Delphi Complete Works of William Dean Howells
Page 1383
SCENE I.
AEGISTHUS and Soldiers.
Aeg. O treachery unforseen! O madness! Freed,
Orestes freed? Now we shall see....
Enter CLYTEMNESTRA.
Cly. Ah! turn
Backward thy steps.
Aeg. Ah, wretch, dost thou arm too
Against me?
Cly. I would save thee. Hearken to me,
I am no longer —
Aeg. Traitress —
Cly. Stay!
Aeg. Thou ‘st promised
Haply to give me to that wretch alive?
Cly. To keep thee, save thee from him, I have sworn,
Though I should perish for thee! Ah, remain
And hide thee here in safety. I will be
Thy stay against his fury —
Aeg. Against his fury
My sword shall be my stay. Go, leave me!
I go —
Cly. Whither?
Aeg. To kill him!
Cly. To thy death thou goest!
O me! What dost thou? Hark! Dost thou not hear
The yells and threats of the whole people? Hold!
I will not leave thee.
Aeg. Nay, thou hop’st in vain
To save thy impious son from death. Hence! Peace!
Or I will else —
Cly. Oh, yes, Aegisthus, kill me,
If thou believest me not. “Orestes!” Hark!
“Orestes!” How that terrible name on high
Rings everywhere! I am no longer mother
When thou ‘rt in danger. Against my blood I grow
Cruel once more.
Aeg. Thou knowest well the Argives
Do hate thy face, and at the sight of thee
The fury were redoubled in their hearts.
The tumult rises. Ah, thou wicked wretch,
Thou wast the cause! For thee did I delay
Vengeance that turns on me now.
Cly. Kill me, then!
Aeg. I’ll find escape some other way.
Cly. I follow —
Aeg. Ill shield wert thou for me. Leave me — away, away!
At no price would I have thee by my side! {Exit.
Cly. All hunt me from them! O most hapless state!
My son no longer owns me for his mother,
My husband for his wife: and wife and mother
I still must be! O misery! Afar
I’ll follow him, nor lose the way he went.
Enter ELECTRA.
El. Mother, where goest thou! Turn thy steps again
Into the palace. Danger —
Cly. Orestes — speak!
Where is he now? What does he do?
El. Orestes,
Pylades, and myself, we are all safe.
Even Aegisthus’ minions pitied us.
They cried, “This is Orestes!” and the people,
“Long live Orestes! Let Aegisthus die!”
Cly. What do I hear?
El. Calm thyself, mother; soon
Thou shalt behold thy son again, and soon
Th’ infamous tyrant’s corse —
Cly. Ah, cruel, leave me!
I go —
El. No, stay! The people rage, and cry
Out on thee for a parricidal wife.
Show thyself not as yet, or thou incurrest
Great peril. ‘T was for this I came. In thee
A mother’s agony appeared, to see
Thy children dragged to death, and thou hast now
Atoned for thy misdeed. My brother sends me
To comfort thee, to succor and to hide thee
From dreadful sights. To find Aegisthus out,
All armed meanwhile, he and his Pylades
Search everywhere. Where is the wicked wretch?
Cly. Orestes is the wicked wretch!
El. O Heaven!
Cly. I go to save him or to perish with him.
El. Nay, mother, thou shalt never go. Thou ravest —
Cly. The penalty is mine. I go —
El. O mother!
The monster that but now thy children doomed
To death, wouldst thou —
Cly. Yes, I would save him — I!
Out of my path! My terrible destiny
I must obey. He is my husband. All
Too dear he cost me. I will not, can not lose him.
You I abhor, traitors, not children to me!
I go to him. Loose me, thou wicked girl!
At any risk I go, and may I only
Reach him in time! {Exit.
El. Go to thy fate, then, go,
If thou wilt so, but be thy steps too late!
Why can not I, too, arm me with a dagger,
To pierce with stabs a thousand-fold the breast
Of infamous Aegisthus! O blind mother, oh,
How art thou fettered to his baseness! Yet,
And yet, I tremble — If the angry mob
Avenge their murdered king on her — O Heaven!
Let me go after her — But who comes here?
Pylades, and my brother not beside him?
Enter PYLADES.
Oh, tell me! Orestes — ?
Pyl. Compasses the palace
About with swords. And now our prey is safe.
Where lurks Aegisthus! Hast thou seen him?
El. Nay,
I saw and strove in vain a moment since
To stay his maddened wife. She flung herself
Out of this door, crying that she would make
Herself a shield unto Aegisthus. He
Already had fled the palace.
Pyl. Durst he then
Show himself in the sight of Argos? Why,
Then he is slain ere this! Happy the man
That struck him first. Nearer and louder yet
I hear their yells.
El. “Orestes!” Ah, were’t so!
Pyl. Look at him in his fury where he comes!
Enter ORESTES and his followers.
Or. No man of you attempt to slay Aegisthus:
There is no wounding sword here save my own.
Aegisthus, ho! Where art thou, coward! Speak!
Aegisthus, where art thou? Come forth: it is
The voice of Death that calls thee! Thou comest not?
Ah, villain, dost thou hide thyself? In vain:
The midmost deep of Erebus should not hide thee!
Thou shalt soon see if I be Atrides’ son.
El. He is not here; he —
Or. Traitors! You perchance
Have slain him without me?
Pyl. Before I came
He had fled the palace.
Or. In the palace still
Somewhere he lurks; but I will drag him forth;
By his soft locks I’ll drag him with my hand:
There is no prayer, nor god, nor force of hell
Shall snatch thee from me. I will make thee plow
The dust with thy vile body to the tomb
Of Agamemnon, — I will drag thee thither
And pour out there all thine adulterous blood.
El. Orestes, dost thou not believe me? — me!
Or. Who’rt thou? I want Aegisthus.
El. He is fled.
Or. He’s fled, and you, ye wretches, linger here?
But I will find him.
Enter CLYTEMNESTRA.
Cly. Oh, have pity, son!
Or. Pity? Whose son am I? Atrides’ son
Am I.
Cly. Aegisthus, loaded with chains —
Or. He lives yet?
O joy! Let me go slay him!
Cly. Nay, kill me!
I slew thy father — I alone. Aegisthus
Had no guilt in it.
Or. Who, who grips my arm!
Who holds me back? O Madness! Ah Aegisthus!
I see him; they drag him hither — Off with thee!
Cly. Orestes, dost thou not know thy mother?
Or. Die,
Aegisthus! By Oreste
s’ hand, die, villain! {Exit.
Cly. Ah, thou’st escaped me! Thou shalt slay me
first! {Exit.
El. Pylades, go! Run, run! Oh, stay her! fly;
Bring her back hither! {Exit PYLADES.
I shudder! She is still
His mother, and he must have pity on her.
Yet only now she saw her children stand
Upon the brink of an ignoble death;
And was her sorrow and her daring then
As great as they are now for him? At last
The day so long desired has come; at last,
Tyrant, thou diest; and once more I hear
The palace all resound with wails and cries,
As on that horrible and bloody night,
Which was my father’s last, I heard it ring.
Already hath Orestes struck the blow,
The mighty blow; already is Aegisthus
Fallen — the tumult of the crowd proclaims it.
Behold Orestes conqueror, his sword
Dripping with blood!
Enter ORESTES.
O brother mine, come,
Avenger of the king of kings, our father,
Argos, and me, come to my heart!
Or. Sister,
At last thou seest me Atrides’ worthy son.
Look,’t is Aegisthus’ blood! I hardly saw him
And ran to slay him where he stood, forgetting
To drag him to our father’s sepulcher.
Full twice seven times I plunged and plunged my sword
Into his cowardly and quaking heart;
Yet have I slaked not my long thirst of vengeance!
El. Then Clytemnestra did not come in time
To stay thine arm?
Or. And who had been enough
For that? To stay my arm? I hurled myself
Upon him; not more swift the thunderbolt.
The coward wept, and those vile tears the more
Filled me with hate. A man that durst not die
Slew thee, my father!
El. Now is our sire avenged!
Calm thyself now, and tell me, did thine eyes
Behold not Pylades?
Or. I saw Aegisthus;
None other. Where is dear Pylades? And why
Did he not second me in this glorious deed?
El. I had confided to his care our mad
And desperate mother.
Or. I knew nothing of them.
Enter PYLADES.
El. See, Pylades returns — O heavens, what do I see?
Returns alone?
Or. And sad? Oh wherefore sad,
Part of myself, art thou? Know’st not I’ve slain
Yon villain? Look, how with his life-blood yet
My sword is dripping! Ah, thou did’st not share
His death-blow with me! Feed then on this sight
Thine eyes, my Pylades!
Pyl. O sight! Orestes,
Give me that sword.
Or. And wherefore?
Pyl. Give it me.
Or. Take it.
Pyl. Oh listen! We may not tarry longer
Within these borders; come —
Or. But what —
El. Oh speak!
Where’s Clytemnestra?
Or. Leave her; she is perchance
Kindling the pyre unto her traitor husband.
Pyl. Oh, thou hast far more than fulfilled thy vengeance.
Come, now, and ask no more.
Or. What dost thou say?
El. Our mother! I beseech thee yet again!
Pylades — Oh what chill is this that creeps
Through all my veins?
Pyl. The heavens —
El. Ah, she is dead!
Or. Hath turned her dagger, maddened, on herself?
El. Alas, Pylades! Why dost thou not answer?
Or.. Speak! What hath been?
Pyl. Slain —
Or. And by whose hand?
Pyl. Come!
El. (To ORESTES.) Thou slewest her!
Or. I parricide?
Pyl. Unknowing
Thou plung�dst in her heart thy sword, as blind
With rage thou rannest on Aegisthus —
Or. Oh,
What horror seizes me! I parricide?
My sword! Pylades, give it me; I’ll have it —
Pyl. It shall not be.
El. Brother —
Or. Who calls me brother?
Thou, haply, impious wretch, thou that didst save me
To life and matricide? Give me my sword!
My sword! O fury! Where am I? What is it
That I have done? Who stays me? Who follows me?
Ah, whither shall I fly, where hide myself? —
O father, dost thou look on me askance?
Thou wouldst have blood of me, and this is blood;
For thee alone — for thee alone I shed it!
El. Orestes, Orestes — miserable brother!
He hears us not! ah, he is mad! Forever,
Pylades, we must go beside him.
Pyl. Hard,
Inevitable law of ruthless Fate!
IV
Alfieri himself wrote a critical comment on each of his tragedies, discussing their qualities and the question of their failure or success dispassionately enough. For example, he frankly says of his Maria Stuarda that it is the worst tragedy he ever wrote, and the only one that he could wish not to have written; of his Agamennone, that all the good in it came from the author and all the bad from the subject; of his Fillippo II., that it may make a very terrible impression indeed of mingled pity and horror, or that it may disgust, through the cold atrocity of Philip, even to the point of nausea. On the Orestes, we may very well consult him more at length. He declares: “This tragic action has no other motive or development, nor admits any other passion, than an implacable revenge; but the passion of revenge (though very strong by nature), having become greatly enfeebled among civilized peoples, is regarded as a vile passion, and its effects are wont to be blamed and looked upon with loathing. Nevertheless, when it is just, when the offense received is very atrocious, when the persons and the circumstances are such that no human law can indemnify the aggrieved and punish the aggressor, then revenge, under the names of war, invasion, conspiracy, the duel, and the like, ennobles itself, and so works upon our minds as not only to be endured but to be admirable and sublime.”
In his Orestes he confesses that he sees much to praise and very little to blame: “Orestes, to my thinking, is ardent in sublime degree, and this daring character of his, together with the perils he confronts, may greatly diminish in him the atrocity and coldness of a meditated revenge.... Let those who do not believe in the force of a passion for high and just revenge add to it, in the heart of Orestes, private interest, the love of power, rage at beholding his natural heritage occupied by a murderous usurper, and then they will have a sufficient reason for all his fury. Let them consider, also, the ferocious ideas in which he must have been nurtured by Strophius, king of Phocis, the persecutions which he knows to have been everywhere moved against him by the usurper, — his being, in fine, the son of Agamemnon, and greatly priding himself thereon, — and all these things will certainly account for the vindictive passion of Orestes.... Clytemnestra is very difficult to treat in this tragedy, since she must be here,
“Now wife, now mother, never wife nor mother,
“which is much easier to say in a verse than to manage in the space of five acts. Yet I believe that Clytemnestra, through the terrible remorse she feels, the vile treatment which she receives from Aegisthus, and the awful perplexity in which she lives ... will be considered sufficiently punished by the spectator. Aegisthus is never able to elevate his soul; ... he will always be an unpleasing, vile, and difficult personage to manage well; a character that brings small praise to the author when made sufferable, and much blame if not made so.... I believe the fourth and fifth acts would produce the highest effect on the stag
e if well represented. In the fifth, there is a movement, a brevity, a rapidly operating heat, that ought to touch, agitate, and singularly surprise the spirit. So it seems to me, but perhaps it is not so.”
This analysis is not only very amusing for the candor with which Alfieri praises himself, but it is also remarkable for the justice with which the praise is given, and the strong, conscious hold which it shows him to have had upon his creations. It leaves one very little to add, but I cannot help saying that I think the management of Clytemnestra especially admirable throughout. She loves Aegisthus with the fatal passion which no scorn or cruelty on his part can quench; but while he is in power and triumphant, her heart turns tenderly to her hapless children, whom she abhors as soon as his calamity comes; then she has no thought but to save him. She can join her children in hating the murder which she has herself done on Agamemnon, but she cannot avenge it on Aegisthus, and thus expiate her crime in their eyes. Aegisthus is never able to conceive of the unselfishness of her love; he believes her ready to betray him when danger threatens and to shield herself behind him from the anger of the Argives; it is a deep knowledge of human nature that makes him interpose the memory of her unatoned-for crime between her and any purpose of good.
Orestes always sees his revenge as something sacred, and that is a great scene in which he offers his dagger to Clytemnestra and bids her kill Aegisthus with it, believing for the instant that even she must exult to share his vengeance. His feeling towards Aegisthus never changes; it is not revolting to the spectator, since Orestes is so absolutely unconscious of wrong in putting him to death. He shows his blood-stained sword to Pylades with a real sorrow that his friend should not also have enjoyed the rapture of killing the usurper. His story of his escape on the night of Agamemnon’s murder is as simple and grand in movement as that of figures in an antique bas-relief. Here and elsewhere one feels how Alfieri does not paint, but sculptures his scenes and persons, cuts their outlines deep, and strongly carves their attitudes and expression.