Hercules Oetaeus: Act II

Nurse of Deianira: Oh, bitter is the rage a woman feels,When in one house both wife and mistress dwell!No wrecking Scylla, no Charybdis dire,The wild upheavers of Sicilia's waves,No savage beast, is more untamed than she.For when the maiden's beauty was revealed,And Iole shone like the cloudless sky,Or gleaming stars within the heavens serene,Then did Alcides' bride like one distraughtStand gazing fiercely on the captive maid;As when a tigress, lying with her youngBeneath some rock in far Armenia,Leaps up to meet an enemy's approach;Or as a Maenad, by the god inspired,And bidden shake the thyrsus, stands awhileIn wonder whither she shall take her way.Then she throughout the house of HerculesGoes madly rushing; nor does all the houseGive space enough. Now here, now there she runs,At random wandering; and now she stands,Her face reflecting woe in every line,The inmost feelings of her heart revealed.She threatens fiercely, then a flood of tearsSucceeds to threats. No mood for long endures,Nor can one form of rage content her long.Now flame her cheeks with wrath; pale terror nowDrives out the flush of anger, and her griefTakes every form that maddened sorrow knows:Complainings, prayers, and groans. But now the doorsAre creaking: see, she comes in frenzied haste,With words confused revealing all her heart.

Deianira: O wife of Jove, where'er in heaven thou dwell'st,Against Alcides send some raging beastThat shall be dire enough to sate my wrath.If any hydra rears its fertile headToo vast to be contained in any pool,Impossible of conquest, send it forth.If anything is worse than other beasts,Enormous, unrelenting, horrible,From which the eye of even HerculesWould turn in fear, let such an one come outFrom its huge den. But if no beasts avail,This heart of mine into some monster change;For of my hate can any shape be madeThat thou desir'st. Oh, mould my woman's formTo match my grief. My breast cannot containIts rage. Why dost thou search the farthest boundsOf earth, and overturn the world? Or whyDost thou demand of hell its evil shapes?This breast of mine will furnish for thy useAll fearful things. To work thy deadly hateUse me as tool. Thou canst destroy him quite.Do thou but use these hands for what thou will.Why dost thou hesitate, O goddess? See,Use me, the raging one. What impious deedDost thou command? Decide. Why doubtful stand?Now mayst thou rest awhile from all thy toils,For my rage is enough.

Nurse: O child of mine,These sad outpourings of thy maddened heartRestrain, quench passion's fire, and curb thy grief.Show now that thou art wife of Hercules.

Deianira: Shall captive Iole unto my sonsGive brothers, and a lowly slave becomeThe daughter-in-law of Jove? In common courseWill fire and rushing torrent never run;The thirsty Bear will never taste the sea--And never shall my woes go unavenged.Though thou didst bear the vasty heavens up,Though all the world is debtor unto thee,'Twill not avail thee now, for thou shalt findA monster greater far than Hydra's rage,An angry wife's revenge, awaiting thee.The flames that leap from Aetna's top to heavenBurn not so fiercely as my passion's fireWhich shall outvie whate'er thou hast o'ercome.Shall then a captive slave usurp my bed?Before, I feared the monsters dire; but now,Those pests have vanished quite, and in their steadThis hated rival comes. O mighty God,Of all gods ruler, O thou lustrous Sun,'Tis only in his perils, then, it seems,Have I been wife to Hercules. The godsHave granted to the captive all my prayers;For her behoof have I been fortunate.Ye heard, indeed, my prayers, O gods of heaven,And Hercules is safe returned--for her!O grief, that no revenge can satisfy,Seek out some dreadful means of punishment,By man unthought of and unspeakable.Teach Juno's self how slight her hatred is.She knows not how to rage. O Hercules,For me didst thou thy mighty battles wage;For me did Acheloüs dye his wavesWith his own blood in mortal strife with thee,When now a writhing serpent he became,Now to a threatening bull he turned himself,And thou a thousand beasts didst overcomeIn one sole enemy. But now, alas,Am I no longer pleasing in thy sight,And this base captive is preferred to me.But this she shall not be. For that same dayWhich ends our married joys shall end thy life.But what is this? My rage begins to failAnd moderate its threats. My anger's gone.Why dost thou languish thus, O wretched grief?Wilt thou give o'er thy passion, be againThe faithful, uncomplaining wife? Ah no!Why dost thou strive to check the flames of wrath?Why quench its fire? Let me but keep my rage,And I shall be the peer of Hercules,And I shall need to seek no heavenly aid.But still, though all uncalled, will Juno comeTo guide my hands.

Nurse: What crime dost thou intend,O foolish one? Wilt slay thy noble lord,Whose praises from the east to west are known,Whose fame extends from earth to highest heaven?For all the earth will rise to avenge his death;And this thy father's house and all thy raceWill be the first to fall. Soon rocks and brandsWill be against thee hurled, since every landWill its protector shield; and thou aloneWilt suffer many, many penalties.Suppose thou canst escape the world of men;Still must thou face the thunderbolts of Jove,The father of Alcides. Even nowHis threat'ning torches gleam athwart the sky,And all the heavens tremble with the shock.Nay, death itself, wherein thou hop'st to findA place of safe retreat--fear that as well;For there Alcides' uncle reigns supreme.Turn where thou wilt, O wretched woman; thereShalt thou behold thy husband's kindred gods.

Deianira: A fearful crime it is, I do confess;But Oh, my passion bids me do it still.Nurse: Thou'lt die.

Deianira: But as the wife of HerculesI'll die; no night shall ever bring the dayThat shall behold me cheated of my own,Nor shall a captive mistress have my bed.Sooner shall western skies give birth to day;Sooner shall men of India make their homeBeneath the icy pole, and Phoebus tanWith his hot rays the shivering Scythians,Than shall the dames of Thessaly beholdMy downfall. For with my own blood I'll quenchThe marriage torches. Either he shall die,Or slay me with his hand. To all the beastsWhom he has slaughtered let him add his wife;Let me be numbered 'mongst his mighty deeds;But in my death my body still shall claimThe couch of Hercules. Oh, sweet, 'tis sweetTo fare to Hades as Alcides' bride,And not without my vengeance. If, indeed,From Hercules my rival has conceived,With my own hands I'll tear the child awayUntimely, and that shameless harlot faceWithin her very wedding torches' glare.And though in wrath upon his nuptial dayHe slay me as a victim at the shrine,Let me but fall upon my rival's corse,And I shall die content. For happy heWho drags with him his enemy to death.

Nurse: Why dost thou feed thy passion's flames, poor child,And nurse thy grief? Why cherish needless fear?He did feel love for Iole, 'tis true;But in the time while yet her father reigned,And while she was a haughty monarch's child.The princess now has fallen to the placeOf slave, and love has lost its power to charm,Since her unhappy state has stol'n from herHer loveliness. The unattainableIs ever sought in love. But from the thingThat is within his reach love turns away.

Deianira: Nay: fallen fortunes fan the flames of love;And for this very reason does he love,Because her home is lost, and from her headThe crown of gleaming gold and gems has fallen.For these her woes he pities her--and loves.'Twas e'er his wont to love his captive maids.

Nurse: 'Tis true, he loved the captive Trojan maid,Young Priam's sister; but he gave her up.Recall how many dames, how many maidsAforetime he has loved, this wandering swain.The Arcadian maiden Auge, while she ledThe choral dance of Pallas, roused his loveAnd suffered straight his passionate embrace.But from his heart she quickly fell away,And now retains no traces of his love.Why mention others? The ThespiadesEnjoyed the passing love of Hercules,But are forgotten. Soon, a wandererUpon Timolus, he caressed the queenOf Lydia, and, smitten by her love,He sat beside the whirling distaff there,His doughty fingers on the moistened thread.His neck no longer bears the lion's spoil;But there he sits, a languid, love-sick slave,His shaggy locks with Phrygian turban bound,And dripping with the costly oil of myrrh.Yes, everywhere he feels the fires of love,But always does he glow with transient flame.

Deianira: But lovers after many transient flames,Are wont at last to choose a single love.

Nurse: And could Alcides choose instead of theeA slave, the daughter of his enemy?

Deianira: As budding groves put on a joyous formWhen spring's warm breezes clothe the naked boughs;But, when the northwind rages in their stead,And savage winter strips the leaves away,Thou seest naught but bare and shapeless trunks:So this my beauty, which has traveled farAlong the road of life, has lost its bloom,And gleams less brightly than in former years.Behold that loveliness--but Oh, whate'erWas once by many suitors sought in me,Has vanished quite; for toils of motherhoodHave stolen my beauty, and with speeding footAdvancing age has hurried it away.But, as thou seest, this slave has not yet lostHer glorious charms. Her queenly robes, 'tis true,Have yielded to the garb of poverty;Still, through her very grief her beauty shines,And nothing save her kingdom has she lostBy this hard stroke of fate. This fear of herDoth vex my heart and take away my sleep.I once was in the eyes of all the worldThe wife most to be praised; and every brideLonged for a mate like mine with envious prayers;And every soul that asked the gods for aught,Took me as type and measure of her vows.What father shall I ever find, O nurse,To equal Jove? What husband like to mineIn all the world? Though he, Eurystheus' self,Beneath whose power my Hercules is placed,Should take me for his wife, 'twould not suffice.A trifling thing, to miss a royal couch;But far she falls who loses Hercules.Nurse: But children often win a husband's love.

Deianira: My rival's child perchance will win him too.

Nurse: I think that slave is but a gift for thee.

Deianira: This fellow whom thou seest wanderingThroughout our Grecian cities, big with fame,A tawny lion's spoils upon his back,And in his dreadful hand a massive club;Who takes their realms away from haughty kings,And gives them to the weak; whose praise is sungBy men of every land throughout the world:This man is but a trifler, without thoughtOf winning deathless glory for himself.He wanders through the earth, not in the hopeThat he may rival Jupiter, or goWith great renown throughout the towns of Greece;His quest is ever love, the maiden's couch.He takes by force what is refused to him;He rages 'gainst the nations, seeks his bridesAmidst the ruins of a people's hopes.And this wild carnival of lustful crimeIs by the honored name, heroic, called.But now, illustrious Oechalia fell;One sun, one day beheld it stand--and fall.And of the strife the only cause was love.As often as a father shall refuseTo give his daughter unto Hercules,And be the father of his enemy,So often need he be in mortal fear.If he is not accepted as a son,He smites in rage. Why then do I preserveIn harmless inactivity these hands,Until he feign another fit of rage,And stretch his bow with deadly aim at me,And slaughter both his wife and child at once?Thus 'tis his wont to put away his wives;And such his cruel method of divorce.But he cannot be held the guilty one!For he contrives to make the world believeThat Juno is the cause of all his crimes.O sluggish passion, why inactive stand?Anticipate his crime, and act at onceWhile still thy hands are burning for the deed.Nurse: With the sword?

Nurse: Whom Juno could not harm wilt thou destroy?

Deianira: Celestial anger only wretched makesThose whom it touches; mortal wrath destroys.

Nurse: Oh, spare thy husband, wretched one, and fear.

Deianira: The one who first has learned the scorn of death,Scorns everything. 'Tis sweet to meet the sword.

Nurse: Thy grief is all too great, my foster-child;Let not his fault claim more than equal hate.Why dost so sternly judge a light offense?Nay, suit thy grieving to thine injury.

Deianira: But dost thou call a mistress light offense?Of all that feeds my grief, count this the worst.

Deianira: Not fled, dear nurse, believe me; still it liesSecurely fixed within my inmost heart.But outraged love is poignant misery.

Nurse: By magic arts united to their prayersDo wives full oft their wandering husbands bind.I have myself in midst of winter's coldCommanded trees to clothe themselves in green,The thunderbolt to stop; I've roused the seaWhen no wind blew, and calmed the swollen waves;The thirsty plain has opened at my touchTo springs of water; rocks give way to me,And doors fly open; when I bid them standThe shades of hell obey, and talk with me;The infernal dog is still at my command;Midnight has seen the sun, midday the night.For sea, land, heaven, and hell obey my will,And nothing can withstand my potent charms.Then let us bend him; charms will find the way.

Deianira: What magic herbs does distant Pontus yield,Or Pindus 'neath the rocks of Thessaly,Where I may find a charm to bend his will?Though Luna leave the stars and fall to earth,Obedient to thy magic; though the cropsIn winter ripen; though the hurtling boltStand still at thy command; though all the lawsOf nature be reversed, and stars shine outUpon the noonday skies--he would not yield.Nurse: But Love has conquered e'en the heavenly gods.

Deianira: Perhaps by one alone he will himselfBe conquered, and give spoils of war to him,And so become Alcides' latest task.But by each separate god of heaven I pray,By this my fear: what secret I discloseKeep hidden thou and close within thy breast.Nurse: What secret wouldst thou then so closely guard?

Deianira: I mean no weapons, arms, or threatening flames.

Nurse: I can give pledge of faith, if it be freeFrom sin; for sometimes faith itself is sin.

Deianira: Lest someone hear my secret, look about;In all directions turn thy watchful gaze.

Nurse: Behold, the place is free from curious eyes.

Deianira: Deep hidden, far within this royal pile,There is a cave that guards my secret well.Neither the rising sun can reach the spotWith its fresh beams; nor can its latest rays,When Titan leads the weary day to rest,And plunges 'neath the ruddy ocean's waves.There lies a charm that can restore to meThe love of Hercules. I'll tell thee all.The giver of the charm was Nessus, heWhom Nephele to bold Ixion bore,Where lofty Pindus towers to the skies,And high above the clouds cold Othrys stands.For when, compelled by dread Alcides' clubTo shift with ready ease from form to formOf beasts, and, overcome in every form,At last bold Acheloüs bowed his headWith its one horn defiled; then Hercules,Exulting in his triumph, claimed his brideAnd bore me off to Argos. Then, it chanced,Evenus' stream that wanders through the plain,Its whirling waters bearing to the sea,Was swollen beyond its banks with turbid flood.Here Nessus, well accustomed to the stream,Required a price for bearing me across;And on his back, where beast and human join,He took me, boldly stemming every wave.Now was fierce Nessus well across the stream,And still in middle flood Alcides fared,Breasting with mighty strides the eager waves;When he, beholding Hercules afar,Cried, "Thou shalt be my wife, my booty thou,For Hercules is held within the stream;"And clasping me was galloping away.But now the waves could not thwart Hercules."O faithless ferryman," he shouted out,"Though Ganges and the Ister join their floods,I shall o'ercome them both and check thy flight."His arrow sped before his words were done,Transfixing Nessus with a mortal wound,And stayed his flight. Then he, with dying eyesSeeking the light, within his hand caught upThe flowing gore; and in his hollow hoof,Which he with savage hand had wrenched away,He poured and handed it to me, and said:"This blood, magicians say, contains a charm,Which can a wavering love restore; for soThessalian dames by Mycale were taught,Who only, 'midst all wonder-working crones,Could lure the moon from out the starry skies.A garment well anointed with this goreShalt thou present to him," the centaur said,"If e'er a hated rival steal thy couch,If e'er thy husband in a fickle moodTo heavenly Jove another daughter give.Let not the light of day shine on the charm,But in the thickest darkness let it lie.So shall the blood its magic power retain."So spake he; o'er his words a silence fell,And the sleep of death upon his weary limbs.Do thou, who knowest now my secret plans,Make haste and bring this charm to me, that soIts force, imparted to a gleaming robe,May at the touch dart through his soul, his limbs,And through the very marrow of his bones.

Nurse: With speed will I thy bidding do, dear child.And do thou call upon the god of love,Invincible, who with his tender handDoth speed his arrows with unerring aim.

Deianira [invoking Cupid]: O wingéd boy, by earth and heavenfeared,By creatures of the sea, and him who wieldsThe bolts in Aetna forged; and dreaded tooBy thy relentless mother, queen of love:Aim with unerring hand thy swiftest dart.Not harmless be the shaft, but choose, I prayOne of thy keenest arrows, which thy handHas never used; for such must be thy dartIf mighty Hercules be forced to love.Make firm thy hands and strongly bend thy bow;Now, now that shaft let loose which once thou aim'dstAt Jove the terrible, what time the godLaid down his thunderbolts, and as a bullWith swelling forehead clove the boisterous sea,And bore the Assyrian maiden as his prize.Now fill his heart with love; let him surpassAll who have ever felt thy passion's power--And learn to love his wife. If IoleHas kindled flames of love within his heart,Extinguish them, and let him dream aloneOf me. Thou who hast often conquered Jove,The Thunderer, and him whose scepter darkHolds sway within the gloomy underworld,The king of countless throngs, the lord of Styx;Whom angry Juno cannot quell: win thouAlone this triumph over Hercules.

Nurse [returning with robe and charm ready]: The charm from itsdark hiding-place is brought,And that fair robe upon whose cunning webThy maidens all have wrought with wearied hands.Now bring the poisoned blood and let the robeDrink in its magic power, while by my prayersWill I the charm augment.But at the wordThe faithful Lichas comes. Quick! hide the charm,Lest by his mouth our plot may be revealed.

Deianira [to Lichas]: O Lichas, ever faithful to thy lord,A name which mighty houses may not boast:Take thou this garment woven by my hands,While Hercules was wandering o'er the earth,Or, spent with wine, was holding in his armsThe Lydian queen, or calling Iole.And yet, perchance, I still may turn his heartTo me again by wifely service. ThusHave evil men full often been reclaimed.Before my husband puts this tunic on,Bid him burn incense and appease the gods,His rough locks wreathed with hoary poplar leaves.I will myself within the palace goAnd pray the mother of relentless love.Do ye, who from my father's house have come,Bewail the sad misfortunes of your queen.

Chorus of Aetolian women: We weep for thee, O lady dear,And for thy couch dishonored--we,The comrades of thy earliest years,Weep and lament thy fate.How often have we played with theeIn Acheloüs' shallow pools,When now the swollen floods of springHad passed away, and gently now,With graceful sweep, the river ran;When mad Lycormas ceased to rollHis headlong waters on.How oft have we, a choral band,To Pallas' altars gone with thee;How oft in Theban baskets borneThe sacred Bacchic mysteries,When now the wintry stars have fled,When each third summer calls the sun;And when, the sacred rites completeTo Ceres, queen of golden grain,Eleusin hides her worshipersWithin her mystic cave.Now too, whatever fate thou fear'st,Accept us as thy trusted friends;For rare is such fidelityWhen better fortune fails.O thou, who wield'st the scepter's power,Whoe'er thou art, though eagerlyThe people throng within thy courts,And press for entrance at thy doors;And though the crowds press thick aboutWhere'er thou tak'st thy way: be sureThat in so many seeming friends,Scarce one is true.Erinys keeps the gilded gate;And when the great doors swing apart,Then cunning treachery creeps inAnd fraud, and murderous dagger points.Whene'er thou think'st to walk abroad,Base envy as thy comrade goes.As often as the morning dawnsBe sure a king from fear of deathHas been delivered. Few there areWho love the king, and not his power.For 'tis the glitter of the throneThat fires most hearts to loyalty.Now one is eager next the kingTo walk before the gaze of men,And so gain luster for himself;For greed of glory burns his heart.Another from the royal storesSeeks to supply his own desires;And yet not all the precious sandsOf Hister's streams could satisfy,Nor Lydia sate his thirst for gold;Nor that far land where Zephyr blows,Which looks in wonder on the gleamOf Tagus' golden sands.Were all the wealth of Hebrus his;If rich Hydaspes were his own;If through his fields, with all its stream,He saw the Ganges flowing: stillFor greed, base greed 'twould not suffice.One honors kings and courts of kings,Not that his careful husbandmenForever stooping o'er the plowMay never cease their toil for him;Or that his peasantry may tillHis thousand fields: but wealth alone,Which he may hoard away, he seeks.Another worships kings, that soAll other men he may oppress,May ruin many, none assist;And with this sole aim covets power,That he may use it ill.How few live out their fated span!Whom yesternight saw radiantWith joy, the newborn day beholdsIn wretched case. How rare it isTo find old age and happinessCombined. More soft than Tyrian couch,The greensward soothes to fearless sleep;But gilded ceilings break our rest,And sleepless through the night we lieOn beds of luxury.Oh, should the rich lay bare their hearts,What fears which lofty fortune breedsWould be revealed! The Bruttian coastWhen Corus lashes up the seaIs calmer far. Not so the poor:His heart is ever full of peace.From shallow beechen cups he drinks,But not with trembling hands; his foodIs cheap and common, but he seesNo naked sword above his head.'Tis in the cup of gold aloneThat blood is mingled with the wine.The poor man's wife no necklace wroughtOf costly pearls, the red sea's gift,May wear; no gems from eastern shoresWeigh down her ears; nor does she wearSoft scarlet wools in Tyrian dyeTwice dipped; not hers with Lydian artTo 'broider costly silks whose threadsThe Serians under sunlit skiesFrom orient treetops gather; sheWith common herbs must dye the webWhich she with unskilled hands has wov'n:But still her husband is her own,Her couch by rivals undisturbed.But favored brides, whose wedding dayThe thronging people celebrate,Fate with her cruel torch pursues.The poor no happiness can knowUnless he sees the fortunateFrom their high station fallen.Whoever shuns the middle courseCan never in safe pathways go.When once bold Phaëthon essayedWithin his father's car to standAnd give the day, and did not fareAlong the accustomed track, but soughtWith wandering wheels to make his wayWith Phoebus' torch 'midst unknown stars--Himself he ruined and the earthIn one destruction. DaedalusThe middle course of heaven pursued,And so to peaceful shores attainedAnd gave no sea its name. His son,Young Icarus, dared rival birdsIn flight, despised his father's wings,And soared high up into the realmOf Phoebus' rays: headlong he fellAnd to an unknown sea his nameHe gave. So are great fortunes joinedTo mighty ills.Let others then as fortunateAnd great be hailed; I wish no shareOf popular renown. My boatIs frail and needs must hug the shore.And let no strong wind force my barkFar out to sea; for fortune sparesSafe-harbored boats, but seeks the shipsIn mid sea proudly sailing on,Their topsails in the clouds.But why with pallid face, in fear,Like some Bacchante smitten soreWith madness, comes our princess forth?What new reverse of fortune's wheelHas come to vex thy tortured soul?For though thou speakest ne'er a word, poor queen,Whate'er thou hidest, in thy face is seen.