The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume I Part 26

What should I fear'? Orestes, Electra lives.

ORESTES

And fearest thou for Clytemnestra naught?

IPHIGENIA

Her, neither 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

More plainly speak, nor leave me in suspense.

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, Receiv'd with kindest care, and rear'd him up With his own son, named Pylades, who soon Around the stranger twin'd love's fairest bonds.

And as they grew, within their inmost souls There sprang the burning longing to revenge The monarch's death. Unlook'd 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, antic.i.p.ate revenge.

With fiery eloquence she pictured forth Each circ.u.mstance of that atrocious deed, Her own oppress'd and miserable life, The prosperous traitor's insolent demeanor, The perils threat'ning Agamemnon's race From her who had become their stepmother, Then in his hand the ancient dagger thrust, Which often in the house of Tantalus With savage fury rag'd,--and by her son Was 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 horror of my house?

O tell me of the poor unfortunate!

Speak of Orestes!

ORESTES

O could I speak to tell thee of his death!

Forth from the slain one's spouting blood arose His mother's ghost; 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, commission'd 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 n.o.ble soul Should by a word of falsehood be deceived.

In cunning rich and practised in deceit A web ensnaring let the stranger weave To snare the stranger's feet; between us twain 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 sh.o.r.e!

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 naught 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 G.o.ds, blend not my name with yours; Thou wilt not save the wretch whom thou wouldst join, But will partic.i.p.ate 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, But driveth them aside and scares them not.

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 traveler 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