THE. An armed squadron of Athenian youths
I hither bring, who near Asopus’ stream
Are stationed to assist your son in battle.
For to the city of Erectheus’ race
A rumour came, that Lycus, having seized
The sceptre of this land, is waging war
’Gainst you. O aged man, I to repay
The benefits which Hercules conferred
On me, whom from the deary shades beneath
In safety he redeemed, on your behalf
Attend, if of this arm, or of my troops,
Ye need the help. But, ha, what means the floor
With weltering corses heaped? hath my design
Proved ineffectual? am I then arrived
Too late to remedy the dreadful mischiefs
Which have already ta’en effect? who slew
Those children, or whose consort was the dame
Whom I behold? for where the boys are laid,
No signs appear of any battle fought:
But sure I of some other recent ill
Now make discovery.
AMP. O thou goddess, throned
Upon that hill where verdant olives spring.
THE. Why speak you to me in this piteous tone,
And with such prelude?
AMP. Grievous are the ills
Which we endure through Heaven’s severe behest.
THE. What boys are they o’er whose remains you weep?
AMP. Them did my miserable son beget,
And when begotten slay, this impious murder
He dared to perpetrate.
THE. Express yourself
In more auspicious terms.
AMP. I wish t’ obey
Th’ injunctions thou hast given.
THE. What dreadful words
Are these which you have uttered?
AMP. In a moment
Were we undone.
THE. What mean you, what hath happened?
AMP. This frenzy seized him sprinkled with the venom,
Which from the hundred-headed hydra flowed.
THE. Such Juno’s wrath. But who, O aged man,
Stands ’mong the dead?
AMP. My son, my valiant son,
Inured to many toils, who in that war
Where earth’s gigantic brood were slain, advanced
Among the gods to the Phlegræan field
Armed with his buckler.
THE. Ah, what mighty chief
Was e’er so wretched?
AMP. Scarcely shalt thou know
A man with greater labours vexed, and doomed
To wander through more regions.
THE. But why veils he
Beneath that robe his miserable head?
AMP. Because thy presence, friendship’s sacred ties
Added to those of kindred, and the gore
Of his slain children, fill his soul with shame.
THE. I with his griefs am come to sympathize;
Uncover him.
AMP. That garment from your eyes
Remove, display your visage to the sun.
It ill becomes my dignity to weep:
Yet I a suppliant strive to touch your beard,
Your knees, your hand, and shed these hoary tears.
O curb your soul, my son, whose fierceness equals
That of the lion, else ’twill hurry you
To bloody impious rage, and make you add
Mischiefs to mischiefs.
THE. Ho! on thee I call,
On thee, who to that seat of misery seem’st
Fast riveted; permit thy friends to see
Thy face: for darkness hath no cloud so black
As to conceal thy woes. Why dost thou wave
Thy hand and point to those whom thou hast slain,
Lest by this converse I pollute myself?
I am not loth to share thy woes; I erst
Was happy (which my soul is ever bound
To recollect with gratitude) when thou
From hell’s loathed gloom, the mansion of the dead,
Didst safely bear me to the realms of light.
For I abhor th’ attachment of those friends
Which time impairs, him too who would enjoy
Their better fortunes, but refuse to sail
In the same bark with those who prove unblest.
Rise up, unveil thy miserable head
And look on me. A noble mind sustains
Without reluctance what the gods inflict.
HER. Did you, O Theseus, see me slay my children?
THE. I heard, and now behold the ills thou speak’st of.
HER. Then why didst thou uncover to the sun
My guilty head?
THE. Why not? canst thou, a man,
Pollute the gods?
HER. Avaunt, O wretch, avaunt,
For I am all contagion.
THE. To a friend
No mischief from his friend can be transmitted.
HER. Your conduct I applaud, nor will deny
That I have served you.
THE. I who erst received
Those favours at thy hands, now pity thee.
HER. I am indeed an object of your pity,
From having slain my sons.
THE. For thee I weep,
Because to me thou heretofore wert kind
When vexed by other ills.
HER. Did you e’er meet
With those who were more wretched?
THE. Thy afflictions
Are of such giant bulk, that they to heaven
Reach from this nether world.
HER. Hence am I ready
For instant death.
THE. Canst thou suppose the gods
Regard thy threats?
HER. Self-willed are they and cruel,
And I defy the gods.
THE. Restrain thy tongue,
Lest thou by uttering such presumptuous words
Increase thy sufferings.
HER. I with woes am fraught
Already, nor remains there space for more.
THE. But what design’st thou? whither art thou borne
With frantic rage?
HER. In death will I return
To those abodes beneath, whence late I came.
THE. Thou speak’st the language of a vulgar man.
HER. Exempt from all calamity yourself,
On me these admonitions you bestow.
THE. Are these fit words for Hercules to use,
Who many toils endured?
HER. I had not suffered
Thus much, if any bounds had circumscribed
My labours.
THE. Benefactor of mankind,
And their great friend?
HER. From them no aid I find;
But Juno triumphs.
THE. Greece will not permit thee
To perish unregarded.
HER. Hear me now,
That I with reason your advice may combat;
To you will I explain both why it is
And long hath been impossible for me
To live; and first, because from him, I spring,
Who, having slain the father of Alcmena,
Defiled with murder, wedded her who bore me.
When thus the basis of a family
Is laid in guilt, the children must be wretched.
But Jove (or some one who assumed the name
Of Jove) begot me; hence to Juno’s hate
Was I obnoxious. Yet, O let not this
Offend thine ear, old man, for thee, not Jove,
I deem my real sire. While yet I hung
An infant at the breast, Jove’s wife by stealth
Sent snakes into my cradle to destroy me.
But after I attained the bloom of manhood,
Of what avail were it, should I recount
The various labours I endured, what lions,
What typhons with a triple form, what giants,
Or what four-footed centaurs, who in crowds
Rushed to the battle, by this arm were slain?
How I despatched the hydra too, that monster
With heads surrounded, branching out anew,
And having suffered many toils beside,
Went to the mansions of the dead, to bring
Hell’s triple-headed dog into the realms
Of light, for thus Eurystheus had enjoined?
But I at last, wretch that I am, this murder
Did perpetrate, and my own children slay,
That to their utmost summit I might raise
The miseries of this house. My fate is such
That in my native Thebes I must not dwell:
But if I here continue, to what temple
Or friends can I repair? for by such curses
I now am visited, that none will dare
To speak to me. To Argos shall I go?
How can I, when my country drives me forth?
To any other city should I fly,
The consequence were this: with looks askance
I should be viewed as one well known, and harassed
With these reproaches by malignant tongues:
“Is not this he, the son of Jove, who murdered
His children and his consort? from this land
Shall not th’ accursed miscreant be expelled?”
To him who was called happy once, such change
Is bitterness indeed: as for the man
Whose sufferings are perpetual, him, when wretched,
No kinsman pities. I to such a pitch
Of woe shall come, I deem, at length, that earth,
Uttering a voice indignant, will forbid me
To touch its surface, ocean, o’er its waves,
And every river, o’er its streams, to pass.
I shall be like Ixion then, with chains
Fixed to the wheel. ’Twere better that no Greek
With whom I in my happier days conversed
Should see me more. What motive can I have
For living? or to me of what avail
Were it to keep possession of this useless
And this unholy being? flushed with joy,
Let Jove’s illustrious consort, in the dance,
Strike with her sandals the resplendent floor
Of high Olympus: for she now hath gained
Her utmost wish, and from his basis torn
The first of Grecian warriors. Who can pray
To such a goddess, who, with envy stung,
Because Jove loved a woman, hath destroyed
The benefactors of the Grecian realm,
Those blameless objects of her hate?
THE. This mischief
Springs from no god except the wife of Jove.
Well dost thou judge, in saying that ’tis easier
To give thee wholesome counsel, than endure
Such agonies. But no man ’scapes unwounded
By fortune, and no god; unless the songs
Of ancient bards mislead. Have not the gods
Among themselves formed lawless marriages?
Have they not bound in ignominious chains
Their fathers, to obtain a throne? In heaven
Yet dwell they, and bear up beneath the load
Of all their crimes. But what canst thou allege,
If thou, frail mortal as thou art, those ills
Immoderately bewail’st to which the gods
Without reluctance yield? from Thebes retire,
Since thus the laws ordain; and follow me
To Pallas’ city: when thy hands are there
Cleansed from pollution, I to thee will give
A palace, and with thee divide my wealth.
The presents which the citizens to me
Appropriated, when twice seven blooming victims
I by the slaughter of the Cretan bull
Redeemed, on thee will I bestow. For portions
Of land are through the realm to me assigned:
These, while thou liv’st henceforth shall by thy name
Be called: but after death, when to the shades
Of Pluto thou descend’st, with sacrifice
And with the sculptured tomb, shall Athens grace
Thy memory. For her citizens have gained
This fairest wreath from every Grecian state,
By yielding succour to the virtuous man
Their glories are augmented: and to thee
Will I repay with gratitude the kindness
Which thou deserv’st for saving me; for thou
Hast need of friends at present: but no friend
Is wanted when the gods confer renown;
For, if he wills, Jove’s aid is all-sufficient.
HER. You hold a language foreign to my griefs.
But I suppose not that the gods delight
In lawless nuptials, that their hands are bound
With galling chains, nor did I e’er believe,
Nor can I be convinced, that one bears rule
Over another. For a deity
If he be truly such, can stand in need
Of no support. But by some lying bard
Those miserable fables were devised.
Although I am most wretched, yet I thought
I might be charged with cowardice for leaving
These realms of light. For he who bears not up
’Gainst adverse fortune, never can withstand
The weapon of his foe. I am resolved
To wait for death with firmness: to your city
Meantime will I retreat, and am most grateful
For your unnumbered gifts. Unnumbered labours
Have I been erst acquainted with; from none
Did I e’er shrink, these eyes did never stream
With tears, nor thought I that I e’er should come
To such a pitch of meanness as to weep:
But now, it seems, must Fortune be obeyed.
I am content. Thou, O my aged sire,
Behold’st my exile, thou in me behold’st
The murderer of my children: to the tomb
Consign their corses with funereal pomp,
And o’er them shed the tributary tear:
For me the laws allow not to perform
This office. Let their mother, e’en in death,
Clasp to her breast, and in her arms sustain,
Our wretched offspring, whom in evil hour
I slew reluctant. But when thou with earth
Hast covered them, thy residence still keep
Here in this city, miserably indeed,
Yet on thy soul lay this constraint, to bear
With me the woes which I most deeply feel.
The very sire, ye children, who begot,
Murdered you; no advantage ye derive
From what this arm by all my labours gained,
And from your father’s triumphs no renown.
Have not I slain thee too who didst preserve
My bed inviolate, and o’er my house
Long watch with patient care? Ah me! my wife,
My sons: but how much more to be lamented
Am I myself, from them for ever torn?
Ye melancholy joys of kisses lavished
On their remains, and ye my loathed companions,
The weapons which I still retain, but doubt
Whether to keep or dash them to the ground;
For they, while at my side they hang, will seem
To utter these reproachful words: “With us
Thy consort and thy children hast thou slain,
Yet thou the very instruments preserv’st
Which were their murderers.” After such a charge
Can I still bear them? what can I allege?
But stripping off those arms with which through Greece
I have achieved full many glorious deeds,
Shall I expose myself to those who hate me,
And die ignobly? I must not abandon
But keep them still, though sorrowing. Aid me, Theseus,
In this one enterprise; to Argos go
And for your friend obtain the great reward
Promised for dragging from the shades of hell
That execrable hound: lest if by you
Deserted, I through grief for my slain children
Should come to some calamitous end. Thou realm
Of Cadmus, and ye citizens of Thebes,
With tresses shorn, in concert weep; the tomb
Of my slain children visit, there bewail,
In one funereal dirge, the dead, and me;
For smitten with the same dire scourge of fate
By Juno, we all perish.
THE. Hapless man,
Arise; enough of tears.
HER. I cannot rise,
These limbs are now grown stiff.
THE. Calamity
Subdues the valiant.
HER. Would I were a stone,
Insensible to sufferings!
THE. Cease these plaints;
And to the friend who comes to serve thee, give
Thy hand.
HER. But let me not wipe off the blood
Upon your garments.
THE. Wipe it off, nor scruple,
For I object not.
HER. Of my sons bereft,
In you the likeness of a son I find.
THE. Fling round my neck thine arm: I’ll lead the way.
HER. A pair of friends: though one of us be wretched.
Such, O my aged father, is the man
We ought to make a friend.
THE. His native realm
Produces an illustrious progeny.
HER. Turn me around, that I may see my sons.
THE. Hoping such philtre may thy griefs appease.
HER. This earnestly I wish for, and would clasp
My father to this bosom.
AMP. Here, lo, here!
For what my son desires, to me is grateful.
THE. Of all the labours thou didst erst achieve,
Hast thou thus lost the memory?
HER. All those ills
Were less severe than what I now experience.
THE. Should any one behold thee grown unmanly,
He could not praise thee.
HER. Though to you I seem
Degraded to an abject life, I trust
That I my former courage shall resume.
THE. Where now is the illustrious Hercules?
HER. What had you been, if still you in the shades
Had miserably dwelt?
THE. Then sunk my courage
Beneath the meanest of the human race.
HER. Why then persist in saying that my woes
Have quite subdued me?
THE. Onward!
HER. Good old man,
Farewell.
AMP. Farewell too, O my son.
HER. My children
Inter as I directed.
AMP. O, my son,
But who will bury me?