Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series
Page 300
AMPHITRUON.
Thou couldst not know another mortal man
Toil-weary, more outworn by wanderings.
THESEUS.
And why i’ the peploi hides he his sad head?
AMPHITRUON.
Not daring meet thine eye, thy friendliness
And kinship, — nor that children’s-blood about.
THESEUS.
But I come to who shared my woe with me!
Uncover him!
AMPHITRUON.
O child, put from thine eyes
The peplos, throw it off, show face to sun!
Woe’s weight well matched contends with tears in thee.
I supplicate thee, falling at thy cheek
And knee and hand, and shedding this old tear!
O son, remit the savage lion’s mood,
Since to a bloody, an unholy race
Art thou led forth, if thou be resolute
To go on adding ill to ill, my child!
THESEUS.
Let me speak! Thee, who sittest — seated woe —
I call upon to show thy friends thine eye!
For there’s no darkness has a cloud so black
May hide thy misery thus absolute.
Why, waving hand, dost sign me — murder’s done?
Lest a pollution strike me, from thy speech?
Nought care I to — with thee, at least — fare ill:
For I had joy once! Then , — soul rises to, —
When thou didst save me from the dead to light!
Friends’ gratitude that tastes old age, I loathe,
And him who likes to share when things look fine,
But, sail along with friends in trouble — no!
Arise, uncover thine unhappy head!
Look on us! Every man of the right race
Bears what, at least, the gods inflict, nor shrinks.
HERAKLES.
Theseus, hast seen this match — my boys with me?
THESEUS.
I heard of, now I see the ills thou sign’st.
HERAKLES.
Why then hast thou displayed my head to sun?
THESEUS.
Why? mortals bring no plague on aught divine.
HERAKLES.
Fly, O unhappy, this my impious plague!
THESEUS.
No plague of vengeance flits to friends from friends.
HERAKLES.
I praise thee. But I helped thee, — that is truth.
THESEUS.
And I, advantaged then, now pity thee.
HERAKLES.
— The pitiable, — my children’s murderer!
THESEUS.
I mourn for thy sake, in this altered lot.
HERAKLES.
Hast thou found others in still greater woe?
THESEUS.
Thou, from earth, touchest heaven, one huge distress!
HERAKLES.
Accordingly, I am prepared to die.
THESEUS.
Think’st thou thy threats at all import the gods?
HERAKLES.
Gods please themselves: to gods I give their like.
THESEUS.
Shut thy mouth, lest big words bring bigger woe!
HERAKLES.
I am full fraught with ills — no stowing more!
THESEUS.
Thou wilt do — what, then? Whither moody borne?
HERAKLES.
Dying, I go below earth whence I came.
THESEUS.
Thou hast used words of — what man turns up first!
HERAKLES.
While thou, being outside sorrow, schoolest me.
THESEUS.
The much-enduring Herakles talks thus? —
HERAKLES.
Not the so much-enduring: measure’s past.
THESEUS.
— Mainstay to mortals, and their mighty friend?
HERAKLES.
They nowise profit me: but Heré rules.
THESEUS.
Hellas forbids thou shouldst ineptly die.
HERAKLES.
But hear, then, how I strive by arguments
Against thy teachings! I will ope thee out
My life — past, present — as unliveable.
First, I was born of this man, who had slain
His mother’s aged sire, and, sullied so,
Married Alkmené, she who gave me birth.
Now, when the basis of a family
Is not laid right, what follows needs must fall;
And Zeus, whoever Zeus is, formed me foe
To Heré (take not thou offence, old man!
Since father, in Zeus’ stead, account I thee),
And, while I was at suck yet, frightful snakes
She introduced among my swaddling-clothes, —
That bedfellow of Zeus! — to end me so.
But when I gained the youthful garb of flesh,
The labours I endured — what need to tell?
What lions ever, or three-bodied brutes,
Tuphons or giants, or the four-legg’d swarms
Of Kentaur-battle, did not I end out?
And that hound, headed all about with heads
Which cropped up twice, the Hudra, having slain —
I both went through a myriad other toils
In full drove, and arrived among the dead
To convoy, as Eurustheus bade, to light
Haides’ three-headed dog and doorkeeper.
But then I, — wretch, — dared this last labour — see!
Slew my sons, keystone-coped my house with ills.
To such a strait I come! nor my dear Thebes
Dare I inhabit: and, suppose I stay?
Into what fane or festival of friends
Am I to go? My curse scarce courts accost!
Shall I seek Argos? How, if fled from home?
But say — I hurry to some other town!
And there they eye me, as notorious now, —
Kept by sharp tongue-taunts under lock and key —
“Is not this he, Zeus’ son, who murdered once
Children and wife? Let him go rot elsewhere!”
To any man renowned as happy once,
Reverses are a grave thing; but to whom
Evil is old acquaintance there’s no hurt
To speak of, he and misery are twins.
To this degree of woe I think to come:
For earth will utter voice forbidding me
To touch the ground, and sea — to pierce the wave,
The river-springs — to drink, and I shall play
Ixion’s part quite out, the chained and wheeled!
And best of all will be, if so I ‘scape
Sight from one man of those Hellenes, — once
I lived among, felicitous and rich!
Why ought I then to live? What gain accrues
From good-for-nothing, wicked life I lead?
In fine, let Zeus’ brave consort dance and sing,
Stamp foot, the Olumpian Zeus’ own sandal-trick!
What she has willed, that brings her will to pass —
The foremost man of Hellas pedestalled,
Up, over, and down whirling! Who would pray
To such a goddess? — that, begrudging Zeus
Because he loved a woman, ruins me —
Lover of Hellas, faultless of the wrong!
THESEUS.
This strife is from no other of the gods
Than Zeus’ wife; rightly apprehend, as well,
Why, to no death — thou meditatest now —
I would persuade thee, but to bear thy woes!
None, none of mortals boasts a fate unmixed,
Nor gods — if poets’ teaching be not false.
Have not they joined in wedlock against law
With one another? not, for sake of rule,
Branded their sires in bondage? Yet they house,
All the same, in Olumpos, carry heads
High th
ere, notorious sinners though they be!
What wilt thou say, then, if thou, mortal-born,
Bearest outrageously fate gods endure?
Leave Thebes, now, pay obedience to the law
And follow me to Pallas’ citadel!
There, when thy hands are purified from stain,
House will I give thee, and goods shared alike.
What gifts I hold too from the citizens
For saving twice seven children, when I slew
The Knosian bull, these also give I thee.
And everywhere about the land are plots
Apportioned me: these, named by thine own name,
Shall be henceforward styled by all men — thine,
Thy life long; but at death, when Haides-bound,
All Athens shall uphold the honoured one
With sacrifices, and huge marble heaps:
For that’s a fair crown our Hellenes grant
Their people — glory, should they help the brave!
And I repay thee back this grace for thine
That saved me, now that thou art lorn of friends —
Since, when the gods give honour, friends may flit:
For, a god’s help suffices, if he please.
HERAKLES.
Ah me, these words are foreign to my woes!
I neither fancy gods love lawless beds,
Nor, that with chains they bind each other’s hands,
Have I judged worthy faith, at any time;
Nor shall I be persuaded — one is born
His fellows’ master! since God stands in need —
If he is really God — of nought at all.
These are the poets’ pitiful conceits!
But this it was I pondered, though woe-whelmed —
“Take heed lest thou be taxed with cowardice
Somehow in leaving thus the light of day!”
For whoso cannot make a stand against
These same misfortunes, neither could withstand
A mere man’s dart, oppose death, strength to strength.
Therefore unto thy city I will go
And have the grace of thy ten thousand gifts.
There! I have tasted of ten thousand toils
As truly — never waived a single one,
Nor let these runnings drop from out my eyes:
Nor ever thought it would have come to this —
That I from out my eyes do drop tears. Well!
At present, as it seems, one bows to fate.
So be it! Old man, thou seest my exile —
Seest, too, me — my children’s murderer!
These give thou to the tomb, and deck the dead,
Doing them honour with thy tears — since me
Law does not sanction. Propping on her breast,
And giving them into their mother’s arms,
— Re-institute the sad community
Which I, unhappy, brought to nothingness —
Not by my will! And, when earth hides the dead,
Live in this city! — sad, but, all the same,
Force thy soul to bear woe along with me!
O children, who begat and gave you birth —
Your father — has destroyed you! nought you gain
By those fair deeds of mine I laid you up,
As by main-force I laboured glory out
To give you, — that fine gift of fatherhood!
And thee, too, O my poor one, I destroyed,
Not rendering like for like, as when thou kept’st
My marriage-bed inviolate, — those long
Household-seclusions draining to the dregs
Inside my house! O me, my wife, my boys —
And — O myself, how, miserably moved,
Am I disyoked now from both boys and wife!
O bitter those delights of kisses now —
And bitter these my weapons’ fellowship!
For I am doubtful whether shall I keep
Or cast away these arrows which will clang
Ever such words out, as they knock my side —
“Us — thou didst murder wife and children with!
Us — child-destroyers — still thou keepest thine!”
Ha, shall I bear them in my arms, then? What
Say for excuse? Yet, naked of my darts
Wherewith I did my bravest, Hellas through,
Throwing myself beneath foot to my foes,
Shall I die basely? No! relinquishment
Of these must never be, — companions once,
We sorrowfully must observe the pact.
In just one thing, co-operate with me
Thy sad friend, Theseus! Go along with him
To Argos, and in concert get arranged
The price my due for bringing there the Hound!
O land of Kadmos, Theban people all,
Shear off your locks, lament one wide lament,
Go to my children’s grave and, in one strain,
Lament the whole of us — my dead and me —
Since all together are fordone and lost,
Smitten by Heré’s single stroke of fate!
THESEUS.
Rise up now from thy dead ones! Tears enough,
Poor friend!
HERAKLES.
I cannot: for my limbs are fixed.
THESEUS.
Ay: even these strong men fate overthrows.
HERAKLES.
Woe!
Here might I grow a stone, nor mind woes more!
THESEUS.
Cease! Give thy hand to friendly helpmate now!
HERAKLES.
Nay, but I wipe off blood upon thy robes.
THESEUS.
Squeeze out and spare no drop! I take it all!
HERAKLES.
Of sons bereaved, I have thee like my son.
THESEUS.
Give to my neck thy hand! ‘t is I will lead.
HERAKLES.
Yoke-fellows friendly — one heart-broken, though!
O father, such a man we need for friend!
AMPHITRUON.
Certes the land that bred him boasts good sons.
HERAKLES.
Turn me round, Theseus — to behold my boys!
THESEUS.
What? will the having such a love-charm soothe?
HERAKLES.
I want it; and to press my father’s breast.
AMPHITRUON.
See here, O son! for, what I love thou seek’st.
THESEUS.
Strange! Of thy labours no more memory?
HERAKLES.
All those were less than these, those ills I bore.
THESEUS.
Who sees thee grow a woman, — will not praise.
HERAKLES.
I live low to thee? Not so once, I think.
THESEUS.
Too low by far! “Famed Herakles” — where’s he?
HERAKLES.
Down amid evils, of what kind wast thou ?
THESEUS.
As far as courage — least of all mankind!
HERAKLES.
How say’st, then, I in evils shrink to nought?
THESEUS.
Forward!
HERAKLES.
Farewell, old father!
AMPHITRUON.
Thou too, son!
HERAKLES.
Bury the boys as I enjoined!
AMPHITRUON.
And me —
Who will be found to bury now, my child?
HERAKLES.
Myself.
AMPHITRUON.
When, coming?
HERAKLES.
When thy task is done.
AMPHITRUON.
How?
HERAKLES.
I will have thee carried forth from Thebes
To Athens. But bear in the children, earth
Is burthened by! Myself, — who with these shames
Have cast away my house, — a ruined hulk,
I follow — trai
led by Theseus — on my way;
And whoso rather would have wealth and strength
Than good friends, reasons foolishly therein.
CHOROS.
And we depart, with sorrow at heart,
Sobs that increase with tears that start;
The greatest of all our friends of yore
We have lost for evermore!
When the long silence ended, — ”Our best friend —
Lost, our best friend!” he muttered musingly.
Then, “Lachares the sculptor” (half aloud)
“Sinned he or sinned he not? ‘Outrageous sin!’
Shuddered our elders, ‘Pallas should be clothed:
He carved her naked.’ ‘But more beautiful!’
Answers this generation: ‘Wisdom formed
For love not fear!’ And there the statue stands,
Entraps the eye severer art repels.
Moreover, Pallas wields the thunderbolt
Yet has not struck the artist all this while.
Pheidias and Aischulos? Euripides
And Lachares? But youth will have its way.
The ripe man ought to be as old as young —
As young as old. I too have youth at need.
Much may be said for stripping wisdom bare.
“And who’s ‘our best friend’? You play kottabos;
Here’s the last mode of playing. Take a sphere
With orifices at due interval,
Through topmost one of which, a throw adroit
Sends wine from cup, clean passage, from outside
To where, in hollow midst, a manikin
Suspended ever bobs with head erect
Right underneath whatever hole’s a-top
When you set orb a-rolling: plumb, he gets
Ever this benediction of the splash.
An other-fashioned orb presents him fixed:
Of all the outlets, he fronts only one,
And only when that one, — and rare the chance, —
Comes uppermost, does he turn upward too:
He can’t turn all sides with the turning orb.
Inside this sphere of life, — all objects, sense
And soul perceive, — Euripides hangs fixed,
Gets knowledge through the single aperture
Of High and Right: with visage fronting these
He waits the wine thence ere he operate,
Work in the world and write a tragedy.
When that hole happens to revolve to point,
In drops the knowledge, waiting meets reward.
But, duly in rotation, Low and Wrong —
When these enjoy the moment’s altitude,
His heels are found just where his head should be!
No knowledge that way! I am moveable, —
To slightest shift of orb make prompt response,
Face Low and Wrong and Weak and all the rest,
And still drink knowledge, wine-drenched every turn, —
Equally favoured by their opposites.
Little and Bad exist, are natural:
Then let me know them, and be twice as great