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THE TRAGEDIES OF SENECA
[Illustration: DOUBLE HERMES OF SENECA AND SOCRATES.
Now in the Old Museum at Berlin]
THE TRAGEDIES OF SENECA
Translated into English Verse, to Which Have Been Appended Comparative
Analyses of the Corresponding Greek and Roman Plays, and a
Mythological Index
by
FRANK JUSTUS MILLER
Introduced by an Essay on the Influence of the Tragedies of Seneca upon
Early English Drama
by
John Matthews Manly
Chicago
The University of Chicago Press
London
T. Fisher Unwin, 1 Adelphi Terrace
1907
Copyright 1907 by
The University of Chicago
Published December 1907
Composed and Printed By
The University of Chicago Press
Chicago, Illinois, U.S.A.
TO
FRANK FROST ABBOTT
AND
EDWARD CAPPS
MY FRIENDS AND COLLEAGUES
THROUGH A SCORE OF YEARS
PREFACE
The place of the tragedies of Seneca in literature is unique. They
stand as the sole surviving representatives, barring a few fragments,
of an extensive Roman product in the tragic drama. They therefore serve
as the only connecting link between ancient and modern tragedy. They
are, moreover, modeled more or less closely after the tragedies of
Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides; and the Greek and Roman product
in literature along parallel lines cannot be better studied than by
a comparison of these Senecan plays with their Greek prototypes--a
comparison which is not possible in comedy, since, unfortunately, the
Greek originals of Plautus and Terence have not come down to us.
These plays are of great value and interest in themselves, first, as
independent dramatic literature of no small merit; and second, as an
illustration of the literary characteristics of the age of Nero: the
florid, rhetorical style, the long, didactic speeches, the tendency to
philosophize, the frequent epigram, the pride of mythologic lore.
Popular interest in the tragedies of Seneca has been growing to
a considerable extent during the last generation. This has been
stimulated in part by Leo's excellent text edition, and by the
researches of German and English scholars into Senecan questions,
more especially into the influence of Seneca upon the pre-Elizabethan
drama; in part also by the fact that courses in the tragedies have been
regaining their place, long lost, in college curricula.
The present edition seeks still further to bring Seneca back to the
notice of classical scholars, and at the same time to present to the
English reader all of the values accruing from a study of these plays,
with the single exception of the benefit to be derived from a reading
of the original. The influence which the tragedies have had in English
literature is brought out in the introduction, which Professor Manly
has kindly contributed; the relation of Seneca to the Greek dramatists
is shown by comparative analyses of the corresponding plays, so
arranged that the reader may easily observe their resemblances and
differences; the wealth of mythological material is at once displayed
and made available by an index of mythological characters; finally, it
is hoped that the translation itself will prove to be as faithful a
reproduction of the original as is possible in a translation, and at
the same time to have sufficient literary merit of its own to claim the
interest of the general reader.
The text used is that of Leo (Weidmann, Berlin, 1878), except in
the instances noted. The line numbers as printed in the translation
are identical with those of the original text. The meter employed
in the spoken parts is the English blank verse, with the exception
of the _Medea_, in which the experiment was tried, not altogether
successfully, of reproducing the iambic trimeter of the original. In
the lyric parts, the original meters are sometimes used; and, where
these did not seem suitable in English, appropriate substitutes have
been attempted.
FRANK JUSTUS MILLER
CHICAGO, ILL.
October 25, 1907
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
I. THE INFLUENCE OF THE TRAGEDIES OF SENECA UPON EARLY ENGLISH DRAMA 1
II. THE TRAGEDIES OF SENECA TRANSLATED
OEDIPUS 11
PHOENISSAE 51
MEDEA 79
HERCULES FURENS 115
PHAEDRA OR HIPPOLYTUS 165
HERCULES OETAEUS 213
THYESTES 287
TROADES 333
AGAMEMNON 379
OCTAVIA, WITH A REVIEW OF THE ROMAN HISTORICAL DRAMA 415
III. COMPARATIVE ANALYSES OF SENECA'S TRAGEDIES AND THE CORRESPONDING
GREEK DRAMAS 453
IV. MYTHOLOGICAL INDEX 497
INTRODUCTORY ESSAY
THE INFLUENCE OF THE TRAGEDIES OF SENECA UPON EARLY ENGLISH DRAMA
To appreciate fully the nature and the extent of the influence of
Seneca upon English tragedy in the days of Shakespeare and his
immediate predecessors, we must bear in mind that the public theaters
were not the only places at which plays were then produced. At the
universities, at the inns of court (which may be roughly described as
combinations of a law school and a very exclusive social club), and
at the Court itself plays were an important feature of almost every
festival. Even those of us who know these facts are very likely to
fail to realize the full meaning of them. We are likely to regard
the non-professional performances as having no more significance for
the history of the drama than amateur performances at the present
day by dramatic clubs and college societies. We are apt to forget
that, in the spacious days of great Elizabeth, learning, especially
classical learning, had a value, an importance, a dignity, which not
even the most academic of us now feels it to have. Our generation,
busied above all things with making a living or with accumulating
wealth, regards the scholar as, with the poet and the artist, the most
unpractical and useless of men at best, tolerated as an ornamental
creature whom society can afford to keep if it does not have to pay
him more than it pays a butler or a chauffeur. To the men of the
Renaissance, scholarship and the scholar had a unique and inestimable
value. Ordinary business, in their view, enabled man to provide a
living; religion taught him how to save his soul; scholarship, the
knowledge of the literature and life of the Greeks and the Romans,
enabled him to distinguish his life as a man from that of a beast, to
approach as nearly as possible to that ideal type toward which they
strove, the _uomo universale_, the perfect gentleman, complete master
of his body, of his mind, of his passions. To men of these views
and this temper, literature--first, classical literature and then
the vernacular literature produced under the stimulus of it--was of
supreme importance, and the drama was perhaps the most important form
of literature. The value of literature for those who were then trying
to transform the world, to rebuild it and themselves nearer to the
heart's desire, was of course best recognized by the finest spirits of
the age, men like Erasmus, Thomas More, Walter Raleigh, Edmund Spenser,
Philip Sidney. But it seems to have been felt, though in cruder ways,
even by the vulgar. An amusing illustration of this is the little
record kept by old Simon Forman, a noted mountebank and quack doctor,
in 1610 and 1611. It has preserved for us our earliest notices of
performances of _Macbeth_, _Cymbeline_, and _A Winter's Tale_; but
this is accidental. The doctor's intention was merely to note for his
own guidance such lessons as he learned from the plays presented on
the stage. Such benefits were, according to the views of wiser men,
to be gained chiefly from comedies; tragedy, and classical tragedy in
particular, had a finer, a more permanent value. Tragedy was the voice
of the wisest men of the world, the ancients, upon the most serious
themes of human life; it not only, as Aristotle had said, purified the
mind through pity and terror, it fortified the inner life, and both by
example and by sententious maxim prepared man to meet the most subtle
attacks of fate, the temptations of success, or the discouragements of
failure. Tragedy therefore had a unique value for the Elizabethans, and
the performances of classical plays, or those written in imitation of
the classics, by the universities or the inns of court, did not fall
into the abyss which now receives amateur theatricals.
Failure to take account of the value attached to the lessons and the
examples of tragedy may perhaps account for the misunderstanding which
exists so widely, even among scholars, in regard to the first tragedy
in English, _Gorboduc, or Ferrex and Porrex_. Everyone knows that this
was written in direct imitation of Seneca, and everyone discusses
glibly its Senecan features, the bloody theme, the division into five
acts, the use of the chorus, the removal of the action from the view of
the spectators, the long speeches; but critics are, without exception,
offended to the heart by the fifth act, and especially by the two long
disquisitions of Arostus and Eubulus. It is, however, no exaggeration
to say that the play exists solely for the sake of these speeches. This
was not a mere academic exercise. It was a serious attempt by some of
the most thoughtful men of England to move the queen, Elizabeth, to a
course of action which they regarded as absolutely essential to the
welfare of the realm. Other attempts to secure the same end were made
by her best statesmen throughout the reign. The failure of this effort
was not due to the weakness of the tragedy, but, like the failure
of all the rest, to some feature of Elizabeth's character or some
circumstance in her life which has not yet been fully and convincingly
explained. The purpose of the writers is clear. They wished to persuade
Elizabeth to marry and settle once for all the succession to the
throne of England. They, in common with all thoughtful and patriotic
Englishmen, feared the horrors of an unsettled succession or a divided
rule. These they tried to impress upon her mind and heart by examples
drawn from the history of Gorboduc and his sons, and by maxims and
exhortations presented in the most authoritative form known to them,
the form of Senecan tragedy. The occasion chosen was a great festival
given by the gentlemen of the Inner Temple, one of the most important
and influential of the inns of court referred to above.
Classical tragedy had, then, as we can readily see, a prestige to
which hardly anything in literature corresponds at the present day.
The statesman who should today wish to influence his sovereign to an
important course of action would doubtless be puzzled to find any form
of literature--academic or unacademic--appropriate to the task in
dignity and authority.
It is not strange, therefore, that classical tragedy, the tragedy
of the schools and the learned societies, must be taken seriously
into account in estimating the forces which shaped the drama of the
popular stage. It is true that the English tragedies in classical or
Senecan form were none of them written for the public stage. It is even
probable that they would not have been successful upon it. It is a
mistake to treat them historically and critically, as if they belonged
to the direct line of development which resulted in _Faustus_ and _The
Spanish Tragedy_ and _Macbeth_ and _Lear_ and _Othello_. But none the
less the influence of these academic plays was very real and very
important.
The ways in which this influence was exercised may be noted, as having
some bearing upon the nature and extent of the influence. In the
first place, there was in the early days no very rigid line between
the academic and the popular performers. The Children of the Chapel
Royal were at one time the leading theatrical company in London. When
the queen visited Oxford in 1566, there were among the several plays
presented by the university, not only the Latin tragedy, _Progne_,
of Dr. James Calfhill, but also the English _Palamon and Arcite_ of
Richard Edwards, Master of Her Majesty's Children and the most popular
dramatist of his day. Edwards himself trained the students who produced
his play, and it was a great success; according to a contemporary
report, "certain courtiers said that it far surpassed _Damon and
Pythias_, than which they thought nothing could be better; likewise
some said that if the author did any more before his death, he would
run mad." Any impressions made upon Edwards by Dr. Calfhill's _Progne_
were doubtless lost to art, as Edwards died before the end of the year;
but this was probably not the first occasion on which the Master of
the Chapel Children had visited the university in behalf of the drama,
and Edwards himself had been both a scholar and a probationary fellow
there. Certainly his famous _Damon and Pythias_ shows some evidences of
the influence of Seneca.
It is well known also that the most successful writers for the public
stage in the years just preceding Shakespeare's advent, the years
that determined the forms and the methods of the popular drama, were
educated at the universities, and, however clearly they may have
recognized the necessity of supplying to the populace story, action,
the raw material of life and philosophy, cherished as an ideal the
Senecan interest in situation, the Senecan love for broad description,
for introspection and reflection, for elaborate monologue, and catchy
sententiousness. Such were Greene and Peele and Marlowe; and Thomas
Kyd, author of that most popular of plays, _The Spanish Tragedy_, and
probable author of the version of _Hamlet_ which held the stage for
fourteen years before Shakespeare revised it and gave it a new and a
different life, though not bred in either university, was more zealous
about his Latin and apparently more influenced by Seneca than the
university men themselves.
But, says some modern classical scholar, granting that these early
dramatists were university men or men, like Kyd and Shakespeare, not
trained in the universities but all the more zealous to match their
productions with those which bore the official mark of classical
scholarship, why should Seneca, a second-rate Roman tragedian, be
continually cited in connection with classical influence instead of
Aeschylus and Sophocles and Euripides, the supreme masters of ancient
tragedy, and Aristotle, the unique expositor of the theory of the
drama? The men of the Renaissance would have had a ready answer. In
the first place, they knew very little about the Greek tragedians,
or, for that matter, about Greek literature in general; for although
the rediscovery of Greek literature was undoubtedly one of the events
of that remarkable spurt of the human intellect and spirit which we
call the Renaissance, Greek literature and life were, after all, in
every country of Europe, far less important than Latin, as models for
imitation, as sources of inspiration, as objects which engaged the
attention of the moderns and set the pace which they tried to follow.
As for tragedy, a few scholars in Italy and France and Germany and
England knew Sophocles and Euripides--Aeschylus was almost unknown--but
the theory and the practice of tragedy among the classicists were based
almost exclusively upon the example of Seneca and the precepts of
Horace. Aristotle is, indeed, often cited as the ultimate authority,
but, although the voice may be the voice of Aristotle, the opinions are
usually those of Scaliger or Minturno or Robortelli or Castelvetro,
opinions which reduced to inviolable laws what Aristotle had merely
stated as observed practices, and which supplemented these rules by
others drawn from the plays of Seneca, who was, according to these
critics, the most majestic, the most tragic, the most perfect of the
ancient tragedians. That Seneca's majesty seems to critics of today
bombast, that his triumph in tragic quality consists in an accumulation
of horrors and a consistently unfortunate ending, that his perfection
of form is no more than a formal schematism, clear because it is simple
and lifeless--all this may be true but is beside the mark. To the best
spirits of the Renaissance, whether critical or creative, the ten
tragedies which bore the name of Seneca presented the ideal of tragic
art toward which modern writers should strive if they would be perfect.
What, then, was the influence of Seneca in England? Two excellent
studies of different phases of it have been published, both,
unfortunately, less known than they should be.
The purely formal influence, the influence upon dramatic technique
and upon composition in the large sense of the term, is the subject
of Rudolf Fischer's _Die Kunstentwicklung der englischen Tragödie_,
perhaps the most ingenious and adequate scheme ever devised for the
analysis of the technical and compositional features of any form of
art. Fischer sees in the history of English tragedy before Shakespeare
a steady approximation to the Senecan type. His argument is open to
several objections. In the first place, he treats as if they belonged
to the same simple line of development plays written for the public
stage and the popular taste and those written for special audiences
dominated by scholastic ideals. In the second place, as Professor Luick
has pointed out, he has disregarded the influence exercised by the
original form of the story dramatized upon the dramatic presentation of
it. And, furthermore, he, in common with other students of the subject,
has proceeded upon the assumption that only tragedy could have had any
influence upon tragedy. He has neglected that remark of Ben Jonson's,
which phrases the view not of his own time only but of all ages, "The
parts of a comedy are the same with a tragedy," and has failed to see
that for the structure of English tragedy, Roman comedy and the serious
imitations of it by the men of the Renaissance--such as Gnapheus'
_Acolastus_, Macropedius' _Asotus_ and _Rebelles_, and their anonymous
English offspring, _The Nice Wanton_--are no less important than the
example of Seneca himself. But his book is interesting and enlightening
as few books on any subject are.
Entirely different problems are dealt with in J.W. Cunliffe's little
volume on _The Influence of Seneca on Elizabethan Tragedy_, a book
which, to the regret of many scholars, has long been out of print, and
which the author ought to reprint with such additions as his continued
study of the subject may suggest. Mr. Cunliffe is mainly concerned with
showing why Seneca appealed to the Elizabethans and with pointing out
certain details of theme, of situation, of theatrical effects, and of
expression, which the popular playwrights owed to Seneca.
To Seneca and the false Aristotle created by the humanists from the
_Poetics_, the precepts of Horace, the definitions and maxims which
sifted down through the encyclopaedists of the Middle Ages, and the
example of Seneca, not only the men of the Renaissance but even we of
today owe some of our most cherished ideas concerning tragedy. First
of all, perhaps, is the belief that tragedy must end unhappily. The
Greeks--whether creators or critics--had no such theory. It was enough
for Sophocles and Aristotle that tragedy should be serious in theme
and dignified in characters and in language. In the second place, we
ordinarily believe that a tragedy should have five acts, and many of
us can draw a diagram to prove it. Shakespeare and his fellows seem to
have been dominated by the same theory, difficult as they sometimes
found it to observe. The sacred unities, dominant so long in Italian
and French tragedy, though never observed in any English play more
notable than Addison's _Cato_, we have learned to disregard and even
to decry, though such an attitude in the Elizabethan age awakened
the censure of Philip Sidney and doubtless required some hardihood
or even recklessness. The chorus also we have long since abandoned,
but Greene and Peele and Kyd and Marlowe and Shakespeare and others
of their time used it more than once and with good effect. They even,
in some instances, combined with it the ghosts and infernal spirits,
which beyond a doubt they owed to Seneca, and made this unearthly
chorus, not only the commentator, but in some sense the subtle director
of the action. Perhaps the most refined form of this is to be seen
in the Ghost in _Hamlet_, who, though he does not appear technically
as Chorus, yet recalls by his original incitement of the action and
his later intervention to renew and direct it, as well as by his
language and his attitude, the ghosts of Tantalus, Thyestes, Laius,
and Agrippina in Seneca, and the spirits of Andrea and Revenge in
_The Spanish Tragedy_. It is perhaps not going too far to find in the
dream-setting of Hauptmann's _Elga_ some reminiscence of Shakespeare's
_Taming of the Shrew_ and Greene's _James IV_, and consequently, in a
remote sense, of Seneca's introductory figures, Tantalus, Thyestes, and
the rest.
But these matters and the striking resemblances in situation and in
utterance cited so abundantly by Cunliffe and by Munroe (_Journal of
Philology_, Vol. VI, pp. 70-79), though they could be increased by many
passages in _Macbeth_ and _King Lear_ as well as in the plays of other
dramatists than Shakespeare, are after all not fundamental. Some other
features that seem fundamental may be noted.
In the first place, although it is doubtless true that the scanty
scenery of the Elizabethan stage is largely the excuse and the reason
for the long descriptive passages with which the dramatists of that
time delighted themselves and delight us, their modern readers,
this is perhaps not the whole of the story. There are passages of
exposition, of reflection, of pure declamation, equally long as well
as equally beautiful. The Renaissance love of talk, of fine language,
of _eloquentia_, may explain this in part; but it is doubtless due in
part also to the example of Seneca, who never loses an opportunity for
a long passage of description or introspection or reflection or mere
declamation--making them indeed for the Chorus when the situation does
not allow them to the ordinary _dramatis personae_.
Then we may note that the thoroughly melodramatic character of
Elizabethan tragedy is a natural inheritance from Seneca. Greek tragedy
had, to be sure, many melodramatic situations, along with others of
a milder type. But the religious element in the tragedy of Aeschylus
and Sophocles radically modifies the character and tone of the most
poignant and repulsive themes and situations. When Seneca took the most
difficult of Greek themes and, following the lead of Euripides, cast
away the over-ruling, compulsive dominance of the Greek theocracy, he
produced melodrama. Most moderns have been either content to follow
him or compelled to do so for lack of the ability to create striking
situations without the aid of villains of melodramatic criminality.
A few of the French tragedians have had recourse to the method of
the Greeks either by reviving the Greek mythology and theocracy or
by resorting to Hebrew history for characters whose deeds, however
criminal, were necessary parts of a divine plan. Shakespeare, almost
alone, has at his best succeeded in substituting for the gods and
fate the inevitable results of human character and the moral law, in
presenting the worst deeds of his leading figures as less the results
of free intention than of futile efforts to deliver themselves from
the web of circumstance which their first crimes or follies have
woven about them--the whole career of Macbeth, for example, being the
necessary outcome of his attempt to get free of the difficulties and
dangers brought upon him by the murder of Duncan.
Speculation as to what the English drama might have been if Sophocles
instead of Seneca had been its inspiration and its model is idle. The
men of the Renaissance did not understand Sophocles; his stage, the
mode of production of his plays, his aim, the whole nature of his art,
were beyond the scholarship of their day. And it is doubtful whether
they could in any event have made so successful a combination of the
Greek and the national or mediaeval drama as they made of Senecan
tragedy and the dramatic forms they already possessed.
In one thing, at any rate, the English drama was especially fortunate,
that is, in the fact that its form and its content were so largely
determined by two such remarkable men as Marlowe and Shakespeare. The
conditions in France in the sixteenth century were strikingly similar
to those in England, except for the number of public theaters. M. Petit
de Julleville points out that France as well as England possessed every
item of the motley list of dramatic types enumerated by Polonius;
and he continues: "Rien n'empêchait alors qu'un Shakespeare naquit
en France; les circonstances n'étaient-elles pas merveilleusement
favorables? Mais, en dépit de certaines théories, les grands hommes ne
paraissent pas tout juste au moment où ils sont nécessaires. Il nous
fallait un Shakespeare; il naquit un Alexandre Hardy!"
OEDIPUS
OEDIPUS
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
OEDIPUS King of Thebes; the son, as he supposed, of Polybus, king of
Corinth, and Merope, his wife, but found to be the son of Laius and
Jocasta.
_Jocasta_ Wife and, as the play develops, found to be also the mother
of Oedipus.
_Creon_ Theban prince, brother of Jocasta.
_Tiresias_ A celebrated prophet of Thebes, now old and blind.
_Manto_ His daughter.
_Old Man_ Sent from Corinth to announce to Oedipus the death of Polybus.
_Phorbas_ Head-shepherd of the royal flocks of Thebes.
_Messenger_ Who announces the self-inflicted blindness of Oedipus and
the suicide of Jocasta.
_Chorus_ Of Theban elders.
THE SCENE is laid before the royal palace of Thebes; the play opens in
the early morning of the day within which the tragedy is consummated.
_An oracle once came to Laius, king of Thebes, that he should perish by
his own son's hands. When, therefore, a son was born to him, he gave
the infant to his chief of shepherds to expose on Mount Cithaeron. But
the tenderhearted rustic gave the babe instead to a wandering herdsman
of Polybus, the king of Corinth._
_Years later, a reputed son of Polybus, Oedipus by name, fearing an
oracle which doomed him to slay his father and wed his mother, fled
from Corinth, that so he might escape this dreadful fate. As he fared
northward, he met and slew an old man who imperiously disputed the
narrow way with him. Upon arriving at the Theban land, he read the
riddle of the Sphinx, and so destroyed that monster which Juno had
sent to harass the land which she hated; and for this service, Oedipus
was made the husband of Jocasta, the widowed queen of Laius (who had
recently been slain upon the road), and set upon the vacant throne._
_Now other years have passed, and sons and daughters have been born
to the royal pair. But now a dreadful pestilence afflicts the state.
Oedipus has sent Creon to consult the oracle, to learn the cause and
seek the means of deliverance from the scourge. And while he waits his
messenger's return, the murky dawn still finds him grieving for his
kingdom's wretched plight._
ACT I
_Oedipus_: Now night has fled; and with a wavering gleam
Returns the sun; all wrapped in murky clouds
His beams arise, and with their baleful light
Shall soon look forth upon our stricken homes,
And day reveal the havoc of the night. 5
Oh, who in all this realm is glad? O fate,
That seemest good, how many ills lie hid
Behind thy smiling face! As lofty peaks
Most feel the winds' abuse; and as the cliff,
That with its rocky front divides the deep,
The waves of e'en a quiet sea assail; 10
So is the loftiest power the most exposed
To hostile fate's assaults.
'Twas well conceived
That I should flee the kingdom of my sire,
Old Polybus, and from my fears be freed,
A homeless exile, dauntless, wandering.
Be heaven and all the gods my witnesses,
I chanced upon this realm. Yet even now
The dreadful fear remains that by my hand 15
My sire shall die. Thus spoke the Delphic god.
And still another, greater sin he showed.
And can there be a blacker crime than this,
A father slain? Oh, cursed impiety!
'Twere shame to tell the hideous oracle:
For Phoebus warned me of my father's couch, 20
And impious wedlock. 'Twas the fear of this
That drove me headlong from my father's realm,
And for no sin I left my native land.
All self-distrustful did I well secure
Thy sacred laws, O mother Nature; still, 25
When in the heart a mighty dread abides,
Though well assured it cannot be fulfilled,
The fear remains. I fear exceedingly,
Nor can I trust myself unto myself.
And even now the fates are aimed at me.
For what am I to think, when this fell pest,
Although it lays its blighting hand on all, 30
Spares me alone? For what new horror now
Am I reserved? Amidst my city's woes,
'Mid funeral pyres that ever must be wet
With tears of grief afresh, 'mid heaps of slain,
I stand unscathed. And couldst thou hope that thou,
A culprit at the bar of God, shouldst gain 35
For guilt a wholesome kingdom in return?
Nay, rather, I myself infect the air.
For now no breeze with its soft breath relieves
Our spirits suffocating with the heat;
No gentle zephyrs breathe upon the land;
But Titan with the dog-star's scorching fires
Doth parch us, pressing hard upon the back 40
Of Nemea's lion. From their wonted streams
The waters all have fled, and from the herbs
Their accustomed green. Now Dirce's fount is dry;
While to a trickling rill Ismenus' flood
Hath shrunk, and barely laves the naked sands.
Athwart the sky doth Phoebus' sister glide
With paling light, and, 'mid the lowering clouds, 45
The darkling heavens fade. No starlight gleams
Amid the gloomy silence of the night,
But heavy mists brood low upon the earth;
And those bright mansions of the heavenly gods
Are sicklied over with the hues of hell.
The full-grown harvest doth withhold its fruit;
And, though the yellow fields stand thick with corn, 50
Upon the stalk the shriveled grain is dead.
No class is free from this destructive plague,
But every age and sex falls equally;
Where youth with age, and sire with son are joined,
And wife and husband are together burned. 55
Now funerals claim no more their wonted grief;
The magnitude of woe hath dried our eyes;
And tears, the last resource of woeful hearts,
Have perished utterly. The stricken sire
Here bears his son unto the funeral flames; 60
And there the mother lays her dead child down,
And hastes to bring another to the pyre.
Nay, in the midst of grief a new woe springs;
For, while they minister unto the dead,
Themselves need funeral rites. Anon they burn
With others' fires the bodies of their friends.
The fire is stol'n, for in their wretchedness 65
No shame remains. No separate tombs receive
The hallowed bones; mere burning is enough.
How small a covering their ashes need!
And yet the land does not suffice for all;
And now the very woods have failed the pyre.
Nor prayers nor skill avail to serve the sick,
For even they who own the healing art
Are smitten down. The baleful pestilence
Removes the check that would restrain its force. 70
So, prostrate at the altar, do I fall
And, stretching suppliant hands, I pray the gods
To grant a speedy end; that in my death
I may anticipate my falling throne,
Nor be myself the last of all to die,
The sole surviving remnant of my realm.
O gods of heaven, too hard! O heavy fate! 75
Is death to be denied to me alone,
So easy for all else? Come, fly the land
Thy baleful touch has tainted. Leave thou here
The grief, the death, the pestilential air,
Which with thyself thou bring'st. Go speed thy flight
To any land, e'en to thy parents' realm. 80
_Jocasta_
[_who has entered in time to hear her husband's last words_]: What
boots it, husband, to augment thy woes
With lamentations? For I think, indeed,
This very thing is regal, to endure
Adversity, and all the more to stand,
With heart more valiant and with foot more sure,
When the weight of empire totters to its fall. 85
For 'tis not manly to present thy back
To fortunes's darts.
_Oedipus_: Not mine the guilt of fear;
My valor feels no such ignoble throes.
Should swords be drawn against me, should the power,
The dreadful power of Mars upon me rush, 90
Against the very giants would I stand.
The Sphinx I fled not when she wove her words
In mystic measures, but I bore to look
Upon the bloody jaws of that fell bard,
And on the ground, all white with scattered bones.
But when, from a lofty cliff, with threatening mien, 95
The baleful creature poised her wings to strike,
And, like a savage lion, lashed her tail,[1]
In act to spring; still did I dare my fate
And ask her riddle. Then with horrid sound
Of deadly jaws together crashed, she spake;
The while her claws, impatient of delay,
And eager for my vitals, rent the rock. 100
But the close-wrought words of fate with guile entwined,
And that dark riddle of the wingéd beast
Did I resolve.
_Jocasta_: What meant'st then thou by these
Thy maddened prayers for death? Thou mightst have died.
But no; the very scepter in thy hand
Is thy reward for that fell Sphinx destroyed. 105
_Oedipus_: Yea that, the artful monster's cruel shade,
Doth war against me still. Now she alone,
In vengeance for her death, is wasting Thebes.
But now, one only way of safety still is left,
If Phoebus show us not of safety all bereft.
* * * * *
[_Enter the_ Chorus of Theban elders, _deploring the violence of the
plague._]
_Chorus_: How art thou fall'n, O glorious stock 110
Of Cadmus, thou and Thebes in one!
How dost thou see, poor ruined Thebes,
Thy lands laid waste and tenantless.
And thou, O Theban Bacchus, hear:
That hardy soldiery of thine,
Thy comrades to the farthest Ind,
Who dared invade the Eastern plains, 115
And plant thy banners at the gates of dawn--
Behold, destruction feeds on them.
They saw the blessed Arabes,
'Mid spicy groves; and the fleeing steeds
Of the Parthian, deadliest when he flees;
They trod the marge of the ruddy sea, 120
Where Phoebus his rising beams displays,
And the day reveals; where his nearer fires
Darken the naked Indians.
Yea we, that race invincible,
Beneath the hand of greedy fate 125
Are falling fast.
The gloomy retinue of death
In march unceasing hurries on;
The grieving line unending hastes
To the place of death. Space fails the throng.
For, though seven gates stand open wide, 130
Still for the crowding funerals
'Tis not enough; for everywhere
Is carnage seen, and death treads hard
Upon the heels of death.
The sluggish ewes first felt the blight,
For the woolly flock the rich grass cropped
To its own doom. At the victim's neck 135
The priest stood still, in act to strike;
But while his hand still poised the blow,
Behold, the bull, with gilded horns,
Fell heavily; whereat his neck,
Beneath the shock of his huge weight,
Was broken and asunder yawned.
No blood the sacred weapon stained, 140
But from the wound dark gore oozed forth.
The steed a sudden languor feels,
And stumbles in his circling course,
While from his downward-sinking side
His rider falls.
The abandoned flocks lie in the fields; 145
The bull amid his dying herd
Is pining; and the shepherd fails
His scanty flock, for he himself
'Mid his wasting kine is perishing.
The stag no more fears the ravenous wolf;
No longer the lion's roar is heard; 150
The shaggy bear has lost her rage,
And the lurking serpent his deadly sting;
For parched and dying now he lies,
With venom dried.
No more do the woods, with leafage crowned,
Spread out their shade in the mountain glens; 155
No more are fields with verdure clad;
No vines bend low with laden arms;
For the very earth has felt the breath
Of our dire pestilence.
Through the riven bars of Erebus, 160
With torches lit in Tartara,
The raging band of the Furies troop;
Dark Phlegethon has changed his course,
And forced the waters of the Styx
To mingle with our Theban streams.
Grim Death opes wide his greedy jaws, 165
And all his baleful wings outspreads.
And he who plies that swollen stream
In his roomy skiff, though his age is fresh
And hardy, scarce can raise his arms,
O'erwearied with his constant toil
And the passage of the endless throng. 170
'Tis even rumored that the dog
Hath burst the chains of Taenara,
And through our fields is wandering.
Now dreadful prodigies appear:
The earth gives out a rumbling sound,
And ghosts go stealing through the groves,
Larger than mortal forms; and twice 175
The trees of our Cadmean woods
Have trembled sore and shed their snows;
Twice Dirce flowed with streams of blood;
And in the stilly night we heard
The baying of Amphion's hounds.
Oh, cruel, strange new form of death, 180
And worse than death! The sluggish limbs
Are with a weary languor seized;
The sickly cheek with fever burns,
And all the head with loathsome sores
Is blotched. Now heated vapors rise
And scorch with fever's flames the brain
Within the body's citadel,
And the throbbing temples swell with blood. 185
The eyeballs start; the accurséd fire
Devours the limbs; the ears resound,
And from the nostrils dark blood drips
And strains apart the swelling veins. 190
Now quick convulsions rend and tear
The inmost vitals.
Now to their burning hearts they strain
Cold stones to soothe their agony;
And they, whom laxer care permits,
Since they who should control are dead,
The fountains seek, and feed their thirst 195
With copious draughts. The smitten throng
All prostrate at the altars lie
And pray for death; and this alone
The gods, compliant, grant to them.
Men seek the sacred fanes, and pray,
Not that the gods may be appeased,
But glutted with their feast of death. 200
[Creon _is seen approaching_.]
But who with hasty step the palace seeks?
Is this our Creon, high in birth and deed,
Or does my sickened soul see false for true?
'Tis Creon's self, in answer to our prayer. 205
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Reading, _caudam_.
ACT II
[_Enter_ Creon.]
_Oedipus_: I quake with horror, and I fear to know
The tendency of fate. My trembling soul
Strives 'neath a double load; for joy and grief
Lie mingled still in dark obscurity.
I shrink from knowing what I long to know.
Wherefore, O brother of my consort, speak; 210
And if to weary hearts thou bring'st relief,
With quickened utterance thy news proclaim.
_Creon_: In dark obscurity the answer lies.
_Oedipus_: Who gives me doubtful succor grants me none.
_Creon_: It is the custom of the Delphic god
In dark enigmas to conceal the fates. 215
_Oedipus_: Yet speak; however dark the riddle be
'Tis given to Oedipus alone to solve.
_Creon_: Apollo doth ordain that banishment
Be meted out to him who slew our king,
And so our murdered Laius be avenged;
For only thus shall we again behold
The day's clear light, and drink safe draughts of air. 220
_Oedipus_: Who was the slayer of the noble king?
Tell who is designated by the god,
That he th' allotted punishment may pay.
_Creon_: May it be granted me to tell the things
To sight and hearing dreadful. At the thought,
Numb horror holds my limbs, my blood runs cold.
When to Apollo's hallowed shrine I came 225
With reverent feet, and pious hands upraised,
Parnassus' double-crested, snowy peak
Gave forth a fearful crash, the laurels shook,
And fair Castalia's waters ceased to flow.
The priestess of the son of Lato then 230
Began to spread her bristling locks abroad,
And felt the inspiration of the god.
Scarce had she reached the sacred inner shrine,
When with a roar, beyond the voice of man,
There sounded forth this doubtful oracle:
"Kind shall the stars return to the Theban city of Cadmus,
If, O fugitive guest, Ismenian Dirce thou leavest,
Stained with the blood of a king, from infancy known to Apollo. 235
Brief shall be thy joys, the impious joys of slaughter.
With thee war thou bringest, and war to thy children thou leavest,
Foul returned once more to the impious arms of thy mother."
_Oedipus_: What I at heaven's command now meditate,
Long since should have been rendered to the king, 240
That none by craft might violate the throne.
And most doth it become a sceptered king
To guard the life of kings; for none lament
The death of him whose safety breedeth fear.
_Creon_: Our care for him a greater fear removed.
_Oedipus_: What fear so great that duty to prevent? 245
_Creon_: The Sphinx and her accurséd riddle's threats.
_Oedipus_: Then now at heaven's command shall be atoned
That impious deed.
Whoever of the gods
Dost look with kindly eye upon our realm;
And thou, whose hand doth guide the rolling sphere;
And thou, O glory of the smiling sky, 250
Who in thy wandering course dost rule the stars,
And with thy flying wheels dost measure out
The slow procession of the centuries;
Thou sister of the sun, night-wanderer,
Who ever dost reflect thy brother's fires;
And thou, great ruler of the boisterous winds,
Who o'er the level deep dost drive thy car; 255
And thou, who dost allot the sunless homes:
May he, by whose right hand king Laius fell,
No peaceful home, no trusty lares find;
And may no land in hospitality
Receive his cheerless, exiled wanderings.
O'er shameful marriage may he live to grieve, 260
And monstrous progeny. May he his sire
By his own hand destroy; and may he do
(What doom more dreadful can I imprecate?)
The deed which by my flight I did not do.
No room for pardon shall be given him;
By this my regal scepter do I swear,
Both by the sway which I as stranger hold,
And that I left behind; by my household gods, 265
And thee, O Neptune, who with shorter waves
And twofold current dost disport thyself
Upon my native Corinth's double shores.
And thou thyself be witness to my words,
Who dost inspire the fate-revealing lips
Of Cirrha's priestess: so may Polybus, 270
My royal father, spend a quiet age,
And end his days in peace upon the throne;
And so may Merope, my mother, know
The marriage of her Polybus alone,
As from my grasp no favoring power shall snatch
That guilty one, who basely slew the king.
But tell me, where was that foul murder done?
In open fight, or was he basely snared? 275
_Creon_: In quest of cool Castalia's sacred fount
And leafy woods, along the way he fared,
On either side with tangled thickets hedged.
'Twas where the road, three-forked, spreads to the plain.
One leads through Phocian land, to Bacchus dear,
Where high Parnassus, by a gentle slope 280
The lowlands leaving, lifts his double peak
Into the heavens; and one leads off to where
Two oceans bathe the land of Sisyphus;
A third path, passing through Olenian fields,
Along a hollow valley's winding way,
Attains the vagrant waters and divides
The chilling current of the Elean stream. 285
'Twas here he journeyed, safe 'mid general peace,
When on a sudden, lo, a robber band
Fell on him with the sword and slew him there.
[Tiresias _is seen approaching_.]
But in the nick of time, by Phoebus roused,
Tiresias, agéd and with trembling limbs,
Hastes to our presence with what speed he may;
And, as his faithful comrade, Manto comes, 290
Her sightless father leading by the hand.
[_Enter_ Tiresias, _led by his daughter_ Manto.]
_Oedipus_: O priest of heaven, thou next to Phoebus' self,
Explain the oracle which he hath sent,
And tell on whom the penalty is laid.
_Tiresias_: Because my tongue is slow and seeks delay,
Thou shouldst not wonder, great-souled Oedipus;
Much truth is hidden when the eye is dimmed. 295
But when my country, when Apollo calls,
I will obey. Then let me search the fates.
If in my veins still flowed the blood of youth,
I would myself sustain the god and speak.
Now to the altar drive a pure-white bull,
A heifer, too, upon whose tender neck 300
The curvéd yoke of toil hath never pressed.
And thou, my child, who guid'st my darkened steps,
Describe the omens which Apollo sends.
[_The victims are stationed before the altar as directed._]
_Manto_: A perfect victim at the altar stands.
_Tiresias_: With prayer invoke the presence of the gods,
And heap the altar high with frankincense. 305
_Manto_: Lo, on the sacred fire the spice is heaped.
_Tiresias_: What of the flame? Did it with vigor seize
The generous feast?
_Manto_: With sudden gleam it leaped
Into the air, and quickly fell again.
_Tiresias_: And did the sacred fire burn bright and clear,
And point its gleaming summit straight to heaven, 310
And, spreading outward, to the breeze unfold;
Or crawl, with course uncertain, near the ground,
And, flickering, die away in gloomy smoke?
_Manto_: Not one appearance only had the flame.
As when the tempest-bringing Iris spreads
Her varying colors on the vault of heaven, 315
And with her painted bow adorns the sky;
So to the sacred fire thou wouldst not tell
What hue is wanting there and what prevails.
Dark blue it flickered first, with yellow spots;
Then bloody red, and then it vanished quite. 320
But see! the flame is rent in rival parts,
And the glowing embers of one sacred pile
Are cleft in double heaps and fall apart!
O father, horror fills me as I gaze;
For, as I pour the sacred liquid forth,
It changes straight to blood--Oh, horrible! 325
And stifling smoke surrounds the royal head.
And now in denser gloom it settles down
Upon his face, and, with its veiling cloud,
It shuts away from him the fading light.
Oh, speak, and tell us what it doth portend.
_Tiresias_: How can I speak, who halting stand amazed
Amid conflicting voices of the soul?
What shall I say? Dire ills are here, indeed,
But hidden yet in deepest mystery. 330
With signs well known the wrath of heaven is wont
To be made manifest: but what is that
Which now they would disclose, and then, again,
With changing and destructive purpose hide?
Some deed so vile, it shameth heaven to tell.
But quickly set the chosen victims here,
And sprinkle salted meal upon their heads. 335
With peaceful face do they endure the rites,
And hands outstretched to smite?
_Manto_: His lofty head
The bull uplifted to the eastern sky,
Then shunned the light of day, and quickly turned
In terror from the newly risen sun.
_Tiresias_: With one blow, smitten, do they fall to earth? 340
_Manto_: The heifer threw herself upon the steel,
And with one blow has fallen; but the bull,
Though smitten by a double deadly blow,
Distracted wanders here and there in pain,
And scarce can force his struggling life away.
_Tiresias_: Driven through a narrow opening spurts the blood, 345
Or, sluggish, does it water deeper wounds?
_Manto_: The blood of one, through that same welcome thrust,
Doth flow in generous streams; but of the bull,
Those yawning wounds are stained with scanty drops,
While, turning backward, through his eyes and mouth
The plenteous current flows. 350
_Tiresias_: These unblest rites
Some dreadful ills portend. But come, describe
The trusty markings of the viscera.
_Manto_: Oh, what is this? For not, as is their wont,
With gentle motion do the entrails quake,
But, rather, strongly throb beneath the touch,
While from the veins the blood leaps forth anew. 355
The sickly heart is shriveled up and lies
Deep hidden in the breast; the veins appear
Of livid hue. The entrails suffer lack;
And from the wasting liver oozes slow
A stream of black corruption. Nay, behold
(A sign of dark foreboding to a king
Who holdeth single sway), two swelling points
Of equal elevation rise to view; 360
But both are lopped and covered with a veil.
Refusing lurking-place to things unseen,
The hostile side uprears itself with strength
And shows seven swelling veins; but these, again,
An intersecting line cuts straight across,
Preventing their return. The natural law 365
And order of the parts has been reversed,
And nothing lies within its proper place.
All on the right the blood-filled lungs appear,
Incapable of air; the heart no more
Is found upon the left, its 'customed place.
The fatty walls, with their soft covering,
No longer richly fold the entrails in. 370
The ways of nature are in all things changed;
The womb itself is most unnatural.
Look close, and see what impious thing is this:
Oh, monstrous! 'tis the unborn progeny
Of a heifer still unmated! stranger still,
It lies not in the wonted place, assigned
By nature's laws, but fills its mother's side. 375
It moves its members with a feeble groan;
Its unformed limbs with trembling rigors twitch.
Black blood has stained the darkened entrails all;
The mangled bodies strive e'en yet to move,
Make show to rise, and menace with their horns
The priestly hands. The entrails shun the touch. 380
Nor is that lowing which has frightened thee
The deep-voiced roar of bulls, nor do the calls
Of frightened cattle sound upon our ears:
It is the lowing of the altar fires,
It is the frightened muttering of the shrine!
_Oedipus_: What meaning have these monstrous signs? Declare;
And with no timid ears will I attend. 385
For he who has the dregs of fortune drained
Fears nothing more.
_Tiresias_: The time will come to thee,
When these thy ills, for which thou seekest aid,
Will blessings seem.
_Oedipus_: But tell me then, I pray,
The one thing which the gods would have me know:
Whose hands are stained with murder of the king?
_Tiresias_: Neither the birds can summon up the name, 390
Who cleave the depths of heaven on fleeting wing,
Nor yet the vitals plucked from living breasts.
But we must seek it in another way:
The murdered king himself must be recalled
From realms of everlasting night, that thus,
Released from Erebus, he may declare
His murderer. The earth must be unsealed; 395
The pitiless divinity of Dis
Must be implored, and hither brought the shades
Who live beyond the Styx.
Now do thou tell
To whom thou giv'st the sacred embassy;
For 'tis not right for thee who hold'st the reins
Of government to seek the gloomy shades.
_Oedipus_: O Creon, thee this task demands, to whom,
As next in power, my kingdom looks for aid. 400
_Tiresias_: And while we loose the bars of deepest hell,
Do ye the praises of our Bacchus tell.
[_Exeunt_ Creon, Tiresias, _and_ Manto.]
_The Chorus_ [_in dithyrambic strain sings in praise of_ Bacchus]:
Bind ye now your flowing locks with the swaying ivy,
Brandish aloft with your languishing arms the Nysaean thyrsus!
O glorious light of heaven, attend the prayers 405
Which noble Thebes, thy Thebes, O beautiful Bacchus,
With suppliant hands outstretched here offers thee.
Turn hither thy smiling virgin face,
Dispel the clouds with thy starry glance, 410
The gloomy threats of Erebus,
And ravenous fate.
Thee it becomes to crown thy locks with flowers of the springtime,
Thee to bind thy head with the Tyrian fillet;
Or with the clinging ivy, gleaming with berries,
Softly to wreathe thy brow; 415
Now thy hair to unbind and spread in confusion,
Now in close-drawn knot to collect and confine it;
Just as when thou, fearing the wrath of Juno,
Didst conceal thyself in the guise of maidens.
Virgin, too, thou seemedst with golden ringlets, 420
Binding up thy robe with a saffron girdle.
So the softer graces of living please thee,
Robes ungirt and flowing in long profusion.
When in thy golden car thou wast drawn by lions,
Clad in flowing garments, the East beheld thee, 425
All the vast expanse of the Indian country,
They who drink the Ganges and cleave the surface
Of snowy Araxes.
Seated on humble beast the old Silenus attends thee,
Binding his throbbing brows with a waving garland of ivy; 430
While the wanton priests lead on the mysterious revels.
And then a troop of Bassarids
With dancing step conducted thee,
Now ranging o'er Pangaeus' foot,
And now on Thracian Pindus' top. 435
Soon, 'mid the noble dames of Thebes,
A furious Maenad, the comrade of Bacchus,
In garment of fawn-skin, conducted the god.
The Theban dames, by Bacchus excited,
With streaming locks and thyrsus uplifted 440
In high-waving hands, now join in the revels,
And wild in their madness they rend Pentheus
Limb from limb.
Their fury spent, with weary frame,
They look upon their impious deed,
And know it not.
Into the sea realms holds, the foster-mother of Bacchus; 445
Round her the daughters of Nereus dance, Leucothoë singing;
Over the mighty deep, though new to its waves, Palaemon,
Brother of Bacchus, rules, a mortal changed to a sea-god.
When in childhood a band of robbers assailing
Bore thee away in their flying vessel a captive,
Nereus quickly calmed the billowy ocean; 450
When lo! to rolling meadows the dark sea changes;
Here stands in vernal green the flourishing plane-tree,
There the groves of laurel dear to Apollo;
While resounds the chatter of birds in the branches.
Now are the oars enwreathed with the living ivy,
While at the masthead hang the clustering grape vines; 455
There on the prow loud roars a lion of Ida,
At the stern appears a terrible tiger of Ganges.
Filled with terror the pirates leap in the ocean.
Straight in their plunging forms new changes appear; 460
For first their arms are seen to shrink and fall,
Their bodies' length to shorten; and on their sides
The hands appear as fins; with curving back
They skim the waves, and, lashing their crescent tails,
They dash through the water. 465
Changed to a school of dolphins now, they follow the vessel.
Soon did the Lydian stream with its precious waters receive thee,
Pouring down its golden waves in a billowy current.
Loosed was the vanquished bow and Scythian darts of the savage
Massagetan who mingles blood in his milky goblets. 470
The realm of Lycurgus, bearer of axes, submitted to Bacchus;
The land of the Dacians[2] untamable felt his dominion,
The wandering tribes of the north by Boreas smitten,
And whom the Maeotis bathes with its frozen waters. 475
Where the Arcadian star looks down from the zenith,
Even there the power of Bacchus extended;
Conquered too the scattered Gelonian peoples.
From the warlike maidens their arms he wrested;
Down to the earth they fell in desperate conflict, 480
The hardy bands of Amazonian maidens.
Now, at last, their arrows swift are abandoned,
And Maenads have they become.
Holy Cithaeron too has streamed with slaughter,
Where was spilt the noble blood of Ophion. 485
Proetus' daughters the forests sought; and Argos,
Juno at last consenting, paid homage to Bacchus.
The island of Naxos, girt by the broad Aegean,
Gave to Bacchus the maid whom Theseus abandoned,
Compensating her loss by a better husband. 490
Out of the rock there gushed Nyctelian liquor;
Babbling streams at his word clove the grassy meadows;
Deep the earth drank in the nectarean juices;
Streams of snowy milk burst forth from the fountains, 495
Mingled with Lesbian wine all fragrant with spices.
Now is the bride to her place in the heavens conducted;
Phoebus, with flowing locks, sings a stately anthem;
Love, in honor of both, bears the wedding torches; 500
Jove lays down the deadly darts of his lightning,
Halting his bolts of flame at the coming of Bacchus.
While the gleaming stars in their boundless pasturage wander,
While the sea shall gird th' imprisoned earth with its waters, 505
While the full-orb'd moon shall gather her lost refulgence,
While the morning star shall herald the coming of Phoebus,
While in the north the Bear shall fear the cerulean ocean,
Still shall we worship the shining face of the beautiful Bacchus.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] Reading, _te Dacûm_.
ACT III
[_Enter_ Creon, _returned from the rites of necromancy_.]
_Oedipus_: Although thy face displays the marks of grief,
Declare whose death an angry heaven demands. 510
_Creon_: Thou bid'st me speak where fear would silence keep.
_Oedipus_: If Thebes, to ruin falling, move thee not,
Regard the scepter of thy kindred house.
_Creon_: Thou wilt repent the knowledge which thou seek'st.
_Oedipus_: A useless cure for ills is ignorance. 515
And wilt thou still obstruct the public weal?
_Creon_: Where foul the cure, 'tis grievous to be cured.
_Oedipus_: Thy tidings speak; or, by thy pains subdued,
Thou soon shalt know what angered kings can do.
_Creon_: Kings hate the words whose speech they would compel. 520
_Oedipus_: In hades shalt thou pay thy life for all,
Unless thou tell the secrets of the fates.
_Creon_: Nay, let me hold my peace. No smaller boon
Was ever sought.
_Oedipus_: More often than by speech,
Have kingdoms by the boon of silence fall'n. 525
_Creon_: When silence is denied what can be given?
_Oedipus_: He sins who silence holds when speech is best.
_Creon_: Then hear in peace the words which I must speak.
_Oedipus_: Was ever punishment for speech compelled?
_Creon_: Afar from Thebes there is a frowning grove 530
Near the well-watered vale of Dirce's fount.
And there a cypress lifts its giant head
And holds within its evergreen embrace
The trees around. Here stands an ancient oak
And spreads its branches dark with clustering mould.
One side is torn by time's destructive hand; 535
The rest, with roots decayed and falling, hangs
Supported on a neighbor's trunk. Here stand
The bitter laurel, rustling linden trees,
The myrtle, and the alder destined soon
To sweep its oarage on the boundless sea.
Midway, a mighty pine its smooth trunk lifts 540
Against the rays of Phoebus and the winds,
And with its heavy shade it overwhelms
The lesser trees; for, with its spreading boughs,
It stands, the giant guardian of the wood.
Beneath this pine there springs a gloomy pool 545
That never saw the sun nor light of day.
An oozy swamp surrounds the sluggish pool.
Here did the agéd priest direct his steps;
Nor was there need to wait; the gloomy spot
Supplied the shades of night. A trench is dug,
Where brands are kindled, pluck'd from funeral pyres. 550
The priest is shrouded in a mourning pall,
And waves the bough; his dark robe sweeps the earth.
And now, in squalid garb and wrapped in gloom,
The priest advances, with his hoary locks 555
Encircled by the yew-tree's deadly leaves.
Black sheep and sable oxen, backward driven,[3]
Are sacrificed. The fire devours the food,
And the living entrails quiver in the flames.
The shades he calls, and him who rules the shades,
And him who guards the dark Lethaean stream. 560
A magic rune he mutters o'er and o'er
And fiercely chants the charm which either lures
The shifting ghosts, or forces them to come.
He burns the victims whole, and fills the trench
With sacrificial blood, and snowy milk, 565
And, with his left hand pouring, mingles wine;
Again he chants, and, bending to the earth,
With stronger words and frantic, summons up
The manes. Loudly bayed the hounds of hell;
And thrice the hollows gave a mournful sound; 570
The whole earth trembled and the solid ground
Was rent asunder. Then the priest exclaimed:
"I have prevailed, for strong the words I spoke;
The deep and gloomy realm of chaos yawns,
And for the dwellers in the home of Dis
A way is opened to the world of light."
The whole wood shrank away; its leaves erect
In horror stood, the mighty trunks were split, 575
And all the grove was smitten with amaze.
The frightened earth crouched back with hollow groans,
As if unwillingly she saw the deeps
Of Acheron assailed; or else herself,
That back to life the dead might find a way,
With crashing sound her close-wrought barriers burst; 580
Or threefold Cerberus in angry rage
Clanked loud his heavy chains. Then suddenly
The earth yawned wide, and at our very feet
A deep abyss appeared. I saw, myself,
The sluggish pools amidst the dusky shades;
I saw the shadowy gods, and that black gloom
No earthly night can give. At that dread sight
My blood ran cold and froze within my veins. 585
And then there hurried forth a dreadful band,
And stood in armed array, that viper brood,
The troop of brothers sprung from dragon's teeth;
And that fell pestilence, the curse of Thebes.
Then grim Erinys raised her piercing cry,
Blind Fury, Dread, and all the ghastly forms 590
Which spawn and lurk within the endless shades:
Grief, in her madness, tearing out her hair;
Disease, scarce holding up her weary head;
Age, burdened with itself, and brooding Fear.
Our spirits died within us at the sight. 595
Even the prophet's daughter stood amazed,
Though well she knew her father's mystic arts.
But he, undaunted, since he saw them not,
Convoked the bloodless throng of gloomy Dis.
Like clouds the shadowy forms come trooping up,
And snuff the air of unrestricted heaven.
Not lofty Eryx in his mountain glades 600
As many falling leaves, nor Hybla's slopes
As many flowers produce, in sunny spring,
When greedy bees in teeming bunches swarm;
As many waves break not upon the shore;
As many birds deserting Strymon's streams,
Exchange not wintry blasts and Arctic snows, 605
And seek the milder valley of the Nile;
As were the shades the prophet summoned forth.
In eager haste the shivering spirits seek
The hiding-places of the leafy grove.
From out the cave, his right hand by the horns 610
A raging bull restraining, Zethus came,
And next Amphion, with that famous shell
Whose magic strains insensate rocks allured.
Here haughty Niobe, in safety now,
Amongst her children lifts her head in scorn
And proudly counts her shades. And worse than she, 615
That mother, mad Agave, next appears,
With all the impious band who rent the king.
Then Pentheus' self, all torn and bleeding, comes,
In rage pursuing those wild Bacchanals.
At length, when often summoned, Laius comes
In shame, and, skulking, flees the shadowy throng, 620
And hides himself away; but still the seer,
With unrelenting purpose pressing on,
Repeats his strong compelling exorcisms,
Until he brings the ghost to open view.
I shudder as I tell it. There he stood,
A fearful sight, his body drenched with blood,
His matted locks o'erspread with horrid filth. 625
And now, with raging tongue, the specter spoke:
"O wild and savage house of Cadmus, thou
Who ever dost rejoice in brother's blood!
The thyrsus wave, in madness rend thy sons.
The greatest crime of Thebes is mother's love.
O fatherland, 'tis not the wrath of heaven, 630
But sin of man by which thou art undone.
No plague-fraught south wind with its deadly blast,
Nor yet the parchéd earth with its dry breath,
Is harming thee; but 'tis thy bloody king,
Who, as the prize of savage murder done,
Hath seized his father's scepter and his bed. 635
An impious son (but far more impious,
The mother who in most unhallowed womb
Bore children once again), he forced his way
Back to his source of life, and there begot
Upon his mother offspring horrible,
Got brothers to himself, a custom base,
Whence e'en the very beasts of prey are free. 640
Oh, base entanglement, more monstrous far
Than that fell Sphinx which he himself hath slain.
Thee, thee, who dost the bloody scepter hold,
Thee will thy sire, still unavenged, pursue,
With all thy town; and with me will I bring
Th' attendant fury of my wedding night--
I'll bring her with her loud-resounding[4] lash! 645
Thy house, polluted, will I overthrow,
And thy Penates will I trample down
In fratricidal strife! Then quickly drive
Thy king, O Thebes, from out thy boundaries!
For when his baleful step shall leave the land,
In vernal green shall it renew itself, 650
The air shall give again pure springs of life,
And to the woods their beauty shall return.
Destruction, Pestilence and Death, Distress,
Disease, Despair--his fitting company--
Shall all depart with him. And he, indeed,
Will seek with eager haste to flee his realm,
But him will I hedge round with barriers, 655
And hold him back. Uncertain of his way,
And with his staff to guide his faltering steps,
He'll creep along his sad and darkened path.
Do ye the land deny him; I, his sire,
Will take away from him the light of heaven."
_Oedipus:_ A chilling tremor penetrates my bones;
The very thing which I have feared to do, 660
They say that I have done it. But the charge
That in unholy wedlock I am joined,
My mother Merope refutes, for she
To Polybus, my sire, is wedded still;
And my hands from stain of father's blood are clean,
Since Polybus in safety lives and reigns.
Since both my parents free me from the guilt
Of murder and that base, incestuous crime,
What room is there for accusation more?
And as for Laius, Thebes his death deplored 665
Long 'ere I set my feet upon her soil.
What shall we say then? Was the seer deceived,
Or does the hand of God afflict the state?
No! now we see these two confederates
Deep in a crafty plot: that priest of thine
With lying tongue pretends the will of heaven,
And promises my sovereignty to thee. 670
_Creon:_ Would I expel my sister from the throne?
But if that sacred fealty which I owe
Unto my kindred house restrained me not,
Yet fortune would herself affright me sore,
For with care and danger is she ever fraught.
But be thyself content to lay aside,
While still thou safely mayst, the cares of state, 675
Lest,[5] borne too long, they may o'erwhelm thee quite.
In a humbler state more safely shalt thou dwell.
_Oedipus:_ And dost thou bid me, then, of mine own will
To lay aside the heavy cares of state?
_Creon:_ Thus would I counsel those to whom the way
Is open yet to choose the path he will. 680
But the lot that fortune sends thee thou must bear.
_Oedipus:_ When one desires to reign, 'tis ever thus,
That humble life he praises, and the joys
Of ease and sleep are ever in his mouth.
A peaceful face oft hides a restless heart.
_Creon:_ Does my long loyalty defend me not? 685
_Oedipus:_ To traitors, loyalty's a cloak to crime.
_Creon:_ Free from the burdens of a kingly state,
I still enjoy the fruits of royalty;
My house is honored by our citizens;
And day by day thy royal gifts o'erflow,
And fill my kindred home with luxury. 690
Rich food and clothing, gifts of every sort,
And safety flow to many through my aid.
Why should I think aught lacking to my lot?
_Oedipus:_ Because there is a lack. Prosperity
Ne'er halts at any bounds.
_Creon:_ And shall I fall, 695
Prejudged, and have no right to plead my cause?
_Oedipus:_ Hadst thou consideration for _my_ life?
Did old Tiresias listen to my cause?
And yet I am condemned. My pattern, thou;
I do but follow in the way thou lead'st.
_Creon:_ But what if I am guiltless?
_Oedipus:_ Kings are wont
To fear alike the doubtful and the true.
_Creon:_ Who quakes at empty fears, hath true in store. 700
_Oedipus_ Who in a fault is taken, and forgiven,
Is filled with hate. Let all such dubious faith
Be far from me.
_Creon:_ But thus is hatred bred.
_Oedipus:_ Nay, he who feareth hatred overmuch,
Knows not the art of ruling like a king;
For 'tis by fear that kings are guarded most.
_Creon:_ Who holds the scepter with tyrannic sway, 705
Doth live in fear of those who fear his power;
For terror ever doth return to him
Who doth inspire it.
_Oedipus_ [_to attendants_]: Hence, away with him;
Deep in some rocky dungeon let him stay,
While I unto the palace take my way.
[Creon _is led away by the attendants, while_ Oedipus _retires into the
palace._]
_Chorus:_ Not thou the cause of these our ills;
And not on thy account hath fate
Attacked the house of Labdacus; 710
But 'tis the ancient wrath of heaven
That still pursues our race.
Castalia's grove once lent its shade
Unto the Tyrian wanderer,
And Dirce gave her cooling waves,
What time the great Agenor's son, 715
O'er all the earth the stolen prey
Of Jove pursuing, worn and spent,
Within these forests knelt him down
And adored the heavenly ravisher.
Then by Apollo's bidding led,
A wandering heifer following, 720
Upon whose neck the dragging plow,
Nor the plodding wagon's curving yoke
Had never rested, he his quest
At last gave over, and his race
From that ill-omened heifer named.
From that time forth, the land of Thebes
Strange monsters hath engendered: first, 725
That serpent, sprung from the valley's depths,
Hissing, o'ertopped the agéd oaks
And lofty pines; and higher still,
Above Chaonia's woods, he reared
His gleaming head, though on the ground 730
His body lay in many coils.
And next the teeming earth produced
An impious brood of arméd men.
The battle call resounded loud
From the curving horn, and the piercing notes
Of the brazen trumpet shrill were heard.
Their new-created, nimble tongues, 735
And voices strange, they first employ
In hostile clamor; and the fields,
The plains, their kindred soil, they fill.
This monster brood, consorting well
With that dire seed from which they sprung,
Their life within a day's brief span 740
Enjoyed; for after Phoebus rose
They had their birth, but ere he set
They perished. At the dreadful sight
Great terror seized the wanderer;
And much he feared to face in war
His new-born foes. Until, at length
The savage youth in mutual strife 745
Fell down, and mother earth
Beheld her sons, but now produced,
Returned again to her embrace.
And Oh, that with their fall might end
All impious strife within the state!
May Thebes, the land of Hercules,
Such fratricidal strife behold
No more! 750
Why sing Actaeon's fate,
Whose brow the new-sprung antlers crowned
Of the long-lived stag, and whom his hounds,
Though their hapless master still, pursued?
In headlong haste through the mountains and woods,
He flees in fear, and with nimble feet 755
He scours the glades and rocky passes,
In fear of the wind-tossed feathers hung
Among the trees; but most he shuns
The snares which he himself has set;
Until at last in the still, smooth pool 760
He sees his horns and his features wild,
The pool where the goddess, too sternly chaste,
Had bathed her virgin limbs.
FOOTNOTES:
[3] Reading, _retro_.
[4] Reading, _sonantem_.
[5] Reading, _ne_.
ACT IV
_Oedipus:_ My soul is filled with dark, foreboding fear;
For the gods in heaven and hades join the charge 765
That by my guilty hand King Laius fell.
And yet my soul, in conscious innocence,
And knowing better than the gods themselves
Its secret deeds, denies the charge.
But now,
Along the shadowy vistas of the past,
My memory beholds an agéd man who fell
Beneath the heavy stroke of my stout staff.
But first the elder strove with haughty words 770
To drive the younger traveler from the path.
But that was far from Thebes, in Phocis' realm,
Where the forkéd road in three directions leads.
But thou, my faithful wife, dispel my care:
What span of life had Laius at his death?
Fell he in manhood's bloom, or spent with age? 775
_Jocasta:_ Midway 'twixt youth and age, but nearer age.
_Oedipus:_ Did courtiers, thronging round, protect his course?
_Jocasta:_ The many lost him on the winding way;
A few by faithful toil kept near his side.
_Oedipus:_ Did any fall as comrade of his fate? 780
_Jocasta:_ One comrade in his death did valor give.
_Oedipus:_ Alas, I stand convicted, for the place
And number tally. Tell me now the time.
_Jocasta:_ Since Laius fell, ten harvests have been reaped.
[_Enter an old Corinthian man, a messenger from_ Merope.]
_Old Man_ [_to_ Oedipus]: The state of Corinth calls thee to
the throne,
For Polybus has gained his lasting rest. 785
_Oedipus:_ See how a heartless fate doth compass me!
But tell me how my father met his end.
_Old Man:_ In gentle sleep he breathed his life away.
_Oedipus:_ My sire is dead, and not by violence!
I call the gods to witness that to heaven
I now in piety may lift my hands, 790
And fear no stain of impious slaughter more.
And yet a still more fearful fate remains.
_Old Man:_ Thy father's kingdom will dispel thy fears.
_Oedipus:_ My father's kingdom would I seek, but still
I fear my mother.
_Old Man:_ Fear'st thou her who waits. 795
With anxious heart, imploring thy return?
_Oedipus:_ 'Tis piety itself that bids me flee.
_Old Man:_ And wouldst thou leave her in her widowhood?
_Oedipus:_ Thou speak'st the very essence of my fears.
_Old Man:_ Speak out the fear that doth oppress thy soul;
For 'tis my wont in trusty confidence
To counsel kings.
_Oedipus:_ By Phoebus' word forewarned, 800
From wedlock with my mother do I flee.
_Old Man:_ Then cease thy empty fears, and lay aside
Thy base forebodings; for I tell thee here
That thou art not the son of Merope.
_Oedipus:_ Why did she wish to rear a spurious son?
_Old Man:_ Because the proud security of kings
Is by a son established.
_Oedipus:_ Tell me now. 805
How thou dost know the secrets of the court.
_Old Man:_ With my own hands I gave thee to the king.
_Oedipus:_ Thou gavest me? But who gave me to thee?
_Old Man:_ A shepherd on Cithaeron's snowy slopes.
_Oedipus:_ How camest thou within that sacred wood?
_Old Man:_ My sheep upon that mountain did I seek. 810
_Oedipus:_ Now on my body name some well-known mark.
_Old Man:_ Behold, thy feet in infancy were pierced,
And from thy swollen ankles art thou named.
_Oedipus:_ Who was the man who gave me as a gift
Into thy hands?
_Old Man:_ He fed the royal flocks, 815
And under him the hireling shepherds served.
_Oedipus:_ But tell his name.
_Old Man:_ An old man's memory
Grows faint and weakly falters with disuse.
_Oedipus:_ But wouldst thou know the features of the man?
_Old Man:_ I might recall him, for a slender clue 820
Ofttimes awakens memory of things
Long buried and forgot.
_Oedipus:_ Then hasten, slaves,
Let all the master-shepherds drive their flocks
Before the altar here, yea, summon all
On whom depends the guidance of the flocks.
_Old Man:_ Or chance or providence has kept thy fate 825
In darkness hid. What long hath lain concealed,
I bid thee suffer to remain in doubt.
For often truth, when brought into the light,
Becomes the bane of him who seeks for her.
_Oedipus:_ Can any ills be worse than those I fear?
_Old Man:_ Oh, be thou sure the truth is big with fate,
Whose meaning must be sought with toil and pain.
The public weal calls there, and here thine own, 830
And both with equal voice. Direct thy steps
Along a middle course! provoke not fate;
Permit thy fortune to unfold itself.
It profits naught to change a happy state.
_Oedipus:_ A change is well when all is at the worst.
_Old Man:_ What better canst thou ask than royal birth? 835
No further seek, lest thou thy sire repent.
_Oedipus:_ Though I should prove to be of shameful blood,
My purpose still is fixed to know the truth.
[_Enter_ Phorbas, _the head-shepherd._]
But see, the agéd man, old Phorbas, comes,
'Neath whose control the royal flocks are kept.
Dost thou remember still his face or name? 840
_Old Man:_ His form eludes my mind; not fully known,
And yet again not all unknown his face.
[_To_ Phorbas.]
Old man, while Laius still was king, didst thou,
His shepherd, ever drive the royal flocks
To pasture here upon Cithaeron's slopes?
_Phorbas:_ On fair Cithaeron's sunny slopes my flocks 845
Have ever found the greenest pasturage.
_Old Man:_ Dost thou know me?
_Phorbas:_ But dim and indistinct
My memory.
_Oedipus:_ Didst thou at any time
An infant boy deliver to this man?
[Phorbas _falters and turns pale_.]
Come then, speak out! why dost thou hesitate?
And why does pallor overspread thy cheeks?
Why seek for words? The truth no respite needs. 850
_Phorbas:_ Thou speak'st of things long buried and forgot.
_Oedipus:_ But speak, or pain shall drive thee to confess.
_Phorbas:_ I gave a boy to him, a useless gift;
He never could have lived or known the light.
_Old Man:_ The gods forbid! The child is living still; 855
And may his life be long on earth, I pray.
_Oedipus:_ Why dost thou think the child did not survive?
_Phorbas:_ A slender rod of iron his ankles pierced,
And bound his limbs. This wound produced a sore,
Which by contagion spread o'er all his frame.
_Old Man:_ Why question more? The fatal truth draws near. 860
Who was that infant boy?
_Phorbas:_ My lips are sealed.
_Oedipus:_ Bring hither fire! Its flames shall loose thy speech.
_Phorbas:_ Must truth be sought along such cruel paths?
I pray thy grace.
_Oedipus:_ If I seem harsh to thee,
Or headstrong, thy revenge is in thy hand-- 865
The truth revealed. Then speak: who was the child?
Of what sire gotten? Of what mother born?
_Phorbas: He was the son of her who is thy--wife_.
_Oedipus:_ Then yawn, O earth! and thou, O king of shades,
Into the lowest depths of hades hurl
This vile confounder of the son and sire! 870
Ye citizens, on my incestuous head
Heap crushing rocks! with weapons slaughter me!
Let husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers--all
Whose name I have defiled, against me arm!
And let the poor, plague-smitten populace
Hurl blazing brands from off their funeral pyres!
The plague spot of the age, I wander here, 875
Heaven-cursed pollutor of all sacred ties;
Who, in the day when first I breathed the air,
Was doomed to death.
[_To himself._]
Call up thy courage now,
And dare some deed befitting these thy crimes.
Haste to thy palace and congratulate 880
Thy mother's house increased by children's sons.
[_Exit._]
_Chorus:_ If it were mine to choose my fate
And fashion as I would,
I'd trim my sails to the gentle breeze,
Lest, by the raging blasts o'erwhelmed, 885
My spars should broken be.
May soft and gently blowing winds
My dauntless bark lead on;
And ever on the middle course,
Where safely runs the path of life, 890
May I be traveling.
Fearing the Cretan king, 'tis said,
And trusting in strange arts,
Young Icarus essayed the stars,
And strove to conquer birds in flight, 895
On false wings balancing.
He fell into the raging sea
And his name alone survived.
But, wiser far, old Daedalus 900
A safer course midst the clouds pursued,
Awaiting his wingéd son.
As the timid bird flees the threat'ning hawk,
And collects her scattered young; 905
So the father watched till he saw his son
Plying his hands in the gulfing sea,
Enmeshed in his useless wings.
So does he stand in treacherous ways,
Whoever goes beyond the bounds
Ordained by nature's law. 910
[_Enter_ Messenger _from within the palace._]
But what is this? The palace gates resound;
Behold, it is the royal messenger.
With wild and woeful mien he seems to come.
Speak out, and tell us what the news thou bring'st.
ACT V
_Messenger:_ When Oedipus his impious race perceived, 915
And saw the warning fates had been fulfilled;
When on a hideous charge he stood condemned;
Then, with a deadly purpose in his breast,
Did he approach his palace, and in haste
Beneath those hated battlements he went.
And as a lion rages o'er the sands,
And, threat'ning, tosses back his tawny mane; 920
So Oedipus advanced with blazing eyes,
And stern, mad face, while hollow groans burst forth,
And from his limbs there dripped a chilling sweat.
He foams and vents a stream of threat'ning words,
And from his heart his mighty grief o'erflows.
He in his madness seeks against himself 925
Some heavy penalty and like his fate.
"Why do I wait for punishment?" he cries;
"Let my guilty heart with hostile sword be pierced,
Or overwhelmed with flames or crushing rocks!
Oh, for a tiger or some bird of prey,
To rend my tender flesh! Do thou thyself,
Who hast beheld full many deeds of blood, 930
O cursed Cithaeron, from thy forests send
Thy wild beasts 'gainst me or thy greedy dogs.
Oh, that Agave were returned to earth!
But thou, my soul, why dost thou shrink from death?
For death alone can make thee innocent."
So spake he, and his impious hand he laid 935
Upon the hilt and drew his glittering sword.
"And dost thou, then, with this brief punishment
Expect to pay thy mighty debt of guilt,
And with one blow wilt balance all thy sins?
Thy death would satisfy thy murdered sire;
But what to appease thy mother wilt thou do,
And those thy children, shamefully begot?
What recompense canst make unto thy land, 940
Which for thy sin is smit with pestilence?
Such debts as these thou canst not pay by death.
Let Nature, who, in Oedipus alone,
Strange births devising, hath her laws o'erturned,
Subvert herself again to punish him.
Let it be mine, in never-ending round, 945
To live and die, and to be born again,
That for my crimes by never-ending pain
I may atone. Now use thy wit, poor soul.
Since by repeated death thou canst not die,
Choose then some form of lingering death in life,
Some way by which, not numbered with the dead,
Nor yet the living, thou mayst linger on. 950
So die, that in thy death thou mayst remain
Without the land wherein thy father dwells.
O soul, why dost thou hesitate?" And then
A sudden stream of tears o'erspread his face,
And wet his cheeks. "And can my tears suffice?
Too long my eyes these useless showers have poured; 955
Nay, let them follow where the tears have flowed,
From out their sockets driven. O gods of wedlock,
Is this enough? These eyes must be removed."
He spoke with frenzied rage; and all the while
His cheeks were flaming with a dangerous light,
And his starting eyeballs strained to leave their seats.
His face was full of passion, fierce resolve. 960
Groaning he thrust his hands into his eyes;
And those fierce eyes stood forth to meet his hands,
And eager followed of their own accord
Their kindred hands, as courting that deep wound.
Deep in with hookéd fingers he explores, 965
And rends his eyeballs from their deepest roots.
Still stays his hands within those empty seats,
And tears the hollow sockets with his nails,
With savage joy, with vain and endless rage; 970
So great[6] his fear and hatred of the light.
He lifts his head, and with those empty eyes
The heavens surveying, tests his darkened sight.
Whatever from his mangled eyes still hangs,
He tears away, and now in triumph cries
To all the gods: "Oh, spare my country now, 975
I pray; for I have done what must be done,
And I have paid the penalty I owed.
Now have I found at last a fitting night
To match my impious wedlock." As he speaks,
His face is watered by a hideous shower,
As the blood flows streaming from his ruptured veins.
_Chorus:_ By fate we're driven; then yield to fate. 980
No anxious, brooding care can change
The thread of destiny that falls
From that grim spindle of the Fates.
Whate'er we mortals suffer here,
Whate'er we do, all hath its birth
In that deep realm of mystery.
Stern Lachesis her distaff whirls, 985
Spinning the threads of mortal men,
But with no backward-turning hand.
All things in ordered pathways go;
And on our natal day was fixed
Our day of death. Not God himself
Can change the current of our lives,
Which bears its own compelling force 990
Within itself. Each life goes on
In order fixed and absolute,
Unmoved by prayer. Nay fear itself
Has been by many found a bane;
For, while they sought to shun their fate,
They came upon it in their flight.
But now the palace gates resound, and see, 995
The sightless king himself, with none to guide,
Takes hitherward his blind and groping way.
[_Enter_ Oedipus.]
_Oedipus:_ Now all is well and finished; to my sire
I've paid the debt I owed. How sweet these shades!
What god, at length appeased, hath wrapped my head
In a pall of darkness, and my crimes forgiven? 1000
Now have I 'scaped the conscious eye of day;
And nothing dost thou owe, O parricide,
To thine avenging hand. Thy sight is gone,
And such a countenance becomes thee well.
[_Enter_ Jocasta.]
_Chorus:_ See where with hurried step Jocasta comes,
Beside herself and overcome with grief; 1005
As when in maddened rage that Theban dame
Her son's head tore away and realized
What she had done. She wavers, longs to speak
To that afflicted one, and fears to speak.
Now shame at last has yielded to her grief,
And with a faltering tongue she speaks to him.
_Jocasta:_ What shall I call thee? Son? Dost shun that name?
Thou art my son; thy shame confesseth it. 1010
And yet, O son, though all unwilling, speak.
Why dost thou turn away thy sightless face?
_Oedipus:_ Who now forbids me to enjoy my night?
Who gives me back mine eyes? My mother's voice!
Oh, awful sound! Now is my labor vain.
Stay where thou art! Each step is impious.
Let boundless seas our guilty souls divide, 1015
And lands remote; and if beneath this land
Some other hangs, beholding other stars,
May that far country one of us receive.
_Jocasta:_ What thou deplorest is the fault of fate.
A fated crime can leave no stain of sin.
_Oedipus:_ Now cease thy words, O mother, spare my ears, 1020
By these poor remnants of my mangled form,
By that unhallowed offspring of my blood,
And all that in the double names we bear
Is right and wrong!
_Jocasta [to herself]:_ Why art thou listless now,
O soul of mine? Since thou hast shared his guilt,
Why hesitate to share his punishment? 1025
The beauty of all human intercourse
Has fallen into ruin for thy sake,
Confused and lost, O wretch incestuous.
Not if the father of the gods himself
Should hurl at me his glittering thunderbolts,
Could I for my foul crimes atonement make, 1030
Since I the name of mother have profaned.
Now death is welcome, but the way of death
Must I consider.
[_To_ Oedipus.]
Come, thou parricide,
And lift thy hand against thy mother too.
This act is wanting to complete thy work.
[_To herself._]
Now let the sword be drawn. By this good blade
Was Laius, my husband, slain--not so; 1035
My husband's father, by his rightful name!
Shall I this weapon plunge into my breast,
Or thrust it deep within my waiting neck?
Nay, nay: thou know'st not how to choose a place.
Strike here, O hand, through this capacious womb,
Which (horrible!) the son and husband bore.
[_She stabs herself and falls dead._]
_Chorus:_ She lies in death, her failing hand relaxed; 1040
And spouting streams of blood drive out the sword.
_Oedipus:_ O fate-revealer, thee do I upbraid,
Thou god and guardian of the oracles.
My father only was I doomed to slay;
But now, twice parricide and past my fears,
Have I been guilty, and my mother slain.
For 'tis by sin of mine that she is dead. 1045
O lying Phoebus, now have I outdone
The impious fates.
With apprehensive feet
Let me go out upon my darkened way,
Planting my footsteps with a faltering tread,
And through the darkness grope with trembling hands.
Stay not thy flight, speed thy uncertain steps-- 1050
But hold! lest on thy mother's corse thou tread.
O Thebans, weak and smitten sore with ills,
Whose hearts are fainting in your breasts, behold,
I flee, I go: lift up your drooping heads.
A milder sky and sweeter air shall come
When I am gone. Whoever still retains 1055
His feeble life may now inhale the air
In deep, life-giving draughts. Go, lend your aid
To those who were to certain death resigned;
For with me in my exile do I bear
All pestilential humors of the land.
Then come, ye blasting Fates and mad Despair,
Thou deadly Pestilence, come, come with me; 1060
With such a company 'tis sweet to flee!
[_Exit._]
FOOTNOTES:
[6] Reading, _tantum_.
PHOENISSAE, OR THEBAÏS
A FRAGMENT
PHOENISSAE, OR THEBAÏS
A FRAGMENT
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
_Oedipus_ Late king of Thebes.
_Antigone_ Daughter of Oedipus, constant to him in his misfortunes.
_Jocasta_ Wife and mother of Oedipus.
_Polynices_ }
_Eteocles_ } Sons of Oedipus and rivals for the throne.
_Messenger_
THE SCENE is laid, first in the wild country to which Oedipus,
accompanied by Antigone, has betaken himself; then in Thebes, and
lastly in the plain before Thebes.
THE TIME is three years after the great tragedy of Oedipus.
_The stroke of fate, that has been threatening Oedipus since long
before his birth, has fallen at last, and he has done the thing he
feared to do. And now, self-blinded and self-exiled from his land, he
has for three years wandered in rough and trackless places, attended by
Antigone, his daughter, who, alone of all his friends, has condoned his
fated sins and remained attached to him._
_Meanwhile his sons, though they agreed to reign alternate years, are
soon to meet in deadly strife; for Eteocles, although his year of royal
power is at an end, refuses to give up the throne; and now Polynices,
who has in exile wed the daughter of Adrastus, king of Argos, is
marching against the gates of Thebes, with seven great armies, to
enforce his rights._
[_By a different version from the "Oedipus," Jocasta did not slay
herself at once as in that tale, but still is living on in grief and
shame, and strives to reconcile her sons._]
ACT I
_Oedipus_ [_to_ Antigone, _who has followed him into exile_]: O thou,
who guid'st thy blinded father's steps,
Sole comfort of my weary heart, my child,
Begotten at such heavy cost to me,
Leave thou the unpropitious way I tread.
Why shouldst thou seek to lead my feet aright
Which fain would wander? Let me stumble on. 5
Far better shall I find my way, alone,
The path that from the miseries of life
Shall take me, and the face of heaven and earth
Free from the sight of this ill-omened head.
O hand of mine, how little hast thou done!
For, though I do not see the light of day
Which looked upon my crime, still am I seen.
Unclasp thy clinging hand from mine; permit 10
My sightless feet to wander where they will.
I go, I go where my Cithaeron lifts
His rugged crags on high; where to his dogs
Actaeon, speeding through the rocky ways,
Became a booty strange and pitiful;
Where through the dim old woods and dusky glades, 15
By Bacchic frenzy fired, the mother wild
Her sisters led, rejoicing in the crime,
When on the waving thyrsus' point she bore
The gory head of Pentheus; where the bull
Of Zethus rushed along, the mangled corpse
Of Dirce dragging (through the thorny briars 20
The mad beast's flight was traceable in blood);
Or where the cliff of Ino lifts its head
High o'er the heaving sea, into whose depths
The mother leaped, fleeing an unknown crime,
Yet daring other crime, by terror driven
To sink her son with her beneath the waves. 25
Oh, happy they whose better fortune gave
Mothers like these! There is another place
Within these woods--my place, which calls to me,
To which I fain would haste; my eager feet
Will not delay, and thither will I go,
Unguided, all alone. Why hesitate 30
To seek the place that most belongs to me?
Give back that death, Cithaeron, give again
That spot where once I lay upon thy breast,
That, where I should in infancy have died,
In age I may expire. Now let me pay
The debt I long have owed. O mountain, fell
And bloody, cruel, savage in thy rage,
Both when thou spar'st and when thou dost destroy, 35
This body long ago was given to thee:
Obey my father's and my mother's will.
My soul is eager to receive at last
Its punishment. Why, daughter, why dost thou
With baleful love restrain me? Hold me not.
My father calls, and I will follow, yea,
Will follow him. Then cease to hold me back. 40
See where the royal Laius comes in rage,
The blood-stained scepter of his ravished realm
Within his grasp. See, with his angry hands
He seeks to tear again my empty eyes.
O daughter, dost thou see my father, too?
I surely see him.
[_To himself:_] Now, O coward soul,
Brave but to mar a helpless part of thee, 45
At length spew out that hateful life of thine.
Delay no more upon thy punishment,
And give thyself entirely unto death.
Why do I, sluggish, linger on in life?
There is no further crime that I can do.
Oh, my foreboding, wretched soul, there is!
[_To_ Antigone.]
Flee from thy father, flee, while still a maid;
My mother's fate makes me of all afraid. 50
_Antigone_: No power, my father, shall unloose my hold
Of thee; no one shall force me from thy side.
The illustrious, rich house of Labdacus,
Let my two brothers seek with strife to gain:
The greatest part of all my father's realm 55
Is mine--my father's self. Nor shall this share
Be reft away from me by him who holds
By stolen right the scepter over Thebes,
Nor by that other brother who leads on
Against his native land th' Argolic hosts;
Though Jove himself should thunder out of heaven,
And hurl his bolt against my clinging hands, 60
I would not let thee go. Though thou forbid,
I'll guide thee, O my father, 'gainst thy will,
And thy reluctant feet will I direct.
Seek'st thou the level plain? There will I go.
The rugged mountain heights? I'll not oppose,
But will precede thy way. Use me as guide
Wherever thou wouldst go; since for us both 65
Is every path selected that thou tread'st.
With me, but not without me, canst thou die.
There springs a lofty cliff, precipitous,
And looks far out upon the sea below:
Shall we seek this? There hangs a naked rock,
There yawns the riven earth with gaping jaws: 70
Wouldst thou to these? And there a mountain stream
In roaring torrent falls, and 'neath its waves
Worn fragments of the mountain roll along:
Shall we rush headlong in? Where thou wouldst go,
I go, but always first. I'll not oppose
Nor urge. Dost thou desire to be destroyed?
Is death thy highest wish? If thou dost die, 75
I go before thee; if thou liv'st, I follow.
But change thy mind, call up thine old-time strength,
And with a mighty will thy sorrows curb.
Resist, since in such ills defeat is death.
_Oedipus:_ Whence springs so rare a spirit in a house 80
So impious? Whence comes this noble maid,
Unlike her race? Can it be true indeed?
Has any pious thing been born of me?
Ne'er would it be, for well I know my fates,
Except for harmful ends. Nature herself
Has changed her laws: now shall the stream, reversed, 85
Bear back its whirling waters to their source;
The torch of Phoebus shall bring in the night,
And day be heralded by Hesperus;
And, that I may but add unto my woe,
I, too, shall pious be. Not to be saved--
This is for Oedipus the only cure.
Let me avenge my father, unavenged 90
Till now. My hand, why dost thou hesitate
To exact the penalty I owe to him?
Whatever I have suffered hitherto
Was for my mother's sake. Release my hand,
Undaunted girl; thou but delay'st my death,
And thy living father's funeral prolong'st. 95
Let earth conceal at last this hated form.
Thou wrongest me, though with a kind intent,
And deem'st it piety to keep thy sire
From burial. But they are one in guilt,
Both he who forces death upon a man
Who fain would live, and he who holds him back
Who longs to die. And yet they are not one;
For surely is the last the worser sin. 100
To be condemned to death were better far
For me than to be saved from death. Then cease,
My child, from this attempt. I have reserved
For my own will the right to live or die.
Right gladly did I yield the sovereignty
O'er all my realm; yet o'er myself alone
I still am king. If thou in very truth 105
Art loyal to me, give me back my sword,
That sword already with my father's blood
Defiled. Wilt give it back? Or do my sons
Retain my sword together with my throne?
'Tis well. Wherever there is need of crime,
There let it be; I gladly give it up.
Let both my sons possess the sword. But thou,
Flames, rather, and a heap of wood prepare; 110
Then will I fling myself upon the pyre,
Cling in its hot embrace, and hide myself
Within its deadly hold. There will I loose
This stubborn soul, and give to mortal dust
Whatever lives in me. Where is the sea?
Come, lead me where some beetling crag juts out, 115
Or where Ismenus rolls his savage waves;
Or thither would I go and end my life,
Where once upon a jutting rock abode
The hybrid Sphinx and wove her crafty speech. 120
Direct me thither, set thy father there.
Let not that dreadful seat be empty long,
But place me there, a greater monster still.
There will I sit and of my fate propose
A riddle dark which no man will resolve.
Come listen, ye, who plow the Theban fields;
Whoever worships in the sacred grove 125
Of Cadmus, for the deadly serpent famed,
Where hallowed Dirce lies; whoever drinks
Eurotas' stream; ye who in Sparta dwell,
Illustrious for its heavenly brothers twain;
And ye who reap Boeotia's fertile fields,
The plains of Elis and Parnassus' slopes: 130
What riddle like to this could she propose,
That curse of Thebes, who wove destructive words
In puzzling measures? What so dark as this?
_He was his grandsire's son-in-law, and yet
His father's rival; brother of his sons, 135
And father of his brothers; at one birth
The granddame bore unto her husband sons,
And grandson's to herself._ Who can unwind
A tangle such as this? E'en I myself,
Who bore the spoils of triumph o'er the Sphinx,
Stand mute before the riddle of my fate.
* * * * *
[_Has a speech of_ Antigone _dropped out at this point, or does_
Oedipus _hark back to a previous thought after a dramatic pause?_]
But why waste further words? Why dost thou try 140
To soften my determined heart with prayers?
My will is fixed to pour this spirit forth
Which now for long has struggled sore with death,
And seek the world of shades; for blackest night
Is still not black enough for this my crime.
'Tis sweet in deepest Tartarus to hide;
Or, if there yet is deeper pit than this, 145
There would I go. 'Tis well to do at last
The thing which long ago should have been done.
I cannot be prevented from my death.
Wilt take away my sword? Wilt bar all paths
That lead unto the fatal precipice?
Wilt keep my neck free from the choking noose?
Remove all poisonous herbs from me? Yet what, 150
Think'st thou, will all that care of thine avail?
For death is everywhere. A kindly God
Hath this great law with wisest care ordained:
That anyone can take man's life away,
But none can stay his death; for countless ways
Are open unto him who seeks to die.
I ask no aid of thine. Well am I used
To employ this naked hand. Then come, my hand, 155
With all thy force, with all thy passion, come.
And not one wound alone would I endure,
For I have sinned in every part of me.
Come, strike the mortal blow where'er thou wilt:
Break through my breast and tear my heart away,
So full of sin; lay bear my vitals all; 160
Rain blows upon my neck until it break,
Or let thy gouging fingers tear my veins
Until they flow with blood. Or, if thou wilt,
Direct thine anger whither thou art wont:
These healing wounds reopen; let them flow
With streams of blood and loathsome gore again;
And through this passage drag my life away,
So stubborn in defeat, so hard to storm. 165
And thou, O father, wheresoe'er thou art,
Who stand'st as judge upon my just deserts,
I ne'er have thought that such a crime as mine
Could ever be sufficiently atoned,
Nor has this living death contented me;
I have not bought my pardon with my eyes,
But fain would perish for thee, limit by limb. 170
Exact at last the penalty I owe.
Now I atone; then I but sacrificed
Unto thy manes. Be thou here to aid,
And my reluctant hand help me to plunge
Deep down and deeper in my sightless eyes.
A scant and timid offering I made,
When first I plucked my eager eyeballs out. 175
And even now my trembling spirit halts,
Yea, halts, though downward to my shrinking hands
My face inclines. Now shalt thou hear the truth,
O Oedipus: less boldly than thou plan'dst
Did'st thou pluck out thine eyes. Let now thy brain 180
Feel those avenging fingers; through this door
Complete the death which has begun in me.
_Antigone:_ O father, great of soul, I pray thee hear
With quiet mind thy wretched daughter's words:
I do not seek to lead thee back again
Into the presence of thy former home,
Nor to the illustrious splendor of thy realm; 185
I ask thee not with calm and peaceful soul
To bear again that fearful shock of woe
Which even yet the soothing hand of time
Has not assuaged. And yet it is not meet
That one so stout of heart should be o'ercome
And to misfortune weakly turn his back.
It is not valor, father, as thou think'st, 190
To shrink from life; but 'gainst the mightiest ills
To stand opposed, and not to flinch or budge,
That is the truest test of manly worth.
Who tramples under foot his destiny,
Who disregards and scorns the goods of life,
And aggravates the evils of his lot, 195
Who has no further need of Providence:
Wherefore should such a man desire to die,
Or seek for death? Each is the coward's act.
No one holds death in scorn who seeks to die.
The man whose evils can no farther go
Is safely lodged. Who of the gods, think'st thou, 200
Grant that he wills it so, can add one jot
Unto thy sum of trouble? Nor canst thou,
Save that thou deem'st thyself unfit to live.
But thou art not unfit, for in thy breast
No taint of sin has come. And all the more,
My father, art thou free from taint of sin,
Because, though heaven willed it otherwise, 205
Thou still art innocent. What is there now
Which has so maddened thee, which goads thy heart
To fresh outbursts of grief? What forces thee
To seek the abodes of hell, and fly from these?
Is't that thou wouldst avoid the light of day?
Thou dost avoid the light. Or wouldst thou flee
This noble palace and thy native land?
Thy native land, although thou livest still,
Is dead to thee. Wouldst from thy sons escape, 210
And from thy mother? From the sight of all
Has fate removed thee; and whatever death
From any man can take, thy life has taken.
Art weary of the kingdom's press and stir?
At thy command thy former courtier throng
Has vanished.--Whom, O father, dost thou flee? 215
_Oedipus:_ Myself I flee, I flee this heart of mine,
Full of all crimes; I flee this hand, this sky,
These gods; I flee those dreadful sins which I,
Though innocent, have done. And can it be
That this fair world, whence bounteous harvests spring,
Is trod by such as I? This wholesome air
Do I with pestilential lips inhale, 220
With water quench my thirst, or any gift
Of kindly earth enjoy? And do I dare,
This impious, incestuous, curséd wretch,
To touch thy maiden hand? Have I still ears
To hear the name of parent or of son? 225
Oh, that with rending hands I might destroy
These narrow ways of sound by which I hear
The words of men. My child, all sense of thee,
Who art a parcel of my impious deeds,
In my unhappiness I would have fled. 230
But now my crime sticks fast within my heart,
And threatens ever to break out afresh;
For what my blinded eyes have spared to me,
Is through my ears poured in upon my soul.
Oh, why do I not plunge this darkened life
Into the eternal shadow-world of Dis?
Why do I longer hold my spirit here? 235
Why be a burden to the upper world,
And wander still among the living men?
What evil yet remains? My fatherland,
My parents, children, valor--all are lost,
And that illustrious glory of the mind;
Yea, evil chance hath stripped me of my all.
Tears yet remained, but these with my own hand 240
Have I destroyed. Then go thy ways, my child.
My soul will not give ear to any prayers,
And only seeks new punishment for crime,
And equal to my sin--if that can be.
While yet an infant was I doomed to death.
What mortal ever drew so hard a fate?
Ere I had seen the light, while still confined 245
Within the darksome prison of the womb,
I was a thing of dread. The night of death
Lays hold on many at the hour of birth,
And snatches them away from dawning life;
But death anticipated birth in me.
Some are o'ertaken by untimely fate
While still within the womb, yet without sin. 250
But I, yet hid within the hold of life,
While yet my very being was in doubt,
Was by the heavenly oracle compelled
To answer to a charge unspeakable.
My sire condemned me at Apollo's word,
And through my tender ankles thrust a rod
Still glowing from the forge; then sent his child
Into the forest deep, a prey for beasts 255
And all the savage birds Cithaeron breeds,
Accustomed to be stained with royal blood.
Yet him, whom God condemned, who by his sire
Was cast away to die, death also fled.
And Delphi's oracle have I fulfilled:
For I with impious hand assailed my sire, 260
And slew him.
[_With bitter irony_] Yet, for this impiety,
Perchance another act of piety
Will make amends: I killed my father; true,
But still I loved my mother.--Oh, 'tis shame
To mention such a wedlock; yet I will,
And force myself to bear this punishment,
To tell abroad my more than bestial crime,
So strange, that nations stand in dumb amaze, 265
So shameful, that no age will credit it,
That e'en the shameless parricide is shocked:
Into my father's bed I bore my hands
Smeared with my father's blood, and there received
The wages of my crime--a greater crime.
My father's murder was a trivial thing; 270
But, that my sum of crime might be complete,
My mother, to my marriage chamber led,
Conceived--Oh, how could nature e'er endure
A greater crime? And yet, if aught remains,
I have begotten children vile enough
To do this also. I have cast away
The scepter which I won by parricide, 275
And with it other hands are armed for war.
Full well do I my kingdom's fortune know,
That never more shall any gain the throne
Without the sacrifice of kindred blood.
Dire evils doth my father-soul presage,
For even now are sown the baleful seeds
Of future strife; the plighted pact is spurned; 280
One will not yield the throne he hath usurped,
The other claims his right, calls on the gods
To witness of his bond, and, driven from home,
Moves Argos and the towns of Greece to arms.
No light destruction comes to weary Thebes;
For weapons, flames, and wounds press hard on her, 285
And greater woes than these, if such there be,
That all may know I have begotten sons.
_Antigone:_ If thou no other cause for living hast,
My father, this one reason is enough,
That thou as father mayst restrain thy sons
From deadly strife. Thou only canst avert 290
Their threats of impious war, curb their mad hearts,
Give peace to citizens, to country rest,
And to their broken treaty honest faith.
To many men art thou refusing life,
If for thyself thou dost refuse to live.
_Oedipus:_ Think'st thou that such as they have aught of love 295
For father or for right, whose hearts are filled
With lust for blood and power and impious arms,
Profane and cruel sons--in brief, my own?
Toward every form of evil deed they strive,
And have no scruples where their wrath impels.
In shame begot, they have no sense of shame. 300
They have no feeling for their wretched sire,
None for their country. Naught but lust of power
Rules in their maddened breasts. I know full well
To what dire ends they tend, what monstrous deeds
They are prepared to do; and for this cause
I seek to find destruction's shortest path,
And haste to die, while yet within my house 305
There is no soul more steeped in guilt than I.
O child, why dost thou weep about my knees,
Why seek with prayer to soften my hard heart?
This means alone my fortune has reserved
By which I may be led, unconquered else;
For thou alone canst soothe my stubborn soul, 310
Canst teach me piety. For naught is hard
Or grievous in my sight, if I perceive
That thou dost wish it. Do thou but command:
Then will I swim the broad Aegean straits,
Will drink the flames which from Sicilia's mount
Earth belches forth in whirling, molten streams, 315
Will beard the savage dragon in his den,
Still raging at the theft of Hercules;
At thy command, to birds of prey will give
My bleeding heart--at thy command will live.
[_The first act seems to be complete here, except for the commenting
chorus which would naturally follow._ Oedipus _has temporarily yielded
to his daughter's will._]
ACT II
[_The following passage fittingly opens the second act or episode.
Although some editors would assign it to_ Antigone, _it seems more
fittingly to belong to a messenger who has just arrived, for the double
reason that it gives fresher information from Thebes than_ Antigone
_would naturally possess; and that_ Oedipus, _after the speech to his
daughter with which the previous scene ended, would hardly address to
her as rough a reply as he uses in his next speech._]
_Messenger:_ Thee, sprung from regal stock to be our guide, 320
In fear of civil strife our Thebes invokes,
And prays that thou wouldst save thy father's house
From the flaming torch of war. No mere threats, these;
For ever nearer does destruction come.
One brother claims his share of royal power,
His turn to rule according to the bond,
And now is rousing all the tribes of Greece 325
To bloody war. Against the walls of Thebes
Seven camps have set them down. Haste to our aid,
And war and crime prohibit equally.
_Oedipus:_ Do I seem one to stay the hand of crime,
And teach it to refrain from kindred blood?
Should I teach righteousness and filial love? 330
They take me as a model for their crimes,
And follow me. I gladly recognize
And praise them as my sons; I urge them on
To do some outrage worthy of their sire.
Then on, my worthy offspring; by your deeds
Approve your noble birth; do ye surpass 335
My glory and my praises; do some deed
Because of which your father will rejoice
That he has lived till now. And well I know
That you will do it; for to such an end
Were ye brought forth. Such noble birth as yours
Cannot be satisfied with common crime
Or slight. Then forward with your impious arms!
Attack your household gods with flaming brands; 340
With torches gather in the ripened grain
Upon your native fields; confuse all things,
And hurry all to ruin absolute;
O'erthrow the city's walls, yea, lay them low,
E'en to the level of the plain; the gods
And temples in one common fall o'erwhelm;
Destroy our lares, now so foully stained,
And let our whole house perish utterly; 345
Let all the city be consumed with fire,
And be my impious marriage chamber first
To feel the flames.
_Antigone:_ This raging storm of grief
Give o'er; and let the sorrows of the state
Prevail with thee to reconcile thy sons.
_Oedipus:_ And dost thou think that thou dost see in me 350
A mild old man given o'er to peaceful thoughts?
And dost thou summon me unto thine aid,
As one who loves to 'stablish peace? Not so:
For even now my spirit swells with rage,
My grief burns fiercely, and I long to see
Some greater deed than chance or youthful wrath
Would dare attempt. I am not satisfied
With civil war: let brother brother slay. 355
Nor yet would this suffice. I wait to see
Some evil done that shall be like my own,
That shall be worthy of my marriage bed.
Give deadly weapons to my mother's hand--
But do not seek to drag me from these woods.
Here will I hide within the rocky caves,
Or hedge myself about with thickets dense. 360
Here will I catch at warlike rumor rife
And hear what news I may of brothers' strife.
ACT III
[_It is possible that the following fragments belong to still another
play. The presence of_ Antigone _in Thebes, notwithstanding her resolve
to remain with her father, would strengthen this view_.]
_Jocasta:_ Oh, fortunate Agave! for she bore,
Within the hand which did the deed, the spoil,
The horrid spoil of her dismembered son, 365
A raging Maenad. Yea, she did the deed;
But naught in all her sinfulness did she
Save that one crime.[7] It is my least of sins
That I am guilty; this my greater crime,
That I have made another sinful too.
But even this seems light when I reflect
That I have given birth to sinful sons.
Till now 'twas wanting to my sum of woe
That I should love my country's enemy. 370
Three times has winter put away his snows,
And thrice have Ceres' golden harvests fall'n
Beneath the sickle, since my hapless son
In exile wanders, robbed of fatherland,
And craves assistance from the Grecian kings.
He has become Adrastus' son-in-law,
Whose sway is o'er the waters of the sea
Which Isthmus cleaves. Adrastus even now 375
Is leading on his tribes, and with him march
Seven other royal hosts. Ah, woe is me,
I know not what I ought to wish or say.
My exiled son with justice claims his share
Of empire, but he seeks it wrongfully.
How shall I pray? I count them both my sons, 380
And yet, alas, without impiety,
Can I for neither pray. If for one son
I call a blessing down, 'tis but a curse
Upon the other's head. Yet this I know:
Although I love them both with equal love,
My heart inclines toward the better cause, 385
The worser fortune, ever favoring him
Who suffers more; for this is fortune's way
To win the wretched to their own again.
[_Enter_ Messenger _in haste_.]
_Messenger:_ O queen, while thou dost utter these complaints,
And spend'st the precious time in useless tears,
With weapons drawn the battle lines approach.
The trumpet's blare incites to bloody war,
And even now the eagles are advanced. 390
The kings in seven-fold battle are arrayed,
While the sons of Thebes with equal spirit go
To meet the enemy. With hurrying tread,
Now here, now there, advance the soldiery.
Behold, dark clouds of dust obscure the day,
And from the plain dense, smokelike billows rise, 395
Which earth, beneath the tread of countless hoofs,
Sends rolling heavenward. And through the dust,
If terror-stricken eyes can see aright,
The hostile standards shine; with lifted spears
The foremost ranks advance; while banners gleam,
Bearing the names of famous generals wrought 400
In golden characters.
Then haste, O queen:
Unto the warring brothers love restore,
Give peace to all, and by a mother's hands
Prevent the conflict of these impious bands.
_Antigone:_ O mother, haste thee, haste on flying feet;
Hold back their weapons, from my brothers' hands
Strike down the swords, and 'twixt their deadly points
Thy bared breast interpose. Then, mother, haste; 405
Or stop the war, or be thou first to fall.
_Jocasta:_ I go, I go, and 'twixt their swords will stand,
And there unto their points expose my life.
And he who shall his brother seek to slay
Must slay his mother first. At my command
The son whose heart is moved by piety
Will lay aside his arms; the impious son 410
Must first make war on me. These fiery youths
Will I, although a woman, old, restrain.
Within my sight shall be no impious deed;
Or, if within my sight one impious deed
Can be committed--then shall two be done.
[_Exit toward the scene of conflict._]
_Antigone:_ Now gleam the advancing standards, near at hand;
And loud the hostile battle-cry resounds. 415
A moment, and the impious deed is done.
O mother, speed thee with thy prayers. But see!
You would suppose them by my weeping moved,
So slowly do the arméd lines advance.
_Messenger:_ The lines move slowly, but the leaders haste.
_Jocasta_ [_hurrying onward_]: What wingéd wind will speed me through
the air, 420
Bearing me onward with the storm's mad whirl?
What monstrous Sphinx or dark Stymphalian bird,
Whose spreading wings blot out the light of day,
Will bear me on its space-consuming wings?
What Harpy, hovering o'er the royal board
Of that stern Thracian king, will catch me up
Along the lofty highways of the air, 425
And cast me headlong 'twixt th' opposing lines?
_Messenger_ [_looking after her_]: Like some wild creature reft of
sense she goes.
Swift as an arrow shot by Parthian hand,
Or as a ship which boisterous winds impel,
Or as the flight of falling star from heaven, 430
Which in unswerving course athwart the sky
Darts on its fiery way: with maddened haste
The queen has sped her flight, and even now
Has ta'en her stand between th' opposing lines.
The battle pauses yet a little while,
O'ercome at sight of those maternal tears.
And now the hosts, on mutual slaughter bent, 435
Stand with their weapons balanced in their hands:
Peace wins the day; the threat'ning points are lowered;
The swords are sheathed. But in the brothers' hands
They still are poised. The frantic mother now,
Her white hair torn with grieving, speaks to them, 440
Beseaches their reluctant, stubborn wills,
And wets their knees with tears. Too long they bide:
Such halting bodes the mother's prayers denied.
FOOTNOTES:
[7] Reading, _ultra suum scelus hoc cucurrit_.
ACT IV
[_On the field before Thebes, between the battle lines._]
_Jocasta_ [_kneeling between her two hostile sons_]:
'Gainst me your arms and blazing torches turn;
'Gainst me alone let every warrior rush,
Who comes from Argos thirsting for the fray,
And they who from the citadel of Thebes 445
Come down to battle. Friend and foe, alike,
Attack this womb of mine which brothers bore
Unto my husband. Rend me limb from limb,
And scatter me abroad upon the plain.
I bore you both--will you lay down your arms?
Or shall I say from whom I bore you, too?
Give me your hands while still they are unstained. 450
'Till now 'twas all unwittingly you sinned;
'Twas fortune's crime, who ever 'gainst our peace
Delights to plot. But this impiety
Is done with fullest knowledge of your sin.
Within your power lies whichsoe'er you will: 455
If filial love, then grant your mother peace;
If crime, then must you do a greater crime.
Your mother stands between you, blocks your way;
Have done with war or with the war's delay.
To which of you in fond anxiety
Shall I address my prayers? Whom first embrace? 460
My heart with equal love is drawn to both.
[_Turning to_ Polynices.]
This son has wandered far away from me;
But if the compact of the brothers holds,
This other son must wander too. Alas,
And shall I never see you both again,
Except in enmity? Do thou come first
Into thy mother's arms, who hast endured
So many toils, so many miseries, 465
And, worn with weary exile, see'st at last
Thy mother's face. Come nearer to me here.
Now sheathe thine impious sword; and this thy spear,
Which even now is quivering with hate
And eager to be thrown, thrust in the ground.
Put by thy shield as well; it keeps me off 470
From folding thee unto my mother-breast.
Unbind thy brow, and from thy warlike head
Thy helm remove and let me see thy face.
Why dost thou turn away, and fix thine eyes
With timid gaze upon thy brother's band?
I'll throw my arms about thee for a shield, 475
That through my body only may the sword
Find passage to thy blood. Why hesitate?
Can it be that thou dost fear thy mother's pledge?
_Polynices:_ I fear; for nature's laws no longer hold.
Since I have known a brother's faithlessness,
I scarce can trust my mother's plighted word. 480
_Jocasta:_ Then lay thy hand upon the sword again,
Bind on thy helmet, take again thy shield;
And while thy brother doth his arms remove,
Remain thou armed.
[_To_ Eteocles.]
Do thou lay by thy sword,
Who first didst cause the weapon to be drawn.
If peace is hateful to thee, if in war
Thou dost prefer to rage, a moment's truce 485
Thy mother begs of thee, that on her sons,
Returned but now from exile, she may print
A kiss of love, the first--perchance the last.
While I seek peace, attend ye both, unarmed.
Dost thou fear him, and he fear thee, in turn?
But I do fear you both, and for you both.
Why dost refuse to sheathe thy naked sword?
Rejoice in this delay. You wage a war, 490
Of which the best end is to be o'ercome.
And dost thou fear thy hostile brother's wiles?
If one must on his brother work deceit
Or suffer it himself, 'tis better far
To be the victim of the treachery
Than to perform the crime. But fear thou not; 495
For I will shield thee from all sudden snares.
Do I prevail with thee? Or must I grudge
Thy father's blindness? Have I hither come
To check an impious crime, or see it done
Before my very eyes?
[Eteocles _yields to her_.]
He sheathes his sword,
And on his peaceful, grounded spear he leans.
[_She turns to_ Polynices.]
And now to thee, O son, thy mother turns 500
With prayers and tears. At last I see thy face
Which long have I desired and prayed to see.
Thee, as an exile from thy fatherland,
The household of a foreign king protects;
O'er many seas, by many chances driven,
Thou'rt still a wanderer. It was not mine
With stately train to lead thee to thy bride, 505
With my own hand to deck the festal halls,
And with sacred fillets wreathe thy wedding torch.
The father of thy bride no wedding gifts,
No wealth of gold, has given, no fields, no towns;
Thy only gift is war. A foeman's son 510
Hast thou become, far from thy native land,
An alien household's guest, driven from thine own,
Committed to another's interests,
A sinless exile. That no element
Might fail thee of thy father's hapless fate,
Thou too hast blundered in thy marriage choice.
O son, after so many years returned, 515
O son, thy anxious mother's hope and fear,
For sight of whom I ever prayed the gods;
Though thy return was doomed to take from me
As much as at thy coming it could give:
"When shall I cease to fear for thee?" I said; 520
The mocking god replied: "Him shalt thou fear."
I should not have thee near me now, indeed,
Were there no war; and there would be no war,
If thou wert not at hand. Oh, bitter price
And hard, that I must pay for sight of thee.
But still there's pleasure in't. These hostile hosts-- 525
Let them withdraw a little space from here,
While yet stern Mars dares no impiety.
Yet this as well is great impiety,
That they have been so near. I am appalled,
And tremble when I see two brothers stand,
Each fronting each, upon the brink of crime. 530
My limbs do quake with fear. How near I came
To seeing greater infamy than that
Which thy poor father never could have seen!
Though I am freed from fear of such a crime,
Though I shall not behold such evil now,
Still am I most unhappy when I think
How nearly I beheld it. O my son,
By the womb that bore thee through ten weary months, 535
And by thy noble sister's piety;
By thy unhappy father's sightless eyes,
Which he, though innocent of any crime,
Tore out, his fatal error to avenge:
Turn from thy father's walls these impious brands, 540
Send back the standards of this warring host.
Though thou shouldst yield, still is the greater part
Of thy impiety already done:
Thy fatherland has seen its fertile plains
By hordes of hostile soldiery o'errun,
The arméd legions gleaming from afar, 545
The broad Cadmean meadows trampled down
By flying hoofs, the princes, insolent,
High in their chariots dashing o'er the plain,
The blazing torches threatening our homes
With utter devastation, and, a crime
Which even Thebes till now has never seen,
A brother 'gainst his brother waging war.
This crime was seen by all our Theban host; 550
The citizens and both thy sisters saw,
And I thy mother; to himself is due
That Oedipus, thy father, saw it not.
Oh, do thou but compare thyself with him,
By whose stern judgment fitting penalty
E'en error pays. Do not with impious sword 555
Destroy thy city and thy father's house,
Nor overthrow the city thou wouldst rule.
What madness holds its sway within thy soul?
Wouldst thou, by seeking to obtain the land,
Destroy it? That it may become thine own,
Dost thou intend to spoil it utterly?
To thine own cause thou doest deadly wrong,
In harrying this very soil of thine 560
With hostile arms, in laying low the crops,
And spreading fear through all the country round.
No one such devastation ever works
Upon his own. What thou dost burn with fire,
And reap with sword, 'tis plain that thou dost grant
To be another's. Gain thou then the throne,
Whichever of you will; but gain it so
That 'twill not be the kingdom's overthrow. 565
Dost seek these homes with hostile sword and brand?
Wilt thou avail to batter down these walls
Which great Amphion built, these mighty walls,
Whose stones no human hand e'er set in place,
The huge weights moving by the creaking crane--
But, marshaled by the strains of song and harp,
The stones, e'en to the topmost turret's round, 570
Moved of their own accord--wouldst shatter these?
As victor wilt thou bear away the spoils?
And shall rough soldiery lead off in chains
Thy father's noble friends and stately dames
Torn from their grieving husbands' very arms?
And, mingled with the wretched captive band, 575
Shall Theban maidens go as presents meet
For wives of Argos? And shall I myself,
My hands (disgraceful!) bound behind my back,
The mother, be the booty of the son,
In triumph borne? And canst thou bear to see
On every hand thy fellow-citizens
To dire destruction given? 'Gainst these dear walls 580
Canst thou lead on the savage enemy,
And fill thy native Thebes with blood and flame?
Hast thou so wild a heart within thy breast,
So hard and savage--and not yet a king?
Then what will't be when thou the scepter wield'st?
Oh, put aside thy spirit's swelling rage,
And give thyself once more to piety. 585
_Polynices:_ That I may wander still a fugitive?
That ever, banished from my native land,
Upon a stranger's bounty I may live?
What, think'st thou, could I suffer more than this,
If I had broken faith or falsely sworn?
Shall I be punished for another's sin,
While he enjoys the profits of his crime? 590
Thou bid'st me go; and gladly would I yield
Unto my mother's will. But whither, then,
Shall I depart? "Let my proud brother dwell
Within my royal halls, and some poor hut
Be my abode": let such a boon be given
Unto the exile; give him in exchange
A hovel for a throne. And shall I, then, 595
A pensioner upon my wealthy bride,
Be forced to yield to her unbending will,
And to her father's domineering ways
Submit like any slave? 'Tis hard, indeed,
To fall from royalty to servitude.
_Jocasta:_ If thou art eager for a royal throne,
And if, without the scepter in thy hand,
Thou canst not live, whatever land thou wilt 600
Will offer many kingdoms to thy hand.
On this side Tmolus lifts his ridgy heights,
Well known to Bacchus, where wide-spreading plains
Stretch out upon the grain-producing earth;
And where Pactolus' all-enriching stream
O'erflows the country with its sands of gold.
And there Maeander through the joyful fields 605
Directs his wandering waves; swift Hermus, too,
Cleaves meadows rich. And there is Gargara,
Beloved of Ceres, and the fertile plains
Which Xanthus waters, fed by Ida's snows.
And here, where ends the long Ionian sea,[8] 610
Across the narrows from Abydos stands
The Thracian Sestos. Farther to the east,
With safe and numerous harbors, lies the land
Of Lycia. There realms seek with thy sword;
Against these peoples let Adrastus fight,
And to thy sceptered hand deliver them. 615
Consider that thy father still is king
Within this realm of Thebes. Far better, then,
Than such returns as this will exile seem.
Thou liv'st in exile through another's sin;
But thy return must be through thine alone.
With those brave troops of thine 'twere better far
To seek thee out new realms unstained by crime. 620
Nay, e'en thy brother's self will be thy aid,
And fight for thee. Go, wage such warfare, then,
That, as thou fight'st, thy mother and thy sire
May pray for thy success. For, be assured,
That kingdoms won by crime are heavier far
Than any exile. 625
Now consider well
The woes of war and war's uncertainties:
Though thou dost bring with thee the flower of Greece,
Though far and near thy arméd soldiery
Is spread, still ever in the balance hangs
The fate of war. 'Tis all as Mars decides.
Though two may seem to be unmatched in strength, 630
The sword will make them equal; hope and fear
Are subject to the blind caprice of fate.
Uncertain is the prize of war thou seek'st,
But sure the crime. Suppose that all the gods
Have heard thy prayers; suppose the citizens,
In panic fear, have turned their backs and fled;
The soldiers' bloody corpses hide the plain: 635
Though in such victory thou shouldst exalt
And bear thy murdered brother's spoils away,
Thy victory is but a broken thing.
What sort of warfare, think'st thou, that would be,
In which the victor wins by curséd crime,
And glories in it? Nay, thy brother's self,
Whom thou, unhappy man, dost seek to slay, 640
When thou hast gained thy wish, thou wilt lament.
Oh, then, forego this most unhallowed strife,
And free at last thy fatherland from fear,
Thy parents from their grief.
_Polynices:_ Shall I do this,
That so for all his treachery and crime
My curséd brother be not recompensed?
_Jocasta:_ Fear not. He shall indeed be recompensed, 645
For he shall reign.
_Polynices:_ Is that a punishment?
_Jocasta:_ If thou believe me not, believe thy sire,
Believe thy grandsire too. This truth to thee
Will Cadmus and the house of Cadmus tell.
Without disaster has no Theban king
E'er held the scepter, nor will anyone
Who wins the kingly power by broken faith
Retain it long. And 'mongst those faithless ones 650
Count now thy brother.
_Eteocles:_ Be it even so:
If I must die, I count it worthy death,
To die with kings.
[_To_ Polynices.]
Thee to the exiled band
I doom.
_Jocasta:_ Reign then, but hated by thy friends.
_Eteocles:_ Who shrinks from hatred does not wish to reign.
That great divinity who made the world 655
Made of one substance royalty and hate.
For me, I count it worthy of a king
To overcome this hate. By love of friends
Too oft is royal power circumscribed.
O'er those who hate him is the king more free
To lord it as he will. Who would be loved,
With but a weak and languid scepter reigns.
_Jocasta:_ But hated empire never long endures. 660
_Eteocles:_ 'Tis for the king to speak of empire's rules.
Do thou give laws for exiles. For the throne--
_Jocasta:_ Wouldst burn thy native land, thy home and all?
_Eteocles:_ A kingdom is well bought at any price.
* * * * *
FOOTNOTES:
[8] The text is corrupt here. The Ionian Sea, situated to the west of
Greece, can have no possible connection with the region here described,
i. e., the Hellespont.
MEDEA
MEDEA
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
MEDEA Daughter of Aeëtes, King of Colchis, and wife of Jason.
_Jason_ Son of Aeson, and nephew of Pelias, the usurping king of
Thessaly; organizer and leader of the Argonautic expedition to Colchis
in quest of the golden fleece.
_Creon_ King of Corinth, who had received into his hospitable kingdom
Medea and Jason, fugitives from Thessaly, after Medea had plotted the
death of Pelias.
_Nurse_ Of Medea.
_Messenger_
_Two Sons_ Of Medea and Jason (_personae mutae_).
_Chorus of Corinthians_ Friendly to Jason and hostile to Medea.
THE TIME of the play is confined to the single day of the culmination
of the tragedy, the day proposed by Creon for the banishment of Medea
and marriage of Jason to Creüsa, daughter of Creon.
THE SCENE is in Corinth, in the court of the house of Jason.
_Although the play is confined in time to the final day of catastrophe
at Corinth, the background is the whole romantic story of the
Argonauts: how Jason and his hero-comrades, at the instigation of
Pelias, the usurping king of Thessalian Iolchos, undertook the first
voyage in quest of the golden fleece; how, after many adventures, these
first sailors reached the kingdom of Aeëtes who jealously guarded the
fleece, since upon its possession depended his own kingship; how the
three deadly labors were imposed upon Jason before the fleece could
be won--the yoking of the fiery bulls, the contest with the giants
that sprang from the sown serpent's teeth, and the overcoming of the
sleepless dragon that ever guarded the fleece; how, smitten by love of
him, the beautiful, barbaric Medea, daughter of the king, by the help
of her magic aided Jason in all these labors and accompanied him in his
flight; how, to retard her father's pursuit she slew her brother and
scattered his mangled remains in the path as they fled; how again, for
love of Jason, she restored his father to youth and tricked Pelias' own
daughters into slaying their agéd sire; how, for this act, Medea with
her husband were exiled from Thessalia and dwelt in Corinth; how, for
ten happy years, she lived with her husband and two sons in this alien
land, her wild past almost forgotten, her magic untouched._
_But now, Jason has been gradually won away from his wife, and is about
to wed Creüsa, the daughter of Creon, king of Corinth. The wedding
festivities have already begun when the play opens and reveals Medea
invoking all the powers of heaven and hell in punishment of her false
lord._
ACT I
_Medea:_ Ye gods of wedlock, thou the nuptial couch's guard,
Lucina, thou from whom that tamer of the deep,
The Argo's pilot, learned to guide his pristine bark,
And Neptune, thou stern ruler of the ocean's depths,
And Titan, by whose rays the shining day is born, 5
Thou triformed maiden Hecate, whose conscious beams
With splendor shine upon the mystic worshipers--
Upon ye all I call, the powers of heaven, the gods
By whose divinity false Jason swore; and ye
Whose aid Medea may more boldly claim, thou world
Of endless night, th' antipodes of heavenly realms,
Ye damnéd ghosts, thou lord of hades' dark domain, 10
Whose mistress was with trustier pledge won to thy side--
Before ye all this baleful prayer I bring: Be near!
Be near! Ye crime-avenging furies, come and loose
Your horrid locks with serpent coils entwined, and grasp
With bloody hands the smoking torch; be near as once 15
Ye stood in dread array beside my wedding couch.
Upon this new-made bride destruction send, and death
Upon the king and all the royal line! But he,
My husband, may he live to meet some heavier doom;
This curse I imprecate upon his head; may he,
Through distant lands, in want, in exile wander, scorned 20
And houseless. Nay, may he once more my favor woo;
A stranger's threshold may he seek where now he walks
A well-known guest; and--this the blackest curse I know--
May children rise to him to emulate their sire,
Their mother's image bear.--Now won is vengeance, won!
For I have children borne.--Nay, nay, 'tis empty plaints 25
And useless words I frame. Shall I not rather rush
Against the foe and dash the torches from their hands,
The light from heaven? Does Father Phoebus suffer this?
Do men behold his face, as, seated in his car,
He rolls along th' accustomed track of sky serene? 30
Why does he not return to morning's gates, the law
Of heaven reversing? Grant that I be borne aloft
In my ancestral car! Give me the reins, O sire,
Thy fiery team grant me to guide with lines of flame.
Then Corinth, though with double shore delaying fate, 35
Herself consumed with fire, shall light two seas with flame.
But no, this course alone remains, that I myself
Should bear the wedding torch, with acquiescent prayers,
And slay the victims on the altars consecrate.
Thyself inspect the entrails, and seek there the way 40
By prayer, if still, O soul, thou livest, if there still
Remaineth aught of old-time strength in thee! Away
With woman's fears! Put on thy heart a breast-plate hard
And chill as Caucasus! Then all the wizard arts
That Phasis knew, or Pontus, shall be seen again
In Corinth. Now with mad, unheard of, dreadful deeds, 45
Whereat high heaven and earth below shall pale and quake,
My pregnant soul is teeming; and my heart is full
Of pictured wounds and death and slaughter.--Ah, too long
On trifling ills I dwell. These were my virgin deeds.
Now that a mother's pains I've felt, my larger heart 50
Must larger crimes conceive. Then passion, gird thyself,
Put on thy strength, and for the issue now prepare!
Let my rejection pay as dread a fee as when,
Of old, through impious deeds of blood, I came to him.
Come, break through slow delay, and let the home once won
By crime, by equal deeds of crime be done away! 55
_Chorus_ [_chanting the epithalamium for the nuptials of_ Jason _and_
Creüsa]:
Now on our royal nuptials graciously smiling,
Here may the lords of heaven and the deeps of the ocean
Come while the people feast in pious rejoicing!
First to the gods who sway the scepter of heaven,
Pealing forth their will in the voice of thunder,
Let the white bull his proud head bow in tribute. 60
Then to the fair Lucina, her gift we offer,
White as the driven snow, this beautiful heifer,
Still with her neck untouched by the yoke of bondage.
Thou who alone canst rule the heart of the war-god,
Thou who linkest in peace the opposing nations,
Out of thy generous hand abundance pouring-- 65
Thee we offer a daintier gift, O Concord!
Thou who, on the marriage torches attending,
Night's dark gloom with favoring hand dispellest,
Hither come with languishing footstep drunken,
Binding thy temples fair with garlands of roses! 70
Star of the evening, thou who to twilight leadest
The day, and hailest again the dawn of the morning,
All too slowly thou com'st for lovers impatient,
Eager to see thy sign in the glow of the sunset.
The fairest of girls is she, 75
The Athenian maids outshining,
Or the Spartan maiden with armor laden,
No burden of war declining.
Not by Alpheus' sacred stream,
Nor Boeotia's musical water,
Is there any fair who can compare 80
With our lovely Corinthian daughter.
Our Thessalian prince excels,
In beauty of form and face,
Even Bacchus, the son of the fierce-flaming one,
Who yokes the wild tigers in place. 85
The murmuring tripod's lord,
Though the fairest in heavenly story,
The twins with their star bright gleaming afar--
All yield to our Jason in glory. 90
When in her train of courtly maidens she mingles--
Like the bright sunshine paling the starry splendor, 95
Or the full moonlight quenching the Pleiads' brilliance,
So does she shine, all peerless, of fair ones the fairest.
Now, O Jason, freed from the hateful wedlock 100
That held thee bound to the barbarous Colchian woman,
Joyfully wed the fair Corinthian maiden,
While at last her parents' blessings attend thee. 105
Ho then, youths, with licensed jest and rejoicing,
Loud let the songs of gladness ring through the city;
Rarely against our lords such freedom is given.
Fair and noble band of Bacchus, the thyrsus-bearer, 110
Now is the time to light the glittering torches of pinewood.
Shake on high the festal fire with languishing fingers;
Now let the bold and merry Fescennine laughter and jesting
Sound through our ranks. Let Medea fare in silence and darkness,
If perchance another lord she shall wed in her exile. 115
ACT II
_Medea:_ We are undone! How harsh upon mine ears doth grate
The song! and even now I cannot comprehend
The vast extent of woe that hath befallen me.
Could Jason prove so false? Bereft of native land,
And home, and kingdom, could he leave me here alone
On foreign shores? Oh, cruel, could he quite reject 120
My sum of service, he who saw the fire and sea
With crime o'ercome for his dear sake? And does he think
That thus the fatal chapter can be ended? Wild,
Devoid of reason, sick of soul, my swift mind darts
In all directions seeking whence revenge may come!
I would he had a brother! But his wife--'gainst her 125
Be aimed the blow! Can thus my wrongs be satisfied?
Nay, nay--to meet my sum of woe must be heaped high
The crimes of Greece, of strange barbaric lands, and those
Which even thy hands have not known. Now lash thy soul
With memory's scourge, and call thy dark deeds in review: 130
The glory of thy father's kingdom reft away;
Thy brother, guiltless comrade of thy guilty flight,
All hewn in pieces and his corpse strewn on the deep,
To break his royal father's heart; and, last of crimes,
Old Pelias by his daughters slain at thy command. 135
O impious one, what streams of blood have flowed to work
Thy ends! And yet, not one of all my crimes by wrath
Was prompted. Love, ill-omened love, suggested all.
Yet, what could Jason else have done, compelled to serve
Another's will, another's law? He should have died
Before he yielded to the tyrant's will. Nay, nay, 140
Thou raging passion, speak not so! For, if he may,
I would that Jason still may live and still be mine,
As once he was; if not, yet may he still live on,
And, mindful of my merits, live without my aid.
The guilt is Creon's all, who with unbridled power
Dissolves the marriage bond, my children separates 145
From me who bore them, yea, and makes the strongest pledge,
Though ratified with straightest oath, of none effect.
Let him alone sustain my wrath; let Creon pay
The debt of guilt he owes! His palace will I bring
To utter desolation; and the whirling fire
To far-off Malea's crags shall send its lurid glare. 150
_Nurse:_ Be silent now, I pray thee, and thy plaints confine
To secret woe! The man who heavy blows can bear
In silence, biding still his time with patient soul,
Full oft his vengeance gains. 'Tis hidden wrath that harms;
But hate proclaimed oft loses half its power to harm.
_Medea:_ But small the grief is that can counsel take and hide
Its head; great ills lie not in hiding, but must rush 155
Abroad and work their will.
_Nurse:_ Oh, cease this mad complaint,
My mistress; scarce can friendly silence help thee now.
_Medea:_ But fortune fears the brave, the faint of heart o'erwhelms.
_Nurse:_ Then valor be approved, if for it still there's room. 160
_Medea:_ But it must always be that valor finds its place.
_Nurse:_ No star of hope points out the way from these our woes.
_Medea:_ The man who hopes for naught at least has naught to fear.
_Nurse:_ The Colchians are thy foes; thy husband's vows have failed;
Of all thy vast possessions not a jot is left. 165
_Medea:_ Yet I am left. There's left both sea and land and fire
And sword and gods and hurtling thunderbolts.
_Nurse:_ The king must be revered.
_Medea:_ My father was a king.
_Nurse:_ Dost thou not fear?
_Medea:_ Not though the earth produced the foe.
_Nurse:_ Thou'lt perish. 170
_Medea:_ So I wish it.
_Nurse:_ Flee!
_Medea:_ I'm done with flight.[9]
Why should Medea flee?
_Nurse:_ Thy children!
_Medea:_ Whose, thou know'st.
_Nurse:_ And dost thou still delay?
_Medea:_ I go, but vengeance first.
_Nurse:_ Th' avenger will pursue.
_Medea:_ Perchance I'll stop his course.
_Nurse:_ Nay, hold thy words, and cease thy threats, O foolish one.
Thy temper curb; 'tis well to yield to fate's decrees. 175
_Medea:_ Though fate may strip me of all my, myself am left.
But who flings wide the royal palace doors? Behold,
'Tis Creon's self, exalted high in Grecian sway.
[Medea _retires to back of stage; exit_ Nurse; _enter_ Creon.]
_Creon:_ Medea, baleful daughter of the Colchian king,
Has not yet taken her hateful presence from our realm. 180
On mischief is she bent. Well known her treach'rous power.
For who escapes her? Who may pass his days in peace?
This curséd pestilence at once would I have stayed
By force of arms; but Jason's prayers prevailed. She still
May live, but let her free my borders from the fear 185
Her presence genders, and her safety gain by flight.
[_He sees_ Medea _approaching_.]
But lo, she comes, with fierce and threatening mien, to seek
An audience with us.
[_To attendants._]
Slaves defend us from her touch
And pestilential presence! Bid her silence keep,
And learn to yield obedience to the king's commands. 190
[_To_ Medea.]
Go, speed thy flight, thou thing of evil, fell, and monstrous!
_Medea:_ But tell me what the crime, my lord, or what the guilt
That merits exile?
_Creon:_ Let the guiltless question thus.
_Medea:_ If now thou judgest, hear me; if thou reign'st, command.[10]
_Creon:_ The king's command thou must abide, nor question aught. 195
_Medea:_ Unrighteous sovereignty has never long endured.
_Creon:_ Go hence, and to the Colchians complain.
_Medea:_ I go,
But let him take me hence who brought me to thy shores.
_Creon:_ Thy prayer has come too late, for fixed is my decree.
_Medea:_ Who judges, and denies his ear to either side,
Though right his judgment, still is he himself unjust. 200
_Creon:_ Didst lend thine ear to Pelias, ere thou judgedst him?
But come, I'll give thee grace to plead thy goodly cause.
_Medea:_ How hard the task to turn the soul from wrath, when once
To wrath inclined; how 'tis the creed of sceptered kings
To swerve not from the purposed course they once have taken, 205
Full well I know, for I have tasted royalty.
For, though by present storms of ill I'm overwhelmed,
An exile, suppliant, lone, forsaken, all forlorn,
I once in happier times a royal princess shone,
And traced my proud descent from heavenly Phoebus' self. 210
My father's realm extended wide o'er all the land
Where Phasis' gentle waters flow, o'er Scythia's plains
Whose rivers sweeten Pontus' briny waves; where, too,
Thermodon's banks inclose the race of warlike maids,
Whose gleaming shields strike terror to their foes. All this 215
My father held in sway. And I, of noble birth,
And blessed of heaven, in royal state was high upraised.
Then princes humbly sought my hand in wedlock, mine,
Who now must sue. O changeful fortune, thou my throne 220
Hast reft away, and given me exile in its stead.
Trust not in kingly realms, since fickle chance may strew
Their treasures to the winds. Lo, this is regal, this
The work of kings, which time nor change cannot undo:
To succor the afflicted, to provide at need 225
A trusty refuge for the suppliant. This alone
I brought of all my Colchian treasure, this renown,
This very flower of fame,[11] that by my arts I saved
The bulwark of the Greeks, the offspring of the gods.
My princely gift to Greece is Orpheus, that sweet bard 230
Who can the trees in willing bondage draw, and melt
The crag's hard heart. Mine too are Boreas' wingéd sons,
And Leda's heaven-born progeny, and Lynceus, he,
Whose glance can pierce the distant view--yea, all the Greeks,
Save Jason; for I mention not the king of kings,
The leader of the leaders; he is mine alone,
My labor's recompense; the rest I give to you. 235
Nay, come, O king, arraign me, and rehearse my crimes.
But stay! for I'll confess them all. The only crime
Of which I stand accused is this--the Argo saved.
Suppose my maiden scruples had opposed the deed;
Suppose my filial piety had stayed my hand:
Then had the mighty chieftains fall'n, and in their fate
All Greece had been o'erwhelmed; then this, thy son-in-law, 240
Had felt the bull's consuming breath, and perished there.
Nay, nay, let fortune, when she will, my doom decree;
I glory still that kings have owed their lives to me.
But what reward I reap for all my glorious deeds
Is in thy hands. Convict me, if thou wilt, of sin, 245
But give him back for whom I sinned. O Creon, see,
I own that I am guilty. This much thou didst know,
When first I clasped thy knees, a humble suppliant,
And sought the shelter of thy royal clemency.
Some little corner of thy kingdom now I ask,
In which to hide my grief. If I must flee again, 250
Oh, let some nook remote within thy broad domain
Be found for me!
_Creon:_ That I my power in mercy wield,
And spurn not those who seek my aid let Jason's self
My witness be, who, exiled, overwhelmed by fate, 255
And smitten sore with fear, a refuge found with me.
For Io, Thessalia's monarch, bent on vengeance dire,
Seeks Jason at my hand. The cause, indeed, is just:
For that his sire, o'erburdened with the weight of years,
Was foully taken off, while by thy wicked guile 260
His guileless sisters' hands were nerved to do the deed.
If now our Jason can unlink his cause from thine,
'Tis easy his defense to make, for on his hands
No stain of blood is found. His arm no sword upraised,
And he has had no part nor lot in this thy crime. 265
No, thou and thou alone the arch contriver art,
Uniting in thy person woman's fertile wit
And man's effective strength; while in thy reckless heart
No thought of reputation dwells to check thy hand.
Then go thou hence and purge our kingdom of its stain;
Bear hence thy deadly poisons; free the citizens 270
From fear; abiding in some other land than this,
Outwear the patience of the gods.
_Medea:_ Thou bid'st me flee?
Then give me back my bark wherein to flee. Restore
The partner of my flight! Why should I flee alone?
I came not thus. Or if avenging war thou fear'st,
Then banish both the culprits; why distinguish me 275
From Jason? 'Twas for him old Pelias was o'ercome;
For him the flight, the plunder of my father's realm,
My sire forsaken and my infant brother slain,
And all the guilt that love suggests; 'twas all for him.
Deep dyed in sin am I, but on my guilty soul 280
The sin of profit lieth not.
_Creon:_ Why seek delay
By speech? Too long thou tarriest.
_Medea:_ I go, but grant
This last request: let not the mother's fall o'erwhelm
Her hapless babes.
_Creon:_ Then go in peace. For I to them
A father's place will fill, and take them to my heart.
_Medea:_ Now by the fair hopes born upon this wedding day, 285
And by thy hopes of lasting sovereignty secure
From changeful fate's assault, I pray thee grant from flight
A respite brief, while I upon my children's lips
A mother's kiss imprint, perchance the last.
_Creon:_ A time
Thou seek'st for treachery. 290
_Medea:_ What fraud can be devised
In one short hour?
_Creon:_ To those on mischief bent, be sure,
The briefest time is fraught with mischief's fatal power.
_Medea:_ Dost thou refuse me, then, one little space for tears?
_Creon:_ Though deep-ingrafted fear would fain resist thy plea,
A single day I'll give thee ere my sentence holds. 295
_Medea:_ Too gracious thou. But let my respite further shrink,
And I'll depart content.
_Creon:_ Thy life shall surely pay
The forfeit if tomorrow's sun beholds thee still
In Corinth. But the voice of Hymen calls away
To solemnize the rites of this his festal day. 300
[_Exeunt._]
* * * * *
_Chorus:_ Too bold the man who first upon the seas,
The treacherous seas, his fragile bark confided;
Who, as the well-known shore behind him glided,
His life intrusted to the fickle breeze;
And, as his unknown seaward course he sped 305
Within his slender craft with foolish daring,
Midway 'twixt life and death went onward faring,
Along the perilous narrow margin led.
Not yet were sparkling constellations known,
Or sky, all spangled with the starry glory; 310
Not yet could sailors read the warning story
By stormy Hyades upon the heavens thrown.
Not yet was Zeus's foster-mother famed,
Nor slow Boötes round the north star wheeling; 315
Nor Boreas nor Zephyr gently stealing,
Each feared or welcomed, though as yet unnamed.
First Tiphys dared to spread his venturous sail,
The hidden lesson of the breezes learning,
Now all his canvas to the Zephyrs turning, 320
Now shifting all to catch the changing gale.
Now midway on the mast the yard remains,
Now at the head with all its canvas drawing,
While eager sailors lure the breezes blowing,
And over all the gleaming topsail strains. 325
The guiltless golden age our fathers saw,
When youth and age the same horizon bounded;
No greed of gain their simple hearts confounded;
Their native wealth enough, 'twas all they knew. 330
But lo, the severed worlds have been brought near
And linked in one by Argo's hand uniting;
While seas endure the oar's unwonted smiting, 335
And add their fury to the primal fear.
This impious bark its guilt in dread atoned 340
When clashing mountains were together driven,
And sea, from sea in mighty conflict riven,
The stars besprinkled with the leaping foam. 345
Amid these perils sturdy Tiphys paled,
And from his nerveless hand the vessel bounded;
While stricken Orpheus' lyre no more resounded,
And tuneful Argo's warning message failed.
What sinking terror filled each quaking breast,
When near the borders of sea-girt Pelorus, 350
There smote upon their ears the horrid chorus
Of Scylla's baying wolves around them pressed.
What terror when they neared the Sirens' lair, 355
Who soothe the troubled waves with witching measures!
But Orpheus filled their souls with nobler pleasures,
And left the foe in impotent despair. 360
And of this wild adventure what the prize,
That lured the daring bark with heroes laden?
The fleece of gold, and this mad Colchian maiden,
Well fit to be the first ship's merchandize.
The sea, subdued, the victor's law obeys; 365
No vessel needs a goddess' art in framing,
Nor oars in heroes' hands, the ocean taming:
The frailest craft now dares the roughest waves.
Now, every bound removed, new cities rise 370
In lands remote, their ancient walls removing;
While men of Ind by Caspian shores are roving,
And Persia's face now greets the western skies. 375
The time will come, as lapsing ages flee,
When every land shall yield its hidden treasure;
When men no more shall unknown courses measure,
For round the world no "farthest land" shall be.
FOOTNOTES:
[9] Reading, _Medea fugiam_, as a continuation of Medea's speech.
[10] Retaining _si regnas, iube_ in Medea's speech.
[11] Reading, _gloriae_.
ACT III
[Medea _is rushing out to seek vengeance, while the_ Nurse _tries in
vain to restrain her_.]
_Nurse:_ My foster-daughter, whither speedest thou abroad? 380
Oh, stay, I pray thee, and restrain thy passion's force.
[Medea _hastens by without answering. The_ Nurse _soliloquizes_.]
As some wild Bacchanal, whose fury's raging fire
The god inflames, now roams distraught on Pindus' snows,
And now on lofty Nysa's rugged slopes; so she, 385
Now here, now there, with frenzied step is hurried on,
Her face revealing every mark of stricken woe,
With flushing cheek and sighs deep drawn, wild cries, and tears,
And laughter worse than tears. In her a medley strange
Of every passion may be seen: o'ertopping wrath, 390
Bewailings, bitter groans of anguish. Whither tends
This overburdened soul? What mean her frenzied threats?
When will the foaming wave of fury spend itself?
No common crime, I fear, no easy deed of ill
She meditates. Herself she will outvie. For well
I recognize the wonted marks of rage. Some deed
Is threatening, wild, profane, and hideous. 395
[_Re-enter_ Medea.]
Behold
Her face betrays her madness. O ye gods, may these
Our fears prove vain forebodings!
_Medea_ [_not noticing the_ Nurse's _presence_]: For thy hate, poor
soul,
Dost thou a measure seek? Let it be deep as love.
And shall I tamely view the wedding torches's glare?
And shall this day go uneventful by, this day,
So hardly won, so grudgingly bestowed? Nay, nay, 400
While, poised upon her heights, the central earth shall bear
The heavens up; while seasons run their endless round,
And sands unnumbered lie; while days, and nights, and sun,
And stars in due procession pass; while round the pole
The ocean-fearing bears revolve, and tumbling streams
Flow downward to the sea; my grief shall never cease 405
To seek revenge, and shall forever grow. What rage
Of savage beast can equal mine? What Scylla famed?
What sea-engulfing pool? What burning Aetna placed
On impious Titan's heaving breast? No torrent stream, 410
Nor storm-tossed sea, nor breath of flame fanned by the gale,
Can check or equal my wild storm of rage. My will
Is set on limitless revenge!
Will Jason say 415
He feared the power of Creon and Acastus' threats?
True love is proof against the fear of man. But grant
He was compelled to yield, and pledged his hand in fear:
He might at least have sought his wife with one last word
Of comfort and farewell. But this, though brave in heart, 420
He feared to do. The cruel terms of banishment
Could Creon's son-in-law not soften? No. One day
Alone was giv'n for last farewell to both my babes.
But time's short space I'll not bewail; though brief in hours,
In consequence it stretches out eternally.
This day shall see a deed that ne'er shall be forgot.
But now I'll go and pray the gods, and move high heaven 425
But I shall work my will!
_Nurse:_ Thy heart all passion-tossed,
I pray thee, mistress, soothe, and calm thy troubled soul.
_Medea:_ My troubled soul can never know a time of rest
Until it sees all things o'erwhelmed in common doom.
All must go down with me! 'Tis sweet such death to die.
[_Exit_ Medea.]
_Nurse_ [_calling after her_]: Oh, think what perils thou must meet
if thou persist! 430
No one with safety may defy a sceptered king.
[_Enter_ Jason.]
_Jason:_ O heartless fate, if frowns or smiles bedeck thy brow,
How often are thy cures far worse than the disease
They seek to cure! If, now, I wish to keep the troth 435
I plighted to my lawful bride, my life must pay
The forfeit; if I shrink from death, my guilty soul
Must perjured be. I fear no power that man can wield;
But in my heart paternal love unmans me quite;
For well I know that in my death my children's fate
Is sealed. O sacred Justice, if in heaven thou dwell'st, 440
Be witness now, that for my children's sake I act.
Nay, sure am I that even she, Medea's self,
Though fierce she is of soul and brooking no restraint,
Will see her children's good outweighing all her wrongs.
With this good argument my purpose now is fixed, 445
In humble wise to brave her wrath.
[_Enter_ Medea.]
At sight of me
Her raging fury flames anew! Hate, like a shield,
She bears, and in her face is pictured all her woe.
_Medea:_ Thou see'st, Jason, that we flee. 'Tis no new thing
To suffer exile, but the cause of flight is strange;
For with thee I was wont to flee, not from thee. Yes,
I go. But whither dost thou send me whom thou driv'st 450
From out thy home? Shall I the Colchians seek again,
My royal father's realm, whose soil is steeped in blood
My brother shed? What country dost thou bid me seek?
What way by sea is open? Shall I fare again
Where once I saved the noble kings of Greece, and thee, 455
Thou wanton, through the threatening jaws of Pontus' strait,
The blue Symplegades? Or shall I hie me back
To fair Thessalia's realms? Lo, all the doors which I,
For thee, have opened wide, I've closed upon myself.
But whither dost thou send me now? Thou bid'st me flee, 460
But show'st no way or means of flight.
But 'tis enough:
The king's own son-in-law commands and I obey.
Come, heap thy torments on me; I deserve them all.
Let royal wrath oppress me, wanton that I am,
With cruel hand, and load my guilty limbs with chains;
And let me be immured in dungeons black as night: 465
Still will my punishment be less than my offense.
O ingrate! hast thou then forgot the brazen bull,
And his consuming breath? the fear that smote thee, when,
Upon the field of Mars, the earth-born brood stood forth
To meet thy single sword? 'Twas by my arts that they, 470
The monsters, fell by mutual blows. Remember, too,
The long-sought fleece of gold I won for thee, whose guard,
The dragon huge, was lulled to rest at my command;
My brother slain for thee. For thee old Pelias fell, 475
When, taken by my guile, his daughters slew their sire,
Whose life could not return. All this I did for thee.
In quest of thine advantage have I quite forgot
Mine own.
And now, by all thy fond paternal hopes,
By thine established house, by all the monsters slain 480
For thee, by these my hands which I have ever held
To work thy will, by all the perils past, by heaven
And sea that witnessed at my wedlock, pity me!
Since thou art blessed, restore me what I lost for thee:
That countless treasure plundered from the swarthy tribes
Of India, which filled our goodly vaults with wealth, 485
And decked our very trees with gold. This costly store
I left for thee, my native land, my brother, sire,
My reputation--all; and with this dower I came.
If now to homeless exile thou dost send me forth,
Give back the countless treasures which I left for thee. 490
_Jason:_ Though Creon in a vengeful mood would have thy life,
I moved him by my tears to grant thee flight instead.
_Medea:_ I thought my exile punishment; 'tis now, I see,
A gracious boon!
_Jason:_ Oh, flee while still the respite holds;
Provoke him not, for deadly is the wrath of kings. 495
_Medea:_ Not so. 'Tis for Creüsa's love thou sayest this;
Thou wouldst remove the hated wanton once thy wife.
_Jason:_ Dost thou reproach me with a guilty love?
_Medea:_ Yea, that,
And murder too, and treachery.
_Jason:_ But name me now,
If so thou canst, the crimes that I have done.
_Medea:_ Thy crimes--
Whatever I have done.
_Jason:_ Why then, in truth, thy guilt
Must all be mine, if all thy crimes are mine. 500
_Medea:_ They are,
They are all thine; for who by sin advantage gains,
Commits the sin. All men proclaim thy wife defiled.
Do thou thyself protect her, and condone her sin.
Let her be guiltless in thine eyes who for thy gain
Has sinned.
_Jason:_ But gifts which sin has bought 'twere shame to take.
_Medea:_ Why keep'st thou then the gifts which it were shame to
take? 505
_Jason:_ Nay, curb thy fiery soul! Thy children--for their sake
Be calm.
_Medea:_ My children! Them I do refuse, reject,
Renounce! Shall then Creüsa brothers bear to these
My children?
_Jason:_ But the queen can aid thy wretched sons.
_Medea:_ May that day never dawn, that day of shame and woe, 510
When in one house are joined the low born and the high,
The sons of that foul robber Sisyphus, and these,
The sons of Phoebus.
_Jason:_ Wretched one, and wilt thou then
Involve me also in thy fall? Begone, I pray.
_Medea:_ Creon hath heard my prayer.
_Jason:_ What wouldst thou have me do? 515
_Medea:_ For me? I'd have thee dare the law.
_Jason:_ The royal power
Doth compass me.
_Medea:_ A greater than the king is here:
Medea. Set us front to front and let us strive;
And of this royal strife let Jason be the prize.
_Jason:_ O'erwearied by my woes I yield. But be thou ware,
Medea, lest too often thou shouldst tempt thy fate. 520
_Medea:_ Yet fortune's mistress have I ever been.
_Jason:_ But see,
With hostile front Acastus comes, on vengeance bent,
While Creon threatens instant death.
_Medea:_ Then flee them both.
I ask thee not to draw thy sword against the king
Nor yet to stain thy pious hands with kindred blood.
Come, flee with me.
_Jason:_ But what resistance can we make, 525
If war with double visage rear his horrid front,
If Creon and Acastus join in common cause?
_Medea:_ Add, too, the Colchian armies with my father's self
To lead them; join the Scythian and Pelasgian hordes:
In one deep gulf of ruin will I whelm them all.
_Jason:_ Yet on the scepter do I look with fear.
_Medea:_ Beware,
Lest not the fear, but lust of power prevail with thee.
_Jason:_ Too long we strive: have done, lest we suspicion breed. 530
_Medea:_ Now Jove, throughout thy heavens let the thunders roll!
Thy mighty arm in wrath make bare! Thy darting flames
Of vengeance loose, and shake the lofty firmament
With rending storms! At random hurl thy vengeful bolts,
Selecting neither me nor Jason with thy aim;
That thus whoever falls may perish with the brand 535
Of guilt upon him; for thy hurtling darts can take
No erring flight.
_Jason:_ Recall thee and in calmness speak
With words of peace and reason. Then if any gift
From Creon's royal house can compensate thy woes,
Take that as solace of thy flight.
_Medea:_ My soul doth scorn 540
The wealth of kings. But let me have my little ones
As comrades of my flight, that in their childish breasts
Their mother's tears may flow. New sons await thy home.
_Jason:_ My heart inclines to yield to thee, but love forbids.
For these my sons shall never from my arms be reft, 545
Though Creon's self demand. My very spring of life,
My sore heart's comfort, and my joy are these my sons;
And sooner could I part with limbs or vital breath,
Or light of life.
_Medea_ [_aside_]: Doth he thus love his sons? 'Tis well;
Then is he bound, and in his armored strength this flaw 550
Reveals the place to strike.
[_To_ Jason.]
At least, ere I depart,
Grant me this last request: let me once more embrace
My sons. E'en that small boon will comfort my sad heart.
And this my latest prayer to thee: if, in my grief,
My tongue was over bold, let not my words remain 555
To rankle in thy heart. Remember happier things
Of me and let my bitter words be straight forgot.
_Jason:_ Not one shall linger in my soul; and curb, I pray,
Thy too impetuous heart, and gently yield to fate.
For resignation ever soothes the woeful soul.
[_Exit_ Jason.]
_Medea:_ He's gone! And can it be? And shall he thus depart, 560
Forgetting me and all my service? Must I drop,
Like some discarded toy, out of his faithless heart?
It shall not be. Up then, and summon all thy strength
And all thy skill! And, this the fruit of former crime,
Count nothing criminal that works thy will. But lo,
We're hedged about; scant room is left for our designs. 565
Now must the attack be made where least suspicion wakes
The least resistance. Now Medea, on! and do
And dare thine utmost, yea, beyond thine utmost power!
[_To the_ Nurse.]
Do thou, my faithful nurse, the comrade of my grief,
And all the devious wanderings of my checkered course,
Assist me now in these my plans. There is a robe,
The glory of our Colchian realm, the precious gift 570
Of Phoebus' self to king Aeëtes as a proof
Of fatherhood; a gleaming circlet, too, all wrought
With threads of gold, the yellow gold bespangled o'er
With gems, a fitting crown to deck a princess' head.
These treasures let Medea's children bear as gifts 575
To Jason's bride. But first infuse them with the power
Of magic, and invoke the aid of Hecate;
The woe-producing sacrifices then prepare,
And let the sacred flames through all our courts resound.
_Chorus:_ No force of flame or raging gale,
Or whizzing bolt so fearful is, 580
As when a wife, by her lord betrayed,
Burns hot with hate.
Not such a force is Auster's blast,
When he marshals forth the wintry storms;
Nor Hister's headlong rushing stream,
Which, wrecking bridges in its course, 585
Pours reckless on;
Nor yet the Rhone, whose current strong
Beats back the sea; nor when the snows,
Beneath the lengthening days of spring
And the sun's warm rays, melt down in streams
From Haemus' top. 590
Blind is the rage of passion's fire,
Will not be governed, brooks no reins,
And scoffs at death; nay, hostile swords
It gladly courts.
Spare, O ye gods, be merciful, 595
That he who tamed the sea may live.
But much we fear, for the lord of the deep
Is wroth that his realm of the second lot
Should be subdued.
The thoughtless youth who dared to drive
His father's sacred chariot,
Was by those fires, which o'er the heavens 600
He scattered in his mad career,
Himself consumed.
The beaten path has never proved
The way of danger. Walk ye then
Where your forefathers safely trod,
And keep great nature's holy laws 605
Inviolate.
Whoever dipped the famous oars
Of that bold bark in the rushing sea;
Whoe'er despoiled old Pelion
Of the thick, dark shade of his sacred groves;
Whoever dared the clashing rocks, 610
And, after countless perils passed,
His vessel moored on a barbarous shore,
Hoping to fare on his homeward way
The master of the golden fleece,
All by a fearful end appeased 615
The offended sea.
First Tiphys, tamer of the deep,
Abandoned to an untrained hand
His vessel's helm. On a foreign shore,
Far from his native land he died;
And now within a common tomb, 620
'Midst unknown ghosts, he lies at rest.
In wrathful memory of her king
Lost on the sea, did Aulis then
Within her sluggish harbor hold
The impatient ships.
Then he, the tuneful Muse's son, 625
At whose sweet strains the streams stood still,
The winds were silent, and the birds,
Their songs forgotten, flocked to him,[12]
The whole wood following after--he,
Over the Thracian fields was hurled 630
In scattered fragments; but his head
Down Hebrus' grieving stream was borne.
The well-remembered Styx he reached,
And Tartarus, whence ne'er again
Would he return.
The wingéd sons of Boreas
Alcides slew, and Neptune's son 635
Who in a thousand changing forms
Could clothe himself. But after peace
On land and sea had been proclaimed,
And after savage Pluto's realm
Had been revealed to mortal eyes,
Then did Alcides' self, alive,
On burning Oeta's top lie down,
And give his body to the flames; 640
For sore distressed was he, consumed
By Deianira's deadly gift,
The double blood.
A savage boar Ancaeus slew;
Thou, Meleager, impiously
Thy mother's brother in wrath didst slay,
And by that angry mother's hand 645
Didst die. All these deserved their death.
But for what crime did Hylas die,
A tender lad whom Hercules
Long time but vainly sought? For he,
'Mid waters safe was done to death.
Go then, and fearlessly the deep
Plow with your daring ships; but fear 650
The peaceful pools.
Idmon, though well be knew the fates,
A serpent slew on Afric sands;
And Mopsus, to all others true,
False to himself, died far from Thebes. 655
If he with truth the future sang,
Then Nauplius, who strove to wreck
The Argive ships by lying fires,
Shall headlong fall into the sea.
And for his father's daring crime 660
Shall Ajax, that Oïleus' son,
Make full atonement, perishing
'Midst flame and flood.[13]
And thou, Admetus' faithful mate,
Shalt[14] for thy husband pay thy life,
Redeeming his from death. But he,
Who bade the first ship sail in quest 665
Of the golden spoil, King Pelias,
Seethed in a boiling cauldron, swam
'Mid those restricted waves. Enough,
O gods, have ye avenged the sea:
Spare him, we pray, who did but go
On ordered ways.
FOOTNOTES:
[12] Reading, _cui_.
[13] Reading, with a period after _profundum_ and after _Oïleus_.
[14] Reading, _impendes_.
ACT IV
_Nurse_ [_alone_]: My spirit trembles, for I feel the near
approach 670
Of some unseen disaster. Swiftly grows her grief,
Its own fires kindling; and again her passion's force
Hath leaped to life. I oft have seen her, with the fit
Of inspiration in her soul, confront the gods
And force the very heavens to her will. But now,
A monstrous deed, of greater moment far than these, 675
Medea is preparing. For, but now, did she
With step of frenzy hurry off until she reached
Her stricken home. There, in her chamber, all her stores
Of magic wonders are revealed; once more she views
The things herself hath held in fear these many years,
Unloosing one by one her ministers of ill,
Occult, unspeakable, and wrapt in mystery;
And, grasping with her hand the sacred altar-horn, 680
With prayers, she straightly summons all destructive powers,
The creatures bred in Libya's sands, and on the peaks
Of frigid Taurus, clad in everlasting snows.
Obedient to her potent charms, the scaly brood 685
Of serpents leave their darksome lairs and swarm to her;
One savage creature rolls his monstrous length along,
And darts his forkéd tongue with its envenomed sting,
Death-dealing; at the charming sound he stops amazed,
And fold on fold his body writhes in nerveless coils. 690
"But these are petty ills; unworthy of my hand,"
She cries, "are such weak, earth-born weapons. Potent charms
Are bred in heaven. Now, now 'tis time to summon powers
Transcending common magic. Down I'll draw from heaven
That serpent huge whose body lies athwart the sky 695
Like some great ocean stream, in whose constricting folds
The greater and the lesser Bears are held enthralled,
The greater set as guide for Grecian ships, the less
For Sidon's mariners! Let Ophiuchus loose
His hand and pour forth venom from his captive thrall!
And let the Python huge, that dared to rear its head 700
Against the heavenly twins, be present at my prayer!
Let Hydra's writhing heads, which by Alcides' hand
Were severed, all return to life and give me aid!
Thou too be near and leave thy ancient Colchian home,
Thou watchful dragon, to whose eyes the first sleep came
In answer to my incantations."
When she thus 705
Had summoned all the serpent brood, she cast her store
Of baleful herbs together; all the poisons brewed
Amid the rocky caves of trackless Eryx; plants
That flourish on the snowy peaks of Caucasus,
Whose crags were spattered with Prometheus' gore; the herbs 710
Within whose deadly juice the Arab dips his darts,
And the quiver-bearing Mede and fleeing Parthian;
Those potent juices, too, which, near the shivering pole,
The Suabian chieftains gather in Hyrcanian groves.
The seasons, too, have paid their tribute to her stores:
Whatever earth produces in the nesting time,
And when the stiff'ning hand of winter's frost has stripped 715
The glory from the trees and fettered all the land
With icy bonds; whatever flow'ring plant conceals
Destruction in its bloom, or in its twisted roots
Distils the juice of death, she gathers to her use.
These pestilential herbs Haemonian Athos gave; 720
And these on lofty Pindus grew; a bloody knife
Clipped off these slender leaves on Macedonia's heights;
Still others grew beside the Tigris, whirling on
His flood to meet the sea; the Danube nourished some;
These grew on bright gem-starred Hydaspes' tepid stream; 725
And these the Baetis bore, which gave the land its name,
Displacing with its langourous tide, the western sea.
These felt the knife when early dawn begins to break;
The fruit of these was cut in midnight's gloomy hour;
This fatal crop was reaped with sickle magic-edged. 730
These deadly, potent herbs she takes and sprinkles o'er
With serpent venom, mixing all; and in the broth
She mingles unclean birds: a wailing screech owl's heart,
A ghastly vampire's vitals torn from living flesh.
Her magic poisons all she ranges for her use. 735
The ravening power of hidden fire is held in these,
While deep in others lurks the numbing chill of frost.
Now magic runes she adds more potent far.
But lo!
Her voice resounds! and, as with maddened step she comes,
She chants her charms, while heaven and earth convulsive rock.
[_Enter_ Medea, _chanting her incantations_.]
_Medea:_ I supplicate the silent throng, and you, the gods 740
Of death's sad rites, and groping chaos, and the home
Of gloomy Pluto, and the black abyss of death
Girt by the banks of Tartarus! Ye storied shades,
Your torments leave and haste to grace the festival
At Hymen's call! Let stop the whirling wheel that holds
Ixion's limbs and let him tread Corinthian ground;
Let Tantalus unfrighted drink Pirene's stream. 745
On Creon's stock alone let heavier torments fall,
And backward o'er the rocks let Sisyphus be hurled.
You too, the seed of Danaüs, whose fruitless toil
The ever-empty urns deride, I summon you;
This day requires your helping hands. Thou radiant moon, 750
Night's glorious orb, my supplications hear and come
To aid; put on thy sternest guise, thou goddess dread
Of triple form! Full oft have I with flowing locks,
And feet unsandaled, wandered through thy darkling groves
And by thy inspiration summoned forth the rain
From cloudless skies; the heaving seas have I subdued, 755
And sent the vanquished waves to ocean's lowest depths.
At my command the sun and stars together shine,
The heavenly law reversed; while in the Arctic sea
The Bears have plunged. The seasons, too, obey my will:
I've made the burning summer blossom as the spring, 760
And hoary winter autumn's golden harvests bear.
The Phasis sends his swirling waves to seek their source,
And Ister, flowing to the sea with many mouths,
His eager water checks and sluggish rolls along.
The billows roar, the mad sea rages, though the winds 765
All silent lie. At my command primeval groves
Have lost their shade;[15] the sun, abandoning[16] the day,
Has stood in middle heaven; while falling Hyades
Attest my charms.
But now thy sacred hour is come, 770
O Phoebe. Thine these bonds with bloody hand entwined
With ninefold serpent coils; these cords I offer thee,
Which on his hybrid limbs Typhoeus bore, who shook
The throne of Jove. This vessel holds the dying blood
Of Nessus, faithless porter of Alcides' bride. 775
Here are the ashes of the pyre on Oeta's top
Which drank the poisoned blood of dying Hercules;
And here the fatal billet that Althaea burned
In vengeance on her son. These plumes the Harpies left 780
Within their caverned lair when Zetes drove them forth;
And these the feathers of that vile Stymphalian bird
Which arrows, dipped in Lerna's deadly poison, pierced.
But lo! mine altar fires resound!
While in the tripod's answering voice 785
Behold the present deity!
I see the car of Trivia,
Not full and clear as when she drives
The livelong night to meet the dawn;
But with a baleful, lurid glare,
As, harried by Thessalian cries, 790
She holds a more restricted course.
Send such uncanny light abroad!
Fill mortals with a dread unknown;
And let our Corinth's priceless bronze
Resound, Dictynna, for thy aid! 795
To thee a solemn sacrifice
On bloody altar do we pay!
To thee, snatched from the mournful tomb,
The blazing torch nocturnal burns;
On thee I call with tossing head, 800
And many a frantic gesture make;
Corpselike upon the bier I lie,
My hair with priestly fillet bound;
Before thy awful shrine is waved
The branch in Stygian waters dipped.
And, calling on thy name, with gleaming shoulders bared, 805
Like Bacchus' mad adorers, will I lash my arms
With sacrificial knife. Now let my life-blood flow!
And let my hands be used to draw the deadly sword,
And learn to shed belovéd blood!
[_She cuts her arm and lets the blood flow upon the altar._]
Behold, self-stricken have I poured the sacrifice! 810
But if too oft upon thy name I call,
I pray forgive this importunity!
The cause, O Hecate, of all my prayers
Is ever Jason; this my constant care. 815
[_To attendants._]
Take now Creüsa's bridal robe, and steep in these,
My potent drugs; and when she dons the clinging folds,
Let subtle flames go stealing through her inmost heart.
The fire that in this tawny golden circlet lurks 820
Prometheus gave, who, for his daring heavenly theft
In human aid, endured an ever-living death.
'Twas Vulcan showed the fires concealed in sulphur's veins; 825
While from my brother Phaëthon I gained a flame
That never dies; I have preserved Chimera's breath,
And that fierce heat that parched the fiery, brazen bull
Of Colchis. These dread fires commingled with the gall 830
Of dire Medusa have I bidden keep the power
Of lurking evil. Now, O Hecate,
Give added force to these my deadly gifts.
And strictly guard the hidden seeds of flame.
Let them deceive the sight, endure the touch; 835
But through her veins let burning fever run;
In fervent heat consume her very bones,
And let her fiercely blazing locks outshine
Her marriage torches! Lo, my prayer is heard:
Thrice have replied the hounds of Hecate, 840
And she has shown her baleful, gleaming fires.
Now all is ready: hither call my sons,
And let them bear these presents to the bride.
[_Enter sons._]
Go, go, my sons, of hapless mother born, 845
And win with costly gifts and many prayers
The favor of the queen, your father's wife.
Begone, but quick your homeward way retrace,
That I may fold you in a last embrace.
[_Exeunt sons toward the palace_, Medea _in the opposite direction_.]
* * * * *
_Chorus:_ Where hastes this Bacchic fury now,
All passion-swept? what evil deed 850
Does her unbridled rage prepare?
Her features are congealed with rage,
And with a queenly bearing, grand
But terrible, she sets herself 855
Against e'en Creon's royal power.
An exile who would deem her now?
Her cheeks anon with anger flush,
And now a deadly pallor show;
Each feeling quick succeeds to each, 860
While all the passions of her heart
Her changing aspect testifies.
She wanders restless here and there,
As a tigress, of her young bereft,
In frantic grief the jungle scours. 865
Medea knows not how in check
To hold her wrath nor yet her love;
If love and wrath make common cause,
What dire results will come?
When will this scourge of Corinth leave 870
Our Grecian shores for Colchis' strand,
And free our kingdom from its fear?
Now, Phoebus, hasten on thy course
With no retarding rein. 875
Let friendly darkness quickly veil the light,
And this dread day be buried deep in night.
FOOTNOTES:
[15] Reading, with period after _meae_.
[16] Reading, _relicto_, and substituting comma for semicolon.
ACT V
_Messenger_ [_comes running in from the direction of the palace_]: Lo,
all is lost! the kingdom totters from its base!
The daughter and the father lie in common dust! 880
_Chorus:_ By what snare taken?
_Messenger:_ By gifts the common snare of kings.
_Chorus:_ What harm could lurk in them?
_Messenger:_ In equal doubt I stand;
And, though my eyes proclaim the dreadful deed is done,
I scarce can trust their witness.
_Chorus:_ What the mode of death?
_Messenger:_ Devouring flames consume the palace at the will 885
Of her who sent them; there complete destruction reigns,
While men do tremble for the very city's doom.
_Chorus:_ Let water quench the fire.
_Messenger:_ Nay here is added wonder:
The copious streams of water feed the deadly flames;
And opposition only fans their fiery rage
To whiter heat. The very bulwarks feel their power. 890
[Medea _enters in time to hear that her magic has been successful_.]
_Nurse_ [_to_ Medea]: Oh, haste thee, leave this land of Greece,
in headlong flight!
_Medea:_ Thou bid'st me speed my flight? Nay rather, had I fled
I should return for this. Strange bridal rites I see!
[_Absorbed in her own reflections._]
Why dost thou falter, O my soul? 'Tis well begun; 895
But still how small a portion of thy just revenge
Is that which gives thee present joy? Not yet has love
Been banished from thy maddened heart if 'tis enough
That Jason widowed be. Pursue thy vengeful quest
To acts as yet unknown, and steel thyself for these.
Away with every thought and fear of God and man; 900
Too lightly falls the rod that pious hands upbear.
Give passion fullest sway; exhaust thy ancient powers;
And let the worst thou yet hast done be innocent
Beside thy present deeds. Come, let them know how slight
Were those thy crimes already done; mere training they 905
For greater deeds. For what could hands untrained in crime
Accomplish? Or what mattered maiden rage? But now,
I am Medea; in the bitter school of woe
My powers have ripened. 910
[_In an ecstacy of madness._]
Oh, the bliss of memory!
My infant brother slain, his limbs asunder rent,
My royal father spoiled of his ancestral realm,
And Pelias' guiltless daughters lured to slay their sire!
But here I must not rest; no untrained hand I bring 915
To execute my deeds. But now, by what approach
Or by what weapon wilt thou threat the treacherous foe?
Deep hidden in my secret heart have I conceived
A purpose which I dare not utter. Oh, I fear
That in my foolish madness I have gone too far--
I would that children had been born to him of this 920
My hated rival. Still, since she hath gained his heart,
His children too are hers--
That punishment would be most fitting and deserved.
Yes, now I see the final deed of crime, and thou,
My soul, must face it. You, who once were called my sons,
Must pay the penalty of these your father's crimes-- 925
My heart with horror melts, a numbing chill pervades
My limbs, and all my soul is filled with sinking fear.
Now wrath gives place, and, heedless of my husband's sins,
The tender mother-instinct quite possesses me.
And could I shed my helpless children's blood? Not so,
Oh, say not so, my maddened heart! Far from my hand 930
And thought be that unnameable and hideous deed!
What sin have they that shedding of their wretched blood
Would wash away?
Their sin--that Jason is their sire,
And, deeper guilt, that I have borne them. Let them die;
They are not mine. Nay, nay! they are my own, my sons,
And with no spot of guilt. Full innocent they are, 935
'Tis true--my brother, too, was innocent. O soul,
Why dost thou hesitate? Why flow these streaming tears,
While with contending thoughts my wavering heart is torn?
As when conflicting winds contend in stubborn strife,
And waves, to stormy waves opposed, the sea invade, 940
And to their lowest sands the briny waters boil;
With such a storm my heart is tossed. Hate conquers love,
And love puts impious hate to flight. Oh, yield thee, grief,
To love! Then come, my sons, sole comfort of my heart, 945
Come, cling within your mother's close embrace. Unharmed
Your sire may keep you, while your mother holds you too.
[_Embraces her sons._]
But flight and exile drive me forth! And even now
My children must be torn away with tears and cries.
Then let them die to Jason since they're lost to me. 950
Once more has hate resumed her sway, and passion's fire
Is hot within my soul. Now fury, as of yore,
Reseeks her own. Lead on, I follow to the end!
I would that I had borne twice seven sons, the boast 955
Of Niobe! But all too barren have I been.
Still will my two sufficient be to satisfy
My brother and my sire.
[_Sees a vision of the furies and her brother's ghost._]
But whither hastes that throng
Of furies? What their quest? What mean their brandished fires?
Whom threats this hellish host with horrid, bloody brands? 960
I hear the writhing lash resound of serpents huge.
Whom seeks Megaera with her deadly torch? Whose shade
Comes gibbering there with scattered limbs? It is my brother!
Revenge he seeks, and we will grant his quest. Then come,
Within my heart plunge all your torches, rend me, burn; 965
For lo, my bosom open to your fury's stroke.
O brother, bid these vengeful goddesses depart
And go in peace down to the lowest shades of hell.
And do thou leave me to myself, and let this hand
That slew thee with the sword now offer sacrifice 970
Unto thy shade.
[_Slays her first son._]
What sudden uproar meets my ear?
'Tis Corinth's citizens on my destruction bent.
Unto the palace roof I'll mount and there complete
This bloody sacrifice.
[_To her remaining son._]
Do thou come hence with me.
But thee, poor senseless corse, within mine arms I'll bear. 975
Now gird thyself, my heart, with strength. Nor must this deed
Lose all its just renown because in secret done;
But to the public eye my hand must be approved.
_Jason [in the street below shouting to citizens_]: Ho, all ye loyal
sons, who mourn the death of kings!
Come, let us seize the worker of this hideous crime. 980
Now ply your arms and raze her palace to the ground.
_Medea [appearing on the housetop with her two sons_]: Now, now have
I regained my regal state, my sire,
My brother! Once again the Colchians hold the spoil
Of precious gold! And by the magic of this hour
I am a maid once more. O heavenly powers, appeased
At length! O festal hour! O nuptial day! On, on! 985
Accomplished is the guilt, but not the recompense.
Complete the task while yet thy hands are strong to act!
Why dost thou linger still? why dost thou hesitate
Upon the threshold of the deed? Thou canst perform it.
Now wrath has died within me, and my soul is filled
With shame and deep remorse. Ah me, what have I done,
Wretch that I am? Wretch that thou art, well mayst thou mourn, 990
For thou hast done it!
At that thought delirious joy
O'ermasters me and fills my heart which fain would grieve.
And yet, methinks, the act was almost meaningless,
Since Jason saw it not; for naught has been performed
If to his grief be added not the woe of sight.
_Jason_ [_discovering her_]: Lo, there she stands upon the
lofty battlements! 995
Bring torches! fire the house, that she may fall ensnared
By those devices she herself hath planned.
_Medea_ [_derisively_]: Not so,
But rather build a lofty pyre for these thy sons;
Their funeral rites prepare. Already for thy bride
And father have I done the service due the dead;
For in their ruined palace have I buried them.
One son of thine has met his doom; and this shall die 1000
Before his father's face.
_Jason:_ By all the gods, and by the perils of our flight,
And by our marriage bond which I have ne'er betrayed,
I pray thee spare the boy, for he is innocent.
If aught of sin there be, 'tis mine. Myself I give
To be the victim. Take my guilty soul for his. 1005
_Medea:_ 'Tis for thy prayers and tears I draw, not sheathe the sword.
Go now, and take thee maids for wives, thou faithless one;
Abandon and betray the mother of thy sons.
_Jason:_ And yet, I pray thee, let one sacrifice atone.
_Medea:_ If in the blood of one my passion could be quenched,
No vengeance had it sought. Though both my sons I slay, 1010
The number still is all too small to satisfy
My boundless grief.
_Jason:_ Then finish what thou hast begun--
I ask no more--and grant at least that no delay
Prolong my helpless agony. 1015
_Medea:_ Now hasten not,
Relentless passion, but enjoy a slow revenge.
This day is in thy hands; its fertile hours employ.
_Jason:_ Oh, take my life, thou heartless one.
_Medea:_ Thou bid'st me pity--
Well! [_Slays the second child_.]--'Tis done!
No more atonement, passion, can I offer thee.
Now hither lift thy tearful eyes ungrateful one. 1020
Dost recognize thy wife? 'Twas thus of old I fled.
The heavens themselves provide me with a safe retreat.
[_A chariot drawn by dragons appears in the air._]
Twin serpents bow their necks submissive to the yoke.
Now, father, take thy sons; while I, upon my car,
With wingéd speed am borne aloft through realms of air. 1025
[_Mounts her car and is borne away._]
_Jason [calling after her_]: Speed on through realms of air that
mortals never see:
But, witness heaven, where thou art gone no gods can be!
HERCULES FURENS
HERCULES FURENS
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
HERCULES Son of Jupiter and Alcmena, but the reputed son of Amphitryon.
_Juno_ Sister and wife of Jupiter, and queen of heaven.
_Amphitryon_ Husband of Alcmena.
_Theseus_ King of Athens and friend of Hercules.
_Lycus_ The usurping king of Thebes, who has, prior to the opening of
the play, slain king Creon in battle.
_Megara_ Wife of Hercules and daughter of Creon.
_Chorus_ Of Thebans.
THE SCENE is in the princely palace of Hercules at Thebes, on the day
of the return of the hero from the lower world.
_The jealous wrath of Juno, working through Eurystheus, has imposed
twelve mighty and destructive tasks on Hercules, her hated stepson.
But these, even to the last and worst, the bringing of Cerberus to the
upper world, he has triumphantly accomplished. Abandoning her plan
of crushing him by toils like these, she will turn his hand against
himself, and so accomplish his destruction. Upon the day of his return
from hell, she brings a madness on him, and so precipitates the tragedy
which forms the action of the play._
ACT I
_Juno_ [_in soliloquy_]: Lo I, the sister of the Thunderer
(For, save this name alone, I've nothing more),
Have left my lord, so often false to me,
Have left, in widowhood, the realms of heaven,
And, banished from the sky, have given place
Unto my hated rivals. Now must earth 5
Be my abode, while they in heaven reign.
Behold, the Bear, far in the frozen north,
Is set on high to guide the Argive ships;
Behold, in southern skies, where days grow long
Beneath the warmth of spring, the Bull shines bright,
Who once the Tyrian Europa bore.
There gleam the wandering Atlantides, 10
A fearful band for ships and sea alike;
And yonder fierce Orion with his sword
The very gods affrights; his stars, as well,
The golden Perseus boasts; while Leda's sons
With shining banners glitter in the sky;
And they, Latona's children, for whose birth 15
The floating land stood firm. And not alone
Have Bacchus and his mother gained the heavens;
But, that the infamy may be complete,
The skies must needs the Cretan maiden's crown
Endure. But these are ancient wrongs I tell:
One wild and baneful land alone is full
Of shameless mistresses--the Theban land, 20
Which all too oft has me a stepdame made.
And though Alcmena scale the heights of heaven,
And hold my place, victorious over me;
And though her son his promised star obtain
(Whose hateful getting cost the world a day,
Since Phoebus, bidden to hold his shining car 25
In Ocean hid, with tardy light shone forth
From eastern seas): still ever in my heart
Shall hate relentless dwell. Undying wrath
My outraged soul shall kindle; and my grief,
All hope of truce denying, endless wars
Shall fiercely wage. But what avail my wars? 30
Whatever savage things the hurtful earth,
The sea or air produce, terrific shapes,
Fierce, pestilential, horrible, and dire,
The power of all is broken and subdued.
Alcides towers above and thrives on woe;
My wrath is his delight, and to his praise
He turns my deadly hate. While I, too stern, 35
Impose his dreadful tasks, I do but prove
His origin, and opportunity
For glorious achievement render him.
Where Phoebus with his neighboring torch illumes
The east and western shores of Aethiop's land,
Alcides' dauntless courage is adored;
While all the world considers him a god.
And now have I no monsters more to send; 40
And less his toil to do the tasks I bid,
Than mine to set them. Joyfully he hears
My several commands. But what dire tasks
The tyrant may conceive can harm that youth
Impetuous? His very arms, forsooth,
Are torn from monsters which he feared--and slew; 45
With spoils of lion and of hydra armed,
He walks abroad. Nor are the lands of earth
Enough for him: behold, the doors of Dis
Are burst, and to the upper world he brings
The booty taken from the vanquished king.
'Tis not enough that he returns alive:
The law that binds the shades is set at naught.
Myself I saw him, when he had o'ercome 50
The king of hades and escaped the night
Of that deep underworld, display to Jove
The spoils of Dis. But why does he not lead,
Oppressed and overcome, the king himself
Who gained by lot an equal realm with Jove?
Why rules he not in conquered Erebus?
Why bares he not the Styx? His upward way
From deepest hell to earth he has retraced, 55
And all the sacred mysteries of death
Lie open to the world. Not yet content,
And proud that he has burst the bars of night,
He triumphs over me, and, insolent,
He leads through all the cities of the land
That gruesome dog of hell. I saw, myself,
The daylight pale at sight of Cerberus, 60
The sun start in affright. Nay, even I
Was struck with terror; and, as I beheld
That triple-headed beast in bondage led,
I trembled at the thought that 'twas my will.
But all too trivial ills do I lament;
My fears must be aroused for heaven itself,
Lest he who overcame the lowest depths
Should scale the very skies, and from his sire 65
His scepter snatch away. Nor to the stars
Will he, like Bacchus, by an easy path
Ascend; through ruin would he make his way,
And wish to rule an empty universe.
He is inflamed with pride of tested strength;
But he has learned by bearing up the heavens,
That by his power the heavens can be subdued. 70
Upon his head he bore the universe,
Nor did his shoulders bend beneath the weight
Of that stupendous mass; the vault of heaven
Upon his neck was poised, and steadily
He bore the expanse of sky, the shining stars;
And even me, down pressing, he endured.
He seeks a place among the immortal gods.
Then up, arouse thee to destructive wrath, 75
Destroy him meditating plans so great.
Meet him in single strife; with thine own hands
Asunder rend him. Why thy mighty hate
Dost thou consign to others to appease?
Enough of monsters; let Eurystheus rest,
All weary with imposing thy commands.
Though thou shouldst open wide Sicilia's vaults,
And free the Titans who essayed to wrench 80
The scepter from the hand of mighty Jove;
Though the Doric isle, which trembles with affright
Whene'er the heaving giant turns himself,
Should ease her weight upon the monster's head;
Though in the moon another race of beasts
Should be conceived: yet all of these, I know
Alcides conquered and will conquer still.
Seek'st thou his match? There is none save himself. 85
Then set him on to war against himself;
Let furies from the lowest depths of hell
Be roused and come to aid, their flaming locks
Aglow with maddening fire, their savage hands
The horrid snaky scourges brandishing.
Go now, thou proud one, seek the seats of heaven,
And scorn the lot of men. And dost thou think, 90
O hero brave, that thou hast fled the Styx
And gloomy shades? Here will I show thee hell;
Here will I summon up the goddess dire
Of Discord, deep in darkness thick confined
Far down below the abode of guilty souls.
A cavern huge within a mountain's hold
Is her dark prison. Her will I call forth, 95
And from the deepest realms of Dis bring up
Whate'er thou hast escaped: base Crime shall come;
Impiety that fiercely stains its hands
In kindred blood; the shape of Error, too,
And Fury ever armed against itself.
This, this assistance shall my grief employ.
Come then, ye ever-faithful slaves of Dis, 100
Begin your task. Shake high the blazing torch;
And let Megaera lead her dreadful band
Of sisters viperous. With deadly hand
Let her from off the blazing funeral pyre
A burning brand snatch up. Now to your task;
Thus seek revenge for violated Styx:
Distract his heart with madness; let his soul 105
More fiercely burn than that hot fire which glows
On Aetna's forge. But first, that Hercules
May be to madness driven, smitten through
With mighty passion, I must be insane.
Why rav'st thou not, O Juno? Me, Oh, me, 110
Ye sisters, first of sanity deprive,
That something worthy of a stepdame's wrath
I may prepare. Let all my hate be changed
To favor. Now I pray that he may come
To earth again, and see his sons unharmed;
May he return with all his old-time strength.
Now have I found a day when Hercules
May help me with his strength that I deplore. 115
Now let him equally o'ercome himself
And me; and let him, late escaped from death,
Desire to die. Now let it profit me
That he is born of Jove. I'll stand by him
And nicely poise his hand, that so his darts
May with more deadly aim be hurled. I'll guide
The madman's arms. And so at last I help 120
Alcides in his wars. The crime complete,
Then let his father to the heavens admit
Those guilty hands. Now must the attack begin.
The day is breaking, and with saffron light
The rising sun dispels the gloom of night.
* * * * *
_Chorus:_ Now scattered and with paling light 125
The stars gleam in the sinking west;
Now vanquished night collects her fires,
Whose shining band at the day's return
The star of morning drives away.
High up in the frozen northern sky,
The Arcadian Bears with their seven-fold stars, 130
Their course completed, hail the dawn.
Now borne along by his azure steeds
The sun looks forth from Oeta's ridge;
With whose light suffused, the clustering grapes
In the vineyards to Theban Bacchus dear
Flush rosy red. The waning moon 135
Fades out of sight, to return again.
Hard Toil awakens, at whose knock
The doors of men are opened wide,
And daily cares resumed.
The shepherd sends his flock afield,
And plucks, himself, the tender grass 140
Still sparkling with the frosty rime.
The young bull sports among the fields
At liberty; the dams refill
Their empty udders; sportive kids
Leap lightly o'er the tender grass 145
In aimless course. On the topmost branch
The Thracian Philomela sings
Her strident song, and near her nest
Of chattering young she spreads her wings
To the morning sun; while all around 150
The throng of birds with united songs
Announce the day.
The daring sailor spreads his sails
To the freshening wind, as the breezes fill
Their flapping folds. From wave-worn rocks
The fisher leans and baits anew
His cunning hook; he feels his line 155
A-tremble with the struggling fish,
Or weighs his prize with practiced hand
And eager eye.
Such are the joys of him who lives 160
In tranquil and unworried peace;
Whose pleasure is a humble house,
His own, though small; whose simple hopes
Are in the open fields.[17]
But worried hopes in cities dwell,
And trembling fears. There some would haunt
The rich man's haughty vestibules,
Wait at their proud, unfeeling doors, 165
Forego their sleep. Some heap up wealth,
Though blest with boundless wealth, and gaze
In admiration at their heaps;
And yet, with all their gold, are poor.
Some strain for the applause of men,
The vulgar throng, whose fickle will
Is shifting as the sea, and swell 170
With empty pride. The noisy mart
Still others claim, who meanly deal
In quarrelsome suits, and profit make
Of wrath and empty words.
Few know untroubled peace, the men
Who, heeding time's swift flight, hold fast 175
The years that never will return.
While fate permits, live happily;
For life runs on with rapid pace,
And with headlong speed the year's swift wheel 180
With winged hours is turned.
The cruel sisters urge their task,
Nor backward turn the threads of life.
But the race of men is hurried on
To meet the quick approaching fates,
Uncertain of their own.
Of our own will we haste to cross 185
The Stygian waves. Thou, Hercules,
With heart too brave, before thy time
Didst see the grieving shades. The fates
In pre-established order come;
And none may stay when they command,
None may put off the appointed day. 190
The swiftly whirling urn of fate
Contains all mortal men.
Let glory then to many lands
Proclaim some names, and chattering fame
Through every city sing their praise,
And raise them to the stars. Sublime 195
In triumph let another ride.
Me let my native land conceal
Within a safe and humble home.
'Tis unambitious souls who come
To hoary-headed age at last.
If humble, still the lot is sure
Of lowly homes. Souls lifted high, 200
For this to greater depths must fall.
But see, sad Megara comes with flowing hair,
Her little children closely pressing round;
And with her, with the tardy step of age,
The sire of Hercules, Amphitryon.
FOOTNOTES:
[17] Reading, _et in agris_.
ACT II
_Megara:_ O mighty ruler of Olympus' heights, 205
Thou judge of all the world, now set at length
A limit to my cares, and make an end
Of my disasters. No untroubled day
Doth dawn for me; but one misfortune's end
Marks but the starting-point of future woes.
Fresh foes are ready for my Hercules
Straightway on his return; ere he can reach 210
His happy home, another warfare bids
That he set forth again. No time for rest
Is given, save while he waits a fresh command.
'Twas ever thus: from earliest infancy
Unfriendly Juno follows on his track.
Was e'en his cradle free from her assaults?
He conquered monsters ere he learned to know 215
What monsters were. Two crested serpents huge
Against him reared their heads; the dauntless child
Crawled forth to meet them, and, with placid gaze
Intently fixed upon their fiery eyes,
With fearless look he raised their close-coiled folds, 220
And crushed their swollen necks with tender hand.
And thus he practiced for the hydra's death.
He caught the nimble stag of Maenalus,
Its beauteous head adorned with horns of gold.
The lion, terror of Nemean woods,
Groaned out his life beneath the mighty arms 225
Of Hercules. Why should I call to mind
The stables dire of that Bistonian herd,
And the king as food to his own horses given?
The rough Maenalian boar, which, from his lair
On Erymanthus' thickly wooded heights,
Filled all the groves of Arcady with dread?
Or that fell Cretan bull whose terror filled 230
A hundred towns? Among his herds remote,
The three-formed shepherd by Tartessus' shore
Was slain, and from the farthest west his herds
Were driven as booty. Now Cithaeron feeds
The cattle once to Ocean known. Again,
When bidden to penetrate the sultry zone 235
Of summer's burning sun, those scorchéd realms
Which midday parches with its piercing rays,
He clove the ponderous mountain barriers,
And made a pathway for the rushing sea.
He next assailed the rich Hesperides,
And bore therefrom the watchful dragon's spoil 240
Of golden fruit. Then Lerna's savage beast,
An evil creature constantly renewed,
Did he not overcome by fire at last,
And teach it how to die? Did he not seek
Within the clouds the dire Stymphalian birds,
Whose spreading wings were wont to obscure the day?
He was not conquered by the maiden queen 245
Who ruled the Amazons and ever kept
Her couch in virgin state. Nor did his hands,
Courageous to attempt all glorious deeds,
Disdain to cleanse the vile Augean stalls.
But what avail these toils? For he alone
Cannot enjoy the world he saved. And now
The world perceives the giver of its peace 250
Is absent from its sight. Now prosperous crime
Is called by virtue's name; good men obey
The guilty, might is counted right, and fear
O'ershadows law. Before my eyes I saw
The sons who dared defend their father's throne
Fall dead beneath the tyrant's murderous hand; 255
I saw King Creon's self by death o'ercome,
The latest son of Cadmus' noble line;
And with his head the royal diadem
Was reft away. Who now could weep enough
For Thebes? Proud land and mother of the gods,
What master fears she now, she, from whose fields 260
And fertile bosom sprang that band of youth
With swords all ready drawn; whose mighty walls
Amphion, son of Jove, once built, its stones
Compelling by the magic of his lyre;
Down to whose citadel not once alone
The father of the gods from heaven came?
This royal city which the immortals oft
Has entertained, which has divinities 265
Produced, and (heaven forgive the boastful word)
Perchance will yet produce, is now oppressed
Beneath a shameful yoke. O royal race
Of Cadmus, noble state Amphion ruled,
Low hast thou fallen indeed! Dost thou obey
A low-born exile, driven from his land 270
And yet oppressing ours? And now, alas,
He, who on land and sea doth punish crime,
Who breaks all cruel rule with righteous hand,
Far off obeys another, and himself
Endures those ills from which he others saved;
And Lycus rules the Thebes of Hercules!
But not for long; he soon will come again, 275
And punish all the wrongs; he suddenly
Will to the upper world emerge; a way
He'll find--or make. Oh, come unharmed, I pray;
As victor come at last unto thy home
Which now in ruins lies. O husband, come,
With thy strong hand break through the shades of hell. 280
And if no way is open, if the road
Is closely barred, then rend the earth and come;
And all that lies in keep of dismal night
Bring forth with thee. As once, through riven hills
A passage seeking for a headlong stream,
Thou stood'st, and, with thy strength gigantic cleft, 285
The vale of Tempe opened wide; as then,
Impelled by might of thy resistless breast,
The mountains fell away from either side,
And through the broken masses poured the stream
Of Thessaly along a channel new:
So now to parents, children, native land,
A passage burst. And bring away with thee 290
The shapes of death, and all that greedy time
Through countless rounds of years has hidden away;
Those nations who have drunk forgetfulness,
Drive out before thee, fearful of the light.
The spoils are all unworthy of thy fame,
If thou shouldst bring from hades only that 295
Which was commanded. But too bold my words,
And thoughtless of my present lot I speak.
Oh, when will come at last that day for me
When I shall clasp my husband once again,
And weep no more his long-delayed return,
His long forgetfulness of me? To thee,
O ruler of the gods, a hundred bulls
Shall bleed; to thee, thou goddess of the fruits, 300
Thy secret rites I'll pay: for thee shall blaze
Upon Eleusin's shrine the sacred torch
In celebration of thy mysteries.
Then shall I think my brothers' lives restored,
My father once again upon his throne. 305
But if some power more potent than thine own
Holds thee in durance, we shall come to thee.
Return in safety and protect us all,
Or drag us down with thee. This wilt thou do;
No god will e'er our broken fortunes mend.
_Amphitr.:_ O ally of my house, with wifely faith
Preserving for the great-souled Hercules 310
His couch and children, be of better mind.
Take heart again, for surely he will come,
Increased in fame by this, as is his wont
By other tasks.
_Megara:_ What wretched men desire
They readily believe.
_Amphitryon:_ Nay, what they fear
They think can never be escaped or borne. 315
For fear is prone to see the darker side.
_Megara:_ Submerged, deep buried, crushed beneath the world,
What chance has he to reach the upper realms?
_Amphitr.:_ The same he had, when, through the arid plain,
And sands that billowed like the stormy sea, 320
Those twice receding, twice returning gulfs,
He made his way; when on the dangerous shoals
Of Syrtes he was wrecked, he left his ship
A helpless hulk and crossed the sea on foot.
_Megara:_ Unjust is fortune, rarely does she spare 325
The bravest souls. No one with safety long
Can brave so frequent perils; he who oft
Has shunned misfortune meets at last his fate.
But see, with threatening looks fierce Lycus comes,
His hateful soul in hateful bearing shown, 330
And bears the stolen scepter in his hand.
[_Enter_ Lycus.]
_Lycus:_ The rich domain of this proud town of Thebes,
With all the fertile soil which Phocis bounds
Within its winding borders, all the land
Ismenus waters; all Cithaeron sees 335
From his high top; the narrow Isthmus, too,
Two seas asunder cleaving: all I own,
Not by prerogative of long descent,
A worthless heir. No noble ancestors,
Nor family adorned with lofty names
Have I; but splendid valor. He who boasts 340
His noble ancestry exalts a thing
Which is not his to boast. But power usurped
Is held with anxious hands; the sword alone
Can guard it. All thou hold'st against the will
Of citizens the sword must hold for thee.
No kingdom built upon a foreign soil 345
Is safe for long. One thing alone I see
Which can our power establish--Megara,
By ties of royal marriage bound to me.
From her illustrious line my humble blood
Shall a richer hue derive. Nor do I think
That she will scorn me and refuse my suit.
But should she with a blind and stubborn soul 350
Refuse my proffered hand, my mind is fixed
To give to utter ruin all the house
Of Hercules. Will such a deed arouse
A storm of scandal and the people's hate?
The art of ruling chiefly lies in this:
The power to bear the people's hate unmoved.
Let me make trial then. Occasion smiles,
For she herself, in mourning vestments clad, 355
Stands by the altars of her guardian gods,
While near at hand Alcides' father waits.
_Megara_ [_seeing_ Lycus, _aside_]: What new outrage does yonder
wretch prepare,
The pestilent destroyer of our race?
_Lycus:_ O thou, who bear'st a name illustrious 360
From royal stock, with patient ear awhile
Receive my words. If everlasting hate
The hearts of men should feel, if fury dire,
Once in the heart conceived, should never cease;
If prosperous men must ever fight to rule,
And those who fail obey because they must:
Then never-ending wars would nothing leave, 365
And all the fields would be a barren waste;
Homes would be burned, and 'neath their ashes deep
All nations of the earth would be o'erwhelmed.
The victor's profit is in peace restored,
But for the vanquished 'tis their direful need.
Come, share my throne; let us unite our wills. 370
And, as my pledge of faith, receive my hand.
But why dost thou in scornful silence wait?
_Megara:_ And dost thou think that I would touch the hand
That is besprinkled with my father's gore,
And my two brothers' blood? Oh, sooner far
Shall day's last beams go out in eastern skies,
And dawn break in the west; sooner shall peace 375
Be made 'twixt snow and flame, and Scylla join
Sicilia's shores with those of Italy;
And sooner shall Euripus' rushing waves
Lap peacefully upon Euboea's shores.
My father and my brothers hast thou slain,
My kingdom ruined, home and native land.
What still is left? One thing remains to me, 380
That's dearer than my father, brother, home,
And kingdom: 'tis my deadly hate of thee.
That I must share this with the land at large
Is grief to me. For in their cause for hate
How small a share have I? Thou, swollen with pride,
Rule on, and let thy soul exalt itself;
But know that evermore the avenging god
Pursues the proud of heart. Well do I know 385
The history of Thebes. Why need I tell
Of matrons who have dared and suffered wrong?
Why name the double crime, the mingled names
Of husband, father, son, the opposing camps
Of brothers? Why describe the funeral pyres?
The haughty mother, child of Tantalus, 390
Still sits in stony grief; the mourning rock
On Phrygian Sipylus still drips with tears.
Nay, Cadmus' self, in form of serpent, still
Flees through Illyria's realm with crested head,
And leaves behind his dragging body's trail.
Such fates admonish thee. Rule as thou wilt: 395
But may the accustomed doom of Thebes be thine.
_Lycus:_ Come then, have done with this wild talk of thine,
And learn from Hercules to obey the will
Of kings. Although by right of victory
I wield this scepter, though I reign supreme 400
Without the fear of laws which arms annul,
Still will I briefly speak in my defense.
And did thy father fall in bloody war?
Thy brothers too? But arms no limit know,
Cannot be checked with ease, nor can the sword,
Once drawn, restrain its wrath. War will have blood. 405
But (you will say), he fought to save his state,
While I was prompted by the lust of power.
Still we should look, not at the cause of war,
But at its outcome. Now let memory
Of all the former wrongs pass from thy heart.
When the victor lays aside his arms, 'tis meet
The vanquished should abandon hatred too. 410
I ask thee not upon thy bended knees
To acknowledge me as king; for it is well
That thou shouldst meet thy ruin dauntlessly.
Lo, thou art worthy of a royal mate:
Be then my wife and not my enemy.
_Megara:_ Cold horror creeps throughout my lifeless limbs.
What shameful proposition do I hear? 415
I did not shrink when loud alarms of war
Rang round our city's walls; and all my woes
I've bravely borne. But marriage--and with him!
Now do I think myself indeed a slave.
Load down my tender frame with heavy chains;
Be lingering death by long starvation sought; 420
Still shall no power o'ercome my wifely faith.
I shall be thine, Alcides, to the death.
_Lycus:_ Such spirits does a buried husband give?
_Megara:_ He went below that he might reach the heavens.
_Lycus:_ The boundless weight of earth oppresses him.
_Megara:_ No weight of earth can overwhelm the man 425
Who bore the heavens up.
_Lycus:_ Thou shalt be forced.
_Megara:_ He can be forced who knows not how to die.
_Lycus:_ Tell me what gift I could bestow more rich
Than royal wedlock?
_Megara:_ Grant thy death, or mine.
_Lycus:_ Then die, thou fool.
_Megara:_ 'Tis thus I'll meet my lord.
_Lycus:_ Is that slave more to thee, than I, a king? 430
_Megara:_ How many kings has that slave given to death!
_Lycus:_ Why does he serve a king, and bear the yoke?
_Megara:_ Remove hard tasks, and where would valor be?
_Lycus:_ To conquer monsters call'st thou valor then?
_Megara:_ 'Tis valor to subdue what all men fear. 435
_Lycus:_ The shades of hades hold that boaster fast.
_Megara:_ No easy way leads from the earth to heaven.
_Lycus:_ Who is his father, that he hopes for heaven?
_Amphitr.:_ Unhappy wife of mighty Hercules,
Be silent now, for 'tis my part to tell 440
Alcides' parentage. After his deeds,
So many and so great; after the world,
From rising unto setting of the sun,
Has been subdued, so many monsters tamed;
After the giants' impious blood was spilled
In Phlegra's vale, and gods were reinforced, 445
What need we yet to prove his parentage?
Do we make false pretense of Jupiter?
Then Juno's hate believe.
_Lycus:_ Why blaspheme Jove?
The race of mortals cannot mate with gods.
_Amphitr.:_ Such is the origin of many gods.
_Lycus:_ But were they slaves before their heaven was gained? 450
_Amphitr.:_ The Delian at Pherae kept the flocks.
_Lycus:_ But he did not in exile roam the world.
_Amphitr.:_ His mother bore him in a roaming land,
Herself a fugitive.
_Lycus:_ Did Phoebus fear
Wild beasts and monsters?
_Amphitr.:_ Yes, in dragon's blood 455
His earliest shafts were stained.
_Lycus:_ Thou knowest not
What heavy ills the young Alcides bore.
_Amphitr.:_ But Bacchus by a thunderbolt was ripped
From out his mother's womb; and yet he stood
In after time beside the Thunderer,
His sire. Nay, Jove himself, who rules the stars
And drives the clouds, did he not lie concealed, 460
In helpless infancy in Ida's cave?
A heavy price must so high lineage pay,
And suffering is the birthright of a god.
_Lycus:_ Whoe'er is wretched, thou wouldst mortal know.
_Amphitr.:_ Whoe'er is brave, thou wouldst not wretched call.
_Lycus:_ But is he brave, from whose broad shoulders fell 465
The lion's skin and club, that they might be
A maiden's plaything? Who himself shone bright
In Tyrian vestments? Should we call him brave,
Whose bristling locks were wet with fragrant nard,
Whose famous hands in woman's wise essayed
To play the tambour; on whose frowning brow 470
The Phrygian turban shamelessly was worn?
_Amphitr.:_ But youthful Bacchus did not blush to wear
His locks in flowing ringlets, in his hand
The thyrsus light to brandish, as he walked
With steps unsteady, clad in trailing robes
Bright with barbaric gold. 'Tis virtue's right 475
In foolishness to ease the strain of toil.
_Lycus:_ 'Twas for this cause the house of Eurytus
Was overthrown, and troops of maidens slain
Like helpless sheep! No Juno ordered this,
Nor yet Eurystheus: these his works alone. 480
_Amphitr.:_ Thou know'st not all his deeds: it was his work
That Eryx fell, by his own gauntlets slain;
That in his death Antaeus, too, was joined;
That those foul altars, dripping with the blood
Of hapless strangers, drank the blood at last
Of murderous Busiris. 'Twas his work
That Cycnus, proof against the sword, was slain, 485
Though still unwounded; by his hand alone
The threefold Geryon fell. And thou shalt be
As one of these, though they ne'er basely sinned
Against the rites of marriage.
_Lycus:_ What to Jove
Is lawful, is my kingly right as well.
A wife thou gav'st to him; so for thy king
Shalt thou a mate provide. Now Megara 490
From thine example shall the lesson learn,
Not new, that wives may yield to better men,
When husbands give consent. But if, self-willed,
She still refuse to take me for her lord,
I'll force her will to bear me noble seed.
_Megara:_ Ye shades of Creon, and ye household gods 495
Of Labdacus, ye impious nuptial fires
Of Oedipus, your wonted fortune give
To this our union! O ye savage wives
Of king Aegyptus' sons, be present now,
With blood-stained hands. Your count is incomplete.
I gladly will that impious number fill. 500
_Lycus:_ Since thou dost stubbornly refuse my suit,
And striv'st to fright the king, now shalt thou feel
The strength of royal power. Cling as thou mayst
To altar horns: no god shall save thee now
From me; not though the earth itself be rent,
And Hercules victorious come again
Unto the upper world. 505
[_To slaves._]
Heap high the logs,
And let the sacred temple blazing fall
Upon its suppliants. Now let the wife
And all her brood upon the funeral pyre
Be burned to ashes in the kindling flames.
_Amphitr.:_ This boon Alcides' father asks of thee,
Which fits me well, that I be first to die. 510
_Lycus:_ Who bids all men meet punishment with death
Knows not the ruler's art. Seek varied pains;
Forbid the wretch to die, the happy slay.
Now, while the pyre is growing for the flames,
I'll pay my vows unto the ocean's god. 515
[_Exit._]
_Amphitr.:_ O god of gods, O ruler of the skies,
Whose hurtling bolts make mortals quake with fear,
Check thou the impious hand of this dire king.
Why do I vainly importune the gods?
Where'er thou art, hear thou and answer, son. 520
But why this sudden rocking of the shrine?
Why groans the earth? Far in her lowest hold
A crashing deep resounds. Our prayer is heard!
It is, it is the step of Hercules!
* * * * *
_Chorus:_ O Fortune, envious of the brave,
Unjustly are thy prizes given! 525
Behold Eurystheus reigns at ease,
While our Alcmena's noble son,
With hands which could the heavens uplift,
Must endless wars with monsters wage;
Must sever the hydra's teeming necks,
And from the cheated sisters bear 530
The apples, when the dragon huge,
The guardian of the golden fruit,
Had given to sleep his watchful eyes.
To the wandering homes of Scythia,
Where tribes in their ancestral seats
As strangers dwell, he made his way.
He trod the frozen ocean's crust, 535
A still sea hemmed by silent shores;
There no waves beat on the rigid plains,
And where but now full swelling sails
Had sped their barks, a path is worn
By the long-haired Sarmatae.
There the waters change with the changing year, 540
Now ships, now horses bearing up.
From the queen who rules o'er virgin tribes,
With golden girdles on their loins,
He took her body's noble spoil,
Her shield and her snowy bosom's guard. 545
On bended knee she acknowledged him victor.
With what hope, driven to the depths of hell,
Bold to tread irretraceable ways,
Didst thou behold the dusky realms
Of Proserpine of Sicily?
There Notus and Favonius lash 550
No seas to rage with swelling floods;
There do no frightened vessels find
Help from the twin Tyndaridae.
Those waters lie in stagnant pools
And black; and when, with greedy teeth, 555
Pale Death bears off uncounted tribes
Unto the shades, one oarsman grim
Bears all across their gloomy depths.
Oh, that the laws of cruel Styx
Thou mightst annul, and the distaff break,
Relentless, of the fates. And lo, 560
Thou canst avail, for he who rules
O'er many nations once with thee
His deadly hands in battle joined,
When thou didst wage 'gainst Nestor's land
A mighty war. A three-pronged spear
He bore; but soon, by but a wound
O'ercome, he fled. He feared to die, 565
Though lord of death. Burst with thy hands
The bonds of fate. To those sad souls
In hell let in the light of day,
And to the upper world reveal
An easy path. Once, by his songs
And suppliant prayers, did Orpheus bend
The stubborn lords of hell, when he 570
His lost Eurydice would seek.
That art which drew the forest trees,
Which held the birds and rocks enthralled,
Which stopped the river's headlong race,
And tamed the hearts of savage beasts,
Soothed with its strains ne'er heard before 575
Those darksome realms, and clear and fine
Resounded through that silent land.
Eurydice the Thracian dames
Bewailed; Eurydice, the gods,
Who ne'er had wept before; and they
Who with forbidding, awful brows,
In judgment sit and hear the crimes 580
Long since committed, unconfessed,
They sat and wept Eurydice,
Until the lord of death exclaimed:
"We grant thy prayer. Away to earth;
But on this sole condition go:
Do thou behind thy husband fare;
And look thou not upon thy wife, 585
Until the light of day thou see,
And Spartan Taenarus appear."
Love hates delay, nor suffers it:
He hasted to behold his wife--
And she again was lost to him.
So, then, the fortress that could yield to song, 590
Be sure that fortress shall to strength belong.
ACT III
[_Enter_ Hercules, _just returned from the lower world, accompanied by_
Theseus.]
_Hercules:_ O kindly lord of light, heaven's ornament,
Who circlest all the spaces of the sky
With thy flame-bearing car, and thy bright head
Dost lift to glad a new-awakened earth:
Thy pardon, O Apollo, do I crave, 595
If aught unlawful thou dost see in me;
For by another's will have I revealed
The hidden things of earth. Thou lord of heaven,
And sire, behind thy flaming thunderbolt
Conceal thy face; and thou who rul'st the seas
By second lot, seek thou their lowest depths. 600
Whoever from on high beholds the earth,
And would not by strange sights be vision-stained,
To heaven look and so these portents shun.
Two only may behold this horrid sight:
The one who brought and she who ordered it.
To work my punishment and fated toils 605
The earth was not enough. Through Juno's hate
Have I seen regions unapproachable,
Unknown to Phoebus' rays; yea, I have seen
Those gloomy spaces which the nether pole
Has yielded to the dusky Jove's domain.
And had the regions of the final lot
Been pleasing, there could I myself have reigned. 610
That seething chaos of eternal night,
And, what is worse than night, the gloomy gods,
And fates I conquered; and in scorn of death
I have come back again. What else remains?
I've seen and shown the lower world to men.
If aught beyond is left to do, command.
Why dost thou for so long allow these hands,
O Juno, to remain in idleness? 615
What conquest still dost thou command? But why
Do soldiers hold the temple walls in siege,
And fear of arms beset their sacred doors?
[_Enter_ Amphitryon.]
_Amphitr.:_ Now do my fervent hopes deceive my sight,
Or is this he, the tamer of the world,
The pride of Greece, from that sad, silent land 620
Returned? Is this my son? My agéd limbs
Give way through utter joy. O son, of Thebes
The sure though long-delayed preserver thou!
And do I hold thee sent to earth again,
Or does some empty shadow mock my joy?
And art thou he indeed? I recognize
Thy arms and shoulders and the mighty club
Within thy hands renowned. 625
_Hercules:_ O father, whence
These marks of grief, and why do I behold
My wife in dusky mourning garments clad,
My children garbed in these vile signs of woe?
What fell disaster hath o'erwhelmed my house?
_Amphitr.:_ Thy father-in-law is slain, his kingdom gone,
For Lycus hath usurped it; now he seeks
Thy children, father, wife, to bring to death. 630
_Hercules:_ Ungrateful land! did no one come to aid
The home of Hercules? Did all the world,
Defended by my arm, look on this deed
And suffer it? But why waste time in grief?
My enemy must die.
_Theseus_ [_seeking to detain him_]: O Hercules,
Let not thy mighty courage bear this stain,
And such a foe as Lycus be thy last. 635
I go myself to drink his hateful blood.
_Hercules:_ My Theseus, stay thou here, lest violence
From some new source arise. This war is mine.
Let thy embraces wait awhile, my sire,
And thine, my wife. Let Lycus first announce
To Dis that I have safe returned to earth. 640
[_Exit._]
_Theseus:_ Now let thy face give o'er its grief, my queen;
And thou, O father, check thy falling tears,
Since this thy son is safe returned to thee.
If I know Hercules, for Creon's death
This Lycus soon shall pay the penalty.
"Shall pay" is slow; he pays; nay more, has paid.
_Amphitr.:_ Now may some favoring god our prayers fulfil, 645
And help us in our need. O trusty friend
Of our great son, his deeds in order tell:
How long the way that leads to the sorrowing shades;
How bore the dog of hell his heavy chains.
_Theseus:_ Thou bid'st me call to memory such deeds 650
As e'en in safety make me tremble still.
For I can scarce believe that even yet
I breathe the vital air. My eye's clear sight
Is blinded, and, by that thick darkness dimmed,
Can scarce endure the unaccustomed light.
_Amphitr.:_ But conquer thou the fear that still remains
Deep in thy heart; and do not rob thyself 665
Of the best fruit of toil. For what was hard
To bear becomes most sweet in memory.
Go on, and tell us all thy sufferings.
_Theseus:_ O god of heaven, and thou who holdest sway
In that deep, all-embracing realm of death,
And thou whose mother sought thee (but in vain)
Through all the world: your powers I supplicate
That I may speak with boldness of the things 660
Concealed and buried in the hold of earth.
The Spartan land lifts high a famous cliff
Where Taenarus juts out upon the sea,
Dense wooded. Here the realm of hated Dis
Opes wide its mouth; the high cliff spreads apart, 665
And in a mighty cavern yawns a pit
With jaws portentous, huge, precipitous;
And for all nations ample passage gives.
The way begins, not dark with heavy shades.
A watery gleam of daylight follows in,
And doubtful light, as of the sun eclipsed, 670
Falls there and mocks the eye. Such light the day,
While mingled still with night, at early dawn
Or in its waning hour, is wont to give.
The way then broadens into spaces vast
And empty, where the human race entire
Might plunge and perish. 'Tis no labor here 675
To travel, for the road itself draws down.
As often whirlpools suck unwilling ships,
So does the air, down streaming, urge us on,
And hungry chaos. Here the clutching shades
Permit no backward step. Deep in the abyss,
With peaceful shallows gentle Lethe glides, 680
And by its draughts removes all mortal care
And, that no backward way may be allowed,
With many folds it wraps the stream of death;
Just as the wandering Maeander sports
With waves uncertain, now upon itself
Retreats, now halts in hesitation slow, 685
Whether it shall its fountain seek again,
Or journey to the sea. Here lies the marsh
Of sluggish, vile Cocytus; here, behold,
The vulture, there the doleful owl laments,
And through the air the fearsome screech-owl sends
Its sad, foreboding cry. There stands the yew,
Its black leaves shuddering on the gloomy boughs; 690
And 'neath its shelter hover sluggish Sleep,
And mournful Famine with her wasting jaws,
And Shame, at last her guilty face concealed.
Here quaking Fear, and Murder, desperate Grief,
Black Mourning, tottering Disease, and War
With weapons girded on, lie hid; and last 695
Comes feeble Age upon his staff upheld.
_Amphitr.:_ Are there no fruitful fields of corn or wine?
_Theseus:_ Not so: no joyful fields with verdure shine,
No ripening grain waves gently in the breeze,
No stately trees bear apple-laden boughs; 700
But sterile wastes defile those lonely depths,
And in eternal sloth the foul earth lies.
Here lie the lonesome remnants of the world.
The air hangs motionless; and thick night broods
Upon a sluggish, horror-stricken land. 705
The place of death is worse than death itself.
_Amphitr.:_ And what of him who rules those dusky realms?
Where sits he as he rules his shadowy folk?
_Theseus:_ There is a place in an obscure recess
Of Tartarus, which, with its heavy shades, 710
Dense vapor shrouds. Hence, from a single source,
Two different rivers flow: with silent stream
One bears along the sacred Stygian waves
On which the gods take oath; with mighty roar
The other fiercely rolls the rocks along
Within its flood, the raging Acheron, 715
Which may not be recrossed. Set opposite,
By these two streams encircled, stands the hall
Of royal Dis; and by a shading grove
The mighty house is hid. A spacious cave
Of overhanging rock the threshold forms.
This is the path of souls; here is the door 720
Of Pluto's realm; and, round about, there spreads
The plain wherein the frowning monarch sits
And new-come souls reviews. Of lowering brow
And awful majesty the god appears;
Yet in his face his brother's likeness bears,
And proves his noble birth. Jove's face is his,
But thundering Jove's. And of that savage realm 725
The master's self makes up the largest part,
For every fearful thing holds him in fear.
_Amphitr.:_ And is the story true that down below
Stern justice is at last administered,
And guilty souls, who have their crimes forgot,
At last atone for sin? Who is he, then, 730
Who searches out the truth, and justice gives?
_Theseus:_ There is not one inquisitor alone
Who sits in judgment on the lofty seat,
And tries the trembling culprits: in that hall
Sit Cretan Minos, Rhadamanthus too,
And Aeacus. Each for his sins of earth 735
Must suffer here; the crime returns to him
Who did it, and the guilty soul is crushed
By its own precedents. There, deep immured
In prison, bloody leaders have I seen,
And bleeding backs of heartless tyrants, scourged
By base plebeian hands. Who mildly reigns,
And, though the lord of life, restrains his hands; 740
Who mercifully rules a bloodless realm,
And spares the lives of men: he shall enjoy
Long years of happy life, and, at the end,
Attain to heaven, or to those regions blest
Of the Elysian fields, himself a judge.
Refrain from human blood, all ye who rule: 745
Your sins with heavier judgment shall be judged.
_Amphitr.:_ Does any certain place inclose the lost,
And do, as rumor says, the impious
Sharp punishments in endless chains endure?
_Theseus:_ On swiftly flying wheel Ixion turns; 750
And on the neck of Sisyphus a stone
Weighs heavily. There stands in middle stream,
With throat thirst-parched, the poor old man, and seeks
To catch the cooling waves which wash his chin.
He, oft deceived, hopes now at last to drink;
As often fails the water at his lips. 755
So also do the fruits his hunger fail.
There Tityos eternal banquets gives
Unto the greedy vulture; and in vain
Do Danaüs' daughters bear their brimming urns.
There wander, raging still, the Cadmeids;
And greedy birds still fright old Phineus.
_Amphitr.:_ Now tell the noble struggle of my son. 760
Does he bring back his uncle's willing gift,
Or does he lead the dog as spoil of war?
_Theseus:_ A gloomy cliff o'erhangs the sluggish shoals,
Whose waves are dead, and waters motionless.
This stream is guarded by a grim old man,
Of squalid garb and aspect hideous,
Who carries o'er the pool the quaking shades. 765
His long beard hangs unkempt; his shapeless robe
Is knotted into place; his fierce eyes gleam
From sunken cheeks; and he, as ferryman,
With his long pole propels his bark across.
He now his empty boat unto the shore
Was turning to receive the waiting souls, 770
When Hercules requested to be borne
Across the stream. The throng of shades give way;
But fiercely Charon cries: "Whither so bold
Dost thou haste on? Stay there thy hurrying steps."
Alcmena's son would no delay endure,
But with the pole itself the boatman tamed,
And climbed aboard the boat. The roomy craft, 775
For nations ample, groaned beneath his weight;
And as he sat, the heavy-weighted skiff
With rocking sides drank in the Lethe stream.
Then quaked the conquered monsters at the sight:
The Centaurs, fierce and wild, the Lapithae,
Inflamed to strife by copious draughts of wine;
And, seeking out the farthest pools of Styx, 780
The beast of Lerna hid his fertile heads.
Soon there appeared the home of greedy Dis,
Where the fierce Stygian dog affrights the shades,
Who, tossing back and forth his triple heads,
With mighty bayings watches o'er the realm.
Around his head with damp corruption foul, 785
Writhe deadly serpents, and his shaggy mane
With vipers bristles; while a twisting snake
Forms his long, hissing tail. His wrath and form
Are both alike terrific. When he heard
The sound of coming feet, straightway he raised
His hackles, bristling with their darting snakes,
And with erected ears caught at the sound 790
(For even noiseless spirits can he hear).
When Jove's son nearer came, within his cave
The dog stood hesitant, and nameless fear
Each of the other felt. Then suddenly
The silence shudders with his bayings deep,
And threatening snakes along his shoulders hiss.
The clamor of his dreadful voice, sent forth 795
Three-throated, even happy shades dismayed.
Then did the hero from his left arm loose
The lion's skin with head and grinning jaws,
And 'neath this mighty shield opposed the dog.
Then in his right all conquering, he raised 800
His mighty club, and with a rain of blows,
Now here, now there, he drove the frightened beast.
The conquered dog at last gave o'er his threats,
And, spent with fighting, lowered all his heads,
And left the entrance free. Then did the king
And queen of hell sit trembling on their thrones, 805
And bade the dog be led away. Me, too,
Did Dis at Hercules' request release,
A royal gift. Then with his soothing hand
Alcides stroked the monster's massive necks,
And bound him with an adamantine chain.
The watchful guardian of the dusky world
Forgot his wonted fierceness, and his ears
Drooped timidly. He let himself be led, 810
Confessed his master, and, with muzzle low,
Submissively he went, his snaky tail
Beating his sides the while. But when he came
To Taenarus, and in his eyes there smote
The gleam of unknown light, though strongly bound, 815
His courage he regained and madly shook
His mighty chains. Even his conqueror
Was backward borne and forced to yield his stand.
Then even my aid did the hero seek;
And with united strength we dragged the dog,
Still mad with rage, attempting fruitless war, 820
Into the upper world. But when he saw
The gleaming spaces of the shining sky,
The light of day, thick darkness blinded him;
He turned his gaze to earth, and closed his eyes,
Expelled the hated light, looked backward, sought 825
With all his necks the sheltering earth; and last,
He hid his head within Alcides' shade.
But see, a mighty throng with shouts of joy
Comes yonder, wearing laurel on their brows,
Who chant the well-earned praise of Hercules.
* * * * *
_Chorus:_ Eurystheus, brought untimely forth, 830
Had bidden Hercules to pierce
The depths of earth. This task alone
Of all his labors yet remained--
To rob the dusky king of hell.
He dared to enter that dark way
Which to the distant manes leads, 835
Dismal, with gloomy forests set,
Yet crowded with the thronging souls.
As when the eager people haste
Throughout the city to behold
The play in some new theater;
As when they crowd the Pisan fields 840
When the fifth summer brings again
The Elean Thunderer's sacred games;
As, when the lengthening nights return,
And the balanced Scales the sun's bright car
Detain, to gentle sleep inclined,
The people throng the mysteries 845
Of Ceres, while the Attic priests
Lead through the fields with hurried steps
The worshipers: such thronging hordes
Are driven through those silent plains.
A part goes slow with steps of age,
Sadly, and sated with the years; 850
Some, in the earlier flush of life,
Advance with the sprightly step of youth,
Young maids not yet in wedlock joined,
And boys with flowing ringlets, babes,
Who have not yet learned to repeat
Their mother's name. To these alone 855
'Tis given to dispel the night
With torches, and their fears relieve.
The rest in utter darkness fare,
And sadness. So our spirits mourn,
When each one, grieving o'er his fate,
Feels crushed in darkness 'neath the weight 860
Of all the world. There chaos reigns,
Repulsive glooms, the hateful dark
Of night, the empty veil of clouds,
The weary inactivity
Of that still, empty universe.
Oh, may the time far distant be
When old age bears us to that land.
None come too late, and ne'er can he, 865
Who once has come, return again.
What need to hasten cruel fate?
For all the wandering tribes of earth
Shall surely seek the land of shades,
And on the still Cocytus spread
Their sails; all things the sun beholds, 870
In rising and in setting, grow
But to decay. Then spare, O death,
Those who are doomed to come to thee.
Life is but practicing for death;
Though thou be slow in coming, still
We hasten of ourselves. The hour
Which gave us life begins our death.
The joyful day of Thebes is here; 875
Now at the altars sacrifice,
And let the choicest victims fall.
Ye maids and men, in mingled bands
Begin the stately choral dance;
And let the cattle of the fields 880
Put off their yokes and be glad today;
For by the hand of Hercules
Has peace from east to west been won,
And in that land where the sun rides high
In middle heaven, and the shadows fail. 885
Whatever region Tethys laves
In her long reach has been o'ercome
By great Alcides' toils. Borne now
Across the shoals of Tartarus,
With hell subdued, he comes again. 890
No room is left for fear; for what
Beyond the world of death remains?
And now ye priests, adorn your bristling hair
With poplar which Alcides loves to wear.
ACT IV
[_Enter_ Hercules, _fresh from the slaying of_ Lycus, _intending to
offer sacrifices to the gods_.]
_Hercules:_ By my avenging hand lies Lycus slain; 895
And all, who in his life the tyrant claimed
As comrades, now by death are comrades still
In punishment. Now will I offerings pay
Unto my father and the gods of heaven
For victory, and heap the altars high
With bleeding victims to their kindness due. 900
Thee, thee, O friend and helper in my toils,
O warlike Pallas, unto thee I pray,
Upon whose left the petrifying shield
Makes direful threats. And be thou here I pray,
Thou tamer of Lycurgus, who didst cross
The ruddy sea, who in thy hand dost bear
The thyrsus, ivy-wreathed; and ye twin gods,
Apollo and Diana, hear my prayer. 905
(Her hand the bow adorns, but his, the lyre.)
Ye, too, I worship, all ye brothers mine,
Who dwell in heaven; but not my stepdame's sons.
[_To his attendants._]
And do ye hither drive my richest flocks;
Whatever fragrant spices India bears 910
And far Arabia, to the altars bring,
And let the savory smoke of sacrifice
To heaven ascend. Now let us crown our locks
With wreaths of poplar; but the olive leaves,
Thy nation's symbol, should adorn thy head,
O Theseus. Now in prayer we lift our hands
To Jove the Thunderer: do thou protect 915
The founders of our state, the wooded caves
Of savage Zethus, Dirce's famous fount,
And the Tyrian lares of our pilgrim king.
[_To the attendants._]
Now throw the fragrant incense on the flames.
_Amphitr.:_ O son, thy hands, all dripping with the blood
Of thy slain foe, thou first shouldst purify.
_Hercules:_ Would that his hateful blood I might pour out 920
Unto the gods; for no libation poured
Could stain the altars more acceptably.
No ampler, richer victim could be paid
To mighty Jove, than this unrighteous king.
_Amphitr.:_ Beseech thy father that he end thy tasks;
Pray that at last he give surcease of toil, 925
And to the wearied rest.
_Hercules:_ I shall myself
Frame prayers more worthy Jupiter and me:
May heaven, earth, and air their order keep,
And the everlasting stars wheel on their way,
Unchanged; may peace profound brood o'er the world;
May iron be used for harmless toil alone, 930
And deadly weapons vanish from the earth;
May no unbridled tempest lash the sea;
May angry Jove send forth no lightning bolts;
And may no river, fed by winter's snows,
O'erflow the troubled fields; may venom fail;
And may no noxious herb its fruitage bear; 935
May fierce and cruel tyrants rule no more.
If the pregnant earth still foster any crime,
Let her make haste to bring it to the light;
And if she still another monster bear,
Let it be mine to meet.
[_The madness planned by_ Juno _begins to come upon him_.]
But what is this?
The day's bright noon is by dark shadows dimmed, 940
And, though the sky be cloudless, Phoebus fares
With face obscured. Who puts the day to flight,
And drives it back to seek the dawn again?
Whence rears unheard-of night its gloomy head?
Why do so many stars the heavens fill
In daylight hours? See where the Lion fierce,
My earliest labor, glitters in the sky, 945
Inflamed with wrath, and threatens with his fangs.
Now, surely, will he some bright star devour.
With gaping jaws and menacing he stands;
He breathes out fire, and on his flaming neck
His mane he tosses. Soon will he o'erleap
With one huge bound the fruitful autumn's stars,
And those which frozen winter brings to view, 950
And slay with savage lunge the vernal Bull.
_Amphitr.:_ What sudden ill is this? Why dost thou turn
Now here now there thy burning eyes? And why
Dost thou so falsely see the heavens?
_Hercules:_ Now is the whole round earth at last subdued; 955
The swollen seas give place, and e'en the realms
Infernal have our toils heroic known.
The heavens alone remain untried, a task
Well worth the struggles of a Hercules.
Now shall I soar aloft to those far heights,
And seek the heavenly spaces; for a star
Has Jupiter, my father, promised me.
What if he should refuse? Nay, but the earth 960
No longer can Alcides hold, and now
Returns him to the heavens whence he came.
Behold, the whole assembly of the gods
Invite me to their midst, and open wide
The doors of heaven--with one dissenting voice.
[_To_ Juno, _in apostrophe_.]
And wilt thou not receive me into heaven?
Wilt not unbar the gates? Wouldst have me rend
The portals of the stubborn sky away?
And dost doubt thou my power? Nay, Saturn's chains 965
Will I unbind, and loose my grandsire's might
Against his impious son's unbridled sway.
I'll stir the Titans up to war again,
And lead them on; great rocks and trees I'll bring,
And with my strong right hand I'll snatch and hurl
The ridges where the Centaurs have their home. 970
Two mountains, one on other, will I pile
And so construct a highway to the skies.
Then shall old Chiron see Mount Ossa placed
Upon his Pelion; and if to heaven
Olympus reach not, third in order set,
I'll hurl it there.
_Amphitryon:_ Such thought be far from thee!
Check this mad impulse of a heart insane, 975
Though great.
_Hercules:_ But what is this? With dire intent
The giants are in arms. Great Tityus
Has fled the shades, and, towering aloft
With torn and empty breast, has almost gained
The heavens. Cithaeron totters to his base,
Pallene trembles, Tempe faints in fear. 980
One has Mount Pindus snatched away, and one
Mount Oeta. Mimas rages horribly.
Now comes Erinnys with her flaming torch,
And shakes her hissing scourge; my face she seeks
Nearer and nearer with ill-omened brands
On funeral pyres enkindled. There I see
Tisiphone with snake-encircled head; 985
With brandished torch she guards the gate of hell,
Now that their watch-dog has been stolen away.
[_He catches sight of his children._]
But see where lurk the children of the king,
The impious spawn of Lycus whom I hate.
To your detested sire I'll send you now.
Let darting arrows from my bowstring fly; 990
Such errands fit my noble weapons well.
[_He aims an arrow at one of the children._]
_Amphitr.:_ What will he do in his blind passion's rage?
Now he has bent his mighty bow, and now
His quiver loosed. The hissing dart is sped.
Straight through the neck it flies, and leaves the wound.
_Hercules:_ The rest will I hunt out, yea, all that lurk 995
Within this city's walls, without delay.
A greater war against Mycenae waits,
That by my hands those Cyclopean walls
May be o'erthrown; and that the royal hall,
Its high walls shattered, noble roof in-fall'n,
Doors burst, may be to utter ruin brought, 1000
And all its royal secrets be revealed.
[_He sees his second son hiding._]
Ah, here I see another hiding son
Of that most wicked sire.
[_He seizes the child and drags him from the scene._]
_Amphitryon_ [_standing where he can see what is being done behind the
scenes_]: Behold the child,
His coaxing hands stretched out to clasp the knees
Of his mad father, begs with piteous tones.
Oh, crime unspeakable, pathetic, grim:
For by his pleading hand the child is caught, 1005
And, madly whirled again and yet again,
Sent headlong through the air. A sickening sound--
And with his scattered brains the roof is wet.
But wretched Megara, her little son
Protecting in her arms, flees madly forth.
_Hercules_ [_behind the scenes, to_ Megara _also behind the scenes_]:
Though thou shouldst hide thee in the Thunderer's arms, 1010
This hand of mine will seek and snatch thee forth.
_Amphitryon_ [_standing throughout this scene as above_]: Oh, whither,
wretched woman dost thou flee?
What flight, what hiding-places dost thou seek?
No place is safe from angry Hercules.
Embrace his knees the rather, and with prayer
Attempt to soothe his wrath. 1015
_The voice of Megara:_ O husband, spare;
Thy Megara behold and recognize;
This son of thine thy face and manner bears.
See how he stretches out his hands to thee.
_The voice of Hercules:_ At last I have thee, stepdame, in my power.
Come thou with me, and pay full penalty
For all my wrongs; free thy poor, troubled lord
From his base yoke. But ere the mother dies, 1020
This little monster must be put to death.
_The voice of Megara:_ What wouldst thou, madman? Shed thine
infant's blood?
_Amphitr.:_ The child, in terror of his father's face,
Died ere he felt the blow. 'Twas fear that snatched
His spirit forth. Now 'gainst his trembling wife,
His mighty club is raised--her bones are crushed,
Her head is stricken from the mangled trunk 1025
And may no more be seen.
[_To himself._]
O stubborn age,
Too long enduring, canst thou bide this sight?
But if thy grief is irksome, death is near.
[_To_ Hercules.]
Impale me on thy darts; that club of thine,
With blood of monsters smeared, raise to my death.
Come, slay me who am falsely called thy sire, 1030
And so remove this blot upon thy name,
That I no longer may thy fame obscure.
_Theseus:_ Why shouldst thou wantonly provoke thy death,
Old man? Why this mad haste to die? Away,
And hide. From this one crime spare Hercules.
[_Enter_ Hercules.]
_Hercules:_ 'Tis well; the household of the shameless king 1035
Is utterly destroyed. To thee, O wife
Of mighty Jove, this promised sacrifice
Have I performed; my vows I've gladly paid;
And other victims shall thine Argos give.
_Amphitr.:_ Thou hast not yet enough atonement made,
O son. Complete the sacrifice. Behold, 1040
A victim at the altar stands, and waits,
With willing neck, thy hand. I offer here
My life, and eagerly; I seek to die.
Slay me.
[Hercules _appears to be fainting_.]
But what is this? His eye's keen glance
Cannot maintain its gaze; grief dims his sight;
And do I see the hands of Hercules
A-tremble? Now his eyelids fall in sleep,
His head sinks down upon his weary breast, 1045
His knees give way, and down upon the earth
His whole great body falls; as when some ash
Is felled in forest glades, or when some cliff
Falls down and makes a harbor in the sea.
[_To_ Hercules.]
Dost thou yet live? Or has thy furious rage,
Which sent thy friends to death, slain thee as well?
[_He examines the prostrate body._]
He slumbers; this his measured breathing proves. 1050
Let him have time for rest, that heavy sleep
May break his madness' force, and so relieve
His troubled heart.
[_To attendants._]
Ye slaves, his arms remove,
Lest, waking, he again his madness prove.
* * * * *
_Chorus:_ Let heaven and heaven's creator mourn,
The fertile earth, the wandering wave 1055
Upon the restless sea. And thou,
Who over lands and ocean's plains
Dost shed thy light, whose beauteous face
Drives night away, O glowing Sun,
Grieve more than all. For equally 1060
Thy risings had Alcides seen,
And eke thy settings; both thy homes
Were known to him. His spirit loose
From monstrous madness; loose him, ye
Who rule above. His mind restore
To sanity again. And thou, 1065
O Sleep, subduer of our ills,
The spirit's rest, thou better part
Of human life, swift-wingéd one,
Astraea's child, of cruel Death
The sluggish brother, mixing false 1070
With true, prescient of future things,
But oftenest of misery;
O sire of all things, gate of life,
Day's respite and the comrade true
Of night, who com'st impartially
To king and slaves, with gentle hand
The wearied spirit comforting; 1075
Thou who dost force the race of men
Who quail at mortal doom, to gain
A foretaste of the sleep of death:
Subdue and overwhelm him quite
With heavy stupor; let his limbs,
Unconquered hitherto, be held
Fast bound in chains of deepest sleep;
Take not the spell from his fierce heart, 1080
Until his former mind return
To its accustomed course.
But see, prone on the ground he lies,
His savage dreams in his fierce heart
Still hold their sway. Not yet, alas,
Is his dire madness overcome.
Accustomed to recline his head 1085
Upon his heavy club, see now,
He feels about with empty hand
To find the ponderous trunk, his arms
With fruitless motion tossed. Not yet
Has all the fever from his veins
Been driven out, but rages on;
As waves, by mighty tempests vexed, 1090
Toss wildly on and swell with rage,
Although the winds have ceased to blow.
Oh, calm this tempest in his soul;
Let piety and manly strength
Return; or, rather, let his mind 1095
Be still by mad impulses stirred,
And his blind error go the way
It has begun. For madness now
Alone can make him innocent.
To have the hands unstained by guilt
Is best, but next to this is sin
Done in unconsciousness.
Now let thy breast resound with blows, 1100
And let those arms which once have borne
The heavens up be smitten now
By thy victorious hands; thy cries
Be heard throughout the realms of air,
By her who rules the world of night, 1105
And Cerberus crouching in his cave,
His neck still burdened with thy chains.
Let Chaos with the dolorous sound
Re-echo, and the widespread waves
Of ocean, and the air above 1110
Which had thy darts in better use
Beheld. Thy breast, with ills beset
So mighty, must with no light blow
Be smitten. With one great sound of grief
Let heaven, sea, and hell be filled.
And thou, brave shaft, above his neck 1115
So long suspended, armament
And weapon too, thou quiver huge,
Smite heavily his savage back.
Thou sturdy club of oak, come beat
His mighty shoulders, and oppress 1120
His breast with thy hard-knotted stock.
Let all his weapons worthily
Of so great grief lament with him.
[_To the dead children._]
But you, who in your father's praise
Can never share, who ne'er from kings
Have taken deadly recompense,
Who never in the Argive games
Have learned to bend your youthful limbs,
In wrestling and in boxing strong 1125
To strive; who have but dared as yet
To poise the slender Scythian dart
With steady hand, and pierce the stag
Who safety seeks in flight, but not
The lion fierce with tawny mane: 1130
Go to your Stygian refuge, go,
Ye guiltless shades, who on life's verge
Have by your father's mad assault
Been overwhelmed. Poor children, born
Of an ill-omened, luckless race, 1135
Fare on along your father's toilsome path,
To where the gloomy monarchs sit in wrath!
ACT V
_Hercules_ [_waking up in his right mind_]: What place is this? What
quarter of the world?
Where am I? 'Neath the rising sun, or where
The frozen Bear wheels slowly overhead?
Or in that farthest land whose shores are washed 1140
By the Hesperian sea? What air is this
I breathe? What soil supports my weary frame?
For surely have I come again to earth.
[_His eyes fall on his murdered children._]
Whence came those bloody corpses in my house?
Do I behold them, or not even yet
Have those infernal visions left my mind? 1145
Even on earth the ghostly shapes of death
Still flit before mine eyes. I speak with shame:
I am afraid. Some great calamity,
Some hidden ill my prescient soul forebodes.
Where is my father? Where my faithful wife,
Proud of that troop of children at her side? 1150
Why does my left side miss the lion's skin,
My shield in danger and my couch in sleep?
Where is my bow, my darts? Who, while I live
Has dared remove my arms? Who so great spoils
Has gained? Who then so bold as not to fear 1155
The very slumber of a Hercules?
'Twould please me well to see my victor--well.
Arise, thou victor, whom my sire begot,
A later wonder, leaving heaven behind;
At whose begetting, longer than at mine,
The night stood waiting.
[_He recognizes his dead wife and children._]
Oh, what sight is this?
My sons lie murdered, weltering in their blood; 1160
My wife is slain. What Lycus rules the land?
Who could have dared to do such things in Thebes,
And Hercules returned? Whoever dwells
Along Ismenus' stream, in Attic plains,
Or in the land Dardanian Pelops rules, 1165
By two seas lapped, come to my aid, and tell
The name of him who has this murder done.
If not, my wrath will turn against you all;
For he's my foe who shows me not my foe.
Why dost thou hide, Alcides' vanquisher?
I care not whether thou dost vengeance seek
For those wild horses of the Thracian king, 1170
Or Geryon's flock, or Libya's vanquished lords;
I do not shun the fight; see, here I stand,
Defenseless, even though with my own arms
Thou com'st against me, armorless. But why
Do Theseus and my father shun my glance?
Why do they turn away? Postpone your tears, 1175
And tell me who has given my loved ones all
To death. What, father, art thou silent still?
Then do thou tell me, Theseus, faithful friend.
Each turns away in silence, and his face,
As if in shame, conceals; while down his cheeks
The tears flow stealthily. In so great ills
What cause for shame can be? Is this the work 1180
Of him who ruthlessly at Argos rules?
Has dying Lycus' hostile soldiery
With such disaster overwhelmed our house?
O father, by the praises of my deeds,
By thine own name which ever was to me
Propitious, tell, I pray thee, who it is
Who hath o'erthrown my house. Whose prey am I? 1185
_Amphitr.:_ Let ills like these in silence pass away.
_Hercules:_ And I be unavenged?
_Amphitryon:_ But vengeance hurts.
_Hercules:_ Who has, inactive, ever borne such wrongs?
_Amphitr.:_ He who feared greater wrongs.
_Hercules:_ Than these my wrongs
Can any greater, heavier be feared? 1190
_Amphitr.:_ The part thou knowest of thy woes is least.
_Hercules:_ Have pity. See, I stretch my suppliant hands.
But what is this? He will not touch my hands.
In these must be the sin.
But whence this blood?
Why is that shaft, once dipped in Hydra's gall, 1195
Now wet with infant gore? They are my own,
These arrows that I see; the guilty hand
I need no longer seek; for who but me
Could bend that mighty bow, or whose right hand
Could draw the string that scarcely yields to me?
[_To_ Amphitryon _and_ Theseus.]
To you I turn again. O father, tell:
Is this my deed? 1200
[_Both men hesitate in silence._]
They hesitate--'tis mine.
_Amphitr.:_ Thine is the grief; thy stepdame's is the crime.
From fault of thine this sad mischance is free.
_Hercules:_ Now hurl thy wrathful bolts from all the heavens,
O sire, who hast forgotten me, thy son;
Avenge at least, though with a tardy hand,
Thy grandsons. Let the star-set heavens resound,
And darting lightnings leap from pole to pole. 1205
Let me be bound upon the Caspian rocks,
And let the birds of prey devour my flesh.
Why lacks Prometheus' cliff a prisoner?
Prepare for me the bare, steep mountain side
Of Caucasus, that, on his towering peak,
The birds and beasts of prey may feed on me.
Or let the blue Symplegades, which hedge 1210
The Scythian deep, stretch out my fettered hands
This way and that; and, when with rhythmic change
The rocks together clash, which fling to heaven
The sea that lies between the rushing cliffs,
May I lie there, the mountains' restless check. 1215
Or why not heap a mighty pyre of wood,
And burn my body stained with impious blood?
Thus, thus it must be done; so Hercules
Shall to the lower world return again.
_Amphitr.:_ Not yet has madness ceased to vex his heart.
But now his wrath has changed, and, fury's sign, 1220
He rages 'gainst himself.
_Hercules:_ Ye dire abodes
Of fiends, ye prison-house of damnéd shades,
Ye regions set apart for guilty throngs,
If any place of exile lie beyond
Deep Erebus, unknown to Cerberus
And me, there hide ye me. I'll go and dwell 1225
Upon the farthest bound of Tartarus.
O heart, too hard! Who worthily will weep
For you, my children, scattered through my house?
This face, woe-hardened, knows not how to weep.
Bring me my sword, and give me here my darts, 1230
My mighty club.
[_He addresses the four corpses in order._]
For thee, poor murdered boy,
I'll break my shafts; for thee my mighty bow
Shall be asunder riven; to thy shades
My heavy club shall burn; and on thy pyre
My quiver, full of venomed darts, shall lie.
My arms shall pay their penalty for sin. 1235
You, too, my guilty hands, with these shall burn,
Too prompt to work a cruel stepdame's will.
_Theseus:_ Who ever called an act of madness crime?
_Hercules:_ Unbridled madness often ends in crime.
_Amphitr.:_ Now is there need of Hercules to bear
This greatest weight of woe.
_Hercules:_ Not yet is shame 1240
So utterly extinguished in my heart,
That I can bear to see all people flee
My impious presence. Arms, my Theseus, arms!
I pray you give them quickly back to me.
If I am sane, trust weapons to my hands;
If madness still remains, O father, fly;
For I shall quickly find the road to death. 1245
_Amphitr.:_ By holy ties of birth, and by the name
That makes us one, be it of father true,
Or foster-father; by these hoary locks
Which pious souls revere: I pray thee spare
My lonely age and my enfeebled years.
Spare thou thyself to me, the only prop 1250
Of this my falling house, the only light
That's left to cheer my woeful heart. No fruit
Of all thy toils have I as yet enjoyed;
But ever either stormy seas I've feared,
Or monsters. Every savage king who raves
In all the world, for impious altars famed, 1255
Is cause of dread to me. Thy father longs
For joy of thee, to feel and see thee near.
_Hercules:_ Why I should longer keep my soul in life,
And linger on the earth, there is no cause;
For I have lost my all: my balanced mind, 1260
My arms, my reputation, children, wife,
The glory of my strength--my madness too.
There is no remedy for tainted souls;
But death alone can cure me of my sin.
_Amphitr.:_ And wilt thou slay thy father?
_Hercules:_ Lest I do,
I'll kill myself.
_Amphitryon:_ Before thy father's face?
_Hercules:_ Such impious sights I've taught him to behold.
_Amphitr.:_ Nay, rather think upon thy worthy deeds, 1265
And grant thyself remission of one sin.
_Hercules:_ Shall he give absolution to himself,
Who granted none to other men? My deeds
Which have deserved the praise of men, I did
Because another bade. This is my own.
Then help me, father, whether piety
Or my sad fortune move thee to my aid, 1270
Or the glory of my manhood, now profaned.
Give me my arms again, that my right hand
May vanquish fate.
_Theseus:_ Thy father's prayers, indeed,
Are strong enough; but by my pleadings, too,
Be moved. Rise up, and meet adversity
With thine accustomed force. Thy strength of mind 1275
Recall, which no misfortune ever yet
Has daunted. Now must thou with all thy might
Contend, and curb the wrath of Hercules.
_Hercules:_ If yet I live, I have committed wrong;
But if I die, then have I suffered it.
I haste to purge the earth of such as I.
Now long enough has there been hovering
Before my eyes that monstrous shape of sin, 1280
So impious, savage, merciless, and wild.
Then come, my hand, attempt this mighty task,
Far greater than the last. Dost hesitate
Through cowardice? Or art thou brave alone
'Gainst boys and trembling mothers?
Give my arms,
Or else I shall from Thracian Pindus strip 1285
The woods, the groves of Bacchus, and shall burn
Cithaeron's ridgy heights along with me.
The homes of Thebes together with their lords,
The temples with their gods, will I o'erthrow,
And 'neath a ruined city will I lie. 1290
And if this weight of walls should prove too light
For these strong shoulders, and the seven gates
Be not enough to crush me to the earth,
The mighty mass of earth which separates
The upper from the nether skies I'll take,
And hurl its crushing weight upon my head.
_Amphitr.:_ Lo, I return thine arms. 1295
_Hercules:_ Now are thy words
More worthy of the sire of Hercules.
See, by this arrow pierced, my child was slain.
_Amphitr.:_ 'Tis true, but Juno shot it by thy hand.
_Hercules:_ Then I myself shall use it now.
_Amphitryon:_ Behold,
How throbs his heart within his anxious breast.
_Hercules:_ The shaft is ready. 1300
_Amphitryon:_ Ah now wilt thou sin,
Of thine own will and with full consciousness.
Have then thy will; we make no further prayer.
For now my grief has gained a safe retreat.
Thou only canst preserve my son to me;
Thou canst not take him from me. For my fear
I've sounded to the depths and feel no more.
Thou canst no longer give me any pain, 1305
Though happy thou canst make me even yet.
Decide then as thou wilt decide: but know
That here thy cause and reputation stand
In doubtful balance. Either thou dost live,
Or thou dost kill thy sire. This fleeting soul,
Now worn with age and shattered by its grief,
Is trembling on my lips in act to go. 1310
Art thou so slow to grant thy father life?
I can no longer brook delay, nor wait
To thrust the fatal sword into my breast.
And this shall be a sane Alcides' crime.
_Hercules:_ Now stay, my father, stay; withhold thy hand.
Yield thee, my manhood; do a father's will. 1315
Add this task also to thy former toils--
And live! Lift up my father's fainting form,
O Theseus, friend; for these my guilty hands
That pious duty shun.
_Amphitryon:_ But I with joy
Will clasp this hand, with its support I'll walk, 1320
And to my aching heart I'll clasp it close,
And banish all my woes.
_Hercules:_ Where shall I flee?
Where hide myself? What land shall bury me
From human sight? What Tanaïs or Nile,
What Tigris, with the waves of Persia mad,
What warlike Rhine, or Tagus, flowing full 1325
And turgid with Iberia's golden sands,
Can ever cleanse this right hand of its stains?
Though chill Maeotis pour its icy floods
Upon me; though the boundless sea should pour
Its waters o'er my hands; still would they be
Deep dyed with crime. Where wilt thou take thyself,
Thou murderer? Wilt flee to east, or west? 1330
Known everywhere, I have no place of flight.
The whole world shrinks from sight of me; the stars
Avert their courses from me, and the sun
Saw even Cerberus with milder face.
O Theseus, faithful friend, seek out a place, 1335
Far off from here, where I may hide myself.
Since thou a lenient judge of others' sins
Hast ever been, grant mercy now to me.
Restore me to the infernal shades, I beg,
And load me with the chains thou once didst wear. 1340
That place will hide me--but it knows me too!
_Theseus:_ My land awaits thy coming; there will[18] Mars
Wash clean thy hands, and give thee back thy arms.
That land, O Hercules, now calls to thee,
Which even gods from sin is wont to free.
FOOTNOTES:
[18] Reading, _restituet_.
HIPPOLYTUS OR PHAEDRA
HIPPOLYTUS OR PHAEDRA
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
HIPPOLYTUS Son of Theseus and Antiope, an Amazon.
_Phaedra_ Wife of Theseus and stepmother of Hippolytus.
_Theseus_ King of Athens.
_Nurse_ Of Phaedra.
_Messenger._
_Slaves and attendants._
_Chorus_ Of Athenian citizens.
THE SCENE is laid throughout in the court in front of the royal palace
at Athens; and the action is confined to the space of one day.
_Theseus had wed Antiope, the Amazon, and of their union had been
born Hippolytus. This youth grew up to love the chase, austere and
beautiful, shunning the haunts of men, and scorning the love of women.
Theseus had meanwhile slain Antiope, and married Phaedra, Cretan Minos'
child._
_And now, for four years past, the king has not been seen upon the
earth, for, following the mad adventure of his bosom friend, Pirithoüs,
he has descended into Tartara, and thence, men think, he never will
return._
_Deserted by her lord, the hapless Phaedra has conceived a hopeless
passion for Hippolytus; for Venus, mindful of that ancient shame, which
Phaedra's ancestor, Apollo, had exposed, has sent this madness on her,
even as Pasiphaë, her mother, had been cursed with a most mad and fatal
malady._
ACT I
_Hippolytus_ [_in hunting costume, assigning duties and places to
his servants and companions of the hunt_]:
Up comrades, and the shadowy groves
With nets encircle; swiftly range
The heights of our Cecropian hills;
Scour well those coverts on the slopes
Of Parnes, or in Thria's vale 5
Whose chattering streamlet roars along
In rapid course; go climb the hills
Whose peaks are ever white with snows
Of Scythia. Let others go
Where woods with lofty alders stand 10
In dense array; where pastures lie
Whose springing grass is waked to life
By Zephyr's breath, dew laden. Go,
Where calm Ilissus flows along
The level fields, a sluggish stream, 15
Whose winding course the barren sands
With niggard water laps. Go ye
Along the leftward-leading way,
Where Marathon her forest glades
Reveals, where nightly with their young
The suckling mothers feed. Do you, 20
Where, softened by the warming winds
From southern lands, Acharnae melts
His snows, repair; let others seek
Hymettus' rocky slopes, far famed
For honey; others still the glades
Of small Aphidnae. All too long
That region has unharried lain 25
Where Sunium with its jutting shore
Thrusts out the curving sea.
If any feels the forest's lure,
Him Phlye calls, where dwells the boar
Now scarred and known by many a wound,
The farmers' fear. 30
Now free the dogs from straining leash,
That hunt in silence; but the hounds
Of keen Molossian breed hold fast
In check; let the savage Cretans strain
With chaffing necks upon their chains;
The Spartans hold in strongest curb, 35
With caution bind, for bold their breed,
And eager for the prey.
The time will come when their baying loud
Through the hollow rocks shall echo; now
Let them snuff the air with nostrils keen,
And with lowered muzzles seek the tracks 40
Of beasts, while yet the dawn is dim,
And while the dewy earth still holds
The marks of treading feet. Let some
On burdened necks the wide nets bear,
And others haste to bring the snares 45
Of smooth-wrought cords. Let feathers, dyed
With crimson, hedge the timid deer
With terrors vain. Do thou use darts
Of Crete, and thou the heavy spear
By both hands wielded. Thou shalt sit 50
In hiding and with clamors loud
Drive out the frightened beasts; and thou,
When all is done, with curving blade
Shalt break the victims.
And thou, be with thy worshiper,
O goddess of the chase, whose rule 55
Extends o'er all the secret haunts
Of earth; whose darts unerring pierce
The flying prey; whose thirst is quenched
By cool Araxes' distant stream,
Or for whose sport the Ister spreads
His frozen waves. Thy hand pursues 60
Gaetulian lions, Cretan deer;
And now the swiftly fleeing does
With lighter stroke are pierced. To thee
The spotted tigers yield, to thee
The bisons, shaggy backed, and the wild,
Broad-hornéd oxen of the woods. 65
Whatever feeds upon the plains
In desert pasture lands; whate'er
The needy Garamantian knows,
Whate'er the Arab rich in woods,
Or wild Sarmatian, wandering free
Across the lonely wilderness; 70
Whate'er the rugged Pyrenees
Or deep Hyrcanian glades conceal:
All fear thy bow, thou huntress queen.
If any worshiper of thine
Takes to the hunt thy favoring will,
His nets hold fast the struggling prey; 75
No birds break from his snares; for him
The groaning wagons homeward come
With booty rich; the hounds come back
With muzzles deeply dyed in blood,
And all the rustic throng returns
In shouting triumph home. 80
But lo, the goddess hears. The hounds
Are baying loud and clear to announce
The start. I'm summoned to the woods.
Here, here I'll hasten where the road
Most quickly leads away.
[_Exit._]
* * * * *
_Phaedra:_ O mighty Crete, thou mistress of the deep, 85
Whose ships uncounted sail through every sea
Wherever Nereus shows their beaks the way,
E'en to Assyria's shores; why dost thou here
Compel me thus in woe and tears to live,
A hostage given to the hated foe, 90
And to a foeman wed? Behold my lord,
Deserting me, his bride, is far away,
And keeps his wonted faith. Through shadows deep
Of that dark pool which may not be recrossed,
This doughty follower of a madcap prince
Has gone, that from the very throne of Dis 95
He might seduce and bear away his queen.
With such mad folly linked he went away,
Restrained by neither fear nor shame. And so,
In deepest Acheron, illicit love
This father of Hippolytus desires.
But other, greater griefs than this oppress
My sorrowing soul; no quiet rest by night, 100
No slumber deep comes to dissolve my cares;
But woe is fed and grows within my heart,
And there burns hot as Aetna's raging fires.
My loom stands empty and my listless hands
Drop idly from their tasks. No more I care 105
To make my votive offerings to the gods,
Nor, with the Athenian women mingled, dance
Around their sacred shrines, and conscious brands
Toss high in secret rites. I have no heart
With chaste and pious prayers to worship her,
That mighty goddess who was set to guard
This Attic land. My only joy is found 110
In swift pursuit of fleeing beasts of prey,
My soft hands brandishing the heavy spear.
But what will come of this? Why do I love
The forest glades so madly? Ah, I feel
The fatal malady my mother felt;
For both have learned within the forest depths
To sin in love. O mother, now my heart 115
Doth ache for thee; for, swept away by sin
Unspeakable, thou boldly didst conceive
A shameful passion for the savage lord
Of the wild herd. Untamable was he,
That stern and lustful leader of the flock;
And yet he loved. But in my passion's need 120
What god can help me? Where the Daedalus
Who can my love relieve? Should he return
Who shut our monster in the labyrinth,
He could not by his well-known Attic skill
Avail to save me from this dire mischance.
For Venus, filled with deadly hate of us,
The stock of Phoebus, seeks through me to avenge 125
The chains which fettered her in shame to Mars,
And all our house with direful love she fills.
No princess of our race has ever loved
In modest wise, but always monstrously.
_Nurse:_ O wife of Theseus, glorious child of Jove,
Drive from thy modest breast these shameful thoughts. 130
Put out these flames; and give thyself no hope
Of such dire love as this. Whoe'er at first
Has set himself to fight and conquer love,
A safe and easy victory finds. But he,
Who dallies with its evil sweets, too late
Refuses to endure the galling yoke 135
Which he himself has placed upon his neck.
I know full well how scornful of the truth,
How harsh the swollen pride of princesses,
How it refuses to be bent aright.
Whatever outcome chance allots, I'll bear;
For dawning freedom makes the agéd brave.
To will to live uprightly nor to fall 140
From virtue's ways is best; but next to this
Is sense of shame, the knowing when to stop
A sinful course. What, pray, will be the end
For thee, poor mistress? Why dost heap thy house
With further infamy? Wouldst thou outsin
Thy mother? For thy impious love is worse
Than her unnatural and monstrous love.
The first you would impute to character,
The last to fate. If, since thy husband sees 145
No more the realms of earth, thou dost believe
That this thy sin is safe and free from fear,
Thou art in error. Grant that he is held
Imprisoned fast in Lethe's lowest depths,
And must forever feel the bonds of Styx:
Would he, thy sire, who by his spreading sway
Encroaches on the sea, who gives their laws 150
Unto a hundred peoples, e'er permit
So great a crime as this to lie unknown?
Keen is a parent's watchful care. And yet,
Suppose that by our craft and guile we hide
This crime from him: what of thy mother's sire,
Who floods the earth with his illuming rays? 155
And what of him who makes the earth to quake,
The bolts of Aetna flashing in his hand,
The father of the gods? And dost thou think
That it can be that thou couldst hide thy sin
From these thy grandsires, all-beholding ones?
But even should the favor of the gods,
Complaisant, hide thy shame from all the world; 160
Though to thy lust alone should fall that grace
Denied to other crimes: still must thou fear.
What of that ever-present punishment,
The terror of the soul that knows its guilt,
Is stained with crime and fearful of itself?
Some women have with safety sinned, but none
With peace of soul. Then quench these flames, I pray, 165
Of impious love, and shun this monstrous crime
Which no barbaric land has ever done,
No Getan wandering on his lonely plains,
No savage Taurian, no Scythian.
Expel from thy chaste soul this hideous thing,
And, mindful of thy mother's sin, avoid 170
Such monstrous unions. Wouldst in marriage give
Thyself to son and father? Wouldst thou take
In thine incestuous womb a progeny
So basely mixed? Then go the length of sin:
O'erthrow all nature with thy shameful fires.
Why should the monsters cease? Why empty stands
Thy brother's labyrinth? Shall all the world 175
Be shocked with prodigies, shall nature's laws
Be scorned, whene'er a Cretan woman loves?
_Phaedra:_ I know that what thou say'st is true, dear nurse;
But raging passion forces me to take
The path of sin. Full consciously my soul
Goes headlong on its downward way, ofttimes
With backward glance, sane counsel seeking still,
Without avail. So, when the mariner 180
Would sail his ship against the boisterous waves,
His toil is all in vain, and, vanquished quite,
The ship drifts onward with the hurrying tide.
For what can reason do when passion rules,
When love, almighty, dominates the soul? 185
The wingéd god is lord through all the earth,
And with his flames unquenchable the heart
Of Jove himself is burned. The god of war
Has felt his fire; and Vulcan too, that god
Who forges Jove's three-forkéd thunderbolts;
Yea, he, who in the hold of Aetna huge 190
Is lord of ever-blazing furnaces,
By this small spark is burned. Apollo, too,
Who sends his arrows with unerring aim,
Was pierced by Cupid's still more certain darts.
For equally in heaven and earth the god
Is powerful.
_Nurse:_ The god! 'Tis vicious lust 195
That hath his godhead framed; and, that its ends
More fully may be gained, it has assigned
To its unbridled love the specious name,
Divinity! 'Tis Venus' son, in sooth,
Sent wandering through all the earth! He flies
Through empty air and in his boyish hands 200
His deadly weapon bears! Though least of gods,
He holds the widest sway! Such vain conceits
The love-mad soul adopts, love's goddess feigns,
And Cupid's bow. Whoe'er too much enjoys
The smiles of fortune and in ease is lapped,
Is ever seeking unaccustomed joys. 205
Then that dire comrade of a high estate,
Inordinate desire, comes in. The feast
Of yesterday no longer pleases; now
A home of sane and simple living, food[19]
Of humble sort, are odious. Oh, why
Does this destructive pest so rarely come
To lowly homes, but chooses rather homes 210
Of luxury? And why does modest love
Beneath the humble roof abide, and bless
With wholesome intercourse the common throng?
Why do the poor restrain their appetites,
Whereas the rich, on empire propped, desire
More than is right. Who wields too much of power 215
Desires to gain what is beyond his power.
What is befitting to thy high estate
Thou knowest well. Then fitting reverence show
To thy returning husband's sovereignty.
_Phaedra:_ The sovereignty of love is over me,
The highest rule of all. My lord's return,
I fear it not; for never more has he,
Who once within the silent depths of night 220
Has plunged, beheld again the light of day.
_Nurse:_ Trust not the power of Dis; for though his realm
He closely bar, and though the Stygian dog
Keep watch and ward upon the baleful doors,
Theseus can always walk forbidden ways.
_Phaedra:_ Perchance he'll give indulgence to my love. 225
_Nurse:_ But he was harsh e'en to a modest wife;
His heavy hand Antiope has known.
But grant that thou canst bend thy angry lord:
Canst bend as well the stubborn soul of him,
Hippolytus, who hates the very name 230
Of womankind? Inexorable his resolve
To spend his life unwedded. He so shuns
The sacred rites of marriage, thou wouldst know
That he of Amazonian stock was born.
_Phaedra:_ Though on the tops of snowy hills he hide,
Or swiftly course along the ragged cliffs,
Through forests deep, o'er mountains, 'tis my will 235
To follow him.
_Nurse:_ And will he turn again,
And yield himself unto thy sweet caress?
Or will he lay aside his modesty
At thy vile love's behest? Will he give o'er
His hate of womankind for thee alone,
On whose account, perchance, he hates them all?
_Phaedra:_ Can he not be by any prayers o'ercome?
_Nurse:_ He's wild. 240
_Phaedra:_ Yes, but the beasts are tamed by love.
_Nurse:_ He'll flee.
_Phaedra:_ Through Ocean's self I'll follow him.
_Nurse:_ Thy sire remember.
_Phaedra:_ And my mother too.
_Nurse:_ Women he hates.
_Phaedra:_ Then I'll no rival fear.
_Nurse:_ Thy husband comes.
_Phaedra:_ With him Pirithoüs!
_Nurse:_ Thy sire! 245
_Phaedra:_ To Ariadne he was kind.
_Nurse:_ O child, by these white locks of age, I pray,
This care-filled heart, these breasts that suckled thee,
Put off this rage; to thine own rescue come.
The greater part of life is will to live.
_Phaedra:_ Shame has not wholly fled my noble soul. 250
I yield: let love, which will not be controlled,
Be conquered. Nor shalt thou, fair fame, be stained.
This way alone is left, sole hope of woe:
Theseus I'll follow, and by death shun sin.
_Nurse:_ Oh, check, my child, this wild, impetuous thought; 255
Be calm. For now I think thee worthy life,
Because thou hast condemned thyself to death.
_Phaedra:_ I am resolved to die, and only seek
The mode of death. Shall I my spirit free
By twisted rope, or fall upon the sword,
Or shall I leap from yonder citadel? 260
_Nurse:_ Shall my old age permit thee thus to die
Self-slain? Thy deadly, raging purpose stay.
No one may easily come back to life.
_Phaedra:_ No argument can stay the will of one 265
Who has resolved to die, and ought to die.
Quick, let me arm myself in honor's cause.
_Nurse:_ Sole comfort of my weary age, my child,
If such unruly passion sways thy heart,
Away with reputation! 'Tis a thing
Which rarely with reality agrees;
It smiles upon the ill-deserving man, 270
And from the good withholds his meed of praise.
Let us make trial of that stubborn soul.
Mine be the task to approach the savage youth,
And bend his will relentless to our own.
* * * * *
_Chorus:_ Thou goddess, child of the foaming sea,
Thou mother of love, how fierce are the flames, 275
And how sharp are the darts of thy petulant boy;
How deadly of aim his bow.
Deep to the heart the poison sinks
When the veins are imbued with his hidden flame; 280
No gaping wound upon the breast
Does his arrow leave; but far within
It burns with consuming fire.
No peace or rest does he give; world wide
Are his flying weapons sown abroad:
The shores that see the rising sun, 285
And the land that lies at the goal of the west;
The south where raging Cancer glows,
And the land of the cold Arcadian Bear
With its ever-wandering tribes--all know
And have felt the fires of love. 290
The hot blood of youth he rouses to madness,
The smouldering embers of age he rekindles,
And even the innocent breasts of maids
Are stirred by passion unknown.
He bids the immortals desert the skies
And dwell on the earth in forms assumed. 295
For love, Apollo kept the herds
Of Thessaly's king, and, his lyre unused,
He called to his bulls on the gentle pipe.
How oft has Jove himself put on
The lower forms of life, who rules
The sky and the clouds. Now a bird he seems, 300
With white wings hovering, with voice
More sweet than the song of the dying swan;
Now with lowering front, as a wanton bull,
He offers his back to the sport of maids;
And soon through his brother's waves he floats, 305
With his hoofs like sturdy oars, and his breast
Stoutly opposing the waves, in fear
For the captured maid he bears. For love,
The shining goddess of the night
Her dim skies left, and her glittering car 310
To her brother allotted to guide. Untrained
In managing the dusky steeds,
Within a shorter circuit now
He learns to direct his course. Meanwhile
The nights no more their accustomed space
Retained, and the dawn came slowly back, 315
Since 'neath a heavier burden now
The axle trembled. Love compelled
Alcmena's son to lay aside
His quiver and the threat'ning spoil
Of that great lion's skin he bore,
And have his fingers set with gems,
His shaggy locks in order dressed. 320
His limbs were wrapped in cloth of gold,
His feet with yellow sandals bound;
And with that hand which bore but now
The mighty club, he wound the thread
Which from his mistress' spindle fell.
The sight all Persia saw, and they 325
Who dwell in Lydia's fertile realm--
The savage lion's skin laid by,
And on those shoulders, once the prop
For heaven's vast dome, a gauzy cloak
Of Tyrian manufacture spread.
Accursed is love, its victims know, 330
And all too strong. In every land,
In the all-encircling briny deep,
In the airy heavens where the bright stars course,
There pitiless love holds sway.
The sea-green band of the Nereids 335
Have felt his darts in their deepest waves,
And the waters of ocean cannot quench
Their flames. The birds know the passion of love,
And mighty bulls, with its fire inflamed,
Wage furious battle, while the herd 340
Look on in wonder. Even stags,
Though timorous of heart, will fight
If for their mates they fear, while loud
Resound the snortings of their wrath.
When with love the striped tigers burn,
The swarthy Indian cowers in fear. 345
For love the boar whets his deadly tusks
And his huge mouth is white with foam.
The African lions toss their manes
When love inflames their hearts, and the woods
Resound with their savage roars. 350
The monsters of the raging deep,
And those great beasts, the elephants,
Feel the sway of love; since nature's power
Claims everything, and nothing spares.
Hate perishes when love commands,
And ancient feuds yield to his touch. 355
Why need I more his sway approve,
When even stepdames yield to love?
FOOTNOTES:
[19] Reading, _cibus_.
ACT II
[_Enter_ Nurse _from the palace_.]
_Chorus:_ Speak, nurse, the news thou bring'st. How fares the queen?
Do her fierce fires of love know any end?
_Nurse:_ I have no hope that such a malady 360
Can be relieved; her maddened passion's flames
Will endless burn. A hidden, silent fire
Consumes her, and her raging love, though shut
Within her heart, is by her face betrayed.
Her eyes dart fire; anon, her sunken gaze
Avoids the light of day. Her restless soul 365
Can find no pleasure long in anything.
Her aimless love allows her limbs no rest.
Now, as with dying, tottering steps, she goes,
And scarce can hold her nodding head erect;
And now lies down to sleep. But, sleepless quite,
She spends the night in tears. Now does she bid
Me lift her up, and straight to lay her down; 370
To loose her locks, and bind them up again.
In restless mood she constantly demands
Fresh robes. She has no care for food or health.
With failing strength she walks, with aimless feet. 375
Her old-time strength is gone; no longer shines
The ruddy glow of health upon her face.
Care feeds upon her limbs; her trembling steps
Betray her weakness, and the tender grace
Of her once blooming beauty is no more.
Her eyes, which once with Phoebus' brilliance shone,
No longer gleam with their ancestral fires. 380
Her tears flow ever, and her cheeks are wet
With constant rain; as when, on Taurus' top,
The snows are melted by a warming shower.
But look, the palace doors are opening,
And she, reclining on her couch of gold, 385
And sick of soul, refuses one by one
The customary garments of her state.
_Phaedra:_ Remove, ye slaves, those bright and gold-wrought robes;
Away with Tyrian purple, and the webs
Of silk whose threads the far-off eastern tribes
From leaves of trees collect. Gird high my robes; 390
I'll wear no necklace, nor shall snowy pearls,
The gift of Indian seas, weigh down my ears.
No nard from far Assyria shall scent
My locks; thus loosely tossing let them fall
Around my neck and shoulders; let them stream
Upon the wind, by my swift running stirred. 395
Upon my left I'll wear a quiver girt,
And in my right hand will I brandish free
A hunting-spear of Thessaly; for thus
The mother of Hippolytus was clad.
So did she lead her hosts from the frozen shores
Of Pontus, when to Attica she came, 400
From distant Tanaïs or Maeotis' banks,
Her comely locks down flowing from a knot,
Her side protected by a crescent shield.
Like her would I betake me to the woods.
_Chorus:_ Cease thy laments, for grief will not avail
The wretched. Rather seek to appease the will 405
Of that wild virgin goddess of the woods.
_Nurse_ [_to_ Diana]: O queen of forests, thou who dwell'st alone
On mountain tops, and thou who only art
Within their desert haunts adored, convert,
We pray, to better issue these sad fears.
O mighty goddess of the woods and groves,
Bright star of heaven, thou glory of the night, 410
Whose torch, alternate with the sun, illumes
The sky, thou three-formed Hecate--Oh, smile,
We pray, on these our hopes; the unbending soul
Of stern Hippolytus subdue for us.
Teach him to love; our passion's mutual flame
May he endure. May he give ready ear
To our request. His hard and stubborn heart 415
Do thou make soft to us. Enthral his mind.
Though stern of soul, averse to love, and fierce,
May he yet yield himself to Venus' laws.
Bend all thy powers to this. So may thy face
Be ever clear, and through the rifted clouds
Mayst thou sail on with crescent shining bright;
So, when thou driv'st thy chariot through the sky, 420
May no Thessalian mummeries prevail
To draw thee from thy nightly journey down;
And may no shepherd boast himself of thee.
Lo, thou art here in answer to our prayer;
[Hippolytus _is seen approaching_.]
I see Hippolytus himself, alone,
Approaching to perform the yearly rites
To Dian due. 425
[_To herself._]
Why dost thou hesitate?
Both time and place are given by fortune's lot.
Use all thy arts. Why do I quake with fear?
It is no easy task to do the deed
Enjoined on me. Yet she, who serves a queen,
Must banish from her heart all thought of right;
For sense of shame ill serves a royal will. 430
[_Enter_ Hippolytus.]
_Hippolytus:_ Why dost thou hither turn thine agéd feet,
O faithful nurse? Why is thy face so sad,
Thy brow so troubled? Truly is my sire
In safety, Phaedra safe, and their two sons.
_Nurse:_ Thou need'st not fear for them; the kingdom stands 435
In prosperous estate, and all thy house
Rejoices in the blessings of the gods.
But Oh, do thou with greater kindness look
Upon thy fortune. For my heart is vexed
And anxious for thy sake; for thou thyself
With grievous sufferings dost bruise thy soul.
If fate compels it, one may be forgiven 440
For wretchedness; but if, of his own will,
A man prefers to live in misery,
Brings tortures on himself, then he deserves
To lose those gifts he knows not how to use.
Be mindful of thy youth; relax thy mind.
Lift high the blazing torch on festal nights;
Let Bacchus free thee from thy weighty cares; 445
Enjoy this time which speeds so swiftly by.
Now is the time when love comes easily,
And smiles on youth. Come, let thy soul rejoice.
Why dost thou lie upon a lonely couch?
Dissolve in pleasures that grim mood of thine,
And snatch the passing joys;[20] let loose the reins. 450
Forbid that these, the best days of thy life,
Should vanish unenjoyed. Its proper hue
Has God allotted to each time of life,
And leads from step to step the age of man.
So joy becomes the young, a face severe
The agéd. Why dost thou restrain thyself,
And strangle at their birth the joys of life?
That crop rewards the farmer's labor most 455
Which in the young and tender sprouting-time
Runs riot in the fields. With lofty top
That tree will overspread the neighboring grove,
Which no begrudging hand cuts back or prunes.
So do our inborn powers a richer fruit
Of praise and glory bear, if liberty,
Unchecked and boundless, feed the noble soul. 460
Thou, harsh, uncouth, and ignorant of life,
Dost spend thy youth to joy and love unknown.
Think'st thou that this is man's allotted task,
To suffer hardships, curb the rushing steeds,
And fight like savage beasts in bloody war? 465
When he beheld the boundless greed of death,
The mighty father of the world ordained
A means by which the race might be renewed.
Suppose the power of Venus over men
Should cease, who doth supply and still renew 470
The stream of life, then would this lovely world
Become a foul, unsightly thing indeed:
The sea would bear no fish within its waves,
The woods no beasts of prey, the air no birds;
But through its empty space the winds alone
Would rove. How various the forms of death 475
That seize and feed upon our mortal race:
The wrecking sea, the sword, and treachery!
But say that these are lacking: still we fall
Of our own gravity to gloomy Styx.
Suppose our youth should choose a mateless life,
And live in childless state: then all this world
Of teeming life which thou dost see, would live
This generation only, and would fall 480
In ruins on itself. Then spend thy life
As nature doth direct; frequent the town,
And live in friendly union with thy kind.
_Hippolytus:_ There is no life so free, so innocent,
Which better cherishes the ancient rites,
Than that which spurns the crowded ways of men
And seeks the silent places of the woods. 485
His soul no maddening greed of gain inflames
Who on the lofty levels of the hills
His blameless pleasures finds. No fickle breath
Of passing favor frets him here, no sting
Of base ingratitude, no poisonous hate.
He fears no kingdom's laws; nor, in the quest 490
Of power, does he pursue the phantom shapes
Of fame and wealth. From hope and fear alike
Is he removed. No black and biting spite
With base, malicious tooth preys on him here.
He never hears of those base, shameful things
That spawn amid the city's teeming throngs.
It is not his with guilty heart to quake
At every sound; he need not hide his thoughts 495
With guileful words; in pride of sinful wealth
He seeks to own no lordly palace propped
Upon a thousand pillars, with its beams
In flaunting arrogance incased with gold.
No streams of blood his pious altars drench;
No hecatombs of snowy bullocks stand 500
Foredoomed to death, their foreheads sprinkled o'er
With sacred meal; but in the spacious fields,
Beneath the sky, in fearless innocence,
He wanders lord of all. His only guile,
To set the cunning snare for beasts of pray;
And, when o'erspent with labors of the chase,
He soothes his body in the shining stream
Of cool Ilissus. Now swift Alpheus' banks 505
He skirts, and now the lofty forest's deep,
Dense places treads, where Lerna, clear and cool,
Pours forth her glimmering streams.
Here twittering birds make all the woods resound,
And through the branches of the ancient beech
The leaves are all a-flutter in the breeze. 510
How sweet upon some vagrant river's bank,
Or on the verdant turf, to lie at length,
And quaff one's fill of deep, delicious sleep,
Whether in hurrying floods some copious stream
Pours down its waves, or through the vernal flowers
Some murmuring brook sings sweetly as it flows.
The windfall apples of the wood appease 515
His hunger, while the ripening berries plucked
From wayside thickets grant an easy meal.
He gladly shuns the luxuries of kings.
Let mighty lords from anxious cups of gold
Their nectar quaff; for him how sweet to catch
With naked hand the water of the spring! 520
More certain slumber soothes him, though his couch
Be hard, if free from care he lay him down.
With guilty soul he seeks no shameful deeds
In nooks remote upon some hidden couch,
Nor timorous hides in labyrinthine cell;
He courts the open air and light of day,
And lives before the conscious eye of heaven. 525
Such was the life, I think, the ancients lived,
Those primal men who mingled with the gods.
They were not blinded by the love of gold;
No sacred stone divided off the fields
And lotted each his own in judgment there.
Nor yet did vessels rashly plow the seas; 530
But each his native waters knew alone.
Then cities were not girt with massive walls,
With frequent towers set; no soldier there
To savage arms his hands applied, nor burst
The close-barred gates with huge and heavy stones
From ponderous engines hurled. As yet the earth 535
Endured no master's rule, nor felt the sway
Of laboring oxen yoked in common toil;
But all the fields, self-fruitful, fed mankind,
Who took and asked no more. The woods gave wealth,
And shady grottoes natural homes supplied.
Unholy greed first broke these peaceful bonds, 540
And headlong wrath, and lust which sets aflame
The hearts of men. Then came the cruel thirst
For empire; and the weak became the prey
Of strong, and might was counted right. At first
Men fought with naked fists, but soon they turned 545
Rough clubs and stones to use of arms. Not yet
Were cornel spears with slender points of iron,
And long, sharp-pointed swords, and crested helms.
Such weapons wrath invented. Warlike Mars
Produced new arts of strife, and forms of death 550
In countless numbers made. Thence streams of gore
Stained every land, and reddened every sea.
Then crime, o'erleaping every bound, ran wild;
Invaded every home. No hideous deed
Was left undone: but brothers by the hand 555
Of brothers fell, parents by children's hands,
Husbands by wives', and impious mothers killed
Their helpless babes. Stepmothers need no words;
The very beasts are kind compared with them.
Of all these evils woman was the cause,
The leader she. She with her wicked arts
Besets the minds of men; and all for her 560
And her vile, lustful ways, unnumbered towns
Lie low in smoking heaps; whole nations rush
To arms; and kingdoms, utterly o'erthrown,
Drag down their ruined peoples in their fall.
Though I should name no other, Aegeus' wife
Would prove all womankind a curséd race.
_Nurse:_ Why blame all women for the crimes of few? 565
_Hippolytus:_ I hate them all. I dread and shun and curse
Them all. Whether from reason, instinct, blind
And causeless madness, this I know--I hate.
And sooner shall you fire and water wed;
Sooner shall dangerous quicksands friendly turn
And give safe anchorage; and sooner far 570
Shall Tethys from her utmost western bounds
Bring forth the shining day, and savage wolves
Smile kindly on the timid does, than I,
O'ercome, feel ought but hate to womankind.
_Nurse:_ But oft doth love put reins on stubborn souls,
And all their hatred to affection turns. 575
Behold thy mother's realm of warlike dames;
Yet even they the sway of passion know.
Of this thy birth itself is proof enough.
_Hippolytus:_ My comfort for my mother's loss is this,
That now I'm free to hate all womankind.
_Nurse:_ As some hard crag, on every side unmoved, 580
Resists the waves, and dashes backward far
The opposing floods, so he doth spurn my words.
But hither Phaedra comes with hasty step,
Impatient of delay. What fate is hers?
Or to what action doth her madness tend?
[Phaedra _enters and falls fainting to the earth_.]
But see, in sudden fainting fit she falls, 585
And deathlike pallor overspreads her face.
[Hippolytus _hastens to raise her up in his arms_.]
Lift up thy face, speak out, my daughter, see,
Thine own Hippolytus embraces thee.
_Phaedra_ [_recovering from her faint_]: Who gives me back to griefs,
and floods again
My soul with heavy care? How well for me
Had I sunk down to death! 590
_Hippolytus:_ But why, poor soul,
Dost thou lament the gift of life restored?
_Phaedra_ [_aside_]: Come dare, attempt, fulfil thine own command.
Speak out, and fearlessly. Who asks in fear
Suggests a prompt refusal. Even now
The greater part of my offense is done.
Too late my present modesty. My love, 595
I know, is base; but if I persevere,
Perchance the marriage torch will hide my sin.
Success makes certain sins respectable.
Come now, begin.
[_To_ Hippolytus].
Bend lower down thine ear,
I pray; if any comrade be at hand,
Let him depart, that we may speak alone. 600
_Hippolytus:_ Behold, the place is free from witnesses.
_Phaedra:_ My lips refuse to speak my waiting words;
A mighty force compels my utterance,
A mightier holds it back. Ye heavenly powers,
I call ye all to witness, what I wish-- 605
_Hippolytus:_ Thy heart desires and cannot tell its wish?
_Phaedra:_ Light cares speak out, the weighty have no words.
_Hippolytus:_ Into my ears, my mother, tell thy cares.
_Phaedra:_ The name of mother is too proud and high;
My heart dictates some humbler name than that. 610
Pray call me sister--slave, Hippolytus.
Yes, slave I'd be. I'll bear all servitude;
And shouldst thou bid me tread the driven snows,
To walk along high Pindus' frozen peaks,
I'd not refuse; no, not if thou shouldst bid
Me go through fire, and serried ranks of foes, 615
I would not hesitate to bare my breast
Unto the naked swords. Take thou the power
Which was consigned to me. Make me thy slave.
Rule thou the state, and let me subject be.
It is no woman's task to guard this realm
Of many towns. Do thou, who in the flower 620
Of youth rejoicest, rule the citizens
With strong paternal sway. But me receive
Into thy arms, and there protect thy slave
And suppliant. My widowhood relieve.
_Hippolytus:_ May God on high this omen dark avert!
My father will in safety soon return.
_Phaedra:_ Not so: the king of that fast-holding realm 625
And silent Styx has never opened back
The doors of earth to those who once have left
The realms above. Think'st thou that he will loose
The ravisher of his couch? Unless, indeed,
Grim Pluto has at last grown mild to love.
_Hippolytus:_ The righteous gods of heaven will bring him back.
But while the gods still hold our prayers in doubt, 630
My brothers will I make my pious care,
And thee as well. Think not thou art bereft;
For I will fill for thee my father's place.
_Phaedra_ [_aside_]: Oh, hope of lovers, easily beguiled!
Deceitful love! Has he[21] not said enough? 635
I'll ply him now with prayers.
[_To_ Hippolytus.]
Oh, pity me.
Hear thou the prayers which I must only think.
I long to utter them, but am ashamed.
_Hippolytus:_ What is thy trouble then?
_Phaedra:_ A trouble mine,
Which thou wouldst scarce believe could vex the soul
Of any stepdame.
_Hippolytus:_ Speak more openly;
In doubtful words thy meaning thou dost wrap.
_Phaedra:_ My maddened heart with burning love is scorched; 640
My inmost marrow is devoured with love;
And through my veins and vitals steals the fire,
As when the flames through roomy holds of ships
Run darting. 645
_Hippolytus:_ Surely with a modest love
For Theseus thou dost burn.
_Phaedra:_ Hippolytus,
'Tis thus with me: I love those former looks
Of Theseus, which in early manhood once
He wore, when first a beard began to show
Upon his modest cheeks, what time he saw
The Cretan monster's hidden lurking-place,
And by a thread his labyrinthine way 650
Retraced. Oh, what a glorious sight he was!
Soft fillets held in check his flowing locks,
And modesty upon his tender face
Glowed blushing red. His soft-appearing arms
But half concealed his muscles' manly strength.
His face was like thy heavenly Phoebe's face,
Or my Apollo's, or 'twas like thine own. 655
Like thee, like thee he was when first he pleased
His enemy. Just so he proudly held
His head erect; still more in thee shines out
That beauty unadorned; in thee I find
Thy father all. And yet thy mother's stern
And lofty beauty has some share in thee;
Her Scythian firmness tempers Grecian grace. 660
If with thy father thou hadst sailed to Crete,
My sister would have spun the thread for thee
And not for him. O sister, wheresoe'er
In heaven's starry vault thou shinest, thee,
Oh, thee I call to aid my hapless cause,
So like thine own. One house has overthrown 665
Two sisters, thee the father, me the son.
[_To_ Hippolytus.]
Behold, as suppliant, fallen to thy knees,
A royal princess kneels. Without a spot
Of sin, unstained and innocent, was I;
And thou alone hast wrought the change in me.
See at thy feet I kneel and pray, resolved
This day shall end my misery or life. 670
Oh, pity her who loves thee--
_Hippolytus:_ God in heaven,
Great ruler of all gods, dost thou this sin
So calmly hear, so calmly see? If now
Thou hurlest not thy bolt with deadly hand,
What shameful cause will ever send it forth?
Let all the sky in shattered ruins fall,
And hide the light of day in murky clouds. 675
Let stars turn back, and trace again their course
Athwart their proper ways. And thou, great star
Of stars, thou radiant Sun, let not thine eyes
Behold the impious shame of this thy stock;
But hide thy face, and to the darkness flee
Why is thy hand, O king of gods and men, 680
Inactive? Why by forkéd lightning's brands
Is not the world in flames? Direct thy bolts
At me; pierce me. Let that fierce darting flame
Consume me quite, for mine is all the blame.
I ought to die, for I have favor found
In my stepmother's eyes.
[_To_ Phaedra.]
Did I seem one
To thee to do this vile and shameful thing?
Did I seem easy fuel to thy fire, 685
I only? Has my virtuous life deserved
Such estimate? Thou, worse than all thy kind!
Thou woman, who hast in thy heart conceived
A deed more shameful than thy mother's sin,
Whose womb gave monstrous birth; thou worse than she!
She stained herself with vilest lust, and long 690
Concealed the deed. But all in vain: at last,
Her two-formed child revealed his mother's crime,
And by his fierce bull-visage proved her guilt.
Of such a womb and mother art thou born.
Oh, thrice and four times blesséd is their lot
Whom hate and treachery give o'er and doom 695
To death. O father, how I envy thee!
Thy stepdame was the Colchian; but this,
This woman is a greater curse than she.
_Phaedra:_ I clearly see the destiny of my house:
We follow ever what we should avoid.
But I have given over self-control;
I'll follow thee through fire, through raging sea, 700
O'er ragged cliffs, through roaring torrents wild--
Wherever thou dost go, in mad pursuit
I shall be borne. Again, O haughty one,
I fall in suppliance and embrace thy knees.
_Hippolytus:_ Away from my chaste body with thy touch
Impure! What more? She falls upon my breast! 705
I'll draw my sword and smite as she deserves.
See, by her twisted locks, I backward bend
Her shameless head. No blood more worthily
Was ever spilled, O goddess of the bow,
Upon thy altars.
_Phaedra:_ Now, Hippolytus, 710
Thou dost fulfil the fondest wish of mine;
Thou sav'st me from my madness; greater far
Than all my hopes, that by the hands I love,
By thine own hands, I perish ere I sin.
_Hippolytus:_ Then live, be gone! Thou shalt gain naught from me.
And this my sword, defiled by thy base touch,
No more shall hang upon my modest side.
[_He throws his sword from him._]
What Tanaïs will make me clean again? 715
Or what Maeotis rushing to the sea,
With its barbaric waves? Not Neptune's self,
With all his ocean's waters could avail
To cleanse so foul a stain. O woods! O beasts!
[_He rushes off into the depths of the forest._]
_Nurse_ [_in soliloquy, while_ Phaedra _seems to have fallen in a
fainting fit_]:
Now is her fault discovered. Soul of mine,
Why dost thou stand in dumb amaze? This crime
We must throw back upon the man himself, 720
And charge him with a guilty love, ourselves.
Sin must be hid by sin. The safest way
Is to go straight forward on the course you fear.
Who is to know, since no one saw the deed,
Whether we dared, ourselves, or suffered ill?
[_Raising her voice in a loud cry._]
Help! Help! ye dames of Athens! Faithful band 725
Of slaves, bring aid! Behold Hippolytus,
With vile adultery, attacks the queen!
He has her in his power! He threatens death!
At point of sword he storms her chastity!
There, he has gone in haste, and left behind
His sword in trembling, panic-stricken flight.
This proof of guilt we'll keep. But first restore 730
The stricken queen to life. Let all remain
Just as they are, her locks disheveled, torn,
To show how great a wrong she has endured.
Back to the city bear her now. Revive,
My mistress. Why dost seek to harm thyself
And shun thy comrades' eyes. For be thou sure
Not circumstance but will can make impure. 735
[_Exeunt._]
_Chorus:_ He fled away like the storm-blast wild,
More swift than cloud-compelling winds;
And swifter than the comet's torch,
When, driven before the wind, it speeds
With long-drawn, trailing fires. 740
Let fame, that boasts of her olden times,
Compare with thine all ancient charms:
Beyond compare does thy beauty shine,
Clear and bright as the full-orbed moon,
When, with waxing hours in splendor joined, 745
Night long she speeds her shining car,
And her ruddy face so brightly gleams,
That the fires of the lesser stars are dimmed.
He is fair as the messenger of night,
When he leads the evening shadows in,
Himself new bathed in the ocean's foam; 750
Or when, the darkness put to flight,
He heralds the dawn--bright Lucifer.
And thou of the thyrsus, Indian Bacchus,
With the flowing locks of endless youth,
With thine ivy-clad spear the tigers driving, 755
And thy turban set on thy hornéd head:
Not thus will thy glorious locks outshine
The unadorned hair of Hippolytus.
And admire not thy beauty over much,
For fame has spread the story far,
How Phaedra's sister preferred to thee, 760
O Bromius, a mortal man.
Ah beauty, a doubtful boon art thou,
The gift of a fleeting hour! How swift
On flying feet thou glidest away!
So flowery meadows of the spring
The summer's burning heat devours, 765
When midday's raging sun rides high,
And night's brief round is hurried through.
As the lilies languish on their stems,
So pleasing tresses fail the head;
And swiftly is the radiance dimmed 770
Which gleams from the tender cheeks of youth!
Each day hath its spoil from the lovely form;
For beauty flees and soon is gone.
Who then would trust a gift so frail?
Nay, use its joys, while still thou mayst;
For silent time will soon destroy thee, 775
And hours to baser hours steal on.
Why seek the desert wilds? Thy form
Is no more safe in pathless ways.
If in the forest's depths thou hide,
When Titan brings the noonday heat,
The saucy Naïds will surround thee, 780
Who are wont in their clear springs to snare
The lovely youth; and 'gainst thy sleep
The wanton goddesses of groves,
The Dryads, who the roving Pans
Drive in pursuit, will mischief plot.
Or else that glowing star, whose birth 785
The old Arcadians beheld,
Will see thee from the spangled sky,
And straight forget to drive her car.
Of late she blushed a fiery red,
And yet no staining cloud obscured
Her shining disk. But we, in fear
For her troubled face, clashed cymbals loud, 790
Deeming her harried by the charms
Of Thessaly. But for thee alone
Was all her toil; thou wast the cause
Of her long delay; for, seeing thee,
The night's fair goddess checked her course.
If only winter's blasts would beat 795
Less fiercely on that face of thine;
If less it felt the sun's hot rays,
More bright than Parian marble's gleam
Would it appear. How beautiful
The manly sternness in thy face,
Thy brow's dark frowning majesty!
Compare with Phoebus' that fair neck. 800
His hair o'er his shoulders flowing free,
Unbound by fillet, ornaments
And shelters him. A shaggy brow
Becomes thee best; thee, shorter locks,
In tossing disarray. 'Tis thine
The rough and warlike gods to meet 805
In strife, and by thy mighty strength
To overcome them. Even now,
The muscles of a Hercules
Thy youthful arms can match. Thy breast
Is broader than the breast of Mars.
If on a horny-footed steed
Thou'rt pleased to mount, not Castor's self 810
More easily could hold in check
The Spartan Cyllarus.
Take thong in hand; with all thy strength
Discharge the javelin: not so far,
Though they be trained to hurl the dart,
Will Cretans send the slender reed. 815
Or if it please thee into air,
In Parthian style, to shoot thy darts,
None will descend without its bird,
Fixed deep within the throbbing breast;
From out the very clouds thy prey
Thou wilt regain.
By few has beauty been possessed
(The voice of history proclaims) 820
Without some loss or suffering.
But thee, unharmed, may God pass by
More merciful, and may thy form,
Now famous for its beauty, show
At last the marks of ugly age.
What crime would woman's fury leave undared?
She plans against this harmless youth some fraud. 825
Behold her scheme! For by her tumbled hair,
All torn, she seeks sure credence for her tale.
She wets her cheeks with tears; and every art
That woman's shrewdness knows, does she employ.
[_A man is seen approaching, who proves to be_ Theseus.]
But who is that who comes with grace of kings
Displayed upon his face, his lofty head 830
Held high in kingly pride? In countenance,
How like the young Pirithoüs he seems,
Were not his cheeks too deadly pale and wan,
And if his hair fell not in locks unkempt.
Behold, 'tis Theseus' self returned to earth.
FOOTNOTES:
[20] Reading, _luxus_.
[21] Reading, _dixit_.
ACT III
_Theseus:_ At last have I escaped from endless night, 835
That shadowy realm which close confines the dead.
And now my eyes can scarce endure the light
Which I have long desired. Eleusin now
Has four times reaped her ripened grain, the gift
Triptolemus bestowed; thrice and again
Has Libra measured equal day and night,
Since dubious battling with an unknown fate
Has held me in the toils of life and death. 840
To me, though dead to all things else, one part
Of life remained, the consciousness of ill.
Alcides was the end. When he came down
To bring the dog by force from Tartarus,
He brought me also to the upper world. 845
But ah, my wearied frame has lost the strength
It had of old; I walk with faltering steps.
Alas! how great a task it was to reach
The world of light from lower Phlegethon,
To flee from death and follow Hercules!
But why this sound of wailing in my ears? 850
Let someone tell; for agonies of woe
And grief and lamentations sad I meet
Upon the very threshold of my home--
A fitting welcome to a guest from hell.
_Nurse:_ The queen is obstinately bent on death,
And scorns the strong remonstrance of our tears. 855
_Theseus:_ Why should she die, her husband safe returned?
_Nurse:_ That very cause compels her speedy death.
_Theseus:_ Thy words are dark and hide some weighty truth.
Speak out and tell what grief weighs down her soul.
_Nurse:_ She tells her grief to none. Some secret woe 860
She hides within her heart, and is resolved
To take her secret with her to the grave.
But speed thee to her; there is need of haste.
_Theseus:_ Unbar the close-shut portals of my house.
[_The doors are opened and_ Theseus _encounters his wife just within_.]
_Theseus_ [_to_ Phaedra]: My queen, is't thus thou dost receive thy
lord,
And welcome back thy husband long desired? 865
Nay, put away the sword from thy right hand,
And give me heart again. Reveal to me
The cause that forces thee to flee from life.
_Phaedra:_ Alas, great Theseus, by thy kingly power,
And by thy children's souls, by thy return, 870
And by my ashes, suffer me to die.
_Theseus:_ What cause compels thy death?
_Phaedra:_ The fruit of death
Would perish if I let its cause be known.
_Theseus:_ None else shall hear it save myself alone.
_Phaedra:_ A chaste wife fears her husband most of all.
_Theseus:_ Speak out; I'll hide thy secret in my heart. 875
_Phaedra:_ The secret thou wouldst have another guard,
First guard thyself.
_Theseus:_ No chance of death thou'lt find.
_Phaedra:_ Death cannot fail the heart that's bent on death.
_Theseus:_ Confess what sin must be atoned by death.
_Phaedra:_ My life.
_Theseus:_ Will not my tears avail with thee? 880
_Phaedra:_ That death is best which one's own friends lament.
_Theseus:_ She still persists in silence. By the lash
And chains shall her old nurse be forced to tell
What she will not declare. Put her in chains.
Now let the lash lay bare her hidden thoughts.
_Phaedra:_ Hold, stay thy hand, for I myself will speak. 885
_Theseus:_ Why dost thou turn thy grieving face away,
And hide the quickly rising shower of tears
Behind thy robe?
_Phaedra:_ Thee, thee do I invoke,
O father of the gods, and thee, O Sun,
Thou shining glory of the heavenly dome,
On whom as founder doth our house depend, 890
I call ye both to witness that I strove
Against his prayers, though sorely tried. To threats
Of death my spirit did not yield; but force
O'ercame my body. This the shameful stain
Upon my honor which my blood must cleanse.
_Theseus:_ Come, tell, who hath defiled our honor so?
_Phaedra:_ Whom thou wouldst least expect. 895
_Theseus:_ But who is he?
I wait to hear his name.
_Phaedra:_ This sword shall tell,
Which in his terror at our loud laments,
The adulterer left, fearing the citizens.
_Theseus:_ Ah me! What villainy do I behold?
What monstrous deed is this? The royal sword,
Its ivory hilt with tiny signs engraved,
Shines out, the glory of the Athenian race. 900
But he--where has he gone?
_Phaedra:_ These slaves have seen
How, borne on speeding feet, he fled away.
_Theseus:_ Oh, holy piety! O thou who reign'st
In heaven, and thou who rulest in the seas,
Whence came this base infection of our race? 905
Was he of Grecian birth, or did he spring
From Scythian Taurus or some Colchian stream?
The type reverts to its ancestral stock,
And blood ignoble but repeats its source.
This is the madness of that savage race,
To scorn all lawful love, and prostitute 910
At last the long-chaste body to the crowd.
Oh, loathsome race, restrained by no good laws
Which milder climes revere! The very beasts
Shun love incestuous, and keep the laws
Of nature with instinctive chastity.
Where is that face, that feigned austerity, 915
That rough and careless garb that sought to ape
The ancient customs? Where that aspect stern,
That sour severity which age assumes?
O life, two-faced! How thou dost hide thy thoughts!
For fairest faces cover foulest hearts;
The chaste demeanor hides inchastity; 920
The gentle, boldness; seeming goodness, sin.
False men approve the truth; the faint of heart
Affect a blustering mood. O thou, of woods
Enamored, savage, rough and virgin pure,
Didst thou reserve thyself for me alone?
On my couch first and with so fell a crime 925
Wast thou inclined to try thy manly powers?
Now, now I thank the kindly gods of heaven
That long ago I slew Antiope;
That, when I went below to Stygian caves,
I did not leave thy mother for thy lust.
Go, get thee far away to unknown lands;
And there, though to her utmost bounds removed, 930
The earth should hem thee off by ocean's wastes;
Though thou shouldst dwell at the Antipodes;
Though to the frigid northern realms thou go,
And deep within her farthest caverns hide;
Or, though beyond the reach of winter placed, 935
And drifting snows, thou leave the boisterous threats
Of frosty Boreas in mad pursuit:
Thou still shalt meet thy fitting punishment.
Persistent shall I chase thee in thy flight
Through all thy hiding-places. Ways remote,
Hemmed in, secluded, hard and trackless ways,
I'll traverse in pursuit. No obstacle 940
Shall block my way. Thou know'st whence I return.
And whither spears cannot be hurled at thee
I'll hurl my prayers. My father of the sea
Once promised me that thrice I might prevail
With him in prayer, and ratified the boon
By oath upon the inviolable Styx.
[_To_ Neptune.]
Thou ruler of the sea, the boon bestow, 945
And grant my prayer: let not Hippolytus
Live to behold another sun's bright rays,
But may he go to meet those shades of hell
Enraged at my escape. O father, now
I pray that aid which still I deprecate.
This last of thy three boons I would not use, 950
If I were not beset by grievous ills.
Amidst the depths of hell and dreadful Dis,
Amidst the infernal king's pursuing threats,
I did not call on thee. But now I claim
Thy promise, father. Why delay thine aid?
Why are thy waves inactive? Let the winds 955
That drive the blackening clouds bring darkness on;
Snatch stars and sky from sight; pour forth the sea;
Arouse thy watery monsters, and let loose
On him from ocean's depths thy swelling waves.
[_Exit_ Theseus.]
_Chorus_: Great nature, mother of the gods,
And thou, fire-girt Olympus' lord, 960
Who speedest through the flying skies
The scattered stars, the wandering ways
Of constellations, and the heavens
Upon their whirling axes turn'st:
Why is thy care so great to keep
The annual highways of the air, 965
That now the hoary frosts may strip
The woods of leaves, and now the trees
May spread once more their pleasant shade;
That now the summer's fervent heat
May ripen Ceres' gift, and soon 970
Her strength the Autumn may subdue?
But why, though thou dost rule so wide,
Though in thy hand the ponderous worlds
Are poised, and calmly wheel along
Their appointed ways, why dost thou shun
The affairs of men and have no care
For them? Art not solicitous 975
That good should prosper, and that sin
Receive its just deserts? But no:
Blind Fortune rules the affairs of men,
Dispensing with unthinking hand
Her gifts, oft favoring the worst. 980
And so the violent oppress
The innocent; and fraud holds sway
In highest places. To the hands
Of brutish men the rabble most
Rejoice to trust their government;
The same they honor and they hate,
With fickle will. Sad virtue finds
Her recompense for righteousness
All gone away; and poverty, 985
Relentless, follows innocence;
While, deep intrenched in wickedness,
The adulterer sits secure, and reigns.
O modesty--an empty name!
And worth--a glorious cheat!
But what would yonder messenger announce,
Who comes in haste, with woeful countenance? 990
ACT IV
[_Enter_ Messenger.]
_Messenger:_ O slavery, thou hard and bitter lot,
Why must I voice these woes unspeakable?
_Theseus:_ Fear not, but boldly tell the worst mischance;
For mine a heart not unprepared for grief.
_Messenger:_ My tongue can find no words to voice its woe. 955
_Theseus:_ But speak, what evil fortune still besets
My shattered house?
_Messenger:_ Hippolytus is dead!
_Theseus:_ The father knew long since his son had died;
But now the adulterer has met his end.
Tell me, I pray, the manner of his death.
_Messenger:_ When, fleeing forth, he left the city's walls, 1000
With maddened speed he hurried on his way,
And quickly yoked his chargers to his car,
And curbed them to his will with close-drawn reins.
And then, with much wild speech, and cursing loud
His native land, oft calling on his sire, 1005
He fiercely shook the reins above his steeds;
When suddenly, far out the vast sea roared,
And heaved itself to heaven. No wind was there
To stir the sea, no quarter of the sky
Broke in upon its peace; the rising waves
Were by their own peculiar tempest raised. 1010
No blast so great had ever stirred the straits
Of Sicily, nor had the deep e'er swelled
With such wild rage before the north wind's breath,
When high cliffs trembled with the shock of waves,
And hoary foam smote high Leucate's top.
The sea then rose into a mighty heap, 1015
And, big with monstrous birth, was landward borne.
For no ship's wrecking was this swelling pest
Intended; landward was its aim. The flood
Rolled shoreward heavily, something unknown
Within its laden bosom carrying.
What land, new born, will lift its head aloft? 1020
Is some new island of the Cyclades
Arising? Now the rocky heights are hid,
Held sacred to the Epidaurian god,
And those high crags well known for Sciron's crime;
No longer can be seen that land whose shores
Are washed by double seas. While in amaze 1025
We look in fear and wonder, suddenly
The whole sea bellows, and on every side
The towering cliffs re-echo with the roar;
While all their tops the leaping spray bedews.
The deep spouts forth and vomits up its waves
In alternating streams, like some huge whale 1030
Which roves the ocean, spouting up the floods.
Then did that mound of waters strongly heave
And break itself, and threw upon the shore
A thing more terrible than all our fears.
The sea itself rushed landward, following
That monstrous thing. I shudder at the thought.
What form and bearing had the monster huge! 1035
A bull it was in form, with dark-green neck
Uplifted high, its lofty front adorned
With verdant mane. Its ears with shaggy hair
Were rough; its horns with changing color flashed,
Such as the lord of some fierce herd would have,
Both earth and ocean-born. He vomits flames; 1040
With flames his fierce eyes gleam. His glossy neck
Great couch-like muscles shows, and as he breathes,
His spreading nostrils quiver with the blast
Of his deep panting. Breast and dewlap hang
All green with clinging moss; and on his sides
Red lichens cling. His hinder parts appear 1045
In monstrous shape, and like some scaly fish
His vast and shapeless members drag along;
As are those monsters of the distant seas
Which swallow ships, and spout[22] them forth again.
The country-side was panic stricken; herds 1050
In frenzied terror scattered through the fields;
Nor did the herdsmen think to follow them.
The wild beasts in the forest pastures fled
In all directions, and the hunters shook
With deadly fear. Hippolytus alone
Was not afraid, but curbed his frantic steeds 1055
With close-drawn reins, and with his well-known voice
He cheered them on. The road to Argos[23] runs
Precipitous along the broken hills,
On one side bordered by the roaring sea.
Here does that massive monster whet himself
And kindle hot his wrath; then, when he felt
His courage strong within his breast, and when
His power to attempt the strife he had rehearsed, 1060
He charged Hippolytus with headlong course,
The ground scarce touching with his bounding feet;
And, fearful, stopped before the trembling steeds.
But this thy son, with savage countenance,
Stood steadfast, threatening, before the foe.
His features changed not, while he thundered loud: 1065
"This empty terror cannot daunt my soul,
For 'twas my father's task to vanquish bulls."
But straightway, disobedient to the reins,
The horses hurried off the car. And now,
The highway leaving, maddened by their fear,
They plunged along where'er their terror led, 1070
And took their way among the rocky fields.
But he, their driver, as some captain strong
Holds straight his bark upon the boisterous sea,
Lest she oppose her side against the waves,
And by his art escapes the yawning floods;
Not otherwise he guides the whirling car. 1075
For now with tight-drawn reins he curbs his steeds,
And now upon their backs he plies the lash.
But doggedly that monster kept along,
Now running by their side, now leaping straight
Upon them as they came, from every hand
Great fear inspiring. Soon all further flight 1080
Was checked; for that dread, hornéd, ocean beast
With lowering front charged full against their course.
Then, truly, did the horses, wild with fear,
Break loose from all control; and from the yoke
They madly struggled to withdraw their necks,
Their master hurling to their stamping feet.
Headlong among the lossened reins he fell, 1085
His form all tangled in their clinging strands.
The more he struggled to release himself
The tighter those relentless fetters bound.
The steeds perceived what they had done, and now,
With empty car, and no one mastering them,
They ran where terror bade. Just so, of old,
Not recognizing their accustomed load, 1090
And hot with anger that the car of day
Had been entrusted to a spurious sun,
The steeds of Phoebus hurled young Phaëthon
Far through the airs of heaven in wandering course.
Now far and wide he stains the fields with blood,
His head rebounding from the smitten rocks.
The bramble thickets pluck away his hair, 1095
And that fair face is bruised upon the stones.
His fatal beauty which had been his bane,
Is ruined now by many a wound. His limbs
Are dragged along upon the flying wheels.
At last, his bleeding trunk upon a charred
And pointed stake is caught, pierced through the groin;
And for a little, by its master held, 1100
The car stood still. The horses by that wound
Were held awhile, but soon they break delay--
And break their master too. While on they rush,
The whipping branches cut his dying form,
The rough and thorny brambles tear his flesh,
And every bush retains its part of him.
Now bands of servants scour those woeful fields, 1105
Those places where Hippolytus was dragged,
And where his bloody trail directs the way;
And sorrowing dogs trace out their master's limbs.
But not as yet has all this careful toil
Of grieving friends sufficed to gather all. 1110
And has it come to this, that glorious form?
But now the partner of his father's realm,
And his acknowledged heir, illustrious youth,
Who shone refulgent like the stars--behold
His scattered fragments for the funeral pile
They gather up and heap them on the bier!
_Theseus:_ O mother Nature, all too potent thou!
How firmly dost thou hold me by the ties 1115
Of blood! How thou dost force me to obey
Thy will! I wished to slay my guilty son,
While yet he lived; but now I mourn his loss.
_Messenger:_ One may not rightly mourn what he has willed.[24]
_Theseus:_ This is indeed the crowning woe, I think,
When chance fulfils the prayers we should not make. 1120
_Messenger:_ If still you hate your son, why weep for him?
_Theseus:_ Because I slew, not lost my son, I weep.
* * * * *
_Chorus:_ How on the wheel of circumstance
We mortals whirl! 'Gainst humble folk
Does fate more gently rage, and God
More lightly smites the lightly blest. 1125
A life in dim retirement spent
Insures a peaceful soul; and he
Who in a lowly cottage dwells
May live to tranquil age at last.
The mountain tops that pierce the skies,
Feel all the stormy winds that blow,
Fierce Eurus, Notus, and the threats
Of Boreas, and Corus too, 1130
Storm bringer.
The vale low lying seldom feels
The thunder's stroke; but Caucasus,
The huge, and the lofty Phrygian groves
Of mother Cybele have felt
The bolts of Jove the Thunderer. 1135
For Jupiter in jealousy
Attacks the heights too near his skies;
But never is the humble roof
Uptorn by jealous heaven's assaults.
Round mighty kings and homes of kings 1140
He thunders.
The passing hour on doubtful wings
Flits ever; nor may any claim
Swift Fortune's pledge. Behold our king,
Who sees at last the glowing stars
And light of day, the gloom of hell
Behind him left, a sad return 1145
Laments; for this his welcome home
He finds more sorrowful by far
Than dismal, dark Avernus' self.
O Pallas, by the Athenian race
In reverence held, that once again
Thy Theseus sees the light of day, 1150
And has escaped the pools of Styx,
Thou owest naught to greedy Dis;
For still the number of the shades
Within the infernal tyrant's power
Remains the same.
But why the sounds of wailing that we hear?
And what would Phaedra with her naked sword? 1155
FOOTNOTES:
[22] Reading, _reddit_.
[23] Reading, _Argos_.
[24] Reading, _haud quisquam honeste flere, quod voluit, potest_.
ACT V
[_Enter_ Phaedra _with a drawn sword in her hand_.]
_Theseus_ [_to_ Phaedra]: What madness pricks thee on, all wild
with grief?
What means that sword? or why these loud laments?
Why weepest thou above the hated corpse?
_Phaedra:_ Me, me, O savage ruler of the deep,
Attack; against me send the monstrous shapes 1160
That breed within the caverns of the sea,
Whatever Tethys in her heart conceals,
And ocean hides within his wandering waves.
O Theseus, always ill of omen thou!
Oh, never to thy loved ones safe returned,
Since son and father by their death have paid 1165
For thy home-coming. Thou of thine own house
Art the destroyer; ever baneful thou,
Whether in love or hatred of thy wives.
[_Turning to the mangled corpse._]
Hippolytus, is this thy face I see?
Have I brought thee to this? What Sinis wild,
What pitiless Procrustes mangled thee? 1170
What Cretan bull-man, filling all the cave
Of Daedalus with his vast bellowings,
Has rent thee thus upon his savage horns?
Ah me! where now is fled thy beauty bright,
Thy eyes, my stars? Dost thou all lifeless lie?
Come back a little while and hear my words. 1175
'Tis nothing base I speak. With my own hand
I'll make thee full atonement, and will plunge
The avenging sword within my sinful breast,
And so be free from life and guilt at once.
Thee will I follow through Tartarean pools.
Across the Styx, through streams of liquid fire. 1180
Let me appease the spirit of the dead.
Accept the spoils I offer, take this lock
Torn from my bleeding forehead. 'Twas not right
To join our souls in life; but surely now
We may by death unite our fates.
[_To herself._]
Now die,
If thou art undefiled, to appease thy lord;
But if defiled, die for thy lover's sake. 1185
Is't meet that I should live and seek again
My husband's couch, by such foul incest stained?
This wrong was lacking still, that, as if pure,
Thou shouldst enjoy that union, justified.
O death, thou only cure for evil love,
For injured chastity the last resort:
I fly to thee; spread wide thy soothing arms. 1190
Hear me, O Athens; thou, O father, hear,
Thou worse than stepdame: I have falsely sworn.
The crime, which I myself within my heart,
With passion mad, conceived, I basely charged
To him. An empty vengeance hast thou wrought
Upon thy son; for he in chastity, 1195
Through fault of the unchaste, lies there, unstained
And innocent.
[_To_ Hippolytus.]
Regain thine honor now;
Behold my impious breast awaits the stroke
Of justice, and my blood makes sacrifice
Unto the spirit of a guiltless man.
[_To_ Theseus.]
How thou mayst recompense thy murdered son,
Learn now from me--and seek the Acheron. 1200
[_She falls upon her sword and dies._]
_Theseus:_ Ye jaws of wan Avernus, and ye caves
Of Taenara, ye floods of Lethe's stream,
A soothing balm to hearts o'ercome with grief,
Ye sluggish pools: take ye my impious soul
And plunge me deep in your eternal woes.
Now come, ye savage monsters of the deep,
Whatever Proteus hides within his caves, 1205
And drown me in your pools, me who rejoice
In crime so hideous. O father, thou
Who ever dost too readily assent
Unto my wrathful prayers, I merit not
An easy death, who on my son have brought
A death so strange, and scattered through the fields
His mangled limbs; who, while, as austere judge,
I sought to punish evil falsely charged, 1210
Have fallen myself into the pit of crime.
For heaven, hell, and seas have by my sins
Been peopled; now no further lot remains;
Three kingdoms know me now. Was it for this
That I returned? Was heaven's light restored
To me that I might see two funerals,
A double death? That I, bereft of wife 1215
And son, should with one torch upon the pyre
Consume them both? Thou giver of the light
Which has so baleful proved, O, Hercules,
Take back thy boon, and give me up again
To Dis; restore me to the curséd shades
Whom I escaped. Oh, impious, in vain
I call upon that death I left behind. 1220
Thou bloody man, well skilled in deadly arts,
Who hast contrived unwonted ways of death
And terrible, now deal unto thyself
The fitting punishment. Let some great pine
Be bent to earth and hurl thee high in air;
Or let me headlong leap from Sciron's cliff. 1225
More dreadful punishments have I beheld,
Which Phlegethon upon the guilty souls
Encircled by his fiery stream inflicts.
What suffering awaits me, and what place,
Full well I know. Make room, ye guilty shades;
On me, me only, let that rock be placed,
The everlasting toil of Sisyphus, 1230
And let these wearied hands upbear its weight;
Let cooling waters lap and mock my lips;
Let that fell vulture fly from Tityos,
And let my vitals ever living be
For punishment. And thou, Ixion, sire 1235
Of my Pirithoüs, take rest awhile,
And let the wheel that never stops its flight
Bear these my limbs upon its whirling rim.
Now yawn, O earth, and chaos dire, receive,
I pray, receive me to your depths; for thus
'Tis fitting that I journey to the shades.
I go to meet my son. And fear thou not, 1240
Thou king of dead men's souls; I come in peace
To that eternal home, whence ne'er again
Shall I come forth.
My prayers move not the gods.
But if some impious plea I made to them,
How ready would they be to grant my prayer!
_Chorus:_ Theseus, thou hast unending time to mourn.
Now pay the funeral honors due thy son, 1245
And bury these poor torn and scattered limbs.
_Theseus:_ Then hither bring the pitiful remains
Of that dear corpse, and heap together here
That shapeless mass of flesh, those mangled limbs.
Is this Hippolytus? I realize
My depth of crime, for I have murdered thee. 1250
And lest but once and I alone should sin,
A parent, bent to do an impious thing,
My father did I summon to my aid.
Behold, my father's boon do I enjoy.
O childlessness, a bitter loss art thou
For broken age! But come, embrace his limbs,
Whatever of thy hapless son is left,
And clasp them, wretched father, to thy breast. 1255
Arrange in order those dismembered parts,
And to their proper place restore them. Here
His brave right hand should be. Place here the left,
Well trained to curb his horses with the reins.
The marks of his left side I recognize; 1260
And yet how large a part is lacking still
Unto our tears. Be firm, ye trembling hands,
To do the last sad offices of grief;
Be dry, my cheeks, and stay your flowing tears,
While I count o'er the members of my son,
And lay his body out for burial. 1265
What is this shapeless piece, on all sides torn
With many a wound? I know not what it is,
Save that 'tis part of thee. Here lay it down.
Not in its own, but in an empty place.
That face, that once with starry splendor gleamed,
That softened by its grace e'en foemen's eyes, 1270
Has that bright beauty come to this? O fate,
How bitter! Deadly favor of the gods!
And is it thus my son comes back to me
In answer to my prayers? These final rites
Thy father pays, receive, O thou my son,
Who often to thy funeral must be borne.
And now let fires consume these dear remains.
Throw open wide my palace, dark with death, 1275
And let all Athens ring with loud laments.
Do some of you prepare the royal pyre,
And others seek yet farther in the fields
His scattered parts.
[_Pointing to_ Phaedra's _corpse_.]
Let earth on her be spread,
And may it heavy rest upon her head. 1280
HERCULES OETAEUS
HERCULES OETAEUS
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
HERCULES Son of Jupiter and Alcmena.
_Hyllus_ Son of Hercules and Deianira.
_Alcmena_ Daughter of Electryon, king of Mycenae.
_Deianira_ Daughter of Oeneus, king of Aetolia, and wife of Hercules.
_Iole_ Daughter of Eurytus, king of Oechalia.
_Nurse_ Of Deianira.
_Philoctetes_ A prince of Thessaly, son of Poeas, and the faithful
friend of Hercules.
_Lichas_ The messenger (_persona muta_) of Deianira to Hercules.
_Chorus_ Of Aetolian women, faithful to Deianira.
_Band_ Of Oechalian maidens, suffering captivity in company with Iole.
THE SCENE is laid, first in Euboea, and later at the home of Hercules
in Trachin.
_The long, heroic life of Hercules has neared its end. His twelve great
tasks, assigned him by Eurystheus through Juno's hatred, have been
done. His latest victory was over Eurytus, king of Oechalia. Him he
slew and overthrew his house, because the monarch would not give him
Iole to wife._
_And now the hero, having overcome the world, and Pluto's realm beneath
the earth, aspires to heaven. He sacrifices to Cenaean Jove, and prays
at last to be received into his proper home._
ACT I
[_On the Cenaean promontory of the island of Euboea._]
_Hercules_ [_about to sacrifice to Cenaean Jove_]: O sire of gods,
from whose almighty hand
Both homes of Phoebus feel thy darting bolt:
Rule now serene, for I have 'stablished peace
Wherever Nereus checks the spreading lands.
Now let thy thunders rest; for treacherous kings 5
And savage tyrants are in ruin laid.
Whatever merited thy blasting darts
Have I o'erthrown and crushed. But, father, why
Is heaven still denied to me, thy son?
For surely have I ever shown myself
A worthy child of Jove; and Juno's self,
My hard task-mistress, testifies to this,
That I am born of thee. Why dost thou still 10
Contrive delays? Am I thy cause of fear?
Will Atlas not avail to prop the skies
If to their bulk the weight of Hercules
Be superadded? Why, O father, why
Dost thou deny the stars to me? To thee
Did death restore me; every monstrous shape
Which had its source in earth or sea or air,
Or hell itself, has yielded to my arms. 15
No lion treads the Arcadian cities now;
Stymphalus fears no more its noxious birds;
The wondrous stag of Maenalus is dead;
The watchful dragon spattered with its blood
The golden grove; the hydra's force is gone;
Those famous horses to the Hebrus known,
Which fattened on the blood of murdered guests, 20
Have I destroyed, and spoils of war obtained
In victory o'er my Amazonian foe.
I saw the silent realms; nor all alone
Did I return, but shuddering day beheld
Dark Cerberus, and he beheld the sun.
No more Antaeus, Libya's monarch huge,
His strength renews; before his bloody shrines 25
Busiris lies o'erthrown; by my sole hand
The threefold Geryon was o'ercome and slain,
And that dread terror of a hundred tribes,
The Cretan bull, yea all the monstrous things
To which the hostile world has given birth,
Have fallen in utter ruin by my hand.
If now the earth can show no monsters more, 30
If now my stepdame has her wrath fulfilled,
Restore the father to his son; yea, more--
Admit the hero to his proper skies.
I ask not that thou point the way to me;
Permit it only, father, and the way
I'll find. Or, if thou fearest that the earth
Shall to the light new shapes of terror bring,
Let them make haste to come, whate'er they be, 35
While still the earth beholds her Hercules.
For who will e'er again these fearsome things
Attack, or who, throughout the towns of Greece,
Will e'er be worthy of great Juno's hate?
In truth, my praises have I safe bestowed,
Since now there is no land but sings of me.
The Scythian, dwelling in the frozen North, 40
The Indian, smitten by the burning rays
Of Phoebus, and the tropic African:
All know my fame. O glowing Sun, I thee
As witness call: I have encountered thee
Where'er thou shin'st; nor have thy darting beams
Availed to follow my triumphant course.
I've gone beyond the reaches of the sun,
And daylight halted far within my bounds. 45
The world of nature yielded; for my steps
No earth remained. She was exhausted first.
But night and utter chaos met me there.
From that dark realm whence no one e'er returns,
Have I come back to earth. Old Ocean's threats
Have I endured; no raging storm of his 50
Has e'er prevailed to overcome the bark
In which I fared. How small a part I tell![25]
Exhausted is the air and can no more
Suffice to feed the hatred of thy wife;
The earth in fear brings forth no monster more
For me to conquer, no wild beasts of prey.
These are denied to me, and in the stead 55
Of monster have I come myself to be.
How many evils have I overcome,
Though all unarmed! Whatever monstrous thing
Opposed, these empty hands have overthrown;
Nor did there ever live a savage beast
Which I as boy or infant feared to meet.
My bidden labors have seemed always light,
And no day ever dawned that brought to me 60
No strenuous toil. How many monstrous tasks
Have I fulfilled which no king set to me!
A harder master has my courage been
Than ever Juno was. But what avails
That I have saved the human race from fear?
The gods in consequence have lost their peace.
The freed earth sees whatever she has feared 65
Now set in heaven; for Juno thitherward
Hath borne the beasts I slew. Restored to life,
The Crab fares safely in his torrid path,
A constellation now in southern skies,
And ripens Libya's waving fields of grain.
The Lion to the heavenly Virgin gives
The flying year; but he, with beaming mane 70
Upon his wild neck tossing, dries the winds
Which drip with moisture, and the clouds devours.
Behold, the beasts have all invaded heaven,
Forestalling me. Though victor, here I stand
Upon the earth, and view my labors there.
For Juno to the monsters and the beasts
Has given stars, that so the heavenly realm 75
Might be for me a place of terror made.
But no! Though in her wrath she fill the skies
With monsters, though she make the heavens worse
Than earth and hell, yet shall a place be given
To Hercules. If, after beasts and wars,
If, after I subdued the Stygian dog,
I have not earned a place among the stars, 80
Then shall Sicilian Pelorus touch
Hesperia's shores, and both shall be one land.
I'll put the intervening sea to flight;
Or, if thou wilt that severed seas be joined,
Then Isthmus shall give passage to the waves,
And Attic vessels by a new-found way
Shall sail united seas. I'll change the world. 85
Along new channels shall the Hister flow,
And Tanaïs find new passage to the sea.
Grant, grant, O Jupiter, this boon to me,
That I at least may shield the gods from harm.
There mayst thou lay aside thy thunderbolts,
Where I stand guard against thy enemies.
Whether thou bid'st me guard the icy pole,
Or o'er the torrid regions watch, be sure 90
That on that side the gods may be at rest.
Apollo earned the shrine of Pythia
And heaven, because he slew the Python huge;
But Oh, how many Pythons did I slay
In that dire hydra! Bacchus, Perseus, too,
Have found a place among the heavenly gods. 95
How small that eastern portion of the earth
Which he subdued! How meager is the spoil
Which Perseus in the stony Gorgon gained!
What son of thine from Juno born has earned
A place in heaven because of his renown?
I seek the skies which I myself have borne.
[_Turning to_ Lichas.]
But thou, O Lichas, comrade of my toils,
Go tell my triumphs over Eurytus, 100
His lares conquered and his realm o'erthrown.
[_To his attendants._]
Do you with speed the victims hurry on
To where the temple of Cenaean Jove
Looks off upon the wild Euboean sea.
_Band of captive Oechalian maidens:_ The mate of the immortals he,
Whose life and fortune hand in hand
Go on apace. But worse than death 105
Is life, dragged on with many groans.
Whoe'er has trodden under foot
The greedy fates, and can disdain
The boat that plies on death's dark stream,
Will never feel the galling chains
Upon his captive arms; nor grace,
As noble spoil, the victor's train. 110
For he who faces death with joy
Can ne'er be wretched. Should his bark
Be wrecked upon the stormy sea
Where Africus with Boreas,
And Zephyrus with Eurus strive,
And rend the seas; he does not seek
To gather up the broken parts 115
Of his wrecked ship, that, far at sea,
He still may cherish hopes of land.
For he, who ever ready stands
To give his life, alone is safe
From all the perils of the storm.
But we are held by shameful grief,
The gaunt, drawn face, the streaming tears,
By the ashes of our fatherland
Besprinkled. Us no whirling flame, 120
Nor crash of falling walls o'erwhelms.
Thou dost pursue the fortunate,
O death, but fleest from wretched souls.
Behold, we live: but Oh, no more,
Our country's walls[26] remain; their place
Shall soon be hidden by the woods,
And all our temples fall away
To squalid hovels. Even now 125
The cold Dolopian will come
And o'er the ashes, glowing yet,
Sad remnants of Oechalia,
Will drive his flocks. And soon, alas,
Within our walls, the shepherd rude
Shall sing upon his rustic pipes,
With doleful voice, our history. 130
And when the hand of God shall speed
A few more generations on,
The very place where once we dwelt
Will be forgotten. Happy once,
I kept no barren hearth at home;
Not mine the hungry acres then
Of Thessaly. But now I'm called
To Trachin's rough and stony land, 135
To ridges parched and jungle-set,
To groves which e'en the mountain goat
Would not inhabit. But, perchance,
Some milder fate the captives calls.
Then will they see the Inachus,
Whose rapid waves shall bear them on,
Or dwell within Dircaean walls 140
Where flows Ismenus' scanty stream--
And where was once the mother wed
Of mighty Hercules.
False is that tale of doubled night,
When overlong the stars delayed
Within the skies, and Hesperus
In place of Lucifer arose,
And Delia with tardy car 145
Kept back the sun. What Scythian crag
Begot thee, or what stony mount?
Like some wild Titan wast thou born
On Rhodope, or Athos rough?
What savage beast on Caspian shores,
What spotted tigress, suckled thee? 150
Impervious to wounds is he.
Sharp spears are blunted, steel is bent
Against his heart; and glittering swords,
Upon his naked members struck,
In broken fragment drop apart;
Stones strike, but harmlessly rebound.
And so he scorns the deadly fates, 155
And, all invincible, provokes
His death. No spears can pierce his heart,
No arrow shot from Scythian bow,
No darts which cold Sarmatians bear,
Or they who dwell beneath the dawn,
The Parthians, whose fatal shafts
More deadly than the Cretan dart, 160
The neighboring Nabathaeans wound.
Oechalia's walls he overthrew
With his bare hands. Naught can withstand
His onslaught. For whate'er he plans
To overcome, is by that fact
Already overcome. How few
The foes who by his wounds have fallen!
His angry countenance means death; 165
And to have met his threatening gaze
Is worse than death. What Gyas huge,
What vast Briareus, who stood
Upon Thessalia's mountain heap
And clutched at heaven with snaky hands,
Would not have frozen at the glance
Of that dread face? But mighty ills 170
Have mighty recompense: no more
Is left to suffer--we have seen,
Oh, woe! the angry Hercules!
_Iole:_ But I, unhappy one, must mourn,
Not temples with their gods o'erthrown,
Not scattered hearths and burning homes,
Where lie in common ruin mixed
Fathers with sons, and gods with men, 175
Temples and towns--the common woe;
But fortune calls my tears away
To other grief. Fate bids me weep
O'er other ruins. What lament 180
Shall I make first? What greatest ill
Shall I bewail? All equally
I'll weep. Ah me, that mother earth
Hath not more bosoms given me,
That worthily they might resound
Unto my grief. But, O ye gods,
Transform me to a weeping rock
On Sipylus; or set me where, 185
Between its grassy banks, the Po
Glides on, where grieving woods respond
To the mourning of the sisters sad
Of Phaëthon; or to the shores
Of Sicily transport me. There,
Another Siren, let me mourn 190
The woeful fate of Thessaly.
Or bear me to the Thracian woods,
Where, underneath Ismarian shade,
The Daulian bird bewails her son.
Give me a form to fit my tears,
And let rough Trachin echo back 195
My cries of woe. The Cyprian maid
Still soothes her grieving heart with tears;
Still Ceyx's royal spouse bemoans
Her vanished lord; and Niobe,
Surviving life and grief, weeps on;
Her human form has Philomel
Escaped, and now with doleful notes
The Attic maid bewails her dead. 200
Oh, that my arms were feathered wings!
Oh, then, how happy would I be,
When, hidden in the forest depths,
I might lament in plaintive strain, 205
And live in fame as Iole,
The maiden bird. I saw, alas,
I saw my father's dreadful fate,
When, smitten with that deadly club,
He fell, in mangled fragments dashed 210
Throughout the palace hall. If then
His fate had granted burial,
How often had I searched, O sire,
For all thy parts!
How could I look upon thy death,
O Toxeus, with thy tender cheeks
Unbearded yet, thy boyish veins
Not yet with manhood's vigor filled?
But why do I bewail your fates, 215
O parents, whom to safety now
Kind death has borne? My fortune bids
That I bewail myself instead.
Soon, ah too soon, in captive state,
Shall I the flying spindle turn
For some proud mistress in her hall.
O cruel beauty, how hast thou 220
Decreed my death! For thee alone
Am I and all my house undone,
Since when my sire to Hercules
Refused my hand, because he feared
Great Hercules as son-in-law.
And now, not wife, but captive maid,
I seek my haughty mistress' home.
_Chorus:_ Why dost thou, foolish, ever dwell 225
Upon thy sire's illustrious realm,
And on thy own unhappy fate?
Forget thy former station now;
For only is he happy who,
As king or slave, knows how to bear
His lot, and fit his countenance
To changing circumstance. For he 230
Who bears his ills with steadfast soul
Has from misfortune reft away
Its strength and heaviness.
FOOTNOTES:
[25] Reading, _quam prosequor_.
[26] Reading, _patriae moenibus_.