by Sophocles
I have applied it to this robe, with such
Addition as his living voice ordained. —
The thing is done. No criminal attempts
Could e’er be mine. Far be they from my thought,
As I abhor the woman who conceives them!
But if by any means through gentle spells
And bonds on Heracles’ affection, we
May triumph o’er this maiden in his heart,
My scheme is perfected. Unless you deem
Mine action wild. If so, I will desist.
CH. If any ground of confidence approve
Thine act, we cannot check thy counsel here.
DÊ. My confidence is grounded on belief,
Though unconfirmed as yet by actual proof.
[592-627] CH. Well, do it and try. Assurance cannot come
Till action bring experience after it.
DÊ. The truth will soon be known. The man e’en now
Is coming forth, and quickly will be there.
Screen ye but well my counsel. Doubtful deeds,
Wrapt close, will not deliver us to shame.
Enter LICHAS.
LICH. Daughter of Oeneus, tell me thy commands.
Already time rebukes our tardiness.
DÊ. Even that hath been my care, Lichas, while thou
Wert talking to the stranger-maids within,
That thou shouldst take for me this finewoven web,
A present from these fingers to my lord.
And when thou giv’st it, say that none of men
Must wear it on his shoulders before him;
And neither light of sun may look upon it,
Nor holy temple-court, nor household flame,
Till he in open station ‘fore the Gods
Display it on a day when bulls are slaughtered.
So once I vowed, that should I ever see
Or hear his safe return, I would enfold
His glorious person in this robe, and show
To all the Gods in doing sacrifice
Him a fresh worshipper in fresh array. —
The truth hereof he will with ease descry
Betokened on this treasure-guarding seal. —
Now go, and be advised, of this in chief,
To act within thine office; then of this,
To bear thee so, that from his thanks and mine
Meeting in one, a twofold grace may spring.
LICH. If this my Hermes-craft be firm and sure,
Then never will I fail thee, O my Queen!
But I will show the casket as it is
To whom I bear it, and in faithfulness
Add all the words thou sendest in fit place.
DÊ. Go, then, at once. Thou hast full cognizance
How things within the palace are preserved?
LICH. I know, and will declare. There is no flaw.
[628-662] DÊ. Methinks thou knowest too, for thou hast seen,
My kind reception of the stranger-maid?
LICH. I saw, and was amazed with heart-struck joy.
DÊ. What more is there to tell? — Too rash, I fear,
Were thy report of longing on my part,
Till we can learn if we be longed for there.[Exeunt severally
CHORUS.
O ye that haunt the strandI 1
Where ships in quiet land
Near Oeta’s height and the warm rock-drawn well,
And ye round Melis’ inland gulf who dwell,
Worshipping her who wields the golden wand, —
(There Hellas’ wisest meet in council strong):
Soon shall the flute arise
With sound of glad surprise,
Thrilling your sense with no unwelcome song,
But tones that to the harp of Heavenly Muse belong.
Zeus’ and Alcmena’s son, — I 2
All deeds of glory done, —
Speeds now triumphant to his home, whom we
Twelve weary months of blind expectancy
Lost in vast distance, from our country gone.
While, sadly languishing, his loving wife,
Still flowing down with tears,
Pined with unnumbered fears.
But Ares, lately stung to furious strife,
Frees him for ever from the toilsome life.
O let him come to-day!II
Ne’er may his vessel stay,
But glide with feathery sweep of many an oar,
Till from his altar by yon island shore
Even to our town he wind his prosperous way,
In mien returning mild,
And inly reconciled,
With that anointing in his heart ingrained,
Which the dark Centaur’s wizard lips ordained.
[663-695]
Enter DÊANIRA.
DÊ. O how I fear, my friends, lest all too far
I have ventured in my action of to-day!
CH. What ails thee, Dêanira, Oeneus’ child?
DÊ. I know not, but am haunted by a dread,
Lest quickly I be found to have performed
A mighty mischief, through bright hopes betrayed.
CH. Thou dost not mean thy gift to Heracles?
DÊ. Indeed I do. Now I perceive how fond
Is eagerness, where actions are obscure.
CH. Tell, if it may be told, thy cause of fear.
DÊ. A thing is come to pass, which should I tell,
Will strike you with strange wonder when you learn.
For, O my friends, the stuff wherewith I dressed
That robe, a flock of soft and milkwhite wool,
Is shrivelled out of sight, not gnawn by tooth
Of any creature here, but, self-consumed,
Frittered and wasting on the courtyard-stones.
To let you know the circumstance at full,
I will speak on. Of all the Centaur-Thing,
When labouring in his side with the fell point
O’ the shaft, enjoined me, I had nothing lost,
But his vaticination in my heart
Remained indelible, as though engraved
With pen of iron upon brass. ’Twas thus: —
I was to keep this unguent closely hid
In dark recesses, where no heat of fire
Or warming ray might reach it, till with fresh
Anointing I addressed it to an end.
So I had done. And now this was to do,
Within my chamber covertly I spread
The ointment with piece of wool, a tuft
Pulled from a home-bred sheep; and, as ye saw,
I folded up my gift and packed it close
In hollow casket from the glaring sun.
But, entering in, a fact encounters me
Past human wit to fathom with surmise.
For, as it happened, I had tossed aside
The bit of wool I worked with, carelessly,
[696-733] Into the open daylight, ‘mid the blaze
Of Helios’ beam. And, as it kindled warm,
It fell away to nothing, crumbled small,
Like dust in severing wood by sawyers strewn.
So, on the point of vanishing, it lay.
But, from the place where it had lain, brake forth
A frothy scum in clots of seething foam,
Like the rich draught in purple vintage poured
From Bacchus’ vine upon the thirsty ground.
And I, unhappy, know not toward what thought
To turn me, but I see mine act is dire.
For wherefore should the Centaur, for what end,
Show kindness to the cause for whom he died?
That cannot be. But seeking to destroy
His slayer, he cajoled me. This I learn
Too late, by sad experience, for no good.
And, if I err not now, my hapless fate
Is all alone to be his murderess.
For, well I know, the shaft that made the wound
Gave pain to Cheir
on, who was more than man;
And wheresoe’er it falls, it ravageth
All the wild creatures of the world. And now
This gory venom blackly spreading bane
From Nessus’ angry wound, must it not cause
The death of Heracles? I think it must.
Yet my resolve is firm, if aught harm him,
My death shall follow in the self-same hour.
She cannot bear to live in evil fame,
Who cares to have a nature pure from ill.
CH. Horrid mischance must needs occasion fear.
But Hope is not condemned before the event.
DÊ. In ill-advised proceeding not even Hope
Remains to minister a cheerful mind.
CH. Yet to have erred unwittingly abates
The fire of wrath; and thou art in this case.
DÊ. So speaks not he who hath a share of sin,
But who is clear of all offence at home.
CH. ‘Twere well to say no more, unless thou hast aught
To impart to thine own son: for he is here,
Who went erewhile to find his father forth.
[734-766]
HYLLUS (re-entering).
O mother, mother! I would to heaven one of three things were true:
Either that thou wert dead, or, living, wert
No mother to me, or hadst gained a mind
Furnished with better thoughts than thou hast now!
DÊ. My son! what canst thou so mislike in me?
HYL. I tell thee thou this day hast been the death
Of him that was thy husband and my sire.
DÊ. What word hath passed thy lips? my child, my child!
HYL. A word that must be verified. For who
Can make the accomplished fact as things undone?
DÊ. Alas, my son! what saidst thou? Who hath told
That I have wrought a deed so full of woe?
HYL. ’Twas I myself that saw with these mine eyes
My father’s heavy state: — no hearsay word.
DÊ. And where didst thou come near him and stand by?
HYL. Art thou to hear it? On, then, with my tale!
When after sacking Eurytus’ great city
He marched in triumph with first-fruits of war, —
There is a headland, last of long Euboea,
Surf-beat Cenaeum, — where to his father Zeus
He dedicates high altars and a grove.
There first I saw him, gladdened from desire.
And when he now addressed him to the work
Of various sacrifice, the herald Lichas
Arrived from home, bearing thy fatal gift,
The deadly robe: wherewith invested straight,
As thou hadst given charge, he sacrificed
The firstlings of the spoil, twelve bulls entire,
Each after each. But the full count he brought
Was a clear hundred of all kinds of head.
Then the all-hapless one commenced his prayer
In solemn gladness for the bright array.
But presently, when from the holy things,
And from the richness of the oak-tree core,
[766-802] There issued flame mingled with blood, a sweat
Rose on his flesh, and close to every limb
Clung, like stone-drapery from the craftsman’s hand,
The garment, glued unto his side. Then came
The tearing pangs within his bones, and then
The poison feasted like the venomed tooth
Of murderous basilisk. — When this began,
He shouted on poor Lichas, none to blame
For thy sole crime, ‘What guile is here, thou knave?
What was thy fraud in fetching me this robe?’
He, all-unknowing, in an evil hour
Declared his message, that the gift was thine.
Whereat the hero, while the shooting spasm
Had fastened on the lungs, seized him by the foot
Where the ankle turns i’ the socket, and, with a thought,
Hurl’d on a surf-vex’d reef that showed i’ the sea:
And rained the grey pulp from the hair, the brain
Being scattered with the blood. Then the great throng
Saddened their festival with piteous wail
For one in death and one in agony.
And none had courage to approach my sire, —
Convulsed upon the ground, then tossed i’ the air
With horrid yells and crying, till the cliffs
Echoed round, the mountain-promontories
Of Locris, and Euboea’s rugged shore.
Wearied at length with flinging on the earth,
And shrieking oft with lamentable cry,
Cursing the fatal marriage with thyself
The all-wretched, and the bond to Oeneus’ house,
That prize that was the poisoner of his peace,
He lifted a wild glance above the smoke
That hung around, and ‘midst the crowd of men
Saw me in tears, and looked on me and said,
‘O son, come near; fly not from my distress,
Though thou shouldst be consumèd in my death,
But lift and bear me forth; and, if thou mayest,
Set me where no one of mankind shall see me.
But if thy heart withhold thee, yet convey me
Out of this land as quickly as ye may.
Let me not die where I am now.’ We then,
[803-833] Thus urgently commanded, laid him down
Within our bark, and hardly to this shore
Rowed him convulsed and roaring. — Presently,
He will appear, alive or lately dead.
Such, mother, is the crime thou hast devised
And done against our sire, wherefore let Right
And Vengeance punish thee! — May I pray so?
I may: for thou absolv’st me by thy deed,
Thou that hast slain the noblest of the Earth,
Thy spouse, whose like thou ne’er wilt see again. [Exit DÊANIRA.
CH. Why steal’st thou forth in silence? Know’st thou not
Thy silence argues thine accuser’s plea?
HYL. Let her go off. Would that a sudden flood
Might sweep her far and swiftly from mine eye!
Why fondle vainly the fair-sounding name
Of mother, when her acts are all unmotherly?
Let her begone for me: and may she find
Such joy as she hath rendered to my sire![Exit HYLLUS
CHORUS.
See where falls the doom, of oldI 1
By the unerring Voice foretold, —
‘When twelve troublous years have rolled,
Then shall end your long desire:
Toil on toil no more shall tire
The offspring of the Eternal Sire.’
Lo! the destined Hour is come!
Lo! it hath brought its burden home.
For when the eyes have looked their last
How should sore labour vex again?
How, when the powers of will and thought are past,
Should life be any more enthralled to pain?
And if Nessus’ withering shroud,I 2
Wrought by destiny and craft,
Steep him in a poisonous cloud.
Steaming from the venomed shaft,
[834-870]
Which to Death in hideous lair
The many-wreathed Hydra bare,
How shall he another day
Feel the glad warmth of Helios’ ray? —
Enfolded by the Monster-Thing
Of Lerna, while the cruel sting
Of the shagg’d Centaur’s murderous-guileful tongue
Breaks forth withal to do him painful wrong.
And she, poor innocent, who sawII 1
Checkless advancing to the gate
A mighty harm unto her state, —
This rash young bridal without fear of law, —
/> Gave not her will to aught that caused this woe,
But since it came through that strange mind’s conceiving, —
That ruined her in meeting, — deeply grieving,
She mourns with dewy tears in tenderest flow.
The approaching hour appeareth great with woe:
Some guile-born misery doth Fate foreshow.
The springs of sorrow are unbound,II 2
And such an agony disclose,
As never from the hands of foes
To afflict the life of Heracles was found.
O dark with battle-stains, world-champion spear,
That from Oechalia’s highland leddest then
This bride that followed swiftly in thy train,
How fatally overshadowing was thy fear!
But these wild sorrows all too clearly come
From Love’s dread minister, disguised and dumb.
CH. 1. Am I a fool, or do I truly hear
Lament new-rising from our master’s home?
Tell!
CH. 2. Clearly from within a wailing voice
Peals piteously. The house hath some fresh woe.
CH. 3. Mark!
How strangely, with what cloud upon her brow,
Yon aged matron with her tidings moves!
[871-902]
Enter Nurse.
NURSE. Ah! mighty, O my daughters! was the grief
Sprung from the gift to Heracles conveyed!
LEADER OF CH. What new thing is befallen? Why speak’st thou so?
NUR. Our Queen hath found her latest journey’s end.
Even now she is gone, without the help of feet.
CH. Not dead?
NUR. You know the whole.
CH. Dead! hapless Queen!
NUR. The truth hath twice been told.
CH. O tell us how!
What was her death, poor victim of dire woe?
NUR. Most ruthless was the deed.
CH. Say, woman, say!
What was the sudden end?
NUR. Herself she slew.
CH. What rage, what madness, clutched
The mischief-working brand?
How could her single thought
Contrive the accomplishment of death on death?
NUR. Chill iron stopped the sources of her breath.
CH. And thou, poor helpless crone, didst see this done?
NUR. Yea, I stood near and saw.
CH. How was it? Tell!
NUR. With her own hand this violence was given.
CH. What do I hear?
NUR. The certainty of truth.
CH. A child is come,
From this new bridal that hath rushed within,
A fresh-born Fury of woe!
NUR. Too true. But hadst thou been at hand to see
Her action, pity would have wrung thy soul.
CH. Could this be ventured by a woman’s hand?
NUR. Ay, and in dreadful wise, as thou shalt hear.
When all alone she had gone within the gate,
