University of Virginia Library

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Clytemnestra, Electra.
Cly.
Leave me, Electra; go to thy apartments:
I wish to meet Ægisthus ...

Elec.
Ah, my mother!
Art thou already troubled by his absence?
And fear'st thou, that the thunderbolts of heaven
To ashes have consumed him, as he stood
Before the altar? Lay aside such fear;
Heaven hitherto, upon the impious here,
Hath shed perpetual blessings.

Cly.
Of Ægisthus
Cease thus to speak.

Elec.
'Tis true, his very name
Blisters the tongue that dares to give it utterance.
Oh! art thou she, that would'st erewhile with me
Bring secretly an offering to that tomb
Of tears and vows?

Cly.
Cease, cease; I must go hence.

Elec.
To meet the man, whom I have often heard,
By thine own lips pronounced, the instrument
Of all thy woes?

Cly.
'Tis true: happy with him
I never am; nor am I so without him.
Leave me.

Elec.
At least ... permit me ...

Cly.
What would'st thou?

Elec.
Ah! should she meet her son before Ægisthus?

SCENE THE SECOND.

Clytemnestra.
Cly.
I seek in vain to cheat my weary thoughts.

SCENE THE THIRD.

Clytemnestra, Orestes, Pylades apart.
Ores.
He never will arrive?

Py.
Where art thou going?

Cly.
I love Ægisthus, too, too much! ...

Ores.
Ægisthus?
Who do I see? 'tis she: I recollect her.

Py.
Come here, Orestes; what art thou doing? stop.

Cly.
Who thus present themselves before my eyes?
Ah! who art thou?

Py.
Pardon our hardihood;
Strangers, perchance we have advanced too far;
Ascribe it only to our ignorance.

Cly.
Who may you be?

Ores.
In Argos ...

Py.
We had not
Our birth ...

Ores.
Nor from Ægisthus ...

Py.
To the king
The lord of Phocis sends us ...

Ores.
If there be
A monarch here ...

Py.
From hence, if thou permit,
We will advance within the palace gates,
Seeking Ægisthus.

Cly.
What cause brings you here?

Ores.
A lofty one.

Py.
And to the king would we
Impart it.

Cly.
You may equally to me
Impart it; from the palace now the king
Is absent.

Py.
But he will return ...

Ores.
I hope.

Cly.
Meanwhile, to me the whole shall be declared.

Ores.
To thee will I declare it ...

Py.
Yes, if thou
Insist upon it; but ...

Cly.
Upon the throne
I sit beside Ægisthus.

Ores.
All men know
That thou art worthy of him.

Py.
The disclosure
Would be to thee less grateful than to him.

Cly.
What may it be?

Ores.
Why should'st thou fancy this?
What grateful tidings can the husband hear,
Which to his wife were not so?

Py.
Thou dost know,
That our unquestionable lord imposed
To tell it only to Ægisthus' ears.

Ores.
She and Ægisthus in two bodies are
One soul.

Cly.
And why thus keep me in suspense?
Speak, speak, without delay.

Py.
The news to thee
Would be too bitter; and may heaven forbid
That we—

Ores.
Thou art mistaken: we
Bring her entire security and peace.

Cly.
It is your duty now to put an end ...

Ores.
Oh queen, we bring thee tidings of the death ...

Cly.
Of whom? ...

Py.
Peace, peace ...

Cly.
Of whom? speak.

Ores.
... Of Orestes.

Cly.
Alas! what hear I? of my son? ... Oh heavens!

Ores.
Yes, of the son of Agamemnon slain.

Cly.
What say'st thou?

Py.
That Orestes was not slain,
He tells thee.

Ores.
Of the son of him that was ...

Py.
Insane and perjured youth, dost thou to me
Thus keep thy promise?

Cly.
Wretched that I am,
Thus of my only son left destitute ...

Ores.
But, perhaps, Orestes
Was not then the most deadly enemy
Of thy Ægisthus?

Cly.
Barbarous! Dost thou
Thus to a mother of her only son
The death announce?

Py.
Yet an unpractised youth,
And ignorant of courts, (ah, pardon him,)
Incautiously, with a superfluous zeal,
He, to content thy wish, has mine betray'd.
Such tidings thou should'st afterwards have heard,
With management, imparted by Ægisthus,
And only from his lips; such was my project.
But if, through zeal ...

Ores.
Perhaps I have err'd; but now
Thy son is dead, securely with thy consort ...

Cly.
Be silent. Ere I was Ægisthus' wife
I was Orestes' mother.

Ores.
Perhaps Ægisthus
Is not so dear to thee as was Orestes.

Py.
Thou speakest foolishly! What art thou doing?
Darest thou exacerbate a mother's pangs
With importuning and officious words?
Leave her, and come with me; time and her tears
Alone can mitigate her grief ...

Ores.
Ægisthus
That grief will mitigate.

Py.
Come, let us cease
T'intrude upon her sorrows; we have made
Ourselves already too unwelcome to her.

Cly.
Since in my heart the wound ye have inflicted,
Thou shalt exult in widening that wound,
Hard-hearted youth! Ah, tell me now, where, when,
And how my son expired. Beloved Orestes,
All that relates to thee I fain would know;
Nor hear of any thing beside thyself.

Ores.
Thou, then, yet lov'd'st him tenderly?

Cly.
Oh youth,
Hast thou no mother?

Ores.
... I? ... I had.

Py.
Oh heaven!
Lady, thy son yielded to fate alone.
His life ...

Ores.
Was not cut short by impious foes;
No, to repeated and atrocious treason
He did not fall a victim.

Py.
Be content
With knowing this. Who could speak to a mother
More circumstantially?

Cly.
But if a mother
Insist on hearing more ...

Py.
Ah do thou suffer,
That the sad story be alone by us
Related fully to the king.

Ores.
Ægisthus
With joy will hear it.

Py.
We have said too much.
Let us depart. Pity forbids us now
T'obey thee.—Follow me. 'Tis fitting now,
At length, that, to my will, thou should'st submit.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Clytemnestra.
Cly.
Ah, my unhappy son! ... thou innocent son
Of an abandon'd mother! ... Ah, Orestes! ...
Thou art no more! From thy paternal realm
Banish'd by me, thou diest? Sick, deserted,
And by what death who knows? And at thy side,
In thy last agonies, thou hadst no friend? ...
No ritual honours did thy tomb receive ...
A fugitive, unknown, and unassisted,
Oh what a fate for great Atrides' son! ...
No mother, and no sister, with their tears,
Embalm'd thy livid corse! ... Beloved son,
Thy mother's hands perform'd not the last office,
Closed not thy dying eyes.—But how I rave!
Were these hands fit for such a function? Still
Impure, and reeking with thy father's blood,
Thou from thy face, Orestes, and with reason,
Wouldest have thrust them back.
O thou, deserving a less barbarous mother! ...
But I, for having sacrificed thy father,
Say, am I less thy mother? Never, never
Are nature's rights annull'd. ... Yet had not fate
In youth cut short thy life, thou would'st perchance,
(As a vain oracle predicted once)
Have turn'd thy sword against thy mother's breast?
Thy duty this: What other hand so well
Could punish my irreparable fault?
Ah live, Orestes, live; return to Argos;
Fulfil the oracle; in me, no mother,
But a vile woman, who usurp'd the name,
Wilt thou destroy: ah come ... but thou'rt no more.

SCENE THE FIFTH.

Ægisthus, Clytemnestra.
Ægis.
What groans are these?
Say, what has happen'd? what new cause of grief?

Cly.
Yes, now exult, in tears, eternal tears,
I have fresh cause of grief: ah, cease to stand
In tremulous and mute astonishment.
At last, for once thy wishes all are granted;
That fierce, that terrible, that cruel foe,
That foe who never injured thee, is slain.
My only son, alas! no longer breathes.

Ægis.
What dost thou say? Orestes? Is he dead?
Whence hadst thou the intelligence? who brought it?
Scarce can I think it true.

Cly.
Not think it true?
No, no; improbable thou judgest it,
Since he so often has escaped thy sword.
But if thou'rt not persuaded by my tears,
My fury may convince thee. Even now,
All, all my unextinguish'd love returns
To my maternal heart.

Ægis.
Canst thou adduce
No other proof?

Cly.
Proofs thou shalt have enough
To satisfy that ravening heart of thine.
Yes, word by word, Ægisthus, thou shalt hear
The dreadful story told; and at each word
Thy soul will brighten with Thyestean joy.
Strangers there are in Argos competent
To satiate thy inhuman appetite.

Ægis.
Have strangers ventured to appear in Argos
Without my knowledge? Why was their arrival
Not first to me divulged?

Cly.
Does it afflict thee
That thou wert not the first within my breast
To plunge the dagger? Such a pious deed
Belong'd especially to thee: Ægisthus
Should to a wife and mother, and none else,
Such grateful tidings bring.

Ægis.
What thus excites,
Lady, thy sudden anger? Didst thou love
So fondly thy dead son, who, when alive,
Thou scarcely recollectedst?

Cly.
What say'st thou?
Never did I, no never, cease to be
The mother of Orestes; and sometimes
If I a mother's love conceal'd, to this
Maternal love impell'd me. I suppress'd
Much of the fondness that my heart conceived,
Towards my son, only that he might be
The less exposed to thy clandestine snares.
Now that he is no more, no more I feign;
Know that Orestes was, and ever will be,
Much dearer than thyself ...

Ægis.
Thou sayest little.
Yet I was dearer to thee than thy fame.

Cly.
The fame of her who is espoused to thee
Should not be spoken of. I gave to thee
My fame, my husband, and my bosom's peace;
And of my only and beloved son
The all I gave to thee, except his life.
But thou, impell'd by horrible revenge,
And a corrupt ambition of the throne,
Whate'er I gave to thee, did'st deem a nothing,
While aught remain'd to take. Who ever saw
A heart at once so cruel and so false?
To thy nefarious, ill-feign'd tenderness,
Which I believed in a disastrous hour,
Tell me, ah tell me, was the child Orestes
Ever an obstacle? Yet scarce the pulse
Of dying Agamemnon ceased to beat,
Ere thou didst openly, with threatening voice,
Demand Orestes' life. Thou, franticly,
Exploredst all the palace: then that sword,
Which thou daredst never, with thy infirm arm,
Plunge in the father, bravely thou didst brandish;
Thou wert a hero 'gainst a powerless infant.
He from thy fury was withdrawn: that day
Fully I knew thee; but, alas! too late.
Unhappy son! what did it then avail
That from thy father's murderer thou wert rescued?
A premature death in a foreign land
Awaited thee ... Ah, thou hast kill'd my son,
Usurper, parricide; his death is thine!
Ah, pardon me, Ægisthus ... pardon me ...
I was a mother; ... and am now no longer ...

Ægis.
Provided that Orestes be no more,
Thou may'st indulge in tears and execrations.
Tell me: to whom these messengers first spoke?
Who are they? where did they first land? who sent them?
Where lodge they? are they heralds from a king?
Why, ere elsewhere their business they proclaim'd,
Did they not ask in Argos for Ægisthus?

Cly.
For thee they ask'd: from Strophius they come:
Unlucky fortune threw them in my way:
All I would hear in spite of their reluctance.
Two, but unlike in character, the men
Are in thy palace lodged. The one refused,
Compassionate and cautious, to disclose
To me the bitter tidings; but the other,
Impetuous, fervid, and ferocious, seem'd
To triumph in my grief: he no less joy
Will feel in telling, than in hearing, thou,
The melancholy tale.

Ægis.
But, why to me
Should Strophius now expressly send such news?
He always was th'ally of Agamemnon:
This all men know. Did not this very Strophius
Shelter his son? Lastly, did he not give
To him a refuge in his court?

Cly.
'Tis true,
He did at first; but now for many years
He has from thence been absent: since that time
Of him we heard no more.

Ægis.
Fame spake of him;
But who can know the truth? Yet 'tis most certain
That from his earliest years he did possess,
As an inseparable guide, and guard,
Defender, friend, the son of Strophius,
That Pylades of his whom I abhor.
In short, towards me Strophius was always hostile:
Whence has he changed?

Cly.
Dost thou not know, by proof,
Now that thou art made a king, what constitutes
A monarch's heart?—Barbarian, perhaps to thee
'Tis grateful thus t'hear me asseverate
That which cost me so much? Go, thou hast heard
Sufficient for thy purpose; go, and leave me.—
Strophius conducive to his interests deem'd
Orestes; hence withdrew him from thy power;
Hence welcomed him, and loved him ... regally:
Hence banish'd him, when useless he became,
Or detrimental; hence he sends to thee
A prompt ambassador t'announce his death.
Thou in this fashion once thyself didst love me,
Before I slew my husband, and bestow'd
On thee his kingdom; so thou hatedst me,
When I no more could serve thee; and so now
Thou dost despise me. Thus are mutable
In monarchs, virtue, honour, faith, and love,
Changing with every tide of chance and fortune.

Ægis.
Thou should'st remember that I left to thee
The choice between Ægisthus and Atrides:
Thou madest the choice. Why then, by endless taunts,
Constrain me to atone for thy own deed?
As much as thou deservest it, I love thee.

Cly.
Ægisthus, to my importuning taunts
I put an end. Despise me if thou canst;
But never dare to tell me that thou dost so.
If to a crime accurs'd love drove me, think
To what that love when scorn'd, remorse, revenge,
And grief, may drive a woman in despair.

SCENE THE SIXTH.

Ægisthus.
Ægis.
Be women heard; they care not for the rest.