Hercules Oetaeus: Act III

Deianira [hurrying distractedly out of the palace]: A namelessterror fills my stricken limbs,My hair stands up in horror, and my soul,But now so passion tossed, is dumb with fear;My heart beats wildly, and my liver throbsWith pulsing veins. As when the storm-tossed seaStill heaves and swells, although the skies are clearAnd winds have died away; so is my mindStill tossed and restless, though my fear is stayed.When once the fortunate begin to feelThe wrath of god, their sorrows never cease.For so does fortune ever end in woe.Nurse: What new distress, poor soul, has come to thee?

Deianira: But now, when I had sent away the robeWith Nessus' poisoned blood besmeared, and I,With sad forebodings, to my chamber went,Some nameless fear oppressed my anxious heart,A fear of treachery. I thought to proveThe charm. Fierce Nessus, I bethought me then,Had bidden me to keep the blood from flame;And this advice itself foreboded fraud.It chanced the sun was shining, bright and warm,Undimmed by clouds. As I recall it now,My fear scarce suffers me to tell the tale.Into the blazing radiance of the sunI cast the blood-stained remnant of the clothWith which the fatal garment had been smeared.The thing writhed horribly, and burst aflameAs soon as Phoebus warmed it with his rays.Oh, 'tis a dreadful portent that I tell!As when the snows on Mimas' sparkling sidesAre melted by the genial breath of spring;As on Leucadia's crags the heaving wavesAre dashed and break in foam upon the beach;Or as the incense on the holy shrinesIs melted by the warming altar fires:So did the woolen fragment melt away.And while in wonder and amaze I looked,The object of my wonder disappeared.Nay, e'en the ground itself began to foam,And what the poison touched to shrink away.But hither comes my son with face of fear,And hurrying feet.What tidings dost thou bear?

Hyllus: Oh, speed thee, mother, to whatever placeOn land or sea, among the stars of heaven,Or in the depths of hell, can keep thee safeBeyond the deadly reach of Hercules.Deianira: Some great disaster doth my mind presage.

Hyllus: Hie thee to Juno's shrine, the victor's realm;This refuge waits thee 'midst the loss of all.

Deianira: Tell what disaster hath o'erta'en me now.

Hyllus: That glory and sole bulwark of the world,Whom in the place of Jove the fates had givenTo bless the earth, O mother, is no more.A strange infection wastes Alcides' limbs;And he who conquered every form of beast,He, he, the victor is o'ercome with woe.What wouldst thou further hear?

Deianira: All wretched soulsAre e'er in haste to know their miseries.Come, tell, what present fate o'erhangs our house?O wretched, wretched house! Now, now indeed,Am I a widow, exiled, fate-o'ercome.

Hyllus: Not thou alone dost weep for Hercules;For in his fall the universe laments.Think not on private griefs; the human raceLifts up the voice of mourning. All the worldIs grieving with the selfsame grief thou feel'st.Thou shar'st thy misery with every land.Thou hast, indeed, forestalled their grief, poor soul;Thou first, but not alone, dost weep for him.

Deianira: Yet tell me, tell, I pray, how near to deathLies my Alcides now.

Hyllus: Death flees his grasp,Death whom he conquered once in its own realm;Nor will the fates permit so great a crime.Perchance dread Clotho from her trembling handHas thrown aside her distaff, and in fearRefuses to complete Alcides' fate.O day, O awful day! and must this beThe final day for mighty Hercules?

Deianira: To death and the world of shades, to that dark realm,Dost say that he has gone already? Why,Oh, why may I not be the first to go?But tell me truly, if he still doth live.

Hyllus: Euboea stands with high uplifted head,On every side lashed by the tossing waves.Here high Caphereus faces Phrixus' sea,And here rough Auster blows. But on the sideWhich feels the blast of snowy Aquilo,Euripus restless leads his wandering waves;Seven times his heaving tides he lifts on high,Seven times they sink again, before the sunHis weary horses plunges in the sea.Here on a lofty cliff, 'midst drifting clouds,An ancient temple of Cenaean JoveGleams far and wide. When at the altars stoodThe votive herd, and all the grove was fullOf hollow bellowings of the gilded bulls;Then Hercules put off his lion's skinWith gore besmeared, his heavy club laid down,And freed his shoulders of the quiver's weight.Then, gleaming brightly in the robe thou gav'st,His shaggy locks with hoary poplar wreathed,He lit the altar fires, and prayed: "O Jove,Not falsely called my father, take these giftsAnd let the sacred fire blaze brightly upWith copious incense, which the Arab richFrom Saba's trees in worship of the sunCollects. All monsters of the earth, the sea,The sky have been subdued at last, and I,As victor over all, am home returned.Lay down thy thunderbolt." So prayed he then.But even as he prayed a heavy groanFell from his lips, and he was horror struckAnd mute awhile. And then with dreadful criesHe filled the air. As when a votive bullFeels in his wounded neck the deep-driven ax,And flees away, retaining still the steel,And fills with loud uproar the spacious hall;Or as the thunder rumbles round the sky:So did Alcides smite the very starsAnd sea with his loud roarings. Chalcis heard,The Cyclades re-echoed with the sound,Caphereus' rocky crags and all the groveResounded with the groans of Hercules.We saw him weep. The common people deemedHis former madness had come back to him.His servants fled away in fear. But he,With burning gaze, seeks one among them all,Ill-fated Lichas, who, with trembling handsUpon the altar, even then forestalledThrough deadly fear the bitter pangs of death,And so left meager food for punishment.Then did Alcides grasp the quivering corpseAnd cried: "By such a hand as this, ye fates,Shall it be said that I was overcome?Has Lichas conquered Hercules? See thenAnother slaughter: Hercules in turnSlays Lichas. Be my noble deeds by thisDishonored; let this be my crowning task."He spake, and high in air the wretched boyWas hurled, the very heavens with his goreBesprinkling. So the Getan arrow flies,Far leaping from the bowman's hand; so fliesThe Cretan dart, but far within the mark.His head against the jagged rocks is dashed,His headless body falls into the sea,Death claiming both. "But hold," Alcides said,"No madness steals my reason as of yore;This is an evil greater far than rageOf madness; 'gainst myself alone I turn."He stays him not to tell his cause of woe,But rages wildly, tearing at his flesh,His huge limbs rending with his savage hands.He strove to tear away the fatal robe;But this alone of all his mighty deedsAlcides could not do. Yet striving stillTo tear the garment off, he tore the flesh.The robe seemed part of that gigantic form,Yea, part and parcel of the flesh itself.The cause of this dire suffering is hid,But yet there is a cause. His pain at lengthUnable to endure, prone on the earthHe grovels; now for cooling water calls.But water has no power to soothe his pain.He seeks the shore and plunges in the sea,The while his servant's hands direct his steps.Oh, bitter lot, that mighty HerculesShould come to be the mate of common men!And now a vessel from Euboea's shoreBears off the ponderous bulk of Hercules,The gentle southwind wafting it along.His spirit from his mighty frame has fled,And o'er his eyes have fall'n the shades of night.

Deianira: Why dost thou hesitate? why stand amazed,O soul, that thus at last the deed is done?But Jove demands again his son of thee;Juno, her rival; yea, to all the worldMust he be given back. Vain such appeal.Make then what reparation yet thou mayst:Through this my guilty body let the swordBe driven. Thus, thus, 'tis well that it be done.But can this puny hand of mine atoneFor crime so great? O sire of Hercules,Destroy me with thy hurtling thunderbolt,Thy guilty daughter. With no common dartArm thine avenging hand; but use that shaftWith which, had Hercules ne'er sprung from thee,Thou wouldst have scorched the hydra. As a pestUnprecedented smite me, as a scourgeFar worse to bear than any stepdame's wrath.Such bolt as once at wandering PhaëthonThou hurledst, aim at me. For I myselfHave ruined all mankind in Hercules.But why demand a weapon of the gods?For 'tis her shame that great Alcides' wifeShould pray for death. Let prayers give way to deeds,And from myself let me demand my death.Take then the sword in haste. But why the sword?Whate'er can work my death is sword enough.From some heaven-piercing cliff I'll cast me down.Yea, let our neighboring Oeta be my choice,Whose top is first to greet the newborn day.From its high peak I'll hurl me down to death.May I be rent asunder on its crags,And every rock demand some part of me;Let sharp projections pierce my mangled hands,And all the rugged mountainside be redWith blood. One death is not enough, 'tis true;But still its agony can be prolonged.O hesitating soul, thou canst not chooseWhat form of death to die. Oh, that the swordOf Hercules within my chamber hung!How fitting 'twere by such a sword to die!But is't enough that by one hand I fall?Assemble, all ye nations of the world,And hurl upon me rocks and blazing brands;Let no hand shirk its task of punishment,For your avenger have I done to death.Now with impunity shall cruel kingsTheir scepters wield; and monstrous ills shall riseWith none to let; again shall shrines be sought,Where worshiper and victim are alikeIn human form. A broad highway for crimeHave I prepared; and, by removing himWho was their bulwark, have exposed mankindTo every form of monstrous man and beastAnd savage god. Why dost thou cease thy work,O wife of thundering Jove? Why dost thou not,In imitation of thy brother, snatchFrom his own hand the fiery thunderbolt,And slay me here thyself? For thou hast lostGreat praise and mighty triumph by my act:I have forestalled thee, Juno, in the deathOf this thy rival.

Hyllus: Wouldst to ruin doomThy house already tottering? This crime,Whate'er it is, is all from error sprung.He is not guilty who unwitting sins.

Deianira: Whoe'er ignores his fate and spares himself,Deservedly has erred, deserves to die.Hyllus: He must be guilty who desires to die.

Deianira: Death, only, makes the erring innocent.

Hyllus: Wouldst leave thy life?

Deianira: A wretched life indeed;I long to go where Hercules has gone.

Hyllus: He still survives, and breathes the air of heaven.

Deianira: Alcides died when first he was o'ercome.

Hyllus: Wilt leave thy son behind? forestall thy fates?

Deianira: She whom her own son buries has lived long.

Hyllus: Follow thy husband.

Hyllus: Who dooms himself to death confesses sin.

Deianira: No sinner seeks to shirk his punishment.

Hyllus: The life of many a man has been restoredWhose guilt in judgment not in action lay.Who blames the lot by fate assigned to him?

Deianira: He blames it to whom fate has been unkind.

Hyllus: But Hercules himself killed Megara,And by his raging hands with deadly dartsTransfixed his sons. Still, though a parricide,Thrice guilty, he forgave himself the deed,Blaming his madness. In Cinyphian wavesIn Libya's land he washed his sin away,And cleansed his hands. Then why, poor soul, shouldst thouSo hastily condemn thine own misdeeds?

Deianira: The fact that I have ruined HerculesCondemns my deeds. I welcome punishment.

Hyllus: If I know Hercules, he soon will comeVictorious over all his deadly woe;And agony, o'ercome, will yield to him.

Deianira: The hydra's venom preys upon his frame;A boundless pestilence consumes his limbs.

Hyllus: Think'st thou the poison of that serpent, slain,Cannot be overcome by that brave manWho met the living foe and conquered it?He slew the hydra, and victorious stood,Though in his flesh the poisonous fangs were fixed,And o'er his limbs the deadly venom flowed.Shall he, who overcame dread Nessus' self,By this same Nessus' blood be overcome?

Deianira: 'Tis vain to stay one who is bent on death.It is my will at once to flee the light.Who dies with Hercules has lived enough.

Nurse: Now by these hoary locks, as suppliant,And by these breasts which suckled thee, I beg:Abate thy wounded heart's wild threatenings,Give o'er thy dread resolve for cruel death.

Deianira: Whoe'er persuades the wretched not to dieIs cruel. Death is sometimes punishment,But oft a boon, and brings forgiveness oft.

Nurse: Restrain at least thy hand, unhappy child,That he may know the deed was born of fraud,And was not purposed by his wife's design.

Deianira: I'll plead my cause before the bar of hell,Whose gods, I think, will free me from my guilt,Though I am self-condemned; these guilty hands 935Will Pluto cleanse for me. Then, on thy banks,O Lethe, with my memory clean I'll stand,A grieving shade, awaiting him I love.But thou, who rulest o'er the world of gloom,Prepare some toil for me, some dreadful toil;For this my fault outweighs all other sinsThat heart of man has ever dared to do.Nay, Juno's self was never bold enough 940To rob the grieving world of Hercules.Let Sisyphus from his hard labor cease,And let his stone upon my shoulders press;Let vagrant waves flee from my eager lips,And that elusive water mock my thirst.Upon thy whirling spokes have I deservedTo be stretched out, O king of Thessaly.Let greedy vultures feed upon my flesh.One from the tale of the DanaïdesIs lacking yet; let me the number fill.Ye shades, make room for me; O Colchian wife,Receive me as thy comrade there below.My deed is worse, far worse than both thy crimes,Though thou as mother and as sister, too,Hast sinned. Thou also, cruel queen of Thrace,Take me as comrade of thy crimes. And thou,Althaea, take thy daughter, for indeedThou shalt discern in me thy daughter true.And yet not one of you has ever doneSuch deed as mine. O all ye faithful wives,Who have your seats within the sacred groves,Expel me from Elysium's blessed fields.But faithless wives, who with their husbands' bloodHave stained their hands, who have forgotten quiteTheir marriage vows and stood with naked swordLike Belus' bloody daughters, they will knowMy deeds for theirs and praise them as their own.To such a company of wives 'tis meetThat I betake myself; but even theyWill shun such dire companionship as mine.O husband, strong, invincible, believeMy soul is innocent, although my handsAre criminal. O mind too credulous!O Nessus, false and skilled in bestial guile!Striving my hated rival to remove,I have destroyed myself. O beaming sun,And thou, O life, that by thy coaxing artsDost strive to hold the wretched in the light,Begone! for every day is vile to meThat shineth not upon my Hercules.Oh, let me bear, myself, thy sufferingsAnd give my life for thee. Or shall I waitAnd keep myself for death at thy right hand?Hast still some strength in thee, and can thy handsStill bend the bow and speed the fatal shaft?Or do thy weapons lie unused, thy bowNo more obedient to thy nerveless hand?But if, perchance, thou still art strong to slay,Undaunted husband, I await thy hand;Yea, for this cause will I postpone my death.As thou didst Lichas crush, though innocent,Crush me, to other cities scatter me,Yea, hurl me to a land to thee unknown.Destroy me as thou didst the Arcadian boar,And every monster that resisted thee.But Oh, from them, my husband, thou didst comeVictorious and safe.

Hyllus: Give o'er, I pray,My mother; cease to blame thy guiltless fates.Thy deed was but an error, not a fault.

Deianira: My son, if thou wouldst truly filial be,Come, slay thy mother. Why with trembling handDost thou stand there? Why turn away thy face?Such crime as this is truest piety.Still dost thou lack incentive for the deed?Behold, this hand took Hercules from thee,Took that great sire through whom thou dost deriveThy blood from thundering Jove. I've stolen from theeA greater glory than the life I gaveAt birth. If thou art all unskilled in crime,Learn from thy mother; wouldst thou thrust the swordInto my neck, or sheath it in my womb,I'll make thy soul courageous for the deed.Thou wilt not be the doer of this crime;For though 'tis by thy hand that I shall fall,'Twill be my will. O son of Hercules,Art thou afraid? Wilt thou not be like him,Perform thy bidden tasks, the monsters slay?Prepare thy dauntless hand. Behold my breast,So full of cares, lies open to thy stroke.Smite: I forgive the deed; the very fiends,The dread Eumenides, will spare thy hand.But hark! I hear their dreadful scourges sound.See! Who is that who coils her snaky locks,And at her ugly temples brandishesTwo deadly darts? Why dost thou follow me,O dire Megaera, with thy blazing brand?Dost thou seek penalty for Hercules?I will discharge it. O thou dreadful one,Already have the arbiters of hellPassed judgment on me? Lo, I see the doorsOf that sad prison-house unfold for me.Who is that ancient man who on his back,Worn with the toil, the stone's huge burden heaves?And even as I look the conquered stoneRolls back again. Who on the whirling wheelIs racked? And see! There stands Tisiphone,With ghastly, cruel face; she seeks revenge.Oh, spare thy scourge, Megaera, spare, I pray,Thy Stygian brands. 'Twas love that prompted me.But what is this? The earth is tottering,The palace roof is crashing to its fall.Whence comes that threatening throng? Against me comesThe whole world rushing; see, on every sideThe nations gnash at me, demanding backTheir savior. O ye cities, spare, I pray.Oh, whither shall I hide me from their rage?Death is the only haven left to me.By gleaming Phoebus' fiery disk I swear,By all the gods of heaven: I go to death,But leave Alcides still upon the earth.

Hyllus: Ah me, in mood of frenzy has she fled.My mother's part in this sad tragedyIs self-assigned; she is resolved to die.My part remains to thwart her dread resolve.O wretched piety! O filial love!If now my mother's death I should prevent,I wrong my father; if I let her die,'Gainst her I sin. Crime stands on either hand;Yet must I check her and true crime withstand.

Chorus: The sacred singer's word was trueWhich once on Thracian Rhodope,Orpheus, the heavenly Muse's son,Sang to his lute Pierian:That naught for endless life is made.At his sweet strains the rushing streamIts uproar stilled, and all its wavesPaused in forgetfulness of flight;And while the waters stayed to hear,The tribes far down the Hebrus' streamDeemed that their river was no more.All wingéd creatures of the woodAnd e'en the woods themselves came nearTo listen; or, if far on highSome bird was wheeling through the air,To that sweet music swift he fellOn drooping wings. The mountains came:Rough Athos with its Centaur herd,And Rhodope, its drifted snowsLoosed by the magic of that song,Stood by to hear. The Dryads leftThe shelter of their oaken trunksAnd gathered round the tuneful bard.The beasts came, too, and with them cameTheir lairs; hard by the fearless flocksThe tawny Afric lion crouched;The timid does feared not the wolves;And serpents crawled forth to the light,Their venom quite forgot.When through the doors of TaenaraHe made his way to the silent land,Sounding his mournful lyre the while,The glooms of Tartara were filledWith his sad song; and the sullen godsOf Erebus were moved to tears.He feared not the pool of the Stygian streamBy whose dread waves the heavenly godsMake oath unbreakable.The whirling rim of the restless wheelStood still, its breathless speed at rest.The immortal liver of TityosGrew, undevoured, while at the songThe spellbound birds forgot their greed.Thou, too, didst hear, O boatman grim,And thy bark that plies the infernal streamWith oars all motionless came on.Then first the hoary PhrygianForgot his thirst, although no moreThe mocking waters fled his lipsBut stood enchanted; now no moreHe reaches hungry hands to graspThe luscious fruit.When thus through that dark world of soulsSweet Orpheus poured such heavenly strainsThat the impious rock of SisyphusWas moved to follow him;Then did the goddesses of fateRenew the exhausted thread of lifeFor fair Eurydice. But when,Unmindful of the law they gave,And scarce believing that his wifeWas following, the hapless manLooked back, he lost his prize of song;For she, who to the very vergeOf life had come again, fell backAnd died again.Then, seeking solace still in song,Orpheus unto the Getans sang:

The gods themselves are under law,Yea he, who through the changing yearDirects the seasons in their course.

Dead Hercules bids us believeThe bard, that not for any manThe fates reweave the broken web;And that all things which have been born,And shall be, are but born to die.When to the world the day shall comeOn which the reign of law shall cease,Then shall the southern heavens fall,And overwhelm broad AfricaWith all her tribes; the northern skiesShall fall upon those barren plainsWhere sweep the blasts of Boreas.Then from the shattered heaven the sunShall fall, and day shall be no more.The palace of the heavenly onesShall sink in ruins, dragging downThe east and western skies. Then deathAnd chaos shall o'erwhelm the godsIn common ruin; and at last,When all things else have been destroyed,Death shall bring death unto itself.Where shall the earth find haven then?Will hades open wide her doorsTo let the shattered heavens in?Or is the space 'twixt heaven and earthNot great enough (perchance too great)For all the evils of the world?What place is great enough to holdSuch monstrous ills of fate? What placeWill hold the gods? Shall one place thenContain three kingdoms--sea and skyAnd Tartara?--But what outrageous clamor thisThat fills our frightened ears? Behold,It is the voice of Hercules.