Achilles appears to defend her, whom all others clamorously seek to deliver to the murderous knife. She sees him, and, fired with thoughts unknown before, devotes herself at once for the country which has given birth to such a man.
"To be too fond of life
Becomes not me; nor for myself alone,
But to all Greece, a blessing didst thou bear me.
Shall thousands, when their country's injured, lift
Their shields? shall thousands grasp the oar and dare,
Advancing bravely 'gainst the foe, to die
For Greece? And shall my life, my single life,
Obstruct all this? Would this be just? What word
Can we reply? Nay more, it is not right
That he with all the Grecians should contest
In fight, should die, and for a woman. No!
More than a thousand women is one man
Worthy to see the light of day.
* * * for Greece I give my life.
Slay me! demolish Troy! for these shall be
Long time my monuments, my children these,
My nuptials and my glory."
This sentiment marks Woman, when she loves enough to feel what a creature of glory and beauty a true Man would be, as much in our own time as that of Euripides. Cooper makes the weak Hetty say to her beautiful sister:
"Of course, I don't compare you with Harry. A handsome man is always far handsomer than any woman." True, it was the sentiment of the age, but it was the first time Iphigenia had felt it. In Agamemnon she saw her father; to him she could prefer her claim. In Achilles she saw a Man, the crown of creation, enough to fill the world with his presence, were all other beings blotted from its spaces. [Footnote: Men do not often reciprocate this pure love.
"Her prentice han' she tried on man,
And then she made the lasses o',"
is a fancy, not a feeling, in their more frequently passionate and strong than noble or tender natures.]
The reply of Achilles is as noble. Here is his bride; he feels it now, and all his vain vaunting are hushed.
"Daughter of Agamemnon, highly blest
Some god would make me, if I might attain
Thy nuptials. Greece in thee I happy deem,
And thee in Greece. * *
* * * in thy thought
Revolve this well; death is a dreadful thing."
How sweet it her reply,—and then the tender modesty with which she addresses him here and elsewhere as "stranger"
"Reflecting not on any, thus I speak:
Enough of wars and slaughters from the charms
Of Helen rise; but die not thou for me,
O Stranger, nor distain thy sword with blood,
But let me save my country if I may.
Achilles. O glorious spirit! naught have I 'gainst this
To urge, since such thy will, for what thou sayst
Is generous. Why should not the truth be spoken?"