Chapter 5

LEADER OF CHORUS. Wise conduct hath command of happiness Before all else, and piety to Heaven Must be preserved. High boastings of the proud Bring sorrow to the height to punish pride:-- A lesson men shall learn when they are old.

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AIAS

THE PERSONS

ATHENA. ODYSSEUS. AIAS, _the son of Telamon._ CHORUS _of Salaminian Mariners._ TECMESSA. _A Messenger._ TEUCER, _half brother of Aias._ MENELAUS. AGAMEMNON.

EURYSAKES, _the child of Aias and Tecmessa, appears, but does not speak._

SCENE. Before the encampment of Aias on the shore of the Troad. Afterwards a lonely place beyond Rhoeteum.

Time, towards the end of the Trojan War.

_'A wounded spirit who can bear?'_

After the death of Achilles, the armour made for him by Hephaestus was to be given to the worthiest of the surviving Greeks. Although Aias was the most valiant, the judges made the award to Odysseus, because he was the wisest.

Aias in his rage attempts to kill the generals; but Athena sends madness upon him, and he makes a raid upon the flocks and herds of the army, imagining the bulls and rams to be the Argive chiefs. On awakening from his delusion, he finds that he has fallen irrecoverably from honour and from the favour of the Greeks. He also imagines that the anger of Athena is unappeasable. Under this impression he eludes the loving eyes of his captive-bride Tecmessa, and of his Salaminian comrades, and falls on his sword. ('The soul and body rive not more in parting Than greatness going off.')

But it is revealed through the prophet Calchas, that the wrath of Athena will last only for a day; and on the return of Teucer, Aias receives an honoured funeral, the tyrannical reclamations of the two sons of Atreus being overcome by the firm fidelity of Teucer and the magnanimity of Odysseus, who has been inspired for this purpose by Athena.

AIAS

ATHENA (_above_). ODYSSEUS.

ATHENA. Oft have I seen thee, Laertiades, Intent on some surprisal of thy foes; As now I find thee by the seaward camp, Where Aias holds the last place in your line, Lingering in quest, and scanning the fresh print Of his late footsteps, to be certified If he keep house or no. Right well thy sense Hath led thee forth, like some keen hound of Sparta! The man is even but now come home, his head And slaughterous hands reeking with ardent toil. Thou, then, no longer strain thy gaze within Yon gateway, but declare what eager chase Thou followest, that a god may give thee light.

ODYSSEUS. Athena, 'tis thy voice! Dearest in heaven, How well discerned and welcome to my soul From that dim distance doth thine utterance fly In tones as of Tyrrhenian trumpet clang! Rightly hast thou divined mine errand here, Beating this ground for Aias of the shield, The lion-quarry whom I track to day. For he hath wrought on us to night a deed Past thought--if he be doer of this thing; We drift in ignorant doubt, unsatisfied-- And I unbidden have bound me to this toil.

Brief time hath flown since suddenly we knew That all our gathered spoil was reaved and slaughtered, Flocks, herds, and herdmen, by some human hand, All tongues, then, lay this deed at Aias' door. And one, a scout who had marked him, all alone, With new-fleshed weapon bounding o'er the plain, Gave me to know it, when immediately I darted on the trail, and here in part I find some trace to guide me, but in part I halt, amazed, and know not where to look. Thou com'st full timely. For my venturous course, Past or to come, is governed by thy will.

ATH. I knew thy doubts, Odysseus, and came forth Zealous to guard thy perilous hunting-path.

OD. Dear Queen! and am I labouring to an end?

ATH. Thou schem'st not idly. This is Aias' deed.

OD. What can have roused him to a work so wild?

ATH. His grievous anger for Achilles' arms.

OD. But wherefore on the flock this violent raid?

ATH. He thought to imbrue his hands with your heart's blood.

OD. What? Was this planned against the Argives, then?

ATH. Planned, and performed, had I kept careless guard.

OD. What daring spirit, what hardihood, was here!

ATH. Alone by night in craft he sought your tents.

OD. How? Came he near them? Won he to his goal?

ATH. He stood in darkness at the generals' gates.

OD. What then restrained his eager hand from murder?

ATH. I turned him backward from his baleful joy, And overswayed him with blind phantasies, To swerve against the flocks and well-watched herd Not yet divided from the public booty. There plunging in he hewed the horned throng, And with him Havoc ranged: while now he thought To kill the Atreidae with hot hand, now this Now that commander, as the fancy grew. I, joining with the tumult of his mind, Flung the wild victim on the fatal net. Anon, this toil being overpast, he draws The living oxen and the panting sheep With cords to his home, not as a horned prey, But as in triumph marshalling his foes: Whom now he tortures in their bonds within. Come, thou shalt see this madness in clear day, And tell to the Argives all I show thee here Only stand firm and shrink not, I will turn His eyes askance, not to distinguish thee, Fear nought--Ho! thou that bindest to thy will The limbs of those thy captives, come thou forth! Aias! advance before thy palace gate!

OD. My Queen! what dost thou? Never call him forth.

ATH. Hush, hush! Be not so timorous, but endure.

OD. Nay, nay! Enough. He is there, and let him bide.

ATH. What fear you? Dates his valour from to day?

OD. He was and is my valiant enemy.

ATH. Then is not laughter sweetest o'er a foe?

OD. No more! I care not he should pass abroad.

ATH. You flinch from seeing the madman in full view.

OD. When sane, I ne'er had flinched before his face.

ATH. Well, but even now he shall not know thee near.

OD. How, if his eyes be not transformed or lost?

ATH. I will confound his sense although he see.

OD. Well, nothing is too hard for Deity.

ATH. Stand still and keep thy place without a word.

OD. I must. Would I were far away from here!

ATH. Aias! Again I summon thee. Why pay So scanty heed to her who fights for thee?

_Enter_ AIAS _with a bloody scourge._

AIAS. Hail, offspring of the Highest! Pallas, hail! Well hast thou stood by me. Triumphal gold Shall crown thy temple for this lordly prey.

ATH. A fair intention! But resolve me this: Hast dyed thy falchion deep in Argive blood?

AI. There is my boast; that charge I'll ne'er deny.

ATH. Have Atreus' sons felt thy victorious might?

AI. They have. No more they'll make a scorn of me!

ATH. I take it, then, they are dead.

AI. Ay, now they are dead, Let them arise and rob me of mine arms!

ATH. Good. Next inform us of Laertes' son; How stands his fortune? Hast thou let him go?

AI. The accursed fox! Dost thou inquire of him?

ATH. Ay, of Odysseus, thy late adversary.

AI. He sits within, dear lady, to my joy, Bound; for I mean him not just yet to die.

ATH. What fine advantage wouldst thou first achieve?

AI. First, tie him to a pillar of my hall--

ATH. Poor wretch! What torment wilt thou wreak on him?

AI. Then stain his back with scourging till he die.

ATH. Nay, 'tis too much. Poor caitiff! Not the scourge!

AI. Pallas, in all things else have thou thy will, But none shall wrest Odysseus from this doom.

ATH. Well, since thou art determined on the deed, Spare nought of thine intent: indulge thy hand!

AI. (_waving the bloody scourge_). I go! But thou, I charge thee, let thine aid Be evermore like valiant as to-day. [_Exit_

ATH. The gods are strong, Odysseus. Dost thou see? What man than Aias was more provident, Or who for timeliest action more approved?

OD. I know of none. But, though he hates me sore, I pity him, poor mortal, thus chained fast To a wild and cruel fate,--weighing not so much His fortune as mine own. For now I feel All we who live are but an empty show And idle pageant of a shadowy dream.

ATH. Then, warned by what thou seest, be thou not rash To vaunt high words toward Heaven, nor swell thy port Too proudly, if in puissance of thy hand Thou passest others, or in mines of wealth. Since Time abases and uplifts again All that is human, and the modest heart Is loved by Heaven, who hates the intemperate will. [_Exeunt_

CHORUS (_entering_). Telamonian child, whose hand Guards our wave-encircled land, Salamis that breasts the sea, Good of thine is joy to me; But if One who reigns above Smite thee, or if murmurs move From fierce Danaaens in their hate Full of threatening to thy state, All my heart for fear doth sigh, Shrinking like a dove's soft eye.

Hardly had the darkness waned, [_Half-Chorus I._ When our ears were filled and pained With huge scandal on thy fame. Telling, thine the arm that came To the cattle-browsed mead, Wild with prancing of the steed, And that ravaged there and slew With a sword of fiery hue All the spoils that yet remain, By the sweat of spearmen ta'en.

Such report against thy life, [_Half-Chorus II._ Whispered words with falsehood rife, Wise Odysseus bringing near Shrewdly gaineth many an ear: Since invention against thee Findeth hearing speedily, Tallying with the moment's birth; And with loudly waxing mirth Heaping insult on thy grief, Each who hears it glories more Than the tongue that told before. Every slander wins belief Aimed at souls whose worth is chief: Shot at me, or one so small, Such a bolt might harmless fall. Ever toward the great and high Creepeth climbing jealousy Yet the low without the tall Make at need a tottering wall Let the strong the feeble save And the mean support the brave.

CHORUS Ah! 'twere vain to tune such song 'Mid the nought discerning throng Who are clamouring now 'gainst thee Long and loud, and strengthless we, Mighty chieftain, thou away, To withstand the gathering fray Flocking fowl with carping cry Seem they, lurking from thine eye, Till the royal eagle's poise Overawe the paltry noise Till before thy presence hushed Sudden sink they, mute and crushed.

Did bull slaying Artemis, Zeus' cruel daughter I 1 (Ah, fearful rumour, fountain of my shame!) Prompt thy fond heart to this disastrous slaughter Of the full herd stored in our army's name! Say, had her blood stained temple[1] missed the kindness Of some vow promised fruit of victory, Foiled of some glorious armour through thy blindness, Or fell some stag ungraced by gift from thee? Or did stern Ares venge his thankless spear Through this night foray that hath cost thee dear!

For never, if thy heart were not distracted I 2 By stings from Heaven, O child of Telamon, Wouldst thou have bounded leftward, to have acted Thus wildly, spoiling all our host hath won! Madness might fall some heavenly power forfend it But if Odysseus and the tyrant lords Suggest a forged tale, O rise to end it, Nor fan the fierce flame of their withering words! Forth from thy tent, and let thine eye confound The brood of Sisyphus[2] that would thee wound!

Too long hast thou been fixed in grim repose, III Heightening the haughty malice of thy foes, That, while thou porest by the sullen sea, Through breezy glades advanceth fearlessly, A mounting blaze with crackling laughter fed From myriad throats; whence pain and sorrow bred Within my bosom are established.

_Enter_ TECMESSA.

TECMESSA. Helpers of Aias' vessel's speed, Erechtheus' earth-derived seed, Sorrows are ours who truly care For the house of Telamon afar. The dread, the grand, the rugged form Of him we know, Is stricken with a troublous storm; Our Aias' glory droopeth low.

CHORUS. What burden through the darkness fell Where still at eventide 'twas well? Phrygian Teleutas' daughter, say; Since Aias, foremost in the fray, Disdaining not the spear-won bride, Still holds thee nearest at his side, And thou may'st solve our doubts aright.

TEC. How shall I speak the dreadful word? How shall ye live when ye have heard? Madness hath seized our lord by night And blasted him with hopeless blight. Such horrid victims mightst thou see Huddled beneath yon canopy, Torn by red hands and dyed in blood, Dread offerings to his direful mood.

CH. What news of our fierce lord thy story showeth, 1 Sharp to endure, impossible to fly! News that on tongues of Danaaens hourly groweth, Which Rumour's myriad voices multiply! Alas! the approaching doom awakes my terror. The man will die, disgraced in open day, Whose dark dyed steel hath dared through mad brained error The mounted herdmen with their herds to slay.

TEC. O horror! Then 'twas there he found The flock he brought as captives tied, And some he slew upon the ground, And some, side smiting, sundered wide Two white foot rams he backward drew, And bound. Of one he shore and threw The tipmost tongue and head away, The other to an upright stay He tied, and with a harness thong Doubled in hand, gave whizzing blows, Echoing his lashes with a song More dire than mortal fury knows.

CH. Ah! then 'tis time, our heads in mantles hiding, 2 Our feet on some stol'n pathway now to ply, Or with swift oarage o'er the billows gliding, With ordered stroke to make the good ship fly Such threats the Atridae, armed with two fold power, Launch to assail us. Oh, I sadly fear Stones from fierce hands on us and him will shower, Whose heavy plight no comfort may come near.

TEC. 'Tis changed, his rage, like sudden blast, Without the lightning gleam is past And now that Reason's light returns, New sorrow in his spirit burns. For when we look on self made woe, In which no hand but ours had part, Thought of such griefs and whence they flow Brings aching misery to the heart.

CH. If he hath ceased to rave, he should do well The account of evil lessens when 'tis past.

TEC. If choice were given you, would you rather choose Hurting your friends, yourself to feel delight, Or share with them in one commingled pain?

CH. The two fold trouble is more terrible.

TEC. Then comes our torment now the fit is o'er.

CH. How mean'st thou by that word? I fail to see.

TEC. He in his rage had rapture of delight And knew not how he grieved us who stood near And saw the madding tempest ruining him. But now 'tis over and he breathes anew, The counterblast of sorrow shakes his soul, Whilst our affliction vexeth as before, Have we not double for our single woe?

CH. I feel thy reasoning move me, and I fear Some heavenly stroke hath fallen. How else, when the end Of stormy sickness brings no cheering ray?

TEC. Our state is certain. Dream not but 'tis so.

CH. How first began the assault of misery? Tell us the trouble, for we share the pain.

TEC. It toucheth you indeed, and ye shall hear All from the first. 'Twas midnight, and the lamp Of eve had died, when, seizing his sharp blade, He sought on some vain errand to creep forth. I broke in with my word: 'Aias, what now? Why thus uncalled for salliest thou? No voice Of herald summoned thee. No trumpet blew. What wouldst thou when the camp is hushed in sleep?' He with few words well known to women's ears Checked me: 'The silent partner is the best.' I saw how 'twas and ceased. Forth then he fared Alone--What horror passed upon the plain This night, I know not. But he drags within, Tied in a throng, bulls, shepherd dogs, and spoil Of cattle and sheep. Anon he butchers them, Felling or piercing, hacking or tearing wide, Ribs from breast, limb from limb. Others in rage He seized and bound and tortured, brutes for men. Last, out he rushed before the doors, and there Whirled forth wild language to some shadowy form, Flouting the generals and Laertes' son With torrent laughter and loud triumphing What in his raid he had wreaked to their despite. Then diving back within--the fitful storm Slowly assuaging left his spirit clear. And when his eye had lightened through the room Cumbered with ruin, smiting on his brow He roared; and, tumbling down amid the wreck Of woolly carnage he himself had made, Sate with clenched hand tight twisted in his hair. Long stayed he so in silence. Then flashed forth Those frightful words of threatening vehemence, That bade me show him all the night's mishap, And whither he was fallen I, dear my friends, Prevailed on through my fear, told all I knew. And all at once he raised a bitter cry, Which heretofore I ne'er had heard, for still He made us think such doleful utterance Betokened the dull craven spirit, and still Dumb to shrill wailings, he would only moan With half heard muttering, like an angry bull. But now, by such dark fortune overpowered, Foodless and dry, amid the quivering heap His steel hath quelled, all quietly he broods; And out of doubt his mind intends some harm: Such words, such groans, burst from him. O my friends.-- Therefore I hastened,--enter and give aid If aught ye can! Men thus forgone will oft Grow milder through the counsel of a friend.

CH. Teleutas' child! we shudder at thy tale That fatal frenzy wastes our hero's soul.

AIAS (_within_). Woe's me, me, me!

TEC. More cause anon! Hear ye not Aias there, How sharp the cry that shrills from him?

AI. Woe! Woe!

CH. Madly it sounds--Or springs it of deep grief For proofs of madness harrowing to his eye?

AI. Boy, boy!

TEC. What means he? Oh, Eurysakes! He cries on thee. Where art thou? O my heart!

AI. Teucer I call! Where 's Teucer? Will he ne'er Come from the chase, but leave me to my doom?

CH. Not madness now. Disclose him. Let us look. Haply the sight of us may calm his soul.

TEC. There, then; I open to your view the form Of Aias, and his fortunes as they are. [AIAS _is discovered_

AI. Dear comrades of the deep, whose truth and love I 1 Stand forth alone unbroken in my woe, Behold what gory sea Of storm-lashed agony Doth round and round me flow!

CH. (_to_ TEC.) Too true thy witness: for the fact cries out Wild thoughts were here and Reason's lamp extinct.

AI. Strong helpers of sea-speed, whose nimble hand I 2 Plied hither the salt oar with circling stroke, No shepherd there was found To give the avenging wound. Come, lay me with the flock!

CH. Speak no rash word! nor curing ill with ill Augment the plague of this calamity.

AI. Mark ye the brave and bold, II 1 Whom none could turn of old, When once he set his face to the fierce fight? Now beasts that thought no harm Have felt this puissant arm. O laughter of my foes! O mockery of my might!

TEC. Aias, my lord! I entreat thee, speak not so!

AI. Thou here! Away! begone, and trouble me not! O! O!

CH. Be softened! bear a steadier mind!

AI. O heaven-accursed hand That let the ruffians go, But falling 'midst the horn'd and bleating band, Made darkling blood-streams flow!

CH. Why vex thy heart with what is over and done? Do what we may, this ne'er will alter now.

AI. Child of Laertes old, II 2 Thou that dost still behold And still contrive all shapes of monstrous ill, Winding in foulest ways Through the army's sinful maze,-- Now even for pleasure thou may'st laugh thy fill.

CH. Laughter and tears are in the gift of God.

AI. Ay, might I see him, though thus broken,--ay me! Even yet--

CH. Nay, vaunt not. Look where thou art fallen.

AI. Source where my life-blood springs, O Zeus, might I but slay That crafty plague, with those twin-sceptred kings, Then breathe my life away!

TEC. Pray thus, and pray that I too be no more! If thou wert gone, what were my life to me?

AI. Darkness! my only light! III 1 O nether gloom, to me Brighter than morning to the wakeful eye! Take me to dwell with thee. Take me! What help? Zeus' daughter with fell might Torments me sore. I may not look on high, Nor to the tribe of momentary men.-- Oh, whither, then, Should it avail to fly? Ah! whither should I go and stay? All here is ruin. This mad prey Shames me for evermore: Vengeance is at the door; Yea, all the Achaean host, with armed hand, Is ready at command To slay me o'er and o'er.

TEC. Woe 's me! to hear from one so good and true Words he had scorned to utter in past days.

AI. Grey firths of foaming brine, III 2 And ye, deep groves, that crown The sea-caves and long cliffs upon the shore, Too long did ye confine My life about the walls of Troia's town: But no more now! a breathing man, no more! The wise in heart may duly learn that lore. Let Xanthus know, Whose waters neighbouring flow, And minister to Argive men: One man he ne'er shall see again; One, I will vaunt it forth! Highest in warlike worth Of all Greek forms that Troia's towers have eyed: Now, shorn of all that pride, I lie thus low.

CH. I know not how to let thee speak, nor how To silence thee. Such evils close thee round.

AI. Ay me! Could human thought have prophesied My name would thus give echo to mine ill? 'Ai' now for Aias, doubly, trebly said, Sorts all too well to mark my misery; Whose father from this land of Troy, as noblest Of all the host, carrying the fairest prize, Came girt about with glory to his home. But I his son, not less of might than he, Nor poorer in the achievements of my hand, To this same region following in my prime, Am scouted by the Achaeans and destroyed. Yet know I one thing well. Had Peleus' child, Living, adjudged his armour as a meed Of well-tried bravery, no grasp save mine Had clutched it. But the Atridae with mean craft Conveyed his heirloom to a wit-proud knave, Whilst Aias' peerless prowess was despised. And had not this mine eye and mind distraught Glanced from my purpose, ne'er again had they Perverted judgement. But the invincible Stern daughter of the Highest, with baneful eye, Even as mine arm descended, baffled me, And hurled upon my soul a frenzied plague, To stain my hand with these dumb victims' blood. And those mine enemies exult in safety,-- Not with my will; but where a God misguides, Strong arms are thwarted and the weakling lives. Now, what remains? Heaven hates me, 'tis too clear: The Grecian host abhor me: Troy, with all This country round our camp, is my sworn foe. Shall I, across the Aegean sailing home, Leave these Atridae and their fleet forlorn? How shall I dare to front my father's eye? How will he once endure to look on me, Denuded of the prize of high renown, Whose coronal stood sparkling on his brow? No! 'twere too dreadful. Then shall I advance Before the Trojan battlements, and there In single conflict doing valiantly Last die upon their spears? Nay, for by this I might perchance make Atreus' offspring glad. That may not be imagined. I must find Some act to let my grey-haired father feel No heartless recreant once called him sire. Shame on the wight who when beset with ill Cares to live on in misery unrelieved. Can hour outlasting hour make less or more Of death? Whereby then can it furnish joy? That mortal weighs for nothing-worth with me, Whom Hope can comfort with her fruitless fire. Honour in life or honour in the grave Befits the noble heart. You hear my will.

CH. From thine own spirit, Aias, all may tell, That utterance came, and none have prompted thee. Yet stay thy hurrying thought, and by thy friends Be ruled to loose this burden from thy mind.