IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 
 
 A DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS 
 
 BY 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 Translated from the German 
 
 BY 
 
 FREDERICK BUTLER. 
 
 READING, PENNSYLVANIA, 
 1898. 
 
V 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2014 
 
 https://archive.org/details/iphigeniaintauri01goet 
 
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 
 
 A DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS 
 
 BY 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 Translated from the German 
 
 BY 
 
 FREDERICK BUTLER. 
 
 READING, PENNSYLVANIA, 
 1898. 
 
Copyright, 1 898, 
 by 
 
 Frederick Butler. 
 
 Press of 
 Albright & Shenton, 
 Reading, Pa. 
 
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. 
 
 (A DRAMA.) 
 
 Persons. 
 
 Iphigenia. 
 
 Thoas, King of Tauris. 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 Pylades. 
 
 Ark as. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene I. Grove before the Temple of Diana. 
 
 Here in thy shadow, old and sacred grove, 
 
 Dense-leaved, whose crested tops sway to the breeze, 
 
 As in Diana's quiet sanctuary, 
 
 E'en now I tread with shuddering sense of dread, 
 
 As though I now first trod this hallowed ground 
 
 And was not wont in spirit here to muse. 
 
 For many a year a higher power has kept 
 
 Me here concealed ; obedient I submit : 
 
 Yet ever, as at first, my soul's estranged. 
 
 For Oh ! the sea keeps me from those I love 
 
 And on the shore the live long day I stand, 
 
 In spirit seeking Greece, my native laud ; 
 
 And ever 'gainst my sighs the roaring waves 
 
 Bring back a hollow sound. Unhappy he 
 
 Who far from home and kin, in solitude 
 
A fruitless life exhales ! Him grief consumes 
 
 And from his lips the cup of present joy 
 
 Removes. His thoughts, like swarming bees, fly on 
 
 His father's halls to reach, where first the sun 
 
 Revealed to him the heavens, where with mates 
 
 Of childhood's happy days, close and more close 
 
 The bands of love were drawn. Not with the gods 
 
 Do I contend ; yet woman's lot is sad. 
 
 In peace and war man ever reigns supreme, 
 
 And in a foreign land can hew his way. 
 
 Possessions cheer him, victory crowms his head, 
 
 A glorious death awaits him at life's close. 
 
 How 7 narrow is the sphere of womankind ! 
 
 A boorish husband to obey perforce, 
 
 Her duty and her cheer. How wretched she 
 
 When cruel fate pursues her in her flight ! 
 
 So Thoas, noble man, doth hold me here 
 
 A slave, in bonds of holy servitude. 
 
 Oh ! shame ! Must I confess to thee Oh ! Goddess, 
 
 Deliv'rer mine, that in my secret breast 
 
 Aversion to thy service dwells, wherein 
 
 Devotion should be full and free ? Yet now 
 
 In thee I've hoped and still do hope in thee, 
 
 Diana, in w T hose tender, holy arms 
 
 The out-cast daughter of the greatest king 
 
 Was safely borne away. Yea, daughter Zeus', 
 
 If thou didst wring the heart of that proud man, 
 
 Demanding then his child for sacrifice, 
 
 And he his dearest to thine altar brought, — 
 
 If now the godlike Agamemnon thou 
 
 From Troy's encircling walls hast safe restored, 
 
 With glory, to his native land, — the wife 
 
 4 
 
And son, Electra and the beauteous hoards 
 Hast well preserved for him ; so grant that I 
 May once again to mine at last return ; 
 As thou hast saved me from an awful death 
 So save me now from this abhorred life, 
 To me a second death. 
 
 Scene II. Iphigenia. Arkas. 
 
 Arkas. The king hath sent me hither and presents 
 A health and greeting to Diana's priestess. 
 This is the day that Tauris celebrates, 
 And thanks the gods for victories new and strange. 
 I speed before the king and all his host 
 To tell thee that he comes, his army's nigh. 
 
 Iph. We are prepared right worth' ly to receive them, 
 And our goddess turns an aspect kind 
 On offerings made by Thoas' willing hands. 
 
 Arkas. Could I but see thine aspect cheered with light, 
 Thou worthy priestess of this honored shrine, 
 Oh, holy virgin, then thy glance benign, 
 On us, on all, with brighter radiance beaming, 
 A token were of good ! But now doth grief 
 Mysterious shroud thine inmost soul in gloom. 
 In vain we've waited all these weary years 
 To hear one word of comfort from thy breast. 
 As long as I have known thee in this place 
 This is the glance 'neath which I ever shrink 
 With dread ; and as with bands of steel thy soul 
 Is held within thy bosom firmly bound. 
 
 Iph. As well befits the exiled, orphaned one. 
 
 Arkas. Deem'st thou thyself an exile here — an orphan? 
 
 5 
 
Iph. Can foreign strands be native lands for us? 
 
 Arkas. Foreign to thee thy native land became. 
 
 Iph. 'Tis so ; hence bleeds my wounded heart unstanched. 
 In early youth ere yet th' unfolding mind 
 Perceived parental bonds and family ties, 
 E'en when the tender shoots, conjoined and lovely, 
 Strove from the root of parent stem to rise, 
 E'en then alas ! the curse descending fell 
 And severing me from mine, with ruthless blow 
 The union tore asunder. Vanished then 
 Best joy of youth and weal of early years. 
 Thou saved, the merest shadow of myself 
 I was, and ne'er again within my breast 
 Welled up the living springs of fresh desire. 
 
 Arkas. If thus unhappy thou thyself wilt name 
 
 Then truly I dare name thee thankless too. 
 
 Iph. Thanks have you aye. 
 
 Arkas. But not unblemished thanks, 
 
 Whose virtue 'tis with kindness to requite ; 
 To show the host a joyous countenance, 
 A sign to him of a contented life 
 And loving heart. When many years ago 
 A deep mysterious fate to this our fane 
 Brought thee, then Thoas came, as one God-given, 
 To meet thee here with reverence and obeisance. 
 Friendly and kind thou foundest then this shore, 
 Which erst with dread each hapless stranger filled ; 
 Before thee none set foot upon this land, 
 Who fell not prone on Dian's altar stairs 
 A blood)^ sacrifice : — such custom ruled. 
 
 Iph. It is not all of life to freely breathe ; 
 
 What life is this, that in this holy place 
 
I like a ghost beside the grave must mourn. 
 Can that be called a conscious happy life 
 When every day in fruitless dreaming spent 
 Is but the prelude to that dreadful day 
 When, wrapt oblivious, on L,ethean shores 
 The mournful legions of the lost are ranked ? 
 A useless life is but an early death ; 
 Such woman's fate, alas i is mine alone. 
 Arkas. The noble pride which bars contentment's way 
 I can forgive, tho' much I pity thee ; 
 It robs thee of enjoyment of thy life. 
 And nothing hast thou done since coming here ? 
 Who then the king's dark soul has cheered with light ? 
 Whose soft persuasive voice from year to year 
 Has stayed the cruel hand of custom old 
 Which at Diana's altar called for blood 
 Of every stranger ? Who from certain death 
 Released the captives and so oft restored 
 Them to their native land ? Her wrath appeased, 
 Tho' thus deprived of bloody sacrifice, 
 Hath not Diana heard thy tender prayer ? 
 And doth not victory hover o'er the host 
 In joyous flight, and hasten on before ? 
 Hath not a better lot befallen each, 
 Now that the king, our ruler wise and brave, 
 Basks in the sunshine of thy presence mild 
 And light for us hath made the load of duty 
 In silence to obey ? Canst thou lament 
 That life as fruitless which on thousands drops 
 A dew balsamic, and unfailing source 
 Of joy becomes to animate anew 
 The people whom a god hath blessed in thee — 
 
 7 
 
And on th' inhospitable shore of death 
 
 The stranger saves and sends him home in peace ? 
 
 Iph. In vaster vision of the field beyond, 
 
 The least is lost to view and seems as naught. 
 
 Arkas. Dost praise the man who values not his work ? 
 
 Iph. Who weighs his deeds is held in light esteem. 
 
 Arkas. He too, who proud, true worth esteemeth not, 
 As well as he who idly lauds the false. 
 Believe me and heed well the word of one 
 In truth and honor to thy service bound : 
 When on this day the king would speak to thee, 
 Enkindle thou his thought with thy keen wit. 
 
 Iph. Thou grievest me with every kindly word, 
 
 Oft have I sought his tiresome plea to evade. 
 
 Arkas. Consider what thou dost and how to thrive. 
 
 E'er since the king hath lost his son in death, 
 He trusts but few of all his former friends 
 And e'en these few no longer as of old. 
 Suspicious, he in every noble's son 
 Successor to his kingdom sees : he fears 
 Old age, helpless, alone, perchance he fears 
 Revolt audacious and untimely death. 
 The Scythian recks not of polite address, 
 Nor does the king. Accustomed to command 
 And act, he knows not how to turn his speech 
 In fine set phrase, by indirection slow 
 His purpose to unfold. Increase not thou 
 The burden of his tongue by coy refusal, 
 By false conception purposely assumed. 
 Complaisant go to meet him half the way. 
 
 Iph. Shall I then hasten that which threatens me ? 
 
 Arkas. Wilt thou his wooing call a threat ? 
 
 8 
 
Iph. Before all else a threat most terrible. 
 
 Arkas. Confide in him when he inclines to thee. 
 
 Iph. When first he doth my soul from fear set free. 
 
 Arkas. Why dost thine origin from him conceal? 
 
 Iph. In mystery a priestess loves to dwell. 
 
 Arkas. No mystery should be about the king. 
 
 E'en though he ask not why, yet still he feels 
 And feels it in the depths of his great soul, 
 That warily thou dost guard thyself from him. 
 
 Iph. Doth he against me foster wrath and gloom ? 
 
 Arkas. It seemeth nearly so. Of thee indeed 
 
 He speaketh not, yet divers words let fall 
 
 Have me apprised that rooted in his mind 
 
 The wish is held to have thee for his own. Leave, 
 
 Oh, leave him not abandoned to himself ! 
 
 Lest melancholy ripen in his breast 
 
 And bring upon thee horror and dismay, 
 
 And thou too late my honest words wilt rue. 
 
 Iph. How ? Meditates the king, what no true man 
 Who loves his name and renders to the gods 
 Their reverence due, should ever hold in thought ? 
 Thinks he with violence to drag me hence 
 From th' altar to his bed? On all the gods 
 I call and chiefly on Diana chaste, 
 The virgin goddess resolute, who sure 
 Will swiftly come her priestess to defend. 
 
 Arkas. Be calm ! No fever in the blood inflames 
 The king to execute so rash a deed 
 Of untamed youth. His resolution harsh 
 I fear is set on other means his end 
 Unchecked to reach ; firm and immovable 
 He's fixed. I pray thee therefore, if no more 
 
 9 
 
Thou canst bestow, thou fail not to impart 
 To him thy confidence and gratitude. 
 
 Iph. Oh say, I beg, what more is known to thee. 
 
 Arkas. Learn it from him. I see the king approach : 
 Thou dost revere him, and thine own true heart 
 Doth prompt thee to bestow a greeting kind 
 And cordial. A noble, generous man 
 By woman's gentle speech is guided far. 
 
 Iph. In truth, this trusty friend's advice to heed, 
 {alone) j k now no t how ; yet gladly I avow, 
 
 That favors of the king a grateful word 
 
 From me demand. Whate'er his highness please, 
 
 My sole wish is to answer him with truth. 
 
 Scene III. Iphigenia. Thoas. 
 
 Iph. With regal gifts the goddess thee endow ! 
 
 May she with victory and glory crown thee, 
 And riches and the welfare of thy realm, 
 And every pious wish in fulness grant ! 
 That as thy careful sway extends o'er all, 
 So may the rarest bliss of all be thine. 
 
 Thoas. Content were I, if my own people praised me. 
 What I have gained, by others is enjoyed 
 More amply than by me. Most fortunate 
 Is he, who, be he king or commoner, 
 Finds all things in his house established well. 
 In my deep grief thou didst participate 
 When at my side, the hostile sword bereft 
 Me of my son, the last and best of all. 
 As long as vengeful fury filled my soul 
 I recked not of my hearth all desolate. 
 
 IO 
 
But now, that sated, I return, the foe 
 
 Of his possessions spoiled, my son avenged, 
 
 Nothing at home remains to cheer my heart. 
 
 The glad obedience which once I saw 
 
 In every eye shine forth, is now dedimmed 
 
 With care, and with dejected mien is mute. 
 
 What store the future hath, is each one's thought : 
 
 Obeys the childless king, because he must. 
 
 Now then I come to-day within this fane, 
 
 Oft trod by me, to pray for victory, 
 
 As well for victory to offer thanks. 
 
 A wish, long held, I in my bosom bear, 
 
 To thee not new nor unforseen : I hope 
 
 To lead thee hence, a bride, to my abode, 
 
 To bless my people and myself to bless. 
 
 Iph. For one unknown thy proffer is too high, 
 O king. Before thee stands the fugitive 
 Ashamed, who seeks naught else upon this shore 
 But safety and repose, which thou hast given. 
 
 Thoas. By none would it be held as right and just 
 That thou in mystery of thy origin 
 Dost ever veil thyself from me and mine. 
 This shore in strangers doth inspire dread ; 
 Necessity and law demand it both. 
 From thee alone, who every pious right 
 In fulness doth enjoy, a guest received 
 By us with favour, who doth spend her days 
 According to her own good will and choice, 
 From thee I hoped to have the confidence 
 Which every faithful host ma} 7 well expect. 
 
 Iph. If I my father's name and home have hid, 
 Oh, King : 'twas due to my perplexity, 
 
 1 1 
 
Not my mistrust. If thou, alas ! didst know 
 
 Who stands before thee and what cursed head 
 
 Thou nourishest and dost protect, perchance 
 
 A horror would thy great heart strangely chill 
 
 And thou, instead of offering me thy throne 
 
 To share, wouldst drive me hence betimes expelled 
 
 Out of thy realm ; perchance, — ere destiny 
 
 Should fix for me the day of my return, 
 
 With joy my own to meet, and see the end 
 
 Of all my wanderings, — wouldst thrust me on 
 
 To wretchedness which everywhere awaits 
 
 The outcast rover as with icy hand 
 
 The affrighted stranger greets the vagabond. 
 
 Thoas. Whate'er the counsel of the gods involve, 
 Whate'er their purpose be concerning thee 
 And thine own house, yet since thou dwell' st with us 
 And privilege of pious guest enjoyest, 
 No lack I've felt in blessings from above. 
 'Twere not an easy task me to convince 
 That I in thee a guilty head protect. 
 
 Iph. Thy benefactions bless thee, not thy guest. 
 
 Thoas. What's done to wicked ones is never blest ; 
 Therefore thy secrets and denials cease ; 
 With no injustice make I this demand. 
 Into my hands the goddess thee delivered. 
 As thou to her wast holy, so wast thou 
 To me. Henceforward be her nod my law. 
 If thou canst hope to see thy home again 
 Then I release thee from all further claim. 
 Yet now to thee the way's forever barred, 
 And be thy race expelled from out the land 
 Or through perdition vast forever lost, 
 
 12 
 
So art thou mine by more than one plain law. 
 Speak freely then, thou know'st I'll naught reveal. 
 
 Iph. From ancient ban unwillingly the tongue 
 Is loosed, a long-kept secret to disclose 
 At last, which, once confided, doth forsake, 
 Ne'er to return, its dwelling place secure 
 Within the soul's profoundest depths, — goes forth 
 To hurt or save, as w T ill the gods above. 
 Know then : I'm sprung from race of Tantalus. 
 
 Thoas. Thou utterest a pregnant word unmoved. 
 Dost thou name him as thy progenitor, 
 Who, world-famed, once in favour high was held 
 By all the gods ? Is it that Tantalus 
 Whom Jove to counsel and his table drew, 
 In whose well-knit discourse, of meaning full 
 And wide experience the gods themselves 
 As in an oracle delighted were ? 
 
 Iph. E'en he it is ; but gods should ne'er with men 
 Associate as equals with themselves ; 
 For mortal man is far too weak, his place 
 In unaccustomed heights undazed to held. 
 Ignoble was he not and traitor none : 
 Too great to be a slave and yet mere man 
 In company of mighty, thundering Jove. 
 His fault was human then ; its doom severe, 
 And poets sing : Through pride and perfidy 
 He fell headlong, disgraced, from festive board 
 Of Jove, adown to ancient Tartarus. 
 Alas, and his whole race have borne their hate ! 
 
 Thoas. Borne for their fore-bear's guilt or for their own? 
 
 Iph. 'Tis true, to all his sons and grandsons fell, 
 By sure inheritance, the breast of strength 
 
 13 
 
And powerful pith of Titans ; yet the god 
 
 Around their foreheads forged a band of brass, 
 
 And from their furtive, gloomy glance concealed 
 
 The law of reason, wisdom, self-control. 
 
 With them each separate wish absorbed the soul, 
 
 And boundless ranged their fury far and near. 
 
 First Pelops, he whose will all things essayed, 
 
 Beloved son of Tantalus, obtained 
 
 Through treachery and blood, that peerless dame, 
 
 The CEnomaean Hippodamia. 
 
 Her consort's wish to fill she bore two sons, 
 
 Thyestes, Atreus. With envy they 
 
 Observed their father's love for's eldest son, 
 
 Born of a former wife. In hatred joined 
 
 The pair in secret ventured their first deed 
 
 In fratricide. On Hippodamia 
 
 The father rests suspicion of the crime, 
 
 And in his rage demands of her his son. 
 
 She slays herself — 
 
 Thoas. Art dumb ? Proceed ! 
 
 Repent not of thy trust reposed in me : Speak ! 
 
 Iph. How happy he who gladly calls to mind 
 
 His ancestors, recounts with pride their deeds 
 
 And fame, and secretly exults to see 
 
 Himself at end of this illustrious line ! 
 
 It falls not to a single race alike, 
 
 Now demigods, now monsters to beget ; 
 
 For first a line of evil ones, or good, 
 
 Brings forth to view at last a progeny 
 
 Of horror or of jo3 T . Their father dead, 
 
 Atreus and Thyest' in common rule 
 
 The city held. The concord could not long 
 
 14 
 
Abide. Thyestes soon his brother's bed 
 
 Dishonored. Avenging Atreus drove him forth 
 
 Out of the realm. Long time before, Thyestes, 
 
 On mischief bent, with purpose fell intent, 
 
 Had stolen his brother's son, and secretly 
 
 With much caress had raised him as his own. 
 
 He fills his breast with fury and revenge 
 
 And sends him to the palace of the king 
 
 To slay, as uncle, his own royal sire. 
 
 The purpose of the youth disclosed, the king 
 
 Upon the would-be murderer inflicts 
 
 A cruel punishment, believing then 
 
 That his own brother's son is slain. Too late 
 
 He learns, who perishes in torments there 
 
 Before his drunken eyes. Revengeful fire 
 
 Within his breast to quench, in silence he 
 
 Resolves on deed unheard before. He seems 
 
 Resigned, indifferent, appeased, — allures 
 
 His brother with his sons, into the realm 
 
 Again, lays hold upon the youthful twain, 
 
 Slays them and sets the loathsome, horrid food 
 
 Before the father at the first repast. 
 
 Now when Thyestes' hunger was appeased 
 
 With his own flesh, oppressed with gloom, and sad, 
 
 He asks to see his boys, whose tread, whose voice 
 
 At threshold of the hall he seems to hear, — 
 
 Then Atreus with horrid grin throws down 
 
 To him the head and feet of those he slew — 
 
 With horror thou dost turn thy face, oh, king ! 
 
 So let the sun in heaven turn his face, 
 
 And chariot turn from his eternal course ! 
 
 These are thy priestess' ancestors, oh, king. 
 
 15 
 
And many a fateful, hapless doom of men, 
 
 And many a deed of the perverted mind, 
 
 Night, with her heavy wings, o'erspreads and grants 
 
 Us dimly to behold in hideous gloom. 
 
 Thoas. So, too, in silence let them rest. Enough 
 
 Of horrors ! Yet declare, through what strange freak 
 Hast thou from such wild stem burst forth to view. 
 
 Iph. Atreus' eldest son was Agamemnon ; 
 
 He is my father. Yet, I dare to say it, 
 
 In him have I, e'er since my earliest days, 
 
 A pattern of the perfect man beheld. 
 
 To him was I by Clytsemnesta brought, 
 
 Firstling of love ; Electra then. In peace 
 
 The king bore sway, and Tantal's house at last 
 
 Long needed rest enjoyed. A son alone 
 
 Was wanting to complete the parents' bliss, 
 
 And scarce was this desire fulfilled and 'twixt 
 
 The sisters both, Orestes, darling: child, 
 
 Grew up apace, that other ill arose 
 
 As menace to the safety of the house. 
 
 The rumor of that war has come to thee, 
 
 In which, to avenge the rape of fairest one 
 
 Of womankind, the universal might 
 
 Of Grecian chiefs besieged the walls of Troy. 
 
 Have they attained the goal of their revenge, 
 
 And won the citadel of Troy, I know not. 
 
 My father led the Grecian hosts. In Aulis 
 
 They waited for a favoring wind in vain ; 
 
 For, angry with their potent chief, Diana 
 
 Delayed them in their haste, demanding then 
 
 Thro' Kalchas' mouth, the chieftain's eldest daughter. 
 
 Me with my mother they allured to camp ; 
 
 16 
 
They dragged me to the altar and this head 
 Devoted to the goddess. She appeased, 
 Demanded not my blood, and quick to save, 
 Concealed me in a cloud ; in this same temple 
 I first from death awoke to consciousness. 
 Herself I am — am Iphigenia, 
 Who speaks to thee, grand-child of Atreus, 
 Agamemnon's child — to Dian consecrate. 
 
 Thoas. No greater preference and trust I grant 
 
 To daughter of the king than to th' unknown. 
 
 My first proposal I reiterate : 
 
 Come, follow me and share whate'er I have. 
 
 Iph. How dare I venture such a step, Oh, king? 
 
 Hath not the goddess who hath saved, alone 
 The right to hold my consecrated life ? 
 She hath a place of safety sought for me, 
 And she doth keep me for a father here 
 Whom she, to outward seeming, hath chastised 
 Enough, chastised perchance for sweetest joy 
 Of his old age. Perchance for me is nigh 
 The glad return ; and I, regarding not 
 Her way, should bind myself against her will ? 
 A sign I seek, if duty 'tis to stay. 
 
 Thoas. This is the sign, that thou dost here abide. 
 
 Seek not with anxious mind such-like escape. 
 Few words are needed to deny a plea ; 
 When all is said, the " No " alone is heard. 
 
 Iph. No idle words I speak to blind the sense ; 
 I have revealed to thee my deepest heart, 
 And wilt thou not to thine own self confess, 
 How I with anxious mind must long to see 
 My father, mother, and my kindred dear ? 
 
 17 
 
That in the ancient halls, where sadness now 
 Doth oft in silence whisper soft my name, 
 Joy might, as for a child new born, intwine 
 Her fairest wreath from pillar unto pillar. 
 Oh, wouldst thou thither send me sailing forth ! 
 New life thou wouldst bestow on me, on all. 
 
 Thoas. So then return ! Do what thy heart commands, 
 Be deaf to reason's voice and good advice. 
 Be woman all and to that impulse yield 
 Which seizes thee unchecked and drags thee on, 
 Now here, now there. When once a wish inflames 
 The breast, no sacred bond can hold her back 
 From the betrayer who would lure her hence 
 From father or betrothed, lure her from arms 
 Long tried and true ; and glows within her breast 
 The hidden fire, persuasion's golden tongue 
 On her is spent in vain, though true and strong. 
 
 Iph. Bethink thee, king, of thine own generous word ! 
 Wilt thou my trust repay in terms like these ? 
 Thou wast prepared, methought to learn the whole. 
 
 Thoas. For th' unexpected I was not prepared ; 
 
 And yet I should have been : did I not know 
 That with a woman I engaged to deal ? 
 
 Iph. Chide not our miserable sex, oh king. 
 
 A woman's weapons, though not grand like thine, 
 Are not ignoble. This believe, — and here 
 I have the advantage over thee — that I 
 Thy happiness know better than thyself. 
 Not knowing thine own self nor me, thou think 'st 
 A closer bond would bring us greater joy. 
 With courage high, as well as good intent, 
 Thou urgest me to join my hand in wedlock ; 
 
 iS 
 
And here I thank the gods that they have given 
 
 To me the firmness to refuse consent 
 
 To enter into bonds which they approve not. 
 
 Thoas. No god, but thine own heart it is, that speaks. 
 
 Iph. Through our own hearts alone they speak to us. 
 
 Thoas. And have I not the right to hear them too ? 
 
 Iph. The storm of passion drowns the still small voice. 
 
 Thoas. The priestess hears the voice alone — not so ? 
 
 Iph. Before all men, the prince should mark it well. 
 
 Thoas. Thy holy office and thy sure birthright 
 
 To sit with Jove, brings thee to gods more near 
 Than earthborn son of Scythian wilds. 
 
 Iph. So I 
 
 Atone the trust, which thou hast wrung from me. 
 
 Thoas. I am a man ; and better 'tis we end. 
 
 Let this then be my word : Be priestess here 
 
 To Dian, goddess who hath chosen thee ; 
 
 Yet now her pardon I implore, that I, 
 
 Unjustly and with secret qualms, till now 
 
 Have kept from her her ancient sacrifice. 
 
 The stranger fares but ill who nears our shores ; 
 
 His fate has ever been a certain death. 
 
 'Twas thou alone, who with a tenderness, 
 
 As with a charm, so captive held me fast, 
 
 That I my duty all forgot ; with joy 
 
 I saw in that same tenderness a love 
 
 Now gentle as a child's, alluring then, 
 
 Like to the silent yielding of a bride. 
 
 My senses thou didst soothe and lull to sleep, 
 
 My people's murmurings I heeded not ; 
 
 But now on me and me alone they lay 
 
 The blame of my dear son's untimely death. 
 
 19 
 
No longer for thy sake will I restrain 
 The surging mob demanding sacrifice. 
 
 Iph. For my sake I have ne'er desired it. 
 
 He misconceives the heavenly powers, who thinks 
 They thirst for blood ; he but ascribes to them 
 His own dark thoughts and horrid lusts. Did not 
 The goddess snatch me from the priest ? To her 
 My service was more grateful than my death. 
 
 Thoas. It suits us ill by fickle reasoning 
 
 To lightly twist and turn a holy usage 
 
 According to our whim. Thy duty do, 
 
 I shall do mine. Two strangers found concealed 
 
 Within the caverns of the shore, no good 
 
 Intending to my land, are in my power. 
 
 With them thy goddess may again receive 
 
 Her first and rightful off' ring, wanted long ! 
 
 I'll send them hither, thou dost know thine office. 
 
 Scenk IV. Iphigknia {alone). 
 
 Thou hast clouds, oh, gracious savior mine, 
 
 To enwrap the guiltless persecuted one 
 
 And on winds to bear her from the arms 
 
 Of unyielding fate, o'er trackless seas, 
 
 Over earth's wide champaigns, as thou wilt. 
 
 Wise thou art and seest futurity ; 
 
 Ever present is the past to thee, 
 
 As thy light enlivens night and hovers 
 
 Resting o'er the earth's remotest glades, 
 
 So thy glance rests on thy loved ones ever. 
 
 Keep, oh ever keep my hands from blood stain ! 
 
 Peace and blessing it can never bring us, 
 
 20 
 
And the spectre of the fated slain one 
 
 E'er in evil hour lurks and follows 
 
 In the surly murderer's path to fright him. 
 
 But the immortal gods 
 
 Ever delight in 
 
 Virtuous races 
 
 Of men scattered far, 
 
 And they grant gladly 
 
 To mortals a respite 
 
 Of life's fleeting day ; 
 
 From their eternal seats 
 
 Kindly look down on men, 
 
 Gladly they grant to them 
 
 Visions of heaven 
 
 A while to enjoy. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene I. Orestes. Pyiades. 
 
 It is the way of death on which we tread : 
 
 With every step my soul becomes more calm. 
 
 When I Apollo prayed to banish hence 
 
 This horrid escort of avenging furies, 
 
 He seemed by certain hopeful oracles 
 
 To promise help and refuge in the fane 
 
 Of his beloved sister, who holds sway 
 
 O'er Tauris ; now the event seems to portend 
 
 That with my life all pangs shall wholly cease. 
 
 How easy it will be for me, whose heart 
 
 A god contracts, the sense doth stupify, 
 
 2T 
 
Forever to renounce the light of day. 
 And if the sons of Atreus in the fight 
 No more shall win an end with victor}- crowned, — 
 If I like slaughtered ox in wretched death 
 Must bleed, as bled my father and his line, 
 So be it ! Better here before the altar 
 Than in abandoned nook, where the assassin, 
 Though near of kin, the deadly meshes spreads. 
 Leave me a while in peace, infernal powers, 
 Ye who like unleashed hounds with eager scent 
 Set on the blood, which from my steps drops down 
 And marks my path ! Leave me, I'll soon descend 
 To you ; the light of day shall not see you, 
 Nor me. EarA's blanket, beautiful and green, 
 Shall be no gambol-place for hellish masks. 
 I'll seek you there below ; there all are bound 
 By common fate in lasting, weary night. 
 But thou, my Pylades, thou, innocent 
 Companion of my guilt and banishment, 
 How loath am I to take thee with me hence 
 Before thy time, into yon mournful land ! 
 Thy life or death for me alone hath aught 
 Of hope or fear. 
 Pylad. I am not yet prepared, like thou, Orestes, 
 To make descent into that realm of shades. 
 I still expect, through these entangled paths, 
 Which seem to lead us on to blackest night, 
 To wind up in the light of day again. 
 I have no thought of death ; my mind's intent 
 To learn what ways and means the gods devise 
 To compass our glad deliverance. 
 Death, whether feared or not, comes unrestrained. 
 
 22 
 
When once the priestess raises high her hand, 
 
 In consecrating act our locks to sever, 
 
 Then shall our rescue be my only thought. 
 
 Arouse thy soul from this despondency ; 
 
 To doubt is but to hasten danger on. 
 
 We have Apollo's word : for thee prepared 
 
 In sister's sanctuary is relief 
 
 And consolation and a safe return. 
 
 The gods speak not in words equivocal, 
 
 As one oppressed with care in sadness thinks. 
 
 Orestes. Around my head in tender infancy 
 
 My mother drew the veil of life obscure ; 
 And so I grew apace, my father's image, — 
 And my mute glance was keen reproach to her 
 And to her paramour. How oft have I, 
 When sister mine, Electra, silent sat 
 Before the hearth, deep down in the long hall, 
 Pressed sad into her lap, and on her gazed 
 With wonder-eyes, as bitter tears she shed. 
 Then spoke she of our noble father much ; 
 Oh, how I longed to see him, be with him ! 
 Anon to Troy I wished to go, anon 
 Wished his return. Then came the day — 
 
 Pylad. Oh, let hell's ministers divert themselves 
 With nightly rites in honor of that day ! 
 Let mem'ry of a fairer time infuse 
 In us new strength to run the heroes' course. 
 The gods have need of many a valiant man 
 Upon this earth to serve their high behests. 
 They still do count on thee ; they sent not thee 
 Thy father to attend when he in rage 
 Descended to the gloomy shades of Orcus. 
 
Orestes. Oh, would that I, his mantle holding fast, 
 Had followed him. 
 
 Pylad. Thus they who held thee back 
 
 Had care for me ; for what I had become, 
 Bereft of thee, I can not well divine, 
 Since I with thee and for thy sake alone, 
 From childhood on, do live and wish to live. 
 
 Orestes. Remind me not of those delightful days, 
 
 When I enjoyed the freedom of thy house, 
 
 Thy noble father wise and merciful 
 
 Did foster then the young and torpid bloom ; 
 
 When thou, companion ever gay and lively, 
 
 Like to a brightly colored butterfly 
 
 Around a darksome flower, each day didst play 
 
 Around me with a new and joyous life, 
 
 Didst .so inspirit me with thy glad mood, 
 
 That I, forgetting my distress, with thee 
 
 In youth's mad whirl did riot forth unchecked. 
 
 Pylad. Then life began for me, when I loved thee. 
 
 Orestes. Say rather : my distress, and thou speak' st true. 
 This is the very poignancy of fate, 
 That I, like an infected fugitive, 
 Bear in my bosom secret pain and death ; 
 That wheresoe'er in wholesome place I tread, 
 Too soon emerging faces pressing round me 
 The painful progress of slow death betray. 
 
 Pylad. Sure I would be the first to die this death, 
 If e'er thy breath, Orestes, poison were. 
 Am I not ever full of life and spirit ? 
 And life and love are wings on which we rise 
 To noble deeds. 
 
 Orestes. To noble deeds ? Oh, yes, 
 
 24 
 
I know the time when we saw them before us ! 
 When we together often chased the game 
 Through hill and dale and hoped some day e'en so, 
 Like our great ancestor, with strength and might, 
 With club and sword, to fall upon the track 
 Of monster and the robber ; then at eve 
 Beside the great white sea we quiet sat 
 Each on the other leaning, as the waves 
 Rolled up unto our very feet, — the world 
 So wide expanded all before us lay ! 
 Then many a time indeed we drew our swords, 
 And future deeds thronged round us like the stars 
 In countless numbers from the vault of night. 
 Pylad. Illimitable is the work, the soul 
 
 Strives to fulfill. We might each deed perform 
 
 In magnitude as great as it doth grow 
 
 When mouth of poet rolls it swelling down 
 
 For ages through all lands and peoples vast. 
 
 It sounds so sweet to hear a harping youth, 
 
 When resting in the stilly evening shades, 
 
 Lisp to the harp-tones our forefathers' deeds ; 
 
 And what we do, is, as it was to them, 
 
 All toil and empty job-work ! 
 
 So run we after that which flies before us, 
 
 Unmindful of the way on which we tread ; 
 
 And see not our ancestors' steps beside us, 
 
 Nor mark the foot-prints of their life on earth. 
 
 With eager steps we ever chase their shadow, 
 
 Which god-like in enchanting distance far 
 
 The mountain top with golden clouds doth crown. 
 
 I value not the man who idly thinks 
 
 How he perchance may rise among his kind. 
 
 25 
 
But thou, Oh youth, be thankful to the gods, 
 That they so soon through you so much have done. 
 
 Orestes. When they on man the joyful boon bestow, 
 The course of evil from his race to turn, 
 His kingdom to enlarge, its bounds secure, 
 And ancient foes in battle fall or flee, 
 Then let him thankful be ; for then a god 
 Hath granted him life's first and last desire. 
 On me their choice has fall'n for slaughter's work, 
 To be my honored mother's murderer ; 
 Avenging crime with crime, my doom is fixed ; 
 They've marked me for perdition. Now believe, 
 That judgment rests on house of Tantalus, 
 And I, the last one, shall not guiltless go, 
 Nor full of honors pass away. 
 
 Pylad. The gods 
 
 Avenge not on the son the father's guilt ; 
 Each one receives according to his deeds 
 His just reward, and be he good or bad. 
 Our parents' blessing, not their curse, descends 
 To us. 
 
 Orestes. Their blessing leads us not this way, it seems. 
 
 Pylad. At least the gods who dwell on high so will it. 
 
 Orestes. It is their will therefore that ruins us. 
 
 Pylad. Do thou what they command thee and await. 
 If thou dost safely carry hence his sister 
 Unto Apollo, and they both united 
 At Delphi dwell, revered by people there 
 Whose thoughts are heaven-born, then for this deed 
 Th' exalted pair will gracious be to thee 
 And rescue thee from the infernal powers. 
 E'en here within this holy fane none venture. 
 
 26 
 
Orestes. So I at least shall have a tranquil death. 
 
 Pylad. I think quite otherwise, and not inapt 
 Have I combined and secretly conjoined 
 What's past and done with that which is to come. 
 Perhaps the great work has been ripening 
 In counsel of the gods. Diana longs 
 To be away from this wild barbarous shore 
 And all its bloody human sacirfice. 
 We were ordained to do this glorious deed, 
 On us the work is laid, and strange the way 
 By which we've come perforce unto these gates. 
 
 Orestes. With rare and subtle skill thou weav'st in one 
 The counsel of the gods and thine own wishes. 
 
 Pylad. What is man's wisdom, if it yieldeth not 
 Attentive ear to purposes divine ? 
 To deed of greatest weight a god hath called 
 The noble man, who much hath sinned, and laid 
 On him what seems to us an endless task. 
 The hero conquers, and, his guilt atoned, 
 Serves gods and men, who honor him alike. 
 
 Orestes. If I am called to live and to perform, 
 
 Then let some god expel from my dull brain 
 The dizziness, which on the slippery path, 
 Besprinkled with my mother's blood, drags me 
 To death. Let him with gracious hand estop 
 The springs which from my mother's gaping wounds 
 Flow towards me and forever stain my soul. 
 
 Pylad. Await it calmly ! Thou augmentst the ill 
 And takest on thyself the Furies' part. 
 Be mine the task to think ; be still ! At last, 
 When action doth demand united strength, 
 Then I will call thee up, and we as one 
 
 27 
 
With all-surpassing might will boldly stride 
 To consummation. 
 Orestes. I hear Ulysses speak. 
 
 Pylad. Nay, mock me not. 
 
 Each one must choose his hero, after whom, 
 Upon the path to high Olympus, he 
 Must toiling go. Let this be granted me : 
 I hold that craft and cunning ne'er disgrace 
 The man whose life to valorous deeds are given. 
 
 Orestes. I value him who brave and upright is. 
 
 Pylad. Therefore I have not sought advice of thee. 
 
 One step is ta'en already. From our guards 
 
 I have till now much useful knowledge drawn. 
 
 I know, a foreign, godlike woman holds 
 
 That bloody law enchained ; a stainless heart 
 
 And incense, prayer, she offers to the gods. 
 
 Her virtue is w T orld-famed ; 'tis thought she's sprung 
 
 From stock of Amazons, has fled her country 
 
 To avoid some great and threatening ill. 
 
 Orestes. It seems her spotless reign hath lost its power 
 
 Through near approach of guilty wretch, whose curse 
 Pursues and covers him like wide-spread night. 
 The pious thirst for blood will yet unloose 
 The ancient custom from its chains to slay us. 
 The savage-thoughted king marks us for death ; 
 A woman will not save us, when he's roused. 
 
 Pylad. 'Tis well for us that it a woman is ; 
 
 A man, be he the best, inures his mind 
 
 To cruelty and for himself at last 
 
 Doth make a law from that which he abhors, 
 
 Becomes by force of custom harsh and strange. 
 
 But woman, once possessed, will ever hold 
 
To singleness of purpose fast. Thou canst 
 
 More safely count on her in good and ill. 
 
 Be still ! She comes ; leave us alone. Not now 
 
 Dare I reveal to her our names, nor trust 
 
 To her without reserve our destiny. 
 
 Go thou, and ere she speaks with thee, I'll meet thee. 
 
 Scene: II. Ifhigknia. Pyladks. 
 
 Iph. Oh stranger, whence thou art and comest, speak ! 
 
 Methinks that I should sooner liken thee 
 
 Unto a Grecian than a Scythian man. 
 {Removes his chains.') 
 
 There's peril in the freedom which I give ; 
 
 The gods avert the ill that threatens you ! 
 Pylad. Oh sweet and gentle voice ! Thrice welcome sound 
 
 Of mother tongue in strange and foreign land ! 
 
 Again my native haven's hills so blue 
 
 Before my eyes, a captive, I behold 
 
 And welcome them anew. Of this, thy joy, 
 
 Be well assured, that I too am a Greek ! 
 
 Thy noble presence so entranced my soul 
 
 That I forgot how much I need thine aid. 
 
 Oh, say, unless some fate hath closed thy lips, 
 
 P'rom which of all our tribes dost thou derive 
 
 Thy origin divine. 
 Iph. The priestess, by her goddess very self 
 
 Elected and made holy, speaks with thee. 
 
 Let that suffice thee ; say, then, who thou art, 
 
 And what unhappy overruling fate 
 
 Hath hither brought thee with thy comrade true. 
 Pylad. 'Tis easy to relate what grievous ill 
 
 29 
 
Pursues us with oppressive fellowship. 
 
 Oh, couldst thou, holy one, as easily 
 
 Impart to us the joyous gleam of hope ! 
 
 From Crete are we, Adrastus' sons, well-born : 
 
 I am the youngest of the house and known 
 
 As Cephalus and he Iyaodamas 
 
 The eldest. 'Twixt us stood another son, 
 
 Uncouth and wild, who e'en in childhood's play 
 
 All concord and enjoyment rent asunder. 
 
 We passively obeyed our mother's words, 
 
 The while our father's might waged war at Troy ; 
 
 But when enriched with booty he returned 
 
 And soon thereafter passed away, then strife 
 
 For rule and heritage estranged the heirs. 
 
 I joined the fortunes of the eldest one. 
 
 He slew his brother. For the guilt of blood 
 
 The furies drive him on from place to place. 
 
 And yet the Delphian Apollo sends us 
 
 To this inhospitable shore with hope. 
 
 Here in the temple of his sister he 
 
 Commanded us to wait for helping hand 
 
 Beneficent, We are in chains and brought 
 
 Before thee here for sacrifice. Thou knowest. 
 
 Iph. Fell Troy? Dear man, assure me. 
 
 Pylad. It lies. Oh, promise us deliverance ! 
 
 Oh, hasten thou the succour which a god 
 
 Hath promised us ; and pity thou my brother. 
 
 Speak soon to him some kind and cheering word ; 
 
 Yet spare him, I beseech thee, when thou speakest : 
 
 For 'tis his sad condition that his mind 
 
 Through joy and pain and mem' ry's power is moved 
 
 Most easily and in confusion thrown. 
 
 30 
 
A paroxysm of madness seizes him 
 And his great soul, so beautiful and free, 
 Is given a prey to Furies' wrath and power. 
 Iph. Be thy misfortune e'er so great, yet I 
 
 Do charge thee to forget, till thou hast answered me. 
 Pylad. The lofty citadel which ten long years 
 
 Withstood the army of all Greece combined 
 Lies now in ruins ne'er again to rise. 
 Yet many a grave of our most valiant men 
 Doth draw our thoughts to that barbaric shore. 
 There lies Achilles with his noble friends. 
 Iph. Ye images of gods ! Ye too are dust ! 
 Pylad. And Palamedes, Ajax Telamon, — 
 
 They never saw the fatherland again. 
 Iph. He speaks not of my father, names him not 
 
 Among the slain. He lives ! Still lives for me ! 
 I shall behold his face. O hope, dear heart ! 
 Pylad. Yet blessed are the thousands who have died 
 The death so bitter-sweet at hand of foe ; 
 For an inimical and angry god 
 Prepared for the returning wanderers 
 Wild terrors on the main and mournful end 
 In triumph's stead. Doth sound of human voice 
 Ne'er come to thee? As far as it doth reach 
 It bears the rumor round of unheard deeds. 
 So then the lamentation which doth fill 
 Mycene's halls with e'er-recurring sighs 
 Is hid from thee? For with iEgisthus' aid, 
 Her spouse by Clytsemnestra was ensnared 
 And slain upon the da}' of his return ! — 
 I see thou dost revere this royal house ! 
 I see it, for thy bosom vainly strives 
 
 51 
 
Against the unexpected, dreadful word. 
 
 Art thou a daughter of a friend ? Wast thou 
 
 In this same city born a neighbor then ? 
 
 Conceal it not and hold it not amiss 
 
 That I'm the first this horror to announce. 
 
 Iph. Say on, how was the heavy deed accomplished ? 
 
 Pylad. When on the day of his return, the king 
 
 Descended from the bath, refreshed and calm, 
 And reached to take his garment from his spouse, 
 The wretched woman o'er his noble head 
 And shoulders threw a fabric woven with skill 
 With manifold and complicated plaits ; 
 And as he vainly strove to free himself, 
 As from a net, iEgisthus, traitor, struck ; — 
 Down sank this mighty prince thus veiled to death. 
 
 Iph. And what was the conspirator's reward? 
 
 Pylad. A bed and rule, which he already had. 
 
 Iph. Did thus their evil lust lead on to crime? 
 
 Pylad. And deep desire for vengeance long concealed. 
 
 Iph. How had the king offended her so sore? 
 
 Pylad. By an atrocious deed, which, be the act 
 Of murder ever just, was her excuse. 
 To Aulis he allured her and, the while 
 A deity with boisterous winds opposed 
 The passage of the Greeks, had thither brought 
 Before the altar of Diana chaste 
 The eldest daughter, Iphigenia ; 
 And there she fell, a bloody sacrifice 
 To save the Greeks. 'Twas this, they say, that 
 
 stamped 
 
 Upon her heart a hate so deep that she 
 Submitted to ^Egisthus' fond caress 
 
 32 
 
And flung, with her own hands, the fatal net 
 Around her spouse. 
 
 Iph. {Veiling herself .*) 
 
 It is enough. Thou shalt see me again. 
 
 Pylad. {Alone.) 
 
 By fortunes of the royal house she seems 
 
 Profoundly moved. Whate'er her name and race, 
 
 She has, herself, most surely known the king 
 
 And, fortunate for us, from noble honse 
 
 Was hither brought a slave. Be still, fond heart, 
 
 And let us wisely steer our course with joy 
 
 And courage towards the glimmering star of hope. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene I. Iphigenia. Orestes. 
 
 Iph. Unhappy man, thy fetters I unloose 
 But as a sign of a more painful fate. 
 The freedom, which the sanctuary grants, 
 Forebodeth death, e'en as life's last clear glance 
 Of the frail invalid. Yet I can not 
 And dare not say unto myself that ye 
 Are lost ! How could I with a murd'rous hand 
 Devote you unto death? And none soe'er, 
 As long as I am priestess to Diana, 
 Dares touch your head. But now when I refuse 
 The office, as the incensed king demands it, 
 He will select one of my maidens here 
 As my successor, and I then can naught 
 But aid you with my ardent wish alone. 
 
 33 
 
Oh, worthy count^man ! The least of all 
 Of those who served at the ancestral hearth 
 Is doubly welcome in a foreign land ; 
 How shall I with due joy and reverence 
 Receive you, ye who bring before my sight 
 The image of the heroes whom I learned 
 From elders to revere, — who fondly cheer 
 My inmost heart with new and pleasing hope ! 
 
 Orestes. Conceal est thou thy name and origin 
 
 With wise forethought ? or ma} 7 I know, who stands 
 Before me like a heaven-descended one ? 
 
 Iph. Hereafter thou shalt know. But tell me now, 
 Since I but partly learned it from thy brother, 
 What was the end of those, who came from Troy 
 To find, upon the threshold of their homes, 
 Dumbstruck, a cruel unexpected fate. 
 Sure I was young when guided to this strand ; 
 Yet well do I recall the timid glance, 
 Which I with wonder and with fearfulness 
 Upon those heroes cast. They went forth so, 
 As though Olympus opened wide her gates, 
 And antique forms illustrious came forth 
 To threaten Ilion's fall, and high o'er all 
 The towering form of Agamemnon stood ! 
 Oh, tell me, pra} 7 : he fell, in his own house, 
 Through his own consort's and iEgisthus' trick? 
 
 Orestes. Thou say'st ! 
 
 Iph. Alas ! Mycene, woe is thee ! 
 
 Thus have the sons of Tantalus sown curse 
 On curse, broad-cast, with full and reckless hand, 
 And shaking, like the weeds, their desert heads 
 And strewing seeds by thousands o'er the waste, 
 
 34 
 
Begotten murderers all near of kin 
 In an unbroken line from son to son 
 In ever changing fury ! But reveal 
 What of thy brother's speech so suddenly 
 The darkness of my fright concealed from me, 
 How has the last of this illustrious race, 
 The darling child, ordained some day to be 
 His sire's avenger, how has he, Orestes, 
 Escaped the day of blood? Has a like fate 
 Entangled him in the Avernal net ? 
 Is he still safe ? Alive ? And lives Electra ? 
 Orestes. They live. 
 
 Iph. Thou golden sun, lend me thy brightest rays, 
 
 Eay them for thanks before the throne of Jove ! 
 For I am poor and dumb. 
 
 Orestes. Art thou a friend unto this royal house, 
 Art thou with closer ties unto it bound, 
 As thy sweet joy seems to disclose to me ; 
 Then tame thy heart awhile and hold it fast ! 
 For to the joyful mind a swift relapse 
 Into the state of pain is hard to bear. 
 Thou knowest only Agamemnon's death. 
 
 Iph. And know I not enough with this ? 
 
 Orestes. Thou hast but half of horror's tale perceived. 
 
 Iph. What else is there to fear ? Orestes lives, 
 Electra lives. 
 
 Orestes. And fearest thou for Clytsemnestra naught ? 
 Iph. Nor hope, nor fear, can save her evermore. 
 Orestes. She too departed from the land of hope. 
 Iph. Shed she her blood in her remorseful rage ? 
 Orestes. Not so, yet her own blood gave her to death. 
 Iph. More clearly speak, that I no longer doubt. 
 
 35 
 
For dark uncertainty in thousand forms 
 Beats round my tim'rous head its sombre wings. 
 Orestes. Have then the gods thus chosen me t' announce 
 A deed, which I so willingly would hide 
 In soundless hollow caverns of night's realm ? 
 Against my will thy gentle tongue constrains me ; 
 Perhaps it asks and will receive a pang. 
 Upon the day in which the father fell, 
 Electra, quick to save, concealed her brother ; 
 His uncle Strophius received him gladly, 
 Reared him beside his son, named Pylades, 
 Who round the adopted one the tenderest ties 
 Of friendship bound. And as they grew, there grew 
 Within their souls the burning wish to avenge 
 The king's death. Unexpected, in disguise, 
 They reach Mycene, feigning so to bear 
 The mournful tidings of Orestes' death, 
 Together with his ashes. And the queen 
 Receives them well ; they pass into the house. 
 Unto Electra then Orestes makes 
 Himself full known ; in him she fans the fire 
 Of vengeance, which the mother's sacred presence 
 Had well repressed. She leads him silently 
 Unto the place whereon his father fell, 
 Where still remained an old slight trace of blood, 
 So rashly spilt, and stained the oft-washed floor 
 With pale portentous streaks. With fiery tongue 
 Each circumstance of the accursed deed 
 She there portrayed, and her own wretched life 
 Harassed and menial, the arrogance 
 Of the successful traitor and the perils 
 Which now the children feared from cruelty 
 
 36 
 
Of one who had become step-mother harsh : 
 Here then the ancient dagger which so oft 
 Had made such fearful havoc in the house 
 Of Tantalus, she forced upon her brother, 
 And Clytaemnestra fell by her son's hand. 
 
 Iph. Immortal gods, ye who in spotless light 
 On clouds forever new, so happy dwell, 
 Have ye for this alone so many years 
 Thus sundered me from human kind, kept me 
 So near yourselves, charged me with filial care 
 To feed the holy fire's glow, raised up 
 My soul like flame unto your dwelling-place 
 In everlasting pious purity, 
 But later and more deeply to transfix me 
 With horrors of my house ? — But let me hear 
 Of the unhappy one, Orestes ! Speak 
 To me of him ! 
 
 Orestes. Oh, would that we could speak of him as dead ! 
 How like the foam the mother's spirit rose 
 From out the blood of her slain self and called 
 Unto the ancient daughters of the night : 
 1 ' L,et not the matricide escape ! Pursue 
 The criminal ! To you he's given for doom !" 
 They hear, and all around, their hollow eyes 
 Glare like the eagle's, eager for the prey. 
 They stir themselves within their gloomy cells, 
 From nook and cranny steal abroad with stealth 
 Their constant followers, Despair and Grief. 
 From them a fume of Acheron ascends ; 
 Within the circle of its vapor rolls 
 Confusing round the guilty wretch's head 
 The never-ceasing sight of what is done. 
 
 37 
 
So they, with power to ruin clothed, thus tread 
 The beauteous ground of earth divinely sown, 
 From which an ancient curse long banished them. 
 Swift-footed they pursue the fugitive : 
 They give him rest, only to fright anew. 
 
 Iph. Unhappy man, thou art in a like case 
 
 And feel' st the pangs of the poor fugitive ! 
 
 Orestes. What say est thou ? What, thinkest a like case ? 
 
 Iph. Like him, a fratricide oppresses thee ; 
 
 This much already hath thy younger brother 
 Confided unto me. 
 
 Orestes. I can not bear the thought that thou, great soul, 
 Shouldst ever be deceived by falsehood's wile. 
 A clever stranger, practised in deceit 
 Ties round a stranger's feet a web of lies 
 To catch him in a snare ; 'twixt us be truth ! 
 I am Orestes, and this guilty head 
 Sinks down unto the grave and seeketh death ; 
 In any form he's welcome when he comes ! 
 Whoe'er thou art, I wish deliverance 
 For thee and for my friends ; not for myself. 
 Thou seemest here against thy will to stay ; 
 Devise some means of flight and leave me here. 
 From rocky cliff let my dead body fall, 
 Down to the watery main let fume my blood 
 And bring a curse to this barbaric shore ! 
 Go ye, at home in beauteous land of Greece 
 There to begin a new and blessed life. ( Withdraws. ) 
 
 Iph. So then at last, Fulfilment, fairest daughter 
 Of the almighty father, thou descend 'st 
 To me ! How vast thine image stands before me ! 
 My glance can scarce attain unto the hands, 
 
 38 
 
Which, flowing o'er with fruit and crowns of blessing, 
 The treasures of Otympus bringeth down. 
 As we by his abounding gifts may know 
 The king — for what to thousands seemeth wealth, 
 To him is but a trifle — so may we 
 Know T you, ye gods, by gifts withheld for long 
 And wisely suited to our several needs. 
 For ye alone can know what profits us, 
 And see the future's kingdom stretched afar, 
 When every night a veil of star and mist 
 Obscures the view for us. Ye calmly hear 
 Our earnest prayers, when we like children beg 
 For quick response ; but never do your hands 
 Untimely pluck the golden fruits of heaven ; 
 And woe to him who, snatching them with greed 
 And insolence, consumes unto his death 
 The acrid food. Oh, let the long awaited, 
 Still scare imagined happiness, not pass 
 From me like empty shadow of a friend 
 Departed, and in pangs by far more piercing ! 
 Orestes. {Returning.') 
 
 Invokest thou the gods for thine own self 
 
 And Pylades, then couple not my name 
 
 With yours. Thou canst not save the criminal, 
 
 To whom thou join'st thyself, and shar'st his curse 
 
 And fate. 
 
 Iph. My fate is firmly bound to thine. 
 
 Orestes. By no means ! 
 
 Let me descend alone, companionless, 
 Unto the dead. Couldst thou the guilty one 
 Conceal within the folds of thine own veil, 
 Thou couldst not hide him from the tireless eye 
 
 39 
 
Of those who ever watch ; thy presence e'en, 
 Thou heavenly one, would only press aside, 
 Not frighten them away. They dare not tread, 
 With bold aspiring feet, this hallowed ground ; 
 Yet in the distance here and there I hear 
 Their fiendish laughter. So wolves wait round 
 The tree whereon a traveler saves himself. 
 Out there they lie in wait ; if I forsake 
 This fane, then they will rise, and, shaking high 
 The serpent-heads and scattering dust around 
 From every side, drive on their prey before them. 
 
 Iph. Canst thou, Orestes, take a kindly word ? 
 
 Orestes. Spare it for one who is a friend of gods. 
 
 Iph. They grant to thee the light of a new hope. 
 
 Orestes. Through smoke and fume I see the feeble glimmer 
 Of death's flood light me on the way to hell. 
 
 Iph. Hast thou one sister only, named Electra ? 
 
 Orestes. The one I knew ; yet well the elder took 
 
 Her goodly lot, which seemed to us so dreadful, 
 
 Out of the misery of our house betimes. 
 
 Oh, cease thy questionings, lest thou too join 
 
 Th' Erinnys' company ; with hate malign 
 
 They blow the ashes from my soul away 
 
 And suffer not the dying ember's fire 
 
 Of our ruined race t' expire in me. 
 
 Shall then the glow, ignited by design, 
 
 And fed by sulphurous fumes from hell beneath, 
 
 Forever on my soul tormenting burn ? 
 
 Iph. I bring sweet incense now into the flame. 
 Oh, let the pure and holy breath of love 
 In gentle zephyrs cool thy bosom's glow. 
 Orestes, dear, canst thou not understand ? 
 
 40 
 
Hath thus the company of terror's gods 
 Dried up thy blood within thy arteries ? 
 Creeps thus, as from the hideous Gorgon head, 
 A petrifying sorcery through thy limbs ? 
 Oh, if the voice of mother's blood bespilt 
 Can call in hollow tones to hell's confines, 
 Shall not the guileless sister's blessed word 
 Propitious gods down from Olympus call ? 
 
 Orestes. It calls ! it calls ! Wilt thou thus ruin me ? 
 Doth an avenging goddess hide in thee ? 
 Who art thou then, whose voice with terror moves 
 My inmost soul to its prof oundest depths ? 
 
 Iph. In thy heart's depths the truth proclaims itself. 
 Orestes, I am she ! See Iphigenia ! 
 I live ! 
 
 Orestes. Thou ! 
 
 Iph. My brother ! 
 
 Orestes. Leave ine ! Away ! 
 
 I counsel thee, touch not these locks of mine ! 
 A fire unquenchable flames forth from me 
 As from the bridal robe of Glauce flamed. 
 Leave me ! Like Hercules will I, base wretch, 
 Absorbed in self, go down to death and shame. 
 
 Iph. Thou shalt not perish ! Oh, that I could draw 
 
 One peaceful word from thee ! Resolve my doubt, 
 
 Let now the happiness so long implored 
 
 Become assured to me. A whirl of joy 
 
 And pain goes through my soul. A shuddering chill 
 
 Removes me from the stranger, but my heart, 
 
 With yearnings deep and strong, moves to my brother. 
 
 Orestes. Is this Lyseus' temple ? And raves wild 
 The priestess in a holy frenzy forth ? 
 
 41 
 
I ph. Oil, hear me ! Look upon me, how my heart, 
 So long repressed, now opens to the bliss 
 The world still holds for me, the dearest head 
 To kiss, to clasp thee in mine arms, which erst 
 The empty winds embraced. Oh, let me ! Let me ! 
 For from Parnassus not more brightly springs 
 The ceaseless fountain's flow in sparkling spray 
 From rock to rock down to the golden vale, 
 Than flows the joy that gushes from my heart 
 And like a happy sea embraces me. 
 Orest' ! Orest' ! My brother ! 
 
 Orestes. Lovely nymph, 
 
 I trust thee and thy fond caresses not. 
 Diana rules her ministers austere 
 And will avenge her temple's profanation. 
 Remove thine arm from off my breast ! 
 And if thine ardor seeks to save a youth 
 And thou wilt kindly tender him the boon, 
 Then turn thy thoughts unto my worthy friend. 
 On yonder rocky path he strays about ; 
 Seek him, show him the way aright, and spare me. 
 
 Iph. Be calm, my brother, and receive the found one ! 
 Brand not a sister's pure and heavenly joy 
 With infamy of rash and guilty lust. 
 Oh, take the blindness from his staring eyes ! 
 Let not the instant of our highest joy 
 Be turned to three-fold anguish ! She is here, 
 The long-lost sister. From the altar me 
 The goddess tore away and hither brought 
 Me safe into her own true sanctuary. 
 Thou art a captive, held for sacrifice, 
 And in the priestess findest thine own sister. 
 42 
 
0?-estes. Unhappy one ! Then let the sun behold 
 
 The closing horror of our ill-starred house ! 
 
 Is not Electra here ? that she too may 
 
 With us go down to death, and not prolong 
 
 Her life for a more direful fate and grief. 
 
 'Tis well ! I follow to the altar, priestess ; 
 
 For fratricide is custom handed down 
 
 Of old in Pelops' race ; I thank you, gods, 
 
 That ye have purposed to uproot me childless. 
 
 And let me counsel thee, be not too much 
 
 In love with the bright sun and with the stars ; 
 
 Come, follow me into the gloomy realm ! 
 
 As dragons from the sulphurous pool begotten 
 
 And warring with the kindred brood, devour 
 
 Each other, so the fury-bearing race 
 
 Destroys itself ; childless and guiltless, come, 
 
 Descend with me ! Dost look with pitying eyes 
 
 On me ? Forbear ! With such a pitying glance 
 
 Did Clytaemnestra seek to find a way 
 
 To her son's heart ; yet his uplifted arm 
 
 Smote her fair breast. The mother fell ! — Arise, 
 
 Thou angry ghost ! Come on, ye Furies, come 
 
 And circling round, act well your several parts 
 
 In this most welcome spectacle, the last, 
 
 Most horrible of all, that ye've prepared ! 
 
 Not hate and not revenge your dagger sharpen ; 
 
 The lovely sister will perform the deed 
 
 Perforce. Weep not ! Thou hast no touch of blame. 
 
 E'er since my earliest years naught have I loved 
 
 As I could love thee, sister. Brandish now 
 
 Your steel, spare not, tear through this naked breast 
 
 And open for the seething streams a way. 
 {He sinks exhausted.) 
 
 43 
 
Iph. I can not bear this fortune and distress 
 
 Alone. Where art thou, Pylades? Dear man, 
 Where shall I find thine aid ? 
 
 {She zvithdraws, seeking Pylades.) 
 
 Scene II. 
 
 Orestes. {Awaking from his stupor and rising.) 
 
 Another ! Reach to me from Lethe's flood 
 The last cool quickening draught ! Soon from my 
 
 breast 
 
 The spasm of life will be expelled ; my spirit, 
 Delivered to oblivion's source, will soon 
 Flow on in quietude to you, ye shades, 
 In everlasting mist. In your repose 
 The harried son of earth finds glad relief. — 
 What lispings do I hear among the branches, 
 What rustling noise from yonder twilight dim ? 
 They come now to behold their latest guest ! 
 What troop is it that joys so gloriously 
 Among themselves like royal company ? 
 They go in peace, both old and young, the men 
 With women, and their forms advancing seem 
 Like gods. In truth, they are my ancestors ! 
 Thyestes goes with Atreus, engaged 
 In confidential talk ; the children glide 
 In play about them. Is there then no more 
 Of ancient enmity among you here ? 
 Expired revenge as dies the light of day ? 
 Then I too shall be welcome, and I may 
 Commingle in your festive company. 
 
 44 
 
Ye fathers, welcome ! Greetings from Orestes, 
 
 The last man of your ancient royal race ; 
 
 What ye have sown, is harvested by him : 
 
 With curses laden I am come to you. 
 
 Bach burden here more easily is borne : 
 
 Take him, oh, take him to your fellowship ! 
 
 Thee Atreus, I revere, thee too, Thyestes ; 
 
 Here are we all from enmity set free. 
 
 Show me my father, whom in life I saw 
 
 But once ! — And art thou he, my father, thou ? 
 
 And trustest thou to lead the mother round ? 
 
 Dare Clytsemnestra offer thee her hand 
 
 So dares Orestes turn his steps to her 
 
 And say to her : Behold thy son, Orestes ! — 
 
 Behold your son ! Bid him be welcome here. 
 
 On earth was murder's greeting in our house 
 
 A never-failing signal, and the race 
 
 Of ancient Tantalus must find its joy 
 
 Beyond the realm of night. Ye cry : Thou'rt welcome 
 
 And ye receive me. Oh, lead me to him, 
 
 Our ancient ancestor ! Oh, where is he ? 
 
 That I may see him and the dear old head 
 
 That honored, with the gods in council sat. 
 
 You seem to hesitate, to turn away ? 
 
 What meaneth this ? Is he, the godlike one, 
 
 In torments ? Woe is me ! Th' almighty gods 
 
 Have forged and fastened to the hero's breast 
 
 An adamantine chain of cruel pains. 
 
 45 
 
Scene III. Orestes. Iphigenia. Pylades 
 
 Orestes. Are ye too now descended from above? 
 
 ' Tis well, my sister ! Yet Electra stays : 
 May some good god soon send the last one down, 
 On gentle rays like arrows swift to us. 
 Thee, my poor friend, must I commiserate ! 
 Come with me, come, away to Pluto's throne, 
 As guests but newly come to greet the host ! 
 
 Iph. Ye twain, w T ho on the wide expanse of heaven 
 The beauteous light by day and night upheave 
 For men and shine not for departed souls, 
 Preserve us twain ! Thy radiant brother, thou, 
 Diana, lov'st before all else on earth 
 And in the heavens, and turn'st thy virgin face 
 With longing calm to his eternal light. 
 Oh. let my only brother, found so late, 
 Not rave and wander in the gloom of madness ! 
 And if thy purpose now is done, for which 
 Thou hast concealed me here, if thou through him 
 Wilt grant me saving help, and him through me, 
 Then free him from the chains of that old curse, 
 That precious time for freedom be not lost. 
 
 Pylad. Dost thou know us and this most sacred grove 
 
 And this same light, which shines not for the dead ? 
 Feel'st thou the arm of friend and of the sister, 
 Who still do hold thee fast, — still hold the living? 
 Take hold of us ; we are not empty shadows. 
 Hear thou my voice ! Attend ! And nerve thyself ! 
 Each moment now is dear, and our return 
 Depends on slender threads, which now, it seems, 
 Some favoring Parce spins. 
 
 46 
 
Orestes. (To Iphigenia.*) 
 
 Now let me first with spirit disenthralled 
 
 In thy embrace unsullied joy obtain ! 
 
 Ye gods, who move with flaming might to cleave 
 
 Thick clouds and, earnest to bestow your gifts, 
 
 With voice of thunder and with roar of winds 
 
 Pour o'er the parched earth in raging streams 
 
 The long awaited rain ; yet soon dissolve 
 
 Th' expectant fears of men in happiness 
 
 And turn their terror-stricken gaze to joy 
 
 And loudest praise, when in the pendent drops 
 
 From freshened leaves the re-appearing sun 
 
 Reflects his image in a thousand forms 
 
 And Iris banded bright with airy hand 
 
 Rifts the gray gauze of the departing cloud : 
 
 Oh, let me then in my dear sister's arms, 
 
 On my companion's breast, enjoy and keep 
 
 With thankfulness, what ye have granted me ! 
 
 The curse is loosed, I feel it in my heart. 
 
 I hear them going, the Eumenides, 
 
 To Tartarus ; they slam the brazen gates 
 
 Behind them with a thundering noise from far. 
 
 The earth exhales revivifying odors 
 
 And calls me back again on her wide plains 
 
 To range for life's delights and deeds of might. 
 
 Pylad. Then squander not the time allotted us ! 
 
 The wind, which swells our sails, let it first bear 
 Our perfect joy to high Olympus. Come ! 
 Our counsel and decision must be swift. 
 
 47 
 
ACT IV. 
 
 Scene I. Iphigenia. 
 
 When the heavenly powers 
 
 Perplexities destine 
 
 For a son born of earth 
 
 And prepare they for him 
 
 Soul-quaking transition 
 
 From life's pleasures to pains 
 
 And from pains unto pleasures ; 
 
 Then they train him up so 
 
 In the city's gay throngs 
 
 Or on far distant shores 
 
 That in hour of trial 
 
 Needful help he may find 
 
 In a true tranquil friend. 
 
 Oh, bless, ye gods, our faithful Pylades 
 
 And whatsoe'er he undertakes to do ! 
 
 He is the arm of youth in battle's strife, 
 
 The kindling eye of age in council halls : 
 
 For his great soul is calm ; it w T ell preserves 
 
 The holy inexhausted boon of peace, 
 
 And from its depths draws for the fugitive 
 
 Advice and aid. Me from my brother he 
 
 Hath torn awa5^, on whom I gazed again 
 
 And yet again amazed, and could not make 
 
 The joy my own, and would not let him go, 
 
 Unmindful of the danger threatening near. 
 
 They go now, their design to execute, 
 
 Down to the sea, where, in the bay concealed, 
 
 The ship with their companions waits the sign ; 
 
 With words sagacious they have filled my mouth 
 
 48 
 
And taught me what to say unto the king 
 
 If he should send and urgently demand 
 
 Of me the sacrifice. Ah ! well I see 
 
 That like a child I must be lead perforce. 
 
 I have not learned deception's artifice 
 
 Nor ever played a trick on any one. 
 
 Oh, woe to falsehood ! It frees not the breast 
 
 Like every other word pronounced in truth ; 
 
 Begets in us distrust and bringeth anguish 
 
 On him who secretly contriveth it ; 
 
 And it returns, a liberated dart, 
 
 Turned in its flight by some divinity, 
 
 And strikes the archer. Care on care distracts 
 
 My breast. Perhaps upon th' unhallowed shore 
 
 Again the fury's rage will seize the brother 
 
 And bind him to the earth in agony ? 
 
 Perhaps they will be seen ? Methinks I hear 
 
 Armed men approaching ! — Here ! — The messenger 
 
 Himself with rapid strides comes from the king. 
 
 My heart beats fast, my soul grows dark and sad, 
 
 As I behold the visage of the man 
 
 Whom I must now oppose with falsehood's wiles. 
 
 Scene II. Iphigenia. Arkas. 
 
 Arkas. Haste, priestess, now prepare the sacrifice ! 
 
 The king attends, the people stand and wait. 
 
 Iph. I would fulfil my office and thy will 
 
 Had not an unexpected hindrance come 
 'Twixt me and the performance of my duty. 
 
 Arkas. What is it that impedes the king's command ? 
 
 Iph. A circumstance, which we can not control. 
 
 49 
 
Arkas. Declare it, that I may apprise him soon ; 
 
 For he determined on the death of both. 
 
 Iph. The gods have not yet so determined it. 
 
 The elder of these men bears guilty stain 
 
 Of his near kindred's blood, which he hath shed. 
 
 The Furies follow him upon his tracks, 
 
 Yea, in the inner temple e'en he fell 
 
 A prey to madness, and his presence here 
 
 Profaned the holy place. Now with my maidens 
 
 I hasten to the water's marge to bathe 
 
 The sacred image in the cleansing waves, 
 
 So to perform a consecrating act 
 
 In rites mysterious. Let none disturb 
 
 Our peaceful progress to the sea. 
 
 Arkas. I will with speed announce this hind' ranee strange 
 Unto the king. Before thou hast consent 
 From him, begin not thou this holy work. 
 
 Iph. This is the priestess' right and trust alone. 
 
 Arkas. A case so strange the king should surely know. 
 
 Iph. His counsel or command can alter naught. 
 
 Arkas. The ruler oft is asked for appearance sake. 
 
 Iph. Urge not upon me what I should refuse. 
 
 Arkas. Refuse not that which good and needful is. 
 
 Iph. I will comply, if thou wilt not delay. 
 
 Arkas. Soon with the tidings will I be in camp 
 
 And soon be here again with his command. 
 Oh, could I bear to him one message more, 
 To clear up all that now perplexes us ; 
 For thou hast not esteemed thy friend's advice. 
 
 Iph. What I had power to do, I've gladly done. 
 
 Arkas. E'en yet there's time for thee to change thy mind. 
 
 Iph. No longer now is that within our power. 
 
 50 
 
Arkas. Thou bold'st impossible what costs thee pain. 
 
 Iph. To thee 'tis easy, for the wish deludes thee. 
 
 Arkas. Wilt thou then hazard all so passively? 
 
 Iph. Into the hands of gods I've placed my trust. 
 
 Arkas. They use mankind to save by human means. 
 
 Iph. Upon their lightest beck it all depends. 
 
 Arkas. I tell thee it doth lie in thine own hand. 
 The king's exasperated mind alone 
 Prescribes for these two strangers bitter death. 
 Long since the people's thought hath weaned itself 
 From cruel sacrifice and bloody service. 
 Yea, many a one whom adverse fate hath borne 
 To foreign strands, hath for himself perceived, 
 How like a god the friendly face of man 
 Hath met the hapless wanderer, whose bark 
 Storm-driven, drifted on the stranger's shores. 
 Oh, turn not from us what thou canst avail ! 
 Thou endest lightly what thou hast begun : 
 For nowhere mildness, which descends from heaven 
 In human form, more quickly for itself 
 Uprears a kingdom, than where dark and wild 
 A new-born folk, replete with courage, life 
 And might, left to itself and fear's forebodings, 
 The heavy burden bears of human life. 
 
 Iph. Shake not my soul with pleadings vain, for thou 
 Canst never make me yield to thy demands. 
 
 Arkas. As long as there is time, nor pains we spare 
 Nor repetition of a kindly word. 
 
 Iph. Thyself thy troublest, and excitest pains 
 
 In me ; in vain are both ; therefore now leave me. 
 
 Arkas. The pains it is which I now call to aid : 
 
 For they are friends, and monitors of good. 
 
 51 
 
Iph. They sieze and hold my soul in piercing throes 
 Yet will they never conquer my dislike. 
 
 Arkas, Can then a soul so beautiful thus feel 
 
 Dislike for kindness proffered by a king ? 
 
 Iph. Yes, when the king, ignoring what is fit, 
 Would sue for me instead of gratitude. 
 
 Arkas. Who feels no inclination never fails 
 
 To find an argument to excuse himself. 
 I will inform the prince what's happened here. 
 Oh, would thou couldst to thy remembrance call, 
 How nobly he hath borne himself to thee 
 From thy first coming to this present day ! 
 
 Scene III. Iphigenia (alone). 
 
 Iph. Now all at once and most unseason'bly 
 I feel my heart within my bosom turned. 
 I tremble ! — as with currents swift the flood 
 In swelling billows overflows the rocks 
 Which lie upon the sands down by the sea, 
 So flowed a stream of joy o'er all my sense. 
 I held within my arms ecstatic bliss 
 Unspeakable. Again a cloud appeared 
 To softly steal around me, raise me up 
 Above the earth and lull me in such slumber 
 As erst the goddess laid around my temples 
 When she stretched forth her saving arm. My heart 
 With impulse strange and strong yearned for my 
 
 brother ; 
 
 I listened only to his friend's advice ; 
 Only to save them, pressed my spirit on. 
 And as the sailor gladly turns his back 
 
 52 
 
Upon the cliffs of some deserted isle, 
 
 So Tauris lay behind me. Now the voice 
 
 Of this trustworthy man has called me back, 
 
 Reminded me that here too I forsake 
 
 Mankind. Twice hateful now is this deceit. 
 
 Be still, my soul, be still ! Begin, st thou now 
 
 To waver and to doubt ? Must thou forsake 
 
 The firm abode of thy dear solitude ? 
 
 Thee, once again embarked, the rocking waves 
 
 Will seize and hold, — dejected and alarmed 
 
 Thou understandest not the world and thee. 
 
 Scene IV. Iphigenia. Pylades. 
 
 Pylad. Where is she ? That I quickly may to her 
 The joyful news of our deliverance bear ! 
 
 Iph. Thou seest me anxious and awaiting here 
 
 The sure relief which thou hast promised me. 
 
 Pylad. Thy brother is restored ! In glad discourse 
 We trod the rocky bottom and the sand 
 Of the unhallowed shore ; behind us lay 
 The grove, — we marked it not. And gloriously 
 And with an ever growing glory blazed 
 The beauteous flame of youth around his head 
 All-curled ; the glow of courage and of hope 
 Filled his clear eye ; his liberated heart 
 Quite yielded to the joy, quite to the wish, 
 Thee, his deliverer, and me to save. 
 
 Iph. May you be blest, and never from thy lips, 
 
 Which have so kindly spoken, may the sound 
 Of sorrow or complaint assail our ears ! 
 
 Pylad. I bring still more than this ; for well attended, 
 
E'en like a prince, doth Fortune seem t' approach. 
 
 For our companions too have all been found. 
 
 Within a bay among the rocks they hid 
 
 The ship and waiting sat disconsolate. 
 
 They saw thy brother and at once arose 
 
 With shouts of joy, and pressing round prayed him 
 
 To hasten on the hour of the departure. 
 
 Each hand was eager then to grasp the oar, 
 
 E'en then a wind in whispers raised on shore 
 
 A favoring breeze, by all alike remarked. 
 
 Then let us hasten, — to the temple lead me, 
 
 And led me tread the inmost sanctuary, 
 
 The goal of our desires in reverence seize ! 
 
 I can alone suffice to bear away 
 
 The sacred image on my shoulders strong ; 
 
 Oh how I long to reach the wished-for burden ! 
 
 ( With these words he goes towards the temple 
 without observing that Iphigenia does not 
 follow ; at last he turns about. ) 
 
 You stand and loiter — speak to me — thou'rt silent ! 
 
 You seem confused ! Doth some new ill arise 
 
 To check our fortune ? Speak ! Hast thou informed 
 
 The king, as we in concert wisely planned ? 
 
 I have, dear man ; yet thou wilt chide I know. 
 
 Thine aspect was to me a mute reproof ! 
 
 The royal messenger approached, and I 
 
 Each word repeated as thou gavest me. 
 
 He seemed astonished, urgently desired, 
 
 To first announce the festival so strange 
 
 Unto the king, that he might learn his pleasure ; 
 
 And now I wait for his return. 
 
 54 
 
Pylad. Woe and alas ! Now danger hangs anew 
 
 Above our heads ! Why didst thou not conceal 
 Thyself with cunning 'neath thy priesthood's right? 
 
 Iph. I ne'er have used it for concealment's veil. 
 
 Pylad. So thou, pure soul, will bring thyself and us 
 To grief. Why did I not anticipate 
 This same contingency and teach thee how 
 To parry such demands ! 
 
 Iph. Chide me alone, 
 
 The fault is mine, I feel that it is so ; 
 Yet otherwise I could not meet the man 
 Who sought from me with reason and with zeal 
 W T hat in my heart I knew was just and right. 
 
 Pylad. The cloud of danger grows more dense ; yet so 
 Let us not tremble or with heedless haste 
 Betray ourselves. Await thou quietly 
 The messenger's return and then stand fast, 
 Let come what may : for such a festival 
 Of consecration to direct, pertains 
 Unto the priestess, not unto the king. 
 And should he ask to see the foreigner, 
 He who the heavy load of madness bears, 
 Decline it so, as though thou hadst us both 
 Within the temple guarded well. So thou 
 Wilt give us time in greatest haste to flee, 
 While we purloin the sacred treasure hence, 
 Unworthily held by this rude barb'rous folk. 
 Apollo sends us most propitious signs ; 
 Before we piously fulfil the terms, 
 Divinely he his promises fulfils. 
 Orestes now is free, is whole ! — With him 
 Thus freed, oh, bear us, favoring winds, across 
 
 55 
 
To rocky isle, the god's own dwelling-place ; 
 Then to Mycene, to renew its life, 
 That from the ashes of its smouldered hearth 
 The household gods may joyously arise, 
 And cheerful fire light their dwellings 'round. 
 Thy hand shall first for them sweet incense strew 
 From golden censers. Over that threshold 
 Thou wilt again bring health and life, appease 
 The curse and gloriously adorn thine own 
 With life's fresh blooms anew. 
 
 I ph. If I, dear friend, perceive thy meaning right, 
 Then, as the flower turns to greet the sun, 
 So turns the soul, pierced by thy radiant words, 
 To the sweet comfort which thou dost assure. 
 How precious is the confident discourse 
 Of present friends ; to him who dwells alone 
 Its power divine is lost and silent falls. 
 For, locked within the breast, in him doth thought 
 And resolution ripen slow ; the presence 
 Of loving friend unfolds them readily. 
 
 Pylad. Farewell ! I now will hasten to console 
 Our friends, who eagerly in waiting stay. 
 Then quickly I'll return and lie in wait 
 Concealed among the rocks and thicket here, 
 Upon a sign from you — What thinkest thou ? 
 For all at once a cloud of sadness spreads 
 In silence o'er thy fair and open brow. 
 
 I ph. Forgive me ! Like thin clouds before the sun, 
 So trifling cares and fears sweep o'er my soul. 
 
 Pylad. Fear not ! 
 
 Delusively hath fear with danger joined 
 
 A compact close ; companions are they both. 
 
 56 
 
Iph. It is a noble care and charge which warn me 
 Not to deceive in malice or to rob 
 The king, who has become my second father. 
 
 Pylad. Thou fleest from him who would thy brother slay. 
 
 Iph. Yet he it is who hath befriended me. 
 
 Pylad. What needful is, is not ingratitude. 
 
 Iph. It still remains ingratitude, but need 
 Excuseth it. 
 
 Pylad. 'Fore gods and men 'twill free thee from all blame. 
 
 Iph. But my own heart within is not at peace. 
 
 Pylad. 'Tis hidden pride, to be too nice in right. 
 
 Iph. I question not the right, I only feel. 
 
 Pylad. Feel'st thou aright, then thou must honored be. 
 
 Iph. The heart is only happy when 'tis pure. 
 
 Pylad. So hast thou kept thyself within the temple ; 
 Our life doth teach us to be less severe 
 With others and ourselves ; thou too wilt learn it. 
 So wondrously is formed the race of man, 
 So variously entangled and involved, 
 That no one in himself, nor with his kind 
 Can keep himself unsullied, unperplexed. 
 Nor are we called upon to judge ourselves. 
 To walk and to take heed unto his way, 
 Is each man's duty and his first concern ; 
 For seldom he esteems aright what's done, 
 And what he does, he knows not how t' esteem. 
 
 Iph. Almost thou dost persuade me to thy way. 
 
 Pylad. Needs there persuasion where the choice' s denied ? 
 There is one only way to save thy brother, 
 Thyself and friend ; can we decline to go ? 
 
 Iph. Oh, grant me some delay ! for thou thyself 
 
 Would' st not permit such wrong to fall on one 
 
 57 
 
To whom for favors thou wert held in bond. 
 
 Pylad. If we should fall, there would remain for thee 
 Reproach more bitter, gendering despair. 
 'Tis clear that thou art not inured to loss, 
 Since thou, in order to escape great ill, 
 Art not e'en willing t' offer one false word. 
 
 Iph. Oh, would I bore a manlike heart in me, 
 Which, when it entertains a purpose bold, 
 Doth close itself to every other voice ! 
 
 Pylad. In vain thou dost refuse ; the iron hand 
 Of hard necessity commands ; her nod 
 Severe is law supreme ; to it the gods 
 Themselves must yield obedience. Silent reigns 
 Th' uncounseled sister of eternal fate. 
 What she imposes, bear ; do, what she bids. 
 The rest thou know r est. Soon will I return, 
 Then to receive from out thy hallowed hand 
 The beauteous seal of our deliverance. 
 
 Scene V. Iphigenia (alo?ie). 
 
 Iph. I must obey him ; for I see mine own 
 
 In urgent danger. Yet, ah me ! my fate 
 Oppresses me with e'er increasing fears. 
 Oh, shall I not preserve the peaceful hope, 
 Which in my solitude I nourished fair ? 
 Shall then this curse forever hover o'er us? 
 Shall the Tantalian race with blessings new 
 Ne'er rise again? All else doth fade and wane ! 
 The highest bliss, the fairest strength of life, 
 Grows faint at last ! Wherefore then not the curse ? 
 So then I hoped in vain, safe-guarded here, 
 
 58 
 
Secluded from my people's destiny, 
 
 Some day with a clean hand and a clean heart 
 
 To purify the much polluted dwelling. 
 
 Scarce is my brother in my arms restored, 
 
 In manner strange and quick, from grievous ill, 
 
 Scarce comes the long- entreated ship near shore, 
 
 To bear me to my native haven hence, 
 
 That deaf necessity with heavy hand 
 
 Doth burden me with two-fold vice ; to take 
 
 By force the sacred image, honored much, 
 
 To me entrusted, and to circumvent 
 
 The man to whom I owe my life and fate. 
 
 Oh, that aversion may not sprout at last 
 
 Within my breast ! That not Titanic hate 
 
 Of ancient gods, deep-set and strong 'gainst you, 
 
 Olympians, may seize my tender breast 
 
 With vultures' claws ! Save me ! Thine image save 
 
 Within my soul ! 
 
 Again within my ears the old song sounds, — 
 
 I had forgotten it, — forgot it gladly — 
 
 The Parcse's song, which they in horror sang, 
 
 When Tantalus from golden seat fell down ; 
 
 They suffered with their aged friend ; their breasts 
 
 Were torn with rage and frightful was their song. 
 
 In childhood days the nurse sang it to me 
 
 And to the rest, I marked it well. 
 
 Let the fear of the gods 
 Be on children of men ! 
 They hold in their hands 
 Eternal dominion 
 
 59 
 
And can use it to smite 
 Whenever the}' please. 
 
 Let him fear them doubly, 
 Whom once they have honored ! 
 On cliffs and on cloud-banks, 
 The seats are prepared 
 'Round tables of gold. 
 
 When discord arises 
 
 The guests are hurled headlong, 
 
 Disgraced and defamed, 
 
 To the depths of night's realm, 
 
 And wait in despair there, 
 
 In darkness confined, 
 
 For justice and right. 
 
 But the gods remain feasting 
 
 In festivals ever 
 
 At tables of gold. 
 
 They stride across mountains 
 
 To mountains again ; 
 
 From abysses beneath them 
 
 The breath of the Titans, 
 
 All strangling and struggling, 
 
 Ascendeth in fumes, 
 
 Like scent of burnt-off' rings, 
 
 A light airy cloud. 
 
 The rulers turn from them 
 Their favoring eyes, — 
 From the whole hated race, 
 And shun in the children 
 
 60 
 
Once loved and once honored 
 The features betraying 
 Their ancestor's line. 
 
 Thus sang they, the Parcse ; 
 The banished one hearkens 
 In the caverns of night 
 To their song ; as he hears 
 He thinks of the fathers 
 Then thinks of the children 
 And shaketh his head. 
 
 ACT V. 
 
 Scene I. Thoas. Ark as. 
 
 Arkas. Perplexed I must admit that I know not, 
 To what point to direct suspicion's aim. 
 Is it the captives, who now meditate 
 Clandestine flight ? Is it the priestess' self 
 Who aids them ? For the rumor spreads and grows, 
 That still somewhere within the bay the ship, 
 Which these two hither brought, lies well concealed. 
 The man's insanity, this consecration, 
 The sacred pretext for delay, arouse 
 Suspicion only and demand precaution. 
 
 Thoas. First let the priestess hither quickly come ! 
 
 Then search the shore with quick and eager haste, 
 E'en from the headland to the sanctuary. 
 
 61 
 
Avoid its sacred depths, in ambush lie 
 All-watchful and upon them fall with might ; 
 Where'er you find them, seize them, as you may. 
 
 Scene II. Thoas {alone). 
 
 Thoas. Now rage within my breast alternate sways ; 
 Against her first, whom I so holy thought, 
 Then 'gainst n^self, who formed and fashioned her 
 Through fond indulgence for this treachery. 
 Man soon becomes inured to slavery 
 And lightly learns t' obey, when fully robbed 
 Of freedom. Yes, had she in the rude hands 
 Of my forefathers fallen and been spared 
 Their holy rage, glad would she then have been 
 To have escaped alive, and to have learned 
 To know her state with thankfulness and shed 
 The stranger's blood before the sacred altar, — 
 To make a duty of necessity. 
 Now in her breast my kindness doth inflame 
 Desire audacious. I in vain have hoped 
 To bind her to myself ; she seeketh now . 
 Her fortune for herself alone. My heart 
 She won through flattery ; now I oppose : 
 Thus seeks she for herself a way through cunning 
 And through deceit, and all my kindness seems 
 To her an old worn-out estate. 
 
 Scene III. Iphigenia. Thoas. 
 
 Iph. Dost summon me ? What brings you here to us ? 
 Thoas. Thou dost delay the sacrifice ; why so ? 
 Iph. I have explained it all to Arkas clearly. 
 
 62 
 
Thoas. I wish to learn it further from yourself. 
 
 Iph. The goddess gives you respite for reflection. 
 
 Thoas. To thee this respite seems quite opportune. 
 
 Iph. If now thy heart is hardened to resolve 
 
 On cruelty, thou shouldst not here appear ! 
 A king, who's bent on inhumanity 
 Can servants find in plenty, who for grace 
 And hire will eagerly partake the half 
 Of the accursed deed ; yet royalty 
 Remains unstained. In secrecy profound 
 He meditates on death ; his messengers 
 Bring down upon the wretched victim's head 
 A flaming ruin, yet he soars in calm, 
 In his serenest height above the storm, 
 An unapproach-ed god. 
 
 Thoas. The holy lips sound forth a frantic song. 
 
 Iph. Not priestess now, but Agamemnon's daughter. 
 Reveredst thou the word of one unknown, 
 And wilt thou rashly bid the princess ? No ! 
 From youth till now have I learned to obey, 
 My parents first and then my deity, 
 And ever have I felt my soul most free 
 In sweet obedience ; but to yield myself 
 To the despotic will and harsh command 
 Of any man, I learned not there, nor here. 
 
 Thoas. An ancient law, not I, commandeth thee. 
 
 Iph. With eagerness we seize upon a law 
 
 That to our passions gives encouragement. 
 Another speaks to me, an older law, 
 Which I oppose to thee, the great command 
 Which holds each stranger sacred. 
 
 Thoas. The captives seem quite near and dear to thee : 
 
 63 
 
Through sympathetic feeling and emotion 
 Thou hast forgotten wisdom's first command, 
 That we should not provoke the ruling powers. 
 
 Iph. Speak I or am I silent, thou canst know 
 What is and ever dwells within my heart. 
 Doth not the memory of a similar fate 
 Unlock the fastenings of the heart to pity's cry? 
 How much more mine ! In them I see myself. 
 Before the altar I myself have trembled, 
 And early death in solemn state stood o'er 
 Me kneeling ; then the knife was raised aloft 
 To pierce the bosom throbbing with young blood ; 
 A whirl of horror terrified my soul, 
 My sight grew dim, and — I was saved at last. 
 Are we not bound to render to th' unhappy 
 What gods so graciously have granted us ? 
 Thou knowest it is so, thou knowest me, 
 And yet thou wouldst constrain me ! 
 
 Thoas. Submit unto thine office, not thy king. 
 
 Iph. Forbear ! Gloze not with words that violence, 
 Which o'er a woman's weakness doth exult. 
 I am free-born, as free as any man. 
 If Agamemnon's son now stood before thee, 
 And thou shouldst then demand what was not fit, 
 He too would have a sword and have an arm, 
 To vindicate his nearest, dearest right. 
 Nothing but words have I, and it befits 
 A noble man, to honor woman's word. 
 
 Thoas. I honor it more than a brother's sword. 
 
 Iph. The chance of arms doth ever change about ; 
 No prudent fighter doth his foe belittle : 
 And nature hath not left the weak defenceless 
 
 64 
 
Against the pride and hauteur of the strong ; 
 She grants him joy in cunning and deceit ; 
 Soon he escapes, delays and circumvents. 
 The mighty ones of earth deserve no less. 
 
 Thoas. But wise precaution doth forestall deceit. 
 
 Iph. And an unblemished soul doth want it not. 
 
 Thoas. Take care that thou dost not condemn thyself. 
 
 Iph. Oh, couldst thou see my spirit, how it strives 
 With might to turn aside, in'ts first assault, 
 Malignant fate, which bears upon it hard ! 
 Stand I then here all weaponless against thee ? 
 The fascinating plea, the charming branch 
 Which in a woman's hand more potent is 
 Than sword and shield, thou dost reject. What now 
 Remains to me as my soul's last defence ? 
 Call I the goddess to perform a wonder? 
 Is there no strength within my soul's depths more ? 
 
 Thoas. It seems the fate of these two strangers gives 
 
 Thee measureless concern. Who are they, pray, 
 For whom thy soul so mightily is moved ? 
 
 Iph. They are — they seem — I take it, they are Greeks. 
 
 Thoas. Thy countrymen, are they ? And they, no doubt> 
 Revive within thy breast the cherished image 
 Of thy return ? 
 
 Iph. {After a pause.) 
 
 Is then the right to wondrous deeds bestowed 
 
 On man alone ? Hath he alone the power 
 
 To attain and clasp to his heroic breast 
 
 Th' impossible ? What then do we call great ? 
 
 What is it that strikes terror in the soul 
 
 When we absorb the oft repeated tale, 
 
 But th' improbable result of what 
 
 65 
 
The most courageous man began ? He who 
 
 In darkest night, alone, glides like a snake 
 
 Up to the enemy encamped, asleep ; — 
 
 How unawares a flame devouring wraps 
 
 The sleepers and the waking, and at last, 
 
 On all sides pressed by the awakened ones, 
 
 He turns to flee on foeman's steed, yet still 
 
 With booty laden, — is then such an one 
 
 Alone to have all praise ? And he alone, 
 
 Who, safety's way despising, boldly goes 
 
 To rove o'er mountains and through forests dense, 
 
 That he may rid the region 'round of robbers? 
 
 Is nothing left for us ? Must tender woman 
 
 Forego her inborn right, a savage be 
 
 Against a savage turned, like Amazons 
 
 To rob you of the sword and to avenge 
 
 Oppression with your blood ? Within my breast 
 
 A bold adventure heaves and falls in waves : 
 
 If it miscarries, I shall not escape 
 
 Severe reproach and most disastrous ill ; 
 
 Here at your feet, ye gods, I lay it down ! 
 
 If ye are true, as ye are held to be, 
 
 Then show it by your aid and glorify 
 
 The truth through me ! — Yea, understand, oh king, 
 
 A secret fraud is being now devised ; 
 
 In vain thou wilt inquire for the captives ; 
 
 They are departed hence and seek their friends, 
 
 Who at the ship are waiting on the shore. 
 
 The elder, he who struggled here in throes 
 
 Of madness, now set free, — Orestes is, 
 
 My brother, and his confidant the other, 
 
 Friend of his youth, and Pylades by name. 
 
 66 
 
Apollo sent them forth from Delphi's shrine 
 Unto this shore with the divine command 
 To plunder hence the image of Diana 
 And hence to him the sister to convej* ; 
 This task performed, he promises to him 
 Whom Furies follow and maternal blood 
 Pollutes, deliverance. Now both of us, 
 The last of Tantal's house, I have delivered 
 Into thy hand : destroy us — if you dare. 
 
 Thoas. And thinkest thou, the savage Scythian, 
 The rude barbarian, will lend an ear 
 To truth and to humanity, whose voice 
 The Grecian Atreus did never heed ? 
 
 Iph. 'Tis heard by every one beneath the sky 
 
 Wherever born, in whom the springs of life 
 Flow pure and unobstructed through the breast, — 
 What purpose touching me dost thou, oh king, 
 Revolve in silence in thine inmost soul ? 
 Is it destruction ? -So then slay me first ! 
 For now I do perceive, since there remains 
 For us no rescue more, the jeopardy 
 Most horrible, whereunto I o'er-rash 
 Designedly have hurried my beloved. 
 Woe ! I shall see them bound before my eyes ! 
 With what a glance can I take leave of him, 
 My brother, whom I send to death? Ne'ermore 
 Can I look into his beloved eyes ! 
 
 Thoas. Thus have the clever and designing twain 
 Thrown such a web around the head of her, 
 The long-secluded one, who lightly gave 
 A willing ear to all their hopes and wishes ! 
 
 Iph. No ! No ! Oh, king ! I might have been deceived, 
 
 67 
 
But these are faithful, these are true. If thou 
 Shalt find them otherwise, then let them fall 
 And cast me out and banish me disgraced 
 To gloomy shore of some deserted isle, 
 There to endure my folly's punishment. 
 But if this man should prove to be my brother 
 For whom I've prayed so long and whom I love, 
 Then let us go in peace, be friendly then 
 To him, my brother, as thou art to me. 
 My father fell through Clytaemnestra's guilt 
 And she through her own son. The final hope 
 Of Atreus' line doth rest on him alone. 
 Let me with a clean heart and a clean hand 
 Pass over hence and purify our house. 
 Thou gavest me thy word ! If e'er for me 
 Should be prepared a way unto my own, 
 Thou swaredst me to let me go ; and now 
 It is. A king speaks not like vulgar men 
 Confusedly, the suppliant for the nonce 
 To send away ; but if by any chance 
 He promises what he does not expect, 
 Then feels he first the power of his worth, 
 When he can fill the expectant one with joy. 
 
 Tkoas. As fire with water strives in combat fierce 
 And seething seeks t' annihilate his foe, 
 So furiously doth anger in my breast 
 Resist thy words. 
 
 Iph. Oh, let the flame of grace, 
 
 E'en like the holy light which mildly burns 
 In sacrificial fire, encircled 'round 
 With songs of praise and thanks and joy, ascend 
 To me. 
 
 63 
 
Thoas. How oft this voice hath soothed my soul ! 
 
 Iph. Oh, offer me thy hand in pledge of peace. 
 
 Thoas. Thou askest much in a short space of time. 
 
 Iph. We need no time to halt to do what's good. 
 
 Thoas. Great deal ! for e'en from good doth evil spring. 
 
 Iph. 'Tis doubt alone that turneth good to ill. 
 
 Pause not to think, but act as thou dost feel. 
 
 Scene IV. The former. Orestes, armed. 
 
 Orestes. {Behind the scenes. ) 
 
 Increase your forces ! Hold them back ! 
 A few more moments ! Yield not to their numbers 
 And cover well the way unto the ship 
 For me and sister ! 
 
 ( To Iphigenia, ivithout observing the king.) 
 
 Come, we are betrayed. 
 But little space remains to us for flight. Quick ! 
 
 (He sees the king.) 
 
 (Reaching for his sword.) 
 Here in my presence none doth wield 
 His naked sword unpunished. 
 
 Do not profane 
 The goddess' dwelling-place through rage and blood. 
 Command your people to stand still, and hear 
 The priestess, hear the sister ! 
 
 Tell me then ! 
 
 Who is't, that threatens us? 
 
 69 
 
 Thoas. 
 iph. 
 
 Orestes. 
 
Iph. Revere in him 
 
 The king, a second father he to me ! 
 
 Forgive me brother ; yet my simple heart 
 
 Hath placed our fate entirely in his hands. 
 
 I have confessed to him your plot and saved 
 
 My soul from treachery. 
 Orestes. Doth he intend 
 
 To grant us safe return thus peaceably ? 
 Iph. Your glittering sword forbids me to respond. 
 Orestes. {Sheathing his sword.') 
 
 So speak ! thou seest I have obeyed thy words. 
 
 Scene V. The former. Pylades, followed by Arkas. 
 Both with drawn swords. 
 
 Pylad. Delay not ! We our forces have combined 
 For the last stand and 3delding step by step 
 Are being slowly forced unto the sea. 
 What parley of the princess find I here ! 
 This is their king's most honored head. 
 
 Arkas. With calmness, as beseemeth thee, oh king, 
 
 Thou standest 'gainst thine enemies. Now soon 
 Their rashness will receive chastisement due ; 
 Their party yields and falls, their ship is ours. 
 One word from thee and it will be in flames. 
 
 Thoas. Away ! Command our people to stand still ! 
 
 Let none molest the foe, whilst we are speaking. 
 
 Orestes. The like will I. Go, trusty friend, and gather 
 The rest of all our band ; bid them be still, 
 Whilst here we learn what end the gods appoint 
 To our endeavors. 
 
 70 
 
Scene VI. Iphigenia. Thoas. Orestes. 
 
 Iph. Now first before you speak, relieve my mind 
 Of all anxiety. I fear sore strife 
 If thou, oh king, wilt not the gentle voice 
 Of equity regard and, thou, my brother, 
 Wilt not restrain th' impetuous fire of youth. 
 
 Thoas. I will restrain my anger, as befits 
 
 The elder. Answer me ! What proof hast thou 
 To show, that thou art Agamemnon's son 
 And this one's brother true? 
 
 Orestes. Here is the sword 
 
 With which he slew the bravest men of Troy. 
 This took I from his murderer and prayed 
 The gods to lend to me the valour, strength 
 And fortune of the great and mighty king 
 And grant to me a death more honorable. 
 Choose now a noble from thy mighty host 
 And let me stand in combat 'gainst the best. 
 As far as earth heroic sons doth bear 
 No stranger is denied this proof of strength. 
 
 Thoas. This privilege hath ne'er been granted here 
 To any stranger. 
 
 Orestes. Then from thee and me 
 
 Henceforth let custom be begun anew ! 
 By all men everywhere the noble act 
 Of rulers is revered and held as law. 
 And let me not contend for freedom only, 
 L,et me, a stranger, for the strangers fight ! 
 Fall I, then is their sentence with mine own 
 Pronounced ; but if my fortune is to win, 
 Then may no man upon this shore e'er tread, 
 
To whom shall be denied the rapid glance 
 Of sympathetic love, and comforted 
 Let each one hence depart ! 
 
 Thoas. Thou seemest not, 
 
 Oh youth, unworthy of the ancestors 
 Of whom thou maks't thy boast. Great is the count 
 Of noble, valiant men who follow me ; 
 Yet I myself with all my years can still 
 Maintain mine own against the foe and I 
 Am ready now to hazard all with thee 
 In chance of arms. 
 
 I ph. No ! No ! There is no need, 
 
 Oh king, of blood}' argument like this ! 
 Draw not thy sword, but think of me and mine ! 
 The rash encounter doth immortalize 
 A man : when he doth fall, he's praised in song. 
 But no posterity doth count the tears 
 Unending of the widow left forsaken ; 
 The bard is silent of the thousand days 
 And nights in weeping passed, where some calm soul 
 Consumes itself with care in the vain hope 
 Of calling back again the long lost friend 
 So rashly torn away. Myself hath care 
 Forewarned not to be drawn from safe retreat 
 By any fraud of robber and betrayed 
 To servitude. With diligence have I 
 Examined them, each circumstance explored, 
 Demanded proofs, and now my heart is sure. 
 See here on his right hand the mark, resembling 
 Three stars, which on the very day appeared, 
 When he was born, and which the priest declared 
 Betokened heavy deeds, to be performed 
 72 
 
By this same hand. Then doubly doth convince me 
 
 This scar, which cleaves his eye-brow here. When he 
 
 Was yet a child, Electra rash and heedless, 
 
 As was her wont, dropped him from out her arms. 
 
 He struck a tripod as he fell — 'Tis he — 
 
 Shall I yet name his likeness to his father, 
 
 Shall I the inward leaping of my heart 
 
 Adduce to thee as proof of my assurance ? 
 
 Thoas. And if thy speech removed each lingering doubt, 
 And if I tamed the anger in my breast, 
 Yet were it needful that the sword decide 
 Between us. Peace I see not. They are come, 
 Thou hast thyself acknowledged it to me, 
 To rob me of the goddess' sacred image. 
 Think' st thou that I with apathy can see this? 
 The Greek doth often turn his eager eyes 
 To treasures of barbarians far remote, 
 The golden fleece, their steeds and fairest daughters ; 
 Yet force and cunning have not always led 
 Them safely back with goods thus coveted. 
 
 Orestes. The image shall not sunder us, oh king ! 
 For now we do perceive the veil of error 
 Which a divinity spread o'er our heads 
 When he commanded us to wander hither. 
 Him I besought for counsel and release 
 From the fell Furies' company : he spoke : 
 ' ' Bringst thou the sister who on Tauris' shore, 
 Within the sanctuary stays perforce, 
 To Grecian land, the curse will be removed. ' ' 
 We construed it to mean Apollo's sister, 
 And he intended thee ! The cruel bands 
 Are now dissolved ; thou art, thou holy one, 
 
 73 
 
Again restored to thine. Touched by thy hand 
 
 I was made whole, was healed ; in thy embrace 
 
 The frenzy seized me in his every claw 
 
 For the last time and all my marrow shook 
 
 Most terribly ; then like a snake it fled 
 
 Into its cave. Through thee I now enjoy 
 
 Anew the universal light of day. 
 
 Most fair and glorious now to me appear 
 
 The purposes divine. The goddess took thee, 
 
 Protectress of our house, and hid thee safe, 
 
 E'en like a sacred image, whereunto 
 
 The city's fate immutably is bound 
 
 In mystery of oracle divine ; 
 
 Sequestered thee in holy quietude 
 
 To bless thy brother and thine own to bless. 
 
 When all salvation seemed forever lost 
 
 On the wide earth, thou giv'st us all again. 
 
 Now let thy thoughts return to peace, oh king ! 
 
 Oppose her not, now that she doth intend 
 
 To consecrate th' paternal home anew, 
 
 Restore me to the halls now freed from curse, 
 
 And press upon my brow the ancient crown ! 
 
 Requite the blessing which she brought to thee, 
 
 And let a nearer privilege be mine ! 
 
 Both force and craft, the highest boast of men, 
 
 Are through the truth of this exalted soul 
 
 Brought down to shame, and pure and child-like trust 
 
 In an illustrious man will be rewarded. 
 
 Bethink thee of thy promise and be moved 
 
 By this same speech so justly, truly spoken ! 
 
 Behold us here ! Not often art thou given 
 
 Occasion for a noble deed like this. 
 
 74 
 
Thou canst refuse it not ; then grant it soon. 
 Thoas. So go ! 
 
 Iph. Not so, my king ! Without a blessing, 
 
 In anger, I can never part from thee. 
 Proscribe us not ! Let there proceed from thee 
 To us a friendly hospitality ; 
 So we will not forever be estranged 
 And separated. Worthy and most dear, 
 As was my father, so art thou to me, 
 And this impression will remain with me. 
 If e'er the lowliest of thy people bring 
 Unto mine ear the sound of that same voice 
 Which I was ever wont to hear in thee, 
 And in the poorest I behold thy kin : 
 I will receive him like a god, I will 
 Myself prepare a couch for him, invite 
 Him to a seat beside the cheerful hearth, 
 Inquire but of thee and thy estate. 
 Oh, may the gods grant thee well-earned reward 
 For all thy noble deeds and tenderness ! 
 Farewell ! Oh, turn to us and give me back 
 But one kind word e'er we forever part ! 
 More gently then the wind will swell our sails, 
 More softly flow the tears from straining eyes 
 As we depart. Farewell ! Extend to me 
 In pledge of old acquaintance thy right hand. 
 
 Thoas. Farewell !