The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 01 · Chapter 20Iphigenia
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Whence art thou? Stranger, speak! To me thy bearing Stamps thee of Grecian, not of Scythian race.
[She unbinds his chains.]
The freedom that I give is dangerous; The gods avert the doom that threatens you!
Delicious music! dearly welcome tones Of our own language in a foreign land With joy my captive eye once more beholds The azure mountains of my native coast. Oh, let this joy that I, too, am a Greek Convince thee, priestess! How I need thine aid, A moment I forget, my spirit rapt In contemplation of so fair a vision. If fate's dread mandate doth not seal thy lips, From which of our illustrious races say, Dost thou thy godlike origin derive?
The priestess whom the goddess hath herself Selected and ordained, doth speak with thee. Let that suffice: but tell me, who art thou, And what unbless'd o'erruling destiny Hath hither led thee with thy friend?
The woe, Whose hateful presence ever dogs our steps, I can with ease relate. Oh, would that thou Couldst with like ease, divine one, shed on us One ray of cheering hope! We are from Crete, Adrastus' sons, and I, the youngest born, Named Cephalus; my eldest brother, he, Laodamas. Between us stood a youth Savage and wild, who severed e'en in sport The joy and concord of our early youth. Long as our father led his powers at Troy, Passive our mother's mandate we obey'd; But when, enrich'd with booty, he return'd, And shortly after died, a contest fierce Both for the kingdom and their father's wealth, His children parted. I the eldest joined; He slew our brother; and the Furies hence For kindred murder dog his restless steps. But to this savage shore the Delphian god Hath sent us, cheer'd by hope. He bade us wait Within his sister's consecrated fane The blessed hand of aid. Captives we are, And, hither brought, before thee now we stand Ordain'd for sacrifice. My tale is told.
Fell Troy! Dear man, assure me of its fall.
Prostrate it lies. O unto us ensure Deliverance. The promised aid of Heaven More swiftly bring. Take pity on my brother. O say to him a kind, a gracious word; But spare him when thou speakest, earnestly This I implore: for all too easily Through joy and sorrow and through memory Torn and distracted is his inmost being. A feverish madness oft doth seize on him, Yielding his spirit, beautiful and free, A prey to furies.
Great as is thy woe, Forget it, I conjure thee, for a while, Till I am satisfied.
The stately town, Which ten long years withstood the Grecian host, Now lies in ruins, ne'er to rise again; Yet many a hero's grave will oft recall Our sad remembrance to that barbarous shore. There lies Achilles and his noble friend.
So are ye godlike forms reduc'd to dust!
Nor Palamede, nor Ajax, ere again The daylight of their native land beheld.
He speaks not of my father, doth not name Him with the fallen. He may yet survive! I may behold him! still hope on, fond heart!
Yet happy are the thousands who receiv'd Their bitter death-blow from a hostile hand! For terror wild, and end most tragical. Some hostile, angry deity prepar'd, Instead of triumph, for the home-returning. Do human voices never reach this shore? Far as their sound extends, they bear the fame Of deeds unparallel'd. And is the woe Which fills Mycene's halls with ceaseless sighs To thee a secret still?—And know'st thou not That Clytemnestra, with Ægisthus' aid, Her royal consort artfully ensnar'd, And murder'd on the day of his return?— The monarch's house thou honorest! I perceive. Thy breast with tidings vainly doth contend Fraught with such monstrous and unlook'd for woe. Art thou the daughter of a friend? Art born Within the circuit of Mycene's walls? Conceal it not, nor call me to account That here the horrid crime I first announce.
Proceed, and tell me how the deed was done.
The day of his return, as from the bath Arose the monarch, tranquil and refresh'd, His robe demanding from his consort's hand, A tangled garment, complicate with folds, She o'er his shoulders flung and noble head; And when, as from a net, he vainly strove To extricate himself, the traitor, base Ægisthus, smote him, and envelop'd thus Great Agamemnon sought the shades below.
And what reward receiv'd the base accomplice?
A queen and kingdom he possess'd already.
Base passion prompted then the deed of shame?
And feelings, cherish'd long, of deep revenge.
How had the monarch injured Clytemnestra?
By such a dreadful deed, that if on earth Aught could exculpate murder, it were this. To Aulis he allur'd her, when the fleet With unpropitious winds the goddess stay'd; And there, a victim at Diana's shrine, The monarch, for the welfare of the Greeks, Her eldest daughter doomed, Iphigenia. And this, so rumor saith, within her heart Planted such deep abhorrence that forthwith She to Ægisthus hath resigned herself, And round her husband flung the web of death.
IPHIGENIA (veiling herself)
It is enough! Thou wilt again behold me.
PYLADES (alone)
The fortune of this royal house, it seems, Doth move her deeply. Whosoe'er she be, She must herself have known the monarch well;— For our good fortune, from a noble house, She hath been sold to bondage. Peace, my heart! And let us steer our course with prudent zeal Toward the star of hope which gleams upon us.