Sophocles, the Seven Plays in English verse/The Trachinian Maidens
THE TRACHINIAN MAIDENS
THE PERSONS
Dêanira, wife of Heracles.
An Attendant.
Hyllus, son of Heracles and Dêanira.
Chorus of Trachinian Maidens.
A Messenger.
Lichas, the Herald.
A Nurse.
An Old Man.
Heracles.
Iole, who does not speak.
Scene. Before the temporary abode of Heracles in Trachis.
This tragedy is named from the Chorus. From the subject it might have been called ‘Dêanira or the Death of Heracles.’
The Centaur Nessus, in dying by the arrow of Heracles, which had been dipped in the venom of the Hydra, persuaded the bride Dêanira, whose beauty was the cause of his death, to keep some of the blood from the wound as a love-charm for her husband. Many years afterwards, when Heracles was returning from his last exploit of sacking Oechalia, in Euboea, he sent before him, by his herald Lichas, Iŏlè, the king's daughter, whom he had espoused. Dêanira, when she had discovered this, commissioned Lichas when he returned to present his master with a robe, which she had anointed with the charm,—hoping by this means to regain her lord's affection. But the poison of the Hydra did its work, and Heracles died in agony, Dêanira having already killed herself on ascertaining what she had done. The action takes place in Trachis, near the Maliac Gulf, where Heracles and Dêanira, by permission of Ceÿx, the king of the country, have been living in exile. At the close of the drama, Heracles, while yet alive, is carried towards his pyre on Mount Oeta.
THE TRACHINIAN MAIDENS
Dêanira. Men say,—’twas old experience gave the word,
—‘No lot of mortal, ere he die, can once
Be known for good or evil.’ But I know,
Before I come to the dark dwelling-place,
Mine is a lot, adverse and hard and sore.
Who yet at Pleuron, in my father’s home,
Of all Aetolian women had most cause
To fear my bridal. For a river-god,
Swift Achelôüs, was my suitor there
And sought me from my father in three forms;
Now in his own bull-likeness, now a serpent
Of coiling sheen, and now with manlike build
But bovine front, while from the shadowy beard
Sprang fountain-waters in perpetual spray.
Looking for such a husband, I, poor girl!
Still prayed that Death might find me, ere I knew
That nuptial.—Later, to my glad relief,
Zeus’ and Alcmena’s glorious offspring came,
And closed with him in conflict, and released
My heart from torment. How the fight was won
I could not tell. If any were who saw
Unshaken of dread foreboding, such may speak.
But I sate quailing with an anguished fear,
Lest beauty might procure me nought but pain,
Till He that rules the issue of all strife,
Gave fortunate end—if fortunate! For since,
Assigned by that day’s conquest, I have known
The couch of Heracles, my life is spent
In one continual terror for his fate.
Night brings him, and, ere morning, some fresh toil
Drives him afar. And I have borne him seed;
Which be, like some strange husbandman that farms
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Think of thine oath to me, and, on my word,
Make her thy wife: nor let another man
Take her, but only thou; since she hath lain
So near this heart. Obey me, O my boy!
And be thyself the maker of this bond.
To spurn at trifles after great things given,
Were to confound the meed already won.
Hyl. Oh, anger is not right, when men are ill!
But who could bear to see thee in this mind?
Her. You murmur, as you meant to disobey.
Hyl. How can I do it, when my mother’s death
And thy sad state sprang solely from this girl?
Who, not possessed with furies, could choose this?
Far better, father, for me too to die,
Than to live still with my worst enemy.
Her. This youth withdraws his reverence in my death.
But, if thou yield’st not to thy father’s hest,
The curse from Heaven shall dog thy footsteps still.
Hyl. Ah! thou wilt tell me that thy pain is come.
Her. Yea, for thou wak’st the torment that had slept.
Hyl. Ay me! how cross and doubtful is my way!
Her. Because you will reject your father’s word.
Hyl. Must I be taught impiety from thee?
Her. It is not impious to content my heart.
Hyl. Then you require this with an absolute will?
Her. And bid Heaven witness to my strong command.
Hyl. Then I will do it, for the act is thine.
I will not cast it off. Obeying thee,
My sire, the Gods will ne’er reprove my deed.
Her. Thou endest fairly. Now, then, O my son,
Add the performance swiftly, that, before
Some spasm or furious onset of my pain
Have seized me, ye may place me on the pyre.
Come, loiter not, but lift me. Now my end
Is near, the last cessation of my woe.
Hyl. Since thy command is urgent, O my sire!
We tarry not, but bear thee to the pyre.
Her. Stubborn heart, ere yet again
Wakes the fierce rebound of pain,
While the evil holds aloof,
Thou, with bit of diamond proof,
Curb thy cry, with forced will
Seeming to do gladly still!
Hyl. Lift him, men, and hate not me
For the evil deeds ye see,
Since the Heavens’ relentless sway
Recks not of the righteous way.
He who gave life and doth claim
From his seed a Father’s name
Can behold this hour of blame.
Though the future none can tell,
Yet the present is not well:
Sore for him who bears the blow,
Sad for us who feel his woe,
Shameful to the Gods, we trow.
Ch. Maidens from the palace-hall,
Come ye forth, too, at our call!
Mighty deaths beyond belief,
Many an unknown form of grief,
Ye have seen to-day; and nought
But the power of Zeus hath wrought.