Chapter 1

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ERECHTHEUS:

A TRAGEDY.

BY

ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE

[Greek: o tai liparai kai iostephanoi kai aoidimoi, Hellados ereisma, kleinai Athanai, daimonion ptoliethron.]

PIND. _Fr._ 47.

[Greek: AT. tis de poimanor epesti kapidespozei stratou? XO. outinos douloi kekle, tai photos oud' upekooi.]

AESCH. _Pers._ 241-2.

_A NEW EDITION._

London: CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY. 1881.

PERSONS.

ERECHTHEUS. CHORUS OF ATHENIAN ELDERS. PRAXITHEA. CHTHONIA. HERALD OF EUMOLPUS. MESSENGER. ATHENIAN HERALD. ATHENA.

ERECHTHEUS.

ERECHTHEUS.

Mother of life and death and all men's days, Earth, whom I chief of all men born would bless, And call thee with more loving lips than theirs Mother, for of this very body of thine And living blood I have my breath and live, Behold me, even thy son, me crowned of men, Me made thy child by that strong cunning God Who fashions fire and iron, who begat Me for a sword and beacon-fire on thee, Me fosterling of Pallas, in her shade 10 Reared, that I first might pay the nursing debt, Hallowing her fame with flower of third-year feasts, And first bow down the bridled strength of steeds To lose the wild wont of their birth, and bear Clasp of man's knees and steerage of his hand, Or fourfold service of his fire-swift wheels That whirl the four-yoked chariot; me the king Who stand before thee naked now, and cry, O holy and general mother of all men born, But mother most and motherliest of mine, 20 Earth, for I ask thee rather of all the Gods, What have we done? what word mistimed or work Hath winged the wild feet of this timeless curse To fall as fire upon us? Lo, I stand Here on this brow's crown of the city's head That crowns its lovely body, till death's hour Waste it; but now the dew of dawn and birth Is fresh upon it from thy womb, and we Behold it born how beauteous; one day more I see the world's wheel of the circling sun 30 Roll up rejoicing to regard on earth This one thing goodliest, fair as heaven or he, Worth a God's gaze or strife of Gods; but now Would this day's ebb of their spent wave of strife Sweep it to sea, wash it on wreck, and leave A costless thing contemned; and in our stead, Where these walls were and sounding streets of men, Make wide a waste for tongueless water-herds And spoil of ravening fishes; that no more Should men say, Here was Athens. This shalt thou 40 Sustain not, nor thy son endure to see, Nor thou to live and look on; for the womb Bare me not base that bare me miserable, To hear this loud brood of the Thracian foam Break its broad strength of billowy-beating war Here, and upon it as a blast of death Blowing, the keen wrath of a fire-souled king, A strange growth grafted on our natural soil, A root of Thrace in Eleusinian earth Set for no comfort to the kindly land, 50 Son of the sea's lord and our first-born foe, Eumolpus; nothing sweet in ears of thine The music of his making, nor a song Toward hopes of ours auspicious; for the note Rings as for death oracular to thy sons That goes before him on the sea-wind blown Full of this charge laid on me, to put out The brief light kindled of mine own child's life, Or with this helmsman hand that steers the state Run right on the under shoal and ridge of death 60 The populous ship with all its fraughtage gone And sails that were to take the wind of time Rent, and the tackling that should hold out fast In confluent surge of loud calamities Broken, with spars of rudders and lost oars That were to row toward harbour and find rest In some most glorious haven of all the world And else may never near it: such a song The Gods have set his lips on fire withal Who threatens now in all their names to bring 70 Ruin; but none of these, thou knowest, have I Chid with my tongue or cursed at heart for grief, Knowing how the soul runs reinless on sheer death Whose grief or joy takes part against the Gods. And what they will is more than our desire, And their desire is more than what we will. For no man's will and no desire of man's Shall stand as doth a God's will. Yet, O fair Mother, that seest me how I cast no word Against them, plead no reason, crave no cause, 80 Boast me not blameless, nor beweep me wronged, By this fair wreath of towers we have decked thee with, This chaplet that we give thee woven of walls, This girdle of gate and temple and citadel Drawn round beneath thy bosom, and fast linked As to thine heart's root--this dear crown of thine, This present light, this city--be not thou Slow to take heed nor slack to strengthen her, Fare we so short-lived howsoe'er, and pay What price we may to ransom thee thy town, 90 Not me my life; but thou that diest not, thou, Though all our house die for this people's sake, Keep thou for ours thy crown our city, guard And give it life the lovelier that we died.

CHORUS.

Sun, that hast lightened and loosed by thy might Ocean and Earth from the lordship of night, Quickening with vision his eye that was veiled, Freshening the force in her heart that had failed, That sister fettered and blinded brother Should have sight by thy grace and delight of each other, 100 Behold now and see What profit is given them of thee; What wrath has enkindled with madness of mind Her limbs that were bounden, his face that was blind, To be locked as in wrestle together, and lighten With fire that shall darken thy fire in the sky, Body to body and eye against eye In a war against kind, Till the bloom of her fields and her high hills whiten With the foam of his waves more high. 110 For the sea-marks set to divide of old The kingdoms to Ocean and Earth assigned, The hoar sea-fields from the cornfields' gold, His wine-bright waves from her vineyards' fold, Frail forces we find To bridle the spirit of Gods or bind Till the heat of their hearts wax cold. But the peace that was stablished between them to stand Is rent now in twain by the strength of his hand Who stirs up the storm of his sons overbold 120 To pluck from fight what he lost of right, By council and judgment of Gods that spake And gave great Pallas the strife's fair stake, The lordship and love of the lovely land, The grace of the town that hath on it for crown But a headband to wear Of violets one-hued with her hair: For the vales and the green high places of earth Hold nothing so fair, And the depths of the sea bear no such birth 130 Of the manifold births they bear. Too well, too well was the great stake worth A strife divine for the Gods to judge, A crowned God's triumph, a foiled God's grudge, Though the loser be strong and the victress wise Who played long since for so large a prize, The fruitful immortal anointed adored Dear city of men without master or lord, Fair fortress and fostress of sons born free, Who stand in her sight and in thine, O sun, 140 Slaves of no man, subjects of none; A wonder enthroned on the hills and sea, A maiden crowned with a fourfold glory That none from the pride of her head may rend, Violet and olive-leaf purple and hoary, Song-wreath and story the fairest of fame, Flowers that the winter can blast not or bend; A light upon earth as the sun's own flame, A name as his name, Athens, a praise without end. 150

A noise is arisen against us of waters, [_Str._ 1. A sound as of battle come up from the sea. Strange hunters are hard on us, hearts without pity; They have staked their nets round the fair young city, That the sons of her strength and her virgin daughters Should find not whither alive to flee. And we know not yet of the word unwritten, [_Ant._ 1. The doom of the Pythian we have not heard; From the navel of earth and the veiled mid altar We wait for a token with hopes that falter, 160 With fears that hang on our hearts thought-smitten Lest her tongue be kindled with no good word. O thou not born of the womb, nor bred [_Str._ 2. In the bride-night's warmth of a changed God's bed, But thy life as a lightning was flashed from the light of thy father's head, O chief God's child by a motherless birth, If aught in thy sight we indeed be worth, Keep death from us thou, that art none of the Gods of the dead under earth. Thou that hast power on us, save, if thou wilt; [_Ant._ 2. Let the blind wave breach not thy wall scarce built; 170 But bless us not so as by bloodshed, impute not for grace to us guilt, Nor by price of pollution of blood set us free; Let the hands be taintless that clasp thy knee, Nor a maiden be slain to redeem for a maiden her shrine from the sea. O earth, O sun, turn back [_Str._ 3. Full on his deadly track Death, that would smite you black and mar your creatures, And with one hand disroot All tender flower and fruit, With one strike blind and mute the heaven's fair features, 180 Pluck out the eyes of morn, and make Silence in the east and blackness whence the bright songs break. Help, earth, help, heaven, that hear [_Ant._ 3. The song-notes of our fear, Shrewd notes and shrill, not clear or joyful-sounding; Hear, highest of Gods, and stay Death on his hunter's way, Full on his forceless prey his beagles hounding; Break thou his bow, make short his hand, Maim his fleet foot whose passage kills the living land. 190 Let a third wave smite not us, father, [_Str._ 4. Long since sore smitten of twain, Lest the house of thy son's son perish And his name be barren on earth. Whose race wilt thou comfort rather If none to thy son remain? Whose seed wilt thou choose to cherish If his be cut off in the birth? For the first fair graft of his graffing [_Ant._ 4. Was rent from its maiden root 200 By the strong swift hand of a lover Who fills the night with his breath; On the lip of the stream low-laughing Her green soft virginal shoot Was plucked from the stream-side cover By the grasp of a love like death. For a God's was the mouth that kissed her [_Str._ 5. Who speaks, and the leaves lie dead, When winter awakes as at warning To the sound of his foot from Thrace. 210 Nor happier the bed of her sister Though Love's self laid her abed By a bridegroom beloved of the morning And fair as the dawn's own face. For Procris, ensnared and ensnaring [_Ant._ 5. By the fraud of a twofold wile, With the point of her own spear stricken By the gift of her own hand fell. Oversubtle in doubts, overdaring In deeds and devices of guile, 220 And strong to quench as to quicken, O Love, have we named thee well? By thee was the spear's edge whetted [_Str._ 6. That laid her dead in the dew, In the moist green glens of the midland By her dear lord slain and thee. And him at the cliff's end fretted By the grey keen waves, him too, Thine hand from the white-browed headland Flung down for a spoil to the sea. 230 But enough now of griefs grey-growing [_Ant._ 6. Have darkened the house divine, Have flowered on its boughs and faded, And green is the brave stock yet. O father all-seeing and all-knowing, Let the last fruit fall not of thine From the tree with whose boughs we are shaded, From the stock that thy son's hand set.

ERECHTHEUS.

O daughter of Cephisus, from all time Wise have I found thee, wife and queen, of heart 240 Perfect; nor in the days that knew not wind Nor days when storm blew death upon our peace Was thine heart swoln with seed of pride, or bowed With blasts of bitter fear that break men's souls Who lift too high their minds toward heaven, in thought Too godlike grown for worship; but of mood Equal, in good time reverent of time bad, And glad in ill days of the good that were. Nor now too would I fear thee, now misdoubt Lest fate should find thee lesser than thy doom, 250 Chosen if thou be to bear and to be great Haply beyond all women; and the word Speaks thee divine, dear queen, that speaks thee dead, Dead being alive, or quick and dead in one Shall not men call thee living? yet I fear To slay thee timeless with my proper tongue, With lips, thou knowest, that love thee; and such work Was never laid of Gods on men, such word No mouth of man learnt ever, as from mine Most loth to speak thine ear most loth shall take 260 And hold it hateful as the grave to hear.

PRAXITHEA.

That word there is not in all speech of man, King, that being spoken of the Gods and thee I have not heart to honour, or dare hold More than I hold thee or the Gods in hate Hearing; but if my heart abhor it heard Being insubmissive, hold me not thy wife But use me like a stranger, whom thine hand Hath fed by chance and finding thence no thanks Flung off for shame's sake to forgetfulness. 270

ERECHTHEUS.

O, of what breath shall such a word be made, Or from what heart find utterance? Would my tongue Were rent forth rather from the quivering root Than made as fire or poison thus for thee.

PRAXITHEA.

But if thou speak of blood, and I that hear Be chosen of all for this land's love to die And save to thee thy city, know this well, Happiest I hold me of her seed alive.

ERECHTHEUS.

O sun that seest, what saying was this of thine, God, that thy power has breathed into my lips? 280 For from no sunlit shrine darkling it came.

PRAXITHEA.

What portent from the mid oracular place Hath smitten thee so like a curse that flies Wingless, to waste men with its plagues? yet speak.

ERECHTHEUS.

Thy blood the Gods require not; take this first.

PRAXITHEA.

To me than thee more grievous this should sound.

ERECHTHEUS.

That word rang truer and bitterer than it knew.

PRAXITHEA.

This is not then thy grief, to see me die?

ERECHTHEUS.

Die shalt thou not, yet give thy blood to death.

PRAXITHEA.

If this ring worse I know not; strange it rang. 290

ERECHTHEUS.

Alas, thou knowest not; woe is me that know.

PRAXITHEA.

And woe shall mine be, knowing; yet halt not here.

ERECHTHEUS.

Guiltless of blood this state may stand no more.

PRAXITHEA.

Firm let it stand whatever bleed or fall.

ERECHTHEUS.

O Gods, that I should say it shall and weep.

PRAXITHEA.

Weep, and say this? no tears should bathe such words.

ERECHTHEUS.

Woe's me that I must weep upon them, woe.

PRAXITHEA.

What stain is on them for thy tears to cleanse?

ERECHTHEUS.

A stain of blood unpurgeable with tears.

PRAXITHEA.

Whence? for thou sayest it is and is not mine. 300

ERECHTHEUS.

Hear then and know why only of all men I That bring such news as mine is, I alone Must wash good words with weeping; I and thou, Woman, must wail to hear men sing, must groan To see their joy who love us; all our friends Save only we, and all save we that love This holiness of Athens, in our sight Shall lift their hearts up, in our hearing praise Gods whom we may not; for to these they give Life of their children, flower of all their seed, 310 For all their travail fruit, for all their hopes Harvest; but we for all our good things, we Have at their hands which fill all these folk full Death, barrenness, child-slaughter, curses, cares, Sea-leaguer and land-shipwreck; which of these, Which wilt thou first give thanks for? all are thine.

PRAXITHEA.

What first they give who give this city good, For that first given to save it I give thanks First, and thanks heartier from a happier tongue, More than for any my peculiar grace 320 Shown me and not my country; next for this, That none of all these but for all these I Must bear my burden, and no eye but mine Weep of all women's in this broad land born Who see their land's deliverance; but much more, But most for this I thank them most of all, That this their edge of doom is chosen to pierce My heart and not my country's; for the sword Drawn to smite there and sharpened for such stroke Should wound more deep than any turned on me. 330

CHORUS.

Well fares the land that bears such fruit, and well The spirit that breeds such thought and speech in man.

ERECHTHEUS.

O woman, thou hast shamed my heart with thine, To show so strong a patience; take then all; For all shall break not nor bring down thy soul. The word that journeying to the bright God's shrine Who speaks askance and darkling, but his name Hath in it slaying and ruin broad writ out, I heard, hear thou: thus saith he; There shall die One soul for all this people; from thy womb 340 Came forth the seed that here on dry bare ground Death's hand must sow untimely, to bring forth Nor blade nor shoot in season, being by name To the under Gods made holy, who require For this land's life her death and maiden blood To save a maiden city. Thus I heard, And thus with all said leave thee; for save this No word is left us, and no hope alive.

CHORUS.

He hath uttered too surely his wrath not obscurely, nor wrapt as in mists of his breath, [_Str._ The master that lightens not hearts he enlightens, but gives them foreknowledge of death. 350 As a bolt from the cloud hath he sent it aloud and proclaimed it afar, From the darkness and height of the horror of night hath he shown us a star. Star may I name it and err not, or flame shall I say, Born of the womb that was born for the tomb of the day? O Night, whom other but thee for mother, and Death for the father, Night, [_Ant._ Shall we dream to discover, save thee and thy lover, to bring such a sorrow to sight? From the slumberless bed for thy bedfellow spread and his bride under earth Hast thou brought forth a wild and insatiable child, an unbearable birth. Fierce are the fangs of his wrath, and the pangs that they give; None is there, none that may bear them, not one that would live. 360

CHTHONIA.

Forth of the fine-spun folds of veils that hide My virgin chamber toward the full-faced sun I set my foot not moved of mine own will, Unmaidenlike, nor with unprompted speed Turn eyes too broad or doglike unabashed On reverend heads of men and thence on thine, Mother, now covered from the light and bowed As hers who mourns her brethren; but what grief Bends thy blind head thus earthward, holds thus mute, I know not till thy will be to lift up 370 Toward mine thy sorrow-muffled eyes and speak; And till thy will be would I know this not.

PRAXITHEA.

Old men and childless, or if sons ye have seen And daughters, elder-born were these than mine, Look on this child, how young of years, how sweet, How scant of time and green of age her life Puts forth its flower of girlhood; and her gait How virginal, how soft her speech, her eyes How seemly smiling; wise should all ye be, All honourable and kindly men of age; 380 Now give me counsel and one word to say That I may bear to speak, and hold my peace Henceforth for all time even as all ye now. Dumb are ye all, bowed eyes and tongueless mouths, Unprofitable; if this were wind that speaks, As much its breath might move you. Thou then, child, Set thy sweet eyes on mine; look through them well; Take note of all the writing of my face As of a tablet or a tomb inscribed That bears me record; lifeless now, my life 390 Thereon that was think written; brief to read, Yet shall the scripture sear thine eyes as fire And leave them dark as dead men's. Nay, dear child, Thou hast no skill, my maiden, and no sense To take such knowledge; sweet is all thy lore, And all this bitter; yet I charge thee learn And love and lay this up within thine heart, Even this my word; less ill it were to die Than live and look upon thy mother dead, Thy mother-land that bare thee; no man slain 400 But him who hath seen it shall men count unblest, None blest as him who hath died and seen it not.

CHTHONIA.

That sight some God keep from me though I die.

PRAXITHEA.

A God from thee shall keep it; fear not this.

CHTHONIA.

Thanks all my life long shall he gain of mine.

PRAXITHEA.

Short gain of all yet shall he get of thee.

CHTHONIA.

Brief be my life, yet so long live my thanks.

PRAXITHEA.

So long? so little; how long shall they live?

CHTHONIA.

Even while I see the sunlight and thine eyes.

PRAXITHEA.

Would mine might shut ere thine upon the sun. 410

CHTHONIA.

For me thou prayest unkindly; change that prayer.

PRAXITHEA.

Not well for me thou sayest, and ill for thee.

CHTHONIA.

Nay, for me well, if thou shalt live, not I.

PRAXITHEA.

How live, and lose these loving looks of thine?

CHTHONIA.

It seems I too, thus praying, then, love thee not.

PRAXITHEA.

Lov'st thou not life? what wouldst thou do to die?

CHTHONIA.

Well, but not more than all things, love I life.

PRAXITHEA.

And fain wouldst keep it as thine age allows?

CHTHONIA.

Fain would I live, and fain not fear to die.

PRAXITHEA.

That I might bid thee die not! Peace; no more. 420

CHORUS.

A godlike race of grief the Gods have set For these to run matched equal, heart with heart.

PRAXITHEA.