exculpating himself to the audience from all the odium which that sacrifice had cast upon him. He then asks how it happens that the son of Thyestes is in Argos. He is astonished at learning that fact for the first time on his arrival, and he perceives that every one mentions his name with repugnance. Electra replies that Ægisthus is unfortunate, but that Agamemnon will judge better than she can whether he is worthy of pity. Ægisthus is afterwards brought before him, and informs him that the hatred and jealousy of his brothers have driven him from his country. He represents himself as a proscribed suppliant; he flatters Agamemnon to obtain his favour; he is humble without debasing himself, and treacherous without creating disgust. Agamemnon reminds him of the family enmities, which should have induced him to look for an asylum in any other place than in the palace of Atreus:

Hitherto, Ægisthus,

Thou wert, and still thou art, to me unknown;
I neither hate nor love thee; yet, though willing
To lay aside hereditary discord,

I cannot, without feeling in my breast,

I know not what of strange and perplex'd feeling,
Behold the countenance, nor hear the voice

Of one that is the offspring of Thyestes.*

As Ægisthus, however, implores his protection, he promises to employ his influence amongst the Greeks in his favour, but he commands him to leave Argos before the morrow. As Ægisthus leaves the king, Clytemnestra enters. She is much agitated, and fears lest her husband has discovered her inconstancy. She rejects the consolatory attentions of her daughter, and the hope which she had endeavoured to excite in her breast, that it was still possible for her to return to the paths of duty. At length she retires to indulge her melancholy reflections in solitude.

The fourth act opens with a conversation between

* Egisto, a me tu fosti

E sei finora ignoto, per te stesso:

Io non t'odio, ne t' amo; eppur, bench' io
Voglia in disparte por gli odi nefandi,
Senza provar non sò qual moto in petto,
No, mirar non poss'io, nè udir la voce,
La voce pur, del figlio di Tieste.

Clytemnestra and Ægisthus. Ægisthus takes leave of the queen, who abandons herself to the impetuosity of her passion. This scene, which leads to such fatal consequences, is managed with infinite art. Ægisthus, while he appears submissive, tender, and despairing, aims only at instilling poison into the heart of his victim. She despises infamy and danger. She wishes to follow him, to fly with him. He, however, shews her the folly of her projects, and the impossibility of executing any of them. He represents himself as surrounded with dangers, and her as lost; and for a long time he refuses to mention any means of avoiding the evil. At last he tells her that one resource remains, though an unworthy one.

EGIS. Another step, perhaps, e'en now remains,
But unbecoming-

CLY.

And it is?

Clytemnestra still hesitates; she wavers; she considers all the pretended causes of hatred towards Agamemnon; all her own and her lover's dangers; and she then asks what other step she can take; to which Ægisthus answers-None. But as he utters this word, the dark glaring of his eyes at once informs the queen that he thirsts for the blood of Agamemnon. Clytemnestra tremblingly strengthens herself to commit the crime, and Ægisthus chooses that moment to tell her that the king has brought Cassandra with him, that she is his mistress, and that he intends speedily to sacrifice his wife to her. The approach of Electra compels the guilty

pair to separate. She perceives with terror the agitation of her mother, and forebodes the crimes of Ægisthus. She beseeches the king to dismiss him immediately. Agamemnon attributes her terror to the hereditary enmity between the blood of Atreus and of Thyestes, and feels that he would be wanting in hospitality, if he should hasten the banishment of an unfortunate stranger. He then consults Clytemnestra, who, at the very name of Ægisthus, betrays the most extreme emotion. Demanding the cause of her disturbance, he laments with her the death of Iphigenia, and attempts, but in vain, to dissipate her suspicions respecting Cassandra.

At the commencement of the fifth act Clytemnestra appears alone with a poniard in her hand. She has bound herself by an oath to shed the blood of her husband, and she prepares to perpetrate the crime; but, in the absence of Ægisthus, remorse attacks her. She is shocked at the enterprise, and casts away the dagger; when Ægisthus again making his appearance, rekindles her fury. He informs her that Agamemnon is acquainted with their love, and that on the morrow they must appear before that stern judge, when death and infamy will be their portion if Atrides is suffered to live. Persuading her to persevere, he arms her with a more deadly dagger; with that which sacrificed the sons of Thyestes. He hurries her into the apartment of her husband, and invokes the shade of Thyestes to enjoy the infernal revenge which is to be accomplished by the wife of the son of Atreus. During this terrible invocation the cries of Agamemnon are heard, who recognizes his wife as he dies. Of Clytemnestra, who returns to the stage distracted, Ægisthus takes no notice, whilst the palace resounds with terrific cries. Ægisthus perceives that the time is now come when it is necessary to shew himself in his true colours, and to gather the fruit of his protracted hypocrisy. He determines to murder Orestes and to mount the throne of Atreus. Electra, rushing in, accuses Ægisthus of the crime; but seeing her mother arned with a bloody poniard, she recognizes with horror the true assassin. She seizes the dagger, in order to preserve it for Orestes, whom she has placed in a safe retreat. The horrid truth now flashes upon Clytemnestra's mind; she sees that Ægisthus has been gratifying his hatred and not his love, and she flies after him to preserve the life of her son.

Agamemnon was published by Alfieri at the end of the year 1783, with five other tragedies, Orestes, Rosmunda, Octavia, Timoleon, and Merope. The Orestes is a continuation of Agamemnon, with an interval of ten years, and the drama opens on the anniversary of the murder of the king. The action from the commencement of the piece is more violent; the hate nourished by the virtuous characters is more atrocious; and Alfieri thought that he had adopted a subject more conformable to his talents. The result, however, was in contradiction to that idea. In order to affect the feelings, it was quite necessary for him to mingle at least some portion of tenderness with the natural acerbity of his genius; but, by a total abandonment of it, he fatigues the spectators with a representation of uninterrupted rage. Electra, Ægisthus, Clytemnestra, and Orestes, seem to be always prepared to tear one another to pieces. The fury of the latter is so unceasing and approaches so nearly to madness, that we can easily comprehend how it was possible for him in the last act to murder his mother without knowing her. This fury is too monotonous to excite any interest. Rosmunda, a Queen of the Lombards, who put her husband, Alboino, to death, in order to revenge the murder of her father Cunimond, has furnished Alfieri with the subject of another of his tragedies. This drama, which was in the highest favour with the author, has enjoyed very little success with the public. The two female characters, Rosmunda, and Romilda, the daughter of Alboino by a former wife, both of them driven on by the most furious spirit of revenge, are engaged from the opening of the drama in a war of hatred and outrage, which disgusts the spectator. All the characters share in this tedious combat. Almachilda and Ildovaldo emulously vituperate each other and Rosmunda, who, in her turn, attacks them and Romilda. Nature, the true gradation of the passions, and theatrical effect, are alike sacrificed to this universal fury. The subject of the drama is not Rosmunda's first crime, but is entirely the author's own invention, in which he has been by no means happy; for the plot is not natural, and the developement resembles that of a romance. The two tragedies of Octavia and Timoleon botli appear to me to be open to the objection of exaggeration. In the first, the vices of the characters, and in the second, their virtues, are on too gigantic a scale. Neither the mad

ness of Nero, nor the fratricide of Timoleon, although it restored liberty to Corinth, is, in my opinion, a fit subject for the drama. Merope is the last piece of the second class, and, perhaps, the best. It is at once interesting and correct in feeling. It is remarkable as being a completely new conception, notwithstanding the Merope of Maffei and of Voltaire. The coincidence in the subject may render an analysis of it uninteresting, and they who wish to compare the three dramas should read them entire.

Amongst the tragedies which made their first appearance in the third edition, I shall select Saul as affording the best extracts. This play, which was a favourite with the author, has likewise maintained its place upon the stage. The naked and austere style of Alfieri suited well with the patriarchal times which are there represented. We do not require the first King of Israel to be surrounded by a numerous court, or to act solely by the intervention of his ministers. We cannot forget that he was a shepherd-king. On the other hand, in this drama, Alfieri occasionally indulges in an oriental richness of expression, and indeed it is the first of his tragedies in which the language is habitually poetical.

At the first dawn of day, David, clothed in the habit of a common soldier, appears alone at Gilboa, between the camp of the Hebrews and that of the Philistines. It is God who has led him thither; God, who has protected him from the pursuit and the frenzy of Saul; God, who has conducted him to his camp, in order to give fresh proofs of his obedience and his valour. Jonathan, coming forth from the tents of the king to pray, finds his friend, and recognizes him by his hardihood. He tells him how his father Saul is tormented by an evil spirit, and how Abner, his lieutenant, takes advantage of this circumstance to sacrifice all whose merit has given him offence. He then informs him that Michal, the sister of Jonathan and the wife of David, is in the camp with Saul, her father, whom she is comforting and consoling in his afflictions, and from whom she has begged, in return, that he will restore David to her. He addresses David with a mixture of respect and love; regarding him both as the friend of his heart and as the messenger and favourite of God. The tender, faithful, and constant nature of David, is painted in the finest manner. The Lord triumphs over all his affections;