Iphigenia In Tauris. - Act The Fourth.

SCENE I.     IPHIGENIA.     When the Powers on high decree     For a feeble child of earth     Dire perplexity and woe,     And his spirit doom to pass     With tumult wild from joy to grief,     And back again from grief to joy,     In fearful alternation;     They in mercy then provide,     In the precincts of his home,     Or upon the distant shore,     That to him may never fail     Ready help in hours of need,     A tranquil, faithful friend.     Oh, bless, ye heavenly powers, our Pylades,     And every project that his mind may form!     In combat his the vigorous arm of youth,     And in the counsel his the eye of age.     His soul is tranquil; in his inner mind     He guards a sacred, undisturb'd repose,     And from its silent depths a rich supply     Of aid and counsel draws for the distress'd.     He tore me from my brother, upon whom,     With fond amaze, I gaz'd and gaz'd again;     I could not realize my happiness,     Nor loose him from my arms, and heeded not     The danger's near approach that threatens us.     To execute their project of escape,     They hasten to the sea, where in a bay     Their comrades in the vessel lie conceal'd     And wait a signal. Me they have supplied     With artful answers, should the monarch send     To urge the sacrifice. Alas! I see     I must consent to follow like a child.     I have not learn'd deception, nor the art     To gain with crafty wiles my purposes.     Detested falsehood! it doth not relieve     The breast like words of truth: it comforts not,     But is a torment in the forger's heart,     And, like an arrow which a god directs,     Flies back and wounds the archer. Through my heart     One fear doth chase another; perhaps with rage,     Again on the unconsecrated shore,     The Furies' grisly band my brother seize.     Perchance they are surpris'd? Methinks I hear     The tread of armed men. A messenger     Is coming from the king, with hasty steps.     How throbs my heart, how troubl'd is my soul     Now that I see the countenance of one,     Whom with a word untrue I must encounter!     SCENE II.     IPHIGENIA.        ARKAS.     ARKAS.     Priestess, with speed conclude the sacrifice,     Impatiently the king and people wait.     IPHIGENIA.     I had perform'd my duty and thy will,     Had not an unforeseen impediment     The execution of my purpose thwarted.     ARKAS.     What is it that obstructs the king's commands?     IPHIGENIA.     Chance, which from mortals will not brook control.     ARKAS.     Possess me with the reason, that with speed     I may inform the king, who hath decreed     The death of both.     IPHIGENIA.     The gods have not decreed it.     The elder of these men doth bear the guilt     Of kindred murder; on his steps attend     The dread Eumenides. They seiz'd their prey     Within the inner fane, polluting thus     The holy sanctuary. I hasten now,     Together with my virgin-train, to bathe     Diana's image in the sea, and there     With solemn rites its purity restore.     Let none presume our silent march to follow!     ARKAS.     This hindrance to the monarch I'll announce:     Do not commence the rite till he permit.     IPHIGENIA.     The priestess interferes alone in this.     ARKAS.     An incident so strange the king should know.     IPHIGENIA.     Here, nor his counsel nor command avails.     ARKAS.     Oft are the great consulted out of form.     IPHIGENIA.     Do not insist on what I must refuse.     ARKAS.     A needful and a just demand refuse not.     IPHIGENIA.     I yield, if thou delay not.     ARKAS.     I with speed     Will bear these tidings to the camp, and soon     Acquaint thee, priestess, with the king's reply.     There is a message I would gladly bear him:     'Twould quickly banish all perplexity:     Thou didst not heed thy faithful friend's advice.     IPHIGENIA.     I willingly have done whate'er I could.     ARKAS.     E'en now 'tis not too late to change thy mind.     IPHIGENIA.     To do so is, alas, beyond our power.     ARKAS.     What thou wouldst shun, thou deem'st impossible.     IPHIGENIA.     Thy wish doth make thee deem it possible.     ARKAS.     Wilt thou so calmly venture everything?     IPHIGENIA.     My fate I have committed to the gods.     ARKAS.     The gods are wont to save by human means.     IPHIGENIA.     By their appointment everything is done.     ARKAS.     Believe me, all doth now depend on thee.     The irritated temper of the king     Alone condemns these men to bitter death.     The soldiers from the cruel sacrifice     And bloody service long have been disused;     Nay, many, whom their adverse fortunes cast     In foreign regions, there themselves have felt     How godlike to the exil'd wanderer     The friendly countenance of man appears.     Do not deprive us of thy gentle aid!     With ease thou canst thy sacred task fulfil:     For nowhere doth benignity, which comes     In human form from heaven, so quickly gain     An empire o'er the heart, as where a race,     Gloomy and savage, full of life and power,     Without external guidance, and oppress'd     With vague forebodings, bear life's heavy load.     IPHIGENIA.     Shake not my spirit, which thou canst not bend     According to thy will.     ARKAS.     While there is time     Nor labour nor persuasion shall be spar'd.     IPHIGENIA.     Thy labour but occasions pain to me;     Both are in vain; therefore, I pray, depart.     ARKAS.     I summon pain to aid me. 'tis a friend     Who counsels wisely.     IPHIGENIA.     Though it shakes my soul,     It doth not banish thence my strong repugnance.     ARKAS.     Can then a gentle soul repugnance feel     For benefits bestow'd by one so noble?     IPHIGENIA.     Yes, when the donor, for those benefits,     Instead of gratitude, demands myself.     ARKAS.     Who no affection feels doth never want     Excuses. To the king I'll now relate     All that has happen'd. Oh, that in thy soul     Thou wouldst revolve his noble conduct, priestess,     Since thy arrival to the present day!     SCENE III.     IPHIGENIA, alone.     These words at an unseasonable hour     Produce a strong revulsion in my breast;     I am alarm'd!--For as the rushing tide     In rapid currents eddies o'er the rocks     Which lie among the sand upon the shore;     E'en so a stream of joy o'erwhelm'd my soul.     I grasp'd what had appear'd impossible.     It was as though another gentle cloud     Around me lay, to raise me from the earth,     And rock my spirit in the same sweet sleep     Which the kind goddess shed around my brow,     What time her circling arm from danger snatch'd me.     My brother forcibly engross'd my heart;     I listen'd only to his friend's advice;     My soul rush'd eagerly to rescue them,     And as the mariner with joy surveys     The less'ning breakers of a desert isle,     So Tauris lay behind me. But the voice     Of faithful Arkas wakes me from my dream,     Reminding me that those whom I forsake     Are also men. Deceit doth now become     Doubly detested. O my soul, be still!     Beginn'st thou now to tremble and to doubt?     Thy lonely shelter on the firm-set earth     Must thou abandon? and, embark'd once more,     At random drift upon tumultuous waves,     A stranger to thyself and to the world?     SCENE IV.     IPHIGENIA.        PYLADES.     PYLADES.     Where is she? that my words with speed may tell     The joyful tidings of our near escape!     IPHIGENIA.     Oppress'd with gloomy care, I much require     The certain comfort thou dost promise me.     PYLADES.     Thy brother is restor'd! The rocky paths     Of this unconsecrated shore we trod     In friendly converse, while behind us lay,     Unmark'd by us, the consecrated grove;     And ever with increasing glory shone     The fire of youth around his noble brow.     Courage and hope his glowing eye inspir'd;     And his free heart exulted with the joy     Of saving thee, his sister, and his friend.     IPHIGENIA.     The gods shower blessings on thee, Pylades!     And from those lips which breathe such welcome news,     Be the sad note of anguish never heard!     PYLADES.     I bring yet more,--for Fortune, like a prince,     Comes not alone, but well accompanied.     Our friends and comrades we have also found.     Within a bay they had conceal'd the ship,     And mournful sat expectant. They beheld     Thy brother, and a joyous shout uprais'd,     Imploring him to haste the parting hour.     Each hand impatient long'd to grasp the oar,     While from the shore a gently murmuring breeze,     Perceiv'd by all, unfurl'd its wing auspicious.     Let us then hasten; guide me to the fane,     That I may tread the sanctuary, and seize     With sacred awe the object of our hopes.     I can unaided on my shoulder bear     Diana's image: how I long to feel     The precious burden!     [While speaking the last words, he approaches the Temple,     without perceiving that he is not followed by     Iphigenia: at length he turns round.]     Why thus ling'ring stand.     Why art thou silent? wherefore thus confus'd?     Doth some new obstacle oppose our bliss?     Inform me, hast thou to the king announc'd     The prudent message we agreed upon?     IPHIGENIA.     I have, dear Pylades; yet wilt thou chide.     Thy very aspect is a mute reproach.     The royal messenger arriv'd, and I,     According to thy counsel, fram'd my speech.     He seem'd surpris'd, and urgently besought,     That to the monarch I should first announce     The rite unusual, and attend his will.     I now await the messenger's return.     PYLADES.     Danger again doth hover o'er our heads!     O priestess, why neglect to shroud thyself     Within the veil of sacerdotal rites?     IPHIGENIA.     I never have employ'd them as a veil.     PYLADES.     Pure soul! thy scruples will destroy alike     Thyself and us. Why did I not foresee     Such an emergency, and tutor thee     This counsel also wisely to elude?     IPHIGENIA.     Chide only me, for mine alone the blame.     Yet other answer could I not return     To him, who strongly and with reason urg'd     What my own heart acknowledg'd to be right.     PYLADES.     The danger thickens; but let us be firm,     Nor with incautious haste betray ourselves;     Calmly await the messenger's return,     And then stand fast, whatever his reply:     For the appointment of such sacred rites     Doth to the priestess, not the king belong.     Should he demand the stranger to behold     Who is by madness heavily oppress'd,     Evasively pretend, that in the fane,     Securely guarded, thou retain'st us both.     Thus you secure us time to fly with speed,     Bearing the sacred treasure from this race,     Unworthy its possession. Phoebus sends     Auspicious omens, and fulfils his word,     Ere we the first conditions have perform'd.     Free is Orestes, from the curse absolv'd!     Oh, with the freed one, to the rocky isle     Where dwells the god, waft us, propitious gales!     Thence to Mycene, that she may revive;     That from the ashes of the extinguish'd hearth,     The household gods may joyously arise,     And beauteous fire illumine their abode!     Thy hand from golden censers first shall strew     The fragrant incense. O'er that threshold thou     Shalt life and blessing once again dispense,     The curse atone, and all thy kindred grace     With the fresh bloom of renovated life.     IPHIGENIA.     As doth the flower revolve to meet the sun,     Once more my spirit to sweet comfort turns,     Struck by thy words' invigorating ray.     How dear the counsel of a present friend,     Lacking whose godlike power, the lonely one     In silence droops! for, lock'd within his breast,     Slowly are ripen'd purpose and resolve,     Which friendship's genial warmth had soon matur'd.     PYLADES.     Farewell! I haste to re-assure our friends,     Who anxiously await us: then with speed     I will return, and, hid within the brake,     Attend thy signal.--Wherefore, all at once,     Doth anxious thought o'ercloud thy brow serene?     IPHIGENIA.     Forgive me! As light clouds athwart the sun,     So cares and fears float darkling o'er my soul.     PYLADES.     Oh, banish fear! With danger it hath form'd     A close alliance,--they are constant friends.     IPHIGENIA.     It is an honest scruple, which forbids     That I should cunningly deceive the king,     And plunder him who was my second sire.     PYLADES.     Him thou dost fly, who would have slain thy brother.     IPHIGENIA.     To me, at least, he hath been ever kind.     PYLADES.     What Fate commands is not ingratitude.     IPHIGENIA.     Alas! it still remains ingratitude;     Necessity alone can justify it.     PYLADES.     Thee, before gods and men it justifies.     IPHIGENIA.     But my own heart is still unsatisfied.     PYLADES.     Scruples too rigid are a cloak for pride.     IPHIGENIA.     I cannot argue, I can only feel.     PYLADES.     Conscious of right, thou shouldst respect thyself.     IPHIGENIA.     Then only doth the heart know perfect ease,     When not a stain pollutes it.     PYLADES.     In this fane     Pure hast thou kept thy heart. Life teaches us     To be less strict with others and ourselves;     Thou'lt learn the lesson too. So wonderful     Is human nature, and its varied ties     Are so involv'd and complicate, that none     May hope to keep his inmost spirit pure,     And walk without perplexity through life.     Nor are we call'd upon to judge ourselves;     With circumspection to pursue his path,     Is the immediate duty of a man.     For seldom can he rightly estimate,     Or his past conduct or his present deeds.     IPHIGENIA.     Almost thou dost persuade me to consent.     PYLADES.     Needs there persuasion when no choice is granted?     To save thyself, thy brother, and a friend,     One path presents itself, and canst thou ask     If we shall follow it?     IPHIGENIA.     Still let me pause,     For such injustice thou couldst not thyself     Calmly return for benefits receiv'd.     PYLADES.     If we should perish, bitter self-reproach,     Forerunner of despair, will be thy portion.     It seems thou art not used to suffer much,     When, to escape so great calamity,     Thou canst refuse to utter one false word.     IPHIGENIA.     Oh, that I bore within a manly heart!     Which, when it hath conceiv'd a bold resolve,     'Gainst every other voice doth close itself.     PYLADES.     In vain thou dost refuse; with iron hand     Necessity commands; her stern decree     Is law supreme, to which the gods themselves     Must yield submission. In dread silence rules     The uncounsell'd sister of eternal fate.     What she appoints thee to endure,--endure;     What to perform,--perform. The rest thou know'st.     Ere long I will return, and then receive     The seal of safety from thy sacred hand.     SCENE V.     IPHIGENIA, alone.     I must obey him, for I see my friends     Beset with peril. Yet my own sad fate     Doth with increasing anguish move my heart.     May I no longer feed the silent hope     Which in my solitude I fondly cherish'd?     Shall the dire curse eternally endure?     And shall our fated race ne'er rise again     With blessings crown'd?--All mortal things decay!     The noblest powers, the purest joys of life     At length subside: then wherefore not the curse?     And have I vainly hop'd that, guarded here,     Secluded from the fortunes of my race,     I, with pure heart and hands, some future day     Might cleanse the deep defilement of our house?     Scarce was my brother in my circling arms     From raging madness suddenly restor'd,     Scarce had the ship, long pray'd for, near'd the strand,     Once more to waft me to my native shores,     When unrelenting fate, with iron hand,     A double crime enjoins; commanding me     To steal the image, sacred and rever'd,     Confided to my care, and him deceive     To whom I owe my life and destiny.     Let not abhorrence spring within my heart!     Nor the old Titan's hate, toward you, ye gods,     Infix its vulture talons in my breast!     Save me, and save your image in my soul!     An ancient song comes back upon mine ear--     I had forgotten it, and willingly--     The Parc's song, which horribly they sang,     What time, hurl'd headlong from his golden seat,     Fell Tantalus. They with their noble friend     Keen anguish suffer'd; savage was their breast     And horrible their song. In days gone by,     When we were children, oft our ancient nurse     Would sing it to us, and I mark'd it well.     Oh, fear the immortals,     Ye children of men!     Eternal dominion     They hold in their hands.     And o'er their wide empire     Wield absolute sway.     Whom they have exalted     Let him fear them most!     Around golden tables,     On cliffs and clouds resting     The seats are prepar'd.     If contest ariseth;     The guests are hurl'd headlong,     Disgrac'd and dishonour'd,     And fetter'd in darkness,     Await with vain longing,     A juster decree.     But in feasts everlasting,     Around the gold tables     Still dwell the immortals.     From mountain to mountain     They stride; while ascending     From fathomless chasms,     The breath of the Titans,     Half stifl'd with anguish,     Like volumes of incense     Fumes up to the skies.     From races ill-fated,     Their aspect joy-bringing,     Oft turn the celestials,     And shun in the children     To gaze on the features     Once lov'd and still speaking     Of their mighty sire.     Thus sternly the Fates sang     Immur'd in his dungeon.     The banish'd one listens,     The song of the Parc,     His children's doom ponders,     And boweth his head.