University of Virginia Library

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Polyphontes, Soldiers.
Polyp.
Guards, let the criminal alone advance.

SCENE THE SECOND.

Polyphontes, Ægisthus.
Polyp.
Stranger, approach ... Methinks thy mien is youthful
For one so resolute in deeds of blood.

Ægis.
'Tis but too true, before thee I appear
Defiled with blood, perchance with innocent blood.
Strange destiny! and I am also guiltless.

Polyp.
From whence art thou?

Ægis.
From Elis.

Polyp.
And thy name?

Ægis.
Ægisthus.

Polyp.
Thy descent?

Ægis.
Obscure, not servile.

Polyp.
What purpose brought thee here?

Ægis.
A youthful passion,
A love of novelty impell'd me to it.

Polyp.
Tell me explicitly, and tell the truth,
How wert thou driven to such atrocity.
Though thou hast forfeited all right to hope,
Still I permit thee to indulge some hope
If thou'rt ingenuous.

Ægis.
To be otherwise
Would be a violation of my nature:
My free condition is unused to fraud.—
By stealth, and unadvisedly, I left
The peaceful dwelling of my aged father;
For many months already had I wandered
Through various cities, when, at last, to-day
I journey'd towards Messene. I pursued
A narrow and a solitary path,
Destined for humble travellers on foot,
Which winds along Pamisus' shelving banks;
Swiftly I trod this path, urged by desire
To gain the city, which, from distance seen,
Gave, by its pompous towers and glittering fanes,
Abundant promise of magnificence.
When lo! I saw a man advance to meet me
With eager gait, still swifter than my own:
Onward he came like one that fear'd pursuit;
His mien was youthful; his demeanour bold,
Imperative, and arrogant: from far
He waved his hand, that I should quit the path.
Most narrow was the place, and scarce allow'd
To one free passage: the precarious track,
By a precipitous declivity,
Descends on one side to the river's brink;
The other side, by thorny bushes choak'd,
In that direction made the man unwilling
To turn aside for me. I was incensed
At his deportment, free myself by birth,
Accustom'd to obey the laws alone,
And to yield deference only to my elders:
Hence I advanced with an undaunted step.
He, with a terrible accent, cried, “Make way.”
I, on the other hand, inflamed with rage,
Return'd his menace, and bade him retire.
Already had we met: he from his side
Unsheathed a dagger, and upon me leap'd.
I had no dagger, but I lack'd not courage.
With a firm foot I waited his attack:
Me he assail'd; I combated his onset,
Grasp'd him, and in less time than I relate it,
Flung him upon the earth: in vain he strove;
I with my knees confined him to the ground.
In both my hands his right hand I imprison'd;
In vain he menaced, irresistibly
And firmly I deprived him of its use.
When to the contest he perceived himself
Inadequate, insidiously he feign'd
Terms of submission. I consented to them;
Quitted my grasp, when treacherously a blow,
Such as thou seest it here, he aim'd at me,
And pierced my clothes. The weapon grazed my flesh:
The wound is slight, but boundless was my rage.
Blind with revenge, I snatch'd the dagger from him; ...
And weltering in his blood he lay transfix'd.

Polyp.
If this be true, thou hast a lion's heart.

Ægis.
Scarce had my hand the fatal blow inflicted,
Ere I was stricken with o'erwhelming horror.
Unused to blood, I felt myself degraded;
I fear'd; yet fearing knew not how to act.
First in the stream I hurl'd the dagger: thence
The thought occurr'd in the same stream to fling
The bleeding victim: thus, it seem'd to me,
I should defeat all chances of detection.
I did so.—Guess if I am used to guilt:
Ah thoughtless! bloody as I was, I ran,
Unknowing whither, till I reach'd the bridge.
There by thy guards, whom I avoided not,
I was secured; and hither have they dragg'd me.
I swear to thee I have confess'd the whole.

Polyp.
Thy tale has all the characters of truth.
I feel constrain'd to pity thee; but yet
Justice demands thy punishment. I will
Ascribe it to misfortune, not to cunning,
That thou the body gav'st, perhaps half-living,
To the vertiginous gulphs of the swift stream.
But thence, as thou thyself must be aware,
Thy fault is aggravated. If this were,
As thou assertest, some base renegade,
Of which too many now swarm up and down,
The turbid progeny of civil strife,
It might avail thee much. Thy victim's name
Alone, would now perhaps suffice to save thee.

Ægis.
Wretch that I am! If I am doom'd to fall
The victim of involuntary error,
What can I say to thee, oh king? Behold me
Ready to endure whatever punishment
Most terrible thy anger would inflict.
I grieve for this mischance; but should grieve more
Were I in fault. In my defence alone
My unsupported innocency pleads:
I boast no ancestry; I have no wealth;
In all men's eyes I seem a malefactor;
And ah! I am so, to have left you thus,
My wretched parents, aged and infirm,
Thus disobey'd and thus abandon'd you,
Inflicted on you mortal agonies;
And perhaps, ere your time, cut short your lives.—
Ah! if he yet is living, my good father;
He who bestow'd no heritage on me
Save uncorrupted manners; he who was
The lofty image and the bright example
Of human excellence, should he e'er hear
That, in Messene, for the crime of murder,
I was condemn'd to die, what grief were his!
Ah! such a thought is far more terrible
To me than death.

Polyp.
Hear me: thou knowest well,
Convicted as thou art of spilling blood,
Thy life immediately should pay the forfeit;
But yet thy simple undisguised confession
Inclines me to relent in thy behalf.
Till I have gain'd more certain information,
Both of thyself and him whom thou hast murder'd,
I shall awhile suspend the final sentence.

SCENE THE THIRD.

Merope, Polyphontes, Ægisthus.
Polyp.
Merope? ... Do not mine own eyes deceive me?
Com'st thou to me? and for what purpose, say?

Me.
The tidings which erewhile I heard have brought me.
Is it then true that by the river's brink
A man was murder'd, and that afterwards
By the assassin to the river committed? ...

Polyp.
'Tis but too true: and here the murderer stands.

Me.
What do I see? ... Oh what a strange resemblance!

Polyp.
Thou know'st with what anxiety I check
The least encroachment on internal peace.
Yet, if thou seest this man, or hear'st him speak,
Thou almost would'st pronounce him innocent.

Me.
'Tis true: his countenance is not like guilt:
His mien is noble ... But alas! he yet
With blood is reeking.

Ægis.
Who denies it, lady?
This blood at first too certainly condemns me;
But had I been well versed in spilling blood,
I had been also versed in cleansing it:
A little water, and a dauntless face,
Might have eternally consign'd my crime
To impalpable oblivion. But, believe me,
I feel a punishment far more severe
In my remorse, than that which the king now
Prepares for me. Yet unavoidable
Was this my guilt. Alone, unknown, a wanderer,
I was not arm'd for any fatal purpose.
The sword I wrested from his hands myself,
Which 'gainst the fierce youth, in my own defence,
I was constrain'd to use ... Ah! trust my words;
I ne'er was disciplined to bloody deeds.

Me.
Was thy antagonist a youth?

Ægis.
He was
Equal to me in age.

Me.
What do I hear?

Polyp.
And if he speaks the truth, I should suspect
He was some questionable character.
Along a solitary path he flew,
As if to avoid pursuit ...

Ægis.
Further, I now
Remember that at first in part he hid
His face beneath his robe.

Me.
He hid his face? ...
He fled? ...—But thou, didst thou not know him?

Ægis.
Here
I am a stranger totally; and he
(I have him still before me) seem'd to me
Also a stranger; ... nay, he surely was so;
At least his dress bespake it, which appear'd
Rather like that of Elis than Messene.

Me.
Oh heaven! ... Of Elis? ...

Ægis.
Yes; resembling mine;
For I too am from Elis ...

Me.
Thou? ...

Polyp.
But why
So anxious, so inquisitive?

Me.
What say'st thou?
I anxious? ...

Polyp.
So it seems to me.—In short
A nameless stranger by another slain ...

Me.
Who knows what he might be? ... 'Tis true ... There's nothing
Whence I should take an interest ...

Polyp.
For myself,
Were I by duty not constrain'd to it,
I ne'er should listen to a cause like this.
Thou, dead to all affection, dost excite
In me no small surprise. How can this question
Interest thee?

Me.
In me, 'twas mere ... desire ...
To hear.—Yet it appears to me far more
The effect of art than accident, that he
Should thus from all the body have concealed:
And thou so lenient to this murderer,
Who thus undaunted in thy presence stands ...
I know not ...

Ægis.
Fear induced me first to fling
The body in the stream; it was not art:
I stand undaunted as a man should stand
Whose breast feels self-acquitted. Yet, alas!
I felt more wretchedness than thou suspectest:
And now much more so since I see thee grieve,
Trembling, and apprehensive for the slain.

Me.
I trembling, I? ... I apprehensive? ... No ...
But those that are unhappy quickly feel
Compassion for the unhappiness of others.

Ægis.
For me then feel compassion. I, alas!
Am far more wretched than the murder'd stranger,
And merit wretchedness far less than he.
Rash youth! 'twas he that, without provocation,
First would have murder'd me. What profits it
That I subdued him, if I am condemn'd
With greater infamy to lose my life?
And if I lose it not, what can give pain,
As shame can give it, to a generous heart?

Me.
Thy low condition hides a noble soul.
His words almost compel me ... yet ... could I
Gain some intelligence ... gain but the name
Of him whom thou hast murdered ...

Polyp.
Since, to-day,
Thou feel'st an interest foreign to thy habits
In hearing this recital; since I see,
Oh Merope, that my continuance here
Restrains the free expression of thy thoughts,
I know not why ...

Me.
Restrains? ... What dost thou mean? ...
With thee I leave him.

Polyp.
No. That from his mouth
Thou may'st learn more, if more there be to learn,
With thee I leave him. Thou art well aware
That I am ready, and much wish, to make thee
Of every question sovereign arbitress;
Much more then art thou in a cause so trifling.
To thee do I refer him; of his fate
Do thou dispose at will. Let this now be
The earliest proof that thou despisest not
Each gift of mine.

Me.
And how? ...

Polyp.
I pray thee yield.
Ah! might this be a prelude to thy reign.

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Merope, Ægisthus.
Ægis.
Canst thou be less compassionate than he?
Does not my youth plead for me in thy favour?
Look on my face, and canst thou not read there
The undissembled feelings of my heart?
Does not the grief of my distracted parents
Excite thy sympathy? Alas! ... Wert not
Thou also once a mother? Ah! for mine ...

Me.
Yes, I have been a mother to my cost! ...
And yet, who knows? ... —Thy mother, lives she still? ...
A native then of Elis is thy father?

Ægis.
No, of Messene.

Me.
Of Messene, say'st thou?
What do I hear!

Ægis.
I from my infancy
Have heard him so affirm.

Me.
His name perchance
Is Polydore? ...

Ægis.
Cephisus is his name.

Me.
His age? ...

Ægis.
Is great.

Me.
Oh heaven! ... —But yet the name ...
And of what rank, what parents in Messene,
Knowest thou? ... Noble? ...

Ægis.
No: he was the master
Of a small farm, which with his own free hands
He loved to cultivate; a peaceful life,
Contented with his lot, he with his spouse
And children led.

Me.
And what fatality
Drove him from such an enviable state?
Why did he quit his dwelling?

Ægis.
Oft he told me,
That by intestine quarrels of this realm
He had been driven to flight; that the revenge
Of potent enemies pursued his steps.
That all was bloodshed and disturbance here;
Whence trembling for his children ... Oh how oft,
Dwelling on this, have I beheld the tears
Course down his aged cheeks!

Me.
Thou wert then born,
Here, in Messene? And thy father fled
To Elis with thee?

Ægis.
No: my father carried
With him my elder brothers, who were all
Snatched from his arms by an untimely death.
I only, born of all his children last,
In Elis first inhaled the vital air;—
Oh wretched father! and I last remain,
If I indeed remain to thee!—A wish,
E'en from my earliest years, possessed my heart
To see Messene; since it was my father's,
It seems to me almost my native place.

Me.
Oh heaven! ... What words are these? ... And he like thee
Is youthful ... of an age resembling thine ...
And such deportment, ... such expressive mien ...
He seems; and yet he is not.—But erewhile
Thou said'st, thy victim also came from Elis.

Ægis.
Such my conjecture.

Me.
Seemed he in disguise?

Ægis.
He did.

Me.
In temper?

Ægis.
Arrogant.

Me.
In dress?

Ægis.
Abject.

Me.
And fugitive?

Ægis.
Swift, as pursued,
And with suspicion in his looks, he ran
Towards me.

Me.
Barbarian, and thou hast slain him?

Ægis.
He would have murdered me.

Me.
And said he nought
To thee in death?

Ægis.
Weeping, o'er him I stood
A little while ... In death's last pangs he lay ...

Me.
Ah wretched youth! ...

Ægis.
... Yes ... now ... I recollect; ...
That, all his native fierceness laid aside,
Sobbing, in tearful accents, he invoked
His mother's name.

Me.
His mother's name? And thou
Perfidious wretch, and thou indeed hast slain him?
And cast his body in the pityless stream?
Alas! ... He's lost! ...

Ægis.
Unhappy that I am!
What have I done? Does then this crime of mine
In any wise touch thee?—Thou hast for this
Full sanction from the king, dispose of me;
And wreak on me a plenary revenge.—
Oh heaven! how was it possible for me
To offend thee, Merope, whom evermore
My heart revered?—Thy strange calamities
I from my father learned: and oft, with his,
My tears would mingle at the sad recital:
An ardent longing to enjoy thy presence
My soul conceived. Oft with my aged father
I put up vows for thee to heaven; with hands
That then were innocent, I often flung
Pure incense in the flame that burned for thee
Before my humble Lares.—And have I
Offended thee? Ah punish me: at once
I merit it, I ask it, and will have it.—
But how, in any wise, could he I slew,
Who to ferocity of manners join'd
A cruel heart, have reference to thee? ...
But perhaps appearances belied his nature:
And dire necessity disfigured thus
A gentle spirit ... Ah! what have I said?
He, if thou pityest him, is innocent;
I only am the culprit; ah! on me
Wreak, wreak thy vengeance.

Me.
But what words are these!
What lofty sorrow! ... What can all this mean?
In spite of my resolve he forces me
To weep with him.—Thou sayest that thy father
Oft spake to thee of me?

Ægis.
How many times
Of thee, of thy slain consort, of thy sons
Did he make mention to me!

Me.
Of my sons? ...
Oh heaven! ...

Ægis.
Yes; of three sons of thine, all slain
By the atrocious and usurping tyrant,
Whose fierce demeanour on this very spot
Smote me erewhile with fear. Severity,
However unrelenting, shewn by thee,
To me were far more grateful than his pity.

Me.
His words bereave me of all self-command.
Scarce do I yield my bosom to compassion,
When insupportable and horrid doubts
Impel me to revenge: scarce do I cease
To feel compassion, when, if I behold,
Or hear him, I am reimpelled to tears.

Ægis.
What secret conflict hast thou in thy heart?
Thou mutterest to thyself? Do I excite
Thy pity? Why dost thou not listen to it?

Me.
Alas! what shall I do? I neither can,
Oh youth, condemn thee, nor can I acquit thee.
Meanwhile remain within the palace: I,
Ere long, once more will see thee. Ponder well;
And ponder o'er again within thyself
The most minute transactions of thy life:
Remember every gesture, look, and word,
Of thy antagonist. Recall to mind
Also each least expression of thy father.—
—But art thou certain that the good old man
Ne'er changed his name? Speak.

Ægis.
I am certain of it.
E'en when a child I used to lisp Cephisus.
When afterwards he told me that he fled
An exile from Messene, and commanded,
That I from every one should keep this secret,
He also would have told his real name,
If that had been disguised; full well he knew
That even at the risk of my own life,
I should have held such a disclosure sacred.
I told thee that his birth-place was Messene;
But what, oh Queen, can I conceal from thee?

Me.
Let this suffice; desist from further speech.—
I feel constrained to leave thee for a time,
To give relief to my long-pent-up tears.—
This palace I assign to thee meanwhile
As thy sole prison. I again ere long
Shall hear thee; and thou shalt repeat the whole:
Shalt answer to each question by itself,
At length, distinctly, word by word, shalt answer.
May I find truth in thee ... But thine is not
The aspect or deportment of imposture.

SCENE THE FIFTH.

Ægisthus.
Ægis.
What can this mean? Whence is it that my words
Excite such strong emotions in her heart?—
Now with a look more furious than a tyger's
Towards me she springs; now she addresses me
With more than e'en a mother's tenderness;
Beaming with softness, and suffused with pity,
Her anxious eyes she fixed on me, and wept.
Whence can my slain antagonist awake
Such deep affliction in her? Were she not,
Had she not long since been, a childless mother,
I should suspect that I had slain her son.
But yet, who knows? ... Perhaps some adopted child
Was dear to her: or perhaps she waited
For some one to her projects ... But in vain
Are my surmises; I know nothing.—Now,
Ægisthus, thou seest clearly; now thou seest,
Whether thy good and aged father spake
With truth to thee; “Never debase thyself
To look with envy on the great; they are
More wretched than ourselves.” ... 'Tis too, too true:
Nor ought I now to quarrel with my fate,
Whate'er that fate may be, when I behold,
A lady so illustrious ... now deserted ...
Doomed to a life of such calamity.—
But 'tis already night. Since from these walls
I am prohibited from venturing forth,
To some interior chamber of this palace
Let me advance; and cleanse me of this blood.
Ah! that I thus could wash away my crime!—
But heaven, who knows whate'er I've done, is just:
And, if I merit it, let heaven chastise me.