Chapter 4

HENCHMAN 'Twas by the bank of beating sea we stood, We thralls, and decked the steeds, and combed each mane; Weeping; for word had come that ne'er again The foot of our Hippolytus should roam This land, but waste in exile by thy doom. So stood we till he came, and in his tone No music now save sorrow's, like our own, And in his train a concourse without end Of many a chase-fellow and many a friend. At last he brushed his sobs away, and spake: "Why this fond loitering? I would not break My Father's law--Ho, there! My coursers four And chariot, quick! This land is mine no more." Thereat, be sure, each man of us made speed. Swifter than speech we brought them up, each steed Well dight and shining, at our Prince's side. He grasped the reins upon the rail: one stride And there he stood, a perfect charioteer, Each foot in its own station set. Then clear His voice rose, and his arms to heaven were spread: "O Zeus, if I be false, strike thou me dead! But, dead or living, let my Father see One day, how falsely he hath hated me!" Even as he spake, he lifted up the goad And smote; and the steeds sprang. And down the road We henchmen followed, hard beside the rein, Each hand, to speed him, toward the Argive plain And Epidaurus. So we made our way Up toward the desert region, where the bay Curls to a promontory near the verge Of our Trozên, facing the southward surge Of Saron's gulf. Just there an angry sound, Slow-swelling, like God's thunder underground Broke on us, and we trembled. And the steeds Pricked their ears skyward, and threw back their heads. And wonder came on all men, and affright, Whence rose that awful voice. And swift our sight Turned seaward, down the salt and roaring sand. And there, above the horizon, seemed to stand A wave unearthly, crested in the sky; Till Skiron's Cape first vanished from mine eye, Then sank the Isthmus hidden, then the rock Of Epidaurus. Then it broke, one shock And roar of gasping sea and spray flung far, And shoreward swept, where stood the Prince's car. Three lines of wave together raced, and, full In the white crest of them, a wild Sea-Bull Flung to the shore, a fell and marvellous Thing. The whole land held his voice, and answering Roared in each echo. And all we, gazing there, Gazed seeing not; 'twas more than eyes could bear. Then straight upon the team wild terror fell. Howbeit, the Prince, cool-eyed and knowing well Each changing mood a horse has, gripped the reins Hard in both hands; then as an oarsman strains Up from his bench, so strained he on the thong, Back in the chariot swinging. But the young Wild steeds bit hard the curb, and fled afar; Nor rein nor guiding hand nor morticed car Stayed them at all. For when he veered them round, And aimed their flying feet to grassy ground, In front uprose that Thing, and turned again The four great coursers, terror-mad. But when Their blind rage drove them toward the rocky places, Silent and ever nearer to the traces, It followed rockward, till one wheel-edge grazed. The chariot tript and flew, and all was mazed In turmoil. Up went wheel-box with a din, Where the rock jagged, and nave and axle-pin. And there--the long reins round him--there was he Dragging, entangled irretrievably. A dear head battering at the chariot side, Sharp rocks, and rippled flesh, and a voice that cried: "Stay, stay, O ye who fattened at my stalls, Dash me not into nothing!--O thou false Curse of my Father!--Help! Help, whoso can, An innocent, innocent and stainless man!" Many there were that laboured then, I wot, To bear him succour, but could reach him not, Till--who knows how?--at last the tangled rein Unclasped him, and he fell, some little vein Of life still pulsing in him. All beside, The steeds, the hornèd Horror of the Tide, Had vanished--who knows where?--in that wild land. O King, I am a bondsman of thine hand; Yet love nor fear nor duty me shall win To say thine innocent son hath died in sin. All women born may hang themselves, for me, And swing their dying words from every tree On Ida! For I know that he was true!

LEADER O God, so cometh new disaster, new Despair! And no escape from what must be!

THESEUS Hate of the man thus stricken lifted me At first to joy at hearing of thy tale; But now, some shame before the Gods, some pale Pity for mine own blood, hath o'er me come. I laugh not, neither weep, at this fell doom.

HENCHMAN How then? Behoves it bear him here, or how Best do thy pleasure?--Speak, Lord. Yet if thou Wilt mark at all my word, thou wilt not be Fierce-hearted to thy child in misery.

THESEUS Aye, bring him hither. Let me see the face Of him who durst deny my deep disgrace And his own sin; yea, speak with him, and prove His clear guilt by God's judgments from above. [_The_ HENCHMAN _departs to fetch_ HIPPOLYTUS; THESEUS _sits waiting in stern gloom, while the_ CHORUS _sing. At the close of their song a Divine Figure is seen approaching on a cloud in the air and the voice of_ ARTEMIS _speaks_.]

CHORUS Thou comest to bend the pride Of the hearts of God and man, Cypris; and by thy side, In earth-encircling span, He of the changing plumes, The Wing that the world illumes, As over the leagues of land flies he, Over the salt and sounding sea.

For mad is the heart of Love, And gold the gleam of his wing; And all to the spell thereof Bend, when he makes his spring; All life that is wild and young In mountain and wave and stream, All that of earth is sprung, Or breathes in the red sunbeam; Yea, and Mankind. O'er all a royal throne, Cyprian, Cyprian, is thine alone!

A VOICE FROM THE CLOUD O thou that rulest in Aegeus' Hall, I charge thee, hearken! Yea, it is I, Artemis, Virgin of God most High. Thou bitter King, art thou glad withal For thy murdered son? For thine ear bent low to a lying Queen, For thine heart so swift amid things unseen? Lo, all may see what end thou hast won! Go, sink thine head in the waste abyss; Or aloft to another world than this, Birdwise with wings, Fly far to thine hiding, Far over this blood that clots and clings; For in righteous men and in holy things No rest is thine nor abiding! [_The cloud has become stationary in the air._] Hear, Theseus, all the story of thy grief! Verily, I bring but anguish, not relief; Yet, 'twas for this I came, to show how high And clean was thy son's heart, that he may die Honoured of men; aye, and to tell no less The frenzy, or in some sort the nobleness, Of thy dead wife. One Spirit there is, whom we That know the joy of white virginity, Most hate in heaven. She sent her fire to run In Phaedra's veins, so that she loved thy son. Yet strove she long with love, and in the stress Fell not, till by her Nurse's craftiness Betrayed, who stole, with oaths of secrecy, To entreat thy son. And he, most righteously, Nor did her will, nor, when thy railing scorn Beat on him, broke the oath that he had sworn, For God's sake. And thy Phaedra, panic-eyed, Wrote a false writ, and slew thy son, and died, Lying; but thou wast nimble to believe! [THESEUS, _at first bewildered, then dumfounded, now utters a deep groan._] It stings thee, Theseus?--Nay, hear on and grieve Yet sorer. Wottest thou three prayers were thine Of sure fulfilment, from thy Sire divine? Hast thou no foes about thee, then, that one-- Thou vile King!--must be turned against thy son? The deed was thine. Thy Sea-born Sire but heard The call of prayer, and bowed him to his word. But thou in his eyes and in mine art found Evil, who wouldst not think, nor probe, nor sound The deeps of prophet's lore, nor day by day Leave Time to search; but swifter than man may, Let loose the curse to slay thine innocent son!

THESEUS O Goddess, let me die!

ARTEMIS Nay; thou hast done A heavy wrong; yet even beyond this ill Abides for thee forgiveness. 'Twas the will Of Cypris that these evil things should be, Sating her wrath. And this immutably Hath Zeus ordained in heaven: no God may thwart A God's fixed will; we grieve but stand apart. Else, but for fear of the Great Father's blame, Never had I to such extreme of shame Bowed me, be sure, as here to stand and see Slain him I loved best of mortality! Thy fault, O King, its ignorance sunders wide From very wickedness; and she who died By death the more disarmed thee, making dumb The voice of question. And the storm has come Most bitterly of all on thee! Yet I Have mine own sorrow, too. When good men die, There is no joy in heaven, albeit our ire On child and house of the evil falls like fire. [_A throng is seen approaching;_ HIPPOLYTUS _enters, supported by his attendants._]

CHORUS Lo, it is he! The bright young head Yet upright there! Ah the torn flesh and the blood-stained hair; Alas for the kindred's trouble! It falls as fire from a God's hand sped, Two deaths, and mourning double.

HIPPOLYTUS Ah, pain, pain, pain! O unrighteous curse! O unrighteous sire! No hope.--My head is stabbed with fire, And a leaping spasm about my brain. Stay, let me rest. I can no more. O fell, fell steeds that my own hand fed, Have ye maimed me and slain, that loved me of yore? --Soft there, ye thralls! No trembling hands As ye lift me, now!--Who is that that stands At the right?--Now firm, and with measured tread, Lift one accursèd and stricken sore By a father's sinning.

Thou, Zeus, dost see me? Yea, it is I; The proud and pure, the server of God, The white and shining in sanctity! To a visible death, to an open sod, I walk my ways; And all the labour of saintly days Lost, lost, without meaning!

Ah God, it crawls This agony, over me! Let be, ye thralls! Come, Death, and cover me: Come, O thou Healer blest!

But a little more, And my soul is clear, And the anguish o'er! Oh, a spear, a spear! To rend my soul to its rest!

Oh, strange, false Curse! Was there some blood-stained head, Some father of my line, unpunishèd, Whose guilt lived in his kin, And passed, and slept, till after this long day It lights... Oh, why on me? Me, far away And innocent of sin?

O words that cannot save! When will this breathing end in that last deep Pain that is painlessness? 'Tis sleep I crave. When wilt thou bring me sleep, Thou dark and midnight magic of the grave!

ARTEMIS Sore-stricken man, bethink thee in this stress, Thou dost but die for thine own nobleness.

HIPPOLYTUS Ah! O breath of heavenly fragrance! Though my pain Burns, I can feel thee and find rest again. The Goddess Artemis is with me here.

ARTEMIS With thee and loving thee, poor sufferer!

HIPPOLYTUS Dost see me, Mistress, nearing my last sleep?

ARTEMIS Aye, and would weep for thee, if Gods could weep.

HIPPOLYTUS Who now shall hunt with thee or hold thy quiver?

ARTEMIS He dies but my love cleaves to him for ever.

HIPPOLYTUS Who guide thy chariot, keep thy shrine-flowers fresh?

ARTEMIS The accursed Cyprian caught him in her mesh!

HIPPOLYTUS The Cyprian? Now I see it!--Aye, 'twas she.

ARTEMIS She missed her worship, loathed thy chastity!

HIPPOLYTUS Three lives by her one hand! 'Tis all clear now.

ARTEMIS Yea, three; thy father and his Queen and thou.

HIPPOLYTUS My father; yea, he too is pitiable!

ARTEMIS A plotting Goddess tripped him, and he fell.

HIPPOLYTUS Father, where art thou? ... Oh, thou sufferest sore!

THESEUS Even unto death, child. There is joy no more.

HIPPOLYTUS I pity thee in this coil; aye, more than me.

THESEUS Would I could lie there dead instead of thee!

HIPPOLYTUS Oh, bitter bounty of Poseidon's love!

THESEUS Would God my lips had never breathed thereof!

HIPPOLYTUS (_gently_) Nay, thine own rage had slain me then, some wise!

THESEUS A lying spirit had made blind mine eyes!

HIPPOLYTUS Ah me! Would that a mortal's curse could reach to God!

ARTEMIS Let be! For not, though deep beneath the sod Thou liest, not unrequited nor unsung Shall this fell stroke, from Cypris' rancour sprung, Quell thee, mine own, the saintly and the true! My hand shall win its vengeance through and through, Piercing with flawless shaft what heart soe'er Of all men living is most dear to Her. Yea, and to thee, for this sore travail's sake, Honours most high in Trozên will I make; For yokeless maids before their bridal night Shall shear for thee their tresses; and a rite Of honouring tears be thine in ceaseless store; And virgin's thoughts in music evermore Turn toward thee, and praise thee in the Song Of Phaedra's far-famed love and thy great wrong. O seed of ancient Aegeus, bend thee now And clasp thy son. Aye, hold and fear not thou! Not knowingly hast thou slain him; and man's way, When Gods send error, needs must fall astray. And thou, Hippolytus, shrink not from the King, Thy father. Thou wast born to bear this thing. Farewell! I may not watch man's fleeting breath, Nor strain mine eyes with the effluence of death. And sure that Terror now is very near. [_The cloud slowly rises and floats away_.]

HIPPOLYTUS Farewell, farewell, most Blessèd! Lift thee clear Of soiling men! Thou wilt not grieve in heaven For my long love! ...Father, thou art forgiven. It was Her will. I am not wroth with thee... I have obeyed Her all my days! ... Ah me, The dark is drawing down upon mine eyes; It hath me! ... Father! ... Hold me! Help me rise!

THESEUS (_supporting him in his arms_) Ah, woe! How dost thou torture me, my son!

HIPPOLYTUS I see the Great Gates opening. I am gone.

THESEUS Gone? And my hand red-reeking from this thing!

HIPPOLYTUS Nay, nay; thou art assoiled of manslaying.

THESEUS Thou leav'st me clear of murder? Sayst thou so?

HIPPOLYTUS Yea, by the Virgin of the Stainless Bow!

THESEUS Dear Son! Ah, now I see thy nobleness!

HIPPOLYTUS Pray that a true-born child may fill my place.

THESEUS Ah me, thy righteous and god-fearing heart!

HIPPOLYTUS Farewell; A long farewell, dear Father, ere we part! [THESEUS _bends down and embraces him passionately_.]

THESEUS Not yet!--O hope and bear while thou hast breath!

HIPPOLYTUS Lo, I have borne my burden. This is death... Quick, Father; lay the mantle on my face. [THESEUS _covers his face with a mantle and rises._]

THESEUS Ye bounds of Pallas and of Pelops' race, What greatness have ye lost! Woe, woe is me! Thou Cyprian, long shall I remember thee!

CHORUS On all this folk, both low and high, A grief hath fallen beyond men's fears. There cometh a throbbing of many tears, A sound as of waters falling. For when great men die, A mighty name and a bitter cry Rise up from a nation calling. [_They move into the Castle, carrying the body of_ HIPPOLYTUS.]

THE BACCHAE

OF EURIPIDES

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

DIONYSUS, THE GOD; _son of Zeus and of the Theban princess Semelê_. CADMUS, _formerly King of Thebes, father of Semelê_. PENTHEUS, _King of Thebes, grandson of Cadmus_. AGAVE, _daughter of Cadmus, mother of Pentheus_. TEIRESIAS, _an aged Theban prophet_. A SOLDIER OF PENTHEUS' GUARD. TWO MESSENGERS. A CHORUS OF INSPIRED DAMSELS, _following Dionysus from the East_.

_"The play was first produced after the death of Euripides by his son who bore the same name, together with the Iphigenia in Aulis and the Alcmaeon, probably in the year 405 B.C."_

_The background represents the front of the Castle of_ PENTHEUS, _King of Thebes. At one side is visible the sacred Tomb of Semelê, a little enclosure overgrown with wild vines, with a cleft in the rocky floor of it from which there issues at times steam or smoke. The God_ DIONYSUS _is discovered alone._

DIONYSUS Behold, God's Son is come unto this land Of heaven's hot splendour lit to life, when she Of Thebes, even I, Dionysus, whom the brand Who bore me, Cadmus' daughter Semelê, Died here. So, changed in shape from God to man, I walk again by Dirce's streams and scan Ismenus' shore. There by the castle side I see her place, the Tomb of the Lightning's Bride, The wreck of smouldering chambers, and the great Faint wreaths of fire undying--as the hate Dies not, that Hera held for Semelê. Aye, Cadmus hath done well; in purity He keeps this place apart, inviolate, His daughter's sanctuary; and I have set My green and clustered vines to robe it round Far now behind me lies the golden ground Of Lydian and of Phrygian; far away The wide hot plains where Persian sunbeams play, The Bactrian war-holds, and the storm-oppressed Clime of the Mede, and Araby the Blest, And Asia all, that by the salt sea lies In proud embattled cities, motley-wise Of Hellene and Barbarian interwrought; And now I come to Hellas--having taught All the world else my dances and my rite Of mysteries, to show me in men's sight Manifest God. And first of Helene lands I cry this Thebes to waken; set her hands To clasp my wand, mine ivied javelin, And round her shoulders hang my wild fawn-skin. For they have scorned me whom it least beseemed, Semelê's sisters; mocked by birth, nor deemed That Dionysus sprang from Dian seed. My mother sinned, said they; and in her need, With Cadmus plotting, cloaked her human shame With the dread name of Zeus; for that the flame From heaven consumed her, seeing she lied to God. Thus must they vaunt; and therefore hath my rod On them first fallen, and stung them forth wild-eyed From empty chambers; the bare mountain side Is made their home, and all their hearts are flame. Yea, I have bound upon the necks of them The harness of my rites. And with them all The seed of womankind from hut and hall Of Thebes, hath this my magic goaded out. And there, with the old King's daughters, in a rout Confused, they make their dwelling-place between The roofless rocks and shadowy pine trees green. Thus shall this Thebes, how sore soe'er it smart, Learn and forget not, till she crave her part In mine adoring; thus must I speak clear To save my mother's fame, and crown me here, As true God, born by Semelê to Zeus.

Now Cadmus yieldeth up his throne and use Of royal honour to his daughter's son Pentheus; who on my body hath begun A war with God. He thrusteth me away From due drink-offering, and, when men pray, My name entreats not. Therefore on his own Head and his people's shall my power be shown. Then to another land, when all things here Are well, must I fare onward, making clear My godhead's might. But should this Theban town Essay with wrath and battle to drag down My maids, lo, in their path myself shall be, And maniac armies battled after me! For this I veil my godhead with the wan Form of the things that die, and walk as Man.

O Brood of Tmolus o'er the wide world flown, O Lydian band, my chosen and mine own, Damsels uplifted o'er the orient deep To wander where I wander, and to sleep Where I sleep; up, and wake the old sweet sound, The clang that I and mystic Rhea found, The Timbrel of the Mountain! Gather all Thebes to your song round Pentheus' royal hall. I seek my new-made worshippers, to guide Their dances up Kithaeron's pine clad side.

[_As he departs, there comes stealing in from the left a band of fifteen Eastern Women, the light of the sunrise streaming upon their long white robes and ivy-bound hair. They wear fawn-skins over the robes, and carry some of them timbrels, some pipes and other instruments. Many bear the thyrsus, or sacred Wand, made of reed ringed with ivy. They enter stealthily till they see that the place is empty, and then begin their mystic song of worship._]

CHORUS

_A Maiden_ From Asia, from the dayspring that uprises To Bromios ever glorying we came. We laboured for our Lord in many guises; We toiled, but the toil is as the prize is; Thou Mystery, we hail thee by thy name!

_Another_ Who lingers in the road? Who espies us? We shall hide him in his house nor be bold. Let the heart keep silence that defies us; For I sing this day to Dionysus The song that is appointed from of old.

_All the Maidens_ Oh, blessèd he in all wise, Who hath drunk the Living Fountain, Whose life no folly staineth, And his soul is near to God; Whose sins are lifted, pall-wise, As he worships on the Mountain, And where Cybele ordaineth, Our Mother, he has trod:

His head with ivy laden And his thyrsus tossing high, For our God he lifts his cry; "Up, O Bacchae, wife and maiden, Come, O ye Bacchae, come; Oh, bring the Joy-bestower, God-seed of God the Sower, Bring Bromios in his power From Phrygia's mountain dome; To street and town and tower, Oh, bring ye Bromios home."

Whom erst in anguish lying For an unborn life's desire, As a dead thing in the Thunder His mother cast to earth; For her heart was dying, dying, In the white heart of the fire; Till Zeus, the Lord of Wonder, Devised new lairs of birth;

Yea, his own flesh tore to hide him, And with clasps of bitter gold Did a secret son enfold, And the Queen knew not beside him; Till the perfect hour was there; Then a hornèd God was found, And a God of serpents crowned; And for that are serpents wound In the wands his maidens bear, And the songs of serpents sound In the mazes of their hair.

_Some Maidens_ All hail, O Thebes, thou nurse of Semelê! With Semelê's wild ivy crown thy towers; Oh, burst in bloom of wreathing bryony, Berries and leaves and flowers; Uplift the dark divine wand, The oak-wand and the pine-wand, And don thy fawn-skin, fringed in purity With fleecy white, like ours.

Oh, cleanse thee in the wands' waving pride! Yea, all men shall dance with us and pray, When Bromios his companies shall guide Hillward, ever hillward, where they stay, The flock of the Believing, The maids from loom and weaving By the magic of his breath borne away.

_Others_ Hail thou, O Nurse of Zeus, O Caverned Haunt Where fierce arms clanged to guard God's cradle rare, For thee of old crested Corybant First woke in Cretan air The wild orb of our orgies, The Timbrel; and thy gorges Rang with this strain; and blended Phrygian chant And sweet keen pipes were there.

But the Timbrel, the Timbrel was another's, And away to Mother Rhea it must wend; And to our holy singing from the Mother's The mad Satyrs carried it, to blend In the dancing and the cheer Of our third and perfect Year; And it serves Dionysus in the end!