ELECTRA.

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The subject of the "Electra" of Sophocles is the same as that of the "ChoËphoroe" (the Libation-bearers) of Aeschylus. It is the return of Orestes from exile to take vengeance on Aegisthus and Clytaemnestra, for their murder of his father, Agamemnon. Electra plays the same part which she plays in the "ChoËphoroe," while her sister, Chrysothemis, plays that of gentleness and comparative weakness. Orestes, in this play, returns with a fictitious story of his death which throws Aegisthus and Clytaemnestra off their guard.

* * * * *

THE SNARE.

The Paedagogos (tutor or governor) of Orestes, to circumvent Clytaemnestra, tells her a fictitious story of her son's death by a fall in a chariot-race. Electra is on the scene.

LINES 660-822.

PAEDAGOGOS.

Good ladies, tell a stranger in your land,
Does King Aegisthus in this mansion dwell?

CHORUS.

He does, my friend; thou hast conjectured right.

PAEDAGOGOS.

Shall I conjecture right if I take this
To be his Queen? She has a queenly look.

CHORUS.

Thou'rt right again; the Queen indeed she is.

PAEDAGOGOS.

Hail, royal lady. From a friend I bring
News good for thee and for Aegisthus too.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Thy words are pleasing to mine ear; but first
I must inquire of thee, who sent thee here?

PAEDAGOGOS.

The Phocian Phanoteus, on errand grave.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Say what it is; for as the name is dear
Of him that sent thee, glad will be thy news.

PAEDAGOGOS.

Orestes is no more: that is the sum.

ELECTRA.

Alas! alas! I am undone this day.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

What? what? repeat it; listen not to her.

PAEDAGOGOS.

Again, I say, Orestes is no more.

ELECTRA.

It is my death-blow; I am lost, am lost.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Look to thyself, girl. Stranger, tell me true,
In what way was it that he met his doom?

PAEDAGOGOS.

To this end was I sent; thou shalt hear all.
To those great games, the pride of Hellas, came
Orestes, fain to win the Delphic prize.
There, when he heard the herald with loud voice
Proclaim the race, which is the first event,
He entered, dazzling, and admired of all;
And shooting swift from starting-post to goal,
Bore off the prize of glorious victory.
Briefly to speak, exploits so marvellous,
Such proofs of prowess, never did I see.
Know that in every foot-race that as wont
The presidents proclaimed, he, midst the cheers
Of gratulating crowds, bore off the prize;
While heralds loud proclaimed the victor's name,
Argive Orestes, Agamemnon's son,
Heir to the glory of that conqueror.
So far he prospered; but when heaven decrees
That man shall fall, man's might is vain to save.
Another day, when in the early morn,
The chariot race was held upon the course,
Orestes came with many a charioteer.
One an Achaean, one a Spartan, was;
Two with their cars from distant Lybia came;
Orestes with his steeds of Thessaly
The fifth, the sixth was an Aetolian,
With bright bay steeds; then a Magnesian,
Then with white steeds an Aeneanian came;
Athens, the god-built city, sent the ninth;
In the tenth chariot a Boeotian rode.
Taking their stand, each where his lot was drawn,
And as the masters of the games ordained,
At trumpet's sound they started, and at once,
All shouting to their steeds, they shook the reins
To urge them onwards, while the course was filled
With din of rattling chariots; rose the dust
In clouds, the racers, mingled in a throng,
Plied, each of them, the goad unsparingly,
To clear the press of cars and snorting steeds,
So close, they felt the horses' breath behind,
And all the whirling wheels were flecked with foam.
Orestes showed his skill once and again,
Grazing the pillar at the course's end,
The near horse well in hand, his mate let go.
So far had all the chariots safely run;
But now the hard-mouthed Aeneanian steeds
O'erpowered their driver, and in wheeling round,
Just as, the sixth stretch past, the seventh began,
Dashed front to front on the Barcaean car.
Disaster on disaster came: now one
And now another car was overturned
And shattered; Crisa's plain was filled with wreck.
The skilful charioteer whom Athens sent
Then drew aside, slackened his pace and gave
The surge of wild confusion room to pass.
Last of the train Orestes drove, his steeds
Holding in hand, and trusting to the end;
But seeing only the Athenian left,
With piercing shouts, urging his team to speed,
He made for him, and side by side the pair
Drove onward, yoke even with yoke, now one
And now the other leading by a head.
Through all the courses but the last that youth
Ill-starred stood safely in an upright car.
But at the last, slackening his left-hand rein,
As his horse turned the goal, he unawares
The pillar struck and broke his axle-tree.
Out of the car he rolled, still in the reins
Entangled, while his horses, as he fell,
Rushed wildly through the middle of the course.
The whole assembly, when they saw him fall,
Raised a loud cry of horror at the fate
Of him that was the hero of the games,
Seeing him dragged along the ground, his feet
Anon flung skyward; till some charioteers,
With much ado, stopping the headlong steeds,
Released him, but so mangled that no friend
The gory and disfigured corpse would know.
They laid him on the funeral pyre, and now
Have Phocian envoys in a narrow urn
Brought the poor ashes of that mighty frame
For sepulture in his ancestral tomb.
Such is my story. Sad enough for those
Who hear; for those who saw most piteous
Of all the sights that e'er these eyes beheld.

CHORUS.

Alas, alas! it seems the noble stock
Of our old Kings is wholly rooted out.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

What shall I call this, Zeus? Is it good luck,
Or gain with sorrow blended? Sad it is
That I should owe my safety to my dole.

PAEDAGOGOS.

Why art thou downcast, lady, at my words?

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Strong is a mother's love; no injury
Can make her hate the offspring of her womb.

PAEDAGOGOS.

My errand then is bootless, as it seems.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Bootless it is not, and it could not be,
If thou hast brought me certain evidence
That he is dead, who, owing life to me,
Rebelled against the breast that suckled him;
Who, when self-banished, he had left the land
Looked on my face no more; who, charging me
With his sire's murder, threatened vengeance dire,
So that sweet sleep neither by night nor day
Could fold my weary sense, but every hour
Passed in the shadow of impending death.
Now—since this day doth end my fears from him,
And from this maid, whose presence in my home,
Draining the very life-blood of my heart,
Was to me yet more baneful—now at last
Rid of their menaces, we dwell in peace.

ELECTRA.

Alas, alas! well may we wail for thee,
Orestes, when thy mother can exult
Over her child's poor ashes. Is this well?

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Not well for thee, with him 'tis well enough.

ELECTRA.

Hear, Nemesis, the prayer of him that's gone.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

The right prayer she had heard and ratified.

ELECTRA.

Thy tongue is free, fortune is on thy side.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Thou and Orestes soon will put us down.

ELECTRA.

We put thee down? We are put down ourselves.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Stranger, thy mission would be blessed indeed
If thou could silence yonder termagant.

PAEDAGOGOS.

If I am no more needed, let me go.

CLYTAEMNESTRA.

Nay, it would shame my hospitality
And his that sent thee, thus to let thee go.
Come in with me, and leave this damsel here,
To mourn her friend's disasters and her own.

(Exeunt PAEDAGOGOS and CLYTAEMNESTRA.)

ELECTRA.

How say ye? Does yon wretched woman seem
Deeply to mourn and bitterly bewail
The son that has so miserably died?
She goes off mocking us. Woe worth the day!
Dearest Orestes, I have died in thee.
For thou hast carried with thee to the grave
The only hope that in my heart yet lived,
The hope that thou wouldst some day come to venge
Thy sire and me. Now whither can I turn?
I am left desolate, deprived of thee,
As of my father. Once more I become
The slave of those whom I do hate like death,
My father's murderers. What a lot is mine!
But with those murderers I will dwell no more
Under one roof; an outcast at this gate
I'll fling me down, and pine away my life.
Let those within, then, if my grief offends,
Kill me at once. Welcome would be the blow;
Life is a burden, death would be a boon.

* * * * *

THE SISTERS.

Electra's sister, Chrysothemis, having found the offering of Orestes on his father's tomb, brings what she deems glad tidings to Electra, who meets her with the announcement that the Pedagogos has just brought certain news of their brother's death. Electra, now reduced to despair, proposes to Chrysothemis that they should themselves attempt to slay Aegisthus.

LINES 871-1057.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Joy, dearest sister, has impelled my steps
To haste with no regard for dignity,
[Footnote: Composure in gait and manner was the rule for Hellenic
women.]
I bring to thee glad tidings and relief
From all the miseries thou hast undergone.

ELECTRA.

Whence canst thou any aid or comfort draw
For my misfortunes which are past all cure?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Orestes has come home. Doubt not my word.
As sure as now thou seest me, he is here.

ELECTRA.

Hast thou gone mad, unhappy one, that thus
Thou mockest at my miseries and thy own?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

By our ancestral hearth I swear to thee
I say not this in mockery; he is here.

ELECTRA.

O misery, from what mortal hast thou heard
This story that has gained thy fond belief?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

It is no hearsay: mine own eyes have seen
The certain proofs of that which I believe.

ELECTRA.

What is the token? What has met thy gaze
To fire thy silly heart with fevered hope?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Only give ear to what I have to tell,
Then call me mad, or not mad, as thou wilt.

ELECTRA.

Speak on, if thou hast pleasure in the tale.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

All that I saw, I will recount to thee.
When to our old ancestral tomb I came,
I saw a stream of milk fresh running down,
From the mound's summit, and our father's grave
Crowned with a wreath of all the flowers that grow.
The sight amazed me and I looked around,
Fearing lest some intruder might be near.
But when I saw that all around was still,
I drew near to the tomb, and on its edge
I found a lock of hair, freshly cut off.
When I beheld that lock, into my soul
Rushed a familiar image, and meseemed
Orestes must have laid that token there.
I took it up, I opened not my lips,
But in my eyes the tears of joy o'erflowed.
That from one hand alone this gift could come
Is now, as then it was, my sure belief.
Who else could lay it there save you or me?
That 'twas not I, is certain, and no less
That 'twas not you, when scarcely you have leave
To go forth to the temples of the gods;
While, for our mother, she has little mind
To do such things, nor could she go unseen.
It is Orestes that his homage pays.
Be of good cheer, my sister; destiny
Unkind to-day, to-morrow may be kind.
So far it has been adverse, but this hour,
Perchance, may prove the dawn of happiness.

ELECTRA.

I pity as I hear thy foolish talk.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Why? Is not what I say sweet to thine ear?

ELECTRA.

Thou know'st not what thou dost or where thou art.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Not know the thing which my own eyes beheld?

ELECTRA.

He's dead, poor foolish heart. These proofs of thine
Are good for nothing. Look for him no more.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Unhappy me; who was it told thee this?

ELECTRA.

One that was present when he met his end.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Amazement fills my soul! Where is this man?

ELECTRA.

Within there, and our mother's welcome guest.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Thy words o'erwhelm me. Who, then, could have laid
Affection's offerings on our father's grave?

ELECTRA.

That some one brought them as memorials
Of dead Orestes, likeliest seems to me.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Unhappy that I am! And full of joy
I hastened with these tidings, ignorant
Of our dark fate. I left the cup of grief
Full, and I come to see it overflow.

ELECTRA.

So stands it now, but do what I advise,
And thou mayest lighten yet this load of woe.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

How? Can I bring the dead to life again?

ELECTRA.

I meant not that, nor was so void of sense.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

What wouldst thou have, that is within my power?

ELECTRA.

I'd have thee bravely do what I enjoin.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

So it be helpful, I will not refuse.

ELECTRA.

Look, without effort nothing will go well.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

'Tis true, and I will aid with all my might.

ELECTRA.

Hear now my resolution. Thou dost know
That we are friendless now; the friend we had
Hades has ta'en and left us desolate.
While I still heard that our Orestes lived,
And all was well with him, the hope remained
That he would come, and venge our murdered sire.
But now that he is gone I look to thee
To lend thy sister aid in taking off
Aegisthus; frankly such is my intent.
Where will thy sufferance end? what hope is left
For thee to look to? woe on woe is thine.
Of thy sire's wealth thou'rt disinherited,
And to this hour hast been condemned to pine
In cold companionless virginity.
Nor deem that thou shalt ever be a bride;
Aegisthus is not so devoid of sense
As to permit a shoot from thee or me
To spring which to his certain bane would grow.
But if thy soul can rise to my resolve,
First to thy sire and brother there below
Thou wilt discharge the debt of piety;
Next a free woman thou wilt be once more,
As thou wast born, and find a worthy mate,
For lover's eyes look to the good and brave.
Then seest thou not what glory thou wilt win
For both of us, embracing my design?
What citizen or foreigner will fail
Whene'er we pass, to pay his meed of praise?
"Look at yon pair of sisters; these are they
That from its fall redeemed their father's house,
That setting their own lives upon the die,
Their enemies, in power uplifted, slew.
To these we all should loving homage pay,
These ever honour at our festivals
And our assemblies for their bravery."
Such things the public voice will say of us,
In life or death our fame will never end.
Consent, dear sister; for thy father strike,
Strike for thy brother, rescue me from woe,
Redeem thyself. Those who are nobly born
Honour forbids to live the butt of scorn.

CHORUS.

Foresight in matters such as these is good,
For those who give and those who take advice.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Before she spoke, ladies, had not her mind
Been quite perverted, she would have held fast
The caution which she utterly lets go.
What puts it in thy heart, this desperate deed
Thyself to dare, and call on me to aid?
Dost thou not know that thou a woman art?
And that our enemies are mightier far?
While their good fortune waxes day by day,
Ours wanes as fast and leaves us destitute.
Who then that strikes at one so powerful
Can fail to pluck down ruin on himself?
Beware, lest to our ills we add more ill,
If these thy resolutions get abroad.
Little would all that glory profit us,
If we should die an ignominious death.
And death is not the worst that may befall;
It is worse still to long for death in vain.
I do conjure thee, ere thou ruin us
Beyond redemption, and cut off our race,
To moderate thy wrath; what thou hast said
I will regard as unsaid, null and void.
Do thou at last get thee some sober sense,
And yield to power as thou art powerless.

CHORUS.

Take her advice; there is not among men
A better thing than foresight and good sense.

ELECTRA.

All thou hast said I did anticipate;
What I proposed I knew thou wouldst reject.
Alone, with my own hand, I'll do the deed;
My resolution shall not come to naught.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

What now thou art, would thou hadst been the day
Thy father died: thou wouldst have ruled the hour.

ELECTRA.

In heart I was the same, but not in sense.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Strive still to keep the sense that then thou hadst.

ELECTRA.

Thy preaching shows I shall not have thy aid,

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

No, for the enterprise is desperate.

ELECTRA.

Thy sense I envy, but thy spirit scorn.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Thy blame or praise to me is all the same.

ELECTRA.

Praise from these lips thou needest never fear.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

That will be seen hereafter: time is long.

ELECTRA.

Get thee away, in thee there is no help.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Help is in me, knowledge in thee is not.

ELECTRA.

Go, if thou wilt, and tell our mother all.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Hate if I must, not so far goes my hate.

ELECTRA.

It goes so far as to dishonour me.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Not to dishonour but to care for thee.

ELECTRA.

And is my justice to be led by thine?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Learn to be wise, and thou shalt lead us both.

ELECTRA.

'Tis pity when good talkers go astray.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Thou hast exactly hit thy own disease.

ELECTRA.

What! have I not, then, justice on my side?

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Justice itself may sometimes lead us wrong.

ELECTRA.

Let me not live where justice may be wrong.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Do it and thou wilt see that I was right.

ELECTRA.

Do it I will, and reckless of thy frown.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

Thou wilt: and is no room for counsel left?

ELECTRA.

Base counsel is a thing my soul abhors.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

It seems that we shall never be agreed.

ELECTRA.

Of that I was convinced a while ago.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

I will begone: thy spirit will not brook
My counsel, nor can I thy ways approve.

ELECTRA.

Go then, but never shall I follow thee,
Entreat me as thou mayst, of that be sure:
Fools only look for that which none can find.
[Footnote: As no help or sympathy can be found in Chrysothemis.]

CHRYSOTHEMIS.

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.

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.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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