University of Virginia Library

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Cinyras, Pereus.
Pe.
Behold me here, obedient to thy wishes.
I hope, oh king, the hour is not far distant
When with th' endearing epithet of father
I may accost thee ...

Cin.
Listen to me, Pereus.—
If thou well know thyself, thou canst not fail
To be convinced how much a partial father
Must be transported with exceeding joy
In th' expectation that his only daughter
Would find in thee a consort. Without doubt,
Had I myself been destined to select
A spouse for Myrrha, I had chosen thee
Among the many and illustrious rivals
That, with thyself, contended for her hand.
Thence thou thyself may'st judge how doubly dear
Thou wert to me when by herself elected.
Thou, in the judgment of impartial men,
In all pretensions wert unparagon'd;
But, in my judgment, more than for thy blood,
And thy hereditary realm, wert thou
Unparagon'd for other qualities
Intrinsically thine, whence thou must be,
Although a private man, eternally
Greater than any king ...

Pe.
Ah father! ... (I
E'en now exult to call thee by this name)
Father, my greatest, nay, my only value,
Consists in pleasing thee. I have presumed
To interrupt thee; pardon me; but I
Cannot, or ere I merit them, receive
From thee so many praises. To my heart
Thy speech will be a high encouragement
To make me that which thou believ'st me now,
Or wishest me to be. Thy son-in-law,
And Myrrha's consort, largely should I be
With every lofty quality endow'd:
And I accept from thee the augury
Of virtue.

Cin.
Ah, thou speakest as thou art!
And since thou art such, I shall dare to speak
To thee as to a son.—I clearly see
Thou lovest Myrrha with a genuine love;
And I should wrong thee most unworthily
Could I e'en doubt of this. But ... tell me, Pereus, ...
If my request is not too indiscreet,
Art thou as much beloved?

Pe.
... I ought to hide
Nothing from thee.—Ah, Myrrha would, methinks,
Love me again, and yet it seems she cannot.
I cherish'd once a hope of her regard,
And yet I hope t'obtain it; or, at least,
My flattering wishes still prolong the dream.
'Tis true, that, most inexplicably, she
Persists in her reserve. Thou, Cinyras,
Although thou be a father, still retainest
Thy youthful vigour, and rememberest love.
Know then, that evermore with trembling steps,
And as if by compulsion, she accosts me;
A deathly paleness o'er her countenance steals;
And her fine eyes towards me are never turn'd.
A few irresolute and broken words
She faulters out, involved in mortal coldness;
Her eyes, eternally suffused with tears,
She fixes on the ground; in speechless grief
Her soul is buried; a pale sickliness
Dims, not annihilates, her wond'rous charms:—
Behold her state. Yet of connubial rites
She speaks; and now thou would'st pronounce, that she
Desired those rites; now, that, far worse than death,
She dreaded them; now she herself assigns
The day for these, and now she puts it off.
If I enquire the reason of her grief,
Her lip denies it; but her countenance ...
Of agony expressive, and of death,
Proclaims incurable despair.—
Me she assures, and each returning day
Renews the assurance, that I am her choice;
She says not that she loves me; high of heart,
She knows not how to feign. I wish and fear
To hear from her the truth: I check my tears;
I burn, I languish, and I dare not speak.
Now from her faith, reluctantly bestow'd,
Would I myself release her; now again
I fain would die, since to resign her quite
I have no power; yet, unpossess'd her heart,
Her person would I not possess ... Alas! ...
I scarcely know whether I live or die.—
Thus, both oppress'd, and though, with different griefs,
Both with affliction equally weigh'd down,
We to the fatal day at last are come,
Th' irrevocable day which she herself
Hath chosen for our marriage ... Ah, were I
The only victim of so much distress!

Cin.
As much as she, dost thou excite my pity ...
Thy frank and fervid eloquence bespeaks
A soul humane and lofty: such a soul
Did I ascribe to thee: hence to thyself
I will not less ingenuously speak.—
I tremble for my child. I share with thee
A lover's grief; ah, prince! do thou too share
A father's grief with me. Ah, if she were
Unhappy by my means! ... 'Tis true, that none
Constrain'd her ... But yet, if timidity,
Or virgin bashfulness ... If finally
Myrrha should now capriciously repent! ...

Pe.
No more; I understand thee. To a lover,
Who loves as I do, canst thou represent
The beloved object wretched for his sake?
Could I, though innocently, deem myself
The origin of all her wretchedness,
And not expire with grief?—Ah, Myrrha, now
Pronounce on me, and on my destiny,
A final sentence; fearlessly pronounce it,
If Pereus' love be irksome; yet for this
Never shall I regret that I have loved thee.
Oh, could I make her joyful with my tears! ...
To me 'twould be a blessing e'en to die,
So that she might be happy.

Cin.
Pereus, who
Can hear thee without weeping? ... No, a heart
More faithful, more impassion'd than thine own,
There cannot be. Ah! as thou hast to me,
Could'st thou disclose it also to my daughter:
She could not hear thee, and refuse t'unfold
To thee with equal confidence her own.
I do not think that she repents her choice;
(Who, knowing thee, could do this?) but perchance
Thou may'st solicit from her heart the source
Of her conceal'd distress.—Behold, she comes;
I had already summon'd her. With her
I leave thee. To the interview of lovers
Fathers are ever a restraint. Now, prince,
Fully reveal to her thy lofty heart,
A heart by which all others must be sway'd.

SCENE THE SECOND.

Myrrha, Pereus.
My.
With Pereus he leaves me ... Fatal trial!
This rends my heart indeed.

Pe.
At length, oh Myrrha,
The day is come, that which, if thou wert so,
Is destined to make me supremely happy.
Thy hair with nuptial coronals adorn'd,
Thy form enveloped in a pompous robe,
I see indeed: but on thy countenance,
Thy looks, thy gestures, and in every step,
Pale melancholy lours. Oh Myrrha, he
Who loves thee far more than his proper life,
Cannot behold thee with a mien like this
To an indissoluble tie approach.
This is the hour, th' important hour is this,
When 'tis no more allowable for thee
To pass delusions on thyself or others.
Thou should'st divulge to me (whate'er it be)
The cause of thy distress; or should'st at least
Confess to me that thou dost not repose
Thy confidence in me; that I bewray
Thy injudicious choice, and that at heart
Thou art repentant, and would'st fain retract.
I shall not hence account that I am wrong'd;
Oh no! though this sad heart will be surcharged
With mortal wretchedness. But what car'st thou
For the distraction of a man not loved,
And slenderly esteem'd? It too much now
Imports to me not to make thee unhappy.
Then speak to me explicitly and boldly.
But thou art mute and motionless? ... Thy silence
Breathes disaffection, ... death. Thy silence is
An answer too decisive: ... thou dost hate me;
And dar'st not say it ... Now resume thy faith:
I instantly prepare myself to fly
For ever from thine eyes, since I am thus
An object of aversion ... But if I
Was always so, how deserved I thy choice?
If I became so afterwards, ah, tell me
In what I have offended thee?

My.
... Oh prince! ...
Thy overweening love depicts my grief
More poignant than it is. Beyond the bounds
Of truth thy heated phantasy impels thee.
With silence thy unprecedented words
I hear; what wonder? unexpected things,
Unacceptable, and e'en more than this,
Not true, dost thou express: how can I then
Reply to thee?—This, for our nuptial rites,
Is the appointed day; I hither come
To accomplish them: and doth he meanwhile doubt,
The consort chosen by myself, of me?
'Tis true, perchance my spirits are not buoyant,
As her's should be who doth obtain a spouse
Distinguish'd like thyself: but pensiveness
In some is nature's cast; and ill could he
Whose spirits stagnate in a constant ebb,
Trace the dim cause that interdicts their flow:
And often an officious questioning,
Instead of making manifest the cause,
Redoubles the effect.

Pe.
I'm irksome to thee;
I see it by unquestionable symptoms.
Alas! I knew that thou could'st never love me;
Yet in my infirm heart I had caress'd
At least the flattering hope thou didst not hate me:
In time, for thine and my peace, I perceive
That I deceived myself!—'Tis not (alas!)
Within my power to make thee hate me not:
But on myself doth it alone depend
To make thee not despise me. Now art thou
Freed, and released from all thy promised faith.
Against thy will illicitly I gain'd it:—
Not by thy parents, ... and still less by me, ...
By a false shame thou art restrain'd. Thou would'st,
Not to incur the blame of versatile,
Thine own worst enemy, render thyself
The victim of thy error: and dost thou
Hope I should suffer this? Ah no!—That I
Love thee, that I deserve thee, now I ought
To prove this to thee by refusing thee ...

My.
Thou dost delight to exasperate my grief ...
Ah! how can I be joyous in thy presence,
If I am destined always to behold
Thy love ill-pleased with mine? Can I assign
The causes of a grief, for the most part
In me supposititious, which, indeed,
If true in part, perhaps has no other cause
Than the new state which I'm about to enter,
And the obligation to divide myself
From my beloved parents; and the words
So oft repeated to myself, “Perhaps
“I never more shall see them ... never more?”
The long, long pilgrimage to other realms;
The change of manners and the change of place;
The long farewell to all familiar objects,
And all familiar friends, from childhood loved;
And other thoughts, by thousands and by thousands,
All passionate and tender, and all sad,
And all indisputably better known,
And felt more keenly, than by any other,
By thy humane, courteous, and lofty heart.—
I gave myself spontaneously to thee;
Nor have I ever with repentant thoughts,
I swear to thee, look'd back on this resolve.
If it were so, I would have told it to thee:
Thee, above all men, I esteem; from thee
Nothing would I conceal, ... that I would not
Likewise, from my own consciousness, conceal.—
Now I implore, let him who loves me best,
Speak to me least of this my wretchedness,
And 'twill in time, I feel assured, depart.
Could I, not prizing thee, give thee my hand,
I should despise myself: and how not prize thee?
My lip knows not to speak that which my heart
Doth not first dictate: yet that lip assures thee,
Swears to thee, that I never will belong
To any one but thee.—What more can I
Profess to thee?

Pe.
... Myrrha, I venture not
To ask of thee one thing, which, could'st thou say it,
Would give me life indeed! Fatal demand!
'Twere death, I fear, to be resolved on this ...
Thou to be mine then dost not now disdain?
Dost not repent of it, and no delay?

My.
No, none; this is the day; I will be thine.—
But let our sails be hoisted to the winds
To-morrow, and for ever let us leave
These shores behind us.

Pe.
Do I hear thee rightly?
With such abrupt transition how canst thou
Thus differ from thyself? It tortures thee
So much to abandon thy beloved parents,
Thy native country, yet would'st thou depart
Speedily thus for ever ...

My.
I, ... for ever ...
Would ... thus abandon them; ... and die of ... grief ...

Pe.
What do I hear? Thy anguish hath betray'd thee; ...
Thy words and looks are prompted by despair.
I swear that I will never be the means
Of thy destruction; never ... of my own
Too certainly ...

My.
... 'Tis true ... 'tis too, too true; ...
I am distracted by a mighty woe ...
But no, believe me not.—Inflexibly
I to my purpose keep—While I have thus
My bosom harden'd as it were with grief,
My parting hence will be less keenly felt:
A solace in thyself ...

Pe.
... No, Myrrha, no: ...
I am the cause, I am, (though innocent)
Of the dire conflict, which thus lacerates,
And agitates thy heart.—I will not now
Longer prevent with my importunate presence
Needful alleviation of thy grief.—
Do thou thyself, oh Myrrha, to thy parents
Propose some means that may deliver thee
From ties so inauspicious; or from them
Thou'lt hear to-day of Pereus' violent death.

SCENE THE THIRD.

Myrrha.
My.
Ah, go not to my parents! ... Hear me, ... hear me! ...
He flies from me ... Oh heaven! what have I said?
Let me to Euryclea quickly run:
No, not one instant would I with myself
Remain alone ...

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Myrrha, Euryclea.
Eu.
Oh whither dost thou fly
Thus with such breathless haste, beloved daughter?

My.
Where can I find, if not in thee, some solace?
To thee I came ...

Eu.
I, from a distance, long
Have watch'd thee carefully. Thou knowest well
I never can abandon thee: I hope
That thou wilt pardon me. From thence I saw
Pereus rush troubled forth; and I find thee
With heavier grief oppress'd: ah, dearest daughter,
Thy tears at least may freely have a vent
Within my breast.

My.
Ah yes, dear Euryclea,
With thee I may at least shed tears ... I feel
As if my heart would burst from checking them.

Eu.
And wilt thou, in a state like this, persist,
Oh daughter, in these hymeneal rites?

My.
I hope my agonies may kill me first ...
But no; that cannot be; the time's too short; ...
They afterwards will kill me, kill me soon ...
Death, ... death, ... I have no other wish ... but death ...
No other destiny, save death ... deserve ...

Eu.
—Myrrha, no other furies can assail
With such barbarity thy youthful breast,
Save those of love ...

My.
What dar'st thou say to me?
What cruel falsehood? ...

Eu.
Ah, do not, I beseech thee,
Be grieved with me. For a long time I have thought so:
But if it thus displease thee, I will dare
No more to say it to thee. Ah, may'st thou
Preserve with me the confidence of weeping!
Neither do I know well if I believe
What I have said; moreover, to thy mother
I hitherto have strenuously denied it ...

My.
What do I hear? Oh heaven! does she perchance
Also suspect it? ...

Eu.
And who, seeing thus
A tender virgin in excessive grief,
And grief apparently without a cause,
Would not deem love the origin of this?
Ah! were thy grief from love alone! at least
Some remedy might then be found.—Immersed
In this perplexing doubt for a long time,
I to the altar dared one day to go
Of Venus, our sublime divinity;
With tears, with incense, and persuasive prayers,
With labouring heart, before her sacred image
Prostrate, I ventured to pronounce thy name ...

My.
Ah! what audacity! What hast thou done?
Venus! ... Oh heaven! ... inimical to me ...
The force of her implacable revenge ...
What do I say? ... Alas! ... I shudder, ... tremble ...

Eu.
'Tis true, I was audaciously officious:
The angry deity disdain'd my vows;
The incense, in a smouldering gloom involved,
With difficulty burn'd; and, downwards driven,
The smoke collected round my hoary head.
Would'st thou hear further? I presumed to raise
To the stern image my afflicted eyes,
And horribly incensed with indignation,
With threatening looks the goddess seem'd to me
Herself to drive me from her sacred feet.
With trembling steps I totter'd from the temple,
Palsied with fear ... In telling this, I feel
My hair with horror once more stand on end ...

My.
And thou with terror mak'st me also shudder.
What hast thou dared to do? By Myrrha now
Must no celestial power, and much less that
Of our tremendous goddess, be invoked.
I am abandon'd by the gods; my breast
Opens its chambers to the ravening furies;
There they alone authority possess,
And residence.—Ah! if there still remains
In thee the shadow of a genuine pity,
My faithful Euryclea, (thou alone
Canst do it,) save me from despair: 'tis slow,
Too slow, although 'tis infinite, my grief.

Eu.
Thou mak'st me tremble ... What can I? ...

My.
... I ask thee
To abridge my woes. By little and by little
Thou seest my o'er-worn, o'er-task'd frame decay;
My lingering agonies destroy my parents;
A burden to myself, a curse to others,
I never can escape: 'twere pity, love,
To expedite my death; from thee I ask it ...

Eu.
Oh heaven! ... from me? ... My very utterance fails, ...
My breath, ... my thought ...

My.
Ah no, thou lov'st me not!
I weakly deem'd that in thy aged breast
There dwelt a comprehensive tenderness ...
Yet thou thyself didst in my tender years
Exhort me to nobility of thought:
Oft have I heard from thee that virtuous souls
Should prefer death to infamy. Alas! ...
What do I say? ... But thou dost hear me not ...
Motionless, ... mute, ... thou scarcely breath'st! Oh heaven! ...
What have I said? Distracted with my pangs ...
I know not what I've said: Ah, pardon me;
My second mother, be once more thyselfe ...

Eu.
... Oh daughter, daughter! ... Thou ask death from me?
Thou death from me? ...

My.
Esteem me not ungrateful;
Nor that the anguish of my own despair
Robs me of pity for the pangs of others.—
Wilt thou not see me then extinct in Cyprus?
Thou must perforce, ere it be long, be told,
That ere the vessel reach Epirus' shore,
Myrrha had breathed her last.

Eu.
In vain dost thou
Presume to yield to these abhorred nuptials.
I to thy parents fly to tell the whole ...

My.
Ah, do it not, or irretrievably
Thou forfeitest my love: ah, do it not,
I pray thee; in the name of thy true love
I do conjure thee. From a troubled heart
Accents escape which should not be recorded.—
An ample solace (one which hitherto
I've not allow'd) hath been my tears with thee,
The speaking of my grief: in me already
My courage hence is doubled.—A few hours
Are wanting to my solemn nuptial rite.
Be ever near me: let us go. Meanwhile
It is thy province to confirm me more
In my inevitable lofty purpose.
Thou by thy faithful council, and thy more
Than mother's love, at once should'st strengthen me;
Thou should'st so act, that firmly I pursue
The sole remaining honourable track.