Part 19

"From the flying troops Eteocles leaps forth in furious guise, And with a terrible accent he exclaims, 'To Polynice.' With presumptuous rage, His steps he traces, and at last he finds him. 'Thebans,' he cried, with a tremendous voice, 'Thebans and Argives, cease your guilty rage! Ye have descended to the field of battle In our contention, prodigal of life Ours is the strife, be ours the forfeiture. Let us ourselves, to a conclusion bring This unjust waste of blood, within your presence, And on this field of death--And thou, whom I Should call no more my brother, do thou spare The blood of Thebes: thy hate, thy rage, thy sword, All, all, on me let fall, on me alone!' To speak and leap with fury to the charge Were actions of one instant. Drunk with blood, And fury, of his own life quite regardless, Provided his antagonist he slew, Eteocles upon his wretched brother Falls with his sword, and all his strength collects. For a long time, intent to ward his blows Stands Polynice. But at length he cries 'I call to witness Heaven and Thebes Thou will'st it!' While to heaven his eyes he raised, And thus exclaimed, his sword he onward thrust: The hovering furies guide the reckless blow To pierce the bosom of Eteocles. He falls--upon his brother spouts his blood!"

This unnatural combat was brief, though fierce, Eteocles the king was the first who fell, and Polynice regarding him with ill-disguised pleasure; and although the blood was flowing fast and free from his own mortal wounds, exclaimed:

"'Thou diest, and I am king, Within these hands, red with a brother's blood, Shall dwell the sceptre thou didst wrest from me. Thy brow on which doth rest the same bright drop, Shall bear the crown thou did'st usurp from me. And that thy soul may fly with more regret Know traitor that thy last blow comes from me.'"

RACINE.

{223}

He approached the fallen monarch, and striking him once more with his sword, Eteocles expired beneath the blow, while Polynice himself exhausted with his efforts to subdue his pain, and the death struggle which tore his bosom, fell in the very act of striking him.

Their implacable hatred manifested itself even after death, for when their bodies were placed on the bier, their ashes refused to mingle, and the very flames separated as they arose in bright columns from the funeral pile.

* * * * *

TANTALUS, PELOPS, ATREUS, AND THYESTES.

Tantalus, son of Jupiter, reigned in Phrygia. Wishing to test the divinity of the gods who were visiting him, he murdered his son Pelops, and served up to them his limbs, demanding of them to name what the new meat was. The faithless cruelty of Tantalus was discovered, and the Gods refused to touch the horrible repast, with the exception of Ceres, who, thinking only on her lost Proserpine, eat one of his shoulders, with her accustomed appetite. Jupiter enraged at this atrocious conduct of Tantalus, destroyed his palace with a thunderbolt, and ordered Mercury to precipitate him to the bottom of hell. Here he is represented as punished with an insatiable thirst, and placed up to the chin in the midst of a pool of water, that passes around, yet never touches his lips; while, above his head, hangs a bough, laden with delicious fruit, which, when his hand would grasp it, is borne away by a sudden blast of wind. {224}

Pelops was restored to life by Jupiter, and supplied with an ivory shoulder, in place of that which had been devoured by Ceres, and to which was granted the power of healing, by its touch, every complaint. He succeeded to the throne of his father, and maintained the war against the King of Troy for a long time, but was at last forced to leave Phrygia and seek a retreat in Pisa, where he married Hippodamia, the daughter of the king, that monarch having declared that she should only wed the man who would run on foot as fast as he could proceed in his chariot. This difficulty was overcome by Pelops, who bribed the charioteer to give his master an old chariot which broke down in the middle of the course, and killed Oenomaus; and when the charioteer would have claimed the reward of his infamy, he threw him into the sea, under pretext of punishing his negligence.

Thus master of the kingdom of Pisa, and the hand of Hippodamia, he made bold war upon his neighbour, and conquered their land, which he named Peloponnessus, or the isle of Pelops.

In the family of the Pelopides murder and assassination seem never to have ceased their fearful course. Atreus and Thyestes, the sons of Pelops, having been counselled by Hippodamia to kill {225} Chrysippus, who was an illegitimate son of Pelops, they refused to obey, which so exasperated her, that she stabbed the child with her own hands.

Pelops, suspecting his two sons of the crime, banished them from his court. Atreus sought the kingdom of Eurystheus, King of Argos, and succeeded him on his throne, after marrying his daughter. Here he treated his brother Thyestes, who had followed him to the court, with great kindness, but he was recompensed with ingratitude, for his brother succeeded in winning the affections of his wife.

Irritated at so unlooked for a crime, Atreus took a fearful vengeance. Having been banished from the city for some time, Thyestes was again recalled, and invited to a sumptuous feast, at which was served up the children born to him by the connexion with his brother's wife, all of whom had been sacrificed to his vengeance.

When the repast was over he showed to him the heads of the {226} children, a sight which struck Thyestes with horror. The deed was so cruel and impious, that the very sun is said to have started back in amazement; and the unhappy Thyestes slew himself with his sword.

There was now one son left, named Egisthus, who, himself the fruit of a great crime, had been brought up by Agamemnon, and to him did the spectre of Thyestes appear, to exhort him to revenge upon his brother the cruel act he had performed; nor were the fates satisfied until the deed had been accomplished, which revenged upon Atreus the infamous and atrocious conduct at which the very sun itself had started.

"Asked by his wife to his inhuman feast, Tereus, unknowingly, is made a guest: While she, her plot the better to disguise Styles it some unknown mystic sacrifice: And such the nature of the hallowed rite, The wife her husband only could invite, The slaves must all withdraw, and be debarred the sight. Tereus on a throne of antique state, Loftily raised, before the banquet sate; And, glutton-like, luxuriously pleased With his own flesh, his hungry maw appeased. Nay, such a blindness o'er his senses falls, That he for Itys to the table calls. When Procne, now impatient to disclose The joy that from her full revenge arose, Cries out, in transports of a cruel mind, 'Within yourself, your Itys you may find.' {227} Still at this puzzling answer with surprise, Around the room he winds his curious eyes; And, as he still enquired, and called aloud; Fierce Philomela, all besmeared with blood, Her hand with murder stained, her spreading hair Hanging dishevelled, with a ghastly air, Stepped forth, and flung full in the tyrant's face The head of Itys, gory as it was: Nor ever longed so much to use her tongue, And, with a just reproach, to vindicate her wrong. The Thracian monarch from the table flings While with his cries the vaulted parlour rings; His imprecations echo down to hell, And rouse the snaky furies from their Stygian cell. One while, he labours to disgorge his breast, And free his stomach from the cursed feast; Then, weeping o'er his lamentable doom, He styles himself his son's sepulchral tomb, Now, with drawn sabre, and impetuous speed, In close pursuit he drives Pandion's breed; Whose nimble feet spring with so swift a force Across the fields, they seem to wing their course: And now, on real wings themselves they raise, And steer their airy flight by different ways: One to the woodland's shady covert hies, Around the smoky roof the other flies; Whose feathers yet the marks of murder stain, Where, stampt upon her breast, the crimson spots remain. Tereus, through grief, and haste to be revenged, Shares the like fate, and to a bird is changed: Fixed on his head, the crested plumes appear; Long is his beak, and sharpened like a spear; Thus armed, his looks his inward mind display, And, to a lapwing turned, he fans his way."

OVID.

Agamemnon and Menelaus were educated with Atreus, until banished the kingdom by Thyestes, they went to Calydonia, and they were treated with great kindness, and from thence to Sparta, where, like the remainder of the Greek princes, they sought the hand of Helen. By the advice and artifice of Ulysses, Menelaus became her husband, Agamemnon marrying Clytemnestra; and Tyndarus, their father, monarch of Sparta, assisted in recovering for them their father's kingdom.

Menelaus succeeded to his father in law's throne, and became King of Sparta, and Paris, son of Priam, King of Troy, was one of the numerous visitors at his court. To this prince Venus had promised the possession of the finest woman in Greece. The absence of Menelaus in Crete gave to Paris every opportunity, and he succeeded in corrupting the fidelity of Helen, who abandoned herself to her seducer, and followed him to his palace at Troy. Vainly were ambassadors sent to Priam, to make known to him the infamous conduct of his son. Not only did he refuse all reparation, but he embittered the interview by recalling all the ancient grievances of the two kingdoms.

This unjust conduct gave birth to a terrible war; Agamemnon embraced the cause of his brother with fervour, awoke all Greece {229} to the wrongs of Menelaus, and was proclaimed the chief of the kings, who united their armies beneath the walls of Argos; and showed his personal zeal by furnishing one hundred ships, and lending sixty more for her assistance.

The Greek army amounted to sixty thousand soldiers, and their fleet to twelve hundred vessels, but at the very moment that they reckoned on starting, a deep calm settled on the waters.

The oracle was consulted, which declared that nothing less than the sacrifice of Iphigenia, the daughter of Agamemnon, could suffice, as the latter had excited the wrath of Diana, by killing a favourite stag. The father heard the decree with the greatest horror and indignation, and, as chief of the forces, ordered his herald to command them all to retire to their separate homes.

Ulysses and the other generals interfered; and at last Agamemnon was persuaded to sacrifice a daughter so tenderly beloved but as she was a great favourite with Clytemnestra, her mother, the Greeks sent for Iphigenia, pretending that they sought her hand in marriage for Achills.

Clytemnestra gladly gave her consent; but when they came to Aulis, Iphigenia saw the bloody preparation for her sacrifice. In vain did she implore the protection of her father: tears and entreaties were alike unavailing, but as the fatal blow was about to be struck, a goat of great beauty was found in her place for the {230} sacrifice. The supernatural change animated the Greeks, the wind suddenly became favourable, and the combined fleet set sail.

"Fair Iphigenia, the devoted maid, Was by the weeping priests in linen robes arrayed, All mourn her fate; but no relief appeared: The royal victim bound, the knife already reared When that offended power who caused their woe, Relenting, ceased her wrath, and stopped the coming blow. A mist before the ministers she cast, And in the virgin's room a hind she placed."

After the fall of Troy the beautiful Cassandra came to the share of Agamemnon, and she foretold that his wife Clytemnestra would put him to death. He, however, returned with Cassandra to Argos, where the sad prediction was fulfilled. One day as he came from the bath, Clytemnestra gave him a tunic, the sleeves of which were sewn together, and as he was embarrassed with the folds, she brought him to the ground with the stroke of a hatchet, while Egisthus, with whom she had dishonoured herself during Agamemnon's absence, gave him the finishing blow.

"_Clytemnestra._ What have I done?-- Where am I?

_Egisthus._ Hast thou slain the tyrant? Now At length thou art worthy of me.

_Cly._ See with blood The dagger drops:--my hands--my face--my garment, All, all are blood. Ah! for a deed like this What vengeance shall be wreaked? I see already, Already to my breast that very sword I see hurled back--and by what hand! I freeze, I faint, I shudder, I dissolve with horror! My strength, my utterance fail me. Where am I, What have I done? Alas!

_Egis._ Tremendous cries Resound on every side throughout the palace.

_Cly._ He had no power to escape, or to resist, Entangled in the gorgeous robe that shone Fatally rich. I struck him twice, and twice He groaned, then died. A third time as he lay I gored him with a wound; a grateful present To the stern god that in the realms below Reigns o'er the dead. There let him take his seat, He lay, and spouting from his wounds a stream Of blood, bedewed me with these crimson drops."

AESCHYLUS.

The tradition of the meeting of Iphigenia with her father in the lower regions, after his death, when the latter was ignorant of the {231} infamy of her mother, and the cause of her father's death, is thus beautifully described:--

"_Iphigenia._ Father! I now may lean upon your breast, And you with unreverted eyes will grasp Iphigenia's hand. We are not shades Surely! for yours throbs yet, And did my blood Win Troy for Greece? Ah! 'twas ill done to shrink; But the sword gleamed so sharp; and the good priest Trembled, and Pallas frowned above, severe.

_Agamemnon._ Daughter!

_Iphig._ Beloved father! is the blade Again to pierce a bosom now unfit For sacrifice? no blood is in its veins, No God requires it here; here are no wrongs To vindicate, no realms to overthrow. You standing as at Aulis in the fane, With face averted, holding (as before) My hand; but yours burns not, as then it burned. This alone shews me we are with the blest, Nor subject to the sufferings we have borne. I will win back past kindness. Tell me then, Tell how my mother fares who loved me so, And grieved, as 'twere for you, to see me part. Frown not, but pardon me for tarrying Amid too idle words, nor asking how She praised us both (which most?) for what we did.

_Aga._ Ye Gods who govern here! do human pangs Reach the pure soul thus far below? do tears Spring in these meadows?

_Iphig._ No, sweet father, no. I could have answered that; why ask the Gods?

_Aga._ Iphigenia! O my child! the Earth Has gendered crimes unheard of heretofore, And nature may have changed in her last depths, Together with the Gods and all their laws.

_Iphig._ Father! we must not let you here condemn; Not, were the day less joyful: recollect We have no wicked here; no king to judge. Poseidon, we have heard, with bitter rage Lashes his foaming steeds against the skies, And, laughing with loud yell at winged fire, Innoxious to his fields and palaces Affrights the eagle from the sceptred hand; While Pluto, gentlest brother of the three And happiest in obedience, views sedate His tranquil realm, nor envies their's above. No change have we, not even day for night, Nor spring for summer, All things are serene, Serene too be your spirit! none on earth {232} Ever was half so kindly in his house, And so compliant, even to a child. Never was snatched your robe away from me, Though going to the council. The blind man Knew his good king was leading him in doors, Before he heard the voice that marshal'd Greece. Therefore all praised you. Proudest men themselves In others praise humility, and most Admire it in the sceptre and the sword. What then can make you speak thus rapidly And briefly? in your step thus hesitate? Are you afraid to meet among the good Incestuous Helen here?

_Aga._ Oh! Gods of Hell!

_Iphig._ She hath not past the river. We may walk With our hands linked, nor feel our house's shame.

_Aga._ Never may'st thou, Iphigenia! feel it! Aulis had no sharp sword, thou would'st exclaim, Greece no avenger--I, her chief so late, Through Erebus, through Elysium, writhe beneath it.

_Iphig._ Come, I have better diadems than those Of Argos and Mycenai--come away, And I will weave them for you on the bank. You will not look so pale when you have walked A little in the grove, and have told all Those sweet fond words the widow sent her child.

_Aga._ Oh Earth! I suffered less upon thy shores! (_Aside_) The bath that bubbled with my blood, the blows That spilt it (O worse torture) must she know? Ah! the first woman coming from Mycenai Will pine to pour this poison in her ear, Taunting sad Charon for his slow advance. Iphigenia!

_Iphig._ Why thus turn away? Calling me with such fondness! I am here, Father! and where you are, will ever be.

_Aga._ Thou art my child--yes, yes, thou art my child. All was not once what all now is! Come on, Idol of love and truth! my child! my child! (_Alone_) Fell woman! ever false! false was thy last Denunciation, as thy bridal vow; And yet even that found faith with me! the dirk Which severed flesh from flesh, where this hand rests, Severs not, as thou boasted'st in thy scoffs, Iphigenia's love from Agamemnon: The wife's a spark may light, a straw consume, The daughter's not her hearts whole fount hath quenched, 'Tis worthy of the Gods, and lives for ever.

_Iphig._ What spake my father to the Gods above? Unworthy am I then to join in prayer? If, on the last, or any day before, {233} Of my brief course on earth, I did amiss, Say it at once, and let me be unblest; But, O my faultless father! why should you? And shun so my embraces? Am I wild And wandering in my fondness? We are shades!! Groan not thus deeply; blight not thus the season Of full orbed gladness! Shades we are indeed, But mingled, let us feel it, with the blest. I knew it, but forgot it suddenly, Altho' I felt it all at your approach. Look on me; smile with me at my illusion-- You are so like what you have ever been (Except in sorrow!) I might well forget I could not win you as I used to do. It was the first embrace since my descent I ever aimed at: those who love me live, Save one, who loves me most, and now would chide me.

_Aga._ We want not O Iphigenia, we Want not embrace, nor kiss that cools the heart With purity, nor words that more and more Teach what we know, from those we know, and sink Often most deeply where they fall most light. Time was when for the faintest breath of thine Kingdom and life were little.

_Iphig._ Value them As little now.

_Aga._ Were life and kingdom all!

_Iphig._ Ah! by our death many are sad who loved us. They will be happy too. Cheer! king of men! Cheer! there are voices, songs--Cheer! arms advance.

_Aga._ Come to me, soul of peace! these, these alone, These are not false embraces."

W. S. LANDOR.

* * * * *

THE TROJAN WAR.

The sails were spread, and the vessels destined to the attack of Troy advanced quickly towards its shores. Priam and his brave sons though they received the enemy with vigour, could not prevent them from landing, and the siege commenced by a blockade, which lasted for the space of nine years, and might have lasted much longer, as more than valour was necessary to take the city; for destiny had dictated the conditions to be fulfilled, ere its capture could be accomplished.

An ancient oracle had foretold that among the besiegers must be one of the descendants of Eachus, who had worked on the wall of {234} of Ilion, and Achilles, son of Thetis, considered Eachus as his ancestor. This young hero had been hidden by his frightened mother in the isle of Cyros. Clothed in female garments, he there lived with the beautiful Deidomia, and enslaved by Love, forgot over the cradle of his offspring, the glory of his country, and the precepts of his tutor, Chiron, the centaur. But it was necessary that he should be discovered; and that he should be animated with higher thoughts and more exalted sentiments.

Ulysses, King of Ithaca, took upon himself the charge of bringing the young Achilles from his inglorious ease to the post which awaited him in the camp. Disguised as a merchant, Ulysses introduced himself into the palace of the future hero, and as he paraded himself before the women with jewels and arms, one of them disdained the gems, and seized a sword!--It was Achilles!--who thus betrayed his manly inclinations.

Thus discovered, the eloquence of Ulysses was exerted, and the youthful hero listened with astonishment to the King of Ithaca, as he told him of the dangers already overcome, and of the future conquests which awaited him. Ulysses departed, but not alone, for the spirit of glory was aroused in Achilles, and one more defender was added to the cause of Menelaus. But the besiegers were also to possess the arrows of Hercules, which this hero in dying had bequeathed to Philoctetes, who, however, would not give up the terrible arms that no mortal dared take from him. Ulysses presented himself to Philoctetes, who, at the command of the manes of Hercules, sought the Grecian camp with his terrible weapons to assist them against their enemies.

{235}

But this was not enough. It was necessary to take from the Trojans the talismanic protector of their city, the Palladium.

Ulysses was also charged with this mission, and the intrepid Diomedes assisted him to triumph over the obstacles which would have resisted his single efforts, and they went forth to seek the statue of Pallas, in the very city of their intrepid foes.

It was necessary likewise that Rhesus, King of Thrace, should be prevented from allowing his horses to drink of the waters of the Xanthus, an ancient oracle having declared that if they drank of those waters or fed in the Trojan plain, that Troy would never be taken. In this too they succeeded; for Diomedes and Ulysses intercepted him on his journey to the Trojan camp, entered his tent at night and slew him; they then carried off the horses which had been the innocent causes of his melancholy fate.

All the oracles being now fulfilled, the siege was commenced with vigour, when an unforeseen quarrel stopped the operations of the Greeks. Achilles having been deprived by Agamemnon of his favourite mistress, retired into his tent. Reverses of fortune instantly signalised his absence. A general assault, however, was ordered, but directly the army displayed itself before the walls, Paris challenged Menelaus to single combat, and promised to return Helen if he was vanquished. The King of Sparta, protected by his bravery and the justice of his cause, accepted his challenge, and would have sacrificed the coward Trojan to his vengeance, when he took flight, and escaped by the aid of Venus.