but in vain, opposed.

Ores.
On her,
Say, might we aught depend?

Elec.
Ah! not at all.
Although she fluctuates betwixt vice and virtue,
To vice she still adheres. When at her side
No more she sees Ægisthus, ... then perchance ...
Ah then, would be the moment to reclaim her.
She weeps with me, 'tis true, but yet she lives
With the usurper. Do thou shun her presence
Till he return.

Py.
Where is the miscreant gone?

Elec.
Impious, he spends this day in revelling,
The anniversary of our father's death.

Ores.
Oh rage!

Elec.
E'en now he's outraging the gods.
Towards Mycæne, in a spot not far
From hence, he offers to the king of hell
Unhallow'd victims and nefarious vows:
It cannot now be long ere he return.
But let our conference cease; within the palace
I will return unseen; t'await Ægisthus
Do you still linger in this outer court.
I to thee, Pylades, commend my brother.
To-day, Orestes, I shall ascertain
Whether or not thou lovest me. I pray thee,
By the remembrance of our murder'd father,
And by that love, be guided by thy friend,
And check th'impetuous ardour of thy nature;
For that revenge, to which we now aspire,
May be, by too much wishing it, defeated.