Abstract
Tragedy of Hercules’ end: having completed the twelve labours and conquered death itself, the hero aspires to heaven, dies consumed by fire on Mount Oeta, and is deified. His unconquered virtus enduring every trial figures the ideal of the man who rises above his lot.
Traduzione di Frank Justus Miller · Delphi Classics, 2014 · pubblico dominio
HERCULES, son of Jupiter and Alcmena.
HYLLUS, son of Hercules and Deïanira.
ALCMENA, daughter of Electryon, king of Mycenae.
DEÏANIRA, daughter of Oeneus, king of Aetolia, and wife of Hercules.
IOLE, daughter of Eurytus, king of Oechalia.
NURSE of Deïanira.
PHILOCTETES, a prince of Thessaly, son of Poeas, and the faithful friend of Hercules.
LICHAS, the messenger (personal muta) of Deïanira to Hercules.
CHORUS of Aetolian women, faithful to Deïanira.
CHORUS 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.
[In Euboea, near Oechalia, after the overthrow of Eurytus, king of that city.]
HERCULES
[1] O sire of gods, hurled by whose hand both homes of Phoebus feel the thunderbolt, reign thou untroubled; peace have I ‘stablished for thee wherever Nereus forbids the land to extend its bounds. Thou needst not thunder now; false kings lie low, and cruel tyrants. I have crushed all who merited thy bolts. But to me, father, is heaven still denied? Of a surety have I everywhere proved worthy Jove; and that thou art sire of mine my stepdame testifies. Yet why dost still contrive delays? Am I cause of fear? Will Atlas not avail to bear up Hercules placed upon him together with the sky? Why, O father, why dost thou deny the stars to me? Verily hath death given me back to thee; and every evil thing which earth, sea, air, the lower world, produced, hath yielded to my might. No lion prowls amidst Arcadia’s towns; the Stymphalian bird is smitten; the beast of Maenalus is no more; the dragon, slain, hath sprinkled the golden orchard with his blood; the hydra’s strength is gone; the herds, well known to Hebrus, fat with strangers’ blood, have I destroyed, and have brought away Thermodon’s spoils of war. The lot of the silent throng have I beheld; and not alone have I returned, but shuddering day hath seen black Cerberus, and he the sun. No longer doth the Libyan Antaeus renew his strength; before his own altars hath Busiris fallen; by my sole hand hath Geryon been o’erthrown, and the bull, dread terror of a hundred tribes. Whatever hostile earth hath ‘gendered is fallen, by my right hand laid low; the anger of the gods hath been set at naught.
[30] If the earth is done with monsters, if my stepdame is done with wrath, give back now the father to his son, yea, the stars unto the hero. I ask thee not to show the way to me; but grant thy permission, father, and the way I’ll find. Or, if thou fearest that earth shall yet give birth to monsters, let the ill make haste, whate’er it be, while yet the earth doth hold and look on Hercules; for who else will attack evil things, or who, throughout the Argive cities, will be worthy Juno’s hate? I have my honours safe bestowed; there is no land but sings my praise. The race that shivers ‘neath the Scythian Bear hath known me; the sun-scorched Indian and the tropic African. O glowing Sun, bear witness: I have encountered thee where’er thou shinest, nor could thy beams keep pace with my triumphant course; I have gone beyond the changes of the sun, and day hath halted far within my bounds. Nature hath yielded to me, and earth hath failed my feet; she hath been weary first. Night and utter chaos have assailed me, and thence to this world have I come again whence none e’er returns. I have borne Ocean’s threats, and no storm of his has availed to wreck the ship which I have weighted down. How trivial Perseus’ deeds compared with mine! How can the empty air no more suffice the hatred of thy wife, and earth fears to produce beasts for me to conquer, nor can she find monsters more. Beasts are at end; ’tis Hercules now begins to hold the place of monster. For how great evils have I crushed, how many crimes, and all unarmed! Whatever monstrous thing opposed me, with but my hands I laid it low; nor was there ever savage thing which as youth or babe I feared. All my commanded toils seem light, and no inactive day has ever dawned for me. Oh, how great monsters have I overthrown, which no king bade me meet! My courage, more relentless than Juno’s self, has urged me on.
[63] But what avails it to have freed the race of men from fear? Now have the gods no peace; the freed earth sees in the sky all creatures which she feared; for there hath Juno set them. The crab I slew goes round the torrid zone, is known as Libya’s constellation, and matures her grain; the lion to Astraea gives the flying year; but he, his burning mane upon his neck back tossing, dries up the dripping south-wind and devours the clouds. Behold, now has every beast invaded heaven, forestalling me; through victor, I gaze upon my labours from the earth; for to monsters first and to wild beasts has Juno given stars, that to me she might make the sky a place of dread. Yet, though in her rage she scatter them o’er the sky, though she make heaven worse than earth, yea, worse than Styx, to Alcides shall room be given. If after beasts, after wars, after the Stygian dog, I have not yet earned the stars, let Sicilian Pelorus touch the Hesperian shore, and they both shall become one land; thence will I put seas to flight. If thou bidst seas be joined, let Isthmus give passage to the waves and on their united waters let Attic ships along a new way be borne. Let earth be changed; along new valleys let Ister run and Tanaïs receive new channels. Give, give me, O Jupiter, at least the gods to guard; there mayst thou put aside thy thunderbolts where I shall be on guard. Whether thou bidst me guard the icy pole, whether the torrid zone, there count the gods secure. Cirrha’s shrine and a place in heaven did Pean earn by one serpent’s slaughter – oh, how many Pythons in the hydra lie o’erthrown! Already have Bacchus and Perseus reached the gods; but how small a tract of earth was the conquered east, or how meagre a spoil was Gorgon! what son of thine and of my stepdame has by his praises merited the stars? I seek the skies which I myself have borne.
[99] [He turns to LICHAS.] But do thou, Lichas, comrade of the toils of Hercules, proclaim his triumphs – the conquered house of Eurytus, his kingdom overthrown. [To the other attendants.] Do you with speed drive the herds to where the shore, lifting on high the shrine of Cenaean Jove, looks out upon the Euboic sea, fearsome with southern gales.
[Exit HERCULES on his way to the Cenaean Promontory, intending there to sacrifice to Jove.]
CHORUS OF CAPTIVE OECHALIAN MAIDENS IN COMPANY WITH IOLE
[104] Mate of the gods is he whose life and fortune have gone side by side; but when ’tis slowly dragged out midst lamentations, life has the lot of death. Whoe’er has set beneath his feet the greedy fates, and the last river’s barque, he will not give his captive arms to bonds nor frae in the victor’s train a noble spoil; ne’er is he wretched for whom to die is easy. Should his boat be wrecked far out upon the deep, where South with North-wind strives, and East with West, rending the sea sunder, he does not gather up the wreckage of his broken ship, that in mid-ocean he may hope for land; he who can straightway render up life, he only from a wreck can suffer naught.
[119] But us, foul wasting claims, and tears, and hair defiled by the dust of fatherland; us nor greedy flame nor crashing wall has overwhelmed. The happy dost thou pursue, O Death, the wretched thou fleest. Here we stand, yet alas! the spot shall no more be given to our country’s crops, but to forests wild, and squalid hovels shall our fallen shrines become. Here soon shall the chill Dolopian lead his flocks where the buried ashes, sole remnant of Oechalia’s ruins, still are warm. Here in our very city a Thessalian shepherd, on rude pipe going o’er his songs, shall sing of our story with doleful notes; and ere God shall bring a few more generations to an end, men will be asking where our country lay. Once I was blest; not barren the hearth nor hungry the acres of Thessalian soil whereon I dwelt; but not to Trachin am I called, to a rough and stony land, to brambles bristling on her parched hills, to woods which e’en the wandering goats disdain. But if some captives by a milder fate are called, then either swift Inachus will bear them o’er, or within Dircaean walls shall they abide, where flows slow Ismenus with scanty stream, where the mother of haughty Hercules once was wed.
[147] False is the story of the double night, when the stars lingered in the sky o’erlong, when Lucifer changed place with Hesperus, and Delia, too slow, kept back the sun. What Scythian crag, what rocky cliff begot thee? As some fierce Titan, did Rhodope bring thee forth, or Athos rough? Did some wild Caspian beast, some striped tigress give thee suck? By no wounds may his limbs be assailed; iron he feels blunt, steel is too dull; upon his naked body swords are broken, and stones rebound; and so he scorns the fates, and with body all invincible defies mortality. Sharp spear-points could not pierce him, nor Scythian arrows shot from bended bow, nor darts which cold Sarmatians wield, or the Parthians who, in the land of the rising sun, with surer aim than ever Cretan’s was, direct their shafts against the neighbouring Arabians. With his bare hands did he o’erthrow Oechalia’s walls, and naught can make stand against him; for whate’er he plans to overcome is overcome already. How few the foes who by his wounds have fallen! His angry countenance was death in open view, and but to have seen the threats of Hercules is enough. What huge Briareus, what Gyas, puffed with pride, when upon Thessalia’s mountain-heap they stood and clutched at heaven with snaky hands, had countenance inflexible as his? But mighty ills have mighty recompense. No more is left to suffer – we have seen, oh, woe! the angry Hercules.
IOLE
[173] But I, unhappy one, bewail not temples fallen on their gods, or hearth-fires scattered, or fathers burned in mingled heaps with sons, and gods with men, temples with tombs, – nay, no common misfortune do I mourn; elsewhither doth fortune call my tears, for other ruins the fates bid me weep. What lament shall I make first? What last shall I bewail? Equally all things is it meet to mourn. Oh me, that Mother Earth hath not given me more eyes for tears, more breasts, that blows of my losses might resound.
[185] Me to a weeping rock on Sipylus, ye heavenly gods, transform, or set me on the banks of Po, where the woods give back the grief of Phaëthon’s sad sisters; or add me to the rocks of Sicily, where as a Siren I may weep Thessalia’s fate; or bear me to Edonia’s woods where I may mourn as, beneath Ismarian shade, the Daulian bird ever mourns her son. Give me a form to fit my tears, and let rough Trachin reëcho with my woes. Myrrha, the Cyprian maid, yet guards her tears; the wife of Ceyx mourns his taking off; and Niobe lives on, surviving e’en herself; her human form has Philomel escaped, and still the Attic maid bewails her son. Why not yet do my arms become swift wings? Happy, ha, happy shall I be when the woods shall be called my home, and, in my native meadows resting, with plaintive strains I shall recall my fate, and fame shall tell of winged Iole.
[207] I saw, I saw my father’s wretched fate, when, beaten down by the death-dealing club, he lay in scattered fragments throughout the hall. Ah me, if fate had given him burial, how often, father, must thou have been sought! How could I have looked upon thy death, O Toxeus, with thy boyish cheeks as yet unbearded, and thy veins not yet filled with manly vigour? But why do I lament your fates, my parents, whom kindly death has to a place of safety borne? ’Tis my own fortune that requires my tears. Soon, soon in captive state shall I whirl the distaff and the spindle of my mistress. O cruel beauty, and form doomed to bring death to me, for thee alone is all my house undone, for that my sire refused me to Alcides and feared to have Hercules for son-in-law. And now must I betake me to a mistress’ home.
CHORUS
[225] Why dost thou, foolish one, ever look back upon thy sire’s illustrious kingdom and thine own misfortunes? Banish from thy face thy former fortune. Happy is he whoever knows how to bear the estate of slave or king and can match his countenance with either lot. For he who bears his ills with even soul has robbed misfortune of its strength and heaviness.
[The scene changes to the space before the palace of Hercules and Deïanira at Trachin. Enter NURSE OF DEÏANIRA.]
NURSE
[233] O how bloody is the rage that goads women on, when to mistress and two wife one house has opened! Scylla and Charybdis, whirling Sicilia’s waves, are not more fearful, nor is any wild beast worse. For when her captive rival’s beauty was revealed, and Iole shone like the unclouded day or a bright star in the clear night glittering, even as one distraught the wife of Hercules stood there with lowering gaze (as a tigress, lying big with young ‘neath some Armenian rock, at sight of an enemy leaps forth; or as a maenad, bidden to toss the thyrsus, what time she bears the god within her breast, in doubt where she shall take her way, stands till a while); then through the house of Hercules she madly dashed and scarce did all the house give space enough. Forward she rushes, wanders aimlessly, stands still. All her passion has come forth into her face; in her heart’s depths almost naught is left; tears follow hard on threats. Nor does one posture last, nor can one countenance contain her rage; now do her cheeks flame with wrath, now pallor drives the flush away, and from form to form her smarting anguish wanders; she wails, she begs, she groans.
[254] The doors have sounded – behold, at headlong pace she comes, with confused words revealing all the secrets of her soul.
[Enter DEÏANIRA from within the palace.]
DEÏANIRA
[256] Wife of the Thunderer, whatever portion of thy heavenly home thou treadest, send ‘gainst Alcides a wild beast which shall suffice for me. If any serpent, vaster than all the marsh, rears up its head, to conquest all unknown; if anything is worse than other beasts, monstrous, dire, horrible, from sight of which Hercules would turn away his eyes, let this from its huge den come forth. Or, if beasts be denied, change, I pray thee, this heart of mine into some – any evil thing there is can I with this present mind become. Give me a form to match my smarting grief; my breast cannot contain its rage. Why doest thou search out the folds of farthest earth, and overturn the world? Why dost ask ills of Dis? In such a breast thou’lt find all beasts to cause him dread; take thou this weapon for thy hate – let me be step-dame. Thou canst destroy Alcides; use but these hands for any end thou wilt. Why dost thou hesitate, O goddess? Use me, the mad one – what crime doest bid me do? Decide. Why dost thou falter? Though now thou dost thyself shrink back, this rage of mine suffices.
NURSE
[275] Dear child, thy mad heart’s plaints restrain, quench passion’s fire and curb thy grief. Show thyself wife of Hercules.
DEÏANIRA
[278] Shall captive Iole give brothers to my sons? Shall a slave become daughter-in-law of Jove? Together will flame and torrent never run, and the thirsty Bear from the blue sea ne’er will drink – nor will I go unavenged. Though thou didst bear the heavens up, though the whole world owes its peace to thee, a worse pest than Hydra waits thee – the wrath of an angered wife. What fire as hot as this rages to heaven from burning Aetna? Whate’er has been conquered by thy might, this passion of mine shall conquer. – And shall a slave seize on my marriage bed? Till now did I fear monsters, but now is no evil more; the pests have vanished and in the place of beasts has come the hated harlot. O most high ruler of the gods, O lustrous Sun, I have been wife to Hercules but in his perils; the prayers which to the heavenly ones I raised have been granted to a slave; for a harlot have I been fortunate; for her have ye heard my prayers, O gods, for her is he safe returned. – O grief that can be satisfied with no revenge, seek thee some dreadful punishment, unthought, unspeakable; teach Juno’s self what hate can do; she knows not to rage enough. For me didst thou do battle; on my account did Acheloüs dye his wandering waves with his own blood, when now he became a stubborn serpent, now to a fierce bull changed his threats, the serpent form discarded, and thou in that one foe didst conquer a thousand beasts. But now I please thee not; a captive is preferred to me – but she shall not be preferred; for that day which shall end our marriage joys shall end thy life.
[307] But what is this? My passion dies away and abates its threats. Now anger ceases; why dost thou languish, O wretched grief? Thou givest o’er thy madness, makest me again the faithful, uncomplaining wife. – Why dost forbid the feeding of the flames? Why checkest the fire? Keep but this passion in me; hand in hand let us go on – there will be no need of prayers; a step-dame will be near to direct my hands and unbesought.
NURSE
[314] What crime, distraught one, dost thou purpose? Wilt slay thy husband whose praises the evening and the morning know full well, whose fame, towering to the sky, holds all the world beneath? The land of Greece will rise to defend that home, and this thy father’s house and the whole Aetolian race will be the first to be o’erthrown; soon rocks and firebrands will be hurled against thee, since every land will rally to its defender. How many penalties wilt thou, one woman, pay! Suppose thou canst escape the world and the race of men – the father of Alcides wields the thunder-bolt. Now, even now behold his threat’ning fires flashing athwart the sky, and the heavens thundering with the lightning shock. Even death itself, which thou deemest a place of safety, fear; for there the uncle of thine Alcides reigns. Turn where thou wilt, poor woman, there wilt thou see his kindred gods.
DEÏANIRA
[330] That I am doing a fearful crime, e’en I myself confess; but passion bids me do it.
NURSE
[332] Thou’lt die.
DEÏANIRA
[332] Yea, truly, will I die, but the wife of glorious Hercules; neither shall any dawn, banishing night, brand me as widow; nor shall captive creature make capture of my bed. Sooner shall day be born in the western sky, sooner shall Indians grow pale ‘neath the icy pole, or Scythians tan ‘neath Phoebus’ burning car, than shall the dames of Thessaly see me abandoned. With my own blood will I quench her marriage torches. Either let him die or do me to death. To slaughtered beasts let him add wife as well, and let him count me, too, ‘mongst the toils of Hercules; to Alcides’ couch, aye with my dying body, will I cling. Ah, sweet, ’tis sweet to go to the shades as bride of Hercules, – but not without my vengeance. If Iole from my Hercules has conceived a child, with mine own hands will I tear it forth untimely, and by her very wedding torches’ glare will I face the harlot. Let him in wrath slay me as victim on his nuptial day, so I but fall on the corpse of Iole. Happy he lies who crushes those he hates.
NURSE
[351] Why dost thyself feed thy flames and wantonly foster and unmeasured grief? Poor soul, why dost thou cherish a needless fear? He did love Iole; but ’twas while yet her father reigned secure, and ’twas a king’s daughter that he sought. The princess has now fallen to the place of slave; love has lost its power, and much from her charm her unhappy lot has stolen. What is forbidden we love; if granted it falls from our desire.
DEÏANIRA
[358] Nay, but fallen fortunes fan hotter the flames of love; for this very cause he loves her, that she hath lost her father’s house, that her hair lies stripped of gold and gems; out of pity, perchance, he loves her very woes; ’tis the wont of Hercules to love captive maids.
NURSE
[363] ’Tis true he loved the captive sister of Dardanian Priam, but he gave her to another; add all the dames, all the maids he loved before. A wanderer on earth, a wanderer in love was he. Why, the Arcadian maid, Auge, while leading Pallas’ sacred dance, suffered his lust’s violence, but fell from his regard, and Hercules retains no trace of his love for her. Why mention others? The Thespiades are forgotten; for them with but a passing flame Alcides burned. When a guest on Timolus, he caressed the Lydian woman and, daft with love, sat beside her swift distaff, twisting the moistened thread with doughty fingers. His shoulders, indeed, had laid aside the famous lion’s-skin, a turban confined his hair, and there he stood like any slave, his shaggy locks dripping with Sabaean myrrh. Everywhere has he burned with love, but burned with feeble flame.
DEÏANIRA
[378] Oft after wandering fires lovers have clung to one.
NURSE
[379] A slave and daughter of his foe shall he prefer to thee?
DEÏANIRA
[380] As a gladsome beauty covers the budding groves when the first warmth of spring clothes the bare forest trees, but, when the North-wind has put the mild South to flight, and savage winter has shaken off all the leaves, thou seest but a shapeless grove of trunks alone; so does my beauty, pursuing a lengthening way, lose something ever, and less brightly gleams, nor is it as of yore. Whate’er in me was sought in former days has vanished or is failing along with me. Old age with hastening steps hath taken much, and much of it hath motherhood stolen from me. But seest thou how this slave hath not lost her glorious charm? Gone are her adornings and squalor clings close upon her; and yet through her very distresses beauty shines and naught have misfortune and this hard stroke of fate stolen from her save her realm. O nurse, this fear of her racks my heart; this dread doth destroy my slumbers. I was a wife celebrated in every land, and for marriage such as mine all women prayed with envious prayer; or whatever soul asked aught of any god, for the prayers of Grecian dames I was the measure. What father-in-law like to Jove, O Nurse, shall I e’er have? Who beneath these heavens will be given me as husband? Though Eurystheus’ self, who rules Alcides, should wed me with his own torches, ’tis not enough. ’Tis a trivial thing to have lost a royal couch; but from a far height has she fallen who loses Hercules.
NURSE
[407] Children ofttimes win back the love of husbands.
DEÏANIRA
[408] These children themselves perchance will dissolve the bond.
NURSE
[409] Meanwhile that slave is brought as gift to thee.
DEÏANIRA
[410] He whom thou seest going, big with fame, from town to town, wearing the spoil of a tawny lion on his back; who gives kingdoms to the lowly and takes them from the proud, his dread hand laden with a massive club; whose triumphs the far off Seres sing, and whoe’er besides dwells in the whole known world, – he is a trifler, nor does the charm of glory urge him on. He goes wandering o’er the earth, not in the hope that he may rival Jove, nor that he may fare illustrious through Grecian cities. Some one to love he seeks; his quest is maidens’ chambers. If any is refused him, she is ravished; against nations doth he rage, midst ruins seeks this brides, and unrestrained excess is called heroic. Oechalia, the illustrious, fell; one sun, one day beheld her stand and fall; and passion was the mother of that strife. As oft as a father shall deny his child to Hercules, as oft as a foeman refuses to be his father-in-law, so oft shall he have cause to fear; if he is not accepted as a son-in-law, he smites. After all this, why do I harmlessly keep back these hands until he feign another fit of madness, with deadly hand bend his bow, and slay me and my son? Thus does Alcides put away his wives; such is his manner of divorce. Yet naught can make him guilty! He has made the world believe his step-dame answerable for his crimes. Why art inactive then, thou sluggish rage? His crime must be forestalled; act while thy hand is hot!
NURSE
[436] Wilt slay thy husband?
DEÏANIRA
[436] Truly, my rival’s husband.
NURSE
[437] But the son of Jove?
DEÏANIRA
[437] Yes, but the son of Alcmena, too.
NURSE
[438] With the sword?
DEÏANIRA
[438] The sword.
NURSE
[438] If thou canst not?
DEÏANIRA
[438] I’ll slay with guile.
NURSE
[439] What madness that?
DEÏANIRA
[439] That which my husband teaches me.
NURSE
[440] Whom e’en his step-dame could not slay – wilt thou slay him?
DEÏANIRA
[441] Celestial wrath but makes wretched those on whom it falls; man’s wrath makes them naught.
NURSE
[442] Spare him, O wretched one, and fear.
DEÏANIRA
[443] He has scorned all men, who first has scorn of death; ’tis sweet to go against the sword.
NURSE
[444] Thy smart is too great for the offence, my child, let his fault claim but equal hate. Why dost so fiercely judge a light offence? According as thou hast been injured, grieve.
DEÏANIRA
[447] Thinkst thou a mistress is light evil for a wife? Whatever fosters anguish, count this beyond all bounds.
NURSE
[449] Has thy love for glorious Alcides fled away?
DEÏANIRA
[450] Not fled, dear Nurse; it still remains, believe me, deep-seated and fixed in my heart’s core; but to be angry with one’s love brings mighty madness.
NURSE
[452] By magic arts and prayers commingled do wives oft hold fast their husbands. I have bidden the trees grow green in the midst of winter’s frost, and the hurtling lightning stand; I have stirred up the deep, though the winds were still, and have calmed the heaving sea; the parched earth has opened with fresh fountains; rocks have found motion; the gates have I rent asunder and the shades of Dis, and at my prayer’s demand the spirits talk, the infernal dog is still; midnight has seen the sun, and day, the night; the sea, land, heaven and Tartarus yield to my will, and naught holds to law against my incantations. Bend him we will; my charms will find the way.
DEÏANIRA
[465] What herbs does Pontus grow, or what does Pindus nourish ‘neath the rocks of Thessaly, wherein I may find a bane to conquer him? Though Luna should leave the stars and come down to earth, obedient to magic; though winter should see ripe grain; though the swift bolt should stand still, arrested by thy charm; though times be changed, and midday burn amid the crowding stars: ‘twill not bend him.
NURSE
[472] But love has conquered e’en heavenly gods.
DEÏANIRA
[473] By one alone, perchance, will he be conquered and yield his spoils, and Love become Alcides’ crowning toil. – But thee by all the deities of heaven I pray, by this my fear: whatever secret thing I am preparing, hide it deep, and in faithful silence hold it fast.
NURSE
[478] What is it that thou seekst to keep in secret?
DEÏANIRA
[479] It is not spears, not arms, not threatening fire.
NURSE
[480] That I can keep faithful silence I confess, if it be free from crime; but silence itself sometimes is criminal.
DEÏANIRA
[482] Come, look about, lest someone grasp my secret, and in all directions turn thy questful glance.
NURSE
[484] Behold the place is safe and free from all observers.
DEÏANIRA
[485] In a remote corner of the royal dwelling is a recess that silently guards my secret. Neither the first rays of the sun can reach that spot, nor yet his last, when Titan, bringing the day to rest, plunges his weary yoke in the ruddy sea. There lurks the surety of Alcides’ love. Nurse, I’ll confess to thee: the giver of the baleful thing was Nessus, whom Nephele, heavey with child, to the Thessalian chieftain bore, where lofty Pindus to the stars lifts up his head and Othrys stands stiff, towering above the clouds. For when Achelöus, forced by the club of dread Hercules to shift with ready ease from form to form, his beast-shapes all exhausted, at last stood forth, and bowed his head, marred and with single horn, victorious Hercules, with me, his bride, set out for Argos.
[500] It chanced that Evenus, wandering through the plains, rolling his deep eddies to the sea, was now in flood, almost to the tree-top’s level. Nessus, accustomed to ford the whirling stream, offered to take me over for a price; and, bearing me on his back, where the backbone, leaving the equine enters the human form, soon was stemming even the threatening waves of the swollen flood. Now had wild Nessus entirely left the waters and Alcides was still wandering in mid-stream, cleaving the down-sweeping flood with his mighty strides; but when the centaur saw Alcides still afar, “Thou shalt be spoil of mine,” he cried, “and wife; he is kept from thee by the waves”; and, clasping me in his arms as he bore me on, was galloping away.
[513] But the waves did not hold Hercules; “O faithless ferryman,” he cried, “though Ganges and Hister commingled in united beds should flow, I shall o’ercome them both and with my shaft o’ertake thy flight.” His bow was swifter than his words. Then the reedy shaft, wounding from afar, stayed his hampered flight and implanted death. The Centaur, now groping for light, in his right hand caught the poison flowing from the wound, and this he gave me, pouring it into his hoof, which with mad hand he had changed to wrench away. Then with his dying words he spoke: “By this charm magicians have said love can be firmly fixed; so were Thessalian wives by the wise Mycale instructed, whom only, midst all wonder-working crones, Luna will forsake the stars and follow. A garment, smeared with this very gore, shalt thou give to him, if ever a hated mistress should usurp thy chamber, and thy fickle husband should give another daughter to his high-thundering sire. This let no light behold; let darkness only, thick and hidden, cover it; so shall the potent blood retain its powers.” Silence seized on his words and to his weary limbs came the sleep of death.
[535] No do thou, whom loyalty makes sharer of my secret, haste thee that the poison, upon a glittering robe besmeared, go through his heart and limbs and, stealing silently, enter his very marrow.
NURSE
[538] With speed will I do thy bidding, dearest child; and do thou pray to the god invincible, who with tender hand doth send unerring shafts. [Exit NURSE.]
DEÏANIRA
[541] Thee do I pray, by earth and heaven-dwellers held in fear, by sea, by him who wields Aetnaean thunderbolts, and by thy ruthless mother to be feared, O winged boy; with unerring hand aim a swift shaft, and not of thy lighter arrows. Choose thee, I pray one of thy heavier shafts, which thy hands have ne’er yet shot at any; for no light weapon must thou use that Hercules may feel the power of love. Stretch thy hands stiffly forth, and bend thy bow until the tips shall meet. Now, now that shaft let loose with which once thou aimedst at Jove the terrible, what time the god threw down his thunderbolt and as a bull, with horns quick-sprouting on his brow, clove through the boisterous sea, bearing the Assyrian maid. Fill him with love; let him outstrip all precedents, – let him learn to love his wife. If Iole’s beauty hath kindled fires in the breast of Hercules, extinguish them every one, and of my beauty let him deeply drink. Oft hast thou conquered Jove, the thunderer, oft him who wields the dark sceptre of the dusky world, king of the greater throng, and lord of Styx; and now, O god more dreadful than a step-dame’s wrath, win thou this triumph all alone, and conquer Hercules.
[Re-enter NURSE, with robe and charm.]
NURSE
[563] The charm has been brought out and a robe from Pallas’ distaff, at whose weaving thy maidens all have wrought with weary hands. Now let the poison be prepared and let the robe of Hercules soak up its pestilence; and by my incantations will I increase its evil.
[While they are occupying themselves with the robe, LICHAS is seen approaching.]
[567] But in the nick of time the zealous Lichas comes; the dire potency of the robe must be concealed lest our wiles be punished.
[Enter LICHAS.]
DEÏANIRA
[569] O Lichas, name ever loyal to thy lords, though loyalty proud houses ne’er possess, take thou this garment which my hands have woven while he was wandering o’er the earth, or, spent with wine, was holding in his doughty arms the Lydian queen, or seeking Iole. And yet, perchance, I may turn his rough heart to me again by my deserving; for deserts oft conquer those who work us ill. Before my husband puts this garment on, bid him burn incense and appease the gods, his stiff locks wreathed the while with hoary poplar.
[LICHAS take the robe and departs upon his mission.]
[579] I will myself pass within the royal palace and with prayers worship the mother of relentless Love.
[581] [To her Aetolian attendants.] Do ye, whom I have brought as comrades from my father’s house, ye Calydonian maids, bewail the fortune that demands your tears. [Exit.]
CHORUS OF AETOLIAN WOMEN
[583] O child of Oeneus, truly do we weep for thy misfortunes, the band of thy companions through thy childhood years, we weep thy couch dishonoured, lady whom we revere. Often with thee have we splashed in Acheloüs’ shallows, when now, the springtime passed, he allayed his swollen waters and, a slender stream, crept on with quiet course, and Lycormas no longer rolled his headlong waters on, dark-hued with bursting fountains. Together were we wont to fare to Pallas’ shrines and join in virgin dances, to bear the mysteries in Theban baskets hidden, when now the wintry star had fled, and each third summer called forth the sun, and when the grain-giving goddess’ sacred seat, Attic Eleusis, shut in her mystic worshippers. Now too, whatever lot thou fearest, take us as trusted comrades of thy fates; for rare is loyalty when now better fortune fails.
[604] O thou, whoe’er thou art who the sceptre holdest, though all the people throng within thy hall, pressing together through its thousand doors; though when thou walkst abroad whole nations hem thee round; in all those nations scarce one man is true. Erinys keeps the gilded gate, and when the great doors have opened wide, there come in treacheries and cunning wiles and the lurking dagger; and when amongst the people thou wouldst walk, envy walks by thy side. As often as dawn drives out the night, so often believe a king is born. Few worship kings and not their thrones; for ’tis the glitter of the royal hall that stirs the most. One man is eager to fare illustrious through broad towns next to the king himself; for greed of glory burns his wretched breast. Another longs with treasure to appease his hunger; and yet not all gem-bearing Hister’s tract would satisfy, nor would the whole of Lydia sate his thirst, nor the land which, lying ‘neath the west-wind, marvels to see bright Tagus gleam with golden water; nor if all Hebrus were his own, and rich Hydaspes should be added to his fields, and he should gaze on Ganges flowing with all its streams within his boundaries. For greed, for greed all nature is too little.
[632] One man courts kings and homes of kings, not that his ploughman, forever stooping o’er the deep-driven share, may never cease his toil, or that the peasantry may till his thousand fields; but wealth alone, which he may hoard away, he seeks. Another man courts kings that he may trample all, may ruin many and establish none; he covets power only to harm therewith.
[640] How few live out their allotted span! Whom Cynthia saw in happiness, the new-born day sees wretched. ’Tis rare to find old age and happiness in one. The couch of turf, softer than Tyrian purple, oft soothes to fearless slumber; but gilded ceilings break our rest, and purple coverlets drag out wakeful nights. Oh, if the hearts of rich men were laid bare! What fears does lofty fortune stir within! The waves of Bruttium, when Corus lashes up the sea, are calmer far. The poor man’s heart is free from care; he holds cups carved from the wide-spreading beech, but holds them with hand untrembling; he eats but cheap and common food, yet sees no drawn sword hanging o’er his head! ’Tis in golden cups that blood is mixed with wine.
[658] The wife is wed to one of modest means is not bedecked with necklaces of pearl, the red sea’s gift, nor do stones gathered on Orient shores weigh down her gem-laden ears; for her no soft wool twice dipped in Sidonian cauldrons drinks scarlet dyes; not hers with Maeonian needle to embroider stuffs which Serians under sunlit skies gather from eastern trees. ’Tis not common herbs that dye the webs which her unskilled hands have woven; but she cherishes a marriage-couch all undisturbed. With cruel torch doth Fury pursue the bride whose wedding-day great throngs have celebrated; nor does the poor man count himself full blest, unless he sees the blessed fallen from their height.
[675] Whoever has left the middle course fares never in path secure. While for one day the youth sought to furnish light and took his stand within his father’s car, and while he passed not o’er the accustomed track, but sought the stars unknown to Phoebus’ rays with wandering wheel, himself he ruined and the world, as well. Daedalus, cleaving his path midway the heavens, reached peaceful shores and to no sea gave his name; but while young Icarus dared rival true birds in flight, looked down upon his father’s wings and soared aloft close to the sun itself, to an unknown sea he gave his name. To our undoing, high fortunes are by ruin balanced.
[692] Let another be noised abroad as blest and great; but let no throng hail me as powerful. Let my frail craft keep close to shore, and let no strong wind compel my bark to plough the mighty deep; misfortune passes by quiet ports, and seeks for ships sailing the open sea, whose topsails smite the clouds.
[DEÏANIRA appears hurrying distractedly from the palace.]
[700] But why in terror and with face of fear, like some rage-smit Bacchante, comes the Bacchante, comes the queen with step uncertain?
[Enter DEÏANIRA.]
[703] What new reverse of fortune whirls thee about? Poor lady, tell us. Though thou thyself sayst naught, thy face speaks out whate’er thou hidest.
DEÏANIRA
[706] Vague shivers steal through my trembling limbs, my hair starts up in horror; fear sticks in my soul till now so passion-tossed; my heart leaps wildly and my quaking liver throbs with pulsing veins. As when the storm-tossed sea still heaves, though the skies are clear and the winds have died away, so is my soul still troubled, though my fear has been allayed. Surely when God has once begun to oppress the fortunate, he bears down hard. To such an end do mighty fortunes come.
NURSE
[715] What headstrong fate, poor soul, whirls thee about?
DEÏANIRA
[716] When I had sent away the robe anointed with Nessus’ blood, and, sad at heart, betook me to my chamber, my soul feared I know not what – did the dying centaur ‘gainst my husband plan revenge, and plot some treachery? I was pleased to make the test. Dread Nessus forbade me to expose the wild blood to the sun’s rays and to fire; and this artifice itself forewarned me of treachery.
[722] It chanced the burning sun, its radiance by no cloud dimmed, was setting free the day’s fervid head. – Even now my fear scarce suffers me to speak. – Right into the hot sunlight I had thrown the blood-soaked fleece with which the robe had been moistened and the garment smeared. The bloody fleece I flung writhed horribly and, warmed with the sun’s rays, burst aflame – I have scarce words to tell of the awful thing. As the East or the warm South-wind melts the snows which glistening Mimas loses in early spring; as ‘gainst Leucadia’s crags, breasting the Ionian sea, up-flung waves are broken and with spent fury foam upon the shore, or as incense sprinkled on holy shrines is melted in the hot altar-fires; so all the wool withered and lost its fleece. And while I stood wondering at it, the object of my wonder disappears; nay, even the very ground begins to foam, and whatever that poison touched begins to shrink.
[HYLLUS is seen approaching.]
[740] But I see my son approaching with face of fear and hurrying feet. [To HYLLUS.] Speak out – what tidings dost thou bear?
HYLLUS
[742] [Hurrying upon the scene.] Go! flee! seek out whatever place lies far away on land, on sea, ‘mongst stars, in Ocean, underworld – far beyond the labours of Alcides, mother, flee!
DEÏANIRA
[745] Some great disaster doth my mind presage.
HYLLUS
[746] She reigns, she triumphs; Juno’s temple seek. This sanctuary waits thee; closed is all refuge else.
DEÏANIRA
[748] Tell what disaster my guiltless self o’erwhelms.
HYLLUS
[749] That glory and sole guardian of the world, whom the fates had given to the lands in the place of Jove, O mother, is no more. The limbs and thews of Hercules a mysterious plague is wasting; and he who conquered monsters, he, he, the victor, is vanquished, is in grief, in agony. What more dost ask?
DEÏANIRA
[754] The wretched are in haste to hear their wretchedness. Tell me: in what condition now stands our house? O home, O wretched home! Now truly am I widowed, exiled, overwhelmed.
HYLLUS
[758] Not thou alone dost lament Hercules; low he lies for the whole world to mourn. And think not, mother, thine is a private loss; now the whole race is clamorous with woe. Lo, all men utter thy self-same groans of grief; common to all lands is the ill thou sufferest. Thou hast forestalled their grief; first, but not all alone, poor soul, dost thou mourn Hercules.
DEÏANIRA
[764] You tell me, tell, I beg, how near to death does my Alcides lie.
HYLLUS
[766] Death, who once in his own realm was overcome, flees from him; nor do the fates dare countenance so great a crime. Perchance Clotho has thrown aside her very distaff from her trembling hand, and is afraid to complete the fates of Hercules. O day, O awful day! And shall this for the great Alcides be the last?
DEÏANIRA
[772] To the shades of death and to that darker world dost say he has gone already? Can I not go before and anticipate his death? Speak, if he is not yet fallen.
HYLLUS
[775] Euboea’s shore, swelling with mighty headland, on every side is beaten by the waves. Caphereus cleaves the Phrixean Sea, on this side the south-wind blows; but on the side which feels the blasts of snowy Aquilo, restless Euripus turns his wandering waves, whose currents seven times flow and seven times ebb again, till Titan plunges his weary horses in the sea. Here on a lofty cliff, by many a storm-cloud beaten, an ancient temple of Cenaean Jove stands gleaming.
[784] When all the votive herd stood at the altars, and the whole grove was filled with the bellowing of the gilded bulls, he put off his lion’s skin, all stained with gore, laid down his heavy club and freed his shoulders of the quiver’s weight. Then radiant in thy robe, his rough hair wreathed with hoary poplar, he lit the altar-fires. “Accept these gifts,” he said, “upon thy shrine, O father, not falsely claimed, and let thy sacred fire blaze brightly with copious incense which the rich Arab gathers from Sabaean trees, in worship of the Sun. Peace has been given to earth, to sky, to sea; all monsters have I subdued and in triumph come again. Lay down thy thunderbolt.”
[796] As he thus prayed a groan fell from his lips even he standing aghast; then with dreadful cries he filled the air. As when a bull, fleeing the deep-driven axe, bearing both wound and weapon, fills with his huge bellowings the affrighted shrine, or as the launched thunder crashes in the sky; so did he with his roarings smite the stars and sea; towering Chalcis reëchoed and all the Cyclades heard his cries; then all Caphereus’ crags and the whole forest resounded with the cries of Hercules. We saw him weep. The commons thought his ancient madness had returned; then his attendants fled.
[808] But he, his face writhing with pain of the burning heat, pursued and sought out Lichas alone among them all. The boy, embracing the altar with trembling hands, through sheer terror tasted the pangs of death, and left small part of his life for punishment. Then Hercules, by his hand seizing the quivering corpse, exclaimed: “By such a hand, by such a hand as this, ye fates, shall I be said to have been undone? Has Lichas conquered Hercules? Behold another slaughter; Hercules in turn slays Lichas. Be my deeds dishonoured; be this my crowning task.” To the stars the boy went hurtling and sprinkled the clouds with his scattered blood. So does a Getan arrow, from the hand let fly, go speeding skyward, of the shaft a Cydonian has shot; but far below even these weapons will wing their flight. His body falls into the sea, his head upon the rocks; one youth lies slain in both.
[823] “But hold!” said Hercules; “’tis not madness has robbed me of my wits; this bane is worse than madness and than rage; I am fain to rave against myself.” Scarce has he named the plague when lo, he raves, he tears his own flesh apart, with his own hand wounding and rending his huge limbs. He seeks to throw aside the robe; in this alone have I seen Alcides fail. Yet striving to tear the robe, he tears his limbs as well. The robe is part and parcel of his rugged body; the pest blends it with the skin. The cause of his dire suffering is hid, but still there is a cause; and, scarce able to endure his pain, now he lies spent, face down on the ground, now calls for water – water checks not his pain; he seeks the wave-resounding shore and plunges in the sea, but a slave’s hand restrains him wandering aimless there – oh, bitter lot! we were Alcides’ equals!
[839] And now a vessel is bringing him from Euboea’s shore, and a gentle south wind wafts his huge bulk along; his spirit has left his body; night seals his eyes.
DEÏANIRA
[842] Why, soul, dost hesitate? Why art amazed? The crime is done. Jupiter demands back his son of thee, Juno, her rival; yea, to the world must he be restored. What still thou canst, give back, make restitution; let the sword, deep driven, through my body pass. So, so must it be done. But does so frail hand as this exact punishment so great? With thy thunderbolts, O sire, destroy thy guilty daughter. And with no common weapon let thy hand be armed; let that bolt leap from heaven with which, had Alcides not sprung from thee, thou wouldst have scorched the Hydra. Destroy me as some strange pest, as a scourge far worse than step-dame’s wrath. Launch such a bolt as once thou didst hurl at straying Phaëthon; for I, e’en I myself, in Hercules alone have ruined nations.
[855] But why dost ask weapons of the gods? At last spare thy father. The wife of Hercules should be ashamed to pray for death; this hand shall grant my prayer; from myself let death be sought. Then quickly seize the sword. – Why then the sword? Whatever brings to death is weapon all-sufficent – from a sky-piercing cliff I’ll cast me down. Let this, this crag of Oeta, which is the first to greet the new-born day, be chosen; from this ’tis well to fling me. May its broken crags rend asunder, and every rock take its share of me; may my mangled hands hang there, and may the whole rough mountain-side run red. One death is all too light – light? but still it can be prolonged. Thou canst not choose, O soul, on what weapon thou shalt fall. Oh, would that the sword of Hercules were hanging in my chamber! Upon that steel ‘twere well for me to die. But is it enough that by one right hand I perish? Come all ye nations; let the world cast rocks and huge firebrands on me; let no hand shrink its task; seize weapons, for your avenger have I done to death. Now with impunity shall cruel kings wield sceptres; yea, with impunity now fierce monsters shall be born; again shall altars be found wont to behold victim like to worshipper. A highway to crime have I prepared; I have exposed you to tyrants, kings, monsters, wild beasts and cruel gods, by slaying your avenger. Dost shirk thy task, wife of the thunderer? Why dost thou not, in imitation of thy brother, scatter fire, snatch from Jove’s hand his bolt, hurl it, and thyself destroy me? Illustrious praise and mighty triumph have been snatched from thee; I have forestalled thee, Juno, in thy rival’s death.
HYLLUS
[884] Why dost drag down a house already shaken? From error spring wholly whatever crime is here. He does no sin who sins without intent.
DEÏANIRA
[887] Whoever, because of fate, excuses and spares himself, has deserved to err. My sentence is for death.
HYLLUS
[889] Fain would he seem guilty who seeks to die.
DEÏANIRA
[890] ’Tis death alone can make the beguiled innocent.
HYLLUS
[891] Fleeing the sun –
DEÏANIRA
[891] The sun himself flees me.
HYLLUS
[892] Wilt abandon life?
DEÏANIRA
[892] Ay! a wretched life – that Alcides I may follow.
HYLLUS
[893] But he still lives and breathes the air of haven.
DEÏANIRA
[894] When Hercules could be conquered, then he began to die.
HYLLUS
[895] Wilt leave thy son? Wilt break thy thread of life?
DEÏANIRA
[896] She whom her son has buried has lived long.
HYLLUS
[897] Follow thy husband.
DEÏANIRA
[897] Faithful wives go before.
HYLLUS
[898] If thou thyself dost doom thee, thou convictest thyself, unhappy one, of sin.
DEÏANIRA
[899] No guilty one himself annuls his punishment.
HYLLUS
[900] Life has been granted many whose guilt lay in wrong judgment, not in act. Who blames his own destiny?
DEÏANIRA
[902] Whoever has fallen on unkind fates.
HYLLUS
[903] But Hercules himself slew Megara, pierced by his arrows, and his own sons as well, shooting Lernaean shafts with furious hand; still, though thrice murderer, he forgave himself, but not his madness. At the source of Cinyps ‘neath Libyan skies he washed away his guilt and cleansed his hands. Whither, poor soul, dost haste thee? Why dost condemn thy hands?
DEÏANIRA
[910] ’Tis Alcides’ overthrow that doth condemn my hands. ’Tis well to punish crime.
HYLLUS
[911] If I know Hercules, he will soon be here, perchance victorious o’er the cruel plague; and pain, subdued, will yield to thy Alcides.
DEÏANIRA
[914] Thy hydra’s poison, as report declares, hath consumed his frame; the deadly plague hath wasted his giant limbs.
HYLLUS
[916] Thinkst thou the poison of a serpent, slain, cannot be overcome by him who met and overcame the monster, living? He crushed the hydra, and deep in the marsh, with the fangs fixed in his flesh, he stood victorious, while his limbs were bathed in venom. Shall Nessus’ blood destroy the man who overcame e’en the hands of savage Nessus?
DEÏANIRA
[922] Vainly is he restrained who is bent on death; my will is fixed straightway to flee the light. Whoever has died with Hercules has lived enough.
NURSE
[925] Lo, by these aged locks and by these breasts which were almost as a mother’s to thee, I humbly pray; put by the wild threatenings of thy wounded heart, and banish thy dread resolve of cruel death.
DEÏANIRA
[929] Whoever, perchance, dissuades the wretched from death, he is the cruel one; sometimes death is a punishment, but often ’tis a boon, and to many a way of pardon has it proved.
NURSE
[932] At least absolve thy hand, unhappy one, that he may know that the deed was a treacherous foeman’s not his wife’s.
DEÏANIRA
[934] There shall I be absolved; the lower gods will acquit the criminal, though I condemn myself. Let Pluto cleanse these hands. Upon thy banks, O Lethe, shall I stand, the past forgotten, and my grieving shade will welcome its lord again.
[938] But do thou, who torturest the realms of the dark under-world, prepare a toil – for this fault of mine outweighs all sins that man has ever dared; Juno was never bold enough to rob the world of Hercules – some dreadful toil prepare. Let Sisyphus’ neck be eased and let his rock press hard upon my shoulders; let the inconstant water fly my lips, my thirst let the elusive waves deceive. Unto thy whirlings have I deserved to give my hands, whatsoe’er wheel thou art which rackest Thessalia’s king; from every side let the greedy vulture tear my entrails out. There still lacks one from the Danaïdes; I will fill up their number – ye ghosts makes room for me. Take me as thy companion, O Phasian wife; my deed is worse, far worse than both thy crimes, whether as mother or as cruel sister thou hast sinned; let me be comrade also to thy crimes, thou Thracian wife; Althea, mother, welcome thy daughter, now recognize in me thine own true child – yet what crime so great have your hands ever done? Shut Elysium against me, O all ye faithful wives who have your dwelling in its sacred grove; but if any has bespattered her hands with her husband’s blood and her chaste marriage torch forgot, has stood with drawn sword like Belus’ bloody child, in me let her recognize and praise her own handiwork. To such a company of wives ’tis well to pass – but e’en that company will shun hands so accursed.
[964] O my unconquered husband, my soul is innocent, though my hands have sinned. O mind too credulous! O Nessus, false and of half-bestial guile! Striving to snatch him from a concubine, I have snatched him from myself. Away! thou sun, and life, who by thy cozening arts dost keep the unhappy in the light of day; worthless that light without my Hercules. I will exact penalty for thee, will give up my life – or shall I put off my fate, O husband, and save myself for death at thine own hands? Hast still some strength, and can thy armed hands still bend the bow and send the arrow darting? Or do thy weapons fail thee, and does thy bow no more heed thy enfeebled hand? If thou canst deal destruction, O undaunted husband, I await thy stroke. Let death be stayed awhile; crush me as thou didst the unoffending Lichas; to other cities scatter me, yeah, hurl me to a world to thee unknown. Destroy me as thou didst the Arcadian monster, and whatever else succumbed to thee; yet from them, my husband, thou didst return.
HYLLUS
[982] Give o’er now, mother, I beseech thee, pardon thy fate; an error is not counted as a crime.
DEÏANIRA
[984] If, Hyllus, thou wouldst be truly filial, come, slay thy mother – why does thy hand quake and tremble? Why turnst thy face away? This crime will be filial piety. Tamely dost hesitate? This hand robbed thee of Hercules, yea, this right hand destroyed him to whom as father thou owest descent from Jove. Of greater glory have I robbed thee than I gave thee at thy birth. If thou art unskilled in monstrous crime, learn from thy mother. Whether in my throat it pleases thee to plunge the sword, or ’tis thy will to assail thy mother’s womb, thy mother herself will give thee unshrinking courage. Not by thee will this dreadful crime be done; by thy hand, truly, shall I fall, but by my will. Son of Alcides, art afraid? Wilt thou not do as bidden, wilt not crush monsters, and so be like thy sire? Thy dauntless hand make ready. Behold my breast, so full of cares, lies open: smite; I forgive the deed, the Eumenides themselves will acquit thy hand – but I hear their scourges hissing.
[1003] Oh, who is that in whose locks viperous serpents coil, who brandishes deadly shafts at her foul temples? Why dost pursue me, awful Megaera, with blazing torch? Penalty for Alcides’ murder dost demand? I’ll pay. Already, dread one, have the arbiters of hell passed judgment on me? They have. I see the prison doors opened wide. Who is that ancient who bears a huge stone on his toil-worn back? But see! already does the mastered stone seek to roll back again? Whose limbs on the wheel are racked? Look! here has Tisiphone taken her stand, ghastly and dread; she demands revenge. Oh, spare thy scourge, I pray thee, Megaera, spare! Keep back the Stygian torches; mine was the crime of love.
[1015] But what is this? The earth quakes, the palace resounds with the noise of crashing roofs – whence comes the rushing ‘gainst me, on every side the nations rage and the whole universe demands of me its saviour. Oh, spare me now, ye cities. Whither shall I rush in headlong flight? Death alone will be granted as a haven for my cares. By gleaming Phoebus’ flaming car I swear, I swear by the heavenly gods: though to my death I go, I leave Alcides still upon the earth.
[She rushes wildly from the scene.]
HYLLUS
[1024] Ah me! in frenzy has she fled. Already has my mother played her part – she has resolved on death; now does my part remain, to thwart her deadly purpose. O wretched plight of love! if thou forbidst thy mother’s death, thou wrongst thy father; if thou sufferest her to die, still ‘gainst thy mother doest thou sin. Crime drives from either hand; still must I check her, that from true crime she may be saved.
[Exit after his mother.]
CHORUS
[1031] True sang the bard beneath the heights of Thracian Rhodope, fitting the word to his Pierian lyre, e’en Orpheus, Calliope’s blest son, that naught for endless life is made. At his sweet strains the rushing torrents’ roar was stilled, and, forgetful of their eager flight, the waters ceased their flow; and, while the river stayed to hear, the far Bistonians thought their Hebrus had failed the Getan. The woods came with their birds to him, yea, perched among the trees they came; or if, in the high air soaring, some wandering bird caught sound of the charming song, his drooping wings sank earthward. Athos broke off his crags, bringing the Centaurs as he came, and next to Rhodope he stood, his snows melted by the music; the Dryad, leaving her oaken haunts, sped to the singer’s side. To hear thy song, with their very lairs the wild beasts came, and close to the fearless herds the Marmaric lion crouched; does felt no fear of wolves, and the serpent fled her gloomy den, her venom at last forgot.
[1061] Nay, when through the gates Taenarian to the silent ghosts he came, smiting his mournful lyre, with his sad song he conquered Tartarus and the sullen gods of Erebus; nor was he daunted by the pools of Styx, by which the high gods swear. The never staying wheel stood still, listless, with conquered whirling; the liver of Tityus grew, undevoured, while spell-bound the singer held the birds. The impish stone allowed defeat and attended on the bard. Then first the aged Phrygian, though the waves stood still, banished his raging thirst, forgetful quite, nor to the apples stretched his hand. Thou also, ferryman, didst hear, and thy boat that plies the infernal sea came oarless on. So when by his song Orpheus had utterly o’ercome the infernal gods, then did the goddesses renew again Eurydice’s exhausted thread. But while Orpheus thoughtlessly looked back, all unbelieving his Eurydice restored to him and following, he lost his singing’s recompense; and she had come to the verge of life only to die once more.
[1090] Then, solace in song still seeking, in mournful measures Orpheus thus to the Getans sang: that the gods are under law, e’en he who rules the seasons, who has arranged the four changes of the flying year; that for no one the Parcae spin again the threads of the greedy distaff, and that all which has been and shall be born shall die.
[1100] The overthrow of Hercules bids us believe the Thracian bard. Soon, soon, when to the universe shall come the day that law shall be o’erwhelmed, the southern skies shall fall upon Libya’s plains and all that the scattered Garamantians possess; the northern heavens shall overwhelm all that lies beneath the pole and that Boreas smites with withering blasts. Then from the lost sky the affrighted sun shall fall and banish day. The palace of heaven shall sink, dragging down East and West, and death in some form and chaos shall o’erwhelm all gods in one destruction; and death shall at last bring doom upon itself. What place will then receive the world? Will the gates of Tartarus spread wide, that room for the shattered heavens may be found? Or is the space ‘twixt heaven and earth great enough (perchance too great) for the evils of the world? What place will be great enough to hold (oh, horrible!) a death so vast, what place, the gods? Sea, Tartarus and heaven – three kingdoms shall one place contain.
[1128] But what outrageous clamour this assails our startled ears? It is, it is the sound of Hercules.
[Enter HERCULES in the extremity of suffering.]
HERCULES
[1131] Turn back, O shining Sun, thy panting steeds, and let loose the night; let this day wherein I die perish for the world, and let heaven shudder in the pitchy dark. So thwart my stepdame. Now, father, were it fitting to restore blind chaos; now this side and that should heaven’s frame be burst and both poles rent asunder. Why dost thou spare the stars? Thou art losing Hercules, O father. Now, Jupiter, look well to every part of heaven, lest any Gyas hurl Thessalian crags and Othrys become a slight missile for Enceladus. Now, now will haughty Pluto open his dark prison gates, strike off his father’s chains and give him back to heaven. Since I thy son, who on earth have been in place of thy bolt and lightning flash, am turning me back to Styx, Enceladus, the fierce, will rise, and the mass ‘neath which he now is crushed will he hurl against the gods; yea, father, thy whole realm of air will my death put to hazard. Then ere thou art utterly despoiled of heaven, bury me, father, ‘neath the whole ruined world; shatter the skies which thou art doomed to lose.
CHORUS
[1151] Not vain thy fears, son of the Thunderer. Soon now shall Pelion weigh down Thessalian Ossa, and Athos, on Pindus heaped, shall thrust his forests midst the heavenly stars; then shall Typhoeus overcome the crags and upheave Tuscan Inarime; the Aetnaean furnaces then shall Enceladus upheave, not yet by thy bolt o’ercome, and rend the gaping mountain’s side. E’en now the kingdoms of the sky are following thee.
HERCULES
[1161] Lo I, who have escaped from death, who scorned the Styx, who through the midst of Lethe’s pool have returned with spoil, at sight whereof Titan was almost flung from his falling car, I, whose presence three realms of gods have felt, am perishing. No deep-thrust sword grates through my side, nor is all Othrys the instrument of my death; no giant with fierce and gaping jaws has buried my body beneath the whole of Pindus; no, without enemy am I overcome and, thought which racks me more (shame to my manhood!) the last day of Alcides has seen no monster slain. Ah, woe is me! I am squandering my life for no return.
[1173] O thou ruler of the world, ye gods, once witnesses of my deeds, O earth entire, is it resolved your Hercules should perish by such death as this? Oh, cruel shame to me, oh, end most foul – a woman will be called author of Alcides’ death! And for whom is Alcides dying? If the fates unchanging have willed that by a woman’s hand I fall, if through distaff so base the thread of my death has run, ah me! that I might have fallen by Juno’s hate! ’Twould be by woman’s hand, but of one who holds the heavens. If, O ye gods, that were too much to ask, the Amazon, born ‘neath Scythian skies, might have o’ercome my strength. But by what woman’s hand is Juno’s foe o’ercome? This is for thee, my stepdame, heavier shame. Why callest thou this day joyful? What monster such as this has earth produced to sate thy wrath? A mortal woman has outdone thy hate. Till now thou deemdst thyself by Alcides alone outmatched; by two hast thou been surpassed – of such wrath let heaven be ashamed! Oh, that the Nemean lion with my blood had sated his gaping jaws, or that, hedged by hundred snakes, I had fed the hydra with my gore! O that I had been given to the Centaurs as a prey, or that midst the shades I, bound to an everlasting rock, in wretchedness were sitting! But now have I dragged here my latest spoil while Death looked on amazed; now from infernal Styx have I regained the light, the bars of Dis I’ve conquered – on every hand death shunned me, that I might lack at last a glorious end. O beasts, O conquered beasts! Neither did the three-formed dog, when he saw the sun, drag me back to Styx, nor ‘neath western skies did the Spanish rout of the wild shepherd conquer me, nor the twain serpents – ah, woe is me! how often have I missed a glorious death! My final claim to glory – what is it?
CHORUS
[1208] Seest thou how virtue, conscious of its fame, shrinks not from Lethe’s stream? He grieves not at death but blushes for its cause; he longs ‘neath some towering giant’s vasty bulk to end the last day of life, to suffer some mountain-heaving Titan’s weight, to owe his death to some wild, raging beast. But no, poor soul, because of thine own hand, there is no beast, no giant; for what worthy author of the death of Hercules is left save thy right hand?
HERCULES
[1218] Alas, what scorpion, what crab, torn from the torrid zone, burns deep fixed in my marrow? My heart, once filled with pulsing streams of blood, hotly distends the parched fibres of my lungs; my liver glows, its bile dried quite away, and a slow fire has exhausted all my blood. First did the dread plague feed upon my skin, next to my limbs it passed, devoured my sides, then deep in my joints and ribs the pest ate its way, and drank my very marrow. In my hollow bones it lurks; nor do my bones themselves retain their hardness, but, shattered with broken structure, fall in a crumbling mass. My huge frame has shrivelled, and even the limbs of Hercules sate not the pest. – Oh, how mighty the ill which I admit is great! Oh, cruel curse! Behold, ye cities, behold what now remains of that great Hercules. Dost recognize thy Hercules, my father? Was it with these arms I crushed and overwhelmed the Nemean plague? Was it with this hand I stretched the bow that brought down the Stymphalian birds from the very stars? With these feet did I o’ertake the swift-fleeing beast with golden antlers gleaming on his head? By these hands shattered, did Calpe let out the sea? So many beasts, so many monstrous things, so many kings, have these hands of mine brought low? Upon these shoulders did the heavens rest? Is this my massive frame, is this my neck? These hands did I oppose to the falling sky? What Stygian watch-dog will hereafter be dragged forth by my hand? Where are my powers, buried before my burial? Why on Jove as father do I call? Why, wretched man, by right of the Thunderer do I claim heaven? Now, now will Amphitryon be deemed my sire.
[1249] O pest, whate’er thou art that lurkest in my vitals, come forth – why dost attack me with a hidden smart? What Scythian Sea beneath the icy pole, what sluggish Tethys, what Spanish Calpe, crowding the Moorish coast, begot thee? O cursed bane! Art thou some serpent, brandishing his foul, full-crested head, or some evil thing even to me unknown? Art thou begotten of the Lernaean monster’s gore, or did the Stygian dog leave thee here on earth? Every ill thou art and yet no ill – what form hast thou? Grant me at least to know by what ill I am perishing. Whatever pest or whatever beast thou be, oppose me openly! Who gave thee place within my inmost marrow? See, my hand has ripped away the skin and the flesh uncovered; yet deeper still must its lurking place be found – O woe, invincible as Hercules!
[1265] But whence this lamentation? Whence tears upon these cheeks? My face, before unmoved, and never wont to express its woes in tears, at last (oh, shame!) has learned to weep. What day, what country has seen the tears of Hercules? Dry-eyed have I borne my cares. To thee that strength, which has crushed so many monsters, to thee alone has yielded; thou first of all hast forced tears from mine eyes; my face, harder than rough rock, harder than steel and the wandering Symplegades, has relaxed my visage and driven forth my tears. Me, weeping and groaning, O most high ruler of the heaven, the earth has seen and, thought which racks me more, my step-dame has seen. But lo, again the scorching heat flames up and burns my vitals. Oh, where is the lightning flash to bring me death?
CHORUS
[1279] What may not suffering overcome? But now, harder than Thracian Haemus’ crags, than Parrhasian skies more calm, to dire agony has he yielded him; his head drops wearily upon his neck, from side to side he turns his mighty bulk and oft does his fortitude drain back his tears. So, with however fervent beam he shine, Titan avails not to melt the arctic snows, whose icy splendour defies the torches of the burning sun.
HERCULES
[1290] O father, turn thou thine eyes on my calamity. Never till now has Alcides fled to thee for aid, not even when around my limbs the hydra entwined its fertile heads. Midst the infernal pools, by the black pall of night enfolded, I stood with Death nor did I call upon thee. So many dreadful beasts have I o’ercome, yea kings and tyrants; yet have I ne’er lifted my face unto the stars. This hand of mine has ever been surety for my prayers; no bolts for my sake have flashed from the sacred sky – but this day has bidden me ask somewhat of thee. ’Tis the first to hear my prayers, ‘twill be the last. Just one thunderbolt I ask; count me a giant. I could have laid hands on heaven no less than they; but while I thought thee my sire in very truth, I spared the skies. Oh, whether thou be harsh, my sire, or merciful, lay hands on thy son with speedy death and claim thee this great renown.
[1307] Or, if thy hand shrinks reluctant from the impious task, ‘gainst me release from Aetna’s mount the burning Titans, who in their hands may heave Pindus up, or, Ossa, thee, and by the hurled mountain overwhelm me quite. Let Bellona burst the bars of Erebus and with drawn sword rush upon me; or send fierce Mars; let the dread god ‘gainst me be armed. He is my brother, true, but of my step-dame born. Thou too, Alcides’ sister, but by our sire alone, hurl thy spear, O Pallas, against thy brother hurl. And to thee, my step-dame, do I stretch suppliant hands; do thou at least, I pray, let fly thy bolt (I brook to perish by a woman’s hand); oh, at last yielding, at last glutted, why still feed thy vengeance? What seekest thou further? Thou seest Alcides suppliant; whereas no land, no monster has ever seen me begging thee for quarter. Now have I need of a wrathful, raging step-dame – now has thy passion cooled? Now dost lay by thy hate? Thou sparest me when my prayer is all for death. O earth and cities of the earth, have y none to bring torches ‘gainst your Hercules, none to bring arms? Do ye withhold weapons from me? So may no land produce savage monsters more when I am dead, and let the world ne’er ask for aid of mine; if any evils rise, let avenger rise as well. From every side crush out my luckless life with stones, o’erwhelm my woes. O ungrateful world, dost falter? Hast quite forgotten me? E’en now wouldst thou be prey to ills and savage beasts hadst thou not borne me. Then, O ye peoples, rescue your champion from his woes. This chance is given you to requite my services – death will be reward for all.
[Enter ALCMENA.]
ALCMENA
[1337] What lands shall Alcides’ wretched mother seek? Where is my son, oh, where? If mine eyes see aright, yonder he lies, panting and fever-tossed; he groans, his life is at an end. In a last embrace let me enfold thee, O my son, and gather thy parting spirit in my mouth; take my embracing arms to thine – but where are thy limbs? Where is that star-bearing neck which propped the heavens up? Who is it has left to the but a shadow of thyself?
HERCULES
[1345] Hercules thou seest indeed, my mother, but ’tis the shadow and the vile somewhat of myself. Behold me, mother – why dost thou turn thine eyes away and hide thy face? Art ashamed to have Hercules called thy son?
ALCMENA
[1349] What world, what land has given birth to a fresh monster? What so dread horror is triumphing over thee? Who is a victor of Hercules?
HERCULES
[1352] By his wife’s wiles thou seest Alcides low.
ALCMENA
[1353] What wile is great enough to worst Alcides?
HERCULES
[1354] Whatever, mother, suffices a woman’s wrath.
ALCMENA
[1355] And how gained the pest entrance to thy joints and bones?
HERCULES
[1356] A robe, poisoned by woman’s hands, gave entrance to it.
ALCMENA
[1357] Where is that robe? I see but naked limbs.
HERCULES
[1358] ’Twas consumed with me.
ALCMENA
[1358] Was so destructive pestilence ever found?
HERCULES
[1359] Believe me, mother, through my inmost parts the hydra is wandering and with the Lernaean one a thousand savage beasts. What flames as hot as these pierce the Sicilian clouds, what Lemnian fires, or heaven’s burning tract, within whose scorching zone the sun’s path may not lie? O comrades, throw me into the sea itself, into the river’s midst – alas! what Hister is enough for me? Though greater than all lands, the Ocean itself will not cool my burning pains; to ease my woe all water will dry up, all moisture fail. Why, ruler of Erebus, didst send me back to Jove? ‘Twere more seemly to have held me fast. To thy glooms restore me, and show such Hercules as this to the ghosts I conquered. Naught will I take away; why dost fear Hercules a second time? Assail me, Death, and fear not; now do I brook to die.
ALCMENA
[1374] Restrain thy tears, at least, master thy pains; even to such woes show Hercules invincible; put death away; conquer the lords of hell as is thy wont.
HERCULES
[1377] If rugged Caucasus should offer me, bound by its chains, as a feast to greedy birds, while Scythia mourned around, no doleful cry would issue from my lips; should the wandering Symplegades crush me ‘twixt both their cliffs, their returning rushes would I bear, defiant; were Pindus lying on me, and Haemus, and Athos which resists the Thracian waves, and Mimas which welcomes the bolts of Jupiter; mother, if even this sky should fall upon my head, and over my shoulders the fiery car of Phoebus should go flaming, no coward cry would subdue Alcides’ soul. Though a thousand beasts at once should rush against me and rend me sore; though here from the skies Stymphalus’ bird, swooping with clangour wild, and there with full strength the threatening bull should push upon me, and whatever huge monster has sprung from earth; though Sinis’ groves should arise this side and that, and the rough giant shoot my limbs afar; rent limb from limb, still will I hold my peace – no beasts, no arms, naught that can be met and vanquished shall extort one groan from me.
ALCMENA
[1396] Son, ’tis no woman’s poison melts thy frame; but thy hard round of labours, thine unceasing toil, perchance has fed some deadly disease in thee.
HERCULES
[1399] Disease? Where is it? Where is it, pray? Is there still aught of evil in the world with me alive? Let it come on; let some one reach hither my bow to me – nay, my bare hands will be enough. Let it come on, I say. [He sinks into a deep, swoon-like slumber.]
ALCMENA
[1402] Alas! the too great shock of agony hath reft e’en his sense away. [To attendants.] Remove his weapons, take these deadly shafts out of his reach, I pray you; his burning cheeks portend some violence. Where shall an old woman hide herself? That is the smart of madness; it alone masters Hercules. But why should I, foolish that I am, seek flight or hiding? By a brave hand Alcmena deserves to die; so let me perish even impiously, before some craven decree my death, or a base hand triumph over me.
[1412] But see, all spent with woe, his pain holds his worn heart fast bound in slumber, and his panting chest heaves with laboured breathing. Help him, ye gods! If to my misery ye have denied my glorious son, at least spare to the world, I pray, its champion. May his smart be driven quite away, and the body of Hercules renew its strength.
[Enter HYLLUS.]
HYLLUS
[1419] A bitter light, O crime-filled day! Dead is the Thunderer’s daughter, his son lies dying, and I, his grandson, still survive. By my mother’s crime is he perishing, but she was by guile ensnared. What aged man, throughout his round of years, in his whole life, will be able to recount woes so great? Both parents has one day taken off; to say naught of other ills and to spare the fates, Hercules, my father, am I losing.
ALCMENA
[1427] Restrain thy words, child of illustrious sire, wretched Alcmena’s grandson, like her in fate; perchance long slumber will o’ercome his pains. But see, repose is deserting his weary heart, and gives back his frame to suffering, me to grief.
HERCULES
[1432] [Awakening in delirium.] Why, what is this? Do I see Trachin midst her rugged hills, or have I, set ‘mongst the stars, at last left behind the race of men? Who opens heaven for me? Thee, thee, my father, now do I behold, and my step-dame also, at last appeased, I see. What heavenly sound strikes on mine ears? Juno calls me son! I see bright heaven’s gleaming palace, and the track worn by Phoebus’ burning wheels. I see Night’s couch; her shadows call me hence.
[1441] [Begins to come out of his delirium.] But what is this? Who shuts heaven’s gates to me, O father, and draws me down even from the stars? But now the care of Phoebus breathed hot upon my face, now was I near to heaven – but I see Trachin. Who has given me earth again? A moment since, and Oeta stood below me, and the whole world lay beneath my feet. How well, O pain, hadst thou fallen from me! Thou compellest me to confess – but stay, forestall that word.
[1448] [To HYLLUS.] O Hyllus, this, this is thy mother’s boon, her gift to me. Would that with lifted club I might crush out her wicked life just as I smote down the Amazonian pest upon the slopes of snowy Caucasus. O well-loved Megara, wast thou wife to me when madness came upon me? Give me my club and bow, let my right hand be defiled, let me put stain upon my glory, and let a woman be chosen as the last toil of Hercules.
HYLLUS
[1456] Check the dire threatenings of thy wrath, my father; she has it, ’tis over, the penalty which thou desirest she has paid; slain by her own hand, my mother lies in death.
HERCULES
[1459] Treacherously has she fallen; by the hands of enraged Hercules should she have died; Lichas has lost a comrade. I am moved to rage e’en ‘gainst her lifeless body, and wrath impels me. Why is even her corpse safe from my assaults? Let the wild beasts make banquet on it.
HYLLUS
[1464] The unhappy woman has suffered more than him she injured; somewhat still of this thou wouldst wish to lighten. By her own hand has she fallen, through grief for thee; more suffering than thou demandest has she borne. But ’tis not by crimes of a murderous wife, nor by my mother’s guile, thou liest low; Nessus contrived this snare, who, by thine arrow smit, spewed out his life. Father, ’twas in that half-beast’s gore the robe was dipped, and Nessus by these thy sufferings doth requite his own.
HERCULES
[1472] ’Tis well, ’tis over, my fate unfolds itself; this is my last day on earth. This oracle the prophetic oak once gave me, and the Parnassian grot, shaking the shrines of Cirrha with rumbling tones, declared: “By the hand of one whom, conquering, thou hast slain, Alcides, one day shalt thou lie low; this end, when thou hast traversed seas and lands and shades, awaits thee at the last.” We complain no more; such end was meet, that no living thing might conquer Hercules. Now let me choose a death glorious, renowned, illustrious, full worthy of myself. This day will I make famous. Go, cut down all the woods, heap Oeta’s grove together, that a mighty pyre may receive Hercules, and that before he dies. Thou, son of Poeas, dear youth, perform this sad office for me; set the whole sky aglow with the flames of Hercules.
[1488] And now to thee, Hyllus, I bring my latest prayer. Among the captives is a beauteous maid, in feature revealing her race and royal state, Iole, daughter of king Eurytus. Lead her to thy chamber with wedding torch. Victorious, blood-stained, I robbed her of her fatherland and home, and to the wretched girl gave naught except Alcides; and now e’en he is reft from her. Let her find recompense for her sorrows, and cherish Jove’s grandson and the son of Hercules; to thee be born whatever seed she has conceived by me.
[1497] [To ALCMENA.] Do thou thyself cease thy death-wails for me, I pray, illustrious mother; thy Alcides lives; by my heroic deeds have I made my step-dame seem but the concubine. Whether the tale of the night of Hercules’ begetting be the truth, or whether my sire be mortal – though I be falsely called the son of Jove, I have deserved to be his son; glory on heaven have I conferred, and to Jove’s glory did my mother bring me forth. Nay, he himself, though he be Jupiter, is glad to be believed my sire. Dry now thy tears, my mother; proud ‘mongst the Grecian mothers shalt thou be. What son like thine has Juno borne, though she wield the sceptre of the skies, and be the Thunderer’s bride? Still, though queen of heaven, she envied a mortal woman, and wished that Alcides might be called her own.
[1512] Now, O sun, must thou speed thy course alone, for I, who have been thy companion everywhere, am bound for Tartarus and the land of shades. Yet to the depths shall I bear this glorious fame, that no pest openly has laid Alcides low, and that all pests openly has Alcides slain.
[He goes out toward the pyre which has been prepared for him.]
CHORUS
[1518] O glory of the world, O ray-girt Sun, at whose first warmth Hecate loosens the bits from the weary steeds of her nocturnal car, tell the Sabaeans who lie beneath the dawn, tell the Iberians who lie beneath thy setting, tell those who suffer ‘neath the Wagon of the Bear, and those who pant beneath thy burning car: Hercules is hasting to the endless shades, to the realm of sleepless Cerberus, whence he will never more return. Let thy bright rays be overcast with clouds; gaze on the grieving world with pallid face and let disfiguring mists roam o’er thy head. When, O Titan, where, beneath what sky wilt thou follow another Hercules on the earth? To whose aid will the wretched world appeal if within Lerna’s swamp some many-headed pest in a hundred snakes shall spread its poisonous rage; if for the ancient tribes of Arcady some boar shall disturb the quiet of the woods; if some son of Thracian Rhodope, harder than the ground of snow-clad Helice, shall spatter his stalls with the blood of men? Who to the trembling nations will give peace, if the angry gods shall raise up new monsters o’er the world? Level with all men he lies, whom earth produced level with the Thunderer. Through countless cities let cries of brief resound; let women with streaming hair smite their bare arms; let the temples of all gods be closed save his step-dame’s only, for she only is free from care.
[1550] Thou farest to Lethe and the Stygian shore whence no keel will ever bring thee back; thou farest, lamented one, unto the ghosts whence, overcoming Death, thou didst once return in triumph, now but a shade, with fleshless arms, wan face and drooping neck; nor will that skiff, which once bore thee alone and feared ’twould be plunged beneath the waves, bear thee alone. And yet thou shalt not dwell midst common shades; midst Aeacus and the two Cretans shalt thou be, sitting in judgment on men’s deeds, scouring tyrannic kings. Spare, O ye mighty, restrain your hands. ’Tis thy praise to have kept the sword unstained and that, what time thou didst bear sway, fate midst its storms had less power against thy cities.
[1564] But now has thy manhood place amongst the stars. Wilt occupy the spaces of the north, or where Titan sends forth his oppressive rays? Or in the warm western sky wilt shine, where thou wilt hear Calpe resound with the charging sea? What region of the cloudless heavens wilt thou weigh down? What place, when Alcides comes, will be safe amidst the stars? Only may Jove give thee thy seat far from the dread Lion and the burning Crab, lest at sight of thee the affrighted stars make turmoil of their laws and Titan tremble. While flowers shall bloom as the spring days grow warm; while winter shall strip the foliage from the trees, and summer to the trees recall their foliage; while fruits shall fall as autumn takes his flight, no lapse of time shall snatch thee from the world; comrade of Phoebus, comrade of the stars, shalt thou pass on. Sooner shall wheat sprout from the surface of the deep; sooner the roaring waves of the sea be sweet; sooner shall the icy Bear come down and enjoy the forbidden waters, than shall the nations be silent of thy praise.
[1587] To thee, father of all, in wretchedness we pray: let no dread beast be born, no pest; from the fear of savage kings keep this poor world free; let no one lord it in palace hall who deems it the sole glory of his realm to have held the sword e’er threatening. If some dread thing should come again to earth, oh, give to forsaken earth a champion.
[1595] But what is this? The universe resounds. Behold, he mourns, the father mourns Alcides; or is it the outcry of the gods or the voice of his frighted step-dame? At the sight of Hercules does Juno flee the stars? Under the mighty weight has Atlas staggered? Or is it that the awful ghosts have trembled and at sight of Hercules the hell-hound in affright has broken his chains and fled? No, we are wrong; behold with joyful face comes Poeas’ son and on his shoulders he bears the shafts and the quiver known to all, the heir of Hercules.
[Enter PHILOCTETES.]
[1607] Speak out, good youth, and tell the end of Hercules, I pray, and with what countenance Alcides bore his death.
PHILOCTETES
[1609] With such as none e’er bore his life.
CHORUS
[1609] So joyous did he mount his funeral pyre.
PHILOCTETES
[1610] He showed that now flames were as naught to him. What ‘neath the heavens has Hercules left by defeat unscathed? Lo, all things have been subdued.
CHORUS
[1613] Midst the hot flames what room was there for valour?
PHILOCTETES
[1614] The one enemy on earth which he had not o’ercome, e’en fire, is vanquished; this also has been added to the beasts; fire has taken its place midst the toils of Hercules.
CHORUS
[1617] But tell us, in what wise were the flames o’ercome?
PHILOCTETES
[1618] When the whole sorrowing band fell upon Oeta’s woods, by the hands of one the beech-tree lost its shade and lay full length, hewn to the ground; one fiercely felled a pine-tree, towering to the stars, and from the clouds’ midst he summoned it; in act to fall, it shook the rocky slope and with itself brought down the lesser woods. A huge oak stood, wide spreading, such as Chaonia’s oak of prophecy, excluding the light of day and stretching its branches far beyond all the grove. Threat’ning it groaned, by many a blow beset, and broke the wedges; back bounded the smiting steel; its edge was dulled, too soft for such a task. When the tree, at last dislodged, falling, brings widespread ruin down, straightway the place lets the sun’s full rays; the birds, driven from their perches, flit aimless through the day midst the felled grove, and, loudly complaining, with wearied wings seek for their nests. And now every tree resounded, and even the sacred oaks felt the dread steel-armed hand, and its ancient woods availed no holy grove. The whole forest was piled into a heap; and the logs, starward in layers rising, made all too small a pyre for Hercules – the pine-tree, quick to burn, the tough-fibred oak, the ilex of shorter trunk; but poplar wood, whose foliage adorns Alcides’ brow, filled out the pyre.
[1642] But he, like some huge, suffering lion, which, in Libyan forest lying, roars out his pain, hurried along, – who would suppose him hasting to the flames? His gaze was of one who seeks the stars, not fires of earth, when he set foot on Oeta and with his eyes surveyed the pyre complete. The great beams broke beneath him. Then for his shafts and bow he called, and said: “Take these, thou sons of Poeas, take them as Alcides’ gift and pledge of love. These did the Hydra feel; by these the Stymphalian birds lie low, and all other pests which at distance I overcame. O youth with valour blest, never in vain shalt thou send these ‘gainst a foe; or if birds from the very clouds thou wouldst fetch away, birds will fall down, and out of the sky will thy shafts, sure of their prey, come floating; and ne’er will this bow disappoint thy hand. Well has it learned to poise the feathered shafts and unerringly send them flying; while the shafts themselves, loosed from the string, fail never to find their mark. Only do thou, I pray, apply the fire and set the last torch for me. Let this club,” he said, “which no hand but mine has wielded, burn in the flames with me; this weapon alone shall follow Hercules. This also shouldst thou have,” said he, “if thou couldst wield it. Let it add fuel to its master’s pyre.” Then did he call for the Nemean monster’s shaggy skin to burn with him; ‘neath the skin the pyre was hidden.
[1667] The whole throng set up a lamentation, and sorrow filled the eyes of all with tears. His mother, passionate in grief, her eager bosom stript, and she smote her breasts, naked e’en to the waist, in endless lamentation; and with her cries assailing the gods and Jove himself, she filled all the region round with womanish bewailings. “Mother,” he said, “thou dost disgrace the death of Hercules; restrain thy tears and confine thy womanish grief within thy heart. Why for thy weeping should Juno count this day joyful? For she rejoices to see her rival’s tears. Curb thy faint heart, my mother; ’tis a sin to tear the breasts and the womb that bore Alcides.” Then with dread mutterings, as when through Argive towns he dragged the dog, what time, triumphant over hell, in scorn of Dis and trembling death he returned to earth, so did he lay him down upon the pyre. What victor ever stood in his chariot so joyfully triumphant? What tyrant king with such a countenance ever gave laws to nations? How calmly he bore his fate! Even our tears were stayed, grief’s shock subsided, none grieves that he must perish. Now were we ‘shamed to weep; Alcmena, herself, whose sex impels to mourning, stood with dry cheeks, a mother now well-nigh equal to her son.
CHORUS
[1691] Sent he no supplications, heavenward to the gods e’er the fire was lit? Looked he not to Jove to hear his prayers?
PHILOCTETES
[1693] Careless of self he lay and, gazing at heaven, quested with his eyes whether from any quarter his sire looked down at him. Then, with hands outstretched, he spoke: “O father, from what quarter soe’er thou lookest on thy son, (he truly is my father, for whose sake night joined with day and one day ceased to be,) if both the bounds of Phoebus sing my praise, the tribes of Scythia and every burning strand which daylight parches; if peace fills all the earth; if no cities groan and no man stains with sin his altar-fires; if crimes have ceased, admit this soul, I pray thee, to the stars. I have no fear of the infernal realm of death, nor do the sad realms of dusky Jove affright me; but to go, naught but a shade, to those gods I overcame, O sire, I am ashamed. Dispel the clouds, spread wide the day, that the eyes of gods may gaze on burning Hercules. Though thou deny me stars and a place in heaven, O sire, thou shalt even be compelled – ah! if pain will excuse any words of mine, then open the Stygian pools and give me to death again; but prove me first thy son. This day will make me seem worthy of the stars. Worthless is all that has been done; this day, my father, will bring Hercules to light or doom him.”
[1715] When he had thus said, he called for fire. “Up now, Alcides’ willing friend,” said he, “catch up the Oetaean torch; let my step-dame see how I can bear the flames. Why did thy right hand tremble? Did thy hand shrink timid from such unholy deed? Then give me my quiver back, thou undaring, unskilled, unwarlike – that the hand to bend my bow! Why do thy cheeks grow pale? Come, seize on the torch with courage, with face thou seest on prone Alcides. Poor soul, have some regard for him who soon will burn.
[1725] “But lo! now doth my father call me and he opens heaven. I come, O sire.” Then was his face no more the same. With trembling hand I applied the blazing pine; the flames shrunk back, the torch resisted and would not touch his limbs; but Hercules followed up the shrinking flames. Thou wouldst suppose that Caucasus or Pindus or Athos was ablaze; no sound burst forth, save that the fire seemed groaning. O stubborn heart! Had huge Typhon been lying on that pyre, he would have groaned aloud, and fierce Enceladus who upon his shoulders bore Ossa, uptorn from earth.
[1736] But Hercules, midst roaring flames upstarting, all charred and mangled, gazed dauntless round and cried: “Now art thou parent true of Hercules; thus ’tis meet that thou shouldst stand, my mother, beside the pyre, and thus ’tis meet that Hercules be mourned.” Midst scorching heat and threat’ning flames, unmoved, unshaken, to neither side turning his tortured limbs, he encourages, advises, is active still, though all aflame. To all his ministrants stoutness of soul he gives; you would deem him all on fire to burn. The whole crowd stand in speechless wonder and the flames have scarce belief, so calm his brow, the hero so majestic. Nor does he speed his burning; but when now he deemed that courage enough had been shown in death, from every side he dragged the burning logs which the fire least fed upon, and into that blazing mass he strode and sought where the flames leaped highest, all unafraid, defiant. Awhile he feasted his eyes upon the fires. But now his heavy beard burned bright; and even when threat’ning fire assailed his face and the hot tongues licked about his head, he did not close his eyes. – But what is this? I see the sad mother bearing in her bosom the remains of great Alcides, and Alcmena, tossing her squalid locks, bewails her son.
[Enter ALCMENA, carrying in her bosom a funeral urn.]
ALCMENA
[1758] Fear ye the fates, O powers above! [Holding up the urn.] See the scant dust of Hercules – to this, to this has that mighty body shrunk! O Sun, how great a mass has passed away to nothingness! Ah me, this aged breast can hold Alcides, this is a tomb for him. See, Hercules has scarce filled all the urn; how light for me his weight upon whose shoulders the whole heavens as a light weight rested. Once to the farthest realms of Tartarus, O son, didst thou go but to return – Oh, when from infernal Styx wilt thou come again? Not in such wise as to bring e’en spoil with thee, nor that Theseus again may owe thee the light of day, – but when, though all alone? Will the whole world, heaped on thee, hold thy shade, on the hell-hound avail to keep thee back? When wilt thou batter down the Taenarian gates, or to what yawning jaws shall my mother betake herself, where is the approach to death? Thou takest thy journey to the dead, and ‘twill be thy only one. Why do I waste time in wailing? Why dost endure, O wretched life? Why clingest to the light? What Hercules can I again bring forth to Jove? What son so great will call me mother, will call me his Alcmena? Oh, too, too happy thou, my Theban husband, for thou to the realms of Tartarus didst descend, thy son still living; at thy approach the infernal ones, perchance, were filled with fear, merely because thou wast the sire of Hercules, even though falsely called. – What lands shall an aged woman seek, hated by savage kigns, if spite of all any savage king is left alive? Oh, woe is me! All sons who lament their murdered sires will seek revenge from me; they all will overwhelm me. If any young Busiris or if any young Antaeus terrifies the region of the burning zone, I shall be led off as booty; if any Ismarian seeks revenge for the herds of the bloody king of Thrace, upon my limbs will his horrid herds be fed. Juno, perchance, in anger will seek revenge; against me will the whole force of her wrath incline; though her soul is more disturbed by Alcides, o’ercome at last, I, the concubine, am left – ah! what punishments will she inflict, lest I be again a mother! This son has made my womb a thing of fear.
[1796] Whither shall Alcmena flee? What place, what region, what quarter of the world will take my part, or to what hiding-place shall thy mother betake herself, know everywhere though thee? Shall I seek my fatherland and my wretched home? Eurystheus is king at Argos. Shall I seek Thebes, my husband’s kingdom, the Ismenus and my bridal chamber, where once, greatly beloved by him, I looked on Jove? Oh, happy, far too happy had I been, if I myself, too, had know Jove’s thunderbolt! Oh, would that from my womb the infant Alcides had been ripped! But now was the chance given me, yea ’twas given to see my son vying in praise with Jove, that this, too, might be given me – to know of how much fate had power to rob me.
[1809] What people will live mindful of thee, O son? Now is the whole race ungrateful. Shall I seek Cleonae? seek the Arcadian tribes and hunt out the lands made famous by thy righteous toils? Here fell the serpent dire, here the bird-monster, here fell a bloody king, and here by thy hand subdued, the lion fell, who, while thou liest buried here, holds a place in heaven. If earth is grateful, let every people shield thine Alcmena. Shall I go to the Thracian peoples, and to Hebrus’ tribes? for this land, too, was defended by thy toils; low do the stables with the kingdom lie. Here peace was granted when the bloody king was overthrown; for where has it not been granted?
[1821] What tomb for thee shall a luckless old woman seek? Let the whole world contend for thy remains. The ashes of mighty Hercules, what people or what temples, what races desire to have? Who then, who seeks, who demands Alcmena’s burden? What sepulchre, O son, what tomb is great enough for thee? Thy tomb is the whole wide world, and fame shall be thine epitaph. Why, soul of mine, art fearful? Thou holdst the dust of Hercules; embrace his bones; his mere dust will bring thee aid, will be defence enough; even thy ghost will cause kings to tremble.
HYLLUS
[Who seems to have been present during the preceding scene.]
[1831] Though truly they are due thy son, restrain thy tears, mother of Alcides the illustrious. He is neither to be mourned nor pursued with grievous prayers, whoe’er by his valour hath halted the march of fate; his deathless valour forbids to weep for Hercules. Brave men forbid to mourn, cowards command.
ALCMENA
[1837] When her deliverer is lost, shall a mother abate her grief?
HYLLUS
[1838] Both land and sea and where the shining sun from his bright car looks down upon both oceans, (not thou alone dost grieve) all mourn for their lost deliverer.
ALCMENA
[1840] How many sons has his wretched mother buried in him alone! Kingdom I lacked, yet kingdoms could I give. I only, midst all the mothers whom the earth contains, refrained from prayer; naught from the gods I asked, while my son remained; for what could the love of Hercules not grant to me? What god could deny me aught? In my own hands were the answers to my prayers: whatever Jove denied, Hercules could bestow. What son like this has a mortal mother borne? Once a mother stiffened into stone when, stripped of her whole brood, she stood and, one alone, lamented her twice seven children; but to how many broods like hers could my son be compared? Till now for mother’s grief a measure vast enough was lacking – Alcmena will furnish it. Then cease, ye mothers, whom persistent woe still bids to mourn, whom crushing sorrow has transformed to stone; yield ye, yea, all of you, to these my woes. Then come, beat on this aged breast, O wretched hands, – and canst thou alone suffice for loss so vast, an aged spent old woman? Soon will the whole world unite to mourn with thee. Yet raise thy arms, however weary, in lamentation; that by thy grief thou mayst stir envy in the gods, summon the whole race of men unto thy mourning.
[Here follows ALCMENA’s formal song of mourning accompanied by the usual Oriental gestures of lamentation.]
[1863] Come ye, bewail Alcmena’s son and mighty Jove’s, for whose conception one day was lost and lingering dawn joined two nights in one; something greater than the day itself is lost. Together lament, ye nations all, whose cruel tyrants he bade descend to the abodes of Styx and lay down the sword, reeking with blood of peoples. To such deserts pay tribute of your tears; let all, yea all the world echo to your laments. Alcides let sea-girt Crete bewail, land to the great Thunderer dear; let its hundred peoples beat upon their arms. Now Cretans, now priests of Cybele, with your hands clash Ida’s cymbals; ’tis meet that with arms ye mourn him. Now, now make him just funeral; low lies Alcides, equal, O Crete, to the Thunderer himself. Weep for Alcides’ passing, O Arcadians, who were a people ere yet the moon was born; let Parthenius’ heights and Nemea’s hills resound and Maenalus smite heavy blows of grief. The bristly boar, within your fields laid low, demands lament for great Alcides, and the huge bird whose wings hid all the sky, challenged to meet his shafts. Weep, Argive Cleonae, weep; here long ago the lion who kept your walls in fear my son’s right hand destroyed. Ye Bistonian dames, beat your breasts, and let cold Hebrus resound to your beatings; weep for Alcides, for no more are your children born for the stalls, nor your offspring as food for the herds. Weep thou, O land from Antaeus delivered, ye regions from fierce Geryon saved; yea, with me, ye unhappy nations, lament; let both seas re-echo your beatings.
[1903] You too, ye thronging deities of the whirling heavens, bewail Hercules’ fate; for my Alcides bore your heavens upon his shoulders, your sky, ye gods above, when Atlas, starry Olympus’ prop, was eased of his load awhile. Where now are thy heights, O Jove? Where is the promised palace in the sky? Alcides, mortal, is dead! mortal, is buried! How oft did he save thee thy lightnings, how seldom thy fire needed hurling! Against me at least brandish thy lightning, and deem me Semele.
[1916] And now, O son, holdst thou the Elysian seats, holdst now the shore whither nature calls all peoples? Or after the dog was stolen has the dark Styx barred thy way, and on the very threshold of Dis do the fates delay thee? What confusion now, my son, seizes the shadowy spirits? Does the boatman draw away his skiff in flight? Do Thessalian Centaurs with flying hoofs smite the affrighted ghosts? Does the hydra in terror plunge his snaky heads beneath the waves and do thy toils all fear thee, O my son? Fooled, fooled am I, distracted, mad! Nor ghosts nor shadows are afraid of thee; the fearsome pelt, stripped from the Argolic lion, with its tawny mane shields thy left arm no more, and its savage teeth hedge not thy temples; thy quiver thou hast given away and now a lesser hand will aim thy shafts. Unarmed, my son, thou farest through the shades, and with them forever shalt thou abide.
THE VOICE OF HERCULES
[1940] [From above.] Why, since I hold the realms of starry heaven and at last have attained the skies, dost by lamentation bid me taste of death? Give o’er; for now has my valour borne me to the stars and to the gods themselves.
ALCMENA
[1944] [Bewildered.] Whence, oh, whence falls that sound upon my startled ears? Whence do the thunderous tones bid check my weeping? Now know I that chaos has been o’ercome.
[1947] From the Styx, O son, art come again to me? Broken a second time is the power of grisly death? Hast escaped once more death’s stronghold and the infernal skiff’s dark pools? Is Acheron’s wan stream retraceable and mayst thou alone recross it? And after thy death do the fates hold thee no more? Has Pluto barred thy way, and trembling for his own sovereignty? Surely upon the blazing logs I saw thee laid, when the vast, fearful flames raged to the sky. Thou wast consumed – why, why did the bottomless abyss not gain thy shade? What part of thee did the ghosts fear, I pray? Is e’en thy shade to terrible for Dis”
HERCULES
[His form now taking shape in the air above.]
[1963] The pools of groaning Cocytus hold me not, nor has the dark skiff borne o’er my shade; then cease thy laments, my mother; once and for all have I seen the shadowy ghosts. Whate’er in me was mortal and of thee, the vanquished flame has borne away my father’s part to heaven, thy part to the flames has been consigned. Cease then thy lamentations which to a worthless son might well be given. Let tears for the inglorious flow; valour fares starward, fear, to the realm of death. In living presence, mother, from the stars Alcides speaks; soon shall bloody Eurystheus make thee full recompense; o’er his proud head shalt thou in triumph ride. But now ’tis meet that I pass to the realm above; Alcides once again has conquered hell.
[He vanishes from sight.]
ALCMENA
[1977] Stay but a little! – he has banished from my sight, is gone, to the stars faring. Am I deceived or do my eyes but deem they saw my son? My soul for very grief cannot believe it. – But no! thou art divine, and deathless the heavens possess thee. In thy triumphant entrance I believe.
[1981] Now will I take me to the realm of Thebes and there proclaim the new god added to their temples. [Exit.]
CHORUS
[1983] Never to Stygian shades is glorious valour borne. The brave live on, nor shall the cruel fates bear you o’er Lethe’s waters; but when the last day shall bring the final hour, glory will open wide the path to heaven.
[1989] But do thou, O mighty conqueror of beasts, peace-bringer to the world, be with us yet; still as of old regard this earth of ours; and if some strange-visaged monster cause us with dire fear to tremble, do thou o’ercome him with the forked thunderbolts – yea, more mightily than thy father’s self the thunders hurl.