Hercules Furens: Act IV

Hercules: By my avenging hand lies Lycus slain;And all, who in his life the tyrant claimedAs comrades, now by death are comrades stillIn punishment. Now will I offerings payUnto my father and the gods of heavenFor victory, and heap the altars highWith bleeding victims to their kindness due.Thee, thee, O friend and helper in my toils,O warlike Pallas, unto thee I pray,Upon whose left the petrifying shieldMakes direful threats. And be thou here I pray,Thou tamer of Lycurgus, who didst crossThe ruddy sea, who in thy hand dost bearThe thyrsus, ivy-wreathed; and ye twin gods,Apollo and Diana, hear my prayer.(Her hand the bow adorns, but his, the lyre.)Ye, too, I worship, all ye brothers mine,Who dwell in heaven; but not my stepdame's sons.And do ye hither drive my richest flocks;Whatever fragrant spices India bearsAnd far Arabia, to the altars bring,And let the savory smoke of sacrificeTo heaven ascend. Now let us crown our locksWith wreaths of poplar; but the olive leaves,Thy nation's symbol, should adorn thy head,O Theseus. Now in prayer we lift our handsTo Jove the Thunderer: do thou protectThe founders of our state, the wooded cavesOf savage Zethus, Dirce's famous fount,And the Tyrian lares of our pilgrim king.Now throw the fragrant incense on the flames.

Amphitr.: O son, thy hands, all dripping with the bloodOf thy slain foe, thou first shouldst purify.

Hercules: Would that his hateful blood I might pour outUnto the gods; for no libation pouredCould stain the altars more acceptably.No ampler, richer victim could be paidTo mighty Jove, than this unrighteous king.

Amphitr.: Beseech thy father that he end thy tasks;Pray that at last he give surcease of toil,And to the wearied rest.

Hercules: I shall myselfFrame prayers more worthy Jupiter and me:May heaven, earth, and air their order keep,And the everlasting stars wheel on their way,Unchanged; may peace profound brood o'er the world;May iron be used for harmless toil alone,And deadly weapons vanish from the earth;May no unbridled tempest lash the sea;May angry Jove send forth no lightning bolts;And may no river, fed by winter's snows,O'erflow the troubled fields; may venom fail;And may no noxious herb its fruitage bear;May fierce and cruel tyrants rule no more.If the pregnant earth still foster any crime,Let her make haste to bring it to the light;And if she still another monster bear,Let it be mine to meet.But what is this?The day's bright noon is by dark shadows dimmed,And, though the sky be cloudless, Phoebus faresWith face obscured. Who puts the day to flight,And drives it back to seek the dawn again?Whence rears unheard-of night its gloomy head?Why do so many stars the heavens fillIn daylight hours? See where the Lion fierce,My earliest labor, glitters in the sky,Inflamed with wrath, and threatens with his fangs.Now, surely, will he some bright star devour.With gaping jaws and menacing he stands;He breathes out fire, and on his flaming neckHis mane he tosses. Soon will he o'erleapWith one huge bound the fruitful autumn's stars,And those which frozen winter brings to view,And slay with savage lunge the vernal Bull.

Amphitr.: What sudden ill is this? Why dost thou turnNow here now there thy burning eyes? And whyDost thou so falsely see the heavens?

Hercules: Now is the whole round earth at last subdued;The swollen seas give place, and e'en the realmsInfernal have our toils heroic known.The heavens alone remain untried, a taskWell worth the struggles of a Hercules.Now shall I soar aloft to those far heights,And seek the heavenly spaces; for a starHas Jupiter, my father, promised me.What if he should refuse? Nay, but the earthNo longer can Alcides hold, and nowReturns him to the heavens whence he came.Behold, the whole assembly of the godsInvite me to their midst, and open wideThe doors of heaven--with one dissenting voice.And wilt thou not receive me into heaven?Wilt not unbar the gates? Wouldst have me rendThe portals of the stubborn sky away?And dost doubt thou my power? Nay, Saturn's chainsWill I unbind, and loose my grandsire's mightAgainst his impious son's unbridled sway.I'll stir the Titans up to war again,And lead them on; great rocks and trees I'll bring,And with my strong right hand I'll snatch and hurlThe ridges where the Centaurs have their home.Two mountains, one on other, will I pileAnd so construct a highway to the skies.Then shall old Chiron see Mount Ossa placedUpon his Pelion; and if to heavenOlympus reach not, third in order set,I'll hurl it there.

Amphitryon: Such thought be far from thee!Check this mad impulse of a heart insane,Though great.

Hercules: But what is this? With dire intentThe giants are in arms. Great TityusHas fled the shades, and, towering aloftWith torn and empty breast, has almost gainedThe heavens. Cithaeron totters to his base,Pallene trembles, Tempe faints in fear.One has Mount Pindus snatched away, and oneMount Oeta. Mimas rages horribly.Now comes Erinnys with her flaming torch,And shakes her hissing scourge; my face she seeksNearer and nearer with ill-omened brandsOn funeral pyres enkindled. There I seeTisiphone with snake-encircled head;With brandished torch she guards the gate of hell,Now that their watch-dog has been stolen away.But see where lurk the children of the king,The impious spawn of Lycus whom I hate.To your detested sire I'll send you now.Let darting arrows from my bowstring fly;Such errands fit my noble weapons well.

Amphitr.: What will he do in his blind passion's rage?Now he has bent his mighty bow, and nowHis quiver loosed. The hissing dart is sped.Straight through the neck it flies, and leaves the wound.

Hercules: The rest will I hunt out, yea, all that lurkWithin this city's walls, without delay.A greater war against Mycenae waits,That by my hands those Cyclopean wallsMay be o'erthrown; and that the royal hall,Its high walls shattered, noble roof in-fall'n,Doors burst, may be to utter ruin brought,And all its royal secrets be revealed.Ah, here I see another hiding sonOf that most wicked sire.

Amphitryon [standing where he can see what is being done behind thescenes]: Behold the child,His coaxing hands stretched out to clasp the kneesOf his mad father, begs with piteous tones.Oh, crime unspeakable, pathetic, grim:For by his pleading hand the child is caught,And, madly whirled again and yet again,Sent headlong through the air. A sickening sound--And with his scattered brains the roof is wet.But wretched Megara, her little sonProtecting in her arms, flees madly forth.

Hercules [behind the scenes, to Megara also behind the scenes]:Though thou shouldst hide thee in the Thunderer's arms,This hand of mine will seek and snatch thee forth.

Amphitryon [standing throughout this scene as above]: Oh, whither,wretched woman dost thou flee?What flight, what hiding-places dost thou seek?No place is safe from angry Hercules.Embrace his knees the rather, and with prayerAttempt to soothe his wrath.

The voice of Megara: O husband, spare;Thy Megara behold and recognize;This son of thine thy face and manner bears.See how he stretches out his hands to thee.

The voice of Hercules: At last I have thee, stepdame, in my power.Come thou with me, and pay full penaltyFor all my wrongs; free thy poor, troubled lordFrom his base yoke. But ere the mother dies,This little monster must be put to death.

Amphitr.: The child, in terror of his father's face,Died ere he felt the blow. 'Twas fear that snatchedHis spirit forth. Now 'gainst his trembling wife,His mighty club is raised--her bones are crushed,Her head is stricken from the mangled trunkAnd may no more be seen.O stubborn age,Too long enduring, canst thou bide this sight?But if thy grief is irksome, death is near.Impale me on thy darts; that club of thine,With blood of monsters smeared, raise to my death.Come, slay me who am falsely called thy sire,And so remove this blot upon thy name,That I no longer may thy fame obscure.

Theseus: Why shouldst thou wantonly provoke thy death,Old man? Why this mad haste to die? Away,And hide. From this one crime spare Hercules.

Hercules: 'Tis well; the household of the shameless kingIs utterly destroyed. To thee, O wifeOf mighty Jove, this promised sacrificeHave I performed; my vows I've gladly paid;And other victims shall thine Argos give.

Amphitr.: Thou hast not yet enough atonement made,O son. Complete the sacrifice. Behold,A victim at the altar stands, and waits,With willing neck, thy hand. I offer hereMy life, and eagerly; I seek to die.Slay me.But what is this? His eye's keen glanceCannot maintain its gaze; grief dims his sight;And do I see the hands of HerculesA-tremble? Now his eyelids fall in sleep,His head sinks down upon his weary breast,His knees give way, and down upon the earthHis whole great body falls; as when some ashIs felled in forest glades, or when some cliffFalls down and makes a harbor in the sea.Dost thou yet live? Or has thy furious rage,Which sent thy friends to death, slain thee as well?He slumbers; this his measured breathing proves.Let him have time for rest, that heavy sleepMay break his madness' force, and so relieveHis troubled heart.Ye slaves, his arms remove,Lest, waking, he again his madness prove.

Chorus: Let heaven and heaven's creator mourn,The fertile earth, the wandering waveUpon the restless sea. And thou,Who over lands and ocean's plainsDost shed thy light, whose beauteous faceDrives night away, O glowing Sun,Grieve more than all. For equallyThy risings had Alcides seen,And eke thy settings; both thy homesWere known to him. His spirit looseFrom monstrous madness; loose him, yeWho rule above. His mind restoreTo sanity again. And thou,O Sleep, subduer of our ills,The spirit's rest, thou better partOf human life, swift-wingéd one,Astraea's child, of cruel DeathThe sluggish brother, mixing falseWith true, prescient of future things,But oftenest of misery;O sire of all things, gate of life,Day's respite and the comrade trueOf night, who com'st impartiallyTo king and slaves, with gentle handThe wearied spirit comforting;Thou who dost force the race of menWho quail at mortal doom, to gainA foretaste of the sleep of death:Subdue and overwhelm him quiteWith heavy stupor; let his limbs,Unconquered hitherto, be heldFast bound in chains of deepest sleep;Take not the spell from his fierce heart,Until his former mind returnTo its accustomed course.But see, prone on the ground he lies,His savage dreams in his fierce heartStill hold their sway. Not yet, alas,Is his dire madness overcome.Accustomed to recline his headUpon his heavy club, see now,He feels about with empty handTo find the ponderous trunk, his armsWith fruitless motion tossed. Not yetHas all the fever from his veinsBeen driven out, but rages on;As waves, by mighty tempests vexed,Toss wildly on and swell with rage,Although the winds have ceased to blow.Oh, calm this tempest in his soul;Let piety and manly strengthReturn; or, rather, let his mindBe still by mad impulses stirred,And his blind error go the wayIt has begun. For madness nowAlone can make him innocent.To have the hands unstained by guiltIs best, but next to this is sinDone in unconsciousness.Now let thy breast resound with blows,And let those arms which once have borneThe heavens up be smitten nowBy thy victorious hands; thy criesBe heard throughout the realms of air,By her who rules the world of night,And Cerberus crouching in his cave,His neck still burdened with thy chains.Let Chaos with the dolorous soundRe-echo, and the widespread wavesOf ocean, and the air aboveWhich had thy darts in better useBeheld. Thy breast, with ills besetSo mighty, must with no light blowBe smitten. With one great sound of griefLet heaven, sea, and hell be filled.And thou, brave shaft, above his neckSo long suspended, armamentAnd weapon too, thou quiver huge,Smite heavily his savage back.Thou sturdy club of oak, come beatHis mighty shoulders, and oppressHis breast with thy hard-knotted stock.Let all his weapons worthilyOf so great grief lament with him.But you, who in your father's praiseCan never share, who ne'er from kingsHave taken deadly recompense,Who never in the Argive gamesHave learned to bend your youthful limbs,In wrestling and in boxing strongTo strive; who have but dared as yetTo poise the slender Scythian dartWith steady hand, and pierce the stagWho safety seeks in flight, but notThe lion fierce with tawny mane:Go to your Stygian refuge, go,Ye guiltless shades, who on life's vergeHave by your father's mad assaultBeen overwhelmed. Poor children, bornOf an ill-omened, luckless race,Fare on along your father's toilsome path,To where the gloomy monarchs sit in wrath!