The Bacchae and Other Plays

Source

Source: Project Gutenberg #8418/#35171 Source URL: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8418 ; https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35171 Translator: Gilbert Murray Public domain basis: Public-domain Murray English translations published before 1931. Coverage: Bacchae and Hippolytus from #8418; Women of Troy from #35171. Ion and Helen were checked in Gutenberg search but not found as safe English plain text, so this is partial.

# Project Gutenberg #8418

HIPPOLYTUS and THE BACCHAE

By Euripides

Translated by GILBERT MURRAY

Nine Greek Dramas

By Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides And Aristophanes

Translations By E.D.A. Morshead E.H. Plumptre Gilbert Murray And B.B. Rogers

Introductory Note

INTRODUCTORY NOTE

Euripides, the youngest of the trio of great Greek tragedians was born at Salamis in 480 B.C., on the day when the Greeks won their momentous naval victory there over the fleet of the Persians. The precise social status of his parents is not clear but he received a good education, was early distinguished as an athlete, and showed talent in painting and oratory. He was a fellow student of Pericles, and his dramas show the influence of the philosophical ideas of Anaxagoras and of Socrates, with whom he was personally intimate. Like Socrates, he was accused of impiety, and this, along with domestic infelicity, has been supposed to afford a motive for his withdrawal from Athens, first to Magnesia and later to the court of Archelaüs in Macedonia where he died in 406 B.C.

The first tragedy of Euripides was produced when he was about twenty-five, and he was several times a victor in the tragic contests. In spite of the antagonisms which he aroused and the criticisms which were hurled upon him in, for example, the comedies of Aristophanes, he attained a very great popularity; and Plutarch tells that those Athenians who were taken captive in the disastrous Sicilian expedition of 413 B.C. were offered freedom by their captors if they could recite from the works of Euripides. Of the hundred and twenty dramas ascribed to Euripides, there have come down to us complete eighteen tragedies and one satyric drama, "Cyclops," beside numerous fragments.

The works of Euripides are generally regarded as showing the beginning of the decline of Greek tragedy. The idea of Fate hitherto dominant in the plays of his predecessors, tends to be degraded by him into mere chance; the characters lose much of their ideal quality; and even gods and heroes are represented as moved by the petty motives of ordinary humanity. The chorus is often quite detached from the action; the poetry is florid; and the action is frequently tinged with sensationalism. In spite of all this, Euripides remains a great poet; and his picturesqueness and tendencies to what are now called realism and romanticism, while marking his inferiority to the chaste classicism of Sophocles, bring him more easily within the sympathetic interest of the modern reader.

Hippolytus Of Euripides Dramatis Personae The Goddess Aphrodite

HIPPOLYTUS

OF EURIPIDES

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

THE GODDESS APHRODITE THESEUS, _King of Athens and Trozên_ PHAEDRA, _daughter of Minos, King of Crete, wife to Theseus_ HIPPOLYTUS, _bastard son of Theseus and the Amazon Hippolyte_ THE NURSE OF PHAEDRA A HENCHMAN OF HIPPOLYTUS THE GODDESS ARTEMIS AN OLD HUNTSMAN A CHORUS OF HUNTSMEN ATTENDANTS ON THE THREE ROYAL PERSONS A CHORUS OF TROZENIAN WOMEN, WITH THEIR LEADER

_The scene is laid in Trozên. The play was first acted when Epameinon was Archon, Olympiad 87, year 4 (B.C. 429). Euripides was first, Iophon second, Ion third._

Aphrodite

APHRODITE Great among men, and not unnamed am I, The Cyprian, in God's inmost halls on high. And wheresoe'er from Pontus to the far Red West men dwell, and see the glad day-star, And worship Me, the pious heart I bless, And wreck that life that lives in stubbornness. For that there is, even in a great God's mind, That hungereth for the praise of human kind.

So runs my word; and soon the very deed Shall follow. For this Prince of Theseus' seed, Hippolytus, child of that dead Amazon, And reared by saintly Pittheus in his own Strait ways, hath dared, alone of all Trozên, To hold me least of spirits and most mean, And spurns my spell and seeks no woman's kiss, But great Apollo's sister, Artemis, He holds of all most high, gives love and praise, And through the wild dark woods for ever strays, He and the Maid together, with swift hounds To slay all angry beasts from out these bounds, To more than mortal friendship consecrate!

I grudge it not. No grudge know I, nor hate; Yet, seeing he hath offended, I this day Shall smite Hippolytus. Long since my way Was opened, nor needs now much labour more.

For once from Pittheus' castle to the shore Of Athens came Hippolytus over-seas Seeking the vision of the Mysteries. And Phaedra there, his father's Queen high-born; Saw him, and as she saw, her heart was torn With great love, by the working of my will. And for his sake, long since, on Pallas' hill, Deep in the rock, that Love no more might roam, She built a shrine, and named it _Love-at-home_: And the rock held it, but its face alway Seeks Trozên o'er the seas. Then came the day When Theseus, for the blood of kinsmen shed, Spake doom of exile on himself, and fled, Phaedra beside him, even to this Trozên. And here that grievous and amazed Queen, Wounded and wondering, with ne'er a word, Wastes slowly; and her secret none hath heard Nor dreamed.

But never thus this love shall end! To Theseus' ear some whisper will I send, And all be bare! And that proud Prince, my foe, His sire shall slay with curses. Even so Endeth that boon the great Lord of the Main To Theseus gave, the Three Prayers not in vain.

And she, not in dishonour, yet shall die. I would not rate this woman's pain so high As not to pay mine haters in full fee That vengeance that shall make all well with me.

But soft, here comes he, striding from the chase, Our Prince Hippolytus!--I will go my ways.-- And hunters at his heels: and a loud throng Glorying Artemis with praise and song! Little he knows that Hell's gates opened are, And this his last look on the great Day-star! [APHRODITE _withdraws, unseen by_ HIPPOLYTUS _and a band of huntsmen, who enter from the left, singing. They pass the Statue of_ APHRODITE _without notice._]

Hippolytus

HIPPOLYTUS Follow, O follow me, Singing on your ways Her in whose hand are we, Her whose own flock we be, The Zeus-Child, the Heavenly; To Artemis be praise!

HUNTSMAN Hail to thee, Maiden blest, Proudest and holiest: God's Daughter, great in bliss, Leto-born, Artemis! Hail to thee, Maiden, far Fairest of all that are, Yea, and most high thine home, Child of the Father's hall; Hear, O most virginal, Hear, O most fair of all, In high God's golden dome.

[_The huntsmen have gathered about the altar of_ ARTEMIS. HIPPOLYTUS _now advances from them, and approaches the Statue with a wreath in his hand._]

HIPPOLYTUS To thee this wreathed garland, from a green And virgin meadow bear I, O my Queen, Where never shepherd leads his grazing ewes Nor scythe has touched. Only the river dews Gleam, and the spring bee sings, and in the glade Hath Solitude her mystic garden made. No evil hand may cull it: only he Whose heart hath known the heart of Purity, Unlearned of man, and true whate'er befall. Take therefore from pure hands this coronal, O mistress loved, thy golden hair to twine. For, sole of living men, this grace is mine, To dwell with thee, and speak, and hear replies Of voice divine, though none may see thine eyes. Oh, keep me to the end in this same road! [_An_ OLD HUNTSMAN, _who has stood apart from the rest, here comes up to_ HIPPOLYTUS.]

HUNTSMAN My Prince--for "Master" name I none but God-- Gave I good counsel, wouldst thou welcome it?

HIPPOLYTUS Right gladly, friend; else were I poor of wit.

HUNTSMAN Knowest thou one law, that through the world has won?

HIPPOLYTUS What wouldst thou? And how runs thy law? Say on.

HUNTSMAN It hates that Pride that speaks not all men fair!

HIPPOLYTUS And rightly. Pride breeds hatred everywhere.

HUNTSMAN And good words love, and grace in all men's sight?

HIPPOLYTUS Aye, and much gain withal, for trouble slight.

HUNTSMAN How deem'st thou of the Gods? Are they the same?

HIPPOLYTUS Surely: we are but fashioned on their frame.

HUNTSMAN Why then wilt thou be proud, and worship not ...

HIPPOLYTUS Whom? If the name be speakable, speak out!

HUNTSMAN She stands here at thy gate: the Cyprian Queen!

HIPPOLYTUS I greet her from afar: my life is clean.

HUNTSMAN Clean? Nay, proud, proud; a mark for all to scan!

HIPPOLYTUS Each mind hath its own bent, for God or man.

HUNTSMAN God grant thee happiness ... and wiser thought!

HIPPOLYTUS These Spirits that reign in darkness like me not.

HUNTSMAN What the Gods ask, O Son, that man must pay!

HIPPOLYTUS (_turning from him to the others_). On, huntsmen, to the Castle! Make your way Straight to the feast room; 'tis a merry thing After the chase, a board of banqueting. And see the steeds be groomed, and in array The chariot dight. I drive them forth to-day [_He pauses, and makes a slight gesture of reverence to the Statue on the left. Then to the_ OLD HUNTSMAN.] That for thy Cyprian, friend, and nought beside! [HIPPOLYTUS _follows the huntsmen, who stream by the central door in the Castle. The_ OLD HUNTSMAN _remains_.]

HUNTSMAN (_approaching the Statue and kneeling_) O Cyprian--for a young man in his pride I will not follow!--here before thee, meek, In that one language that a slave may speak, I pray thee; Oh, if some wild heart in froth Of youth surges against thee, be not wroth For ever! Nay, be far and hear not then: Gods should be gentler and more wise than men! [_He rises and follows the others into the Castle_.]

_The Orchestra is empty for a moment, then there enter from right and left several Trosenian women young and old. Their number eventually amounts to fifteen._

CHORUS There riseth a rock-born river, Of Ocean's tribe, men say; The crags of it gleam and quiver, And pitchers dip in the spray: A woman was there with raiment white To bathe and spread in the warm sunlight, And she told a tale to me there by the river The tale of the Queen and her evil day:

How, ailing beyond allayment, Within she hath bowed her head, And with shadow of silken raiment The bright brown hair bespread. For three long days she hath lain forlorn, Her lips untainted of flesh or corn, For that secret sorrow beyond allayment That steers to the far sad shore of the dead.

_Some Women_ Is this some Spirit, O child of man? Doth Hecat hold thee perchance, or Pan? Doth she of the Mountains work her ban, Or the dread Corybantes bind thee?

_Others_ Nay, is it sin that upon thee lies, Sin of forgotten sacrifice, In thine own Dictynna's sea-wild eyes? Who in Limna here can find thee; For the Deep's dry floor is her easy way, And she moves in the salt wet whirl of the spray.

_Other Women_ Or doth the Lord of Erechtheus' race, Thy Theseus, watch for a fairer face, For secret arms in a silent place, Far from thy love or chiding?

_Others_ Or hath there landed, amid the loud Hum of Piraeus' sailor-crowd, Some Cretan venturer, weary-browed, Who bears to the Queen some tiding; Some far home-grief, that hath bowed her low, And chained her soul to a bed of woe?

_An Older Woman_ Nay--know yet not?--this burden hath alway lain On the devious being of woman; yea, burdens twain, The burden of Wild Will and the burden of Pain. Through my heart once that wind of terror sped; But I, in fear confessèd, Cried from the dark to Her in heavenly bliss, The Helper of Pain, the Bow-Maid Artemis: Whose feet I praise for ever, where they tread Far off among the blessèd!

The Leader

THE LEADER But see, the Queen's grey nurse at the door, Sad-eyed and sterner, methinks, than of yore With the Queen. Doth she lead her hither To the wind and sun?--Ah, fain would I know What strange betiding hath blanched that brow And made that young life wither. [_The NURSE comes out from the central door followed by_ PHAEDRA, _who is supported by two handmaids. They make ready a couch for_ PHAEDRA _to lie upon_.]

NURSE O sick and sore are the days of men! What wouldst thou? What shall I change again Here is the Sun for thee; here is the sky; And thy weary pillows wind-swept lie, By the castle door. But the cloud of thy brow is dark, I ween; And soon thou wilt back to thy bower within: So swift to change is the path of thy feet, And near things hateful, and far things sweet; So was it before!

Oh, pain were better than tending pain! For that were single, and this is twain, With grief of heart and labour of limb. Yet all man's life is but ailing and dim, And rest upon earth comes never. But if any far-off state there be, Dearer than life to mortality; The hand of the Dark hath hold thereof, And mist is under and mist above. And so we are sick of life, and cling On earth to this nameless and shining thing. For other life is a fountain sealed, And the deeps below are unrevealed, And we drift on legends for ever! [PHAEDRA _during this has been laid on her couch; she speaks to the handmaids_.]

PHAEDRA Yes; lift me: not my head so low. There, hold my arms.--Fair arms they seem!-- My poor limbs scarce obey me now! Take off that hood that weighs my brow, And let my long hair stream.

NURSE Nay, toss not, Child, so feveredly. The sickness best will win relief By quiet rest and constancy. All men have grief.

PHAEDRA (_not noticing her_) Oh for a deep and dewy spring, With runlets cold to draw and drink! And a great meadow blossoming, Long-grassed, and poplars in a ring, To rest me by the brink!

NURSE Nay, Child! Shall strangers hear this tone So wild, and thoughts so fever-flown?

PHAEDRA Oh, take me to the Mountain! Oh, Pass the great pines and through the wood, Up where the lean hounds softly go, A-whine for wild things' blood, And madly flies the dappled roe. O God, to shout and speed them there, An arrow by my chestnut hair Drawn tight, and one keen glimmering spear-- Ah! if I could!

NURSE What wouldst thou with them--fancies all!-- Thy hunting and thy fountain brink? What wouldst thou? By the city wall Canst hear our own brook plash and fall Downhill, if thou wouldst drink.

PHAEDRA O Mistress of the Sea-lorn Mere Where horse-hoofs beat the sand and sing, O Artemis, that I were there To tame Enetian steeds and steer Swift chariots in the ring!

NURSE Nay, mountainward but now thy hands Yearned out, with craving for the chase; And now toward the unseaswept sands Thou roamest, where the coursers pace! O wild young steed, what prophet knows The power that holds thy curb, and throws Thy swift heart from its race? [_At these words PHAEDRA gradually recovers herself and pays attention._]

PHAEDRA What have I said? Woe's me! And where Gone straying from my wholesome mind? What? Did I fall in some god's snare? --Nurse, veil my head again, and blind Mine eyes.--There is a tear behind That lash.--Oh, I am sick with shame! Aye, but it hath a sting, To come to reason; yet the name Of madness is an awful thing.-- Could I but die in one swift flame Unthinking, unknowing!

NURSE I veil thy face, Child.--Would that so Mine own were veiled for evermore, So sore I love thee! ... Though the lore Of long life mocks me, and I know How love should be a lightsome thing Not rooted in the deep o' the heart; With gentle ties, to twine apart If need so call, or closer cling.-- Why do I love thee so? O fool, O fool, the heart that bleeds for twain, And builds, men tell us, walls of pain, To walk by love's unswerving rule The same for ever, stern and true! For "Thorough" is no word of peace: 'Tis "Naught-too-much" makes trouble cease. And many a wise man bows thereto. [_The_ LEADER OF THE CHORUS _here approaches the_ NURSE.]

LEADER Nurse of our Queen, thou watcher old and true, We see her great affliction, but no clue Have we to learn the sickness. Wouldst thou tell The name and sort thereof, 'twould like us well.

NURSE Small leechcraft have I, and she tells no man.

LEADER Thou know'st no cause? Nor when the unrest began?

NURSE It all comes to the same. She will not speak.

LEADER (_turning and looking at_ PHAEDRA). How she is changed and wasted! And how weak!

NURSE 'Tis the third day she hath fasted utterly.

LEADER What, is she mad? Or doth she seek to die?

NURSE I know not. But to death it sure must lead.

LEADER 'Tis strange that Theseus takes hereof no heed.

NURSE She hides her wound, and vows it is not so.

LEADER Can he not look into her face and know?

NURSE Nay, he is on a journey these last days.

LEADER Canst thou not force her, then? Or think of ways To trap the secret of the sick heart's pain?

NURSE Have I not tried all ways, and all in vain? Yet will I cease not now, and thou shalt tell If in her grief I serve my mistress well! [_She goes across to where_ PHAEDRA _lies; and presently, while speaking, kneels by her_.] Dear daughter mine, all that before was said Let both of us forget; and thou instead Be kindlier, and unlock that prisoned brow. And I, who followed then the wrong road, now Will leave it and be wiser. If thou fear Some secret sickness, there be women here To give thee comfort. [PHAEDRA _shakes her head_. No; not secret? Then Is it a sickness meet for aid of men? Speak, that a leech may tend thee. Silent still? Nay, Child, what profits silence? If 'tis ill This that I counsel, makes me see the wrong: If well, then yield to me. Nay, Child, I long For one kind word, one look! [PHAEDRA _lies motionless. The_ NURSE _rises._] Oh, woe is me! Women, we labour here all fruitlessly, All as far off as ever from her heart! She ever scorned me, and now hears no part Of all my prayers! [_Turning to_ PHAEDRA _again._] Nay, hear thou shalt, and be, If so thou will, more wild than the wild sea; But know, thou art thy little ones' betrayer! If thou die now, shall child of thine be heir To Theseus' castle? Nay, not thine, I ween, But hers! That barbèd Amazonian Queen Hath left a child to bend thy children low, A bastard royal-hearted--sayst not so?-- Hippolytus...

PHAEDRA Ah! [_She starts up, sitting, and throws the veil off_.]

NURSE That stings thee?

PHAEDRA Nurse, most sore Thou hast hurt me! In God's name, speak that name no more.

NURSE Thou seest? Thy mind is clear; but with thy mind Thou wilt not save thy children, nor be kind To thine own life.

PHAEDRA My children? Nay, most dear I love them,--Far, far other grief is here.

NURSE (_after a pause, wondering_) Thy hand is clean, O Child, from stain of blood?

PHAEDRA My hand is clean; but is my heart, O God?

NURSE Some enemy's spell hath made thy spirit dim?

PHAEDRA He hates me not that slays me, nor I him.

NURSE Theseus, the King, hath wronged thee in man's wise?

PHAEDRA Ah, could but I stand guiltless in his eyes!

NURSE O speak! What is this death-fraught mystery?

PHAEDRA Nay, leave me to my wrong. I wrong not thee.

NURSE (_suddenly throwing herself in supplication at PHAEDRA'S feet_) Not wrong me, whom thou wouldst all desolate leave?

PHAEDRA (_rising and trying to move away_) What wouldst thou? Force me? Clinging to my sleeve?

NURSE Yea, to thy knees; and weep; and let not go!

PHAEDRA Woe to thee, Woman, if thou learn it, woe!

NURSE I know no bitterer woe than losing thee.

PHAEDRA Yet the deed shall honour me.

NURSE Why hide what honours thee? 'Tis all I claim!

PHAEDRA Why, so I build up honour out of shame!

NURSE Then speak, and higher still thy fame shall stand.

PHAEDRA Go, in God's name!--Nay, leave me; loose my hand!

NURSE Never, until thou grant me what I pray.

PHAEDRA (_yielding, after a pause_) So be it. I dare not tear that hand away.

NURSE (_rising and releasing PHAEDRA_) Tell all thou wilt, Daughter. I speak no more.

PHAEDRA (_after a long pause_) Mother, poor Mother, that didst love so sore!

NURSE What mean'st thou, Child? The Wild Bull of the Tide?

PHAEDRA And thou, sad sister, Dionysus' bride!

NURSE Child! wouldst thou shame the house where thou wast born?

PHAEDRA And I the third, sinking most all-forlorn!

NURSE (_to herself_) I am all lost and feared. What will she say?

PHAEDRA From there my grief comes, not from yesterday.

NURSE I come no nearer to thy parable.

PHAEDRA Oh, would that thou could'st tell what I must tell!

NURSE I am no seer in things I wot not of.

PHAEDRA (_again hesitating_) What is it that they mean, who say men...love?

NURSE A thing most sweet, my Child, yet dolorous.

PHAEDRA Only the half, belike, hath fallen on us!

NURSE (_starting_) On thee? Love?--Oh, what say'st thou? What man's son?

PHAEDRA What man's? There was a Queen, an Amazon ...

NURSE Hippolytus, say'st thou?

PHAEDRA (_again wrapping her face in the veil_) Nay, 'twas thou, not I! [PHAEDRA _sinks back on the couch and covers her face again. The_ NURSE _starts violently from her and walks up and down._]

NURSE O God! what wilt thou say, Child? Wouldst thou try To kill me?--Oh, 'tis more than I can bear; Women. I will no more of it, this glare Of hated day, this shining of the sky. I will fling down my body, and let it lie Till life be gone! Women, God rest with you, My works are over! For the pure and true Are forced to evil, against their own heart's vow, And love it! [_She suddenly sees the Statue of_ CYPRIS, _and stands with her eyes riveted upon it._] Ah, Cyprian! No god art thou, But more than god, and greater, that hath thrust Me and my queen and all our house to dust! [_She throws herself on the ground close to the statue._]

CHORUS

_Some Women_ O Women, have ye heard? Nay, dare ye hear The desolate cry of the young Queen's misery?

_A Woman_ My Queen, I love thee dear, Yet liefer were I dead than framed like thee.

_Others_ Woe, woe to me for this thy bitter bane, Surely the food man feeds upon is pain!

_Others_ How wilt thou bear thee through this livelong day, Lost, and thine evil naked to the light? Strange things are close upon us--who shall say How strange?--save one thing that is plain to sight, The stroke of the Cyprian and the fall thereof On thee, thou child of the Isle of fearful Love!

[PHAEDRA _during this has risen from the couch and comes forward collectedly. As she speaks the_ NURSE _gradually rouses herself, and listens more calmly._]

PHAEDRA O Women, dwellers in this portal-seat Of Pelops' land, gazing towards my Crete, How oft, in other days than these, have I Through night's long hours thought of man's misery, And how this life is wrecked! And, to mine eyes, Not in man's knowledge, not in wisdom, lies The lack that makes for sorrow. Nay, we scan And know the right--for wit hath many a man-- But will not to the last end strive and serve. For some grow too soon weary, and some swerve To other paths, setting before the Right The diverse far-off image of Delight: And many are delights beneath the sun! Long hours of converse; and to sit alone Musing--a deadly happiness!--and Shame: Though two things there be hidden in one name, And Shame can be slow poison if it will; This is the truth I saw then, and see still; Nor is there any magic that can stain That white truth for me, or make me blind again. Come, I will show thee how my spirit hath moved. When the first stab came, and I knew I loved, I cast about how best to face mine ill. And the first thought that came, was to be still And hide my sickness.--For no trust there is In man's tongue, that so well admonishes And counsels and betrays, and waxes fat With griefs of its own gathering!--After that I would my madness bravely bear, and try To conquer by mine own heart's purity. My third mind, when these two availed me naught To quell love was to die-- [_Motion of protest among the Women._] --the best, best thought-- --Gainsay me not--of all that man can say! I would not have mine honour hidden away; Why should I have my shame before men's eyes Kept living? And I knew, in deadly wise, Shame was the deed and shame the suffering; And I a woman, too, to face the thing, Despised of all!

Oh, utterly accurst Be she of women, whoso dared the first To cast her honour out to a strange man! 'Twas in some great house, surely, that began This plague upon us; then the baser kind, When the good led towards evil, followed blind And joyous! Cursed be they whose lips are clean And wise and seemly, but their hearts within Rank with bad daring! How can they, O Thou That walkest on the waves, great Cyprian, how Smile in their husbands' faces, and not fall, Not cower before the Darkness that knows all, Aye, dread the dead still chambers, lest one day The stones find voice, and all be finished! Nay, Friends, 'tis for this I die; lest I stand there Having shamed my husband and the babes I bare. In ancient Athens they shall some day dwell, My babes, free men, free-spoken, honourable,

Euripides

EURIPIDES And when one asks their mother, proud of me! For, oh, it cows a man, though bold he be, To know a mother's or a father's sin. 'Tis written, one way is there, one, to win This life's race, could man keep it from his birth, A true clean spirit. And through all this earth To every false man, that hour comes apace When Time holds up a mirror to his face, And girl-like, marvelling, there he stares to see How foul his heart! Be it not so with me!

Leader Of Chorus

LEADER OF CHORUS Ah, God, how sweet is virtue, and how wise, And honour its due meed in all men's eyes!

NURSE (_who has now risen and recovered herself_) Mistress, a sharp swift terror struck me low A moment since, hearing of this thy woe. But now--I was a coward! And men say Our second thought the wiser is alway. This is no monstrous thing; no grief too dire To meet with quiet thinking. In her ire A most strong goddess hath swept down on thee. Thou lovest. Is that so strange? Many there be Beside thee! ... And because thou lovest, wilt fall And die! And must all lovers die, then? All That are or shall be? A blithe law for them! Nay, when in might she swoops, no strength can stem Cypris; and if man yields him, she is sweet; But is he proud and stubborn? From his feet She lifts him, and--how think you?--flings to scorn! She ranges with the stars of eve and morn, She wanders in the heaving of the sea, And all life lives from her.--Aye, this is she That sows Love's seed and brings Love's fruit to birth; And great Love's brethren are all we on earth! Nay, they who con grey books of ancient days Or dwell among the Muses, tell--and praise-- How Zeus himself once yearned for Semelê; How maiden Eôs in her radiancy Swept Kephalos to heaven away, away, For sore love's sake. And there they dwell, men say, And fear not, fret not; for a thing too stern Hath met and crushed them! And must thou, then, turn And struggle? Sprang there from thy father's blood Thy little soul all lonely? Or the god That rules thee, is he other than our gods? Nay, yield thee to men's ways, and kiss their rods! How many, deem'st thou, of men good and wise Know their own home's blot, and avert their eyes? How many fathers, when a son has strayed And toiled beneath the Cyprian, bring him aid, Not chiding? And man's wisdom e'er hath been To keep what is not good to see, unseen! A straight and perfect life is not for man; Nay, in a shut house, let him, if he can, 'Mid sheltered rooms, make all lines true. But here, Out in the wide sea fallen, and full of fear, Hopest thou so easily to swim to land? Canst thou but set thine ill days on one hand And more good days on the other, verily, O child of woman, life is well with thee!

[_She pauses, and then draws nearer to_ PHAEDRA.]

Nay, dear my daughter, cease thine evil mind, Cease thy fierce pride! For pride it is, and blind, To seek to outpass gods!--Love on and dare: A god hath willed it! And, since pain is there, Make the pain sleep! Songs are there to bring calm, And magic words. And I shall find the balm, Be sure, to heal thee. Else in sore dismay Were men, could not we women find our way!

Leader Of The Chorus

LEADER OF THE CHORUS Help is there, Queen, in all this woman says, To ease thy suffering. But 'tis thee I praise; Albeit that praise is harder to thine ear Than all her chiding was, and bitterer!

PHAEDRA Oh, this it is hath flung to dogs and birds Men's lives and homes and cities-fair false word! Oh, why speak things to please our ears? We crave Not that. Tis honour, honour, we must save!

NURSE Why prate so proud! 'Tis no words, brave nor base Thou cravest; 'tis a man's arms!

[PHAEDRA _moves indignantly_.]

Up and face The truth of what thou art, and name it straight! Were not thy life thrown open here for Fate To beat on; hadst thou been a woman pure Or wise or strong; never had I for lure Of joy nor heartache led thee on to this! But when a whole life one great battle is, To win or lose--no man can blame me then.

PHAEDRA Shame on thee! Lock those lips, and ne'er again Let word nor thought so foul have harbour there!

NURSE Foul, if thou wilt: but better than the fair For thee and me. And better, too, the deed Behind them, if it save thee in thy need, Than that word Honour thou wilt die to win!

PHAEDRA Nay, in God's name,--such wisdom and such sin Are all about thy lips!--urge me no more. For all the soul within me is wrought o'er By Love; and if thou speak and speak, I may Be spent, and drift where now I shrink away.

NURSE Well, if thou wilt!--'Twere best never to err, But, having erred, to take a counsellor Is second.--Mark me now. I have within love-philtres, to make peace where storm hath been, That, with no shame, no scathe of mind, shall save Thy life from anguish; wilt but thou be brave! [_To herself, rejecting_.] Ah, but from him, the well-beloved, some sign We need, or word, or raiment's hem, to twine Amid the charm, and one spell knit from twain.

PHAEDRA Is it a potion or a salve? Be plain.

NURSE Who knows? Seek to be helped, Child, not to know.

PHAEDRA Why art thou ever subtle? I dread thee, so.

NURSE Thou wouldst dread everything!--What dost thou dread?

PHAEDRA Least to his ear some word be whispered.

NURSE Let be, Child! I will make all well with thee! --Only do thou, O Cyprian of the Sea, Be with me! And mine own heart, come what may, Shall know what ear to seek, what word to say!

[_The_ NURSE, _having spoken these last words in prayer apart to the Statue of_ CYPRIS, _turns back and goes into the house_. PHAEDRA _sits pensive again on her couch till towards the end of the following Song, when she rises and bends close to the door_.]

CHORUS

Erôs, Erôs, who blindest, tear by tear, Men's eyes with hunger; thou swift Foe that pliest Deep in our hearts joy like an edgèd spear; Come not to me with Evil haunting near, Wrath on the wind, nor jarring of the clear Wing's music as thou fliest! There is no shaft that burneth, not in fire, Not in wild stars, far off and flinging fear, As in thine hands the shaft of All Desire, Erôs, Child of the Highest!

In vain, in vain, by old Alpheüs' shore The blood of many bulls doth stain the river And all Greece bows on Phoebus' Pythian floor; Yet bring we to the Master of Man no store The Keybearer, who standeth at the door Close-barred, where hideth ever The heart of the shrine. Yea, though he sack man's life Like a sacked city, and moveth evermore Girt with calamity and strange ways of strife, Him have we worshipped never!

* * * * *

There roamed a Steed in Oechalia's wild, A Maid without yoke, without Master, And Love she knew not, that far King's child; But he came, he came, with a song in the night. With fire, with blood; and she strove in flight, A Torrent Spirit, a Maenad white, Faster and vainly faster, Sealed unto Heracles by the Cyprian's Might. Alas, thou Bride of Disaster!

O Mouth of Dirce, O god-built wall, That Dirce's wells run under, Ye know the Cyprian's fleet footfall! Ye saw the heavens around her flare, When she lulled to her sleep that Mother fair Of twy-born Bacchus, and decked her there The Bride of the bladed Thunder. For her breath is on all that hath life, and she floats in the air, Bee-like, death-like, a wonder. [_During the last lines_ PHAEDRA _has approached the door and is listening_.]

PHAEDRA Silence ye Women! Something is amiss.

LEADER How? In the house?--Phaedra, what fear is this?

PHAEDRA Let me but listen! There are voices. Hark!

LEADER I hold my peace: yet is thy presage dark.

PHAEDRA Oh, misery! O God, that such a thing should fall on me!

LEADER What sound, what word, O Women, Friend, makes that sharp terror start Out at thy lips? What ominous cry half-heard Hath leapt upon thine heart?

PHAEDRA I am undone!--Bend to the door and hark, Hark what a tone sounds there, and sinks away!

LEADER Thou art beside the bars. 'Tis thine to mark The castle's floating message. Say, Oh, say What thing hath come to thee?

PHAEDRA (_calmly_) Why, what thing should it be? The son of that proud Amazon speaks again In bitter wrath: speaks to my handmaiden!

LEADER I hear a noise of voices, nothing clear. For thee the din hath words, as through barred locks Floating, at thy heart it knocks.

PHAEDRA "Pander of Sin" it says.--Now canst thou hear?-- And there: "Betrayer of a master's bed."

LEADER Ah me, betrayed! Betrayed! Sweet Princess, thou art ill bested, Thy secret brought to light, and ruin near, By her thou heldest dear, By her that should have loved thee and obeyed!

PHAEDRA Aye, I am slain. She thought to help my fall With love instead of honour, and wrecked all.

LEADER Where wilt thou turn thee, where? And what help seek, O wounded to despair?

PHAEDRA I know not, save one thing to die right soon. For such as me God keeps no other boon.

[_The door in the centre bursts open, and_ HIPPOLYTUS _comes forth, closely followed by the_ NURSE. PHAEDRA _cowers aside_.]

HIPPOLYTUS O Mother Earth, O Sun that makest clean, What poison have I heard, what speechless sin!

NURSE Hush O my Prince, lest others mark, and guess ...

HIPPOLYTUS I have heard horrors! Shall I hold my peace?

NURSE Yea by this fair right arm, Son, by thy pledge ...

HIPPOLYTUS Down with that hand! Touch not my garment's edge!

NURSE Oh, by thy knees, be silent or I die!

HIPPOLYTUS Why, when thy speech was all so guiltless? Why?

NURSE It is not meet, fair Son, for every ear!

HIPPOLYTUS Good words can bravely forth, and have no fear.

NURSE Thine oath, thine oath! I took thine oath before!

HIPPOLYTUS 'Twas but my tongue, 'twas not my soul that swore.

NURSE O Son, what wilt thou? Wilt thou slay thy kin?

HIPPOLYTUS I own no kindred with the spawn of sin! [_He flings her from him_.]

NURSE Nay, spare me! Man was born to err; oh, spare!

HIPPOLYTUS O God, why hast Thou made this gleaming snare, Woman, to dog us on the happy earth? Was it Thy will to make Man, why his birth Through Love and Woman? Could we not have rolled Our store of prayer and offering, royal gold Silver and weight of bronze before Thy feet, And bought of God new child souls, as were meet For each man's sacrifice, and dwelt in homes Free, where nor Love nor Woman goes and comes How, is that daughter not a bane confessed, Whom her own sire sends forth--(He knows her best!)-- And, will some man but take her, pays a dower! And he, poor fool, takes home the poison-flower; Laughs to hang jewels on the deadly thing He joys in; labours for her robe-wearing, Till wealth and peace are dead. He smarts the less In whose high seat is set a Nothingness, A woman naught availing. Worst of all The wise deep-thoughted! Never in my hall May she sit throned who thinks and waits and sighs! For Cypris breeds most evil in the wise, And least in her whose heart has naught within; For puny wit can work but puny sin. Why do we let their handmaids pass the gate? Wild beasts were best, voiceless and fanged, to wait About their rooms, that they might speak with none, Nor ever hear one answering human tone! But now dark women in still chambers lay Plans that creep out into light of day On handmaids' lips--[_Turning to the_ NURSE.] As thine accursèd head Braved the high honour of my Father's bed. And came to traffic ... Our white torrent's spray Shall drench mine ears to wash those words away! And couldst thou dream that _I_ ...? I feel impure Still at the very hearing! Know for sure, Woman, naught but mine honour saves ye both. Hadst thou not trapped me with that guileful oath, No power had held me secret till the King Knew all! But now, while he is journeying, I too will go my ways and make no sound. And when he comes again, I shall be found Beside him, silent, watching with what grace Thou and thy mistress shall greet him face to face! Then shall I have the taste of it, and know What woman's guile is.--Woe upon you, woe! How can I too much hate you, while the ill Ye work upon the world grows deadlier still? Too much? Make woman pure, and wild Love tame, Or let me cry for ever on their shame! [_He goes off in fury to the left_. PHAEDRA _still cowering in her place begins to sob_.]

PHAEDRA Sad, sad and evil-starred is Woman's state. What shelter now is left or guard? What spell to loose the iron knot of fate? And this thing, O my God, O thou sweet Sunlight, is but my desert! I cannot fly before the avenging rod Falls, cannot hide my hurt. What help, O ye who love me, can come near, What god or man appear, To aid a thing so evil and so lost? Lost, for this anguish presses, soon or late, To that swift river that no life hath crossed. No woman ever lived so desolate!

LEADER OF THE CHORUS Ah me, the time for deeds is gone; the boast Proved vain that spake thine handmaid; and all lost! [_At these words_ PHAEDRA _suddenly remembers the_ NURSE, _who is cowering silently where_ HIPPOLYTUS _had thrown her from him. She turns upon her_.]

PHAEDRA O wicked, wicked, wicked! Murderess heart To them that loved thee! Hast thou played thy part? Am I enough trod down? May Zeus, my sire, Blast and uproot thee! Stab thee dead with fire! Said I not--Knew I not thine heart?--to name To no one soul this that is now my shame? And thou couldst not be silent! So no more I die in honour. But enough; a store Of new words must be spoke and new things thought. This man's whole being to one blade is wrought Of rage against me. Even now he speeds To abase me to the King with thy misdeeds; Tell Pittheus; fill the land with talk of sin! Cursèd be thou, and whoso else leaps in To bring bad aid to friends that want it not. [_The_ NURSE _has raised herself, and faces_ PHAEDRA, _downcast but calm_.]

NURSE Mistress, thou blamest me; and all thy lot So bitter sore is, and the sting so wild, I bear with all. Yet, if I would, my Child, I have mine answer, couldst thou hearken aught. I nursed thee, and I love thee; and I sought Only some balm to heal thy deep despair, And found--not what I sought for. Else I were Wise, and thy friend, and good, had all sped right. So fares it with us all in the world's sight.

PHAEDRA First stab me to the heart, then humour me With words! 'Tis fair; 'tis all as it should be!

NURSE We talk too long, Child. I did ill; but, oh, There is a way to save thee, even so!

PHAEDRA A way? No more ways! One way hast thou trod Already, foul and false and loathed of god! Begone out of my sight; and ponder how Thine own life stands! I need no helpers now. [_She turns from the_ NURSE, _who creeps abashed away into the Castle_.]

Only do ye, high Daughters of Trozên, Let all ye hear be as it had not been; Know naught, and speak of naught! 'Tis my last prayer.

LEADER By God's pure daughter, Artemis, I swear, No word will I of these thy griefs reveal!

PHAEDRA 'Tis well. But now, yea, even while I reel And falter, one poor hope, as hope now is, I clutch at in this coil of miseries; To save some honour for my children's sake; Yea, for myself some fragment, though things break In ruin around me. Nay, I will not shame The old proud Cretan castle whence I came, I will not cower before King Theseus' eyes, Abased, for want of one life's sacrifice!

LEADER What wilt thou? Some dire deed beyond recall?

PHAEDRA (_musing_) Die; but how die?

LEADER Let not such wild words fall!

PHAEDRA (_turning upon her_) Give thou not such light counsel! Let me be To sate the Cyprian that is murdering me! To-day shall be her day; and, all strife past Her bitter Love shall quell me at the last. Yet, dying, shall I die another's bane! He shall not stand so proud where I have lain Bent in the dust! Oh, he shall stoop to share The life I live in, and learn mercy there! [_She goes off wildly into the Castle_.]

CHORUS

Could I take me to some cavern for mine hiding, In the hill-tops where the Sun scarce hath trod; Or a cloud make the home of mine abiding, As a bird among the bird-droves of God! Could I wing me to my rest amid the roar Of the deep Adriatic on the shore, Where the waters of Eridanus are clear, And Phaëthon's sad sisters by his grave Weep into the river, and each tear Gleams, a drop of amber, in the wave.

To the strand of the Daughters of the Sunset, The Apple-tree, the singing and the gold; Where the mariner must stay him from his onset, And the red wave is tranquil as of old; Yea, beyond that Pillar of the End That Atlas guardeth, would I wend; Where a voice of living waters never ceaseth In God's quiet garden by the sea, And Earth, the ancient life-giver, increaseth Joy among the meadows, like a tree.

* * * * *

O shallop of Crete, whose milk-white wing Through the swell and the storm-beating, Bore us thy Prince's daughter, Was it well she came from a joyous home To a far King's bridal across the foam? What joy hath her bridal brought her? Sure some spell upon either hand Flew with thee from the Cretan strand, Seeking Athena's tower divine; And there, where Munychus fronts the brine, Crept by the shore-flung cables' line, The curse from the Cretan water!

And for that dark spell that about her clings, Sick desires of forbidden things The soul of her rend and sever; The bitter tide of calamity Hath risen above her lips; and she, Where bends she her last endeavour? She will hie her alone to her bridal room, And a rope swing slow in the rafters' gloom; And a fair white neck shall creep to the noose, A-shudder with dread, yet firm to choose The one strait way for fame, and lose The Love and the pain for ever.

[_The Voice of the_ NURSE _is heard from within, crying, at first inarticulately, then clearly_.]

VOICE Help ho! The Queen! Help, whoso hearkeneth! Help! Theseus' spouse caught in a noose of death!

A WOMAN God, is it so soon finished? That bright head Swinging beneath the rafters! Phaedra dead!

VOICE O haste! This knot about her throat is made So fast! Will no one bring me a swift blade?

A WOMAN Say, friends, what think ye? Should we haste within, And from her own hand's knotting loose the Queen?

ANOTHER Nay, are there not men there? 'Tis an ill road In life, to finger at another's load.

VOICE Let it lie straight! Alas! the cold white thing That guards his empty castle for the King!

A WOMAN Ah! "Let it lie straight!" Heard ye what she said? No need for helpers now; the Queen is dead! [_The Women, intent upon the voices from the Castle, have not noticed the approach of_ THESEUS. _He enters from the left; his dress and the garland on his head show that he has returned from some oracle or special abode of a God. He stands for a moment perplexed_.]

THESEUS Ho, Women, and what means this loud acclaim Within the house? The vassals' outcry came To smite mine ears far off. It were more meet To fling out wide the Castle gates, and greet With a joy held from God's Presence! [_The confusion and horror of the Women's faces gradually affects him. A dirge-cry comes from the Castle_.]

How? Not Pittheus? Hath Time struck that hoary brow? Old is he, old, I know. But sore it were, Returning thus, to find his empty chair! [_The Women hesitate; then the Leader comes forward_.]

LEADER O Theseus, not on any old man's head This stroke falls. Young and tender is the dead.

THESEUS Ye Gods! One of my children torn from me?

LEADER Thy motherless children live, most grievously.

THESEUS How sayst thou? What? My wife? ... Say how she died. LEADER In a high death-knot that her own hands tied.

THESEUS A fit of the old cold anguish? Tell me all-- That held her? Or did some fresh thing befall?

LEADER We know no more. But now arrived we be, Theseus, to mourn for thy calamity. [THESEUS _stays for a moment silent, and puts his hand on his brow. He notices the wreath_.]

THESEUS What? And all garlanded I come to her With flowers, most evil-starred God's-messenger! Ho, varlets, loose the portal bars; undo The bolts; and let me see the bitter view Of her whose death hath brought me to mine own. [_The great central door of the Castle is thrown open wide, and the body of_ PHAEDRA _is seen lying on a bier, surrounded by a group of Handmaids, wailing_.]

The Handmaids

THE HANDMAIDS Ah me, what thou hast suffered and hast done: A deed to wrap this roof in flame! Why was thine hand so strong, thine heart so bold? Wherefore. O dead in anger, dead in shame, The long, long wrestling ere thy breath was cold? O ill-starred Wife, What brought this blackness over all thy life? [_A throng of Men and Women has gradually collected_.]

THESEUS Ah me, this is the last --Hear, O my countrymen!--and bitterest Of Theseus' labours! Fortune all unblest, How hath thine heavy heel across me passed! Is it the stain of sins done long ago, Some fell God still remembereth, That must so dim and fret my life with death? I cannot win to shore; and the waves flow Above mine eyes, to be surmounted not. Ah wife, sweet wife, what name Can fit thine heavy lot? Gone like a wild bird, like a blowing flame, In one swift gust, where all things are forgot! Alas! this misery! Sure 'tis some stroke of God's great anger rolled From age to age on me, For some dire sin wrought by dim kings of old.

LEADER Sire, this great grief hath come to many an one, A true wife lost. Thou art not all alone.

THESEUS Deep, deep beneath the Earth, Dark may my dwelling be, And night my heart's one comrade, in the dearth, O Love, of thy most sweet society. This is my death, O Phaedra, more than thine. [_He turns suddenly on the Attendants_.] Speak who speak can! What was it? What malign Swift stroke, O heart discounselled, leapt on thee? [_He bends over_ PHAEDRA; _then, as no one speaks looks fiercely up_.] What, will ye speak? Or are they dumb as death, This herd of thralls, my high house harboureth? [_There is no answer. He bends again over_ PHAEDRA.]

Some Women

SOME WOMEN Woe, woe! God brings to birth A new grief here, close on the other's tread! My life hath lost its worth. May all go now with what is finishèd! The castle of my King is overthrown, A house no more, a house vanished and gone!

Other Women

OTHER WOMEN O God, if it may be in any way, Let not this house be wrecked! Help us who pray! I know not what is here: some unseen thing That shows the Bird of Evil on the wing. [THESEUS _has read the tablet and breaks out in uncontrollable emotion_.]

THESEUS Oh, horror piled on horror!--Here is writ... Nay, who could bear it, who could speak of it?

LEADER What, O my King? If I may hear it, speak!

THESEUS Doth not the tablet cry aloud, yea, shriek, Things not to be forgotten?--Oh, to fly And hide mine head! No more a man am I. God what ghastly music echoes here!

LEADER How wild thy voice! Some terrible thing is near.

THESEUS No; my lips' gates will hold it back no more; This deadly word, That struggles on the brink and will not o'er, Yet will not stay unheard. [_He raises his hand, to make proclamation to all present_.] Ho, hearken all this land! [_The people gather expectantly about him_.] Hippolytus by violence hath laid hand On this my wife, forgetting God's great eye. [_Murmurs of amazement and horror; THESEUS, apparently calm, raises both arms to heaven._] Therefore, O Thou my Father, hear my cry, Poseidon! Thou didst grant me for mine own Three prayers; for one of these, slay now my son, Hippolytus; let him not outlive this day, If true thy promise was! Lo, thus I pray.

LEADER Oh, call that wild prayer back! O King, take heed! I know that thou wilt live to rue this deed.

THESEUS It may not be.--And more, I cast him out From all my realms. He shall be held about By two great dooms. Or by Poseidon's breath He shall fall swiftly to the house of Death; Or wandering, outcast, o'er strange land and sea, Shall live and drain the cup of misery.

LEADER Ah; see! here comes he at the point of need. Shake off that evil mood, O King; have heed For all thine house and folk--Great Theseus, hear! [THESEUS _stands silent in fierce gloom._ HIPPOLYTUS _comes in from the right._]

HIPPOLYTUS Father, I heard thy cry, and sped in fear To help thee, but I see not yet the cause That racked thee so. Say, Father, what it was. [_The murmurs in the crowd, the silent gloom of his Father, and the horror of the Chorus-women gradually work on_ HIPPOLYTUS _and bewilder him. He catches sight of the bier._] Ah, what is that! Nay, Father, not the Queen Dead! [_Murmurs in the crowd._] 'Tis most strange. 'Tis passing strange, I ween. 'Twas here I left her. Scarce an hour hath run Since here she stood and looked on this same sun. What is it with her? Wherefore did she die? [THESEUS _remains silent. The murmurs increase._] Father, to thee I speak. Oh, tell me, why, Why art thou silent? What doth silence know Of skill to stem the bitter flood of woe? And human hearts in sorrow crave the more, For knowledge, though the knowledge grieve them sore. It is not love, to veil thy sorrows in From one most near to thee, and more than kin.

THESEUS (_to himself_) Fond race of men, so striving and so blind, Ten thousand arts and wisdoms can ye find, Desiring all and all imagining: But ne'er have reached nor understood one thing, To make a true heart there where no heart is!

HIPPOLYTUS That were indeed beyond man's mysteries, To make a false heart true against his will. But why this subtle talk? It likes me ill, Father; thy speech runs wild beneath this blow.

THESEUS (_as before_) O would that God had given us here below Some test of love, some sifting of the soul, To tell the false and true! Or through the whole Of men two voices ran, one true and right, The other as chance willed it; that we might Convict the liar by the true man's tone, And not live duped forever, every one!

HIPPOLYTUS (_misunderstanding him; then guessing at something of the truth_) What? Hath some friend proved false? Or in thine ear Whispered some slander? Stand I tainted here, Though utterly innocent? [_Murmurs from the crowd_.] Yea, dazed am I; 'Tis thy words daze me, falling all awry, Away from reason, by fell fancies vexed!

THESEUS O heart of man, what height wilt venture next? What end comes to thy daring and thy crime? For if with each man's life 'twill higher climb, And every age break out in blood and lies Beyond its fathers, must not God devise Some new world far from ours, to hold therein Such brood of all unfaithfulness and sin? Look, all, upon this man, my son, his life Sprung forth from mine! He hath defiled my wife; And standeth here convicted by the dead, A most black villain! [HIPPOLYTUS _falls back with a cry and covers his face with his robe_.] Nay, hide not thine head! Pollution, is it? Thee it will not stain. Look up, and face thy Father's eyes again! Thou friend of Gods, of all mankind elect; Thou the pure heart, by thoughts of ill unflecked! I care not for thy boasts. I am not mad, To deem that Gods love best the base and bad. Now is thy day! Now vaunt thee; thou so pure, No flesh of life may pass thy lips! Now lure Fools after thee; call Orpheus King and Lord; Make ecstasies and wonders! Thumb thine hoard Of ancient scrolls and ghostly mysteries-- Now thou art caught and known! Shun men like these, I charge ye all! With solemn words they chase their prey, and in their hearts plot foul disgrace. My wife is dead.--"Ha, so that saves thee now," That is what grips thee worst, thou caitiff, thou! What oaths, what subtle words, shall stronger be Than this dead hand, to clear the guilt from thee? "She hated thee," thou sayest; "the bastard born Is ever sore and bitter as a thorn To the true brood."--A sorry bargainer In the ills and goods of life thou makest her, If all her best-beloved she cast away To wreck blind hate on thee!--What, wilt thou say "Through every woman's nature one blind strand Of passion winds, that men scarce understand?"-- Are we so different? Know I not the fire And perilous flood of a young man's desire, Desperate as any woman, and as blind, When Cypris stings? Save that the man behind Has all men's strength to aid him. Nay, 'twas thou... But what avail to wrangle with thee now, When the dead speaks for all to understand, A perfect witness! Hie thee from this land To exile with all speed. Come never more To god-built Athens, not to the utmost shore Of any realm where Theseus' arm is strong! What? Shall I bow my head beneath this wrong, And cower to thee? Not Isthmian Sinis so Will bear men witness that I laid him low, Nor Skiron's rocks, that share the salt sea's prey, Grant that my hand hath weight vile things to slay!

LEADER Alas! whom shall I call of mortal men Happy? The highest are cast down again.

HIPPOLYTUS Father, the hot strained fury of thy heart Is terrible. Yet, albeit so swift thou art Of speech, if all this matter were laid bare, Speech were not then so swift; nay, nor so fair... [_Murmurs again in the crowd_.] I have no skill before a crowd to tell My thoughts. 'Twere best with few, that know me well.-- Nay that is natural; tongues that sound but rude In wise men's ears, speak to the multitude With music. None the less, since there is come This stroke upon me, I must not be dumb, But speak perforce... And there will I begin Where thou beganst, as though to strip my sin Naked, and I not speak a word! Dost see This sunlight and this earth? I swear to thee There dwelleth not in these one man--deny All that thou wilt!--more pure of sin than I. Two things I know on earth: God's worship first; Next to win friends about me, few, that thirst To hold them clean of all unrighteousness. Our rule doth curse the tempters, and no less Who yieldeth to the tempters.--How, thou say'st, "Dupes that I jest at?" Nay; I make a jest Of no man. I am honest to the end, Near or far off, with him I call my friend. And most in that one thing, where now thy mesh Would grip me, stainless quite! No woman's flesh Hath e'er this body touched. Of all such deed Naught wot I, save what things a man may read In pictures or hear spoke; nor am I fain, Being virgin-souled, to read or hear again. My life of innocence moves thee not; so be it. Show then what hath seduced me; let me see it. Was that poor flesh so passing fair, beyond All woman's loveliness? Was I some fond False plotter, that I schemed to win through her Thy castle's heirdom? Fond indeed I were! Nay, a stark madman! "But a crown," thou sayest, "Usurped, is sweet." Nay, rather most unblest To all wise-hearted; sweet to fools and them Whose eyes are blinded by the diadem. In contests of all valour fain would I Lead Hellas; but in rank and majesty Not lead, but be at ease, with good men near To love me, free to work and not to fear. That brings more joy than any crown or throne. [_He sees from the demeanor of_ THESEUS _and of the crowd that his words are not winning them, but rather making them bitterer than before. It comes to his lips to speak the whole truth_.] I have said my say; save one thing...one alone O had I here some witness in my need, As I was witness! Could she hear me plead, Face me and face the sunlight; well I know, Our deeds would search us out for thee, and show Who lies! But now, I swear--so hear me both, The Earth beneath and Zeus who Guards the Oath-- I never touched this woman that was thine! No words could win me to it, nor incline My heart to dream it. May God strike me down, Nameless and fameless, without home or town, An outcast and a wanderer of the world; May my dead bones rest never, but be hurled From sea to land, from land to angry sea, If evil is my heart and false to thee! [_He waits a moment; but sees that his Father is unmoved. The truth again comes to his lips_.] If 'twas some fear that made her cast away Her life ... I know not. More I must not say. Right hath she done when in her was no right; And Right I follow to mine own despite!

LEADER It is enough! God's name is witness large, And thy great oath, to assoil thee of this charge,

THESEUS Is not the man a juggler and a mage, Cool wits and one right oath--what more?--to assuage Sin and the wrath of injured fatherhood!

HIPPOLYTUS Am I so cool? Nay, Father, 'tis thy mood That makes me marvel! By my faith, wert thou The son, and I the sire; and deemed I now In very truth thou hadst my wife assailed, I had not exiled thee, nor stood and railed, But lifted once mine arm, and struck thee dead!

THESEUS Thou gentle judge! Thou shalt not so be sped To simple death, nor by thine own decree. Swift death is bliss to men in misery. Far off, friendless forever, thou shalt drain Amid strange cities the last dregs of pain!

HIPPOLYTUS Wilt verily cast me now beyond thy pale, Not wait for Time, the lifter of the veil?

THESEUS Aye, if I could, past Pontus, and the red Atlantic marge! So do I hate thine head.

HIPPOLYTUS Wilt weigh nor oath nor faith nor prophet's word To prove me? Drive me from thy sight unheard?

THESEUS This tablet here, that needs no prophet's lot To speak from, tells me all. I ponder not Thy fowls that fly above us! Let them fly.

HIPPOLYTUS O ye great Gods, wherefore unlock not I My lips, ere yet ye have slain me utterly, Ye whom I love most? No. It may not be! The one heart that I need I ne'er should gain To trust me. I should break mine oath in vain.

THESEUS Death! but he chokes me with his saintly tone!-- Up, get thee from this land! Begone! Begone!

HIPPOLYTUS Where shall I turn me? Think. To what friend's door Betake me, banished on a charge so sore?

THESEUS Whoso delights to welcome to his hall Vile ravishers ... to guard his hearth withal!

HIPPOLYTUS Thou seekst my heart, my tears? Aye, let it be Thus! I am vile to all men, and to thee!

THESEUS There was a time for tears and thought; the time Ere thou didst up and gird thee to thy crime.

HIPPOLYTUS Ye stones, will ye not speak? Ye castle walls! Bear witness if I be so vile, so false!

THESEUS Aye, fly to voiceless witnesses! Yet here A dumb deed speaks against thee, and speaks clear!

HIPPOLYTUS Alas! Would I could stand and watch this thing, and see My face, and weep for very pity of me!

THESEUS Full of thyself, as ever! Not a thought For them that gave thee birth; nay, they are naught!

HIPPOLYTUS O my wronged Mother! O my birth of shame! May none I love e'er bear a bastard's name!

THESEUS (_in a sudden blaze of rage_) Up, thralls, and drag him from my presence! What, 'Tis but a foreign felon! Heard ye not? [_The thralls still hesitate in spite of his fury._]

HIPPOLYTUS They touch me at their peril! Thine own hand Lift, if thou canst, to drive me from the land.

THESEUS That will I straight, unless my will be done! [HIPPOLYTUS _comes close to him and kneels._] Nay! Not for thee my pity! Get thee gone! [HIPPOLYTUS _rises, makes a sign of submission, and slowly moves away._ THESEUS, _as soon as he sees him going, turns rapidly and enters the Castle. The door is closed again._ HIPPOLYTUS _has stopped for a moment before the Statue of _ARTEMIS, _and, as _THESEUS_ departs, breaks out in prayer._]

HIPPOLYTUS So; it is done! O dark and miserable! I see it all, but see not how to tell The tale.--O thou belovèd, Leto's Maid, Chase-comrade, fellow-rester in the glade, Lo, I am driven with a caitiff's brand Forth from great Athens! Fare ye well, O land And city of old Erechtheus! Thou, Trozên, What riches of glad youth mine eyes have seen In thy broad plain! Farewell! This is the end; The last word, the last look! Come, every friend And fellow of my youth that still may stay, Give me god-speed and cheer me on my way. Ne'er shall ye see a man more pure of spot Than me, though mine own Father loves me not! [HIPPOLYTUS _goes away to the right, followed by many Huntsmen and other young men. The rest of the crowd has by this time dispersed, except the Women of the Chorus and some Men of the Chorus of Huntsmen_.]

CHORUS

_Men_ Surely the thought of the Gods hath balm in it alway, to win me Far from my griefs; and a thought, deep in the dark of my mind, Clings to a great Understanding. Yet all the spirit within me Faints, when I watch men's deeds matched with the guerdon they find. For Good comes in Evil's traces, And the Evil the Good replaces; And Life, 'mid the changing faces, Wandereth weak and blind.

_Women_ What wilt thou grant me, O God? Lo, this is the prayer of my travail-- Some well-being; and chance not very bitter thereby; Spirit uncrippled by pain; and a mind not deep to unravel Truth unseen, nor yet dark with the brand of a lie. With a veering mood to borrow Its light from every morrow, Fair friends and no deep sorrow, Well could man live and die!

_Men_ Yet my spirit is no more clean, And the weft of my hope is torn, For the deed of wrong that mine eyes have seen, The lie and the rage and the scorn; A Star among men, yea, a Star That in Hellas was bright, By a Father's wrath driven far To the wilds and the night. Oh, alas for the sands of the shore! Alas for the brakes of the hill, Where the wolves shall fear thee no more, And thy cry to Dictynna is still!

_Women_ No more in the yoke of thy car Shall the colts of Enetia fleet; Nor Limna's echoes quiver afar To the clatter of galloping feet. The sleepless music of old, That leaped in the lyre, Ceaseth now, and is cold, In the halls of thy sire. The bowers are discrowned and unladen Where Artemis lay on the lea; And the love-dream of many a maiden Lost, in the losing of thee.

_A Maiden_ And I, even I, For thy fall, O Friend, Amid tears and tears, Endure to the end Of the empty years, Of a life run dry. In vain didst thou bear him, Thou Mother forlorn! Ye Gods that did snare him, Lo, I cast in your faces My hate and my scorn! Ye love-linkèd Graces, (Alas for the day!) Was he naught, then, to you, That ye cast him away, The stainless and true, From the old happy places?

LEADER Look yonder! 'Tis the Prince's man, I ween Speeding toward this gate, most dark of mien. [A HENCHMAN _enters in haste_.]

HENCHMAN Ye women, whither shall I go to seek King Theseus? Is he in this dwelling? Speak!

LEADER Lo, where he cometh through the Castle gate! [THESEUS _comes out from the Castle_.]

HENCHMAN O King, I bear thee tidings of dire weight To thee, aye, and to every man, I ween, From Athens to the marches of Trozên.

THESEUS What? Some new stroke hath touched, unknown to me, The sister cities of my sovranty?

HENCHMAN Hippolytus is...Nay, not dead; but stark Outstretched, a hairsbreadth this side of the dark.

THESEUS (_as though unmoved_) How slain? Was there some other man, whose wife He had like mine denied, that sought his life?

HENCHMAN His own wild team destroyed him, and the dire Curse of thy lips. The boon of thy great Sire Is granted thee, O King, and thy son slain.

THESEUS Ye Gods! And thou, Poseidon! Not in vain I called thee Father; thou hast heard my prayer! How did he die? Speak on. How closed the snare Of Heaven to slay the shamer of my blood?

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

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

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 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!

_A Maiden_ O glad, glad on the mountains To swoon in the race outworn, When the holy fawn-skin clings, And all else sweeps away, To the joy of the red quick fountains, The blood of the hill-goat torn, The glory of wild-beast ravenings, Where the hill-tops catch the day; To the Phrygian, Lydian, mountains! 'Tis Bromios leads the way.

_Another Maiden_ Then streams the earth with milk, yea, streams With wine and nectar of the bee, And through the air dim perfume steams Of Syrian frankincense; and He, Our leader, from his thyrsus spray A torchlight tosses high and higher, A torchlight like a beacon-fire, To waken all that faint and stray; And sets them leaping as he sings, His tresses rippling to the sky, And deep beneath the Maenad cry His proud voice rings: "Come, O ye Bacchae, come!"

_All the Maidens_ Hither, O fragrant of Tmolus the Golden, Come with the voice of timbrel and drum; Let the cry of your joyance uplift and embolden The God of the joy-cry; O Bacchanals, come! With pealing of pipes and with Phrygian clamour, On, where the vision of holiness thrills, And the music climbs and the maddening glamour, With the wild White Maids, to the hills, to the hills! Oh, then, like a colt as he runs by a river, A colt by his dam, when the heart of him sings, With the keen limbs drawn and the fleet foot a-quiver, Away the Bacchanal springs!

[_Enter_ TEIRESIAS. _He is an old man and blind, leaning upon a staff and moving with slow stateliness, though wearing the Ivy and the Bacchic fawn-skin_.]

Teiresias

TEIRESIAS Ho, there, who keeps the gate?--Go, summon me Cadmus, Agênor's son, who crossed the sea From Sidon and upreared this Theban hold. Go, whosoe'er thou art. See he be told Teiresias seeketh him. Himself will gauge Mine errand, and the compact, age with age, I vowed with him, grey hair with snow-white hair, To deck the new God's thyrsus, and to wear His fawn-skin, and with ivy crown our brows.

[_Enter_ CADMUS _from the Castle. He is even older than_ TEIRESIAS, _and wears the same attire_.]

CADMUS True friend! I knew that voice of thine, that flows Like mellow wisdom from a fountain wise. And, lo, I come prepared, in all the guise And harness of this God. Are we not told His is the soul of that dead life of old That sprang from mine own daughter? Surely then Must thou and I with all the strength of men Exalt him. Where then shall I stand, where tread The dance and toss this bowed and hoary head? O friend, in thee is wisdom; guide my grey And eld-worn steps, eld-worn Teiresias.--Nay; I am not weak. [_At the first movement of worship his manner begins to change; a mysterious strength and exaltation enter into him._]

Surely this arm could smite The wild earth with its thyrsus, day and night, And faint not! Sweetly and forgetfully The dim years fall from off me!

TEIRESIAS As with thee, With me 'tis likewise. Light am I and young, And will essay the dancing and the song.

CADMUS Quick, then, our chariots to the mountain road.

TEIRESIAS Nay; to take steeds were to mistrust the God.

CADMUS So be it. Mine old arms shall guide thee there.

TEIRESIAS The God himself shall guide! Have thou no care.

CADMUS And in all Thebes shall no man dance but we?

TEIRESIAS Aye, Thebes is blinded. Thou and I can see.

CADMUS 'Tis weary waiting; hold my hand, friend; so.

TEIRESIAS Lo, there is mine. So linkèd let us go.

CADMUS Shall things of dust the Gods' dark ways despise?

TEIRESIAS Or prove our wit on Heaven's high mysteries? Not thou and I! That heritage sublime Our sires have left us, wisdom old as time, No word of man, how deep soe'er his thought And won of subtlest toil, may bring to naught. Aye, men will rail that I forgot my years, To dance and wreath with ivy these white hairs; What recks it? Seeing the God no line hath told To mark what man shall dance, or young or old; But craves his honours from mortality All, no man marked apart; and great shall be!

CADMUS (_after looking away toward the Mountain_). Teiresias, since this light thou canst not read, I must be seer for thee. Here comes in speed Pentheus, Echîon's son, whom I have raised To rule my people in my stead.--Amazed He seems. Stand close, and mark what we shall hear.

[_The two stand back, partially concealed, while there enters in hot haste_ PENTHEUS, _followed by a bodyguard. He is speaking to the_ SOLDIER _in command._]

PENTHEUS Scarce had I crossed our borders, when mine ear Was caught by this strange rumour, that our own Wives, our own sisters, from their hearths are flown To wild and secret rites; and cluster there High on the shadowy hills, with dance and prayer To adore this new-made God, this Dionyse, Whate'er he be!--And in their companies Deep wine-jars stand, and ever and anon Away into the loneliness now one Steals forth, and now a second, maid or dame Where love lies waiting, not of God! The flame They say, of Bacchios wraps them. Bacchios! Nay, 'Tis more to Aphrodite that they pray. Howbeit, all that I have found, my men Hold bound and shackled in our dungeon den; The rest, I will go hunt them! Aye, and snare My birds with nets of iron, to quell their prayer And mountain song and rites of rascaldom! They tell me, too, there is a stranger come, A man of charm and spell, from Lydian seas, A head all gold and cloudy fragrancies, A wine-red cheek, and eyes that hold the light Of the very Cyprian. Day and livelong night He haunts amid the damsels, o'er each lip Dangling his cup of joyance! Let me grip Him once, but once, within these walls, right swift That wand shall cease its music, and that drift Of tossing curls lie still--when my rude sword Falls between neck and trunk! 'Tis all his word, This tale of Dionysus; how that same Babe that was blasted by the lightning flame With his dead mother, for that mother's lie, Was re-conceived, born perfect from the thigh Of Zeus, and now is God! What call ye these? Dreams? Gibes of the unknown wanderer? Blasphemies That crave the very gibbet? Stay! God wot, Here is another marvel! See I not In motley fawn-skins robed the vision-seer Teiresias? And my mother's father here-- O depth of scorn!--adoring with the wand Of Bacchios?--Father!--Nay, mine eyes are fond; It is not your white heads so fancy-flown! It cannot be! Cast off that ivy crown, O mine own mother's sire! Set free that hand That cowers about its staff. 'Tis thou hast planned This work, Teiresias! 'Tis thou must set Another altar and another yet Amongst us, watch new birds, and win more hire Of gold, interpreting new signs of fire! But for thy silver hairs, I tell thee true, Thou now wert sitting chained amid thy crew Of raving damsels, for this evil dream Thou hast brought us, of new Gods! When once the gleam Of grapes hath lit a Woman's Festival, In all their prayers is no more health at all!

LEADER OF THE CHORUS (_the words are not heard by_ PENTHEUS) Injurious King, hast thou no fear of God, Nor Cadmus, sower of the Giants' Sod, Life-spring to great Echîon and to thee?

TEIRESIAS Good words my son, come easily, when he That speaks is wise, and speaks but for the right. Else come they never! Swift are thine, and bright As though with thought, yet have no thought at all Lo this new God, whom thou dost flout withal, I cannot speak the greatness wherewith He In Hellas shall be great! Two spirits there be, Young Prince, that in man's world are first of worth. Dêmêtêr one is named; she is the Earth-- Call her which name thou will!--who feeds man's frame With sustenance of things dry. And that which came Her work to perfect, second, is the Power From Semelê born. He found the liquid show Hid in the grape. He rests man's spirit dim From grieving, when the vine exalteth him. He giveth sleep to sink the fretful day In cool forgetting. Is there any way With man's sore heart, save only to forget? Yea, being God, the blood of him is set Before the Gods in sacrifice, that we For his sake may be blest.--And so, to thee, That fable shames him, how this God was knit Into God's flesh? Nay, learn the truth of it Cleared from the false.--When from that deadly light Zeus saved the babe, and up to Olympus' height Raised him, and Hera's wrath would cast him thence Then Zeus devised him a divine defence. A fragment of the world-encircling fire He rent apart, and wrought to his desire Of shape and hue, in the image of the child, And gave to Hera's rage. And so, beguiled By change and passing time, this tale was born, How the babe-god was hidden in the torn Flesh of his sire. He hath no shame thereby. A prophet is he likewise. Prophecy Cleaves to all frenzy, but beyond all else To frenzy of prayer. Then in us verily dwells The God himself, and speaks the thing to be. Yea, and of Ares' realm a part hath he. When mortal armies, mailêd and arrayed, Have in strange fear, or ever blade met blade, Fled maddened, 'tis this God hath palsied them. Aye, over Delphi's rock-built diadem Thou yet shalt see him leaping with his train Of fire across the twin-peaked mountain-plain, Flaming the darkness with his mystic wand, And great in Hellas.--List and understand, King Pentheus! Dream not thou that force is power; Nor, if thou hast a thought, and that thought sour And sick, oh, dream not thought is wisdom!--Up, Receive this God to Thebes; pour forth the cup Of sacrifice, and pray, and wreathe thy brow. Thou fearest for the damsels? Think thee now; How toucheth this the part of Dionyse To hold maids pure perforce? In them it lies, And their own hearts; and in the wildest rite Cometh no stain to her whose heart is white. Nay, mark me! Thou hast thy joy, when the Gate Stands thronged, and Pentheus' name is lifted great And high by Thebes in clamour; shall not He Rejoice in his due meed of majesty? Howbeit, this Cadmus whom thou scorn'st and I Will wear His crown, and tread His dances! Aye, Our hairs are white, yet shall that dance be trod! I will not lift mine arm to war with God For thee nor all thy words. Madness most fell Is on thee, madness wrought by some dread spell, But not by spell nor leechcraft to be cured!

CHORUS Grey prophet, worthy of Phoebus is thy word, And wise in honouring Bromios, our great God.

CADMUS My son, right well Teiresias points thy road. Oh, make thine habitation here with us, Not lonely, against men's uses. Hazardous Is this quick bird-like beating of thy thought Where no thought dwells.--Grant that this God be naught, Yet let that Naught be Somewhat in thy mouth; Lie boldly, and say He is! So north and south Shall marvel, how there sprang a thing divine From Semelê's flesh, and honour all our line. [_Drawing nearer to_ PENTHEUS.] Is there not blood before thine eyes even now? Our lost Actaeon's blood, whom long ago His own red hounds through yonder forest dim Tore unto death, because he vaunted him Against most holy Artemis? Oh, beware And let me wreathe thy temples. Make thy prayer With us, and walk thee humbly in God's sight. [_He makes as if to set the wreath on_ PENTHEUS _head_.]

PENTHEUS Down with that hand! Aroint thee to thy rite Nor smear on me thy foul contagion! [Turning upon TEIRESIAS.] This Thy folly's head and prompter shall not miss The justice that he needs!--Go, half my guard Forth to the rock-seat where he dwells in ward O'er birds and wonders; rend the stone with crown And trident; make one wreck of high and low And toss his bands to all the winds of air! Ha, have I found the way to sting thee, there? The rest, forth through the town! And seek amain This girl-faced stranger, that hath wrought such bane To all Thebes, preying on our maids and wives Seek till ye find; and lead him here in gyves, Till he be judged and stoned and weep in blood The day he troubled Pentheus with his God! [_The guards set forth in two bodies_; PENTHEUS _goes into the Castle._]

TEIRESIAS Hard heart, how little dost thou know what seed Thou sowest! Blind before, and now indeed Most mad!--Come, Cadmus, let us go our way, And pray for this our persecutor, pray For this poor city, that the righteous God Move not in anger.--Take thine ivy rod And help my steps, as I help thine. 'Twere ill, If two old men should fall by the roadway. Still, Come what come may, our service shall be done To Bacchios, the All-Father's mystic son O Pentheus, named of sorrow! Shall he claim From all thy house fulfilment of his name, Old Cadmus?--Nay, I speak not from mine art, But as I see--blind words and a blind heart! [_The two Old Men go off towards the Mountain._]

CHORUS

_Some Maidens_ Thou Immaculate on high; Thou Recording Purity; Thou that stoopest, Golden Wing, Earthward, manward, pitying, Hearest thou this angry King? Hearest thou the rage and scorn 'Gainst the Lord of Many Voices, Him of mortal mother born, Him in whom man's heart rejoices, Girt with garlands and with glee, First in Heaven's sovranty? For his kingdom, it is there, In the dancing and the prayer, In the music and the laughter, In the vanishing of care, And of all before and after; In the Gods' high banquet, when Gleams the graperflood, flashed to heaven; Yea, and in the feasts of men Comes his crownèd slumber; then Pain is dead and hate forgiven!

_Others_ Loose thy lips from out the rein; Lift thy wisdom to disdain; Whatso law thou canst not see, Scorning; so the end shall be Uttermost calamity! 'Tis the life of quiet breath, 'Tis the simple and the true, Storm nor earthquake shattereth, Nor shall aught the house undo

Where they dwell. For, far away, Hidden from the eyes of day, Watchers are there in the skies, That can see man's life, and prize Deeds well done by things of clay. But the world's Wise are not wise, Claiming more than mortal may. Life is such a little thing; Lo, their present is departed, And the dreams to which they cling Come not. Mad imagining Theirs, I ween, and empty-hearted!

_Divers Maidens_ Where is the Home for me? O Cyprus, set in the sea, Aphrodite's home In the soft sea-foam, Would I could wend to thee; Where the wings of the Loves are furled, And faint the heart of the world.

Aye, unto Paphos' isle, Where the rainless meadows smile With riches rolled From the hundred-fold Mouths of the far-off Nile, Streaming beneath the waves To the roots of the seaward caves.

But a better land is there Where Olympus cleaves the air, The high still dell Where the Muses dwell, Fairest of all things fair! O there is Grace, and there is the Heart's Desire, And peace to adore thee, thou Spirit of Guiding Fire!

* * * * *

A God of Heaven is he, And born in majesty; Yet hath he mirth In the joy of the Earth,

And he loveth constantly Her who brings increase, The Feeder of Children, Peace. No grudge hath he of the great; No scorn of the mean estate; But to all that liveth His wine he giveth, Griefless, immaculate; Only on them that spurn Joy, may his anger burn.

Love thou the Day and the Night; Be glad of the Dark and the Light; And avert thine eyes From the lore of the wise, That have honour in proud men's sight. The simple nameless herd of Humanity Hath deeds and faith that are truth enough for me!

[_As the Chorus ceases, a party of the guards return, leading in the midst of them_ DIONYSUS, _bound. The_ SOLDIER _in command stands forth, as_ PENTHEUS, _hearing the tramp of feet, comes out from the Castle._]

SOLDIER Our quest is finished, and thy prey, O King, Caught; for the chase was swift, and this wild thing Most tame; yet never flinched, nor thought to flee, But held both hands out unresistingly-- No change, no blanching of the wine-red cheek. He waited while we came, and bade us wreak All thy decree; yea, laughed, and made my best Easy, till I for very shame confessed And said: "O stranger, not of mine own will I bind thee, but his bidding to fulfil Who sent me."

And those prisoned Maids withal Whom thou didst seize and bind within the wall Of thy great dungeon, they are fled, O King. Free in the woods, a-dance and glorying To Bromios. Of their own impulse fell To earth, men say, fetter and manacle, And bars slid back untouched of mortal hand Yea, full of many wonders to thy land Is this man come.... Howbeit, it lies with thee!

PENTHEUS Ye are mad!--Unhand him. Howso swift he be, My toils are round him and he shall not fly. [_The guards loose the arms of_ DIONYSUS; PENTHEUS _studies him for a while in silence then speaks jeeringly._ DIONYSUS _remains gentle and unafraid._] Marry, a fair shape for a woman's eye, Sir stranger! And thou seek'st no more, I ween! Long curls, withal! That shows thou ne'er hast been A wrestler!--down both cheeks so softly tossed And winsome! And a white skin! It hath cost Thee pains, to please thy damsels with this white And red of cheeks that never face the light! [_DIONYSUS is silent._] Speak, sirrah; tell me first thy name and race.

DIONYSUS No glory is therein, nor yet disgrace. Thou hast heard of Tmolus, the bright hill of flowers?

PENTHEUS Surely, the ridge that winds by Sardis towers.

DIONYSUS Thence am I; Lydia was my fatherland.

PENTHEUS And whence these revelations, that thy band Spreadeth in Hellas?

DIONYSUS Their intent and use Dionysus oped to me, the Child of Zeus.

PENTHEUS (_brutally_) Is there a Zeus there, that can still beget Young Gods?

DIONYSUS Nay, only He whose seal was set Here in thy Thebes on Semele.

PENTHEUS What way Descended he upon thee? In full day Or vision of night?

DIONYSUS Most clear he stood, and scanned My soul, and gave his emblems to mine hand.

PENTHEUS What like be they, these emblems?

DIONYSUS That may none Reveal, nor know, save his Elect alone.

PENTHEUS And what good bring they to the worshipper?

DIONYSUS Good beyond price, but not for thee to hear.

PENTHEUS Thou trickster? Thou wouldst prick me on the more To seek them out!

DIONYSUS His mysteries abhor The touch of sin-lovers.

PENTHEUS And so thine eyes Saw this God plain; what guise had he?

DIONYSUS What guise It liked him. 'Twas not I ordained his shape.

PENTHEUS Aye, deftly turned again. An idle jape, And nothing answered!

DIONYSUS Wise words being brought To blinded eyes will seem as things of nought.

PENTHEUS And comest thou first to Thebes, to have thy God Established?

DIONYSUS Nay; all Barbary hath trod His dance ere this.

PENTHEUS A low blind folk, I ween, Beside our Hellenes!

DIONYSUS Higher and more keen In this thing, though their ways are not thy way.

PENTHEUS How is thy worship held, by night or day?

DIONYSUS Most oft by night; 'tis a majestic thing, The darkness.

PENTHEUS Ha! with women worshipping? 'Tis craft and rottenness!

DIONYSUS By day no less, Whoso will seek may find unholiness--

PENTHEUS Enough! Thy doom is fixed, for false pretence Corrupting Thebes.

DIONYSUS Not mine; but thine, for dense Blindness of heart, and for blaspheming God!

PENTHEUS A ready knave it is, and brazen-browed, This mystery-priest!

DIONYSUS Come, say what it shall be, My doom; what dire thing wilt thou do to me?

PENTHEUS First, shear that delicate curl that dangles there. [_He beckons to the soldiers, who approach_ DIONYSUS.]

DIONYSUS I have vowed it to my God; 'tis holy hair. [_The soldiers cut off the tress_.]

PENTHEUS Next, yield me up thy staff!

DIONYSUS Raise thine own hand To take it. This is Dionysus' wand. [PENTHEUS _takes the staff_.]

PENTHEUS Last, I will hold thee prisoned here.

DIONYSUS My Lord God will unloose me, when I speak the word.

PENTHEUS He may, if e'er again amid his bands Of saints he hears thy voice!

DIONYSUS Even now he stands Close here, and sees all that I suffer.

PENTHEUS What? Where is he? For mine eyes discern him not.

DIONYSUS Where I am! 'Tis thine own impurity That veils him from thee.

PENTHEUS The dog jeers at me! At me and Thebes! Bind him! [_The soldiers begin to bind him_.]

DIONYSUS I charge ye, bind Me not! I having vision and ye blind!

PENTHEUS And I, with better right, say bind the more! [_The soldiers obey_.]

DIONYSUS Thou knowest not what end thou seekest, nor What deed thou doest, nor what man thou art!

PENTHEUS (_mocking_) Agâvê's son, and on the father's part Echion's, hight Pentheus!

DIONYSUS So let it be, A name fore-written to calamity!

PENTHEUS Away, and tie him where the steeds are tied; Aye, let him lie in the manger!--There abide And stare into the darkness!--And this rout Of womankind that clusters thee about, Thy ministers of worship, are my slaves! It may be I will sell them o'er the waves, Hither and thither; else they shall be set To labour at my distaffs, and forget Their timbrel and their songs of dawning day!

DIONYSUS I go; for that which may not be, I may Not suffer! Yet for this thy sin, lo, He Whom thou deniest cometh after thee For recompense. Yea, in thy wrong to us, Thou hast cast Him into thy prison-house! [DIONYSUS, _without his wand, his hair shorn, and his arms tightly bound, is led off by the guards to his dungeon._ PENTHEUS _returns into the Palace._]

CHORUS

_Some Maidens_ Achelous' roaming daughter, Holy Dircê, virgin water, Bathed he not of old in thee, The Babe of God, the Mystery? When from out the fire immortal To himself his God did take him, To his own flesh, and bespake him: "Enter now life's second portal, Motherless Mystery; lo, I break Mine own body for thy sake, Thou of the Twofold Door, and seal thee Mine, O Bromios,"--thus he spake-- "And to this thy land reveal thee."

_All_ Still my prayer toward thee quivers, Dircê, still to thee I hie me; Why, O Blessed among Rivers, Wilt thou fly me and deny me? By His own joy I vow, By the grape upon the bough, Thou shalt seek Him in the midnight, thou shalt love Him, even now!

_Other Maidens_ Dark and of the dark impassioned Is this Pentheus' blood; yea, fashioned Of the Dragon, and his birth From Echion, child of Earth. He is no man, but a wonder; Did the Earth-Child not beget him, As a red Giant, to set him Against God, against the Thunder? He will bind me for his prize, Me, the Bride of Dionyse; And my priest, my friend, is taken Even now, and buried lies; In the dark he lies forsaken!

_All_ Lo, we race with death, we perish, Dionysus, here before thee! Dost thou mark us not, nor cherish, Who implore thee, and adore thee? Hither down Olympus' side, Come, O Holy One defied, Be thy golden wand uplifted o'er the tyrant in his pride!

_A Maiden_ Oh, where art thou? In thine own Nysa, thou our help alone? O'er fierce beasts in orient lands Doth thy thronging thyrsus wave, By the high Corycian Cave, Or where stern Olympus stands; In the elm-woods and the oaken, There where Orpheus harped of old, And the trees awoke and knew him, And the wild things gathered to him, As he sang amid the broken Glens his music manifold? Dionysus loveth thee; Blessed Land of Piërie, He will come to thee with dancing, Come with joy and mystery; With the Maenads at his hest Winding, winding to the West; Cross the flood of swiftly glancing Axios in majesty; Cross the Lydias, the giver Of good gifts and waving green; Cross that Father-Stream of story, Through a land of steeds and glory Rolling, bravest, fairest River E'er of mortals seen!

A Voice Within

A VOICE WITHIN Io! Io! Awake, ye damsels; hear my cry, Calling my Chosen; hearken ye!

A MAIDEN Who speaketh? Oh, what echoes thus?

ANOTHER A Voice, a Voice, that calleth us!

The Voice

THE VOICE Be of good cheer! Lo, it is I, The Child of Zeus and Semelê.

A MAIDEN O Master, Master, it is Thou!

ANOTHER O Holy Voice, be with us now!

THE VOICE Spirit of the Chained Earthquake, Hear my word; awake, awake! [_An Earthquake suddenly shakes the pillars of the Castle._]

A MAIDEN Ha! what is coming? Shall the hall Of Pentheus racked in ruin fall?

LEADER Our God is in the house! Ye maids adore Him!

CHORUS We adore Him all!

THE VOICE Unveil the Lightning's eye; arouse The fire that sleeps, against this house! [_Fire leaps upon the Tomb of Semelê._]

A MAIDEN Ah, saw ye, marked ye there the flame From Semelê's enhallowed sod Awakened? Yea, the Death that came Ablaze from heaven of old, the same Hot splendour of the shaft of God?

LEADER Oh cast ye, cast ye, to the earth! The Lord Cometh against this house! Oh, cast ye down, Ye trembling damsels; He, our own adored, God's Child hath come, and all is overthrown!

[_The Maidens cast themselves upon the ground, their eyes earthward._ DIONYSUS, _alone and unbound, enters from the Castle._]

DIONYSUS Ye Damsels of the Morning Hills, why lie ye thus dismayed? Ye marked him, then, our Master, and the mighty hand he laid On tower and rock, shaking the house of Pentheus?--But arise, And cast the trembling from your flesh, and lift untroubled eyes.

LEADER O Light in Darkness, is it thou? O Priest, is this thy face? My heart leaps out to greet thee from the deep of loneliness.

DIONYSUS Fell ye so quick despairing, when beneath the Gate I passed? Should the gates of Pentheus quell me, or his darkness make me fast?

LEADER Oh, what was left if thou wert gone? What could I but despair? How hast thou 'scaped the man of sin? Who freed thee from the snare?

DIONYSUS I had no pain nor peril; 'twas mine own hand set me free.

LEADER Thine arms were gyvèd!

DIONYSUS Nay, no gyve, no touch, was laid on me! 'Twas there I mocked him, in his gyves, and gave him dreams for food. For when he laid me down, behold, before the stall there stood A Bull of Offering. And this King, he bit his lips and straight Fell on and bound it, hoof and limb, with gasping wrath and sweat. And I sat watching!--Then a Voice; and lo, our Lord was come, And the house shook, and a great flame stood o'er his mother's tomb. And Pentheus hied this way and that, and called his thralls amain For water, lest his roof-tree burn; and all toiled, all in vain. Then deemed a-sudden I was gone; and left his fire, and sped Back to the prison portals, and his lifted sword shone red. But there, methinks, the God had wrought--I speak but as I guess-- Some dream-shape in mine image; for he smote at emptiness, Stabbed in the air, and strove in wrath, as though 'twere me he slew. Then 'mid his dreams God smote him yet again! He overthrew All that high house. And there in wreck for evermore it lies, That the day of this my bondage may be sore in Pentheus' eyes! And now his sword is fallen, and he lies outworn and wan Who dared to rise against his God in wrath, being but man. And I uprose and left him, and in all peace took my path Force to my Chosen, recking light of Pentheus and his wrath. But soft, methinks a footstep sounds even now within the hall; 'Tis he; how think ye he will stand, and what words speak withal? I will endure him gently, though he come in fury hot. For still are the ways of Wisdom, and her temper trembleth not! [_Enter_ PENTHEUS _in fury_]

PENTHEUS It is too much! This Eastern knave hath slipped His prison, whom I held but now, hard gripped In bondage.--Ha! 'Tis he!--What, sirrah, how Show'st thou before my portals? [_He advances furiously upon him._]

DIONYSUS And set a quiet carriage to thy rage.

PENTHEUS How comest thou here? How didst thou break thy cage? Speak!

DIONYSUS Said I not, or didst thou mark not me, There was One living that should set me free?

PENTHEUS Who? Ever wilder are these tales of thine.

DIONYSUS He who first made for man the clustered vine.

PENTHEUS I scorn him and his vines.

DIONYSUS For Dionyse 'Tis well; for in thy scorn his glory lies.

PENTHEUS (_to his guard_) Go swift to all the towers, and bar withal Each gate!

DIONYSUS What, cannot God o'erleap a wall?

PENTHEUS Oh, wit thou hast, save where thou needest it!

DIONYSUS Whereso it most imports, there is my wit!-- Nay, peace! Abide till he who hasteth from The mountain side with news for thee, be come. We will not fly, but wait on thy command. [_Enter suddenly and in haste a Messenger from the Mountain._]

Messenger

MESSENGER Great Pentheus, Lord of all this Theban land, I come from high Kithaeron, where the frore Snow spangles gleam and cease not evermore....

PENTHEUS And what of import may thy coming bring?

MESSENGER I have seen the Wild White Women there, O King, Whose fleet limbs darted arrow-like but now From Thebes away, and come to tell thee how They work strange deeds and passing marvel. Yet I first would learn thy pleasure. Shall I set My whole tale forth, or veil the stranger part? Yea Lord, I fear the swiftness of thy heart, Thine edgèd wrath and more than royal soul.

PENTHEUS Thy tale shall nothing scathe thee.--Tell the whole. It skills not to be wroth with honesty. Nay, if thy news of them be dark, 'tis he Shall pay it, who bewitched and led them on.

MESSENGER Our herded kine were moving in the dawn Up to the peaks, the greyest, coldest time, When the first rays steal earthward, and the rime Yields, when I saw three bands of them. The one Autonoë led, one Ino, one thine own Mother, Agâvê. There beneath the trees Sleeping they lay, like wild things flung at ease In the forest; one half sinking on a bed Of deep pine greenery; one with careless head Amid the fallen oak leaves; all most cold In purity--not as thy tale was told Of wine-cups and wild music and the chase For love amid the forest's loneliness. Then rose the Queen Agâvê suddenly Amid her band, and gave the God's wild cry, "Awake, ye Bacchanals! I hear the sound Of hornèd kine. Awake ye!"--Then, all round, Alert, the warm sleep fallen from their eyes, A marvel of swift ranks I saw them rise, Dames young and old, and gentle maids unwed Among them. O'er their shoulders first they shed Their tresses, and caught up the fallen fold Of mantles where some clasp had loosened hold, And girt the dappled fawn-skins in with long Quick snakes that hissed and writhed with quivering tongue. And one a young fawn held, and one a wild Wolf cub, and fed them with white milk, and smiled In love, young mothers with a mother's breast And babes at home forgotten! Then they pressed Wreathed ivy round their brows, and oaken sprays And flowering bryony. And one would raise Her wand and smite the rock, and straight a jet Of quick bright water came. Another set Her thyrsus in the bosomed earth, and there Was red wine that the God sent up to her, A darkling fountain. And if any lips Sought whiter draughts, with dipping finger-tips They pressed the sod, and gushing from the ground Came springs of milk. And reed-wands ivy-crowned Ran with sweet honey, drop by drop.--O King, Hadst thou been there, as I, and seen this thing, With prayer and most high wonder hadst thou gone To adore this God whom now thou rail'st upon! Howbeit, the kine-wardens and shepherds straight Came to one place, amazed, and held debate; And one being there who walked the streets and scanned The ways of speech, took lead of them whose hand Knew but the slow soil and the solemn hill, And flattering spoke, and asked: "Is it your will, Masters, we stay the mother of the King, Agâvê, from her lawless worshipping, And win us royal thanks?"--And this seemed good To all; and through the branching underwood We hid us, cowering in the leaves. And there Through the appointed hour they made their prayer And worship of the Wand, with one accord Of heart and cry--"Iacchos, Bromios, Lord, God of God born!"--And all the mountain felt, And worshipped with them; and the wild things knelt And ramped and gloried, and the wilderness Was filled with moving voices and dim stress. Soon, as it chanced, beside my thicket-close The Queen herself passed dancing, and I rose And sprang to seize her. But she turned her face Upon me: "Ho, my rovers of the chase, My wild White Hounds, we are hunted! Up, each rod And follow, follow, for our Lord and God!" Thereat, for fear they tear us, all we fled Amazed; and on, with hand unweaponèd They swept toward our herds that browsed the green Hill grass. Great uddered kine then hadst thou seen Bellowing in sword-like hands that cleave and tear, A live steer riven asunder, and the air Tossed with rent ribs or limbs of cloven tread, And flesh upon the branches, and a red Rain from the deep green pines. Yea, bulls of pride, Horns swift to rage, were fronted and aside Flung stumbling, by those multitudinous hands Dragged pitilessly. And swifter were the bands Of garbèd flesh and bone unbound withal Than on thy royal eyes the lids may fall. Then on like birds, by their own speed upborne, They swept toward the plains of waving corn That lie beside Asopus' banks, and bring To Thebes the rich fruit of her harvesting. On Hysiae and Erythrae that lie nursed Amid Kithaeron's bowering rocks, they burst Destroying, as a foeman's army comes. They caught up little children from their homes, High on their shoulders, babes unheld, that swayed And laughed and fell not; all a wreck they made; Yea, bronze and iron did shatter, and in play Struck hither and thither, yet no wound had they; Caught fire from out the hearths, yea, carried hot Flames in their tresses and were scorchèd not! The village folk in wrath took spear and sword, And turned upon the Bacchae. Then, dread Lord, The wonder was. For spear nor barbèd brand Could scathe nor touch the damsels; but the Wand, The soft and wreathèd wand their white hands sped, Blasted those men and quelled them, and they fled Dizzily. Sure some God was in these things! And the holy women back to those strange springs Returned, that God had sent them when the day Dawned, on the upper heights; and washed away The stain of battle. And those girdling snakes Hissed out to lap the waterdrops from cheeks And hair and breast. Therefore I counsel thee O King, receive this Spirit, whoe'er he be, To Thebes in glory. Greatness manifold Is all about him; and the tale is told That this is he who first to man did give The grief-assuaging vine. Oh, let him live; For if he die, then Love herself is slain, And nothing joyous in the world again!

LEADER Albeit I tremble, and scarce may speak my thought To a king's face, yet will I hide it not. Dionyse is God, no God more true nor higher!

PENTHEUS It bursts hard by us, like a smothered fire, This frenzy of Bacchic women! All my land Is made their mock.--This needs an iron hand! Ho, Captain! Quick to the Electran Gate; Bid gather all my men-at-arms thereat; Call all that spur the charger, all who know To wield the orbèd targe or bend the bow; We march to war--'Fore God, shall women dare Such deeds against us? 'Tis too much to bear!

DIONYSUS Thou mark'st me not, O King, and holdest light My solemn words; yet, in thine own despite, I warn thee still. Lift thou not up thy spear Against a God, but hold thy peace, and fear His wrath! He will not brook it, if thou fright His Chosen from the hills of their delight.

PENTHEUS Peace, thou! And if for once thou hast slipped chain, Give thanks!--Or shall I knot thine arms again?

DIONYSUS Better to yield him prayer and sacrifice Than kick against the pricks, since Dionyse Is God, and thou but mortal.

PENTHEUS That will I! Yea, sacrifice of women's blood, to cry His name through all Kithaeron!

DIONYSUS Ye shall fly, All, and abase your shields of bronzen rim Before their wands.

PENTHEUS There is no way with him, This stranger that so dogs us! Well or ill I may entreat him, he must babble still!

DIONYSUS Wait, good my friend! These crooked matters may Even yet be straightened. [PENTHEUS _has started as though to seek his army at the gate._]

PENTHEUS Aye, if I obey Mine own slaves' will; how else?

DIONYSUS Myself will lead The damsels hither, without sword or steed.

PENTHEUS How now?--This is some plot against me!

DIONYSUS What Dost fear? Only to save thee do I plot.

PENTHEUS It is some compact ye have made, whereby To dance these hills for ever!

DIONYSUS Verily, That is my compact, plighted with my Lord!

PENTHEUS (_turning from him_) Ho, armourers! Bring forth my shield and sword!-- And thou, be silent!

DIONYSUS (_after regarding him fixedly, speaks with resignation_) Ah!--Have then thy will! [_He fixes his eyes upon_ PENTHEUS _again, while the armourers bring out his armour; then speaks in a tone of command._] Man, thou wouldst fain behold them on the hill Praying!

PENTHEUS (_who during the rest of this scene, with a few exceptions, simply speaks the thoughts that_ DIONYSUS _puts into him, losing power over his own mind_) That would I, though it cost me all The gold of Thebes!

DIONYSUS So much? Thou art quick to fall To such great longing.

PENTHEUS (_somewhat bewildered at what he has said_) Aye; 'twould grieve me much To see them flown with wine.

DIONYSUS Yet cravest thou such A sight as would much grieve thee?

PENTHEUS Yes; I fain Would watch, ambushed among the pines.

DIONYSUS 'Twere vain To hide. They soon will track thee out.

PENTHEUS Well said! 'Twere best done openly.

DIONYSUS Wilt thou be led By me, and try the venture?

PENTHEUS Aye, indeed! Lead on. Why should we tarry?

DIONYSUS First we need A rich and trailing robe of fine-linen To gird thee.

PENTHEUS Nay; am I a woman, then, And no man more.

DIONYSUS Wouldst have them slay thee dead? No man may see their mysteries.

PENTHEUS Well said'-- I marked thy subtle temper long ere now.

DIONYSUS 'Tis Dionyse that prompteth me.

PENTHEUS And how Mean'st thou the further plan?

DIONYSUS First take thy way Within. I will array thee.

PENTHEUS What array! The woman's? Nay, I will not.

DIONYSUS Doth it change So soon, all thy desire to see this strange Adoring?

PENTHEUS Wait! What garb wilt thou bestow About me?

DIONYSUS First a long tress dangling low Beneath thy shoulders.

PENTHEUS Aye, and next?

DIONYSUS The same red Robe, falling to thy feet; and on thine head A snood.

PENTHEUS And after? Hast thou aught beyond?

DIONYSUS Surely; the dappled fawn-skin and the wand.

PENTHEUS (_after a struggle with himself_) Enough! I cannot wear a robe and snood.

DIONYSUS Wouldst liefer draw the sword and spill men's blood?

PENTHEUS (_again doubting_) True, that were evil.--Aye; 'tis best to go First to some place of watch.

DIONYSUS Far wiser so, Than seek by wrath wrath's bitter recompense.

PENTHEUS What of the city streets? Canst lead me hence Unseen of any?

DIONYSUS Lonely and untried Thy path from hence shall be, and I thy guide!

PENTHEUS I care for nothing, so these Bacchanals Triumph not against me! ...Forward to my halls Within!--I will ordain what seemeth best.

DIONYSUS So be it, O King! 'Tis mine to obey thine hest, Whate'er it be.

PENTHEUS (_after hesitating once more and waiting_) Well, I will go--perchance To march and scatter them with serried lance. Perchance to take thy plan.... I know not yet. [_Exit_ PENTHEUS _into the Castle._]

DIONYSUS Damsels, the lion walketh to the net! He finds his Bacchae now, and sees and dies, And pays for all his sin!--O Dionyse, This is thine hour and thou not far away. Grant us our vengeance!--First, O Master, stay The course of reason in him, and instil A foam of madness. Let his seeing will, Which ne'er had stooped to put thy vesture on, Be darkened, till the deed is lightly done. Grant likewise that he find through all his streets Loud scorn, this man of wrath and bitter threats That made Thebes tremble, led in woman's guise. I go to fold that robe of sacrifice On Pentheus, that shall deck him to the dark. His mother's gift!--So shall he learn and mark God's true Son, Dionyse, in fulness God, Most fearful, yet to man most soft of mood. [_Exit_ DIONYSUS, _following PENTHEUS into Castle._]

CHORUS

_Some Maidens_

Will they ever come to me, ever again, The long long dances, On through the dark till the dim stars wane? Shall I feel the dew on my throat, and the stream Of wind in my hair? Shall our white feet gleam In the dim expanses? Oh, feet of a fawn to the greenwood fled, Alone in the grass and the loveliness;

Leap of the hunted, no more in dread, Beyond the snares and the deadly press: Yet a voice still in the distance sounds, A voice and a fear and a haste of hounds; O wildly labouring, fiercely fleet, Onward yet by river and glen ... Is it joy or terror, ye storm-swift feet? ... To the dear lone lands untroubled of men, Where no voice sounds, and amid the shadowy green The little things of the woodland live unseen.

What else is Wisdom? What of man's endeavour Or God's high grace, so lovely and so great? To stand from fear set free, to breathe and wait; To hold a hand uplifted over Hate; And shall not Loveliness be loved for ever?

_Others_ O Strength of God, slow art thou and still, Yet failest never! On them that worship the Ruthless Will, On them that dream, doth His judgment wait. Dreams of the proud man, making great And greater ever, Things which are not of God. In wide And devious coverts, hunter-wise, He coucheth Time's unhasting stride, Following, following, him whose eyes Look not to Heaven. For all is vain, The pulse of the heart, the plot of the brain, That striveth beyond the laws that live. And is thy Fate so much to give, Is it so hard a thing to see, That the Spirit of God, whate'er it be, The Law that abides and changes not, ages long, The Eternal and Nature-born--these things be strong?

What else is Wisdom? What of man's endeavour Or God's high grace so lovely and so great? To stand from fear set free, to breathe and wait; To hold a hand uplifted over Hate; And shall not Loveliness be loved for ever?

LEADER Happy he, on the weary sea Who hath fled the tempest and won the haven. Happy whoso hath risen, free, Above his striving. For strangely graven Is the orb of life, that one and another In gold and power may outpass his brother, And men in their millions float and flow And seethe with a million hopes as leaven; And they win their Will, or they miss their Will, And the hopes are dead or are pined for still, But whoe'er can know, As the long days go, That To Live is happy, hath found his Heaven!

[_Re-enter_ DIONYSUS, _from the Castle_]

DIONYSUS O eye that cravest sights thou must not see, O heart athirst for that which slakes not! Thee, Pentheus, I call; forth and be seen, in guise Of woman, Maenad, saint of Dionyse, To spy upon His Chosen and thine own Mother! [_Enter_ PENTHEUS, _clad like a Bacchanal, and strangely excited, a spirit of Bacchic madness overshadowing him._] Thy shape, methinks, is like to one Of Cadmus' royal maids!

PENTHEUS Yea; and mine eye Is bright! Yon sun shines twofold in the sky, Thebes twofold and the Wall of Seven Gates.... And is it a Wild Bull this, that walks and waits Before me? There are horns upon thy brow! What art thou, man or beast! For surely now The Bull is on thee!

DIONYSUS He who erst was wrath, Goes with us now in gentleness. He hath Unsealed thine eyes to see what thou shouldst see.

PENTHEUS Say; stand I not as Ino stands, or she Who bore me?

DIONYSUS When I look on thee, it seems I see their very selves!--But stay; why streams That lock abroad, not where I laid it, crossed Under the coif?

PENTHEUS I did it, as I tossed My head in dancing, to and fro, and cried His holy music!

DIONYSUS (_tending him_) It shall soon be tied Aright. 'Tis mine to tend thee. . . . Nay, but stand With head straight.

PENTHEUS In the hollow of thine hand I lay me. Deck me as thou wilt.

DIONYSUS Thy zone Is loosened likewise; and the folded gown Not evenly falling to the feet.

PENTHEUS 'Tis so, By the right foot. But here methinks, they flow In one straight line to the heel.

DIONYSUS (_while tending him_) And if thou prove Their madness true, aye, more than true, what love And thanks hast thou for me?

PENTHEUS (_not listening to him_) In my right hand Is it, or thus, that I should bear the wand To be most like to them?

DIONYSUS Up let it swing In the right hand, timed with the right foot's spring.... 'Tis well thy heart is changed!

PENTHEUS (_more wildly_) What strength is this! Kithaeron's steeps and all that in them is-- How say'st thou?--Could my shoulders lift the whole?

DIONYSUS Surely thou canst, and if thou wilt! Thy soul, Being once so sick, now stands as it should stand.

PENTHEUS Shall it be bars of iron? Or this bare hand And shoulder to the crags, to wrench them down?

DIONYSUS Wouldst wreck the Nymphs' wild temples, and the brown Rocks, where Pan pipes at noonday?

PENTHEUS Nay; not I! Force is not well with women. I will lie Hid in the pine-brake.

DIONYSUS Even as fits a spy On holy and fearful things, so shalt thou lie!

PENTHEUS (_with a laugh_) They lie there now, methinks--the wild birds, caught By love among the leaves, and fluttering not!

DIONYSUS It may be. That is what thou goest to see, Aye, and to trap them--so they trap not thee!

PENTHEUS Forth through the Thebans' town! I am their king, Aye, their one Man, seeing I dare this thing!

DIONYSUS Yea, thou shalt bear their burden, thou alone; Therefore thy trial awaiteth thee!--But on; With me into thine ambush shalt thou come Unscathed; then let another bear thee home!

PENTHEUS The Queen, my mother.

DIONYSUS Marked of every eye.

PENTHEUS For that I go!

DIONYSUS Thou shalt be borne on high!

PENTHEUS That were like pride!

DIONYSUS Thy mother's hands shall share Thy carrying.

PENTHEUS Nay; I need not such soft care!

DIONYSUS So soft?

PENTHEUS Whate'er it be, I have earned it well! [_Exit_ PENTHEUS _towards the Mountain._]

DIONYSUS Fell, fell art thou; and to a doom so fell Thou walkest, that thy name from South to North Shall shine, a sign for ever!--Reach thou forth Thine arms, Agâvê, now, and ye dark-browed Cadmeian sisters! Greet this prince so proud To the high ordeal, where save God and me, None walks unscathed!--The rest this day shall see. [_Exit_ DIONYSUS _following_ PENTHEUS.]

CHORUS

_Some Maidens_ O hounds raging and blind, Up by the mountain road, Sprites of the maddened mind, To the wild Maids of God; Fill with your rage their eyes, Rage at the rage unblest, Watching in woman's guise, The spy upon God's Possessed.

_A Bacchanal_ Who shall be first, to mark Eyes in the rock that spy, Eyes in the pine-tree dark-- Is it his mother?--and cry: "Lo, what is this that comes, Haunting, troubling still, Even in our heights, our homes, The wild Maids of the Hill? What flesh bare this child? Never on woman's breast Changeling so evil smiled; Man is he not, but Beast! Loin-shape of the wild, Gorgon-breed of the waste!"

_All the Chorus_ Hither, for doom and deed! Hither with lifted sword, Justice, Wrath of the Lord, Come in our visible need! Smite till the throat shall bleed, Smite till the heart shall bleed, Him the tyrannous, lawless, Godless, Echîon's earthborn seed!

_Other Maidens_ Tyrannously hath he trod; Marched him, in Law's despite, Against thy Light, O God, Yea, and thy Mother's Light; Girded him, falsely bold, Blinded in craft, to quell And by man's violence hold, Things unconquerable

_A Bacchanal_ A strait pitiless mind Is death unto godliness; And to feel in human kind Life, and a pain the less. Knowledge, we are not foes! I seek thee diligently; But the world with a great wind blows, Shining, and not from thee; Blowing to beautiful things, On, amid dark and light, Till Life, through the trammellings Of Laws that are not the Right, Breaks, clean and pure, and sings Glorying to God in the height!

_All the Chorus_ Hither for doom and deed! Hither with lifted sword, Justice, Wrath of the Lord, Come in our visible need! Smite till the throat shall bleed, Smite till the heart shall bleed, Him the tyrannous, lawless, Godless, Echion's earthborn seed!

LEADER Appear, appear, whatso thy shape or name O Mountain Bull, Snake of the Hundred Heads, Lion of Burning Flame! O God, Beast, Mystery, come! Thy mystic maids Are hunted!--Blast their hunter with thy breath, Cast o'er his head thy snare; And laugh aloud and drag him to his death, Who stalks thy herded madness in its lair! [_Enter hastily a_ MESSENGER _from the Mountain, pale and distraught._]

MESSENGER Woe to the house once blest in Hellas! Woe To thee, old King Sidonian, who didst sow The dragon-seed on Ares' bloody lea! Alas, even thy slaves must weep for thee!

LEADER News from the mountain?--Speak! How hath it sped?

MESSENGER Pentheus, my king, Echîon's son, is dead!

LEADER All hail, God of the Voice, Manifest ever more!

MESSENGER What say'st thou?--And how strange thy tone, as though In joy at this my master's overthrow!

LEADER With fierce joy I rejoice, Child of a savage shore; For the chains of my prison are broken, and the dread where I cowered of yore!

MESSENGER And deem'st thou Thebes so beggared, so forlorn Of manhood, as to sit beneath thy scorn?

LEADER Thebes hath o'er me no sway! None save Him I obey, Dionysus, Child of the Highest, Him I obey and adore!

MESSENGER One can forgive thee!--Yet 'tis no fair thing, Maids, to rejoice in a man's suffering.

LEADER Speak of the mountain side! Tell us the doom he died, The sinner smitten to death, even where his sin was sore!

MESSENGER We climbed beyond the utmost habitings Of Theban shepherds, passed Asopus' springs, And struck into the land of rock on dim Kithaeron--Pentheus, and, attending him, I, and the Stranger who should guide our way, Then first in a green dell we stopped, and lay, Lips dumb and feet unmoving, warily Watching, to be unseen and yet to see.

A narrow glen it was, by crags o'ertowered, Torn through by tossing waters, and there lowered A shadow of great pines over it. And there The Maenad maidens sate; in toil they were, Busily glad. Some with an ivy chain Tricked a worn wand to toss its locks again; Some, wild in joyance, like young steeds set free, Made answering songs of mystic melody.

But my poor master saw not the great band Before him. "Stranger," he cried, "where we stand Mine eyes can reach not these false saints of thine. Mount we the bank, or some high-shouldered pine, And I shall see their follies clear!" At that There came a marvel. For the Stranger straight Touched a great pine-tree's high and heavenward crown, And lower, lower, lower, urged it down To the herbless floor. Round like a bending bow, Or slow wheel's rim a joiner forces to. So in those hands that tough and mountain stem Bowed slow--oh, strength not mortal dwelt in them!-- To the very earth. And there he set the King, And slowly, lest it cast him in its spring. Let back the young and straining tree, till high It towered again amid the towering sky; And Pentheus in the branches! Well, I ween, He saw the Maenads then, and well was seen! For scarce was he aloft, when suddenly There was no stranger any more with me, But out of Heaven a Voice--oh, what voice else?-- 'Twas He that called! "Behold, O damosels, I bring ye him who turneth to despite Both me and ye, and darkeneth my great Light. Tis yours to avenge!" So spake he, and there came 'Twixt earth and sky a pillar of high flame. And silence took the air, and no leaf stirred In all the forest dell. Thou hadst not heard In that vast silence any wild things's cry. And up they sprang; but with bewildered eye, Agaze and listening, scarce yet hearing true. Then came the Voice again. And when they knew Their God's clear call, old Cadmus' royal brood, Up, like wild pigeons startled in a wood, On flying feet they came, his mother blind, Agâvê, and her sisters, and behind All the wild crowd, more deeply maddened then, Through the angry rocks and torrent-tossing glen, Until they spied him in the dark pine-tree: Then climbed a crag hard by and furiously Some sought to stone him, some their wands would fling Lance-wise aloft, in cruel targeting. But none could strike. The height o'ertopped their rage, And there he clung, unscathed, as in a cage Caught. And of all their strife no end was found. Then, "Hither," cried Agâvê; "stand we round And grip the stem, my Wild Ones, till we take This climbing cat-o'-the-mount! He shall not make A tale of God's high dances!" Out then shone Arm upon arm, past count, and closed upon The pine, and gripped; and the ground gave, and down It reeled. And that high sitter from the crown Of the green pine-top, with a shrieking cry Fell, as his mind grew clear, and there hard by Was horror visible. 'Twas his mother stood O'er him, first priestess of those rites of blood. He tore the coif, and from his head away Flung it, that she might know him, and not slay To her own misery. He touched the wild Cheek, crying: "Mother, it is I, thy child, Thy Pentheus, born thee in Echion's hall! Have mercy, Mother! Let it not befall Through sin of mine, that thou shouldst slay thy son!" But she, with lips a-foam and eyes that run Like leaping fire, with thoughts that ne'er should be On earth, possessed by Bacchios utterly, Stays not nor hears. Round his left arm she put Both hands, set hard against his side her foot, Drew ... and the shoulder severed!--not by might Of arm, but easily, as the God made light Her hand's essay. And at the other side Was Ino rending; and the torn flesh cried, And on Autonoë pressed, and all the crowd Of ravening arms. 'Yea, all the air was loud With groans that faded into sobbing breath, Dim shrieks, and joy, and triumph-cries of death. And here was borne a severed arm, and there A hunter's booted foot; white bones lay bare With rending; and swift hands ensanguinèd Tossed as in sport the flesh of Pentheus dead. His body lies afar. The precipice Hath part, and parts in many an interstice Lurk of the tangled woodland--no light quest To find. And, ah, the head! Of all the rest, His mother hath it, pierced upon a wand, As one might pierce a lion's, and through the land, Leaving her sisters in their dancing place, Bears it on high! Yea, to these walls her face Was set, exulting in her deed of blood, Calling upon her Bromios, her God, Her Comrade, Fellow-Render of the Prey, Her All-Victorious, to whom this day She bears in triumph ... her own broken heart. For me, after that sight, I will depart Before Agave comes.--Oh, to fulfil God's laws, and have no thought beyond His will, Is man's best treasure. Aye, and wisdom true, Methinks, for things of dust to cleave unto! [_The_ MESSENGER _departs into the Castle_.]

CHORUS

_Some Maidens_ Weave ye the dance, and call Praise to God! Bless ye the Tyrant's fall! Down is trod Pentheus, the Dragon's Seed! Wore he the woman's weed? Clasped he his death indeed, Clasped the rod?

_A Bacchanal_ Yea, the wild ivy lapt him, and the doomed Wild Bull of Sacrifice before him loomed!

_Others_ Ye who did Bromios scorn, Praise Him the more, Bacchanals, Cadmus-born; Praise with sore Agony, yea, with tears! Great are the gifts he bears! Hands that a mother rears Red with gore!

LEADER But stay, Agâvê cometh! And her eyes Make fire around her, reeling! Ho, the prize Cometh! All hail, O Rout of Dionyse! [_Enter from the Mountain_ AGAVE, _mad, and to all seeming wondrously happy, bearing the head of_ PENTHEUS _in her hand. The_ CHORUS MAIDENS _stand horror-struck at the sight; the_ LEADER, _also horror-struck, strives to accept it and rejoice in it as the God's deed_.]

AGAVE Ye from the lands of Morn!

LEADER Call me not; I give praise!

AGAVE Lo, from the trunk new-shorn Hither a Mountain Thorn Bear we! O Asia-born Bacchanals, bless this chase!

LEADER I see. Yea; I see. Have I not welcomed thee?

AGAVE (_very calmly and peacefully_) He was young in the wildwood Without nets I caught him! Nay; look without fear on The Lion; I have ta'en him!

LEADER Where in the wildwood? Whence have ye brought him?

AGAVE Kithaeron. . . .

LEADER Kithaeron?

AGAVE The Mountain hath slain him!

LEADER Who first came nigh him?

AGAVE

I, I, 'tis confessèd! And they named me there by him Agave the Blessèd!

LEADER Who was next in the band on him?

AGAVE The daughters....

LEADER The daughters?

AGAVE Of Cadmus laid hand on him. But the swift hand that slaughters Is mine; mine is the praise! Bless ye this day of days! [_The_ LEADER _tries to speak, but is not able;_ AGAVE _begins gently stroking the head_.]

AGAVE Gather ye now to the feast!

LEADER Feast!--O miserable!

AGAVE See, it falls to his breast, Curling and gently tressed, The hair of the Wild Bull's crest-- The young steer of the fell!

LEADER Most like a beast of the wild That head, those locks defiled.

AGAVE (_lifting up the head, more excitedly_) He wakened his Mad Ones, A Chase-God, a wise God! He sprang them to seize this! He preys where his band preys.

LEADER (_brooding, with horror_) In the trail of thy Mad Ones Thou tearest thy prize, God!

AGAVE Dost praise it?

LEADER I praise this?

AGAVE Ah, soon shall the land praise!

LEADER And Pentheus, O Mother, Thy child?

AGAVE He shall cry on My name as none other, Bless the spoils of the Lion!

LEADER Aye, strange is thy treasure!

AGAVE And strange was the taking!

LEADER Thou art glad?

AGAVE Beyond measure; Yea, glad in the breaking Of dawn upon all this land, By the prize, the prize of my hand!

LEADER Show them to all the land, unhappy one, The trophy of this deed that thou hast done!

AGAVE Ho, all ye men that round the citadel And shining towers of ancient Thêbê dwell, Come! Look upon this prize, this lion's spoil, That we have taken--yea, with our own toil, We, Cadmus' daughters! Not with leathern-set Thessalian javelins, not with hunter's net, Only white arms and swift hands' bladed fall Why make ye much ado, and boast withal Your armourers' engines? See, these palms were bare That caught the angry beast, and held, and tare The limbs of him! ... Father! ... Go, bring to me My father! ... Aye, and Pentheus, where is he, My son? He shall set up a ladder-stair Against this house, and in the triglyphs there Nail me this lion's head, that gloriously I bring ye, having slain him--I, even I! [_She goes through the crowd towards the Castle, showing the head and looking for a place to hang it. Enter from the Mountain_ CADMUS, _with attendants, bearing the body of_ PENTHEUS _on a bier_.]

CADMUS On, with your awful burden. Follow me, Thralls, to his house, whose body grievously With many a weary search at last in dim Kithaeron's glens I found, torn limb from limb, And through the intervening forest weed Scattered.--Men told me of my daughters' deed, When I was just returned within these walls, With grey Teiresias, from the Bacchanals. And back I hied me to the hills again To seek my murdered son. There saw I plain Actaeon's mother, ranging where he died, Autonoë; and Ino by her side, Wandering ghastly in the pine-copses.

Agâvê was not there. The rumour is She cometh fleet-foot hither.--Ah! 'Tis true; A sight I scarce can bend mine eyes unto.

AGAVE (_turning from the Palace and seeing him_) My father, a great boast is thine this hour. Thou hast begotten daughters, high in power And valiant above all mankind--yea, all Valiant, though none like me! I have let fall The shuttle by the loom, and raised my hand For higher things, to slay from out thy land Wild beasts! See, in mine arms I bear the prize, That nailed above these portals it may rise To show what things thy daughters did! Do thou Take it, and call a feast. Proud art thou now And highly favoured in our valiancy!

CADMUS O depth of grief, how can I fathom thee Or look upon thee!--Poor, poor bloodstained hand! Poor sisters!--A fair sacrifice to stand Before God's altars, daughter; yea, and call Me and my citizens to feast withal!

Nay, let me weep--for thine affliction most, Then for mine own. All, all of us are lost, Not wrongfully, yet is it hard, from one Who might have loved--our Bromios, our own!

AGAVE How crabbèd and how scowling in the eyes Is man's old age!--Would that my son likewise Were happy of his hunting, in my way When with his warrior bands he will essay The wild beast!--Nay, his valiance is to fight With God's will! Father, thou shouldst set him right. Will no one bring him thither, that mine eyes May look on his, and show him this my prize!

CADMUS Alas, if ever ye can know again The truth of what ye did, what pain of pain That truth shall bring! Or were it best to wait Darkened for evermore, and deem your state Not misery, though ye know no happiness?

AGAVE What seest thou here to chide, or not to bless?

CADMUS (_after hesitation, resolving himself_) Raise me thine eyes to yon blue dome of air!

AGAVE 'Tis done. What dost thou bid me seek for there?

CADMUS Is it the same, or changèd in thy sight?

AGAVE More shining than before, more heavenly bright!

CADMUS And that wild tremour, is it with thee still?

AGAVE (_troubled_) I know not what thou sayest; but my will Clears, and some change cometh, I know not how.

CADMUS Canst hearken then, being changed, and answer, now!

AGAVE I have forgotten something; else I could.

CADMUS What husband led thee of old from mine abode?

AGAVE Echîon, whom men named the Child of Earth.

CADMUS And what child in Echîon's house had birth?

AGAVE Pentheus, of my love and his father's bred.

CADMUS Thou bearest in thine arms an head--what head?

AGAVE (_beginning to tremble, and not looking at what she carries_) A lion's--so they all said in the chase.

CADMUS Turn to it now--'tis no long toil--and gaze.

AGAVE Ah! But what is it? What am I carrying here?

CADMUS Look once upon it full, till all be clear!

AGAVE I see... most deadly pain! Oh, woe is me!

CADMUS Wears it the likeness of a lion to thee?

AGAVE No; 'tis the head--O God!--of Pentheus, this!

CADMUS Blood-drenched ere thou wouldst know him! Aye, 'tis his.

AGAVE Who slew him?--How came I to hold this thing?

CADMUS O cruel Truth, is this thine home-coming?

AGAVE Answer! My heart is hanging on thy breath!

CADMUS 'Twas thou.--Thou and thy sisters wrought his death.

AGAVE In what place was it? His own house, or where?

CADMUS Where the dogs tore Actaeon, even there.

AGAVE Why went he to Kithaeron? What sought he?

CADMUS To mock the God and thine own ecstasy.

AGAVE But how should we be on the hills this day?

CADMUS Being mad! A spirit drove all the land that way.

AGAVE 'Tis Dionyse hath done it! Now I see.

CADMUS (_earnestly_) Ye wronged Him! Ye denied his deity!

AGAVE (_turning from him_) Show me the body of the son I love!

CADMUS (_leading her to the bier_) 'Tis here, my child. Hard was the quest thereof.

AGAVE Laid in due state? [_As there is no answer, she lifts the veil of the bier, and sees._] Oh, if I wrought a sin, 'Twas mine! What portion had my child therein!

CADMUS He made him like to you, adoring not The God; who therefore to one bane hath brought You and this body, wrecking all our line, And me. Aye, no man-child was ever mine; And now this first-fruit of the flesh of thee, Sad woman, foully here and frightfully Lies murdered! Whom the house looked up unto, [_Kneeling by the body._] O Child, my daughter's child! who heldest true My castle walls; and to the folk a name Of fear thou wast; and no man sought to shame My grey beard, when they knew that thou wast there, Else had they swift reward!--And now I fare Forth in dishonour, outcast, I, the great Cadmus, who sowed the seed-rows of this state Of Thebes, and reaped the harvest wonderful. O my belovèd, though thy heart is dull In death, O still belovèd, and alway Beloved! Never more, then, shalt thou lay Thine hand to this white beard, and speak to me Thy "Mother's Father"; ask "Who wrongeth thee? Who stints thine honour, or with malice stirs Thine heart? Speak, and I smite thine injurers!" But now--woe, woe, to me and thee also, Woe to thy mother and her sisters, woe Alway! Oh, whoso walketh not in dread Of Gods, let him but look on this man dead!

LEADER Lo, I weep with thee. 'Twas but due reward God sent on Pentheus; but for thee ... 'Tis hard.

AGAVE My father, thou canst see the change in me, * * * * * * * * * * [_A page or more has here been torn out of the MS. from which all our copies of "The Bacchae" are derived. It evidently contained a speech of Agâvê (followed presumably by some words of the Chorus), and an appearance of_ DIONYSUS _upon a cloud. He must have pronounced judgment upon the Thebans in general, and especially upon the daughters of_ CADMUS, _have justified his own action, and declared his determination to establish his godhead. Where the MS begins again, we find him addressing_ CADMUS.] * * * * *

DIONYSUS * * * * * * * * * * And tell of Time, what gifts for thee he bears, What griefs and wonders in the winding years. For thou must change and be a Serpent Thing Strange, and beside thee she whom thou didst bring Of old to be thy bride from Heaven afar, Harmonia, daughter of the Lord of War. Yea, and a chariot of kine--so spake The word of Zeus--thee and thy Queen shall take Through many lands, Lord of a wild array Of orient spears. And many towns shall they Destroy beneath thee, that vast horde, until They touch Apollo's dwelling, and fulfil Their doom, back driven on stormy ways and steep. Thee only and thy spouse shall Ares keep, And save alive to the Islands of the Blest. Thus speaketh Dionysus, Son confessed Of no man but of Zeus!--Ah, had ye seen Truth in the hour ye would not, all had been Well with ye, and the Child of God your friend!

AGAVE Dionysus, we beseech thee! We have sinned!

DIONYSUS Too late! When there was time, ye knew me not!

AGAVE We have confessed. Yet is thine hand too hot.

DIONYSUS Ye mocked me, being God; this your wage.

AGAVE Should God be like a proud man in his rage?

DIONYSUS 'Tis as my sire, Zeus, willed it long ago.

AGAVE (_turning from him almost with disdain_) Old man, the word is spoken; we must go.

DIONYSUS And seeing ye must, what is it that ye wait?

CADMUS Child, we are come into a deadly strait, All; thou, poor sufferer, and thy sisters twain, And my sad self. Far off to barbarous men, A grey-haired wanderer, I must take my road. And then the oracle, the doom of God, That I must lead a raging horde far-flown To prey on Hellas; lead my spouse, mine own Harmonia. Ares' child, discorporate And haunting forms, dragon and dragon-mate, Against the tombs and altar-stones of Greece, Lance upon lance behind us; and not cease From toils, like other men, nor dream, nor past The foam of Acheron find my peace at last.

AGAVE Father! And I must wander far from thee!

CADMUS O Child, why wilt thou reach thine arms to me, As yearns the milk-white swan, when old swans die?

AGAVE Where shall I turn me else? No home have I.

CADMUS I know not; I can help thee not.

AGAVE Farewell, O home, O ancient tower! Lo, I am outcast from my bower, And leave ye for a worser lot.

CADMUS Go forth, go forth to misery, The way Actaeon's father went!

AGAVE Father, for thee my tears are spent.

CADMUS Nay, Child, 'tis I must weep for thee; For thee and for thy sisters twain!

AGAVE On all this house, in bitter wise, Our Lord and Master, Dionyse, Hath poured the utter dregs of pain!

DIONYSUS In bitter wise, for bitter was the shame Ye did me, when Thebes honoured not my name.

AGAVE Then lead me where my sisters be; Together let our tears be shed, Our ways be wandered; where no red Kithaeron waits to gaze on me; Nor I gaze back; no thyrsus stem, Nor song, nor memory in the air. Oh, other Bacchanals be there, Not I, not I, to dream of them! [AGAVE _with her group of attendants goes out on the side away from the Mountain._ DIONYSUS _rises upon the Cloud and disappears._]

CHORUS There may be many shapes of mystery, And many things God makes to be, Past hope or fear. And the end men looked for cometh not, And a path is there where no man thought. So hath it fallen here. [_Exeunt_.]

# Project Gutenberg #35171

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The Trojan Women The Athenian Drama For English Readers

THE TROJAN WOMEN

THE ATHENIAN DRAMA FOR ENGLISH READERS

A Series of Verse Translations of the Greek Dramatic Poets, with Commentaries and Explanatory Notes.

=Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt top, 7s. 6d. each net. Each Volume Illustrated from ancient Sculptures and Vase-Painting.=

AESCHYLUS: _The Orestean Trilogy._ By Prof. G. C. WARR. With an Introduction on _The Rise of Greek Tragedy_, and 13 Illustrations.

SOPHOCLES: _Oedipus Tyrannus_ and _Coloneus_, and _Antigone_. By Prof. J. S. PHILLIMORE. With an Introduction on _Sophocles and his Treatment of Tragedy_, and 16 Illustrations.

EURIPIDES: _Hippolytus_; _Bacchae_; _Aristophanes' 'Frogs.'_ By Prof. GILBERT MURRAY. With an Appendix on _The Lost Tragedies of Euripides_, and an Introduction on _The Significance of the Bacchae in Athenian History_, and 12 Illustrations. [_Second Edition._

Also Uniform With The Above

ALSO UNIFORM WITH THE ABOVE

THE HOMERIC HYMNS. A New Prose Rendering by ANDREW LANG, with Essays Critical and Explanatory, and 14 Illustrations.

The Plays Of Euripides

THE PLAYS OF EURIPIDES

Translated into English Rhyming Verse, with Explanatory Notes, by Prof. GILBERT MURRAY. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. each net.

_The Trojan Women._ _Electra._ [_In the Press._

_Hippolytus._ Third Edition. } Paper Covers, Impl. _Bacchae._ } 16mo, 1s. each net.

THE

TROJAN WOMEN

OF

EURIPIDES

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH RHYMING VERSE WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES BY

GILBERT MURRAY, M.A., LL.D.

EMERITUS PROFESSOR OF GREEK IN THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW; SOMETIME FELLOW OF

New College, Oxford London

NEW COLLEGE, OXFORD

LONDON GEORGE ALLEN, 156, CHARING CROSS ROAD 1905

[All rights reserved]

Printed by BALLANTYNE HANSON & CO. At the Ballantyne Press

INTRODUCTORY NOTE

Judged by common standards, the _Troaedes_ is far from a perfect play; it is scarcely even a good play. It is an intense study of one great situation, with little plot, little construction, little or no relief or variety. The only movement of the drama is a gradual extinguishing of all the familiar lights of human life, with, perhaps, at the end, a suggestion that in the utterness of night, when all fears of a possible worse thing are passed, there is in some sense peace and even glory. But the situation itself has at least this dramatic value, that it is different from what it seems.

The consummation of a great conquest, a thing celebrated in paeans and thanksgivings, the very height of the day-dreams of unregenerate man--it seems to be a great joy, and it is in truth a great misery. It is conquest seen when the thrill of battle is over, and nothing remains but to wait and think. We feel in the background the presence of the conquerors, sinister and disappointed phantoms; of the conquered men, after long torment, now resting in death. But the living drama for Euripides lay in the conquered women. It is from them that he has named his play and built up his scheme of parts: four figures clearly lit and heroic, the others in varying grades of characterisation, nameless and barely articulate, mere half-heard voices of an eternal sorrow.

Indeed, the most usual condemnation of the play is not that it is dull, but that it is too harrowing; that scene after scene passes beyond the due limits of tragic art. There are points to be pleaded against this criticism. The very beauty of the most fearful scenes, in spite of their fearfulness, is one; the quick comfort of the lyrics is another, falling like a spell of peace when the strain is too hard to bear (cf. p. 89). But the main defence is that, like many of the greatest works of art, the _Troaedes_ is something more than art. It is also a prophecy, a bearing of witness. And the prophet, bound to deliver his message, walks outside the regular ways of the artist.

For some time before the _Troaedes_ was produced, Athens, now entirely in the hands of the War Party, had been engaged in an enterprise which, though on military grounds defensible, was bitterly resented by the more humane minority, and has been selected by Thucydides as the great crucial crime of the war. She had succeeded in compelling the neutral Dorian island of Melos to take up arms against her, and after a long siege had conquered the quiet and immemorially ancient town, massacred the men and sold the women and children into slavery. Melos fell in the autumn of 416 B.C. The _Troaedes_ was produced in the following spring. And while the gods of the prologue were prophesying destruction at sea for the sackers of Troy, the fleet of the sackers of Melos, flushed with conquest and marked by a slight but unforgettable taint of sacrilege, was actually preparing to set sail for its fatal enterprise against Sicily.

Not, of course, that we have in the _Troaedes_ a case of political allusion. Far from it. Euripides does not mean Melos when he says Troy, nor mean Alcibiades' fleet when he speaks of Agamemnon's. But he writes under the influence of a year which to him, as to Thucydides, had been filled full of indignant pity and of dire foreboding. This tragedy is perhaps, in European literature, the first great expression of the spirit of pity for mankind exalted into a moving principle; a principle which has made the most precious, and possibly the most destructive, elements of innumerable rebellions, revolutions, and martyrdoms, and of at least two great religions.

Pity is a rebel passion. Its hand is against the strong, against the organised force of society, against conventional sanctions and accepted Gods. It is the Kingdom of Heaven within us fighting against the brute powers of the world; and it is apt to have those qualities of unreason, of contempt for the counting of costs and the balancing of sacrifices, of recklessness, and even, in the last resort, of ruthlessness, which so often mark the paths of heavenly things and the doings of the children of light. It brings not peace, but a sword.

So it was with Euripides. The _Troaedes_ itself has indeed almost no fierceness and singularly little thought of revenge. It is only the crying of one of the great wrongs of the world wrought into music, as it were, and made beautiful by "the most tragic of the poets." But its author lived ever after in a deepening atmosphere of strife and even of hatred, down to the day when, "because almost all in Athens rejoiced at his suffering," he took his way to the remote valleys of Macedon to write the _Bacchae_ and to die.

G. M. The Trojan Women Characters In The Play God Poseidon. The Goddess Pallas Athena.

G. M.

THE TROJAN WOMEN

CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY

GOD POSEIDON. THE GODDESS PALLAS ATHENA.

HECUBA, _Queen of Troy, wife of Priam, mother of Hector and Paris_. CASSANDRA, _daughter of Hecuba, a prophetess_. ANDROMACHE, _wife of Hector, Prince of Troy_. HELEN, _wife of Menelaues, King of Sparta; carried off by Paris, Prince of Troy_.

TALTHYBIUS, _Herald of the Greeks_. MENELAUS, _King of Sparta, and, together with his brother Agamemnon, General of the Greeks_.

SOLDIERS ATTENDANT ON TALTHYBIUS AND MENELAUS. CHORUS OF CAPTIVE TROJAN WOMEN, YOUNG AND OLD, MAIDEN AND MARRIED.

_The Troaedes was first acted in the year_ 415 B.C. "_The first prize was won by Xenocles, whoever he may have been, with the four plays Oedipus, Lycaoen, Bacchae and Athamas, a Satyr-play. The second by Euripides with the Alexander, Palamedes, Troaedes and Sisyphus, a Satyr-play._"--AELIAN, _Varia Historia_, ii. 8.

The Trojan Women

THE TROJAN WOMEN

_The scene represents a battlefield, a few days after the battle. At the back are the walls of Troy, partially ruined. In front of them, to right and left, are some huts, containing those of the Captive Women who have been specially set apart for the chief Greek leaders. At one side some dead bodies of armed men are visible. In front a tall woman with white hair is lying on the ground asleep._

_It is the dusk of early dawn, before sunrise. The figure of the god_ POSEIDON _is dimly seen before the walls_.

Poseidon.

POSEIDON.

Up from Aegean caverns, pool by pool Of blue salt sea, where feet most beautiful Of Nereid maidens weave beneath the foam Their long sea-dances, I, their lord, am come, Poseidon of the Sea. 'Twas I whose power, With great Apollo, builded tower by tower These walls of Troy; and still my care doth stand True to the ancient People of my hand; Which now as smoke is perished, in the shock Of Argive spears. Down from Parnassus' rock The Greek Epeios came, of Phocian seed, And wrought by Pallas' mysteries a Steed Marvellous, big with arms; and through my wall It passed, a death-fraught image magical. The groves are empty and the sanctuaries Run red with blood. Unburied Priam lies By his own hearth, on God's high altar-stair, And Phrygian gold goes forth and raiment rare To the Argive ships; and weary soldiers roam Waiting the wind that blows at last for home, For wives and children, left long years away, Beyond the seed's tenth fullness and decay, To work this land's undoing. And for me, Since Argive Hera conquereth, and she Who wrought with Hera to the Phrygians' woe, Pallas, behold, I bow mine head and go Forth from great Ilion and mine altars old. When a still city lieth in the hold Of Desolation, all God's spirit there Is sick and turns from worship.--Hearken where The ancient River waileth with a voice Of many women, portioned by the choice Of war amid new lords, as the lots leap For Thessaly, or Argos, or the steep Of Theseus' Rock. And others yet there are, High women, chosen from the waste of war For the great kings, behind these portals hid; And with them that Laconian Tyndarid, Helen, like them a prisoner and a prize. And this unhappy one--would any eyes Gaze now on Hecuba? Here at the Gates She lies 'mid many tears for many fates Of wrong. One child beside Achilles' grave In secret slain, Polyxena the brave, Lies bleeding. Priam and his sons are gone; And, lo, Cassandra, she the Chosen One, Whom Lord Apollo spared to walk her way A swift and virgin spirit, on this day Lust hath her, and she goeth garlanded A bride of wrath to Agamemnon's bed.

[_He turns to go; and another divine Presence becomes visible in the dusk. It is the goddess_ PALLAS ATHENA.

O happy long ago, farewell, farewell, Ye shining towers and mine own citadel; Broken by Pallas, Child of God, or still Thy roots had held thee true.

PALLAS.

Is it the will Of God's high Brother, to whose hand is given Great power of old, and worship of all Heaven, To suffer speech from one whose enmities This day are cast aside?

POSEIDON.

His will it is: Kindred and long companionship withal, Most high Athena, are things magical.

PALLAS.

Blest be thy gentle mood!--Methinks I see A road of comfort here, for thee and me.

POSEIDON.

Thou hast some counsel of the Gods, or word Spoken of Zeus? Or is it tidings heard From some far Spirit?

PALLAS.

For this Ilion's sake, Whereon we tread, I seek thee, and would make My hand as thine.

POSEIDON.

Hath that old hate and deep Failed, where she lieth in her ashen sleep? Thou pitiest her?

PALLAS.

Speak first; wilt thou be one In heart with me and hand till all be done?

POSEIDON.

Yea; but lay bare thy heart. For this land's sake Thou comest, not for Hellas?

PALLAS.

I would make Mine ancient enemies laugh for joy, and bring On these Greek ships a bitter homecoming.

POSEIDON.

Swift is thy spirit's path, and strange withal, And hot thy love and hate, where'er they fall.

PALLAS.

A deadly wrong they did me, yea within Mine holy place: thou knowest?

POSEIDON.

I know the sin Of Ajax, when he cast Cassandra down . . .

PALLAS.

And no man rose and smote him; not a frown Nor word from all the Greeks!

POSEIDON.

And 'twas thine hand That gave them Troy!

PALLAS.

Therefore with thee I stand To smite them.

POSEIDON.

All thou cravest, even now Is ready in mine heart. What seekest thou?

PALLAS.

An homecoming that striveth ever more And cometh to no home.

POSEIDON.

Here on the shore Wouldst hold them or amid mine own salt foam?

PALLAS.

When the last ship hath bared her sail for home! Zeus shall send rain, long rain and flaw of driven Hail, and a whirling darkness blown from heaven; To me his levin-light he promiseth O'er ships and men, for scourging and hot death: Do thou make wild the roads of the sea, and steep With war of waves and yawning of the deep, Till dead men choke Euboea's curling bay. So Greece shall dread even in an after day My house, nor scorn the Watchers of strange lands!

POSEIDON.

I give thy boon unbartered. These mine hands Shall stir the waste Aegean; reefs that cross The Delian pathways, jag-torn Myconos, Scyros and Lemnos, yea, and storm-driven Caphereus with the bones of drowned men Shall glut him.--Go thy ways, and bid the Sire Yield to thine hand the arrows of his fire. Then wait thine hour, when the last ship shall wind Her cable coil for home! [_Exit_ PALLAS. How are ye blind, Ye treaders down of cities, ye that cast Temples to desolation, and lay waste Tombs, the untrodden sanctuaries where lie The ancient dead; yourselves so soon to die! [_Exit_ POSEIDON.

* * * * *

_The day slowly dawns_: HECUBA _wakes_.

HECUBA.

Up from the earth, O weary head! This is not Troy, about, above-- Not Troy, nor we the lords thereof. Thou breaking neck, be strengthened!

Endure and chafe not. The winds rave And falter. Down the world's wide road, Float, float where streams the breath of God; Nor turn thy prow to breast the wave.

Ah woe! . . . For what woe lacketh here? My children lost, my land, my lord. O thou great wealth of glory, stored Of old in Ilion, year by year

We watched . . . and wert thou nothingness? What is there that I fear to say? And yet, what help? . . . Ah, well-a-day, This ache of lying, comfortless

And haunted! Ah, my side, my brow And temples! All with changeful pain My body rocketh, and would fain Move to the tune of tears that flow: For tears are music too, and keep A song unheard in hearts that weep.

[_She rises and gazes towards the Greek ships far off on the shore._

O ships, O crowding faces Of ships, O hurrying beat Of oars as of crawling feet, How found ye our holy places? Threading the narrows through, Out from the gulfs of the Greek, Out to the clear dark blue, With hate ye came and with joy, And the noise of your music flew, Clarion and pipe did shriek, As the coiled cords ye threw, Held in the heart of Troy!

What sought ye then that ye came? A woman, a thing abhorred: A King's wife that her lord Hateth: and Castor's shame Is hot for her sake, and the reeds Of old Eurotas stir With the noise of the name of her. She slew mine ancient King, The Sower of fifty Seeds, And cast forth mine and me, As shipwrecked men, that cling To a reef in an empty sea.

Who am I that I sit Here at a Greek king's door, Yea, in the dust of it? A slave that men drive before, A woman that hath no home, Weeping alone for her dead; A low and bruised head, And the glory struck therefrom.

[_She starts up from her solitary brooding, and calls to the other Trojan Women in the huts._

O Mothers of the Brazen Spear, And maidens, maidens, brides of shame, Troy is a smoke, a dying flame; Together we will weep for her: I call ye as a wide-wing'd bird Calleth the children of her fold, To cry, ah, not the cry men heard In Ilion, not the songs of old, That echoed when my hand was true On Priam's sceptre, and my feet Touched on the stone one signal beat, And out the Dardan music rolled; And Troy's great Gods gave ear thereto.

[_The door of one of the huts on the right opens, and the Women steal out severally, startled and afraid._

First Woman.

FIRST WOMAN.

[_Strophe_ 1. How say'st thou? Whither moves thy cry, Thy bitter cry? Behind our door We heard thy heavy heart outpour Its sorrow: and there shivered by Fear and a quick sob shaken From prisoned hearts that shall be free no more!

HECUBA. Child, 'tis the ships that stir upon the shore . . .

Second Woman.

SECOND WOMAN. The ships, the ships awaken!

Third Woman.

THIRD WOMAN. Dear God, what would they? Overseas Bear me afar to strange cities?

HECUBA. Nay, child, I know not. Dreams are these, Fears of the hope-forsaken.

FIRST WOMAN.

Awake, O daughters of affliction, wake And learn your lots! Even now the Argives break Their camp for sailing!

HECUBA.

Ah, not Cassandra! Wake not her Whom God hath maddened, lest the foe Mock at her dreaming. Leave me clear From that one edge of woe. O Troy, my Troy, thou diest here Most lonely; and most lonely we The living wander forth from thee, And the dead leave thee wailing!

[_One of the huts on the left is now open, and the rest of the_ CHORUS _come out severally_. _Their number eventually amounts to fifteen._

Fourth Woman.

FOURTH WOMAN.

[_Antistrophe_ 1. Out of the tent of the Greek king I steal, my Queen, with trembling breath: What means thy call? Not death; not death! They would not slay so low a thing!

Fifth Woman

FIFTH WOMAN O, 'tis the ship-folk crying To deck the galleys: and we part, we part!

HECUBA. Nay, daughter: take the morning to thine heart.

FIFTH WOMAN. My heart with dread is dying!

Sixth Woman.

SIXTH WOMAN. An herald from the Greek hath come!

FIFTH WOMAN. How have they cast me, and to whom A bondmaid?

HECUBA. Peace, child: wait thy doom. Our lots are near the trying.

FOURTH WOMAN.

Argos, belike, or Phthia shall it be, Or some lone island of the tossing sea, Far, far from Troy?

HECUBA.

And I the aged, where go I, A winter-frozen bee, a slave Death-shapen, as the stones that lie Hewn on a dead man's grave: The children of mine enemy To foster, or keep watch before The threshold of a master's door, I that was Queen in Troy!

A Woman To Another.

A WOMAN TO ANOTHER.

[_Strophe_ 2. And thou, what tears can tell thy doom?

The Other.

THE OTHER. The shuttle still shall flit and change Beneath my fingers, but the loom, Sister, be strange.

ANOTHER (_wildly_). Look, my dead child! My child, my love, The last look. . . .

ANOTHER. Oh, there cometh worse. A Greek's bed in the dark. . . .

ANOTHER. God curse That night and all the powers thereof!

ANOTHER. Or pitchers to and fro to bear To some Pirene on the hill, Where the proud water craveth still Its broken-hearted minister.

ANOTHER. God guide me yet to Theseus' land, The gentle land, the famed afar . . .

ANOTHER. But not the hungry foam--Ah, never!-- Of fierce Eurotas, Helen's river, To bow to Menelaus' hand, That wasted Troy with war!

A Woman.

A WOMAN.

[_Antistrophe_ 2. They told us of a land high-born, Where glimmers round Olympus' roots A lordly river, red with corn And burdened fruits.

ANOTHER. Aye, that were next in my desire To Athens, where good spirits dwell . . .

ANOTHER. Or Aetna's breast, the deeps of fire That front the Tyrian's Citadel: First mother, she, of Sicily And mighty mountains: fame hath told Their crowns of goodness manifold. . . .

ANOTHER. And, close beyond the narrowing sea, A sister land, where float enchanted Ionian summits, wave on wave, And Crathis of the burning tresses Makes red the happy vale, and blesses With gold of fountains spirit-haunted Homes of true men and brave!

LEADER.

But lo, who cometh: and his lips Grave with the weight of dooms unknown: A Herald from the Grecian ships. Swift comes he, hot-foot to be done And finished. Ah, what bringeth he Of news or judgment? Slaves are we, Spoils that the Greek hath won!

[TALTHYBIUS, _followed by some Soldiers, enters from the left_.

Talthybius.

TALTHYBIUS.

Thou know'st me, Hecuba. Often have I crossed Thy plain with tidings from the Hellene host. 'Tis I, Talthybius. . . . Nay, of ancient use Thou know'st me. And I come to bear thee news.

HECUBA.

Ah me, 'tis here, 'tis here, Women of Troy, our long embosomed fear!

TALTHYBIUS.

The lots are cast, if that it was ye feared.

HECUBA.

What lord, what land. . . . Ah me, Phthia or Thebes, or sea-worn Thessaly?

TALTHYBIUS.

Each hath her own. Ye go not in one herd.

HECUBA.

Say then what lot hath any? What of joy Falls, or can fall on any child of Troy?

TALTHYBIUS.

I know: but make thy questions severally.

HECUBA.

My stricken one must be Still first. Say how Cassandra's portion lies.

TALTHYBIUS.

Chosen from all for Agamemnon's prize!

HECUBA.

How, for his Spartan bride A tirewoman? For Helen's sister's pride?

TALTHYBIUS.

Nay, nay: a bride herself, for the King's bed.

HECUBA.

The sainted of Apollo? And her own Prize that God promised Out of the golden clouds, her virgin crown? . . .

TALTHYBIUS.

He loved her for that same strange holiness.

HECUBA.

Daughter, away, away, Cast all away, The haunted Keys, the lonely stole's array That kept thy body like a sacred place!

TALTHYBIUS.

Is't not rare fortune that the King hath smiled On such a maid?

HECUBA.

What of that other child Ye reft from me but now?

TALTHYBIUS (_speaking with some constraint_).

Polyxena? Or what child meanest thou?

HECUBA.

The same. What man now hath her, or what doom?

TALTHYBIUS.

She rests apart, to watch Achilles' tomb.

HECUBA.

To watch a tomb? My daughter? What is this? . . . Speak, Friend? What fashion of the laws of Greece?

TALTHYBIUS.

Count thy maid happy! She hath naught of ill To fear . . .

HECUBA.

What meanest thou? She liveth still?

TALTHYBIUS.

I mean, she hath one toil that holds her free From all toil else.

HECUBA.

What of Andromache, Wife of mine iron-hearted Hector, where Journeyeth she?

TALTHYBIUS.

Pyrrhus, Achilles' son, hath taken her.

HECUBA.

And I, whose slave am I, The shaken head, the arm that creepeth by, Staff-crutched, like to fall?

TALTHYBIUS.

Odysseus, Ithaca's king, hath thee for thrall.

HECUBA.

Beat, beat the crownless head: Rend the cheek till the tears run red! A lying man and a pitiless Shall be lord of me, a heart full-flown With scorn of righteousness: O heart of a beast where law is none, Where all things change so that lust be fed, The oath and the deed, the right and the wrong, Even the hate of the forked tongue: Even the hate turns and is cold, False as the love that was false of old!

O Women of Troy, weep for me! Yea, I am gone: I am gone my ways. Mine is the crown of misery, The bitterest day of all our days.

LEADER.

Thy fate thou knowest, Queen: but I know not What lord of South or North has won my lot.

TALTHYBIUS.

Go, seek Cassandra, men! Make your best speed, That I may leave her with the King, and lead These others to their divers lords. . . . Ha, there! What means that sudden light? Is it the flare Of torches?

[_Light is seen shining through the crevices of the second hut on the right. He moves towards it._

Would they fire their prison rooms, Or how, these dames of Troy?--'Fore God, the dooms Are known, and now they burn themselves and die Rather than sail with us! How savagely In days like these a free neck chafes beneath Its burden! . . . Open! Open quick! Such death Were bliss to them, it may be: but 'twill bring Much wrath, and leave me shamed before the King!

HECUBA.

There is no fire, no peril: 'tis my child, Cassandra, by the breath of God made wild.

[_The door opens from within and_ CASSANDRA _enters, white-robed and wreathed like a Priestess, a great torch in her hand_. _She is singing softly to herself and does not see the Herald or the scene before her._

Cassandra.

CASSANDRA.

[_Strophe._ Lift, lift it high: Give it to mine hand! Lo, I bear a flame Unto God! I praise his name. I light with a burning brand This sanctuary. Blessed is he that shall wed, And blessed, blessed am I In Argos: a bride to lie With a king in a king's bed.

Hail, O Hymen red, O Torch that makest one! Weepest thou, Mother mine own? Surely thy cheek is pale With tears, tears that wail For a land and a father dead. But I go garlanded: I am the Bride of Desire: Therefore my torch is borne-- Lo, the lifting of morn, Lo, the leaping of fire!--

For thee, O Hymen bright, For thee, O Moon of the Deep, So Law hath charged, for the light Of a maid's last sleep.

[_Antistrophe._ Awake, O my feet, awake: Our father's hope is won! Dance as the dancing skies Over him, where he lies Happy beneath the sun! . . . Lo, the Ring that I make . . .

[_She makes a circle round her with the torch, and visions appear to her._

Apollo! . . . Ah, is it thou? O shrine in the laurels cold, I bear thee still, as of old, Mine incense! Be near to me now.

[_She waves the torch as though bearing incense._

O Hymen, Hymen fleet: Quick torch that makest one! . . . How? Am I still alone? Laugh as I laugh, and twine In the dance, O Mother mine: Dear feet, be near my feet!

Come, greet ye Hymen, greet Hymen with songs of pride: Sing to him loud and long, Cry, cry, when the song Faileth, for joy of the bride!

O Damsels girt in the gold Of Ilion, cry, cry ye, For him that is doomed of old To be lord of me!

LEADER.

O hold the damsel, lest her tranced feet Lift her afar, Queen, toward the Hellene fleet!

HECUBA.

O Fire, Fire, where men make marriages Surely thou hast thy lot; but what are these Thou bringest flashing? Torches savage-wild And far from mine old dreams.--Alas, my child, How little dreamed I then of wars or red Spears of the Greek to lay thy bridal bed! Give me thy brand; it hath no holy blaze Thus in thy frenzy flung. Nor all thy days Nor all thy griefs have changed them yet, nor learned Wisdom.--Ye women, bear the pine half burned To the chamber back; and let your drowned eyes Answer the music of these bridal cries!

[_She takes the torch and gives it to one of the women._

CASSANDRA.

O Mother, fill mine hair with happy flowers, And speed me forth. Yea, if my spirit cowers, Drive me with wrath! So liveth Loxias, A bloodier bride than ever Helen was Go I to Agamemnon, Lord most high Of Hellas! . . . I shall kill him, mother; I Shall kill him, and lay waste his house with fire As he laid ours. My brethren and my sire Shall win again . . . (_Checking herself_) But part I must let be, And speak not. Not the axe that craveth me, And more than me; not the dark wanderings Of mother-murder that my bridal brings, And all the House of Atreus down, down, down . .

Nay, I will show thee. Even now this town Is happier than the Greeks. I know the power Of God is on me: but this little hour, Wilt thou but listen, I will hold him back! One love, one woman's beauty, o'er the track Of hunted Helen, made their myriads fall. And this their King so wise, who ruleth all, What wrought he? Cast out Love that Hate might feed: Gave to his brother his own child, his seed Of gladness, that a woman fled, and fain To fly for ever, should be turned again! So the days waned, and armies on the shore Of Simois stood and strove and died. Wherefore? No man had moved their landmarks; none had shook Their walled towns.--And they whom Ares took, Had never seen their children: no wife came With gentle arms to shroud the limbs of them For burial, in a strange and angry earth Laid dead. And there at home, the same long dearth: Women that lonely died, and aged men Waiting for sons that ne'er should turn again, Nor know their graves, nor pour drink-offerings, To still the unslaked dust. These be the things The conquering Greek hath won! But we--what pride, What praise of men were sweeter?--fighting died To save our people. And when war was red Around us, friends upbore the gentle dead Home, and dear women's hands about them wound White shrouds, and here they sleep in the old ground Beloved. And the rest long days fought on, Dwelling with wives and children, not alone And joyless, like these Greeks. And Hector's woe, What is it? He is gone, and all men know His glory, and how true a heart he bore. It is the gift the Greek hath brought! Of yore Men saw him not, nor knew him. Yea, and even Paris hath loved withal a child of heaven: Else had his love but been as others are. Would ye be wise, ye Cities, fly from war! Yet if war come, there is a crown in death For her that striveth well and perisheth Unstained: to die in evil were the stain! Therefore, O Mother, pity not thy slain, Nor Troy, nor me, the bride. Thy direst foe And mine by this my wooing is brought low.

TALTHYBIUS (_at last breaking through the spell that has held him_).

I swear, had not Apollo made thee mad, Not lightly hadst thou flung this shower of bad Bodings, to speed my General o'er the seas! 'Fore God, the wisdoms and the greatnesses Of seeming, are they hollow all, as things Of naught? This son of Atreus, of all kings Most mighty, hath so bowed him to the love Of this mad maid, and chooseth her above All women! By the Gods, rude though I be, I would not touch her hand! Look thou; I see Thy lips are blind, and whatso words they speak, Praises of Troy or shamings of the Greek, I cast to the four winds! Walk at my side In peace! . . . And heaven content him of his bride!

[_He moves as though to go, but turns to_ HECUBA, _and speaks more gently_.

And thou shalt follow to Odysseus' host When the word comes. 'Tis a wise queen thou go'st To serve, and gentle: so the Ithacans say.

CASSANDRA (_seeing for the first time the Herald and all the scene_).

How fierce a slave! . . . O Heralds, Heralds! Yea, Voices of Death; and mists are over them Of dead men's anguish, like a diadem, These weak abhorred things that serve the hate Of kings and peoples! . . . To Odysseus' gate My mother goeth, say'st thou? Is God's word As naught, to me in silence ministered, That in this place she dies? . . . (_To herself_) No more; no more! Why should I speak the shame of them, before They come? . . . Little he knows, that hard-beset Spirit, what deeps of woe await him yet; Till all these tears of ours and harrowings Of Troy, by his, shall be as golden things. Ten years behind ten years athwart his way Waiting: and home, lost and unfriended . . . Nay: Why should Odysseus' labours vex my breath? On; hasten; guide me to the house of Death, To lie beside my bridegroom! . . . Thou Greek King, Who deem'st thy fortune now so high a thing, Thou dust of the earth, a lowlier bed I see, In darkness, not in light, awaiting thee: And with thee, with thee . . . there, where yawneth plain A rift of the hills, raging with winter rain, Dead . . . and out-cast . . . and naked . . . It is I Beside my bridegroom: and the wild beasts cry, And ravin on God's chosen!

[_She clasps her hands to her brow and feels the wreaths._

O, ye wreaths! Ye garlands of my God, whose love yet breathes About me; shapes of joyance mystical; Begone! I have forgot the festival, Forgot the joy. Begone! I tear ye, so, From off me! . . . Out on the swift winds they go. With flesh still clean I give them back to thee, Still white, O God, O light that leadest me! [_Turning upon the Herald._ Where lies the galley? Whither shall I tread? See that your watch be set, your sail be spread. The wind comes quick! . . . Three Powers--mark me, thou!-- There be in Hell, and one walks with thee now! Mother, farewell, and weep not! O my sweet City, my earth-clad brethren, and thou great Sire that begat us; but a space, ye Dead, And I am with you: yea, with crowned head I come, and shining from the fires that feed On these that slay us now, and all their seed!

[_She goes out, followed by_ TALTHYBIUS _and the Soldiers_: HECUBA, _after waiting for an instant motionless, falls to the ground_.

LEADER OF CHORUS.

The Queen, ye Watchers! See, she falls, she falls, Rigid without a word! O sorry thralls, Too late! And will ye leave her downstricken, A woman, and so old? Raise her again!

[_Some women go to_ HECUBA, _but she refuses their aid and speaks without rising_.

HECUBA.

Let lie . . . the love we seek not is no love . . . This ruined body! Is the fall thereof Too deep for all that now is over me Of anguish, and hath been, and yet shall be? Ye Gods . . . Alas! Why call on things so weak For aid? Yet there is something that doth seek, Crying, for God, when one of us hath woe. O, I will think of things gone long ago And weave them to a song, like one more tear In the heart of misery. . . . All kings we were; And I must wed a king. And sons I brought My lord King, many sons . . . nay, that were naught; But high strong princes, of all Troy the best. Hellas nor Troaes nor the garnered East Held such a mother! And all these things beneath The Argive spear I saw cast down in death, And shore these tresses at the dead men's feet. Yea, and the gardener of my garden great, It was not any noise of him nor tale I wept for; these eyes saw him, when the pale Was broke, and there at the altar Priam fell Murdered, and round him all his citadel Sacked. And my daughters, virgins of the fold, Meet to be brides of mighty kings, behold, 'Twas for the Greek I bred them! All are gone; And no hope left, that I shall look upon Their faces any more, nor they on mine. And now my feet tread on the utmost line: An old, old slave-woman, I pass below Mine enemies' gates; and whatso task they know For this age basest, shall be mine; the door, Bowing, to shut and open. . . . I that bore Hector! . . . and meal to grind, and this racked head Bend to the stones after a royal bed; Torn rags about me, aye, and under them Torn flesh; 'twill make a woman sick for shame! Woe's me; and all that one man's arms might hold One woman, what long seas have o'er me rolled And roll for ever! . . . O my child, whose white Soul laughed amid the laughter of God's light, Cassandra, what hands and how strange a day Have loosed thy zone! And thou, Polyxena, Where art thou? And my sons? Not any seed Of man nor woman now shall help my need. Why raise me any more? What hope have I To hold me? Take this slave that once trod high In Ilion; cast her on her bed of clay Rock-pillowed, to lie down, and pass away Wasted with tears. And whatso man they call Happy, believe not ere the last day fall!

* * * * *

CHORUS.

[_Strophe._ O Muse, be near me now, and make A strange song for Ilion's sake, Till a tone of tears be about mine ears And out of my lips a music break For Troy, Troy, and the end of the years: When the wheels of the Greek above me pressed, And the mighty horse-hoofs beat my breast; And all around were the Argive spears.

A towering Steed of golden rein-- O gold without, dark steel within!-- Ramped in our gates; and all the plain Lay silent where the Greeks had been. And a cry broke from all the folk Gathered above on Ilion's rock: "Up, up, O fear is over now! To Pallas, who hath saved us living, To Pallas bear this victory-vow!" Then rose the old man from his room, The merry damsel left her loom, And each bound death about his brow With minstrelsy and high thanksgiving!

[_Antistrophe._ O, swift were all in Troy that day, And girt them to the portal-way, Marvelling at that mountain Thing Smooth-carven, where the Argives lay, And wrath, and Ilion's vanquishing: Meet gift for her that spareth not, Heaven's yokeless Rider. Up they brought Through the steep gates her offering: Like some dark ship that climbs the shore On straining cables, up, where stood Her marble throne, her hallowed floor, Who lusted for her people's blood.

A very weariness of joy Fell with the evening over Troy: And lutes of Afric mingled there With Phrygian songs: and many a maiden, With white feet glancing light as air, Made happy music through the gloom: And fires on many an inward room All night broad-flashing, flung their glare On laughing eyes and slumber-laden.

A Maiden.

A MAIDEN.

I was among the dancers there To Artemis, and glorying sang Her of the Hills, the Maid most fair, Daughter of Zeus: and, lo, there rang A shout out of the dark, and fell Deathlike from street to street, and made A silence in the citadel: And a child cried, as if afraid, And hid him in his mother's veil. Then stalked the Slayer from his den, The hand of Pallas served her well! O blood, blood of Troy was deep About the streets and altars then: And in the wedded rooms of sleep, Lo, the desolate dark alone, And headless things, men stumbled on.

And forth, lo, the women go, The crown of War, the crown of Woe, To bear the children of the foe And weep, weep, for Ilion!

* * * * *

[_As the song ceases a chariot is seen approaching from the town, laden with spoils. On it sits a mourning Woman with a child in her arms._

LEADER.

Lo, yonder on the heaped crest Of a Greek wain, Andromache, As one that o'er an unknown sea Tosseth; and on her wave-borne breast Her loved one clingeth, Hector's child, Astyanax . . . O most forlorn Of women, whither go'st thou, borne 'Mid Hector's bronzen arms, and piled Spoils of the dead, and pageantry Of them that hunted Ilion down? Aye, richly thy new lord shall crown The mountain shrines of Thessaly!

Andromache.

ANDROMACHE.

[_Strophe_ 1. Forth to the Greek I go, Driven as a beast is driven. HEC. Woe, woe! AND. Nay, mine is woe: Woe to none other given, And the song and the crown therefor! HEC. O Zeus! AND. He hates thee sore! HEC. Children! AND. No more, no more To aid thee: their strife is striven!

HECUBA.

[_Antistrophe_ 1. Troy, Troy is gone! AND. Yea, and her treasure parted. HEC. Gone, gone, mine own Children, the noble-hearted! AND. Sing sorrow. . . . HEC. For me, for me! AND. Sing for the Great City, That falleth, falleth to be A shadow, a fire departed.

ANDROMACHE.

[_Strophe_ 2. Come to me, O my lover! HEC. The dark shroudeth him over, My flesh, woman, not thine, not thine! AND. Make of thine arms my cover!

HECUBA.

[_Antistrophe_ 2. O thou whose wound was deepest, Thou that my children keepest, Priam, Priam, O age-worn King, Gather me where thou sleepest.

ANDROMACHE (_her hands upon her heart_).

[_Strophe_ 3. O here is the deep of desire, HEC. (How? And is this not woe?) AND. For a city burned with fire; HEC. (It beateth, blow on blow.) AND. God's wrath for Paris, thy son, that he died not long ago:

Who sold for his evil love Troy and the towers thereof: Therefore the dead men lie Naked, beneath the eye Of Pallas, and vultures croak And flap for joy: So Love hath laid his yoke On the neck of Troy!

HECUBA.

[_Antistrophe_ 3. O mine own land, my home, AND. (I weep for thee, left forlorn,) HEC. See'st thou what end is come? AND. (And the house where my babes were born.) HEC. A desolate Mother we leave, O children, a City of scorn:

Even as the sound of a song Left by the way, but long Remembered, a tune of tears Falling where no man hears, In the old house, as rain, For things loved of yore: But the dead hath lost his pain And weeps no more.

LEADER.

How sweet are tears to them in bitter stress, And sorrow, and all the songs of heaviness.

ANDROMACHE.

Mother of him of old, whose mighty spear Smote Greeks like chaff, see'st thou what things are here?

HECUBA.

I see God's hand, that buildeth a great crown For littleness, and hath cast the mighty down.

ANDROMACHE.

I and my babe are driven among the droves Of plundered cattle. O, when fortune moves So swift, the high heart like a slave beats low.

HECUBA.

'Tis fearful to be helpless. Men but now Have taken Cassandra, and I strove in vain.

ANDROMACHE.

Ah, woe is me; hath Ajax come again? But other evil yet is at thy gate.

HECUBA.

Nay, Daughter, beyond number, beyond weight My evils are! Doom raceth against doom.

ANDROMACHE.

Polyxena across Achilles' tomb Lies slain, a gift flung to the dreamless dead.

HECUBA.

My sorrow! . . . 'Tis but what Talthybius said: So plain a riddle, and I read it not.

ANDROMACHE.

I saw her lie, and stayed this chariot; And raiment wrapt on her dead limbs, and beat My breast for her.

HECUBA (_to herself_).

O the foul sin of it! The wickedness! My child. My child! Again I cry to thee. How cruelly art thou slain!

ANDROMACHE.

She hath died her death, and howso dark it be, Her death is sweeter than my misery.

HECUBA.

Death cannot be what Life is, Child; the cup Of Death is empty, and Life hath always hope.

ANDROMACHE.

O Mother, having ears, hear thou this word Fear-conquering, till thy heart as mine be stirred With joy. To die is only not to be; And better to be dead than grievously Living. They have no pain, they ponder not Their own wrong. But the living that is brought From joy to heaviness, his soul doth roam, As in a desert, lost, from its old home. Thy daughter lieth now as one unborn, Dead, and naught knowing of the lust and scorn That slew her. And I . . . long since I drew my bow Straight at the heart of good fame; and I know My shaft hit; and for that am I the more Fallen from peace. All that men praise us for, I loved for Hector's sake, and sought to win. I knew that alway, be there hurt therein Or utter innocence, to roam abroad Hath ill report for women; so I trod Down the desire thereof, and walked my way In mine own garden. And light words and gay Parley of women never passed my door. The thoughts of mine own heart . . . I craved no more . . . Spoke with me, and I was happy. Constantly I brought fair silence and a tranquil eye For Hector's greeting, and watched well the way Of living, where to guide and where obey. And, lo! some rumour of this peace, being gone Forth to the Greek, hath cursed me. Achilles' son, So soon as I was taken, for his thrall Chose me. I shall do service in the hall Of them that slew . . . How? Shall I thrust aside Hector's beloved face, and open wide My heart to this new lord? Oh, I should stand A traitor to the dead! And if my hand And flesh shrink from him . . . lo, wrath and despite O'er all the house, and I a slave! One night, One night . . . aye, men have said it . . . maketh tame A woman in a man's arms. . . . O shame, shame! What woman's lips can so forswear her dead, And give strange kisses in another's bed? Why, not a dumb beast, not a colt will run In the yoke untroubled, when her mate is gone-- A thing not in God's image, dull, unmoved Of reason. O my Hector! best beloved, That, being mine, wast all in all to me, My prince, my wise one, O my majesty Of valiance! No man's touch had ever come Near me, when thou from out my father's home Didst lead me and make me thine. . . . And thou art dead, And I war-flung to slavery and the bread Of shame in Hellas, over bitter seas! What knoweth she of evils like to these, That dead Polyxena, thou weepest for? There liveth not in my life any more The hope that others have. Nor will I tell The lie to mine own heart, that aught is well Or shall be well. . . . Yet, O, to dream were sweet!

LEADER.

Thy feet have trod the pathway of my feet, And thy clear sorrow teacheth me mine own.

HECUBA.

Lo, yonder ships: I ne'er set foot on one, But tales and pictures tell, when over them Breaketh a storm not all too strong to stem, Each man strives hard, the tiller gripped, the mast Manned, the hull baled, to face it: till at last Too strong breaks the o'erwhelming sea: lo, then They cease, and yield them up as broken men To fate and the wild waters. Even so I in my many sorrows bear me low, Nor curse, nor strive that other things may be. The great wave rolled from God hath conquered me. But, O, let Hector and the fates that fell On Hector, sleep. Weep for him ne'er so well, Thy weeping shall not wake him. Honour thou The new lord that is set above thee now, And make of thine own gentle piety A prize to lure his heart. So shalt thou be A strength to them that love us, and--God knows, It may be--rear this babe among his foes, My Hector's child, to manhood and great aid For Ilion. So her stones may yet be laid One on another, if God will, and wrought Again to a city! Ah, how thought to thought Still beckons! . . . But what minion of the Greek Is this that cometh, with new words to speak?

[_Enter_ TALTHYBIUS _with a band of Soldiers_. _He comes forward slowly and with evident disquiet._

TALTHYBIUS.

Spouse of the noblest heart that beat in Troy, Andromache, hate me not! 'Tis not in joy I tell thee. But the people and the Kings Have with one voice . . .

ANDROMACHE.

What is it? Evil things Are on thy lips!

TALTHYBIUS.

'Tis ordered, this child . . . Oh, How can I tell her of it?

ANDROMACHE.

Doth he not go With me, to the same master?

TALTHYBIUS.

There is none In Greece, shall e'er be master of thy son.

ANDROMACHE.

How? Will they leave him here to build again The wreck? . . .

TALTHYBIUS.

I know not how to tell thee plain!

ANDROMACHE.

Thou hast a gentle heart . . . if it be ill, And not good, news thou hidest!

TALTHYBIUS.

'Tis their will Thy son shall die. . . . The whole vile thing is said Now!

ANDROMACHE.

Oh, I could have borne mine enemy's bed!

TALTHYBIUS.

And speaking in the council of the host Odysseus hath prevailed--

ANDROMACHE.

O lost! lost! lost! . . . Forgive me! It is not easy . . .

TALTHYBIUS.

. . . That the son Of one so perilous be not fostered on To manhood--

ANDROMACHE.

God; may his own counsel fall On his own sons!

TALTHYBIUS.

. . . But from this crested wall Of Troy be dashed, and die. . . . Nay, let the thing Be done. Thou shalt be wiser so. Nor cling So fiercely to him. Suffer as a brave Woman in bitter pain; nor think to have Strength which thou hast not. Look about thee here! Canst thou see help, or refuge anywhere? Thy land is fallen and thy lord, and thou A prisoner and alone, one woman; how Canst battle against us? For thine own good I would not have thee strive, nor make ill blood And shame about thee. . . . Ah, nor move thy lips In silence there, to cast upon the ships Thy curse! One word of evil to the host, This babe shall have no burial, but be tossed Naked. . . . Ah, peace! And bear as best thou may, War's fortune. So thou shalt not go thy way Leaving this child unburied; nor the Greek Be stern against thee, if thy heart be meek!

ANDROMACHE (_to the child_).

Go, die, my best-beloved, my cherished one, In fierce men's hands, leaving me here alone. Thy father was too valiant; that is why They slay thee! Other children, like to die, Might have been spared for that. But on thy head His good is turned to evil. O thou bed And bridal; O the joining of the hand, That led me long ago to Hector's land To bear, O not a lamb for Grecian swords To slaughter, but a Prince o'er all the hordes Enthroned of wide-flung Asia. . . . Weepest thou? Nay, why, my little one? Thou canst not know. And Father will not come; he will not come; Not once, the great spear flashing, and the tomb Riven to set thee free! Not one of all His brethren, nor the might of Ilion's wall. How shall it be? One horrible spring . . . deep, deep Down. And thy neck . . . Ah God, so cometh sleep! . . . And none to pity thee! . . . Thou little thing That curlest in my arms, what sweet scents cling All round thy neck! Beloved; can it be All nothing, that this bosom cradled thee And fostered; all the weary nights, wherethrough I watched upon thy sickness, till I grew Wasted with watching? Kiss me. This one time; Not ever again. Put up thine arms, and climb About my neck: now, kiss me, lips to lips. . . . O, ye have found an anguish that outstrips All tortures of the East, ye gentle Greeks! Why will ye slay this innocent, that seeks No wrong? . . . O Helen, Helen, thou ill tree That Tyndareus planted, who shall deem of thee As child of Zeus? O, thou hast drawn thy breath From many fathers, Madness, Hate, red Death, And every rotting poison of the sky! Zeus knows thee not, thou vampire, draining dry Greece and the world! God hate thee and destroy, That with those beautiful eyes hast blasted Troy, And made the far-famed plains a waste withal. Quick! take him: drag him: cast him from the wall, If cast ye will! Tear him, ye beasts, be swift! God hath undone me, and I cannot lift One hand, one hand, to save my child from death . . . O, hide my head for shame: fling me beneath Your galleys' benches! . . . [_She swoons: then half-rising._ Quick: I must begone To the bridal. . . . I have lost my child, my own! [_The soldiers close round her._

LEADER.

O Troy ill-starred; for one strange woman, one Abhorred kiss, how are thine hosts undone!

TALTHYBIUS (_bending over_ ANDROMACHE _and gradually taking the Child from her_).

Come, Child: let be that clasp of love Outwearied! Walk thy ways with me, Up to the crested tower, above Thy father's wall . . . where they decree Thy soul shall perish.--Hold him: hold!-- Would God some other man might ply These charges, one of duller mould, And nearer to the iron than I!

HECUBA.

O Child, they rob us of our own, Child of my Mighty One outworn: Ours, ours thou art!--Can aught be done Of deeds, can aught of pain be borne, To aid thee?--Lo, this beaten head, This bleeding bosom! These I spread As gifts to thee. I can thus much. Woe, woe for Troy, and woe for thee! What fall yet lacketh, ere we touch The last dead deep of misery?

[_The Child, who has started back from_ TALTHYBIUS, _is taken up by one of the Soldiers and borne back towards the city, while_ ANDROMACHE _is set again on the Chariot and driven off towards the ships_. TALTHYBIUS _goes with the Child_.

* * * * *

CHORUS.

[_Strophe_ 1. In Salamis, filled with the foaming Of billows and murmur of bees, Old Telamon stayed from his roaming, Long ago, on a throne of the seas; Looking out on the hills olive-laden, Enchanted, where first from the earth The grey-gleaming fruit of the Maiden Athena had birth; A soft grey crown for a city Beloved, a City of Light: Yet he rested not there, nor had pity, But went forth in his might, Where Heracles wandered, the lonely Bow-bearer, and lent him his hands For the wrecking of one land only, Of Ilion, Ilion only, Most hated of lands!

[_Antistrophe_ 1. Of the bravest of Hellas he made him A ship-folk, in wrath for the Steeds, And sailed the wide waters, and stayed him At last amid Simois' reeds; And the oars beat slow in the river, And the long ropes held in the strand, And he felt for his bow and his quiver, The wrath of his hand. And the old king died; and the towers That Phoebus had builded did fall, And his wrath, as a flame that devours, Ran red over all; And the fields and the woodlands lay blasted, Long ago. Yea, twice hath the Sire Uplifted his hand and downcast it On the wall of the Dardan, downcast it As a sword and as fire.

[_Strophe_ 2. In vain, all in vain, O thou 'mid the wine-jars golden That movest in delicate joy, Ganymedes, child of Troy, The lips of the Highest drain The cup in thine hand upholden: And thy mother, thy mother that bore thee, Is wasted with fire and torn; And the voice of her shores is heard, Wild, as the voice of a bird, For lovers and children before thee Crying, and mothers outworn. And the pools of thy bathing are perished, And the wind-strewn ways of thy feet: Yet thy face as aforetime is cherished Of Zeus, and the breath of it sweet; Yea, the beauty of Calm is upon it In houses at rest and afar. But thy land, He hath wrecked and o'erthrown it In the wailing of war.

[_Antistrophe_ 2. O Love, ancient Love, Of old to the Dardan given; Love of the Lords of the Sky; How didst thou lift us high In Ilion, yea, and above All cities, as wed with heaven! For Zeus--O leave it unspoken: But alas for the love of the Morn; Morn of the milk-white wing, The gentle, the earth-loving, That shineth on battlements broken In Troy, and a people forlorn! And, lo, in her bowers Tithonus, Our brother, yet sleeps as of old: O, she too hath loved us and known us, And the Steeds of her star, flashing gold, Stooped hither and bore him above us; Then blessed we the Gods in our joy. But all that made them to love us Hath perished from Troy.

* * * * *

[_As the song ceases, the King_ MENELAUS _enters, richly armed and followed by a bodyguard of Soldiers_. _He is a prey to violent and conflicting emotions._

Menelaus.

MENELAUS.

How bright the face of heaven, and how sweet The air this day, that layeth at my feet The woman that I . . . Nay: 'twas not for her I came. 'Twas for the man, the cozener And thief, that ate with me and stole away My bride. But Paris lieth, this long day, By God's grace, under the horse-hoofs of the Greek, And round him all his land. And now I seek . . . Curse her! I scarce can speak the name she bears, That was my wife. Here with the prisoners They keep her, in these huts, among the hordes Of numbered slaves.--The host whose labouring swords Won her, have given her up to me, to fill My pleasure; perchance kill her, or not kill, But lead her home.--Methinks I have foregone The slaying of Helen here in Ilion . . . Over the long seas I will bear her back, And there, there, cast her out to whatso wrack Of angry death they may devise, who know Their dearest dead for her in Ilion.--Ho! Ye soldiers! Up into the chambers where She croucheth! Grip the long blood-reeking hair, And drag her to mine eyes . . . [_Controlling himself._ And when there come Fair breezes, my long ships shall bear her home.

[_The Soldiers go to force open the door of the second hut on the left._

HECUBA.

Thou deep Base of the World, and thou high Throne Above the World, whoe'er thou art, unknown And hard of surmise, Chain of Things that be, Or Reason of our Reason; God, to thee I lift my praise, seeing the silent road That bringeth justice ere the end be trod To all that breathes and dies.

MENELAUS (_turning_).

Ha! who is there That prayeth heaven, and in so strange a prayer?

HECUBA.

I bless thee, Menelaus, I bless thee, If thou wilt slay her! Only fear to see Her visage, lest she snare thee and thou fall! She snareth strong men's eyes; she snareth tall Cities; and fire from out her eateth up Houses. Such magic hath she, as a cup Of death! . . . Do I not know her? Yea, and thou, And these that lie around, do they not know?

[_The Soldiers return from the hut and stand aside to let_ HELEN _between them. She comes through them, gentle and unafraid: there is no disorder in her raiment._

HELEN.

King Menelaus, thy first deed might make A woman fear. Into my chamber brake Thine armed men, and lead me wrathfully. Methinks, almost, I know thou hatest me. Yet I would ask thee, what decree is gone Forth for my life or death?

MENELAUS (_struggling with his emotion_).

There was not one That scrupled for thee. All, all with one will Gave thee to me, whom thou hast wronged, to kill!

HELEN.

And is it granted that I speak, or no, In answer to them ere I die, to show I die most wronged and innocent?

MENELAUS.

I seek To kill thee, woman; not to hear thee speak!

HECUBA.

O hear her! She must never die unheard, King Menelaus! And give me the word To speak in answer! All the wrong she wrought Away from thee, in Troy, thou knowest not. The whole tale set together is a death Too sure; she shall not 'scape thee!

MENELAUS.

'Tis but breath And time. For thy sake, Hecuba, if she need To speak, I grant the prayer. I have no heed Nor mercy--let her know it well--for her!

HELEN.

It may be that, how false or true soe'er Thou deem me, I shall win no word from thee. So sore thou holdest me thine enemy. Yet I will take what words I think thy heart Holdeth of anger: and in even part Set my wrong and thy wrong, and all that fell. [_Pointing to_ HECUBA. _She_ cometh first, who bare the seed and well Of springing sorrow, when to life she brought Paris: and that old King, who quenched not Quick in the spark, ere yet he woke to slay, The firebrand's image.--But enough: a day Came, and this Paris judged beneath the trees Three Crowns of Life, three diverse Goddesses. The gift of Pallas was of War, to lead His East in conquering battles, and make bleed The hearths of Hellas. Hera held a Throne-- If majesties he craved--to reign alone From Phrygia to the last realm of the West. And Cypris, if he deemed her loveliest, Beyond all heaven, made dreams about my face And for her grace gave me. And, lo! her grace Was judged the fairest, and she stood above Those twain.--Thus was I loved, and thus my love Hath holpen Hellas. No fierce Eastern crown Is o'er your lands, no spear hath cast them down. O, it was well for Hellas! But for me Most ill; caught up and sold across the sea For this my beauty; yea, dishonoured For that which else had been about my head A crown of honour. . . . Ah, I see thy thought; The first plain deed, 'tis that I answer not, How in the dark out of thy house I fled . . . There came the Seed of Fire, this woman's seed; Came--O, a Goddess great walked with him then-- This Alexander, Breaker-down-of-Men, This Paris, Strength-is-with-him; whom thou, whom-- O false and light of heart--thou in thy room Didst leave, and spreadest sail for Cretan seas, Far, far from me! . . . And yet, how strange it is! I ask not thee; I ask my own sad thought, What was there in my heart, that I forgot My home and land and all I loved, to fly With a strange man? Surely it was not I, But Cypris, there! Lay thou thy rod on her, And be more high than Zeus and bitterer, Who o'er all other spirits hath his throne, But knows her chain must bind him. My wrong done Hath its own pardon. . . . One word yet thou hast, Methinks, of righteous seeming. When at last The earth for Paris oped and all was o'er, And her strange magic bound my feet no more, Why kept I still his house, why fled not I To the Argive ships? . . . Ah, how I strove to fly! The old Gate-Warden could have told thee all, My husband, and the watchers from the wall; It was not once they took me, with the rope Tied, and this body swung in the air, to grope Its way toward _thee_, from that dim battlement. Ah, husband still, how shall thy hand be bent To slay me? Nay, if Right be come at last, What shalt thou bring but comfort for pains past, And harbour for a woman storm-driven: A woman borne away by violent men: And this one birthright of my beauty, this That might have been my glory, lo, it is A stamp that God hath burned, of slavery! Alas! and if thou cravest still to be As one set above gods, inviolate, 'Tis but a fruitless longing holds thee yet.

LEADER.

O Queen, think of thy children and thy land, And break her spell! The sweet soft speech, the hand And heart so fell: it maketh me afraid.

HECUBA.

Meseems her goddesses first cry mine aid Against these lying lips! . . . Not Hera, nay, Nor virgin Pallas deem I such low clay, To barter their own folk, Argos and brave Athens, to be trod down, the Phrygian's slave, All for vain glory and a shepherd's prize On Ida! Wherefore should great Hera's eyes So hunger to be fair? _She_ doth not use To seek for other loves, being wed with Zeus. And maiden Pallas . . . did some strange god's face Beguile her, that she craved for loveliness, Who chose from God one virgin gift above All gifts, and fleeth from the lips of love? Ah, deck not out thine own heart's evil springs By making spirits of heaven as brutish things And cruel. The wise may hear thee, and guess all! And Cypris must take ship--fantastical! Sail with my son and enter at the gate To seek thee! Had she willed it, she had sate At peace in heaven, and wafted thee, and all Amyclae with thee, under Ilion's wall. My son was passing beautiful, beyond His peers; and thine own heart, that saw and conned His face, became a spirit enchanting thee. For all wild things that in mortality Have being, are Aphrodite; and the name She bears in heaven is born and writ of them. Thou sawest him in gold and orient vest Shining, and lo, a fire about thy breast Leapt! Thou hadst fed upon such little things, Pacing thy ways in Argos. But now wings Were come! Once free from Sparta, and there rolled The Ilian glory, like broad streams of gold, To steep thine arms and splash the towers! How small, How cold that day was Menelaus' hall! Enough of that. It was by force my son Took thee, thou sayst, and striving. . . . Yet not one In Sparta knew! No cry, no sudden prayer Rang from thy rooms that night. . . . Castor was there To hear thee, and his brother: both true men, Not yet among the stars! And after, when Thou camest here to Troy, and in thy track Argos and all its anguish and the rack Of war--Ah God!--perchance men told thee 'Now The Greek prevails in battle': then wouldst thou Praise Menelaus, that my son might smart, Striving with that old image in a heart Uncertain still. Then Troy had victories: And this Greek was as naught! Alway thine eyes Watched Fortune's eyes, to follow hot where she Led first. Thou wouldst not follow Honesty. Thy secret ropes, thy body swung to fall Far, like a desperate prisoner, from the wall! Who found thee so? When wast thou taken? Nay, Hadst thou no surer rope, no sudden way Of the sword, that any woman honest-souled Had sought long since, loving her lord of old? Often and often did I charge thee; 'Go, My daughter; go thy ways. My sons will know New loves. I will give aid, and steal thee past The Argive watch. O give us peace at last, Us and our foes!' But out thy spirit cried As at a bitter word. Thou hadst thy pride In Alexander's house, and O, 'twas sweet To hold proud Easterns bowing at thy feet. They were great things to thee! . . . And comest thou now Forth, and hast decked thy bosom and thy brow, And breathest with thy lord the same blue air, Thou evil heart? Low, low, with ravaged hair, Rent raiment, and flesh shuddering, and within-- O shame at last, not glory for thy sin; So face him if thou canst! . . . Lo, I have done. Be true, O King; let Hellas bear her crown Of Justice. Slay this woman, and upraise The law for evermore: she that betrays Her husband's bed, let her be judged and die.

LEADER.

Be strong, O King; give judgment worthily For thee and thy great house. Shake off thy long Reproach; not weak, but iron against the wrong!

MENELAUS.

Thy thought doth walk with mine in one intent. 'Tis sure; her heart was willing, when she went Forth to a stranger's bed. And all her fair Tale of enchantment, 'tis a thing of air! . . . [_Turning furiously upon_ HELEN. Out, woman! There be those that seek thee yet With stones! Go, meet them. So shall thy long debt Be paid at last. And ere this night is o'er Thy dead face shall dishonour me no more!

HELEN (_kneeling before him and embracing him_).

Behold, mine arms are wreathed about thy knees; Lay not upon my head the phantasies Of Heaven. Remember all, and slay me not!

HECUBA.

Remember them she murdered, them that fought Beside thee, and their children! Hear that prayer!

MENELAUS.

Peace, aged woman, peace! 'Tis not for her; She is as naught to me. (_To the Soldiers_) . . . March on before, Ye ministers, and tend her to the shore . . . And have some chambered galley set for her, Where she may sail the seas.

HECUBA.

If _thou_ be there, I charge thee, let not her set foot therein!

MENELAUS.

How? Shall the ship go heavier for her sin?

HECUBA.

A lover once, will alway love again.

MENELAUS.

If that he loved be evil, he will fain Hate it! . . . Howbeit, thy pleasure shall be done. Some other ship shall bear her, not mine own. . . . Thou counsellest very well . . . And when we come To Argos, then . . . O then some pitiless doom Well-earned, black as her heart! One that shall bind Once for all time the law on womankind Of faithfulness! . . . 'Twill be no easy thing, God knoweth. But the thought thereof shall fling A chill on the dreams of women, though they be Wilder of wing and loathed more than she!

[_Exit, following_ HELEN, _who is escorted by the Soldiers_.

* * * * *

CHORUS.

_Some Women._

[_Strophe_ 1. And hast thou turned from the Altar of frankincense, And given to the Greek thy temple of Ilion? The flame of the cakes of corn, is it gone from hence, The myrrh on the air and the wreathed towers gone? And Ida, dark Ida, where the wild ivy grows, The glens that run as rivers from the summer-broken snows, And the Rock, is it forgotten, where the first sunbeam glows, The lit house most holy of the Dawn?

_Others._

[_Antistrophe_ 1. The sacrifice is gone and the sound of joy, The dancing under the stars and the night-long prayer: The Golden Images and the Moons of Troy, The Twelve Moons and the mighty names they bear: My heart, my heart crieth, O Lord Zeus on high, Were they all to thee as nothing, thou throned in the sky, Throned in the fire-cloud, where a City, near to die, Passeth in the wind and the flare?

_A Woman._

[_Strophe_ 2. Dear one, O husband mine, Thou in the dim dominions Driftest with waterless lips, Unburied; and me the ships Shall bear o'er the bitter brine, Storm-birds upon angry pinions, Where the towers of the Giants shine O'er Argos cloudily, And the riders ride by the sea.

_Others._

And children still in the Gate Crowd and cry, A multitude desolate, Voices that float and wait As the tears run dry: 'Mother, alone on the shore They drive me, far from thee: Lo, the dip of the oar, The black hull on the sea! Is it the Isle Immortal, Salamis, waits for me? Is it the Rock that broods Over the sundered floods Of Corinth, the ancient portal Of Pelops' sovranty?'

_A Woman._

[_Antistrophe_ 2. Out in the waste of foam, Where rideth dark Menelaus, Come to us there, O white And jagged, with wild sea-light And crashing of oar-blades, come, O thunder of God, and slay us: While our tears are wet for home, While out in the storm go we, Slaves of our enemy!

_Others._

And, God, may Helen be there, With mirror of gold, Decking her face so fair, Girl-like; and hear, and stare, And turn death-cold: Never, ah, never more The hearth of her home to see, Nor sand of the Spartan shore, Nor tombs where her fathers be, Nor Athena's bronzen Dwelling, Nor the towers of Pitane; For her face was a dark desire Upon Greece, and shame like fire, And her dead are welling, welling, From red Simois to the sea!

* * * * *

[TALTHYBIUS, _followed by one or two Soldiers and bearing the child_ ASTYANAX, _dead, is seen approaching_.

LEADER.

Ah, change on change! Yet each one racks This land with evil manifold; Unhappy wives of Troy, behold, They bear the dead Astyanax, Our prince, whom bitter Greeks this hour Have hurled to death from Ilion's tower.

TALTHYBIUS.

One galley, Hecuba, there lingereth yet, Lapping the wave, to gather the last freight Of Pyrrhus' spoils for Thessaly. The chief Himself long since hath parted, much in grief For Peleus' sake, his grandsire, whom, men say, Acastus, Pelias' son, in war array Hath driven to exile. Loath enough before Was he to linger, and now goes the more In haste, bearing Andromache, his prize. 'Tis she hath charmed these tears into mine eyes, Weeping her fatherland, as o'er the wave She gazed, and speaking words to Hector's grave. Howbeit, she prayed us that due rites be done For burial of this babe, thine Hector's son, That now from Ilion's tower is fallen and dead. And, lo! this great bronze-fronted shield, the dread Of many a Greek, that Hector held in fray, O never in God's name--so did she pray-- Be this borne forth to hang in Peleus' hall Or that dark bridal chamber, that the wall May hurt her eyes; but here, in Troy o'erthrown, Instead of cedar wood and vaulted stone, Be this her child's last house. . . . And in thine hands She bade me lay him, to be swathed in bands Of death and garments, such as rest to thee In these thy fallen fortunes; seeing that she Hath gone her ways, and, for her master's haste, May no more fold the babe unto his rest. Howbeit, so soon as he is garlanded And robed, we will heap earth above his head And lift our sails. . . . See all be swiftly done, As thou art bidden. I have saved thee one Labour. For as I passed Scamander's stream Hard by, I let the waters run on him, And cleansed his wounds.--See, I will go forth now And break the hard earth for his grave: so thou And I will haste together, to set free Our oars at last to beat the homeward sea!

[_He goes out with his Soldiers, leaving the body of the Child in_ HECUBA's _arms_.

HECUBA.

Set the great orb of Hector's shield to lie Here on the ground. 'Tis bitter that mine eye Should see it. . . . O ye Argives, was your spear Keen, and your hearts so low and cold, to fear This babe? 'Twas a strange murder for brave men! For fear this babe some day might raise again His fallen land! Had ye so little pride? While Hector fought, and thousands at his side, Ye smote us, and we perished; and now, now, When all are dead and Ilion lieth low, Ye dread this innocent! I deem it not Wisdom, that rage of fear that hath no thought. . . . Ah, what a death hath found thee, little one! Hadst thou but fallen fighting, hadst thou known Strong youth and love and all the majesty Of godlike kings, then had we spoken of thee As of one blessed . . . could in any wise These days know blessedness. But now thine eyes Have seen, thy lips have tasted, but thy soul No knowledge had nor usage of the whole Rich life that lapt thee round. . . . Poor little child! Was it our ancient wall, the circuit piled By loving Gods, so savagely hath rent Thy curls, these little flowers innocent That were thy mother's garden, where she laid Her kisses; here, just where the bone-edge frayed Grins white above--Ah heaven, I will not see! Ye tender arms, the same dear mould have ye As his; how from the shoulder loose ye drop And weak! And dear proud lips, so full of hope And closed for ever! What false words ye said At daybreak, when he crept into my bed, Called me kind names, and promised: 'Grandmother, When thou art dead, I will cut close my hair, And lead out all the captains to ride by Thy tomb.' Why didst thou cheat me so? 'Tis I, Old, homeless, childless, that for thee must shed Cold tears, so young, so miserably dead. Dear God, the pattering welcomes of thy feet, The nursing in my lap; and O, the sweet Falling asleep together! All is gone. How should a poet carve the funeral stone To tell thy story true? 'There lieth here A babe whom the Greeks feared, and in their fear Slew him.' Aye, Greece will bless the tale it tells! Child, they have left thee beggared of all else In Hector's house; but one thing shalt thou keep, This war-shield bronzen-barred, wherein to sleep. Alas, thou guardian true of Hector's fair Left arm, how art thou masterless! And there I see his handgrip printed on thy hold; And deep stains of the precious sweat, that rolled In battle from the brows and beard of him, Drop after drop, are writ about thy rim. Go, bring them--such poor garments hazardous As these days leave. God hath not granted us Wherewith to make much pride. But all I can, I give thee, Child of Troy.--O vain is man, Who glorieth in his joy and hath no fears: While to and fro the chances of the years Dance like an idiot in the wind! And none By any strength hath his own fortune won.

[_During these lines several Women are seen approaching with garlands and raiment in their hands._

LEADER.

Lo these, who hear thee raiment harvested From Ilion's slain, to fold upon the dead.

[_During the following scene_ HECUBA _gradually takes the garments and wraps them about the Child_.

HECUBA.

O not in pride for speeding of the car Beyond thy peers, not for the shaft of war True aimed, as Phrygians use; not any prize Of joy for thee, nor splendour in men's eyes, Thy father's mother lays these offerings About thee, from the many fragrant things That were all thine of old. But now no more. One woman, loathed of God, hath broke the door And robbed thy treasure-house, and thy warm breath Made cold, and trod thy people down to death!

CHORUS.

_Some Women._

Deep in the heart of me I feel thine hand, Mother: and is it he Dead here, our prince to be, And lord of the land?

HECUBA.

Glory of Phrygian raiment, which my thought Kept for thy bridal day with some far-sought Queen of the East, folds thee for evermore. And thou, grey Mother, Mother-Shield that bore A thousand days of glory, thy last crown Is here. . . . Dear Hector's shield! Thou shalt lie down Undying with the dead, and lordlier there Than all the gold Odysseus' breast can bear, The evil and the strong!

CHORUS.

_Some Women._

Child of the Shield-bearer, Alas, Hector's child! Great Earth, the All-mother, Taketh thee unto her With wailing wild!

_Others._

Mother of misery, Give Death his song! (HEC. Woe!) Aye and bitterly (HEC. Woe!) We too weep for thee, And the infinite wrong!

[_During these lines_ HECUBA, _kneeling by the body, has been performing a funeral rite symbolically staunching the dead Child's wounds_.

HECUBA.

I make thee whole; I bind thy wounds, O little vanished soul. This wound and this I heal with linen white: O emptiness of aid! . . . Yet let the rite Be spoken. This and . . . Nay, not I, but he, Thy father far away shall comfort thee!

[_She bows her head to the ground and remains motionless and unseeing._

CHORUS.

Beat, beat thine head: Beat with the wailing chime Of hands lifted in time: Beat and bleed for the dead. Woe is me for the dead!

HECUBA.

O Women! Ye, mine own . . .

[_She rises bewildered, as though she had seen a vision._

LEADER.

Hecuba, speak! Thine are we all. Oh, ere thy bosom break . . .

HECUBA.

Lo, I have seen the open hand of God; And in it nothing, nothing, save the rod Of mine affliction, and the eternal hate, Beyond all lands, chosen and lifted great For Troy! Vain, vain were prayer and incense-swell And bulls' blood on the altars! . . . All is well. Had He not turned us in His hand, and thrust Our high things low and shook our hills as dust, We had not been this splendour, and our wrong An everlasting music for the song Of earth and heaven! Go, women: lay our dead In his low sepulchre. He hath his meed Of robing. And, methinks, but little care Toucheth the tomb, if they that moulder there Have rich encerement. 'Tis we, 'tis we, That dream, we living and our vanity!

[_The Women bear out the dead Child upon the shield, singing, when presently flames of fire and dim forms are seen among the ruins of the City._

CHORUS.

_Some Women._

Woe for the mother that bare thee, child, Thread so frail of a hope so high, That Time hath broken: and all men smiled About thy cradle, and, passing by, Spoke of thy father's majesty. Low, low, thou liest!

_Others._

Ha! Who be these on the crested rock? Fiery hands in the dusk, and a shock Of torches flung! What lingereth still O wounded City, of unknown ill, Ere yet thou diest?

TALTHYBIUS (_coming out through the ruined Wall_).

Ye Captains that have charge to wreck this keep Of Priam's City, let your torches sleep No more! Up, fling the fire into her heart! Then have we done with Ilion, and may part In joy to Hellas from this evil land. And ye--so hath one word two faces--stand, Daughters of Troy, till on your ruined wall The echo of my master's trumpet call In signal breaks: then, forward to the sea, Where the long ships lie waiting. And for thee, O ancient woman most unfortunate, Follow: Odysseus' men be here, and wait To guide thee. . . . 'Tis to him thou go'st for thrall.

HECUBA.

Ah, me! and is it come, the end of all, The very crest and summit of my days? I go forth from my land, and all its ways Are filled with fire! Bear me, O aged feet, A little nearer: I must gaze, and greet My poor town ere she fall. Farewell, farewell! O thou whose breath was mighty on the swell Of orient winds, my Troy! Even thy name Shall soon be taken from thee. Lo, the flame Hath thee, and we, thy children, pass away To slavery . . . God! O God of mercy! . . . Nay: Why call I on the Gods? They know, they know, My prayers, and would not hear them long ago. Quick, to the flames! O, in thine agony, My Troy, mine own, take me to die with thee!

[_She springs toward the flames, but is seized and held by the Soldiers._

TALTHYBIUS.

Back! Thou art drunken with thy miseries, Poor woman!--Hold her fast, men, till it please Odysseus that she come. She was his lot Chosen from all and portioned. Lose her not!

[_He goes to watch over the burning of the City. The dusk deepens._

CHORUS.

_Divers Women._

Woe, woe, woe! Thou of the Ages, O wherefore fleest thou, Lord of the Phrygian, Father that made us? 'Tis we, thy children; shall no man aid us? 'Tis we, thy children! Seest thou, seest thou?

_Others._

He seeth, only his heart is pitiless; And the land dies: yea, she, She of the Mighty Cities perisheth citiless! Troy shall no more be!

_Others._

Woe, woe, woe! Ilion shineth afar! Fire in the deeps thereof, Fire in the heights above, And crested walls of War!

_Others._

As smoke on the wing of heaven Climbeth and scattereth, Torn of the spear and driven, The land crieth for death: O stormy battlements that red fire hath riven, And the sword's angry breath!

[_A new thought comes to_ HECUBA; _she kneels and beats the earth with her hands_.

HECUBA.

[_Strophe._ O Earth, Earth of my children; hearken! and O mine own, _Ye_ have hearts and forget not, _ye_ in the darkness lying!

LEADER.

Now hast thou found thy prayer, crying to them that are gone.

HECUBA.

Surely my knees are weary, but I kneel above your head; Hearken, O ye so silent! My hands beat your bed!

LEADER.

I, I am near thee; I kneel to thy dead to hear thee, Kneel to mine own in the darkness; O husband, hear my crying!

HECUBA.

Even as the beasts they drive, even as the loads they bear,

LEADER.

(Pain; O pain!)

HECUBA.

We go to the house of bondage. Hear, ye dead, O hear!

LEADER.

(Go, and come not again!)

HECUBA.

Priam, mine own Priam, Lying so lowly, Thou in thy nothingness, Shelterless, comfortless, See'st thou the thing I am? Know'st thou my bitter stress?

LEADER.

Nay, thou art naught to him! Out of the strife there came, Out of the noise and shame, Making his eyelids dim, Death, the Most Holy!

[_The fire and smoke rise constantly higher._

HECUBA.

[_Antistrophe._ O high houses of Gods, beloved streets of my birth, Ye have found the way of the sword, the fiery and blood-red river!

LEADER.

Fall, and men shall forget you! Ye shall lie in the gentle earth.

HECUBA.

The dust as smoke riseth; it spreadeth wide its wing; It maketh me as a shadow, and my City a vanished thing!

LEADER.

Out on the smoke she goeth, And her name no man knoweth; And the cloud is northward, southward; Troy is gone for ever!

[_A great crash is heard, and the Wall is lost in smoke and darkness._

HECUBA.

Ha! Marked ye? Heard ye? The crash of the towers that fall!

LEADER.

All is gone!

HECUBA.

Wrath in the earth and quaking and a flood that sweepeth all,

LEADER.

And passeth on!

[_The Greek trumpet sounds._

HECUBA.

Farewell!--O spirit grey, Whatso is coming, Fail not from under me. Weak limbs, why tremble ye? Forth where the new long day Dawneth to slavery!

CHORUS.

Farewell from parting lips, Farewell!--Come, I and thou, Whatso may wait us now, Forth to the long Greek ships And the sea's foaming.

[_The trumpet sounds again, and the Women go out in the darkness._

Notes On The Trojan Women

NOTES ON THE TROJAN WOMEN

P. 11, l. 5, Poseidon.]--In the _Iliad_ Poseidon is the enemy of Troy, here the friend. This sort of confusion comes from the fact that the Trojans and their Greek enemies were largely of the same blood, with the same tribal gods. To the Trojans, Athena the War-Goddess was, of course, _their_ War-Goddess, the protectress of their citadel. Poseidon, god of the sea and its merchandise, and Apollo (possibly a local shepherd god?), were their natural friends and had actually built their city wall for love of the good old king, Laomedon. Zeus, the great father, had Mount Ida for his holy hill and Troy for his peculiar city. (Cf. on p. 63.)

To suit the Greek point of view all this had to be changed or explained away. In the _Iliad_ generally Athena is the proper War-Goddess of the Greeks. Poseidon had indeed built the wall for Laomedon, but Laomedon had cheated him of his reward--as afterwards he cheated Heracles, and the Argonauts and everybody else! So Poseidon hated Troy. Troy is chiefly defended by the barbarian Ares, the oriental Aphrodite, by its own rivers Scamander and Simois and suchlike inferior or unprincipled gods.

Yet traces of the other tradition remain. Homer knows that Athena is specially worshipped in Troy. He knows that Apollo, who had built the wall with Poseidon, and had the same experience of Laomedon, still loves the Trojans. Zeus himself, though eventually in obedience to destiny he permits the fall of the city, nevertheless has a great tenderness towards it.

P. 11, l. 11, A steed marvellous.]--See below, on p. 36.

P. 12, l. 25, I go forth from great Ilion, &c.]--The correct ancient doctrine. When your gods forsook you, there was no more hope. Conversely, when your state became desperate, evidently your gods were forsaking you. From another point of view, also, when the city was desolate and unable to worship its gods, the gods of that city were no more.

P. 12, l. 34, Laconian Tyndarid.]--Helen was the child of Zeus and Leda, and sister of Castor and Polydeuces; but her human father was Tyndareus, an old Spartan king. She is treated as "a prisoner and a prize," _i.e._, as a captured enemy, not as a Greek princess delivered from the Trojans.

P. 12, l. 40, In secret slain.]--Because the Greeks were ashamed of the bloody deed. See below, p. 42, and the scene on this subject in the _Hecuba_.

P. 12, l. 42, Cassandra.]--In the _Agamemnon_ the story is more clearly told, that Cassandra was loved by Apollo and endowed by him with the power of prophecy; then in some way she rejected or betrayed him, and he set upon her the curse that though seeing the truth she should never be believed. The figure of Cassandra in this play is not inconsistent with that version, but it makes a different impression. She is here a dedicated virgin, and her mystic love for Apollo does not seem to have suffered any breach.

P. 13, l. 47, Pallas.]--(See above.) The historical explanation of the Trojan Pallas and the Greek Pallas is simple enough, but as soon as the two are mythologically personified and made one, there emerges just such a bitter and ruthless goddess as Euripides, in his revolt against the current mythology, loved to depict. But it is not only the mythology that he is attacking. He seems really to feel that if there are conscious gods ruling the world, they are cruel or "inhuman" beings.

P. 15, l. 70.]--Ajax the Less, son of Oileus, either ravished or attempted to ravish Cassandra (the story occurs in both forms) while she was clinging to the Palladium or image of Pallas. It is one of the great typical sins of the Sack of Troy, often depicted on vases.

P. 17, l. 123, Faces of ships.]--Homeric ships had prows shaped and painted to look like birds' or beasts' heads. A ship was always a wonderfully live and vivid thing to the Greek poets. (Cf. p. 64.)

P. 18, l. 132, Castor.]--Helen's brother: the Eurotas, the river of her home, Sparta.

P. 18, l. 135, Fifty seeds.]--Priam had fifty children, nineteen of them children of Hecuba (_Il._ vi. 451, &c.).

P. 22, l. 205, Pirene.]--The celebrated spring on the hill of Corinth. Drawing water was a typical employment of slaves.

P. 22, l. 219 ff., Theseus' land, &c.]--Theseus' land is Attica. The poet, in the midst of his bitterness over the present conduct of his city, clings the more to its old fame for humanity. The "land high-born" where the Peneues flows round the base of Mount Olympus in northern Thessaly is one of the haunts of Euripides' dreams in many plays. Cf. _Bacchae_, 410 (p. 97 in my translation). Mount Aetna fronts the "Tyrians' citadel," _i.e._, Carthage, built by the Phoenicians. The "sister land" is the district of Sybaris in South Italy, where the river Crathis has, or had, a red-gold colour, which makes golden the hair of men and the fleeces of sheep; and the water never lost its freshness.

P. 23, l. 235.]--Talthybius is a loyal soldier with every wish to be kind. But he is naturally in good spirits over the satisfactory end of the war, and his tact is not sufficient to enable him to understand the Trojan Women's feelings. Yet in the end, since he has to see and do the cruelties which his Chiefs only order from a distance, the real nature of his work forces itself upon him, and he feels and speaks at times almost like a Trojan. It is worth noticing how the Trojan Women generally avoid addressing him. (Cf. pp. 48, 67, 74.)

P. 24, l. 256, The haunted keys (literally, "with God through them, penetrating them").]--Cassandra was his Key-bearer, holding the door of his Holy Place. (Cf. _Hip._ 540, p. 30.)

P. 25, l. 270, She hath a toil, &c.]--There is something true and pathetic about this curious blindness which prevents Hecuba from understanding "so plain a riddle." (Cf. below, p. 42.) She takes the watching of a Tomb to be some strange Greek custom, and does not seek to have it explained further.

P. 26, l. 277, Odysseus.]--In Euripides generally Odysseus is the type of the successful unscrupulous man, as soldier and politician--the incarnation of what the poet most hated. In Homer of course he is totally different.

P. 27, l. 301, Burn themselves and die.]--Women under these circumstances did commit suicide in Euripides' day, as they have ever since. It is rather curious that none of the characters of the play, not even Andromache, kills herself. The explanation must be that no such suicide was recorded in the tradition (though cf. below, on p. 33); a significant fact, suggesting that in the Homeric age, when this kind of treatment of women captives was regular, the victims did not suffer quite so terribly under it.

P. 28, l. 310, Hymen.]--She addresses the Torch. The shadowy Marriage-god "Hymen" was a torch and a cry as much as anything more personal. As a torch he is the sign both of marriage and of death, of sunrise and of the consuming fire. The full Moon was specially connected with marriage ceremonies.

P. 30, l. 356, Loxias.]--The name of Apollo as an Oracular God.

Pp. 30-34, ll. 360-460, Cassandra's visions.]--The allusions are to the various sufferings of Odysseus, as narrated in the _Odyssey_, and to the tragedies of the house of Atreus, as told for instance in Aeschylus' _Oresteia_. Agamemnon together with Cassandra, and in part because he brought Cassandra, was murdered--felled with an axe--on his return home by his wife Clytaemnestra and her lover Aegisthus. Their bodies were cast into a pit among the rocks. In vengeance for this, Orestes, Agamemnon's son, committed "mother-murder," and in consequence was driven by the Erinyes (Furies) of his mother into madness and exile.

P. 30, l. 370, This their king so wise.]--Agamemnon made the war for the sake of his brother Menelaus, and slew his daughter, Iphigenia, as a sacrifice at Aulis, to enable the ships to sail for Troy.

P. 31, ll. 394, 398, Hector and Paris.]--The point about Hector is clear, but as to Paris, the feeling that, after all, it was a glory that he and the half-divine Helen loved each other, is scarcely to be found anywhere else in Greek literature. (Cf., however, Isocrates' "Praise of Helen.") Paris and Helen were never idealised like Launcelot and Guinevere, or Tristram and Iseult.

P. 32, l. 423, A wise queen.]--Penelope, the faithful wife of Odysseus.

P. 33, l. 425, O Heralds, yea, Voices of Death.]--There is a play on the word for "heralds" in the Greek here, which I have evaded by a paraphrase. ([Greek: Ker-ukes] as though from [Greek: Ker] the death-spirit, "the one thing abhorred of all mortal men.")

P. 33, l. 430, That in this place she dies.]--The death of Hecuba is connected with a certain heap of stones on the shore of the Hellespont, called _Kunos-sema_, or "Dog's Tomb." According to one tradition (Eur. _Hec._ 1259 ff.) she threw herself off the ship into the sea; according to another she was stoned by the Greeks for her curses upon the fleet; but in both she is changed after death into a sort of Hell-hound. M. Victor Berard suggests that the dog first comes into the story owing to the accidental resemblance of the (hypothetical) Semitic word _S'qoulah_, "Stone" or "Stoning," and the Greek _Skulax_, dog. The Homeric Scylla (_Skulla_) was also both a Stone and a Dog (_Pheniciens et Odyssee_, i. 213). Of course in the present passage there is no direct reference to these wild sailor-stories.

P. 34, l. 456, The wind comes quick.]--_i.e._ The storm of the Prologue. Three Powers: the three Erinyes.

P. 36, l. 511 ff., Chorus.]--The Wooden Horse is always difficult to understand, and seems to have an obscuring effect on the language of poets who treat of it. I cannot help suspecting that the story arises from a real historical incident misunderstood. Troy, we are told, was still holding out after ten years and could not be taken, until at last by the divine suggestions of Athena, a certain Epeios devised a "Wooden Horse."

What was the "device"? According to the _Odyssey_ and most Greek poets, it was a gigantic wooden figure of a horse. A party of heroes, led by Odysseus, got inside it and waited. The Greeks made a show of giving up the siege and sailed away, but only as far as Tenedos. The Trojans came out and found the horse, and after wondering greatly what it was meant for and what to do with it, made a breach in their walls and dragged it into the Citadel as a thank-offering to Pallas. In the night the Greeks returned; the heroes in the horse came out and opened the gates, and Troy was captured.

It seems possible that the "device" really was the building of a wooden siege-tower, as high as the walls, with a projecting and revolving neck. Such engines were (1) capable of being used at the time in Asia, as a rare and extraordinary device, because they exist on early Assyrian monuments; (2) certain to be misunderstood in Greek legendary tradition, because they were not used in Greek warfare till many centuries later. (First, perhaps, at the sieges of Perinthus and Byzantium by Philip of Macedon, 340 B.C.)

It is noteworthy that in the great picture by Polygnotus in the Lesche at Delphi "above the wall of Troy appears the head alone of the Wooden Horse" (_Paus._ x. 26). Aeschylus also (_Ag._ 816) has some obscure phrases pointing in the same direction: "A horse's brood, a shield-bearing people, launched with a leap about the Pleiads' setting, sprang clear above the wall," &c. Euripides here treats the horse metaphorically as a sort of war-horse trampling Troy.

P. 37, l. 536, Her that spareth not, Heaven's yokeless rider.]--Athena like a northern Valkyrie, as often in the _Iliad_. If one tries to imagine what Athena, the War-Goddess worshipped by the Athenian mob, was like--what a mixture of bad national passions, of superstition and statecraft, of slip-shod unimaginative idealisation--one may partly understand why Euripides made her so evil. Allegorists and high-minded philosophers might make Athena entirely noble by concentrating their minds on the beautiful elements in the tradition, and forgetting or explaining away all that was savage; he was determined to pin her down to the worst facts recorded of her, and let people worship such a being if they liked!

P. 38, l. 554, To Artemis.]--Maidens at the shrine of Artemis are a fixed datum in the tradition. (Cf. _Hec._ 935 ff.)

P. 39 ff., l. 576 ff., Andromache and Hecuba.]--This very beautiful scene is perhaps marred to most modern readers by an element which is merely a part of the convention of ancient mourning. Each of the mourners cries: "There is no affliction like mine!" and then proceeds to argue, as it were, against the other's counter claim. One can only say that it was, after all, what they expected of each other; and I believe the same convention exists in most places where keening or wailing is an actual practice.

P. 41, l. 604, Even as the sound of a song.]--I have filled in some words which seem to be missing in the Greek here.

Pp. 41-50, Andromache.]--This character is wonderfully studied. She seems to me to be a woman who has not yet shown much character or perhaps had very intense experience, but is only waiting for sufficiently great trials to become a heroine and a saint. There is still a marked element of conventionality in her description of her life with Hector; but one feels, as she speaks, that she is already past it. Her character is built up of "_Sophrosyne_," of self-restraint and the love of goodness--qualities which often seem second-rate or even tiresome until they have a sufficiently great field in which to act. Very characteristic is her resolution to make the best, and not the worst, of her life in Pyrrhus' house, with all its horror of suffering and apparent degradation. So is the self-conquest by which she deliberately refrains from cursing her child's murderers, for the sake of the last poor remnant of good she can still do to him, in getting him buried. The nobility of such a character depends largely, of course, on the intensity of the feelings conquered.

It is worth noting, in this connection, that Euripides is contradicting a wide-spread tradition (Robert, _Bild und Lied_, pp. 63 ff.). Andromache, in the pictures of the Sack of Troy, is represented with a great pestle or some such instrument fighting with the Soldiers to rescue Astyanax ([Greek: Andro-mache]="Man-fighting").

Observe, too, what a climax of drama is reached by means of the very fact that Andromache, to the utmost of her power, tries to do nothing "dramatic," but only what will be best. Her character in Euripides' play, _Andromache_, is, on the whole, similar to this, but less developed.

P. 51, l. 799 ff., In Salamis, filled with the foaming, &c.]--A striking instance of the artistic value of the Greek chorus in relieving an intolerable strain. The relief provided is something much higher than what we ordinarily call "relief"; it is a stream of pure poetry and music in key with the sadness of the surrounding scene, yet, in a way, happy just because it is beautiful. (Cf. note on _Hippolytus_, l. 732.)

The argument of the rather difficult lyric is: "This is not the first time Troy has been taken. Long ago Heracles made war against the old king Laomedon, because he had not given him the immortal steeds that he promised. And Telamon joined him; Telamon who might have been happy in his island of Salamis, among the bees and the pleasant waters, looking over the strait to the olive-laden hills of Athens, the beloved City! And they took ship and slew Laomedon. Yea, twice Zeus has destroyed Ilion!

(Second part.) Is it all in vain that our Trojan princes have been loved by the Gods? Ganymedes pours the nectar of Zeus in his banquets, his face never troubled, though his motherland is burned with fire! And, to say nothing of Zeus, how can the Goddess of Morning rise and shine upon us uncaring? She loved Tithonus, son of Laomedon, and bore him up from us in a chariot to be her husband in the skies. But all that once made them love us is gone!"

P. 52, l. 833, Pools of thy bathing.]--It is probable that Ganymedes was himself originally a pool or a spring on Ida, now a pourer of nectar in heaven.

Pp. 54-63, Menelaus and Helen.]--The meeting of Menelaus and Helen after the taking of Troy was naturally one of the great moments in the heroic legend. The versions, roughly speaking, divide themselves into two. In one (_Little Iliad_, Ar. _Lysistr._ 155, Eur. _Andromache_ 628) Menelaus is about to kill her, but as she bares her bosom to the sword, the sword falls from his hand. In the other (Stesichorus, _Sack of Ilion_ (?)) Menelaus or some one else takes her to the ships to be stoned, and the men cannot stone her. As Quintus of Smyrna says, "They looked on her as they would on a God!"

Both versions have affected Euripides here. And his Helen has just the magic of the Helen of legend. That touch of the supernatural which belongs of right to the Child of Heaven--a mystery, a gentleness, a strange absence of fear or wrath--is felt through all her words. One forgets to think of her guilt or innocence; she is too wonderful a being to judge, too precious to destroy. This supernatural element, being the thing which, if true, separates Helen from other women, and in a way redeems her, is for that reason exactly what Hecuba denies. The controversy has a certain eternal quality about it: the hypothesis of heavenly enchantment and the hypothesis of mere bad behaviour, neither of them entirely convincing! But the very curses of those that hate her make a kind of superhuman atmosphere about Helen in this play; she fills the background like a great well-spring of pain.

This Menelaus, however, is rather different from the traditional Menelaus. Besides being the husband of Helen, he is the typical Conqueror, for whose sake the Greeks fought and to whom the central prize of the war belongs. And we take him at the height of his triumph, the very moment for which he made the war! Hence the peculiar bitterness with which he is treated, his conquest turning to ashes in his mouth, and his love a confused turmoil of hunger and hatred, contemptible and yet terrible.

The exit of the scene would leave a modern audience quite in doubt as to what happened, unless the action were much clearer than the words. But all Athenians knew from the _Odyssey_ that the pair were swiftly reconciled, and lived happily together as King and Queen of Sparta.

P. 54, l. 884, Thou deep base of the world.]--These lines, as a piece of religious speculation were very famous in antiquity. And dramatically they are most important. All through the play Hecuba is a woman of remarkable intellectual power and of fearless thought. She does not definitely deny the existence of the Olympian gods, like some characters in Euripides, but she treats them as beings that have betrayed her, and whose name she scarcely deigns to speak. It is the very godlessness of Hecuba's fortitude that makes it so terrible and, properly regarded, so noble. (Cf. p. 35 "Why call on things so weak?" and p. 74 "They know, they know . . .") Such Gods were as a matter of fact the moral inferiors of good men, and Euripides will never blind his eyes to their inferiority. And as soon as people see that their god is bad, they tend to cease believing in his existence at all. (Hecuba's answer to Helen is not inconsistent with this, it is only less characteristic.)

Behind this Olympian system, however, there is a possibility of some real Providence or impersonal Governance of the world, to which here, for a moment, Hecuba makes a passionate approach. If there is _any_ explanation, _any_ justice, even in the form of mere punishment of the wicked, she will be content and give worship! But it seems that there is not. Then at last there remains--what most but not all modern freethinkers would probably have begun to doubt at the very beginning--the world of the departed, the spirits of the dead, who are true, and in their dim way love her still (p. 71 "Thy father far away shall comfort thee," and the last scene of the play).

This last religion, faint and shattered by doubt as it is, represents a return to the most primitive "Pelasgian" beliefs, a worship of the Dead which existed long before the Olympian system, and has long outlived it.

P. 57, l. 922, The firebrand's image.]--Hecuba, just before Paris' birth, dreamed that she gave birth to a fire-brand. The prophets therefore advised that the babe should be killed; but Priam disobeyed them.

P. 57, l. 924, Three Crowns of Life.]--On the Judgment of Paris see Miss Harrison, _Prolegomena_, pp. 292 ff. Late writers degrade the story into a beauty contest between three thoroughly personal goddesses--and a contest complicated by bribery. But originally the Judgment is rather a Choice between three possible lives, like the Choice of Heracles between Work and Idleness. The elements of the choice vary in different versions: but in general Hera is royalty; Athena is prowess in war or personal merit; Aphrodite, of course, is love. And the goddesses are not really to be distinguished from the gifts they bring. They are what they give, and nothing more. Cf. the wonderful lyric _Androm._ 274 ff., where they come to "a young man walking to and fro alone, in an empty hut in the firelight."

There is an extraordinary effect in Helen herself _being_ one of the Crowns of Life--a fair equivalent for the throne of the world.

P. 57, l. 940 ff., Alexander . . . Paris.]--Two plays on words in the Greek.

P. 58, l. 956, The old Gate-Warden.]--He and the Watchers are, of course, safely dead. But on the general lines of the tradition it may well be that Helen is speaking the truth. She loved both Menelaus and Paris; and, according to some versions, hated Deiphobus, the Trojan prince who seized her after Paris' death. There is a reference to Deiphobus in the MSS. of the play here, but I follow Wilamowitz in thinking it spurious.

Pp. 63 ff., Chorus.]--On the Trojan Zeus see above, on p. 11. Mount Ida caught the rays of the rising sun in some special manner and distributed them to the rest of the world; and in this gleam of heavenly fire the God had his dwelling, which is now the brighter for the flames of his City going up like incense!

Nothing definite is known of the Golden Images and the Moon-Feasts.

P. 64, l. 1088, Towers of the Giants.]--The prehistoric castles of Tiryns and Mycenae.

P. 65, l. 1111, May Helen be there.]--(Cf. above.) Pitane was one of the five divisions of Sparta. Athena had a "Bronzen House" on the acropolis of Sparta. Simois, of course, the river of Troy.

P. 71, l. 1232, I make thee whole.]--Here as elsewhere Hecuba fluctuates between fidelity to the oldest and most instinctive religion, and a rejection of all Gods.

P. 72, l. 1240, Lo, I have seen the open hand of God.]--The text is, perhaps, imperfect here; but Professor Wilamowitz agrees with me that Hecuba has seen something like a vision. The meaning of this speech is of the utmost importance. It expresses the inmost theme of the whole play, a search for an answer to the injustice of suffering in the very splendour and beauty of suffering. Of course it must be suffering of a particular kind, or, what comes to the same thing, suffering borne in a particular way; but in that case the answer seems to me to hold. One does not really think the world evil because there are martyrs or heroes in it. For them the elements of beauty which exist in any great trial of the spirit become so great as to overpower the evil that created them--to turn it from shame and misery into tragedy. Of course to most sufferers, to children and animals and weak people, or those without inspiration, the doctrine brings no help. It is a thing invented by a poet for himself.

P. 75, l. 1288, Thou of the Ages.]--The Phrygian All-Father, identified with Zeus, son of Kronos. (Cf. on p. 11.)

P. 76, l. 1304, Now hast thou found thy prayer.]--The Gods have deserted her, but she has still the dead. (Cf. above, on p. 71.)

P. 79, l. 1332, Forth to the dark Greek ships.]--Curiously like another magnificent ending of a great poem, that of the _Chanson de Roland_, where Charlemagne is called forth on a fresh quest:

"Deus," dist li Reis, "si penuse est ma vie!" Pluret des oilz, sa barbe blanche tiret. . . .

Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. Edinburgh & London

By The Same Author History Of Ancient Greek Literature.

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

HISTORY OF ANCIENT GREEK LITERATURE.

ANDROMACHE: A Play.

CARLYON SAHIB: A Play.

THE EXPLOITATION OF INFERIOR RACES, IN ANCIENT AND MODERN TIMES: An Essay in "Liberalism and the Empire."

EURIPIDIS FABULAE: Brevi Adnotatione Critica Instructae, Vols. I. and II.

EURIPIDES: Hippolytus; Bacchae; Aristophanes' 'Frogs.' Translated into English verse.

Transcriber's notes:

The following changes were made to the original text:

Page 57: Gesperrt emphasis changed to italics. "_She_" for "S h e". Page 58: similarly "_thee_" for "t h e e" Page 59: similarly "_She_" for "S h e". Page 62: similarly "_thou_" for "t h o u". Page 76: similarly "_Ye_" for "Y e" and "_ye_" for "y e".

Page 91: changed "fire-brand's" to "firebrand's" to match referenced text. "P. 57, l. 922, The firebrand's image.]"

Minor punctuation changes made.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Trojan Women of Euripides, by Euripides