University of Virginia Library

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Orestes, Pylades.
Py.
The crisis is arrived: we cannot now,
E'en if we would, recede: thou know'st that we
Are summon'd by Ægisthus to his presence.
To us, commanded here to wait for him,
Forthwith he comes; and if thy manners change not,
We also come here to be kill'd, not kill:
I say no more. Be frantic as thou wilt;
I am prepared for death, as well as vengeance.

Ores.
Alas! I know that I deserve too well
Rebukes like these: thou lovest me too much:
I was not worthy of a friend like thee:
Ah pardon me. I will restrain myself
Before Ægisthus: that will be, I hope,
Easier to me, than to restrain myself
Before my mother, who appears to me
To have her face, her robe, and both her hands
Discolour'd still with blood. Yes, better far
The hatred I can master, which I bear
Towards a foe, than that commingled conflict
Of pity and revenge, which at the sight
Of such a mother throbb'd in every vein.

Py.
Who will'd thee to encounter such a conflict?
Not I.

Ores.
An impulse undefinable;
Yet stronger than myself. Would'st thou believe it?
At first the thought rush'd irresistibly
To slay her on the spot; in swift succession,
And fierce as rapid, a new wish possess'd me
To clasp her in my arms: and afterwards
Both impulses in strange vicissitude
Assail'd me e'en to madness—fearful state,
And inexpressible as it was fearful! ...

Py.
Peace, peace; Ægisthus comes.

Ores.
What do I see?
And with him also comes my mother.

Py.
Now
Do thou be silent, or destroy me.

SCENE THE SECOND.

Ægisthus, Clytemnestra, Orestes, Pylades, Soldiers.
Ægis.
Come,
Come, oh consort: thou may'st once more hear
Tidings, which even yet I scarce believe.

Cly.
Barbarian, dost thou force me to this torture?

Ægis.
Let us examine.—Strangers, then to me
The King of Phocis hath deputed you
As trusty messengers?

Py.
E'en so.

Ægis.
Do ye
Bring certain news?

Py.
My lord, a monarch sent us;
We to a monarch speak: can there exist
Suspicion of imposture?

Ægis.
But your Strophius
Till now ne'er gave me pledge of amity?

Py.
This then will be the first. I can't deny
That he already many years ago
Had different sentiments: he felt compassion
For the unfriended fortunes of Orestes;
But yet, if once he granted him a refuge,
He always strenuously to him denied
Arms and assistance; and against thyself
Strophius would ne'er wage war.

Ægis.
Perhaps openly
He dared not wage it. But of this enough.
Where did he perish?

Ores.
He!

Py.
The Cretan soil
Gives him a tomb.

Ægis.
And how, or ere to me,
Was his death known to Strophius?

Py.
Pylades
The news bore quickly to his father: he
Was present at the sad catastrophe.

Ægis.
To him a destiny so premature
What there occasion'd?

Py.
His too youthful ardour.
Every fifth year, in Crete, by ancient usage,
Renews commemorative games and rites
Of festal sacrifice to highest Jove.
Desire of fame, and natural love of pleasure,
Drew to that shore Orestes: by his side
His Pylades inseparably stood.
A warm desire for honour prompted him,
On a light car, within the wide arena,
To seek the noble palm, for rapid coursers:
Too much intent on victory, there he lost,
By gaining it, his life.

Ægis.
But how? Relate.

Py.
Too fierce, impatient, and impetuous,
Now with a menacing cry he press'd them forward,
Now with a whip, which, stain'd with blood, he whirl'd,
So furiously he lash'd his ill-train'd steeds,
(Which, in proportion as they were more swift,
Became more mettlesome,) that past the goal
They flew.
Chafed by the reins, and deaf to all his cries,
With which he vainly sought to quiet them,
Their nostrils fire emit; and to the air
Waved in wild masses their luxuriant manes;
In a thick cloud of dust involved, and vast
As is the circus, swift as is the lightning,
Through all that amplitude, with all that swiftness,
Backwards and forwards, up and down they flew,
“Eccentric now, and now orbicular.”
The tortuous whirlings of the chariot bring
Discomfiture, fear, death, on every side;
Until the fervid axle being driven
With terrible force against a marble column,
Orestes fell o'erthrown.

Cly.
Ah! say no more:
A mother hears thy words.

Py.
Ah! pardon me.
I will not tell thee how, dragg'd by the reins,
He stain'd the ground with blood ... His friend, in vain,
... Ran to his aid ... Orestes in his arms
Breathed the last sigh.

Cly.
Oh luckless death! ...

Py.
All wept for him in Crete; such was his grace,
His beauty, and his courage ...

Cly.
Tears, alas!
Who would not shed for him, except alone
This infamous usurper? ... Much-loved son,
No more must I behold thee; never more?
But ah! too plainly do I see thee pass
The waves of Styx, and clasp thy father's shade;
Too plainly see you both direct towards me
Th'indignant look, and burn with horrid rage ...
Yes, honour'd shades, 'tis I, and I alone,
That am your murderer ... Inhuman mother!
Consort most guilty!—Now, Ægisthus, now,
Art thou not satisfied?

Ægis.
Thy narrative
Has certainly the character of truth;
That truth will soon be ascertain'd. Meanwhile
Remain within my palace; a reward,
Such as is fitting, ere ye hence depart,
Ye shall receive.

Py.
Yes; we will here remain
At thy command.—Come, come.

Ores.
Let us depart,
Let us depart; for now I can no more
Refrain from speech.

Cly.
Oh thou, who dost relate
The sad event, and not exult with joy,
Ah stay awhile thy footsteps, and inform me,
Why thou hast not to his sad mother brought
The sacred dust of her beloved son
In a funereal urn? A tragical,
Yet welcome gift! to which I have a claim
Before all others.

Py.
Pylades perform'd
His obsequies; from the funereal rites
Excluding every one, himself alone
His dust collected, and with tears embalm'd it.
This sad, and last commemorative pledge,
Of the most noble, true, and holy friendship
The world e'er saw, he for himself reserves:
And who would seek to rob him of his treasure?

Ægis.
Who would e'en seek to ask him for his treasure?
Let him possess it: yet a friend so matchless
Claim'd a more signal token of regard.
I am astonish'd, that, with the defunct,
To prove the entire devotion of his soul,
He did not burn himself upon the pyre;
And that one tomb did not contain the relics
Of so sublime, unparagon'd a pair.

Ores.
And must I yet be silent?

Py.
It is true,
The grief of Pylades caused not his death;
Perchance, his pious fondness for his father
Induced him, though reluctantly, to live.
Sometimes the test of courage it becomes
Rather to live than die.

Ægis.
Does Pylades
Detest me then, as much as did Orestes?

Py.
We are his father's messengers: he wishes
With Argos to renew a strict alliance.

Ægis.
But he's the sire of Pylades: 'twas he
That, as he were his son, received Orestes;
Defended him, from my revenge withdrew him.

Py.
But since he's dead, is not thy rage diminish'd?

Cly.
What was Orestes' crime?

Ores.
That he was son
Of Agamemnon.

Ægis.
How darest thou thus? ...

Py.
My lord, ... where doth not fame spread deeds like these?
How much Atrides held thee in abhorrence,
All Greece knows well; and that against thy life
Snares he contrived; that thou wert thence constrain'd
To watch Orestes ...

Ores.
That thou hast endeavour'd,
A thousand and a thousand times, t'ensnare him
To an opprobrious death, all Greece well knows;
It also knows, that merely at his presence
Thou would'st have trembled ...

Ægis.
What is this thou sayest?
Who art thou? Speak.

Ores.
I am ...

Py.
He is ... alas!
Ægisthus, check thy rage ... he is ...

Ægis.
Who is he?

Ores.
I am ...

Py.
The son of Strophius ... Pylades.
Nought hath induced him thus to come to Argos,
But a desire to contemplate the spot
That gave Orestes' birth. He hither comes
To weep with his friend's mother. To my care
Strophius committed him: to cause in thee
The less suspicion, in a humble bark
He came, laying aside all royal pomp.
He, when he heard Orestes' name pronounced,
Could not be silent: thus I've told thee all.
Do not thou deem him criminal, oh king,
From inconsiderate words; do not suspect
That aught, but what I've told thee, brought him hither.

Cly.
Oh heaven! And is this Pylades? Oh come,
My second son, ... and let me hear from thee ...

Ægis.
Thy fond protection, queen, avails him not.
Whoe'er he be, I am not bound t'endure
Such haughty words ... But what! thy ardent look,
Inflamed with vengeance, thou dost fix on me?
And why dost thou irresolutely bend
Thine eyes upon the ground? To me ye were not
By Strophius sent as messengers; ah no;
Ye lie, and ye are traitors.—Guards, in chains
Bind them this instant.

Pyl.
Hear me, I beseech thee.
And canst thou, from a vague suspicion, thus
The rights of hospitality defy?

Ægis.
Suspicion? fraud is graven in thy face
And apprehension.

Ores.
In thy guilty heart
They are engraved.

Cly.
Ah! tell me: perhaps the news
May not be true?

Py.
Too true, alas!

Ores.
Already
Tremblest thou lest Orestes should revive,
Unrivall'd mother?

Ægis.
What audacity!
Some dreadful mystery is conceal'd beneath
These words of thine. Ere thou receivest for them
The punishment thou meritest ...

Py.
Oh heaven!
Ah hear me.

Ægis.
I will know the truth. Meanwhile
Bind them with fetters in a horrid dungeon.
Ah! there can be no doubt; these impious miscreants
Are creatures of Orestes.—Guards, for them
Prepare the bitterest torments: I myself
Will strictly question them, and from their lips
Learn their designs. In short, I will discover
Whether Orestes be alive or dead.

SCENE THE THIRD.

Electra, Clytemnestra, Ægisthus.
Elec.
Orestes dragg'd to death? What do I see?
Oh mother, suffer'st thou thy only son
Thus to be haled to punishment?

Cly.
My son?

Ægis.
Orestes? In my power? In Argos? yonder?
Orestes? Unexpected joy!—What ho! ...

Cly.
My son!

Elec.
Alas! what have I said?

Ægis.
Oh run;
Bring back these youths directly to my presence:
Make haste; fly, fly: oh joy!

Elec.
And I've betray'd him?

Cly.
My son! If first thou do not murder me,
Fear, monster, fear ...

Ægis.
In Argos, in my palace,
Perfidious lady, dost thou introduce,
And thus conceal, my mortal enemy?

Elec.
They were unknown to her, as well as thee:
Mine was the stratagem.

Ægis.
And my revenge
Shall fall on both.

Cly.
No; take my life alone;
But spare my children ...

Ægis.
Th'infamous remains
Of Agamemnon? From excess of joy
Scarce can my breast contain my swelling heart.
One blow to-day exterminates them all ...
But see, the traitors hitherward advance.
Oh most propitious day!

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Orestes and Pylades chained; Ægisthus, Clytemnestra, Electra, Soldiers.
Ægis.
All, all I know,
Excepting which of you may be Orestes:
Confess ...

Py.
I am.

Ores.
'Tis false: I am Orestes.

Cly.
Which of you is my son? This instant speak:
I am to him a shield.

Ægis.
Speak thou, Electra;
And take heed not to lie; which is thy brother?

Elec.
'Tis he; 'tis he, too certainly.

Py.
I am ...

Ores.
Believe him not.

Py.
Since the projected plot
Is thus discover'd, let none clothe himself
With my avenging fury!

Ores.
If thou dare,
Look on my eyes, Ægisthus, and behold
The fury that burns there; look, and confess,
I am no other than Atrides' son.
Believe this from the terror that my voice,
My voice alone, strikes on thy coward heart.

Ægis.
Coward thou art; coward, and traitor too;
And by my hands shalt die.

Cly.
Or sheathe thy sword,
Or plunge it in my breast: except through me,
Tyrant, thou canst not touch them. Stop ... Oh heaven! ...
Do thou to me reveal thyself, Orestes.
Ah yes; thou, thou art he.

Ores.
Go, and elsewhere
Stretch thy ensanguined hands; if we are doom'd
To yield our lives, each of us is Orestes:
If to embrace a mother like thyself,
Neither of us thy son.

Cly.
Oh bitter words! ...
Yet ... thee I cannot leave.

Ægis.
See what reward
Awaits thy insane love.—Orestes, yes,
I know thee by thy filial piety.
Of thee, and of thy execrable race,
Thy words are worthy.

Py.
Can he silently,
Who is not born from her, endure to hear
A parricidal mother call him son?

Ores.
Peace, peace ...

Elec.
Ægisthus, art thou not convinced,
That this is Pylades; and that he lies
To save his friend? ...

Ægis.
To save his friend? And which
Of you, which shall be saved?

Ores.
Ah! if my hands
Were not with fetters bound, by certain proof
Thou hadst now seen whether I am Orestes.
But since I cannot with those hands tear out
Thy miscreant heart, let this attesting sword
Persuade thee who I am.

Py.
Rash e'en to madness!
Put up that sword.

Ores.
Ægisthus, contemplate
This sword that I conceal'd for thy destruction.
Lady, thou know'st this sword? Thy impious hand
Planted this weapon in my father's breast.

Cly.
That is Atrides' voice, his looks, and gestures.
Ah thou art he. If thou wilt not permit
That I embrace thee, in my bosom plunge
That weapon thou; thus in me for thy father
Thou wilt obtain a more consummate vengeance.
While I exist there is no violence
That ever from thy side can sever me.
Oh son! ... I am a mother yet: I love thee ...
Ah! come to my embrace ...

Ores.
My sword to thee,
Whom I will call my mother, I resign.
Behold it, take it: thou know'st how to use it;
Plunge it, ah plunge it in Ægisthus' heart.
Leave me to die; I shall die satisfied,
If to my father I secure revenge.
No other proof of thy maternal love
Would I from thee receive: kill him this instant.
Ah! what is this? Thou tremblest!—thou art pale!
Thou weepest!—from thy hand the weapon falls!
Lov'st thou Ægisthus? Lov'st him, and art thou
The mother of Orestes? Cursed sight!
Let me no more behold thee: go.

Cly.
Alas! ...
I die! ...

Ægis.
This is, this is (and it belongs
To me alone) the sword that slew the father;
And it shall slay the son. I know it well;
'Twas mine of yore when stain'd with other blood;
And to herself I formerly consign'd it.
But perhaps, oh youthful hero, thou art not,
Of all the achievements, perfectly apprized
Of this redoubted blade. Thy impious grandsire,
Atreus, first bathed it in my brothers' blood,
Sons of Thyestes, of his brother. I
Nought else of my paternal heritage
Received: in this were all my hopes reposed;
And not in vain reposed. Whate'er remains
Of the abominable race, all, all,
I hold within my power. I knew thee well
From the desire I felt to murder thee.
But ah! can death, e'en in its direst forms,
With that unnatural banquet be compared
To which thy cruel grandsire bade my father?

Cly.
Death to my son!—thou shalt have death the first.

Ægis.
To me thou'rt known; thou also for thyself
Tremble, oh lady, if now ... From my side
Attempt not to depart.

Cly.
In vain ...

Ægis.
Ah tremble.

Elec.
Appease thy thirst, Ægisthus, in my blood:
I also am the offspring of Atrides.
Behold me at thy feet ...

Ores.
What dost thou, sister?

Py.
Mine was the stratagem; like them I had not
A father to avenge; and yet I came,
Yet thee I came to kill: thy cruelty
In me thou may'st securely satiate.
But without risk thou canst not shed in Argos
The life-blood of Orestes.

Ægis.
Pylades,
Electra, and Orestes, all shall die;
And thou too, lady, if thou do not calm
Thy rage.

Ores.
Me, only me. What canst thou gain
By sentencing to death a helpless virgin?
Son of a powerful king is Pylades:
And from his death great evil may result
To thee: kill me, and me alone.—Oh ye,
The best part of myself, my friends, I feel
For you indeed my soul alive to grief:
My rash impetuosity hath slain you.
Oh heaven! nought else afflicts me. But to see
And hear Ægisthus, and restrain myself,
Was for a soul like mine impossible ...
So much ye have done to save me, and I kill you.

Ægis.
Oh joy! a greater punishment than death
Can I then give thee? Slain before thine eyes
Electra first, then Pylades shall fall;
He then fall on them.

Cly.
Infamous ...

Elec.
Oh mother,
Thus dost thou let him slaughter us?

Py.
Orestes!

Ores.
Oh heaven!. ... I weep! Ah yes; I weep for you.
Thou, lady, once so bold in guilt, art thou
In reparation so infirm?

Cly.
Oh son!
Oh were it possible to free myself
From his compulsive hands.

Ægis.
Perfidious woman!
Thou shalt not so escape from my controul.
I now am weary of this waste of words:
Cease, cease to speak. Why should we more delay
To drag them to their death? Go.—Recollect,
Dimas, thy life is of their death the pledge.

SCENE THE FIFTH.

Ægisthus, Clytemnestra.
Ægis.
Come with me, lady.—Finally, Thyestes,
We do obtain a full, though tardy vengeance.