Iphigenia In Tauris. - Act The Third.

SCENE I.     IPHIGENIA.            ORESTES.     IPHIGENIA.     Unhappy man, I only loose thy bonds     In token of a still severer doom.     The freedom which the sanctuary imparts,     Like the last life-gleam o'er the dying face,     But heralds death. I cannot, dare not say     Your doom is hopeless; for, with murd'rous hand,     Could I inflict the fatal blow myself?     And while I here am priestess of Diana,     None, be he who he may, dare touch your heads.     But the incensed king, should I refuse     Compliance with the rites himself enjoin'd,     Will choose another virgin from my train     As my successor. Then, alas! with nought,     Save ardent wishes, can I succour you,     Much honour'd countryman! The humblest slave,     Who had but near'd our sacred household hearth,     Is dearly welcome in a foreign land;     How with proportion'd joy and blessing, then,     Shall I receive the man who doth recall     The image of the heroes, whom I learn'd     To honour from my parents, and who cheers     My inmost heart with flatt'ring gleams of hope!     ORESTES.     Does prudent forethought prompt thee to conceal     Thy name and race? or may I hope to know     Who, like a heavenly vision, meets me thus?     IPHIGENIA.     Yes, thou shalt know me. Now conclude the tale     Of which thy brother only told me half:     Relate their end, who coming home from Troy,     On their own threshold met a doom severe     And most unlook'd for. I, though but a child     When first conducted hither, well recall     The timid glance of wonder which I cast     On those heroic forms.    When they went forth,     it seem'd as though Olympus from her womb     Had cast the heroes of a by-gone world,     To frighten Ilion; and, above them all,     Great Agamemnon tower'd pre-eminent!     Oh tell me! Fell the hero in his home,     Though Clytemnestra's and gisthus' wiles?     ORESTES.     He fell!     IPHIGENIA.     Unblest Mycene! Thus the sons     Of Tantalus, with barbarous hands, have sown     Curse upon curse; and, as the shaken weed     Scatters around a thousand poison-seeds,     So they assassins ceaseless generate,     Their children's children ruthless to destroy.--     Now tell the remnant of thy brother's tale,     Which horror darkly hid from me before.     How did the last descendant of the race,--     The gentle child, to whom the Gods assign'd     The office of avenger,--how did he     Escape that day of blood? Did equal fate     Around Orestes throw Avernus' net?     Say, was he saved? and is he still alive?     And lives Electra, too?     ORESTES.     They both survive.     IPHIGENIA.     Golden Apollo, lend thy choicest beams!     Lay them an offering at the throne of Jove!     For I am poor and dumb.     ORESTES.     If social bonds     Or ties more close connect thee with this house,     As this thy joy evinces, rein thy heart;     For insupportable the sudden plunge     From happiness to sorrow's gloomy depth.     As yet thou only know'st the hero's death.     IPHIGENIA.     And is not this intelligence enough?     ORESTES.     Half of the horror yet remains untold,     IPHIGENIA.     Electra and Orestes both survive,     What have I then to fear?     ORESTES.     And fear'st thou nought     For Clytemnestra?     IPHIGENIA.     Her, nor hope nor fear     Have power to save.     ORESTES.     She to the land of hope     Hath bid farewell.     IPHIGENIA.     Did her repentant hand     Shed her own blood?     ORESTES.     Not so; yet her own blood     Inflicted death.     IPHIGENIA.     Speak less ambiguously.     Uncertainty around my anxious head     Her dusky, thousand-folded, pinion waves.     ORESTES.     Have then the powers above selected me     To be the herald of a dreadful deed,     Which, in the drear and soundless realms of night,     I fain would hide for ever? 'Gainst my will     Thy gentle voice constrains me; it demands,     And shall receive, a tale of direst woe.     Electra, on the day when fell her sire,     Her brother from impending doom conceal'd;     Him Strophius, his father's relative,     With kindest care receiv'd, and rear'd the child     With his own son, named Pylades, who soon     Around the stranger twin'd the bonds of love.     And as they grew, within their inmost souls     There sprang the burning longing to revenge     The monarch's death. Unlookd for, and disguis'd,     They reach Mycene, feigning to have brought     The mournful tidings of Orestes' death,     Together with his ashes. Them the queen     Gladly receives. Within the house they enter;     Orestes to Electra shows himself:     She fans the fires of vengeance into flame,     Which in the sacred presence of a mother     Had burn'd more dimly. Silently she leads     Her brother to the spot where fell their sire;     Where lurid blood-marks, on the oft-wash'd floor,     With pallid streaks, anticipate revenge.     With fiery eloquence she pictures forth     Each circumstance of that atrocious deed,--     Her own oppress'd and miserable life,     The prosperous traitor's insolent demeanour,     The perils threat'ning Agamemnon's race     From her who had become their stepmother;     Then in his hand the ancient dagger thrusts,     Which often in the house of Tantalus     With savage fury rag'd,--and by her son     Is Clytemnestra slain.     IPHIGENIA.     Immortal powers!     Whose pure and blest existence glides away     'Mid ever shifting clouds, me have ye kept     So many years secluded from the world,     Retain'd me near yourselves, consign'd to me     The childlike task to feed the sacred fire,     And taught my spirit, like the hallow'd flame,     With never-clouded brightness to aspire     To your pure mansions,--but at length to feel     With keener woe the misery of my house?     Oh tell me of the poor unfortunate!     Speak of Orestes!     ORESTES.     Would that he were dead!     Forth from his mother's blood her ghost arose,     And to the ancient daughters of the night     Cries,--"Let him not escape,--the matricide!     Pursue the victim, dedicate to you!"     They hear, and glare around with hollow eyes,     Like greedy eagles. In their murky dens     They stir themselves, and from the corners creep     Their comrades, dire Remorse and pallid Fear;     Before them fumes a mist of Acheron;     Perplexingly around the murderer's brow     The eternal contemplation of the past     Rolls in its cloudy circles.    Once again     The grisly band, commissioned to destroy,     Pollute earth's beautiful and heaven-sown fields,     From which an ancient curse had banish'd them.     Their rapid feet the fugitive pursue;     They only pause to start a wilder fear.     IPHIGENIA.     Unhappy one; thy lot resembles his,     Thou feel'st what he, poor fugitive, must suffer.     ORESTES.     What say'st thou? why presume my fate like his?     IPHIGENIA.     A brother's murder weighs upon thy soul;     Thy younger brother told the mournful tale.     ORESTES.     I cannot suffer that thy noble soul     Should be deceiv'd by error. Rich in guile,     And practis'd in deceit, a stranger may     A web of falsehood cunningly devise     To snare a stranger;--between us be truth.     I am Orestes! and this guilty head     Is stooping to the tomb, and covets death;     It will be welcome now in any shape.     Whoe'er thou art, for thee and for my friend     I wish deliverance;--I desire it not.     Thou seem'st to linger here against thy will;     Contrive some means of flight, and leave me here:     My lifeless corpse hurl'd headlong from the rock,     My blood shall mingle with the dashing waves,     And bring a curse upon this barbarous shore!     Return together home to lovely Greece,     With joy a new existence to commence.     [ORESTES retires.     IPHIGENIA.     At length Fulfilment, fairest child of Jove,     Thou dost descend upon me from on high!     How vast thine image! scarce my straining eye     Can reach thy hands, which, fill'd with golden fruit     And wreaths of blessing, from Olympus' height     Shower treasures down. As by his bounteous gifts     We recognize the monarch (for what seems     To thousands opulence is nought to him),     So you, ye heavenly Powers, are also known     By bounty long withheld, and wisely plann'd.     Ye only know what things are good for us;     Ye view the future's wide-extended realm;     While from our eye a dim or starry veil     The prospect shrouds. Calmly ye hear our prayers,     When we like children sue for greater speed.     Not immature ye pluck heaven's golden fruit;     And woe to him, who with impatient hand,     His date of joy forestalling, gathers death.     Let not this long-awaited happiness,     Which yet my heart hath scarcely realiz'd,     Like to the shadow of departed friends,     Glide vainly by with triple sorrow fraught!     ORESTES, returning.     Dost thou for Pylades and for thyself     Implore the gods, blend not my name with yours;     Thou wilt not save the wretch whom thou wouldst join,     But wilt participate his curse and woe.     IPHIGENIA.     My destiny is firmly bound to thine.     ORESTES.     No, say not so; alone and unattended     Let me descend to Hades. Though thou shouldst     In thine own veil enwrap the guilty one.     Thou couldst not shroud him from his wakeful foes;     And e'en thy sacred presence, heavenly maid,     Drives them aside, but scares them not away.     With brazen impious feet they dare not tread     Within the precincts of this sacred grove:     Yet in the distance, ever and anon,     I hear their horrid laughter, like the howl     Of famish'd wolves, beneath the tree wherein     The traveller hides. Without, encamp'd they lie,     And should I quit this consecrated grove,     Shaking their serpent locks, they would arise,     And, raising clouds of dust on every side,     Ceaseless pursue their miserable prey.     IPHIGENIA.     Orestes, canst thou hear a friendly word?     ORESTES.     Reserve it for one favour'd by the gods.     IPHIGENIA.     To thee they give anew the light of hope.     ORESTES.     Through clouds and smoke I see the feeble gleam     Of the death-stream which lights me down to hell.     IPHIGENIA.     Hast thou one sister only, thy Electra?     ORESTES.     I knew but one: yet her kind destiny,     Which seem'd to us so terrible, betimes     Removed an elder sister from the woe     That dogs the race of Pelops. Cease, oh cease     Thy questions, maiden, nor thus league thyself     With the Eumenides, who blow away,     With fiendish joy, the ashes from my soul,     Lest the last spark of horror's fiery brand     Should be extinguish'd there. Must then the fire,     Deliberately kindl'd and supplied     With hellish sulphur, never cease to sear     My tortur'd bosom?     IPHIGENIA.     In the flame I throw     Sweet incense. Let the gentle breath of love,     Low murmuring, cool thy bosom's fiery glow.     Orestes, fondly lov'd,--canst thou not hear me?     Hath the terrific Furies' grisly band     Completely dried the life-blood in thy veins?     Creeps there, as from the Gorgon's direful head,     A petrifying charm through all thy limbs?     If hollow voices, from a mother's blood,     Call thee to hell, may not a sister's word     With benediction pure ascend to heaven,     And summon thence some gracious power to aid thee?     ORESTES.     She calls! she calls!--Thou too desir'st my death?     Is there a fury shrouded in thy form?     Who art thou, that thy voice thus horribly     Can harrow up my bosom's inmost depths?     IPHIGENIA.     Thine inmost heart reveals it. I am she,     Iphigenia,--look on me, Orestes!     ORESTES.     Thou!     IPHIGENIA.     My own brother!     ORESTES.     Hence, away, begone!     Touch not these locks, I counsel thee; from me,     As from Creusa's bridal robe, proceeds     An unextinguishable fire. Depart!     Like Hercules, an ignominious death,     Unworthy wretch, look'd in myself, I'll die.     IPHIGENIA.     Thou shalt not perish! Would that I might hear     One quiet word from thee! dispel my doubts,     Make sure the bliss I have implor'd so long.     A wheel of joy and sorrow in my heart     Ceaseless revolves. With shy reserve I turn     From one unknown; but unto thee, my brother,     My inmost heart resistlessly impels me.     ORESTES.     Is this Lyus' temple? Doth the glow     Of holy rage unbridl'd thus possess     The sacred priestess?     IPHIGENIA.     Hear me, oh, look up!     See how my heart, which hath been clos'd so long,     Doth open to the bliss of seeing thee,     The dearest treasure that the world contains,--     Of falling on thy neck, and folding thee     Within my longing arms, which have till now     Met the embraces of the empty wind.     Do not repulse me,--the eternal spring,     Whose crystal waters from Parnassus flow,     Bounds not more gaily on from rock to rock,     Down to the golden vale, than from my heart     The waters of affection freely gush,     And round me form a circling sea of bliss.     Orestes! Oh, my brother!     ORESTES.     Lovely nymph!     Nor thy caresses, nor thyself I trust;     Diana claims attendants more severe,     And doth avenge her desecrated fane.     Remove thy circling arm! and if thou wilt     Safety and love upon a youth bestow,     Unto my friend, more worthy than myself,     Impart thy gifts; among yon rocks he roves;     Go seek him, guide him hence, and heed not me.     IPHIGENIA.     Brother, command thyself, and better know     Thy new-found sister, nor misconstrue thus     Her pure and heav'nly joy. Ye Gods, remove     From his fix'd eye delusion, lest this hour     Of highest bliss should make us trebly wretched!     Oh she is here, thine own, thy long-lost sister,     Whom great Diana from the altar snatch'd,     And safely plac'd here in her sacred fane.     A captive thou, prepar'd for sacrifice,     And findest here a sister in the priestess.     ORESTES.     Accursed race! Now may the sun behold     Your final doom. Is not Electra here?     That she with us may perish, nor her life     For heavier doom and deeper woe reserve.     'Tis well,--I follow, priestess! Fratricide     Is an old custom of our ancient house;     And you, ye Gods, I thank, that ye resolve     Childless to root me hence. Thee let me counsel     To view too fondly neither sun nor stars.     Come follow to the gloomy realms below!     As dragons, gender'd in the sulphur pool,     Swallow each other with voracious rage,     So our accurs'd race destroys itself.     Childless and guiltless come below with me!     There's pity in thy look! oh, gaze not so,--     'Twas with such looks that Clytemnestra sought     An entrance to her son Orestes' heart,     And yet his uprais'd arm her bosom pierc'd.     His mother fell!--Appear, indignant shade!     Within the circle step, ye fiends of hell,     Be present at the welcome spectacle,     The last, most horrible, that ye prepare!     Nor hate, nor vengeance, whets the poignard now,     A sister is constrain'd to deal the blow.     Weep not! Thy guiltless soul is free from crime.     From earliest infancy I nought have lov'd,     As thee I could have lov'd, my sister. Come,     The weapon raise, spare not, this bosom rend,     And make an outlet for its boiling streams!     (He sinks exhausted.)     IPHIGENIA.     Alone I cannot bear this bliss and woe.     Where art thou, Pylades? Thine aid I need.     (Iphigenia retires.)     SCENE II.     ORESTES,     Recovering from his swoon and standing up.     Give yet another! reach from Lethe's stream     The last reviving draught of cool refreshment!     Soon shall its waters in my bosom still     Life's fitful fever; and my spirit then     Adown oblivion's stream shall glide to you,     Ye spirits, shrouded in eternal mist.     With tranquil pleasure in your deep repose     A weary son of earth may lave his soul!--     What whisp'ring sounds pervade the dreary grove?     What hollow murmurs haunt its twilight gloom?--     They gather round to view the stranger guest!     Who are yon troop in high communion met,     Like an assembl'd family of princes?     They mingle peacefully, of every age,     And either sex, yet are their godlike forms     Cast in a kindred mould. 'Tis they, 'tis they,     The fathers of my race! With Atreus,     In friendly converse glides Thyestes' shade,     And children playfully around them sport.     Is there no enmity among you now?     And is revenge extinguish'd with the sun?     I then am welcome, and may hope to join     Your solemn company. My fathers, hail!     Orestes, last descendant of your race,     Salutes you. What ye sow'd, that hath he reap'd     Laden with curses he descends to you.     But burdens here are lighter far to bear.     Receive him, oh, receive him in your circle!     Thee, Atreus, I revere, and thee, Thyestes:     Here all are free from enmity and hate.--     Show me my father, whom I only once     In life beheld.--Art thou my father, thou,     My mother leading thus familiarly?     Dares Clytemnestra reach her hand to thee;     Then may Orestes also draw near her,     And say, behold thy son!--My ancestors,     Behold your son, and bid him welcome here,     Among the sons of ancient Tantalus,     A kind salute on earth was murder's watchword,     And all their joys commence beyond the grave.     Ye welcome me! Ye bid me join your circle!     Oh, lead me to my honour'd ancestor!     Where is the aged hero? that I may     Behold the dear, the venerable head,     Of him, who with the gods in council sat.     You seem to shudder and to turn away?     What may this mean? Suffers the godlike man?     Alas! the mighty gods, with ruthless hate,     To his heroic breast, with brazen chains,     Have cruel pangs indissolubly bound.     SCENE III.     ORESTES.        IPHIGENIA.        PYLADES.     ORESTES.     How! are ye come already? Sister, welcome.     Electra still is missing: some kind god     With gentle arrow send her quickly hither.     Thee, my poor friend, I must compassionate!     Come with me, come to Pluto's gloomy throne.     There to salute our hosts like stranger guests.     IPHIGENIA.     Celestial pair, who from the realms above     By night and day shed down the beauteous light     To cheer mankind, but who may not illume     Departed spirits, save a mortal pair!     A brother's and a sister's anguish pity!     For thou, Diana, lov'st thy gentle brother     Beyond what earth and heaven can offer thee     And dost, with quiet yearning, ever turn     Thy virgin face to his eternal light.     Let not my only brother, found so late,     Rave in the darkness of insanity!     And is thy will, when thou didst here conceal me,     At length fulfill'd,--would'st thou to me through him,     To him through me, thy gracious aid extend,--     Oh, free him from the fetters of this curse,     Lest vainly pass the precious hours of safety.     PYLADES.     Dost thou not know us, and this sacred grove,     And this blest light, which shines not on the dead?     Dost thou not feel thy sister and thy friend,     Who hold thee living in their firm embrace?     Grasp us! we are not shadows. Mark my words!     Collect thyself,--each moment now is precious,     And our return hangs on a slender thread,     Which, as it seems, some gracious fate doth spin.     ORESTES to IPHIGENIA.     My sister, let me for the first time taste,     With open heart, pure joy within thine arms!     Ye gods, who charge the heavy clouds with dread,     And sternly gracious send the long-sought rain     With thunder and the rush of mighty winds,     A horrid deluge on the trembling earth;     Yet dissipate at length man's dread suspense,     Exchanging timid wonder's anxious gaze     For grateful looks and joyous songs of praise,     When in each sparkling drop which gems the leaves,     Apollo, thousand-fold, reflects his beam,     And Iris colours with a magic hand     The dusky texture of the parting clouds;     Oh, let me also in my sister's arms,     And on the bosom of my friend, enjoy     With grateful thanks the bliss ye now bestow     My heart assures me that your curses cease.     The dread Eumenides at length retire,     The brazen gates of Tartarus I hear     Behind them closing with a thund'ring clang.     A quick'ning odour from the earth ascends,     Inviting me to chase, upon its plains,     The joys of life and deeds of high emprise.     PYLADES.     Lose not the moments which are limited!     The favouring gale, which swells our parting sail,     Must to Olympus waft our perfect joy.     Quick counsel and resolve the time demands.