{"collection":"Classics","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/cla/eurip/heracles.htm","path":"cla/eurip/heracles.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/cla/eurip/heracles.htm","text":"Heracles\nBy Euripides\nTranslated by E. P. Coleridge\n----------------------------------------------------------------------\nDramatis Personae\nAMPHITRYON, husband of Alcmena, the mother of HERACLES\nMEGARA, wife of HERACLES, daughter of Creon\nLYCUS, unlawful King of Thebes\nIRIS\nMADNESS\nMESSENGER\nHERACLES, son of Zeus and Alcmena\nTHESEUS, King of Athens\nCHORUS OF OLD MEN OF THEBES\n----------------------------------------------------------------------\nBefore the palace of HERACLES at Thebes. Nearby stands the altar of\nZeus, on the steps of which are now seated AMPHITRYON, MEGARA and\nher sons by HERACLES. They are seeking refuge at the altar.\n----------------------------------------------------------------------\nAMPHITRYON What mortal hath not heard of him who shared a wife with\nZeus, Amphitryon of Argos, whom on a day Alcaeus, son of Perseus begat,\nAmphitryon the father of Heracles? He it was dwelt here in Thebes,\nwhere from the sowing of the dragon's teeth grew up a crop of earth-born\ngiants; for of these Ares saved a scanty band, and their children's\nchildren people the city of Cadmus. Hence sprung Creon, son of Menoeceus,\nking of this land; and Creon became the father of this lady Megara,\nwhom once all Cadmus' race escorted with the glad music of lutes at\nher wedding, in the day that Heracles, illustrious chief, led her\nto my halls. Now he, my son, left Thebes where I was settled, left\nhis wife Megara and her kin, eager to make his home in Argolis, in\nthat walled town which the Cyclopes built, whence I am exiled for\nthe slaying of Electryon; so he, wishing to lighten my affliction\nand to find a home in his own land, did offer Eurystheus a mighty\nprice for my recall, even to free the world of savage monsters, whether\nit was that Hera goaded him to submit to this, or that fate was leagued\nagainst him. Divers are the toils he hath accomplished, and last of\nall hath he passed through the mouth of Taenarus into the halls of\nHades to drag to the light that hound with bodies three, and thence\nis he never returned. Now there is an ancient legend amongst the race\nof Cadmus, that one Lycus in days gone by was husband to Dirce being\nking of this city with its seven towers, before that Amphion and Zethus,\nsons of Zeus, lords of the milk-white steeds, became rulers in the\nland. His son, called by the same name as his father, albeit no Theban\nbut a stranger from Euboea, slew Creon, and after that seized the\ngovernment, having fallen on this city when weakened by dissension.\nSo this connection with Creon is likely to prove to us a serious evil;\nfor now that my son is in the bowels of the earth, this illustrious\nmonarch Lycus is bent on extirpating the children of Heracles, to\nquench one bloody feud with another, likewise his wife and me, if\nuseless age like mine is to rank amongst men, that the boys may never\ngrow up to exact a blood-penalty of their uncle's family. So I, left\nhere by my son, whilst he is gone into the pitchy darkness of the\nearth, to tend and guard his children in his house, am taking my place\nwith their mother, that the race of Heracles may not perish, here\nat the altar of Zeus the Saviour, which my own gallant child set up\nto commemorate his glorious victory over the Minyae. And here we are\ncareful to keep our station, though in need of everything, of food,\nof drink, and raiment, huddled together on the hard bare ground; for\nwe are barred out from our house and sit here for want of any other\nsafety. As for friends, some I see are insincere; while others, who\nare staunch, have no power to help us further. This is what misfortune\nmeans to man; God grant it may never fall to the lot of any who bears\nthe least goodwill to me, to apply this never-failing test of friendship!\nMEGARA Old warrior, who erst did raze the citadel of the Taphians\nleading on the troops of Thebes to glory, how uncertain are God's\ndealings with man! For I, as far as concerned my sire was never an\noutcast of fortune, for he was once accounted a man of might by reason\nof his wealth, possessed as he was of royal power, for which long\nspears are launched at the lives of the fortunate through love of\nit; children too he had; and me did he betroth to thy son, matching\nme in glorious marriage with Heracles. Whereas now all that is dead\nand gone from us; and I and thou, old friend, art doomed to die, and\nthese children of Heracles, whom I am guarding 'neath my wing as a\nbird keepeth her tender chicks under her. And they the while in turn\nkeep asking me, \"Mother, whither is our father gone from the land?\nwhat is he about? when will he return?\" Thus they inquire for their\nfather, in childish perplexity; while I put them off with excuses,\ninventing stories; but still I wonder if 'tis he whenever a door creaks\non its hinges, and up they all start, thinking to embrace their father's\nknees. What hope or way of salvation art thou now devising, old friend?\nfor to thee I look. We can never steal beyond the boundaries of the\nland unseen, for there is too strict a watch set on us at every outlet,\nnor have we any longer hopes of safety in our friends. Whatever thy\nscheme is, declare it, lest our death be made ready, while we are\nonly prolonging the time, powerless to escape.\nAMPHITRYON 'Tis by no means easy, my daughter, to give one's earnest\nadvice on such matters easily, without weary thought.\nMEGARA Dost need a further taste of grief, or cling so fast to life?\nAMPHITRYON Yes, I love this life, and cling to its hopes.\nMEGARA So do I; but it boots not to expect the unexpected, old friend.\nAMPHITRYON In these delays is left the only cure for our evils.\nMEGARA 'Tis the pain of that interval I feel so.\nAMPHITRYON Daughter, there may yet be a happy escape from present\ntroubles for me and thee; my son, thy husband, may yet arrive. So\ncalm thyself, and wipe those tears from thy children's eyes, and soothe\nthem with soft words, inventing a tale to delude them, piteous though\nsuch fraud be. Yea, for men's misfortunes ofttimes flag, and the stormy\nwind doth not always blow so strong, nor are the prosperous ever so;\nfor all things change, making way for each other. The bravest man\nis he who relieth ever on his hopes, but despair is the mark of a\ncoward. (The CHORUS OF OLD MEN OF THEBES enters.)\nCHORUS (chanting, strophe)\nTo the sheltering roof, to the old man's couch, leaning on my staff\nhave I set forth, chanting a plaintive dirge like some bird grown\ngrey, I that am but a voice and nothing more, a fancy bred of the\nvisions of sleep by night, palsied with age, yet meaning kindly. All\nhail! ye orphaned babes! all hail, old friend thou too, -unhappy mother,\nwailing for thy husband in the halls of Hades!\n(antistrophe)\nFaint not too soon upon your way, nor let your limbs grow weary,\neven as a colt beneath the yoke grows weary as he mounts some stony\nhill, dragging the weight of a wheeled car. Take hold of hand or robe,\nwhoso feels his footsteps falter. Old friend, escort another like\nthyself, who erst amid his toiling peers in the days of our youth\nwould take his place beside thee, no blot upon his country's glorious\nrecord.\nSee, how like their father's sternly flash these children's eyes!\nMisfortune, God wot, hath not failed his children, nor yet hath his\ncomeliness been denied them. O Hellas! if thou lose these, of what\nallies wilt thou rob thyself!\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS But I see Lycus, the ruler of this land, drawing\nnear the house. (Lycus and his attendants enter.)\nLYCUS One question, if I may, to this father of Heracles and his\nwife; and certainly as your lord and master I have a right to put\nwhat questions choose. How long do ye seek to prolong your lives?\nWhat hope, what succour do ye see to save you from death? Do you trust\nthat these children's father, who lies dead in the halls of Hades,\nwill return? How unworthily ye show your sorrow at having to die,\nthou (to AMPHITRYON) after thy idle boasts, scattered broadcast\nthrough Hellas, that Zeus was partner in thy marriage-bed and there\nbegat a new god; and thou (to MEGARA) after calling thyself the\nwife of so peerless a lord.\nAfter all, what was the fine exploit thy husband achieved, if he did\nkil a hydra in a marsh or that monster of Nemea? which he caught in\na snare, for all he says he strangled it to death in his arms. Are\nthese your weapons for the hard struggle? Is it for this then that\nHeracles' children should be spared? a man who has won a reputation\nfor valour in his contests with beasts, in all else a weakling; who\nne'er buckled shield to arm nor faced the spear, but with a bow, that\ncoward's weapon, was ever ready to run away. Archery is no test of\nmanly bravery; no! he is a man who keeps his post in the ranks and\nsteadily faces the swift wound the spear may plough. My policy, again,\nold man, shows no reckless cruelty, but caution; for I am well aware\nI slew Creon, the father of Megara, and am in possession of his throne.\nSo I have no wish that these children should grow up and be left to\ntake vengeance on me in requital for what I have done.\nAMPHITRYON As for Zeus, let Zeus defend his son's case; but as for\nme, Heracles, I am only anxious on thy behalf to prove by what I say\nthis tyrant's ignorance; for I cannot allow thee to be ill spoken\nof. First then for that which should never have been said,-for to\nspeak of thee Heracles as coward is, methinks, outside the pale of\nspeech,-of that must I clear the with heaven to witness. I appeal\nthen to the thunder of Zeus, and the chariot wherein he rode, when\nhe pierced the giants, earth's brood, to the heart with his winged\nshafts, and with gods uplifted the glorious triumph-song; or go to\nPholoe and ask the insolent tribe of four-legged Centaurs, thou craven\nking, ask them who they would judge their bravest foe; will they not\nsay my son, who according to thee is but a pretender? Wert thou to\nask Euboean Dirphys, thy native place, it would nowise sing thy praise,\nfor thou hast never done a single gallant deed to which thy country\ncan witness. Next thou dost disparage that clever invention, an archer's\nweapon; come, listen to me and learn wisdom. A man who fights in line\nis a slave to his weapons, and if his fellow-comrades want for courage\nhe is slain himself through the cowardice of his neighbours, or, if\nhe break his spear, he has not wherewithal to defend his body from\ndeath, having only one means of defence; whereas all who are armed\nwith the trusty bow, though they have but one weapon, yet is it the\nbest; for a man, after discharging countless arrows, still has others\nwherewith to defend himself from death, and standing at a distance\nkeeps off the enemy, wounding them for all their watchfulness with\nshafts invisible, and never exposing himself to the foe, but keeping\nunder cover; and this is far the wisest course in battle, to harm\nthe enemy, if they are not stationed out of shot, and keep safe oneself.\nThese arguments are completely opposite to thine with regard to the\npoint at issue. Next, why art thou desirous of slaying these children?\nWhat have they done to thee? One piece of wisdom credit thee with,\nthy coward terror of a brave man's descendants. Still it is hard on\nus, if for thy cowardice we must die; a fate that ought to have overtaken\nthee at our braver hands, if Zeus had been fairly disposed towards\nus. But, if thou art so anxious to make thyself supreme in the land,\nlet us at least go into exile; abstain from all violence, else thou\nwilt suffer by it whenso the deity causes fortune's breeze to veer\nround.\nAh! thou land of Cadmus,-for to thee too will I turn, upbraiding thee\nwith words of reproach,-is this your succour of Heracles and his children?\nthe man who faced alone the Minyan host in battle and allowed Thebes\nto see the light with freemen's eyes. I cannot praise Hellas, nor\nwill I ever keep silence, finding her so craven as regards my son;\nshe should have come with fire and sword and warrior's arms to help\nthese tender babes, to requite him for all his labours in purging\nland and sea. Such help, my children, neither Hellas nor the city\nof Thebes affords you; to me a feeble friend ye look, that am but\nempty sound and nothing more. For the vigour which once I had, is\ngone from me; my limbs are palsied with age, and my strength is decayed.\nWere I but young and still a man of my hands, I would have seized\nmy spear and dabbled those flaxen locks of his with blood, so that\nthe coward would now be flying from my prowes beyond the bounds of\nAtlas.\nLEADER Have not the brave amongst mankind a fair opening for speech,\nalbeit slow to begin?\nLYCUS Say what thou wilt of me in thy exalted phrase, but I by deeds\nwill make thee rue those words. (Calling to his servants) Ho! bid\nwood-cutters go, some to Helicon, others to the glens of Parnassus,\nand cut me logs of oak, and when they are brought to the town, pile\nup a stack of wood all round the altar on either side thereof, and\nset fire to it and burn them all alive, that they may learn that the\ndead no longer rules this land, but that for the present I am king.\n(angrily to the CHORUS) As for you, old men, since ye thwart my\nviews, not for the children of Heracles alone shall ye lament but\nlikewise for every blow that strikes his house, and ye shall ne'er\nforget ye are slaves and I your prince.\nLEADER Ye sons of Earth, whom Ares on a day did sow, when from the\ndragon's ravening jaw he had torn the teeth, up with your staves,\nwhereon ye lean your hands, and dash out this miscreant's brains!\na fellow who, without even being a Theban, but a foreigner, lords\nit shamefully o'er the younger folk; but my master shalt thou never\nbe to thy joy, nor shalt thou reap the harvest of all my toil; begone\nwith my curse upon thee! carry thy insolence back to the place whence\nit came. For never whilst I live, shalt thou slay these sons of Heracles;\nnot so deep beneath the earth hath their father disappeared from his\nchildren's ken. Thou art in possession of this land which thou hast\nruined, while he its benefactor has missed his just reward; and yet\ndo I take too much upon myself because I help those I love after their\ndeath, when most they need a friend? Ah! right hand, how fain wouldst\nthou wield the spear, but thy weakness is a death-blow to thy fond\ndesire; for then had I stopped thee calling me slave, and I would\nhave governed Thebes, wherein thou art now exulting, with credit;\nfor city sick with dissension and evil counsels thinketh not aright;\notherwise it would never have accepted thee as its master.\nMEGARA Old sirs, I thank you; 'tis right that friends should feel\nvirtuous indignation on behalf of those they love; but do not on our\naccount vent your anger on the tyrant to your own undoing. Hear my\nadvice, Amphitryon, if haply there appear to thee to be aught in what\nI say. I love my children; strange if I did not love those whom I\nlaboured to bring forth! Death I count a dreadful fate; but the man\nwho wrestles with necessity I esteem a fool. Since we must die, let\nus do so without being burnt alive, to furnish our foes with food\nfor merriment, which to my mind is an evil worse than death; for many\na fair guerdon do we owe our family. Thine has ever been a warrior's\nfair fame, so 'tis not to be endured that thou shouldst die a coward's\ndeath; and my husband's reputation needs no one to witness that he\nwould ne'er consent to save these children's lives by letting them\nincur the stain of cowardice; for the noble are afflicted by disgrace\non account of their children, nor must I shrink from following my\nlord's example. As to thy hopes consider how I weigh them. Thou thinkest\nthy son will return from beneath the earth: who ever has come back\nfrom the dead out of the halls of Hades? Thou hast a hope perhaps\nof softening this man by entreaty: no, no! better to fly from one's\nenemy when he is so brutish, but yield to men of breeding and wisdom;\nfor thou wilt more easily obtain mercy there by friendly overtures.\nTrue, a thought has already occurred to me that we might by entreaty\nobtain a sentence of exile for the children; yet this too is misery,\nto compass their deliverance with dire penury as the result; for 'tis\na saying that hosts look sweetly on banished friends for a day and\nno more. Steel thy heart to die with us, for that awaits thee after\nall. By thy brave soul I challenge thee, old friend; for whoso struggles\nhard to escape destiny shows zeal no doubt, but 'tis zeal with a taint\nof folly; for what must be, no one will ever avail to alter.\nLEADER If a man had insulted thee, while yet my arms were lusty,\nthere would have been an easy way to stop him; but now am I a thing\nof naught; and so thou henceforth, Amphitryon, must scheme how to\navert misfortune.\nAMPHITRYON 'Tis not cowardice or any longing for life that hinders\nmy dying, but my wish to save my son's children, though no doubt I\nam vainly wishing for impossibilities. Lo! here is my neck ready for\nthy sword to pierce, my body for thee to hack or hurl from the rock;\nonly one boon I crave for both of us, O king; slay me and this hapless\nmother before thou slay the children, that we may not see the hideous\nsight, as they gasp out their lives, calling on their mother and their\nfather's sire; for the rest work thy will, if so thou art inclined;\nfor we have no defence against death.\nMEGARA I too implore thee add a second boon, that by thy single act\nthou mayst put us both under a double obligation; suffer me to deck\nmy children in the robes of death,-first opening the palace gates,\nfor now are we shut out,-that this at least they may obtain from their\nfather's halls.\nLYCUS I grant it, and bid my servants undo the bolts. Go in and deck\nyourselves; robes I grudge not. But soon as ye have clothed yourselves,\nI will return to you to consign you to the nether world. (Lycus and\nhis retinue withdraw.)\nMEGARA Children, follow the footsteps of your hapless mother to your\nfather's halls, where others possess his substance, though his name\nis still ours. (MEGARA and her children enter the palace.)\nAMPHITRYON O Zeus, in vain it seems, did I get thee to share my bride\nwith me; in vain used we to call thee father of my son. After all\nthou art less our friend than thou didst pretend. Great god as thou\nart, I, a mere mortal. surpass thee in true worth. For I did not betray\nthe children of Heracles; but thou by stealth didst find thy way to\nmy couch, taking another's wife without leave given, while to save\nthy own friends thou hast no skill. Either thou art a god of little\nsense, or else naturally unjust. (AMPHITRYON follows MEGARA into\nthe palace.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe 1)\nPhoebus is singing a plaintive dirge to drown his happier strains,\nstriking with key of gold his sweet-tongued lyre; so too am I fain\nto sing a song of praise, a crown to all his toil, concerning him\nwho is gone to the gloom beneath the nether world, whether I am to\ncall him son of Zeus or of Amphitryon. For the praise of noble toils\naccomplished is a glory to the dead. First he cleared the grove of\nZeus of a lion, and put its skin upon his back, hiding his auburn\nhair in its fearful gaping jaws;\n(antistrophe 1)\nThen on a day, with murderous bow he wounded the race of wild Centaurs,\nthat range the hills, slaying them with winged shafts; Peneus, the\nriver of fair eddies, knows him well, and those far fields unharvested,\nand the steadings on Pelion and they who haunt the glens of Homole\nbordering thereupon, whence they rode forth to conquer Thessaly, arming\nthemselves with pines for clubs; likewise he slew that dappled hind\nwith horns of gold, that preyed upon the country-folk, glorifying\nArtemis, huntress queen of Oenoe;\n(strophe 2)\nNext he mounted on a car and tamed with the bit the steeds of Diomede,\nthat greedily champed their bloody food at gory mangers with jaws\nunbridled, devouring with hideous joy the flesh of men; then crossing\nHebrus' silver stream he still toiled on to perform the hests of the\ntyrant of Mycenae, till he came to the strand of the Malian gulf by\nthe streams of Anaurus, where he slew with his arrows Cycnus, murderer\nof his guests, the savage wretch who dwelt in Amphanae;\n(antistrophe 2)\nAlso he came to those minstrel maids, to their orchard in the west,\nto pluck from the leafy apple-tree its golden fruit, when he had slain\nthe tawny dragon, whose awful coils were twined all round to guard\nit; and he made his way into ocean's lairs, bringing calm to men that\nuse the oar; moreover he sought the home of Atlas, and stretched out\nhis hands to uphold the firmament, and on his manly shoulders took\nthe starry mansions of the gods;\n(strophe 3)\nThen he went through the waves of heaving Euxine against the mounted\nhost of Amazons dwelling round Maeotis, the lake that is fed by many\na stream, having gathered to his standard all his friends from Hellas,\nto fetch the gold-embroidered raiment of the warrior queen, a deadly\nquest for a girdle. And Hellas won those glorious spoils of the barbarian\nmaid, and safe in Mycenae are they now. On Lerna's murderous hound,\nthe many-headed hydra, he set his branding-iron, and smeared its venom\non his darts, wherewith he slew the shepherd of Erytheia, a monster\nwith three bodies;\n(antistrophe 3)\nAnd many another glorious achievement he brought to a happy issue;\nto Hades' house of tears hath he now sailed, the goal of his labours,\nwhere he is ending his career of toil, nor cometh he thence again.\nNow is thy house left without a friend, and Charon's boat awaits thy\nchildren to bear them on that journey out of life, whence is no returning,\ncontrary to God's law and man's justice; and it is to thy prowess\nthat thy house is looking although thou art not here. Had I been strong\nand lusty, able to brandish the spear in battle's onset, my Theban\ncompeers too, I would have stood by thy children to champion them;\nbut now my happy youth is gone and I am left.\nBut lo! I see the children of Heracles who was erst so great, clad\nin the vesture of the grave, and his loving wife dragging her babes\nalong at her side, and that hero's aged sire. Ah! woe is me! no longer\ncan I stem the flood of tears that spring to my old eyes. (MEGARA,\nAMPHITRYON, and the children enter from the palace.)\nMEGARA Come now, who is to sacrifice or butcher these poor children?\nor rob me of my wretched life? Behold! the victims are ready to be\nled to Hades' halls. O my children! an ill-matched company are we\nhurried off to die, old men and babes, and mothers, all together.\nAlas! for my sad fate and my children's, whom these eyes now for the\nlast time behold. So I gave you birth and reared you only for our\nfoes to mock, to flout, and slay. Ah me! how bitterly my hopes have\ndisappointed me in the expectation once formed from the words of your\nfather. (Addressing each of her sons in turn) To thee thy dead sire\nwas for giving Argos; and thou wert to dwell in the halls of Eurystheus,\nlording it o'er the fair fruitful land of Argolis; and o'er thy head\nwould he throw that lion's skin wherewith himself was girt. Thou wert\nto be king of Thebes, famed for its chariots, receiving as thy heritage\nmy broad lands, for so thou didst coax thy father dear; and to thy\nhand used he to resign the carved club, his sure defence, pretending\nto give it thee. To thee he promised to give Oechalia, which once\nhis archery had wasted. Thus with three principalities would your\nfather exalt you his three sons, proud of your manliness; while I\nwas choosing the best brides for you, scheming to link you by marriage\nto Athens, Thebes, and Sparta, that ye might live a happy life with\na fast sheet-anchor to hold by. And now that is all vanished; fortune's\nbreeze hath veered and given to you for brides the maidens of death\nin their stead, and tears to me to bathe them in; woe is me for my\nfoolish thoughts and your grandsire here is celebrating your marriage-feast,\naccepting Hades as the father of your brides, a grim relationship\nto make. Ah me! which of you shall I first press to my bosom, which\nlast? on which bestow my kiss, or clasp close to me? Oh! would that\nlike the bee with russet wing, I could collect from every source my\nsighs in one, and, blending them together, shed them in one copious\nflood! Heracles, dear husband mine, to thee I call, if haply mortal\nvoice can make itself heard in Hades' halls; thy father and children\nare dying and I am doomed, I who once because of thee was counted\nblest as men count bliss. Come to our rescue; appear, I pray, if but\nas a phantom, since thy mere coming would be enough, for they are\ncowards compared with thee, who are slaying thy children.\nAMPHITRYON Lady, do thou prepare the funeral rites; but I, O Zeus,\nstretching out my hand to heaven, call on thee to help these children,\nif such be thy intention; for soon will any aid of thine be unavailing;\nand yet thou hast been oft invoked; my toil is wasted; death seems\ninevitable. Ye aged friends, the joys of life are few; so take heed\nthat ye pass through it as gladly as ye may, without a thought of\nsorrow from morn till night; for time recks little of preserving our\nhopes; and, when he has busied himself on his own business, away he\nflies. Look at me, a man who had made mark amongst his fellows by\ndeeds of note; yet hath fortune in a single day robbed me of it as\nof a feather that floats away toward the sky. know not any whose plenteous\nwealth and high reputation is fixed and sure; fare ye well, for now\nhave ye seen the last of your old friend, my comrades. (MEGARA catches\nsight of HERACLES approaching.) MEGARA Ha! old friend, is it my own,\nmy dearest I behold? or what am I to say?\nAMPHITRYON I know not, my daughter; I too am struck dumb.\nMEGARA Is this he who, they told us, was beneath the earth?\nAMPHITRYON 'Tis he, unless some day-dream mocks our sight.\nMEGARA What am I saying? What visions do these anxious eyes behold?\nOld man, this is none other than thy own son. Come hither, my children,\ncling to your father's robe, make haste to come, never loose your\nhold, for here is one to help you, nowise behind our saviour Zeus.\n(HERACLES enters.)\nHERACLES All hail! my house, and portals of my home, how glad am\nI to emerge to the light and see thee. Ha! what is this? I see my\nchildren before the house in the garb of death, with chaplets on their\nheads, my wife amid a throng of men, and my father weeping o'er some\nmischance. Let me draw near to them and inquire; lady, what strange\nstroke of fate hath fallen on the house?\nMEGARA Dearest of all mankind to me! O ray of light appearing to\nthy sire! art thou safe, and is thy coming just in time to help thy\ndear ones?\nHERACLES What meanest thou? what is this confusion I find on my arrival,\nfather?\nMEGARA We are being ruined; forgive me, old friend, if I have anticipated\nthat which thou hadst a right to tell him; for woman's nature is perhaps\nmore prone than man's to grief, and they are my children that were\nbeing led to death, which was my own lot too.\nHERACLES Great Apollo! what a prelude to thy story!\nMEGARA Dead are my brethren, dead my hoary sire.\nHERACLES How so? what befell him? who dealt the fatal blow?\nMEGARA Lycus, our splendid monarch, slew him.\nHERACLES Did he meet him in fair fight, or was the land sick and\nweak?\nMEGARA Aye, from faction; now is he master of the city of Cadmus\nwith its seven gates.\nHERACLES Why hath panic fallen on thee and my aged sire?\nMEGARA He meant to kill thy father, me, and my children.\nHERACLES Why, what had he to fear from my orphan babes?\nMEGARA He was afraid they might some day avenge Creon's death.\nHERACLES What means this dress they wear, suited to the dead?\nMEGARA 'Tis the garb of death we have already put on.\nHERACLES And were ye being haled to death? O woe is me!\nMEGARA Yes, deserted by every friend, and informed that thou wert\ndead.\nHERACLES What put such desperate thoughts into your heads?\nMEGARA That was what the heralds of Eurystheus kept proclaiming.\nHERACLES Why did ye leave my hearth and home?\nMEGARA He forced us; thy father was dragged from his bed.\nHERACLES Had he no mercy, to ill-use the old man so?\nMEGARA Mercy forsooth! that goddess and he dwell far enough apart.\nHERACLES Was I so poor in friends in my absence?\nMEGARA Who are the friends of a man in misfortune?\nHERACLES Do they make so light of my hard warring with the Minyae?\nMEGARA Misfortune, to repeat it to thee, has no friends.\nHERACLES Cast from your heads these chaplets of death, look up to\nthe light, for instead of the nether gloom your eyes behold the welcome\nsun. I, meantime, since here is work for my hand, will first go raze\nthis upstart tyrant's halls, and when I have beheaded the miscreant,\nI will throw him to dogs to tear; and every Theban who I find has\nplayed the traitor after my kindness, will I destroy with this victorious\nclub; the rest will I scatter with my feathered shafts and fill Ismenus\nfull of bloody corpses, and Dirce's clear fount shall run red with\ngore. For whom ought I to help rather than wife and children and aged\nsire? Farewell my labours! for it was in vain I accomplished them\nrather than succoured these. And yet I ought to die in their defence,\nsince they for their sire were doomed; else what shall we find so\nnoble in having fought a hydra and a lion at the hests of Eurystheus,\nif I make no effort to save my own children from death? No longer\nI trow, as heretofore, shall I be called Heracles the victor.\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS 'Tis only right that parents should help their\nchildren, their aged sires, and the partners of their marriage.\nAMPHITRYON My son, 'tis like thee to show thy love for thy dear ones\nand thy hate for all that is hostile; only curb excessive hastiness.\nHERACLES Wherein, father, am I now showing more than fitting haste?\nAMPHITRYON The king hath a host of allies, needy villains though\npretending to be rich, who sowed dissension and o'erthrew the state\nwith a view to plundering their neighbours; for the wealth they had\nin their houses was ali spent, dissipated by their sloth. Thou wast\nseen entering the city; and, that being so, beware that thou bring\nnot thy enemies together and be slain unawares.\nHERACLES Little I reck if the whole city saw me; but chancing to\nsee a bird perched in an ill-omened spot, from it I learnt that some\ntrouble had befallen my house; so I purposely made my entry to the\nland by stealth.\nAMPHITRYON For thy lucky coming hither, go salute thy household altar,\nand let thy father's halls behold thy face. For soon will the king\nbe here in person to drag away thy wife and children and murder them,\nand to add me to the bloody list. But if thou remain on the spot all\nwill go well, and thou wilt profit by this security; but do not rouse\nthy city ere thou hast these matters well in train, my son.\nHERACLES I will do so; thy advice is good; I will enter my house.\nAfter my return at length from the sunless den of Hades and the maiden\nqueen of hell, I will not neglect to greet first of all the gods beneath\nmy roof.\nAMPHITRYON Why, didst thou in very deed go to the house of Hades,\nmy son?\nHERACLES Aye, and brought to the light that three-headed monster.\nAMPHITRYON Didst worst him in fight, or receive him from the goddess?\nHERACLES In fair fight; for I had been lucky enough to witness the\nrites of the initiated.\nAMPHITRYON Is the monster really lodged in the house of Eurystheus?\nHERACLES The grove of Demeter and the city of Hermione are his prison.\nAMPHITRYON Does not Eurystheus know that thou hast returned to the\nupper world?\nHERACLES He knows not; I came hither first to learn your news.\nAMPHITRYON How is it thou wert so long beneath the earth?\nHERACLES I stayed awhile attempting to bring back Theseus from Hades,\nfather.\nAMPHITRYON Where is he? gone to his native land?\nHERACLES He set out for Athens right glad to have escaped from the\nlower world. Come, children, attend your father to the house. My entering\nin is fairer in your eyes, I trow, than my going out. Take heart,\nand no more let the tears stream from your eyes; thou too, dear wife,\ncollect thy courage, cease from fear; let go my robe; for I cannot\nfly away, nor have I any wish to flee from those I love. Ah! they\ndo not loose their hold, but cling to my garments all the more; were\nye in such jeopardy? Well, I must lead them, taking them by the hand\nto draw them after me, like a ship when towing; for I too do not reject\nthe care of my children; here all mankind are equal; all love their\nchildren, both those of high estate and those; who are naught; 'tis\nwealth that makes distinctions among them; some have, others want;\nbut all the human race loves its offspring. (HERACLES, MEGARA, AMPHITRYON\nand the children enter the palace.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe 1)\nDear to me is youth, but old age is ever hanging o'er my head, a\nburden heavier than Aetna's crags, casting its pall of gloom upon\nmy eyes. Oh! never may the wealth of Asia's kings tempt me to barter\nfor houses stored with gold my happy youth, which is in wealth and\npoverty alike most fair! But old age is gloomy and deathly; I hate\nit; let it sink beneath the waves! Would it had never found its way\nto the homes and towns of mortal men, but were still drifting on for\never down the wind.\n(antistrophe 1)\nHad the gods shown discernment and wisdom, as mortals count these\nthings, men would have gotten youth twice over, a visible mark of\nworth amongst whomsoever found, and after death would these have retraced\ntheir steps once more to the sun-light, while the mean man would have\nhad but a single portion of life; and thus would it have been possible\nto distinguish the good and the bad, just as sailors know the number\nof the stars amid the clouds. But, as it is, the gods have set no\ncertain boundary 'twixt good and bad, but time's onward roll brings\nincrease only to man's wealth.\n(strophe 2)\nNever will I cease to link in one the Graces and the Muses, fairest\nunion. Never may my lines be cast among untutored boors, but ever\nmay I find a place among the crowned choir! Yes, still the aged bard\nlifts up his voice of bygone memories; still is my song of the triumphs\nof Heracles, whether Bromius the giver of wine is nigh, or the strains\nof the seven-stringed lyre and the Libyan flute are rising; not yet\nwill I cease to sing the Muses' praise, my patrons in the dance.\n(antistrophe 2)\nAs the maids of Delos raise their song of joy, circling round the\ntemple gates in honour of Leto's fair son, the graceful dancer; so\nwith my old lips will sing songs of victory at thy palace-doors, song\nof my old age, such as sings the dying swan; for there is a goodly\ntheme for minstrelsy; he is the son of Zeus; yet high above his noble\nbirth tower his deeds of prowess, for his toil secured this life of\ncalm for man, having destroyed all fearsome beasts. (AMPHITRYON comes\nout of the palace as Lycus and his retinue enter.)\nLYCUS Ha! Amphitryon, 'tis high time thou camest forth from the palace;\nye have been too long arraying yourselves in the robes and trappings\nof the dead. Come, bid the wife and children of Heracles show themselves\noutside the house, to die on the conditions you yourselves offered.\nAMPHITRYON O king, thou dost persecute me in my misery and heapest\ninsult upon me over and above the loss of my son; thou shouldst have\nbeen more moderate in thy zeal, though thou art my lord and master.\nBut since thou dost impose death's stern necessity on me, needs must\nI acquiesce and do thy will.\nLYCUS Pray, where is Megara? where are the children of Alcmena's\nson?\nAMPHITRYON She, I believe, so far as I can guess from outside-\nLYCUS What grounds hast thou to base thy fancy on?\nAMPHITRYON Is sitting as a suppliant on the altar's hallowed steps.\nLYCUS Imploring them quite uselessly to save her life.\nAMPHITRYON And calling on her dead husband, quite in vain.\nLYCUS He is nowhere near, and he certainly will never come.\nAMPHITRYON No, unless perhaps a god should raise him from the dead.\nLYCUS Go to her and bring her from the palace.\nAMPHITRYON By doing so I should become an accomplice in her murder.\nLYCUS Since thou hast this scruple, I, who have left fear behind,\nwill myself bring out the mother and her children. Follow me, servants,\nthat we may put an end to this delay of our work to our joy. (Lycus\nand his servants enter the palace.)\nAMPHITRYON Then go thy way along the path of fate; for what remains,\nmaybe another will provide. Expect for thy evil deeds to find some\nill thyself. Ah! my aged friends, he is marching fairly to his doom;\nsoon will he be entangled in the snare of the sword, thinking to slay\nhis neighbours, the villain! I will hence, to see him fall dead; for\nthe sight of a foe being slain and paying the penalty of his misdeeds\ngives pleasure. (AMPHITRYON follows Lycus into the palace.)\nCHORUS (singing) Evil has changed sides; he who was erst a mighty\nking is now turning his life backward into the road to Hades.\nHail to thee! justice and heavenly retribution.\nAt last hast thou reached the goal where thy death will pay the forfeit,\nFor thy insults against thy betters.\nJoy makes my tears burst forth.\nThere is come a retribution, which the prince of the land never once\nthought in his heart would happen.\nCome, old friends, let us look within to see if one we know has met\nthe fate I hope.\nLYCUS (within) Ah me! ah me!\nCHORUS (singing) Ha! how sweet to hear that opening note of his\nwithin the house; death is not far off him now.\nHark! the prince cries out in his agony; that preludes death.\nLYCUS (within) O kingdom of Cadmus, by treachery I am perishing!\nCHORUS (singing) Thou wert thyself for making others perish; endure\nthy retribution; 'tis only the penalty of thy own deeds thou art paying.\nWho was he, weak son of man, that aimed his silly saying at the blessed\ngods of heaven with impious blasphemy, maintaining that they are weaklings\nafter all?\nOld friends, our godless foe is now no more.\nThe house is still; let us to our dancing.\nYea, for fortune smiles upon my friends as I desire.\n(strophe 1)\nDances and banquets now prevail throughout the holy town of Thebes.\nFor release from tears and respite from sorrow give birth to song.\nThe upstart king is dead and gone; our former monarch now is prince,\nhaving made his way even from the bourn of Acheron. Hope beyond all\nexpectation is fulfilled.\n(antistrophe 1)\nTo heed the right and wrong is heaven's care. 'Tis their gold and\ntheir good luck that lead men's hearts astray, bringing in their train\nunholy tyranny. For no man ever had the courage to reflect what reverses\ntime might bring; but, disregarding law to gratify lawlessness, he\nshatters in gloom the car of happiness.\n(strophe 2)\nDeck thee with garlands, O Ismenus! break forth into dancing, ye\npaved streets of our seven-gated city! come Dirce, fount of waters\nfair; and joined with her ye daughters of Asopus, come from your father's\nwaves to add your maiden voices to our hymn, the victor's prize that\nHeracles hath won. O Pythian rock, with forests crowned, and haunts\nof the Muses on Helicon! make my city and her walls re-echo with cries\nof joy; where sprang the earth-born crop to view, a warrior-host with\nshields of brass, who are handing on their realm to children's children,\na light divine to Thebes.\n(antistrophe 2)\nAll hail the marriage! wherein two bridegrooms shared; the one, a\nmortal; the other, Zeus, who came to wed the maiden sprung from Perseus;\nfor that marriage of thine, O Zeus, in days gone by has been proved\nto me a true story beyond all expectation; and time hath shown the\nlustre of Heracles' prowess, who emerged from caverns 'neath the earth\nafter leaving Pluto's halls below. To me art thou a worthier lord\nthan that base-born king, who now lets it be plainly seen in this\nstruggle 'twixt armed warriors, whether justice still finds favour\nin heaven. (The spectres of MADNESS and IRIS appear from above. The\nCHORUS sees them.) Ha! see there, my old comrades! is the same wild\npanic fallen on us all; what phantom is this I see hovering o'er the\nhouse? Fly, fly, bestir thy tardy steps! begone! away! away! O saviour\nprince, avert calamity from me!\nIRIS Courage, old men! she, whom you see, is Madness, daughter of\nNight, and I am Iris, the handmaid of the gods. We have not come to\ndo your city any hurt, but against the house of one man only is our\nwarfare, even against him whom they call the son of Zeus and Alcmena.\nFor until he had finished all his grievous toils, Destiny was preserving\nhim, nor would father Zeus ever suffer me or Hera to harm him. But\nnow that he hath accomplished the labours of Eurystheus, Hera is minded\nto brand him with the guilt of shedding kindred blood by slaying his\nown children, and I am one with her. Come then, maid unwed, child\nof murky Night, harden thy heart relentlessly, send forth frenzy upon\nhim, confound his mind even to the slaying of his children, drive\nhim, goad him wildly on his mad career, shake out the sails of death,\nthat when he has sent o'er Acheron's ferry that fair group of children\nby his own murderous hand, he may learn to know how fiercely against\nhim the wrath of Hera burns and may also experience mine; otherwise,\nif he escape punishment, the gods will become as naught, while man's\npower will grow.\nMADNESS Of noble parents was I born, the daughter of Night, sprung\nfrom the blood of Uranus; and these prerogatives I hold, not to use\nthem in anger against friends, nor have I any joy in visiting the\nhomes of men; and fain would I counsel Hera, before I see her err,\nand thee too, if ye will hearken to my words. This man, against whose\nhouse thou art sending me, has made himself a name alike in heaven\nand earth; for, after taming pathless wilds and raging sea, he by\nhis single might raised up again the honours of the gods when sinking\nbefore man's impiety; wherefore I counsel thee, do not wish him dire\nmishaps.\nIRIS Spare us thy advice on Hera's and my schemes.\nMADNESS I seek to turn thy steps into the best path instead of into\nthis one of evil.\nIRIS 'Twas not to practice self-control that the wife of Zeus sent\nthee hither.\nMADNESS I call the sun-god to witness that herein I am acting against\nmy will; but if indeed I must forthwith serve thee and Hera and follow\nyou in full cry as hounds follow the huntsman, why go I will; nor\nshall ocean with its moaning waves, nor the earthquake, nor the thunderbolt\nwith blast of agony be half so furious as the headlong rush I will\nmake into the breast of Heracles; through his roof will I burst my\nway and swoop upon his house, after first slaying his children; nor\nshall their murderer know that he is killing his own-begotten babes,\ntill he is released from my madness. Behold him! see how even now\nhe is wildly tossing his head at the outset, and rolling his eyes\nfiercely from side to side without word; nor can he control his panting\nbreath; but like a bull in act to charge, he bellows fearfully, calling\non the goddesses of nether hell. Soon will I rouse thee to yet wilder\ndancing and sound a note of terror in thine ear. Soar away, O Iris,\nto Olympus on thy honoured course; while I unseen will steal into\nthe halls of Heracles. (IRIS and MADNESS vanish.)\nCHORUS (chanting) Alas! alas! lament, O city; the son of Zeus, thy\nfairest bloom, is being cut down.\nWoe is thee, Hellas! that wilt cast from thee thy benefactor, and\ndestroy him as he madly, wildly dances where no pipe is heard.\nShe is mounted on her car, the queen of sorrow and sighing, and is\ngoading on her steeds, as if for outrage, the Gorgon child of Night,\nwith hundred hissing serpent-heads, Madness of the flashing eyes.\nSoon hath the god changed his good fortune; soon will his children\nbreathe their last, slain by a father's hand.\nAh me! alas! soon will vengeance, mad, relentless, lay low by cruel\ndeath thy unhappy son, O Zeus, exacting a full penalty.\nAlas, O house! the fiend begins her dance of death without the cymbal's\ncrash, with no glad waving of the wine-god's staff.\nWoe to these halls toward bloodshed she moves, and not to pour libations\nof the juice of the grape.\nO children, haste to fly; that is the chant of death her piping plays.\nAh, yes! he is chasing the children. Never, ah! never will Madness\nlead her revel rout in vain.\nAh misery!\nAh me! how I lament that aged sire, that mother too that bore his\nbabes in vain.\nLook! look!\nA tempest rocks the house; the roof is falling with it.\nOh! what art thou doing, son of Zeus?\nThou art sending hell's confusion against thy house, as erst did Pallas\non Enceladus. (A MESSENGER enters from the palace.)\nMESSENGER Ye hoary men of eld!\nCHORUS Why, oh! why this loud address to me?\nMESSENGER Awful is the sight within!\nCHORUS No need for me to call another to announce that.\nMESSENGER Dead lie the children.\nCHORUS Alas!\nMESSENGER Ah weep! for here is cause for weeping.\nCHORUS A cruel murder, wrought by parents' hands!\nMESSENGER No words can utter more than we have suffered.\nCHORUS What, canst thou prove this piteous ruin was a father's outrage\non his children? Tell me how these heaven-sent woes came rushing on\nthe house; say how the children met their sad mischance.\nMESSENGER Victims to purify the house were stationed before the altar\nof Zeus, for Heracles had slain and cast from his halls the king of\nthe land. There stood his group of lovely children, with his sire\nand Megara; and already the basket was being passed round the altar,\nand we were keeping holy silence. But just as Alcmena's son was bringing\nthe torch in his right hand to dip it in the holy water, he stopped\nwithout a word. And as their father lingered, his children looked\nat him; and lo! he was changed; his eyes were rolling; he was distraught;\nhis eyeballs were bloodshot and starting from their sockets, and foam\nwas oozing down his bearded cheek. Anon he spoke, laughing the while\na madman's laugh, \"Father, why should I sacrifice before I have slain\nEurystheus, why kindle the purifying flame and have the toil twice\nover, when I might at one stroke so fairly end it all? Soon as I have\nbrought the head of Eurystheus hither, I will cleanse my hands for\nthose already slain. Spill the water, cast the baskets from your hands.\nHo! give me now my bow and club! To famed Mycenae will I go; crow-bars\nand pick-axes must I take, for I will heave from their very base with\niron levers those city-walls which the Cyclopes squared with red plumb-line\nand mason's tools.\"\nThen he set out, and though he had no chariot there, he thought he\nhad, and was for mounting to its seat, and using a goad as though\nhis fingers really held one. A twofold feeling filled his servants'\nbreasts, half amusement, and half fear; and one looking to his neighbour\nsaid, \"Is our master making sport for us, or is he mad?\" But he the\nwhile was pacing to and fro in his house; and, rushing into the men's\nchamber, he thought he had reached the city of Nisus, albeit he had\ngone into his own halls. So he threw himself upon the floor, as if\nhe were there, and made ready to feast. But after waiting a brief\nspace he began saying he was on his way to the plains amid the valleys\nof the Isthmus; and then stripping himself of his mantle, he fell\nto competing with an imaginary rival, o'er whom he proclaimed himself\nvictor with his own voice, calling on imaginary spectators to listen.\nNext, fancy carrying him to Mycenae, he was uttering fearful threats\nagainst Eurystheus. Meantime his father caught him by his stalwart\narm, and thus addressed him, \"My son, what meanest thou hereby? What\nstrange doings are these? Can it be that the blood of thy late victims\nhas driven thee frantic?\" But he, supposing it was the father of Eurystheus\nstriving in abject supplication to touch his hand, thrust him aside,\nand then against his own children aimed his bow and made ready his\nquiver, thinking to slay the sons of Eurystheus. And they in wild\naffright darted hither and thither, one to his hapless mother's skirts,\nanother to the shadow of a pillar, while a third cowered 'neath the\naltar like a bird. Then cried their mother, \"O father, what art thou\ndoing? dost mean to slay thy children?\" Likewise his aged sire and\nall the gathered servants cried aloud. But he, hunting the child round\nand round, the column, in dreadful circles, and coming face to face\nwith him shot him to the heart; and he fell upon his back, sprinkling\nthe stone pillars with blood as he gasped out his life. Then did Heracles\nshout for joy and boasted loud, \"Here lies one of Eurystheus' brood\ndead at my feet, atoning for his father's hate.\" Against a second\ndid he aim his bow, who had crouched at the altar's foot thinking\nto escape unseen. But ere he fired, the poor child threw himself at\nhis father's knees, and, flinging his hand to reach his beard or neck,\ncried, \"Oh! slay me not, dear father mine! I am thy child, thine own;\n'tis no son of Eurystheus thou wilt slay.\"\nBut that other, with savage Gorgon-scowl, as the child now stood in\nrange of his baleful archery, smote him on the head, as smites a smith\nhis molten iron, bringing down his club upon the fair-haired boy,\nand crushed the bones. The second caught, away he hies to add a third\nvictim to the other twain. But ere he could, the poor mother caught\nup her babe and carried him within the house and shut the doors; forthwith\nthe madman, as though he really were at the Cyclopean walls, prizes\nopen the doors with levers, and, hurling down their posts, with one\nfell shaft laid low his wife and child. Then in wild career he starts\nto slay his aged sire; but lo! there came a phantom,-so it seemed\nto us on-lookers,-Of Pallas, with plumed helm, brandishing a spear;\nand she hurled a rock against the breast of Heracles, which stayed\nhim from his frenzied thirst for blood and plunged him into sleep;\nto the ground he fell, smiting his back against a column that had\nfallen on the floor in twain when the roof fell in. Thereon we rallied\nfrom our flight, and with the old man's aid bound him fast with knotted\ncords to the pillar, that on his awakening he might do no further\nevil. So there he sleeps, poor wretch! a sleep that is not blest,\nhaving murdered wife and children; nay, for my part know not any son\nof man more miserable than he. (The MESSENGER withdraws.)\nCHORUS (singing) That murder wrought by the daughters of Danaus,\nwhereof my native Argos wots, was formerly the most famous and notorious\nin Hellas; but this hath surpassed and outdone those previous horrors.\nI could tell of the murder of that poor son of Zeus, whom Procne,\nmother of an only child, slew and offered to the Muses; but thou hadst\nthree children, wretched parent, and all of them hast thou in thy\nfrenzy slain. What groans or wails, what funeral dirge, or chant of\ndeath am I to raise? Alas and woe! see, the bolted doors of the lofty\npalace are being rolled apart. Ah me! behold these children lying\ndead before their wretched father, who is sunk in awful slumber after\nshedding their blood. Round him are bonds and cords, made fast with\nmany a knot about the body of Heracles, and lashed to the stone columns\nof his house. While he, the aged sire, like mother-bird wailing her\nunfledged brood, comes hasting hither with halting steps on his bitter\njourney. (The central doors of the palace have opened and have disclosed\nHERACLES lying asleep, bound to a shattered column. AMPHITRYON steps\nout. The following lines between AMPHITRYON and the CHORUS are chanted\nresponsively.)\nAMPHITRYON Softly, softly! ye aged sons of Thebes, let him sleep\non and forget his sorrows.\nCHORUS For thee, old friend, I weep and mourn, for the children too\nand that victorious chief.\nAMPHITRYON Stand further off, make no noise nor outcry, rouse him\nnot from his calm deep slumber.\nCHORUS O horrible! all this blood-\nAMPHITRYON Hush, hush! ye will be my ruin.\nCHORUS That he has spilt is rising up against him.\nAMPHITRYON Gently raise your dirge of woe, old friends; lest he wake,\nand, bursting his bonds, destroy the city, rend his sire, and dash\nhis house to pieces.\nCHORUS I cannot, cannot-\nAMPHITRYON Hush! let me note his breathing; come, let me put my ear\nclose.\nCHORUS Is he sleeping?\nAMPHITRYON Aye, that is he, a deathly sleep, having slain wife and\nchildren with the arrows of his twanging bow.\nCHORUS Ah! mourn-\nAMPHITRYON I do.\nCHORUS The children's death;\nAMPHITRYON Ah me!\nCHORUS And thy own son's doom.\nAMPHITRYON Ah misery!\nCHORUS Old friend-\nAMPHITRYON Hush! hush! he is turning, he is waking! Oh Oh! let me\nhide myself beneath the covert of yon roof.\nCHORUS Courage! darkness still broods o'er thy son's eye.\nAMPHITRYON Oh! beware; 'tis not that I shrink from leaving the light\nafter my miseries, poor wretch! but should he slay me that am his\nfather, then will he be devising woe on woe, and to the avenging curse\nwill add a parent's blood.\nCHORUS Well for thee hadst thou died in that day, when, to win thy\nwife, thou didst go forth to exact vengeance for her slain brethren\nby sacking the Taphians' sea-beat town.\nAMPHITRYON Fly, fly, my aged friends, haste from before the palace,\nescape his waking fury! For soon will he heap up fresh carnage on\nthe old, ranging wildly once more through the streets of Thebes.\nCHORUS O Zeus, why hast thou shown such savage hate against thine\nown son and plunged him in this sea of troubles?\nHERACLES (waking) Aha! my breath returns; I am alive; and my eyes\nsee, opening on the sky and earth and yon sun's darting beam; but\nhow my senses reel! in what strange turmoil am I plunged! my fevered\nbreath in quick spasmodic gasps escapes my lungs. How now? why am\nI lying here, made fast with cables like a ship, my brawny chest and\narms tied to a shattered piece of masonry, with corpses for my neighbours;\nwhile o'er the floor my bow and arrows are scattered, that erst like\ntrusty squires to my arm both kept me safe and were kept safe of me?\nSurely I am not come a second time to Hades' halls, having just returned\nfrom thence for Eurystheus? No, I do not see Sisyphus with his stone,\nor Pluto, or his queen, Demeter's child. Surely I am distraught; I\ncannot remember where I am. Ho, there! which of my friends is near\nor far to help me in my ignorance? For I have no clear knowledge of\nthings once familiar.\nAMPHITRYON My aged friends, shall I approach the scene of my sorrow?\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS Yes, and let me go with thee, nor desert thee\nin thy trouble.\nHERACLES Father, why dost thou weep and veil thy eyes, standing aloof\nfrom thy beloved son?\nAMPHITRYON My child! mine still, for all thy misery.\nHERACLES Why, what is there so sad in my case that thou dost weep?\nAMPHITRYON That which might make any of the gods weep, were he to\nsuffer so.\nHERACLES A bold assertion that, but thou art not yet explaining what\nhas happened.\nAMPHITRYON Thine own eyes see that, if by this time thou are restored\nto thy senses.\nHERACLES Fill in thy sketch if any change awaits my life.\nAMPHITRYON I will explain, if thou art no longer mad as a fiend of\nhell.\nHERACLES God help us! what suspicions these dark hints of thine again\nexcite!\nAMPHITRYON I am still doubtful whether thou art in thy sober senses.\nHERACLES I never remember being mad.\nAMPHITRYON Am I to loose my son, old friends, or what?\nHERACLES Loose and say who bound me; for I feel shame at this.\nAMPHITRYON Rest content with what thou knowest of thy woes; the rest\nforego.\nHERACLES Enough! I have no wish to probe thy silence.\nAMPHITRYON O Zeus, dost thou behold these deeds proceeding from the\nthrone of Hera?\nHERACLES What! have I suffered something from her enmity?\nAMPHITRYON A truce to the goddess! attend to thy own troubles.\nHERACLES I am undone; what mischance wilt thou unfold?\nAMPHITRYON See here the corpses of thy children.\nHERACLES O horror! what hideous sight is here? ah me!\nAMPHITRYON My son, against thy children hast thou waged unnatural\nwar.\nHERACLES War! what meanst thou? who killed these?\nAMPHITRYON Thou and thy bow and some god, whoso he be that is to\nblame.\nHERACLES What sayst thou? what have I done? Speak, father, thou messenger\nof evil.\nAMPHITRYON Thou wert distraught; 'tis a sad explanation thou art\nasking.\nHERACLES Was it I that slew my wife also?\nAMPHITRYON Thy own unaided arm hath done all this.\nHERACLES Ah, woe is me! a cloud of sorrow wraps me round.\nAMPHITRYON The reason this that I lament thy fate.\nHERACLES Did I dash my house to pieces or incite others thereto?\nAMPHITRYON Naught know I save this, that thou art utterly undone.\nHERACLES Where did my frenzy seize me? where did it destroy me?\nAMPHITRYON In the moment thou wert purifying thyself witb fire at\nthe altar.\nHERACLES Ah me! why do I spare my own life when I have taken that\nof my dear children? Shall I not hasten to leap from some sheer rock,\nor aim the sword against my heart and avenge my children's blood,\nor burn my body in the fire and so avert from my life the infamy which\nnow awaits me?\nBut hither I see Theseus coming to check my deadly counsels, my kinsman\nand friend. Now shall I stand revealed, and the dearest of my friends\nwill see the pollution I have incurred by my children's murder. Ah,\nwoe is me! what am I to do? Where can I find release from my sorrows?\nshall I take wings or plunge beneath the earth? Come, let me veil\nmy head in darkness; for I am ashamed of the evil I have done, and,\nsince for these I have incurred fresh blood-guiltiness, I would fain\nnot harm the innocent. (THESEUS and his retinue enter.)\nTHESEUS I am come, and others with me, young warriors from the land\nof Athens, encamped by the streams of Asopus, to help thy son, old\nfriend. For a rumour reached the city of the Erechtheidae, that Lycus\nhad usurped the sceptre of this land and was become your enemy even\nto battle. Wherefore I came making recompense for the former kindness\nof Heracles in saving me from the world below, if haply ye have any\nneed of such aid as I or my allies can give, old prince.\nHa! what means this heap of dead upon the floor? Surely I have not\ndelayed too long and come too late to check new ills? Who slew these\nchildren? whose wife is this I see? Boys do not go to battle; nay,\nit must be some other strange mischance I here discover. (The following\nlines between THESEUS and AMPHITRYON are chanted responsively.)\nAMPHITRYON O king, whose home is that olive-clad hill!\nTHESEUS Why this piteous prelude in addressing me?\nAMPHITRYON Heaven has afflicted us with grievous suffering.\nTHESEUS Whose be these children, o'er whom thou weepest?\nAMPHITRYON My own son's children, woe to him! their father and butcher\nboth was he, hardening his heart to the bloody deed.\nTHESEUS Hush good words only!\nAMPHITRYON I would I could obey!\nTHESEUS What dreadful words!\nAMPHITRYON Fortune has spread her wings, and we are ruined, ruined.\nTHESEUS What meanest thou? what hath he done?\nAMPHITRYON Slain them in a wild fit of frenzy with arrows dipped\nin the venom of the hundred-headed hydra.\nTHESEUS This is Hera's work; but who lies there among the dead, old\nman?\nAMPHITRYON My son, my own enduring son, that marched with gods to\nPhlegra's plain, there to battle with giants and slay them, warrior\nthat he was.\nTHESEUS Ah, woe for him! whose fortune was e'er so curst as his?\nAMPHITRYON Never wilt thou find another that hath borne a larger\nshare of suffering or been more fatally deceived.\nTHESEUS Why doth he veil his head, poor wretch, in his robe?\nAMPHITRYON He is ashamed to meet thine eye; his kinsman's kind intent\nand his children's blood make him abashed.\nTHESEUS But I come to sympathize; uncover him.\nAMPHITRYON My son, remove that mantle from thine eyes, throw it from\nthee, show thy fare unto the sun; a counterpoise to weeping is battling\nfor the mastery. In suppliant wise I entreat thee, as I grasp thy\nbeard, thy knees, thy hands, and let fall the tear from my old eyes.\nO my child! restrain thy savage lion-like temper, for thou art rushing\nforth on an unholy course of bloodshed, eager to join woe to woe.\nTHESEUS Ho! To thee I call who art huddled there in thy misery, show\nto they friends thy face; for no darkness is black enough to hide\nthy sad mischance. Why dost thou wave thy hand at me, signifying murder?\nis it that I may not be polluted by speaking with thee? If I share\nthy misfortune, what is that to me? For if I too had luck in days\ngone by, must refer it to the time when thou didst bring me safe from\nthe dead to the light of life. I hate a friend whose gratitude grows\nold; one who ready to enjoy his friends' prosperity but unwilling\nto sail in the same ship with them when their fortune lours. Arise,\nunveil thy head, poor wretch! and look on me. The gallant soul endures\nwithout a word such blows as heaven deals.\nHERACLES O Theseus, didst thou witness this struggle with my children?\nTHESEUS I heard of it, and now I see the horrors thou meanest.\nHERACLES Why then hast thou unveiled my head to the sun?\nTHESEUS Why have I? Thou, a man, canst not pollute what is of God.\nHERACLES Fly, luckless wretch, from my unholy taint.\nTHESEUS The avenging fiend goes not forth from friend to friend.\nHERACLES For this I thank thee; I do not regret the service I did\nthee.\nTHESEUS While I, for kindness then received, now show my pity for\nthee.\nHERACLES Ah yes! I am piteous, a murderer of my sons.\nTHESEUS I weep for thee in thy changed fortunes.\nHERACLES Didst ever find another more afflicted?\nTHESEUS Thy misfortunes reach from earth to heaven.\nHERACLES Therefore am I resolved on death.\nTHESEUS Dost thou suppose the gods attend to these thy threats?\nHERACLES Remorseless hath heaven been to me; so I will prove the\nlike to it.\nTHESEUS Hush! lest thy presumption add to thy sufferings.\nHERACLES My barque is freighted full with sorrow; there is no room\nto stow aught further.\nTHESEUS What wilt thou do? whither is thy fury drifting thee?\nHERACLES I will die and return to that world below whence I have\njust come.\nTHESEUS Such language is fit for any common fellow.\nHERACLES Ah! thine is the advice of one outside sorrow's pale.\nTHESEUS Are these indeed the words of Heracles, the much-enduring?\nHERACLES Though never so much as this. Endurance must have a limit.\nTHESEUS Is this man's benefactor, his chiefest friend?\nHERACLES Man brings no help to me; no! Hera has her way.\nTHESEUS Never will Hellas suffer thee to die through sheer perversity.\nHERACLES Hear me a moment, that I may enter the lists with words\nin answer to thy admonitions; and I will unfold to thee why life now\nas well as formerly has been unbearable to me. First I am the son\nof a man who incurred the guilt of blood, before he married my mother\nAlcmena, by slaying her aged sire. Now when the foundation is badly\nlaid at birth, needs must the race be cursed with woe; and Zeus, whoever\nthis Zeus may be, begot me as a butt for Hera's hate; yet be not thou\nvexed thereat, old man; for thee rather than Zeus do I regard as my\nfather. Then whilst I was yet being suckled, that bride of Zeus did\nfoist into my cradle fearsome snakes to compass my death. After I\nwas grown to man's estate, of all the toils I then endured what need\nto tell? of all the lions, Typhons triple-bodied, and giants that\nI slew; or of the battle I won against the hosts of four-legged Centaurs?\nor how when I had killed the hydra, that monster with a ring of heads\nwith power to grow again, I passed through countless other toils besides\nand came unto the dead to fetch to the light at the bidding of Eurystheus\nthe three-headed hound, hell's porter. Last, ah, woe is me have I\nperpetrated this bloody deed to crown the sorrows of my house with\nmy children's murder. To this sore strait am I come; no longer may\nI dwell in Thebes, the city that I love; for suppose I stay, to what\ntemple or gathering of friends shall I repair? For mine is no curse\nthat invites address. Shall I to Argos? how can I, when I am an exile\nfrom my country? Well, is there a single other city I can fly to?\nAnd if there were, am I to be looked at askance as a marked man, branded\nby cruel stabbing tongues, \"Is not this the son of Zeus that once\nmurdered wife and children? Plague take him from the land!\"\nNow to one who was erst called happy, such changes are a grievous\nthing; though he who is always unfortunate feels no such pain, for\nsorrow is his birthright. This, methinks, is the piteous pass I shall\none day come to; for earth will cry out forbidding me to touch her,\nthe sea and the river-springs will refuse me a crossing, and I shall\nbecome like Ixion who revolves in chains upon that wheel. Wherefore\nthis is best, that henceforth I be seen by none of the Hellenes, amongst\nwhom in happier days I lived in bliss. What right have I to live?\nwhat profit can I have in the possession of a useless, impious life?\nSo let that noble wife of Zeus break forth in dancing, beating with\nbuskined foot on heaven's bright floor; for now hath she worked her\nheart's desire in utterly confounding the chiefest of Hellas' sons.\nWho would pray to such a goddess? Her jealousy of Zeus for his love\nof a woman hath destroyed the benefactors of Hellas, guiltless though\nthey were.\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS This is the work of none other of the gods than\nthe wife of Zeus; thou art right in that surmise.\nTHESEUS I cannot counsel you to die rather than to go on suffering.\nThere is not a man alive that hath wholly 'scaped misfortune's taint,\nnor any god either, if what poets sing is true. Have they not intermarried\nin ways that law forbids? Have they not thrown fathers into ignominious\nchains to gain the sovereign power? Still they inhabit Olympus and\nbrave the issue of their crimes. And yet what shalt thou say in thy\ndefence, if thou, child of man, dost kick against the pricks of fate,\nwhile they do not? Nay, then, leave Thebes in compliance with the\nlaw, and come with me to the city of Pallas. There, when I have purified\nthee of thy pollution, will I give thee temples and the half of all\nI have. Yea, I will give thee all those presents I received from the\ncitizens for saving their children, seven sons and daughters seven,\non the day I slew the bull of Crete; for I have plots of land assigned\nme throughout the country; these shall henceforth be called after\nthee by men, whilst thou livest; and at thy death, when thou art gone\nto Hades' halls, the city of Athens shall unite in exalting thy honour\nwith sacrifices and a monument of stone. For 'tis a noble crown for\ncitizens to win from Hellas, even a reputation fair, by helping a\nman of worth. This is the return that I will make thee for saving\nme, for now art thou in need of friends. But when heaven delights\nto honour a man, he has no need of friends; for the god's aid, when\nhe chooses to give it, is enough.\nHERACLES Alas! this is quite beside the question of my troubles.\nFor my part, I do not believe that the gods indulge in unholy unions;\nand as for putting fetters on parents' hands, I have never thought\nthat worthy of belief, nor will I now be so persuaded, nor again that\none god is naturally lord and master of another. For the deity, if\nhe be really such, has no wants; these are miserable fictions of the\npoets. But I, for all my piteous plight, reflected whether I should\nlet myself be branded as a coward for giving up my life. For whoso\nschooleth not his frail mortal nature to bear fate's buffets as he\nought, will never be able to withstand even a man's weapon. I will\nharden my heart against death and seek thy city, with grateful thanks\nfor all thou offerest me. (He weeps.) Of countless troubles have\nI tasted, God knows, but never yet did faint at any or shed a single\ntear; nay, nor ever dreamt that I should come to this, to let the\ntear-drop fall. But now, it seems, I must be fortune's slave. Well,\nlet it pass; old father mine, thou seest me go forth to exile, and\nin me beholdest my own children's murderer. Give them burial and lay\nthem out in death with the tribute of a tear, for the law forbids\nmy doing so. Rest their heads upon their mother's bosom and fold them\nin her arms, sad pledges of our union, whom I, alas! unwittingly did\nslay. And when thou hast buried these dead, live on here still, in\nbitternes maybe, but still constrain thy soul to share my sorrows.\nO children! he who begat you, your own father, hath been your destroyer,\nand ye have had no profit of my triumphs, all my restless toil to\nwin you a fair name in life, a glorious guerdon from a sire. Thee\ntoo, unhappy wife, this hand hath slain, a poor return to make thee\nfor preserving mine honour so safe, for all the weary watch thou long\nhast kept within my house. Alas for you, my wife, my sons! and woe\nfor me, how sad my lot, cut off from wife and child! Ah! these kisses,\nbitter-sweet! these weapons which 'tis pain to own! I am not sure\nwhether to keep or let them go; dangling at my side they thus will\nsay, \"With us didst thou destroy children and wife; we are thy children's\nslayers, and thou keepest us.\" Shall I carry them after that? what\nanswer can I make? Yet, am I to strip me of these weapons, the comrades\nof my glorious career in Hellas, and put myself thereby in the power\nof my foes, to die a death of shame? No! I must not let them go, but\nkeep them, though it grieve me. In one thing, Theseus, help my misery;\ncome to Argos with me and aid in settling my reward for bringing Cerberus\nthither; lest, if I go all alone, my sorrow for my sons do me some\nhurt.\nO land of Cadmus, and all ye folk of Thebes! cut off your hair, and\nmourn with me; go to my children's burial, and with united dirge lament\nalike the dead and me; for on all of us hath Hera inflicted the same\ncruel blow of destruction.\nTHESEUS Rise, unhappy man! thou hast had thy fill of tears.\nHERACLES I cannot rise; my limbs are rooted here.\nTHESEUS Yea, even the strong are o'erthrown by misfortunes.\nHERACLES Ah! would I could grow into a stone upon this spot, oblivious\nof trouble!\nTHESEUS Peace! give thy hand to a friend and helper.\nHERACLES Nay, let me not wipe off the blood upon thy robe.\nTHESEUS Wipe it off and spare not; I will not say thee nay.\nHERACLES Reft of my own sons, I find thee as a son to me.\nTHESEUS Throw thy arm about my neck; I will be thy guide.\nHERACLES A pair of friends in sooth are we, but one a man of sorrows.\nAh! aged sire, this is the kind of man to make a friend.\nAMPHITRYON Blest in her sons, the country that gave him birth!\nHERACLES O Theseus, turn me back again to see my babes.\nTHESEUS What charm dost think to find in this to soothe thy soul?\nHERACLES I long to do so, and would fain embrace my sire.\nAMPHITRYON Here am I, my son; thy wish is no less dear to me.\nTHESEUS Hast thou so short a memory for thy troubles?\nHERACLES All that I endured of yore was easier to bear than this.\nTHESEUS If men see thee play the woman, they will scoff.\nHERACLES Have I by living grown so abject in thy sight? 'twas not\nso once, methinks.\nTHESEUS Aye, too much so; for how dost show thyself the glorious\nHeracles of yore?\nHERACLES What about thyself? what kind of hero wert thou when in\ntrouble in the world below?\nTHESEUS I was worse than anyone as far as courage went.\nHERACLES How then canst thou say of me, that I am abased by my troubles?\nTHESEUS Forward!\nHERACLES Farewell, my aged sire!\nAMPHITRYON Farewell to thee, my son!\nHERACLES Bury my children as I said.\nAMPHITRYON But who will bury me, my son?\nHERACLES I will.\nAMPHITRYON When wilt thou come?\nHERACLES After thou hast buried my children.\nAMPHITRYON How?\nHERACLES I will fetch thee from Thebes to Athens. But carry my children\nwithin, a grievous burden to the earth. And I, after ruining my house\nby deeds of shame, will follow in the wake of Theseus, totally destroyed.\nWhoso prefers wealth or might to the possession of good friends, thinketh\namiss. (THESEUS and his attendants lead HERACLES away.)\nCHORUS (chanting) With grief and many a bitter tear we go our way,\nrobbed of all we prized most dearly.\nTHE END","title":"Heracles, By Euripides","type":"page"}