Hercules Furens: Act III

Hercules: O kindly lord of light, heaven's ornament,Who circlest all the spaces of the skyWith thy flame-bearing car, and thy bright headDost lift to glad a new-awakened earth:Thy pardon, O Apollo, do I crave,If aught unlawful thou dost see in me;For by another's will have I revealedThe hidden things of earth. Thou lord of heaven,And sire, behind thy flaming thunderboltConceal thy face; and thou who rul'st the seasBy second lot, seek thou their lowest depths.Whoever from on high beholds the earth,And would not by strange sights be vision-stained,To heaven look and so these portents shun.Two only may behold this horrid sight:The one who brought and she who ordered it.To work my punishment and fated toilsThe earth was not enough. Through Juno's hateHave I seen regions unapproachable,Unknown to Phoebus' rays; yea, I have seenThose gloomy spaces which the nether poleHas yielded to the dusky Jove's domain.And had the regions of the final lotBeen pleasing, there could I myself have reigned.That seething chaos of eternal night,And, what is worse than night, the gloomy gods,And fates I conquered; and in scorn of deathI have come back again. What else remains?I've seen and shown the lower world to men.If aught beyond is left to do, command.Why dost thou for so long allow these hands,O Juno, to remain in idleness?What conquest still dost thou command? But whyDo soldiers hold the temple walls in siege,And fear of arms beset their sacred doors?

Amphitr.: Now do my fervent hopes deceive my sight,Or is this he, the tamer of the world,The pride of Greece, from that sad, silent landReturned? Is this my son? My agéd limbsGive way through utter joy. O son, of ThebesThe sure though long-delayed preserver thou!And do I hold thee sent to earth again,Or does some empty shadow mock my joy?And art thou he indeed? I recognizeThy arms and shoulders and the mighty clubWithin thy hands renowned.

Hercules: O father, whenceThese marks of grief, and why do I beholdMy wife in dusky mourning garments clad,My children garbed in these vile signs of woe?What fell disaster hath o'erwhelmed my house?

Amphitr.: Thy father-in-law is slain, his kingdom gone,For Lycus hath usurped it; now he seeksThy children, father, wife, to bring to death.

Hercules: Ungrateful land! did no one come to aidThe home of Hercules? Did all the world,Defended by my arm, look on this deedAnd suffer it? But why waste time in grief?My enemy must die.

Theseus [seeking to detain him]: O Hercules,Let not thy mighty courage bear this stain,And such a foe as Lycus be thy last.I go myself to drink his hateful blood.

Hercules: My Theseus, stay thou here, lest violenceFrom some new source arise. This war is mine.Let thy embraces wait awhile, my sire,And thine, my wife. Let Lycus first announceTo Dis that I have safe returned to earth.

Theseus: Now let thy face give o'er its grief, my queen;And thou, O father, check thy falling tears,Since this thy son is safe returned to thee.If I know Hercules, for Creon's deathThis Lycus soon shall pay the penalty."Shall pay" is slow; he pays; nay more, has paid.

Amphitr.: Now may some favoring god our prayers fulfil,And help us in our need. O trusty friendOf our great son, his deeds in order tell:How long the way that leads to the sorrowing shades;How bore the dog of hell his heavy chains.

Theseus: Thou bid'st me call to memory such deedsAs e'en in safety make me tremble still.For I can scarce believe that even yetI breathe the vital air. My eye's clear sightIs blinded, and, by that thick darkness dimmed,Can scarce endure the unaccustomed light.

Amphitr.: But conquer thou the fear that still remainsDeep in thy heart; and do not rob thyselfOf the best fruit of toil. For what was hardTo bear becomes most sweet in memory.Go on, and tell us all thy sufferings.

Theseus: O god of heaven, and thou who holdest swayIn that deep, all-embracing realm of death,And thou whose mother sought thee (but in vain)Through all the world: your powers I supplicateThat I may speak with boldness of the thingsConcealed and buried in the hold of earth.The Spartan land lifts high a famous cliffWhere Taenarus juts out upon the sea,Dense wooded. Here the realm of hated DisOpes wide its mouth; the high cliff spreads apart,And in a mighty cavern yawns a pitWith jaws portentous, huge, precipitous;And for all nations ample passage gives.The way begins, not dark with heavy shades.A watery gleam of daylight follows in,And doubtful light, as of the sun eclipsed,Falls there and mocks the eye. Such light the day,While mingled still with night, at early dawnOr in its waning hour, is wont to give.The way then broadens into spaces vastAnd empty, where the human race entireMight plunge and perish. 'Tis no labor hereTo travel, for the road itself draws down.As often whirlpools suck unwilling ships,So does the air, down streaming, urge us on,And hungry chaos. Here the clutching shadesPermit no backward step. Deep in the abyss,With peaceful shallows gentle Lethe glides,And by its draughts removes all mortal careAnd, that no backward way may be allowed,With many folds it wraps the stream of death;Just as the wandering Maeander sportsWith waves uncertain, now upon itselfRetreats, now halts in hesitation slow,Whether it shall its fountain seek again,Or journey to the sea. Here lies the marshOf sluggish, vile Cocytus; here, behold,The vulture, there the doleful owl laments,And through the air the fearsome screech-owl sendsIts sad, foreboding cry. There stands the yew,Its black leaves shuddering on the gloomy boughs;And 'neath its shelter hover sluggish Sleep,And mournful Famine with her wasting jaws,And Shame, at last her guilty face concealed.Here quaking Fear, and Murder, desperate Grief,Black Mourning, tottering Disease, and WarWith weapons girded on, lie hid; and lastComes feeble Age upon his staff upheld.

Amphitr.: Are there no fruitful fields of corn or wine?

Theseus: Not so: no joyful fields with verdure shine,No ripening grain waves gently in the breeze,No stately trees bear apple-laden boughs;But sterile wastes defile those lonely depths,And in eternal sloth the foul earth lies.Here lie the lonesome remnants of the world.The air hangs motionless; and thick night broodsUpon a sluggish, horror-stricken land.The place of death is worse than death itself.

Amphitr.: And what of him who rules those dusky realms?Where sits he as he rules his shadowy folk?

Theseus: There is a place in an obscure recessOf Tartarus, which, with its heavy shades,Dense vapor shrouds. Hence, from a single source,Two different rivers flow: with silent streamOne bears along the sacred Stygian wavesOn which the gods take oath; with mighty roarThe other fiercely rolls the rocks alongWithin its flood, the raging Acheron,Which may not be recrossed. Set opposite,By these two streams encircled, stands the hallOf royal Dis; and by a shading groveThe mighty house is hid. A spacious caveOf overhanging rock the threshold forms.This is the path of souls; here is the doorOf Pluto's realm; and, round about, there spreadsThe plain wherein the frowning monarch sitsAnd new-come souls reviews. Of lowering browAnd awful majesty the god appears;Yet in his face his brother's likeness bears,And proves his noble birth. Jove's face is his,But thundering Jove's. And of that savage realmThe master's self makes up the largest part,For every fearful thing holds him in fear.

Amphitr.: And is the story true that down belowStern justice is at last administered,And guilty souls, who have their crimes forgot,At last atone for sin? Who is he, then,Who searches out the truth, and justice gives?

Theseus: There is not one inquisitor aloneWho sits in judgment on the lofty seat,And tries the trembling culprits: in that hallSit Cretan Minos, Rhadamanthus too,And Aeacus. Each for his sins of earthMust suffer here; the crime returns to himWho did it, and the guilty soul is crushedBy its own precedents. There, deep immuredIn prison, bloody leaders have I seen,And bleeding backs of heartless tyrants, scourgedBy base plebeian hands. Who mildly reigns,And, though the lord of life, restrains his hands;Who mercifully rules a bloodless realm,And spares the lives of men: he shall enjoyLong years of happy life, and, at the end,Attain to heaven, or to those regions blestOf the Elysian fields, himself a judge.Refrain from human blood, all ye who rule:Your sins with heavier judgment shall be judged.

Amphitr.: Does any certain place inclose the lost,And do, as rumor says, the impiousSharp punishments in endless chains endure?

Theseus: On swiftly flying wheel Ixion turns;And on the neck of Sisyphus a stoneWeighs heavily. There stands in middle stream,With throat thirst-parched, the poor old man, and seeksTo catch the cooling waves which wash his chin.He, oft deceived, hopes now at last to drink;As often fails the water at his lips.So also do the fruits his hunger fail.There Tityos eternal banquets givesUnto the greedy vulture; and in vainDo Danaüs' daughters bear their brimming urns.There wander, raging still, the Cadmeids;And greedy birds still fright old Phineus.

Amphitr.: Now tell the noble struggle of my son.Does he bring back his uncle's willing gift,Or does he lead the dog as spoil of war?

Theseus: A gloomy cliff o'erhangs the sluggish shoals,Whose waves are dead, and waters motionless.This stream is guarded by a grim old man,Of squalid garb and aspect hideous,Who carries o'er the pool the quaking shades.His long beard hangs unkempt; his shapeless robeIs knotted into place; his fierce eyes gleamFrom sunken cheeks; and he, as ferryman,With his long pole propels his bark across.He now his empty boat unto the shoreWas turning to receive the waiting souls,When Hercules requested to be borneAcross the stream. The throng of shades give way;But fiercely Charon cries: "Whither so boldDost thou haste on? Stay there thy hurrying steps."Alcmena's son would no delay endure,But with the pole itself the boatman tamed,And climbed aboard the boat. The roomy craft,For nations ample, groaned beneath his weight;And as he sat, the heavy-weighted skiffWith rocking sides drank in the Lethe stream.Then quaked the conquered monsters at the sight:The Centaurs, fierce and wild, the Lapithae,Inflamed to strife by copious draughts of wine;And, seeking out the farthest pools of Styx,The beast of Lerna hid his fertile heads.Soon there appeared the home of greedy Dis,Where the fierce Stygian dog affrights the shades,Who, tossing back and forth his triple heads,With mighty bayings watches o'er the realm.Around his head with damp corruption foul,Writhe deadly serpents, and his shaggy maneWith vipers bristles; while a twisting snakeForms his long, hissing tail. His wrath and formAre both alike terrific. When he heardThe sound of coming feet, straightway he raisedHis hackles, bristling with their darting snakes,And with erected ears caught at the sound(For even noiseless spirits can he hear).When Jove's son nearer came, within his caveThe dog stood hesitant, and nameless fearEach of the other felt. Then suddenlyThe silence shudders with his bayings deep,And threatening snakes along his shoulders hiss.The clamor of his dreadful voice, sent forthThree-throated, even happy shades dismayed.Then did the hero from his left arm looseThe lion's skin with head and grinning jaws,And 'neath this mighty shield opposed the dog.Then in his right all conquering, he raisedHis mighty club, and with a rain of blows,Now here, now there, he drove the frightened beast.The conquered dog at last gave o'er his threats,And, spent with fighting, lowered all his heads,And left the entrance free. Then did the kingAnd queen of hell sit trembling on their thrones,And bade the dog be led away. Me, too,Did Dis at Hercules' request release,A royal gift. Then with his soothing handAlcides stroked the monster's massive necks,And bound him with an adamantine chain.The watchful guardian of the dusky worldForgot his wonted fierceness, and his earsDrooped timidly. He let himself be led,Confessed his master, and, with muzzle low,Submissively he went, his snaky tailBeating his sides the while. But when he cameTo Taenarus, and in his eyes there smoteThe gleam of unknown light, though strongly bound,His courage he regained and madly shookHis mighty chains. Even his conquerorWas backward borne and forced to yield his stand.Then even my aid did the hero seek;And with united strength we dragged the dog,Still mad with rage, attempting fruitless war,Into the upper world. But when he sawThe gleaming spaces of the shining sky,The light of day, thick darkness blinded him;He turned his gaze to earth, and closed his eyes,Expelled the hated light, looked backward, soughtWith all his necks the sheltering earth; and last,He hid his head within Alcides' shade.But see, a mighty throng with shouts of joyComes yonder, wearing laurel on their brows,Who chant the well-earned praise of Hercules.

Chorus: Eurystheus, brought untimely forth,Had bidden Hercules to pierceThe depths of earth. This task aloneOf all his labors yet remained--To rob the dusky king of hell.He dared to enter that dark wayWhich to the distant manes leads,Dismal, with gloomy forests set,Yet crowded with the thronging souls.As when the eager people hasteThroughout the city to beholdThe play in some new theater;As when they crowd the Pisan fieldsWhen the fifth summer brings againThe Elean Thunderer's sacred games;As, when the lengthening nights return,And the balanced Scales the sun's bright carDetain, to gentle sleep inclined,The people throng the mysteriesOf Ceres, while the Attic priestsLead through the fields with hurried stepsThe worshipers: such thronging hordesAre driven through those silent plains.A part goes slow with steps of age,Sadly, and sated with the years;Some, in the earlier flush of life,Advance with the sprightly step of youth,Young maids not yet in wedlock joined,And boys with flowing ringlets, babes,Who have not yet learned to repeatTheir mother's name. To these alone'Tis given to dispel the nightWith torches, and their fears relieve.The rest in utter darkness fare,And sadness. So our spirits mourn,When each one, grieving o'er his fate,Feels crushed in darkness 'neath the weightOf all the world. There chaos reigns,Repulsive glooms, the hateful darkOf night, the empty veil of clouds,The weary inactivityOf that still, empty universe.Oh, may the time far distant beWhen old age bears us to that land.None come too late, and ne'er can he,Who once has come, return again.What need to hasten cruel fate?For all the wandering tribes of earthShall surely seek the land of shades,And on the still Cocytus spreadTheir sails; all things the sun beholds,In rising and in setting, growBut to decay. Then spare, O death,Those who are doomed to come to thee.Life is but practicing for death;Though thou be slow in coming, stillWe hasten of ourselves. The hourWhich gave us life begins our death.The joyful day of Thebes is here;Now at the altars sacrifice,And let the choicest victims fall.Ye maids and men, in mingled bandsBegin the stately choral dance;And let the cattle of the fieldsPut off their yokes and be glad today;For by the hand of HerculesHas peace from east to west been won,And in that land where the sun rides highIn middle heaven, and the shadows fail.Whatever region Tethys lavesIn her long reach has been o'ercomeBy great Alcides' toils. Borne nowAcross the shoals of Tartarus,With hell subdued, he comes again.No room is left for fear; for whatBeyond the world of death remains?And now ye priests, adorn your bristling hairWith poplar which Alcides loves to wear.