Chapter 10

If thou dost seem unto thyself so wise Hug thine own wisdom, soon in danger's hour Thou wilt confess that I have counselled right.

(_Exit_ CHRYSOTHEMIS.)

* * * * *

_THE RECOGNITION_.

Orestes enters with the urn which, it is pretended, contains his ashes. His recognition ensues.

LINES 1097-1231.

ORESTES.

Say, ladies, have we been informed aright, And has our journey led us to our mark?

CHORUS.

What is thy journey's mark? Whom dost thou seek?

ORESTES.

I fain would learn where King Aegisthus dwells.

CHORUS.

Thou hast not been misled, this is the place. ORESTES.

Would one of you announce to those within. In courteous wise that strangers twain are here?

CHORUS.

That will this maid if kinship gives a claim.

ORESTES.

Go, lady, then, and tell them in the house That Phocian envoys for Aegisthus look.

ELECTRA.

Alas! ye bear I ween the certain proofs Of that which has already reached our ears.

ORESTES.

I know not what that is; old Strophius Has charged me of Orestes news to bring.

ELECTRA.

Stranger, what is it? fear comes over me.

ORESTES.

He is no more, and here behold we bear His poor remains, gathered in this small urn.

ELECTRA.

Alas! for me all doubt is over now; Here is the sorrow present to my touch.

ORESTES.

If for Orestes thou hast cause to mourn Know that whate'er is left of him is here.

ELECTRA.

Friend, if that urn indeed Orestes holds, Give it, I do conjure thee, to my hands, That I may weep my own calamities, And those of our whole race, with this dear dust.

ORESTES.

Whoever she may be, give her the urn; Her wish approves her not an enemy But a good friend, perchance one near in blood.

ELECTRA.

Dearest of all memorials to my heart, Relic of my Orestes, what a change From those fond hopes with which I sent thee forth! Full of bright promise wast thou then, and now I see thee here reduced to nothingness. Would I myself had died before the hour When from the murderous hands that sought thy life I snatched and sent thee to a foreign shore, So hadst thou met thy end at once and slept In thy forefather's tomb. Instead whereof Thou hast died miserably far from home, An exile, with no sister at thy side. I was not there with loving hand to wash Thy corpse, to lay thee out, or gather up, As nature bade, the relics of the pyre. Strange hands those rites performed; and thou art here, A little dust clipt in a narrow urn. Unhappy me! how bootless were the pains Which many a day I spent in nursing thee, A labour that I loved, for thou wert not Thy mother's darling more than thou wert mine. No menial hands tended thy infancy, But I thy sister, joying in that name. Now all has vanished in a single day, And thou art gone, and like a storm hast swept All off with thee. My father is no more, Thy sister dies in thee, thyself art dust. Our enemies exult, and, mad with joy, Is that unnatural mother, whom to smite With thine own hand thou oft didst promise me, By secret messages which destiny, Unkind to both of us, now brings to naught, Sending me here, instead of that loved form, Cold ashes and an ineffectual shade.

Ah me! ah me! Poor form. Alas! alas! Sent to the saddest bourne. Ah me! ah me! Dearest of brothers, thou hast ruined me, Ruined thy sister, brother of my love.

Receive me now in that abode of thine, That, dust to dust, I may abide with thee Forever there below. When thou wast here, All things were common to us; now I crave To be thy mate in death and share thy tomb, For there I see they do not sorrow more.

CHORUS.

Electra, think; a mortal was thy sire. Orestes was a mortal; calm thy grief For loss is common to mortality.

ORESTES.

What can I say? words to my bursting heart Are wanting. I can check my tongue no more.

ELECTRA.

What is it troubles thee? What means thy speech?

ORESTES.

Can what I see be fair Electra's face?

ELECTRA.

Her face it is, and in most piteous plight.

ORESTES. My heart is wrung by looking on such woe.

ELECTRA.

Can one unknown to thee thy pity move?

ORESTES.

O beauteous wreck, by heaven and man disowned!

ELECTRA.

The picture limned in those sad words is mine.

ORESTES.

Woe for thy cheerless and unwedded life.

ELECTRA.

Why dost thou gaze on me thus mournfully?

ORESTES.

It seems that of my woes I knew but half.

ELECTRA.

What have I said to breathe this thought in thee?

ORESTES.

'Tis bred by sight of sorrow's effigy. ELECTRA.

What thou dost see is of my griefs the least.

ORESTES.

What can be worse than what I now behold?

ELECTRA.

What can be worse? Life with the murderers.

ORESTES.

Murderers of whom? Thy tale of crime unfold.

ELECTRA.

My father's murderers, and their slave am I.

ORESTES.

What tyrant has imposed on thee this yoke?

ELECTRA.

My mother, little worthy of that name.

ORESTES.

And how? By persecution or by force?

ELECTRA.

By persecution, force, and all that's vile.

ORESTES.

And hast thou none to save thee from her hands?

ELECTRA.

One such I had, and thou hast brought his dust.

ORESTES.

Unhappy maid, my soul does pity thee.

ELECTRA.

Only in thee have I such pity found.

ORESTES.

I also am a partner of thy woe.

ELECTRA.

Art thou some kinsman come I know not whence?

ORESTES.

That thou shalt hear, provided these are friends.

ELECTRA.

And friends they are, thou mayest confide in them.

ORESTES.

Give back that urn, and I will tell thee all.

ELECTRA.

Nay, I conjure thee; let me keep it still.

ORESTES.

Do as I say and thou wilt not repent.

ELECTRA.

O grant my prayer, and rob not this poor heart.

ORESTES.

I must not leave it with thee.

ELECTRA.

Woe is me, Orestes, if I may not tend thy dust.

ORESTES.

Peace, maiden, peace! thou hast no cause to mourn.

ELECTRA.

No cause to mourn, who have a brother lost?

ORESTES.

To speak of brothers lost is not for thee.

ELECTRA. Have I not then the mourner's privilege?

ORESTES.

Naught hast thou lost, and hast no part in this.

ELECTRA.

I have, if this contains my brother's dust.

ORESTES.

It does not, save in name and in pretence.

ELECTRA.

Where, then, does my ill-starred Orestes lie?

ORESTES.

Nowhere; for he who lives can have no grave.

ELECTRA.

What dost thou say, young man?

ORESTES.

I tell thee truth.

ELECTRA.

How! does he live?

ORESTES.

Sure as I live he lives.

ELECTRA.

And art thou he?

ORESTES.

Look on this signet ring, Our father's once, and tell me if I lie.

ELECTRA.

Light of my life, most dear.

ORESTES.

Most dear indeed.

ELECTRA.

Is it that voice I hear?

ORESTES.

It is that voice.

ELECTRA.

And do these arms enfold thee?

ORESTES.

Ay, forever.

ELECTRA.

(_To the_ CHORUS.)

My countrywomen and companions dear, Behold Orestes that erewhile was dead. Dead by device now by device alive.

CHORUS.

Maiden, we do behold him; at the sight, The tears of joy are gathering in our eyes.

THE TRACHINIAE.

Deianira, the wife of Hercules, fears that she has lost her husband's love, and that it has been transferred to the beautiful captive Iole, whom he has brought back with him on his return in triumph from the storming of Oechalia. She bethinks her of a love-charm which she has long had among her treasures. It is the blood of Nessus, the Centaur, who, having offered her violence, and received his death-wound from Hercules in her defence, had perfidiously persuaded her that his blood would win back her husband's love. The blood, being infected with the poison of the Lernsean Hydra, in which the arrows of Hercules were dipped, proves the deadly instrument of the Centaur's posthumous vengeance. Deianira sends a robe sprinkled with it as a gift to Hercules, who, having put on the robe to offer his triumphal sacrifice, expires in fiery torments.

The play is called from the Trachinian women who form the Chorus.

* * * * *

_THE LOVE-CHARM._

Deianira imparts the secret of her device to the Chorus, and puts the fatal robe into the hands of Lichas, the Herald who has brought Iole to the house, that he may carry it to Hercules.

LINES 531-632.

DEIANIRA.

Good friends, while yonder stranger, ere he part, Is talking to the captive maids within, I come forth secretly to speak to you. What I devise I would to you confide, And for my trouble I crave your sympathy. That maid, a maid no more I guess, but wed, I have received on board my barque, a bale Of mockery and of outrage for my heart; And now we twain beneath one quilt must lie, And share the same embrace. Thus Heracles, That excellent and faithful spouse of mine, Repays the long-tried guardian of his home. To play the angry wife I know not how, So oft has he been sick of this disease. But with this wench to dwell in partnership As second wife, what woman could endure? My youthful beauty now is on the wane, While hers is growing, and the lover's eye Turns from the withering to the blooming flower. Heracles will, I fear, be mine in name, In deed, the husband of a younger wife. But, as I said, no wife not void of sense Will show her wrath. The talisman, my friends, That is to work the cure ye now shall hear. I hold safe treasured in a brazen urn The keepsake which a Centaur gave of old. From shaggy Nessus when I was a maid I had it, 'twas his dying legacy. He over deep Evenus stream was wont In his own arms to carry passengers, Not using oars nor sails to ferry them. And when, from my paternal home sent forth, A bride I journeyed with my Heracles, Bearing me on his back, in the midstream He laid rash hands on me. I shrieked aloud. The son of Zeus turned him and quick let fly A shaft that, hurtling through the Centaur's chest, Transfixed him. Feeling that his end was come, The monster said to me, "Old Oeneus' child, As thou art my last fare, hearken to me: Thou shall have cause to thank thy ferryman. If thou wilt bear away this clotted blood That marks the spot whereon the arrow steeped In the Lernaean Hydra's venom fell; In it thou'lt ever find a spell to bind The heart of Heracles, and to prevent His loving any woman in thy stead." Of this love-charm, my friends, bethinking me, As, kept with care, it in my closet lay, I steeped a robe in it, adding whate'er The Centaur bade, and now my work is done. Black arts I know not nor desire to know, And all who practise such abominate; But if so be, we can with this love-charm Win from yon maid the heart of Heracles, The means are found, unless my plan to thee Seems ill-advised; if so, I give it o'er.

CHORUS.

Nay, if in any plan we could confide, Thine, in our judgment, is not ill-advised.

DEIANIRA.

So far I can confide as judgment serves, For no trial of the charm has yet been made.

CHORUS.

Then make one; knowledge that thou seemst to have Thou hast not, till experience set its seal.

DEIANIRA.

All doubts will soon be cleared; here Lichas comes Forth from the house, and soon he will be here. Only, my friends, keep ye my counsel well; Sin in the dark and thou shalt not be sham'd.

LICHAS.

Daughter of Oeneus, what are thy commands? Too long already have we been delayed.

DEIANIRA.

To speed thy going I was taking thought, While thou wert talking to the stranger maid. Bear this well-woven garment to my lord, An offering from his Deianira's hand. Enjoin him straightly that before himself No man be suffered to put on this robe, And that it be exposed to no sun's ray, No sacred altar's fire, no blazing hearth, Until himself before the gods shall stand Dight in it on the day of sacrifice. I registered a vow that when I saw Or heard of his home-coming, in this robe I would attire him, that before the gods Freshly in fresh array he might appear. For token bear with thee this signet ring, Which, when he sees it, he will recognise. Set forth; first keep the law of messengers, Which bids them not beyond their mission go. Then what is now my husband's single debt, If thou canst, double by my gratitude.

LICHAS.

Fear not, if I am Hermes' liegeman true, That I shall fail thy bidding to perform, To place this casket in thy husband's hands, And therewith thy assurances repeat.

DEIANIRA.

Proceed then on thy road; thou canst report To my good lord that all is well at home.

LICHAS.

I know and shall report that all is well.

DEIANIRA.

Thyself didst witness in how gentle wise We did receive and welcome yonder maid.

LICHAS.

The sight astonished and delighted me.

DEIANIRA.

Then all thou hast to say is said. I fear That thou wilt tell of my fond love for him Ere thou canst tell of his fond love for me.

* * * * *

_THE CENTAUR'S REVENGE._

Deianira recounts to the Chorus an alarming and portentous incident. Then Hyllus, the son of Hercules, comes and announces the catastrophe.

LINES 663-820.

DEIANIRA.

Maidens, I greatly fear that I have gone, In what I did, beyond the line of right.

CHORUS.

Daughter of Oeneus, say whence comes thy fear?

DEIANIRA.

I know not; but I tremble lest my act, Done with fair hope, should end with foul mischance.

CHORUS.

Thou dost not mean thy gift to Heracles?

DEIANIRA.

Tis so, and I would counsel every one Not to go fast, unless their way is sure.

CHORUS.

Tell, if thou may'st, what causes thy alarm.

DEIANIRA.

A thing has happened, maidens, which when told Will fill your minds with awe and wonderment. The tuft of wool, fresh shorn and bright, wherewith I spread the ointment on that robe of state, By no one of my household train destroyed, But self-consumed, has vanished out of sight. And on the pavement melted quite away. That thou may'st know the whole, let me proceed. Of all the Centaur in his agony, Pierced by the deadly arrow, bade me do, I naught forgot, but treasured every word, As if inscribed on brass indelibly; What he prescribed and I performed was this, That I should keep this unguent closely shut Beyond the reach of sun-heat or of fire, Until the time had come for using it. And so I did; but now, the occasion ripe, I in my secret chamber laid it on, With wool shorn from a sheep of our own flock; And letting not the sunlight touch my gift, Folded it in a casket, as ye know. Entering the house again, I saw a sight Passing the wit of man to understand: The tuft of wool with which I had laid on The unguent, I by chance had thrown aside Into the sunshine, where, as it grew warm, It crumbled all away, and on the ground Lay scattered, as when wood is being sawn We see the dust fall from the biting saw. So did it look; and after, from the earth Where it had lain, a clotted foam broke forth, As when in mellow Autumn the rich juice Of Bacchic vine is spilled upon the ground. My mind distraught knows not which way to turn, But something dreadful have I surely done. How should the Centaur, in his agony, Have sought to serve her that had caused his death? He could not. To avenge him on the hand That sped the shaft he cozened me, and I See his fell purpose when it is too late. I, if my boding soul deceive me not, Alone shall be my hero's murderess. That by which Nessus died was Chiron's bane, Immortal though he was, all animals Struck by it die; and shall not the dark blood, That, poisoned by it, flowed from Nessus' wound, Be fatal to my lord? Surely it will. But if my lord miscarry, my resolve Is fixed to keep him company in death. A life of infamy she cannot bear That would be true to her nobility.

CHORUS.

Shudder we must where is much cause for fear, Yet let us hope till the event decides.

DEIANIRA.

Hope, where the act is guilty, there is none, Or none that can bring comfort to the breast.

CHORUS.

But against those that sin unwittingly, Anger is mild, and will be mild to thee.

DEIANIRA.

Ay, so say those that of the guilt are clear, And have no heavy burden on their hearts.

CHORUS.

What more thou art in act to say withhold, Unless thou wouldst unbosom to thy son. He went to seek his sire and now is here.

(_Enter_ HYLLUS.)

HYLLUS.

Mother! I would that of three wishes one Could be fulfilled: I would that thou wert not, Or that another were thy son than I, Or that my mother had a better mind.

DEIANIRA.

What in thy mother thus thy horror moves?

HYLLUS.

Know that thy husband, rather should I say My father, dies this day murdered by thee.

DEIANIRA.

Alas! my son, what word has passed thy lips?

HYLLUS.

A word too sure of its accomplishment. The event once born can never be annulled.

DEIANIRA.

What dost thou say, my son? whence didst thou learn That I had done a deed so horrible?

HYLLUS.

Learn it I did not from another's lips: These eyes beheld my father's piteous fate.

DEIANIRA.

Where didst thou into his loved presence come?

HYLLUS.

Hear and I'll tell thee all. As having stormed The famous town of Eurytus, he marched, With spoils and trophies of his victory. At the Cenaean headland he arrived, Euboea's point, and there set out for Zeus Altars ancestral and a precinct green. Here met I him whom I had longed to see. As he stood ready for the sacrifice Comes his own herald Lichas from his home, And brings thy gift, that robe imbrued with death, Which he, fulfilling thy behest, put on, And therein clad, was offering sacrifice, Twelve steers unblemished, while of beasts in all He to the altars led a hecatomb. At first, unhappy one, with jocund heart He prayed, rejoicing in his brave attire; But when from the good oak logs and the flesh Of victims slain, the bloody flame leaped forth. A sweat broke out on him, and to his sides The garment clave, enfolding every joint As by a workman fitted, while his bones Were racked with shooting pains, and as it seemed A deadly serpent's venom fed on him. Then did he loud on hapless Lichas call, Him who was nowise party to thy crime, And bade him say what wretch had set him on To bring the robe. The herald knowing naught, Said as thou badst him, that it was thy gift. Whereupon Heracles, his heartstrings grasped By agonising pains that pierced him through, Seized Lichas by the ankle, hurled him down From the cliff's edge upon a wave-washed rock That jutted from the sea, shattered his skull, So that his brains streamed mingled with his blood. At the two sights, of frenzy and of death, A universal cry of horror rose, Nor was there one who dared approach my sire; He in convulsions now sprang up, now fell With yells which made the neighbouring cliffs, the crags Of Locris and Euboea's headland ring. Oft did he cast himself upon the ground, Long did he utter lamentations loud, Cursing his marriage, swearing that his tie To Oeneus had brought ruin on his life. When he gave o'er, with eye upturned with pain, Glancing from out the smoke, me, in the crowd, Weeping he saw, and called me to his side. "My son," he murmured, "shrink not from thy sire, Not though it be thy doom to die with him. Bear me away and lay me, if thou may'st, Where none may look upon my agony. If that would pain thee from this hated coast Ship me at least, and let me not die here." Obedient to his wish, with much ado We laid him in the hold and hither brought Convulsed and bellowing. Ye will see him soon, Lingering upon life's verge or newly dead. Mother, of these dark crimes thou stand'st convict, For which may heaven's high justice deal with thee And the Erinnyes, if that prayer is meet For a son's lips; and thou hast made it meet By murdering, of all dwellers upon earth, The noblest man, whose peer thou ne'er shalt see.

CHORUS.

(_To_ DEIANIRA _who leaves the scene_.)

Canst thou depart in silence and not see That silence pleads on the accuser's side?

HYLLUS.

Let her go where she will. Fair be the wind That bears out of my sight that hated barque. A mother's name is but a hollow sound When all her doings are unmotherly. May joy go with her, and such happiness Be hers, as she has made my sire to feel.

PHILOCTETES.

Philoctetes is the possessor of the bow and arrows of Hercules, without which Troy, which has now been besieged for ten years, cannot be taken. Suffering from an ulcer caused by the bite of the Hydra, and becoming intolerable by his yells of anguish to the Hellenic camp, he has been put ashore by Ulysses on the lonely island of Lemnos, and there left for the ten years, whence he has conceived a deadly hatred of Ulysses and the Hellenic host. His bow and arrows being indispensable, the crafty Ulysses undertakes the task of inveigling him, and goes to Lemnos for that purpose, taking with him Neoptolemus, the young and generous son of Achilles, as a decoy. Neoptolemus, at the instance of Ulysses, filches from Philoctetes the bow and arrows, but being overcome by his nobler nature restores them. Here is now a crisis worthy of the intervention of a god. Hercules descends upon the scene, bids Philoctetes go to Troy with his bow, and promises to send Aesculapius to heal him of his sickness.

* * * * *

_THE DECOY._

Ulysses explains the plan of action to Neoptolemus, and labours to bend him to his purpose.

LINES 1-134.

ULYSSES.

This is the shore of Lemnos' lonely isle, By man untrodden, where, O worthy son Of great Achilles, by our Hellas deemed Her mightiest chief, Neoptolemus, erewhile The Melian son of Poeas I cast forth, The Princes having so commanded me, Since in his foot he had a wasting sore, And would not let us sacrifice or pour Libations undisturbed, but filled the camp With lamentations wild and blasphemous, Yelling in agony. Yet why dilate, On what has happened? We will stint our words; He may espy my presence, and my plan Of capturing him be ruined utterly. Now must thy part be done; look round and see Where is a rocky cave with double mouth, So formed that in the winter twice the sun Falls on the sitter, and in summer time The breeze wafts slumber through two apertures. A little way below, on the left hand, Thou'lt find a spring, if it is running still. Approach, and signal to me silently Whether he is near by or is gone forth, That I may then impart the rest to thee, And we may jointly execute my plan.

NEOPTOLEMUS.

My work, Ulysses, has been quickly done. Methinks I see the cave of which you speak.

ULYSSES.

Is it above us, tell me, or below?

NEOPTOLEMUS.

Above us here, and sound of step is none.

ULYSSES.

See that he is not sleeping in his lair.

NEOPTOLEMUS.

I look, and none in the retreat appears.

ULYSSES.

And is there naught to show that man dwells there?

NEOPTOLEMUS.

A bed of leaves, as though one couched thereon.

ULYSSES.

Is all else bare? Is there no garniture?

NEOPTOLEMUS.

There is a wooden cup, the handiwork Of some rough workman, and these kindling-sticks.

ULYSSES.

Thy inventory shows that he is here.

NEOPTOLEMUS.

Faugh! here are rags left in the sun to dry, Full of the running of some putrid sore.

ULYSSES.

'Tis plain enough that here his dwelling is. Himself, too, must be near; for how could one, Lame with an ancient ulcer, travel far? He has gone forth either for provender, Or to bring home some herb which soothes his pain. Send thy attendant to explore the coast, Lest unawares I should fall in with him: All Hellas were not such a prize as I.

NEOPTOLEMUS.

The attendant is despatched; watch will be kept. Go on and tell me what thou dost desire.

ULYSSES.

Son of Achilles, what thou cam'st to do. Thou must do bravely, not with hand alone, But with thy heart, and if I ask aught new Blench not; it is to aid me thou art here.

NEOPTOLEMUS.

What wouldst thou have me do?

ULYSSES.