University of Virginia Library

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Cinyras, Cecris.
Ce.
There is no doubt that Pereus, though he be
Not yet return'd to us, by Myrrha's words
Was wholly mortified. She loves him not;
I am convinced of this; and 'tis too certain
That perseverance in these purposed nuptials
Will in the end conduct her to the tomb.

Cin.
For the last trial now, will we ourselves
Hear from her lips the truth. I, in thy name,
Have summon'd her to meet thee in this place.
None of us, lastly, would compel her choice:
She knows how much we love her; we, to whom
Ourselves are not more dear. To me it seems
Now utterly impossible, that she,
In this respect, should close to us her heart;
To us, who have made her the arbitress
Not only of herself, but of ourselves.

Ce.
Behold, she comes! ... and oh! she seems to me
Somewhat more joyful, and her step more firm ...
Ah! could she be again what once she was!
At the sole reappearance in her face
E'en of a smile of joy, I quickly seem
Restored once more to life.

SCENE THE SECOND.

Myrrha, Cinyras, Cecris.
Ce.
Beloved daughter,
Ah, come to us! ah come!

My.
What do I see?
Oh heaven! my father also! ...

Cin.
Haste, advance;
Our only hope and life, advance securely;
And apprehend not my paternal aspect
More than thou fear'st thy mother's. We are both
Ready to hear thee. Now, if thou art pleased
The cause to tell us of thy cruel state,
Thou giv'st us life; but if it rather please thee,
Or spare thy apprehensive delicacy
More, to conceal it, thou may'st also, daughter,
Conceal it; for thy pleasure will be ours.
To eternize the matrimonial tie
One hour alone is wanting: every one
Deems it a thing decided: but, if yet
Thy will is changed; if thy committed faith
Be irksome to thy heart; if thy free choice,
Though once spontaneous, be no longer such;
Be bold; fear nothing in the world; reveal
All the misgivings of thy heart to us.
Thou art by nothing bound; and we ourselves
The first release thee; and thy generous lover,
Worthy of thee, confirms this liberty.
Nor will we tax thee with inconstancy:
Rather will we admit, that thoughts mature,
Though unforeseen, constrain thee to this change.
By base regards thou never canst be moved;
Thy noble character, thy lofty thoughts,
Thy love for us, full well we know them all:
A step of thee, and of thy blood unworthy,
Thou never could'st e'en think it. Freely then
Do thou fulfil thy wish. Provided thou
Art once more happy, with that happiness
Thou renderest thy parents happy also.
Now, this thy present will whate'er it be,
Do thou to us reveal it as to brothers.

Ce.
Ah yes, thou seest, Myrrha! Never didst thou
Hear words of more persuasive tenderness,
More mild, more tender, from thy mother's lips
Than these.

My.
... Is there a torment in the world
That can compare with mine! ...

Ce.
But what is this?
Sighing, thou mutterest to thyself?

Cin.
Ah let,
Ah let thy heart speak to us: we will use
No other language with thee—Quick, reply.

My.
... My lord ...

Cin.
Ah Myrrha, 'tis a sad beginning:
To thee I am a father, not a lord:
Canst thou invoke me with another name,
Oh daughter?

My.
Myrrha, this is the last conflict.—
Be strong, my soul ...

Ce.
Oh heaven! ... The hues of death
Upon her countenance ...

My.
On mine? ...

Cin.
But whence
Tremblest thou thus? At me? ...

My.
... I tremble not ...
Methinks—or I, at least, no more shall tremble,
Since ye now so compassionately hear me.—
Your only, your too well beloved daughter,
I well know that I am. I see you always,
My joys enjoying, grieving in my griefs;
E'en this my grief increases. Mine, alas!
Passes the confines of a natural sorrow;
In vain I hide it; and to you would speak it, ...
If I knew it myself.—My fatal sadness
With growing years augmented every day,
Long ere, amid the illustrious company
Of noble lovers, Pereus I selected.
Within my breast an angry deity,
Unknown, inexorable, dwells; and hence,
All power of mine is vain against his power ...
Mother, believe me; though I be but young,
My mind, e'en passing ordinary strength,
Was, and is, strong: but my distemper'd frame,
That yields o'er-burthen'd; ... and I feel myself
With slow, though sure steps, tottering to the tomb ...
All food, though scanty, and though only touch'd
At distant intervals, to me is poison:
Sleep everlastingly forsakes my pillow;
Or dreams, with horrid images of death,
My frame enervate more than sleepless nights.
I do not find, throughout the day or night,
A moment's peace, an instant of repose,
A place that seems a resting place to me.
Yet nothing in the shape of human comfort
Do I presume to covet; death I deem,
Expect, solicit as, my only cure.
But, for my punishment, does Nature yet,
With her tenacious and invisible bands,
Protract my lingering life. I pity now,
And now I hate, myself: I weep, and rave,
And weep again. This, this is the incessant,
Insufferable, fierce vicissitude,
In which I drag along my heavy days.—
But what? ... Do you too at my horrid state
Shed tears? ... Beloved mother! ... let me then, ...
To thy breast clinging, ... drinking in thy tears, ...
Forego the sense of suffering for a moment! ...

Ce.
Beloved daughter, at a tale like this,
Who could refrain from weeping? ...

Cin.
At her words
I feel my bosom rent ... But finally,
What ought we now to do? ...

My.
But finally,
(Ah! trust to what I say) I ne'er conceived
The wish to afflict you, or to extort from you
Vain pity for myself, describing thus,
Or trying to describe what mocks description,
My fierce unutterable pangs.—When I,
By chusing Pereus, had fix'd my fate,
At first, 'tis true, I to myself appear'd
Somewhat less troubled; but within my heart
Proportionably fierce my grief return'd,
As nearer and more near the day approach'd
For forming the indissoluble tie.
So much so, that three times indeed I dared
To beg you to procrastinate the day.
In these delays I somewhat calm'd myself;
But, as the time diminish'd, all my pangs
Resumed their wonted fierceness. To their height,
To my consummate shame, consummate grief,
Are they to-day arrived: but something tells me
That they, to-day, are giving in my breast,
The last proof of their strength. This day shall see me
Consort to Pereus, or ... a breathless corse.—

Ce.
What do I hear? ... Oh daughter! ... Wilt thou thus
In these lugubrious nuptials persevere? ...

Cin.
No, this shall never be. Thou lov'st not Pereus;
And, spite of inclination, thou, in vain,
Would'st give thyself to him.

My.
Ah, do not ye
Take me from him; or quickly give me death ...
'Tis true, perhaps, I love him not as much
As he loves me; ... and yet, of this I doubt ...
Believe, that I sufficiently esteem him;
And that no other man in all the world,
If he have not, shall have my hand. I hope
That Pereus, one day, as he ought to be,
Will to my heart be dear; living with him
In constant and inseparable faith,
I hope that, by his means, peace will return,
Joy will return to me; that life may be
Still dear to me, and peradventrue happy.
Ah! if I hitherto have loved him not
As he deserves, 'tis not a fault of mine,
But rather of my state; which makes me first
Abhor myself ... Him have I chosen once:
And now again I chuse him: wish for him,
Solicit him, and him alone. My choice
Beyond expression to yourselves was grateful:
Be then, as ye will'd, and as now I will,
The whole accomplish'd. Do ye try to rise
Above your daughter's grief too, since that daughter
Who suffers it, rises above that grief.
I will, ere long, as much as in me lies,
Come to these nuptials cheerfully; and ye,
Perchance, will hold yourselves indebted to them
For days of future peace.

Ce.
Oh matchless daughter!
How many rare perfections thou unitest!

Cin.
Thy words a little calm me; but I tremble ...

My.
I feel, while thus in conference with you,
My strength return. I may again perchance
Wholly become the mistress of myself,
If the gods will, provided ye will lend
Me your assistance.

Cin.
What assistance?

Ce.
Speak!
We will do every thing.

My.
I am constrain'd
Once more to grieve you. Hear.—To my worn breast,
And to my troubled, weak, distemper'd mind,
The sight of objects new to me will prove
A potent remedy; and this will be
Effectual in proportion as 'tis speedy.
What it will cost me to abandon you,
Oh heaven! I cannot say; my tears will tell it,
When I give you the terrible farewell:
If without falling lifeless ... in thy arms,
I can, ... oh mother, ... do it ... But, if yet
I can abandon you, the day will come,
When, to this generous effort, I shall owe
Life, peace, and happiness.

Ce.
Dost thou thus speak
Of leaving us? Would'st do it instantly?
At once dost fear and wish to do it? Whence
Such inconsistency? ...

Cin.
T'abandon us? ...
And what remains to us deprived of thee?
Thou may'st at leisure afterwards depart
To Pereus' father; but meanwhile ere this
With us enjoy protracted happiness ...

My.
But if 'tis now impossible for me
Here to be happy, would ye rather see me
In Cyprus dead, than, from a foreign shore,
Hear tidings of my full felicity?—
Sooner, or later, to Epirus' realm
My destiny invites me: there should I
With Pereus finally abide. To you,
When Pereus the paternal sceptre sways,
One day will we return. Ye shall again
In Cyprus see me, if the gods so grant,
The joyful mother of a numerous offspring:
And we will leave to you, of all our children
The one which ye love best, to be the prop
Of your declining years. Thus of your blood
Shall ye possess an heir to this rich realm;
Since offspring of the stronger sex, the gods
Have hitherto denied to you. Then first,
The day on which ye suffer'd me to go,
Will ye commemorate with blessings.—Ah,
Grant that to-morrow Pereus and I
Spread to the wind our sails. Within my heart
I feel a certain and tremendous presage,
That I, if ye prohibit my departure,
Alas! within this inauspicious palace,
Remain to-day th' inevitable victim
Of an inscrutable and unknown power:
That ye will lose me everlastingly ...
Do you, I pray, compassionately yield
To my fantastic presage; or be pleased,
Indulging my distemper'd phantasy,
To second what perchance ye deem an error.
My life, my destiny, and also (Heavens!
I shudder as I speak) your destiny,
All, all, too much depend on my departure.

Ce.
Oh daughter! ...

Cin.
Ah! ... thy accents make me tremble ...
But yet, if such thy will, so be it done.
Whate'er may be my grief, I would prefer
Never to see thee, than to see thee thus.—
And thou, sweet consort, mute, and motionless,
In tears? ... Consentest thou to her desire?

Ce.
Ah! could her absence kill me, as (alas!)
I feel assured that I shall hence be doomed
To languish in immitigable tears! ...
Ah! might the augury one day prove true
Which she suggested of her precious offspring; ...
But yet, since such is her fantastic wish,
So that she live, let it be gratified.

My.
Beloved mother, now thou givest me
Life for the second time.—Within an hour
Shall I be ready for the nuptial rites.—
Whether I love you, time will prove to you;
Though now I seem impatient to forsake you.—
Now, for a little while, do I retire
To my apartments: fain would I appear
With tearless eyes before the sacred altar;
And worthy of acceptance, and approved,
With brow serene my noble consort meet.

SCENE THE THIRD.

Cinyras, Cecris.
Ce.
Unhappy that we are! ... Unhappy daughter! ...

Cin.
Yet to behold her every day more sad,
My heart hath not the firmness. 'Twere in vain
To oppose ourselves ...

Ce.
Oh spouse! ... A thousand fears
Invade my heart, lest her excess of grief,
When she is gone from hence, should cause her death.

Cin.
From her expressions, from her looks, and gestures,
And also from her sighs, it seems to me
That by some superhuman agency
She's fearfully possess'd.

Ce.
... Ah! well I know,
Implacable, vindictive Venus, well,
Thy rigorous revenge. Thus dost thou make me
Atone for my irreverent arrogance.
But ah! my child was innocent; I only
Was the delinquent; I alone the culprit ...

Cin.
Oh heaven! what hast thou dared against the goddess? ...

Ce.
Unhappy me! ... Oh Cinyras, hear my fault;
When I beheld myself the spouse adored
Of the most winning and attaching husband,
A man for captivating grace unequall'd,
And by him mother of an only daughter,
(For beauty, modesty, and sense, and grace
Throughout the world unrivall'd) I confess,
Intoxicate with my distinguish'd lot,
I dared deny to Venus, I alone,
Her tributary incense.—Would'st thou more?
Insensate, and extravagant, at last
To such a pitch (alas infatuate!)
Of madness I arrived, that from my lips
I suffer'd the imprudent vaunt to escape,
That by the illustrious, celebrated beauty
Of Myrrha, now more votaries were drawn
From Asia and from Greece, than heretofore
Were e'er attracted to her sacred isle
By warm devotion to the Cyprian queen.

Cin.
Oh! what is this thou sayest? ...

Ce.
From that day
Henceforward, Myrrha lost her peace; her life,
Her beauty, like frail wax before the fire,
Slowly consumed; and nothing in our hands
From that time seem'd to prosper. Afterwards
What did I not attempt to appease the goddess?
What prayers, what tears, what penitential rites
Have I not lavish'd?—Evermore in vain!—

Cin.
Ill hast thou done, oh lady; and still worse
Hath been thy guilt, in keeping it from me.
A father wholly innocent, perchance,
I might by means of mediatorial rites
The pardon of the goddess impetrate:
And yet perchance (I hope) I may succeed.—
But meanwhile, now indeed do I concur
In Myrrha's judgment, that of force we must,
And with what promptitude we can effect it,
Remove her from this desecrated isle.
Who knows? Perchance the anger of the goddess
Will not to other climes pursue her? Hence
Our wretched daughter feeling in her breast
Such an imperative and unknown presage,
Perhaps hence alone, so much desires to go,
And builds on this departure such warm hopes.—
But Pereus comes; welcome he comes: he only,
By taking her away from us, can now
For us our daughter save.

Ce.
Oh destiny!

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Cinyras, Pereus, Cecris.
Pe.
Tardy, irresolute, and apprehensive,
And full of mortal wretchedness, ye see me.
A bitter conflict lacerates my heart:
Me, pity, and disinterested love
Of others, have subdued. This sacrifice
Will cost my life. No otherwise this grieves me
Than that I thus have forfeited the power
To spend it in your service: but I will not,
No, I will never drag t'untimely death
My adored Myrrha! The disastrous tie
Shall now be torn asunder; and with that
The thread of my existence.

Cin.
... Oh my son! ...
Yet by this name I call thee; and I hope
That thou ere long more than in name will be so.
We, since thyself, have heard explicitly
The secret thoughts of Myrrha: I have taken,
As a true father, every means with her,
To encourage her with absolute free will
Her own unbiass'd judgment to pursue.
But 'mid the winds the rock is not more firm,
Than she is firm to thee: thee, thee, alone
She wills, and she solicits; and she fears
Lest thou be taken from her. She knows not
Herself how to adduce to us a cause
For her despondency: her infirm health,
Which was at first the effect of this, perchance
Is now its only cause. But her deep grief
Deserves much pity, be it what it may;
Nor should she wake in thee, more than in us,
Any dissatisfaction. A sweet solace
Thou wilt be of her ills: on thy firm love
Her hopes are founded all. What stronger proof
Would'st thou require than this? She will herself
At all events abandon us to-morrow;
(Us, who so dearly love her) and for this
Th' assign'd inducement is to be with thee
More uniformly; to become more thine.

Pe.
Ah, could I trust to this? but 'specially
This her abrupt departure ... Ah, I tremble,
Lest she designs in secret to make me
Th' instrument of her death.

Ce.
Pereus, to thee
Do we confide her: fate to-day decrees it.
Too certainly before our very eyes
Here would she fall extinct, if to her will
Our hearts permitted us to persevere
In opposition. Change of place and scene
Potently operates on youthful minds.
Then lay aside all inauspicious thoughts;
And think alone of making her more happy.
Bring to thy countenance its wonted cheer;
And by avoiding mention of her grief,
Soon wilt thou see that grief itself subside.

Pe.
May I believe then, certainly believe,
That Myrrha hates me not?

Cin.
From me thou may'st
Believe it, yes! What heretofore I said
Remember! by her words I'm now convinced,
That far from being the source of her distress,
She deems these nuptials her sole remedy.
She must be treated with indulgence; thus
She will submit to any thing. Go thou;
Quickly prepare thyself for festive pomp;
And at the same time every thing dispose
For taking from us by to-morrow's dawn
Our only daughter. We will not assemble
Before the altar of the public temple
In sight of all the inhabitants of Cyprus;
For the long rite would be an obstacle
To your abrupt departure. We will chaunt
The hymeneal anthems in this palace.

Pe.
Thou hast restored me suddenly to life.
I fly; and here will instantly return.