Chapter 8

ETEOCLES. The gods! long since they hold us in contempt, Scornful of gifts thus offered by the lost! Why should we fawn and flinch away from doom?

CHORUS. Now, when it stands beside thee! for its power May, with a changing gust of milder mood, Temper the blast that bloweth wild and rude And frenzied, in this hour!

ETEOCLES. Ay, kindled by the curse of Oedipus— All too prophetic, out of dreamland came The vision, meting out our sire’s estate!

CHORUS. Heed women’s voices, though thou love them not!

ETEOCLES. Say aught that may avail, but stint thy words.

CHORUS. Go not thou forth to guard the seventh gate!

ETEOCLES. Words shall not blunt the edge of my resolve.

CHORUS. Yet the god loves to let the weak prevail.

ETEOCLES. That to a swordsman, is no welcome word!

CHORUS. Shall thine own brother’s blood be victory’s palm?

ETEOCLES. Ill which the gods have sent thou canst not shun!

[_Exit ETEOCLES._]

CHORUS. I shudder in dread of the power, abhorred by the gods of high heaven, The ruinous curse of the home till roof-tree and rafter be riven! Too true are the visions of ill, too true the fulfilment they bring To the curse that was spoken of old by the frenzy and wrath of the king! Her will is the doom of the children, and Discord is kindled amain, And strange is the Lord of Division, who cleaveth the birthright in twain,— The edged thing, born of the north, the steel that is ruthless and keen, Dividing in bitter division the lot of the children of teen! Not the wide lowland around, the realm of their sire, shall they have, Yet enough for the dead to inherit, the pitiful space of a grave!

Ah, but when kin meets kin, when sire and child, Unknowing, are defiled By shedding common blood, and when the pit Of death devoureth it, Drinking the clotted stain, the gory dye— Who, who can purify? Who cleanse pollution, where the ancient bane Rises and reeks again? Whilome in olden days the sin was wrought, And swift requital brought— Yea on the children of the child came still New heritage of ill! For thrice Apollo spoke this word divine, From Delphi’s central shrine, To Laius—_Die thou childless!_ thus alone Can the land’s weal be won! But vainly with his wife’s desire he strove, And gave himself to love, Begetting Oedipus, by whom he died, The fateful parricide! The sacred seed-plot, his own mother’s womb, He sowed, his house’s doom, A root of blood! by frenzy lured, they came Unto their wedded shame. And now the waxing surge, the wave of fate, Rolls on them, triply great— One billow sinks, the next towers, high and dark, Above our city’s bark— Only the narrow barrier of the wall Totters, as soon to fall; And, if our chieftains in the storm go down, What chance can save the town? Curses, inherited from long ago, Bring heavy freight of woe: Rich stores of merchandise o’erload the deck, Near, nearer comes the wreck— And all is lost, cast out upon the wave, Floating, with none to save!

Whom did the gods, whom did the chief of men, Whom did each citizen In crowded concourse, in such honour hold, As Oedipus of old, When the grim fiend, that fed on human prey, He took from us away?

But when, in the fulness of days, he knew of his bridal unblest, A twofold horror he wrought, in the frenzied despair of his breast— Debarred from the grace of the banquet, the service of goblets of gold, He flung on his children a curse for the splendour they dared to withhold, A curse prophetic and bitter—_The glory of wealth and of pride, With iron, not gold, in your hands, ye shall come, at the last, to divide!_ Behold, how a shudder runs through me, lest now, in the fulness of time, The house-fiend awake and return, to mete out the measure of crime!

Enter THE SPY.

THE SPY. Take heart, ye daughters whom your mothers’ milk Made milky-hearted! lo, our city stands, Saved from the yoke of servitude: the vaunts Of overweening men are silent now, And the State sails beneath a sky serene, Nor in the manifold and battering waves Hath shipped a single surge, and solid stands The rampart, and the gates are made secure, Each with a single champion’s trusty guard. So in the main and at six gates we hold A victory assured; but, at the seventh, The god that on the seventh day was born, Royal Apollo, hath ta’en up his rest To wreak upon the sons of Oedipus Their grandsire’s wilfulness of long ago.

CHORUS. What further woefulness besets our home?

THE SPY. The home stands safe—but ah, the princes twain—

CHORUS. Who? what of them? I am distraught with fear.

THE SPY. Hear now, and mark! the sons of Oedipus—

CHORUS. Ah, my prophetic soul! I feel their doom.

THE SPY. Have done with questions!—with their lives crushed out—

CHORUS. Lie they out yonder? the full horror speak! Did hands meet hands more close than brotherly? Came fate on each, and in the selfsame hour?

THE SPY. Yea, blotting out the lineage ill-starred! Now mix your exultation and your tears, Over a city saved, the while its lords, Twin leaders of the fight, have parcelled out With forged arbitrament of Scythian steel The full division of their fatherland, And, as their father’s imprecation bade, Shall have their due of land, a twofold grave. So is the city saved; the earth has drunk Blood of twin princes, by each other slain.

CHORUS. O mighty Zeus and guardian powers, The strength and stay of Cadmus’ towers! Shall I send forth a joyous cry, _Hail to the lord of weal renewed?_ Or weep the misbegotten twain, Born to a fatal destiny? Each numbered now among the slain, Each dying in ill fortitude, Each _truly named_, each _child of feud?_

O dark and all-prevailing ill, That broods o’er Oedipus and all his line, Numbing my heart with mortal chill! Ah me, this song of mine, Which, Thyad-like, I woke, now falleth still, Or only tells of doom, And echoes round a tomb!

Dead are they, dead! in their own blood they lie— Ill-omened the concent that hails our victory! The curse a father on his children spake Hath faltered not, nor failed! Nought, Laius! thy stubborn choice availed— First to beget, then, in the after day And for the city’s sake, The child to slay! For nought can blunt nor mar The speech oracular! Children of teen! by disbelief ye erred— Yet in wild weeping came fulfilment of the word!

ANTIGONE and ISMENE approach with a train of mourners, bearing the bodies of ETEOCLES and POLYNICES.

Look up, look forth! the doom is plain, Nor spake the messenger in vain! A twofold sorrow, twofold strife— Each brave against a brother’s life! In double doom hath sorrow come— How shall I speak it?—on the home!

Alas, my sisters! be your sighs the gale, The smiting of your brows the plash of oars, Wafting the boat, to Acheron’s dim shores That passeth ever, with its darkened sail, On its uncharted voyage and sunless way, Far from thy beams, Apollo, god of day— The melancholy bark Bound for the common bourn, the harbour of the dark! Look up, look yonder! from the home Antigone, Ismene come, On the last, saddest errand bound, To chant a dirge of doleful sound, With agony of equal pain Above their brethren slain! Their sister-bosoms surely swell, Heart with rent heart according well In grief for those who fought and fell! Yet—ere they utter forth their woe— We must awake the rueful strain To vengeful powers, in realms below, And mourn hell’s triumph o’er the slain!

Alas! of all, the breast who bind,— Yea, all the race of womankind— O maidens, ye are most bereaved! For you, for you the tear-drops start— Deem that in truth, and undeceived, Ye hear the sorrows of my heart! (_To the dead_.) Children of bitterness, and sternly brave— One, proud of heart against persuasion’s voice, One, against exile proof! ye win your choice— Each in your fatherland, a separate grave!

Alack, on house and heritage They brought a baneful doom, and death for wage! One strove through tottering walls to force his way, One claimed, in bitter arrogance, the sway, And both alike, even now and here, Have closed their suit, with steel for arbiter! And lo, the Fury-fiend of Oedipus, their sire, Hath brought his curse to consummation dire! Each in the left side smitten, see them laid— The children of one womb, Slain by a mutual doom! Alas, their fate! the combat murderous, The horror of the house, The curse of ancient bloodshed, now repaid! Yea, deep and to the heart the deathblow fell, Edged by their feud ineffable— By the grim curse, their sire did imprecate— Discord and deadly hate! Hark, how the city and its towers make moan— How the land mourns that held them for its own! Fierce greed and fell division did they blend, Till death made end! They strove to part the heritage in twain, Giving to each a gain— Yet that which struck the balance in the strife, The arbitrating sword, By those who loved the twain is held abhorred— Loathed is the god of death, who sundered each from life! Here, by the stroke of steel, behold! they lie— And rightly may we cry _Beside their fathers, let them here be laid— Iron gave their doom, with iron their graves be made— Alack, the slaying sword, alack, th’ entombing spade!_

Alas, a piercing shriek, a rending groan, A cry unfeigned of sorrow felt at heart! With shuddering of grief, with tears that start, With wailful escort, let them hither come— For one or other make divided moan! No light lament of pity mixed with gladness, But with true tears, poured from the soul of sadness, Over the princes dead and their bereavèd home

Say we, above these brethren dead, _On citizen, on foreign foe, Brave was their rush, and stern their blow— Now, lowly are they laid!_ Beyond all women upon earth Woe, woe for her who gave them birth! Unknowingly, her son she wed— The children of that marriage-bed, Each in the self-same womb, were bred— Each by a brother’s hand lies dead!

Yea, from one seed they sprang, and by one fate Their heritage is desolate, The heart’s division sundered claim from claim, And, from their feud, death came! Now is their hate allayed, Now is their life-stream shed, Ensanguining the earth with crimson dye— Lo, from one blood they sprang, and in one blood they lie! A grievous arbiter was given the twain— The stranger from the northern main, The sharp, dividing sword, Fresh from the forge and fire The War-god treacherous gave ill award And brought their father’s curse to a fulfilment dire! They have their portion—each his lot and doom, Given from the gods on high! Yea, the piled wealth of fatherland, for tomb, Shall underneath them lie! Alas, alas! with flowers of fame and pride Your home ye glorified; But, in the end, the Furies gathered round With chants of boding sound,

Shrieking, _In wild defeat and disarray, Behold, ye pass away!_ The sign of Ruin standeth at the gate, There, where they strove with Fate— And the ill power beheld the brothers’ fall, And triumphed over all!

ANTIGONE, ISMENE, _and_ CHORUS (_Processional Chant_) Thou wert smitten, in smiting, Thou didst slay, and wert slain— By the spear of each other Ye lie on the plain, And ruthless the deed that ye wrought was, and ruthless the death of the twain!

Take voice, O my sorrow! Flow tear upon tear— Lay the slain by the slayer, Made one on the bier! Our soul in distraction is lost, and we mourn o’er the prey of the spear!

Ah, woe for your ending, Unbrotherly wrought! And woe for the issue, The fray that ye fought, The doom of a mutual slaughter whereby to the grave ye are brought!

Ah, twofold the sorrow— The heard and the seen! And double the tide Of our tears and our teen, As we stand by our brothers in death and wail for the love that has been!

O grievous the fate That attends upon wrong! Stern ghost of our sire, Thy vengeance is long! Dark Fury of hell and of death, the hands of thy kingdom are strong!

O dark were the sorrows That exile hath known! He slew, but returned not Alive to his own! He struck down a brother, but fell, in the moment of triumph hewn down!

O lineage accurst, O doom and despair! Alas, for their quarrel, The brothers that were! And woe! for their pitiful end, who once were our love and our care!

O grievous the fate That attends upon wrong! Stern ghost of our sire, Thy vengeance is long! Dark Fury of hell and of death, the hands of thy kingdom are strong!

By proof have ye learnt it! At once and as one, O brothers beloved, To death ye were done! Ye came to the strife of the sword, and behold! ye are both overthrown!

O grievous the tale is, And grievous their fall, To the house, to the land, And to me above all! Ah God! for the curse that hath come, the sin and the ruin withal!

O children distraught, Who in madness have died! Shall ye rest with old kings In the place of their pride? Alas for the wrath of your sire if he findeth you laid by his side!

Enter a HERALD.

HERALD. I bear command to tell to one and all What hath approved itself and now is law, Ruled by the counsellors of Cadmus’ town. For this Eteocles, it is resolved To lay him on his earth-bed, in this soil, Not without care and kindly sepulture. For why? he hated those who hated us, And, with all duties blamelessly performed Unto the sacred ritual of his sires, He met such end as gains our city’s grace,— With auspices that do ennoble death. Such words I have in charge to speak of him: But of his brother Polynices, this— Be he cast out unburied, for the dogs To rend and tear: for he presumed to waste The land of the Cadmeans, had not Heaven— Some god of those who aid our fatherland— Opposed his onset, by his brother’s spear, To whom, tho’ dead, shall consecration come! Against him stood this wretch, and brought a horde Of foreign foemen, to beset our town. He therefore shall receive his recompense, Buried ignobly in the maw of kites— No women-wailers to escort his corpse Nor pile his tomb nor shrill his dirge anew— Unhouselled, unattended, cast away! So, for these brothers, doth our State ordain.

ANTIGONE. And I—to those who make such claims of rule In Cadmus’ town—I, though no other help, (_Pointing to the body of_ POLYNICES) I, I will bury this my brother’s corse And risk your wrath and what may come of it! It shames me not to face the State, and set Will against power, rebellion resolute: Deep in my heart is set my sisterhood, My common birthright with my brothers, born All of one womb, her children who, for woe, Brought forth sad offspring to a sire ill-starred. Therefore, my soul! take thou thy willing share, In aid of him who now can will no more, Against this outrage: be a sister true, While yet thou livest, to a brother dead! Him never shall the wolves with ravening maw Rend and devour: I do forbid the thought! I for him, I—albeit a woman weak— In place of burial-pit, will give him rest By this protecting handful of light dust Which, in the lap of this poor linen robe, I bear to hallow and bestrew his corpse With the due covering. Let none gainsay! Courage and craft shall arm me, this to do.

HERALD. I charge thee, not to flout the city’s law!

ANTIGONE. I charge thee, use no useless heralding!

HERALD. Stern is a people newly ’scaped from death.

ANTIGONE. Whet thou their sternness! Burial he shall have.

HERALD. How? Grace of burial, to the city’s foe?

ANTIGONE. God hath not judged him separate in guilt.

HERALD. True—till he put this land in jeopardy.

ANTIGONE. His rights usurped, he answered wrong with wrong.

HERALD. Nay—but for one man’s sin he smote the State.

ANTIGONE. Contention doth out-talk all other gods! Prate thou no more—I will to bury him.

HERALD. Will, an thou wilt! but I forbid the deed.

[_Exit the HERALD._]

CHORUS. Exulting Fates, who waste the line And whelm the house of Oedipus! Fiends, who have slain, in wrath condign, The father and the children thus! What now befits it that I do, What meditate, what undergo? Can I the funeral rite refrain, Nor weep for Polynices slain? But yet, with fear I shrink and thrill, Presageful of the city’s will! Thou, O Eteocles, shalt have Full rites, and mourners at thy grave, But he, thy brother slain, shall he, With none to weep or cry _Alas_, To unbefriended burial pass? Only one sister o’er his bier, To raise the cry and pour the tear— Who can obey such stern decree?

SEMI-CHORUS. Let those who hold our city’s sway Wreak, or forbear to wreak, their will On those who cry, _Ah, well-a-day!_ Lamenting Polynices still! We will go forth and, side by side With her, due burial will provide! Royal he was; to him be paid Our grief, wherever he be laid! The crowd may sway, and change, and still Take its caprice for Justice’ will! But we this dead Eteocles, As Justice wills and Right decrees, Will bear unto his grave! For—under those enthroned on high And Zeus’ eternal royalty— He unto us salvation gave! He saved us from a foreign yoke,— A wild assault of outland folk, A savage, alien wave!

[_Exeunt._]

PROMETHEUS BOUND

ARGUMENT

In the beginning, Ouranos and Gaia held sway over Heaven and Earth. And manifold children were born unto them, of whom were Cronos, and Okeanos, and the Titans, and the Giants. But Cronos cast down his father Ouranos, and ruled in his stead, until Zeus his son cast him down in his turn, and became King of Gods and men. Then were the Titans divided, for some had good will unto Cronos, and others unto Zeus; until Prometheus, son of the Titan Iapetos, by wise counsel, gave the victory to Zeus. But Zeus held the race of mortal men in scorn, and was fain to destroy them from the face of the earth; yet Prometheus loved them, and gave secretly to them the gift of fire, and arts whereby they could prosper upon the earth. Then was Zeus sorely angered with Prometheus, and bound him upon a mountain, and afterward overwhelmed him in an earthquake, and devised other torments against him for many ages; yet could he not slay Prometheus, for he was a God.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

STRENGTH AND FORCE. HEPHAESTUS. PROMETHEUS. CHORUS OF SEA-NYMPHS. DAUGHTERS OF OCEANUS. OCEANUS. IO. HERMES.

_Scene—A rocky ravine in the mountains of Scythia_.

STRENGTH. Lo, the earth’s bound and limitary land, The Scythian steppe, the waste untrod of men! Look to it now, Hephaestus—thine it is, Thy Sire obeying, this arch-thief to clench Against the steep-down precipice of rock, With stubborn links of adamantine chain. Look thou: thy flower, the gleaming plastic fire, He stole and lent to mortal man—a sin That gods immortal make him rue to-day, Lessoned hereby to own th’ omnipotence Of Zeus, and to repent his love to man!

HEPHAESTUS. O Strength and Force, for you the best of Zeus Stands all achieved, and nothing bars your will: But I—I dare not bind to storm-vext cleft One of our race, immortal as are we. Yet, none the less, necessity constrains, For Zeus, defied, is heavy in revenge! (_To PROMETHEUS_)

O deep-devising child of Themis sage, Small will have I to do, or thou to bear, What yet we must. Beyond the haunt of man Unto this rock, with fetters grimly forged, I must transfix and shackle up thy limbs, Where thou shalt mark no voice nor human form, But, parching in the glow and glare of sun, Thy body’s flower shall suffer a sky-change; And gladly wilt thou hail the hour when Night Shall in her starry robe invest the day, Or when the Sun shall melt the morning rime. But, day or night, for ever shall the load Of wasting agony, that may not pass, Wear thee away; for know, the womb of Time Hath not conceived a power to set thee free. Such meed thou hast, for love toward mankind For thou, a god defying wrath of gods, Beyond the ordinance didst champion men, And for reward shalt keep a sleepless watch, Stiff-kneed, erect, nailed to this dismal rock, With manifold laments and useless cries Against the will inexorable of Zeus. Hard is the heart of fresh-usurpèd power!

STRENGTH. Enough of useless ruth! why tarriest thou? Why pitiest one whom all gods wholly hate, One who to man gave o’er thy privilege?

HEPHAESTUS. Kinship and friendship wring my heart for him.

STRENGTH. Ay—but how disregard our Sire’s command? Is not thy pity weaker than thy fear?

HEPHAESTUS. Ruthless as ever, brutal to the full!

STRENGTH. Tears can avail him nothing: strive not thou, Nor waste thine efforts thus unaidingly.

HEPHAESTUS. Out on my cursed mastery of steel!

STRENGTH. Why curse it thus? In sooth that craft of thine Standeth assoiled of all that here is wrought.

HEPHAESTUS. Would that some other were endowed therewith!

STRENGTH. All hath its burden, save the rule of Heaven, And freedom is for Zeus, and Zeus alone.

HEPHAESTUS. I know it; I gainsay no word hereof.

STRENGTH. Up, then, and hasten to do on his bonds, Lest Zeus behold thee indolent of will!

HEPHAESTUS. Ah well—behold the armlets ready now!

STRENGTH. Then cast them round his arms and with sheer strength Swing down the hammer, clinch him to the crags.

HEPHAESTUS. Lo, ’tis toward—no weakness in the work!

STRENGTH. Smite harder, wedge it home—no faltering here! He hath a craft can pass th’ impassable!

HEPHAESTUS. This arm is fast, inextricably bound.

STRENGTH. Then shackle safe the other, that he know His utmost craft is weaker far than Zeus.

HEPHAESTUS. He, but none other, can accuse mine art!

STRENGTH. Now, strong and sheer, drive thro’ from breast to back The adamantine wedge’s stubborn fang.

HEPHAESTUS. Alas, Prometheus! I lament thy pain.

STRENGTH. Thou, faltering and weeping sore for those Whom Zeus abhors! ’ware, lest thou rue thy tears!

HEPHAESTUS. Thou gazest on a scene that poisons sight.

STRENGTH. I gaze on one who suffers his desert. Now between rib and shoulder shackle him—

HEPHAESTUS. Do it I must—hush thy superfluous charge!

STRENGTH. Urge thee I will—ay, hound thee to the prey. Step downward now, enring his legs amain!

HEPHAESTUS. Lo, it is done—’twas but a moment’s toil.

STRENGTH. Now, strongly strike, drive in the piercing gyves— Stern is the power that oversees thy task!

HEPHAESTUS. Brutish thy form, thy speech brutality!

STRENGTH. Be gentle, an thou wilt, but blame not me For this my stubbornness and anger fell!

HEPHAESTUS. Let us go hence; his legs are firmly chained.

STRENGTH (_To_ PROMETHEUS). Aha! there play the insolent, and steal, For creatures of a day, the rights of gods! O deep delusion of the powers that named thee Prometheus, the Fore-thinker! thou hast need Of others’ forethought and device, whereby Thou may’st elude this handicraft of ours!

[_Exeunt HEPHAESTUS, STRENGTH and FORCE.—A pause._]