Part 7

MES. To purify the house were victims brought Before Jove’s altar, after Hercules Had slain and cast the monarch of this land Forth from these doors. Beside the victor stood His band of graceful children, with his sire And Megara. The sacred vase was borne Around the altar: from ill-omened words We all abstained. But while Alcmena’s son In his right hand a kindled torch sustained, Ready to dip it in the lustral water, He made a silent stand; on this delay The children steadfastly observed their sire, But he no longer was the same; his eyes Were seized with strong convulsions, from their fibres Blood started forth, his bearded cheeks with foam Were covered: he midst bursts of laughter wild Cried: “Wherefore need I kindle, O my father, The fire for sacrifice, ere I have slain Eurystheus, in a double toil engaged, When I at once might better finish all? Soon as I hither bring Eurystheus’ head, These hands which reek already with the gore Of Lycus, will I cleanse. Pour forth those waters Upon the ground, and cast your urns away. Who brings my bow, my club? I to Mycene Will go: let spades and levers be prepared, That I from their foundations may o’erturn Those walls which with the plummet and the line The Cyclops reared.” Then eager to depart, Although he had no chariot, yet he talked As if he had one, fancying that he mounted The seat, and with his hand as with a thong Drove the ideal steeds. His servants laughed, And at the same time trembled; till one cried (As on each other they with eager eyes Were gazing), “Doth my master sport with us, Or is he frantic?” Meanwhile through the palace Backward and forward he with hasty step Was walking: but no sooner did he reach That spacious hall, where at the genial board The men are wont t’ assemble, than he said That he was come to Nisus’ ancient city, And to th’ imperial dome: and on the floor, As if reclining at the genial board, Bade us set forth the banquet. But the pause Which intervened was short, ere he exclaimed, That he was traversing the Isthmian rocks O’ergrown with woods; then casting off his mantle He strove though there was no antagonist With whom to strive, proclaimed himself the victor, The name of that imaginary foe Announcing, over whom he had prevailed: But ’gainst Eurystheus he anon did utter Menaces the most horrible, and talk As if he at Mycene had been present. His father strove to hold his vigorous arm, And said to him; “What mean you, O my son? What wanderings into distant realms are these? Hath not the blood of him you have just slain Distracted you?” Then for Eurystheus’ sire Mistaking his own father, as he strove To touch his hand, repelled the trembling suppliant: Against his sons, the quiver and the bow, Thinking to slay the children of Eurystheus, He next made ready; they with terror smitten Ran different ways; the first beneath the robes Of his unhappy mother skulked; a second Flew to the shade the lofty column formed: Under the altar quivering like a bird, The last concealed himself: their mother cried, “What mean’st thou, O thou father, would’st thou slay Thy sons?” Amphitryon too, that aged man, And all the servants shrieked. But round the pillar The boy pursuing, he at length turned short, And meeting him, as foot to foot they stood, Transfixed his liver with a deadly shaft; Supine he fell, and with his streaming gore Distained the sculptured pillars, at whose base He breathed his last. But, with a shout, Alcides Uttered these boasts: “One of Eurystheus’ brood Slain by this arm, for the inveterate hate His father bore me, to atone, here lies A breathless corse.” Against another then, Who to the basis of the altar fled, And hoped to ’scape unseen, he bent his bow; But ere he gave the wound, the wretched youth Fell at his father’s knees, stretched forth his hands To touch his chin, or twine around his neck, And cried: “O spare my life, my dearest sire, Yours, I am yours indeed; nor will you slay Eurystheus’ son.” But he with glaring eyes Looked like a Gorgon, while the boy pressed on So close, he had no scope to aim the shaft, But as the smith the glowing anvil smites, Full on his auburn tresses he discharged The ponderous mace, the crashing bones gave way. Scarce had he slain the second, when he ran To butcher his third son o’er both their corses: But the unhappy mother in her arms Caught up, into an inner chamber bore The child, and closed the doors: but he, as if He had indeed been at the Cyclops’ city, With levers from their hinges forced them, pierced His wife and offspring with a single shaft, And then to slay his aged father rushed With speed impetuous: but a spectre came, Which to our eyes the awful semblance bore Of Pallas brandishing her pointed spear, And threw a rocky fragment at the breast Of Hercules, which checked his murderous frenzy, And plunged him into sleep. Upon the ground Headlong he fell, where ’midst the ruins lay, Rent from its pedestal a broken column: But rallying from our flight, we, by his sire Assisted, to the pillar bound him fast With thongs, that on his wakening from this trance He might commit no more atrocious deeds. There doth he taste an inauspicious sleep, First having slain his children and his consort. I know no mortal more completely wretched.

[_Exit_ MESSENGER.

CHOR. There was a murder in the Argive land Most wondrous and unparalleled through Greece In days of yore, which the confederate daughters Of Danaus perpetrated; but their crimes By the dire fate of Progne’s only son Were far surpassed. I of a bloody deed Now speak which they committed, they whose voice Equals the Muses’ choir; but thou who spring’st From Jove himself, hast in thy frenzy slain All thy three sons; for them what groans, what tears, What invocations to the shades beneath, Or songs shall I prepare to soothe the rage Of grisly Pluto? Shivered on the ground The portals of that lofty mansion view, Behold the corses of the children stretcht Before their miserable sire, whose senses, Since he hath slain them, in profoundest sleep Are buried. Mark those knotty cords around The brawny limbs of Hercules, entwined And to the columns in the palace fixed. But old Amphitryon, like a bird who wails Over its callow brood, with tardy step Comes hither in the bitterness of grief.

AMPHITRYON, CHORUS.

_The Palace gates thrown open, discover_ HERCULES _stretched on the ground and sleeping_.

AMP. Ye aged Thebans, will ye not be silent, Will ye not suffer him dissolved in sleep His miseries to forget?

CHOR. These tears, these groans, To you, O venerable man, I pay, To those slain children, and the chief renowned For his victorious conflicts.

AMP. Farther still Retire; forbear, forbear those clamorous sounds, Lest his repose ye break, and from a trance The sleeper rouse.

CHOR. How dreadful was this slaughter!

AMP. Ha! ha! begone, for he in wild confusion Is starting up. Why will ye not lament, Ye aged men, in a more gentle tone? Lest roused from sleep he burst his chains, destroy The city, smite his sire, and with the ground Lay these proud mansions level.

CHOR. This I hold Impossible.

AMP. Be silent, I will mark Whether he breathe: O let me place my ear Still closer.

CHOR. Sleeps he?

AMP. An accursed repose, Alas! he tastes, who hath his consort slain, And slain his sons with that resounding bow.

CHOR. Now wail.

AMP. I wail those children’s fate.

CHOR. Your son, Alas! old man, our equal pity claims.

AMP. Observe strict silence, for again he rises And turns around: I will conceal myself Beneath that roof.

CHOR. Be of good cheer: night seals The eyelids of your son.

AMP. Mark, mark me well, I am so wretched that without reluctance I can bid life adieu: but if he kill Me too who am his father, guilt on guilt Shall he accumulate, and join the stings Of parricide to those which from the Furies Who haunt him, he already doth endure.

CHOR. Better you then had died, when you prepared T’ avenge the slaughtered brothers of Alcmena, And stormed the fortress of the Taphian isle.

AMP. Fly, leave the palace instantly; avoid That frantic man, who from his sleep is roused, For adding soon fresh slaughter to the past, With Bacchanalian transport shall he range Through Cadmus’ city.

CHOR. Why hast thou, O Jove, Hated thy son so bitterly, and plunged him Into this sea of troubles?

HER. [_waking._] Ha! I breathe, And view each wonted object, air, and earth, And these bright solar beams. Into what storm, What dreadful perturbation of the soul Have I been plunged! all heated I transpire, Not from my lungs, but from my feverish heart. Behold me! wherefore am I bound with chains, Like a disabled ship towed into haven, And by this youthful chest and nervous arm Joined to a broken pillar? Here I sit Contiguous to the corses of the slain; My winged shafts lie scattered on the ground, With that unerring bow which erst I bore In war to guard me, and with care preserved. Sent by Eurystheus, am I then arrived A second time at the drear shades beneath? Neither the rock of Sisyphus, nor Pluto, Nor Ceres’ sceptred daughter, do I see. I sure am stricken senseless with amazement, And know not where I am. But ho! what friend Is near, or at a distance, who will come To give me information? For each object Which I was erst acquainted with seems strange.

AMP. Shall I approach this scene of my afflictions Ye aged men?

CHOR. I will attend your steps, Nor meanly in calamity betray you.

HER. Why dost thou weep, my sire, and veil those eyes, Retiring far from thy beloved son?

AMP. My son—for though unhappy, you are mine.

HER. But what calamity do I endure That causes thee to shed these tears?

AMP. Your woes Are such, that any god, if he endured The same, would groan.

HER. This hath a dreadful sound: But you, my fortunes have not yet explained.

AMP. Because if you your senses have recovered, Yourself behold them.

HER. Tell me what thou mean’st— If to my charge thou lay’st some recent crime.

AMP. If you no longer to the powers of hell Are subjected, the truth will I unfold.

HER. Alas! how darkly thou again allud’st To what my soul suspects.

AMP. Your looks I watch To see if reason wholly be restored.

HER. I recollect not that I e’er was frantic.

AMP. [_to the_ CHORUS.] Shall I unbind the shackles of my son, Or how must we proceed?

HER. Say who was he That bound me? for with scorn have I been treated.

AMP. Thus much of your afflictions may you know: Forbear all farther questions.

HER. Is thy silence Sufficient then to teach me what I wish To learn?

AMP. O Jove, dost thou behold the curses Hurled on thy son from envious Juno’s throne?

HER. What dire effects of her inveterate rage Have I endured?

AMP. Of that vindictive goddess No longer think: but to your own afflictions Attend.

HER. Alas! I utterly am ruined! What farther ill wouldst thou disclose?

AMP. See there The corses of your murdered children lie.

HER. Alas! what dreadful objects strike these eyes!

AMP. My son, against your progeny you waged An inauspicious war.

HER. Why talk of war? Who slew them?

AMP. You, your arrows, and the cause Of all these mischiefs, that remorseless goddess.

HER. What mean’st thou, or what crime have I committed, My father, O thou messenger of ill?

AMP. By frenzy urged. But you such questions ask, As I with grief must answer.

HER. Have I murdered My consort also?

AMP. All these deeds of horror That single arm did perpetrate.

HER. Alas! A cloud of griefs surrounds me.

AMP. For this cause Your fortunes I lament.

HER. Have I demolished My own house too, with Bacchanalian rage Inspired?

AMP. The whole of what I know amounts To this, that you are most completely wretched.

HER. Where did this fatal madness seize me first?

AMP. As round the altar, you, a flaming brand, To expiate the foul murder which distains Your hands, were bearing.

HER. Ah! why lengthen out A guilty life, when of my dearest children I am become the murderer? Why delay To leap from the high rock, or with a sword Transpierce this bosom, on myself their blood Avenging? or t’ avert that infamy Which waits me, shall I rush into the flames? But Theseus comes to bar these desperate counsels, My kinsman and my friend; in a true light To him shall I appear, and the pollution I have incurred by slaying my own sons Will be conspicuous to my dearest comrade. What shall I do? or where can I find out A solitude impervious to my woes? On rapid wings, O could I mount, or plunge Into the nether regions of the earth? Give me a veil to darken o’er my head. For ’tis with shame I think on the offence Caused by this deed: but to myself alone Ascribing the defilement of their blood, I wish not to contaminate the guiltless.

THESEUS, AMPHITRYON, HERCULES, CHORUS.

THE. An armed squadron of Athenian youths I hither bring, who near Asopus’ stream Are stationed to assist your son in battle. For to the city of Erectheus’ race A rumour came, that Lycus, having seized The sceptre of this land, is waging war ’Gainst you. O aged man, I to repay The benefits which Hercules conferred On me, whom from the deary shades beneath In safety he redeemed, on your behalf Attend, if of this arm, or of my troops, Ye need the help. But, ha, what means the floor With weltering corses heaped? hath my design Proved ineffectual? am I then arrived Too late to remedy the dreadful mischiefs Which have already ta’en effect? who slew Those children, or whose consort was the dame Whom I behold? for where the boys are laid, No signs appear of any battle fought: But sure I of some other recent ill Now make discovery.

AMP. O thou goddess, throned Upon that hill where verdant olives spring.

THE. Why speak you to me in this piteous tone, And with such prelude?

AMP. Grievous are the ills Which we endure through Heaven’s severe behest.

THE. What boys are they o’er whose remains you weep?

AMP. Them did my miserable son beget, And when begotten slay, this impious murder He dared to perpetrate.

THE. Express yourself In more auspicious terms.

AMP. I wish t’ obey Th’ injunctions thou hast given.

THE. What dreadful words Are these which you have uttered?

AMP. In a moment Were we undone.

THE. What mean you, what hath happened?

AMP. This frenzy seized him sprinkled with the venom, Which from the hundred-headed hydra flowed.

THE. Such Juno’s wrath. But who, O aged man, Stands ’mong the dead?

AMP. My son, my valiant son, Inured to many toils, who in that war Where earth’s gigantic brood were slain, advanced Among the gods to the Phlegræan field Armed with his buckler.

THE. Ah, what mighty chief Was e’er so wretched?

AMP. Scarcely shalt thou know A man with greater labours vexed, and doomed To wander through more regions.

THE. But why veils he Beneath that robe his miserable head?

AMP. Because thy presence, friendship’s sacred ties Added to those of kindred, and the gore Of his slain children, fill his soul with shame.

THE. I with his griefs am come to sympathize; Uncover him.

AMP. That garment from your eyes Remove, display your visage to the sun. It ill becomes my dignity to weep: Yet I a suppliant strive to touch your beard, Your knees, your hand, and shed these hoary tears. O curb your soul, my son, whose fierceness equals That of the lion, else ’twill hurry you To bloody impious rage, and make you add Mischiefs to mischiefs.

THE. Ho! on thee I call, On thee, who to that seat of misery seem’st Fast riveted; permit thy friends to see Thy face: for darkness hath no cloud so black As to conceal thy woes. Why dost thou wave Thy hand and point to those whom thou hast slain, Lest by this converse I pollute myself? I am not loth to share thy woes; I erst Was happy (which my soul is ever bound To recollect with gratitude) when thou From hell’s loathed gloom, the mansion of the dead, Didst safely bear me to the realms of light. For I abhor th’ attachment of those friends Which time impairs, him too who would enjoy Their better fortunes, but refuse to sail In the same bark with those who prove unblest. Rise up, unveil thy miserable head And look on me. A noble mind sustains Without reluctance what the gods inflict.

HER. Did you, O Theseus, see me slay my children?

THE. I heard, and now behold the ills thou speak’st of.

HER. Then why didst thou uncover to the sun My guilty head?

THE. Why not? canst thou, a man, Pollute the gods?

HER. Avaunt, O wretch, avaunt, For I am all contagion.

THE. To a friend No mischief from his friend can be transmitted.

HER. Your conduct I applaud, nor will deny That I have served you.

THE. I who erst received Those favours at thy hands, now pity thee.

HER. I am indeed an object of your pity, From having slain my sons.

THE. For thee I weep, Because to me thou heretofore wert kind When vexed by other ills.

HER. Did you e’er meet With those who were more wretched?

THE. Thy afflictions Are of such giant bulk, that they to heaven Reach from this nether world.

HER. Hence am I ready For instant death.

THE. Canst thou suppose the gods Regard thy threats?

HER. Self-willed are they and cruel, And I defy the gods.

THE. Restrain thy tongue, Lest thou by uttering such presumptuous words Increase thy sufferings.

HER. I with woes am fraught Already, nor remains there space for more.

THE. But what design’st thou? whither art thou borne With frantic rage?

HER. In death will I return To those abodes beneath, whence late I came.

THE. Thou speak’st the language of a vulgar man.

HER. Exempt from all calamity yourself, On me these admonitions you bestow.

THE. Are these fit words for Hercules to use, Who many toils endured?

HER. I had not suffered Thus much, if any bounds had circumscribed My labours.

THE. Benefactor of mankind, And their great friend?

HER. From them no aid I find; But Juno triumphs.

THE. Greece will not permit thee To perish unregarded.

HER. Hear me now, That I with reason your advice may combat; To you will I explain both why it is And long hath been impossible for me To live; and first, because from him, I spring, Who, having slain the father of Alcmena, Defiled with murder, wedded her who bore me. When thus the basis of a family Is laid in guilt, the children must be wretched. But Jove (or some one who assumed the name Of Jove) begot me; hence to Juno’s hate Was I obnoxious. Yet, O let not this Offend thine ear, old man, for thee, not Jove, I deem my real sire. While yet I hung An infant at the breast, Jove’s wife by stealth Sent snakes into my cradle to destroy me. But after I attained the bloom of manhood, Of what avail were it, should I recount The various labours I endured, what lions, What typhons with a triple form, what giants, Or what four-footed centaurs, who in crowds Rushed to the battle, by this arm were slain? How I despatched the hydra too, that monster With heads surrounded, branching out anew, And having suffered many toils beside, Went to the mansions of the dead, to bring Hell’s triple-headed dog into the realms Of light, for thus Eurystheus had enjoined? But I at last, wretch that I am, this murder Did perpetrate, and my own children slay, That to their utmost summit I might raise The miseries of this house. My fate is such That in my native Thebes I must not dwell: But if I here continue, to what temple Or friends can I repair? for by such curses I now am visited, that none will dare To speak to me. To Argos shall I go? How can I, when my country drives me forth? To any other city should I fly, The consequence were this: with looks askance I should be viewed as one well known, and harassed With these reproaches by malignant tongues: “Is not this he, the son of Jove, who murdered His children and his consort? from this land Shall not th’ accursed miscreant be expelled?” To him who was called happy once, such change Is bitterness indeed: as for the man Whose sufferings are perpetual, him, when wretched, No kinsman pities. I to such a pitch Of woe shall come, I deem, at length, that earth, Uttering a voice indignant, will forbid me To touch its surface, ocean, o’er its waves, And every river, o’er its streams, to pass. I shall be like Ixion then, with chains Fixed to the wheel. ’Twere better that no Greek With whom I in my happier days conversed Should see me more. What motive can I have For living? or to me of what avail Were it to keep possession of this useless And this unholy being? flushed with joy, Let Jove’s illustrious consort, in the dance, Strike with her sandals the resplendent floor Of high Olympus: for she now hath gained Her utmost wish, and from his basis torn The first of Grecian warriors. Who can pray To such a goddess, who, with envy stung, Because Jove loved a woman, hath destroyed The benefactors of the Grecian realm, Those blameless objects of her hate?