But, sweetest Iphigenia; who knew thee, as to me thou art known. I was not born in vain, if only for the heavenly tears I have shed with thee. She will be grateful for them. I have understood her wholly; as a friend should, better than she understood herself.
With what artless art the narrative rises to the crisis. The conflicts in Agamemnon's mind, and the imputations of Menelaus give us, at once, the full image of him, strong in will and pride, weak in virtue, weak in the noble powers of the mind that depend on imagination. He suffers, yet it requires the presence of his daughter to make him feel the full horror of what he is to do.
“Ah me! that breast, those cheeks, those golden tresses!”
It is her beauty, not her misery, that makes the pathos. This is noble. And then, too, the injustice of the gods, that she, this creature of unblemished loveliness, must perish for the sake of a worthless woman. Even Menelaus feels it, the moment he recovers from his wrath.
“What hath she to do,
The virgin daughter, with my Helena!
**Its former reasonings now
My soul foregoes.****
For it is not just
That thou shouldst groan, but my affairs go pleasantly,
That those of thy house should die, and mine see the light.”
Indeed the overwhelmed aspect of the king of men might well move him.
| Men. | “Brother, give me to take thy right hand, |
| Aga. | I give it, for the victory is thine, and I am wretched. |
| I am, indeed, ashamed to drop the tear, | |
| And not to drop the tear I am ashamed.” |
