 |
CH. 5. One in a woman's toils I 2 Was tangled[8], buried by her glittering coils, Who now beneath—
EL. Ah woe!
CH. 6. Rules with a spirit unimpaired and strong.
EL. O dreadful!
CH. 7. Dreadful was the wrong.
EL. But she was quelled.
CH. 8. Ay.
EL. True! That faithful mourner knew A brother's aid. But I Have no man now. The one I had, is gone, is gone. Rapt into nothingness.
CH. 9. Thou art wrung with sore distress. II 1
EL. I know it. Too well I know, Taught by a life of woe, Where horror dwells without relief.
CH. 10. Our eyes have seen thy grief.
EL. Then comfort not again—
CH. 11. Whither now turns thy strain?
EL. One utterly bereft, Seeing no hope is left, Of help from hands owning the same great sire.
CH. 12. 'Tis nature's debt. II 2
EL. To expire On sharp-cut dragging thongs, 'Midst wildly trampling throngs Of swiftly racing hoofs, like him, Poor hapless one?
CH. 13. Vast, dim, And boundless was the harm.
EL. Yea, severed from mine arm, By strangers kept—
CH. 14. O pain!
EL. Hidden he must remain, Of me unsepulchred, unmourned, unwept.
Enter CHRYSOTHEMIS.
CHR. Driven by delight, dear sister, I am come, Reckless of dignity, with headlong speed. For news I bear of joy and sweet relief From ills that drew from thee thy ceaseless moan.
EL. Whence couldst thou hear of succour for my woes, That close in darkness without hope of dawn?
CHR. Here is Orestes, learn it from my mouth, As certainly as you now look on me.
EL. What? Art thou mad, unhappy one, to laugh Over thine own calamity and mine?
CHR. No, by our father's hearth, I say not this In mockery. I tell you he is come.
EL. Me miserable! Who hath given thine ear The word that so hath wrought on thy belief?
CHR. Myself am the eyewitness, no one else Gained my belief, but proofs I clearly saw.
EL. What sign hath so engrossed thine eye, poor girl? What sight hath fired thee with this quenchless glow?
CHR. But list to me, I pray thee, that henceforth Thou mayest account me clear eyed, or a fool!
EL. By all means, if it pleasure thee, say on.
CHR. Well, I will tell thee all I saw:—I came Unto the ancient tomb that holds our sire; And from the topmost mound I marked a stream Of milk fresh-flowing, and his resting place Ringed round with garlands of all flowers that blow. I marvelled at the sight, and peered about, Lest some one might be nearer than we knew. But finding all was quiet in the spot, I ventured closer to the tomb, and there, Hard by the limit, I beheld a curl Of hair new shorn, with all the gloss of youth And straight it struck my heart, as with a sense Of something seen, ah me! long, long ago, And told me that my sight encountered here The token of Orestes, dearest soul Then, clasping it, I did not cry aloud, But straight mine eyes were filled with tears of joy. And now as much as then I feel assured He and none else bestowed this ornament. To whom beyond thyself and me belongs Such consecration? And I know this well, I did it not,—nor thou. Impossible! Thou canst not worship even the blessed Gods Forth of this roof, unpunished. And, most sure, Our mother is not minded so to act, Nor, had she done it, could we fail to know. This offering comes then of Orestes' hand. Take courage, dear one. Not one fate pursues One house perpetually, but changeth still. Ours was a sullen Genius, but perchance This day begins the assurance of much good.
EL. Oh how I pity thine infatuate mind!
CHR. Why? Dost thou find no comfort in my news?
EL. You know not where you roam. Far wide! far wide!
CHR. Not know? when I have seen it with mine eyes?
EL. Dear, he is dead. Look not to him, poor girl! Salvation comes to thee no more from him.
CHR. Oh me, unfortunate! Who told thee this?
EL. He who stood by and saw his life destroyed.
CHR. Amazement seizes me. Where is that man?
EL. Right welcome to the mother there within.
CHR. Me miserable! Who then can have decked With all those ceremonies our father's tomb?
EL. I cannot but suppose some hand hath brought These gifts in memory of Orestes dead.
CHR. O cruel fate! While I in ecstasy Sped with such news, all ignorant, it seems, Of our dire fortune; and, arriving, find Fresh sorrows added to the former woe.
EL. It is so, sister; yet if thou wilt list To me, thou mayest disperse this heaviness.
CHR. What? Shall I raise the dead again to life?
EL. I did not mean so. I am not so fond.
CHR. What bid you then that I have power to do?
EL. To endure courageously what I enjoin.
CHR. So it make profit, I will not refuse.
EL. Remember, without toil no plan may thrive!
CHR. I know it, and will aid thee to my power.
EL. Then hearken my resolve. Thou seest now, We have no friendly succour in the world; But death has taken all, and we are left Two only. I, so long as I could hear My brother lived and flourished, still had hope He would arise to wreak his father's blood. But now that he is gone, to thee I turn, To help thy sister boldly to destroy The guilty author of our father's death, Aegisthus.—Wherefore hide it from thee now? —Yea, sister! Till what term wilt thou remain Inactive? To what end? What hope is yet Left standing? Surely thou hast cause to grieve, Bobbed of thy father's opulent heritage, And feeling bitterly the creeping years That find thee still a virgin and unwed. Nay, nor imagine thou shalt ever know That blessing. Not so careless of his life Is King Aegisthus, as to risk the birth Of sons from us, to his most certain fall. But if thou wilt but follow my resolve, First thou shalt win renown of piety From our dead father, and our brother too, Who rest beneath the ground, and shalt be free For evermore in station as in birth, And nobly matched in marriage, for the good Draw gazers to them still. Then seest thou not What meed of honour, if thou dost my will, Thou shalt apportion to thyself and me? For who, beholding us, what citizen, What foreigner, will not extend the hand Of admiration, and exclaim, 'See, friends, These scions of one stock, these noble twain, These that have saved their father's house from woe, Who once when foes were mighty, set their life Upon a cast, and stood forth to avenge The stain of blood! Who will not love the pair And do them reverence? Who will not give Honour at festivals, and in the throng Of popular resort, to these in chief, For their high courage and their bold emprise?' Such fame will follow us in all the world. Living or dying, still to be renowned. Ah, then, comply, dear sister; give thy sire This toil—this labour to thy brother give; End these my sufferings, end thine own regret: The well-born cannot bear to live in shame.
CH. In such affairs, for those who speak and hear Wise thoughtfulness is still the best ally.
CHR. True, noble women, and before she spake Sound thought should have prevented the rash talk That now hath proved her reckless. What wild aim Beckons thee forth in arming this design Whereto thou wouldst demand my ministry? Dost not perceive, thou art not man but woman, Of strength inferior to thine enemies,— Their Genius daily prospering more and more, Whilst ours is dwindling into nothingness? Who then that plots against a life so strong Shall quit him of the danger without harm? Take heed we do not add to our distress Should some one hear of this our colloquy. Small help and poor advantage 'twere for us To win brief praise and then inglorious die. Nay, death is not so hateful as when one Desiring death is balked of that desire. And I beseech thee, ere in utter ruin We perish and make desolate our race, Refrain thy rage. And I will guard for thee In silence these thy words unrealized; If thou wilt learn this wisdom from long time, Having no strength, to bend before the strong.
CH. Comply. Than prudence and a heedful mind, No fairer treasure can be found for men.
EL. Thy words have not surprised me. Well I knew The good I offered would come back with scorn. I, all alone and with a single hand, Must do this. For it shall not rest undone.
CHR. Would thou hadst been thus minded when our sire Lay dying! In one act thou hadst compassed all.
EL. My spirit was the same: my mind was less.
CHR. Be such the life-long temper of thy mind!
EL. Thine admonition augurs little aid.
CHR. Yea. For the attempt would bring me certain bane.
EL. I envy thee thy prudence, hate thy fear.
CHR. Even when thou speak'st me fair, I will endure it.
EL. Take heart. That never will be thine from me.
CHR. Long time remains to settle that account.
EL. I find no profit in thee. Go thy way.
CHR. Profit there is, hadst thou a mind to learn.
EL. Go to thy mother and declare all this!
CHR. I am not so in hatred of thy life.
EL. Yet know the shame thou wouldst prepare for me.
CHR. No, no! Not shame, but care for thine estate.
EL. Must I still follow as thou thinkest good?
CHR. When thou hast wisdom, thou shalt be the guide.
EL. 'Tis hard when error wears the garb of sense.
CHR. Right. That is the misfortune of your case.
EL. Why? Feel you not the justice of my speech?
CHR. Justice may chance to bring me injury.
EL. I care not, I, to live by such a rule.
CHR. Well, if you do it, you will find me wise.
EL. Well, I will do it, nought dismayed by thee.
CHR. Speak you plain sooth? and will you not be counselled?
EL. No, for bad counsel is of all most hateful.
CHR. You take the sense of nothing that I say.
EL. Long since, not newly, my resolve is firm.
CHR. Then I will go. Thy heart will ne'er be brought To praise my words, nor I thine action here.
EL. Then go within! I will not follow thee, Though thou desire it vehemently. None Would be so fond to hunt on a cold trail.
CHR. If this seem wisdom to thee, then be wise Thy way: but in the hour of misery, When it hath caught thee, thou wilt praise my words. [Exit CHRYSOTHEMIS
CHORUS. Wise are the birds of air I 1 That with true filial care For those provide convenient food Who gave them birth, who wrought their good. Why will not men the like perfection prove? Else, by the fires above, And heavenly Rectitude, Fierce recompense they shall not long elude. O darkling rumour, world-o'er-wandering voice That piercest to the shades beneath the ground, To dead Atrides waft a sound Of sad reproach, not bidding him rejoice.
Stained is the ancestral hall, I 2 Broken the battle-call, That heretofore his children twain In loving concord did sustain. Alone, deserted, vexed, Electra sails, Storm-tossed with rugged gales, Lamenting evermore Like piteous Philomel, and pining sore For her lost father;—might she but bring down That two-fold Fury, caring not for death, But ready to resign her breath, What maid so worthy of a sire's renown?
None who inherit from a noble race, II 1 Complying with things base Will let their ancient glory be defiled. So 'twas thy choice, dear child, Through homeless misery[9] to win a two-fold prize, Purging the sin and shame[10] That cloud the Argive name, So to be called most noble and most wise.
May'st thou surpass thy foes in wealth and power II 2 As o'er thee now they tower! Since I have found thee, not in bright estate, Nor blessed by wayward fate, But through thy loyalty to Heaven's eternal cause Wearing the stainless crown Of perfectest renown, And richly dowered by the mightiest laws.
Enter ORESTES and PYLADES, with the urn.
OR. Say, dames and damsels, have we heard aright, And speed we to the goal of our desire?
CH. And what desire or quest hath brought thee hither?
OR. I seek Aegisthus' dwelling all this while.
CH. Welcome. The tongue that told thee hath no blame.
OR. Which of you all will signify within Our joint arrival,—not unwelcome here.
CH. This maiden, if the nearest should report.
OR. Mistress, wilt thou go yonder and make known, That certain Phocians on Aegisthus wait?
EL. Oh! can it be that you are come to bring Clear proofs of the sad rumour we have heard?
OR. I know not what ye have heard. Old Strophius Charged me with tidings of Orestes' fate.
EL. What, stranger? How this terror steals on me!
OR. Bearing scant remnants of his body dead In this small vase thou seest, we bring them home.
EL. O sorrow! thou art here: I see full well That burden of my heart in present view.
OR. If thou hast tears for aught Orestes suffered, Know that he lies within this vessel's room.
EL. Ah, sir! by all in Heaven, if yonder urn Hide him, ah! give it once into my hand, That o'er that dust I may lament and mourn Myself and mine own house and all our woe!
OR. Bring it and give her, whosoe'er she be. For not an enemy—this petition shows it— But of his friends or kindred, is this maid. [The urn is given into ELECTRA'S hands
EL. O monument of him whom o'er all else I loved! sole relic of Orestes' life, How cold in this thy welcome is the hope Wherein I decked thee as I sent thee forth! Then bright was thy departure, whom I now Bear lightly, a mere nothing, in my hands. Would I had gone from life, ere I dispatched Thee from my arms that saved thee to a land Of strangers, stealing thee from death! For then Thou hadst been quiet on that far off day, And had thy portion in our father's tomb Now thou hast perished in the stranger land Far from thy sister, lorn and comfortless And I, O wretchedness! neither have bathed And laid thee forth, nor from the blazing fire Collected the sad burden, as was meet But thou, when foreign hands have tended thee Com'st a small handful in a narrow shell Woe for the constant care I spent on thee Of old all vainly, with sweet toil! For never Wast thou thy mother's darling, nay, but mine, And I of all the household most thy nurse, While 'sister, sister,' was thy voice to me But now all this is vanished in one day, Dying in thy death. Thou hast carried all away As with a whirlwind, and art gone. No more My father lives, thyself art lost in death, I am dead, who lived in thee. Our enemies Laugh loudly, and she maddens in her joy, Our mother most unmotherly, of whom Thy secret missives ofttimes told me, thou Wouldst be the punisher. But that fair hope The hapless Genius of thy lot and mine Hath reft away, and gives thee thus to me,— For thy loved form thy dust and fruitless shade O bitterness! O piteous sight! Woe! woe! Oh! sent on thy dire journey, dearest one, How thou hast ruined me! Thou hast indeed, Dear brother! Then receive me to thyself, Hide me in this thy covering, there to dwell, Me who am nothing, with thy nothingness, For ever! Yea, when thou wert here above, I ever shared with thee in all, and now I would not have thee shut me from thy tomb. Oh! let me die and follow thee! the dead, My mind assures me now, have no more pain.
CH. Electra, think! Thou hadst a mortal sire, And mortal was thy brother. Grieve not far.
OR. O me! What shall I speak, or which way turn The desperate word? I cannot hold my tongue.
EL. What pain o'ercomes thee? Wherefore speak'st thou so?
OR. Can this be famed Electra I behold?
EL. No other. In sad case, as you may see
OR. Ah! deep indeed was this calamity!
EL. Is't possible that thou shouldst grieve for me?
OR. O ruined form! abandoned to disgrace!
EL. 'Tis me you mean, stranger, I feel it now.
OR. Woe 's me! Untrimmed for bridal, hapless maid!
EL. Why this fixed gaze, O stranger! that deep groan?
OR. How all unknowing was I of mine ill!
EL. What thing hath passed to make it known to thee?
OR. The sight of thee attired with boundless woe.
EL. And yet thine eye sees little of my pain.
OR. Can aught be still more hateful to be seen?
EL. I have my dwelling with the murderers—
OR. Of whom? What evil would thy words disclose?
EL. Of him who gave me birth. I am their slave.
OR. Whose power compels thee to this sufferance?
EL. One called my mother, most unmotherly.
OR. How? by main force, or by degrading shames?
EL. By force and shames, and every kind of evil.
OR. And is there none to succour or prevent?
EL. None. Him I had, you give me here in dust.
OR. How mine eye pities thee this while, poor maid!
EL. Know now, none ever pitied me but you.
OR. None ever came whose heart like sorrow wrung.
EL. Is't possible we have some kinsman here?
OR. I will tell it, if these women here be friendly.
EL. They are. They may be trusted. Only speak.
OR. Let go yon vase, that thou may'st learn the whole.
EL. Nay, by the Gods! be not so cruel, sir!
OR. Obey me and thou shalt not come to harm.
EL. Ah, never rob me of what most I love!
OR. You must not hold it.
EL. O me miserable For thee, Orestes, if I lose thy tomb!
OR. Speak no rash word. Thou hast no right to mourn.
EL. No right to mourn my brother who is gone?
OR. Such utterance belongs not to thy tongue,
EL. Oh, am I thus dishonoured of the dead?
OR. Far from dishonour. But this ne'er was thine.
EL. Is't not Orestes' body that I bear?
OR. Nay, but the idle dressing of a tale.
EL. And where is his poor body's resting-place?
OR. Nowhere. Seek not the living with the dead,
EL. My son, what saidst thou?
OR. Nought but what is true.
EL. Doth he yet live?
OR. If I have life in me.
EL. Art thou Orestes?
OR. Let my signet here, That was our father's, tell thine eyes, I am.
EL. O day of days!
OR. Time hath no happier hour.
EL. Is it thy voice?
OR. Hearken not otherwhere.
EL. Have my arms caught thee?
OR. Hold me so for aye!
EL. O dearest women, Argives of my home! Ye see Orestes, dead in craft, but now By that same craft delivered and preserved.
CH. We see, dear daughter, and the gladsome tear Steals from our eye to greet the bright event.
EL. Offspring of him I loved beyond all telling! I 1 Ah! thou art come,—hast found me, eye to eye Behold'st the face thou didst desire to see.
OR. True, I am here; but bide in silence still.
EL. Wherefore?
OR. Hush! speak not loud, lest one within should hearken.
EL. By ever-virgin Artemis, ne'er will I Think worthy of my fear This useless mass of woman-cowardice Burdening the house within, Not peering out of door.
OR. Yet know that women too have might in war. Of that methinks thou hast feeling evidence.
EL. Ah me! thou hast unveiled And thrust before my gaze That burning load of my distress No time will soothe, no remedy will heal.
OR. I know that too. But when we are face to face With the evildoers,—then let remembrance work.
EL. All times alike are fit with instant pain I 2 Justly to mind me of that dreadful day; Even now but hardly hath my tongue been free.
OR. Yes, that is it. Therefore preserve this boon.
EL. Whereby?
OR. Put limits to unseasonable talk.
EL. Ah! brother, who, when thou art come, Could find it meet to exchange Language for silence, as thou bidst me do? Since beyond hope or thought Was this thy sight to me.
OR. God gave me to your sight when so he willed.
EL. O heaven of grace beyond The joy I knew but now! If God hath brought thee to our roof, A miracle of bounty then is here.
OR. I hate to curb the gladness of thy spirit, But yet I fear this ecstasy of joy.
EL. Oh! after all these years, II Now thou at length hast sped Thy dearest advent on the wished-for way, Do not, in all this woe Thou seest surrounding me—
OR. What means this prayer?
EL. Forbid me not my joy, Nor make me lose the brightness of thy face!
OR. Deep were my wrath at him who should attempt it.
EL. Is my prayer heard?
OR. Why doubt it?
EL. Friends, I learned A tale beyond my thought; and hearing I restrained My passion, voiceless in my misery, Uttering no cry. But now I have thee safe; now, dearest, thou art come, With thy blest countenance, which I Can ne'er forget, even at the worst of woe.
OR. A truce now to unnecessary words. My mother's vileness and Aegisthus' waste, Draining and squandering with spendthrift hand Our patrimony, tell me not anew. Such talk might stifle opportunity. But teach me, as befits the present need, What place may serve by lurking vigilance Or sudden apparition to o'erwhelm Our foes in the adventure of to-day. And, when we pass within, take heedful care Bright looks betray thee not unto our mother. But groan as for the dire calamity Vainly reported:—Let's achieve success, Then with free hearts we may rejoice and laugh.
EL. Dear brother, wheresoe'er thy pleasure leads, My will shall follow, since the joys I know, Not from myself I took them, but from thee. And ne'er would I consent thy slightest grief Should win for me great gain. Ill should I then Serve the divinity of this high hour! Thou knowest how matters in the palace stand. Thou hast surely heard, Aegisthus is from home, And she, our mother, is within. Nor fear She should behold me with a smiling face. Mine ancient hate of her hath sunk too deep. And from the time I saw thee, tears of joy Will cease not. Wherefore should I stint their flow? I, who in this thy coming have beheld Thee dead and living? Strangely hast thou wrought On me;—that should my father come alive, I would not think the sight were miracle, But sober truth. Since such thy presence, then, Lead as thy spirit prompts. For I alone Of two things surely had achieved one, Noble deliverance or a noble death.
OR. Be silent; for I hear within the house A footstep coming forth.
EL. (loudly). Strangers, go in! For none within the palace will reject Your burden, nor be gladdened by the event.
Enter the Old Man.
OLD M. O lost in folly and bereft of soul! Is't that your care for life hath ebbed away, Or were you born without intelligence, When fallen, not near, but in the midst of ill, And that the greatest, ye perceive it not? Had I not watched the doors this while, your deeds Had gone within the palace ere yourselves. But, as things are, my care hath fenced you round. Now, then, have done with long-protracted talk, And this insatiable outburst of joy, And enter, for in such attempts as these Delay is harmful: and 'tis more than time.
OR. But how shall I find matters there within?
OLD M. Well. You are shielded by their ignorance.
OR. That means you have delivered me as dead.
OLD M. Alone of dead men thou art here above.
OR. Doth this delight them, or how went the talk?
OLD M. I will report, when all is done. Meanwhile, Know, all is well with them, even what is evil.
EL. Who is this, brother? I beseech thee, tell.
OR. Dost not perceive?
EL. I cannot even imagine.
OR. Know'st not into whose hands thou gav'st me once?
EL. Whose hands? How say you?
OR. His, who through thy care Conveyed me secretly to Phocis' plain.
EL. What! is this he, whom I, of all the band, Found singly faithful in our father's death?
OR. He is that man. No more!
EL. O gladsome day! Dear only saviour of our father's house, How earnest thou hither? Art thou he indeed, That didst preserve Orestes and myself From many sorrows? O dear hands, kind feet, Swift in our service,—how couldst thou so long Be near, nor show one gleam, but didst destroy My heart with words, hiding the loveliest deeds? Father!—in thee methinks I see my father. O welcome! thou of all the world to me Most hated and most loved in one short hour.
OLD M. Enough, dear maiden! Many nights and days Are circling hitherward, that shall reveal In clear recountment all that came between. But to you two that stand beside I tell, Now is your moment, with the Queen alone, And none of men within; but if you pause, Know that with others of profounder skill You'll have to strive, more than your present foes.
OR. Then, Pylades, we need no more to dwell On words, but enter on this act with speed, First worshipping the holy shrines o' the Gods That were my father's, harboured at the gate. [They pass within. ELECTRA remains in an attitude of prayer
EL. O King Apollo! hear them graciously, And hear me too, that with incessant hand Honoured thee richly from my former store! And now, fierce slayer, I importune thee, And woo thee with such gifts as I can give, Be kindly aidant to this enterprise, And make the world take note, what meed of bane Heaven still bestows on man's iniquity. [ELECTRA goes within
CH. Lo, where the War-god moves 1 With soft, sure footstep, on to his design, Breathing hot slaughter of an evil feud! Even now the inevitable hounds that track Dark deeds of hideous crime Are gone beneath the covert of the domes. Not long in wavering suspense shall hang The dreaming presage of my wistful soul.
For lo! within is led 2 With crafty tread the avenger of the shades, Even to his father's throne of ancient power, And in his hand the bright new-sharpened death! And Hermes, Maia's son, Is leading him, and hath concealed the guile Even to the fatal end in clouds of night. His time of weary waiting all is o'er.
Re-enter ELECTRA.
EL. O dearest women! they are even now About it. Only bide in silence still.
CH. What is the present scene?
EL. She decks the vase For burial, and they both are standing by.
CH. And wherefore hast thou darted forth?
EL. To watch Aegisthus' coming, that he enter not At unawares.
CLY. (within). Ah! ah! Woe for the house, Desert of friends, and filled with hands of death!
EL. A cry within! Did ye not hear it, friends?
CH. Would I had not! I heard, and shivered through.
CLY. (within). Oh me! Alas, Aegisthus! where art thou?
EL. Hark! yet again that sound!
CLY. (within). O son, have pity! Pity the womb that bare thee.
EL. Thou hadst none For him, nor for his father, in that day.
HALF-CH. Poor city! hapless race! 1 Thy destiny to-day Wears thee away, away. What morn shall see thy face?
CLY. (within). Oh, I am smitten!
EL. Give a second stroke, If thou hast power.
CLY. (within). Oh me! again, again!
EL. Would thou wert shrieking for Aegisthus too!
CH. The curse hath found, and they in earth who lie Are living powers to-day. Long dead, they drain away The streaming blood of those who made them die.
Enter ORESTES and PYLADES.
Behold, they come, they come! His red hand dripping as he moves With drops of sacrifice the War-god loves. My 'wildered heart is dumb.
EL. How is it with you, brother?
OR. If Apollo Spake rightfully, the state within is well.
EL. Wretched one, is she dead?
OR. No more have fear Thou shalt be slighted by thy mother's will.
CH. Cease, for I see Aegisthus near in view.
EL. In, in again, boys!
OR. Where do ye behold The tyrant?
EL. To our hand from yonder gate He comes with beaming look.
HALF-CH. Haste, with what speed ye may, 2 Stand on the doorway stone, That, having thus much done, Ye may do all to-day.
OR. Fear not: we will perform it.
EL. Speed ye now: Follow your thought.
OR. We are already there.
EL. Leave matters here to me. All shall go well. [Exit ORESTES with PYLADES
CH. Few words, as if in gentleness, 'twere good To utter in his ear, That, eager and unware, One step may launch him on the field of blood.
Enter AEGISTHUS.
AEGISTHUS. Which of you know where are the Phocian men Who brought the news I hear, Orestes' life Hath suffered shipwreck in a chariot-race? You, you I question, you in former time So fearless! You methinks most feelingly Can tell us, for it touches you most near.
EL. I know: assure thee. Else had I not heard The dearest of all fortunes to my heart.
AEG. Where are the strangers then? Enlighten me.
EL. Yonder. Their hostess entertained them well.
AEG. And did they certainly report him dead?
EL. Not only so. They showed him to our sight.
AEG. May this clear evidence be mine to see?
EL. I envy not the sight that waits you there.
AEG. Against their wont thy words have given me joy.
EL. Much joy be thine, if this be joy to thee!
AEG. Silence, I say! Wide let the gates be flung! For all the Myceneans to behold And all in Argolis, that if but one Hath heretofore been buoyed on empty hopes Fixed in Orestes, seeing him now dead, He may accept my manage, and not wait For our stern chastisement to teach him sense.
EL. My lesson is already learnt: at length I am schooled to labour with the stronger will. [The body of CLYTEMNESTRA is disclosed under a veil: ORESTES standing by
AEG. Zeus! Divine envy surely hath laid low The form I here behold. But if the truth Provoke Heaven's wrath, be it unexpressed.—Unveil! Off with all hindrance, that mine eye may see, And I may mourn my kinsman as I should.
OR. Thyself put forth thy hand. Not mine but thine To look and speak with kindness to this corse.
AEG. I will, for thou advisest well; but thou, Call Clytemnestra, if she be within. [AEGISTHUS lifts the shroud
OR. She is beside thee, gaze not otherwhere.
AEG. What do I see! oh!
OR. Why so strange? Whom fear you?
AEG. Who are the men into whose midmost toils All hapless I am fallen?
OR. Ha! knowest thou not Thou hast been taking living men for dead?[11]
AEG. I understand that saying. Woe is me! I know, Orestes' voice addresseth me.
OR. A prophet! How wert thou so long deceived?
AEG. Undone, undone! Yet let me speak one word.
EL. Brother, by Heaven, no more! Let him not speak. When death is certain, what do men in woe Gain from a little time? Kill him at once! And, killed, expose him to such burial From dogs and vultures, as beseemeth such, Far from our view. Nought less will solace me For the remembrance of a life of pain.
OR. Go in and tarry not. No contest this Of verbal question, but of life or death.
AEG. Why drive you me within? If this you do Be noble, why must darkness hide the deed? Why not destroy me out of hand?
OR. Command not! Enter, and in the place where ye cut down My father, thou shalt yield thy life to me.
AEG. Is there no help but this abode must see The past and future ills of Pelops' race?
OR. Thine anyhow. That I can prophesy With perfect inspiration to thine ear.
AEG. The skill you boast belonged not to your sire.
OR. You question and delay. Go in!
AEG. Lead on.
OR. Nay, go thou first.
AEG. That I may not escape thee?
OR. No, that thou may'st not have thy wish in death. I may not stint one drop of bitterness. And would this doom were given without reprieve, If any try to act beyond the law, To kill them. Then the wicked would be few.
LEADER OF CH. O seed of Atreus! how triumphantly Through grief and hardness thou hast freedom found, With full achievement in this onset crowned!
* * * * *
THE TRACHINIAN MAIDENS
THE PERSONS
DEANIRA, wife of Heracles. An Attendant. HYLLUS, son of Heracles and Deanira. CHORUS of Trachinian Maidens. A Messenger. LICHAS, the Herald. A Nurse. An Old Man. HERACLES. IOLE, who does not speak.
SCENE. Before the temporary abode of Heracles in Trachis.
This tragedy is named from the Chorus. From the subject it might have been called 'Deanira or the Death of Heracles'.
The Centaur Nessus, in dying by the arrow of Heracles, which had been dipped in the venom of the Hydra, persuaded the bride Deanira, whose beauty was the cause of his death, to keep some of the blood from the wound as a love-charm for her husband. Many years afterwards, when Heracles was returning from his last exploit of sacking Oechalia, in Euboea, he sent before him, by his herald Lichas, Iole, the king's daughter, whom he had espoused. Deanira, when she had discovered this, commissioned Lichas when he returned to present his master with a robe, which she had anointed with the charm,—hoping by this means to regain her lord's affection. But the poison of the Hydra did its work, and Heracles died in agony, Deanira having already killed herself on ascertaining what she had done. The action takes place in Trachis, near the Mahae Gulf, where Heracles and Deanira, by permission of Ceyx, the king of the country, have been living in exile. At the close of the drama, Heracles, while yet alive, is carried towards his pyre on Mount Oeta.
THE TRACHINIAN MAIDENS
DEANIRA. Men say,—'twas old experience gave the word, —'No lot of mortal, ere he die, can once Be known for good or evil.' But I know, Before I come to the dark dwelling-place, Mine is a lot, adverse and hard and sore. Who yet at Pleuron, in my father's home, Of all Aetolian women had most cause To fear my bridal. For a river-god, Swift Acheloues, was my suitor there And sought me from my father in three forms; Now in his own bull-likeness, now a serpent Of coiling sheen, and now with manlike build But bovine front, while from the shadowy beard Sprang fountain-waters in perpetual spray. Looking for such a husband, I, poor girl! Still prayed that Death might find me, ere I knew That nuptial.—Later, to my glad relief, Zeus' and Alcmena's glorious offspring came, And closed with him in conflict, and released My heart from torment. How the fight was won I could not tell. If any were who saw Unshaken of dread foreboding, such may speak. But I sate quailing with an anguished fear, Lest beauty might procure me nought but pain, Till He that rules the issue of all strife, Gave fortunate end—if fortunate! For since, Assigned by that day's conquest, I have known The couch of Heracles, my life is spent In one continual terror for his fate. Night brings him, and, ere morning, some fresh toil Drives him afar. And I have borne him seed; Which he, like some strange husbandman that farms A distant field, finds but at sowing time And once in harvest. Such a weary life Still tossed him to and fro,—no sooner home But forth again, serving I know not whom. And when his glorious head had risen beyond These labours, came the strongest of my fear. For since he quelled the might of Iphitus, We here in Trachis dwell, far from our home, Dependent on a stranger, but where he Is gone, none knoweth. Only this I know, His going pierced my heart with pangs for him, And now I am all but sure he bears some woe. These fifteen months he hath sent me not one word. And I have cause for fear. Ere he set forth He left a scroll with me, whose dark intent I oft pray Heaven may bring no sorrow down.
ATTENDANT. Queen Deanira, many a time ere now Have I beheld thee with all tearful moan Bewailing the departure of thy lord. But, if it be permitted that a slave Should tender counsel to the free, my voice May venture this:—Of thy strong band of sons Why is not one commissioned to explore For Heracles? and why not Hyllus first, Whom most it would beseem to show regard For tidings of his father's happiness? Ah! here I see him bounding home, with feet Apt for employment! If you count me wise, He and my words attend upon your will.
Enter HYLLUS.
DE. Dear child, dear boy! even from the lowliest head Wise counsel may come forth. This woman here, Though a bond-maiden, hath a free-born tongue.
HYL. What word is spoken, mother? May I know?
DE. That, with thy father lost to us so long, 'Tis shame thou dost not learn his dwelling-place.
HYL. Yea, I have learnt, if one may trust report.
DE. Where art thou told his seat is fixed, my son?
HYL. 'Tis said that through the length of this past year He wrought as bondman to a Lydian girl.
DE. Hath he borne that? Then nothing can be strange!
HYL. Well, that is over, I am told. He is free.
DE. Where is he rumoured, then, alive or dead?
HYL. In rich Euboea, besieging, as they tell, The town of Eurytus, or offering siege.
DE. Child, hast thou heard what holy oracles He left with me, touching that very land?
HYL. What were they, mother, for I never knew?
DE. That either he must end his being there, Or, this one feat performed, his following time Should grace his life with fair prosperity. Wilt thou not then, my child, when he is held In such a crisis of uncertain peril, Run to his aid?—since we must perish with him, Or owe our lasting safety to his life.
HYL. I will go, mother. Had I heard this voice Of prophecy, long since I had been there. Fear is unwonted for our father's lot. But now I know, my strength shall all be spent To learn the course of these affairs in full.
DE. Go then, my son. Though late, to learn and do What wisdom bids, hath certainty of gain. [Exit HYLLUS. DEANIRA withdraws
CHORUS (entering and turning towards the East). Born of the starry night in her undoing, I 1 Lulled in her bosom at thy parting glow, O Sun! I bid thee show, What journey is Alcmena's child pursuing? What region holds him now, 'Mong winding channels of the deep, Or Asian plains, or rugged Western steep? Declare it, thou Peerless in vision of thy flashing ray That lightens on the world with each new day. Sad Deanira, bride of battle-wooing[1], I 2 Ne'er lets her tearful eyelids close in rest, But in love-longing breast, Like some lorn bird its desolation rueing, Of her great husband's way Still mindful, worn with harrowing fear Lest some new danger for him should be near, By night and day Pines on her widowed couch of ceaseless thought, With dread of evil destiny distraught: [Enter DEANIRA.
For many as are billows of the South II 1 Blowing unweariedly, or Northern gale, One going and another coming on Incessantly, baffling the gazer's eye, Such Cretan ocean of unending toil Cradles our Cadmus-born, and swells his fame. But still some power doth his foot recall From stumbling down to Hades' darkling hall.
Wherefore, in censure of thy mood, I bring II 2 Glad, though opposing, counsel. Let not hope Grow weary. Never hath a painless life Been cast on mortals by the power supreme Of the All-disposer, Cronos' son. But joy And sorrow visit in perpetual round All mortals, even as circleth still on high The constellation of the Northern sky.
What lasteth in the world? Not starry night, III Nor wealth, nor tribulation; but is gone All suddenly, while to another soul The joy or the privation passeth on. These hopes I bid thee also, O my Queen! Hold fast continually, for who hath seen Zeus so forgetful of his own? How can his providence forsake his son?
DE. I see you have been told of my distress, And that hath brought you. But my inward woe, Be it evermore unknown to you, as now! Such the fair garden of untrammeled ease Where the young life grows safely. No fierce heat, No rain, no wind disturbs it, but unharmed It rises amid airs of peace and joy, Till maiden turn to matron, and the night Inherit her dark share of anxious thought, Haunted with fears for husband or for child. Then, imaged through her own calamity, Some one may guess the burden of my life. Full many have been the sorrows I have wept, But one above the rest I tell to-day. When my great husband parted last from home, He left within the house an ancient scroll Inscribed with characters of mystic note, Which Heracles had never heretofore, In former labours, cared to let me see,— As bound for bright achievement, not for death. But now, as though his life had end, he told What marriage-portion I must keep, what shares He left his sons out of their father's ground: And set a time, when fifteen moons were spent, Counted from his departure, that even then Or he must die, or if that date were out And he had run beyond it, he should live Thenceforth a painless and untroubled life. Such by Heaven's fiat was the promised end Of Heracles' long labours, as he said; So once the ancient oak-tree had proclaimed In high Dodona through the sacred Doves. Of which prediction on this present hour In destined order of accomplishment The veritable issue doth depend. And I, dear friends, while taking rest, will oft Start from sweet slumbers with a sudden fear, Scared by the thought, my life may be bereft Of the best husband in the world of men.
CH. Hush! For I see approaching one in haste, Garlanded, as if laden with good news.
Enter Messenger.
MESSENGER. Queen Deanira, mine shall be the tongue To free thee first from fear. Alcmena's child Is living, be assured, and triumphing, And bringing to our Gods the fruits of war.
DE. What mean'st thou, aged sir, by what thou sayest?
MESS. That soon thy husband, envied all around, Will come, distinguished with victorious might.
DE. What citizen or stranger told thee this?
MESS. Your herald Lichas, where the oxen graze The summer meadow, cries this to a crowd. I, hearing, flew off hither, that being first To bring thee word thereof, I might be sure To win reward and gratitude from thee.
DE. And how is he not here, if all be well?
MESS. Crossed by no light impediment, my Queen. For all the Maliac people, gathering round, Throng him with question, that he cannot move. But he must still the travail of each soul, And none will be dismissed unsatisfied. Such willing audience he unwillingly Harangues, but soon himself will come in sight.
DE. O Zeus! who rulest Oeta's virgin wold, At last, though late, thou hast vouchsafed us joy. Lift up your voices, O my women! ye Within the halls, and ye beyond the gate! For now we reap the gladness of a ray, That dawns unhoped for in this rumour's sound.
CHORUS With a shout by the hearth let the palace roof ring From those that are dreaming of bridal, and ye, Young men, let your voices in harmony sing To the God of the quiver, the Lord of the free! And the Paean withal from the maiden band To Artemis, huntress of many a land, Let it rise o'er the glad roof tree, To Phoebus' own sister, with fire in each hand, And the Nymphs that her co-mates be! My spirit soars. O sovereign of my soul! I will accept the thrilling flute's control. [They dance The ivy-crowned thyrsus, see! With Bacchic fire is kindling me, And turns my emulous tread Where'er the mazy dance may lead. Euoi! Euoi! O Paean! send us joy. See, dearest Queen, behold! Before thy gaze the event will now unfold.
DE. Think not mine eye hath kept such careless guard, Dear maids, that I could miss this moving train. Herald, I bid thee hail, although so late Appearing, if thou bringest health with thee!
Enter LICHAS, with Captive Women.
LICHAS. A happy welcome on a happy way, As prosperous our achievement. Meet it is Good words should greet bright actions, mistress mine!
DE. Kind friend, first tell me what I first would know— Shall I receive my Heracles alive?
LICH. I left him certainly alive and strong: Blooming in health, not with disease oppressed.
DE. In Greece, or in some barbarous country? Tell!
LICH. Euboea's island hath a promontory, Where to Cenaean Zeus he consecrates Rich altars and the tribute of the ground.
DE. Moved by an oracle, or from some vow?
LICH. So vowed he when he conquered with the spear The country of these women whom you see.
DE. And who, by Heaven, are they? Who was their sire? Their case is piteous, or eludes my thought.
LICH. He took them for the service of the Gods And his own house, when high Oechalia fell.
DE. Was't then before that city he was kept Those endless ages of uncounted time?
LICH. Not so. The greater while he was detained Among the Lydians, sold, as he declares, To bondage. Nor be jealous of the word, Since Heaven, my Queen, was author of the deed. Enthralled so to Asian Omphale, He, as himself avers, fulfilled his year. The felt reproach whereof so chafed his soul, He bound fierce curses on himself and sware That,—children, wife and all,—he yet would bring In captive chains the mover of this harm. Nor did this perish like an idle word, But, when the stain was off him, straight he drew Allied battalions to assault the town Of Eurytus, whom, sole of earthly powers, He had noted as the source of his annoy, Because, having received him in his hall A guest of ancient days, he burst on him With outrage of loud voice and villanous mind, Saying, 'with his hand upon the unerring bow, Oechalia's princes could o'ershoot his skill; And born to bondage, he must quail beneath His overlord'; lastly, to crown this cry, When at a banquet he was filled with wine, He flung him out of door. Whereat being wroth, When Iphitus to the Tirynthian height Followed the track where his brood-mares had strayed, He, while the thought and eye of the man by chance Were sundered, threw him from the tower-crowned cliff. In anger for which deed the Olympian King, Father of Gods and men, delivered him To be a bond-slave, nor could brook the offence, That of all lives he vanquished, this alone Should have been ta'en by guile. For had he wrought In open quittance of outrageous wrong, Even Zeus had granted that his cause was just. The braggart hath no favour even in Heaven. Whence they, o'erweening with their evil tongue, Are now all dwellers in the house of death, Their ancient city a captive;—but these women Whom thou beholdest, from their blest estate Brought suddenly to taste of piteous woe, Come to thy care. This task thy wedded lord Ordained, and I, his faithful minister, Seek to perform. But, for his noble self, When with pure hands he hath done sacrifice To his Great Father for the victory given, Look for his coming, lady. This last word Of all my happy speech is far most sweet.
CH. Now surety of delight is thine, my Queen, Part by report and part before thine eye.
DE. Yea, now I learn this triumph of my lord, Joy reigns without a rival in my breast. This needs must run with that in fellowship. Yet wise consideration even of good Is flecked with fear of what reverse may come. And I, dear friends, when I behold these maids, Am visited with sadness deep and strange. Poor friendless beings, in a foreign land Wandering forlorn in homeless orphanhood! Erewhile, free daughters of a freeborn race, Now, snared in strong captivity for life. O Zeus of battles, breaker of the war, Ne'er may I see thee[2] turn against my seed So cruelly; or, if thou meanest so, Let me be spared that sorrow by my death! Such fear in me the sight of these hath wrought. Who art thou, of all damsels most distressed? Single or child-bearing? Thy looks would say, A maid, of no mean lineage. Lichas, tell, Who is the stranger-nymph? Who gave her birth? Who was her sire? Mine eye hath pitied her O'er all, as she o'er all hath sense of woe.
LICH. What know I? Why should'st thou demand? Perchance Not lowest in the list of souls there born.
DE. How if a princess, offspring of their King?
LICH. I cannot tell. I did not question far.
DE. Have none of her companions breathed her name?
LICH. I brought them silently. I did not hear.
DE. Yet speak it to us of thyself, poor maid! 'Tis sorrow not to know thee who thou art.
LICH. She'll ne'er untie her tongue, if she maintain An even tenor, since nor more nor less Would she disclose; but, poor unfortunate! With agonizing sobs and tears she mourns This crushing sorrow, from the day she left Her wind-swept home. Her case is cruel, sure,— And claims a privilege from all who feel.
DE. Well, let her go, and pass beneath the roof In peace, as she desires; nor let fresh pain From me be added to her previous woe. She hath enough already. Come, away! Let's all within at once, that thou mayest speed Thy journey, and I may order all things here. [Exit LICHAS, with Captives, into the house. DEANIRA is about to follow them
Re-enter Messenger.
MESS. Pause first there on the threshold, till you learn (Apart from those) who 'tis you take within, And more besides that you yet know not of, Which deeply imports your knowing. Of all this I throughly am informed.
DE. What cause hast thou Thus to arrest my going?
MESS. Stand, and hear. Not idle was my former speech, nor this.
DE. Say, must we call them back in presence here, Or would'st thou tell thy news to these and me?
MESS. To thee and these I may, but let those be.
DE. Well, they are gone. Let words declare thy drift.
MESS. That man, in all that he hath lately said, Hath sinned against the truth: or now he's false, Or else unfaithful in his first report.
DE. What? Tell me thy full meaning clearly forth. That thou hast uttered is all mystery.
MESS. I heard this herald say, while many thronged To hearken, that this maiden was the cause, Why lofty-towered Oechalia and her lord Fell before Heracles, whom Love alone Of heavenly powers had warmed to this emprise, And not the Lydian thraldom or the tasks Of rigorous Omphale, nor that wild fate Of rock-thrown Iphitus. Now he thrusts aside The Love-god, contradicting his first tale. When he that was her sire could not be brought To yield the maid for Heracles to hold In love unrecognized, he framed erelong A feud about some trifle, and set forth In arms against this damsel's fatherland (Where Eurytus, the herald said, was king) And slew the chief her father; yea, and sacked Their city. Now returning, as you see, He sends her hither to his halls, no slave, Nor unregarded, lady,—dream not so! Since all his heart is kindled with desire. I, O my Queen! thought meet to show thee all The tale I chanced to gather from his mouth, Which many heard as well as I, i' the midst Of Trachis' market-place, and can confirm My witness. I am pained if my plain speech Sound harshly, but the honest truth I tell.
DE. Ah me! Where am I? Whither am I fallen? What hidden woe have I unwarily Taken beneath my roof? O misery! Was she unknown, as he that brought her sware?
MESS. Nay, most distinguished both in birth and mien; Called in her day of freedom Iole, Eurytus' daughter,—of whose parentage, Forsooth as ignorant, he ne'er would speak.
CH. I curse not all the wicked, but the man Whose secret practices deform his life.
DE. Say, maidens, how must I proceed? The words Now spoken have bewildered all my mind.
CH. Go in and question Lichas, who perchance Will tell the truth if you but tax him home.
DE. I will; you counsel reasonably.
MESS. And I, Shall I bide here till thou com'st forth? Or how?
DE. Remain. For see, without my sending for him, He issueth from the palace of himself.
Enter LICHAS.
LICH. What message must I carry to my lord? Tell me, my Queen. I am going, as thou seest.
DE. So slow in coming, and so quickly flown, Ere one have time to talk with thee anew!
LICH. What wouldst thou ask me? I am bent to hear.
DE. And art thou bent on truth in the reply?
LICH. By Heaven! in all that I have knowledge of.
DE. Then tell me, who is she thou brought'st with thee?
LICH. An islander. I cannot trace her stock.
MESS. Look hither, man. Who is't to whom thou speakest?
LICH. Why such a question? What is thine intent?
MESS. Nay, start not, but make answer if thou knowest.
LICH. To Deanira, Oeneus' queenly child, Heracles' wife,—if these mine eyes be true,— My mistress.
MESS. Ay, that is the very word I longed to hear thee speak. Thy mistress, sayest?
LICH. To whom I am bound.
MESS. Hold there! What punishment Wilt thou accept, if thou art found to be Faithless to her?
LICH. I faithless! What dark speech Hast thou contrived?
MESS. Not I at all. 'Tis thou Dost wrap thy thoughts i' the dark.
LICH. Well, I will go. 'Tis folly to have heard thee for so long.
MESS. You go not till you answer one word more.
LICH. One, or a thousand! You'll not stint, I see.
MESS. Thou knowest the captive maid thou leddest home?
LICH. I do. But wherefore ask?
MESS. Did you not say That she, on whom you look with ignorant eye, Was Iole, the daughter of the King, Committed to your charge?
LICH. Where? Among whom? What witness of such words will bear thee out?
MESS. Many and sound. A goodly company In Trachis' market-place heard thee speak this.
LICH. Ay. I said 'twas rumoured. But I could not give My vague impression for advised report.
MESS. Impression, quotha! Did you not on oath Proclaim your captive for your master's bride?
LICH. My master's bride! Dear lady, by the Gods, Who is the stranger? for I know him not.
MESS. One who was present where he heard thee tell, How that whole city was subdued and taken, Not for the bondage to the Lydian girl, But through the longing passion for this maid.
LICH. Dear lady, let the fellow be removed. To prate with madmen is mere foolishness.
DE. Nay, I entreat thee by His name, whose fire Lightens down Oeta's topmost glen, be not A niggard of the truth. Thou tell'st thy tale To no weak woman, but to one who knows Mankind are never constant to one joy. Whoso would buffet Love, aspires in vain. For Love leads even Immortals at his will, And me. Then how not others, like to me? 'Twere madness, sure, in me to blame my lord When this hath caught him, or the woman there, His innocent accomplice in a thing, No shame to either, and no harm to me. It is not so. But if from him thou learnest The lore of falsehood, it were best unlearnt; Or if the instruction comes of thine own thought, Such would-be kindness doth not prove thee kind. Then tell me all the truth. To one free-born The name of liar is a hateful lot. And thou canst not be hid. Thy news was heard By many, who will tell me. If thou fearest, Thou hast no cause—for doubtfulness is pain, But to know all, what harm? His loves ere now Were they not manifold? And none hath borne Reproach or evil word from me. She shall not, Though his new passion were as strong as death; Since most mine eye hath pitied her, because Her beauty was the ruin of her life, And all unweeting, she her own bright land, Poor hapless one! hath ravaged and enslaved.— Let that be as it must. But for thy part, Though false to others, be still true to me.
CH. 'Tis fairly said. Comply. Thou ne'er wilt blame Her faithfulness, and thou wilt earn our loves.
LICH. Yea, dear my Queen, now I have seen thee hold Thy mortal wishes within mortal bound So meekly, I will freely tell thee all. It is as he avers. This maiden's love, Piercing through Heracles, was the sole cause, Why her Oechalia, land of plenteous woe, Was made the conquest of his spear. And he— For I dare so far clear him—never bade Concealment or denial. But myself, Fearing the word might wound thy queenly heart, Sinned, if thou count such tenderness a sin. But now that all is known, for both your sakes, His, and thine own no less, look favouringly Upon the woman, and confirm the word Thou here hast spoken in regard to her:— For he, whose might is in all else supreme, Is wholly overmastered by her love.
DE. Yea, so my mind is bent. I will do so. I will not, in a bootless strife 'gainst Heaven, Augment my misery with self-sought ill. Come, go we in, that thou may'st bear from me Such message as is meet, and also carry Gifts, such as are befitting to return For gifts new-given. Thou ought'st not to depart Unladen, having brought so much with thee. [Exeunt
CHORUS. Victorious in her might, I 1 The Queen of soft delight Still ranges onward with triumphant sway. What she from Kronos' son And strong Poseidon won, And Pluto, King of Night, I durst not say. But who, to earn this bride, Came forth in sinewy pride To strive, or e'er the nuptial might be known With fearless heart I tell What heroes wrestled well, With showering blows, and dust in clouds upthrown.
One was a river bold, I 2 Horn-crowned, with tramp fourfold, Bull Acheloues, Acarnania's Fear; And one from Bacchus' town, Own son of Zeus, came down, With brandished mace, bent bow, and barbed spear. Who then in battle brunt, Together, front to front, Hurled, eager both to win the beauteous prize; And Cypris 'mid the fray Alone, that dreadful day, Sate umpire, holding promise in her eyes.
Then clashed the fist, then clanged the bow; II Then horns gave crashing blow for blow, Whilst, as they clung, The twining hip throw both essay And hurtling foreheads' fearful play, And groans from each were wrung.
But the tender fair one far away Sate watching with an eye of piteous cheer (A mother's heart will heed the thing I say,) Till won by him who freed her from her fear. Sudden she leaves her mother's gentle side, Borne through the waste, our hero's tender bride.
Enter DEANIRA.
DE. Dear friends, while yonder herald in the house Holds converse with the captives ere he go, I have stol'n forth to you, partly to tell The craft my hand hath compassed, and in part, To crave your pity for my wretchedness. For I have taken to my hearth a maid,— And yet, methinks, no maiden any more, Like some fond shipmaster, taking on board A cargo fraught with treason to my heart. And now we two are closed in one embrace Beneath one coverlet. Such generous meed For faith in guarding home this dreary while Hath the kind Heracles our trusty spouse, Sent in return! Yet, oft as he hath caught This same distemperature, I know not how To harbour indignation against him. But who that is a woman could endure To dwell with her, both married to one man? One bloom is still advancing, one doth fade. The budding flower is cropped, the full-blown head Is left to wither, while love passeth by Unheeding. Wherefore I am sore afraid He will be called my husband, but her mate, For she is younger. Yet no prudent wife Would take this angerly, as I have said. But, dear ones, I will tell you of a way, Whereof I have bethought me, to prevent This heart-break. I had hidden of long time In a bronze urn the ancient Centaur's gift, Which I, when a mere girl, culled from the wound Of hairy-breasted Nessus in his death. He o'er Evenus' rolling depths, for hire, Ferried wayfarers on his arm, not plying Or rowing-boat, or canvas-winged bark. Who, when with Heracles, a new-made bride, I followed by my father's sending forth, Shouldering me too, in the mid-stream, annoyed With wanton touch. And I cried out; and he, Zeus' son, turned suddenly, and from his bow Sent a wing'd shaft, that whizzed into his chest To the lungs. Then the weird Thing, with dying voice Spake to me:—'Child of aged Oeneues, Since thou wert my last burden, thou shalt win Some profit from mine act, if thou wilt do What now I bid thee. With a careful hand Collect and bear away the clotted gore That clogs my wound, e'en where the monster snake Had dyed the arrow with dark tinct of gall; And thou shalt have this as a charm of soul For Heracles, that never through the eye Shall he receive another love than thine.' Whereof bethinking me, for since his death I kept it in a closet locked with care, I have applied it to this robe, with such Addition as his living voice ordained.— The thing is done. No criminal attempts Could e'er be mine. Far be they from my thought, As I abhor the woman who conceives them! But if by any means through gentle spells And bonds on Heracles' affection, we May triumph o'er this maiden in his heart, My scheme is perfected. Unless you deem Mine action wild. If so, I will desist.
CH. If any ground of confidence approve Thine act, we cannot check thy counsel here.
DE. My confidence is grounded on belief, Though unconfirmed as yet by actual proof.
CH. Well, do it and try. Assurance cannot come Till action bring experience after it.
DE. The truth will soon be known. The man e'en now Is coming forth, and quickly will be there. Screen ye but well my counsel. Doubtful deeds, Wrapt close, will not deliver us to shame.
Enter LICHAS.
LICH. Daughter of Oeneus, tell me thy commands. Already time rebukes our tardiness.
DE. Even that hath been my care, Lichas, while thou Wert talking to the stranger-maids within, That thou shouldst take for me this finewoven web, A present from these fingers to my lord. And when thou giv'st it, say that none of men Must wear it on his shoulders before him; And neither light of sun may look upon it, Nor holy temple-court, nor household flame, Till he in open station 'fore the Gods Display it on a day when bulls are slaughtered. So once I vowed, that should I ever see Or hear his safe return, I would enfold His glorious person in this robe, and show To all the Gods in doing sacrifice Him a fresh worshipper in fresh array.— The truth hereof he will with ease descry Betokened on this treasure-guarding seal.— Now go, and be advised, of this in chief, To act within thine office; then of this, To bear thee so, that from his thanks and mine Meeting in one, a twofold grace may spring.
LICH. If this my Hermes-craft be firm and sure, Then never will I fail thee, O my Queen! But I will show the casket as it is To whom I bear it, and in faithfulness Add all the words thou sendest in fit place.
DE. Go, then, at once. Thou hast full cognizance How things within the palace are preserved?
LICH. I know, and will declare. There is no flaw.
DE. Methinks thou knowest too, for thou hast seen, My kind reception of the stranger-maid?
LICH. I saw, and was amazed with heart-struck joy.
DE. What more is there to tell?—Too rash, I fear, Were thy report of longing on my part, Till we can learn if we be longed for there. [Exeunt severally
CHORUS. O ye that haunt the strand I 1 Where ships in quiet land Near Oeta's height and the warm rock-drawn well, And ye round Melis' inland gulf who dwell, Worshipping her who wields the golden wand,— (There Hellas' wisest meet in council strong): Soon shall the flute arise With sound of glad surprise, Thrilling your sense with no unwelcome song, But tones that to the harp of Heavenly Muse belong.
Zeus' and Alcmena's son,— I 2 All deeds of glory done,— Speeds now triumphant to his home, whom we Twelve weary months of blind expectancy Lost in vast distance, from our country gone. While, sadly languishing, his loving wife, Still flowing down with tears, Pined with unnumbered fears. But Ares, lately stung to furious strife, Frees him for ever[3] from the toilsome life.
O let him come to-day! II Ne'er may his vessel stay, But glide with feathery sweep of many an oar, Till from his altar by yon island shore Even to our town he wind his prosperous way, In mien returning mild, And inly reconciled, With that anointing in his heart ingrained, Which the dark Centaur's wizard lips ordained.
Enter DEANIRA.
DE. O how I fear, my friends, lest all too far I have ventured in my action of to-day!
CH. What ails thee, Deanira, Oeneus' child?
DE. I know not, but am haunted by a dread, Lest quickly I be found to have performed A mighty mischief, through bright hopes betrayed.
CH. Thou dost not mean thy gift to Heracles?
DE. Indeed I do. Now I perceive how fond Is eagerness, where actions are obscure.
CH. Tell, if it may be told, thy cause of fear.
DE. A thing is come to pass, which should I tell, Will strike you with strange wonder when you learn. For, O my friends, the stuff wherewith I dressed That robe, a flock of soft and milkwhite wool, Is shrivelled out of sight, not gnawn by tooth Of any creature here, but, self-consumed, Frittered and wasting on the courtyard-stones. To let you know the circumstance at full, I will speak on. Of all the Centaur-Thing, When labouring in his side with the fell point O' the shaft, enjoined me, I had nothing lost, But his vaticination in my heart Remained indelible, as though engraved With pen of iron upon brass. 'Twas thus:— I was to keep this unguent closely hid In dark recesses, where no heat of fire Or warming ray might reach it, till with fresh Anointing I addressed it to an end. So I had done. And now this was to do, Within my chamber covertly I spread The ointment with piece of wool, a tuft Pulled from a home-bred sheep; and, as ye saw, I folded up my gift and packed it close In hollow casket from the glaring sun. But, entering in, a fact encounters me Past human wit to fathom with surmise. For, as it happened, I had tossed aside The bit of wool I worked with, carelessly, Into the open daylight, 'mid the blaze Of Helios' beam. And, as it kindled warm, It fell away to nothing, crumbled small, Like dust in severing wood by sawyers strewn. So, on the point of vanishing, it lay. But, from the place where it had lain, brake forth A frothy scum in clots of seething foam, Like the rich draught in purple vintage poured From Bacchus' vine upon the thirsty ground. And I, unhappy, know not toward what thought To turn me, but I see mine act is dire. For wherefore should the Centaur, for what end, Show kindness to the cause for whom he died? That cannot be. But seeking to destroy His slayer, he cajoled me. This I learn Too late, by sad experience, for no good. And, if I err not now, my hapless fate Is all alone to be his murderess. For, well I know, the shaft that made the wound Gave pain to Cheiron, who was more than man; And wheresoe'er it falls, it ravageth All the wild creatures of the world. And now This gory venom blackly spreading bane From Nessus' angry wound, must it not cause The death of Heracles? I think it must. Yet my resolve is firm, if aught harm him, My death shall follow in the self-same hour. She cannot bear to live in evil fame, Who cares to have a nature pure from ill.
CH. Horrid mischance must needs occasion fear. But Hope is not condemned before the event.
DE. In ill-advised proceeding not even Hope Remains to minister a cheerful mind.
CH. Yet to have erred unwittingly abates The fire of wrath; and thou art in this case.
DE. So speaks not he who hath a share of sin, But who is clear of all offence at home.
CH. 'Twere well to say no more, unless thou hast aught To impart to thine own son: for he is here, Who went erewhile to find his father forth.
HYLLUS (re-entering). O mother, mother! I would to heaven one of three things were true: Either that thou wert dead, or, living, wert No mother to me, or hadst gained a mind Furnished with better thoughts than thou hast now!
DE. My son! what canst thou so mislike in me?
HYL. I tell thee thou this day hast been the death Of him that was thy husband and my sire.
DE. What word hath passed thy lips? my child, my child!
HYL. A word that must be verified. For who Can make the accomplished fact as things undone?
DE. Alas, my son! what saidst thou? Who hath told That I have wrought a deed so full of woe?
HYL. 'Twas I myself that saw with these mine eyes My father's heavy state:—no hearsay word.
DE. And where didst thou come near him and stand by?
HYL. Art thou to hear it? On, then, with my tale! When after sacking Eurytus' great city He marched in triumph with first-fruits of war,— There is a headland, last of long Euboea, Surf-beat Cenaeum,—where to his father Zeus He dedicates high altars and a grove. There first I saw him, gladdened from desire. And when he now addressed him to the work Of various sacrifice, the herald Lichas Arrived from home, bearing thy fatal gift, The deadly robe: wherewith invested straight, As thou hadst given charge, he sacrificed The firstlings of the spoil, twelve bulls entire, Each after each. But the full count he brought Was a clear hundred of all kinds of head. Then the all-hapless one commenced his prayer In solemn gladness for the bright array. But presently, when from the holy things, And from the richness of the oak-tree core, There issued flame mingled with blood, a sweat Rose on his flesh, and close to every limb Clung, like stone-drapery from the craftsman's hand, The garment, glued unto his side. Then came The tearing pangs within his bones, and then The poison feasted like the venomed tooth Of murderous basilisk.—When this began, He shouted on poor Lichas, none to blame For thy sole crime, 'What guile is here, thou knave? What was thy fraud in fetching me this robe?' He, all-unknowing, in an evil hour Declared his message, that the gift was thine. Whereat the hero, while the shooting spasm Had fastened on the lungs, seized him by the foot Where the ankle turns i' the socket, and, with a thought, Hurl'd on a surf-vex'd reef that showed i' the sea: And rained the grey pulp from the hair, the brain Being scattered with the blood. Then the great throng Saddened their festival with piteous wail For one in death and one in agony. And none had courage to approach my sire,— Convulsed upon the ground, then tossed i' the air With horrid yells and crying, till the cliffs Echoed round, the mountain-promontories Of Locris, and Euboea's rugged shore. Wearied at length with flinging on the earth, And shrieking oft with lamentable cry, Cursing the fatal marriage with thyself The all-wretched, and the bond to Oeneus' house, That prize that was the poisoner of his peace, He lifted a wild glance above the smoke That hung around, and 'midst the crowd of men Saw me in tears, and looked on me and said, 'O son, come near; fly not from my distress, Though thou shouldst be consumed in my death, But lift and bear me forth; and, if thou mayest, Set me where no one of mankind shall see me. But if thy heart withhold thee, yet convey me Out of this land as quickly as ye may. Let me not die where I am now.' We then, Thus urgently commanded, laid him down Within our bark, and hardly to this shore Rowed him convulsed and roaring.—Presently, He will appear, alive or lately dead. Such, mother, is the crime thou hast devised And done against our sire, wherefore let Right And Vengeance punish thee!—May I pray so? I may: for thou absolv'st me by thy deed, Thou that hast slain the noblest of the Earth, Thy spouse, whose like thou ne'er wilt see again. [Exit DEANIRA.
CH. Why steal'st thou forth in silence? Know'st thou not Thy silence argues thine accuser's plea?
HYL. Let her go off. Would that a sudden flood Might sweep her far and swiftly from mine eye! Why fondle vainly the fair-sounding name Of mother, when her acts are all unmotherly? Let her begone for me: and may she find Such joy as she hath rendered to my sire! [Exit HYLLUS
CHORUS. See where falls the doom, of old I 1 By the unerring Voice foretold,— 'When twelve troublous years have rolled, Then shall end your long desire: Toil on toil no more shall tire The offspring of the Eternal Sire.' Lo! the destined Hour is come! Lo! it hath brought its burden home. For when the eyes have looked their last How should sore labour vex again? How, when the powers of will and thought are past, Should life be any more enthralled to pain?
And if Nessus' withering shroud, I 2 Wrought by destiny and craft, Steep him in a poisonous cloud. Steaming from the venomed shaft, Which to Death in hideous lair The many-wreathed Hydra bare, How shall he another day Feel the glad warmth of Helios' ray?— Enfolded by the Monster-Thing Of Lerna, while the cruel sting Of the shagg'd Centaur's murderous-guileful tongue Breaks forth withal to do him painful wrong.
And she, poor innocent, who saw II 1 Checkless advancing to the gate A mighty harm unto her state,— This rash young bridal without fear of law,— Gave not her will to aught that caused this woe, But since it came through that strange mind's conceiving,— That ruined her in meeting,—deeply grieving, She mourns with dewy tears in tenderest flow. The approaching hour appeareth great with woe: Some guile-born misery doth Fate foreshow.
The springs of sorrow are unbound, II 2 And such an agony disclose, As never from the hands of foes To afflict the life of Heracles was found. O dark with battle-stains, world-champion spear, That from Oechalia's highland leddest then This bride that followed swiftly in thy train, How fatally overshadowing was thy fear! But these wild sorrows all too clearly come From Love's dread minister[4], disguised and dumb.
CH. 1. Am I a fool, or do I truly hear Lament new-rising from our master's home? Tell!
CH. 2. Clearly from within a wailing voice Peals piteously. The house hath some fresh woe.
CH. 3. Mark! How strangely, with what cloud upon her brow, Yon aged matron with her tidings moves!
Enter Nurse.
NURSE. Ah! mighty, O my daughters! was the grief Sprung from the gift to Heracles conveyed!
LEADER OF CH. What new thing is befallen? Why speak'st thou so?
NUR. Our Queen hath found her latest journey's end. Even now she is gone, without the help of feet.
CH. Not dead?
NUR. You know the whole.
CH. Dead! hapless Queen!
NUR. The truth hath twice been told.
CH. O tell us how! What was her death, poor victim of dire woe?
NUR. Most ruthless was the deed.
CH. Say, woman, say! What was the sudden end?
NUR. Herself she slew.
CH. What rage, what madness, clutched The mischief-working brand? How could her single thought Contrive the accomplishment of death on death?
NUR. Chill iron stopped the sources of her breath.
CH. And thou, poor helpless crone, didst see this done?
NUR. Yea, I stood near and saw.
CH. How was it? Tell!
NUR. With her own hand this violence was given.
CH. What do I hear?
NUR. The certainty of truth.
CH. A child is come, From this new bridal that hath rushed within, A fresh-born Fury of woe!
NUR. Too true. But hadst thou been at hand to see Her action, pity would have wrung thy soul.
CH. Could this be ventured by a woman's hand?
NUR. Ay, and in dreadful wise, as thou shalt hear. When all alone she had gone within the gate, And passing through the court beheld her boy Spreading the couch that should receive his sire, Ere he returned to meet him,—out of sight She hid herself, and fell at the altar's foot, And loudly cried that she was left forlorn; And, taking in her touch each household thing That formerly she used, poor lady, wept O'er all; and then went ranging through the rooms, Where, if there caught her eye the well-loved form Of any of her household, she would gaze And weep aloud, accusing her own fate And her abandoned lot, childless henceforth! When this was ended, suddenly I see her Fly to the hero's room of genial rest. With unsuspected gaze o'ershadowed near, I watched, and saw her casting on the bed The finest sheets of all. When that was done, She leapt upon the couch where they had lain And sat there in the midst. And the hot flood Burst from her eyes before she spake:—'Farewell, My bridal bed, for never more shalt thou Give me the comfort I have known thee give.' Then with tight fingers she undid her robe, Where the brooch lay before the breast, and bared All her left arm and side. I, with what speed Strength ministered, ran forth to tell her son The act she was preparing. But meanwhile, Ere we could come again, the fatal blow Fell, and we saw the wound. And he, her boy, Seeing, wept aloud. For now the hapless youth Knew that himself had done this in his wrath, Told all too late i' the house, how she had wrought Most innocently, from the Centaur's wit. So now the unhappy one, with passionate words And cries and wild embracings of the dead, Groaned forth that he had slain her with false breath Of evil accusation, and was left Orphaned of both, his mother and his sire. Such is the state within. What fool is he That counts one day, or two, or more to come? To-morrow is not, till the present day In fair prosperity have passed away. [Exit
CHORUS. Which shall come first in my wail, I 1 Which shall be last to prevail, Is a doubt that will never be done.
Trouble at home may be seen, I 2 Trouble is looked for with teen; And to have and to look for are one.
Would some fair wind II 1 But waft me forth to roam Far from the native region of my home, Ere death me find, oppressed with wild affright Even at the sudden sight Of him, the valiant son of Zeus most High! Before the house, they tell, he fareth nigh, A wonder beyond thought, With torment unapproachable distraught.
Hark! ... II 2 The cause then of my cry Was coming all too nigh: (Doth the clear nightingale lament for nought?) Some step of stranger folk is this way brought. As for a friend they love Heavy and slow with noiseless feet they move. Which way? which way? Ah me! behold him come. His pallid lips are dumb. Dead, or at rest in sleep? What shall I say? [HERACLES is brought in on a litter, accompanied by HYLLUS and an Old Man
HYL. Oh, woe is me! My father, piteous woe for thee! Oh, whither shall I turn my thought! Ah me!
OLD M. Hush! speak not, O my child, Lest torment fierce and wild Rekindle in thy father's rugged breast, And break this rest Where now his life is held at point to fall. With firm lips clenched refrain thy voice through all.
HYL. Yet tell me, doth he live, Old sir?
OLD M. Wake not the slumberer, Nor kindle and revive The terrible recurrent power of pain, My son!
HYL. My foolish words are done, But my full heart sinks 'neath the heavy strain.
HERACLES. O Father, who are these? What countrymen? Where am I? What far land Holds me in pain that ceaseth not? Ah me! Again that pest is rending me. Pain, pain!
OLD M. Now thou may'st know 'Twas better to have lurked in silent shade And not thus widely throw The slumber from his eyelids and his head.
HYL. I could not brook All speechless on his misery to look.
MONODY.
HER. O altar on the Euboean strand, High-heaped with offerings from my hand, What meed for lavish gifts bestowed From thy new sanctuary hath flowed! Father of Gods! thy cruel power Hath foiled me with an evil blight. Ah! would mine eyes had closed in night Ere madness in a fatal hour Had burst upon them with a blaze, No help or soothing once allays!
What hand to heal, what voice to charm, Can e'er dispel this hideous harm? Whose skill save thine, Monarch Divine? Mine eyes, if such I saw, Would hail him from afar with trembling awe. Ah! ah! O vex me not, touch me not, leave me to rest, To sleep my last sleep on Earth's gentle breast. You touch me, you press me, you turn me again, You break me, you kill me! O pain! O pain! You have kindled the pang that had slumbered still. It comes, it hath seized me with tyrannous will!
Where are ye, men, whom over Hellas wide This arm hath freed, and o'er the ocean-tide, And through rough brakes, from every monstrous thing? Yet now in mine affliction none will bring A sword to aid, a fire to quell this fire, O most unrighteous! nor to my desire Will come and quench the hateful life I hold With mortal stroke! Ah! is there none so bold?
OLD M. Son of our hero, this hath mounted past My feeble force to cope with. Take him thou! Fresher thine eye and more the hope thou hast Than mine to save him.
HYL. I support him now Thus with mine arm: but neither fleshly vest Nor inmost spirit can I lull to rest From torture. None may dream To wield this power, save he, the King supreme.
HER. Son! Where art thou to lift me and hold me aright? It tears me, it kills me, it rushes in might, This cruel, devouring, unconquered pain Shoots forth to consume me. Again! again! O Fate! O Athena!—O son, at my word Have pity and slay me with merciful sword!
Pity thy father, boy; with sharp relief Smite on my breast, and heal the wrathful grief Wherewith thy mother, God-abandoned wife, Hath wrought this ruin on her husband's life. O may I see her falling, even so As she hath thrown me, to like depth of woe! Sweet Hades, with swift death, Brother of Zeus, release my suffering breath!
CH. Horror hath caught me as I hear this, woe, Racking our mighty one with mightier pain.
HER. Many hot toils and hard beyond report, With sturdy thews and sinews I have borne, But no such labour hath the Thunderer's wife Or sour Eurystheus ever given, as this, Which Oeneus' daughter of the treacherous eye Hath fastened on my back, this amply-woven Net of the Furies, that is breaking me. For, glued unto my side, it hath devoured My flesh to the bone, and lodging in the lungs It drains the vital channels, and hath drunk The fresh life-blood, and ruins all my frame, Foiled in the tangle of a viewless bond. Yet me nor War-host, nor Earth's giant brood, Nor Centaur's monstrous violence could subdue, Nor Hellas, nor the Stranger, nor all lands Where I have gone, cleansing the world from harms. But a soft woman without manhood's strain Alone and weaponless hath conquered me. Son, let me know thee mine true-born, nor rate Thy mother's claim beyond thy sire's, but bring Thyself from out the chambers to my hand Her body that hath borne thee, that my heart May be assured, if lesser than my pain It will distress thee to behold her limbs With righteous torment agonized and torn. Nay, shrink not, son, but pity me, whom all May pity—me, who, like a tender girl, Am heard to weep aloud! This none could say He knew in me of old; for, murmuring not, I went with evil fortune, silent still. Now, such a foe hath found the woman in me! Ay, but come near; stand by me, and behold What cause I have for crying. Look but here! Here is the mystery unveiled. O see! Ye people, gaze on this poor quivering flesh, Look with compassion on my misery! Ah me! Ah! ah! Again! Even now the hot convulsion of disease Shoots through my side, and will not let me rest From this fierce exercise of wearing woe. Take me, O King of Night! O sudden thunderstroke. Smite me! O sire, transfix me with the dart Of thy swift lightning! Yet again that fang Is tearing; it hath blossomed forth anew, It soars up to the height!
O breast and back, O shrivelling arms and hands, ye are the same That crushed the dweller of the Nemean wild, The lion unapproachable and rude, The oxherd's plague, and Hydra of the lake Of Lerna, and the twi-form prancing throng Of Centaurs,—insolent, unsociable, Lawless, ungovernable:—the tusked pest Of Erymanthine glades; then underground Pluto's three-headed cur—a perilous fear, Born from the monster-worm; and, on the verge Of Earth, the dragon, guarding fruits of gold. These toils and others countless I have tried, And none hath triumphed o'er me. But to-day, Jointless and riven to tatters, I am wrecked Thus utterly by imperceptible woe; I, proudly named Alcmena's child, and His Who reigns in highest heaven, the King supreme! Ay, but even yet, I tell ye, even from here, Where I am nothingness and cannot move, She who hath done this deed shall feel my power. Let her come near, that, mastered by my might, She may have this to tell the world, that, dying, As living, I gave punishment to wrong.
CH. O Hellas, how I grieve for thy distress! How thou wilt mourn in losing him we see!
HYL. My father, since thy silence gives me leave, Still hear me patiently, though in thy pain! For my request is just. Lend me thy mind Less wrathfully distempered than 'tis now; Else thou canst never know, where thou art keen With vain resentment and with vain desire
HER. Speak what thou wilt and cease, for I in pain Catch not the sense of thy mysterious talk
HYL. I come to tell thee of my mother's case, And her involuntary unconscious fault.
HER. Base villain! hast thou breathed thy mother's name, Thy father's murderess, in my hearing too!
HYL. Her state requires not silence, but full speech.
HER. Her faults in former time might well be told.
HYL. So might her fault to day, couldst thou but know.
HER. Speak, but beware base words disgrace thee not.
HYL. List! She is dead even now with new-given wound.
HER. By whom? Thy words flash wonder through my woe.
HYL. Her own hand slaughtered her, no foreign stroke.
HER. Wretch! to have reft this office from my hands.
HYL. Even your rash spirit were softened, if you knew.
HER. This bodes some knavery. But declare thy thought!
HYL. She erred with good intent. The whole is said.
HER. Good, O thou villain, to destroy thy sire!
HYL. When she perceived that marriage in her home, She erred, supposing to enchain thy love.
HER. Hath Trachis a magician of such might?
HYL. Long since the Centaur Nessus moved her mind To work this charm for heightening thy desire.
HER. O horror, thou art here! I am no more. My day is darkened, boy! Undone, undone! I see our plight too plainly. woe is me! Come, O my son! —thou hast no more a father,— Call to me all the brethren of thy blood, And poor Alcmena, wedded all in vain Unto the Highest, that ye may hear me tell With my last breath what prophecies I know.
HYL. Thy mother is not here, but by the shore Of Tiryns hath obtained a dwelling-place; And of thy sons, some she hath with her there, And some inhabit Thebe's citadel. But we who are with thee, sire, if there be aught That may by us be done, will hear, and do.
HER. Then hearken thou unto this task, and show If worthily thou art reputed mine. Now is time to prove thee. My great father Forewarned me long ago that I should die By none who lived and breathed, but from the will Of one now dwelling in the house of death. And so this Centaur, as the voice Divine Then prophesied, in death hath slain me living. And in agreement with that ancient word I now interpret newer oracles Which I wrote down on going within the grove Of the hill-roving and earth-couching Selli,— Dictated to me by the mystic tongue Innumerous, of my Father's sacred tree; Declaring that my ever instant toils Should in the time that new hath being and life End and release me. And I look'd for joy. But the true meaning plainly was my death.— No labour is appointed for the dead.— Then, since all argues one event, my son, Once more thou must befriend me, and not wait For my voice goading thee, but of thyself Submit and second my resolve, and know Filial obedience for thy noblest rule.
HYL. I will obey thee, father, though my heart Sinks heavily in approaching such a theme.
HER. Before aught else, lay thy right hand in mine.
HYL. Why so intent on this assurance, sire?
HER. Give it at once and be not froward, boy.
HYL. There is my hand: I will gainsay thee nought.
HER. Swear by the head of him who gave me life.
HYL. Tell me the oath, and I will utter it.
HER. Swear thou wilt do the thing I bid thee do.
HYL. I swear, and make Zeus witness of my troth.
HER. But if you swerve, pray that the curse may come.
HYL. It will not come for swerving:—but I pray.
HER. Now, dost thou know on Oeta's topmost height The crag of Zeus?
HYL. I know it, and full oft Have stood there sacrificing.
HER. Then even there, With thine own hand uplifting this my body, Taking what friends thou wilt, and having lopped Much wood from the deep-rooted oak and rough Wild olive, lay me on the gathered pile, And burn all with the touch of pine-wood flame. Let not a tear of mourning dim thine eye; But silent, with dry gaze, if thou art mine, Perform it. Else my curse awaits thee still To weigh thee down when I am lost in night.
HYL. How cruel, O my father, is thy tongue!
HER. 'Tis peremptory. Else, if thou refuse, Be called another's and be no more mine.
HYL. Alas that thou shouldst challenge me to this, To be thy murderer, guilty of thy blood!
HER. Not I, in sooth: but healer of my pain, And sole preserver from a life of woe.
HYL. How can it heal to burn thee on the pyre?
HER. If this act frighten thee, perform the rest.
HYL. Mine arms shall not refuse to carry thee.
HER. And wilt thou gather the appointed wood?
HYL. So my hand fire it not. In all but this, Not scanting labour, I will do my part.
HER. Enough. 'Tis well. And having thus much given Add one small kindness to a list so full.
HYL. How great soe'er it were, it should be done.
HER. The maid of Eurytus thou knowest, I ween.
HYL. Of Iole thou speak'st, or I mistake.
HER. Of her. This then is all I urge, my son. When I am dead, if thou wouldst show thy duty, Think of thine oath to me, and, on my word, Make her thy wife: nor let another man Take her, but only thou; since she hath lain So near this heart. Obey me, O my boy! And be thyself the maker of this bond. To spurn at trifles after great things given, Were to confound the meed already won.
HYL. Oh, anger is not right, when men are ill! But who could bear to see thee in this mind?
HER. You murmur, as you meant to disobey.
HYL. How can I do it, when my mother's death And thy sad state sprang solely from this girl? Who, not possessed with furies, could choose this? Far better, father, for me too to die, Than to live still with my worst enemy.
HER. This youth withdraws his reverence in my death. But, if thou yield'st not to thy father's best, The curse from Heaven shall dog thy footsteps still.
HYL. Ah! thou wilt tell me that thy pain is come.
HER. Yea, for thou wak'st the torment that had slept.
HYL. Ay me! how cross and doubtful is my way!
HER. Because you will reject your father's word.
HYL. Must I be taught impiety from thee?
HER. It is not impious to content my heart.
HYL. Then you require this with an absolute will?
HER. And bid Heaven witness to my strong command.
HYL. Then I will do it, for the act is thine. I will not cast it off. Obeying thee, My sire, the Gods will ne'er reprove my deed.
HER. Thou endest fairly. Now, then, O my son, Add the performance swiftly, that, before Some spasm or furious onset of my pain Have seized me, ye may place me on the pyre. Come, loiter not, but lift me. Now my end Is near, the last cessation of my woe.
HYL. Since thy command is urgent, O my sire! We tarry not, but bear thee to the pyre.
HER. Stubborn heart, ere yet again Wakes the fierce rebound of pain, While the evil holds aloof, Thou, with bit of diamond proof, Curb thy cry, with forced will Seeming to do gladly still!
HYL. Lift him, men, and hate not me For the evil deeds ye see, Since the Heavens' relentless sway Recks not of the righteous way. He who gave life and doth claim From his seed a Father's name Can behold this hour of blame. Though the future none can tell, Yet the present is not well: Sore for him who bears the blow, Sad for us who feel his woe, Shameful to the Gods, we trow.
CH. Maidens from the palace-hall, Come ye forth, too, at our call! Mighty deaths beyond belief, Many an unknown form of grief, Ye have seen to-day; and nought But the power of Zeus hath wrought.
* * * * *
PHILOCTETES
THE PERSONS
ODYSSEUS. NEOPTOLEMUS. CHORUS of Mariners. PHILOCTETES. Messenger, disguised as a Merchantman. HERACLES, appearing from the sky.
SCENE. A desert shore of the Island of Lemnos.
It was fated that Troy should be taken by Neoptolemus, the son of Achilles, assisted by the bow of Heracles in the hands of Philoctetes.
Now Philoctetes had been rejected by the army because of a trouble in his foot, which made his presence with them insufferable; and had been cast away by Odysseus on the island of Lemnos.
But when the decree of fate was revealed by prophecy, Odysseus undertook to bring Philoctetes back, and took with him Neoptolemus, whose ambition could only be gratified through the return of Philoctetes with the bow.
Philoctetes was resolutely set against returning, and at the opening of the drama Neoptolemus is persuaded by Odysseus to take him with guile.
But when Philoctetes appears, the youth's ingenuous nature is so wrought upon through pity and remorse, that his sympathy and native truthfulness at length overcome his ambition.
When the inward sacrifice is complete, Heracles appears from heaven, and by a few words changes the mind of Philoctetes, so that all ends well.
PHILOCTETES
ODYSSEUS. NEOPTOLEMUS.
ODYSSEUS. This coast of sea-girt Lemnos, where we stand, Is uninhabited, untrodden of men. And here, O noble son of noblest sire, Achilles-born Neoptolemus, I erewhile,— Ordered by those who had command,—cast forth Trachinian Philoctetes, Poeas' son, His foot dark-dripping with a rankling wound; When with wild cries, that frighted holy rest, Filling the camp, he troubled every rite, That none might handle sacrifice, or pour Wine-offering, but his noise disturbed our peace. But why these words? No moment this for talk, Lest he discern my coming, and I lose The scheme, wherewith I think to catch him soon. Now most behoves thy service, to explore This headland for a cave with double mouth, Whose twofold aperture, on wintry days, Gives choice of sunshine, and in summer noons The breeze wafts slumber through the airy cell. Then, something lower down, upon the left, Unless 'tis dried, thine eye may note a spring. Go near now silently, and make me know If still he persevere, and hold this spot, Or have roamed elsewhere, that informed of this I may proceed with what remains to say, And we may act in concert.
NEOPTOLEMUS. Lord Odysseus, Thy foremost errand will not task me far. Methinks I see the cave whereof thou speakest.
OD. Where? let me see it. Above there, or below?
NEO. Yonder, above. And yet I hear no tread. [NEOPTOLEMUS climbs up to the cave
OD. Look if he be not lodged in slumber there.
NEO. I find no inmate, but an empty room.
OD. What? no provision for a dwelling-place?
NEO. A bed of leaves for some one harbouring here.
OD. Nought else beneath the roof? Is all forlorn?
NEO. A cup of wood, some untaught craftsman's skill, And, close at hand, these embers of a fire.
OD. That store is his. I read the token clear.
NEO. Oh! and these festering rags give evidence, Steeped as with dressing some malignant sore.
OD. The man inhabits here: I know it now. And sure he's not far off. How can he range, Whose limb drags heavy with an ancient harm? But he's gone, either to bring forage home, Or where he hath found some plant of healing power. Send therefore thine attendant to look forth, Lest unawares he find me. All our host Were not so fair a prize for him as I.
NEO. My man is going, and shall watch the path. What more dost thou require of me? Speak on.
OD. Son of Achilles, know that thou art come To serve us nobly, not with strength alone, But, faithful to thy mission, if so be, To do things strange, unwonted to thine ear.
NEO. What dost thou bid me?
OD. 'Tis thy duty now To entrap the mind of Poeas' son with words. When he shall ask thee, who and whence thou art, Declare thy name and father. 'Tis not that I charge thee to conceal. But for thy voyage, 'Tis homeward, leaving the Achaean host, With perfect hatred hating them, because They who had drawn thee with strong prayers from home, Their hope for taking Troy, allowed thee not Thy just demand to have thy father's arms, But, e'er thy coming, wrongly gave them o'er Unto Odysseus: and thereon launch forth With boundless execration against me. That will not pain me, but if thou reject This counsel, thou wilt trouble all our host, Since, if his bow shall not be ta'en, thy life Will ne'er be crowned through Troy's discomfiture. Now let me show, why thine approach to him Is safe and trustful as mine cannot be Thou didst sail forth, not to redeem thine oath, Nor by constraint, nor with the foremost band. All which reproaches I must bear: and he, But seeing me, while master of his bow, Will slay me, and my ruin will be thine. This point then craves our cunning, to acquire By subtle means the irresistible bow— Thy nature was not framed, I know it well, For speaking falsehood, or contriving harm. Yet, since the prize of victory is so dear, Endure it—We'll be just another day But now, for one brief hour, devote thyself To serve me without shame, and then for aye Hereafter be the pearl of righteousness.
NEO. The thing that, being named, revolts mine ear, Son of Laertes, I abhor to do 'Tis not my nature, no, nor, as they tell, My father's, to work aught by craft and guile. I'll undertake to bring him in by force, Not by deceit. For, sure, with his one foot, He cannot be a match for all our crew Being sent, my lord, to serve thee, I am loth To seem rebellious. But I rather choose To offend with honour, than to win by wrong.
OD. Son of a valiant sire, I, too, in youth, Had once a slow tongue and an active hand. But since I have proved the world, I clearly see Words and not deeds give mastery over men.
NEO. What then is thy command? To lie? No more?
OD. To entangle Philoctetes with deceit.
NEO. Why through deceit? May not persuasion fetch him?
OD. Never. And force as certainly will fail.
NEO. What lends him such assurance of defence?
OD. Arrows, the unerring harbingers of Death.
NEO. Then to go near him is a perilous thing.
OD. Unless with subtlety, as I have said.
NEO. And is not lying shameful to thy soul?
OD. Not if by lying I can save my soul.
NEO. How must one look in speaking such a word?
OD. Where gain invites, this shrinking is not good.
NEO. What gain I through his coming back to Troy?
OD. His arms alone have power to take Troy-town.
NEO. Then am not I the spoiler, as ye said?
OD. Thou without them, they without thee, are powerless.
NEO. If it be so, they must be sought and won.
OD. Yea, for in this two prizes will be thine.
NEO. What? When I learn them, I will not refuse.
OD. Wisdom and valour joined in one good name.
NEO. Shame, to the winds! Come, I will do this thing. |
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