The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 01 · Chapter 17Arkas
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The king hath sent me hither, bade me greet With hail, and fair salute, Diana's priestess. For new and wondrous conquest, this the day, When to her goddess Tauris renders thanks. I hasten on before the king and host, Himself to herald, and its near approach.
We are prepar'd to give them worthy greeting; Our goddess doth behold with gracious eye The welcome sacrifice from Thoas' hand.
Would that I also found the priestess' eye, Much honor'd, much revered one, found thine eye, O consecrated maid, more calm, more bright, To all a happy omen! Still doth grief, With gloom mysterious, shroud thy inner mind; Vainly, through many a tedious year we wait For one confiding utterance from thy breast. Long as I've known thee in this holy place, That look of thine hath ever made me shudder; And, as with iron bands, thy soul remains Lock'd in the deep recesses of thy breast.
As doth become the exile and the orphan.
Dost thou then here seem exil'd and an orphan?
Can foreign scenes our fatherland replace?
Thy fatherland is foreign now to thee.
Hence is it that my bleeding heart ne'er heals. In early youth, when first my soul, in love, Held father, mother, brethren fondly twin'd, A group of tender germs, in union sweet, We sprang in beauty from the parent stem, And heavenward grew; alas, a foreign curse Then seized and sever'd me from those I loved, And wrench'd with iron grasp the beauteous bands It vanish'd then, the fairest charm of youth, The simple gladness of life's early dawn; Though sav'd I was a shadow of myself, And life's fresh joyance blooms in me no more.
If thou wilt ever call thyself unblest, I must accuse thee of ingratitude.
Thanks have you ever.
Not the honest thanks Which prompt the heart to offices of love; The joyous glance, revealing to the host A grateful spirit, with its lot content. When thee a deep mysterious destiny Brought to this sacred fane, long years ago, To greet thee, as a treasure sent from heaven, With reverence and affection, Thoas came. Benign and friendly was this shore to thee, To every stranger else with horror fraught, For, till thy coming, none e'er trod our realm But fell, according to an ancient rite, A bloody victim at Diana's shrine.
Freely to breathe alone is not to live. Say, is it life, within this holy fane, Like a poor ghost around its sepulchre To linger out my days? Or call you that A life of conscious happiness and joy, When every hour, dream'd listlessly away, Still leadeth onward to those gloomy days, Which the sad troop of the departed spend In self-forgetfulness on Lethe's shore? A useless life is but an early death; This woman's destiny hath still been mine.
I can forgive, though I must needs deplore, The noble pride which underrates itself; It robs thee of the happiness of life. But hast thou, since thy coming here, done naught? Who hath the monarch's gloomy temper cheered? Who hath with gentle eloquence annull'd, From year to year, the usage of our sires, By which, a victim at Diana's shrine, Each stranger perish'd, thus from certain death Sending so oft the rescued captive home? Hath not Diana, harboring no revenge For this suspension of her bloody rites, In richest measure heard thy gentle prayer? On joyous pinions o'er the advancing host, Doth not triumphant conquest proudly soar? And feels not every one a happier lot, Since Thoas, who so long hath guided us With wisdom and with valor, sway'd by thee. The joy of mild benignity approves, Which leads him to relax the rigid claims Of mute submission? Call thyself useless! Thou, When from thy being o'er a thousand hearts, A healing balsam flows? when to a race, To whom a god consign'd thee, thou dost prove A fountain of perpetual happiness, And from this dire inhospitable coast, Dost to the stranger grant a safe return?
The little done doth vanish to the mind, Which forward sees how much remains to do.
Him dost thou praise, who underrates his deeds?
Who weigheth his own deeds is justly blam'd.
He too, real worth too proudly who condemns, As who, too vainly, spurious worth o'er-rateth. Trust me, and heed the counsel of a man With honest zeal devoted to thy service: When Thoas comes to-day to speak with thee, Lend to his purposed words a gracious ear.
Thy well-intention'd counsel troubles me: His offer I have ever sought to shun.
Thy duty and thy interest calmly weigh. Sithence King Thoas lost his son and heir, Among his followers he trusts but few, And trusts those few no more as formerly. With jealous eye he views each noble's son As the successor of his realm, he dreads A solitary, helpless age—perchance Sudden rebellion and untimely death. A Scythian studies not the rules of speech, And least of all the king. He who is used To act and to command, knows not the art, From far, with subtle tact, to guide discourse Through many windings to its destin'd goal. Thwart not his purpose by a cold refusal, By an intended misconception. Meet, With gracious mien, half-way the royal wish.
Shall I then speed the doom that threatens me?
His gracious offer canst thou call a threat?
'Tis the most terrible of all to me.
For his affection grant him confidence.
If he will first redeem my soul from fear.
Why dost thou hide from him thy origin?
A priestess secrecy doth well become.
Naught to a monarch should a secret be; And, though he doth not seek to fathom thine, His noble nature feels, ay, deeply feels, That thou with care dost hide thyself from him.
Ill-will and anger harbors he against me?
Almost it seems so. True, he speaks not of thee, But casual words have taught me that the wish Thee to possess hath firmly seiz'd his soul; O leave him not a prey unto himself, Lest his displeasure, rip'ning in his breast, Should work thee woe, so with repentance thou Too late my faithful counsel shalt recall.
How! doth the monarch purpose what no man Of noble mind, who loves his honest name, Whose bosom reverence for the gods restrains, Would ever think of? Will he force employ To drag me from the altar to his bed? Then will I call the gods, and chiefly thee, Diana, goddess resolute, to aid me; Thyself a virgin, wilt a virgin shield, And to thy priestess gladly render aid.
Be tranquil! Passion, and youth's fiery blood Impel not Thoas rashly to commit A deed so lawless. In his present mood, I fear from him another harsh resolve, Which (for his soul is steadfast and unmov'd) He then will execute without delay. Therefore I pray thee, canst thou grant no more; At least be grateful—give thy confidence.
Oh tell me what is further known to thee.
Learn it from him. I see the king approach: Him thou dost honor, thine own heart enjoins To meet him kindly and with confidence. A man of noble mind may oft be led By woman's gentle word.
IPHIGENIA (alone)
How to observe His faithful counsel see I not in sooth. But willingly the duty I perform Of giving thanks for benefits receiv'd, And much I wish that to the king my lips With truth could utter what would please his ear.