University of Virginia Library

ACT THE FIFTH.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Cinyras.
Cin.
Oh, ill-starr'd, wretched Pereus! Too true lover! ...
Ah, had I been more swift in my arrival,
Thou hadst not then perchance against thy breast
The fatal weapon aim'd.—When he knows this,
What will become of his disconsolate father?
Espoused and joyful he expected him;
Now will he see him brought before his eyes,
Slain by his own hands, an inanimate corse.—
But I, alas! am I then less than he
Disconsolate as a father? And is this life,
This state, in which, amid atrocious furies,
The frantic Myrrha languishes? This life,
To which we're doom'd by her mysterious pangs?—
Yet will I question her; and I have arm'd
My heart in iron mail. She well deserves
(And this she knows) my anger; as a proof
She tardily obeys my summons hither:
Yet my command hath she already heard
By the third messenger.—Assuredly
Beneath these pangs of her's there is conceal'd
Some mystery no less dreadful than important.
I, from her lips, will now hear all the truth,
Or never, never more will I henceforth
Admit her to my presence ... But, oh heaven,
If she's condemn'd to everlasting tears,
Though innocent, by force of destiny,
And by the anger of offended gods,
Should I to such calamities as these
Add the displeasure of a father? ... Should I,
Despairing, and despised, abandon her
To lingering death? ... Alas, at such a thought
My heart would break ... But, yet, in part, at least,
'Tis indispensable that I should hide,
From her, in this my last experiment,
My boundless fondness. Never hath she yet
Heard me address her in reproachful terms:
No maiden surely hath a heart so firm
As may suffice to hear without emotion
The unaccustom'd menace of a father.—
At length she comes.—Alas, how she approaches
With tardy and reluctant steps! It seems
As if she came to expire before my eyes.

SCENE THE SECOND.

Cinyras, Myrrha.
Cin.
—Myrrha, I never, never could have thought
That thou regardedst not thy father's honour;
Thou hast too certainly of this convinced me
On this day fatal to us all: but yet
That thou should'st now reluctantly obey
Th'express repeated summons of thy father,
E'en this was less expected than the other.

My.
... Thou of my life art arbiter supreme ...
I did implore from thee ... myself ... erewhile ...
And on this very spot, ... the punishment ...
Of my so many, ... and enormous faults ...
In the presence of my mother; ... wherefore then
Didst thou not kill me? ...

Cin.
It is time, oh Myrrha,
Yes it is time to alter thy deportment.
In vain thou utterest accents of despair;
In vain despairing, and confounded looks
Thou fixest on the ground. Through all thy grief
Alas, too evidently shame appears;
Guilty thou feel'st thyself. Thy heaviest fault
Is thy concealment with thy father: hence
His anger thoroughly thou meritest;
And that the partial and indulgent love
I bore to thee, my dear and only daughter,
Henceforth should cease.—But what? thy tears gush forth!
Thou tremblest! shudderest! ... and thou art silent!
Would then thy father's anger be to thee
An insupportable infliction?

My.
Ah! ...
Worse, ... than the worst of deaths ...

Cin.
Hear me.—Thou hast
Render'd thy parents, as thou hast thyself,
A fable to the world, by th'untoward issue
To which thou'st brought these rites desired by thee.
Thy cruel insult has cut short already
The days of wretched Pereus ...

My.
What do I hear?

Cin.
Yes, Pereus dies; and thou hast murder'd him.
Soon as he left our presence, he withdrew,
Alone, and by mute anguish overwhelm'd,
To his apartments: no man durst pursue him;
And I arrived too late ... He lay, transfix'd
By his own dagger, in a sea of blood:
To me, his eyes bedimm'd with tears, and death,
He raised; ... and, 'mid his latest sighs, he breathed
The name of Myrrha from his lips.—Ungrateful ...

My.
Ah, say no more to me ... I, I alone
Deserve to breathe my last ... And yet I live? ...

Cin.
The horrid anguish of the wretched sire
Of Pereus, I alone can comprehend,
I who at once am wretched and a father:
Hence I'm aware what now must be his rage,
His hatred, and his thirst to wreak on us
A just and bitter vengeance.—Hence, not moved
By terror of his arms, but by a just
Compassion for his son, I am resolved
To know from thee, as doth befit a father
Offended and deceived, (and at all risks
Do I insist on this) the real cause
Of such a horrible catastrophe.—
Myrrha, in vain would'st thou conceal it from me:
Thou by thy each least gesture art betray'd.—
Thy broken words; the changes of thy face,
Now dyed with scarlet, and with hues of death
Now blanch'd; thy mute and bosom-heaving sighs;
The lingering hectic that consumes thy frame;
Thy restless glances stol'n and indirect;
Thy dumb confusion; and the cleaving shame,
Th'instinctive consciousness that ne'er forsakes thee: ...
Ah! all that I behold in thee persuades me,
And ineffectually would'st thou deny it,
That these thy furies are th'effects of love.

My.
Of love? ... Ah, think it not! ... Thou art deceived.

Cin.
The more that thou deniest it, the more
I am convinced of this. And I, alas!
Am but too well assured, that this thy flame,
Which thou so pertinaciously dost hide,
To some degrading object owes its birth.

My.
Alas! ... why thus deliberate? ... Thou wilt not
Destroy me with thy sword; ... and thou meanwhile ...
Destroyest me with words ...

Cin.
And darest thou
Assert to me that thou'rt untouch'd by love?
And should'st thou say it to me, and e'en dare
Also to swear it, I should deem thee perjured.—
And who is ever worthy of thy heart,
If Pereus, true, incomparable lover,
Could not indeed obtain it?—But so fierce
Are thy emotions; ... such thy agitation;
So conscious and so passionate thy shame;
And in such terrible vicissitudes
The conflict of these passions is engraved
Upon thy countenance, that all in vain
Thy lips deny the charge ...

My.
Ah, would'st thou then ...
E'en in thy presence ... make me ... die ... of shame? ...
And thou art a father? ...

Cin.
And would'st thou with cruel,
Inflexible, and unavailing silence,
Poison, and prematurely terminate
The days of a fond father who loves thee
Far better than himself—I'm yet a father:
Banish thy fear; whatever be thy love,
(So that I once might see thee happy) I,
If thou confess it to me, for thy sake,
Am capable of any sacrifice.
I have seen, and I still see (wretched daughter)
The struggle generous and horrible
Which tears thy heart to pieces betwixt love
And duty. Thou hast done too much already,
To sense of right self-sacrificed, but love,
More powerful than thyself, forbids the offering.
Passion may be excused; its impulses
Oft foil our best endeavours to resist them;
But to withhold thy secret from thy father,
Who prays for, who commands, thy confidence,
Admits of no excuse.

My.
—Oh death! oh death!
Whom I so much invoke, wilt thou still be
Deaf to my grief? ...

Cin.
Ah daughter, try to calm,
Ah try to calm thy heart: if thou wilt not
Make me hereafter more incensed against thee,
I am already almost pacified;
Provided thou wilt speak to me.—Ah speak
To me, as to a brother. Even I
Love by experience know: ... The name ...

My.
Oh heaven! ...
I love, yes; since thou forcest me to say it;
I desperately love, and love in vain.
But who's the object of that hopeless passion,
Nor thou, nor any one, shall ever know:
He knows it not himself ... and even I
To my own consciousness almost deny
The fatal secret.

Cin.
And I will, and ought
To wrest it from thy keeping. Nor canst thou
Be cruel to thyself, except thou be
At the same time still more so to thy parents,
Who thee adore, thee only.—Speak, ah speak.—
Thou seest already from an angry father
That I become a weeping, kneeling suppliant:
Thou canst not die without condemning us
To share thy tomb.—He, whosoe'er he be,
Whom thou dost love, I will that he be thine.
A monarch's foolish pride can never tear
The affection of a father from my breast.
Thy love, thy hand, my realm, may well convert
The lowest individual to a rank
Lofty and noble: and I feel assured
That he whom thou could'st love, could never be
Wholly unworthy, though of humble birth.
I do conjure thee, speak: at all events,
I wish thee saved.

My.
Saved? ... Of what dost thou dream? ...
These very words accelerate my death ...
Let me, for pity's sake, ah let me quickly
For ever ... drag myself ... from thee ...

Cin.
Oh daughter
Sole, and beloved; Oh what say'st thou? Ah!
Come to thy father's arms.—Oh heaven! Like one
Distract, and frantic, thou repellest me?
Thou then dost hate thy father? and dost thou
Burn with so vile a passion that thou fearest ...

My.
Ah no, it is not vile; ... my flame is guilty;
Nor ever ...

Cin.
What is this thou sayest? ... Guilty?
Provided that thy sire condemn it not,
It cannot be: reveal it.

My.
Thou would'st see
Even that sire himself with horror shudder,
If it were known to ... Cinyras ...

Cin.
What do I hear?

My.
What have I said? ... Alas! ...
I know not what I say ... I do not love ...
Ah, think it not; oh no! ... Ah, suffer me,
I for the last time fervently conjure thee
To hasten from thy presence.

Cin.
Hard of heart! ...
Now, by exasperating thus my rage
With thy fantastic moods, by trifling thus
With my excessive grief, eternally
Now hast thou forfeited thy father's love.

My.
Oh cruel, bitter, and ferocious menace! ...
Now in the anguish of my dying gasp,
Swiftly approaching ... to my pangs so dire,
So various, and so fierce, will now be added
The cruel execration of a father! ...
I shall die frar from thee ... and die unpitied! ...
How fortunate my mother! ... She, at least,
Press'd in thy arms ... may breathe ... her latest sigh ...

Cin.
What would'st thou say to me? ... What dreadful light
Breaks from these words! ... Thou impious, perchance ...

My.
Oh heaven! ... what have I said indeed? ... Alas!
Oh wretched me! ... Where am I? ... Whither now
Shall I betake myself? Where shall I die?—
But now thy dagger may bestead me! ...

Cin.
Daughter! ...
What hast thou done? My dagger ...

My.
Lo! ... to thee ...
I now restore it ... I at least possess'd
A hand as swift and desperate as my tongue.

Cin.
I'm petrified ... with fear ... and agony,
With pity ... and with rage ...

My.
Oh Cinyras! ...
Thou ... seest me ... now ... expiring ... in thy presence ...
I have ... at once ... succeeded ... to avenge
Thee ... and myself ... to punish ... —Thou thyself, ...
By dint of violence, ... from my heart ... didst wrest ...
The horrid secret ... But since ... with my life ...
It parted ... from my lips, ... I die ... less guilty ...

Cin.
Oh crime! ... oh agony!—To whom my tears?—

My.
Ah, weep not thou; ... I merit not thy tears ...
Shun my contagious presence; ... and conceal ...
Form Cecris ... ever ...

Cin.
Wretchedest of fathers! ...
And does the gaping earth not burst asunder
To swallow me alive? ... I dare not now
Approach the dying and flagitious damsel; ...
Yet how can I abandon utterly
My immolated daughter? ...

SCENE THE THIRD.

Cecris, Euryclea, Cinyras, Myrrha.
Ce.
By the shrieks
Of death brought hither ...

Cin.
Do not thou advance ...
Oh heaven! ...

Ce.
To my daughter's side ...

My.
Oh voice! ...

Eu.
Ah spectacle of horror! On the earth
Myrrha lies weltering in her blood! ...

Ce.
My daughter! ...

Cen.
Stop.

Ce.
Murder'd! ... How? By who? ... I will behold her ...

Cin.
Ah stop, ... and hear with terror ... By my dagger
She, with her own hand, has transpierced herself ...

Ce.
And dost thou thus desert thy daughter? ... Ah!
I will myself ...

Cin.
She is no more our daughter.
With an incestuous and horrid love
She burn'd for ... Cinyras ...

Ce.
What do I hear?—
Oh crime! ...

Cin.
Ah come! I pray thee let us go,
To die with agony and shame elsewhere.

Ce.
Impious! ...—Oh daughter!

Cin.
Ah come! ...

Ce.
Ah unhappy! ...
Nor ever more embrace her! ...

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Myrrha, Euryclea.
My.
When I ask'd ...
It ... of thee, ... thou, ... oh Euryclea, ... then ...
Shouldest ... have given ... to my hands ... a sword: ...
I had died ... guiltless; ... guilty ... now ... I die!