Works of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

  PYLADES.

  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 honourest! I perceive Thy heaving bosom vainly doth contend With tidings fraught with such unlook’d-for woe Art thou the daughter of a friend? or born Within the circuit of Mycene’s walls? Do not conceal it, nor avenge on me That here the horrid crime I first announc’d.

  IPHIGENIA.

  Proceed, and tell me how the deed was done.

  PYLADES.

  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 tangl’d 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.

  IPHIGENIA.

  And what reward receiv’d the base accomplice?

  PYLADES.

  A queen and kingdom he possess’d already.

  IPHIGENIA.

  Base passion prompted, then, the deed of shame?

  PYLADES.

  And feelings, cherish’d long, of deep revenge.

  IPHIGENIA.

  How had the monarch injured Clytemnestra?

  PYLADES.

  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 doom’d. And this, ’tis said, Planted such deep abhorrence in her heart, That to Ægisthus she resign’d 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.

  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 Ægisthus’ 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 Clyte
mnestra 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 Lyæus’ 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!