by Sophocles
And passing through the court beheld her boy
Spreading the couch that should receive his sire,
[902-946] Ere he returned to meet him, — out of sight
She hid herself, and fell at the altar’s foot,
And loudly cried that she was left forlorn;
And, taking in her touch each household thing
That formerly she used, poor lady, wept
O’er all; and then went ranging through the rooms,
Where, if there caught her eye the well-loved form
Of any of her household, she would gaze
And weep aloud, accusing her own fate
And her abandoned lot, childless henceforth!
When this was ended, suddenly I see her
Fly to the hero’s room of genial rest.
With unsuspected gaze o’ershadowed near,
I watched, and saw her casting on the bed
The finest sheets of all. When that was done,
She leapt upon the couch where they had lain
And sat there in the midst. And the hot flood
Burst from her eyes before she spake:— ‘Farewell,
My bridal bed, for never more shalt thou
Give me the comfort I have known thee give.’
Then with tight fingers she undid her robe,
Where the brooch lay before the breast, and bared
All her left arm and side. I, with what speed
Strength ministered, ran forth to tell her son
The act she was preparing. But meanwhile,
Ere we could come again, the fatal blow
Fell, and we saw the wound. And he, her boy,
Seeing, wept aloud. For now the hapless youth
Knew that himself had done this in his wrath,
Told all too late i’ the house, how she had wrought
Most innocently, from the Centaur’s wit.
So now the unhappy one, with passionate words
And cries and wild embracings of the dead,
Groaned forth that he had slain her with false breath
Of evil accusation, and was left
Orphaned of both, his mother and his sire.
Such is the state within. What fool is he
That counts one day, or two, or more to come?
To-morrow is not, till the present day
In fair prosperity have passed away.[Exit
[947-975]
CHORUS.
Which shall come first in my wail,I 1
Which shall be last to prevail,
Is a doubt that will never be done.
Trouble at home may be seen,I 2
Trouble is looked for with teen;
And to have and to look for are one.
Would some fair windII 1
But waft me forth to roam
Far from the native region of my home,
Ere death me find, oppressed with wild affright
Even at the sudden sight
Of him, the valiant son of Zeus most High!
Before the house, they tell, he fareth nigh,
A wonder beyond thought,
With torment unapproachable distraught.
Hark! ...II 2
The cause then of my cry
Was coming all too nigh:
(Doth the clear nightingale lament for nought?)
Some step of stranger folk is this way brought.
As for a friend they love
Heavy and slow with noiseless feet they move.
Which way? which way? Ah me! behold him come.
His pallid lips are dumb.
Dead, or at rest in sleep? What shall I say?
[HERACLES is brought in on a litter, accompanied by HYLLUS and an Old Man
HYL. Oh, woe is me!
My father, piteous woe for thee!
Oh, whither shall I turn my thought! Ah me!
OLD M. Hush! speak not, O my child,
Lest torment fierce and wild
Rekindle in thy father’s rugged breast,
And break this rest
[976-1003] Where now his life is held at point to fall.
With firm lips clenched refrain thy voice through all.
HYL. Yet tell me, doth he live,
Old sir?
OLD M. Wake not the slumberer,
Nor kindle and revive
The terrible recurrent power of pain,
My son!
HYL. My foolish words are done,
But my full heart sinks ‘neath the heavy strain.
HERACLES. O Father, who are these?
What countrymen? Where am I? What far land
Holds me in pain that ceaseth not? Ah me!
Again that pest is rending me. Pain, pain!
OLD M. Now thou may’st know
’Twas better to have lurked in silent shade
And not thus widely throw
The slumber from his eyelids and his head.
HYL. I could not brook
All speechless on his misery to look.
MONODY.
HER. O altar on the Euboean strand,
High-heaped with offerings from my hand,
What meed for lavish gifts bestowed
From thy new sanctuary hath flowed!
Father of Gods! thy cruel power
Hath foiled me with an evil blight.
Ah! would mine eyes had closed in night
Ere madness in a fatal hour
Had burst upon them with a blaze,
No help or soothing once allays!
What hand to heal, what voice to charm,
Can e’er dispel this hideous harm?
Whose skill save thine,
Monarch Divine?
Mine eyes, if such I saw,
Would hail him from afar with trembling awe.
[1004-1040] Ah! ah!
O vex me not, touch me not, leave me to rest,
To sleep my last sleep on Earth’s gentle breast.
You touch me, you press me, you turn me again,
You break me, you kill me! O pain! O pain!
You have kindled the pang that had slumbered still.
It comes, it hath seized me with tyrannous will!
Where are ye, men, whom over Hellas wide
This arm hath freed, and o’er the ocean-tide,
And through rough brakes, from every monstrous thing?
Yet now in mine affliction none will bring
A sword to aid, a fire to quell this fire,
O most unrighteous! nor to my desire
Will come and quench the hateful life I hold
With mortal stroke! Ah! is there none so bold?
OLD M. Son of our hero, this hath mounted past
My feeble force to cope with. Take him thou!
Fresher thine eye and more the hope thou hast
Than mine to save him.
HYL. I support him now
Thus with mine arm: but neither fleshly vest
Nor inmost spirit can I lull to rest
From torture. None may dream
To wield this power, save he, the King supreme.
HER. Son!
Where art thou to lift me and hold me aright?
It tears me, it kills me, it rushes in might,
This cruel, devouring, unconquered pain
Shoots forth to consume me. Again! again!
O Fate! O Athena! — O son, at my word
Have pity and slay me with merciful sword!
Pity thy father, boy; with sharp relief
Smite on my breast, and heal the wrathful grief
Wherewith thy mother, God-abandoned wife,
Hath wrought this ruin on her husband’s life.
O may I see her falling, even so
As she hath thrown me, to like depth of woe!
[1041-1080] Sweet Hades, with swift death,
Brother of Zeus, release my suffering breath!
CH. Horror hath caught me as I hear this, woe,
Racking our mighty one with mightier pain.
> HER. Many hot toils and hard beyond report,
With sturdy thews and sinews I have borne,
But no such labour hath the Thunderer’s wife
Or sour Eurystheus ever given, as this,
Which Oeneus’ daughter of the treacherous eye
Hath fastened on my back, this amply-woven
Net of the Furies, that is breaking me.
For, glued unto my side, it hath devoured
My flesh to the bone, and lodging in the lungs
It drains the vital channels, and hath drunk
The fresh life-blood, and ruins all my frame,
Foiled in the tangle of a viewless bond.
Yet me nor War-host, nor Earth’s giant brood,
Nor Centaur’s monstrous violence could subdue,
Nor Hellas, nor the Stranger, nor all lands
Where I have gone, cleansing the world from harms.
But a soft woman without manhood’s strain
Alone and weaponless hath conquered me.
Son, let me know thee mine true-born, nor rate
Thy mother’s claim beyond thy sire’s, but bring
Thyself from out the chambers to my hand
Her body that hath borne thee, that my heart
May be assured, if lesser than my pain
It will distress thee to behold her limbs
With righteous torment agonized and torn.
Nay, shrink not, son, but pity me, whom all
May pity — me, who, like a tender girl,
Am heard to weep aloud! This none could say
He knew in me of old; for, murmuring not,
I went with evil fortune, silent still.
Now, such a foe hath found the woman in me!
Ay, but come near; stand by me, and behold
What cause I have for crying. Look but here!
Here is the mystery unveiled. O see!
Ye people, gaze on this poor quivering flesh,
Look with compassion on my misery!
[1081-1117] Ah me!
Ah! ah! Again!
Even now the hot convulsion of disease
Shoots through my side, and will not let me rest
From this fierce exercise of wearing woe.
Take me, O King of Night!
O sudden thunderstroke.
Smite me! O sire, transfix me with the dart
Of thy swift lightning! Yet again that fang
Is tearing; it hath blossomed forth anew,
It soars up to the height!
O breast and back,
O shrivelling arms and hands, ye are the same
That crushed the dweller of the Némean wild,
The lion unapproachable and rude,
The oxherd’s plague, and Hydra of the lake
Of Lerna, and the twi-form prancing throng
Of Centaurs, — insolent, unsociable,
Lawless, ungovernable: — the tuskèd pest
Of Erymanthine glades; then underground
Pluto’s three-headed cur — a perilous fear,
Born from the monster-worm; and, on the verge
Of Earth, the dragon, guarding fruits of gold.
These toils and others countless I have tried,
And none hath triumphed o’er me. But to-day,
Jointless and riven to tatters, I am wrecked
Thus utterly by imperceptible woe;
I, proudly named Alcmena’s child, and His
Who reigns in highest heaven, the King supreme!
Ay, but even yet, I tell ye, even from here,
Where I am nothingness and cannot move,
She who hath done this deed shall feel my power.
Let her come near, that, mastered by my might,
She may have this to tell the world, that, dying,
As living, I gave punishment to wrong.
CH. O Hellas, how I grieve for thy distress!
How thou wilt mourn in losing him we see!
HYL. My father, since thy silence gives me leave,
Still hear me patiently, though in thy pain!
For my request is just. Lend me thy mind
[1117-1149] Less wrathfully distempered than ’tis now;
Else thou canst never know, where thou art keen
With vain resentment and with vain desire
HER. Speak what thou wilt and cease, for I in pain
Catch not the sense of thy mysterious talk
HYL. I come to tell thee of my mother’s case,
And her involuntary unconscious fault.
HER. Base villain! hast thou breathed thy mother’s name,
Thy father’s murderess, in my hearing too!
HYL. Her state requires not silence, but full speech.
HER. Her faults in former time might well be told.
HYL. So might her fault to day, couldst thou but know.
HER. Speak, but beware base words disgrace thee not.
HYL. List! She is dead even now with new-given wound.
HER. By whom? Thy words flash wonder through my woe.
HYL. Her own hand slaughtered her, no foreign stroke.
HER. Wretch! to have reft this office from my hands.
HYL. Even your rash spirit were softened, if you knew.
HER. This bodes some knavery. But declare thy thought!
HYL. She erred with good intent. The whole is said.
HER. Good, O thou villain, to destroy thy sire!
HYL. When she perceived that marriage in her home,
She erred, supposing to enchain thy love.
HER. Hath Trachis a magician of such might?
HYL. Long since the Centaur Nessus moved her mind
To work this charm for heightening thy desire.
HER. O horror, thou art here! I am no more.
My day is darkened, boy! Undone, undone!
I see our plight too plainly. woe is me!
Come, O my son! — thou hast no more a father, —
Call to me all the brethren of thy blood,
And poor Alcmena, wedded all in vain
[1149-1185] Unto the Highest, that ye may hear me tell
With my last breath what prophecies I know.
HYL. Thy mother is not here, but by the shore
Of Tiryns hath obtained a dwelling-place;
And of thy sons, some she hath with her there,
And some inhabit Thebè’s citadel.
But we who are with thee, sire, if there be aught
That may by us be done, will hear, and do.
HER. Then hearken thou unto this task, and show
If worthily thou art reputed mine.
Now is time to prove thee. My great father
Forewarned me long ago that I should die
By none who lived and breathed, but from the will
Of one now dwelling in the house of death.
And so this Centaur, as the voice Divine
Then prophesied, in death hath slain me living.
And in agreement with that ancient word
I now interpret newer oracles
Which I wrote down on going within the grove
Of the hill-roving and earth-couching Selli, —
Dictated to me by the mystic tongue
Innumerous, of my Father’s sacred tree;
Declaring that my ever instant toils
Should in the time that new hath being and life
End and release me. And I look’d for joy.
But the true meaning plainly was my death. —
No labour is appointed for the dead. —
Then, since all argues one event, my son,
Once more thou must befriend me, and not wait
For my voice goading thee, but of thyself
Submit and second my resolve, and know
Filial obedience for thy noblest rule.
HYL. I will obey thee, father, though my heart
Sinks heavily in approaching such a theme.
HER. Before aught else, lay thy right hand in mine.
HYL. Why so intent on this assurance, sire?
HER. Give it at once and be not froward, boy.
HYL. There is my hand: I will gainsay thee nought.
HER. Swear by the head of him who gave me life.
[1186-1221] HYL. Tell me the oath, and I will utter it.
HER. Swear thou wilt do the thing I bid thee do.
HYL. I swear, and make Zeus witness of my troth.
HER. But if you swerve, pray that the curse may come.
HYL. It will not come for swerving: — but I pray.
HER. Now, dost thou know on Oeta’s topmost height
The crag of Zeus?
HYL. I know it, and full oft
Have stood there sacrificing.
HER. Then even there,
With thine own hand uplifting this my body,
Taking what friends thou wilt, and having lopped
Much wood from the deep-rooted oak and rough
Wild olive, lay me on the gathered pile,
And burn all with the touch of pine-wood flame.
Let not a tear of mourning dim thine eye;
But silent, with dry gaze, if thou art mine,
Perform it. Else my curse awaits thee still
To weigh thee down when I am lost in night.
HYL. How cruel, O my father, is thy tongue!
HER. ’Tis peremptory. Else, if thou refuse,
Be called another’s and be no more mine.
HYL. Alas that thou shouldst challenge me to this,
To be thy murderer, guilty of thy blood!
HER. Not I, in sooth: but healer of my pain,
And sole preserver from a life of woe.
HYL. How can it heal to burn thee on the pyre?
HER. If this act frighten thee, perform the rest.
HYL. Mine arms shall not refuse to carry thee.
HER. And wilt thou gather the appointed wood?
HYL. So my hand fire it not. In all but this,
Not scanting labour, I will do my part.
HER. Enough. ’Tis well. And having thus much given
Add one small kindness to a list so full.
HYL. How great soe’er it were, it should be done.
HER. The maid of Eurytus thou knowest, I ween.
HYL. Of Iolè thou speak’st, or I mistake.
HER. Of her. This then is all I urge, my son.
[1222-1258] When I am dead, if thou wouldst show thy duty,
Think of thine oath to me, and, on my word,
Make her thy wife: nor let another man
Take her, but only thou; since she hath lain
So near this heart. Obey me, O my boy!
And be thyself the maker of this bond.
To spurn at trifles after great things given,
Were to confound the meed already won.
HYL. Oh, anger is not right, when men are ill!
But who could bear to see thee in this mind?
HER. You murmur, as you meant to disobey.
HYL. How can I do it, when my mother’s death
