Part 16

_Theseus_ [_to_ Phaedra]: What madness pricks thee on, all wild with grief? What means that sword? or why these loud laments? Why weepest thou above the hated corpse?

_Phaedra:_ Me, me, O savage ruler of the deep, Attack; against me send the monstrous shapes 1160 That breed within the caverns of the sea, Whatever Tethys in her heart conceals, And ocean hides within his wandering waves. O Theseus, always ill of omen thou! Oh, never to thy loved ones safe returned, Since son and father by their death have paid 1165 For thy home-coming. Thou of thine own house Art the destroyer; ever baneful thou, Whether in love or hatred of thy wives. [_Turning to the mangled corpse._] Hippolytus, is this thy face I see? Have I brought thee to this? What Sinis wild, What pitiless Procrustes mangled thee? 1170 What Cretan bull-man, filling all the cave Of Daedalus with his vast bellowings, Has rent thee thus upon his savage horns? Ah me! where now is fled thy beauty bright, Thy eyes, my stars? Dost thou all lifeless lie? Come back a little while and hear my words. 1175 'Tis nothing base I speak. With my own hand I'll make thee full atonement, and will plunge The avenging sword within my sinful breast, And so be free from life and guilt at once. Thee will I follow through Tartarean pools. Across the Styx, through streams of liquid fire. 1180 Let me appease the spirit of the dead. Accept the spoils I offer, take this lock Torn from my bleeding forehead. 'Twas not right To join our souls in life; but surely now We may by death unite our fates. [_To herself._] Now die, If thou art undefiled, to appease thy lord; But if defiled, die for thy lover's sake. 1185 Is't meet that I should live and seek again My husband's couch, by such foul incest stained? This wrong was lacking still, that, as if pure, Thou shouldst enjoy that union, justified. O death, thou only cure for evil love, For injured chastity the last resort: I fly to thee; spread wide thy soothing arms. 1190 Hear me, O Athens; thou, O father, hear, Thou worse than stepdame: I have falsely sworn. The crime, which I myself within my heart, With passion mad, conceived, I basely charged To him. An empty vengeance hast thou wrought Upon thy son; for he in chastity, 1195 Through fault of the unchaste, lies there, unstained And innocent. [_To_ Hippolytus.] Regain thine honor now; Behold my impious breast awaits the stroke Of justice, and my blood makes sacrifice Unto the spirit of a guiltless man. [_To_ Theseus.] How thou mayst recompense thy murdered son, Learn now from me--and seek the Acheron. 1200

[_She falls upon her sword and dies._]

_Theseus:_ Ye jaws of wan Avernus, and ye caves Of Taenara, ye floods of Lethe's stream, A soothing balm to hearts o'ercome with grief, Ye sluggish pools: take ye my impious soul And plunge me deep in your eternal woes. Now come, ye savage monsters of the deep, Whatever Proteus hides within his caves, 1205 And drown me in your pools, me who rejoice In crime so hideous. O father, thou Who ever dost too readily assent Unto my wrathful prayers, I merit not An easy death, who on my son have brought A death so strange, and scattered through the fields His mangled limbs; who, while, as austere judge, I sought to punish evil falsely charged, 1210 Have fallen myself into the pit of crime. For heaven, hell, and seas have by my sins Been peopled; now no further lot remains; Three kingdoms know me now. Was it for this That I returned? Was heaven's light restored To me that I might see two funerals, A double death? That I, bereft of wife 1215 And son, should with one torch upon the pyre Consume them both? Thou giver of the light Which has so baleful proved, O, Hercules, Take back thy boon, and give me up again To Dis; restore me to the curséd shades Whom I escaped. Oh, impious, in vain I call upon that death I left behind. 1220 Thou bloody man, well skilled in deadly arts, Who hast contrived unwonted ways of death And terrible, now deal unto thyself The fitting punishment. Let some great pine Be bent to earth and hurl thee high in air; Or let me headlong leap from Sciron's cliff. 1225 More dreadful punishments have I beheld, Which Phlegethon upon the guilty souls Encircled by his fiery stream inflicts. What suffering awaits me, and what place, Full well I know. Make room, ye guilty shades; On me, me only, let that rock be placed, The everlasting toil of Sisyphus, 1230 And let these wearied hands upbear its weight; Let cooling waters lap and mock my lips; Let that fell vulture fly from Tityos, And let my vitals ever living be For punishment. And thou, Ixion, sire 1235 Of my Pirithoüs, take rest awhile, And let the wheel that never stops its flight Bear these my limbs upon its whirling rim. Now yawn, O earth, and chaos dire, receive, I pray, receive me to your depths; for thus 'Tis fitting that I journey to the shades. I go to meet my son. And fear thou not, 1240 Thou king of dead men's souls; I come in peace To that eternal home, whence ne'er again Shall I come forth. My prayers move not the gods. But if some impious plea I made to them, How ready would they be to grant my prayer!

_Chorus:_ Theseus, thou hast unending time to mourn. Now pay the funeral honors due thy son, 1245 And bury these poor torn and scattered limbs.

_Theseus:_ Then hither bring the pitiful remains Of that dear corpse, and heap together here That shapeless mass of flesh, those mangled limbs. Is this Hippolytus? I realize My depth of crime, for I have murdered thee. 1250 And lest but once and I alone should sin, A parent, bent to do an impious thing, My father did I summon to my aid. Behold, my father's boon do I enjoy. O childlessness, a bitter loss art thou For broken age! But come, embrace his limbs, Whatever of thy hapless son is left, And clasp them, wretched father, to thy breast. 1255 Arrange in order those dismembered parts, And to their proper place restore them. Here His brave right hand should be. Place here the left, Well trained to curb his horses with the reins. The marks of his left side I recognize; 1260 And yet how large a part is lacking still Unto our tears. Be firm, ye trembling hands, To do the last sad offices of grief; Be dry, my cheeks, and stay your flowing tears, While I count o'er the members of my son, And lay his body out for burial. 1265 What is this shapeless piece, on all sides torn With many a wound? I know not what it is, Save that 'tis part of thee. Here lay it down. Not in its own, but in an empty place. That face, that once with starry splendor gleamed, That softened by its grace e'en foemen's eyes, 1270 Has that bright beauty come to this? O fate, How bitter! Deadly favor of the gods! And is it thus my son comes back to me In answer to my prayers? These final rites Thy father pays, receive, O thou my son, Who often to thy funeral must be borne. And now let fires consume these dear remains. Throw open wide my palace, dark with death, 1275 And let all Athens ring with loud laments. Do some of you prepare the royal pyre, And others seek yet farther in the fields His scattered parts. [_Pointing to_ Phaedra's _corpse_.] Let earth on her be spread, And may it heavy rest upon her head. 1280

HERCULES OETAEUS

HERCULES OETAEUS

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

HERCULES Son of Jupiter and Alcmena.

_Hyllus_ Son of Hercules and Deianira.

_Alcmena_ Daughter of Electryon, king of Mycenae.

_Deianira_ Daughter of Oeneus, king of Aetolia, and wife of Hercules.

_Iole_ Daughter of Eurytus, king of Oechalia.

_Nurse_ Of Deianira.

_Philoctetes_ A prince of Thessaly, son of Poeas, and the faithful friend of Hercules.

_Lichas_ The messenger (_persona muta_) of Deianira to Hercules.

_Chorus_ Of Aetolian women, faithful to Deianira.

_Band_ Of Oechalian maidens, suffering captivity in company with Iole.

THE SCENE is laid, first in Euboea, and later at the home of Hercules in Trachin.

_The long, heroic life of Hercules has neared its end. His twelve great tasks, assigned him by Eurystheus through Juno's hatred, have been done. His latest victory was over Eurytus, king of Oechalia. Him he slew and overthrew his house, because the monarch would not give him Iole to wife._

_And now the hero, having overcome the world, and Pluto's realm beneath the earth, aspires to heaven. He sacrifices to Cenaean Jove, and prays at last to be received into his proper home._

ACT I

[_On the Cenaean promontory of the island of Euboea._]

_Hercules_ [_about to sacrifice to Cenaean Jove_]: O sire of gods, from whose almighty hand Both homes of Phoebus feel thy darting bolt: Rule now serene, for I have 'stablished peace Wherever Nereus checks the spreading lands. Now let thy thunders rest; for treacherous kings 5 And savage tyrants are in ruin laid. Whatever merited thy blasting darts Have I o'erthrown and crushed. But, father, why Is heaven still denied to me, thy son? For surely have I ever shown myself A worthy child of Jove; and Juno's self, My hard task-mistress, testifies to this, That I am born of thee. Why dost thou still 10 Contrive delays? Am I thy cause of fear? Will Atlas not avail to prop the skies If to their bulk the weight of Hercules Be superadded? Why, O father, why Dost thou deny the stars to me? To thee Did death restore me; every monstrous shape Which had its source in earth or sea or air, Or hell itself, has yielded to my arms. 15 No lion treads the Arcadian cities now; Stymphalus fears no more its noxious birds; The wondrous stag of Maenalus is dead; The watchful dragon spattered with its blood The golden grove; the hydra's force is gone; Those famous horses to the Hebrus known, Which fattened on the blood of murdered guests, 20 Have I destroyed, and spoils of war obtained In victory o'er my Amazonian foe. I saw the silent realms; nor all alone Did I return, but shuddering day beheld Dark Cerberus, and he beheld the sun. No more Antaeus, Libya's monarch huge, His strength renews; before his bloody shrines 25 Busiris lies o'erthrown; by my sole hand The threefold Geryon was o'ercome and slain, And that dread terror of a hundred tribes, The Cretan bull, yea all the monstrous things To which the hostile world has given birth, Have fallen in utter ruin by my hand. If now the earth can show no monsters more, 30 If now my stepdame has her wrath fulfilled, Restore the father to his son; yea, more-- Admit the hero to his proper skies. I ask not that thou point the way to me; Permit it only, father, and the way I'll find. Or, if thou fearest that the earth Shall to the light new shapes of terror bring, Let them make haste to come, whate'er they be, 35 While still the earth beholds her Hercules. For who will e'er again these fearsome things Attack, or who, throughout the towns of Greece, Will e'er be worthy of great Juno's hate? In truth, my praises have I safe bestowed, Since now there is no land but sings of me. The Scythian, dwelling in the frozen North, 40 The Indian, smitten by the burning rays Of Phoebus, and the tropic African: All know my fame. O glowing Sun, I thee As witness call: I have encountered thee Where'er thou shin'st; nor have thy darting beams Availed to follow my triumphant course. I've gone beyond the reaches of the sun, And daylight halted far within my bounds. 45 The world of nature yielded; for my steps No earth remained. She was exhausted first. But night and utter chaos met me there. From that dark realm whence no one e'er returns, Have I come back to earth. Old Ocean's threats Have I endured; no raging storm of his 50 Has e'er prevailed to overcome the bark In which I fared. How small a part I tell![25] Exhausted is the air and can no more Suffice to feed the hatred of thy wife; The earth in fear brings forth no monster more For me to conquer, no wild beasts of prey. These are denied to me, and in the stead 55 Of monster have I come myself to be. How many evils have I overcome, Though all unarmed! Whatever monstrous thing Opposed, these empty hands have overthrown; Nor did there ever live a savage beast Which I as boy or infant feared to meet. My bidden labors have seemed always light, And no day ever dawned that brought to me 60 No strenuous toil. How many monstrous tasks Have I fulfilled which no king set to me! A harder master has my courage been Than ever Juno was. But what avails That I have saved the human race from fear? The gods in consequence have lost their peace. The freed earth sees whatever she has feared 65 Now set in heaven; for Juno thitherward Hath borne the beasts I slew. Restored to life, The Crab fares safely in his torrid path, A constellation now in southern skies, And ripens Libya's waving fields of grain. The Lion to the heavenly Virgin gives The flying year; but he, with beaming mane 70 Upon his wild neck tossing, dries the winds Which drip with moisture, and the clouds devours. Behold, the beasts have all invaded heaven, Forestalling me. Though victor, here I stand Upon the earth, and view my labors there. For Juno to the monsters and the beasts Has given stars, that so the heavenly realm 75 Might be for me a place of terror made. But no! Though in her wrath she fill the skies With monsters, though she make the heavens worse Than earth and hell, yet shall a place be given To Hercules. If, after beasts and wars, If, after I subdued the Stygian dog, I have not earned a place among the stars, 80 Then shall Sicilian Pelorus touch Hesperia's shores, and both shall be one land. I'll put the intervening sea to flight; Or, if thou wilt that severed seas be joined, Then Isthmus shall give passage to the waves, And Attic vessels by a new-found way Shall sail united seas. I'll change the world. 85 Along new channels shall the Hister flow, And Tanaïs find new passage to the sea. Grant, grant, O Jupiter, this boon to me, That I at least may shield the gods from harm. There mayst thou lay aside thy thunderbolts, Where I stand guard against thy enemies. Whether thou bid'st me guard the icy pole, Or o'er the torrid regions watch, be sure 90 That on that side the gods may be at rest. Apollo earned the shrine of Pythia And heaven, because he slew the Python huge; But Oh, how many Pythons did I slay In that dire hydra! Bacchus, Perseus, too, Have found a place among the heavenly gods. 95 How small that eastern portion of the earth Which he subdued! How meager is the spoil Which Perseus in the stony Gorgon gained! What son of thine from Juno born has earned A place in heaven because of his renown? I seek the skies which I myself have borne. [_Turning to_ Lichas.] But thou, O Lichas, comrade of my toils, Go tell my triumphs over Eurytus, 100 His lares conquered and his realm o'erthrown. [_To his attendants._] Do you with speed the victims hurry on To where the temple of Cenaean Jove Looks off upon the wild Euboean sea.

_Band of captive Oechalian maidens:_ The mate of the immortals he, Whose life and fortune hand in hand Go on apace. But worse than death 105 Is life, dragged on with many groans. Whoe'er has trodden under foot The greedy fates, and can disdain The boat that plies on death's dark stream, Will never feel the galling chains Upon his captive arms; nor grace, As noble spoil, the victor's train. 110 For he who faces death with joy Can ne'er be wretched. Should his bark Be wrecked upon the stormy sea Where Africus with Boreas, And Zephyrus with Eurus strive, And rend the seas; he does not seek To gather up the broken parts 115 Of his wrecked ship, that, far at sea, He still may cherish hopes of land. For he, who ever ready stands To give his life, alone is safe From all the perils of the storm. But we are held by shameful grief, The gaunt, drawn face, the streaming tears, By the ashes of our fatherland Besprinkled. Us no whirling flame, 120 Nor crash of falling walls o'erwhelms. Thou dost pursue the fortunate, O death, but fleest from wretched souls. Behold, we live: but Oh, no more, Our country's walls[26] remain; their place Shall soon be hidden by the woods, And all our temples fall away To squalid hovels. Even now 125 The cold Dolopian will come And o'er the ashes, glowing yet, Sad remnants of Oechalia, Will drive his flocks. And soon, alas, Within our walls, the shepherd rude Shall sing upon his rustic pipes, With doleful voice, our history. 130 And when the hand of God shall speed A few more generations on, The very place where once we dwelt Will be forgotten. Happy once, I kept no barren hearth at home; Not mine the hungry acres then Of Thessaly. But now I'm called To Trachin's rough and stony land, 135 To ridges parched and jungle-set, To groves which e'en the mountain goat Would not inhabit. But, perchance, Some milder fate the captives calls. Then will they see the Inachus, Whose rapid waves shall bear them on, Or dwell within Dircaean walls 140 Where flows Ismenus' scanty stream-- And where was once the mother wed Of mighty Hercules. False is that tale of doubled night, When overlong the stars delayed Within the skies, and Hesperus In place of Lucifer arose, And Delia with tardy car 145 Kept back the sun. What Scythian crag Begot thee, or what stony mount? Like some wild Titan wast thou born On Rhodope, or Athos rough? What savage beast on Caspian shores, What spotted tigress, suckled thee? 150 Impervious to wounds is he. Sharp spears are blunted, steel is bent Against his heart; and glittering swords, Upon his naked members struck, In broken fragment drop apart; Stones strike, but harmlessly rebound. And so he scorns the deadly fates, 155 And, all invincible, provokes His death. No spears can pierce his heart, No arrow shot from Scythian bow, No darts which cold Sarmatians bear, Or they who dwell beneath the dawn, The Parthians, whose fatal shafts More deadly than the Cretan dart, 160 The neighboring Nabathaeans wound. Oechalia's walls he overthrew With his bare hands. Naught can withstand His onslaught. For whate'er he plans To overcome, is by that fact Already overcome. How few The foes who by his wounds have fallen! His angry countenance means death; 165 And to have met his threatening gaze Is worse than death. What Gyas huge, What vast Briareus, who stood Upon Thessalia's mountain heap And clutched at heaven with snaky hands, Would not have frozen at the glance Of that dread face? But mighty ills 170 Have mighty recompense: no more Is left to suffer--we have seen, Oh, woe! the angry Hercules!

_Iole:_ But I, unhappy one, must mourn, Not temples with their gods o'erthrown, Not scattered hearths and burning homes, Where lie in common ruin mixed Fathers with sons, and gods with men, 175 Temples and towns--the common woe; But fortune calls my tears away To other grief. Fate bids me weep O'er other ruins. What lament 180 Shall I make first? What greatest ill Shall I bewail? All equally I'll weep. Ah me, that mother earth Hath not more bosoms given me, That worthily they might resound Unto my grief. But, O ye gods, Transform me to a weeping rock On Sipylus; or set me where, 185 Between its grassy banks, the Po Glides on, where grieving woods respond To the mourning of the sisters sad Of Phaëthon; or to the shores Of Sicily transport me. There, Another Siren, let me mourn 190 The woeful fate of Thessaly. Or bear me to the Thracian woods, Where, underneath Ismarian shade, The Daulian bird bewails her son. Give me a form to fit my tears, And let rough Trachin echo back 195 My cries of woe. The Cyprian maid Still soothes her grieving heart with tears; Still Ceyx's royal spouse bemoans Her vanished lord; and Niobe, Surviving life and grief, weeps on; Her human form has Philomel Escaped, and now with doleful notes The Attic maid bewails her dead. 200 Oh, that my arms were feathered wings! Oh, then, how happy would I be, When, hidden in the forest depths, I might lament in plaintive strain, 205 And live in fame as Iole, The maiden bird. I saw, alas, I saw my father's dreadful fate, When, smitten with that deadly club, He fell, in mangled fragments dashed 210 Throughout the palace hall. If then His fate had granted burial, How often had I searched, O sire, For all thy parts! How could I look upon thy death, O Toxeus, with thy tender cheeks Unbearded yet, thy boyish veins Not yet with manhood's vigor filled? But why do I bewail your fates, 215 O parents, whom to safety now Kind death has borne? My fortune bids That I bewail myself instead. Soon, ah too soon, in captive state, Shall I the flying spindle turn For some proud mistress in her hall. O cruel beauty, how hast thou 220 Decreed my death! For thee alone Am I and all my house undone, Since when my sire to Hercules Refused my hand, because he feared Great Hercules as son-in-law. And now, not wife, but captive maid, I seek my haughty mistress' home.

_Chorus:_ Why dost thou, foolish, ever dwell 225 Upon thy sire's illustrious realm, And on thy own unhappy fate? Forget thy former station now; For only is he happy who, As king or slave, knows how to bear His lot, and fit his countenance To changing circumstance. For he 230 Who bears his ills with steadfast soul Has from misfortune reft away Its strength and heaviness.

FOOTNOTES:

[25] Reading, _quam prosequor_.

[26] Reading, _patriae moenibus_.

ACT II

[_In the palace of_ Deianira _at Trachin_.]