MAC. Deem not that I, O strangers, am too bold
Because I from my chamber venture forth;
This is my first request: for silence, joined
With modesty and a domestic life,
Is woman’s best accomplishment. I heard
Your groans, O Iolaus, and advanced
Though not appointed by our house to act
As their ambassadress; in some degree
Yet am I qualified for such an office,
I have so great an interest in the weal
Of these my brothers; on my own account
I also wish to hear if any ill,
Added to those you have already suffered,
Torture your soul.
IOL. Not now for the first time,
On thee, O daughter, most of all the children
Of Hercules my praise can I bestow:
But our ill-fated house, just as it seemed
Emerging from its past disgraces, sinks
Afresh into inextricable ruin.
The king informs us, that the seers, whose voice
Expounds the will of heaven, have signified
No bull nor heifer, but some blooming maid
Who from a noble sire derives her birth,
Must be the victim, if we would redeem
The city and ourselves from utter ruin;
Here then are we perplexed: for his own children
He says he will not sacrifice, nor those
Of any of his subjects. Though to me
Indeed he speaks not plainly, in some sort
He intimates, that if we by no means
Can extricate ourselves from these distresses,
We must find out some other land to flee to,
For he this realm would from destruction save.
MAC. May we indulge the hope of our escape
Upon these terms?
IOL. These only: in all else
With prosperous fortunes crowned.
MAC. No longer dread
The spear of Argos, for myself, old man,
Am ready, ere they doom me to be slain,
And here stand forth a voluntary victim.
For what could we allege on our behalf,
If Athens condescend to undergo
Dangers so great, while we who have imposed
These toils on others, though within our reach
Lie all the means of being saved, yet shrink
From death? Not thus: we should provoke the laugh
Of universal scorn, if, with loud groans,
We suppliants, at the altars of the gods,
Should take our seats, and prove devoid of courage,
From that illustrious father though we spring.
How can the virtuous reconcile such conduct?
This to our glory would forsooth redound
(O may it never happen!) when this city
Is taken, should we fall into the hands
Of our triumphant foes, when after all
Some noble maid reluctant must be dragged
To Pluto’s loathed embrace. But from these realms
Cast forth, should I become an abject vagrant,
Must I not blush when any one inquires,
“Why came ye hither with your suppliant branches
Too fond of life? Retreat from these domains,
For we no aid to cowards will afford.”
But if when these are dead, my single life
Be saved, I cannot entertain a hope
That I shall e’er be happy: through this motive
Have caused full many to betray their friends.
For who with a deserted maid will join,
Or in the bonds of wedlock, or desire
That I to him a race of sons should bear?
I therefore hold it better far to die,
Than to endure, without deserving them,
Such foul indignities, as can seem light
To her alone, who, from a noble race
Like mine, descends not: to the scene of death
Conduct, with garlands crown me, and prepare
If ye think fit, th’ initiatory rites;
Ye hence the foe shall conquer: for this soul
Shrinks not with mean reluctance. I engage
For these my brothers, and myself, to bleed
A willing victim; for with ease detached
From life, I have imbibed this best of lessons,
To die with firmness in a glorious cause.
CHOR. Alas! what language shall I find, t’ express
My admiration of the lofty speech
I from this virgin hear, who for her brothers
Resolves to die? What tongue can utter words
More truly generous; or what man surpass
Such deeds as these?
IOL. Thou art no spurious child,
But from the godlike seed of Hercules,
O daughter, dost indeed derive thy birth.
Although thy words are such as cannot shame,
Thy fate afflicts me. Yet will I propose
What may with greater justice be performed.
Together call the sisters of this maid,
And to atone for the whole race, let her
On whom th’ impartial lot shall fall, be slain;
But without such decision ’tis not just
That thou should’st die.
MAC. I will not die as chance
The lot dispenses; for I hence should forfeit
All merit: name not such a scheme, old man.
If me ye will accept, and of my zeal
Avail yourselves, I gladly yield up life
Upon these terms, but stoop not to constraint.
IOL. The speech thou now hast uttered soars beyond
What thou at first didst say, though that was noble:
But thou thy former courage dost surpass
By this fresh instance of exalted courage,
The merit of thy former words, by words
More meritorious. Daughter, I command not,
Nor yet oppose thy death: for thou by dying
Wilt serve thy brothers.
MAC. You in cautious terms
Command me: fear not, lest on my account
You should contract pollution: for to die
Is my free choice. But follow me, old man,
For in your arms would I expire: attend,
And o’er my body cast the decent veil:
To dreadful slaughter dauntless I go forth,
Because I from that father spring, whose name
With pride I utter.
IOL. At the hour of death
I cannot stand beside thee.
MAC. Grant but this,
That when I breathe my last, I may be tended
By women, not by men.
IOL. It shall be thus,
O miserable virgin: for in me
’Twere base, if I neglected any rite
That decency enjoins, for many reasons;
Because thy soul is great, because ’tis just,
And of all women I have ever seen,
Because thou art most wretched. But from these
And from thy aged kinsman, if thou wish
For aught, to me thy last behests address.
MAC. Adieu, my venerable friend, adieu!
Instruct these boys in every branch of wisdom,
And make them like yourself, they can attain
No higher pitch; strive to protect them still,
And for their sake that valued life prolong;
Your children we, to you our nurture owe.
Me you behold, mature for bridal joys,
Dying to save them. But may ye, my band
Of brothers who are here, be blest, and gain
All those advantages, which to procure
For you, the falchion shall transpierce my breast.
Revere this good old man, revere Alcmena
Your father’s aged mother, and these strangers.
Should ye be ever rescued from your woes,
Should gracious Heaven permit you to revisit
Your native land, forget not to inter,
With such magnificence as I deserve,
Your benefactress, for I have not proved
Deficient in attention to your welfare,
But die to save our family. To me
These monumental honours shall suffice
Instead of children, or the virgin state,
If there be aught amid the realms beneath,
But ’tis my wish there may not: for if grief
On us frail mortals also there attend,
I know not whither any one can turn:
For by the wise hath death been ever deemed
The most effectual cure for every ill.
IOL. O thou, distinguished by thy lofty soul,
Be well assured thy glory shall outshine
That of all other women; both in life
And death, shalt thou be honoured by thy friends.
But ah, farewell! for with ill-omened words
I tremble lest we should provoke the goddess,
Dread Proserpine, to whom thou now art sacred.
[_Exit_ MACARIA.
My sons I perish: grief unnerves my frame;
Support and place me in the hallowed seat:
And, O my dearest children, o’er my face
Extend this garment: for I am not pleased
With what is done: yet, had not Heaven’s response
Found this completion, we must all have died;
For we must then have suffered greater ills
Than these, which are already most severe.