Читать книгу Iphigenia in Tauris - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe - Страница 3

Her royal gifts the goddess shower on thee!

Imparting conquest, wealth, and high renown,

Dominion, and the welfare of thy house,

With the fulfilment of each pious wish,

That thou, who over numbers rul'st supreme,

Thyself may'st be supreme in happiness!

Contented were I with my people's praise;

My conquests others more than I enjoy.

Oh! be he king or subject, he's most blest,

Who in his home finds happiness and peace.

Thou shar'dst my sorrow, when a hostile sword

Tore from my side my last, my dearest son;

Long as fierce vengeance occupied my heart,

I did not feel my dwelling's dreary void;

But now, returning home, my rage appeas'd,

My foes defeated, and my son aveng'd,

I find there nothing left to comfort me.

The glad obedience, which I used to see

Kindling in every eye, is smother'd now

In discontent and gloom; each, pond'ring, weighs

The changes which a future day may bring,

And serves the childless king, because compell'd.

To-day I come within this sacred fane,

Which I have often enter'd to implore

And thank the gods for conquest. In my breast

I bear an old and fondly-cherish'd wish.

To which methinks thou canst not be a stranger;

Thee, maid, a blessing to myself and realm,

I hope, as bride, to carry to my home.

Too great thine offer, king, to one unknown;

Abash'd the fugitive before thee stands,

Who on this shore sought only what thou gav'st,

Safety and peace.

Thus still to shroud thyself

From me, as from the lowest, in the veil

Of mystery which wrapp'd thy coming here,

Would in no country be deem'd just or right.

Strangers this shore appall'd; 'twas so ordain'd

Alike by law and stern necessity.

From thee alone – a kindly welcom'd guest,

Who hast enjoy'd each hallow'd privilege,

And spent thy days in freedom unrestrain'd —

From thee I hop'd that confidence to gain

Which every faithful host may justly claim.

If I conceal'd, O king, my name, my race,

'Twas fear that prompted me, and not mistrust.

For didst thou know who stands before thee now,

And what accursed head thy arm protects,

A shudd'ring horror would possess thy heart;

And, far from wishing me to share thy throne,

Thou, ere the time appointed, from thy realm

Wouldst banish me perchance, and thrust me forth,

Before a glad reunion with my friends

And period to my wand'rings is ordain'd,

To meet that sorrow, which in every clime,

With cold, inhospitable, fearful hand,

Awaits the outcast, exil'd from his home.

Whate'er respecting thee the gods decree,

Whate'er their doom for thee and for thy house,

Since thou hast dwelt amongst us, and enjoy'd

The privilege the pious stranger claims,

To me hath fail'd no blessing sent from Heaven;

And to persuade me, that protecting thee

I shield a guilty head, were hard indeed.

Thy bounty, not the guest, draws blessings down.

The kindness shown the wicked is not blest.

End then thy silence, priestess; not unjust

Is he who doth demand it. In my hands

The goddess plac'd thee; thou hast been to me

As sacred as to her, and her behest

Shall for the future also be my law.

If thou canst hope in safety to return

Back to thy kindred, I renounce my claims:

But is thy homeward path for ever clos'd —

Or doth thy race in hopeless exile rove,

Or lie extinguish'd by some mighty woe —

Then may I claim thee by more laws than one.

Speak openly, thou know'st I keep my word.

Its ancient bands reluctantly my tongue

Doth loose, a long-hid secret to divulge;

For once imparted, it resumes no more

The safe asylum of the inmost heart,

But thenceforth, as the powers above decree,

Doth work its ministry of weal or woe.

Attend! I issue from the Titan's race.

A word momentous calmly hast thou spoken.

Him nam'st thou ancestor whom all the world

Knows as a sometime favourite of the gods?

Is it that Tantalus, whom Jove himself

Drew to his council and his social board?

On whose experienc'd words, with wisdom fraught,

As on the language of an oracle,

E'en gods delighted hung?

'Tis even he;

But gods should not hold intercourse with men

As with themselves. Too weak the human race,

Not to grow dizzy on unwonted heights.

Ignoble was he not, and no betrayer;

To be the Thunderer's slave, he was too great:

To be his friend and comrade, – but a man.

His crime was human, and their doom severe;

For poets sing, that treachery and pride

Did from Jove's table hurl him headlong down,

To grovel in the depths of Tartarus.

Alas, and his whole race their hate pursues.

Bear they their own guilt, or their ancestors'?

The Titan's mighty breast and nervous frame

Was his descendant's certain heritage;

But round their brow Jove forg'd a band of brass.

Wisdom and patience, prudence and restraint,

He from their gloomy, fearful eye conceal'd;

In them each passion grew to savage rage,

And headlong rush'd uncheck'd. The Titan's son,

The strong-will'd Pelops, won his beauteous bride,

Hippodamia, child of Œnomaus,

Through treachery and murder; she ere long

Bore him two children, Atreus and Thyestes;

With envy they beheld the growing love

Their father cherish'd for a first-born son

Sprung from another union. Bound by hate,

In secret they contrive their brother's death.

The sire, the crime imputing to his wife,

With savage fury claim'd from her his child,

And she in terror did destroy herself —

Thou'rt silent? Pause not in thy narrative!

Do not repent thy confidence – say on!

How blest is he who his progenitors

With pride remembers, to the list'ner tells

The story of their greatness, of their deeds,

And, silently rejoicing, sees himself

Link'd to this goodly chain! For the same stock

Bears not the monster and the demigod:

A line, or good or evil, ushers in

The glory or the terror of the world. —

After the death of Pelops, his two sons

Rul'd o'er the city with divided sway.

But such an union could not long endure.

His brother's honour first Thyestes wounds.

In vengeance Atreus drove him from the realm.

Thyestes, planning horrors, long before

Had stealthily procur'd his brother's son,

Whom he in secret nurtur'd as his own.

Revenge and fury in his breast he pour'd,

Then to the royal city sent him forth,

That in his uncle he might slay his sire,

The meditated murder was disclos'd,

And by the king most cruelly aveng'd,

Who slaughter'd, as he thought, his brother's son.

Too late he learn'd whose dying tortures met

His drunken gaze; and seeking to assuage

The insatiate vengeance that possess'd his soul,

He plann'd a deed unheard of. He assum'd

A friendly tone, seem'd reconcil'd, appeas'd.

And lur'd his brother, with his children twain,

Back to his kingdom; these he seiz'd and slew;

Then plac'd the loathsome and abhorrent food

At his first meal before the unconscious sire.

And when Thyestes had his hunger still'd

With his own flesh, a sadness seiz'd his soul;

He for his children ask'd, – their steps, their voice,

Fancied he heard already at the door;

And Atreus, grinning with malicious joy,

Threw in the members of the slaughter'd boys. —

Shudd'ring, O king, thou dost avert thy face:

So did the sun his radiant visage hide,

And swerve his chariot from the eternal path.

These, monarch, are thy priestess' ancestors,

And many a dreadful fate of mortal doom,

And many a deed of the bewilder'd brain,

Dark night doth cover with her sable wing,

Or shroud in gloomy twilight.

Hidden there

Let them abide. A truce to horror now,

And tell me by what miracle thou sprang'st

From race so savage.

Atreus' eldest son

Was Agamemnon; he, O king, my sire:

But I may say with truth, that, from a child,

In him the model of a perfect man

I witness'd ever. Clytemnestra bore

To him, myself, the firstling of their love,

Electra then. Peaceful the monarch rul'd,

And to the house of Tantalus was given

A long-withheld repose. A son alone

Was wanting to complete my parent's bliss;

Scarce was this wish fulfill'd, and young Orestes,

The household's darling, with his sisters grew,

When new misfortunes vex'd our ancient house.

To you hath come the rumour of the war,

Which, to avenge the fairest woman's wrongs,

The force united of the Grecian kings

Round Ilion's walls encamp'd. Whether the town

Was humbl'd, and achiev'd their great revenge

I have not heard. My father led the host

In Aulis vainly for a favouring gale

They waited; for, enrag'd against their chief,

Diana stay'd their progress, and requir'd,

Through Calchas' voice, the monarch's eldest daughter.

They lur'd me with my mother to the camp,

And at Diana's altar doom'd this head. —

She was appeas'd, she did not wish my blood,

And wrapt me in a soft protecting cloud;

Within this temple from the dream of death

I waken'd first. Yes, I myself am she;

Iphigenia, – I who speak to thee

Am Atreus' grandchild, Agamemnon's child,

And great Diana's consecrated priestess.

I yield no higher honour or regard

To the king's daughter than the maid unknown;

Once more my first proposal I repeat;

Come, follow me, and share what I possess.

How dare I venture such a step, O king?

Hath not the goddess who protected me

Alone a right to my devoted head?

'Twas she who chose for me this sanctuary,

Where she perchance reserves me for my sire,

By my apparent death enough chastis'd,

To be the joy and solace of his age.

Perchance my glad return is near; and how

If I, unmindful of her purposes,

Had here attach'd myself against her will?

I ask'd a signal, did she wish my stay.

The signal is that still thou tarriest here.

Seek not evasively such vain pretexts.

Not many words are needed to refuse,

By the refus'd the no alone is heard.

Mine are not words meant only to deceive;

I have to thee my inmost heart reveal'd.

And doth no inward voice suggest to thee,

How I with yearning soul must pine to see

My father, mother, and my long-lost home?

Oh let thy vessels bear me thither, king!

That in the ancient halls, where sorrow still

In accents low doth fondly breathe my name,

Joy, as in welcome of a new-born child,

May round the columns twine the fairest wreath.

Thou wouldst to me and mine new life impart.

Then go! the promptings of thy heart obey;

Despise the voice of reason and good counsel.

Be quite the woman, sway'd by each desire,

That bridleless impels her to and fro.

When passion rages fiercely in her breast,

No sacred tie withholds her from the wretch

Who would allure her to forsake for him

A husband's or a father's guardian arms;

Extinct within her heart its fiery glow,

The golden tongue of eloquence in vain

With words of truth and power assails her ear.

Remember now, O king, thy noble words!

My trust and candour wilt thou thus repay?

Thou seem'dst, methought, prepar'd to hear the truth.

For this unlook'd-for answer not prepar'd.

Yet 'twas to be expected; knew I not

That 'twas with woman I had now to deal?

Upbraid not thus, O king, our feeble sex!

Though not in dignity to match with yours,

The weapons woman wields are not ignoble.

And trust me, Thoas, in thy happiness

I have a deeper insight than thyself.

Thou thinkest, ignorant alike of both,

A closer union would augment our bliss;

Inspir'd with confidence and honest zeal

Thou strongly urgest me to yield consent;

And here I thank the gods, who give me strength

To shun a doom unratified by them.

'Tis not a god, 'tis thine own heart that speaks.

'Tis through the heart alone they speak to us.

To hear them have I not an equal right?

The raging tempest drowns the still, small voice.

This voice no doubt the priestess hears alone.

Before all others should the prince attend it.

Thy sacred office, and ancestral right

To Jove's own table, place thee with the gods

In closer union than an earth-born savage.

Thus must I now the confidence atone

Thyself extorted from me!

I'm a man,

And better 'tis we end this conference.

Hear then my last resolve. Be priestess still

Of the great goddess who selected thee;

And may she pardon me, that I from her,

Unjustly and with secret self-reproach,

Her ancient sacrifice so long withheld.

From olden times no stranger near'd our shore

But fell a victim at her sacred shrine.

But thou, with kind affection (which at times

Seem'd like a gentle daughter's tender love,

At times assum'd to my enraptur'd heart

The modest inclination of a bride),

Didst so inthral me, as with magic bonds,

That I forgot my duty. Thou didst rock

My senses in a dream: I did not hear

My people's murmurs: now they cry aloud,

Ascribing my poor son's untimely death

To this my guilt. No longer for thy sake

Will I oppose the wishes of the crowd,

Who urgently demand the sacrifice.

For mine own sake I ne'er desired it from thee.

Who to the gods ascribe a thirst for blood

Do misconceive their nature, and impute

To them their own inhuman dark desires.

Did not Diana snatch me from the priest,

Preferring my poor service to my death?

'Tis not for us, on reason's shifting grounds,

Lightly to guide and construe rites divine.

Perform thy duty; I'll accomplish mine.

Two strangers, whom in caverns of the shore

We found conceal'd, and whose arrival here

Bodes to my realm no good, are in my power.

With them thy goddess may once more resume

Her ancient, pious, long-suspended rites!

I send them here, – thy duty not unknown.      [Exit.

Gracious protectress! thou hast clouds

To shelter innocence distress'd,

And genial gales from Fate's rude grasp,

Safely to waft her o'er the sea,

O'er the wide earth's remotest realms,

Where'er it seemeth good to thee.

Wise art thou, – thine all-seeing eye

The future and the past surveys,

And doth on all thy children rest,

E'en as thy pure and guardian light

Keeps o'er the earth its silent watch,

The beauty and the life of night.

O Goddess! keep my hands from blood!

Blessing it never brings, nor peace;

And still in evil hours the form

Of the chance-murder'd man appears

To fill the unwilling murderer's soul

With horrible and gloomy fears.

For fondly the Immortals view

Man's widely-scatter'd, simple race;