{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_53487/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_53487","id":"gutenberg_53487","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53487","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Women in art","Women in literature"],"text":"WOMEN OF\n                              THE CLASSICS\n\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  PH\u00c6DRA\n\n  _Gertrude Demain Hammond, R.I._\n]\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                                WOMEN OF\n                              THE CLASSICS\n\n                          BY MARY C. STURGEON\n\n                       WITH SIXTEEN PHOTOGRAVURES\n                       PRESENTING STUDIES OF THE\n                          HEROINES OF THE BOOK\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n                                 LONDON\n                       GEORGE G. HARRAP & COMPANY\n                 2 & 3 PORTSMOUTH STREET KINGSWAY W.C.\n                                 MCMXIV\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n                               PRINTED AT\n                          THE BALLANTYNE PRESS\n                             LONDON ENGLAND\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\n_Contents_\n\n\n                                                                   PAGE\n INTRODUCTION                                                         9\n\n WOMEN OF HOMER\n      HELEN                                                          15\n      ANDROMACHE                                                     29\n      PENELOPE                                                       39\n      CIRCE                                                          60\n      CALYPSO                                                        73\n      NAUSICAA                                                       85\n\n\n WOMEN OF ATTIC TRAGEDY\n\n _I._ _\u00c6SCHYLUS_\n      CLYTEMNESTRA                                                   99\n      ELECTRA                                                       117\n      CASSANDRA                                                     135\n      IO                                                            148\n\n _II._ _SOPHOCLES_\n      JOCASTA                                                       163\n      ANTIGONE                                                      185\n\n _III._ _EURIPIDES_\n      ALCESTIS                                                      209\n      MEDEA                                                         227\n      PH\u00c6DRA                                                        243\n      IPHIGENIA                                                     256\n\n\n A WOMAN OF VIRGIL\n      DIDO                                                          273\n\n\n\n\n_Illustrations_\n\n\n       PH\u00c6DRA       GERTRUDE DEMAIN HAMMOND, R.I. _Frontispiece_\n                                                   _Facing page_\n       HELEN        LORD LEIGHTON                             20\n       ANDROMACHE   LORD LEIGHTON                             34\n       PENELOPE     PATTEN WILSON                             50\n       CIRCE        PATTEN WILSON                             66\n       CALYPSO      PATTEN WILSON                             82\n       NAUSICAA     PATTEN WILSON                             94\n       CLYT\u00c6MNESTRA HON. JOHN COLLIER                        114\n       ELECTRA      GERTRUDE DEMAIN HAMMOND, R.I.            128\n       CASSANDRA    SOLOMON J. SOLOMON, R.A.                 140\n       JOCASTA      GERTRUDE DEMAIN HAMMOND, R.I.            172\n       ANTIGONE     FROM THE STATUE BY HUGUES                192\n       ALCESTIS     LORD LEIGHTON                            224\n       MEDEA        HERBERT DRAPER                           238\n       IPHIGENIA    M. NONNENBRUCH                           260\n       DIDO         GIANBATTISTA TIEPOLO                     284\n\n\n\n\n_Introduction_\n\n\nThe women in this book are the heroines of Homer, of Attic Tragedy, and\nof the _\u00c6neid_ of Virgil. Their stories are taken out of the best modern\ntranslations of the old poems; and they are retold from the human\nstandpoint, with the minimum of critical comment.\n\nIt is curious, when we reflect a moment, how little we really know about\nthe women of the classics. Their names have been familiar to us as long\nas we can remember. We have always been vaguely conscious of a glory\nclothing them\u2014sometimes sombre and troubled, often gracious and serene,\noccasionally enchanting. About the greatest of them some floating hints\nof identity ripple on the surface of the mind. But we can by no means\nfit these little fragments into any clear outline of the sublime beauty\nof their originals. And when we light upon a reference to them in our\nreading, or stand before one of the innumerable works of art which they\nhave inspired, memory is baffled. We have no clue to the spell that they\nhave cast upon the centuries: the spell itself has no power over us; and\nwe grope in vain for the key which would admit us to a world of delight.\n\nThere were reasons for this state of affairs when translations were few\nand costly: when scholars were merely pedants and when the classics were\nsealed to women. But _nous avons chang\u00e9 tout cela_. Fine translations\ncan be bought for a few shillings. Women are themselves engaging in the\nstudy of the old languages and of the sciences which are akin to them.\nScholarship is growing more human; and the awakened spirit of womanhood,\nhaving become conscious of itself, cannot fail to be profoundly\ninterested in that earlier awakening which, twenty-five centuries ago,\nevoked creatures so splendid. Of the women of Attic Tragedy Professor\nGilbert Murray has said, in his _Rise of the Greek Epic_: \u201cConsider for\na moment the whole magnificent file of heroines in Greek Tragedy, both\nfor good and evil.... I doubt if there has ever in the history of the\nworld been a period, not even excepting the Elizabethan Age and the\nNineteenth Century, when such a gallery of heroic women has been\nrepresented in Drama.\u201d\n\nBy bringing these women together into a single volume, it is hoped to\nmake their stories easily accessible; and by quoting some of the most\nbeautiful passages from the poems in which they live, it is hoped to\nsend the reader back to the poets themselves. It has not been possible\nto include all the heroines in the available space; and several of those\nwho are missing have only been omitted under the direst necessity. But\nall the greatest are here; and an effort has been made to choose each\ngroup so that it shall represent as far as may be the characteristics of\nits own poet. The source of the story is indicated in each case, and has\nbeen closely followed.\n\nA word may be necessary on one or two points, to those who are coming to\nthese stories from the classics with an unfamiliar eye. It will be found\nthat there is a singular reticence here on that aspect of love which\nengrosses modern literature. It is occasionally treated by Euripides;\nbut even he handles the theme delicately and with reserve. Nowhere in\nthese stories\u2014with the exception of Dido, who of course belongs to a\nlater civilization than the Greek women\u2014is the love which leads to\nmarriage dealt with explicitly. It is implicit sometimes, and we who\nhave been born into a heritage of romanticism, may delightedly trace it\nout and make the most of it. But the old poet never does: indeed, he\nhardly seems to realize that he has put it there. He belongs to a time\nwhen women were not wooed and won, but literally bought \u2018with great\nstore of presents,\u2019 or acquired in other prosaic ways, which vary\naccording to the several epochs and their customs. The love of men and\nwomen is treated from the point of view of husband and wife, of sister\nand brother, of daughter and father, rather than from the standpoint of\nthe feverish hopes and fears of romantic passion. Marriage is not so\nmuch the culmination as the starting-point of an eventful story; and the\nheroic devotion of sister and daughter is crowned, no less than wifely\nfidelity, with everlasting honour. We must therefore be prepared for a\nchange from the warmth and glow of romance to the tonic air of a more\naustere idealism.\n\nAgain, these women are not the complex creatures of modern civilization.\nThe earliest of them, Homer\u2019s women, are drawn in outline only. They are\ngreat and splendid; and because they were created for an aristocratic\naudience, they are noble, dignified, and placed high above the small\nthings of common life. There is hardly any comedy in Homer, and reality\nis far away. When we come to the dramatists we find, as we should\nexpect, a great advance in characterization. The women are stronger,\nmore real, more complete. But they are still very far from the\npsychological subtlety of modern drama.\n\nThere is, too, a singular reticence about the personal appearance of the\nheroines. We are rarely told what manner of women they were to look at.\nVirgil comes one step nearer to our modern love of description when he\nportrays Dido as she rides out on the fatal morning of the hunt; and\nwhen he paints the glowing figure of Camilla as she rushes into battle.\nBut it would be very hard to discover what was the colour of Helen\u2019s\neyes, although the old German _Faustbuch_ of the Middle Age has dared to\nassert that they were \u2018black as coals.\u2019 Homer has a more excellent way.\nInstead of enumerating the charms of his heroine, as it were in a\ncatalogue of perfections, he brings her into the presence of hostile\nfolk, who on all counts have reason to hate her, and in a few vivid\nphrases shows the potent effect of her beauty upon them.\n\nWe shall find that the heroines have a system of ethics which is\ndifferent from that of our own day; and strange moral contradictions may\npresent themselves to our astonished eyes. Electra, with the tenderest\nlove for her dead father, will not rest until the death of her guilty\nmother has been compassed. Antigone, infinitely gentle to the blind\n\u0152dipus, is capable of resolute opposition to the law as it is embodied\nin Creon. But though the lines of moral demarcation are differently\nplaced, they are not blurred. Revenge is a duty in this primitive saga\nupon which the poets drew for their material; and in which there is much\nthat is savage and terrible.\n\nGreek drama was a religious ritual closely bound to ancient myth and\nheroic legend, from which the poets could not escape. Hence, if these\nstories are approached in an analytical mood, they will be found\nbarbarous and wildly improbable. If we give the rein to humour, we shall\nbe overcome by frequent absurdities. The best way is to come to them\nquite simply, leaving the comic and the critical spirits a little way\nbehind.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nGrateful thanks are due to the translators and publishers who have\nkindly given permission to quote the passages used herein; and the\nauthor wishes humbly to acknowledge the debt she owes to critical work\nin this field. She is especially conscious of help from Professor\nGilbert Murray in interpreting some of the Women of Tragedy. A note of\nthe sources of the quotations will be found at the end of each chapter.\n\n\n\n\n_Homer: Helen_\n\n\nIn the twilight of early Greek history, one event and one name blaze\nlike beacons. They are the siege of Troy and the name of Helen. They\nhave not come down to us as cold fact, but burning through a mist of\nlegend and poetry. The historian cannot name the date of the Trojan war;\nand the arch\u00e6ologist, whose labours have been so fruitful at Mycen\u00e6 and\nin Crete, can only point doubtfully to the ancient site of Troy.\n\nYet that event, and its cause, fair Helen of Sparta, may be said to mark\nthe beginning of national life for the Greeks. Perhaps it was more than\ntwo thousand years before Christ when all the little peoples of Greece\nfirst joined themselves against barbarian Asia. Troy fell; and although\nthe victory brought little material reward to the Greeks; though they\nsailed back to their island homes poorer and sadder than when they left,\nthey had in fact achieved momentous gains. For the struggle had first\ntaught them the strength of unity: it had launched them on their long\nand triumphant feud against barbarism; and it had laid the base from\nwhich they might go on to build, through the long, slow centuries, the\ncivilization that we inherit.\n\nThere was no historian to record the event. But it lived on, in memory\nand in legend; and as the people became more settled, wandering bards\nmade songs about it. The rich Mycen\u00e6n Age flourished and died; and the\nHomeric civilization took its place. Probably it was then that the\nfloating fragments of the Tale of Troy first were woven together,\nproviding material for the Homeric epics that we know as the _Iliad_ and\nthe _Odyssey_. Probably they were not written down at first. They were\ncomposed, and recited, in separate parts, in the halls of the great\nlords, who loved to look back on this glorious event of their national\nlife, and to hear the names of their remote and half-mythical ancestors\nbrought into the story. Thus Homer, no matter who he or his school may\nhave been, comes to represent a high stage of civilization. His poems\nhave a lofty tone, a chivalrous spirit, a sweet cleanliness of thought\nand of word, which do not belong to a primitive, uncivilized people.\nThey do not, as a fact, belong naturally to the early period of which he\nsings. In the time of that grim struggle before the dawn of history,\nthere must have been much that was ugly, dark and barbarous. This is\nproved to us by the survival of some of the older legends upon which\nHomer worked. They tell of unnatural crime and of deeds of horror such\nas he never mentions; and they give us, too, a very different\ninterpretation of the story of Helen. Homer puts aside all these\nvestiges of a primitive past. He is composing lays for a people who have\na keen sense of honour, a supreme ideal of beauty and a love of home;\nwho have a religious feeling strong enough to reverence the gods,\ndespite their many hieratic quarrels, and who hold womanhood in high\nesteem. So when we come to him to hear about Helen, we find a very sweet\nand gracious figure, quite unlike the Helen of the later poets. With\nthem she was degraded from her rank of demi-god. She was regarded as a\nreal figure, brought down to the level of ordinary existence, and judged\nby the common standard. The romantic charm of the Homeric conception\nfaded; and her name had for centuries an evil sound. It has passed\nthrough many vicissitudes since. In late Greek literature, one or two\npoets tried to return to the reverent attitude of Homer: but in the\nMiddle Ages she became again a byword and a reproach. At the\nRenaissance, something of her early worship as an ideal of beauty was\nrevived, and our own Marlowe has passionately expressed the thought of\nthat age about her:\n\n           _Was this the face that launched a thousand ships,\n           And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?\n           Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss....\n           Oh, thou art fairer than the evening air,\n           Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars._\n\nIt is this vision of Helen, as the supreme ideal of beauty, that modern\npoets and scholars have tried to recapture. They have put aside the\nvaried allegorical and ethical and realistic conceptions of her, as the\nefforts of a more sophisticated age; and they have tried to return\ndirectly to the fine simplicity of Homer himself. Only thus, they\nbelieve, can we stand at the right point of view with regard to Helen;\nand only thus can we see her as she was to the Greeks, a symbol of\nbeauty incorruptible. We, who have to make our own choice in the matter,\ncannot do better than try to stand at the point where the moderns have\nplaced us.\n\nWe come then at once to the Iliad, where, in the Third Book, Helen makes\nher first appearance in the world\u2019s literature. War has been raging\nround the walls of Troy for nearly ten years. Now a truce is called; and\nin the palace of the old king Priam, word goes round that Paris, the\nauthor of the long feud, is to fight in single combat with Menelaus,\nwhom he has wronged. For Paris had brought the bane of war upon Ilios.\nAt his birth, the oracles of the gods had demanded that he should die;\nand Priam, his father, sorrowfully handed over the wailing baby to the\npriest, to be exposed upon Mount Ida. But first he tied an old ring\nabout his neck; and when Paris was strangely saved from death, and grew\nup to be the fairest and strongest of all the shepherd youths on Ida, he\ncame one day by accident to Ilios. There, by means of the jewel hanging\nfrom his neck, he was made known as the son of the king. Thenceforward\nthe poor shepherd was the best beloved of all the princes. Life went\ngaily; and for a while he was utterly content. But he had left behind,\namidst the groves of Mount Ida, a sweet wood-nymph who loved him well,\nEnone. And when after a time he began to tire of life in the palace, he\nremembered her and thought longingly of the freshness and beauty of the\nmountain. So one day in summer he went to seek Enone. All day long he\nsearched the forest, but could not find her; and coming tired at evening\nto a fragrant glade, he fell asleep. When he awoke, night was hushed all\naround, and stars peeped through the slender branches overhead. It was\nmidnight and there was no moon; but it was not dark. The glade was\nfilled with a soft radiance such as he had never seen before, and when\nhe raised his wondering eyes, he saw the majestical figures of goddesses\nshining upon him: Hera, queen of Olympus, Athena, the wise maid of Zeus,\nand Aphrodite, the laughing goddess of love. Sweetly they smiled on him;\nand as he stood in wondering awe, the deep, rich tones of Hera sank upon\nhis spirit, promising him greatness and power, and the lordship over\nmany lands. Then Athena, resting her starlike gaze upon him, promised\nhim wisdom and courage; and Aphrodite, with a little mocking laugh at\npower and at wisdom, promised him the fairest woman in the world. Only,\nand this was to be the price of the gift, he was to be the arbiter\nbetween them: he was to declare which was most beautiful.\n\nThere was only one answer possible to Paris. Ambition had no lure for\nhim. Why fight and strive and spend the happy days in effort merely to\nbe called great? And wisdom had no appeal for him either; she seemed\naustere and cold. What had she to do with the joy and grace and\nsweetness that his soul loved? To the sublimity of Hera he bent in awe.\nThe shining purity of Athena smote his glance to the earth. But the\nvoice of Aphrodite wooed him, and her winsome smile set him trembling\nwith delight. He reached out to her the golden prize of beauty.\n\nSo Paris was to gain the fairest woman in the world. It seemed an honest\npromise, full of the happiest portent; and the young prince soon set out\nupon his search for a bride over the western seas. But Aphrodite was no\nbetter than a cheat, and had invoked on Paris, though he did not know it\nthen, the curse of guilty love. For the exquisite child who was to be\nthe world\u2019s queen of beauty had grown up in the home of Tyndareus, king\nof Sparta; and even while the goddess gave her word to Paris, was\nhappily married to Menelaus there. To her and to her husband Paris came\nin his wanderings, led unwittingly by the laughter-loving goddess, and\nclothed by her in beauty like a god. They feasted him and did him\nhonour; and sitting at the banquet which they made to him, he told the\nstrange tale of his life and his quest.\n\nHelen listened to his story with a sudden prescience of what was to\ncome; and rising softly, left the banqueting hall and went away to\nimplore the goddess to avert the doom. But she was no match for\nAphrodite. Anger and entreaty could not move the wanton Olympian, but\nshe would grant one boon\u2014Helen should be oblivious of all her past.\nUnder the spell, the love of husband and child faded out; and even the\nmemory of them vanished when on that spring morning in the garden of the\npalace, Paris met her beside the stream, \u2018\u2019twixt the lily and the rose.\u2019\n\n            _Then either looked on other with amaze\n            As each had seen a god; for no long while\n            They marvell\u2019d, but as in the first of days,\n            The first of men and maids did meet and smile,\n            And Aphrodite did their hearts beguile,\n            So hands met hands, lips lips, with no word said\n            Were they enchanted \u2018neath the leafy aisle,\n            And silently were wooed, betroth\u2019d and wed._[1]\n\nTogether they fled in the dewy morning, Paris urging his horses with\nguilty haste to the ships. And there, with Menelaus thundering along the\nroad after them, they set sail for Troy, fulfilling the old prophecy,\nand lighting a brand by their deed which should burn the sacred city to\nthe ground. For Tyndareus, when he chose a husband for Helen amongst her\nmany suitors, had won a promise that they would all defend the one who\ngained her. Agamemnon, brother to Menelaus, and the great overlord of\nthe Hellenic princes, now summoned the allies to avenge his brother, and\nfor ten years they toiled at fitting out a fleet. Then they \u2018launched a\nthousand ships,\u2019 and sailed to punish Ilios for the sin of Paris.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  HELEN OF TROY\n\n  _Lord Leighton_\n\n  _By permission of Henry Graves & Co Ltd_\n]\n\nMeantime, Helen had wakened sadly from the spell of Aphrodite. Little by\nlittle memory of her home came back, and with it came remorse. She was\nlonely too, and disillusion crept upon her. The Trojans, who at first\nhad welcomed her as a goddess, soon began to look askance at her when\nrumours came of the great siege that was preparing. Mothers and wives of\nthe Trojan princes held aloof; and soon the only friends left to her\nwere the kind old king and Hector, the noble defender of the city. But\nthere was worse behind. Little by little the truth dawned that Paris,\nfor whom she had lost so much, and who had seemed so godlike in his\nstrength and beauty, was very poor humanity indeed. The story of Enone\nwas told to her; and that showed him unfaithful. And when the Leaguer\nactually lay beneath the walls, she soon found that Paris was a coward\ntoo.\n\nNow, in this Third Iliad, we find that the cruel siege had wasted Troy\nfor nearly ten years. The armies, reduced by death and pestilence and\nfamine, were beginning to murmur against the worthless cause of all\ntheir misery; and Paris, for very shame, could no longer shelter himself\nwithin the city. At this eleventh hour he issued out to meet Menelaus in\nsingle combat. Helen was sitting in her inner hall, weaving a purple web\nand embroidering upon it the battle scenes which ebbed and flowed around\nthe walls. Time and sorrow had only given her beauty an added charm. She\nwas still young, fresh, and exquisitely fair, as on that spring morning\nin Lacedaemon when Aphrodite graced her for the meeting with Paris. To\nher, as her sweet face bent over the web, the goddess Iris brought the\nnews of the impending combat: \u201cThey that erst waged tearful war upon\neach other in the plain, eager for deadly battle, even they sit now in\nsilence, and the battle is stayed, and they lean upon their shields, and\nthe tall spears are planted by their sides. But Paris and Menelaus dear\nto Ares will fight with their tall spears for thee; and thou wilt be\ndeclared the dear wife of him that conquereth.\u201d\n\nAt the name of Menelaus a wave of homesickness filled Helen\u2019s heart.\nGreat tears flooded her eyes, and drawing on a shining veil, she left\nher embroideries and hastened out to the Skaian gates to watch the duel.\nBut there, sitting upon the tower, were Priam and his counsellors; and\nHelen and her maids hesitated at sight of them. They were feeble old\nmen. The fire and strength of youth had gone, leaving in their place the\ncold wisdom of age. They and their people had suffered deeply because of\nHelen; and they had every cause to hate her. Yet as she approached,\nveiled and slackening her pace from fear when she saw them, all their\nwrongs were forgotten in wonderment at her beauty. They who had potent\nreasons to revile her were saying softly among themselves, almost in\nawe, as those who had seen a vision: \u201c\u2019Small blame is it that Trojans\nand well-greaved Achaians should for such a woman long time suffer\nhardships; marvellously like is she to the immortal goddesses to look\nupon.\u2019 ... So said they; and Priam lifted up his voice and called to\nHelen: \u2018Come hither, dear child, and sit before me, that thou mayst see\nthy former husband and thy kinsfolk and thy friends. I hold thee not to\nblame; nay, I hold the gods to blame who brought on me the dolorous war\nof the Achaians\u2019.\u201d \u201cAnd Helen, fair among women, spake, and answered\nhim: \u2018Reverend art thou to me and dread, dear father of my lord. Would\nthat sore death had been my pleasure when I followed thy son hither, and\nleft my home and my kinsfolk and my daughter in her girlhood and the\nlovely company of mine age-fellows. But that was not so, wherefore I\npine with weeping\u2019.\u201d[2]\n\nThen Helen pointed out to the king and the elders the great heroes of\nthe Greek line: \u201cThis is wide-ruling Agamemnon, one that is both a\ngoodly king and mighty spearman. And he was husband\u2019s brother to me, ah\nshameless me; if ever such an one there was.\u201d Odysseus, too, and Ajax\nand Idomeneus, she can see; but two whom her eyes seek longingly are not\nthere, her twin brothers, Castor and Pollux. \u201cEither they came not in\nthe company from lovely Lacedaemon; or they came hither indeed in their\nseafaring ships, but now will not enter into the battle of the warriors,\nfor fear of the many scornings and revilings that are mine.\u201d[2]\n\nPresently, Paris and Menelaus are engaged in fight below the walls, with\nHelen looking on from above in fearful expectancy. It was an unequal\nfight. Aphrodite had joined the side of Paris; and when, despite her\ntricks, Menelaus was gaining on his opponent, the goddess enveloped\nParis in a cloud and carried him off. In plain words, he ran away; and\nHelen, shamed and indignant, received a summons from Aphrodite to go to\nher cowardly lover. She turned in wrath upon the goddess: \u201cStrange\nqueen, why art thou desirous now to beguile me? Go and sit thou by his\nside, and depart from the way of the gods; neither let thy feet ever\nbear thee back to Olympus, but still be vexed for his sake and guard him\ntill he make thee his wife or perchance his slave. But thither will I\nnot go\u2014that were a sinful thing\u2014to array the bed of him; all the women\nof Troy will blame me hereafter; and I have griefs untold within my\nsoul.\u201d[2]\n\nAphrodite triumphs, however, menacing Helen with terrible threats; and\nleads her back to the house of Paris. Meanwhile, the gods \u2018on golden\npavement round the board of Zeus\u2019 had decreed that Troy should fall:\nHera and Athena were to wreak their vengeance upon it, for the insult of\nParis. The truce broken, the armies rushed into conflict again, and two\nof the gods who were warring for Troy, were driven back to Olympus. Then\nHector came into the palace to rouse his brother, and found him sitting\nin Helen\u2019s room, polishing his armour. To the scornful reproaches of\nHector, Paris gave only puerile answers, and Helen turned from him to\nHector in passionate scorn. \u201cDear brother mine, would that on the day\nthat my mother bare me, a billow of the loud-sounding sea might have\nswept me away before all these things came to pass. Howbeit, seeing that\nthe gods devised all these ills in this wise, would that then I had been\nmated with a better man, that felt dishonour and the multitude of men\u2019s\nreproachings. But as for him, neither has he now sound heart, nor ever\nwill have; therefore deem I moreover that he will reap the fruit.\u201d[2]\n\nHector answered her with a gentle word, and went out, bearing on his\nshoulders the doom of Troy. In his chivalrous kindness to Helen, he is a\nworthy son of Priam; and when he was slain at last, fighting for his\nbeloved city alone with the terrible Achilles, Helen joined her lament\nto those of his mother and his wife, in perhaps the most noble tribute\nto his memory: \u201cHector, of all my brethren of Troy, far dearest to my\nheart. Truly my lord is godlike Paris who brought me to Troy-land; would\nthat I had died ere then. For this is now the twentieth year since I\nwent thence and am gone from my own native land, but never yet heard I\nevil or despiteful word from thee; nay, if any other haply upbraided me\nin the palace halls, whether brother or sister of thine or brother\u2019s\nfair-robed wife, or thy mother, then wouldst thou soothe such with words\nand refrain them, by the gentleness of thy spirit and by thy gentle\nwords. Therefore bewail I thee with pain at heart, and my hapless self\nwith thee, for no more is any left in wide Troy-land to be my friend and\nkind to me, but all men shudder at me.\u201d[2]\n\nAlmost with these words the poem closes, telling us nothing of the\ndreadful sack of Troy by the Achaians, after they had entered the city\nthrough the device of the wooden horse. Our last glimpse of Helen in the\nIliad is as she wails her mournful threnos over the body of Hector.\n\n          _And Helen\u2019s sorrow brake into lament\n          As bursts a lake the barriers of a hill,\n          For lost, lost, lost was that one friend who still\n          Stood by her with kind speech and gentle heart._[1]\n\nWe hear no word of the Greek calamity in the fall of Achilles, or how\nParis was slain by the arrow of the outcast Philoctetes, with perfect\npoetical justice. Nothing is told of the massacre of Priam and his sons;\nof the burning of the city; of the carrying off of its wealth and of its\nfair women when the Greeks, sated with revenge at last, set sail for\nArgos. And we hear no word of the most amazing fact of all\u2014the\nreconciliation of Helen and Menelaus. We know from the _Odyssey_ that\nthey were reconciled, but how, Homer does not say. Legend and song have\nbeen busy with the theme, however, and the most beautiful story has been\nwoven by Andrew Lang into his _Helen of Troy_. There we see how\nAphrodite in the midst of the slaughter and outrage, led Helen in safety\nto the ships, while Menelaus raged through the city seeking her, grimly\ndetermined to give her over to the vengeance of the army.\n\n            _But Helen found he never where the flame\n            Sprang to the roofs, and Helen ne\u2019er he found\n            Where flocked the wretched women in their shame\n            The helpless altars of the gods around...._\n\n            _So wounded to his hut and wearily\n            Came Menelaus; and he bowed his head\n            Beneath the lintel neither fair nor high;\n            And lo, queen Helen lay upon his bed,\n            Flush\u2019d like a child asleep, and rosy-red,\n            And at his footstep did she wake and smile,\n            And spake: \u201cMy lord, how hath thy hunting sped?\n            Methinks that I have slept a weary while.\u201d_[1]\n\nLulled again by the arts of Aphrodite, Helen has completely forgotten\nall that has happened in the dreadful interval of the years since she\nlast fell asleep at Lacedaemon. But Menelaus feels the fierce anger rise\nin his heart against her. He seizes and binds her, and carries her off\nto deliver her to the vengeance of the people. He reminds them of all\nthey have endured and suffered, and calls upon them to mete to her the\njust death for such an one as she. But when the soldiers in their rage\nwould have stoned her; when Menelaus rushed upon her with uplifted\nspear, Aphrodite drew the veil from before her matchless face.\n\n            _And as in far-off days that were to be,\n            The sense of their own sin did men constrain,\n            That they must leave the sinful woman free\n            Who, by their law, had verily been slain,\n            So Helen\u2019s beauty made their anger vain,\n            And one by one their gathered flints let fall;\n            And like men shamed they stole across the plain,\n            Back to the swift ships and their festival._[1]\n\nSo Helen went home to Lacedaemon again, the dear wife of Menelaus. And\nwhen we take up the second great Homeric epic, the _Odyssey_, we find\nher the serene and gracious hostess of young Telemachus. All the hateful\npast is purged away, and chaste as the moon-goddess,\n\n            _Forth of her high-roofed, odorous chamber came\n              Helen, like golden-shafted Artemis._[3]\n\nShe still remembers the horror of those days; and when Menelaus is\nwondering who the stranger prince is who has sought their hospitality,\nHelen\u2019s quick wit perceives how like he is to Odysseus. Is not this, she\nasks, the son whom Odysseus left in his house as a new-born child when\nthe war began?\n\n              \u201c_And for the sake of me who knew not shame\n              Under Troy town your host Achaean came._\u201d[3]\n\nIt is indeed the son of Odysseus; and by the irony of fate he has come\nto inquire from the very author of his sorrows, news of the father who,\nfor aught Helen knows, has long ago been driven by Poseidon to the House\nof Hades.\n\n              _Wept Argive Helen, child of Zeus, and wept\n              Telemachus, and with him at the word\n              Wept Menelaus._[3]\n\nBut the ready tears of heroes are soon dried. They cheer Telemachus so\nfar as they may by tales of his father\u2019s craft and courage before Troy;\nand Helen mixes for him the cup of Nepenthe, which steeps memory in a\nmist and banishes care and calls a smile to the lips. She does not\nherself taste of the magic drink, however; she has no wish to forget.\nSecure now in the peace of home and enfolded by generous forgiveness,\nshe will always remember, until she comes to pass through Lethe on her\nway to the Elysian fields. And there, when the time came, she was\ntranslated \u2018where falls not rain, or hail, or any snow.\u2019 A shrine was\nbuilt to her, and Greek men and maidens worshipped her as one of the\nimmortal gods themselves.\n\n         _O\u2019er Helen\u2019s shrine the grass is growing green,\n         In desolate Therapnae; none the less\n         Her sweet face now unworshipped and unseen\n         Abides the symbol of all loveliness,\n         Of Beauty ever stainless in the stress\n         Of warring lusts and fears; and still divine,\n         Still ready with immortal peace to bless\n         Them that with pure hearts worship at her shrine._[1]\n\n-----\n\nFootnote 1:\n\n  From Mr Andrew Lang\u2019s _Helen of Troy_ (G. Bell and Sons Ltd.).\n\nFootnote 2:\n\n  From Messrs Lang, Leaf, and Myers\u2019s translation of the _Iliad_\n  (Macmillan and Co. Ltd.).\n\nFootnote 3:\n\n  From Professor J. W. Mackail\u2019s translation of the _Odyssey_ (John\n  Murray).\n\n\n\n\n_Homer: Andromache_\n\n\nAndromache was the young wife of Hector, Priam\u2019s warrior son and\ndefender of Troy. Over against the figure of Helen in the _Iliad_ her\ngentle integrity stands in mute reproach. It is as though Homer, whose\nchivalry to Helen will not permit him to censure her, yet feels the\nclaim of a larger chivalry\u2014to womanhood itself. So he seems impelled to\ncreate this type of gracious purity, vindicating wifely honour and\nmotherly tenderness; and proving at the same time that if his race had a\nhigh ideal of beauty, it had also a profound regard for domestic ties.\n\nHelen and Andromache, therefore, stand side by side in the action of the\npoem. Their destinies are linked: their lives are passed within the same\nwalls: they own the same relationship to king Priam and to Hecuba the\nqueen; and they are united in suffering. But always they are as far\napart in spirit as conscious guilt on the one hand and indignant\nrectitude on the other ever held two daughters of Eve. Andromache, like\nall the men and women of heroic poetry, was very human. And we have the\nfeeling that she could not rise to Hector\u2019s generosity toward the\nSpartan woman for whose sake Paris had brought the war on Ilios. Perhaps\nthe reason was that she had suffered more deeply on Helen\u2019s account. And\nif she had joined in those reproaches which Helen wailed about in her\nthrenos over Hector\u2019s body, it was from bitter cause.\n\nAndromache had been happy, and a princess, in her girlhood days, before\nParis brought a Greek bride from Sparta. Her father was E\u00ebtion, king of\nThebes, in \u2018wooded Plakos\u2019; and in those times she had a gentle mother\nand seven strong brothers. But the Greeks came, and in the long years\nwhen the Leaguer lay beneath Troy, their terrible hero Achilles had\nravaged the countries around, and had taken the city of Thebes. He had\nslain E\u00ebtion her father and the seven fine youths who were her brothers.\nHer mother, too, though ransomed from the Greeks for a great price, had\ndied of grief; and Andromache, utterly forlorn, had found refuge in the\nhalls of Priam. She found a mate there too; and in the love of Hector,\nher father and mother and brothers were all given back to her.\n\nHomer makes the tender devotion of this noble pair stand out in gracious\ncontrast to the stormy passion of Paris and Helen. Yet he does not tell\nus much about Andromache. He does not describe her\u2014indeed, he very\nrarely draws a picture of his women\u2014but we know that she is beautiful.\nIn some subtle way there is left on our mind an impression of blended\ngrace and dignity, of sweetness and tenderness and fidelity; but we are\nnot directly told that she possesses these qualities. We do not even see\nher till, in the Sixth Book of the _Iliad_, the time has come for her to\npart from her husband.\n\nThe Greeks were at the very gates of Troy, and the last phase had come\nfor the sacred city. Diomedes had driven their god Ares from the field,\nbellowing with the pain of a wound; and Hector, who saw the end was\ncoming, hurried into the palace to rouse his followers and beg the queen\nto pray for the cause of Troy in the Temple of Athena. Then, before\nreturning to the fight, he snatched the opportunity to see his wife and\nchild once more. At first he could not find them. Andromache was not in\nthe palace, nor in the Temple of Athena where the matrons of the city\nwere propitiating the goddess. She had heard that the Trojans were hard\npressed, and in fear for her husband she had gone down to the tower to\nwatch the battle from the walls.\n\n\u201cHector hastened from his house back by the same way down the\nwell-builded streets. When he had passed through the great city and was\ncome to the Skaian gates, whereby he was minded to issue upon the plain,\nthere came his dear-won wife running to meet him.... So she met him now,\nand with her went the handmaid bearing in her bosom the tender boy, the\nlittle child, Hector\u2019s loved son, like unto a beautiful star.... So now\nhe smiled and gazed at his boy silently, and Andromache stood by his\nside weeping, and clasped her hand in his, and spake and called upon his\nname. \u2018Dear my lord, this thy hardihood will undo thee, neither hast\nthou any pity for thine infant boy, nor for me forlorn that soon shall\nbe thy widow; for soon will the Achaeans all set upon thee and slay\nthee. But it were better for me to go down to the grave if I lose thee;\nfor never more will any comfort be mine, when once thou, even thou, hast\nmet thy fate, but only sorrow\u2019.\u201d[4]\n\nSo she weeps to him, forgetting the heroic, as heroes often do in\noverwhelming human sorrow. Hector is human too; and as she pours out all\nthe pleas that touch him most nearly\u2014her love for him, his love for her,\nand their mutual love for their child\u2014he cannot utter the reply of the\nsoldier and defender of his people. Andromache thinks she sees an\ninstant of wavering in his eyes; she catches at it wildly, and rushes on\nto tell of a place where he and his men may screen themselves from the\nenemy. But that word has lost her cause. Hector\u2019s great refusal is brave\nand gentle: \u201cSurely ... I have very sore shame ... if like a coward I\nshrink away from battle. Moreover mine own soul forbiddeth me.... Yea of\na surety I know ... the day shall come for holy Ilios to be laid low....\nYet doth the anguish of the Trojans hereafter not so much trouble me,\nneither Hekabe\u2019s own, neither king Priam\u2019s, neither my brethren\u2019s ... as\ndoth thine anguish in the day when some mail-clad Achaian shall ... rob\nthee of the light of freedom.... But me in death may the heaped-up earth\nbe covering, ere I hear thy crying and thy carrying into captivity.\u201d[4]\n\nAndromache can find no answer, and there is silence between them as\nHector turns to caress his boy. But the child shrinks to his nurse in\nfear of the shining helmet and nodding crest; and the parents laugh\nthrough their tears.\n\n\u201cThen his dear father laughed aloud, and his lady mother; forthwith\nglorious Hector took the helmet from his head, and laid it, all\ngleaming, upon the earth; then kissed he his dear son and dandled him in\nhis arms, and spake in prayer to Zeus and all the gods, ... \u2018Vouchsafe\nye that this my son may likewise prove even as I, pre-eminent amid the\nTrojans, and as valiant in might, and be a great king of Ilios. May men\nsay of him, \u201cFar greater is he than his father,\u201d as he returneth from\nbattle; ... and may his mother\u2019s heart be glad\u2019.\u201d[4]\n\nIn his warrior-prayer Andromache cannot join; and to us who know the\nfate of Hector\u2019s son, there is appalling irony in this appeal to the\ngods. She takes her boy into her arms, smiling tearfully.\n\n\u201cAnd her husband had pity to see her, and caressed her with his hand and\nspake and called upon her name: \u2018Dear one, I pray thee be not of\nover-sorrowful heart; no man against my fate shall hurl me to Hades....\nBut go thou to thine house and see to thine own tasks ... but for war\nshall men provide, and I in chief of all men that dwell in Ilios.\u2019\n\n\u201cSo spake glorious Hector, and took up his horsehair-crested helmet; and\nhis dear wife departed to her home, oft looking back, and letting fall\nbig tears.\u201d[4]\n\nBut the end had not quite come for Hector and his beloved Troy. For a\ntime the tide of battle rolled back against the Greeks, and while\nAchilles fumed idly in his tent, Hector pressed upon them until he had\nforced them back to their ships. The immortals came into the field\nagain; and success swayed to one or the other side, as Zeus to the\nTrojans or Hera to the Greeks lent aid. Then Hector slew Patroclus, the\ndear friend of Achilles; and that event drew the Greek hero forth at\nlast, raging in grief and anger. Furnished with new armour by his\ngoddess-mother Thetis, Achilles went out against the Trojans like a\ndestroying flame. He drove them into the city with terrible slaughter;\nand then faced Hector alone outside the Skaian gates, and slew him\nthere.\n\nMeanwhile Andromache had won a little hope again, from the past few days\nof success to the Trojan arms. She knew nothing of the duel, and her\nhusband\u2019s fate at the hands of Achilles; but was sitting quietly within\nher hall, while the maids prepared warm baths for his return.\n\n\u201cThen she called to her goodly-haired maids through the house to set a\ngreat tripod on the fire, that Hector might have warm washing when he\ncame home out of the battle\u2014fond heart, and was unaware how, far from\nall washings, bright-eyed Athene had slain him by the hand of Achilles.\nBut she heard shrieks and groans from the battlements, and her limbs\nreeled, and the shuttle fell from her hands to the earth. Then again\namong her goodly haired maids she spake: \u2018Come two of ye this way with\nme that I may see what deeds are done ... terribly I dread lest noble\nAchilles have cut off bold Hector from the city by himself and chased\nhim to the plain and ere this ended his perilous pride that possessed\nhim, for never would he tarry among the throng of men but ran out before\nthem far, yielding place to no man in his hardihood.\u2019\n\n\u201cThus saying she sped through the chamber like one mad, with beating\nheart, and with her went her handmaidens. But when she came to the\nbattlements and the throng of men, she stood still upon the wall and\ngazed, and beheld him dragged before the city:\u2014swift horses dragged him\nrecklessly toward the hollow ships of the Achaians. Then dark night came\non her eyes and shrouded her, and she fell backward and gasped forth her\nspirit.\u201d[4]\n\nWe must not dwell upon the grim vengeance which Achilles took upon the\ndead body of Hector, for the life of his friend; nor the wonderful\nfuneral rites for Patroclus; nor the pitiful story of old Priam\u2019s visit\nto Achilles at dead of night, to beg for the body of his great son:\n\n              _Before the throne of great Achilles see\n              The broken king kissing the deadly hands\n              Whereby his house is left him desolate._[4]\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  CAPTIVE ANDROMACHE\n\n  _Lord Leighton_\n\n  _By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co. 133 New Bond St. W._\n]\n\nBut when the poor insulted body was at last recovered, all the city went\nout to meet it and bring it in with lamentation. Andromache led the\nwomen, wailing in her grief: \u201cHusband, thou art gone young from life,\nand leavest me a widow in thy halls. And the child is yet but a little\none, child of ill-fated parents, thee and me; nor methinks shall he grow\nup to manhood, for ere then shall this city be utterly destroyed. For\nthou art verily perished who didst watch over it, who guardest it and\nkeptest safe its noble wives and infant little ones. These soon shall be\nvoyaging in the hollow ships, yea and I too with them, and thou, my\nchild, shalt either go with me unto a place where thou shalt toil at\nunseemly tasks, labouring before the face of some harsh lord, or else\nsome Achaian will take thee by the arm and hurl thee from the\nbattlement, a grievous death.... And woe unspeakable and mourning hast\nthou left to thy parents, Hector, but with me chiefliest shall grievous\npain abide. For neither didst thou stretch thy hands to me from a bed in\nthy death, neither didst speak to me some memorable word that I might\nhave thought on evermore as my tears fall night and day.\u201d[4]\n\nAndromache\u2019s foreboding was only too completely fulfilled, for although\nHomer does not tell us of it, we know that when the truce for Hector\u2019s\nfuneral was over, Troy fell into the hands of the Greeks. The horrors of\nthat day are related over and over again by the poets\u2014the ruthless\nmassacre of Priam and his sons, the capture of the women and children\nand the burning of the city. Euripides tells us in his _Troades_ what\nbefell Andromache. This drama, written centuries after the _Iliad_, has\nbeen called by Professor Gilbert Murray, \u201cthe first great expression of\npity for mankind in European literature.\u201d The subject was, indeed, one\nto evoke profoundest pity, and the poet, reflective and humane, seems to\nselect it purposely to reveal the dreadful underside of war. He brings\nthe figure of Hecuba upon the stage, weighed down under innumerable\nwoes: Cassandra, too, in a dark prophetic frenzy, foretelling her own\ndoom and that of Agamemnon: Helen, confronted at last by Menelaus; and\nAndromache, borne in the chariot of her captor, with the baby Astyanax\nin her arms.\n\nLEADER OF CHORUS.      _O most forlorn\n             Of women, whither go\u2019st thou, borne\n             Mid Hector\u2019s bronzen arms, and piled\n             Spoils of the dead, and pageantry\n             Of them that hunted Ilion down?_\n\nANDROMACHE.  _Forth to the Greek I go,\n             Driven as a beast is driven._\n\nHECUBA.      _Woe! Woe!..._\n\nANDROMACHE.  _Mother of him of old, whose mighty spear\n             Smote Greeks like chaff, see\u2019st thou what things are here?_\n\nHECUBA.      _I see God\u2019s hand, that buildeth a great crown\n             For littleness, and hath cast the mighty down...._\n\nANDROMACHE.       _O my Hector! best beloved,\n             That, being mine, wast all in all to me,\n             My prince, my wise one, O my majesty\n             Of valiance!..._\n\n                                       _Thou art dead,\n             And I war-flung to slavery and the bread\n             Of shame in Hellas, over bitter seas._[5]\n\nBut the crowning horror remains. As Andromache and the queen are taking\nmournful leave of each other, a hurried messenger arrives from the Greek\nleaders. His message is almost too dreadful to utter; but he stammers it\nat last\u2014the victors have resolved that Andromache\u2019s son must die. They\nwill spare no slip of Priam\u2019s stock to be a future menace; and Astyanax\nis to be cast down therefore from the city towers.\n\nTo Andromache it is an appalling blow, worse than all that she has yet\nsuffered. She cannot realize it at first, and answers the herald in\nbroken, incredulous phrases. But when the man, ruefully trying to soothe\nher meanwhile, at last makes it clear to her that her child must die,\nall her gentleness is suddenly swept away in fierce wrath against her\nenemies.\n\n              \u201c_O, ye have found an anguish that outstrips\n              All tortures of the East, ye gentle Greeks!\n              Why will ye slay this innocent, that seeks\n              No wrong?_\u201c[5]\n\nHer own wrongs, though deep and shameful, she could bear; but the\ncruelty to her child is insupportable. All the graciousness and dignity\nof her nature break down under it; and carried beyond herself, she calls\ndown wild curses upon her conquerors, and upon Helen, the origin of all\nher woes. Then, suddenly realizing the futility of her rage and her\npowerlessness to save Astyanax, she yields him to the Herald in a\npoignant outburst of grief:\n\n         \u201c_Quick! take him: drag him: cast him from the wall,\n         If cast ye will! Tear him, ye beasts, be swift!\n         God hath undone me, and I cannot lift\n         One hand, one hand, to save my child from death!_\u201c[5]\n\nSo Andromache was taken alone into captivity. Of all that befell her\nthere we do not know; but there are hints and fragments which suggest\nthat the gods must have relented a little, at sight of her misery. For\nlong afterward, when the Trojan prince \u00c6neas set out to found another\nTroy in Latium, he anchored his fleet one day in the bay of Chaonia. And\nthere, as he wandered upon the shore, he found Andromache. Her cruel\ncaptor was dead; and she was married to Helenus, the brother of Hector.\nBut she had not forgotten her hero-husband, and when \u00c6neas and his\ncompanions came upon her first, she was paying devotions at his tomb:\n\n            _Within a grove Andromache that day,\n            Where Simois in fancy flowed again,\n            Her offerings chanced at Hector\u2019s grave to pay,\n            A turf-built cenotaph, with altars twain,\n            Source of her tears and sacred to the slain\u2014\n            And called his shade._[6]\n\n-----\n\nFootnote 4:\n\n  From Messrs Lang, Leaf, and Myers\u2019s translation of the _Iliad_\n  (Macmillan and Co. Ltd.). 1909 Edition.\n\nFootnote 5:\n\n  From Professor Gilbert Murray\u2019s translation of the _Troades_ (George\n  Allen and Co. Ltd.).\n\nFootnote 6:\n\n  From E. Fairfax Taylor\u2019s translation of the _\u00c6neid_ (Everyman\u2019s\n  Library).\n\n\n\n\n_Homer: Penelope_\n\n\nWe come now to the _Odyssey_, the second Homeric epic; and to its\nheroine, wise Penelope.\n\nNominally, we have left the _Iliad_ behind by a space of several years.\nTroy had fallen, and the Greeks were homeward bound, fewer in number and\nsadder at heart than when the fleet had sailed ten years before. Some\nfew of them reached home in safety. But for the most part, the return\nvoyages were only accomplished with tremendous hardship and peril; and\nmany who had escaped death at Troy found it at the hands of Poseidon,\nearth-shaking sea-god. Of proud Agamemnon, and the fate that awaited him\nin his palace at Mycen\u00e6, we shall hear presently. We are concerned now\nwith the wanderings of Odysseus, and how he won home at last to the\nfaithful love of Penelope.\n\nBut after all, the connexion between the _Iliad_ and the _Odyssey_ is\nonly nominal. The links between them, although they seem strong and real\nat first, do not in any sense unite the two poems. It is true that there\nis the imaginary relation of time; that the _Odyssey_ relates the\nsubsequent adventures of one of the heroes who actually fought at the\nsiege of Troy; and, more important still, that it shows him to possess\nupon the whole the same qualities which he possessed in the _Iliad_. But\nwhen that is said, there remains the fact of a contrast between the\npoems which almost persuades us that in the _Odyssey_ we are in a\ndifferent world. This contrast is best seen in the antithesis between\nthe two heroes of the poems; and indeed between the two great heroines\ntoo. In the _Iliad_, Achilles stands for physical beauty and strength,\nyoung enthusiasm and ardent courage. When Odysseus appears there, as he\nsometimes does, he is overshone by the splendour of Achilles. Although\nhe is the brain of the enterprise, he is in quite a secondary place to\nthe physical magnificence of the younger hero. When we come to the later\npoem, however, we find that intelligence has risen to the higher plane.\nOdysseus is now the hero\u2014not, like Achilles, an ideal of bodily strength\nand beauty: not a man of wrath, flaming over the battlefield in\nvengeance for his friend: not merely a warrior, product of a warlike\nage. Odysseus is by no means lacking in courage; and he has not outgrown\nthe need for war. But he has many other qualities besides, and his\nfighting is usually prompted by necessity.\n\nIt is significant that the character of Achilles is developed in\nconflict with the war-god, Ares; while Odysseus is whelmed in a \u2018sea of\ntroubles,\u2019 literally heaped upon him by Poseidon. Struggling constantly\nagainst the rage of the elements, Odysseus becomes alert and cautious,\npatient and painstaking and resourceful: a great constructive energy, as\ncontrasted with the destroying fury of Achilles. The poet\u2019s epithet for\nOdysseus is \u2018subtle\u2019 as that for Achilles had been \u2018swift\u2019; and the\nemphasis is always laid upon his qualities of brain and nerve. He is not\na very imposing figure, and has little physical beauty. When his friends\nwould praise him, it is gifts of mind rather than of body to which they\nrefer. He is \u2018the just one\u2019 who does no injury \u2018as is the way of\nprinces\u2019; the kindly ruler, who is \u2018like a father\u2019 to help his people;\nthe faithful husband who can flatter and cajole his goddess-gaoler, in\ndesperate anxiety to be home with his dear wife; the loyal comrade who\nwill risk the enchantments of Circe rather than forsake his men without\nan effort; the gracious master whose servants \u2018mourn and pine\u2019 because\nof his long absence. And all the way through the poem, in passages which\nare too numerous to quote, there is a running tribute to his wisdom.\nZeus himself, with other gods and goddesses; kings and queens; nymphs,\nnaiads and enchantresses; swineherds and domestic servants; soldiers and\nsailors; strangers and homefolk; friends and enemies, all add their word\nto the eulogium of his wit.\n\nNow Penelope, who is the perfect mate for such a man as this, is for\nthat very reason contrasted with Helen as strongly as her husband is\ncontrasted with the hero of the _Iliad_. It is not merely that her\npersonality is totally unlike Helen\u2019s, although that is true. The\ncontrast is rooted in something deeper\u2014in the whole conception of the\npoet, the manner of life out of which the poem came, the theme of which\nit treats. In the _Iliad_ we are quite literally moving amongst\ndemi-gods. Helen, reputed daughter of Tyndareus, is really the child of\nZeus; and Achilles has the nereid Thetis for his mother. Something of\ntheir divine origin clings to them, making them awful and magnificent.\nIn all that they do and are they are greater than mere human folk. They\nmove majestically, and they are not to be approached too nearly, or\njudged by the common standard, or compared with the ordinary race of\nmen. Troy itself, to which their names cling, was a city built by gods.\n\nBut Odysseus and Penelope are frankly mortal; and in that one fact they\napproach nearer to us by many degrees. They are no longer colossal\nfigures hovering, as it were, about the base of Mt. Olympus, and driven\nthis way and that in the surge of Olympian quarrels. They are a man and\nwoman, with their feet firmly planted upon the earth, and their\naffections rooted there too. They claim no kinship with the gods: they\ntake no part in Olympian warfare: they have no care for the issues which\nare called great. Their story, reduced to its elements, is of the\nsimplest kind: the call of dear home ties upon the man, the fidelity and\nprudence of the woman. And in this \u2018touch of common things,\u2019 Penelope\nbecomes a much more real figure than Helen.\n\nOf course that is not to say that Penelope is \u2018real\u2019 in the technical\nsense of the word. She is in fact almost as much a creature of romance\nas Helen is. But she appears before us as a living woman with human\nhopes and joys and sorrows; with human virtues too, and certain very\nhuman weaknesses. We can never regard the heroine of the _Iliad_ just in\nthis way. If we could, and if we dared to lift the veil which the poet\nalways interposes between us and the character of Helen, it would stand\nrevealed slight and trembling in its amiability: fatally soft, with no\nvein of essential strength. Now it is that essential strength which\ncharacterizes Penelope. The wooers realized it; and Antinous made it the\nchief point of his defence:\n\n                        _Athena has bestowed on her\n                Wisdom of mind and excellence of skill_\n\n                _In beautiful devices manifold\n                Beyond all others, such as is not told\n                Even of those famous in the former time,\n                Achaean women lovely-tressed of old,_\n\n                _Tyro, Alcmena, and Mycene crowned\u2014\n                Even among these the equal was not found\n                In wise devices of Penelope._[7]\n\nThere is a significant silence about Penelope\u2019s beauty; and she has not\neternal youth as Helen has. But when we have seen her eyes light upon\nher boy Telemachus, and the radiance of her face as the strange old\nbeggarman told her about her husband, we shall waive the question of\n\u00e6sthetics. We shall be prepared to maintain Penelope\u2019s beauty against\nall-comers; and we shall not be much concerned that the poet rather\navoids the subject. For he would not dream of a soul which did not know\nthat sweetness and dignity and a gentle heart, grief endured patiently\nand love unswerving, would make for themselves a worthy habitation.\nBeside Helen\u2019s exquisite fairness, Penelope would seem a little faded;\nand her sweet gravity would be almost a reproach. She cannot compare for\none moment with Calypso, as Odysseus had to confess when the goddess\nblamed him for his homesickness:\n\n             \u201c_Goddess and mistress, be not wroth with me\n             Herein: for very well myself I know\n             That, set beside you, wise Penelope_\n\n             \u201c_Were far less stately and less fair to view,\n             Being but mortal woman, nor like you\n             Ageless and deathless: but even so,\n             I long and yearn to see my home anew._\u201c[7]\n\nThe keynote of the _Odyssey_ is struck here; and here too we may find a\nhint of all that Penelope means. The thought of home is to dominate the\npoem, as something so dear and sacred that innumerable toils are\nsuffered and infinite perils undergone to win back to it. And this\nshining ideal of home is to be incarnate in Penelope. She is to\nrepresent in her own person all that sweetens and comforts life: all the\ndomestic virtues which establish and perpetuate it. Thus, beside Helen\nas the ideal of beauty\u2014of physical perfection\u2014Penelope stands as the\nideal of mental and moral worth.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nTelemachus, whom Odysseus had left at home as a baby twenty years\nbefore, had been sent by Athena to seek his father. The goddess had\nappeared to him as he sat in his father\u2019s hall in Ithaca, lowering upon\nthose unbidden guests who were his mother\u2019s suitors. She had asked what\nthe unseemly revel might mean; and he had told of the long absence of\nhis father.\n\n \u201c_Ah but the spirits of storm to a death inglorious swept him,\n Vanished, unseen and unheard of; and nothing but mourning and anguish\n Me he bequeathed! Nor now do I sorrow and make lamentation\n Only for him; for the gods send other and grievous afflictions.\n All of the chief of the men who as princes rule in the islands....\n All come wooing my mother and wasting the wealth of the homestead.\n She dares neither reject their hateful proposals of marriage,\n Nor can she end it; and thus do the men, consuming, devouring,\n Ruin my home...._\u201d[8]\n\nThe goddess counselled immediate action\u2014to go and seek Odysseus; and\nwhile the minstrel sang to the carousing suitors, Telemachus inwardly\nresolved that he would set sail as soon as might be for Pylos and\nSparta, whither Athena directed him for tidings of his father. But he\nknew that he must act quietly; and above all, that his purpose must be\nkept a secret from his mother. She would certainly prevent his going,\ndid she know, fearing to lose son as well as husband.\n\nMeantime, as he pondered the matter, Penelope was listening from her\nlofty bower to the minstrel\u2019s song in the hall below. He sang of the\nreturn of the heroes from Troy; and the words reawakened in her the old\npain of longing for her husband. At last she could not bear to hear it\nany longer:\n\n _Straightway leaving her room by the high-built stair she descended;\n Neither alone did she go; two maidens followed behind her.\n So when at last she had come to the suitors, that fairest of women\n Stood by the post of the door of the massively builded apartment,\n Holding in front of her cheeks soft folds of her glistering head-dress.\n There as she stood, with a trusty attendant on this and on that side,\n Suddenly bursting in tears to the godlike bard she addressed her:\n \u201cPhemius, ...\n         ... desist, I beseech, from the strain thou art singing,\n Pitiful story, that ever the heart in the depths of my bosom\n    Woundeth....\u201d_[8]\n\nShe is a touching figure, as she ventures out among the revellers and\nbegs the old man to change the theme of his lay. But Telemachus was not\nin the mood to see the pathos of the scene. The charge that Athena had\nlaid on him had suddenly given him his manhood; and in the new sense of\nresponsibility, he spoke a little harshly to his mother, bidding her go\nback to her loom and housewifery.\n\n  _Full of amazement she turned her to go to the women\u2019s apartment,\n  Hiding the masterful words of her son deep down in her bosom.\n  So to her upper apartment ascending with maiden attendants\n  Here she lamented Odysseus her well-loved husband, till gently\n  Slumber was poured on her lids by the grey-eyed goddess Athene._[8]\n\nWhile his mother slept, Telemachus lay awake in his own inner room\nrevolving plans whereby to carry out the command of Athena. He\ndetermined first to confront the suitors publicly, before a formal\nassembly of the Ithacans, and charge them with their insolence and\nriotous greed. So, with the first light of morning, he summoned the\npeople to a meeting in the market-place, and called upon the wooers to\ncease their persecution of his mother and quit his house. Antinous,\nanswering haughtily for them all, invented a coward\u2019s excuses for their\nconduct. Penelope was to blame, he said, for she would not decide\nbetween them; but constantly put them off with various cunning devices.\nWith one pretext alone\u2014that of weaving a shroud for Icarius\u2014she had kept\nthem in suspense for many months.\n\n _Thus then all of the day at the spacious loom she was weaving;\n During the night she unravelled the web with the torches beside her.\n Three long years with her secret device she befooled the Achaeans;\n Till, when the fourth year came, and as season was followed by season,\n Then at the last (since one of her women, who knew it, had told us),\n While at the loom her magnificent web she unravelled, we caught her.\n Thus was she forced, though sorely unwilling, to finish her labour._[8]\n\nTherefore, declared Antinous, because Penelope had deceived them in this\nmanner, they would not depart until she had chosen a husband from among\nthem. Telemachus might spare his protests; indeed, he would be better\nadvised to coerce his mother, since they were determined to remain in\nhis house and devour his substance, until Penelope should yield. But\nTelemachus was a child no longer, and could not be threatened with\nimpunity. And to their base suggestion that he should favour them\nagainst his mother, he gave a spirited reply. Nothing should induce him\nto give Penelope in marriage against her will:\n\n             \u201c_Such word I will not utter. But for you,\n             If you take shame at all this wrong you do,\n             Quit these my halls...._\n\n             \u201c_But if you deem it worthier still to sit,\n             As now, devouring one man\u2019s livelihood\n             And rendering no recompense for it,_\n\n             \u201c_Waste on: but to the deathless gods will I\n             Make my appeal, if haply Zeus on high\n             Repayment of your deeds exact from you.\n             So in this house you unavenged shall die._\u201c[7]\n\nThe assembly broke up; and Telemachus hastily fitted out a ship and\nsailed to seek Odysseus, all unknown to Penelope. The suitors continued\ntheir carousals day after day, rioting and making merry, in feigned\ncontempt of Telemachus and his quest. But when after a time he did not\nreturn, they grew uneasy. They had jeered at his threats of vengeance,\ndeeming him an untried boy; but who knew what might happen now, since he\nhad sailed with a crew of the stoutest fellows in the island? Might he\nnot return with help and drive them out? Antinous took counsel with his\nfriends, and determined on a murderous plan. They would man a ship, sail\nafter Telemachus, and lie in wait for his return, between the islands of\nIthaca and Sam\u00e9; and that should be the last cruise that Telemachus\nshould make.\n\nMeanwhile Penelope, busy with her household duties, believed her son to\nbe away with the flocks. She stayed within the women\u2019s rooms; and except\nfor the clamour of the wooers, or the occasional song of the minstrel,\nnothing came to her ears. But now Medon the herald heard of the plot\nwhich was afoot against his young master, and came to warn her of it.\nShe greeted him with a bitter question. Had he come to order her maids\nto spread the banquet for the suitors? Would that they might never feast\nagain! Had they not shame to deal so unjustly with her absent husband\u2014he\nwho had always dealt justly with them, who had never in word or deed\ndone injury to any? But Medon had a harder thing yet to say; and as\ngently as might be, he told her of the going of Telemachus and of the\nsuitors\u2019 plot to slay him.\n\n _Thus did he speak, and with knees and with heart all quaking she stood\n    there.\n Speechless long she remained, struck mute, while gathering teardrops\n Flooded her eyes, and the flow of her clear-voiced utterance failed,\n Till at the last she recovered her speech and addressed him in answer:\n \u201cWherefore, herald, I pray, is my son departed? He nowise\n Needed to mount on a ship\u2014on a swift-paced vessel that sailors\n Ride as a horse and traverse the watery waste of the ocean.\n Wills he that even his name no longer remain in remembrance?\u201d_[8]\n\nPenelope is overwhelmed with grief, and Medon\u2019s explanation of her son\u2019s\nerrand does not soothe her. She believes that he is lost to her for\never, like his father; and when the herald has left her, she throws\nherself down upon the floor of her room, wailing:\n\n         \u201c_... sorrow hath Zeus the Olympian sent me\n Passing the sorrows of all the friends and the mates of my childhood.\n Erstwhile lost I a husband\u2014my lord with the heart of a lion....\n Now is my dearly belov\u00e8d, my son, swept hence by the storm-blasts,\n Vanished from hearing and home....\n Had I but known he was making him ready to fare on a journey,\n Verily either at home he had stay\u2019d, though bent on departure,\n Else he had left me behind him dead in the halls of his homestead._\u201c[8]\n\nShe casts about in her mind as to how she may save her son; and it seems\nto her best to send a trusty messenger to the father of Odysseus, for\nhelp and counsel. But the old nurse Euryclea gives good advice. She\nconfesses that she had known of the departure of Telemachus; but he had\nsworn her with a great oath not to reveal it. It is of no use to mourn\nabout it; and since they can do nothing to bring him back, the better\nway is to go and supplicate their guardian goddess, Athena, the Maid of\nZeus, for his safety. For her part, she believes that Telemachus will\nnot be forsaken in his need. Penelope wisely takes the advice of the old\nnurse. She bathes, puts on clean raiment, and taking in her hand an\noffering of barley-flour, she ascends to her own chamber and makes\nsupplication to Athena:\n\n                     \u201c_Hearken to my prayer this hour,_\n\n             \u201c_Thou who hast thunder-bearing Zeus for Sire,\n             Maiden whose might no labour can out-tire!\n             If ever subtle-souled Odysseus here\n             Within these halls consumed upon the fire_\n\n             \u201c_Fat thigh-pieces of ox or sheep to thee,\n             Remember it this day for good to me,\n             And save my son, and from us thrust away\n             The suitors in their evil surquedry._\u201d\n\n             _Calling aloud so spake she, and her call\n             The goddess heard._[7]\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  PENELOPE\n\n  _Patten Wilson_\n]\n\nEven while Penelope prayed, Athena was busy on her behalf; and was\nbringing home to her both husband and son. Odysseus she had convoyed\nsafely to Ithaca, and was now leading him in disguise to the swineherd\u2019s\ncottage. And to Telemachus she had shown a way to escape the murderous\nsuitors, and was bringing him swiftly to the father whom he had never\nseen. Of their meeting, and of their cunning plan for vengeance on the\nsuitors, it would take too long to tell. But in the morning, Penelope\nwas gladdened by the return of her son; and a little later, a poor old\nbeggar (no other than Odysseus himself) came among the suitors as they\nsat in the hall. They glowered upon him angrily, and proud Antinous set\nthe vagabond Irus to fight him, for their sport. But the old beggar had\nunexpected strength, and Irus was defeated. Whereon the suitors began to\nbait Odysseus with jeers and taunts; and one hurled a stool at him. At\nthis impious deed, the guests were horrified; and Penelope, hearing of\nit where she sat among her women, longed to make amends to the old man\nfor the cruel act. She descended into the great hall, and spoke\nreprovingly to Telemachus for allowing one who had sought the shelter of\ntheir home to be treated so basely.\n\n              \u201c_What thing is this that hath befallen us\n              Within our halls that once were prosperous,\n              That you have suffered one who is your guest\n              To be despitefully entreated thus?_\u201c[7]\n\nBut Telemachus hugged his secret knowledge of the beggar\u2019s identity, and\nkept silence, while Penelope returned to her bower. The hall was cleared\nat last, and then he and his father laid their plans for the slaying of\nthe suitors on the following day. The noisy crew had all gone to rest;\nand when Odysseus and his son had agreed upon a plan of action,\nTelemachus followed them, leaving his father alone in the great hall. It\nwas a moment for which Penelope had been waiting; and she came down from\nher room again, to question the beggar of his wanderings. There was no\nlight in the hall but that of the fire; and she ordered a cushioned\nchair to be brought near, so that the old man might sit while she talked\nwith him.\n\n \u201c_Firstly of all, O stranger, I wish thee to answer a question:\n Whence and what mortal thou beest? Tell too of thy city and\n    parents._\u201c[8]\n\nCunning Odysseus evaded her question. She might ask him anything but\nthat, he said; for it gave him too much sorrow to think of his country\nand his race. Penelope was only too willing to be turned aside, burning\nas she was to ask for news of Odysseus. So she told the old man of her\nhusband, and of his sailing for Troy, and of how she was pining for his\nreturn.\n\n   \u201c_O that he came once more, and had care of my life as aforetime!\n   So were fairer my fame, and my lot more happy; for alway\n   Now I am sad\u2014such woes hath a deity sent to assail me....\n   Wherefore little I care for my guests, or if beggars entreat me,\n   Little for heralds I care, who work for the weal of the people;\n   Wasted away is my heart as I yearn for Odysseus...._\u201c[8]\n\nShe told him about the wooers, and the device of the shroud, which\ngained her three years\u2019 respite. But a treacherous servant had betrayed\nher, and she had been compelled to finish her task.\n\n \u201c_Now can I neither escape from a marriage, nor yet am I able\n Further device to discover; and urgently also my parents\n Bid me to marry; and vexed is my son as they waste his possessions._\u201c[8]\n\nBut having related so much of her own story, she asked again for the old\nman\u2019s name and race; and above all, would not he say whether he had seen\nor heard aught of her husband? Odysseus needed all his subtlety now, as\nhe invented a tale of Crete and the great city of Cnossos, and Minos the\nking who was his ancestor; and how on one occasion her husband had\nindeed taken shelter with him there.\n\n _Thus in the likeness of truth he related a tissue of falsehood.\n Meantime, weeping she listened, her cheeks all flooded with teardrops,\n Like as the snow when it melteth away from the heights of the mountains,\n Thawed by the breath of the Eurus\u2014the snow that the Zephyr hath\n    sprinkled._\n\n                                   _... And Odysseus,\n Touched to the heart by the grief of his wife, felt tender compassion;\n Yet did his eyes keep fixed, as of horn they had been or of iron,\n Motionless under the lids. Tears came, but he skilfully hid them._[8]\n\nThere was one thing more which Odysseus must do before he could reveal\nhimself; and meantime he could only comfort Penelope by assuring her\nthat her husband still lived and was even now on his way home to her.\nShe shook her head sadly: that was too good to believe: the kind old man\nwas only trying to comfort her. But it was time for him to go to bed;\nand because he disliked the giddy young serving-maids, Penelope called\nup the old nurse Euryclea, and bade her wash the beggar\u2019s feet with as\nmuch care as if he were her master returned at last. That he was indeed\nher master the nurse divined the instant that her fingers touched an old\nscar upon his foot. But Odysseus hastily whispered her to say nothing of\nwhat she had discovered; and soon the palace was asleep, with the old\nbeggar stretched upon sheepskins in the forecourt.\n\nAt dawn next morning Odysseus awoke, and prayed to Zeus to help him in\nthe great deed that he was to do that day. Soon the suitors were astir,\nand the usual preparations were begun for the banquet. Penelope herself\ncame down from her room, to watch what would happen. For, as she had\ntold the beggar the night before, she could not withhold her decision\nany longer. This day she must choose between the suitors. And because\nthey were all alike hateful to her she would decide the question by a\ntest: she would consent to take for her husband that man who could shoot\nwith Odysseus\u2019 bow.\n\n            \u201c_I now the suitors to that feat will call\n            Of axes, that he used to set in hall\n            Twelve in a row, like ship-stays, and far back\n            Standing would shoot an arrow through them all._\n\n            \u201c_Now therefore to the suitors I will shew\n            This feat; and whoso in his hands the bow\n            Shall bend most easily, and down the line\n            Of the twelve axes make the arrow go,_\n\n            \u201c_Him will I follow, putting far from me\n            This house of my espousals, fair to see\n            And full of substance, that I think in dreams\n            I shall remember through the days to be._\u201c[7]\n\nShe went up into the high Treasure-chamber, and sorrowfully took down\nthe great bow that a friend in Sparta had given to Odysseus long ago.\nShe carried it forth among the suitors; and Telemachus, who was eager\nfor the contest which he knew would end for them in a shameful death,\nswiftly set up the twelve axes in a row, through which they were to\nshoot. Odysseus leaned silently against the door-post, still in his\nbeggar\u2019s disguise; whilst one after another of the suitors tried to bend\nthe bow. But one after another miserably failed to bend it, although a\ngreat fire was lit and a cake of lard was brought to make the bow\nsupple. At last, in rage and despair, they had to abandon the attempt;\nand then Odysseus humbly asked if he might be allowed to try. This was a\npre-arranged signal between father and son; and in the instant outcry\nthat arose at the old man\u2019s presumption, Penelope and her maids were led\naway. Then Odysseus, with his son and two faithful serving-men who were\nin the secret, made a bold attack upon the suitors. They were greatly\noutnumbered, but their plans had been laid warily, and Athena was on\ntheir side. Through a grim struggle they prevailed at last, and did not\ncease until vengeance was complete and every evil suitor had been slain.\nBut Penelope, although she heard the horrible din in the hall below, had\nno idea of its cause. It was probably, she thought, another of the\nfrequent brawls between these tumultuous wooers. She was still\ncompletely ignorant of Odysseus\u2019s return; and when the old nurse came\nrunning to her with the joyful news, she believed her to be mad. She had\nlooked so long and so despairingly for this event that now it had come\nshe was utterly incredulous. Even when she heard all the ghastly story\nof the slaying of the suitors, and came into the hall where her husband\nstood awaiting her, she could not realize that it was he.\n\n _Then from her room she descended, and deeply she pondered in spirit\n Whether to hold her aloof from her lord and to test him with questions\n Or to approach and embrace him and kiss him on hands and on forehead.\n So, when at length she had entered the hall and had stept from the\n    door-stone,\n Fronting Odysseus she seated herself, in the light of a brazier,\n Close to the opposite wall; and with eyes cast down he was sitting\n Nigh to a pillar that rose to the roof; and he waited expectant,\n Hoping his beautiful wife would speak when she saw him before her.\n Long while silent she sat, with her spirit amazed and bewildered._[8]\n\nTelemachus could not comprehend the reason for his mother\u2019s silence, and\nbroke into impulsive chiding. He could not see that the very\nsteadfastness of her nature would not allow her to be lightly convinced.\n\n              _Then answer made Penelope the wise:\n              \u201cMy child, the soul is dizzy with surprise\n              Within me; no word can I speak to him,\n              Nor question him nor look him in the eyes._\n\n              _\u201cBut if he comes indeed, and this is he,\n              We shall know one another certainly.\n              For we have tokens that from all men else\n              Are hidden, and none know but only we.\u201d_[7]\n\nTruly, it is Greek meeting Greek, in this encounter between the wit of\nPenelope and that of the man she dare not hope is really her husband.\nOdysseus grows angry at last, and that gives the victory to his wife.\nFor when he orders that a bed shall be made for him apart, she says\ncunningly to the maid:\n\n           \u201c_Now, Eurycleia, lay the goodly bed\n             Without the chamber firmly-stablished\n           That his own hands made: take it out from thence,\n           You and the women, and upon it spread_\n\n           _The broidered blankets, that he soft may lie,\n             And rugs and fleeces._\u201c[7]\n\nNow Odysseus had built the bed himself, literally round the trunk of a\nstanding tree; and by this token she is trying him. In his answer she\nperceives that he truly is her husband, for none but he could know how\nwonderfully their bed was built.\n\n \u201c_Verily, wife, this word thou hast spoken is grievously cruel.\n Who hath removed it\u2014the bed that I built? \u2018Twere difficult truly\n E\u2019en for a man right skilful, unless some deity helped him.\n                                   ... Great is the secret\n Touching that fine-wrought bed\u2014for I made it myself and in private.\n Once was a long-leaved olive that stood inside the enclosure,\n Thriving and grown to the full; and its stem was as thick as a pillar.\n Round it I built me a chamber and laboured until it was finished._\u201c[8]\n\nOdysseus is indignant at the suggestion that his wonderful handiwork has\nbeen destroyed; but Penelope does not mind about his anger, for she is\nconvinced at last that he is indeed her husband.\n\n _Then as he spake were loosened her knees and the heart in her bosom,\n Since to herself she confessed that the token was sure that he gave her.\n Bursting in tears, straightway to Odysseus she ran and embraced him,\n Casting her arms on his neck and kissing his head and exclaiming:\n \u201cGaze not upon me in anger, Odysseus! In all thou hast shown thee\n Wisest of men\u2014and thou knowst that the gods have sent us affliction,\n Jealous to see us abiding in happiness one with the other....\n Ever and ever again hath my heart in the depths of my bosom\n Shuddered with fear lest any with tales might haply deceive me....\n Now ... I believe! for thou giv\u2019st me a token unerring\u2014the secret\n Touching the bed....\n Yea, I believe! thou hast conquered my heart, however unloving!\u201d_[8]\n\nOdysseus\u2019s anger quickly melts as he clasps his sweet wife in his arms;\nand so we may leave Penelope in her happiness. Homer has one word more\nto say about her, however. It occurs, with apparent na\u00efvet\u00e9, almost like\na curious little afterthought, in the last book of the poem. But there\nis really exquisite art in it. The souls of the suitors have gone\nwailing on their way to the World of the Dead; and there they meet the\ngreat Greek heroes who died at Troy. There too, they meet the haughty\nspirit of King Agamemnon, murdered by his wife on his return to Mycen\u00e6.\nTo him the suitors tell their tale of the faithful wife of Odysseus, and\ntheir ignominious end. And then from Agamemnon\u2019s lips, bitterly\ncontrasting his wife with Penelope, falls what is perhaps the noblest\nand most impressive tribute to her:\n\n                    \u201c_O fortunate Laertes\u2019 son,\n              Odysseus many-counselled, who a wife\n              So virtuous and so excellent have won!_\n\n              \u201c_How rightly minded from of old was she,\n              Icarius\u2019 child, unblamed Penelope!\n              How well remembered she her wedded lord\n              Odysseus! Therefore undecayed shall be_\n\n              \u201c_Her fame for worth, among mankind so long\n              Shall the immortals make a lovely song\n              Of chaste Penelope._\u201c[7]\n\n-----\n\nFootnote 7:\n\n  From Professor J. W. Mackail\u2019s translation of the _Odyssey_ (John\n  Murray).\n\nFootnote 8:\n\n  From Mr H. B. Cotterill\u2019s translation of the _Odyssey_ (Harrap & Co.).\n\n\n\n\n_Homer: Circe_\n\n\nPenelope is not the only woman in the _Odyssey_, although she is far the\nmost prominent. Round her are grouped three other woman-figures\u2014Calypso,\nCirce, and Nausicaa; and although two of them are goddesses rather than\nwomen, they seem none the less deliberately chosen, with the sweet\nyouthfulness of Nausicaa, to enhance the dignity of Penelope.\n\nThey come into the story as incidents in the adventures of Odysseus, as\nhe is driven from point to point on his weary voyage homeward. Calypso\nand Circe, dwelling each in a lonely island of the sea, lure him and\nhold him from Penelope against his will. But it is of no avail to change\nhis purpose. They have many charms, and they can sing sweetly to ease\nthe heart from pain. They live a dainty and a joyous life, which he may\nshare if he will; and which he does share for a time. They are more\nbeautiful than Penelope; they have strange lore, and a knowledge of\nenchantments; they have, too, eternal youth and kinship with the\nimmortals. But when all is said, they cannot compare with the dear human\nsoul who is waiting for Odysseus in Ithaca; and this contrast the poet\nmakes us clearly see, in the way in which Odysseus always turns with\nlonging to the thought of Penelope.\n\nSo it is, too, with Nausicaa. This fresh young daughter of King\nAlcinous, just a fair mortal girl, might be Penelope\u2019s very self, when\ntwenty years before Odysseus had taken away Icarius\u2019s child to be his\nwife. One would think that there must be something quite irresistible\nabout her to the toil worn man just escaped from death. She is so brave\nand helpful; and so prudent too, as she tells him a little wistfully\nthat he must not enter the city in her company. Yet, though we feel that\nOdysseus cannot but admire this spirited young creature, she does but\nserve to remind him of one in whom similar beauty and wisdom have grown\nto maturity.\n\nThus we have another comparison from which Penelope gains; and thus all\nthree of these other women of the _Odyssey_ serve to throw the heroine\ninto stronger relief. The poet accomplishes this very cunningly. He does\nnot bring them into direct contact with Penelope: they are never, so to\nspeak, on the stage together. That would be too severe a contrast\u2014one\nfrom which Penelope would suffer, as well as they. But at distant times\nand places, each is brought separately into the circle of Penelope\u2019s\nlife, by rivalry for the love of her husband. So they stand in the poem,\nnot only as a graceful setting to the figure of the heroine; but they\noccupy in relation to Odysseus the same position which the suitors\noccupy in relation to Penelope. There is a perfect balance of the poem\nhere, and one can only marvel at the art which built it so. For the\nsuitors serve on the one hand to show Penelope\u2019s fidelity; and on the\nother hand, by their arrogance and brutality, they make a complete foil\nto the just and subtle Odysseus. Penelope cannot cope with them; she\nknows them too well to dare the effect of a downright refusal; and she\nsets her wits to work to keep them at bay, while she longs and prays for\nher husband\u2019s return. In conflict with them, her loyalty shines; and\nthere are developed all her many merits as queen and housewife and\nmother. But in the conflict we get at the same time, through their\nsensuality and impiousness, a sense of the absolute contrast with\nOdysseus.\n\nThe three minor women of the _Odyssey_ serve a similar double purpose.\nThey stand to the hero as the suitors stand to Penelope. If Odysseus\u2019s\nloyalty to his wife does not come perfectly scathless through the\nordeal\u2014if we cannot hold him entirely blameless for the year spent with\nCirce\u2014the test does nevertheless reveal his essential constancy. That is\nindeed the poet\u2019s purpose; as well as to give a bright and graceful\ntouch to an exciting story of adventure. But he had also another\npurpose, which we have already seen\u2014to make of these rivals of Penelope\na charming setting, in which she should shine with added lustre.\n\nWe hear all about Circe when Odysseus is telling the story of his\nadventures to King Alcinous. He relates how he had sailed a second time\nfrom Aeolia, sadly and wearily, because of the folly of his men. For\nthey had been well within sight of their beloved Ithaca, and Odysseus,\nworn out with his long vigil at the main-sheet, had dropped asleep. It\nwas an evil opportunity for the curious crew, who were burning to know\nwhat was contained in the great skin sack that their commander had\nstored below so carefully. Within a trice the Bag of the Winds was cut,\nletting loose on them havoc and destruction.\n\nThey fared back to King Aeolus, and humbly begged his help once more.\nBut he would not a second time labour to imprison the winds for men on\nwhom the gods had obviously laid a curse of foolishness; and they had to\nsail away unfriended. For six days they rowed hard against adverse\nweather; and on the seventh their evil fortune lured them to the land of\nthe Laestrygonians. Not one of the ships that entered the harbour ever\ncame out again. Only Odysseus and his own men, who lay outside awaiting\nthem, were saved from the hands of that cruel race.\n\n             _Thence we sailed onward, joyful to have fled\n             With life, but for our fellows perished\n             Grieving at heart: then came we to the isle\n             Aeaea, where abode a goddess dread,\n             Circe, of mortal speech and tresses fair._[9]\n\nSuch was the coming of Odysseus to the land of Circe; and of all the\nstrange and terrible things that had yet befallen him, the strangest and\nmost terrible he was to receive at her hands. At first all went well.\nThe ship ran smoothly into a fair haven: they landed in safety, and for\ntwo days and nights they rested on the shore, Odysseus himself shooting\nthem venison for their food. In all this time no human creature had been\nseen; but Odysseus in his explorations had seen one sign of habitation\u2014a\ncurl of smoke rising from an oaken coppice. That gave at least some hope\nof succour; but when he called his men to search the wood with him, he\nfound that their courage had been completely broken. Their sufferings\nfrom the savage Cyclops and the Laestrygonians had taught them to fear\nthe unknown rather than to hope from it; and none would volunteer for\nthe expedition. So a council was called, lots were cast, and those on\nwhom the lots fell went off most unwillingly, led by Eurylochus.\n\nThe island lay low upon the sea, with only one hill-peak; and when they\nclimbed the hill the circling waters could be seen stretching away to\nthe horizon\u2019s edge, without another glimpse of land. It would seem that\nthey were utterly cut off: that there was no possible succour anywhere\nbut in the mysterious valley below them; and the knowledge spurred them\nto seek out the dweller in the wood, and so perhaps find help and\ncounsel.\n\nIn a wide and shallow valley, where the oaks had been cleared away and\nthe sun streamed hotly upon a southern slope, they came upon the house\nof Circe, daughter of the sun. No human figure could be seen:\n\n                                           _But beasts alone,\n           Hill-wolves and lions, over whom the witch\n           With evil drugs had her enchantment thrown._[9]\n\nEven these creatures made no sound to break the silence that was like a\nmenace, while the sailors stopped awe-struck at the sight. The great\nhouse, with its many halls and shining marble pillars, fascinated their\nsight; and the strange beasts which leapt and fawned around them seemed\nto invite them to enter. But while they stood in doubt, dreading to\nadvance and yet withheld from flight by some impalpable, resistless\npower, the sound of a sweet voice rose upon the air. Softly at first it\nfloated out to them, in trembling notes; and they stole forward, drawn\nby the exquisite melody, until they stood upon the very threshold of\nCirce\u2019s house.\n\n          _And now upon the fair-tressed Goddess\u2019 floor\n          They stood, and from the porches through the door\n          Heard Circe singing sweetly, as within\n          She wrought, the deathless high-built loom before._\n\n                _... They called aloud and cried.\n          Then issuing forth she straight threw open wide\n          The shining doors and called them; and they all\n          Went in their folly trooping at her side._[9]\n\nCirce, with a lurking smile of malice on her lips, came forward to\nwelcome them. She was very lovely, with the youthful, changeless beauty\nof the immortals; but though Homer does not tell us so, we know that\nthere was sensuality in the curving fullness of her mouth and a cruel\ngleam in the eyes over which the white lids drooped. With sweet words\nand fluttering movements of her soft hands, she brought them in and bade\nthem sit; and busied herself, with swift and stealthy eagerness, to mix\nand pour a luscious drink of Pramnian wine and honey. But before she\ngave the cup into their hands, she furtively dropped into it one of her\nsecret baneful drugs; and as they greedily drank, their human shape was\ninstantly transformed to that of swine.\n\nOne of the crew, however, had not entered; and when his comrades did not\nreturn, he ran back to the ship to tell of what had happened. Odysseus,\nsuspecting some evil, slung on his sword, seized his bow, and sped away\nto Circe\u2019s house. But suddenly in his path stood the god Hermes,\nMessenger of Zeus, in the likeness of a handsome youth. The god held up\nan arresting hand.\n\n                                     \u201c_Ah, whither do you go\n           Across the wolds, O man unfortunate,\n           Alone amid a land you do not know?_\n\n           \u201c_Your fellows here in Circe\u2019s palace pine,\n           Close-barred and prisoned in the shape of swine;\n           And come you hither to release them? Nay,\n           Yourself you shall not save, as I divine._\u201c[9]\n\nThen Hermes foretold all that should befall Odysseus in Circe\u2019s house,\nthinking to deter him. But when he would persist in the attempt to save\nhis men, the god gave Odysseus a plant that should be an antidote to\nCirce\u2019s poison.\n\n            _Thereafter to far-off Olympus he\n            Passed from the island set with many a tree,\n            But I to Circe\u2019s house; and as I went\n            Many a thing my heart revolved in me._\n\n            _Then by the fair-tressed Goddess\u2019 portals nigh\n            I stood and called her, and she heard my cry,\n            And issuing forth at once flung open wide\n            The glittering doors and called me in: and I_\n\n            _Followed as one who goes his doom to meet:\n            Forthwith she led me in, and on a seat\n            Fair, carven, silver-studded, set me down\n            And laid a footstool underneath my feet._[9]\n\nBelow her courtesy an evil intent was lurking, as Odysseus knew too\nwell; and presently she served to him the same poisoned drink with which\nshe had bewitched his men. But the plant of moly that Hermes had given\nhim made him proof against her drugs. The wine failed of its effect, and\nCirce, angrily taking her wand, smote Odysseus with it, crying: \u201cBegone\nnow to the sty and couch among your band.\u201d\n\n            _So said she: but the sharp sword from my thigh\n            I drew, and leapt at Circe suddenly\n            As purposing to slay her; and she shrieked\n            Aloud, and under it ran in anigh,_\n\n            _And caught my knees, and winged words anew\n            She uttered: \u201cWho and whence of men are you?\n            Where is the city of your ancestry?\n            I marvel greatly how this cup I brew_\n\n            _\u201cYou drink, and yet its sorcery have withstood:\n            For unbewitched has none of mortal brood\n            Drunk of it yet or let it pass his lips;\n            But your breast holds against bewitchment good._\n\n            _\u201cWandering Odysseus truly you must be,\n            Who in his swift black ship across the sea\n            Ever the golden-wanded Shining One\n            Said should from Troy returning visit me.\u201d_[9]\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  CIRCE\n\n  _Patten Wilson_\n]\n\nHer mischievous purpose faded on the instant, and she became full of\nfawning admiration and wonder. Her malice was changed; but something\neven more dangerous took its place. She began with sweet words to smooth\naway Odysseus\u2019s anger, fondling him and begging him to remain with her\nand be her husband. But Odysseus remembered the warning of the god, and\nat first he would not yield. He was sullen and suspicious, and would not\nanswer her gently until she had sworn to release his men.\n\n                                      _Thereat immediately\n            Out through the palace, rod in hand, went she,\n            And opened the sty-doors and drave them out\n            Resembling swine of nine years old to see._\n\n            _Thereafter all in front of her stood they,\n            While she passed down along their whole array,\n            Smearing another drug on each of them;\n            And off their limbs the bristles fell away,_\n\n            _That the first baleful drug from Circe\u2019s store\n            Had made to grow upon them; and once more\n            Men they became, and younger were to see\n            And taller far and goodlier than before._[9]\n\nThen the ship was hauled into a cave, and their companions were induced\nto come up to Circe\u2019s house, where they all joined in feasting and\nmerriment. Cautious Eurylochus tried to dissuade them; but Odysseus\nwould give no heed to his warning; and there followed a long interval of\nriotous pleasure over which Circe and the river-nymphs who were her\nhandmaidens presided as queens. The days went by uncounted in luxurious\nease; and if, in rare moments, Odysseus had an uneasy flash of memory,\nCirce\u2019s caressing voice would flatter and soothe him into complacence\nagain, persuading him to stay yet a little longer.\n\n                                             \u201c_Myself I know\n           What sorrows you have suffered in the deep\n           Wherein the fishes travel to and fro;_\n\n           \u201c_And likewise what the hands of hostile men\n           Of scathe on land have dealt you. Sojourn then\n           Here with me, eating food and drinking wine\n           Till the hearts rise within your breasts again_\n\n           \u201c_As when at first you from your home were lorn,\n           Rough Ithaca: but feeble now and worn\n           With long hard wanderings are you, and your hearts\n           Forget all gladness; for you much have borne._\u201c[9]\n\nSo she would cajole them, and so the blandishments of Circe proved far\nmore effectual than her drugs. For a whole year the thought of home and\nfriends was driven away, while jollity filled out the indolent hours.\nBut satiety came at last, and memory began to reawaken. With rough\nhome-truths, the sailors broke the spell that Circe had cast upon their\ncommander. They called him out from her odorous, shadowy halls; and\nunder the clear sunlight that suddenly made Circe hateful, they\nreproached him with his dalliance, and bade him flee at once if he would\nsave his soul alive. There was no withstanding them; and indeed Odysseus\nhad no wish to do so.\n\nWhen evening came, he claimed from Circe the fulfilment of her promise\nto send them safely back.... He would be sad at leaving her, he said,\nsince the time had passed so pleasantly in her sunny island; but now his\nmen are beginning to complain and he himself (though that he did not\ntell her) had suddenly grown weary and remorseful. It all seemed very\nsimple: and he had not much misgiving. Circe had only to speak the word,\nthat they might have safe convoy, and return to Ithaca. Surely the gods\nmust have laughed in irony at the man who thought to part from Circe so\nlightly, knowing as they did the whole cost of that parting for him.\nCirce was not to be cast off and forgotten, as a mere incident of\nOdysseus\u2019s adventures. Her reply was proud, and of ominous import. Since\nthey wished to go, she would not detain them; but let Odysseus summon\nall his courage:\n\n                                  \u201c_Not against your will\n              You and your fellows longer shall abide\n              Within my house; but you must first fulfil_\n\n              \u201c_Another journey yet, the house to see\n              Of Hades and renowned Persephone._\u201c[9]\n\nThe awful words fell horribly on Odysseus\u2019s ear. So they might not then\nsimply hoist sail and away, gaily bound for Ithaca? Instead, there was\nyet to make the bitterest voyage that even Odysseus had made\u2014a dark and\nawesome journey to the nether world, there to see and hold converse with\nthe dead prophet, Tiresias.\n\n              _So spake she; but my heart was rent in me,\n              And sitting on the bed I bitterly\n              Wept, and no longer did my soul desire\n              To live, or yet the light of day to see._[9]\n\nBut so it was decreed, and since all his grief and horror could not\nalter it, he begged of Circe at least to tell him how he might find his\nway to the dread World of the Dead, and how he might return in safety\nfrom it. Circe smiled inscrutably. She knew that the passage there is\nall too easily won.\n\n          \u201c_Take no concern, for pilot need you none._\n\n          \u201c_Hoist but your mast and spread the sails of white,\n          And sitting let the North wind\u2019s breath aright\n          Bear her: but when on shipboard you have crossed\n          The Ocean-river, there will come in sight_\n\n          \u201c_The tangled groves of Queen Persephone,\n          A low shore set with the tall poplar tree\n          And willow that untimely sheds her fruit;\n          There run your ship abeach out of the sea,_\n\n          \u201c_Beside the Ocean-stream\u2019s deep-eddying flow,\n          And to the mouldering house of Hades go\n            Afoot._\u201c[9]\n\nShe told him all that he must do there; how he must pass right through\nthe crowding shadowy forms, and where two loud-thundering rivers meet he\nmust dig a trench and pour out a drink-offering before the dead. But he\nmust not let them partake of it, and must keep them at bay with drawn\nsword till the prophet Tiresias should appear and prophesy to him of his\nreturn.\n\n          _So spake she, and Dawn straightway rose and shone\n          Gold-throned; and in my shirt and cloak anon\n          I clad me, and the nymph herself a great\n          White mantle, thin and beautiful, put on;_\n\n          _And round her loins a golden girdle fair\n          She drew, and cast a kerchief on her hair;\n          But I throughout the house to everyman\n          Went with soft words, and bade my crew prepare._[9]\n\nThe crew set cheerily to work, but they did not know all yet; and when\nOdysseus told them of the dreadful voyage they had now to make at the\nbidding of the goddess, they were filled with despair. Perhaps Circe too\nwas ruthful at heart; and one act of grace at least she did them. For\nwhen all was ready to launch the ship, they found that an unseen hand\nhad placed beside it the animals that they would need for sacrifices in\nthe World of the Dead:\n\n             _But when at last the margent of the sea\n             And the swift ship we reached in misery,\n             While from our eyes the heavy tear-drops ran,\n             Circe, before us gone invisibly,_\n\n             _By the black ship a ram and a black ewe\n             Had tethered, lightly passing by our crew.\n             For mortal eyes a god against his will\n             Hither and thither going may not view._[9]\n\nCirce did not say farewell, because she knew that they would meet again.\nFor the first spirit to greet Odysseus when he reached the dark\nUnderworld was the restless ghost of Elpenor, one of his own crew. In\nthe hurry of their departure, Elpenor had fallen from a gallery and had\nbeen killed. His untended body still lay in Circe\u2019s house, and the poor\nghost could not rest until it was buried. So when the dreadful journey\nto the dead was accomplished, Odysseus sailed back to Aeaea to perform\nthe funeral rites.\n\n              _Thus all the rites we ordered as was due:\n              But Circe well of our returning knew\n              From the Dark House, and very speedily\n              Arrayed herself and down anigh us drew._[9]\n\nShe made Odysseus tell her all that had befallen him, and all that he\nhad seen in the House of Hades; and then she gave him directions for his\nhomeward voyage. He was to beware of the Syrens, and of Scylla and\nCharybdis; but above all he must prevent his men from doing injury to\nthe sacred Oxen of the Sun.\n\n              \u201c_But if you harm them, I foretell herein\n              Destruction to your ship and all your crew;\n              And though yourself to Ithaca may win,_\n\n              \u201c_Late and unhappy shall your coming be,\n              And all your crew shall perish._\u201c[9]\n\nHer black prophecy was fulfilled to the uttermost; and indeed Circe\nseems destined always to be a baleful augurer to Odysseus. Yet she\nherself is quite untouched by these mortal woes. When the ship was\nmanned she came down to the sea to speed them away; and our last glimpse\nof her is as she stands upon the shore, her garments and the tendrils of\nher hair lightly fluttering, and her lovely body drawn to its height as\nshe raises white arms and cries to the winds to follow them.\n\n             _They got them in and took their seats again,_\n\n             _And sitting at the benches in array,\n             Smote with their oars upon the water grey;\n             Until the fair-tressed goddess terrible,\n             Circe of mortal voice, to speed our way,_\n\n             _Behind the blue-prowed ship sent forth anon\n             A following wind, a good companion._[9]\n\n-----\n\nFootnote 9:\n\n  From Professor J. W. Mackail\u2019s translation of the _Odyssey_ (John\n  Murray).\n\n\n\n\n_Homer: Calypso_\n\n\nCalypso is a statelier figure than Circe, although they have much in\ncommon. Looking casually at the two characters, we are inclined to\nwonder why Homer should have given them so many points of resemblance.\nBoth are immortals\u2014Circe a daughter of the sun, and Calypso a daughter\nof Atlas. Both are skilled in sorcery; both live on islands set far away\namidst the sea; both are \u2018fair-tressed\u2019 and beautiful and have sweet\nsinging voices; both love Odysseus and desire him for a husband.\n\nBut our first thought is corrected the instant we look at the two\ngoddesses a little more closely. In fact, the likeness between them only\nhelps us to realize the art which has given to each of them a distinct\nindividuality. We shall find that Calypso is gentler and more dignified;\na sweeter and more gracious creature than Circe. There is nothing\nsinister or malign about her; and if she loves Odysseus, and strives to\nkeep him at her side, it is that she may make him immortal, like\nherself. She has no evil intent toward him; and when the messenger of\nZeus bids her to release him, she sets herself the task of helping him\naway. Odysseus has not now to pay a gruesome penalty for willing\nbondage, as when he left Circe in Aeaea; but wins his way by Calypso\u2019s\naid to the friendly land of Ph\u00e6acia.\n\nIn a \u201cfar isle amid the sea\u201d Calypso dwelt alone. The blue sky bent over\nit to embrace the bluer sea; and round its base a spray of foam\nperpetually laved the rocks with snowy fingers. Out of the sea tree-clad\ncliffs rose steeply, and the scent of pines hung like incense in the\nwarm air. Deep chasms here and there rent the cliffs apart, and gave\naccess to the sea; but their sides were clothed with olives and trailing\nvines; and far down below could be heard the whisper of a little stream\nas it ran to join the murmuring waves on a strip of golden sand. At the\nhead of one of the ravines was Calypso\u2019s cavern.\n\n  _Close to the cavern and clustered around it was growing a coppice;\n  Alder was there and poplar and cypress of delicate perfume.\n  Many a long-winged bird in the copse found covert at night-time,\n  Many a falcon and owl, and crook-billed chattering sea-crows,\n  Birds of the brine which busy themselves with a life on the ocean.\n  Here too, stretching in front of the hollow mouth of the cavern,\n  Trailed a luxuriant vine rich-laden with many a cluster.\n  Four bright runnels of water arose from a neighbouring fountain,\n  Each one nigh to the other but turned to a different channel.\n  Spreading around soft meadows with violets blossomed and parsley\n  Richly bedight\u2014yea e\u2019en an immortal, if haply he came there,\n  All might wondering view and rejoice in his heart to behold it._[10]\n\nHere it was, then, that Calypso, standing one morning in the sunny\nentrance to her cave, first saw Odysseus. The prophecy of Circe had been\nfulfilled. His crew had impiously laid hands on the sacred Oxen of the\nSun, and smitten by an avenging storm sent by the wrathful Apollo, had\nevery one paid the penalty with his life. Odysseus only had been spared;\nand for nine days and nights he had struggled alone with the waves on a\nshattered raft.\n\n            _And on the tenth at night out of the sea\n          To that Far Island the Gods drifted me,\n          Calypso\u2019s home, the fair-tressed mortal-voiced\n          Dread Goddess; and my friend and stay was she._[11]\n\nCalypso rescued and tended the shipwrecked man who was thrown upon her\nshores; and after his awful peril and hardship he was content to forget\neverything for a time. Days and weeks and months slipped quickly past\nand Odysseus remained, charmed by the beauty of the island and the\ngracious society of Calypso. Sometimes, reclined on the yellow sands\nwhere he had been washed ashore, she would listen eagerly to the tales\nof his wanderings. Sometimes, when the evening breeze blew chill from\nthe sea, they would sit together in the cavern:\n\n             _Where from a brazier by her, burning well,\n             A fire of cloven cedar-wood and pine\n             Far through the island sent a goodly smell._\n\n             _And in it she with voice melodious sang,\n             While through the warp her golden shuttle rang\n             As to and fro before the loom she went._[11]\n\nAs Calypso sang her strange sweet melodies in the fire-lit gloom, the\nmemory of Ithaca and Penelope grew faint. But one day the spell was\nbroken. Standing on a cliff and looking out to sea, he suddenly\nremembered home and wife and friends; and from that time onward he did\nnot cease to long and pray for release. But year after year dragged\nwearily on, and Calypso tried by arts and endearments and promises of\ndeathless gifts, to win him to stay with her. All her persuasion was\nfruitless, however, and Odysseus\n\n                                          _Sitting far apart\n          On the sea-beach, as oftentimes before,\n          Fretted with tears and sighs and bitter smart,_\n\n          _Out seaward to the barren ocean-rim\n          Kept gazing, and his eyes with tears were dim._[11]\n\nMeanwhile, in high assembly of the gods upon Olympus, Athena the loyal\nfriend of Odysseus stood out and pleaded his cause before them all. This\naustere daughter of great Zeus despised the wiles by which Calypso would\nkeep the hero at her side; and begged her father to release him.\n\n           \u201c_But for Odysseus wise I am ill at ease,\n           That man unhappy who amid the seas\n           Far from his friends affliction bears for long,\n           Within the sea-girt island set with trees;_\n\n           \u201c_The island in whose bounds a goddess dwells,\n           Daughter of Atlas of the guileful spells...._\n\n           \u201c_But for his land Odysseus longs so sore\n           That even the smoke upcurling from its shore\n           Fain would he see and die...._\n\n           \u201c_Did not Odysseus on the gods bestow\n           Guerdon of sacrifices long ago,\n           Down in wide Troy beside the Argive ships?\n           Why does your wrath, O Zeus, afflict him so?_\u201c[11]\n\nZeus gently reproved his splendid daughter. Is it to be supposed that he\nhas forgotten wise Odysseus, famed for his piety, and the constant\nfriend of gods and men? But there are reasons\u2014partly the foolishness and\nrashness of the hero and his men\u2014why all these delays and reverses have\nfallen upon him; and but for Zeus they would have brought on him\ndestruction long ago. Athena may set her mind at rest, however: the hour\nhas come for his deliverance. The great Father of the Gods turned to his\nmessenger:\n\n \u201c_Hermes,\u2014for ever as herald thou bear\u2019st the behests of immortals\u2014\n Bring to the fair-tressed nymph our will\u2019s immutable verdict,\n Even that patient Odysseus return and arrive at his homeland....\n Thus is he fated his friends once more to revisit and once more\n Win to his high-roofed home and arrive at the land of his fathers._\u201c[10]\n\nSwift as light itself, Hermes sped down to Calypso\u2019s island and passed\nup through the flowering garden that embowered her cavern. He paused a\nmoment before entering, to let his glance roam over the peaceful beauty\nof the scene and to breathe the delicious fragrance of the evening air.\n\n _Till at the last, when his spirit was fully contented with gazing,\n Into the wide-mouthed cavern he entered; and standing before her\n Straightway known was the god to the beautiful goddess Calypso,\n Seeing that never unknown is a deity unto another,\n None of the spirits immortal, not e\u2019en if he dwells at a distance._[10]\n\nCalypso greeted him gladly, not divining the cruel message that he was\ncharged to deliver. And while she hospitably set before him the\ndeathless food of the gods, she eagerly inquired the reason of his\nunwonted visit.\n\n           \u201c_Why come you, Hermes of the Rod of Gold,\n           Gracious and dear? You come not oft of old.\n           Speak, and most gladly to my power will I\n           Do your desire, if fate have so controlled._\u201c[11]\n\nHermes was reluctant to tell his errand, knowing the pain that it would\ncause Calypso; and not until the meal was over did he reveal it. He had\ncome against his will, he said, with a decree of Zeus concerning the\nhero whom she is detaining in her island. Odysseus must be released.\n\n            _So spake he; but aghast thereat his word\n            The bright of Goddesses Calypso heard,\n            And answering, spake a winged word to him:\n            \u201cJealous you are, O Gods, to envy stirred_\n\n            _\u201cBeyond all others, and can never brook\n            On loves of Goddesses and men to look...._\n\n            _\u201cYet I it was who rescued him, while he\n            Clung round the keel, alone, when mightily\n            Zeus shattered with a fiery thunderbolt\n            His racing ship amid the purple sea._\n\n            _\u201cThere his good comrades perished; him alone\n            Hither by flood and driving tempest blown,\n            I loved and nourished, and had thought to keep,\n            Deathless and ageless always for my own.\u201d_[11]\n\nThe love of Calypso, of which she spoke so simply and frankly to Hermes,\nwas something deeper than caprice. It was rooted in that heroic act when\nshe had toiled to drag him up out of the fiercely beating surf, and had\nbrought him back from the brink of death to the cheerful light of day.\nShe had given him his life, and her love with it; and ever since she had\nstriven to keep him at her side, thinking to win his love in return. But\nshe was no witch, to wreak evil spells over an unwilling heart; and\nthough the blow that Hermes had dealt her was a bitter one, she replied\nwith dignity. She would consent to the will of Zeus, not merely because\nhe might not be withstood, but because it was her desire to do good to\nOdysseus.\n\n          \u201c_Let him go hence across the barren sea;\n          Howbeit his convoy cannot come from me,\n          Since oared ships I have not to my hand,\n          Nor any mariners his crew to be_\n\n          \u201c_Over the ridges of the broad sea-floor:\n          Yet will I gladly teach him all my lore,\n          And naught will hide of counsel, so that he\n          Free from all harm may reach his native shore._\u201c[11]\n\nSo the Messenger of Zeus departed; and Calypso went sadly across the\nisland to the spot where she knew Odysseus was sitting. As she came near\nshe could see him, gazing out to sea, home-sick and despairing. So he\nhad sat this many a day, turning from her in coldness or in anger to go\nand mourn for far-off Ithaca and his mortal wife. Why could he not be\ncontent to remain with her? Was Penelope then so very beautiful\u2014more\nbeautiful than she, a goddess? Had she not offered him immortality? Had\nshe not lavished tenderness upon him? And now she knew that at the first\nword of her hateful news he would joyfully prepare to go, and leave her\nalone with her regret. As she came up and stood by his side, her heart\nwas sore at the perversity of fate. But there was no rancour in it; and\nhaving given her word, she would fulfil it generously. So she put her\nhand upon his shoulder gently as he sat with averted face:\n\n            \u201c_No more, unhappy man, sit mourning there,\n            Nor let your life be wasted; for to-day\n            Myself unasked your journey will prepare._\n\n            \u201c_Up therefore, hew long beams, and skilfully\n            Fit them with tools a broad-floored raft to be;\n            And build aloft a spar-deck thereupon\n            To carry you across the misty sea._\n\n            \u201c_But water I will store on it and bread,\n            And the red wine wherewith is comforted\n            Man\u2019s heart, that you be stayed from famishing;\n            And lend you raiment; and your sail to spread_\n\n            \u201c_Will send a following wind, that free from ill\n            Home you may win, if such indeed the will\n            Be of the Gods, who hold wide heaven, and are\n            Greater than I to purpose and fulfil._\u201c[11]\n\nThe great good news was too wonderful for Odysseus to believe.\nBewildered and doubting, he forgot his usual courtesy, and uttered an\nungracious speech. Is she not deceiving him? Does she not intend some\nevil?\n\n  \u201c_Other is here thy device, O goddess\u2014not homeward to send me\u2014\n  While on a raft thou bidd\u2019st me retraverse a gulf of the ocean\n  Such in its terrors and perils that never a well-built vessel\n  Voyaging swiftly and gladdened by Zeus-sent breezes will cross it.\n  Ne\u2019er will I mount on a raft\u2014still less if it give thee displeasure\u2014\n  Art thou not willing to swear me an oath and solemnly promise\n  Never against me to plot a device that is evil to harm me._\u201c[10]\n\nOdysseus had suffered so much at the hands of angry gods that he could\nnot give credit to Calypso\u2019s generosity. He suspected her of anger too;\nand rather than risk the perils of an awful voyage like the last, he\nwould remain here upon the island. His words would have embittered a\nsmaller soul; but Calypso saw what was passing in his mind, and answered\nhim playfully:\n\n                          \u201c_The Goddess bright and bland\n          Calypso, smiling, stroked him with her hand,\n          and spoke a word and answered: \u201cVerily\n          A rogue you are, and quick to understand,_\n\n          _Such words are these you have devised to say!\u201d_[11]\n\nAnd then, knowing that he was really apprehensive of danger, her voice\ndropped to a deeper tone, as she gave him the solemn oath of the great\ngods.\n\n           \u201c_Now Earth I take to record here to-day,\n           And the wide heaven above us, and the dread\n           Water abhorred that trickles down alway,_\n\n           \u201c_(Which is the mightiest and most dread to break\n           Of all the oaths the blessed Gods may take)\n           No practice for your hurt will I devise,\n           But take such thought and counsel for your sake_\n\n           \u201c_As for mine own self I would reckon good,\n           If in the like extremity I stood.\n           For my own heart is righteous, nor my heart\n           Iron within me, but of piteous mood._\u201c[11]\n\nHe was convinced at last; and together they went back to the cavern for\nthe evening meal. Calypso served to Odysseus his mortal food, and her\nhandmaidens set before her the deathless wine of the immortals. And\nwhile they ate, she suddenly realized how soon she must part from him.\nHer brave mood faded as she thought how lonely she would be when he had\ngone; and thought too of the struggles which Odysseus had yet to make\nbefore he reached his home. Again the haunting question came\u2014Why need he\ngo at all? Why would he not stay with her? And though she knew there was\nno hope, she pleaded with him once more.\n\n          \u201c_Odysseus, may your longing nought withhold\n          To your own land so straightway to be gone?\n          Then fare you well; but had your heart foretold_\n\n          \u201c_How many woes the fates for you decree\n          Before you reach your country, here with me\n          You had abode, and in this house had kept,\n          And been immortal, howso fain to see_\n\n          \u201c_That wife for whom through all your days you pine:\n          Yet deem I not her beauty more than mine.\n          Since hardly mortal woman may compare\n          In shape and beauty with my race divine._\u201c[11]\n\nOdysseus had recovered his gallantry now. He begged Calypso not to be\nwroth with him for desiring to go, and acknowledged that Penelope was by\nno means so fair as she. As to the ill that he had still to suffer, he\nwould incline his heart to endurance: \u201cAnd now, let this too follow\nafter, if it will.\u201d\n\nUnder his courteous manner lay a stern resolve; and as soon as morning\ncame, Calypso set herself to prepare his going. Though her heart was\nvery sore, she helped him readily.\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  CALYPSO & ODYSSEUS\n\n  _Patten Wilson_\n]\n\n _... The nymph threw round her a garment of glistering whiteness,\n Delicate, lovely; and over her waist then fastened a girdle,\n Beautiful, fashioned of gold; and her head in a hood she enveloped.\n Then she bethought her to send on his way great-hearted Odysseus.\n Firstly a great wood-axe, in his hands well-fitted, she gave him,\n Fashioned of bronze, two-edged. ...\n                             ... and going before him\n Led to an end of the isle where tall straight timber was growing;\n Alder was there and poplar and pine which reacheth to heaven,\n Dry long since, well-seasoned and buoyant to float on the water._[10]\n\nOdysseus wrought joyfully at the raft, building with infinite care and\nskill a strong, seaworthy vessel. Calypso brought out to him the store\nof fair cloth that she had woven upon her loom, and of this he made the\nsails, with \u201cbrace and sheet and halyard.\u201d When all the strenuous toil\nwas completed, he drew the raft on rollers down to the sea and made\nready to sail.\n\n _Now was the fourth day come, and all of his labour was ended;\n So on the fifth day sped his departing the goddess Calypso,\n Bathing him first and arraying him freshly in fragrant apparel.\n Then to the raft she conveyed dark wine in a bottle of goat-skin\n \u2014One was of wine and another, a greater, of water\u2014and viands\n Stowed in a wallet; and many a toothsome relish she added.\n Then did she send him a favouring breeze both gentle and kindly._[10]\n\nSo Calypso was left alone again on her little island; and Odysseus,\nspeeding before a favouring wind, was too absorbed to give much thought\nto her. Freedom and the thought of home filled him with exultation; and\nall his care was bent to navigate the boat. But a grateful memory of her\nsurvived in aftertimes; and often he would recall her words to him, when\nshe had given him the vow of good faith:\n\n              _For my own mind is righteous, nor my heart\n              Iron within me, but of piteous mood._[11]\n\n-----\n\nFootnote 10:\n\n  From Mr H. B. Cotterill\u2019s translation of the _Odyssey_ (Harrap & Co.).\n\nFootnote 11:\n\n  From Professor J. W. Mackail\u2019s translation of the _Odyssey_ (John\n  Murray).\n\n\n\n\n_Homer: Nausicaa_\n\n\nNausicaa was the only daughter of Alcinous, King of Phaeacia. Young and\nbeautiful, reared amid abundant wealth, the idol of parents and stalwart\nbrothers, she is yet simple and sweet and quite unspoiled. Her father\nwas lord over a rich seafaring folk; a kindly, generous, impetuous man.\nHer mother, Queen Arete, was a star among women; so wise and noble that\nthe people saluted her as a god, and Alcinous worshipped her with\nabsolute devotion. There is hardly anything in Homer more beautiful than\nthe loving description that Nausicaa gives of her mother sitting beside\nAlcinous in the great hall like a benign goddess, ready to stretch a\nwelcoming hand to the stranger and the suppliant. Even the great goddess\nAthena had words of praise for Arete, when she met Odysseus on the road\ncoming up from the harbour:\n\n              \u201c_Her Alcinous took to wife,\n        And honoured her as living woman none_\n\n        \u201c_Of wedded wives is honoured upon earth:\n        Such is the worship paid her (and her worth\n        No less) by King Alcinous our lord\n        And by the children who from them have birth._\n\n        \u201c_Yea, all her people, when she goes abroad,\n        Salute her and account her as a god.\n        For of so excellent a wit is she,\n        Her woman\u2019s wisdom puts a period_\n\n        \u201c_To strife of men who in her favour stand.\n        And if to you she reach a helping hand,\n        Hope you may have to see your friends, and reach\n        Your high-roofed house, and your own native land._\u201d[12]\n\nNausicaa, as we shall see, is worthy of her parentage. The gods were\ngracious at her birth, and gave her the fine qualities of both father\nand mother. Yet courage and resource and a wise generosity sit lightly\non the youthful figure that flits through the Sixth Book of the\n_Odyssey_. She is a mere girl, fresh and untried, with an irresistible\ngaiety of heart and a tender regard for home ties. Her changing moods\nand caprices are like dancing sunlight, and now and then there falls\nupon her a soft shadow of wistfulness, cast by the \u2018long, long thoughts\u2019\nof youth.\n\nHer pretty head holds its own romantic visions, which she cannot, from\ngirlish shyness, bring herself to talk about freely, even to the dear\nindulgent father. So for fear of his teasing and laughter, she practises\na little harmless deceit on him; which, however, does not deceive him in\nthe least, because his love can look right through it.\n\nSo she moves before us, a creature of grace and beauty, of fineness and\nstrength; but withal so happy and human that the thought of her has the\nbracing sweetness of upland meadows, or the breath of the summer sea.\nYet it is this fresh young girl whom we have to consider for a moment as\nthe unconscious rival of Penelope. The idea of such a rivalry seems\nabsurd, in connection with Nausicaa. And so it is, taken clumsily out of\nits setting and robbed of the poet\u2019s delicate art. Yet the suggestion is\nclear; and the marvel is that Homer has contrived to bring her out of\nthe ordeal with her young innocence quite untouched. The beats of the\nlove-god\u2019s wings only fan her in passing, and she is left unhurt by a\nsingle barb. For a happy instant she glimpses him in flight, and\nstretches a welcoming hand in na\u00efve pleasure. But the moment after, he\nhas fled in jewelled light and she is left, wondering and wistful, but\nscathless yet.\n\nSo Nausicaa lives, a peerless girl in Homer\u2019s group of immortal women.\nShe has served his purpose in the epic plan\u2014to link the story with\nPenelope and to enhance her dignified maturity. She has served too, in\nthe strongest way, to accentuate the chivalry and constancy of the hero.\nBut in doing this, the tenderest care has been taken that she shall not\nbe despoiled of her exquisite charm.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nPoseidon the Sea-god was still wrathful with Odysseus for the injury\ndone to his son, the Cyclops. But having gone on a long journey to the\nland of the \u2018blameless \u00c6thiopians,\u2019 Athena had compassed in his absence\nthe escape of the hero. He had sailed joyfully from Calypso\u2019s island,\nand for seventeen days had fared onward steadily, with a following wind.\nThe wine and food that Calypso had given him were still unspent, when on\nthe eighteenth day there loomed before him the island of Phaeacia, vast\nand shadowy in the morning mist. Here, he knew, were friendly hands and\nhearts; people who had never been known to refuse safe convoy to\ndistressed mariners. And Odysseus, feeling that now at last the end of\nhis struggles had come, steered straight ahead. But he reckoned without\nPoseidon. For that angry god, speeding on his homeward journey from\n\u00c6thiopia to Olympus, looked down from the mountains of the Solymi and\nspied the raft of Odysseus, making for the safety of a Phaeacian\nharbour. Amazement smote him; then indignation, and then a furious\ndesire for instant revenge. So this was what the immortals had been\ndoing in his absence\u2014plotting to befriend the man who had so foully\nmis-used his son. But no matter! If Athena must needs win in the end\u2014and\neven the might of Poseidon could not eventually withstand her calm\nwisdom\u2014her success should be at bitter cost to this artful rascal whom\nshe favoured. So:\n\n                       _The clouds at his command\n           Gathered, and with the trident in his hand\n           He stirred the sea and roused the hurricane\n           Of all the winds, and blotted sea and land_\n\n           _With clouds: night swept across the firmament:_\n\n                     _... a monstrous wave abaft\n           Came towering up, and crashed into the raft:\n           And the raft reeled, and off it far he fell,\n           And from his hand shot out the rudder-shaft._[12]\n\nIt would take long to tell all that Odysseus suffered from that awful\nstorm. Only the lion-heart that he was could have endured the terrible\nstrain of it. The raft was lost, and for two days and nights the fury of\nthe storm lashed him unceasingly. He was buffeted out of his course, and\nwhen at last a calm fell and he saw land ahead, he had only just enough\nstrength left to strike out for it, with a great prayer in his heart for\ndeliverance from the wrath of Poseidon.\n\nIt is this exciting incident, told with tremendous vigour, which is the\nprelude to the story of Nausicaa. For on the very night when the waves\nflung Odysseus ashore on her father\u2019s island, she had a strange dream. A\ngoddess stood by her bedside, in the likeness of a girl friend; and with\nhints of a happy marriage, bade her rise and go down to the washing\npools.\n\n          _The grey-eyed Goddess, inly counselling\n          Odysseus mighty-hearted home to bring;\n          To the richly-carven chamber went\n          Where slept a maid, the daughter of the king,_\n\n          _Like any deathless goddess fair and bright,\n          Nausicaa....\n                    ... \u201cNausicaa,\u201d said she, \u201cwhy\n          Thus idly does your mother\u2019s daughter lie,\n          The garments wrought with bright embroideries\n          Unheeded? yet your wedding-day draws nigh;_\n\n          _When clad in goodly raiment you must go,\n          And on your marriage train the like bestow._\n\n                \u00b7      \u00b7      \u00b7      \u00b7      \u00b7\n\n          _Not long shall yet your maidenhood be worn.\n          Even now, amid the land where you were born,\n          Phaeacia\u2019s princes woo you. Up, and bid\n          My lord your father yoke at break of morn_\n\n          _A mule-team and a cart whereon to lay\n          Girdles and gowns and broidered blankets gay.\u201d_[12]\n\nWe who are watching behind the scenes know quite well who is this\ncelestial visitor; and that the whispered words which have set\nNausicaa\u2019s cheeks tingling are a mere ruse of Athena to bring help to\nthe luckless Odysseus. But Nausicaa has no hint of this; and waking with\nthe morning sun streaming upon her, she smiles in wonder and hope. Then\nshe dresses quickly and goes down to find her parents, musing upon the\nwords of the goddess. The queen is sitting in the great hall, amid her\nhandmaidens, winding the \u2018dim sea-purple\u2019; and the king, coming out to\njoin the princes in council, meets Nausicaa on the threshold. Is there\nanywhere a more charming scene than this?\n\n         _\u201cPapa dear, will you let me have to-day\n         A high wheeled waggon yoked, to take away\n         The goodly clothes and wash them in the stream?\n         For in the house all lying soiled are they._\n\n         _\u201cNow for yourself it is no more than fit\n         That, when the councillors at council sit,\n         In clean array among your lords you go:\n         Also your house has five sons born in it,_\n\n         _\u201cTwo of them wedded now, but three are yet\n         Young bachelors, who evermore must get\n         New-washed attire when to the dance they go;\n         And now on all this charge my mind is set.\u201d_\n\n         _So spake she, for her mouth for maiden shame\n         To her own father marriage might not name.\n         Howbeit he understood and answered her:\n         \u201cGo, child: I grudge not any wish you frame,_\n\n         _\u201cMules or aught else: this thing my thralls shall do,\n         And yoke the high wheeled tilted wain for you.\u201d_[12]\n\nAs we see, Alcinous can deny nothing to his fair young daughter. The\nlightly running mule-cart is ordered out, and Nausicaa and the maids set\nbusily to work. It is refreshing to see this only daughter of a \u2018king\u2019\ncarrying out the linen and fleecy blankets that have been daintily\nwrought with needlecraft by her own hands. Alcinous, of course, is not\nto be regarded as possessing the power and state of a modern monarch;\nperhaps he was not a king at all, in our sense of the word. But there\ncan be no doubt that his state was that of a rich and mighty lord, for\nhe lives in a magnificence which makes the simple practical usefulness\nof his daughter all the more remarkable. She helps the servants to load\nthe wagon, while the Queen herself places upon the box a skin of wine\nand many dainty things to eat at their midday meal, together with a\ngolden flask of oil for their use when they wish to bathe.\n\nWhen all is ready, Nausicaa drives off merrily, her women running at the\nside of the cart. Far out of the city they go, past the embattled walls\nand the market-place and the harbour: then on through farms and sloping,\nshimmering olive-gardens, until they reach the sea and the\nwashing-pools\u2014the very spot, in fact, where \u2018toil-worn, bright Odysseus\u2019\nis sleeping the sleep of exhaustion, after his heart-breaking struggle\nwith the waves. The mules are unyoked and the clothes are brought out of\nthe cart and flung into the dark water. Then the girls bare their white\nfeet, catch up their fluttering garments, and tread the clothes in the\ngushing water, gaily chattering the while. When all are cleansed, they\nare spread out in the sun on the pebbly beach, while the girls bathe and\ntake their dainty meal upon the shore.\n\nAll this while there lay in a thicket quite close to them, the prostrate\nfigure of Odysseus, like one dead. But when the afternoon was wearing\non, the girls joined in a merry game of ball, before starting on their\nhomeward journey. The lovely group lives before us as we read, fresh\nfrom their sea-bath, with crisping ringlets floating, cheeks touched to\na rosier hue by exercise and fun, and all the charms of youth and beauty\nrevealed as white arms throw the ball and twinkling feet run hither and\nthither after it, upon the yellow sand. Homer, in one of his rare\nexceptions, lingers a moment to tell us how Nausicaa looked on this\noccasion. But, characteristically, he does this by imagery, and imagery\nin motion.\n\n            _But when their hearts with food were comforted\n            Their kerchiefs they undid to play at ball;\n            And in the game white-armed Nausicaa led._\n\n            _Artemis the Arrow-showerer even so\n            Rejoices on the mountain side to go\n            All down the long slope of Ta\u00ffgetus\n            Or Erymanthus, while before her bow_\n\n            _Wild boar and fleet-foot deer flee fast away,\n            And round her move the wild-wood nymphs at play,\n            Daughters of Zeus the Lord of Thunder-clouds;\n            And Leto joys at heart; for fair are they,_\n\n            _Yet fairest of them all the child she bred;\n            And over all the rest her brows and head\n            Rise, easily known among them. Even so\n            Among her women shone the maid unwed._[12]\n\nThis is the moment for which Athena has been waiting, to bring help to\nOdysseus.\n\n           _Thereat the princess to a handmaiden\n           Threw the ball wide, and missed her, and it fell_\n\n           _In a deep eddy. From them all outbroke\n           A long shrill cry: and bright Odysseus woke;\n           And sitting up he pondered inwardly:\n           \u201cO me, what land is this of mortal folk?\u201d_[12]\n\nHe is dazed by his long, long sleep. Where is he? What land is this?\nWhose are those young figures that he can just see by peeping through\nthe leafy thicket in which he lies? Are they the nymphs of the river\nalong which he was drifted out of the sea? Or are they human maidens who\nmay be besought to help? He does not hesitate long. At all hazards he\nmust speak to them, for he is in desperate need. So, hastily breaking\noff a leafy bough to hide his nakedness, he strode out of his lair. His\nuncouth figure struck amazement and terror into the hearts of the girls.\n\n            _Dreadful to them the sea-stained man drew nigh:\n            And up and down they ran dispersedly\n            Along the jutting beaches; only then\n            The daughter of Alcinous did not fly:_\n\n            _Such courage put Athena in her breast:\n            Unfaltering she stood up and undistressed,\n            And faced him._[12]\n\nFor once Odysseus is at a loss. How shall he address her? He is almost\nnaked, haggard, and sea-worn, a terrible object to girlish eyes. Shall\nhe go up close, and in the attitude of the suppliant, clasp her knees?\nOr will not his touch and his close approach startle and shock her? But\nhis wits are not long to seek. He decides that it will be better not to\ncome too near, but to address her gently, from a little distance. \u201cI\nkneel to you, Protectress. God are you, or mortal?\u201d Thus he speaks\nfirst, gracefully complimenting her beauty and courage.\n\n                         \u201c_If a god indeed you be\n           Of those who in wide heaven abide in bliss,\n           Unto none else than very Artemis,\n           Daughter of Zeus Most High, I liken one\n           So tall and fair and beautiful as this;_\n\n           \u201c_But if a mortal, such as dwell on earth,\n           Thrice fortunate are they who gave you birth,\n           Father and mother, and thrice fortunate\n           Your brethren; surely evermore great mirth_\n\n           \u201c_And joyance fills them, while with hearts elate\n           They see a thing so lovely delicate\n           Upon the dancing-floor. But far beyond\n           All others is that man most fortunate,_\n\n           \u201c_Who loading you with many a precious thing\n           May woo you and to share his home may bring._\u201c[12]\n\nCunning Odysseus\u2019s words are winged with a deeper significance than he\nknows, for all his subtlety and tact. Does Nausicaa recall her dream,\njust at this point? We cannot tell. But when he goes on to relate at\nlength about the dreadful voyage on the raft through the vengeful storms\nof Poseidon, she pities and longs to help him. She has gauged him\nshrewdly, too. This eloquent stranger, with his air of frank deference,\nis no rogue nor fool; but whoever and whatever he may be, he is a\nsuppliant whom it is the will of Zeus to succour. So she speaks cheerily\nto him, to allay his anxiety, telling him that he is in the land of a\nfriendly people, whose king, Alcinous, is her father. She will herself\nguide him to the palace and see that he is cared for. Then she turns to\nreproach the silly fear of her maids:\n\n            \u201c_Stand still, my women! Why so timorous\n            At a man\u2019s face? You do not surely think\n            This man is here with ill intent to us?_\n\n            \u201c_That living mortal is not, nor shall be,\n            Who to Phaeacia bearing enmity\n            May come: for very dear to heaven we are,\n            And dwell apart amid the surging sea._\n\n                        \u201c_... But to our abode\n            We must make welcome this poor wanderer.\n            Strangers and beggars all are dear to God._\n\n                        \u201c_... With this stranger be it so.\n            Give him to eat and drink, and make him bathe\n            In shelter, down the windswept bank below._\u201c[12]\n\nSo Odysseus is bathed and clothed and fed; and Nausicaa, looking shyly\nat him as he reappears, is astonished at the wonderful change that has\ncome over him. She speaks apart to the women, a little wistfully.\n\n             \u201c_Listen, O white-armed girls, to what I say.\n             Not without warrant of the Gods\u2019 array\n             Who hold Olympus, does this man arrive\n             In the divine Phaeacian land to-day._\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  NAUSICAA & ODYSSEUS\n\n  _Batten Wilson_\n]\n\n           \u201c_Uncomely at the first he seemed to be\n           But now the Gods are not more fair than he,\n           Who hold wide heaven: I would that such an one\n           Dwelt here and bore a husband\u2019s name to me._\u201c[12]\n\nA little timid hope is dawning in her heart. Is it possible that this\nmay be the lover of whom she dreamed? But she will not let him know her\nthoughts; and as she offers to guide him to the city, she tells him with\nmodest dignity that he must not ride with her in the wagon. He must\nfollow behind with the maids; and when the city walls are in sight, and\nthey are near the houses of men, he must draw away from them and\ncontinue his journey alone. She is not discourteous, she explains; but\nit is not seemly for her to be seen by the people driving a strange man\ninto the city.\n\n           \u201c_And taunting speech from them I fain would shun,\n           Hereafter flung at this that I have done.\n           Proud-hearted are our people; and of them\n           Meeting us, thus might say some baser one:_\n\n           \u201c_\u2019And who is this, the stranger tall and gay\n           That here beside Nausicaa takes his way?\n           And where may she have found him? Aye, no doubt\n           She brings a husband back with her to-day!...\u2019_\n\n           \u201c_So will they say; and to my shame would be\n           That word, as I myself would think it shame,_\n\n           \u201c_If any other girl in suchlike way\n           While her own parents lived, should go astray\n           In a man\u2019s company._\u201c[12]\n\nBut she gives him minute directions, so that he may find her father\u2019s\npalace after she has left him. He will pass Athena\u2019s grove, and the\nwell, and the king\u2019s park, before he comes to the town and the gate of\nthe palace. He is to go right into the palace, and not to hesitate.\n\n           \u201c_But when the forecourt and the palace-wall\n           Have hidden you, pass quickly up the hall\n           Straight to my mother. In the firelight she\n           Sits by the hearth, while off her distaff fall_\n\n           \u201c_The threads of dim sea-purple, strand by strand,\n           Marvellous; and her maids behind her stand,\n           By the hall pillar, and my father\u2019s chair\n           Next hers, where he, the wine-cup in his hand,_\n\n           \u201c_Sits like a God. Yet pass him by, nor stay\n           Till round our mother\u2019s knees your hands you lay.\n           For thus, although from very far you come,\n           Quickly shall dawn your glad returning day._\u201d[12]\n\nIt all falls out as she has said. They start off as the sun is setting,\nand Odysseus follows behind the mule-cart at a little distance until\nthey reach the sacred grove of poplars that Nausicaa has indicated.\nThere he waits behind for a space, while she drives on to the palace.\nHer handsome young brothers come out to meet her, with hearty greetings\nand questions as to how the day has fared. But she does not make much\nresponse to them, leaving them to unharness the mules and carry out the\nclothing while she slips away to her room and the society of her old\nnurse.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nMeanwhile Odysseus makes his way to the palace alone and is amazed at\nits size and magnificence.\n\n                                           _The brazen walls\n           Athwart and endlong from the threshold went_\n\n           _Even to the inmost chamber up the hall;\n           And a great frieze of blue ran round the wall;\n           And golden doors the stately house within\n           Shut off, and silver doorway pillars tall_\n\n           _Out of the brazen threshold sprang to hold\n           The silver lintel; and the latch was gold;\n           And gold and silver hounds on either hand\n           Stood._[12]\n\nTo this gorgeous palace, Alcinous and Arete give Odysseus a royal\nwelcome. They are charmed with their guest: and when the queen,\nrecognizing her handiwork on the robe that he is wearing, elicits an\naccount of his meeting with Nausicaa, the king flames into anger.\n\n         _Answered and said Alcinous: \u201cSooth to tell,\n         Guest, in this thing my daughter did not well,\n         That hither with her maids she brought you not\n         Herself, since first before her feet you fell.\u201d_\n\n         _And subtle-souled Odysseus answer made:\n         \u201cPrince, on that faultless maiden be there laid\n         No blame herein: for with her hand-maidens\n         She bade me follow; but behind I stayed_\n\n         _\u201cFor fear of shame, lest haply should you see,\n         Your mind might deem some hateful thought of me.\u201d_[12]\n\nThis is not exactly what had happened, as we know; but we do not love\nOdysseus any the less for the chivalrous lie. The most loving father can\nbe unreasonable sometimes, and Alcinous would not have the sacred laws\nof hospitality broken, even for the maidenly prudence of his own sweet\ndaughter. Impetuously he tries to make amends:\n\n                                \u201c_Nay, O guest,\n              Not so is framed my heart within my breast,\n              To be stirred up to anger without cause.\n              In all things to observe the law is best._\n\n              \u201c_Fain were I\u2014Zeus our Father hear me vow,\n              And thou, Athena, and Apollo, thou!\u2014\n              Such as you are and minded as I am,\n              You took to wife my daughter even now,_\n\n              \u201c_And were called son-in-law of me the king,\n              Abiding with us._\u201c[12]\n\nBut Nausicaa\u2019s dream was a lying vision; and the fine tact of Odysseus\nis sorely put to it to find words for the inevitable refusal. He is\nsilent for a time; and then, beginning the recital of all his eventful\nstory, he gradually reveals to them who he is, and tells about his home\nand the gentle wife to whom he is longing to return. To the king and\nqueen his answer causes little regret. It means that they may keep their\nfair daughter a little longer; and are there not many Phaeacian princes\nfrom whom they may choose a mate for her when she is ready? But\nNausicaa, to whom the nurse brings word of what is passing as she sits\nin her beautiful chamber, hears the reply of Odysseus with a little pang\nthat she has never felt before. It does not linger very long, however,\nand when the day comes for Odysseus\u2019 departure, and the guests are\ntrooping into the hall for the last banquet in his honour, she steals\nout among them to bid him farewell. It is the last time we see her.\n\n            _But by the doorway of the stately hall\n            In godlike beauty stood Nausicaa;\n            And eyed him marvelling, and bespake him so:\n            \u201cFare well, O guest, that when you homeward go,\n            Me too you may remember, and that first\n            To me the ransom of your life you owe.\u201d_[12]\n\nOdysseus\u2019 reply is gallant; but it is not mere gallantry. He vows that\nhe will never forget her. Only let great Zeus and Hera bring him safely\nhome:\n\n                      \u201c_Then would I alway\n              To you, O maid, who rendered me my life,\n              As to a God, in that far country pray._\u201d[12]\n\n-----\n\nFootnote 12:\n\n  From Professor J. W. Mackail\u2019s translation of the _Odyssey_ (John\n  Murray).\n\n\n\n\n_\u00c6schylus: Clytemnestra_\n\n\nWe come now to the heroines of Attic Tragedy. The women of Homer, with\nall their romantic beauty and charm, gleam on us from a far distance. A\nnew type of heroine has arisen, reborn out of the legends of the remote\npast into a new age; and evoked by a poetic genius which is greatly\ndifferent from that of the Homeric epics.\n\nIn the interval which had elapsed since the epics were composed,\ncivilization had advanced, life had grown more complex, and women had\nattained to a fuller and freer existence. It was the Great Age of\nGreece; and as in our own Elizabethan Age, the poetic genius of the time\nwas impelled to find expression in dramatic form.\n\nFrom all these causes, we shall find that the women of Attic Tragedy are\npossessed of a stronger and more vivid personality than their Homeric\nforerunners. They are resolute, purposeful, passionate\u2014women of action\nas well as of feeling. Physical beauty they do possess, as well as grace\nand charm. Neither do they lack the gentler qualities which are usually\nsupposed to be peculiarly feminine. Indeed, we could probably find an\neminent example of every so-called feminine virtue if we went through\nthe range of the heroines. But the stress is not now laid merely on\nbeauty and the gentler graces. It is laid rather on a combination of\nthese qualities with strength of intellect and will, generous emotions,\nand a soaring spirit.\n\nSuch a change would appear to be right and natural\u2014in fact, almost\ninevitable. We should expect that the passage of the centuries in an\nadvancing civilization would give the woman time and space \u2018to bourgeon\nout of all within her\u2019; and that with a more harmonious development she\nwould definitely gain in mental height. We should expect, too, that the\ndramatic genius would create a more clear-cut individuality than that\ngiven by the epic poet in a long narrative chiefly concerned with the\ndoings of menfolk. So that we are not surprised to find the women of\ntragedy possessed of great vitality, and occupying a very large share of\nthe dramatists\u2019 attention. What does surprise us, however, is to\ndiscover that many of these newer heroines are the very women whom we\nhave already met in the Homeric poems: that they have been taken\nstraight over from the heroic age, out of the ancient heroic themes, and\nmade to live over again, a new and vastly different life.\n\nThis brings us to a point which it is well to keep in mind. Sometimes\nthe heroines of Greek Tragedy do very terrible things and are placed in\nsituations of appalling horror. Those acts, and the circumstances out of\nwhich they spring, not only repel us but seem to be at variance even\nwith the spirit of the poet himself. Sometimes the heroine is the victim\nof tyrannic physical force, and frequently again there is the clash of\nmotive, for which death seems to be the only solution. Strange crimes,\nunheard of and almost unthinkable, sometimes darken the atmosphere\naround them. Age-old curses and hereditary feuds pursue them: the\nterrible gift of beauty weighs them down; and over all broods fate, a\nlurking, indefinable power against which, in the last resort, they are\npowerless to stand.\n\nThere is then, sometimes in the heroines themselves and almost always in\ntheir environment, an element of barbarism which troubles us. The touch\nof savagery repels us all the more from its contrast with the exquisite\npoetry in which it is enshrined, and the noble spirit of that poetry. We\nwonder why the dramatist should have placed creatures so sensitive and\nhighly wrought in situations which are so crudely appalling; and the\nincongruity is not shaken off until we remember the nature of the\nmaterial upon which the poet is constrained to work. For the Attic\ndramatists went for the subjects of their poetry directly to stories out\nof the primitive past\u2014old legends which, though sometimes very\nbeautiful, nearly always contain elements of cruelty and horror. The\nreason why they did this is interesting, and explains some curious\npoints about Greek Drama.\n\nTo us it seems strange that these poets, whose ideas were probably as\n\u2018advanced\u2019 to their contemporaries as our modern Drama is to us, did not\ntake their themes out of the vastly interesting and even momentous life\nof their own day. Very occasionally they did this, as we know from the\ndrama of \u00c6schylus called _The Persians_, which deals directly with that\ntremendous event of Greek history the Persian Invasion. But almost\nalways, as we have said, they turned away from their own time, and\nlooked back upon the ancient past for the subject-matter of Drama. It is\nprobable that poetical motives influenced them to some extent\u2014the same\nthat made Milton turn back to the Hebrew story of the creation, and\nTennyson occupy himself for nearly fifty years with the Arthurian\nlegend. But there was another, and more compelling reason; and it lay in\nthe religious character of the Attic theatre.\n\nGreek Drama was a ritual, performed in honour of the gods. It had its\norigin in the worship of the Thracian god Dionysus or in a still older\ncult of ancestor-worship; and it had an established convention that its\nthemes should be taken from legendary heroic subjects. So that the poet,\nhowever he might modify character, was bound by tradition to the main\noutline of the early stories. As we shall see, he imbued those themes\nand characters with new significance. Just as Milton puts the\nReformation spirit into the story of Adam and Eve, and Tennyson makes\nthe Arthur of Celtic legend into an ideal of modern gentlehood, \u00c6schylus\nand Sophocles and Euripides vitalize the old legendary forms with the\nspirit of their own age. The spirit of that age was profoundly\ninterested in religion\u2014perhaps because it was beginning to lose its\nreligion. It was passing out of unquestioning belief in the old Olympian\nhierarchy; but it had not yet attained to a new belief with any\nclearness. And an extremely interesting fact is that here in the drama,\nin the very cradle of religion, the new thought begins to manifest\nitself quite clearly, despite the trammels of convention. Each of the\nthree tragedians represents some phase of it; each shows, in greater or\nless degree, evidence of the transition period in which old superstition\nwas being broken down; but each steadily maintained, through the crash\nof falling faith, the sanctity of the moral law. It is this clear view,\nthis austere purpose and steady aim at the highest, which gives Attic\nTragedy its grandeur, and the women of Attic Tragedy their surpassing\ninterest.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhat has been said above about the barbarity of the legends on which\nGreek Drama is based, applies particularly to the story from which the\nfigure of Clytemnestra was taken. It was a history of wrongdoing, of\nfoul guilt going back for generations: or rather, the history of a sin\nwhich, to use the words of the poet himself, begot more sin in each\nsucceeding generation. \u00c6schylus wrote his greatest work around this\ntheme, a trilogy of three dramas called the _Agamemnon_, the\n_Choephor\u0153_, and the _Eumenides_. The first two of these dramas furnish\nthe material for the story of Clytemnestra. The last deals with the\nremorse of Orestes, her son, and the atonement by which the long record\nof crime is finally closed and a new era of hope begins. Clytemnestra\nis, as it were, the last sacrifice demanded by the Furies which had\npursued the house of Tantalus so long, and she represents in herself the\ntwo forces by which that vengeance had always been effected\u2014a wrong done\nand a wrong suffered. For \u00c6schylus makes us see that it is not only by\nthe first sin of Tantalus that all his descendants have been\nrelentlessly pursued; but that each in his turn has added something of\nhis own\u2014some crime of passion or of pride\u2014to bring the penalty on\nhimself.\n\nIt is from this standpoint that we must look at Clytemnestra and judge\nof her action. She was the instrument of a power beyond herself, the\ndread fate which had marked Agamemnon the king, her husband, as another\nvictim of the hereditary curse. But she was not merely an instrument.\nShe had fallen prey to her own unlawful passion, and when she struck the\nblow which fate ordained, it was not impelled by the single motive of\nrevenge for the sacrifice of Iphigenia, but a confusion of passionate\nanger and conscious guilt.\n\nThe _Agamemnon_ opens with the joyful announcement of the fall of Troy.\nThe scene is laid in the wealthy city of Mycen\u00e6, in the palace of\nAgamemnon the king, where a watch had been kept for many months for the\nreturn of the Greek fleet. Ten years before, when the fleet had sailed\nfor Troy to avenge the carrying-off of Helen, there had been left behind\nin the royal home a mother stricken by an awful grief. For the King\nAgamemnon, delayed at Aulis by adverse winds, and in brutal haste to be\ngone, had offered up to the gods a human sacrifice\u2014the sacrifice of his\nown young daughter Iphigenia. The prayers of Clytemnestra the queen, and\nthe tears of the beautiful girl herself, could not prevail upon him.\nIphigenia\u2019s life was forfeited to a hideous superstition, and the host\nsailed away, leaving Clytemnestra overwhelmed with sorrow and wrath.\nHere then are the two contributing elements to the tragedy\u2014the wrong\ndone and the wrong suffered. Agamemnon, driven on by the curse which lay\nover his house, blinded by his own pride and headstrong impatience to\nthe true nature of the crime that he was committing, was forging the\nweapon of his own destruction. And here too we have the deed which\naccounts for and explains Clytemnestra\u2014making of her not the mere savage\nmurderess of tradition, without a touch of humanity, but an outraged\nmother, the avenger of her child.\n\nIt is necessary to emphasize this point a little because we have been\nused to regard Clytemnestra as a mere monster of cruelty. It is\ntherefore a shock of surprise, when we come to \u00c6schylus for her story,\nto find that he has made her quite human. He is not concerned in her\ncase, any more than with the other persons of his Drama, to expose\nintricate motive, or to paint delicate shades of character. In his task\nof hewing out dramatic form\u2014of virtually creating Drama\u2014he left subtlety\nand ingenuity and stagecraft to be perfected by his successors. Hence he\nis not exercised very much about making his plot a plausible one, or to\nexplain how its incidents are effected. He has a great religious\npurpose; and this, with the ritual form in which he had to work,\nsubordinates the purely dramatic elements. But he does clearly let us\nsee\u2014and this is all the more important from his usual reticence\u2014that the\nwhole course of Clytemnestra\u2019s action was determined by Agamemnon\u2019s\ninconceivable cruelty.\n\nThis point eludes us often, because we accept the sacrifice of Iphigenia\nas an act belonging to a barbarous age. So it is, but we forget that the\nage of Agamemnon had practically left barbarism behind it. The slaughter\nof Iphigenia must have been almost as revolting to the ideas of that\ntime as it is to us; and although in times of national crisis fanatical\nminds may have been capable of reviving the savage custom of human\nsacrifice, that is no justification of Agamemnon. And that he submitted\nto the superstitious frenzy, and offered up the life of his child, was\nthe act which armed Clytemnestra against him.\n\nThe deed was, however, of a piece with his character. He was haughty,\npassionate, headstrong, brooking no resistance and no rivalry: a man of\ntremendous force of character who had grown too great and who in his\npride had even dared to dishonour Apollo himself in the person of his\nvotaries. To such a man, who after ten years\u2019 preparation found his\nfleet hindered by unfavourable gales, the slaying of his daughter was\nmerely an unpleasant step toward the fulfilment of his purpose. Her\nbeauty and her youth were of little account, and her mother\u2019s tears and\nentreaties were brushed aside as weakness.\n\n                     _Sin from its primal spring\n           Mads the ill-counselled heart, and arms the hand\n           With reckless strength. Thus he\n           Gave his own daughter\u2019s blood, his life, his joy,\n           To speed a woman\u2019s war, and consecrate\n           His ships for Troy._[13]\n\nThe story of Clytemnestra, then, rightly begins here. She too was\npassionate and proud, with a will of iron: a nature of strangely blended\nstrength and tenderness. When the blow came from the hand which should\nhave shielded her, it struck dead her gentler self. She gave herself up\nto thoughts of revenge; and hearing from Troy as the years passed\ntidings of Agamemnon\u2019s infidelity, the last link between them was\nbroken. Other news would come to her ears: of sedition amongst the\npeople, left so long without a ruler; of the country suffering from the\nneed of its strongest men, who were all away at the war; and of a\ncertain Egisthus, her husband\u2019s enemy, who had returned from exile.\nThere would be a bond of sympathy between Clytemnestra and this\nEgisthus. Had he not a feud against her husband? Was he not wronged by\nAgamemnon, too? Had his father not suffered at the hands of Agamemnon\u2019s\nfather? There would be a meeting between them, followed by other\nmeetings, while they made common cause against the king; and presently\nthe two were united, not only in a plot for Agamemnon\u2019s overthrow, but\nin the bonds of guilty love.\n\nWhen the news came of the fall of Troy and the return of the army,\nClytemnestra had matured her plans for vengeance. For years she had\nnursed her wrath, and plotted with all the subtlety of her mental\npowers. And for years she had hoped for and dreaded the day which would\nbring back the king to Mycen\u00e6. Her love for Egisthus was common\nknowledge in the palace. Her sin would doubtless be proclaimed to\nAgamemnon immediately after his arrival, even if he did not already know\nof it; and she knew that the penalty of it would be death. So every\ninstinct and impulse of her nature, and every consideration of\nself-defence too, demanded instant action. Vengeance for the murder of\nher daughter, her love for Egisthus, and the need of self-preservation\nall combined to nerve her for what she had to do. Agamemnon\u2019s arrival\nwas imminent; she must be ready, and when the moment came she must not\nfalter. But meanwhile, before the old senators who had gathered to\nwelcome him (and who form the Chorus of the drama) she must play the\npart of a loving wife.\n\nWhen the first part of the Trilogy (the _Agamemnon_) opens,\nbeacon-lights announce the fall of Troy. The news flies through the\npalace, and there is instant excitement. The old senators come thronging\nout; and as they sing, wonderingly and half-doubting, Clytemnestra the\nqueen suddenly enters. She stands for a moment to confirm this amazing\nnews, and the old men turn to address her. But she makes no answer: it\nis as though she has not heard them\u2014as though nothing but the words \u201cThe\nking is coming\u201d clamour in her ears, and bring a rush of emotion that\nstifles speech. She goes out silently; but while the old men are singing\nof the doom of Troy, she reappears. Her entrance now is resolute and\nmajestical: her purpose is taken, and in firm tones she declares to the\nSenators that the news they have heard is true. As she speaks, the tide\nof emotion rises again and carries her on to utterance that is almost\nprophetic:\n\nCLY.         _This day Troy fell. Methinks I see\u2019t; a host\n             Of jarring voices stirs the startled city,\n             Like oil and acid, sounds that will not mingle,\n             By natural hatred sundered. Thou may\u2019st hear\n             Shouts of the victor, with the dying groan,\n             Battling, and captives cry....\n             ... Happy if the native gods\n             They reverence, and the captured altars spare,\n             Themselves not captive led by their own folly.\n             May no unbridled lust of unjust gain\n             Master their hearts, no reckless, rash desire._\n\nCHO.         _Woman, thou speakest wisely as a man,\n             And kindly as thyself._[13]\n\nClytemnestra\u2019s speech is significant. She knows the nature of the king,\nand she fears that his victory over Troy has been a brutal one, pushed\neven to the last extremity of insult to the country\u2019s gods. That impious\npride is her uppermost thought; with it, she steels her heart; and when\nthe herald arrives, she listens in ominous silence as his tale confirms\nher utmost fears.\n\nHER.                               _Agamemnon\n             Comes, like the sun, a common joy to all.\n             Greet him with triumph, as beseems the man\n             Who with the mattock of justice-bearing Jove\n             Hath dug the roots of Troy, hath made its altars\n             Things seen no more, its towering temples razed,\n             And caused the seed of the whole land to perish.\n             ... His hand hath reaped\n             Clean bare the harvest of all bliss from Troy._[13]\n\nIf anything were needed to confirm Clytemnestra\u2019s resolution, surely it\nlay in these words. Agamemnon, the ruthless slayer of his daughter, the\ndestroyer of Troy, who had no fear of the gods and no pity for man,\nwould have no mercy upon her. She must kill or be killed; and she must\nact quickly.\n\nEven while the herald spoke came the sound of the procession which was\nbringing the king up from the ships. First, his own chariot, surrounded\nby his guard and by the people who had gone out along the road to\nwelcome him. Then, following close behind, a chariot containing the\nsolitary figure of a woman, seated amid the spoils of war. She was\nCassandra, a prize of battle, brought home by Agamemnon to be his\nslave-wife. But she was no ordinary slave. Daughter of Priam, King of\nTroy, and virgin priestess of Apollo, she had been torn from the altar\nof the god by her captor; and Clytemnestra, watching her wild eyes, knew\nthat Agamemnon had filled up the measure of impiety to the gods and\ninsult to herself.\n\nAgamemnon uttered a laconic greeting to the people, while the queen\nstood tense and still. By no word or sign did he acknowledge his wife:\nonly, in perfunctory terms, hailed his country and his country\u2019s gods,\nand thanked the people for their welcome.\n\nThen Clytemnestra, holding tremendous passions in the leash, began her\nformal speech of welcome.\n\nCLY.         _Men! Citizens! ye reverend Argive seniors,\n             No shame feel I, even to your face, to tell\n             My husband-loving ways._[13]\n\nThe hour has come for which she has waited so long: her desperate plan\nis formed: all that may have been needed to strengthen it has been\nheaped upon her in the pride and insolence of the king. But she must\ndissemble a little longer; she must force herself to speak lovingly, to\nappear faithful before the people, and to lull suspicion in Agamemnon\u2019s\nmind. In her husband\u2019s speech there had been a veiled menace: and now,\nafter the first conventional phrases of affection, her words, too, take\non a double meaning; and an undercurrent of bitter irony runs through\nthem. On the surface lies the obvious meaning, to meet the exigency of\nthe moment; just below it lay another sense, designed to leap to life\nand plead for her when the deed that she is contemplating shall be\naccomplished.\n\n           \u201c_There comes a time when all fear fades and dies.\n                           ... Does any heart but mine\n           Know the long burden of the life I bore\n           While he was under Troy?_\u201c[14]\n\nThe time has indeed come to put aside fear, but for a reason that these\nsenators cannot see yet, any more than they can conceive the real nature\nof the burden that she had borne so long. To say that Clytemnestra\u2019s\nspeech is not really that of a faithful wife, that it is too loud in its\nprotestations of joy, too insistent and eager in its avowal of fidelity,\nis beside the mark. For not only is Agamemnon in all probability aware\nof Clytemnestra\u2019s sin, but she realizes that he may be aware of it.\nHence the deep irony of the situation; and hence too the fact that these\nprotestations, begun calmly and deliberately with the object of\ndeceiving the crowd, gradually take on a different tone. The king\u2019s\nmanner to her from the moment of arrival had been cold, even repellent.\nThe conviction grows that he has been forewarned, and with that\nconviction, the sense of danger to herself is heightened. As her speech\nproceeds we seem to feel her quickening pulse and tingling nerve, we\nseem to share the rush of fear that sweeps away restraint and carries\nher along a torrent of language that is wild, vehement, and almost\nfrenzied.\n\n                           \u201c_Now with heart at peace\n           I hail my King, my watchdog of the fold,\n           My ship\u2019s one cable of hope, my pillar firm\n           Where all else reels, my father\u2019s one-born heir,\n           My land scarce seen at sea when hope was dead,\n           My happy sunrise after nights of storm,\n           My living well-spring in the wilderness!\n           Oh, it is joy, the waiting time is past!\n           Thus, King, I greet thee home. No god need grudge\u2014\n           Sure we have suffered in time past enough\u2014\n           This one day\u2019s triumph._\u201c[14]\n\nAt this point she seeks relief in action from the stress of emotion:\n\n                            \u201c_Light thee, sweet my husband\n          From this high seat: yet set not on bare earth\n          Thy foot, great King, the foot that trampled Troy!\n          Ho thralls, why tarry ye, whose task is set\n          To carpet the King\u2019s way? Bring priceless crimson:\n          Let all his path be red, and Justice guide him,\n          Who saw his deeds, at last, unhoped for, home._\u201c[14]\n\nSelf-control is clearly returning. There is profound significance in her\nclosing words, an invocation to Justice to lead Agamemnon to his doom.\nThere is an inner motive, too, as well as awful irony, in the invitation\nto the king to walk on \u2018priceless crimson.\u2019 She must contrive that he\nwill commit himself still further before the people, who are already\nstirred by faction and chilled by his hauteur. In the full light of what\nshe is about to do, she sees that this is Agamemnon\u2019s last public act;\nand has determined that the man of blood shall walk to his death along a\ncrimson path. The deed is almost sacrilege; but after some protest,\nAgamemnon yields to her entreaties.\n\n            \u201c_If you must have it so, let some one loose\n            The shoe that like a slave supports my tread;\n            Lest, trampling o\u2019er these royal dyes, some god\n            Smite me with envious glances from afar._\u201c[15]\n\nHe has a consciousness of what he is doing, and his mind misgives him;\nbut he who could deny to the mother the life of her child, cannot refuse\nthis indulgence to his pride. Clytemnestra, in exultation that she can\nhardly conceal, reassures him. In lines of exquisite poetic beauty, but\nweighted with a meaning that he does not see, she declares that this\nhonour is his due; that it is a sacrifice for his return. Then, as\nAgamemnon passes within the palace, she remains for one instant outside.\nThe fire of exultation dies away. She forgets the people standing round,\nthe need for dissimulation, the danger of discovery. One thought sweeps\neverything else away\u2014the thought of the stupendous deed that she is\nabout to attempt, its horror and its peril. She raises her hands and\nutters an awful prayer:\n\n           \u201c_Zeus\u2014thou fulfillest all\u2014fulfil my prayer!\n           And take good heed of all thou doest herein!_\u201c[15]\n\nThen she follows Agamemnon into the palace. But there remains one person\nwhom she has overlooked, Cassandra, priestess and prophetess of Apollo.\nAs the Chorus takes up a lovely song full of foreboding, the queen\nreturns and calls to Cassandra to come within. But there has fallen upon\nCassandra a prophetic vision of the crime. She is distraught with fear\nand horror, and can find no answer to the imperious queen. Clytemnestra,\nto whom every moment is of infinite importance, suddenly loses all her\ndignity in mere rage at the silent, helpless girl.\n\n            \u201c_I have not time to waste out here with her.\n            By this the victims at our midmost hearth\n            Stand ready for the slaughter and the fire;\u2014\n            Rich thank-offerings for mercies long despaired.\n                              ... I\u2019ll not demean myself\n            By throwing more words away._\u201c[15]\n\nAs Clytemnestra passes a second time within doors, the poor captive\nbegins to wail a prophecy of what is about to be enacted there. She\nmourns for the awful curse upon the house.\n\n                        \u201c_There bides within\n          A band of voices,\u2014all in unison,\n          Yet neither sweet nor tuneful, for their song\n          Is not of blessing. Ay, a revel-rout,\n          Ever emboldened with new draughts of blood,\n          Within these walls, a furious multitude,\n          Hard to drive forth, keep haunt, all of one kin.\n          They cling to the walls; they hymn the primal curse,\n          Their fatal hymn._\u201d\n\nShe foresees the death of Agamemnon, and her own fate beside him. Twice\nshe approaches the palace and twice recoils in horror. But at last,\ncommitting herself to Apollo, she rushes within; and instantly there\nrises a dreadful cry. It is the voice of the king.\n\n        \u201c_Ah! Ah! I am mortally stricken, here, in the palace!_\u201d\n\nThe old men stand paralysed with fear; and before they can move a step\nto help, the agonized voice cries a second time:\n\n              \u201c_Oh me! Again I am smitten, to the death!_\u201d\n\nThere is an instant uproar and outcry. The palace becomes noisy with\nhurrying feet and clamorous voices; the old men feebly rush this way and\nthat, unable to decide, in their weakness and senility, how to act. In\nthe midst of the disorder, the doors of the palace are thrown open, and\nClytemnestra is revealed, weapon in hand, bending over the body of\nAgamemnon. A dreadful hush falls; and the queen, drawing herself up\nbefore the people, deliberately confesses to the deed and declares her\nmotives.\n\n         \u201c_I, who spake much before to serve my need,\n         Will here unspeak it, unappalled by shame.\n                   ... Time, and thought still brooding\n         On that old quarrel, brought me to this blow.\n         \u2018Tis done, and here I stand: here where I smote him!\u2014\n         I so contrived it,\u2014that I\u2019ll ne\u2019er deny,\u2014\n         As neither loophole nor defence was left him....\n         Such\u2014O ye Argive elders who stand here,\u2014\n         Such is the fact. Whereat, an if ye will,\n         Rejoice ye!...\n                         Such a cup of death\n         He filled with household crime, and now, returning,\n         Has drained in retribution._\u201d\n\nBut to the Senators only one thing is clear. A terrible crime has been\ncommitted: their king has been foully slain. All Clytemnestra\u2019s pleas in\nextenuation of the deed are wasted words. To them the situation is\ntragically simple: her guilt is plain; there is but one word that fits\nher\u2014murderess. There is no question for them of reason or of motive.\nWhat she claims to be a righteous judgment upon Agamemnon, they declare\nto be a crime demanding punishment. But they are not strong enough to\nenforce their will; and when they threaten Clytemnestra with banishment,\nshe answers with scorn.\n\n          \u201c_That is your sentence. I must fly the land\n          With public execration on my head.\n          Wise justicers! What said ye, then, to him\n          Who slew his child, nor recked of her dear blood\n          More than if sacrificing some ewe-lamb\n          From countless flocks that choked the teeming fold,\n          But slew the priceless travail of my womb\n          For a charm, to allay the wind from Thrace?..._\u201d\n\n              \u201c_Then hear my oath. By mighty Justice,\n          Final avenger of my murdered child,\n          By At\u00e8 and Erinys, gods of power,\n          To whom I sacrificed this man, I look not\n          For danger as an inmate, whiles our hearth\n          Is lightened by Aegisthus, evermore,\n          As hitherto, constant in love to me;\n          My shield, my courage!_\u201c[15]\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  CLYT\u00c6MNESTRA\n\n  _Hon. John Collier_\n\n  _By permission from the original picture in the Guildhall Art Gallery_\n]\n\nThen, as the elders mourn the death of the king and the demon of\nvengeance that haunts the house, Clytemnestra, in passionate conviction,\ndeclares that she has been merely an instrument of that spirit of\nvengeance.\n\n                                  \u201c_But I\n          Here make my compact with the hellish Power\n          That haunts the house of Atreus. What has been,\n          Though hard, we will endure. But let him leave\n          This roof, and plague some other race henceforth\n          With kindred-harrowing strife. Small share of wealth\n          Shall amply serve, now I have made an end\n          Of mutual-murdering madness in this hall._\u201c[15]\n\nShe comforts herself with the thought that now at last the Furies are\nappeased. No doubt of her own motives assails her: no warning hint that\ncrime is not cancelled by fresh crime. In the first glow of triumph she\nhas no premonition of the return of an avenging son. She proposes to\nherself a reign of peace with Egisthus which shall erase all memory of\nthe past.\n\n \u201c_Might but this be all of sorrow, we would bargain now for peace....\n I and thou together ruling with a firm and even hand,\n Will control and keep in order both the palace and the land._\u201c[15]\n\nOn this note of false security the _Agamemnon_ closes; and for the fate\nof Clytemnestra, which now becomes bound up with the story of Electra,\nwe must go to the second drama of the trilogy, the _Libation-bearers_.\n\n-----\n\nFootnote 13:\n\n  From Professor J. S. Blackie\u2019s translation of the _Agamemnon_\n  (Everyman\u2019s Library).\n\nFootnote 14:\n\n  From Professor G. Murray\u2019s translation of part of the _Agamemnon_ in\n  his _Ancient Greek Literature_ (William Heinemann).\n\nFootnote 15:\n\n  From Professor Lewis Campbell\u2019s translation of the _Agamemnon_\n  (Clarendon Press).\n\n\n\n\n_\u00c6schylus: Electra_\n\n\nThe \u00c6schylean Trilogy pauses at the point of Clytemnestra\u2019s triumph. The\nfirst drama, the _Agamemnon_, ends there. We left the queen tasting the\njoy of revenge, but by no means gloating heartlessly over Agamemnon\u2019s\nfall. She was conscious of the magnitude of the event; and the awfulness\nof her deed would have daunted even her strong spirit had she not been\nconfident that she was the instrument of destiny in striking down the\nproud and cruel king.\n\nThe friends of Agamemnon, the loyal faction which should have risen\nagainst her, must have been few and weak. They were evidently soon\nsubdued. They could not stand against the force of her powerful will;\nand, moreover, she combined with her strength a wise tact and a keen\nsense of justice. Doubtless these qualities had gone far to establish\nher government in Agamemnon\u2019s long absence. Her sway was no new thing to\nthe people of Argos; and when she resumed it with Egisthus as her\nconsort, she took up the thread of her former life, with little outward\nsign to mark the change.\n\nUnderneath the surface of national life, wrath and horror at the murder\nof the king must have smouldered. Inside the palace itself, as we shall\nsee presently, there was a small party ardently devoted to his memory\nand to the cause of his absent son, Orestes. But they were no match for\nClytemnestra; and she in her turn, having shaken off the nightmare of\nfear in which she had lived for so many years, proposed to herself a\nfuture that should cleanse and sweeten all the past. Her first emotion\nwas one of intense relief, not only from the long strain of suspense,\nbut from the fact that now, as she firmly believed, the old curse upon\nthe house of Atreus had at last been fulfilled. Her hand had dealt the\nfinal blow; the last life demanded by that implacable spirit had now\nbeen offered up. Henceforward it only remained to wipe out the past by\njust rule and sober living.\n\nSo for a time\u2014we do not know quite how long\u2014she lulled herself in false\nsecurity. Years may have passed in this ominous calm: memory fell\nasleep, and she lived serenely in a present that was full of such\ninterest and action as her mind delighted in. In such a mood, she would\nnot observe, or would disregard, small signs of disaffection around her.\nDay by day she would see the sad face of her daughter Electra; but until\nsome shock came to awaken her sleeping soul, Electra\u2019s accusing eyes\nwould fall upon her unheeded. The awakening came at last, however; and\nit is at this point that \u00c6schylus opens the second part of his Trilogy,\nin the drama called the _Choephor\u0153, or Libation-Bearers_.\n\nThe scene is laid outside the Royal Palace at Mycen\u00e6, before that tomb\nof Agamemnon which arch\u00e6ologists within recent years have brought to\nlight on the ancient site of the city. The time is morning, and two\nyoung men, who have evidently travelled far, approach the tomb. One is\nOrestes, the son of Agamemnon whom Clytemnestra had sent away as a\nchild. The other is his dear friend Pylades. Orestes has returned\nsecretly to Argos, bidden by the oracle of Apollo to avenge his father\u2019s\ndeath. But he has no army: he does not know that he has a single friend\nin Mycen\u00e6; and his purpose is fraught with extreme danger. How he will\naccomplish it he cannot yet imagine; but he must first try to discover\nif there are any in the palace who will befriend him.\n\nAs they reach the tomb, Orestes calls upon Hermes, the god who guides\nthe shades of the dead, and invokes his father\u2019s spirit.\n\n             \u201c_O Hermes of the Shades, that watchest over\n             My buried father\u2019s right, be now mine aid.\n             I come from exile to this land. Oh save me!_\n\n                   \u00b7      \u00b7      \u00b7      \u00b7      \u00b7\n\n             _Father, here standing at thy tomb I bid thee\n             Hear me! Oh hear!_\u201c[16]\n\nThen, according to a solemn custom of the heroic age, Orestes begins to\nclip the locks of hair from his head and place them upon the tomb as a\nvotive offering. As he is thus engaged, a train of mourning women slowly\nemerge from the palace, carrying vessels in their hands with libations\nfor the dead. They are slaves, captive Trojan women whom the poet uses\nas the Chorus of his Drama; and they are followed at a little distance\nby the drooping figure of a girl, whom Orestes rightly believes to be\nhis sister Electra. They are coming to pour offerings at the tomb of the\nking. This in itself is a sign of encouragement to Orestes. But he dare\nnot show himself until he is assured that they are friendly to his\ncause; and he and Pylades hastily withdraw, where they may hear and see\nthe ceremony without being seen.\n\nThe women are singing; and as their lovely parodos rises and falls, we\nlearn why they are coming thus early to the neglected tomb of the\nmurdered king. The astounding fact reveals itself that they are sent by\nClytemnestra. Clearly, the awakening has come to her at last. In the\nnight that has just passed she had been visited by a dream that seemed\nto her a dreadful portent. She had started from her bed, screaming with\nhorror, and had called for lights. But the crowding women with their\nlamps could not drive away the vision of the fearful serpent-birth that\nhad turned and rent her breast. And Clytemnestra, her conscience\nsuddenly shaken into life, had sent for the interpreters. They had no\ncomfort for her, however, in their reply:\n\n            _They cried, aloud, by heavenly sureties bound,\u2014\n            \u201cOne rages there beneath\n            Menacing death for death....\u201d_\n\nSo the interpreters confirmed her fear, that this dream was an omen sent\nfrom the unquiet spirit of her husband. Remorse assailed her. The shade\nof Agamemnon, neglected hitherto, must be propitiated. As soon as\ndaylight came, libations should be poured upon the tomb; and that they\nshould be acceptable, Electra should perform the rite. She might not\nherself call upon that dread spirit in the underworld; but Electra, with\nher grief-marred face and her loyal love to her father, would be a\nfitting suppliant.\n\nThus it happens that Electra, in the first light of early morning,\nstands at the tomb. Her heart is filled with bitter grief. She loathes\nthe task that she is commanded to perform\u2014the rite which, after years of\ncallous neglect, is only now offered to the injured shade because some\nbeginning of fear has come into her mother\u2019s mind. In all this time,\nnone of the dues that are sacred to the dead had been permitted for\nAgamemnon. No libations had been poured, no locks had been shorn from\nthe head; and even the mourning of Electra and her women had had to be\nhidden away from sight and sound of the queen. Now, suddenly, from no\nmotive of love or reverence to the dead, from no sense of tenderness to\nher daughter, from no reason that Electra can perceive save a\npremonition of danger to herself, Clytemnestra orders that the proper\nceremonies shall be observed.\n\nElectra cannot see the real motive which sways the queen. Partly from\nher very youth and innocence, partly because there is in her a tinge of\nthe iron temper of her father, she is blind to everything but\nClytemnestra\u2019s guilt. She sees her mother in the light of one fact\nonly\u2014the murder of the being whom she had loved most dearly. And looking\nback upon the past, all its events are viewed through that harsh light.\nThere was the banishment of her brother Orestes; the coming of the\nstrange man Egisthus whom, for some reason that she could not then\ncomprehend, she had always loathed; the return and death of her father;\nher own subsequent misery and degradation. With the hardness of youth,\nshe can conceive of nothing which could explain her mother\u2019s action,\nmuch less palliate it. Her sister Iphigenia she could not clearly\nremember; and if the story of her sacrifice was known to Electra, her\nabsolute devotion to her father accepted it unquestioningly. In no case\ncould she apprehend how that crime would wound her mother; just as she\ncould not see or understand the darker side of Agamemnon\u2019s character.\nOnly one thing was painfully realized\u2014that the great king who was her\nfather, and who had known how to be tender to the little girl he left at\nhome in Mycen\u00e6, had been done to death by the woman she called her\nmother. And now this woman, whom the years had taught Electra to hate,\ncommanded her to supplicate the wronged dead for peace. Electra cannot,\nand will not, entreat the dead in terms like these; and her first speech\nis awful with the bitterness in her heart. She turns to the slaves, the\nTrojan women who are attending her:\n\n     \u201c_Ministrant women, orderers of the house,\n     Since ye move with me to this suppliant rite,\n     Be ye my counsellors, how I must perform it.\n     When I pour this tribute at the grave,\n     What words will be in tune? What prayer will please?\n     Shall I say, Father, from a loving wife\n     This comes to thy dear soul: yea, from my mother?\u2019\n     That dare I not.\u2014I know not how to speak,\n     Shedding this draught upon my father\u2019s tomb.\n     Or shall I say, as mortals use, \u2018Give back\n     The giver meet return?\u2014to wit, some evil\u2019?\n                                     ... Be kind, and speak._\u201c[16]\n\nGrief and anger make her speech broken and barely coherent, as her\nthoughts are. But below the emotion, and almost unconsciously, there is\na hint of some purpose forming. Once for all she puts aside her mother\u2019s\norders; but she is not clear what will take their place. The dawning\nthought has not taken shape yet; and the vague counsels of the women do\nnot at first help her. But presently they speak the name of Orestes, and\nbid her look for help to him. She is startled at the name, and the gleam\nof hope it brings lights up the underlying thought. She realizes\nsuddenly what it means.\n\nELEC.        _Well said and wisely! That most heartens me._\n\nCHO.         _Then think of those who shed this blood, and pray\u2014_\n\nELEC.        _How? Teach me; I am ignorant. Speak on._\n\nCHO.         _Some power, divine or human, may descend\u2014\u2014_\n\nELEC.        _To judge or execute? What wilt thou say?_\n\nCHO.         _Few words, but clear. To kill the murderer._[16]\n\nHere then is the thought of her own brain, clothed in words and echoed\nback to her from the women whom she has implored to advise. But put thus\ninto cold language, they have a dreadful sound from which she recoils in\nhorror.\n\nELEC.        _But will the gods not frown upon such prayer?_\n\nCHO.         _Do they not favour vengeance on a foe?_[16]\n\nIn this tense dramatic moment, we are shown what the theme of the Drama\nis to be. We are shown too, as vividly and almost as rapidly as in a\nlightning-flash, the clear outlines of Electra\u2019s character. The\nbeautiful devotion to her father\u2019s memory: the blind hatred of\nClytemnestra: the desire for revenge vaguely forming, and leaping\nfull-grown at the first prompting from without; but\u2014and here is the\ncrux\u2014that desire held in check by a profound religious sentiment. This\nreverence for the gods makes the whole tragedy, for Electra and Orestes\nboth; it provides the dramatist with the inevitable inner conflict round\nwhich the action will revolve; and, most important of all, it has an\nethical significance which will sanctify the revenge of Electra and\nOrestes. For while the mere human impulse with them both is to strike\nback rapidly and without mercy for the blow that has killed their\nfather, a higher sense restrains them; and it needs an imperious mandate\nfrom Apollo to nerve them to the deed. This reluctance for the shedding\nof blood is a new thing in the age-long record of the house of Tantalus.\nWhen Electra asks whether the gods will not frown upon a prayer for\nvengeance, there is the birth of a holier spirit which will atone for\nand purify all those old crimes.\n\nBut first the final retribution must fall. Electra now lifts her voice\nin solemn prayer to the awful gods of the underworld and to the spirit\nof her father. She prays for a wiser heart and purer hand than her\nmother\u2019s. With almost faltering words\u2014literally constrained thereto, she\nsays\u2014she prays for vengeance; and she implores that Orestes may return\nand claim the throne now occupied by the hated Egisthus.\n\nIt is at this moment, just as the prayer closes in the Choral hymn, that\nElectra sees the locks of hair upon the tomb. She is amazed, almost\nalarmed. There is only one creature in all the world who should bring\nsuch an offering. If any other has placed it here, it is an act of\nsacrilege. She takes up the hair, examines it, and speaks about it\nrapidly and anxiously to the women. Gradually the conviction dawns that\nit can be no other than a votive lock shorn from the head of Orestes\nhimself. Then he has been here? But where is he now? The thought that he\nhas indeed returned, that he may even be near at hand at this moment,\ndrives wild hope and fear alternately through her mind. Holding the lock\nwithin her hand, she says:\n\n               \u201c_Ah! could it but speak, and tell me\n           Kind news, I were not shaken thus and cloven,\n           Thinking two ways: but either with clear scorn\n           I would renounce it, as an enemy\u2019s hair;\n           Or being my brother\u2019s, it should mourn with me,\n           And pay sweet honours at our father\u2019s tomb._\u201c[16]\n\nMeantime, Orestes in his hiding-place had verified the fact that Electra\nwas his sister. He had reassured himself, too, on another vital point.\nWhat he had heard and seen had convinced him that this group of women at\nleast was friendly to his cause. And at its head, holding out against\ngreat odds, and suffering extreme ills in consequence, was this brave\nspirit of Electra who, with all her tender and loyal devotion, was\nstrong enough to dare the uttermost with him. He need no longer delay to\nreveal himself. He had heard Electra\u2019s prayer for his return, and for\nvengeance on his father\u2019s murderers; and, stepping forward, he came like\nan instant answer to her petition.\n\nORES.        _First tell the gods thy former prayer is heard.\n             Then pray that all to come be likewise good._[16]\n\nBut Electra cannot recognize in this tall young man the boy who left\ntheir home so many years before. She is startled and incredulous; and\nthere follows a curious little scene which, if it occurred in a modern\nplay, would simply cause derision. Orestes gives such quaint evidence of\nhis identity\u2014the colour of his hair, which matches her own; the length\nof their footprints, which is similar; the embroidery on the robe that\nhe is wearing, which he says was wrought by her own hands before he went\nto Athens. The poet is not very much concerned with probabilities. He\nhas a great religious purpose which dominates all other considerations;\nand in the sublime onward sweep of the tragedy we are not troubled by\nminor inconsistencies. At this point they are simply lost sight of, in\nthe keen dramatic interest of the scene when Electra is at last\nconvinced that this is indeed her brother. What is proof to her is more\nthan ample proof to us.\n\nELEC.        _Shall I, in very truth, call thee Orestes?_\n\nORES.        _You see myself ...\n             Nay, be not lost in gladness! Curb thy heart\n             We know, our nearest friends are dangerous foes._\n\nELEC.        _Centre of fondness in thy father\u2019s hall,\n             Tear-watered hope of blessings yet to be,\n             Faith in thy might shall win thee back thy home!\n             Oh how I joy beholding thee! Thou hast_\n             _Four parts in my desires, not one alone.\n             I call thee Father: and my mother\u2019s claim\n             Falls to thy side, since utter hate is hers.\n             And my poor butchered sister\u2019s share is thine.\n             And I adore thee as my own true brother.\n             But oh! may holy Right and Victory,\n             And highest Zeus, the Saviour, speed thee too!_[16]\n\nThen Orestes plainly declares the reason for his return, and taking up\nElectra\u2019s prayer to Zeus, he cries for help in the vengeance to be\naccomplished for his father. He claims that he has a direct mandate from\nApollo.\n\nORES.               _... Apollo\u2019s mighty word\n             Will be performed, that bade me stem this peril.\n             High rose that sovran voice, and clearly spake\n             Of stormy curses that should freeze my blood,\n             Should I not wreak my father\u2019s wrongful death.\n             He bade me pay them back the self-same deed\n             Maddened by loss of all: yea, mine own soul\n             Should know much bitterness, were not this done._\n\n                                   _... For one so slain\n             Sees clearly, though his brows in darkness move!\u2014\n             The darkling arrow of the dead, that flies\n             From kindred souls abominably slain ...\n             Should harass and unman me ..._\n\n                                   _... I should have no share\n             Of wine or dear libation, but, unseen,\n             My father\u2019s wrath should drive me from all altars._[16]\n\nThus the command of Apollo was clear, definite, and imperative; and the\noracular utterance carried with it terrible penalties, should these two\nchildren of the murdered king dare to disobey. Yet we feel, all through\nOrestes\u2019 speech, that the conflict is warring within him too. He cannot\naccept the mandate implicitly. In the emphasis that he lays on his\nauthority, in the precise repetition of the very words of the oracle, in\nthe horror with which he enumerates the threatened punishments, we know\nthat he is trying to fortify himself against fear and horror at the\ndeed. Now that he comes close to his actual purpose, a strange new\nquestioning spirit arises which he strives to appease\u2014a shuddering\nreluctance which compels him to throw himself back upon the divine\nmandate. \u201cWas not this a word to be obeyed?\u201d he asks; and then, \u201cYea!\nWere it not, the deed must yet be done.\u201d\n\nBut struggle as Orestes may, the doubt will not be quelled. The crime of\nmother-murder which they contemplate starts up before them in all its\nhideous barbarity; and the burden imposed on Orestes is more than he can\nbear. As we know, it will lead him ultimately to madness. All through\nthe _kommos_ which follows, a long and sublimely mournful hymn chanted\nalternately by Orestes, Electra and the Chorus, the brother and sister\nseem to be battling with this question of the righteousness of their\naction. They appeal to Zeus and to the powers of the nether world: they\ncry to the spirit of their father: they remind each other of the cruelty\nand shamelessness of Clytemnestra: they recall the greatness of\nAgamemnon, and contrast it with his ignominious end: they dwell upon the\nwrongs done to Electra, and the sin of Egisthus, and the curse upon\ntheir house. The wave of emotion rises and falls. At one moment a solemn\nconfidence reassures them that the vengeance is righteous; at another,\nthe doubt sweeps back and shatters their assurance, and again they are\ndriven to bewail their wrongs and invoke the name of Justice.\n\nORES.        _Father, no word of mine, no deed may bring\n             Light to the darkness where thou liest below:_\n             _Yet shall the dirge lament thy matchless woe,\n             And grace the tomb of Argos\u2019 noblest king...._\n\nELEC.        _Hear me, too, father, mourning in my turn;\n             Both thine afflicted ones towards thee yearn.\n             Both outcasts, both sad suppliants at thy tomb.\n             What dawn may pierce this overwhelming gloom?..._\n\nORES.        _Where is your power to save,\n             Lords of the grave?\n             Oh curse, of endless might,\n             From lips long lost to light,\n             We, last of Atreus\u2019 race\n             Implore thy dreadful grace,\n             Reft of our halls, and outlawed from our right,\n             Zeus, whither should we turn?_[16]\n\nAt this point is felt most strongly the undercurrent of doubt and\nhorror. It brims and rushes, overwhelming for a time the confident sense\nof justice and trust in the oracle of the god. And here the Chorus,\nexpressing, as its function is, the brooding meditation of an onlooker,\nechoes their inmost thought in sympathetic strains:\n\nCHOR.        _Again ye make my changeful heart to yearn,\n             Listening your plaintive cry. One while I feel\n             My soul with dark misgivings shake and reel,\n             But by and by the clouds are rolled away\n             And courage heightens with new hopes of day._\n\nELEC.        _Oh mother! Oh enemy! Oh hard soul!\n             Like a foe, unhonoured by funeral bowl,\n             Though a prince, unfollowed by mean or high,\n             Thou didst bury thy husband without one sigh._\n\nORES.        _Ah! ah! every word there hath stung.\n             But shall she not pay\n             For each shame she then flung\n             On my sire?_\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  ELECTRA\n\n  _Gertrude Demain Hammond R.I._\n]\n\nELEC.        _Thou hearest our father\u2019s death; but I was driven\n             To grieve apart beneath the dews of heaven;\n             Chased from the chambers like a thievish hound,\n             To pour my grief in tears upon the ground,\n             They came more readily than smiles.... Write this in thy\n             soul ..._\n\nORES.        _Father, assist thy children in their deed!_\n\nELEC.        _Thy daughter\u2019s tears implore thee in deep need!..._\n\nORES.        _The cause is set. The battle doth begin!_\n\nELEC.        _Oh gods, be just; and make the righteous win!_[16]\n\nThe resolution is taken at last. It remains now only to ask their\nfather\u2019s blessing, before putting it into effect. Orestes begs for power\nto rule well in Agamemnon\u2019s stead, and promises rich sacrifices to his\nshade.\n\nELEC.                           _And I will bring\n             Choice offerings from all my patrimony\n             In day of marriage, and will honour first\n             My father\u2019s tomb from the paternal hall...._\n\nORES.        _Either send justice fighting on our side,\n             If thou wouldst gain requital for thy fall,\n             Or grant us to catch them as they caught thee._\n\nELEC.        _Hear this last cry, my father! Look with pity\n             On these thy young ones sitting at thy grave,\n             And feel for both, the maiden and the man._[16]\n\nThe real crisis of the tragedy is in this wonderful ode, although the\naction has all to follow. Doubts and fears are now subdued: Orestes and\nElectra have risen to a height of stern conviction which will carry them\nto the fulfilment of their purpose, although neither it nor the sanction\nof Apollo will save them from remorse. The action moves rapidly now, as\nthough the revenge must be accomplished at once, in the heat of this\nterrible purpose. Orestes is told of Clytemnestra\u2019s dream\u2014that she had\nborne a serpent which had turned and rent her breast. He welcomes it\ngladly, as an auspicious omen for him; and forms a hasty plan of action.\nHe and Pylades will apply for entrance at the palace gates, with a\nfeigned story of Orestes\u2019 death. Electra must make ready for them\nwithin, and secure their admittance. They will kill Egisthus first, and\nafterward complete the revenge by the murder of Clytemnestra.\n\nIt is not a very skilful plot, but it succeeds. Clytemnestra receives\nOrestes and his friend, believing them to be strangers from Phokis. She\nis grieved and shocked at their story of Orestes\u2019 death; and goes out to\napprise Egisthus of it. Presently Egisthus passes across the stage\nalone, on his way to give an audience to the guests and, though he does\nnot know it, to pay the penalty for his crime. He goes into the palace,\nand an instant afterward he is heard to utter a dreadful cry. Attendants\nrush forth, calling upon the name of the queen.\n\nCLYTEM.      _What cry is here? What dost thou by the gate?_\n\nATTEN.       _I say, the dead have slain the living there._\n\nCLYTEM.      _Ay me! I read thy riddle! Oh! undone!\n             By guile, even as we slew! Give me an axe,\n             A strong one; quickly too! I\u2019ll dare the issue,\n             Be it for me or against me! I am come\n             To the utterance in this fight with Fate and Doom._[16]\n\nThen there follows an awful scene between Orestes and Clytemnestra, as\nshe grieves over the body of Egisthus.\n\nORES.        _Was he so dear to thee? Then thou shalt lie\n             In the same grave with blameless constancy._\n\nCLYTEM.      _Oh son, forbear! O child, respect and pity\n             This breast, whereat thou often, soothed to slumber,\n             Drain\u00e8dst with baby mouth the bounteous milk._[16]\n\nFor an instant these poignant words make Orestes waver; and he half\nturns to Pylades with an appeal for counsel. But the answer is a stern\nreminder of the oracular command; and the pitying moment passes.\n\nORES.        _How should I live with her who killed my sire?_\n\nCLYTEM.      _The destinies wrought there. My son! my son!_\n\nORES.        _Destiny works a different doom to-day...._\n\nCLYTEM.      _Oh! Wilt thou kill thy mother? O my son!_\n\nORES.        _I kill thee not. Thy sin destroyeth thee...._\n\nCLYTEM.      _Ah!_\n\n             _I have borne and reared a serpent for my son._\n\nORES.        _Then is fulfilled the terror of thy dream!_[16]\n\nSo Clytemnestra falls at the hands of Orestes; but the vengeance has no\njoy for him. Before his mother\u2019s mighty spirit has taken its way along\nthe road to Hades, a torture of remorse has fallen upon her son. Even\nwhile he stands above the murdered body, her avenging Furies come\nthronging about him \u201cwith Gorgon faces and thick serpent hair\u201d and he\nfeels his reason totter.\n\nORES.        _Hear me declare:\u2014How this will end I know not.\n             I feel the chariot of my spirit borne\n             Far wide. My soul, like an ill-managed courser,\n             Is carrying me away, while my poor heart\n             To her own music dances in wild fear._[16]\n\nHe cries in anguish to Apollo to justify him; but there comes no answer\nfrom the god; and faster and faster crowd those grizzly spectre forms,\nrushing upon him in hideous multitudes, and menacing him with ghastly\ntorments. And as the tragedy closes, we see Orestes fleeing before the\nrout of the Furies to find sanctuary at the shrine of Apollo, while the\nChorus wails:\n\n                             \u201c_When shall cease\n           Dread, At\u00e8\u2019s fury? When be lulled to peace?_\u201d[16]\n\nWe hear no more of Electra from \u00c6schylus. Measured by action, or even by\nlanguage, the part she plays in his trilogy is quite a small one. It is\nsignificant, too, that this her first appearance in Attic Tragedy is not\ncalled by her name, but the _Libation-bearers_. Such a title, while it\nserves to remind us of a stage of Greek Drama when the Chorus was the\nwhole play, indicates also the poet\u2019s conception of the theme. To\n\u00c6schylus, the religious act at Agamemnon\u2019s tomb, with all that it\nimplies, was of much greater import than the figure of the great king\u2019s\ndaughter. The force of destiny, the amazing mandate of the god and its\nconflict with filial love and duty, and the pursuit of the matricide by\nthe Furies, constitute for him the essence of the tragedy. The spiritual\naspect of the story transcends for him the human interest of it. Hence\nhis characters, though sublimely great, are great in outline only; and\nhence the brief appearance of Electra.\n\nBut when we find that Sophocles and Euripides, who wrote about Electra\nafterward, have boldly made her the protagonist, and have called their\nplays by her name, we are prepared for a change of attitude. The story\nis now viewed from a more human standpoint. The protagonist is no longer\na chorus, but a woman: the ruling passion is now not so much a\nprinciple, a moral, a duty, or any idea in the abstract; but strong\nhuman will, intense human love, and mortal hatred. The motive of the\nDrama is no longer a religious ceremonial, but the enactment of a tragic\nstory. And the final result is not now that of a grand moral lesson\nconveyed through the lips of shadowy demi-gods, but a really dramatic\ndrama.\n\nIt follows, therefore, that with this change the character of Electra\nhas taken on a stronger and more complete individuality. In the version\nof Sophocles, she rises to her greatest height. She is a creature who\ncan endure to the end and dare the uttermost: of absorbing love and\nstrenuous hatred: tender and strong. Unbending and uncompromising, she\nis in conflict not only with the mother whom she loathes, but with the\nweakness of a sister whom she loves. Implacable to her enemies, she is\ncapable of absolute devotion to the memory of her father and to the\nabsent Orestes; and in these contrasted qualities Sophocles has made of\nhis Electra a tremendously dramatic figure. For the finest drama, and\nfor the most enthralling story we must go to him. But his purpose seems\nto have been merely artistic. He takes a hint from the old legend, and\ndeveloping its possibilities to the utmost he evolves a play which is\nperhaps more powerful as drama and certainly more perfect as art than\nthat of \u00c6schylus or Euripides. But it has hardly any other significance.\nHis conception of Electra, while finely complete and harmonious, is of a\nbeing untroubled by ethical considerations, and casting no fearful\nglance \u2018before and after.\u2019\n\nWith Euripides, on the other hand, the character of the protagonist\nbecomes more deeply significant than even \u00c6schylus had made her. For\nEuripides, the mandate of the god was false, and the vengeance taken was\na stupendous crime against humanity. When Orestes and Electra, wrought\nup by passion, have accomplished it, Euripides makes reaction come to\nthem as to any other mortal being. They are not pursued by visible\nFuries, from which they may flee to the sanctuary of Apollo, but by\nremorse and cankering doubt of their own motives. For him they are\nsimply human creatures; and the touch of realism, animated as it is by a\ndaring sceptical spirit, has laid a blight on much that was beautiful in\nthe earlier conception of Electra\u2019s character. To recover that, we must\ngo back to the _Libation-bearers_ of \u00c6schylus.\n\n-----\n\nFootnote 16:\n\n  From Professor Lewis Campbell\u2019s translation of the _Choephor\u0153_\n  (Clarendon Press).\n\n\n\n\n_\u00c6schylus: Cassandra_\n\n\nFor the beginning of Cassandra\u2019s story we must go back to the epic\ntheme. The first word which Homer tells of her is in the Thirteenth Book\nof the _Iliad_, where she is called \u201cthe fairest of Priam\u2019s daughters.\u201d\nBut that is late in the Siege; and there is a legend which gives her an\nearlier connection with the tale of Troy. Indeed, we find that she was a\nlink in the chain of events which led Helen and the Greek army to her\nnative city. When she was still a young girl she had, in some mysterious\nway, been beloved by the god Apollo. The god gave her the gift of\nprophecy; but because she refused his love he angrily confounded the\ngift that he could not recall by decreeing that her prophetic utterances\nshould never be believed. This is the central point round which our\nthought about Cassandra must revolve. She is the virgin priestess who\nholds herself inviolate even from the embraces of a divine lover; and\nshe is an oracle of clear vision and stainless truth, whose divination\nis cursed with futility.\n\nThe events of her career show blacker and more hideous against the clear\nlight of her spirit. All through the long agony of the Trojan war we\nhave a sense of Cassandra at the altar, lifting pure hands in\nsupplication for her dear city. The fighting raged outside the walls\nlike an angry sea, while inside the town and away in the Greek\nencampment all the passions let loose by war raged no less fiercely than\nthe battle itself. But Cassandra, withdrawn from sight and sound of the\nconflict, continued to pray and sacrifice. Her life was consecrated. And\nalthough the gods themselves seemed sometimes leagued against her;\nalthough she had a perception of what the end must be, nothing could\nweaken her endurance nor shake her will. The Trojan princes wooed her in\nvain: the love of the great Sun-god himself could not make her swerve.\nThe glory of her beauty: her gift of vision: her lofty impassioned soul,\nwere vowed irrevocably to the service of her country and her home.\n\nYet this idealist and mystic was destined to suffer the worst\nbrutalities of war in the hour of Troy\u2019s destruction. She was made\ncaptive at her own altar; and was carried away by Agamemnon to be his\nslave-wife and the rival of his queen. The mind revolts at the thought:\nit is too awful to contemplate, and will not shape itself in cold\nreflection. The poets seem to have felt this; and we find that \u00c6schylus\nand Euripides, who have both dwelt upon the story of Cassandra\u2019s\ndownfall, rise to stormy heights of emotion when they tell about it.\n\nEuripides has placed Cassandra in the group of royal women in his\n_Troades_. The time of the drama is the morning which follows the\noverthrow of Troy; and the action represents the carrying-off of the\nprincesses by their captors. It is, one would think, a time and a scene\nquite unfitted for dramatic presentation. The immense excitement\u2014of\nvictory on the one hand and defeat upon the other\u2014has ebbed away; and\nall that remains to the Trojan women is misery so profound and hopeless\nas almost to be beyond the power of expression. The measure of their\npain seems to claim a reverent silence; and we feel that the _Troades_\ndoes need the sanction of the ethical purpose which Professor Murray has\nfound in it. But once we realize the deep and humane thought behind it:\nthat the poet has chosen this part of the story expressly to reveal the\nhideous suffering which war entails upon women, the tragedy is fraught\nwith significance.\n\nThe final act of Cassandra\u2019s life is given by \u00c6schylus in the\n_Agamemnon_. He, no less than Euripides, feels the appalling tragedy of\nher story; and both poets have put into her lips lyrics of wild and\nhaunting beauty. But \u00c6schylus, by removing the action to Mycen\u00e6 and by\nbringing Cassandra into conflict with Clytemnestra, has wrought a climax\nof extraordinary power.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf there be any truth in the legend, it was Cassandra who first\nrecognized the shepherd Paris for the son of Priam. The stripling who\ndescended from the glens of Mt. Ida to compete in the games outside the\ncity was unknown and unloved by the Trojans whom he defeated. They were\njealous of the handsome stranger who carried off the prizes from them;\nand he soon found himself embroiled with Priam\u2019s athletic sons. He was\nhard beset. The odds were heavy against him; and like a hunted animal he\nflung himself before the altar of Apollo for protection.\n\n             _And lo! Apollo\u2019s priestess with a train\n             Of holy maidens came into that place,\n             And jar did she outshine the rest in grace,\n             But in her eyes such dread was frozen then\n             As glares eternal from the gorgon\u2019s face\n             Wherewith Athene quells the ranks of men._[17]\n\nIt was of course Cassandra. She had never before seen this young\nsuppliant who was clinging to the altar; but as she looked on him now\nthere came upon her a revelation of his identity. She knew of the old\nring which had been placed about her baby brother\u2019s neck when he was\nexposed to death upon the mountain; and taking Paris by the hand, she\ntouched the chain he wore and slowly drew to light the talisman.\n\n           _This sign Cassandra showed to Priam straight.\n           The king waxed pale and asked what this might be?\n           And she made answer, \u201cSir, and King, thy fate\n           That comes on all men horn hath come on thee;\n           This shepherd is thine own child verily.\u201d_[17]\n\nHere, then, is the real beginning of the story of Cassandra. For the old\nking would not be warned against his fate. He welcomed his boy as one\nreturned from death. A great festival was made in his honour; and of all\nthe many sons of Priam there was not one so dearly loved. Joy and\nmerriment filled the city. All the warning oracles which had spoken at\nthe birth of Paris were forgotten. Nothing but thanksgiving was heard\nfor the restoration of the fair young prince; and amid it all, Cassandra\nknew that when she placed his hand in the hand of Priam, Destiny had\nwrought for the fall of Troy.\n\nThe years passed speedily at first, untouched by care; and then more\nslowly, big with events. First the sailing of Paris. Then, after Helen\ncame back with him to Troy, an interval when the Trojans waited,\nwondering how the Greeks would repay the insult. Finally, the arrival of\nthe Greek fleet and the beginning of the Siege.\n\nPriam was not unsupported in his long ordeal. Neighbouring princes\njoined him against the hostile Greeks, some in the hope of reward and\nsome for the sake of friendship. There was one warrior, Othryoneus, who\ncame because he loved Cassandra. He brought no \u2018gifts of wooing,\u2019 but\nmade a promise to the king \u201cof a mighty deed, namely, that he would\ndrive perforce out of Troy-land the sons of the Achaians.\u201d Priam\nconsented to his suit; but we are not told what Cassandra thought of it.\nProbably she was not consulted. It is conceivable, so tender was her\nlove of home and country, that to reward the hero who would save them,\nshe would even consent to lay aside her holy office; to recall her\nsoaring spirit to dwell beside the hearth. But the eye which saw so far\nknew that it need not consider the present problem. Before the end,\nCassandra saw the valiant man who loved her lying pierced by the spear\nof Idomeneus.\n\nThat was toward the end of the war; and in the penultimate scene of it,\nthe bringing-in of Hector\u2019s body, Cassandra appears again. She had\nwatched all that fearful night, when the old king went out to the Greek\ncamp to beg of Achilles for the body of his great son. And in the cold\nlight of dawn, straining her eyes from Pergamos and weary with her\nvigil, she was the first to see the mournful procession. \u201cThen beheld\nshe him that lay upon the bier behind the mules, and thereat she wailed\nand cried aloud throughout all the town.\u201d The people wakened at her\nterrible cry, and coming out of their houses, they followed her down to\nthe gate to meet the unhappy king.\n\nHector\u2019s death was the beginning of the end. Troy fell. Its brave men\nwere slaughtered, its palaces burnt, its altars dishonoured; and worst\nof all, its women and children were carried off as slaves. Of this the\n_Iliad_ does not speak; but it was an event which seized and held fast\nthe imagination of the Attic dramatists. The glory of war, which throws\na glamour over the fighting in the epic, gives place in the later poets\nto the pain and horror of it. Not because they were less brave: \u00c6schylus\nfought at the great Greek victory of Marathon; but because an advancing\ncivilization had brought a more reflective mind, a more humane temper,\nand the birth of sacred pity.\n\nThe _Troades_, to which we come next for the story of Cassandra,\nbreathes throughout the pitiful spirit of the poet Euripides. It relates\nwhat befell the women of the royal household after the sack of the city.\nAs grey daylight comes we see the figure of the aged queen, prostrate\nbefore the charred walls of the town. She rises feebly, moaning in a\nbewilderment of grief and physical weakness. To her approach, one after\nanother, furtively, the frightened Trojan women who form the Chorus of\nthe play. Her crying has wakened them, and they steal out to try to\ndiscover what fate is in store for them. Even while they ask, a\nmessenger Talthybius, arrives from the Greek ships. In curt phrases he\nreplies to the queen\u2019s anguished inquiries about her daughters. They\nhave been assigned to certain of the Greek chiefs, he says: Andromache\nto Neoptolemus, she herself to Odysseus, and Polyxena (he speaks\nambiguously, to hide a grimmer fact) to serve at the tomb of Achilles.\nThe stricken queen asks about each in turn.\n\nHECUBA.      _Say how Cassandra\u2019s portion lies._\n\nTALTHYBIUS.  _Chosen from all for Agamemnon\u2019s prize!_\n\nHECUBA.      _How, ...\n             The sainted of Apollo? And her own\n             Prize that God promis\u00e8d,\n             Out of the golden clouds, her virgin crown?_\n\nTALTHYBIUS.  _He loved her for that same strange holiness._[18]\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  CASSANDRA\n\n  _Solomon J. Solomon R.A._\n\n  _By permission of the Artist_\n]\n\nHecuba is appalled at this fate that is decreed for her child. She whose\npure spirit had always ranged beyond the things of time and sense, who\nwas the consecrated priestess of Apollo and set apart for holy service,\nis condemned to be the slave-wife of the man who has destroyed their\ncity. The poor mother wails in horror at the thought: it is too awful,\ntoo sacrilegious a deed even for these proud Greeks, and she cries out\nin protest. The herald silences her with a brutal comment on the good\nfortune which makes her daughter the bride of a king; and then orders an\nattendant to fetch Cassandra from the tents. But there is no need for\nthe man to go. Even while they are speaking there comes a sudden flash\nof strange fire, and the wild figure of Cassandra appears, robed in\nwhite, garlanded with flowers and carrying a blazing torch. The fearful\nevents of the past night have driven her to a frenzy. Arrayed as for a\nhappy bridal, she comes singing a hymn to Hymen; but the terror in her\neyes, and the poignancy of the words she utters hold her hearers dumb:\n\n           \u201c_Hail, O Hymen red,\n           O Torch that makest one!\n           Weepest thou, Mother mine own?\n           Surely thy cheek is pale\n           With tears, tears that wail\n           For a land and a father dead.\n           But I go garlanded:\n           I am the bride of Desire...._\n\n           \u201c_O mother, fill mine hair with happy flowers,\n           And speed me forth.... So liveth Loxias,\n           A bloodier bride than ever Helen was\n           Go I to Agamemnon, Lord most high\n           Of Hellas!... I shall kill him, mother! I\n           Shall kill him, and lay waste his house with fire\n           As he laid ours. My brothers and my sire\n           Shall win again!..._\u201c[18]\n\nHer frenzy gives place now to a more meditative strain. It is as though\nthe fiery cloud that hung about her brain was pierced for an instant by\nthe sight of her grieving mother. She tries to find words to comfort\nHecuba; and as the calmer mood deepens she rises to a perception of the\ndignity of high failure contrasted with low success. The Trojans dying\nfor their homes she sees as a nobler thing than the triumph of the\nGreeks.\n\n            \u201c_Would, ye be wise, ye Cities, fly from war!\n            Yet if war come, there is a crown in death\n            For her that striveth well and perisheth\n            Unstained: to die in evil were the stain!\n            Therefore, O Mother, pity not thy slain,\n            Nor Troy, nor me, the bride. Thy direst foe\n            And mine by this my wooing is brought low._\u201d[18]\n\nAt this point the herald is suddenly roused to reply. He turns upon her\nfuriously for her ominous forebodings and bids her be silent. If he did\nnot know her for a mad woman, he says, she should suffer for boding thus\nevil to the Greeks. He orders her roughly to follow him; but at his\nspeech the frenzy rushes over Cassandra again. She turns upon Talthybius\nin magnificent anger and scorn. \u201cHow fierce a slave,\u201d she cries; and\nthen the prophetic gift burns in her as she foretells in language of\nawful beauty her own doom and that of Agamemnon.\n\n                                      \u201c_Thou Greek King,\n        Who deem\u2019st thy fortune now so high a thing,\n        Thou dust of the earth, a lowlier bed I see,\n        In darkness, not in light, awaiting thee;\n        And with thee, with thee ... there, where yawneth plain\n        A rift of the hills, raging with winter rain,\n        Dead ... and outcast ... and naked.... It is I\n        Beside my bridegroom; and the wild beasts cry,\n        And ravin on God\u2019s chosen!..._\n\n        \u201c_Mother, farewell, and weep not! O my sweet\n        City, my earth-clad brethren, and thou great\n        Sire that begat us; but a space, ye Dead,\n        And I am with you; yea, with crown\u00e8d head\n        I come, and shining from the fires that feed\n        On these that slay us now, and all their seed._\u201c[18]\n\nCassandra is led away to the Greek ships, no blessing to the toiling\nmariners. For even their own gods are wrath at the crime against her;\nand many a heart-breaking struggle is in store for them: many a noble\nship will be lost, and many a hero\u2019s life will pay the penalty, before\ntheir homes are reached. Perhaps to Agamemnon more than most, the\nDeities of the Elements were kind. But then they knew the fate awaiting\nhim, and in ironic pleasure sped him to it. There is no need to recall\nthe details of his arrival at Mycen\u00e6, or of his welcome by Clytemnestra,\nalmost distraught by conflicting hope and fear. Agamemnon was weary of\nhis voyage; weary, too, of the long steep chariot-drive up from the sea.\nYielding to his wife\u2019s entreaty to walk on costly crimson to the palace,\nhe turns for an instant to Cassandra\u2019s chariot.\n\n                                \u201c_Receive, I pray thee\n          This stranger-woman kindly. Heaven still smiles,\n          When power is used with gentleness. No mortal\n          Is willingly a captive, but this maid,\n          Of countless spoils the flower and crown, was given\n          To me by the army, and attends me home._\u201d[19]\n\nThe moment is crowded with emotion. For the briefest space\u2014merely long\nenough, in fact, to make the Trojan woman formally known to\nClytemnestra\u2014these three strong spirits face each other. Cassandra,\nwide-eyed and rigid, looks beyond the king and queen, beyond the\ncrowding people, at _something_ that her vision warns her is beyond the\npalace doors. To Clytemnestra, her presence is an insult, and her purity\nan intolerable reproach. There is one glance of bitterness and hatred\nfrom the queen which Cassandra does not see; and then the insolent king\nenters the palace, Clytemnestra following him. She returns immediately,\nhowever, lashed to a fury in which her dignity goes to shreds.\n\nCLY.         _In with thee too, Cassandra! Get thee in!\n             Since Heaven in mercy hath consigned thee here\n             To share our household lustral waters, one\n             Of many slaves that stand around our hearth.\n             Come from that carriage. Be not proud. Descend!_\n\nThe speech is cruel; and it has, moreover, an inner meaning which the\npoor captive perceives only too well. She does not answer. She listens\nin silence, too, when the Chorus address her; and when Clytemnestra,\nwith that crucial moment imminent, grows wild with impatience. \u201cSure she\nis mad,\u201d ejaculates the angry queen; \u201cI\u2019ll not demean myself by throwing\nmore words away.\u201d Only when she has gone does Cassandra break silence;\nand then by a wail which the sympathetic Elders cannot understand.\n\n                \u201c_Ai, Ai! O Apollo! Apollo!...\n                Builder! Destroyer!\n                Builder of Troy! Destroyer of me!_\u201c[19]\n\nThe old men pity her, and try to calm her frenzy. She looks round on\nthem, as if awakening from a dream, and asks what house is this. They\nreply that it is the Atrid\u00e6\u2019s palace, and the word calls up to Cassandra\nthe long black record of the house of Atreus.\n\nCASS.        _Ah! a hideous den, abhorred of Heaven,\n             Guilt-stained with strangled lives.... Ah! faugh!_\n\nCHO.         _Her scent is keen, this stranger\u2019s! Like a hound\n             She snuffs for blood. And she will find, I doubt me._[19]\n\nIn a long recital, Cassandra recounts the ancient crimes of the Atrid\u00e6;\nand in dark oracular language moans that there is worse behind. The old\nmen are perplexed. They cannot follow her meaning, though over and over\nagain she struggles to make clear the doom that is even now about to\nfall.\n\nCASS.        _Ah! what is this? Oh me!\n             What strange new grief is risen?\n             A deed of might ..._\n             _An act\n             Of hate for love; and succour bides aloof,\n             Far, far away._\n\nCHO.         _This prophecy is dark to me...._\n\nCASS.                                  ... _\u2019Twill come,\n             \u2018Tis here! She lifts her hand; she launches at him\n             Blow following blow!_\n\nCHO.         _Thy speech appals me._\n\nCASS.        _Woe! For my hapless doom!\n             To fill the cup, I tell my own sad tale!\n             Why hast thou brought me to this place? Oh misery!\n             To die with thee? What else? To die!... To die!...\n             Paris, thy wedding hath destroyed thy house,\n             Yea, and thy sister!\u2014O Scamander stream!\n             Our fathers drank of thee and by thy shore\n             I grew, I flourished. Oh unhappy I!\n             But now by dark Cocytus and the banks\n             Of Acheron, my prophecies shall sound._[19]\n\nThe Elders begin to understand; but still the drift of her message is\nonly partly clear to them. They realize that she is distraught, fearing\nsome dreadful fate for herself; they have, too, a glimmering fear of\ndanger to the king. But they cannot comprehend what it may be; and the\nthought of succour never dawns upon their dull old wits. They speak\ngently to Cassandra; but again her message seems to tear her with its\nforce and urgency.\n\n           \u201c_No longer, like a newly married girl,\n           My word shall peep behind a veil, but, flashing\n           With panted vehemence to meet the day,\n           \u2018Twill dash, against the shores of Light, a sorrow\n           Of mightier volume._\u201c[19]\n\nThen, point by point, she goes with studied clarity over all the \u201ctrail\nof long-past crime.\u201d So long as this is her theme, the Elders understand\nand confirm her words. But when, rising again on the wings of prophecy\nand therefore to a rapt and obscure utterance, she foretells the fall of\nAgamemnon and her own death, they are again at sea. She pauses for an\ninstant, baffled; she knows that her end is imminent, and in her despair\nshe casts stinging words at them for their stupidity and inaction. Never\nhas Apollo\u2019s ban wrought so bitterly; and in the extremity of her\nanguish she declares that she will call upon the god no longer. She\nstrips herself of the sacred emblems and flings them from her.\n\n           \u201c_Why wear I still these mockeries of my soul,\n           This wand, these fillets round my neck? I tear ye\n           Thus! Go to your destruction ere I die!\n           To pieces with you! Lead the way! I follow!\n           Enrich some other life with misery....\n           I will go forward! I will dare to die!\n           Hail, then, thou gate of Hell!_\u201c[19]\n\nShe takes a few steps toward the palace; but her courage fails for a\nmoment. The reek of blood in her nostrils stifles her, and she recoils.\nIn her last words passion and strength alike fade out, giving place to a\npathetic human appeal:\n\n                                   \u201c_O strangers! friends!\n             I shrink not idly, like some timorous bird\n             Before a bush! Bear record in that day\n             When I am dead...._\u201c[19]\n\nAnd the old men, as she passes slowly out of sight, wail over her what\nis perhaps her most fitting epitaph:\n\n           _Ah! what is mortal life? When prosperous,\n           A shadow can o\u2019erturn it; and, when fallen,\n           A throw o\u2019 the wet sponge blurs the picture out._\n           THIS IS MORE PITEOUS THAN THE RUIN OF PRIDE.[19]\n\n-----\n\nFootnote 17:\n\n  From Mr Andrew Lang\u2019s _Helen of Troy_ (G. Bell & Sons).\n\nFootnote 18:\n\n  From Professor G. Murray\u2019s translation of the _Troades_ (George Allen\n  & Co. Ltd.).\n\nFootnote 19:\n\n  From Professor Lewis Campbell\u2019s translation of the _Agamemnon_\n  (Clarendon Press).\n\n\n\n\n_\u00c6schylus: Io_\n\n\nWe turn now from the Trojan legend to that of Thebes. We are still in\nthe realm of Tragedy; and in some respects the Theban story is more\nbarbarous than that of Troy. But by some means the tension is slightly\nrelieved, and the atmosphere is lightened by one degree. Perhaps that is\nbecause, in the dramas which treat of this subject, the poets seem to\nhave gone back further into the remote past and to have steeped\nthemselves in the spirit of those early times. Perhaps, too, it is on\naccount of something wilder and more primitive inherent in the Theban\nstory itself. Such elements, and such a treatment by the poets, would\ntend to remove the persons of the drama a step further from probability,\nand would make them to that extent greater or less than human. Thus\ntheir appeal to the emotions would not be so direct, nor so intimate. On\nthe other hand, the figures so presented gain in sublimity. Their\nmythical origin surrounds them with a halo, through which they loom\nvast, mysterious, and inaccessible.\n\nSuch a being is Io. In the _Prometheus Bound_, the drama in which her\nstory is given, \u00c6schylus has gone back for his subject literally to the\nbeginning of things; to the time when Zeus was young and the reign of\nChaos was not long overpast. We must be prepared then for a tale which\nin its details is marvellous and incredible: for a na\u00efve account of the\nlove of the supreme god for a mortal woman: of the anger of Hera, his\njealous queen: of the metamorphosis and long wanderings of the innocent\nmaid: and of her reward at last, when she becomes the ancestress of the\nfounder of Thebes, and ancestress too, in a remote generation, of\nHeracles, the deliverer of Prometheus.\n\nIt is here that we touch Io\u2019s connexion with the Theban legend, into\nwhich as a fact she does not otherwise enter. For her son Epaphus,\nwondrously born at the touch of the finger of Zeus, had two grandsons,\nCadmus and Cilix; and a granddaughter, Europa. The well-known legend\ntells how Zeus, in the shape of a bull, carried off Europa. Whereupon\nher two brothers went in search of their sister and wandered many a long\nday. They did not recover her, however, and at length gave up the\nsearch. Cilix settled down in a country which was called Cilicia after\nhim; and Cadmus, instructed by the oracle at Delphi, followed a straying\ncow into B\u0153otia. On the spot where the animal should happen to lie down\nhe was commanded to found his city. But his task proved to be no light\none. For there was a dragon to be overcome; and a weird army, sprung\nfrom the earth where the dragon\u2019s teeth were sown, had to be vanquished\nin battle before Cadmus could begin his work of founding the city of\nThebes.\n\nThis event, as we see, is only remotely connected with Io, although the\nconnexion is precise and clear. In point of time, if chronology is the\nleast use in such a case, it is several generations nearer to us than\nshe is. Yet we have only to cast one glance at the story of Cadmus to\nsee at once its youthful element of marvel. Its wonders are so crude as\nalmost to raise a smile\u2014the half amused, half tender smile with which we\nturn over in our hand some grotesque plaything of our childhood. It is\nindeed only the humorous aspect of these old stories which seizes us\nwhen we look back at them from a detached standpoint, and with minds\nbent to the critical attitude. But that was not the poet\u2019s attitude;\nnot, at least, when he was making poetry. Doubtless there must have been\nmoments when the Comic Spirit rebelled, since even poets do not live\nalone by the emotions. But when tragedy first entered life\u2019s deep waters\nits captains bound the mischievous laughing spirit securely under\nhatches. It could be of no service in such a stern battle with the\nelements.\n\nSo we find that the tragic poets (except perhaps Euripides occasionally)\ntreat these strange old stories in what is called \u2018the grand manner.\u2019 Do\nnot be disturbed by something stiff and formal in the expression. Like\nall definitions, it is smaller and harder than the thing it tries to\ndefine. For the poet has not the least intention of being \u2018grand,\u2019 and\nis as far as possible removed from any conscious \u2018manner.\u2019 On the\ncontrary, it is true as a rule that the greater he is, the simpler his\nthought and expression are. He comes to these old themes with the eye\nand the heart of a child as well as the brain of a great genius; and the\nspirit of poetry, with all the knowledge of all the ages, utters its\nmessage through his lips in limpid song. Matters of probability and\nquestions of logic, which seem so important to the mere intellect, bow\ntheir chastened heads before him. The whole scheme of values is changed,\nand that which appeared to the arrogant intellect as wild and ludicrous\nis perceived by the poet full of strange beauty and significance.\n\nIn this way Sophocles approached the Theban legend, as we shall see when\nwe come to Jocasta and Antigone, presently. In this way, too, \u00c6schylus\ngave us the story of Io in his _Prometheus Bound_. Just when Io is\nsupposed to have lived we do not know. She is said to have been the\ndaughter of Inachus; and she was a priestess of Hera in Argos. But\n\u00c6chylus has made her coeval with the Titans. In this poem, therefore,\nshe is a denizen of that early world which saw the overthrow of Cronos\nfrom the throne of heaven, and the rise of his son Zeus. All the Titans\nsave one had opposed the new god when he rose in rebellion against the\nprimeval powers. But Prometheus, far-seeing from the first, and knowing\nthat Zeus must conquer, lent him aid. It was a long and bitter struggle\nin the youth of the world. But at last Cronos and the Titans who had\nopposed him were hurled by Zeus into Tartarus\u2014\u201cunder the misty\ndarkness ... in a dank place, at the verge of the earth.\u201d Typhon was\nburied under Etna; and Atlas, far in the West, was bowed beneath the\npillar of the heavens, \u201cwhere night and day meet and greet one another,\nas they pass the great threshold of bronze.\u201d\n\nAll now seemed calm and fair for the establishment of the new Hierarchy.\nToo calm and fair; for Zeus, with all his enemies subdued and possessing\nabsolute power, soon grew tyrannical. With leisure now from Olympian\nwarfare, he looked down upon the earth and the feeble race of men. It\nseemed to him a contemptible thing, struggling weakly against pitiless\nforces and groping its way, by minute degrees that were imperceptible\nfrom his lofty height, toward a larger and a better state. It was a mean\nand futile and impotent race, he pondered. Surely it would be better to\nwipe it out of existence altogether, than let it continue to blot the\nface of the fair world.\n\nSo concluded the youthful ruler of Olympus, in his haughty strength. But\nPrometheus knew mankind better than Zeus. The hills and valleys of earth\nwere his kin, dear and familiar to him; and he had come to love the\nimperfect human soul that had just managed to get itself born in those\nrude cave-men. He saw the violent act that the Lord of Olympus was\nplanning in his mind; and resolved to save humanity. So, as the old poet\nHesiod says in his _Works and Days_, \u201che stole fire for men from Zeus\nthe Counsellor in a hollow fennel stalk, what time the Hurler of the\nThunder knew not.\u201d But the boon to man meant sheer disaster to himself,\nas he knew when he filched it from Olympus. The purpose of Zeus could\nnot be thwarted with impunity. Prometheus was condemned to age-long\npunishment, chained to a rock on an icy mountain top until such time as\na deliverer should come, and an immortal being could be found willing to\ngive up life for him. The punishment of Prometheus is the subject of the\npresent drama. It is believed to have been the middle play of a trilogy,\nof which the last was the _Prometheus Unbound_, and the first probably\nrelated the bringing of fire to earth. The _Prometheus Bound_ is not\ndramatic in the sense that the _Agamemnon_ and the _Choephor\u0153_ are.\nThere is hardly any action in it, for the suffering Titan continues\nchained to his rock throughout the poem. From the nature of the theme,\ntoo, the characters are too colossal and remote to make an intimate\nappeal to us. Yet the drama is charged with the deepest emotion,\ntranscending the pity or fear of common experience. If it does not start\ninto life before our eyes as an actual conflict, that is because it is\nrooted in a deeper and more crucial struggle between cosmic forces. And\nif the persons of the drama are unapproachable and unfamiliar, it is\nfrom the very reason of their sublimity. We see the protagonist first as\nhe is being riveted to the rocky wall by the god Heph\u00e6stus. The Fire-god\nreluctantly performs the task, bidden to it roughly by Force, who is\ninvested for the moment with the strength of Zeus, but without his\ndignity. Heph\u00e6stus is indignant at the sentence on his kinsman, the\ntitan, and declares that he has no heart to chain him in this stormy\nmountain region, merely because of his beneficent help to man. But Force\nis inexorable: he urges on the work until every limb of the titan is\nsecured, and an adamantine wedge is driven through his breast. When all\nis accomplished, Prometheus is left alone; and then for the first time\nhe breaks silence. He invokes the elements that are his kindred: the\nsky, the winds, the rivers, the smiling sea, the sun, the great\nearth-mother.\n\n         \u201c_See me tormented by the gods, a god!\n         Behold me, what agony\n         Through the measureless course of the ages\n         Racked, I shall suffer;\n         I by the upstart Ruler in heaven\n         To captivity doomed and outrage.\n         Woe, woe is me!...\n                     ... Blessings, that on man\n         I lavished, have involved me in this fate,\n         And for that in a hollow fennel stalk\n         I sought and stored and stole the fount of flame,\n         Whence men all arts have learned, a potent help._\u201c[1]\n\nWhile Prometheus is speaking, there gather softly round him the gentle\nsea-nymphs who are to be the chorus of the drama. They question him\ntenderly, in words that fall like balm, and elicit all his story. It is\npitiable, they say, and they marvel at the penalty which Zeus imposes on\nso kind a creature.\n\nPresently Oceanus himself, god of the dreadful river that circles the\nworld, approaches in his chariot. He is old and grave and prudent. The\naction of Prometheus seems to him rash and daring: his opposition to\nZeus mere pride. He advises the titan to yield, since it is expedient to\nbow to the superior power. But Prometheus fiercely rejects such timid\ncounsel. Nothing shall shake his resistance to the tyrant, and Oceanus\nmay spare his breath. Let him go save himself: as for Prometheus, he\nwill endure until it shall please Zeus to relent.\n\nHot words pass. Oceanus tries in vain to teach prudence to the high\nheart of the titan, and departs angrily. Then the sea-nymphs sing a\nsweet song of pity; and Prometheus, touched to a softer mood, begs them\nnot to think him hard and proud. Only, the thought of his wrongs is\nintolerable, received at the hand of one whom he himself had helped to\nplace upon the throne of Olympus. And what had been his crime? None. His\nhands are clean: his integrity absolute. His sufferings are an amazing\ninjustice: the price of beneficent deeds to humanity that he tells over\nto the wondering maids.\n\n          \u201c_I will recount you, how, mere babes before,\n          With reason I endowed them and with mind ...\n          Who, firstly, seeing, knew not what they saw,\n          And hearing did not hear; confusedly passed\n          Their life-days, lingeringly, like shapes in dreams,\n          Without an aim; and neither sunward homes,\n          Brick-woven, nor skill of carpentry, they knew;\n          But lived, like small ants shaken with a breath,\n          In sunless caves a burrowing buried life:\n                                  ... The hidden lore\n          Of rising stars and setting I unveiled.\n          I taught them Number, first of sciences;\n          I framed the written symbols into speech,\n          Art all-recording, mother of the Muse:\n          I first put harness on dumb patient beasts ...\n          That they might lighten men of heavy toil,\n          I taught to draw the car and love the rein\n          Horses, crown of the luxury of wealth.\n          And who but I invented the white-winged\n          Sea-roving chariot of the mariner?_\n\n          \u201c_For mortals such contrivances I found,\n          But for myself alas no wit have I,\n          Whereby to rid me of my present pain._\u201d[20]\n\nSo he continues to narrate all that he had achieved for the welfare of\nman: how he had taught him Medicine, Prophecy and Augury; and had\nbrought to light the treasure of precious metals that lay hidden within\nthe earth. Indeed, as the long recital falls from his lips, we know that\nthe poet has symbolized in him all the great civilizing influences on\nmankind.\n\nBut the sea-nymphs, though they sympathize with his sorrow, cannot rise\nto the height of his thought. To them mankind is a \u201cfleeting, dream-like\nrace,\u201d unworthy of the sacrifice that he has made. They chide him\ngently. Why has he dared the wrath of Zeus, and why will he bear the\nweary ages of torture for such a people? The beauty of the lyric casts a\nspell upon us. The thought of the long-drawn agony, endured from century\nto century, makes us waver. Might he not have been misguided? Was Zeus\nright, perhaps? And would not the titan be wise to make peace with so\npowerful a ruler?\n\nThus the softer mood of the sea-maidens wins upon us. Viewed through it,\nthe resistance of Prometheus begins to look like stubborn self-will; and\nthe decree of Zeus a righteous chastisement. But just as the feeling is\ngathering strength an episode occurs which reverses the current of\nemotion. For there rushes suddenly on the desolate scene a strange wild\ncreature, half woman and half beast. Under the curling heifer\u2019s horns\nthere is a fair white brow; and below the brow sweet human eyes,\ndistraught with fear and pain. This is Io, the maid beloved by Zeus.\nCast out of her home by the god\u2019s command, she has been chased from the\nsociety of her kind, and her fair woman form has been partly changed to\nbestial shape. For many a weary league she has been goaded onward by the\ngadfly of Hera; and even now she is haunted by the wraith of Argus, the\nhuntsman of the hundred eyes whom the angry goddess had set to watch\nher. Good and beautiful she had been, her serene life gladly given to\nthe service of Hera in an Argive temple. Yet now she is doomed to wander\nrestlessly over sea and land, through sun and storm, and by many an\nunknown lonely path, without apparent aim and for no apparent cause. As\nher feet stumble up the mountain side and she stands before Prometheus,\ninnocent and mercilessly persecuted, we feel that the moment is crowded\nwith all the elements of tragedy. If we had wavered before, standing on\nthat ridge of neutral ground where the cool airs of reason calm the\npassions; if the poet meant that we should waver for a moment, giving us\nin his unifying purpose some perception of the higher power as it would\nultimately justify itself; he plunges us now into the arena again, with\nevery emotion clamant to defend these victims of tyranny.\n\nAs they confront each other, Io speaks, forgetting her own griefs for\nthe moment in contemplation of the suffering titan.\n\n              \u201c_What land, what people is here?\n              Whom shall I say that I see,\n              Rock-pinioned yonder,\n              Storm-buffeted?\n              To penance of a living death\n              What crime hath doomed thee?\n              Tell me, thou luckless one,\n              Where have I wandered?_\n\n              \u201c_Ah me, alas, unhappy!\n              Frenzied again as by the gadfly\u2019s sting,\n              The fatal herdsman with the myriad eyes,\n              The giant Argus, I behold ...\n              Me he pursues, the unhappy,\n              Over sandy leagues of the waste seashore....\n              Whither alas, ah woe is me\n              When shall my wandering end?_\n\n              \u201c_What, O what was the sin in me,\n              O son of Cronos, that thou didst find?\n              Why hast thou doomed me thus to suffer\n              By the gadfly\u2019s goad still onward driven,\n              Weary of fleeing, distraught with dread?...\n              Enough I have wandered\u2014\n              Wandered afar till my strength is spent;\n              And still from my doom escape is none.\n              Dost thou mark my speech?\n              The horn\u00e8d maiden hearest thou?_\u201c[20]\n\nPrometheus does indeed hear and know her, he says, the poor frenzied\ndaughter of Inachus, whom Zeus loves. As he speaks her father\u2019s name, Io\ncatches at it eagerly. Perhaps this may be a friend.\n\nIO.          _Who told thee of my sire?\n             Tell me, the sufferer\u2014who art thou,\n             That thou hast named aright\n             One wretched as thyself?..._\n\nPROM.        _This is Prometheus, who gave fire to men._\n\nIO.          _Of all our human kind, proved helper thou,\n             Ill-starred Prometheus\u2014what hath earned thee this?_[20]\n\nIn rapid interchange of question and answer, the cause of the quarrel,\nand its consequence, are related to Io; and then, because she knows that\nPrometheus can foresee the future, she begs him to tell her what is in\nstore for herself. The titan warns her that the knowledge can only bring\nfresh pain; and for awhile the prophecy is delayed, as Io, at the\npetition of the nymphs, tells her own strange story.\n\nIO.          _Your will is law to me; I must obey.\n             ... Albeit I blush to tell.\n             Haunting my virgin chamber, night by night,\n             Came visions to beguile me while I slept\n             With fair smooth words: \u201cO maiden highly blest,\n             Be maiden now no more; to whom \u2018tis given\n             To mate thee with the Highest; thy beauty\u2019s shaft\n             Glows in the heart of Zeus, and for his bride\n             He claims thee.\u201d_[20]\n\nHer father Inachus sent anxious messages to the oracles at Delphi and\nDodona to inquire what this persistent vision might mean. At first\nambiguous answers came.\n\n           _But at the last to Inachus there came\n           A peremptory word, with mandate clear,\n           To cast me from my country and my home,\n           At the world\u2019s end a wanderer far from men;\n           And, if he would not, swift from Zeus should come\n           A fiery bolt that should consume his race._[20]\n\nWith sorrowful heart, Inachus obeyed the oracular command, constrained\nthereto by Zeus. Io was driven out to the pastures of her father\u2019s\nherds.\n\n       _Then was my feature changed, my reason fled:\n       Wearing these horns ye see, with frenzied hounds,\n       Pricked and tormented by the gadfly\u2019s sting,\n       To fair Kerchneia\u2019s stream and Lerna\u2019s shore\n       I hasted. And upon my traces still,\n       Of rage unslaked, with myriad eyes agaze,\n       The earth-born huntsman Argus followed hard.\n       Him unawares a sudden death o\u2019ertook,\n       And reft him of his life. From land to land,\n       Heaven\u2019s scourge, the unsleeping gadfly, drives me still.\n       My tale is told. What time has yet in store\n       For me to suffer, tell me if thou canst:\n       Not pitying think with lies to comfort me:\n       False words I count of maladies the worst._[20]\n\nIo is asking more than she knows, and the prophecy that Prometheus will\nmake to her is more wonderful than she could ever dream. In careful\ndetail, and so impressively that she must remember every word, he\nindicates the first part of her wanderings. She must turn her face\neastward, and faring through Scythia, pass along the sea-coast, avoiding\nthe fierce Chalybes. Then on wearily to the range of the Caucasus, which\nshe must ascend to the very summit; and following afterward a southward\nroad, she will come to the land of the Amazons and down to the sea which\nseparates the continents. Here she must boldly ford the strait, which in\nlater times will be called Bosphorus because she, the cow-maiden,\ncrossed it; and leaving Europe behind, she will tread on Asian soil.\n\nPROM.                        _... Deem ye not\n             That this proud lord of heaven on great and small\n             Tramples alike? For this poor mortal maid,\n             Enamoured of her love, his godhead dooms\n             To wander thus. Thy most imperious wooer,\n             Maiden, thou well mayst rue. What I have told,\n             Deem that the prelude hardly hast thou heard._\n\nIO.          _Woe\u2019s me, alas, alas!...\n             What boots it then to live? Were it not better\n             From this hard rock to fling myself outright,\n             That dashed to earth I might of all my toil\n             Have riddance? Better surely once to die.\n             Than all my days to be afflicted thus._[20]\n\nBut Prometheus, looking further still into the future, sees some hope\nfor her, as he contrasts her fate with his. However great her\naffliction, it must end some day; he can even foretell just what the\nissue will be, and when. But for him, suffering must continue until Zeus\nis hurled from his throne.\n\nIO.          _Shall Zeus indeed be downcast from his throne?_\n\nPROM.        _To see that day methinks thou wouldst rejoice._\n\nIO.          _How could I but rejoice, whom he has wronged?_[20]\n\nShe begs for a revelation of the fate of Zeus; and the titan tells\nbriefly of a certain marriage that the god is contemplating, which must\nbring him ruin if Prometheus will not interpose.\n\nIO.          _Who then shall loose thee in despite of Zeus?_\n\nPROM.        _One of thine own descendants he shall be._\n\nIO.          _How? shall a child of mine deliver thee?_\n\nPROM.        _Ten generations hence, and three beside._\n\nIO.          _Now hard to read the prophecy becomes._[20]\n\nIo\u2019s mind cannot take so great a leap forward; and Prometheus, resuming\nthe course of her wanderings in Asia, gradually leads up to the climax\nof her story. Having crossed the strait, she is again to bend her steps\neastward. Through the land of the Gorgons she must go, and of the\nGriffins, and of Phorcy\u2019s daughters, the three hags with one eye and one\ntooth between them. On the golden shores of Pluto she will see an army\nof one-eyed horsemen, whom she must carefully avoid; and toiling onward\nstill, she must follow the course of the river Ethiopia far up to its\nvery source. Then, at Canopus, a town upon the shores of distant Nile,\nshe will find rest.\n\nSo is completed the tale of Io\u2019s wanderings. And now, before Prometheus\nreveals the strangest thing of all, he would convince her that he is\nspeaking truth indeed. So he recalls to her mind a marvel that had\nhappened on her way thither, but which she had not spoken when she\nrelated her story.\n\nPROM.        _To the Molossian plains when thou hadst come,...\n             And to Dodona\u2019s rock-ridge, to the seat\n             And sacred oracle of Thesprotian Zeus,\n             Famed for its marvel of the talking oaks,\n             That with clear voice and nowise doubtfully\n             Hailed thee (sounds this familiar to thine ears?)\n             The glorious bride of Zeus in days to come._[20]\n\nThe weird music of the oaks came back to her as the titan spoke, phrased\nintelligibly now. It had haunted all her journey, but confusedly,\nhinting at something she could not clearly understand, and dared not\nname. But in the words of Prometheus its meaning pealed. Becoming in\nthat far Eastern country the bride of the ruler of Olympus, she would\nfound a splendid race. From her the Danaans would spring, one root of\nthat Hellenic people which should civilize the Western world. She would\ngive a line of kings to the Argive throne. But greater and more blessed\nthan all, from her should come the supreme Greek hero Heracles, destined\nto release this suffering titan from his misery.\n\nAs she muses on the wonder of it, Prometheus takes up again the thread\nof his prophecy. In that rich land which borders on the Nile she may at\nlast stay her weary feet.\n\n        \u201c_There shall the hand of Zeus, with soft caress\n        Upon thee laid, restore thee to thy mind:\n        And thou shalt bear, named of his fruitful touch,\n        A son, swart Epaphus, whom all that land,\n        By the broad Nile-stream watered, shall enrich...._\u201c[20]\n\nFrom Io\u2019s son Epaphus should descend, generations afterward, a princess.\n\n            \u201c_\u2019The royal line of Argos springs from her.\n            Time fails to tell the story to its close:\n            But of her strain one valiant shall be born,\n            And famous with the bow; he from these ills\n            Shall loose me.\u2019 Thus the titaness, my mother,\n            Primeval Themis, prophesied to me,\n            But of the ways and means too long it were\n            To tell thee, and it profits not to know._\u201c[20]\n\nTo immortal eyes, seeing the end in the beginning, it was a glorious\ndestiny; one to compensate perhaps, if not to justify, all that she had\nendured. But Io is only a mortal maid. The vision of the future opens\nbefore her in one radiant moment, and then all is dark again, and\nnothing remains but her inexplicable pain. Even before Prometheus has\nfinished speaking the cloud had fallen upon her mind again.\n\n                \u201c_Alas! Woe worth the day!\n                Again a thrill, a spasm of frenzy\n                Shoots through me, soul-distracting:\n                The unforged goad of the gadfly\n                Stings me afresh; and my seated heart\n                Knocks at my ribs for fear,\n                My sight swims, and my senses reel;\n                And a frantic gust of madness sweeps me\n                Wide of the course...._\u201d[20]\n\nTormented and distracted, she rushes from the scene as wildly as she had\ncome; but as the titan and the sea-nymphs sadly watch her go, they see\nthat her face is set now toward the East.\n\n-----\n\nFootnote 20:\n\n  From Mr Robert Whitelaw\u2019s translation of the _Prometheus_ (Clarendon\n  Press, 1s. net).\n\n\n\n\n_Sophocles: Jocasta_\n\n\nJocasta, in _\u0152dipus the King_ of Sophocles, is a very real woman.\nMoreover, though she is a splendidly dramatic figure, she is not heroic\nin anything save her death. True, she is a queen, deriving royalty\nthrough several generations from Cadmus himself; and possessing the\nthrone of Thebes so surely that when the king her husband died she had\nperforce to marry with his successor in order to establish him in the\nkingship. But despite her special royalty, which makes her, as Professor\nMurray has pointed out, like one of the consecrated queens of early\ntimes: despite the extreme deference which is paid to her, the weight\nthat attaches to her counsel, and the sense of brooding fate that clings\nabout her, she is before all an appealing and convincing human creature.\n\nThis vivid reality is a new fact in our study of Greek heroines, and the\nreason for it is that we have come now to the Drama of Sophocles. We\nhave seen, so far, the women of Homer and those of \u00c6schylus; and we have\nobserved one or two characteristics which distinguish them.\n\nThe Homeric women are gracious and beautiful, glowing as it were with\nromantic charm. With one notable exception, Penelope, they appear rarely\nin the movement of the epic; and then only to form the central figure in\na picturesque group. Reality has never touched them. Generous as their\nemotions are, the extremes of passion have not for an instant distorted\ntheir loveliness. When they are called upon to act, they seem always to\nmove with grace and gentleness; and even in their sorrow they are\nserene. If they share in the great stern things of life, its aspiration\nand its struggle, they give no sign of the penalty exacted. They are\nalways young, fresh and fair; except again Penelope, and she has only\ngained from age, not lost. A wise maturity has been added to her early\ncharms. And thus these Homeric women, with their delicate infrangible\nbloom, seem to belong to a region just over the boundary-line of our\ncommon humanity.\n\nThe women of \u00c6schylus are much greater figures. Clytemnestra is\ncolossal: Cassandra, Electra and Io are all conceived majestically.\nUnlike the Epic women, they are capable of strenuous action: strong\npassions sway them, and they are much concerned with the great issues of\nlife. We know little or nothing about their appearance, and it does not\nseem to matter. They do not live in our mental vision pictorially, in\nsoft, warm tints; but remotely grand, they appeal to a more austere\nsense of wonder, awe and reverence. Surrounded by an atmosphere of myth,\nand sharing in the elevation of the poet\u2019s spirit, they seem to be\ncreatures of an older and a bigger world.\n\nThere is indeed one woman in the \u00c6schylean Drama, Orestes\u2019 nurse, who is\nof ordinary stature and might belong to any age. But she is of minor\nimportance in the story, and does not move on the heroic plane. She is\ntherefore beyond the range of that sublimating power of the poetic\nspirit which magnified the heroes and heroines to immense proportions.\nAnd as she stands in the clear daylight outside the enchanted circle she\nis just an old grey woman taken straight out of common life. But for\nthat very reason there is a hearty, homely breath about her which is\nvery refreshing. She is but a nurse: she is quaint and querulous in her\ntalk, inept, wordy and reminiscent; and peevishly loyal. Yet in her very\nweakness and foolishness she is precious, for is she not a flash from\nthe eyes of the Comic Spirit, na\u00efvely unconscious of its august\nsurroundings? We feel that we can actually see and hear her, as she\ngabbles about Orestes\u2019 babyhood and how she tended him; being nurse,\ncook, foster-mother and washerwoman all combined. But she is unique\namong \u00c6schylean women, and when we turn to look again on the figures of\nhis heroines, a thought is suggested by the extreme contrast. Here is\ncreative genius so strong that it has evoked on the one hand the\ngrandeur of a Clytemnestra; and on the other, the biting reality of this\nold slave. But there does not seem to have been an equivalent artistic\npower which, controlling the fervid idealism and combining it with his\nkeen insight, would have produced types more fully and completely human.\n\nSuch types we find first when we come to the Drama of Sophocles. With\n\u00c6schylus the ruling passion had been spiritual fervour. In Sophocles the\nartist reigned paramount. All the advance which his drama made, in plot,\nincident and character-building, was in the direction of a more perfect\nart. And although there was some inevitable loss\u2014as for instance the\ncurtailment of the lyrics by modifying the part of the Chorus; and their\nlower poetic flight\u2014on the whole the gain is very great. In the matter\nof characterization, with which we are chiefly concerned, the change is\none which brings us out of the region of demi-gods into the world of men\nand women.\n\nWhen we say that the persons of Sophocles\u2019s drama are real people, that\nis not to say that they are \u2018realistic\u2019 in the narrow sense of the word\nwhich conveys only what is average and actual. But it does mean that\nwith all their splendour and dignity and fine achievement they are\nsubject to our common humanity. They are not immune from the defects of\ntheir virtues. The passions which have led them to great deeds are\npotent agents of their downfall. It is the flaw within which helps to\nbetray them.\n\nFor this reason, and also because the poet shows his characters moving\nin intimate human relationships, the women of Sophocles are intensely\nliving creatures. Electra in her conflict with Chrysothomis, and\nAntigone with Ismene, are of the stuff of life; and the situations thus\ncreated are pure drama. Here two great natures clash. Closely bound by\nthe ties of blood and affection, but at the opposite poles of\ntemperament, the struggle between them is all the more bitter from the\nintimacy of their relationship. Both claim our esteem and both are\nsincerely confident in the purity of their intentions. But each\nmistrusts the other, believing her to be fatally misguided or wilfully\nblind. It is by this faculty of seeing all sides of an issue, or, as\nMatthew Arnold expressed it, \u201cto see life steadily and see it whole,\u201d\nthat Sophocles has heightened and deepened the dramatic values of a\nstory. Out of that, too, he has made Jocasta, with all her state and\ndespite the unnatural horror with which she is touched, a pitiable\nfigure.\n\nHere again two noble natures, near and very dear to each other, are\nbrought into conflict. In this case, however, there is an added element\nof tragic irony which increases the dramatic power threefold. For we\nknow, as we watch the tender comradeship of \u0152dipus and Jocasta, that\nthere is this sinister thing in the background, ready to flame out at\nany instant and make them loathsome in each other\u2019s eyes. And the moment\nwhen the shameful truth is revealed, literally dragged to light by\n\u0152dipus to his own undoing, is perhaps the most awful in Greek tragedy.\n\nThe story belongs to the Theban cycle, of which we have already heard.\nIt is older than Homer, who calls Jocasta _Epicasta_; and it had many\nvariants. In the Eleventh Book of the _Odyssey_ there is the quaint\nepitome of it which the hero gives when he is describing his visit to\nthe World of the Dead. Among the shades which throng there he sees\nJocasta.\n\n            \u201c_And then beheld I Epicasta fair,\n            Oedipus\u2019 mother, her who unaware\n            Did a strange deed through ignorance of mind,\n            To intermarry with the son she bare._\n\n            \u201c_And he his mother wedded, having slain\n            His father: and these things the Gods made plain\n            To all men suddenly; then he among\n            The folk Cadmean held a troublous reign,_\n\n            \u201c_In lovely Thebes, according to the fate\n            By purpose of the Gods predestinate\n            For evil: but she went her way alone\n            To the strong Warder of the darkling gate._\u201c[21]\n\nThis version agrees in the main with that of Sophocles, and points to\nthe antiquity of the story. Even in those early times the fate of\nJocasta and \u0152dipus was part of an ancient myth. Like the story of Io,\nremote ancestress of the founder of their city, it is a tale of wrong\nwrought upon mortals by a god. Perhaps it is not so primitive as the Io\nlegend. There is nothing in it quite so na\u00efve as the idea of the\nheifer-maiden loved by the supreme god and mercilessly hunted by his\njealous queen. The Olympian hierarchy is now established, with its\nsystem of greater and lesser gods, and Zeus at their head has grown, in\naccordance with the theory of \u00c6schylus, wiser with age. Apollo is now\nthe persecutor. And with the development in the divine order goes a\ncorresponding complexity in the human elements of the story. The actors\nin it are the instruments of their own suffering. The inimical power is\nnot now frank tyranny. Its victims even believe it to be friendly, or at\nleast placable; and it is by their own deeds that the decree against\nthem is brought to pass. Yet this apparent advance still leaves the\nstory in a dark past, far behind the poets. And there are some aspects\nof it\u2014the curse fulfilled by \u0152dipus of parricide and incest; and the\nstark unreason with which it was regarded\u2014which make us feel that the\nprimitive age has only just given place to one of gross superstition.\n\nThe essence of the tragedy lies in the double fact of Apollo\u2019s hostility\nto \u0152dipus and Jocasta and their ignorance of it. When Laius and Jocasta\nwere young upon the throne of Thebes they prayed to Apollo to give them\na son. The oracle at Delphi replied to Laius, \u201cI will give thee a son,\nbut it is doomed that thou leave the sunlight by the hands of thy\nchild.\u201d Thus the decree was launched.\n\nLaius and Jocasta trembled at the doom, and considered how it might be\naverted. When their son was born, they took a cruel and desperate means\nto save its father\u2019s life. Three days after his birth they handed over\nthe babe to a herdsman, to be exposed on Mt. Kithairon. And first they\npierced his heels, to ensure his death. So Jocasta, out of love for her\nhusband and fear of the oracle, brought herself to a deed which poisoned\nall her life. Yet it was of no avail against fate. For the man who took\nher babe had pity on it; and meeting a friendly herdsman who was in the\nservice of Polybus, king of Corinth, he gave the child to him. Polybus\nand his queen Merope were childless; and the herdsman believed that they\nwould welcome the little foundling. He was not mistaken: calling him\n\u0152dipus from his swelled feet, they brought him up as their son.\n\nAll went well until the boy had grown into manhood. Then one day a young\ncompanion, heated with wine, flung out a taunt about his birth. \u0152dipus,\nfully believing himself to be the son of Polybus and Merope, went to\nthem with the story. They chastised the offender, but their replies to\n\u0152dipus\u2019 questions left a doubt of his parentage rankling in his mind. He\ndetermined to satisfy himself once for all by an appeal to Apollo; and\nhe travelled to Delphi to inquire of the oracle in person. The reply was\nterrible, and, unlike most oracular utterances, seemed only too clear.\nHe was doomed, it said, to slay his father and marry with his mother.\nBut the most vital point, the names of his parents, was not revealed;\nand \u0152dipus, still believing them to be Polybus and Merope, vowed never\nagain to set foot in Corinth while they were living. So he hoped to\navoid his doom; and he set out alone, along the road to B\u0153otia, and\nThebes.\n\nNow it happened that just about that time Thebes was afflicted by a\nstrange monster. It was the Sphinx, sent by Hera to prey upon the city.\nSitting upon a neighbouring hill, she claimed the life of every man who\ncould not read her riddle\u2014\u201cWhat is the creature which is two-footed,\nthree-footed and four-footed; and weakest when it has most feet?\u201d No one\ncould find the answer; and Thebes daily paid the toll of life to the\nmonster. The people were in despair, when Laius the king set out to seek\ncounsel at Delphi. Thus the unknown father and son were hourly\napproaching each other from east and west. Laius was accompanied by only\nfour attendants. When his party came to a narrow pass in Phokis, at a\nplace where three roads met, a young man appeared in the path before\nthem. The slaves of Laius were insolent, and the young man\u2019s blood was\nhot. A quarrel ensued. Three of the attendants were struck down; and\nLaius himself, aiming at the stranger from his chariot, was killed by a\nsingle blow. \u0152dipus had unwittingly slain his father; and the first part\nof the curse had fallen.\n\nThe fourth attendant of Laius, the very man who had given away Jocasta\u2019s\nbabe years before to the Corinthian herdsman, fled for his life. Arrived\nat Thebes, he reported the death of the king. But he feared to tell the\nwhole truth: he dared not admit that he and his fellows had been\novercome by one man; and he gave out that Laius had been slain by a band\nof robbers.\n\nMeantime, \u0152dipus continued his wanderings; and some time afterward he\ncame to Thebes. He found the city still harassed by the Sphinx, who\nseized her victims daily from among the Theban people. He learned too\nthat their king had been killed by robbers whilst on a journey; and that\nthe old prophet Tiresias, who should have been able to advise the people\nat such a crisis, was helpless. The young stranger seized his\nopportunity. He faced the Sphinx and solved her riddle, triumphantly\nnaming the creature of her question to be Man. Whereupon she flung\nherself down from the hill on which she was stationed; and the people of\nThebes at last had rest from their tormentor. They hailed \u0152dipus with\njoy; and in their gratitude they named him king in succession to Laius.\n\nBut the new king could not put aside the queen who already occupied the\nthrone. Indeed, by a custom of those old times, he could not rightly\nbecome the king unless she married him. He had proved himself to the\nTheban people brave and wise, a ruler to be desired. Consideration for\nher people inclined Jocasta to him, and besides, he seemed to her just\nand kind. But more than all, there hung about him, in his carriage or\nhis manner, something which brought a fleeting memory of Laius, and\nwarmed her heart to him. So she consented that he should be her husband.\n\nThe curse on \u0152dipus was now complete. In perfect innocence, and though\nhe had striven to keep his hands clean from the horror, he had slain his\nfather and married with his mother. Yet no shadow of the truth fell on\nhim. There were in Thebes two persons to whom it was known, or partly\nknown. One was that slave born in Laius\u2019s household who had given the\ninfant prince to the herdsman from Corinth; and who had fled for his\nlife when his master was killed at the cross-roads in Phokis. The other\nwas the blind old prophet Tiresias. But neither spoke of what they knew.\nThe slave kept silence from loyalty; and coming to the queen soon after\nher marriage, he besought her earnestly to send him back to serve in\noutland parts. Tiresias was merely prudent; and thought it best to bide\nthe time of the god.\n\nFor many years no sign came. Jocasta and \u0152dipus, loving each other and\nbeloved by their people, reigned happily in Thebes; Creon, Jocasta\u2019s\nbrother, sharing equally in the honour which was paid to them. Four\nchildren were born to the king and queen: two sons, named Eteocles and\nPolynices; and two daughters, Antigone and Ismene. Life flowed so\nsmoothly now that painful memories grew faint. \u0152dipus had almost\nforgotten the menace that rang in his ears at Delphi twelve years\nbefore; and Jocasta, though she would never forget that early act of\ncruelty, was not haunted so persistently now by the thought of her\nfirst-born. It seemed almost that Apollo had relented; that having\nfulfilled the letter of the doom, he had taken pity on the victims, and\nwould leave them in happy ignorance. But he, too, was only waiting for a\nfitting moment\u2014till Thebes should be most flourishing and \u0152dipus should\nhave reached the top of fame. Then the blow fell. A sudden plague was\nsent upon the city, which ravaged all life like a blight. Flocks\nsickened; the harvest failed; and human creatures died in thousands,\nwhile \u0152dipus looked on, sore at heart for their misery, but powerless to\nhelp.\n\nAt this point of the story, Sophocles has opened the _\u0152dipus, King of\nThebes_. The scene is before the royal palace, where a crowd of\nsuppliants has gathered to implore the aid of the king. \u0152dipus comes out\nin person to receive them, and listens patiently while the old priest\npetitions him on their behalf. They have pathetic faith in him. There\ncan be no doubt that he has power to succour them, for did he not of old\nsave Thebes from the Sphinx? Perhaps too there is a touch of deeper\nmeaning in their act, a hint of that duty laid on early kings, to die\nfor their people in case of need. They come to lay on him the burden of\nthe whole land\u2019s sorrow. \u0152dipus answers them pityingly.\n\n            \u201c_My poor, poor children! Surely long ago\n            I have read your trouble. Stricken, well I know,\n            Ye all are, stricken sore: yet verily\n            Not one so stricken to the heart as I._\u201c[22]\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  JOCASTA\n\n  _Gertrude Demain Hammond, R.I._\n]\n\nThere has appeared to him only one hope; and days before he had grasped\nat it. He had sent Creon to Apollo\u2019s House in Delphi, to inquire of the\ngod what great thing the king must do to save his people. When the\nanswer comes, he vows that he will not flinch. Whatever task Apollo may\ncommand, no matter how bitter, it shall be performed.\n\nEven while \u0152dipus speaks shouts are heard announcing Creon\u2019s return; and\npresently he delivers before them all the answer of the god.\n\n                                 \u201c_Thus saith\n           Phoebus, our Lord and Seer, in clear command:\n           \u2018An unclean thing there is, hid in our land,\n           Eating the soil thereof: this ye shall cast\n           Out, and not foster till all help be past\u2019._\u201c[22]\n\nBut what is the unclean thing that is polluting the city? \u0152dipus does\nnot know that it is himself; and he questions Creon until the oracular\ncommand seems clear to him\u2014to hunt out and banish the murderers of\nLaius. The task seems hopeless. How is it possible, after all these\nyears, to find the men who slew the king? But the oracle has said\nexplicitly that it must be done; that they are still alive within the\ncity; and \u0152dipus unhesitatingly takes the task upon him.\n\nAn assembly of the people is commanded, and \u0152dipus publicly makes known\nto them his purpose of tracking the murderers. In a great speech, full\nof tragic irony, he claims their help in his search. They are Thebans\nborn; but he, a stranger to their town in those days when Laius was\nkilled, had never seen the king. It is for them to seek and render up\nthe men who murdered him. He calls upon them solemnly to reveal what\nthey may know. They need not fear that harm will come to them, for he\nwill promise to befriend the man who does this service to the State. He\npauses. But there is of course no answer. Again he appeals to them,\ngrowing indignant now, because he believes that they are wilfully\nshielding the guilty. Will they not speak out, and save their city? Then\nhe will make a decree against them. For those who refuse to denounce the\nmurderers, they shall be outcast and shelterless, and none shall succour\nthem in living or in dying. For those who will not lend him their active\naid in his search, Nature herself shall frown upon them and deny them\nevery blessing; whilst on the man himself who slew the king, the most\nawful curse shall fall.\n\n                                   \u201c_Even as his soul\n               Is foul within him let his days be foul,\n               And life unfriended grind him till he die.\n               More: if he ever tread my hearth and I\n               Know it, be every curse upon my head\n               That I have spoke this day._\u201d[22]\n\nAs \u0152dipus, unconscious of what he is doing, invokes this terrible curse\nupon himself, a blind old man is slowly led in. He is the prophet\nTiresias, for whom \u0152dipus has sent at the suggestion of Creon. He is the\nonly mortal being who knows all the truth; and under peril of the ban\nthat \u0152dipus has just proclaimed: in virtue of his office, he must needs\nproclaim it. How will he strike the blow at the great good king? By his\nsacred calling, and his great age, and his knowledge of the mesh of fate\nin which \u0152dipus has been caught, he should be merciful. But as we watch\nhim we have strange doubts. It is not so much that he is unshorn, ragged\nand unclean; we have learned to be familiar with such things in these\nhermit-seers of an early age. But there is something in the lowering\nbrow and twitching mouth that hints of an untamed soul in the unkempt\nbody; and knowing the passionate heart of \u0152dipus himself, we tremble for\nthe issue.\n\nAt first it would seem that our fears are groundless. \u0152dipus, who is\ncalmer now, greets the prophet with profound respect; and laying bare\nthe oracle, he begs most humbly for Tiresias\u2019s help.\n\nThe prophet is calm too, awed by the thought of all that is impending.\nHe answers hesitatingly at first, almost with a touch of pity and\nregret. He does know who is the murderer of Laius, but\u2014he dare not, he\ncannot tell. Such a reply could only have one effect upon the tremendous\nanxiety of the king. Rendered helpless by his ignorance, his own keen\nwit cannot avail him one iota. He has perforce to ask and ask of these\nineffectual creatures around him, only to be thrown back baffled again\nand again. For one moment he puts a curb upon his rising anger, as he\ntells Tiresias that his answer is not kind; and casting away all pride\nand dignity, he kneels at the prophet\u2019s feet. But when in sullen words\nwhich give no light Tiresias doggedly replies that he will not speak,\n\u0152dipus\u2019s wrath leaps out at him. Surely this man who knows God\u2019s truth\nand will not declare it is no prophet, but a devil. And is it not\nprobable therefore that he himself has had some hand in the murder of\nLaius? As the words fall, there is a sudden and malign change in\nTiresias; and the dreadful truth which could not be won from him by\nentreaty, flashes out pitilessly in anger.\n\n         \u201c_So?\u2014I command thee by thine own word\u2019s power,\n         To stand accurst, and never from this hour\n         Speak word to me, nor yet to those who ring\n         Thy throne._ Thou art thyself the unclean thing.\u201d[22]\n\nBut such a wild utterance, smiting through a tempest of passion, carries\nno shade of conviction to \u0152dipus. It is but a horrible insult, which\nthis old man, because he is feeble, thinks he may launch with impunity.\nNot until it has been thrice repeated does the full significance of it\nbreak upon him. Then a suspicion flashes into his mind. This is\ndoubtless some conspiracy against him, prompted by Creon, the brother of\nhis queen, to gain the throne. The foolish improbability of such a plot\nwill not bear reflection for a moment; but the king\u2019s impulsive nature\nis goaded by rage and mistrust. He turns fiercely upon Tiresias and\nroundly charges him with conspiring against his life.\n\nThe prophet retorts with an emphatic denial, but he is not content to\nstop there. In cold malignance, he repeats his foul accusation against\nthe king, seeming to gloat over every word of the hideous charge and the\npenalty which his prophetic vision sees that the gods will exact from\n\u0152dipus\u2014\n\n                      \u201c_Blind, who once had seeing eyes,\n            Beggared, who once had riches, in strange guise,\n            His staff groping before him, he shall crawl\n            O\u2019er unknown earth._\u201c[22]\n\nTo the infuriated king this frightful menace, like the crimes of which\nhe is accused, seems to be the mere raving of madness; and he deigns no\nanswer. The old man is led away; \u0152dipus enters the palace; and in the\npause that follows the Chorus muse over the scene. They are bewildered\nand torn by doubt. They may not disbelieve the seer, but they cannot and\nwill not believe that their beloved king has been guilty of deeds so\nvile. As they sing, Creon rushes on indignant; and he is followed a\nmoment afterward by \u0152dipus. Here at last is an opportunity to strike out\nagainst the deadly thing which seems closing in around him. Creon is no\nold and blind opponent, before whose weakness his hands are tied; but a\nman of equal strength and rank whom, in his rashness, he believes to be\nhis bitter enemy. Without a word of prelude or explanation, \u0152dipus\nflings down the gauntlet; and declares Creon, his comrade and the\nbrother of his wife, to be a traitor. The charge is false and foolish,\nto every mind but that of the overwrought king. But reason cannot sway\nhim now; Creon\u2019s protests are futile, and his proofs of innocence mere\nwords bereft of meaning. This knave who has plotted against him must\ndie, and quickly, before his schemes can take effect. In vain Creon\npleads for justice: in vain the leader of the Chorus tries to stem the\nking\u2019s anger, With a rallying cry to his guards, \u0152dipus draws his sword\nupon Creon. But as he springs to the blow there suddenly appears in the\ndoorway of the palace, Jocasta the queen. An immediate silence falls:\nweapons are lowered; and the queen advances slowly to the top of the\npalace steps. The Chorus move back, leaving \u0152dipus and Creon standing\nalone before her. She looks reproachfully into one shamed face after\nanother and then, with gentle dignity, she speaks:\n\n            \u201c_Vain men, what would ye with this angry swell\n            Of words heart-blinded? Is there in your eyes\n            No pity, thus, when all our city lies\n            Bleeding, to ply your privy hates?... Alack,\n            My lord, come in! Thou, Creon, get thee back\n            To thine own house. And stir not to such stress\n            Of peril griefs that are but nothingness._\u201c[22]\n\nThere is authority in her tone and in her words, none the less\ncompelling because of the tender humanity below them. It calms the\ndisputants: and as they recount to her the cause of the quarrel,\nemotions ebb and leave the cold facts, hard and ugly. It is clear that\n\u0152dipus has been rash in his accusations; and Jocasta counsels him to\naccept the oath of loyalty that Creon offers. Then, when the peace is\nmade, and she and \u0152dipus remain alone, she begs him to tell her all that\nhas happened. \u0152dipus sums the cause of the brawl in a few words\u2014he\nbelieves that Creon is plotting against his life, by accusing him,\nthrough the instrumentality of Tiresias the seer, of the murder of\nLaius. At the mention of the seer there is a flash of scorn in Jocasta\u2019s\neyes, followed by a shadow of pain, as memory brings back the time when\nshe trusted in the vain words of a prophet to her sorrow.\n\n             \u201c_The seer?\u2014Then tear thy terrors like a veil\n             And take free breath. A seer? No human thing\n             Born on the earth hath power for conjuring\n             Truth from the dark of God.\n                                         Come, I will tell\n             An old tale._\u201c[22]\n\nShe recounts the story of the oracle that came to Laius, declaring that\nhe should die by the hand of his son; and of the terrible means that\nthey had taken to frustrate it, casting out their child to die upon the\nmountain.\n\n                     \u201c_Thus did we cheat\n       Apollo of his will. My child could slay\n       No father, and the King could cast away\n       The fear that dogged him, by his child to die\n       Murdered.\u2014Behold the fruits of prophecy!\n       Which heed not thou! God needs not that a seer\n       Help him, when he would make his dark things clear._\u201c[22]\n\nAs Jocasta speaks, we feel that time has not yet healed her wound. The\nthought of that unnatural deed of her young motherhood, is still so\nhorrible to her that though she tries she cannot tell all the truth\nabout it. She says that Laius gave the baby to the slave, whereas it was\nshe herself. Remorse sweeps over her, and the bitterness which lies just\nbelow the surface of her life rises in revolt against the oracle which\ncould tempt to such a deed. There is no impiety in her words. Her voice\nis reverent when she names the god. But for his corrupt interpreters her\nacute perception has nothing but contempt. \u0152dipus will do well to\ndespise them too.\n\nBut the king has not observed her emotion. Something that she has said\nabout the manner of Laius\u2019 death has startled him. He asks her to repeat\nit. Yes, it was in Phokis, at a place where three roads met; and it\nhappened just before the stranger \u0152dipus arrived. \u0152dipus is recalling\nfearfully his own encounter on such a spot. But what was Laius like?\n\nJOC.         _Tall, with the white new gleaming on his brow\n             He walked. In shape just such a man as thou._[22]\n\nIn growing dread, hurried questions are put and answered; and all the\ndetails save one \u0152dipus finds to correspond with that old event. But\nthat one may save him yet. For the attendant who returned had said that\na _band of robbers_ slew the king. He must be sent for instantly.\nJocasta promises to do so; but may she not know all that is troubling\nhim, and whither his questions tend?\n\n\u0152D.          _Thou shalt. When I am tossed to such an height\n             Of dark foreboding, woman, when my mind\n             Faceth such straits as these, where should I find\n             A mightier love than thine?_[22]\n\nThen, partly because he is instinctively seeking relief from the\nthoughts that oppress him: partly to refresh Jocasta\u2019s memory and to\nclarify his own mind, he recounts all the story of his early life; of\nhis parents Polybus and Merope, of his visit to Delphi, of his flight\nfrom the oracular decree, of the fierce encounter at the cross-roads in\nPhokis, and of how he slew the unknown rider in the chariot. At this\npoint his voice falters:\n\n                     \u201c_Oh, if that man\u2019s unspoken name\n               Had aught of Laius in him, in God\u2019s eye\n               What man doth move more miserable than I,\n               More dogged by the hate of heaven!_\u201c[22]\n\nHe has one shred of hope, however. If the herdsman who returned spoke\ntruth, clearly \u0152dipus was not the murderer. Jocasta repeats her promise\nto send for him, and as she leads the king into the palace she tries to\nsoothe him. The herdsman certainly told the story exactly so:\n\n           \u201c_... All they that heard him know,\n           Not only I. He cannot change again\n           Now. And if change he should, O Lord of men,\n           No change of his can make the prophecy\n           Of Laius\u2019 death fall true. He was to die\n           Slain by my son. So Loxias spake.... My son!\n           He slew no man, that poor deserted one\n           That died.... And I will no more turn mine eyes\n           This way nor that for all their prophecies._\u201c[22]\n\nThe awful irony underlying her words prepares us for the next step of\nthe revelation. \u0152dipus sees only one thing yet\u2014that he may be the\nunwitting murderer. But what need to fear, says the queen, to comfort\nhim, since the God had said that Laius should be slain at the hands of\nthat poor dead babe? She is not really confident however. The king\u2019s\napprehension has secretly seized on her too; and presently she returns\nfrom the palace with her maidens, to pray at the altar of Apollo. She\nlays her husband\u2019s grief before the god.\n\n         \u201c_And seeing no word of mine hath power to heal\n         His torment, therefore forth to thee I steal,\n         O Slayer of the Wolf, O Lord of Light,\n         Apollo....\n         O show us still some path that is not all\n         Unclean; for now our captain\u2019s eyes are dim\n         With dread, and the whole ship must follow him._\u201c[22]\n\nThe answer to her prayer is very near; but bringing desolation in the\nguise of joy. Even as she kneels before the altar there comes a voice\ncalling on the name of the king, as though it were the voice of the god\nhimself. It is a stranger from Corinth; and the queen rises to receive\nhis greeting.\n\nHe is the bearer of good news, he says; a message from the people of\nCorinth, to \u0152dipus. They have declared him to be their king, in the\nplace of Polybus, who is dead. It seems good news indeed. Polybus dead,\nthere is no need now for the anxious king to fear that oracular menace\nfrom Delphi; and Jocasta\u2019s heart bounds at the thought.\n\n                         \u201c_Where stand ye at the last,\n             Ye oracles of God? For many a year\n             \u0152dipus fled before that man, in fear\n             To slay him. And behold we find him thus\n             Slain by a chance death, not by Oedipus._\u201c[22]\n\n\u0152dipus is hurriedly sent for, and, hearing the news confirmed from the\nlips of the messenger, is caught up suddenly on a wave of exultation. In\nthe violent reaction from his lifelong terror there is a rush of joy\nwhich has something sinister in it, by its very excess. Jocasta was\nright. It was a lying oracle which said he should slay his father; and\nin the first sense of relief he vows that never again will he trust in\nseer-craft. But the words are hardly cold upon his lips, when he\nremembers that he has still one other thing to fear. The curse had been,\n\u201cTo slay his father and marry with his mother\u201d; and while Queen Merope\nlives he must therefore always be an exile from Corinth. But Jocasta is\nnot daunted. Possessed by her conviction that all oracles are false and\nevil, she tries to reason away his fear.\n\nJOC.         _What should man do with fear, who hath but Chance\n             Above him, and no sight nor governance\n             Of things to be? To live as life may run,\n             No fear, no fret, were wisest \u2018neath the sun.\n             And thou, fear not thy mother. Prophets deem\n             A deed wrought that is wrought but in a dream.\n             And he to whom these things are nothing, best\n             Will bear his burden._[22]\n\nThe Corinthian messenger, too, has caught at \u0152dipus\u2019s words. Does the\nking fear Merope, believing her to be his mother? And is that the reason\nwhy he has never come to Corinth? Then let him set his mind at rest, for\nhe, the herdsman of Polybus, happens to have sure knowledge that \u0152dipus\nis not the son of Merope. \u0152dipus and Jocasta stand amazed; and \u0152dipus\npresses the stranger for all that he knows. But at first he will not say\nmore. He repeats that \u0152dipus is not the son of Polybus and Merope; but\nhe shrinks from disclosing to the great king that he was an unknown\nfoundling. He answers reluctantly to the eager questioning of \u0152dipus,\nwho is now hot upon the scent of his mysterious parentage. Blindly,\nalmost feverishly, with no hint of where each step is leading him, he\nstumbles on. But fear is awakening in Jocasta, as bit by bit the\nstranger reveals that he himself had given the infant to Polybus. But\nhow came the child to him? And whence? Thus pursues the excited king,\nwhile Jocasta stands in silent suspense. The answer of the stranger\nsmites her with a sudden prescience of what is coming. He says he found\nthe babe in a high glen of Kithairon; and as, in rapid answer to the\nking, he tells of its poor maimed feet and of the Theban herdsman from\nwhom he received it, the full truth falls upon Jocasta with a shattering\nblow. This man, the king, her husband, is none other than that outcast\nchild, her son. But \u0152dipus does not see the horror yet; and as she\nstands rigid at his side one thought and one prayer fill her mind\u2014that\nhe may never know. But some frenzy seems to possess him, driving him to\ndestroy himself. He turns to an officer of the Court. Where is the\nTheban herdsman of whom the stranger speaks? He must be sought, and made\nto say whence came the child that he gave to this stranger from Corinth.\nThe officer replies hesitatingly; he thinks he must be the same man who\nwas king Laius\u2019 attendant, and who has already been sent for. But only\nthe queen can tell of his whereabouts. \u0152dipus turns quickly on Jocasta,\nand then for the first time sees her anguish. But he has no clue to its\ncause. He cannot know that there has fallen on her misery worse than\ndeath; and that with all the strength of body and soul she is trying to\nshield him from it. He can see only a fear, which seems to him\ncontemptible, that he may prove to be base-born. Impatience leaps to\nanger as she tries to evade his questions; and he replies with a taunt\nat what he believes to be her pride.\n\n\u0152D.          _Fear not!... Though I be thrice of slavish stuff\n             From my third grand-dam down, it shames not thee._\n\nJOC.         _Ask no more. I beseech thee.... Promise me!_\n\n\u0152D.          _To leave the Truth half found? \u2018Tis not my mood._\n\nJOC.         _I understand; and tell thee what is good._\n\n\u0152D.          _Thy good doth weary me._[22]\n\nIt seems at this word that all Jocasta\u2019s strength breaks down. The\nmalign power that is driving \u0152dipus onward is too great for her, and she\ncannot strive against it any longer. She can only wail in answer:\n\n                               \u201c_O child of woe,\n             I pray God, I pray God, thou never know!_\u201c[22]\n\nAnd then, as \u0152dipus turns roughly from her, all his tenderness\nshrivelled to scorn and wrath, the last link snaps. In another moment he\nwill know the truth; and knowing it, she will be loathsome and abhorrent\nin his eyes. The thought brings intolerable pain. She craves relief,\nescape, and, swiftly\u2014before \u0152dipus can learn what he is seeking, before\nhis accusing eyes can meet her own\u2014annihilation. With an imploring\ngesture, she takes one step toward him.\n\n             \u201c_Unhappy one, good-bye! Good-bye before\n             I go: this once, and never, never more!_\u201c[22]\n\nBut \u0152dipus does not heed her; and with wild eyes, she flies into the\npalace, to die by her own hand. And when the great king, brought at last\nto see the truth which casts him lower than the meanest slave, thinks to\navenge his wrongs on her, he finds that she has taken vengeance on\nherself. Before her pitiful dead body his wrath is turned to loathing of\nhimself; and the hand that was raised against her, smites the light for\never from his own eyes.\n\n-----\n\nFootnote 21:\n\n  From Professor J. W. Mackail\u2019s translation of the _Odyssey_ (John\n  Murray).\n\nFootnote 22:\n\n  From Professor Gilbert Murray\u2019s translation of the _\u0152dipus, King of\n  Thebes_ (George Allen & Co. Ltd.).\n\n\n\n\n_Sophocles: Antigone_\n\n\nThere was an important figure in _\u0152dipus the King_ whom we only glanced\nat in passing when we were considering the story of Jocasta. He was the\nqueen\u2019s own brother, Creon; a man who knew better than to covet kingly\nhonours, and who had a soul for friendship. It was he who said,\nanswering the rash accusation which \u0152dipus made against him:\n\n             \u201c_This I tell thee. He who plucks a friend\n             Out from his heart hath lost a treasured thing\n             Dear as his own dear life._\u201c[23]\n\nThus, when the great king\u2019s downfall came, Creon knew how to be a\nfriend. He was gentle to \u0152dipus; and forgetting his own wrongs, he took\nupon himself the care of the king\u2019s young daughters, Antigone and\nIsmene.\n\nBut Creon said once, at another crowded moment of his career:\n\n                                 \u201c_Hard it is to learn\n                 The mind of any mortal or the heart,\n                 Till he be tried in chief authority.\n                 Power shows the man._\u201c[24]\n\nIt was a true word, and curiously verified in his own life. For he who\nhad shown so fair a front in Thebes, when the reins of government lay in\nthe hands of \u0152dipus and Jocasta, proved himself a tyrant when authority\nfell on him. Creon, young and ardent, could dare the wrath of \u0152dipus,\nand tell him to his face that even a king might not be unjust. But the\nsame man clothed in power, with youthful ideals fled and all the texture\nof his mind hardened by age and convention, could only meet the supreme\nidealism of Antigone with a decree of death.\n\nIt is not suggested that Sophocles has developed Creon\u2019s character in an\nunbroken sequence through the three dramas in which he appears. The\nchronology of the plays forbids this. For the _Antigone_, which presents\nthe last phase of the story, was written years before _\u0152dipus the King_\nand the _\u0152dipus at Colonus_, which give us both Antigone and Creon in\nearlier days. But that is an external fact which does not much disturb\nthe unity of the poet\u2019s conception. The Creon of the three plays is\nessentially the same man. He is not consistent always, since no human\ncreature is. But under that accusing contrast between the theories of\nhis youth and the practice of his age there is an abiding law of human\nnature which only the few fine souls escape. And we are clearly shown\nthat Creon was not born to be the rare exception. Always prudent,\nlaw-abiding and careful of authority, these qualities would strengthen\nwith the years; and lighted by no higher truth, but carried to excess in\nmoments of passion, would inevitably make him what he became.\n\nIn the same way there is an underlying unity in the character of\nAntigone. In _\u0152dipus the King_ we know her only by name, a child of\nthirteen into whose sunny life a storm has suddenly crashed. In the\n_\u0152dipus at Colonus_, the strong young spirit has awakened, and is giving\nclear promise of the heights to which it will soar before its short day\nis done. While the _Antigone_, the drama which bears her name, does but\nfulfil and make perfect what is fair promise in the other plays.\n\nWe are entitled therefore, in coming to the Attic dramatists for\nAntigone\u2019s story, to read the three Sophoclean plays as if they were a\ntrilogy; although each of the three is distinct and complete in itself.\nAnd we shall find too, that in the _Seven against Thebes_ of \u00c6schylus,\nin which Antigone first appears, there is sounded once for all the high\nheroic note to which her story moved in the versions of the later poets.\nThere is indeed a wealth of testimony for Antigone, and fine unanimity\nin it. We can trace her short life almost throughout. There was the\nhappy early time in Thebes, when royalty sat lightly on the merry boys\nand girls in the palace; and when the great king and queen were simply\ntheir dear and loving parents. That was a time of sweetest memories.\nAmbition had not yet taught the two spirited brothers to hate each\nother; and Ismene was still the gentle little sister who would follow\nwith unquestioning devotion wherever Antigone might lead.\n\nBut in one black day, and with no warning given, every ray of happiness\nhad been blotted out. Of all the sights and sounds huddled into the\nmemory of that hideous day, Antigone could only recall two things\nclearly\u2014the stately queen her mother lying dead by her own hand; and\n\u0152dipus the king, self-blinded, pleading in strange remorse outside the\npalace to be banished from the city. But one impression, filtering\nalmost unconsciously through her terror, remained and grew. It was the\nlook of horror, almost of loathing, on every face that surrounded the\nunhappy king. Antigone herself could hardly bear to see him; but she\nvaguely felt that in these shrinking figures there was something more\nthan physical revulsion at the sight. Why did the crowding people, the\nsenators, even Prince Creon himself, draw away from her father as though\nhe were some unclean thing whose touch would pollute them? That they did\nso stung her; and although their terrified recoil was only dimly\nrealized at the time, it brought a flood of pity and indignation with\nit. In the wave of protecting love that filled her heart, making her\nlong to fling herself between the dear maimed father and all those cruel\nglances, Antigone the woman sprang to a noble life. She did not grow to\nfull stature immediately. Years passed, and Creon, assuming rule in\nThebes as regent for her brothers, prevailed on \u0152dipus to seclude\nhimself within the city. Time brought sad knowledge to Antigone. She\nlearned the causes of the tragedy that had fallen on them, as it seemed,\nout of a blue sky. She found, too, the meaning of that frantic\nabhorrence of her father; though she never learned to share it. Neither\nintellect nor heart would consent to hold him guilty: not by one iota\nwas he responsible for the evils that had smitten him. So, as his own\nbrain cleared from the shock of the calamity, \u0152dipus found a champion in\nhis daughter whose splendid logic and whose love were alike invincible.\n\nLater he had need of all Antigone\u2019s courage. For faction sprang to life\nin the city and grew fast. Superstition fed it eagerly, and soon there\nwas but one thought in all the darkened mind of Thebes, from Creon\ndownward. Their town, in sheltering \u0152dipus, was harbouring pollution;\nand he must be cast out. The people clamoured fanatically; but Creon and\nthe princes Polynices and Eteocles made no stand against them. To them,\nthe presence of \u0152dipus was a political embarrassment, as well as an\nalleged cause of displeasure to the gods. Thus ambition united with fear\nto drive them on; and presently, his unnatural sons consenting, \u0152dipus\nwas ruthlessly cast out of Thebes.\n\nThere was only one voice uplifted in his defence; but a woman\u2019s word,\nthough it might be the soul of right, had no value in the counsels of\nthe State. \u0152dipus went into exile alone: poor, blind and dogged by the\ncurse which his cruel destiny had invoked upon him. But he did not\nwander long unfriended.\n\n                                         _Antigone,\n             E\u2019er since her childhood ended, and her frame\n             Was firmly knit, with ceaseless ministry\n             Still tends upon an old man\u2019s wandering,\n             Oft in the forest ranging up and down\n             Fasting and barefoot through the burning heat\n             Or pelting rain, nor thinks, unhappy maid,\n             Of home or comfort, so her father\u2019s need\n             Be satisfied._[25]\n\nYear after year they wandered together, haunting the glens and groves of\nMt. Kithairon, where the infant \u0152dipus had been exposed. It seemed as if\nhis destiny were calling him to render up his life there on the spot\nwhich had seen the beginning of his wrongs. But the gods relented a\nlittle at last. There came to \u0152dipus a divine message that he should\nhave honour at the end, and a glorious passing. He should not know the\ndeath of a mortal creature. He was to fare to Athens, and in the little\ndeme of Colonus, at the place which was sacred to Poseidon and\nPrometheus, the awful Powers of the Underworld would welcome him,\nliving, to their shadowy empire.\n\nTo Colonus, then, \u0152dipus and Antigone wearily came; and threw themselves\non the protection of Theseus. They were strange suppliants, hardly\nauspicious in the eyes of the Athenian folk before whom Antigone pleaded\nfor succour. And the message which \u0152dipus sent to their king was\nstranger still, as he repeated the promise that Apollo had given him:\n\n                     \u201c_When I should reach my bourne,\n             And find repose and refuge with the Powers\n             Of reverent name, my troubled life should end\n             With blessing to the men who sheltered me,\n             And curses on their race who banished me\n             And sent me wandering forth._\u201c[25]\n\nEven in dying, it seemed, his life should have no peace. There was still\none act of wrath to do: the stormy day must needs go out in storm. When\nhe stood before Theseus, to declare his name and history, all the\nunquiet flux of life seemed sweeping round him still.\n\n         \u201c_Fair Aigeus\u2019 son, only to gods in heaven\n         Comes no old age, nor death of anything;\n         All else is turmoiled by our master Time.\n         The earth\u2019s strength fades and manhood\u2019s glory fades,\n         Faith dies, and unfaith blossoms like a flower.\n         And who shall find in the open streets of men\n         Or secret places of his own heart\u2019s love\n         One wind blow true for ever?_\u201c[26]\n\nTheseus took pity on the poor blind king and gave him refuge. But\nmeantime, away in Thebes, his sons were quarrelling about the succession\nto the throne. Eteocles and Creon had stirred up the people against\nPolynices; and he, too, was banished from the kingdom. But he had\nstrength and influence. He fled to Argos: married the daughter of king\nAdrastus there, and presently had raised an army, with six other Greek\nchiefs, to invade his native country. This incident is the subject of\n\u00c6schylus\u2019s drama called _The Seven against Thebes_.\n\nOn the eve of the battle, Polynices remembered \u0152dipus. His own\nmisfortunes had taught him remorse for the part which he had played\nagainst his outcast father; and a conviction weighed on him that no\nenterprise of his might succeed until he had begged forgiveness and a\nblessing. So he travelled hastily to Colonus; and in fear both of his\nfather and of Theseus, he flung himself as a suppliant at the altar of\nPoseidon. But in the heart of \u0152dipus anger still burned; and in his ears\nstill sounded the last oracular command\u2014to curse these impious sons\nbefore he died. At first he refused even to see Polynices, when Theseus\nbrought word of his petition; and only yielded to Antigone\u2019s plea that\nhe should at least give her brother a hearing.\n\n          \u201c_Father, give ear, though I be young that speak.\n                                  ... He is thy son:\n          Whence, were his heartless conduct against thee\n          Beyond redemption impious, O my sire,\n          Thy vengeance still would be unnatural.\n          O, let him!\u2014Others have had evil sons\n          And passionate anger, but the warning voice\n          Of friends hath charmed their mood. Then do not thou\n          Look narrowly upon thy present griefs,\n          But on those ancient wrongs thou didst endure\n          From father and from mother. Thence, thou wilt learn\n          That evil passion ever ends in woe._\u201c[25]\n\nBut from the first there was no hope of a softer mood in \u0152dipus. Grimly\nhe listened while Polynices poured out his plea for forgiveness, and\nwhen all was said, broke into the curse which was to devastate his\nchildren\u2019s lives. Never should the crime of Polynices and Eteocles be\nforgiven; but in this battle, when each hoped to win glory and the\nthrone of Thebes, both should fall, slain each by the other\u2019s hand.\n\nThe siege of Thebes was thus foredoomed; and Antigone implored her\nbrother to abandon the enterprise. But he was committed to it beyond\nrecall; and went to meet failure and certain death. One solemn request\nhe made of her and of Ismene too, at their farewell. When he should lie\ndead before Thebes, would she promise him the last holy act of burial?\nThere would be no other kin to perform the rite, and if it were not\ndone, his ghost must wander endlessly and find no rest.\n\n                                   \u201c_I must attend\n           To my dark enterprise, blasted and foiled\n           Beforehand by my father\u2019s angry curse.\n           But as for you, Heaven prosper all your way,\n           If ye will show this kindness in my death,\n           For nevermore in life shall ye befriend me!_\u201c[25]\n\nNo oath could bind Antigone more strongly than the prompting of her\nlove; but she gave her word to Polynices, so that he might go untroubled\nby a dread more awful than any other to a Greek. And when the testing\ntime came, both love and duty were irrevocably engaged. It came very\nsoon. On the day that the Seven laid siege to Thebes, the gods took\n\u0152dipus. In marvellous fashion he left the earth, rapt away in the\nthunders of Olympus, while mighty voices called upon his name. And as,\nunseen by mortal eyes, he crossed that mysterious Brazen Causeway, the\nArgive army lay round Thebes. When Antigone and Ismene returned to the\ncity, dreadful tidings were brought to them. Their brothers had met in\nsingle combat, and, fighting furiously, each had slain the other.\n\nMESSENGER.   _The genius of them both was even so dire,\n             So undistinguishing; and with one stroke\n             Consigns to nothingness that hapless race ...\n             Theb\u00e8 is rescued: but her princes twain\n             By mutual slaughter fratricidally\n             Are perished; their own land hath drunk their blood._[27]\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  \u0152DIPUS & ANTIGONE\n\n  _From the sculpture by Hugues in the Luxembourg_\n]\n\nCreon instantly assumed control. The Argive host was beaten back, and\nwhen the next day dawned, the invading force was gone. The siege was\nover; and Thebes might set about the pious task of burying its dead. The\nprinces were taken up from the spot where they had fallen, and brought\ninto the city. By the most sacred law of Greek religion every ceremony\nof burial should now be reverently performed. The duty devolved first on\nmale kindred; and Creon, as uncle to the princes, should perform the\nrites. But Creon was now king of Thebes; and in that capacity there fell\non him another, and a conflicting, duty. He must decide what burial\nhonours might fittingly be paid to Polynices, the traitor who had fought\nagainst his country.\n\nAntigone waited in anxiety for the decision. For Eteocles she had no\nfear: he had given no offence to Thebes. But she knew Creon\u2019s rigorous\nspirit; she knew his devotion to the State; and she trembled for the\npoor misguided brother who had sinned against the State. In the early\nmorning after the battle, Antigone came out of the palace, to meet the\nprocession which bore her brothers\u2019 bodies in. And as she joined her\nvoice to the mourners\u2019 wail, Creon\u2019s herald broke upon their grief, to\nannounce the king\u2019s decree.\n\nHERALD.      _\u2019Tis mine to announce the will and firm decree\n             Of the high council of this Theban state.\n             Eteocles, as loyal to his land,\n             Shall be insepulchred beneath her shade....\n             But this, his brother Polynices\u2019 corpse,\n             Graveless shall be cast forth for dogs to tear.\n             ... Dead though he be, his country\u2019s gods\n             Shall ban him, since he brought in their despite\n             A foreign host to invade and subjugate\n             Their city...._\n\n                                 _... No drink-offerings\n             Poured at his tomb by careful hands, no sound\n             Of dirgeful wailing shall enhance his fame,\n             Nor following of dear footsteps honour him.\n             So runs the enactment of our Theban lords._[27]\n\nBut Creon had reckoned without Antigone. Her utmost apprehension had not\ndreamed that so cruel an edict could be passed. It was foul dishonour to\nthe dead, and an insult to the gods. But she would never suffer it.\nThough she must be one woman against the whole of Thebes, her brother\nshould not lack the necessary rites.\n\nANTIGONE.    _But I make answer to the lords of Thebes,\n             Though none beside consent to bury him,\n             I will provide my brother\u2019s funeral.\n             ... Then, O my soul,\n             Of thine own living will share thou the wrongs\n             Forced on the helpless dead: be leal and true._[27]\n\nAt this point of the story, the _Antigone_ of Sophocles opens. Creon has\nheard a rumour of defiance, and has added a penalty of death to his\ndecree. The sisters are alone outside the palace. Antigone, not doubting\nof Ismene for a moment, rapidly puts before her a plan for Polynices\u2019\nburial. They must act at once, quickly and quietly, before Creon may\nhave time to prevent them. To her utter amazement, however, Ismene will\nnot help her. She is a gentle, timid creature: she cannot think it\npossible that Antigone will dare to defy Creon\u2019s edict: the mere\nsuggestion terrifies her. She cannot rise to Antigone\u2019s perception of a\nlaw higher than this ugly mandate against the dead; and if she could,\nshe is not of the heroic fibre to make a stand against authority. She\nsees and admits that this vengeful edict must needs offend the gods; but\nfor her part, she can only pray to be held guiltless of it. She is not\nlacking in love and loyalty to her kin. When \u0152dipus and Antigone were\nwandering in beggary, Ismene had secretly contrived to send them aid;\nand once she had ridden a perilous journey in order to warn them of\ndanger. She is no craven. Only, she is oppressed by a sense of physical\nweakness: the forces which Antigone will challenge are overwhelming, and\nwill surely crush her. Is it not rash and sinful to attempt the\nimpossible?\n\n                           \u201c_O think how beyond all\n             Most piteously we two shall be destroyed,\n             If in defiance of authority\n             We traverse the commandment of the king!_\u201c[24]\n\nAntigone is bitterly disappointed. She had gauged Ismene by herself, and\nthought her courage would be equal to her love. To her the duty to their\ndead is a holy act, crying aloud for fulfilment, and shining far above\nthis tyrannous decree. It is so clear to her eager spirit that she\ncannot doubt or hesitate. She had thought that one word to Ismene would\nenlist her help; and instead, she is met with puerile answers\ncounselling prudence and submission. Her passionate soul flames into\nindignation, and in her anger she is less than just to Ismene. Despite\nher heroism, she is simply human. Nor is she, as has sometimes been\nsuggested, like a martyr of the early Christian era, whose humility and\ngentleness would bless the hand that smote. Antigone\u2019s warm heart is as\nstrong in its hatred as its love; absolute in devotion, but impetuous in\nanger; capable of supreme self-sacrifice, and tender to infirmity; but\nintolerant of moral weakness and meanness and timidity. She retorts in\nscorn upon Ismene:\n\n           \u201c_I will not urge you! No! Nor if now you list\n           To help me, will your help afford me joy.\n           Be what you choose to be! This single hand\n           Shall bury our lost brother. Glorious\n           For me to take this labour and to die!\n           Dear to him will my soul be as we rest\n           In death, when I have dared this holy crime.\n           My time for pleasing men will soon be over;\n           Not so my duty towards the Dead! My home\n           Yonder will have no end. You, if you will,\n           May throw contempt on laws revered on High._\u201c[24]\n\nIsmene protests that she had no thought of scorn; and indeed her gentle\nspirit has no place for anything so harsh. But when she begs Antigone to\nkeep her purpose secret, and reiterates her conviction that the attempt\nwill prove futile, Antigone will not listen any longer. With a bitter\nword on her lips, she goes out alone to face her perilous task.\n\n             \u201c_Speak in that vein if you would earn my hate\n             And aye be hated of our lost one. Peace!\n             Leave my unwisdom to endure this peril;\n             Fate cannot rob me of a noble death._\u201d[24]\n\nIsmene, left standing before the palace, gives one involuntary cry of\nmingled fear and admiration. Then the thought of Antigone\u2019s danger\noverwhelms her, and she rushes within like one distracted.\n\nIn the Parados which follows, sung by a Chorus of Theban elders, we are\nmade to feel with growing force the isolation of Antigone. For they sing\nof the Argive attack, and of the sin of Polynices in bringing an army\nagainst Thebes. They are old men, and cannot be expected to share the\nardent enthusiasm of youth; and being senators, their greatest care must\nbe to uphold the State against its enemies. When Creon enters, heralded\nwith pomp and ceremony, they are tempered to the dry official mood which\nwill exactly suit his purpose.\n\nCreon is newly burdened with the weight of monarchy; and in this his\nfirst public proclamation it seems to oppress him. There is an evident\nanxiety in his tone as he repeats the edict that he has made against\nPolynices. It seems, despite the authority of his words, as though he\nwere trying to justify the decree, not only to possible critics among\nhis hearers, but to an inner malcontent who will not be silenced. With\nall the strength of words, he emphasises his devotion to the State; and\nfrom our knowledge of Creon, we realize that this is something more than\nmere protestation. The glory of Thebes shall be his constant aim and\nutmost care, he says. Her friends he will exalt, and her enemies shall\nbe his enemies.\n\nWith this prelude, he comes fittingly to the terms of the edict.\nEteocles, who died fighting for his country, shall receive every tribute\nthat the State can pay; but the traitor who could betray his country to\nan enemy shall be justly left dishonoured, for carrion to devour. As we\nlisten to the speech we are compelled to admit its stern logic. We see\nthat Creon\u2019s action is not entirely arbitrary, so far. There is,\naccording to his standard, rigorous justice in it; and no other standard\nhad yet been applied. The Chorus would not question it. It is in the\nmain an echo of their own thought; only it looks a little harsh, put\ninto words. They, too, believe Polynices guilty of an unpardonable crime\nagainst the country that they serve; and they have no wish to gainsay\nCreon. But about this vengeance taken on the dead there seems to be a\ncertain degree of excess, which forbids entire approval. At any rate,\nthey will take no responsibility for it. \u201cIt is thine,\u201d they reply to\nthe king, \u201cto exercise all power.\u201d They will not take upon themselves to\ncriticize the action of their king, though it may cause uneasiness; and\non the other hand, they dare not censure it. He is in authority, and\nthey must submit.\n\nCreon then proceeds to explain that he has set a watch over Polynices\u2019\nbody. But even while he is speaking there shuffles on the scene a\ncurious, half-comic figure, announcing that the edict has been defied.\nHe is one of the sentinels set to guard the corpse. In brusque speech,\nand with exaggerated fear for his own life, he tells a strange tale. At\nthe first light of morning, he and his companions found that some\nunknown hand had given the prince his funeral rites: not the full and\ncomplete ceremony, but just so much as to give peace to the unquiet\nspirit.\n\n            \u201c_And when the scout of our first daylight watch\n            Showed us the thing, we marvelled in dismay.\n            The Prince was out of sight; not in a grave,\n            But a thin dust was o\u2019er him, as if thrown\n            By one who shunned the dead man\u2019s curse._\u201c[24]\n\nCreon\u2019s judicial air vanishes in a moment. Astonishment quickly gives\nplace to anger as he listens; and this is only heightened when the\nChorus suggest that some god has interposed to pay the burial rites.\nStartled by the strange recital, their words betray an involuntary\nglimpse of the misgiving that underlies their submission to the king,\nCreon breaks into angry speech. The insult to his authority stings his\nnew-found sense of power; but when the senators imply that the gods\nthemselves disapprove of his action, some prick of the unacknowledged\ntruth goads him to fury. And below his wrath there lies a suspicion of\ndisloyalty amongst the citizens, and corruption amongst his slaves.\n\nNot the gods, he says, but these same watchmen who were set to guard the\nbody, have performed the rites. And they have done it for gain; set on\nby rebels who will not accept his rule. Driven by complex emotions, he\nloses all sense of restraint; and threatens the sentinel with torture\nand death if he does not find and bring the culprit immediately. Then he\nstrides into the palace, and the man flings off with a gibe.\n\nIn the short interval which follows, the Chorus sing aptly and\nbeautifully of the daring and skill of man. But their ode soon breaks\ninto excited exclamations. They see the watchman who but lately left\nthem returning hurriedly and leading a woman by the hand. At the same\nmoment Creon enters.\n\nCHORUS.      _What portent from the gods is here?\n             My mind is mazed with doubt and fear.\n             How can I gainsay what I see?\n             I know the girl Antigone.\n             O hapless child of hapless sire!\n             Didst thou, then, recklessly aspire\n             To brave kings\u2019 laws, and now art brought\n             In madness of transgression caught?_[24]\n\nHer captor is exultant, for he has disproved the charge against himself.\nNot that it gives him pleasure to betray the kind young princess; but\neverybody\u2019s life is precious to himself, he says, not seeing one gleam\nof the splendid scorn of life in the girl who is standing beside him.\nThis maid is undoubtedly the transgressor, for they caught her in the\nact. Now let the king acquit him of the false accusation, and set him\nfree. Before the man may go, however, Creon turns to Antigone. She\nstands pale and silent, her eyes lowered before the incredulous gaze of\nall these hostile men. Does she confirm the amazing statement they have\njust heard? he asks. It is quite true, she answers; she owns to the\ndeed. Then Creon, having dismissed the watchman, demands to be told why\nshe has dared to disobey his edict. Antigone\u2019s reply, with all its\nspiritual power and beauty, is also touchingly human. Creon has asked\nwhether she was aware of the decree and the penalty.\n\nANT.         _I could not fail to know. You made it plain._\n\nCREON.       _How durst thou then transgress the published law?_\n\nANT.         _I heard it not from Heaven, nor came it forth\n             From Justice, where she reigns with Gods below.\n             They too have published to mankind a law.\n             Nor thought I thy commandment of such might\n             That one who is mortal thus could overbear\n             The infallible, unwritten laws of Heaven.\n             Not now or yesterday they have their being,\n             But everlastingly, and none can tell\n             The hour that saw their birth. I would not, I,\n             For any terrors of a man\u2019s resolve,\n             Incur the God-inflicted penalty\n             Of doing them wrong. That death would come\u2014I knew\n             Without thine edict:\u2014if before the time,\n             I count it gain. Who does not gain by death,\n             That lives, as I do, amid boundless woe?\n             Slight is the sorrow of such doom to me.\n             But had I suffered my own mother\u2019s child,\n             Fallen in blood, to be without a grave,\n             That were indeed a sorrow. This is none._[24]\n\nUp to this point her ardent vision and courage have carried her on,\nsoaring high into the light of eternal truth, or tenderly stooping to\nthe sanction of dear human ties. The austerity of the stern faces by\nwhich she is surrounded has had no power to quell her fervent spirit;\nand it is only when she catches Creon\u2019s look of contempt that a bitter\nreality forces itself upon her. This passion of self-sacrifice, this\nduty which comes to her as a mandate from the gods themselves, is stark\nnonsense in the eyes of the man who confronts her. The thought gives a\nsudden pause to her ardour, and there is a quick revulsion to anger. O\nthese blind eyes that will not see! And this stupidity that refuses to\nbe enlightened! She drops to a lower range, and ends abruptly on a taunt\nat Creon\u2019s dullness of perception:\n\n             \u201c_And if thou deem\u2019st me foolish for my deed,\n             I am foolish in the judgment of a fool._\u201c[24]\n\nThe Chorus has relapsed into submission to Creon. No spark of fire from\nAntigone\u2019s burning words can warm their coldness. Yet their frigid\ncomment is significant. How like she is, in her strong will, to \u0152dipus,\nher sire. Creon takes up their words. Yes, she is stubborn, but the\nhardest metal will soonest break. Not content with disobedience, she\nmust glory in her deed. But she shall surely die for it; and Ismene,\ntoo, if she has been an accomplice.\n\nAntigone had expected no less than the death penalty for herself; but\nshe will by no means allow Ismene to be included in it. For, first,\nIsmene had refused her help; and then, she is too slight and weak a\ncreature for such a terrible ordeal. Antigone sees that there is a sharp\nstruggle coming. Some attendants have brought her sister from the\npalace, and she comes weeping for Antigone\u2019s fate. Creon turns upon her\nin a fury. Without a sign of proof, he roundly accuses her of complicity\nin the deed.\n\nTo Ismene, who does not know what has passed, it seems clear that\nAntigone has in some way implicated her. But she will not deny it. On\nthe contrary, there is in her tender heart some sense of relief, despite\nher fear, that she can now prove to Antigone her loyalty. Ever since she\nfirst refused her help, remorse has stung her. But now there is an\nopportunity to redeem her weakness, and she makes a pathetic attempt to\nshare Antigone\u2019s fate. It is not a very bold effort, however: she seems\nalmost to tremble as she tells Creon that she _did_ help in the\nburial\u2014if Antigone said so; and none but a man who was blind with rage\ncould have been deceived by it. But to Creon the poor little declaration\nhas all the appearance of truth; and Antigone, knowing his inexorable\nnature, sees that he will assuredly condemn Ismene to death. She must\ninterpose, quickly and decisively. She is still sore with disappointment\nat her sister; her own burden, since the glow of her magnificent defence\npassed, has grown heavier at every moment; and there is, moreover, a\nvery natural resentment that Ismene should claim merit where it is not\ndue. She breaks in with an emphatic denial of her sister\u2019s help.\n\nISMENE.      _Alas! and must I be debarred thy fate?_\n\nANTIG.       _Life was the choice you made: Mine was to die._\n\nISMENE.      _I warned thee\u2014_\n\nANTIG.       _Yes, your prudence is admired\n             On earth. My wisdom is approved below._\n\nISMENE.      _Yet truly we are both alike in fault._\n\nANTIG.       _Fear not; you live. My life hath long been given\n             To death, to be of service to the dead._[24]\n\nHurt and baffled, Ismene now turns to Creon with an appeal that she\nthinks must touch him. Will he not save Antigone for H\u00e6mon\u2019s sake, his\nson, to whom she is betrothed? Surely he will not break the heart of his\nown child, too? His reply is a brutal jest that wrings from Antigone the\nfirst sign of her anguish. The pity of her broken life, to herself and\nto the lover she must leave, elicits a poignant cry:\n\n          \u201c_O dearest H\u00e6mon! How thy father wrongs thee!_\u201d[24]\n\nThen she is led away by the guards.\n\nAlmost immediately there enters upon the scene a man who is much better\nfitted to cope with Creon. He is H\u00e6mon, Antigone\u2019s lover. Logical,\nrestrained, and of considerable force of character, he possesses besides\na valuable key to his father\u2019s temperament. He knows the man with whom\nhe has to deal, and adopts a quiet, conciliatory tone, deferring from\nthe first to Creon\u2019s rights as his father and his king. He listens with\napparent calm to the arraignment of Antigone; and makes no reply when\nCreon expounds his doctrine of absolute obedience to the laws of the\nState, be they right or wrong. He even controls himself at the rough\nexhortation to \u201ccast her off, to wed with some one down below.\u201d\n\nBut H\u00e6mon is only biding his time; and when his father concludes, he\nbegins, tactfully and with moderation, to put before him the only plea\nwhich he thinks has any hope of influencing him. He appeals to Creon in\nhis public capacity, and asks him to consider the opinion of the\ncitizens of Thebes upon Antigone\u2019s action.\n\n             \u201c_Thy people mourn this maiden, and complain\n             That of all women least deservedly,\n             She perishes for a most glorious deed.\n             \u2018Who, when her own true brother on the earth\n             Lay weltering after combat in his gore,\n             Left him not graveless, for the carrion-fowl\n             And raw-devouring field-dogs to consume\u2014\n             Hath she not merited a golden praise?\u2019\n             Such the dark rumour spreading silently._\u201d[24]\n\nWith fine delicacy, and holding his emotions well in check, H\u00e6mon hints\nthat his father will do well to listen to the voice of the people. No\nhuman creature is infallible; and is it not unwise to cling too\ntenaciously to one\u2019s own will in the face of so strong a public opinion?\nThe tree that will not yield to the torrent is torn up by the roots; and\nthe sailor who rushes into the teeth of the storm with sheets taut is\nliable to end his voyaging keel-upward.\n\nCreon interposes an angry exclamation; he will not be taught discretion\nby a boy. But H\u00e6mon is ready with an answer\u2014Even age must yield to truth\nand justice. Antigone is no base rebel: all Thebes denies it. \u201cAm I\nruled by Thebes?\u201d thunders Creon; and H\u00e6mon, seeing his father lost to\nreason, begins to feel the onrush of despair that will presently sweep\naway his self-control. In the wave of emotion that breaks upon him, he\nanswers hotly to Creon\u2019s taunts. It is the one thing needed to complete\nhis father\u2019s wrath; and he turns with a brutal order to the Guards to\nbring Antigone out, that she may die before her lover\u2019s eyes. But H\u00e6mon\nwill not look upon that sight. Under his quiet manner, a torrent of\npassion has been gathering force; and a terrible resolution. He has been\nkeeping an iron hand upon himself; but he has known all through his\npleading that if Creon will dare to carry out the sentence against\nAntigone, it will cost him the life of his son. H\u00e6mon will not survive\nhis bride. Now, with an ominous cry that his father shall never see his\nface again, he rushes from the place.\n\nThe Chorus break into an exquisite lyric on the power of love; and a few\nmoments afterward Antigone herself crosses the scene, on her way to the\nplace of death. She is to be buried alive, in a rocky tomb in the hills;\nand this last horror, with the inevitable reaction that has followed on\nher splendid daring, have wrought a pathetic change in her. All her\naudacity has gone: the passion of righteous anger has faded out: even\nher perception is blunted. The vision of a higher law, and the superb\nconfidence that the gods approve her action, have grown dull and faint\nbefore this dreadful thing which is coming to her. Her voice falters:\nher footsteps lag: and on her lips are pitiful words of regret for all\nthe fair things that she is leaving. The old senators are moved, but are\nsadly inept in their efforts at consolation. Remembering Antigone as she\nhad faced them in her magnificent heroism, they think to comfort her\nwith the thought that there is glory in her death. But Antigone is not\nheroic now. She is a lonely human soul, confronting the last grim\nreality; and the well-turned phrases of these comfortable old men are\nrevolting to her. What glory can really compensate for the monstrous\ninjustice that she suffers; for the loss of youth, and lover, and\nfriends; and for the hideous darkness that will quench the light of the\nsun for her?\n\n           \u201c_O mockery of my woe!\n           I pray you by our fathers\u2019 holy Fear,\n           Why must I hear\n           Your insults, while in life on earth I stand,\n           O ye that flow\n           In wealth, rich burghers of my bounteous land?...\n           By what enormity of lawless doom,\n           Without one friendly sigh,\n           I go to the strong mound of yon strange tomb\u2014\n           All hapless, having neither part nor room\n           With those who live or those who die._\u201c[24]\n\nEven faith seems swept away for a moment in this access of physical\nweakness. But a gleam comes back, flickering through the clouds of doubt\nupon that shadowy region of the Underworld:\n\n             \u201c_Dear will my coming be, father, to thee,\n             And dear to thee, my mother, and to thee,\n             Brother! since with these very hands I decked\n             And bathed you after death, and ministered\n             The last libations._\u201c[24]\n\nThen the clouds gather again, and she cannot see anything clearly. Why\nis she suffering so? Is it possible that she is guilty, that her deed\nwas wrong? In the strange confusion of her soul, truth itself seems to\nreel, and the form of piety grows blurred. What if, after all, the gods\ndo _NOT_ approve, and it is she who has sinned?\n\nBut from this most ghastly fear Creon himself unwittingly delivers her.\nHe breaks suddenly into her mourning with a harsh order; and instantly\nher mind grows clear.\n\n               \u201c_O land of Theb\u00e8 and city of my sires,\n               Ye too, ancestral Gods, I go, I go!\n               Even now they lead me to mine end. Behold!\n               Princes of Thebes, the only scion left\n               Of Cadmus\u2019 issue, how unworthily,\n               By what mean instruments I am oppressed,\n               For reverencing the dues of piety._\u201d[24]\n\nBeside the perverse authority of Creon, her integrity rises\nunassailable. So Antigone passes, in light at the last.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt would take too long to tell of the punishment which befell Creon,\nwhich is nevertheless a vital part of Sophocles\u2019s _Antigone_. It was\nswift and crushing. No sooner had the princess been led to her rocky\ntomb than the seer Tiresias demanded an audience of the king. He had\ncome with solemn warnings from the gods, first because the body of\nPolynices, the burial of which Antigone had not been allowed to\ncomplete, was polluting the city; and secondly because his shameful\ncruelty to the princess had given the gods offence. Let Creon go at once\nand rescue Antigone from her living tomb; and let him pay the needful\nhonours to the dead. But if he will not instantly make this just amend,\nthe divine power will surely exact from him the payment of a life for\nthe life that he has taken.\n\nCreon has no recourse to authority now; and he makes but a feeble\nresistance. Misguided and over-zealous hitherto, he is no sooner\nconvinced of his error by the Prophet than he makes a strenuous effort\nto put it right. He is shaken by fear, too: and declares that he cannot\nfight with destiny. So he goes to perform the will of the gods; and on\nhis action now the whole force of the tragedy hangs. The gods had\ncommanded\u2014Release Antigone first, and then bury the body. But Creon in\nhis perturbation had not paid good heed. True to his nature, he turns to\nthe official duty first, the burial that is to remove pollution from the\ncity. Characteristically, too, he stays to perform the rites with the\nutmost amplitude. Not until a mound has been heaped upon Polynices does\nhe proceed to the cave to release Antigone. Then he is too late.\nAntigone has hanged herself from the rocky roof, and H\u00e6mon is clinging\nabout her feet in agony. As Creon appears, the youth springs up with\nintent to kill him; but missing his aim, he turns the sword against\nhimself and dies by Antigone\u2019s side.\n\nSo the gods exacted a life for a life; but the punishment was not yet\ncomplete. When Creon, broken with grief, came carrying his dead son into\nthe palace, he found that the tragic news had been before him. Eurydice\nhis wife had slain herself.\n\nCREON.       _Take me away, the vain-proud man who slew\n             Thee, O my son, and thee!\n             Me miserable! Which way shall I turn?\n             Which look upon? Since all that I can touch\n             Is falling, falling, round me, and o\u2019erhead\n             Intolerable destiny descends._[24]\n\n-----\n\nFootnote 23:\n\n  From Professor Gilbert Murray\u2019s translation of the _\u0152dipus Tyrannus_\n  (George Allen & Co., Ltd.).\n\nFootnote 24:\n\n  From Professor Lewis Campbell\u2019s translation of the _Antigone_\n  (Clarendon Press).\n\nFootnote 25:\n\n  From Professor Lewis Campbell\u2019s translation of the _\u0152dipus at Colonus_\n  (Clarendon Press).\n\nFootnote 26:\n\n  From Professor Gilbert Murray\u2019s translation of a fragment of the\n  _\u0152dipus Coloneus_ in his _History of Ancient Greek Literature_\n  (William Heinemann).\n\nFootnote 27:\n\n  From Professor Lewis Campbell\u2019s translation of the _Seven against\n  Thebes_ (Clarendon Press).\n\n\n\n\n_Euripides: Alcestis_\n\n\nIn the story of Alcestis, we step at once into light and sweet air. Here\nis no taint of an hereditary curse; no excess of passion to offend the\nsight of gods and men; no foul crime to be avenged by other crime, and\nexpiated in its turn by bitter remorse. The Trojan Cycle and the Theban\nCycle, with all the tragic grandeur with which \u00c6schylus and Sophocles\nhave invested them, are left behind. We come to a new theme, fair as a\ngarden and clean as a morning breeze. It is the tale of a wife\u2019s supreme\nlove: of the friendship of a god for a mortal man: of an unique act of\nhospitality and its magnificent requital. The oppressive sense of\ndestiny, of something almost malign in the heart of things, has lifted.\nHuman error and wrongdoing and impotence, which have hitherto made such\na sombre background for heroic figures, are lost in a glow of human\nlove. And instead of a brooding menace, there is the presence of a\nbenign divinity, seeking to protect and recompense virtue.\n\nBut while we turn to the _Alcestis_ of Euripides with a refreshing sense\nof contrast, we are soon reminded that the elements of the story itself\nare unfavourable to the work as dramatic art. We could not expect from\nsuch a theme a tragedy so intense and powerful as the works of the two\nelder dramatists. The spectacle of virtue rewarded may satisfy a primary\nmoral sense; but for that very reason it will not evoke the strong\nemotions which are the life of drama. While perfect accord with the\ndivine power, and harmony amongst the human agents of the story, utterly\npreclude the sense of conflict without which tragedy can hardly be. For\nthat reason, it would seem, Euripides did not treat the legend as pure\ntragedy. In any case, the happy ending of the legend upon which he\nworked would forbid it; and he has further departed from convention by\nintroducing two scenes which, by their flavour of satire and their\nstinging realism, partake of the nature of comedy.\n\nIt would therefore appear that the critics have had some cause of\ncomplaint against Euripides, on account of technical defects in the\n_Alcestis_. They have indeed been very severe, not only on this play,\nbut on his drama generally, charging him with all sorts of artistic sins\nwhich need not trouble us in the least. Fortunately, we are not much\nconcerned with criticism: and in this case there is opposed to the\ncensure a vast body of praise, ranking most of the poets on its side,\nand all the minds which are attuned most nearly to the reflective note\nof Euripidean poetry.\n\nIf, however, we had time for a comparison with Sophocles, we should\nquickly find for ourselves the one fact which gives colour to much of\nthe critics\u2019 grumbling. Euripides was not, like Sophocles, a consummate\nartist. But we should not stop at such profitless negation; for a larger\ntruth would spring to light a moment afterward. While the art is less,\nthe thought is much greater: there is a wider range, and a higher ideal.\nEuripides is not content to make perfect drama: he must give humanity\nthe fullest and most complete expression possible to him. And since he\nsaw into the human heart with an eye at once so keen and pitiful; since\nhe felt with such insistence the ethical and intellectual problems of\nthe transition period in which he lived, it is no wonder if the artist\nin him was sometimes taxed beyond his powers. The great Periclean Age\nwas passing; and the new era had some curious intellectual resemblances\nto our own time. It had begun to examine the bases of its religion; it\nhad seen a great development of the democratic spirit; and it was\nawakening to something wrong in the position of women. That these\nquestions greatly exercised the mind of Euripides we may see from the\nprominent place they occupy in his drama; and that he must have been an\noriginal and advanced thinker upon them is evident from certain facts of\nhis personal unpopularity, and from the freshness of his ideas to the\nmodern mind. That modernity is indeed one cause of his intimate appeal\nto the thought of our own day; and so far as it touches the question of\nwomanhood, it has a peculiar interest for us.\n\nThe political aspect of the woman\u2019s question will not detain us for one\nmoment, save to note in passing that it is at least as old as Attic\nDrama. We have little clue to the political significance, if any, of the\nmany references to the status of women which are to be found in the\nplays of Euripides; and it does not matter. The broad fact is clear,\nthat the poet was profoundly interested in womanhood: that he had\nstudied feminine character with care and sympathy; and that he felt and\nstrove to reveal something of the evil which must result to the race\nwhen the woman is treated unjustly. Hence we have the _Troades_, a drama\nwhich looks steadily at the horrors of war from the standpoint of the\nwomen who suffer because of it. Hence too, there is an Iphigenia\nexerting all the energies of an acute mind to rescue her brother from\nimminent danger; a Medea, transformed from a tender mother into a\ndestroying Fury by Jason\u2019s infidelity; a Ph\u00e6dra literally consumed by\nlove which she will not declare; and an Alcestis, type of enduring\nfeminine courage, placed side by side with the weak amiability of\nAdmetus.\n\nThe character of Admetus is of some importance in the story we are now\nto consider, and hence has received a great deal of attention. It has\nbeen interpreted variously. On the one hand he is made to appear\nimprobably base, a poltroon who was not only willing that his wife\nshould die in his stead, but who hurried her to the tomb with indecent\nhaste, to avoid the awkward questions of her relatives. On the other\nhand, he is shown as incredibly virtuous, a man whom the gods delighted\nto honour\u2014with this doubtful gift of life at another\u2019s cost\u2014and who\ncould not, from very piety, refuse it. But the Admetus of Euripides is\nnot found in either of these two extremes. He is a much more real figure\npoised somewhere along a middle line between the two; an average man,\ncompounded of good and bad: a warm friend, a tender husband, generously\nhospitable and of evident charm of nature; but with a fatal weakness of\nwill. Thus, in the common level which the balance shows, he is much more\nconvincing as a man, and for the purpose of the dramatist, an excellent\nfoil to his heroic wife.\n\nIn the lovely poem by William Morris on this subject, there is a picture\nof King Admetus which glows with just the charm that such a nature might\npossess. The poem, which is called _The Love of Alcestis_, relates that\npart of the legend which precedes the climax treated by Euripides. It\ntells of the coming of the god Apollo to Thessaly, to serve as an\nunknown herdsman to Admetus, King of Pher\u00e6, for nine long years; of\nAdmetus\u2019 wooing of the young daughter of Pelias, King of Iolchos, and of\nthe impossible condition (fulfilled, however, by the divine herdsman\u2019s\naid) that whoever would wed with Alcestis must fetch her for her bridal\nin a chariot drawn by a lion and a boar. It tells, too, of the god\u2019s\nhelp in foiling the spells of Artemis over the bride; of the happy\nwedded life; and of the departure of Apollo, leaving with the royal\ncouple what seemed at first a priceless boon\u2014the promise that when\nAdmetus came to die, another life should be accepted by the Fates in his\nstead.\n\nThis is the man whose gracious serenity first won the love of the god\nwhen, banished from Olympus, he came to serve as a thrall:\n\n          _Young, strong, and godlike, lacking naught at all\n          Of gifts that unto royal men might fall\n          In those old simple days....\n                                  ... Little like a king,\n          As we call kings, but glad with everything,\n          The wise Thessalian sat and blessed his life,\n          So free from sickening fear and foolish strife._[28]\n\nHe stretched an eager hand to the young stranger who knelt at his feet,\nbegging hospitality, and promising rich rewards.\n\n             _\u201cRise up, and be my guest,\u201d Admetus said.\n             \u201cI need no gifts for this poor gift of bread,\n             The land is wide and bountiful enow.\u201d_[28]\n\nFrom that moment, there was a tender comradeship between the king and\nhis new herdsman, which only grew stronger with time. Now and then,\nstrange tokens made Admetus wonder about his guest\u2019s identity; but he\nrefrained from questioning him, and it was not until the last day of the\nappointed service that the revelation came. The king\u2019s sweet bride had\nbeen won ere then; brought home to Pher\u00e6 in an ivory chariot which the\nstranger had marvellously provided, drawn by a lion and a boar; and the\ncircle of their happiness seemed complete. But one soft evening when the\nsun was sinking, the herdsman drew the king out of the palace; and\ntogether they climbed the hill to watch the sun go down. There fell on\nAdmetus a sense of sadness, and soon he was aware of a wonderful change\nin the figure at his side. He dared not raise his eyes, for he was\nconscious of glory which might not be looked upon. Awe filled him, and\nnow he knew the meaning of his sadness. This mysterious guest who had\nbeen so strong and wise and kind a friend, was leaving him. As he stood\ntrembling, in dread and sorrow, the dear voice that he loved fell on his\near once more, thrilling him with its music:\n\n                \u201c_Fear not! I love thee ...\n          And now my servitude with thee is done,\n          And I shall leave thee toiling on thine earth,\n          This handful, that within its little girth\n          Holds that which moves you so, O men that die;\n          Behold, to-day thou hast felicity,\n          But the times change, and I can see a day\n          When all thine happiness shall fade away;\n          And yet, be merry, strive not with the end,\n          Thou canst not change it; for the rest, a friend\n          This year hath won thee who shall never fail._\u201d[28]\n\nIt is on this note of divine favour that the _Alcestis_ of Euripides\nopens. In the golden interval since Apollo took his flight from Pher\u00e6\ntoward the setting sun, life had sped joyously for Admetus and his\nlovely queen. The hint of ill to come which had dropped from the god\u2019s\nlips was to the king but a fleck on a fair horizon, the measure of pain\nthat every man must bear\u2014some day. But it was too remote for present\nheeding. Why fret away the day of youth because of sorrow and death that\nmust come to all alike at the end? So he lived merrily, as the god had\ncounselled, his fruitful land at peace with all the world, and his doors\nflung wide to the stranger and the suppliant. The little cloud was quite\nforgotten.\n\nAlcestis was happy too, with a difference. Deep under the bright surface\nof her life, the warning of the god lay hidden. It never rose to disturb\nher husband\u2019s boyish gaiety, nor to trouble with its shadow the sunny\neyes of her little ones. But it was not lulled to sleep. Alcestis could\nnot palter with reality. In quiet times the black thing was called up\nfrom its hiding place, and faced and fought. There was many an hour of\nanguish before it was finally conquered, since youth and beauty and\nhappiness are precious. But from the moment when Alcestis learned that\nlove was greater than them all\u2014when she pledged her soul to take upon\nherself the evil that was coming to her husband, life grew calm and fair\nagain. There was little outward sign to mark the struggle: only a gentle\ngravity crept into her sweetness, and her voice grew tenderer still to\nhusband and to babes. And she too clutched the hope, since she was human\nafter all, that the thing she feared was still far away.\n\nVery soon, however, and with bewildering suddenness, the little cloud\ngathered into storm. The fiat went out from the Moir\u00e6 that Admetus was\nto die\u2014now, in the glory of youth and strength, a goodly prize to enrich\nthe House of Hades. One favour only they would grant, at the\nsupplication of Apollo for his mortal friend\u2014that the king might live if\nfather or mother or wife would consent to die for him. Admetus,\nunprepared for an ordeal which must shake so slight a nature to its\nroots; and with all his kindly social virtues rent by the shock, forgot\nhis manhood. The old people clung feverishly to their remnant of dear\nlife; and Alcestis knew that this was the moment when the compact that\nshe had made with her own soul must be ratified to the powers below. She\ngave her word to the Fates that she would die for her husband.\n\nNow the appointed day has come; and before the palace of Admetus a grim\ncontest is in progress. Guarding the door with his splendid presence is\nthe great Sun-god himself, making a last stand against Hades, lord of\nthe dead, who has come in person from the Underworld to claim his\nvictim. He may not use force against this shadowy king; but with all the\nstrength of persuasion he pleads for Alcestis\u2019 life. \u201cMy heart is heavy\nfor my friend\u2019s mischance,\u201d he says; and tries to touch the obdurate\nspirit by the thought of this noble wife\u2019s youth and goodness. But Death\nwill yield no jot to his entreaty; and as Apollo reluctantly gives place\nto him, vanquished for the moment, he flings a threat at the great\nEnemy.\n\n          \u201c_Surely thou shalt forbear, though ruthless thou,\n          So mighty a man to Pheres\u2019 halls shall come,\n          Sent of Eurystheus forth, the courser-car\n          From winter-dreary lands of Thrace to bring.\n          Guest-welcomed in Admetus\u2019 palace here,\n          By force yon woman shall he wrest from thee.\n          Yea, thou of me shalt have no thank for this,\n          And yet shalt do it, and shalt have mine hate._\u201c[29]\n\nThe prophecy contains a gleam of wild hope; but Death passes on\nunheeding, and there gather slowly before the doors the friends who have\nbeen summoned to mourn for the dying queen. They are awed by the hush\nthat lies upon the house, and hardly know how to interpret it. Perhaps\nit means that Alcestis is already dead, they conjecture; and that the\nfuneral train has left the palace. Yet this can hardly be.\n\n _Would the king without pomp of procession have yielded the Grave the\n    possession\n Of so dear, of so faithful an one?_[29]\n\nNo, they would rather surmise that Alcestis is living still; and as one\nof the queen\u2019s maids comes out, they beg eagerly for news. The girl\ntells them through tears that her mistress does indeed still live, but\nthat the end is very near. Even now, in quiet courage, the queen is\nperforming all the needful rites.\n\n         _For when she knew that the appointed day\n         Was come, in river-water her white skin\n         She bathed, and from the cedar chests took forth\n         Vesture and jewels, and decked her gloriously,\n         And stood before the hearth and prayed....\n         To all the altars through Admetus\u2019 halls\n         She went, with wreaths she hung them, and she prayed,\n         Plucking the while the tresses of the myrtle,\n         Tearless, unsighing, and the imminent fate\n         Changed not the lovely rose-tint of her cheek.\n         Then to her bower she rushed, fell on the bed,\n         And there, O there she wept....\n         And the babes clinging to their mother\u2019s robes\n         Were weeping: and she clasped them in her arms,\n         Fondling now this, now that, as one death-doomed.\n         And all the servants \u2018neath the roof were weeping,\n         Pitying their lady. But to each she stretched\n         Her right hand forth; and none there was so mean\n         To whom she spake not and received reply._[29]\n\nThe maid goes on to tell of Admetus\u2019 grief. Clasping his wife in his\narms, he begs her not to leave him. But she is growing rapidly weaker,\nand his entreaties hardly pierce the darkness that is settling down on\nmind and body. She craves for air and light, just to look once more on\nthe glorious sun, and feel the breath of heaven. As Admetus carries her\nout, followed by their two young children, she utters one bitter cry of\nregret for all the beauty that she must leave:\n\n     \u201c_O Sun, and the day\u2019s dear light,\n And ye clouds through the wheeling heaven in the race everlasting\n    flying!...\n     O Land, O stately height\n Of mine halls, and my bridal couch in Iolkos my fatherland lying!_\u201c[29]\n\nThen the presence of imminent death rises on her fading sight. She sees\nthe sinister Ferryman Charon beckoning with impatient finger, and she\nhears him calling her to hasten.\n\n              \u201c_Hades is near, and the night\n              Is darkening down on my sight.\n              Darlings, farewell: on the light\n              Long may ye look:\u2014I have blessed ye\n              Ere your mother to nothingness fleet._\u201c[29]\n\nThere has been no word of farewell to Admetus yet; and now she gathers\nstrength for the last thing that must be said to him. Perhaps she has\nbeen waiting, all through his evident grief and broken words of\ndevotion, for some hint of awakening to a nobler spirit. Perhaps she has\nlonged, in hope that she knew to be vain, for one word of remorse, one\nflash of protest, though it were too late, against the sacrifice that\nshe is making. But Admetus gives no sign; he is absorbed in his own\nsuffering; and we seem to hear, all through the solemn charge which the\ndying lips lay upon him, a note of pain.\n\n\n      \u201c_Admetus\u2014for thou seest all my plight\u2014\n      Fain would I speak mine heart\u2019s wish, ere I die.\n      I, honouring thee, and setting thee in place\n      Before mine own soul still to see this light,\n      Am dying, unconstrained to die for thee....\n      Yet she that bare, he that begat, forsook thee,\n      Though fair for death their time of life was come,\n      Yea, fair to save their son and die renowned.\n                ... For these thy babes thou lovest\n      No less than I, if that thy heart be right,\n      Suffer that they have lordship in mine home:\n      Wed not a stepdame to supplant our babes,\n      Whose heart shall tell her she is no Alcestis,\n      Whose jealous hand shall smite them, thine and mine....\n      For I must die, nor shall it be to morn,\n      Nor on the third day comes on me this bane,\n      Straightway of them that are not shall I be.\n      Farewell, be happy. Now for thee, my lord,\n      Abides the boast to have won the noblest wife,\n      For you, my babes, to have sprung from noblest mother._\u201c[29]\n\nAdmetus promises all, and more, than she asks. He will never wed again,\nbut will mourn her always. There shall be no more revelry in Pher\u00e6; he\nwill not touch his lyre again, nor sing. Her death has robbed his life\nof mirth; and all his longing will be to come to her.\n\n         \u201c_Yet there look thou for me whenso I die:\n         Prepare a home, as who shall dwell with me.\n         For in the selfsame cedar-chest, wherein\n         Thou liest, will I bid them lay my bones\n         Outstretched beside thee: ne\u2019er may I be severed,\n         No, not in death, from thee, my one true friend._\u201c[29]\n\nThe eager protestations bring some comfort to her passing spirit, and\nshe tenderly commends the children to him. Then:\n\nALCES.       _Dark\u2014dark\u2014mine eyes are drooping, heavy-laden._\n\nADMET.       _O, I am lost if thou wilt leave me, wife!_\n\nALCES.       _No more\u2014I am no more...._\n\n                                                        _Farewell._[29]\n\nAmid the wailing of her children, and the mournful chant of the Chorus,\nthe body of Alcestis is carried into the house, Admetus following to\nprepare the funeral rites.\n\nThe scene then quickly changes, lifting the gloom of death for a moment.\nThe mourning ode rises, in vague sweet longing for power to bring\nAlcestis back from the grave. And hardly has it ceased when there\narrives at the palace, claiming hospitality in cheery confidence,\nHeracles the hero of many toils, and the destined deliverer of Alcestis.\nHe is a creature of immense interest to the people gathered around the\ndoors, for are not his valour and endurance known and marvelled at\nthroughout the whole of Greece? He is weary with travel, but he hails\nthem blithely, asking for the king; and when they ply him with\nquestions, he tells all his errand with free good-nature. His\ntaskmaster, Eurystheus King of Tiryns, has laid yet another labour upon\nhim, harder and more perilous than all the rest. He is commanded to go\nto wintry Thrace, the land of the Bistones, and capture from King\nDiomedes there the fierce man-eating mares that draw his chariot. The\nChorus, enthralled by his story, remind him of the prowess of the man\nwhom he must conquer, and that he is descended from the God of War\nhimself. But the hero replies that he will not shrink from the task;\nonly, as he has already come far upon his journey, he needs rest and\nrefreshment first. He comes unhesitatingly to his friend Admetus,\nknowing from of old his unfailing hospitality; and there is about the\nhero such a glow of exuberant life and strength, his history and his\npresent adventure are things so fascinating to his hearers, that they\nhave for the moment completely forgotten the sorrow that weighs upon\ntheir royal master. No single word of it has been uttered when Admetus\nhimself, apprised of his friend\u2019s arrival, comes out of the palace to\nwelcome him.\n\nAn embarrassed silence falls upon the mourners. They know that they\nshould have made known to Heracles at once the calamity which had\nbefallen Pher\u00e6 in the loss of their queen. Then he could have sought the\nbounty of some other house, and the grief of their king need not have\nbeen intruded upon. But while they have been lost in eager talk, an\nattendant has called Admetus; and on him now will fall the cruel pain of\nannouncing the death of his wife and\u2014what will be even worse\u2014of\ndeclining hospitality to his friend. They stand in suspense as Heracles,\nafter the first greeting is over, exclaims in astonishment at the signs\nof mourning that Admetus is wearing. But as it quickly becomes evident\nthat the king is evading the questions of his guest and does not intend\nto reveal to him the nature of the grief that has fallen on his home,\ntheir suspense is turned to wonder and carping. Heracles asks anxiously\nabout children and parents and wife, even touching upon the far-famed\nvow of Alcestis to die for her husband. But every question is\nsuccessfully parried by the king; and the guest is at last prevailed\nupon to enter the house, believing that only some distant kinswoman is\ndead, for whom perfunctory mourning and formal rites are in progress.\nThe sense of propriety in these conventional old men is roughly shaken:\nthey cannot see that the magnitude of the king\u2019s sorrow has dwarfed the\npetty things of use and custom. Only great things remain\u2014love and duty\npre-eminent; and Admetus knows that his dear dead would not grudge this\nimperative present task. So, when the senators complain of his action,\nhe gives them a simple answer:\n\n          \u201c_But had I driven him from my home and city\n          Who came my guest, then hadst thou praised me more?\n          Nay, sooth; for mine affliction so had grown\n          No less, and more inhospitable I;\n          And to my ills were added this beside,\n          That this my home were called \u2018Guest-hating Hall.\u2019\n          Yea, and myself have proved him kindliest host\n          Whene\u2019er to Argos\u2019 thirsty plain I fared._\u201c[29]\n\nBut now there comes in sight a procession bearing burial gifts, headed\nby the old parents of the king. At their entrance there is an abrupt\nchange of tone, a descent from the ideal standpoint, and a violent clash\nof character which make for acrid realism in the scene which follows. It\nis one of mutual recrimination between father and son, each blaming the\nother for the cowardice which the onlooker can perceive in both. As the\nprocession halts before his door, Admetus drops to the dead level of\nexistence from the height of great emotion. He hates the formal troop of\nmourners: the gifts by which they seek to honour the peerless spirit of\nhis wife: the trite phrases of consolation which are belied in the\nuttering by the hardness of voice and eye. He hates the very presence of\nhis father, reminding him, as it does, that they both of them alike have\ncowered for safety under the sacrifice of a woman. And when, in the\nselfishness of an unlovely old age, Pheres praises the act of Alcestis\nbecause it leaves him the protection of his son, the wrath and shame in\nthe heart of Admetus break out into unreasonable railing against his\nfather.\n\n      \u201c_Thou grieve!\u2014Thou shouldst have grieved in my death hour!\n      Thou stoodst aloof\u2014the old, didst leave the young\n      To die:\u2014and wilt thou wail upon this corpse?_\u201c[29]\n\nThe retort is obvious, and pointed with caustic truth: Pheres does not\nspare his son, and although there is fierce malignance in his speech,\nthere is justice in it too.\n\n           \u201c_Shamelessly thou hast fought against thy death:\n           Thy life is but transgression of thy doom,\n           And murder of thy wife._\u201c[29]\n\nThe torrent of scorn that he pours upon Admetus: the merciless exposure\nof his timidity, the gibes at his base love of life, cannot but sweep\naway the moorings which held the king to his self-respect. But pride and\nanger struggle fiercely against humiliation; and the unseemly quarrel\nrages on, despite voices interposed in a vain effort at conciliation,\nuntil the funeral train emerges from the palace. Then father and son,\nshamed to silence, follow the body of Alcestis to its burial, while the\nChorus chants:\n\n                  \u201c_Alas for the loving and daring!\n                  Farewell to the noblest and best!\n                  May Hermes conduct thee down-faring\n                  Kindly, and Hades to rest\n                  Receive thee! If any atonement\n                  For ills even there may betide\n                  To the good, O thine be enthronement\n                            By Hades\u2019 bride._\u201c[29]\n\nMeantime Heracles, with mind at perfect ease concerning the fortunes of\nhis host, had been feasting and making merry within the palace. Rooms\napart had been assigned to him; precautions had been taken that he\nshould not be disturbed by the sounds of mourning, and the servants had\nbeen warned not to betray to him what was passing. So in all good faith\nhe had given himself up to jollity, scandalizing the man who waited on\nhim until the honest fellow could bear it no longer, and flung himself\nsulkily out of the house. He is followed soon by Heracles himself, who\ncannot comprehend the reason for the servant\u2019s gloom and chides him\ngood-humouredly. Why such excessive grief for a woman alien-born? he\nasks. Surely such sullen service is not worthy either of master or of\nguest.\n\nAt first the man is reticent, fearing to offend the king. But pressed by\nHeracles, he presently reveals that it is not a stranger who is dead,\nbut the queen herself; and that even now the funeral train is returning\nfrom the grave.\n\nHeracles is overwhelmed with sorrow for his friend and contrition for\nhis own untimely revelling. For a few moments he stands heaping\nreproaches on himself, and on the servants for their silence; but he is\nnot long inactive. The generosity of Admetus fires his own heart; and\nhis thought leaps impetuously to an act of tremendous daring. He will\nface the power of Death himself, and wrest Alcestis from him. He puts\nrapid questions to the man concerning the place of burial, calls up\nevery resource of energy and endurance, and nerves himself for his grim\ntask by a determination to requite Admetus worthily.\n\n            \u201c_... I must save the woman newly dead,\n            And set Alcestis in this house again,\n            And render to Admetus good for good.\n            I go. The sable-vestured King of Corpses,\n            Death, will I watch for, and shall find, I trow,\n            Drinking the death-draught hard beside the tomb.\n                      ... I doubt not I shall lead\n            Alcestis up, and give to mine host\u2019s hands,\n            Who to his halls received, nor drave me thence,\n            Albeit smitten with affliction sore,\n            But did it, like a prince, respecting me._\u201c[29]\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  HERCULES\u2019 STRUGGLE WITH DEATH FOR ALCESTIS\n\n  _Lord Leighton_\n\n  _By permission of the Fine Art Society, Ltd._\n]\n\nAs Heracles departs in search of Alcestis\u2019 tomb, the mourners are seen\napproaching, led by Admetus, alone. A profound change has come upon the\nking. His ignoble anger has vanished: no word more is heard of the\npetulant reproach of his parents: nothing of the old arrogant claim on\nlife which had blinded his soul and hardened his heart. Humbled now, and\nremorseful, he sees that death were infinitely preferable to life at the\nprice that he has paid. Something had given him sight as he stood beside\nAlcestis\u2019 tomb. He had tried to cast himself down to die beside her; but\nfriends had restrained him, and now as he stands before the home that he\ndare not enter, he makes a pitiful confession\u2014\n\n             \u201c_Friends, I account the fortune of my wife\n             Happier than mine, albeit it seems not so.\n             For nought of grief shall touch her any more,\n             And glorious rest she finds from many toils.\n             But I, unmeet to live, my doom outrun,\n             Shall drag out bitter days: I know it now.\n             How shall I bear to enter this my home?_\u201c[29]\n\nThe bystanders try to persuade him to go in, but he lingers through the\nbeautiful choral ode that is raised in praise of Alcestis. They sing of\nthe worship and honour that will be paid at her tomb as at a shrine; and\nas the long hymn is drawing to a close, Heracles is seen to be\nreturning, leading a woman closely veiled. The king, standing in quiet\ndespair, utters no word of greeting to his guest, and the Chorus wait in\nsilent wonder for an explanation. A strange awe falls upon them; and\nHeracles, beginning in gentle gravity to reproach the king for want of\nconfidence in him, turns presently to the veiled figure at his side.\nWill the king take and guard this maid for him, until he shall return\nfrom Thrace? She is a prize awarded him for great toil, and Admetus will\ndo well to care for her.\n\nBut the king recoils at the thought. How can he receive a young and\nbeautiful woman into his house without pain to himself and shame to her?\nHe protests that it is unthinkable, and begs Heracles to take her\nelsewhere. She would be a constant reminder of his grief, and an insult\nto the memory of his wife. Until this moment he has hardly glanced at\nthe silent figure by the hero\u2019s side, except to notice that her rich\nvestments proclaim her young. But something in her appearance seizes his\nattention; and he proceeds, rapidly and in great agitation:\n\n                         \u201c_But, woman, thou,\n         Whoso thou art, know that thy body\u2019s stature\n         Is as Alcestis, and thy form as hers.\n         Ah me!\u2014lead, for the Gods\u2019 sake, from my sight\n         This woman!\u2014Take not my captivity captive.\n         For as I look on her, methinks I see\n         My wife. She stirs my heart with turmoil: fountains\n         Of tears burst from mine eyes. O wretched I!\n         Now taste I first this grief\u2019s full bitterness._\u201c[29]\n\nIt is Alcestis\u2019 very self, won back from death as Apollo had promised;\nbut with the awful silence of the tomb still upon her. Heracles places\nher hand in that of the reluctant and incredulous king, while he draws\naside her veil:\n\n                  \u201c_Yea, guard her. Thou shalt call\n        The child of Zeus one day a noble guest.\n        Look on her, if in aught she seems to thee\n        Like to thy wife. Step forth from grief to bliss._\u201c[29]\n\n-----\n\nFootnote 28:\n\n  From _The Life and Death of Jason_, by William Morris (Longmans).\n\nFootnote 29:\n\n  From the _Alcestis_ of Euripides, translated by Dr. A. S. Way (Loeb\n  Classical Library: London, Heinemann).\n\n\n\n\n_Euripides: Medea_\n\n\nOnly eighteen dramas are extant of the seventy-five which Euripides is\nknown to have written. And an interesting small fact is that the two\nearliest of these surviving dramas are the _Alcestis_ and the _Medea_,\nproduced respectively in 438 B.C. and 431 B.C. Each of the two has a\nwoman for the protagonist, and both have love for their central theme.\nTo that extent therefore they are similar, and represent certain clear\nfeatures of Euripidean drama as a whole.\n\nWe have already noted the poet\u2019s interest in womanhood: his keen and\ncareful study of feminine character. He was no less occupied with the\ninfluence of love in human life; but on both themes he was clear-eyed\nand penetrative, aspiring always to the \u2018white star of truth.\u2019 Therefore\nwe do not find in his drama a troop of faultless women, moving in an\natmosphere of romantic glamour; nor a treatment of love which reveals\nonly the more beautiful aspects of it. He seems to have been content to\nacknowledge, as for instance in the _Alcestis_ and the lost _Andromeda_,\nthat life\u2019s flowers do sometimes, given the right conditions, come to\nfair fruition. But he saw how often they are warped and blighted; and\nthough he would not hide the grimmer facts, he was always careful to\nseek and show the cause of the aberration. Hence, though the truth of\nhis presentation is sometimes merciless, and may have given colour to\nthe contemporary gossip which called him a \u2018woman-hater,\u2019 one glance\nbelow the surface of his thought shows him to have been inspired by a\nnobler chivalry than that which is content to veil the facts of life in\nromantic illusion. So we find that although both the _Alcestis_ and the\n_Medea_ are preoccupied with the theme of love, there is a vivid\ncontrast in the treatment of the theme, despite certain resemblances\nbetween the two dramas. It is true that both of the heroines are\npre-eminent in devotion to the men with whom they are mated; and that\nthe hero in each case moves on a plane from which he cannot reach the\nheight of his wife\u2019s spirit. But whilst on the one hand love takes\npossession of a gentle nature, and favoured by every circumstance of\ncharacter and environment triumphs over death itself, in the case of\nMedea a wild soul spends itself recklessly for the object of its love,\nbeats impotently against injustice, loses hold on sanity and sweet human\nties, and is transformed into an avenging fury.\n\nThe story of Medea belongs to the old Argo legend, which was made into\npoetry by Apollonius Rhodius in the first century before Christ, and by\nour own Victorian poet Morris in _The Life and Death of Jason_.\n\nJason, the exiled heir to the throne of Iolchos, was reared by the\ncentaur Chiron. Arrived at manhood, he determined to claim his right\nfrom his usurping uncle Pelias; and travelling to Iolchos on foot, he\npresented himself before the king minus a sandal. Now Pelias had been\nwarned against a man who should come to him with one foot bare; and,\nmoreover, he had no intention of yielding up the throne to his nephew.\nHe therefore cast about for some means of ridding himself of Jason, and\nhit upon the plan of sending him on a wild and dangerous quest\u2014to seek\nand bring the Golden Fleece from the barbarous land of Colchis. Jason\ngladly undertook the task: gathered the Greek heroes together and sailed\nwith them in the good ship _Argo_.\n\nAfter a perilous voyage, the heroes arrived at Colchis, and Jason made\nknown their quest to the king Ae\u00eates. But they soon found that they had\nno hope of success. Ae\u00eates was false to them, made impossible\nconditions, and plotted against their life. Disaster seemed imminent,\nwhen there came a deliverance so glorious that it seemed like the\ninterposition of a god. It was the quick wit of a girl, prompted by\nlove. Medea, the young daughter of Ae\u00eates, had seen and loved the brave\nGreek prince whom her father now plotted to destroy. She was an ardent\nand impulsive creature; and she determined to save Jason. By the magic\nlore that she possessed, she secretly enabled him to overcome the\nfire-breathing oxen, and the earth-sown army that her father sent\nagainst him. Then, realizing too late that she had incurred the\nunpitying rage of her father, she fled at night from the palace, to take\nrefuge with the Greek heroes.\n\n _She kissed her bed, and her hands on the walls with loving caress\n Lingered; she kissed the posts of the doors; and one long tress\n She severed, and left it her bower within, for her mother to be\n A memorial of maidenhood\u2019s days, and with passionate voice moaned\n    she._[30]\n\nUnder cover of the darkness, she led Jason to the forest-precinct where\nthe Fleece was hidden; and by her charms she lulled the sleepless dragon\nthat guarded it. She even betrayed to him her brother Absyrtus, driven\nby the danger of a horrible death for herself, her lover and his\ncomrades; and then, claiming from Jason a solemn oath of marriage when\nthey should come to Hellas, she sailed with him on the _Argo_. Ae\u00eates\npursued them in fierce wrath; and the gods, offended for the murder of\nAbsyrtus, vexed them with storms. But at length they came to the island\nof Circe; and she, for the sake of her kinship with Medea, purified them\nof the murder of Absyrtus and set them on their way again. At Ph\u00e6acia,\nwhere they were driven for harbourage, Ae\u00eates overtook them, threatening\nwar with King Alcinous if he did not yield up his fugitive daughter. It\nwas then that the great wise queen Arete pleaded for Medea in gentle\ncharity:\n\n \u201c_In madness she sinned at the first, when she gave him the charm that\n    should tame\n The bulls; and with wrong to amend that wrong,\u2014Ay, oftimes the same\n In our sinning we do!\u2014she straightway essayed; and shrinking in fear\n From her proud sire\u2019s tyrannous wrath, she fled. Now the man, as I hear,\n This Jason, is hound by mighty oaths which his own lips said,\n When he pledged him to make her, his halls within, his wife\n    true-wed._\u201c[30]\n\nAlcinous yielded to his wife\u2019s entreaties on one condition\u2014that Jason\nand Medea should be married forthwith; for then he could return answer\nto Ae\u00eates that he would not separate husband and wife. Thus the two were\nhurriedly wedded; and sailed in safety from Ph\u00e6acia, to encounter many a\nterrible adventure before they reached Iolchos at last, triumphing in\nthe possession of the Fleece. They gained great glory from their\nenterprise, but little else. For Pelias would not yield the throne to\nJason; and it seemed to Medea that all she had wrought had been in vain.\nShe brooded over Jason\u2019s wrongs, chafing at the restraint imposed on her\nin her new life, and eager to strike for the kingship on his behalf. At\nlast she evolved a plan by which she thought Pelias might be removed\nfrom their path, and the throne secured for Jason. Promising the old\nking renewed youth by means of her enchantments, she induced him to\nsubmit to death at the hands of his daughters. Then, in the storm of\nindignation which arose against her, she and Jason and their two young\nchildren fled to Corinth.\n\nSo the legend runs to the point where Euripides takes it up. In crude\noutline it is savage and incredible; and yet it contains all the\nelements which in the hands of idealistic poets have made a story of\nenthralling romantic beauty. In the _Medea_, however, the poet has\navoided so far as might be both the barbarity of the legend and its\npotential charm. He has treated only the final catastrophe\u2014the\nabandonment of Medea by Jason and her dreadful vengeance upon him. And\nalthough he could not escape from the data: although he is compelled to\nhandle some of the most barbarous of them, he has translated them from\nterms of glimmering wonder and breathless excitement into the language\nof reality. He has brought Medea out of the region of myth, where she\ndwelt in eerie and tempestuous beauty, into the stream of human\nexistence. The marvellous and the superhuman drop away, save for a\nfragment or two in the framework of the Drama; and Medea becomes simply\na woman, struggling against her own wild heart and the injustice of her\noppressors.\n\nThe Drama opens with the monologue of Medea\u2019s old nurse, from which we\nlearn all that is vital to an understanding of the action. Jason has\nforsaken Medea and is about to marry with Glauc\u00e9, the young daughter of\nCreon, King of Corinth. Medea is sick with misery and is lying in the\nhouse prostrate on her bed. Two things the old woman makes quite clear,\nas she stands talking outside: that the chief cause of Medea\u2019s grief is\nshame at her betrayal; and that already the storm of passion is tending\ntoward madness. When an attendant comes in, bringing Jason\u2019s children\nback from their play, there is a clear hint of the catastrophe. The man\ntells of a rumour that he has heard: Creon has ordered the banishment of\ntheir mistress and her boys. The nurse breaks into a wail of\ncommiseration, and then clearly states her fear for the effect of this\nnew wrong upon Medea\u2019s mind. She sends the little ones in before she\nspeaks the dread she has that their mother may lift her hand against\ntheir lives; and almost immediately afterward the frenzied voice of\nMedea is heard, calling bitter curses upon her unfathered children.\n\nThere gather gradually the ladies of Corinth who form the Chorus. They\nare deeply sympathetic; and they give pitying answers to the nurse\u2019s\ntale; while within the house, at intervals, Medea\u2019s voice is heard,\nwailing her grief and anger, and the old remorse that has reawakened for\nher brother\u2019s death.\n\n                    \u201c_Virgin of Righteousness,\n                    Virgin of hallowed Troth,\n                    Ye marked me when with an oath\n                    I bound him; mark no less\n                    That oath\u2019s end. Give me to see\n                    Him and his bride, who sought\n                    My grief when I wronged her not,\n                    Broken in misery,\n                    And all her house._\u201c[31]\n\nThe scene is one of weird impressiveness. So far, Medea has not\nappeared; but her cries within the house, the appearance of her\nchildren, the indignant fidelity of the old servants, the beautiful\nlyrics of the Chorus, and, above all, the knowledge we possess that\nanother blow is about to fall on her, produce a cumulative effect which\nmakes the moment of her entrance intensely dramatic. Yet she begins her\nspeech quietly, almost in apology for her former unrestraint. She\nstrives for self-control while she puts her case before the Corinthian\nwomen and begs their help. For a moment or two she succeeds,\npathetically acknowledging her foreign birth and the flaw it intrudes in\nthe legality of her marriage. But at this thought, emotion sweeps over\nher again:\n\n                       \u201c_...I dazzle where I stand,\n             The cup of all life shattered in my hand,\n             Longing to die\u2014O friends! He, even he,\n             Whom to know well was all the world to me,\n             The man I loved, hath proved most evil._\u201c[31]\n\nShe pours out her heart to the listeners; and it is not a mere selfish\nrecital of her own sorrow. The brain that had been clear and quick to\nsave her lover in the extremity of danger has not lost its power. She\nsees the base act of Jason in its broad aspect, as a wrong to womankind;\nand she rises from the contemplation of her personal suffering to the\nthought that this, after all, is but one of the many evils that\nsubjection brings upon women. But the greatest evil\u2014the helpless\ncreature goaded to crime by injustice\u2014is present to her at this moment\nonly as a blind craving for revenge. It will seize and carry her on to\nits culmination as the sweetest thing that life now holds; but it will\nfinally reveal itself, since she cannot but face the truth, as the last\nand deepest wrong, that has cancelled her humanity. The light of that\nthought has not yet dawned; and will not until the storm of passion has\nwrought sheer havoc. All her fervent nature is possessed by the idea of\nvengeance; and seeing that her friends pity and sympathize, she pledges\nthem not to betray her. Their willing promise is only just in time, for\nthey are interrupted by the arrival of the king, guarded by armed\nattendants whose very presence is a menace. Creon is old, and has grown\nhard and tyrannous with age. He has long desired a great match for his\nonly daughter, hoping to see his line established on the throne of\nCorinth before his death. To him the marriage with the Argonaut hero is\nnot only a prudent step, likely to bring him reflected glory; but a\nthing perfectly right in itself, because perfectly legal. By the letter\nof the law, which forbade a Greek to marry a \u2018barbarian,\u2019 Medea was not\nJason\u2019s wife; and the letter of the law merely was of concern to Creon.\nTo him Medea was an uncivilized creature from outland parts: a being\nwithout rights, who might safely be ignored; and having won over Jason,\nthe match was arranged and the preliminary formalities concluded. Not\nuntil a rumour reached him that Medea in her wrath had solemnly cursed\nhis child and him, did any thought of her disturb him. Then, fearing\nthat she might indeed do his daughter some injury, or at the least might\nmove public opinion in her favour, he determined upon instant banishment\nfor her and her two young sons. Without a word to soften or explain his\naction, he stands before Medea now, and curtly orders her to prepare for\ndeparture.\n\nThe blow is so crushing that for a moment Medea seems to sink under it;\nshe can think of nothing but to ask what crime of hers has merited this\npunishment. But when Creon cynically replies that there has been no\ncrime, and that the measure is one of precaution merely, to guard\nhimself against her reputation for magic-lore, she rallies her wit and\nmeets him on his own ground. Half ironically, she repudiates the damning\npossession of brains, and bids him set his mind at rest.\n\n            \u201c_\u2019Tis not the first nor second time, O King,\n            That fame hath hurt me....\n            Come unto fools with knowledge of new things,\n            They deem it vanity, not knowledge....\n            Ah, I am not so wondrous wise!\u2014And now,\n            To thee, I am terrible! What fearest thou?\n            What dire deed? Do I tread so proud a path\u2014\n            Fear me not thou!\u2014that I should brave the wrath\n            Of princes?_\u201c[31]\n\nCreon sees that she is trying to placate him, and harshly repeats his\ndecree. He even threatens her, when she continues her entreaties, with\nforce from his soldiery; and Medea, shrinking in horror from the thought\nof personal violence, instantly ceases her petition. She pretends to\nyield; and in feigned humility, begs on her knees for one day\u2019s respite.\nCreon, partly deceived, and entirely convinced that she can do no harm\nin so short a time, reluctantly consents. But he has hardly gone when\nMedea breaks into a torrent of speech which, in its fierce exultation\nover Creon, its wild leap to the height of daring and its rallying cry\nto her own spirit, comes very near to madness. All the shapeless\nthoughts of vengeance on which she had brooded spring into vivid life as\nshe rapidly cons now this plot, now that, to reach her end. Of the end\nitself there can be no doubt; she must kill these three\u2014the king, and\nJason and his bride\u2014in the few hours left to her. And for this she will\nneed every resource of strategy and courage.\n\n            \u201c_Awake thee now, Medea! Whatso plot\n            Thou hast, or cunning, strive and falter not.\n            On to the peril-point! Now comes the strain\n            Of daring. Shall they trample thee again?_\u201c[31]\n\nNo wonder that the Chorus sing, as she rushes into the house, of a\nstrange reversal of all the order of nature; of woman made terrible\nbecause man has forgotten God. They take up the story of Medea\u2019s broken\nlife: of the wonder and the pity of it: of her distant home: of her\nsurpassing love for Jason, and of her betrayal. In the beauty and grace\nof the songs the emotional strain is lightened: but they have a further\npurpose. For while they tell the old story over in tender phrases, Jason\nhimself enters and Medea again comes out of the house. The two stand\nface to face at last and the crux of the drama is reached. Jason is the\nfirst to speak; and one feels all the spirit of the man in his opening\nwords\u2014cold, ambitious, prudent, with ideals faded and every generous\nemotion dead. He protests that he has acted from motives of policy and\nconsiderations of their best interest: for the welfare of Medea and\ntheir children as well as for himself. The new marriage was the only\nway, in a land to which they were strangers, to secure a home for them\nall, and princely connexions for his sons. But Medea has spoiled\neverything by her ungovernable anger: and he has come, since nothing\nelse is possible now, to make provision for the children in their exile.\n\nThe speech is clear, terse, moderate in tone, and pitilessly logical\nfrom Jason\u2019s point of view. From that point, too, it is not unkind: he\nwishes to do what may be done to soften their lot. But to the woman who\nloves him his words are a mere blur of sound, the logic meaningless, the\nuntroubled manner a thing of contempt. In tone and look and gesture one\nfact is certain\u2014that her husband has ceased to love her, and is content\nto cast her off. It has clamoured in her ears while he spoke, drowning\nevery other sound; and when she replies it is that which prompts her. It\ninspires her great indictment\u2014the case for the woman against injustice\nthroughout all time\u2014and it evokes a shuddering recoil from baseness\nwhich she feels to be literally a pollution.\n\n            \u201c_Evil\u2014most Evil ...\n            I will begin with that, \u2018twixt me and thee,\n            That first befell. I saved thee. I saved thee\u2014\n                                ... And hast thou then\n            Accepted all\u2014O evil yet again!\u2014\n            And cast me off and taken for thy bride\n            Another? And with children at thy side!\n                                ... Is sworn faith so low\n            And weak a thing? I understand it not.\n            Are the old gods dead? Are the old laws forgot,\n            And new laws made? ...\n                          ... O great God, shall gold withal\n            Bear thy clear mark, to sift the base and fine,\n            And o\u2019er man\u2019s living visage runs no sign\n            To show the lie within, ere all too late?_\u201c[31]\n\nJason\u2019s anger is stung by her denunciation, but his purpose is quite\nunmoved. He flings a veiled insult at her love; and as he elaborates the\nreasons for his action, with no little skill and plausibility, we feel\nthat with every word the conflict becomes more deadly. In apparent good\nfaith, but with intolerable effrontery to the injured woman, he claims\nto have repaid that old debt, if indeed it were a debt. He has given her\na home in an ordered country and her name has been linked in the glory\nof his. As to the marriage with Glauc\u00e9\u2014with a sneer at the bare idea of\nsentiment\u2014the affair is a bargain, with consideration given and received\non each side. Let Medea look at the matter for one instant with the eyes\nof reason, and she herself will acknowledge that he has acted wisely.\n\nBut the very root of the tragedy lay there. Medea could no more detach\nherself from the emotion that possessed her than Jason could revive the\ntenderness that filled him when he lifted the sweet wild fugitive on\nboard the _Argo_. So they stand, typifying the eternal struggle between\nthe passionate heart and the arrogant brain; and striking at each other\nin baffled rage across the gulf between them. Jason makes one last offer\nof help, but it is vehemently refused, and with a final thrust at\nMedea\u2019s savagery, he leaves her. When he has gone, the inevitable\nreaction comes. The Chorus, interpreting her mood, sing musingly of the\npains of exile, and of her lonely state. She realizes that she has flung\naway her only chance of help, and she sees herself in a few hours\nexpelled from Corinth without one friend to shelter her. Despair is\nsettling upon her when a curious incident occurs, suddenly reviving hope\nand making the path clear for her revenge. It is the arrival of \u00c6geus,\nKing of Athens. He is travelling back from Apollo\u2019s shrine at Delphi,\nwhere he has been to renew an old petition that the god would give him\nchildren. Medea, thinking rapidly, questions him of his errand. She sees\na possibility of succour; and putting all her wrongs before him, she\nbegs him to give her refuge at Athens. He shall not fail of a reward,\nfor she has magic arts which will secure to him his long desire for\nchildren. \u00c6geus is indignant at her wrongs, and promises to succour her\nif she comes to him; but knowing what she is about to do, she cunningly\nextorts an oath from him. He gives it willingly, and as he departs Medea\nbreaks into a cry of exultation:\n\n            \u201c_God, and God\u2019s Justice, and ye blinding Skies,\n            At last the victory dawneth!_\u201c[31]\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  MEDEA & ABSYRTUS\n\n  _Herbert Draper_\n\n  _By permission of the Corporation Art Gallery of Bradford_\n]\n\nQuickly she lays her plan. She will recall Jason, feign repentance, and\nsend the children to the bride with gifts\u2014marvellous raiment and jewels\nwhich will hide under their beauty an agonizing death for Glauc\u00e9. But\nthat done\u2014she pauses in horror, the sweetness of revenge dashed by the\nthought of what must follow. Then, she must lift her hand to slay her\nchildren, before they can be caught and killed for their mother\u2019s crime.\nThere is a short altercation with the friendly women about her, who make\na futile effort to restrain her. But brushing aside their remonstrance,\nshe sends the nurse for Jason, and in a scene which vibrates with\ndramatic power, she pretends to make peace with him, and puts the\nfrightful revenge in motion. Jason, completely deceived, promises that\nthe children shall be taken to Glauc\u00e9, to present their gifts and beg\nfor leave to stay in Corinth. But twice, as the little ones stand\nwaiting, the motherhood in Medea rebels against the fury that is driving\nher. Tears that she cannot check rush into her eyes, and she almost\nforgets her r\u00f4le, as she clasps them to her.\n\n                                \u201c_Shall it be\n        A long time more, my children, that ye live\n        To reach to me those dear, dear arms? ... Forgive._\u201c[31]\n\nAnd again when Jason, softened by her submission, is promising to lead\nthem up to an honoured manhood, a sudden movement of Medea arrests him.\nHe cannot understand her grief, and the strangeness of her manner; and\nasks her if she doubts that he will act in good faith toward their\nchildren.\n\nMEDEA.       _I was their mother! When I heard thy prayer\n             Of long life for them, there swept over me\n             A horror, wondering how these things shall be._[31]\n\nBut the gentler mood passes, and when Jason, with characteristic\ncanniness, counsels her not to send such precious gifts to his bride,\nthe spirit of vengeance has regained possession of her soul. She\noverrules him, and Jason leads the children to the princess, carrying in\ntheir innocent hands the weapon that will slay her. Not until they are\ngone does Medea realize fully what the next step must be; and the\nrealization brings agony. She waits for their return in a storm of\nemotion: suspense that almost stops the beating of her heart: hideous\nhope that her plot has succeeded and that Glauc\u00e9 even now is dying from\nthe poison; and ghastly fear that her children have been taken for the\ndeed. But when they return at last, in unconscious gladness that the\ngreat lady has been kind to them, it is something more awful still that\nrobs their mother of power of utterance. The children\u2019s tutor is amazed\nat the grief that he sees is racking her, and asks its cause.\n\nMEDEA.       _For bitter need, Old Man! The gods have willed,\n             And mine own evil mind, that this should come._[31]\n\nAnd as the man goes in, leaving her alone with her boys, a poignant\nscene follows in which every instinct of her nature struggles against\nher wrath. Their sweet young faces stir the tenderness that has hitherto\nbeen bound within her; and as it floods her heart it seems for a few\nmoments to sweep away her evil purpose. But it only returns in added\nstrength, and as her soul writhes in the conflict, reason totters, and\nshe implores the vengeance within, as a living and implacable foe, to\nspare her babes. Backward and forward she sways, driven by hatred and\nlove, until the scale is turned at last by the thought of her own\nirrevocable act. Glauc\u00e9, even at this moment, is dying from the poison\nthat she has sent.\n\n                         \u201c_Too late, too late!\n             By all Hell\u2019s living agonies of hate,\n             They shall not take my little ones alive\n             To make their mock with! Howso\u2019er I strive\n             The thing is doomed....\n             Oh, darling hand! Oh, darling mouth, and eye,\n             And royal mien, and bright brave faces clear,\n             May you be bless\u00e8d, but not here! What here\n             Was yours, your father stole....\n                         ... I am broken by the wings\n             Of evil.... Yea, I know to what bad things\n             I go, but louder than all thought doth cry\n             Anger, which maketh man\u2019s worst misery._\u201c[31]\n\nBut even yet she cannot strike: one thing more is needed to nerve her\nhand, and it comes only too soon. A messenger is seen flying toward them\nfrom the palace in frantic haste. As he comes within hail, he shouts to\nMedea to flee\u2014both Creon and the princess lie dead from the effects of\nher poisoned gift, and she has not a moment to lose. Her own life will\nsurely be demanded for the crime. Medea remains immovable, smiling in\nawful joy at the news. She makes the man relate every detail of the\nghastly scene in the palace; and for just so long as the story takes to\ntell, she clasps revenge complete and satisfying. But a moment later the\nthing has shrivelled in her hand; for there is now no hope to save her\nchildren.\n\n                       \u201c_Oh, up, and get thine armour on,\n             My heart!...\n             Take up thy sword, O poor right hand of mine,\n             Thy sword: then onward to the thin-drawn line\n             Where life turns agony._\u201d[31]\n\nShe goes into the house; and a moment later the shrieks of the children\nare heard. They have hardly ceased when Jason rushes in, bent on\ncarrying off his sons before the king\u2019s avengers can capture them. A\nwoman warns him of what is passing within; and as the agonized father\nbursts open the door of the house, Medea appears on the roof, in the\ndragon-chariot of the Sun, with the poor dead bodies lying at her feet.\nThere is something weird in this touch of the supernatural; but there is\nsomething symbolic too. For Medea is a woman no longer: with her own\nhand, driven by foul wrong and an untamed heart, she has cast humanity\naway.\n\nWe need not follow to the end the last clash of the two bitter spirits.\nJason pleads piteously for one poor boon: \u201cGive me the dead to weep and\nmake their grave.\u201d But the fury that has smitten him is inexorable.\n\n           \u201c_Never! Myself will lay them in a still\n           Green sepulchre....\n                     ... For thee, behold, death draweth on,\n           Evil and lonely, like thine heart: the hands\n           Of thine own Argo, rotting where she stands,\n           Shall smite thine head in twain, and bitter be\n           To the last end thy memories of me._\u201c[31]\n\n-----\n\nFootnote 30:\n\n  From Dr. A. S. Way\u2019s translation of the _Argonautica_ (Dent and Sons\n  Ltd.).\n\nFootnote 31:\n\n  From Professor Gilbert Murray\u2019s translation of the _Medea_ (George\n  Allen & Co. Ltd.).\n\n\n\n\n_Euripides: Ph\u00e6dra_\n\n\nThe _Hippolytus_ of Euripides, to which we turn for the story of Ph\u00e6dra,\nis frequently called the earliest love-tragedy in European literature.\nThat is to say, it is the first to deal fully and frankly with the power\nof love toward tragic issues. This can hardly be said about the _Medea_,\nfor that drama is only the last incident of a story wherein love has\nbeen changed to hatred; and the motive is revenge. But in the\n_Hippolytus_ the story is unfolded from its inception; and Ph\u00e6dra\u2019s\npassion is found to be the force that moves the whole action of the\ntragedy. This fact has a peculiar attraction for the modern mind; but\nthe drama has other claims upon us too. First, for its sheer beauty, as\npoetry and as dramatic art of a special type; then, for its accurate\nstudy of character, three people at least gripping our interest as\ncomplete and convincing human creatures; and again, for its lofty tone\nand a reflective element which, though characteristically original, is\ncalm and clear. But the most wonderful fact of all is the surprising\ncontrast between the nature of the theme and the austere beauty of the\ndrama which has been built upon it.\n\nThe crude facts of the story are almost repulsive on the face of them.\nPh\u00e6dra, the young wife of Theseus, King of Athens and Trozen, had fallen\nin love with her husband\u2019s illegitimate son Hippolytus. That is the\ninitial situation; and the further data of the old Attic legend do not\nsoften it. For we know that Ph\u00e6dra\u2019s love was unrequited, a fact which,\nwith curious unreason, seems to accuse her; and we know too that when\nher love was betrayed to Hippolytus, she took her own life in shame and\nfear, first making a false charge against him which she knew would bring\nupon him the punishment of death.\n\nSuch, in harsh outline, is the story of unhappy love and wild impulse\nwhich has been made by this poet who was before all things a seeker of\ntruth, into a work of supreme spiritual beauty. More wonderful still,\nPh\u00e6dra, who by conventional canons would seem to have forfeited all\nclaim to respect or sympathy, is found to be a woman of sweet and gentle\npurity, cruelly betrayed by forces without and within, and driven by\ndesperation to a frantic attempt to save her honour.\n\nThe means to such an end are interesting, although behind them all lies\nthe explanation of them all\u2014the poet\u2019s higher and broader perception of\ntruth. He has seen the passion which ruled Ph\u00e6dra as a great\nworld-force, an elemental power which could neither be escaped nor\novercome. This power is personified as Aphrodite or Cypris, goddess of\nlove; and she is conceived as the mortal enemy of Hippolytus, because he\nhas scorned her in his spiritual pride and refused her her need of\nworship.\n\nThe key to the tragedy lies in this conception of Cypris, and in the\nmystical, ascetic spirit of Hippolytus against which she has set her\noffended godhead. They represent eternally opposing forces, and warfare\nbetween them is inevitable and deadly. For that reason, the opening\nmonologue of the Drama is of great importance. The scene is placed\nbefore the castle of Theseus at Trozen. A statue of a goddess stands on\neither side\u2014that of Artemis, chaste Moon-goddess, on the one hand,\ndecked with flowers and carefully tended; and on the other hand, bare\nand unhonoured, is the statue of Aphrodite. While beside the latter,\nmusing in evident anger, is the gleaming form of the goddess herself. We\nlearn the cause of her anger as she speaks. She is grieved on account of\nHippolytus, who in his excessive devotion to Artemis, despises Aphrodite\nand looks upon love as a thing unclean. His arrogance and neglect are an\nunbearable insult, and she has determined to punish him, swiftly and\nwithout mercy. She has already prepared the pitfall, long ago in Athens,\nwhen Hippolytus came to be solemnly initiated into the Mysteries.\n\n           \u201c_And Ph\u00e6dra there, his father\u2019s Queen high-born,\n           Saw him, and, as she saw, her heart was torn\n           With great love, by the working of my will.\n           And for his sake, long since, on Pallas\u2019 hill,\n           Deep in the rock, that love no more might roam,\n           She built a shrine, and named it Love-at-home:\n           And the rock held it, but its face alway\n           Seeks Troz\u00ean o\u2019er the seas._\u201c[32]\n\nThus Ph\u00e6dra tried to exorcise her passion; but there came a time when\nTheseus, to expiate some sin, retired to Trozen with his queen. There,\nmeeting the young prince daily, love reawakened; and at the opening of\nthe tragedy it is secretly consuming her very life.\n\n             _And here that grievous and amaz\u00e9d queen,\n             Wounded and wondering, with ne\u2019er a word,\n             Wastes slowly; and her secret none hath heard\n             Nor dreamed._[32]\n\nNow Aphrodite\u2019s hour has come, and Ph\u00e6dra is the weapon with which she\nwill strike. The young queen\u2019s vigilant honour, proud and enduring,\nshall be overthrown, by a broken word uttered in weakness; and she shall\ndie, dragging down Hippolytus with her. Even while the goddess is\ninvoking the prince\u2019s doom, there are cheery distant sounds of the\nreturning hunt; and the voice of Hippolytus raised above the rest in a\nhymn to Artemis. Aphrodite lingers an instant longer, and the menace of\nher final words shatters the blithe harmony that is approaching:\n\n          \u201c_Little he knows that Hell\u2019s gates opened are,\n          And this his last look on the great Day-star!_\u201c[32]\n\nThe next moment the goddess has vanished, and Hippolytus leads in his\ntroop of huntsmen, laden with spoil and bearing fresh-culled field\nflowers for the honour of the goddess of all wild things. Straight to\nthe statue of Artemis goes the prince, and standing in an attitude of\nsupplication, he proffers a wreath from the uncropped meadows that she\nloves. There is in his prayer a curious note of exaltation. Young, brave\nand fair, there is something at once beautiful and sinister in his claim\nto perfect purity: his na\u00efve assumption that he alone of all men is\nworthy to worship the goddess: in the ascetic vow he takes; and the\nmystical touches, hinting of personal converse with the deity. We\nvaguely feel that there is a shade of excess in it; that the limit of\nholy confidence has been passed; and that, with all its intensity, there\nis something narrow and hard in his devotion. A pious old huntsman has\nto remind him that he has not paid service at the second shrine; when,\nwith a perfunctory salute to the statue of Aphrodite, Hippolytus and his\ntrain go into the castle.\n\nThere follows a lovely ode by the Chorus, which prepares for the\nentrance of Ph\u00e6dra. They tell of a mysterious sickness that has fallen\non the queen, and of their fears for her life.\n\n          \u201c_For three long days she hath lain forlorn,\n          Her lips untainted of flesh or corn,\n          For that secret sorrow beyond allayment,\n          That steers to the far sad shore of the dead._\u201c[32]\n\nMany a surmise they ponder, to account for the strange malady: perhaps\nsome god is angry with the queen for stinted rites: or the absent king\nher husband is unfaithful: or she has had ill tidings from her Cretan\nhome. Their musing brings no light to the problem; but its purpose is\nserved, for when Ph\u00e6dra is presently borne out on her couch, we are\nprepared to see a being in whom vitality is burning low; but in whom\nsuffering is overshone by stainless honour and an unconquerable will.\nShe is attended by her maids, and by an old nurse whose delineation is\nwonderful. She is one of the humble characters whom Euripides drew so\noften: whose sterling qualities he seems to delight in, but whose\nlimitation and error he puts in too, with absolute fidelity. Like\nMedea\u2019s nurse, she probably came with her mistress from her maiden home;\nand she has grown old in faithful service. She has the tenderness of a\nmother for the young queen; but age has made her fretful, and slavery\nhas hardened the fibre of her mind. With pathetic solicitude, she is yet\ninclined to be querulous at the feverish caprices of her charge.\nMoreover, she divines that there is something weighing upon her mistress\nwhich Ph\u00e6dra will not reveal, even to her; and she is hurt at the lack\nof confidence.\n\nAs the queen\u2019s languid voice follows the wandering thought that has\nalmost escaped control, the old woman grows impatient. She cannot\ncomprehend the yearning flight of fancy which, in phrases of wild\nbeauty, betrays its longing for escape: to flee to the mountain spaces\nand the woods and fields, and thread the mazes of the pines with arrow\nand spear, like Artemis herself.\n\n                  \u201c_Oh for a deep and dewy spring,\n                  With runlets cold to draw and drink!\n                  And a great meadow blossoming,\n                  Long-grassed, and poplars in a ring,\n                  To rest me by the brink!_\u201c[32]\n\nThere is a significance in the half-conscious utterances which lies very\nnear the surface of the words: the fair soul unwittingly hinting its\nsecret in delirium as lovely as itself. Presently her mind grows clear\nagain, and she starts in fear of what she may have betrayed.\n\n               \u201c_What have I said? Woe\u2019s me! And where\n               Gone straying from my wholesome mind?\n               What? Did I fall in some god\u2019s snare?\n               Nurse, veil my head again, and blind\n               Mine eyes! There is a tear behind\n               That lash. Oh, I am sick with shame!_\u201c[32]\n\nThe sight of her anguish and humiliation stings the nurse to another\nprotest. She had not possessed the clue to Ph\u00e6dra\u2019s raving, and the\nsudden access of shame is inexplicable. She longs to soothe and help,\nout of her deep and genuine affection; and she has also some touch of\nquite human curiosity which she cannot restrain. But every way she is\nbaffled by the silence of the queen. She feels that she is slighted, but\nmuch more she feels the cruelty of unsuccoured pain to one whom she\ndearly loves.\n\nThe thought that Ph\u00e6dra is surely dying from this mysterious malady\nflings her down in supplication; and she pours out a torrent of\nentreaties until we feel that the queen is growing exhausted by them.\nBut there is no sign given until the nurse, reminding her mistress of\nthe children whom she will leave unprotected by her death, speaks of\nTheseus\u2019 bastard son who may disinherit them, and lets fall his name,\nHippolytus. The word brings a cry from Ph\u00e6dra at last; and then,\nreluctantly, in slow and broken phrases, all the secret is wrung from\nher.\n\nThe old woman now is horrified and remorseful at her own persistence.\nTerror seizes her, and an unreasoning sense that her mistress must\nperforce yield to dishonour. Ph\u00e6dra\u2019s chastity rises indignantly at so\nbase a thought, giving her strength to face the women about her with a\nmagnificent defence of her honour. She begins almost hesitatingly, on a\nnote of sadness for all the sum of human misery; but she gathers courage\nas the story is unfolded and rises to sublimity at last:\n\n          \u201c_Come, I will show thee how my spirit hath moved.\n          When the first stab came, and I knew I loved,\n          I cast about how best to face mine ill.\n          And the first thought that came, was to be still\n          And hide my sickness....\n                                After that\n          I would my madness bravely bear, and try\n          To conquer by mine own heart\u2019s purity.\n          My third mind, when these two availed me naught\n          To quell love, was to die\u2014the best, best thought\u2014\n          Gainsay me not\u2014of all that men can say!\n          I would not have mine honour hidden away....\n                                          Nay,\n          Friends, \u2018tis for this I die....\n          \u2018Tis written, one way is there, one, to win\n          This life\u2019s race, could man keep it from his birth,\n          A true clean spirit._\u201c[32]\n\nBut while the queen is speaking, winning a painful way upward to her\nspirit\u2019s height, the nurse is lagging after her on a much lower path.\nShe has rallied from the first shock, when Ph\u00e6dra\u2019s confession had\ndriven her to mere panic; and is now revolving the matter in a mind\nwhere perception has been dimmed by age and the moral fibre coarsened by\nlong servility. Calling up all her store of doubtful experience and\nworldly wisdom, she opposes every cunning and plausible argument to\nPh\u00e6dra\u2019s virtue. Can her mistress not see that she is visibly caught in\nthe snare of Cypris? Of what use is it to struggle against so mighty a\ngoddess? No human heart can resist the power of love; and it is wiser to\nyield at once than to be broken by Aphrodite\u2019s anger.\n\nPh\u00e6dra listens patiently, seeing that the faithful old creature is\nprompted by real devotion; and her reply has more of pity than of anger\nin it, for the crooked counsel.\n\n           \u201c_Oh this it is hath flung to dogs and birds\n           Men\u2019s lives and homes and cities\u2014fair false words!\n           O why speak things to please our ears? We crave\n           Not that. \u2018Tis honour, honour, we must save!_\u201c[32]\n\nBut when the nurse, irritated, flings a rank word at this love that she\ncannot comprehend, Ph\u00e6dra\u2019s anger blazes in a vehement rebuke.\n\n         \u201c_Shame on thee! Lock those lips, and ne\u2019er again\n         Let word nor thought so foul have harbour there!_\u201c[32]\n\nThe old woman is not silenced, however: she merely changes her tactics.\nWill not the queen trust to her? She knows of love-philtres and salves\nthat will cure her passion without fear of shame. Ph\u00e6dra is growing\nweary of the contest; and at last, when endurance is strained to\nbreaking, she yields on a point which seems quite innocent and harmless.\nThe nurse may fetch the potion of which she speaks; only\u2014and on this she\nlays pathetic stress\u2014no word of her secret must be breathed to the\nprince. There is a soothing, half evasive reply from the nurse: a\nmuttered prayer aside to Cypris which has something ominous in it; and\nthe old servant goes out to wreck the honour of her mistress in a\nfoolish attempt to serve her. Hardly has she gone when, above the song\nwhich the women of the Chorus have taken up, Ph\u00e6dra catches the deep\ntones of an angry voice within the palace. She springs to her feet,\nevery nerve tingling with apprehension; and calling to the singers for\nsilence she bends her ear to the great door. A cry escapes her:\n\n                               \u201c_Oh, misery!\n           O God, that such a thing should fall on me!_\u201c[32]\n\nIt is the voice of Hippolytus which she can hear, raging at her nurse in\nimmeasurable scorn, for something that has been asked of him. As each\nbrutal epithet falls, Ph\u00e6dra, in a trance of horror and shame repeats it\nto the listening women. Then she shrinks aside, as Hippolytus bursts out\nof the castle, the nurse at his heels, frantically entreating him to\nhold his peace. By no direct word does he acknowledge Ph\u00e6dra\u2019s presence;\nand she, with every shred of self-respect gone, cowers apart as though\nshe were indeed guilty of the foulness he imputes to her. But in noisy\nindignation, with every word barbed for the trembling queen, he raves\nagainst the nurse, against the whole of womankind, and love and\nmarriage, ending by a threat to reveal the story to Theseus upon his\nreturn. His anger is just; but in the hardness of youth and the\nbitterness of a narrow spirit it is savage, merciless and all too\nprompt. Blind to everything but his own wounded pride, he cannot see\nthat Ph\u00e6dra has been cruelly betrayed by the meddling zeal of her\nservant; and he heaps insult upon her until her sensitive soul lies\nprostrate\u2014a thing that seems even to herself as black as he believes it.\nAll through the tirade she, who is the central figure in this\nextraordinary scene, takes no part in it: she remains mute, as though\nliterally smitten dumb with shame, until Hippolytus rushes out. Then she\nsinks to the ground, sobbing:\n\n                  \u201c_And, this thing, O my God,\n              And thou, sweet Sunlight, is but my desert!\n              I cannot fly before the avenging rod\n              Falls, cannot hide my hurt._\u201c[32]\n\nSome of the women try to comfort her, and raising her eyes as they\nspeak, she catches sight of the figure of the nurse. She springs from\nthe ground, a wave of anger sweeping away her weakness:\n\n          \u201c_O vilest of the vile, O murderess heart\n          To them that loved thee, hast thou played thy part?\n          Am I enough trod down?_\u201c[32]\n\nThe old woman is deeply contrite for the wrong that she has done; but\ngarrulous and plausible to the last, she pleads her love as an excuse,\nand claims that had her plan succeeded she would have been praised for\nwhat she now is blamed. Ph\u00e6dra\u2019s wrath abates a little after its first\nuncontrolled outburst: she cannot long be angry with one so old and\nlowly; and besides, there are other, darker things to be thought about\nand done. But when the nurse, deceived by her calmness, tries to broach\nsome other scheme, the queen dismisses her peremptorily. She will\nhenceforth guide her own affairs, she says; and we know she means that\nthere remains only one thing for her to do. The old woman goes\nsorrowfully away, and Ph\u00e6dra is left to face the thought of her\nintolerable humiliation, of the threatened exposure to her husband, and\nof the stain upon her children. As reflection brings back the assurance\nthat she is innocent, despite all, it does but increase her anguish at\nthe thought of dishonour, and stir her to frenzy against Hippolytus. She\nis resolved to die: that she sees to be inevitable now. But how save her\nfair name, and the honour of her young children, and the fame of her\ndear old Cretan home? How secure to herself, in spite of false\nappearances, the innocence that is hers by virtue of every act and\nthought of her life? Beating backward and forward in the narrow circle\nof shame and fear, the poor baffled mind can only see one path, crooked\nand dark, to the thing she craves for. It is the way of a lie\u2014a false\ncharge against Hippolytus. It will mean the death of a good man: that\nshe knows\u2014and rejoices in\u2014so completely are truth and justice shrivelled\nin the monstrous injustice that she is suffering.\n\n                   \u201c_... But now, yea, even while I reel\n           And falter, one poor hope, as hope now is,\n           I clutch at in this coil of miseries;\n           To save some honour for my children\u2019s sake:\n           Yea, for myself some fragment, though things break\n           In ruin around me. Nay, I will not shame\n           The old proud Cretan castle whence I came.\n           I will not cower before King Theseus\u2019 eyes,\n           Abased, for want of one life\u2019s sacrifice....\n           Yet, dying, shall I die another\u2019s bane!\n           He shall not stand so proud where I have lain\n           Bent in the dust! Oh, he shall stoop to share\n           The life I live in, and learn mercy there!_\u201d[32]\n\nShe goes in, and the Chorus break into a song of foreboding. A few\nminutes later there are cries of alarm within the castle, the sound of\nhurrying feet and voices calling to come and help the queen. Then there\nare ejaculations of pity: a sudden, ominous silence, and again another\nvoice\u2014\u201cLet it lie straight.\u201d Ph\u00e6dra is dead by her own hand.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nWe must pass quickly over the fate of Hippolytus, though that is really\nthe crisis of the tragedy. Hardly had the poor body of Ph\u00e6dra been\ncomposed upon a bier than Theseus himself was announced, returning\ngarlanded and joyful from a visit to the oracle of some god. Met by the\nnews of his wife\u2019s death, he tore off all the signs of joy that he was\nwearing and threw himself beside her in bitter lamentation. A little\ntablet hanging from her wrist caught his eye, and believing it to be\nsome dying wish, he gently disengaged it. It was the false charge\nagainst Hippolytus; and as the king read, his brow darkened with\nterrible anger. The pitiful figure before him seemed to claim swift and\nterrible vengeance; and Theseus uttered an awful curse against his son.\nCalling upon the god Poseidon to ratify an ancient promise, he demanded\ninstant death for Hippolytus. The petition was uttered rashly, in anger\nand grief; and Theseus himself hardly dreamed that it would be\nfulfilled; but the answer came with dreadful promptitude. There was one\nstormy scene between father and son; and Hippolytus, pleading in vain\nfor mercy, went out to banishment. But Poseidon in his far sea-caves had\nheard Theseus\u2019 invocation; and as the young prince urged his chariot\nalong the shore, a mighty wave, crested by a fierce sea-monster, rolled\ndestruction on him. Hurled from his chariot, and dragged at the heels of\nthe maddened horses, Hippolytus was barely saved alive by his\nattendants. They carried him back to the castle, and brought him into\nthe presence of the king, wounded and dying. But before life closed for\nhim he was gloriously vindicated, and the tragedy ends, as it began,\nwith the appearance of a goddess. It is not Aphrodite now, however. She\nhas done her worst with the two young lives she has chosen to despoil;\nand now Artemis will justify their innocence and leave their memory\nclean and sweet.\n\nARTEMIS.          _For this I came, to show how high\n             And clean was thy son\u2019s heart, that he may die\n             Honoured of men; aye, and to tell no less\n             The frenzy, or in some sort the nobleness\n             Of thy dead wife._[32]\n\n-----\n\nFootnote 32:\n\n  From Professor Gilbert Murray\u2019s translation of the _Hippolytus_\n  (George Allen & Co. Ltd.).\n\n\n\n\n_Euripides: Iphigenia_\n\n\nWe turn back to the Trojan legend now, and to two Euripidean plays which\nin some sense round off the Orestean story. We had to leave that story\nat a ragged edge\u2014the murder of Clytemnestra by her son Orestes in\nrevenge for the death of Agamemnon. We could not go on to the third\ndrama of the \u00c6schylean trilogy, to follow the unhappy youth as he fled\nin remorse to the oracle of Apollo at Delphi, and thence to Athens,\nseeking to appease his mother\u2019s Furies. But if we had done so we should\nhave found the whole theme brought to a calm and beautiful conclusion:\nOrestes cleansed by suffering and set free from guilt by Athena; and the\navenging Furies changed into Spirits of Mercy.\n\nEuripides, however, who took so many subjects for his drama from the\nTrojan cycle and always gave them new significance, in this case chose\nvariants of the legend and wove them into a story which was entirely\nfresh. So that the _Iphigenia in Tauris_, with which we are chiefly\nconcerned now, shows Orestes still fleeing before the Erinnyes; and\ncarries the tale to another and much more exciting conclusion. Indeed,\nthe peculiar charm of this tragedy is that it is not really tragedy at\nall, but a thrilling adventure-play. It reminds us of the _Odyssey_,\nwith its flavour of the sea, the wistful note that haunts it and its\nspice of physical peril; only, this is the work of a poet who adds high\ndramatic values to the delight of the story, with a lyric note of\nenchanting beauty, and penetrating thought.\n\nCharacteristically, when Euripides took up this part of the Orestean\nlegend, it was not so much the man Orestes in whom he was interested, as\nthe woman Iphigenia; with the result that we have two dramas called by\nher name and in which she is the protagonist. Both were produced late in\nthe poet\u2019s life, the _Iphigenia in Aulis_ being probably his last work.\nIt contains the earlier part of the heroine\u2019s story\u2014the sacrifice of the\nvirgin-martyr at Aulis; and the great new feature of it, her rescue by\nArtemis just as the knife was falling to her throat, was perhaps the\npoet\u2019s own invention. There is no hint of it in \u00c6schylus. To\nClytemnestra, the murder of her first-born child Iphigenia was the crime\nwhich turned her life to bitterness and armed her against Agamemnon. He\nhad beguiled her to send the child\u2014for she was but a mere girl\u2014to Aulis,\nfor marriage with the splendid young hero Achilles. And then, at the\nbidding of a soothsayer, he had ruthlessly slain his daughter on the\naltar of Artemis; and sailed away to Troy.\n\nThose are the facts at the heart of the mystery which is Clytemnestra;\nbut when we come to the _Iphigenia in Aulis_ we find some different data\nand a far different interpretation. Agamemnon there is almost pitiably\nhuman, driven by complex motives first to consent to Iphigenia\u2019s death,\nthen to recant in horror, and finally to yield to forces which he could\nnot control. Iphigenia, too, is made at once nobler and more tragic in\nthe idea of a willing sacrifice\u2014giving herself up, after the first shock\nof terror, to die freely for her country\u2019s good. And in her rescue by\nthe goddess there is added an element of marvel and mystery, which is at\nthe same time a protest against a form of religion so inhuman.\n\nThe _Iphigenia in Tauris_ opens at a period many years later.\n\nTroy had fallen. Agamemnon and Clytemnestra were both dead in the manner\nwe know of; and Orestes was a fugitive, seeking through many lands to\nexpiate the crime of mother-murder. There had been laid upon him at\nlast, as the only means to peace, the command of Apollo to make his way\nto the savage land of the Tauri. He was to seize and bring from the\ntemple of Artemis there a certain statue of the goddess which had fallen\nfrom heaven long before, and which the people of the land were\ndishonouring by human sacrifice. Every stranger cast upon their shores\nwas slain at the shrine of the goddess; and Orestes ran the risk of\nalmost certain death in making the venture. But he had a solemn promise\nfrom Apollo; and the reward would be sweet indeed. He would be cleansed\nof the crime, and set free from these haunting shapes of remorse which\nsometimes drove him to madness. Moreover, he would rid the name of\nHellas from the stain which lay on its religion through the barbarous\npractices of the Tauri. So he and his devoted comrade Pylades sailed for\nthose inhospitable waters.\n\n               _Through the Clashing Rocks they burst:\n               They passed by the Cape unsleeping\n               Of Phineus\u2019 sons accurst;\n               They ran by the starlit bay\n               Upon magic surges sweeping,\n               Where folk on the waves astray\n               Have seen, through the gleaming grey,\n               Ring behind ring, men say,\n               The dance of the old Sea\u2019s daughters._[33]\n\nBut Destiny was guiding them to something stranger than they had either\nhoped or dreaded. For this wild land, fiercely guarded from approach by\nthe Rocky Gateway of the Sympl\u00eagades, was the country to which Artemis\nhad carried Iphigenia from the altar in Aulis. And in the temple where\nthey must seek the sacred statue, the daughter of Agamemnon was even now\na priestess.\n\nThe years had passed wearily since Iphigenia first found herself a\ncaptive in Tauris. Completely shut off from the world by the sea which\nfoamed round that desolate coast, no word ever came to her from her home\nin Argos; and she could make no sign to the friends who believed her\ndead long since. She hated this savage people, and Thoas their king, and\nthe hideous sacrifices at which she had to perform the cleansing rite.\nSometimes she would grow sick at their brutality, and wild with\nloneliness and longing to escape. Then sceptical thoughts would come\nabout the deity who could accept such worship; and it would seem to her\nbetter to have died at Aulis than to have been saved for such slow\nmisery. At other times she would brood over her short sweet girlhood and\nits bitter ending, gone irrevocably from the moment of her father\u2019s\nfraud; and bitterness would overwhelm her against Agamemnon, and the\nSeer who counselled him, and the chieftains who persuaded him; but above\nall against Helen, for whose sake the war was made.\n\nSo youth stole away, taking with it, as Iphigenia sadly thought, all the\nhigh things that inspire a fair young soul\u2014the shining ideal, the simple\nand ardent faith, the generous emotion that leaps to sympathy and\nservice. And at the moment of the opening of the play, when the ship\nthat bears Orestes is being run ashore at Tauris, Iphigenia stands\nbefore her temple feeling hard and hopeless, dispossessed of all that is\ndear in life, and with every illusion long since fled.\n\nIt is early morning, and Iphigenia has just emerged from the temple.\nThere are a few lines of formal exposition: an involuntary cry of\ndisgust at the blood-stained altar that is insulting the eye of day; and\nthen a flow of troubled speech.\n\n          \u201c_Ah me!\n          But what dark dreams, thou clear and morning sky\n          I have to tell thee, can that bring them ease!_\u201c[33]\n\nIn the night that has just passed, she had dreamed of her home in Argos.\nShe seemed to lie asleep there, with her maids around her, when suddenly\nan earthquake shook the palace; and running out of doors, she saw the\ngreat building reel and fall. Only one pillar remained; and as she\nwatched it, she saw that brown hair waved about its head, and she heard\nit speak with a human voice. Then, in the strange confusion of dreams,\nshe found herself fulfilling the office that she bears here in Tauris;\nand she washed the pillar clean for death, as it was her duty to wash\nthe victims for the sacrifice.\n\nWith pathetic readiness, Iphigenia has accepted the dream as an evil\nomen. The pillar of her father\u2019s house must mean his son Orestes, whom\nshe left a child in Argos all those years ago. Those whom she cleanses\nare doomed to die. What can the dream mean, therefore, save that her\nbrother is dead? The conviction is so strong upon her that she at once\ndecides to prepare the funeral rite.\n\n            \u201c_Therefore to my dead brother will I pour\n            Such sacrifice, I on this bitter shore\n            And he beyond great seas, as still I may._\u201c[33]\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  IPHIGENIA\n\n  _M. Nonnenbruch_\n\n  _By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co. 133 New Bond St. W._\n]\n\nBut hardly has she gone upon her errand when there is a sound of muffled\nvoices approaching, and two youths enter, treading cautiously, and\npeering for danger on every side. They are Orestes and his friend\nPylades, who have found their way up from the shore, and are searching\nfor some means to carry out the god\u2019s command. As they come before the\ntemple, and note the grim signs of slain men on the altar and hanging\nfrom the roof, they realize that this is the very centre of their quest;\nand that they have now to face the most deadly peril of all.\n\nAt this crucial moment, however, when all their hopes depend on a calm\nnerve and rapid thought and resolute action, an approaching fit of\nmadness begins to shake Orestes. With strength sapped and courage\nbroken, he falls upon a seat while Pylades goes to reconnoitre. In his\nweakened state he is overcome by the terror of the place and their\nenormous danger; and when his friend returns, he implores him to fly\nback to the galley. But Pylades has hopeful tidings. He has found a spot\nin this almost impregnable temple where an entry might be forced by\ncourage and daring; and heartening Orestes with the news, he leads him\naway, to hide till nightfall in a cavern by the seashore.\n\nAs they go out of sight, the Chorus enters, singing a hymn to Artemis,\nthe mountain-born child of Leto. They are Greek women, captured in war\nby Thoas and given by him to the priestess for her handmaidens. They\ncome wonderingly, in answer to Iphigenia\u2019s urgent summons; and are\namazed when she appears with every sign of grief, followed by attendants\nwho carry libations for the dead. In answer to a question from their\nleader, the priestess tells them of her ominous dream and of the funeral\nrite that she is about to perform for her brother.\n\n                  \u201c_Alas, O maidens mine!\n                  I am filled full of tears;\n                  My heart filled with the beat\n                  Of tears, as of dancing feet._\u201c[33]\n\nFrom each attendant she takes in turn a golden goblet containing a\nlibation of wine and milk and honey; and as she pours them into the\naltar for the dead, she and her women alternately chant a threnody for\nOrestes. They sing of the old dark story of Agamemnon\u2019s house, from its\nbeginning in the sin of Pelops down to what was for Iphigenia its last\nand worst enormity, the sacrifice at Aulis. And as their voices rise and\nfall in the long ceremonial, while Iphigenia is still upon her knees\nbefore the altar, there is a violent interruption. A herdsman bursts\neagerly upon them, with news that shatters the mournful beauty of their\nrite.\n\n            \u201c_A ship hath passed the blue Sympl\u00eagades,\n            And here upon our coast two men are thrown,\n            Young, bold, good slaughter for the altar-stone\n            Of Artemis!_\u201c[33]\n\nThe priestess rises, impatient at this sudden recall to her hated duty,\nand the jarring note that has broken their obsequies. The man and his\nugly zeal are a complete offence to her, and she answers him curtly. Who\nand what are these men he speaks of? At his reply, however, annoyance\ngives place to astonishment, curiosity, and a strange mingling of joy\nand pain. For he tells that the men are Greeks; and never yet, in all\nthe dreary time of her captivity, has one of her countrymen landed upon\nthese shores.\n\nOnce or twice, in her darkest hours, she had longed and prayed for such\na day as this\u2014for fate to send some Hellenic victim to her altar. She\nhad thought she would be glad: that it would be a keen and satisfying\npleasure to take a Greek life for all that the Greeks had made her\nsuffer. But now that she stands face to face with her desire, there is a\ntumult of emotion within her in which bitterness hardly shares.\n\nShe questions the herdsman closely of the name and appearance of the\nstrangers. One is called Pylades, he says; but the other\u2019s name he did\nnot catch. And at Iphigenia\u2019s command, he goes over the whole story of\ntheir capture. He and his companions were washing their cattle in the\nsea, when one of them had spied two strangers sitting on the beach in a\nlittle bay. They were young, handsome and apparently noble; and there\nwas something in their fine physique and sudden unaccountable appearance\nin that lonely spot which made one of his fellows cry out that they were\ngods. But another jeered and said most likely they were shipwrecked\nsailors who knew the custom of the country and were trying to escape it;\nand just at that moment a strange thing happened. One of the youths was\nsuddenly seized with a fit of madness. They saw him spring from his seat\nand beat his head up and down, while he shrieked wildly to his comrade:\n\n                                  \u201c_Pylades,\n            Dost see her there?\u2014And there.\u2014Oh, no one sees!\u2014\n            A she-dragon of Hell, and all her head\n            Agape with fang\u00e8d asps, to bite me dead!_\u201c[33]\n\nThe distraught fancy of Orestes saw the cattle and their watch-dogs as\nthe pursuing Furies of his mother; and quick as a flash, before his\nfriend could intervene, he had drawn his sword and was slashing right\nand left amongst the helpless beasts. The herdsmen blew their horns; and\nsoon a crowd had gathered and were pelting the strangers with stones.\nWhile the fit of madness lasted Pylades guarded Orestes from attack; but\nit passed quickly, and the two youths fought together gallantly for\nlife. Not one of the missiles struck home, the goddess, it seemed,\ntaking care to save her prey. But at last they were surrounded, and the\nswords beaten out of their hands.\n\n                                     \u201c_Then to the king\n             We bore them both, and he, not tarrying,\n             Sends them to thee, to touch with holy spray\u2014\n             And then the blood-bowl._\u201c[33]\n\nAll through the tale Iphigenia had listened in pity for the brave youths\nso cruelly overborne; and now she is suddenly brought back to the\nthought of the sacrifice and of her part in it. There is a shudder of\nhorror too, when the herdsman reminds her of her prayer in past times\nfor just such a capture as this. She restrains herself with an effort,\nand coldly bids the man fetch the prisoners; but no sooner has he gone\nthan the tumult of emotion within rushes into speech. Memories of the\nold times: of the bridal rites that were only a snare; and of the poor\ntimid child that she once had been, imploring her father to be merciful.\nThoughts, too, of shipwrecked men and of all the dreadful sacrifices\nwhich she cannot and will not believe that the goddess delights in. And\nabove all, the certainty she feels that Orestes is dead; and which she\nsays has turned her heart to stone and made her pitiless.\n\n            \u201c_\u2019Tis true: I know by mine own evil will:\n            One long in pain, if things more suffering still\n            Fall to his hand, will hate them for his own\n            Torment,_\u201c[33]\n\nSo she thinks she will not falter: that though she may have shrunk from\nthe task in former times, this last pain has made her cruel. Yet, when\nthe strangers are brought in, all the hardness melts in a moment.\n\n             \u201c_Ah me!\n             What mother then was yours, O strangers, say,\n             And father? And your sister, if you have\n             A sister: both at once, so young and brave,\n             To leave her brotherless._\u201c[33]\n\nOrestes answers, a little irritated at the sight of her tears. Whoever\nthis stranger woman is, it is hardly kind of her, he thinks, to unman\nthem thus by pity; and he bids her cease. They know the form of worship\nof the country, and are prepared to die.\n\nIphigenia checks her tears, but she cannot control her desire for news\nof home and friends. So, rather heartlessly as the prisoners think, she\npresses eager questions on them\u2014for their name and parentage and city.\nTo Orestes it seems that she is prompted by the shallowest curiosity,\nand he flings curt phrases at her, refusing the information. But the\nclamour at her heart will not be silenced by the rebuke: her own pride\nand the dignity of her office, and every other consideration but this\ncraving for word from Hellas, go down before it. She pleads that she at\nleast may know what land of Greece they hail from; and grudgingly, in\nthe fewest words possible, Orestes answers that Argos is his land, and\nhis home is at Mycen\u00e6. His words evoke an exclamation of joy from\nIphigenia; and as his reluctance gradually breaks up under the spell of\nher sincerity, he is drawn on to answer her on all those matters which,\nunknown to either, are of such weighty interest to both.\n\nShe asks about Troy, and the fate of Helen: of Calchas, that evil\nprophet who had bidden her father slay his child: of Achilles, her\npromised bridegroom, dead long since outside the walls of Troy. And\nOrestes in his turn begins to wonder who may be this searching\nquestioner, who asks so feelingly of the things that lie closest to his\nheart. She tells him that she is Greek; and that explains a good deal.\nBut when she comes nearer home, and asks for news of Agamemnon, it is\nonly her evident emotion that wins a reply. Bit by bit she learns that\nAgamemnon is dead by the hand of Clytemnestra; and a cry escapes her\nwhich is full of the sense of the tragedy from the woman\u2019s standpoint:\n\n           \u201c_O God!\n           I pity her that slew ... and him that slew!_\u201c[33]\n\nOrestes, too, is moved, and begs her, shrinking from further questions\nwhich he sees are coming, to desist. One word more, she entreats\u2014what of\nClytemnestra? And when the youth, in slow words that seem wrung from him\nin pain, tells that the great queen was slain by her son in vengeance\nfor his father\u2019s death, it is again the woman\u2019s judgment that springs to\nutterance:\n\n            \u201c_Alas!\n            A bad false duty bravely hath he wrought._\u201c[33]\n\nSo little by little the tragic events that have filled the years of her\nexile are related in this wonderful dialogue, where every sentence that\neach speaker utters carries a significance to which the other has no\nclue. All through the scene the underlying dramatic irony is profoundly\nfelt\u2014the ignorance of each of the other\u2019s identity; and at moments one\nholds the breath in suspense. At one time the unknown priestess speaks\nof the Greek king\u2019s daughter who was slain at Aulis; and when the\nstranger answers that of course nothing more was heard of her, she\nhaving died at Aulis, Iphigenia sighs:\n\n       \u201c_Poor child! Poor father, too, who killed and lied!_\u201c[33]\n\nAgain, remembering her ominous dream, she asks what has become of\nAgamemnon\u2019s son, and receives the reply:\n\n        \u201c_He lives, now here, now nowhere, bent with ill._\u201c[33]\n\nSo her dream was a lie, she muses, thankfully; and falls silent while\nthe stranger, whose reserve has vanished now, breaks into bitter railing\nagainst the gods who have brought him to this pass. Iphigenia scarcely\nhears him. Relief and gratitude for the fact that Orestes is living:\nrenewed pity for the strangers\u2019 doom and some wistful tenderness for him\nto whom she has spoken, fill her mind and prompt her to rapid thought.\n\nSuppose she were to rescue them, she ponders, or one of them? And\nsuppose, in doing so, she could bring help to herself from the brother\nin Argos who believes her dead? Suddenly she turns upon Orestes and\nbegins rapidly to unfold a plan. She knows a way to save him; and she\nwill undertake to give him life in return for a promise. He must pledge\nhimself to carry a letter which she will give him to her friends in\nMycen\u00e6.\n\nSo her proposal runs to the amazed and grateful youths; but a difficulty\ninstantly arises. Orestes will not by any means consent that Pylades\nshall be left behind to die. His friend is very dear to him, he says:\nlet Pylades go free and bear the message. The priestess agrees, with a\nword of admiration for his generous love; and goes into the temple to\nfetch the tablet, which had been written for her long ago, by a prisoner\ntaken by king Thoas.\n\nWhile Iphigenia is gone, the friends take a tender farewell of each\nother. Pylades entreats Orestes to let him stay and die in his stead: he\nwill have no more joy in life, he says, when he returns without his\ncomrade; and men will scorn him for a coward. But the other puts his\npleading resolutely on one side, and when the priestess returns with the\ntablet, both are composed and ready. She has one misgiving, however. She\nfears that Pylades will forget his trust once he is free of Tauris; and\nshe requires of him an oath that her letter will be delivered. But when\nthe oath is solemnly given, Pylades perceives a difficulty in his turn.\nSuppose the tablet should be lost, how could he fulfil his promise?\nIphigenia sees that there is only one thing to do\u2014she must repeat the\ncontents of the letter, and the messenger must commit them to memory.\nSo, speaking slowly and impressively, she begins:\n\nIPHIGENIA.   _Say: \u201cTo Orestes, Agamemnon\u2019s son,\n             She that was slain in Aulis, dead to Greece,\n             Yet quick, Iphigenia sendeth peace.\u201d_\n\nORESTES.     _Iphigenia! Where? Back from the dead?_\n\nIPHIGENIA.   _\u2019Tis I. But speak not, lest thou break my thread._[33]\n\nOrestes and Pylades, after a wild exclamation each to the other, stand\nlistening in bewildered joy as Iphigenia proceeds, relating the story of\nher rescue by Artemis, and calling upon her brother to come and save her\nfrom captivity. During the recital, they have had time to grasp the\nwonder of the things they have heard; but no ray of the truth has come\nto Iphigenia. And when Orestes, receiving the letter from the hand of\nPylades, turns eagerly to embrace the sister so marvellously saved, she\nrecoils in horror.\n\nORESTES.     _O Sister mine, O my dead father\u2019s child,\n             Agamemnon\u2019s child; take me and have no fear,\n             Beyond all dreams \u2018tis I thy brother here._[33]\n\nIphigenia, incredulous, thinks he is mocking her. She has been so long\ndead to love and happiness that she cannot believe that they have come\nto her at last, and that this is really the brother for whom, a little\nwhile before, she had performed the funeral rite. She insists on proof\nof his identity; and as he tells over the little homely signs by which\nshe may know him, her doubt slips away and she clasps him in her arms.\n\n          \u201c_Is this the babe I knew,\n          The little babe, light lifted like a bird?...\n          O Argos land, O hearth and holy flame\n                      That old Cycl\u00f4pes lit,\n          I bless ye that he lives, that he is grown,\n          A light and strength, my brother and mine own._\u201c[33]\n\nThey cling to each other, Iphigenia oblivious of everything but her joy,\nand Orestes loth to recall her to a sense of their danger. Presently her\nthoughts come painfully back to it, fluttering wildly round each\npossibility of escape together, and seeing no way clear. But when\nOrestes tells her of his mission to carry off the statue of the goddess,\nthe very magnitude of its daring clarifies her mind. She sees one way,\nand though it is not the way that she had hoped, she is ready for the\nsacrifice. She must secure the statue, and Orestes must escape with it\nto Attica, as the god commands. For herself, her part will be to stay,\nand by every means prevent her brother from being followed. She is sure\nof success in this, and though it mean death for her, it will be sweet\nto give herself for the peace of one so dear.\n\n            \u201c_Thou shalt walk free in Argolis again,\n            And all life smile on thee.... Dearest, we need\n            Not shrink from that._\u201c[33]\n\nBut Orestes absolutely refuses to accept his life at such a price; and\nthey strain every nerve to contrive a scheme which will carry them to\nsafety together. There is a suggestion to kill Thoas, but the woman who\nhas been sheltered and protected by him will not hear of it. Again, they\nthink of hiding in the temple until nightfall; but that is\nimpracticable, because the guards would see and capture them. And at\nlast Iphigenia, beating backward and forward over all the possible\nchances, sees a gleam of hope. Slowly and carefully she unfolds her\nplan. She will give out that the victims for the altar have come from\nGreece polluted with a mother\u2019s blood, and that they may not be offered\nto the goddess until they have been cleansed in the sea. The statue, she\nwill say, is unclean too, since one of the captives has touched it; and\nshe will prevail upon the king to allow her to take it, with the\nvictims, down to the seashore. The rest will be Orestes\u2019 task; and as\nhis ship with fifty rowers lies waiting for them in the little bay, they\nshould be able to get away before Thoas can follow.\n\nThe scheme is at once subtle and daring, but it is their only hope of\nescape from awful peril; and it is hastily resolved upon. Iphigenia\nclaims a promise of loyalty from her women, sends the prisoners away in\ncharge of attendants, and goes into the temple for the statue. As she\ncomes out again, bearing it in her hands, the king himself arrives. To\nhis astonished questions, she answers as has been arranged, and no point\nis overlooked by her ingenuity. A herald should be sent before her, to\nclear the streets, and proclaim that no one must look out, or leave his\nhouse, for fear of pollution. Thoas himself, and his attendants, must\nveil their eyes when her procession passes; and while she is gone, the\nking is to purge the temple with fire in preparation for her return.\nLastly, if she be a long time away, the king need not be anxious, and\nshe must not be disturbed: the cleansing must be thoroughly performed.\n\nThe king consents without a shadow of suspicion, impressed by her piety\nand forethought. The prisoners are led out, and as the procession moves\naway, Iphigenia utters a prayer for help in her strategy and pardon for\nthe deceit that she has practised on the king. As Thoas returns to the\ntemple to carry out Iphigenia\u2019s injunctions, the Chorus break into an\node in honour of Apollo and Artemis; and for a while there is no sound\nbut the sweet rise and fall of their voices. As time slips by, bringing\nwe know not what fortune to the fugitives, we know that the women of the\nChorus, who are in the secret, are tortured by suspense. Then there is a\nsudden shout; and a messenger comes running from the shore and cries for\nentrance to the temple. The women try to turn him aside; but he batters\nupon the gates until Thoas throws them open, angry at the clamour.\n\nIn rapid and excited speech the man tells his errand. Let the king come\nat once, for he has been befooled. The cleansing was a fraud: the statue\nhas been stolen; and the Greek princess and the two young men who were\ndestined for the altar are even now rowing away in a boat which was\nawaiting them. But if the king will hasten, they may yet be caught; for\nat this moment they are battling with an adverse wind, and they have no\nknowledge of the currents of that treacherous shore.\n\nThoas, furious at the trap into which he has fallen, gives rapid orders:\na company of herdsmen is to go to the headlands, and boats are to be put\noff immediately from the shore. So these crafty Greeks will be\novertaken, either by sea or land; and then let them beware of a\nbarbarian\u2019s anger!\n\nBut suddenly, through the shouting and confusion, there is a roll of\nthunder and a lightning-flash; and descending through the air the\ngoddess Athena is seen. Her voice rings out imperiously, commanding\nThoas to stay his haste. Then, in the awed hush that falls she makes\nknown the will of the gods that Orestes and his sister shall not be\npursued. Fate has ordained their escape, and Thoas may not strive\nagainst it.\n\n                                 \u201c_No death from thee\n             May snare Orestes between earth and sea._\u201c[33]\n\nAs for Orestes himself, Athena declares that it is laid on him to carry\nthe rescued image of Artemis to Hal\u00e6, on the bounds of Attica; and there\nit will be worshipped with curious rites designed to recall the old\nbarbarity while condemning it. These poor Greek women must be restored\nto their homes; and, for that fleeing priestess, Destiny has given to\nher to end her days in peace and gentleness.\n\n              \u201c_And thou, Iphigenia, by the stair\n              Of Brauron in the rocks, the Key shalt bear.\n              Of Artemis. There shalt thou live and die,\n              And there have burial._\u201c[33]\n\n-----\n\nFootnote 33:\n\n  From Professor Gilbert Murray\u2019s translation of the _Iphigenia in\n  Tauris_ (George Allen & Co. Ltd.).\n\n\n\n\n_Virgil: Dido_\n\n\nNineteen years before the birth of Christ the great Roman poet Virgil\ndied, leaving amongst his papers an epic poem which had been the work of\nmany years. Both in life and art this poet of the Augustan Age had a\nvery high ideal; and because he was conscious of defects in his work:\nbecause his last illness came before he was able to put the finishing\ntouches upon it, he begged that it should be burned. But the emperor\nAugustus interposed. Some parts of the poem were already known and loved\nin the circle of Virgil\u2019s friends, of whom the emperor was one. They\nknew its fine theme\u2014the founding of the Roman State by its legendary\nancestor \u00c6neas; and having already some foretaste of its beauty and\ncharm and strong patriotic appeal, it seemed that the destruction of the\npoem would mean an immense and irreparable loss. So the Emperor decided\nthat it should be preserved, and directed Virgil\u2019s executors to edit it.\n\nThe poem is of course the _\u00c6neid_, and Dido is its heroine. Like the\nGreek epics, it is an authentic voice of the ancient world; but of an\nAge, a Race and a Civilization vastly different from theirs. It is quite\nfrankly fashioned in the Homeric form, and its hero is one of the Trojan\nchiefs who fled overseas to Italy, to re-establish his race there at the\ncommand of the gods. It actually brings \u00c6neas at one point of his\nwanderings within three months\u2019 time of an incident in the _Odyssey_: it\nshows us Andromache still mourning for Hector, and the gods still at\nenmity over the old feud between Greek and Trojan. But all these links\nwith the earlier epics, and many others, subtler or more obvious, are\nmerely formal. In spirit there is as wide a severance as we know to\nexist in actual time. The _\u00c6neid_, with its humane, philosophic and\ncultured poet, belongs to a state of society many hundreds of years\nlater than the _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_. And although it is a mistake to\nregard the earlier poems as really \u2018primitive,\u2019 they represent an age\nwhich, because it was relatively simpler and less self-conscious, seems\nyouthful and buoyant by comparison.\n\nThe outward similarity and the fundamental contrast between Homer and\nVirgil make a fascinating subject on which to linger; and one aspect at\nleast we must just glance at, because of its bearing on Dido\u2019s story. It\nis that added element of purpose in the _\u00c6neid_ which perhaps includes\nin itself or is the ultimate cause of all the other points of difference\nfrom the Greek poems. The _\u00c6neid_ was conceived with a deep and serious\naim, and composed with infinite care. It did not originate, as perhaps\nthe _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_ may have done, in the almost spontaneous lays\nof wandering minstrels, for the delight and honour of princely hosts. It\nwas designed from the first to represent the divine birth of the Latin\nrace, the gradual uprising of the Roman state, its long struggle with\nbarbarism and its mission to civilize the Western world\u2014all as the\nordinance of the supreme deity.\n\nFrom the very beginning of the poem its purpose is clear upon the face\nof it; and one of the most important results is the creation of a new\ntype of hero. \u00c6neas is not an ardent young soldier like Achilles, nor an\nacute and hardy sailor like Odysseus, with their zest and na\u00efvet\u00e9. He is\na much more complex character, with a deeper estimate of life and some\ncivic virtues which had not been evolved when the earlier heroes were\ncreated. He is a pioneer and adventurer who loves above all things home\nand a settled order; an invader who does not enjoy warfare in the least;\na prince who rules by gentleness; a tender son and husband and father\nwho is capable of the deepest cruelty to the woman who loves him; a man\nsadly conscious of human weakness, but conscious too of the divine\nwithin himself and of the high destiny to which he is called.\n\nThe character of \u00c6neas is the primary element in the tragedy of Dido.\nBecause he was such a man, their love for each other was bound to end as\nit did. Of course there was the external cause, too; also arising out of\nthe design of the poem. For Dido was the founder and queen of Carthage,\nthe hereditary foe of Rome. And the poet desired to dramatize, as it\nwere, the first clash of the two races in their infancy; to show the\norigin of the long feud; and to prefigure by a sort of allegory the\neventual triumph of Rome. We do not think of the allegory, however, as\nwe read the story of Dido in the First and Fourth Books of the _\u00c6neid_.\nWe are caught in the onward sweep of the poet\u2019s imagination, and moved\nby the intense human interest of the theme. It is only when the\ncatastrophe comes, when \u00c6neas, fleeing from Carthage in the cold dawn,\nsees the light of the queen\u2019s funeral pyre reddening the sky, that we\nbegin to reflect on the meaning of it. Even then, so complete is the\nvictory of the poet\u2019s art, our last thought is one of pity\u2014for the\nindignant spirit of Dido that has fled to the House of Shadows; and for\nthe miserable man no less, whom fate is driving to the coast of Italy.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen Troy was sacked, \u00c6neas sailed away with twenty ships, and all that\nremained dear to him of home. His wife Creusa was killed as they were\nescaping from the burning city; but his household gods were preserved,\nand these he carried with him in his flight, with his aged father and\nhis little son Iulus.\n\nMisfortune followed him, however. Juno, still unrelenting in her anger\nagainst the race of Paris, buffeted him to and fro upon the seas for\nseven years, and cast him at length upon the shore of Libya. The greater\npart of his fleet was scattered, and perhaps lost for ever: his own crew\nwas broken by the long struggle; and he himself, under the cheery manner\nwhich he assumed to encourage his men, was heart-sick with despair. What\nthis strange land was he did not know. It seemed wild and desolate: it\nwas most probably inhabited by barbarians, and at any moment a savage\nhorde might fall upon them.\n\nBut the country was not hostile, as \u00c6neas\u2019 goddess-mother Venus took\ncare to assure him, meeting him in the guise of a mountain nymph. It was\nthe new land of Dido, the Tyrian princess who had fled from her native\ncountry and the evil rule of her brother Pygmalion. The late king of\nTyre, her father, had given her in marriage to one she dearly loved,\nSich\u00e6us, a priest of Heracles, and the wealthiest man of all the wealthy\nEast. But a little later the king had died. Pygmalion succeeded to the\nthrone, and in greed for Sich\u00e6us\u2019 wealth he secretly slew him at his own\naltar.\n\n                       _Blinded with lust of gold,\n             And heedless of his sister\u2019s passionate love,\n             Pygmalion on his brother crept by stealth,\n             And slew him at the very altar\u2019s foot._[34]\n\nFor some time he hid his guilt and tried to win from Dido, in her grief,\nthe immense treasures of Sich\u00e6us. But her intelligence, and her love for\nher murdered husband, could not be long deceived. She discovered her\nbrother\u2019s guilt, and realizing that to remain in Tyre would mean her\ndeath too, she instantly laid plans to leave the country. It was to be\nno timid surrender, however. She gathered about her all those who hated\nPygmalion\u2019s tyranny, and proposed that they should join her. Ships were\nseized and rapidly manned: Sich\u00e6us\u2019 wealth was stored in them, and Dido\nsailed to found a new city on the coast of Africa.\n\nAt the moment when \u00c6neas landed there, the building of the city was in\neager progress; and Dido, the brain of the enterprise, was beginning to\nforget her sorrow in the joy of achievement. When \u00c6neas climbed the hill\nabove the bay, he saw the city stretched beneath, and the Tyrians busy\nupon it \u2018like bees in summer fields.\u2019 Walls were rising, trenches were\nbeing dug and foundations laid: houses and streets were already\nfinished: great blocks were being hewn for the citadel and columns for\nthe theatre; while in the centre of the town, complete in every detail\nof ornament, a magnificent temple stood. Here \u00c6neas made his way,\npassing invisibly through the crowded street by the spells of Venus. As\nhe stood gazing at the walls, marvelling to see that they were carved\nwith the history of his Troy, a shout arose. The great queen was coming.\n\n             _Queen Dido, beautiful beyond compare,\n             Enters the temple, by a mighty train\n             Of youths attended. Like Diana she,\n             When on Eurotas\u2019 banks, or on the heights\n             Of Cynthus, she the dances leads ...\n             A quiver on her shoulders, as she moves._[34]\n\nDido took her seat upon a throne raised high beneath the central dome,\nsurrounded by her guards. Before her thronged the captains of her great\nwork, merchants, emissaries from distant states, and many of her own\nfolk who had come to petition her for justice. She was the ruling\nspirit, and by no mere accident. \u00c6neas stood in amazement at the scene,\nas she allotted to each his task, and adjudged every difficult question,\nand dispensed the law.\n\nSuddenly there was a tumult outside the gate, and a noisy interruption,\nas a band of foreigners approached the temple and claimed audience of\nthe queen. The strangers were brought in, and \u00c6neas, in joyful\nastonishment, recognized in them the comrades who he had thought were\nlost. He longed to rush forward to greet them, but Venus\u2019 spell was on\nhim still; and he stood invisible while the Trojans threw themselves on\nthe mercy of the queen and implored her help. She answered kindly, and\nwith modest dignity. Long ago she had heard and pitied the fate of Troy,\nshe said; and though she is bound to guard her infant state against\ninvasion, she has no quarrel with a peaceful folk, and least of all with\nfugitives from Troy. She will, if they so desire, send them away in\nsafety, with provision from her ample store.\n\n             \u201c_But should you wish to settle here with me,\n             This city I am building, it is yours.\n             Draw up your ships. Without distinction both\n             Trojan and Tyrian I alike will treat.\n             Oh, would that driven by the same South Wind,\n             Tour king \u00c6neas self were here!_\u201c[34]\n\n\u00c6neas could keep silence no longer. Breaking the spell of darkness that\nwas shrouding him, he gained the throne and stood before the astonished\nqueen.\n\n            \u201c_I, whom thou seekest, here before thee stand\u2014\n            Trojan \u00c6neas._\u201c[34]\n\nIt is a great moment, fraught with significance of which the two chief\nactors seem to have a perception. To Dido, this handsome prince whose\nfame has reached her, and whose melancholy history is so like her own,\nseems to have flashed upon her as the fulfilment of her wish. And to\n\u00c6neas, who has just learned that she can be kind as well as brave, she\nseems peerless among women. While from each to each is passed the silent\nintuitive sense that here is a nature great and good. \u00c6neas, touched by\nher generosity to his comrades, tries to thank her. But he feels that\nonly the gods can reward her adequately.\n\n                                \u201c_If powers divine\n            There be, who look with reverence on the good,\n            If anywhere be justice, or a soul\n            Conscious of inward worth, oh, may the Gods\n            Confer on thee commensurate reward!...\n            So long as rivers to the ocean run,\n            So long as shadows hang on mountain sides,\n            Long as the firmament is gemmed with stars,\n            Thy name and fame and praise with me shall live,\n            Whatever lands may claim me._\u201c[34]\n\nIn the warmth of his words there is a hint of coming passion; and\nthinking of the tragic end, there is something ominous in them too.\n\u00c6neas will indeed remember Dido in far-off lands, but otherwise than he\nimagines. And she, as she invites the Trojans to banquet in her palace\nand hospitably begs them to make their home in Carthage, is serenely\nunconscious of the pitiful entreaties that she will one day make to\n\u00c6neas.\n\nThe ships were laid up, and generous provision made for the weary\nsailors, while their chief and his friends were feasted by the queen in\nOriental splendour and luxury. Rich gifts from Troy were presented to\nDido by \u00c6neas, and received by her with great delight. There were the\njewels of Ilione, King Priam\u2019s eldest daughter: the sceptre that she had\nborne, her diadem of gold and gems, and the pearls that once hung about\nher neck. They were scarcely of happy omen, one would think; but more\nill-fated still were the presents that Dido found most beautiful.\n\n              _A mantle stiff with figures, and with gold,\n              A veil, too, with a border wrought about\n              Of saffron-flowered acanthus, ornaments\n              Of Argive Helen._[34]\n\nYet no shadow from their history fell upon the queen. She was strangely\nhappy as she listened to her guest and caressed his beautiful little\nson. She did not know that the mighty love-goddess was plotting against\nher; and when the feast was over, she rose to pour a libation to the\ngods with a prayer for peace and blessing.\n\n             \u201c_Oh Jupiter! for thou, they say, art he\n             Who gives the laws that govern host and guest,\n             Grant that this day a day of joy may be\n             To us of Tyre, and these our guests from Troy,\n             A day to be remembered by our sons!\n             May Bacchus the Joy-Bringer be with us,\n             And Juno the Beneficent._\u201c[34]\n\nWhen the Fourth Book opens \u00c6neas is still the honoured guest of the\nqueen, entertained by her at the banquet as each succeeding night falls,\nand accompanying her during the day as she rides to inspect the progress\nof her city. But Dido was no longer quite untroubled in her happiness.\nShe could not hide from herself her growing love for the Trojan hero;\nand she was assailed by a sense of wrong to her dead husband.\n\nAt first she fought against her passion and called up every resource of\npride and modesty to hide it from the prince. But the emotion of a\nrichly dowered nature was not easily to be kept in check; and Dido had\nnot learned to dissemble. The inner conflict grew daily stronger,\nabsorbing every thought: on the one hand drawing her irresistibly toward\n\u00c6neas, and on the other claiming fidelity to the memory of Sich\u00e6us. At\nlast, craving relief and counsel, she confided in her sister Anna. But\nAnna was no idealist, and her advice to Dido was the plainest\ncommonsense. Was she to waste all her life for the sake of faith to the\ndead? It was certain that Sich\u00e6us himself would not desire it; and why\nthen should Dido renounce the joys of love and motherhood? Why pine\nalone all her days, her country menaced on every side by wild African\ntribes, because she had no warrior at her side to make them fear? So the\nargument ran, turning adroitly from questions of sentiment to the call\nof patriotism and ambition. Undoubtedly Dido was right in refusing\nmarriage with the barbarian chiefs who had asked for her hand; but she\nmust remember that she had thereby made enemies of them. Let her\nconsider the danger to her little state from these jealous kings; and on\nthe other hand let her think of the power and glory which Carthage might\nwin, if only it were allied to the race of Troy. Lastly, added the\nastute pleader, with a word which she knew had power to move her sister,\nfor her part she believed that the coming of \u00c6ncas was ordained by\nheaven, and by Juno herself, the great goddess of marriage.\n\nNo wonder that Dido\u2019s resolution was weakened, when every instinct of\nher being was thus championed, and the only opponent was an idea, an\nabstraction, that even to herself began to look fantastic. Again she\nbegged her guest to remain in Carthage, and the memory of Sich\u00e6us began\nrapidly to fade.\n\n                            _Now Dido leads\n          \u00c6neas round the ramparts, to him shows\n          The wealth of Sidon, all the town laid out,\n          Begins to speak, then stops, she knows not why._[34]\n\nThen at night, when the guests are gone from the banquet: when\u2014\n\n            _The wan moon pales her light, and waning stars\n            Persuade to sleep, she in her empty halls\n            Mourns all alone, and throws herself along\n            The couch where he had lain._[34]\n\n\u00c6neas himself was losing all thought of his mission in the society of\nthe lovely queen. Italy was forgotten in the peace and luxury of his\nlife; and he gave himself up to content, without one glance beyond the\npresent. He had toiled so long and hard; surely he might take his ease\nfor a while. Moreover, it would be mere churlishness to refuse Dido\u2019s\ngracious bounty; and he could not be so ungentle. So both the lovers\nwrapped themselves in a golden dream, with reality shut far away.\n\n          _The unfinished flanking turrets cease to rise,\n          No more the young men exercise in arms,\n          Build harbours, or rear bastions for defence;\n          All work is at a standstill\u2014giant walls\n          That frown defiance, cranes that climb the sky._[34]\n\nAll the happy toil of brain and muscle was suspended, and Carthage,\nsilent in the sun all day, gave itself up, like its queen, to idleness\nand revelry. The weeks slipped quickly by, and one by one the restraints\nwhich her clear spirit had imposed were loosened or forgotten. And then\nthe autumn came, and the fatal day of the hunt, when Dido gave herself\nwithout reserve or shame to her lover.\n\n                               _The nymphs\n           Along the mountain-tops were heard to wail.\n           That day bred death, disasters manifold;\n           For now she took no heed what men might say._[34]\n\nShe who had been so proud and chaste, whose wisdom and fidelity had been\nthe fame of all the countries round about, was now the prey of every\nevil tongue. Rumour flew from city to city, soiling her fair name; and\nsoon it was known in all the jealous neighbouring lands that the queen\nof Carthage had joined herself in unlawful union with \u00c6neas, Prince of\nTroy. The reputation that had been so painfully won was quickly lost;\nand not one of her many qualities were remembered. The courage and quick\nwit and resource, the generous hospitality, the impartial judgment, the\nkindness and tender sympathy\u2014were all forgotten.\n\nDido knew of the malignance and scorn that were smouldering about her;\nbut she was too honest to hide her sin, and secure in \u00c6neas\u2019 love, she\npaid no heed. Together they recommenced the work which had lain idle so\nlong; and as winter came, the towers began to rise again.\n\nBut now the gods grew envious of the little barbarian state, and Jupiter\nturned an angry glance upon \u00c6neas. Was this the end for which he had\nbeen saved from Troy\u2014to make his home among a savage people, heedless of\nthe divine command? Has he so poor a soul that he is content to spend\nhis days in dalliance while the fair land of Italy cries out for a hand\nto govern it? Let Mercury carry to the prince this warning from the\nruler of Olympus:\n\n                          \u201c_With what hopes lingers he\n            \u2018Mongst hostile races, heedless of the great\n            Ausonian line, and the Lavinian plains?\n            Let him put out to sea! My last word this._\u201c[34]\n\nThe message fell upon \u00c6neas with a shock of fear and remorse. His dream\nwas shattered: his sleeping conscience suddenly sprang to life, and in a\nflash he saw the long months spent in Carthage as treachery to the gods,\nto his countrymen, and to the son who was to inherit the great Roman\nstate. In a rush of penitence, his first thought was to flee instantly:\nto leave at once and for ever the land that had seen his folly. But the\nmoment after he remembered Dido, and realized in horror all the\nsuffering that he would bring to her. He knew the intensity of her love;\nand recalling all her kindness to him and his, he could not summon\ncourage to face her and tell her that he must go. Weakly he resolved to\nprepare in secret for departure; and orders were sent down to the ships\nto fit out with all speed. But the unworthy act was bound to bring\ndisaster. Word was soon brought to the queen that the Trojan fleet was\nbeing furtively prepared for sea, and she leapt to the obvious\nconclusion. \u00c6neas intended to forsake her\u2014and to go by stealth. All her\nfrank nature revolted at the deception. That he should wish to go at\nall, lightly flinging away her love and honour, was a thing that her own\nfidelity had never suspected; but to steal away thus was baseness that\ndrove her to fury. Her ungoverned Oriental rage was loosed upon him.\n\n           \u201c_False as thou art, and didst thou hope, ay, hope\n           To keep thy infamous intent disguised,\n           And steal away in silence from my realm?_\u201c[34]\n\n[Illustration:\n\n  THE DEATH OF DIDO\n\n  _Gianbattista Tiepolo_\n\n  _By Permission of Ad Braun et Cie._\n]\n\nBut the first gust of anger past, she dropped to a softer mood and\nbesought him by every tender plea that her tongue could frame, not to\nleave her\u2014by their great love: by her trust in him, and the pledge that\nhe had given her; by the constant service that she had paid him, and all\nthat she had forfeited for his sake.\n\n              \u201c_Because of thee it is, the Libyan tribes,\n              And Nomad chieftains hate me; my own people\n              Are turned against me; all because of thee\n              My woman\u2019s honour has been blotted out,\n              And former fair good name whereby alone\n              I held my head aloft. To whom dost thou\n              Abandon me, a woman marked for death?\n              My guest, my guest! Since only by that name\n              I am to know my husband!_\u201c[34]\n\nIt would seem that her anguish must melt a heart of stone, but \u00c6neas\nremained apparently immovable. Before him still shone the vision of the\ngod, and in his ears Jove\u2019s message rang insistently. Controlling every\ntender impulse, he answered in words that were made harsh by restraint.\nTo Dido their coldness was as cruel as death and far more bitter. She\ndid not know the gentle \u00c6neas in the grip of the force that was driving\nhim, transforming him into a monster of ingratitude.\n\n           \u201c_This man thrown up a beggar on my shores,\n           I took him in, insanely gave him up\n           A portion of my realm, from very death\n           Redeemed his comrades, saved his scattered ships.\n                             ... Go! Make for Italy!\n           Chased by the winds, across the wild waves seek\n           These vaunted kingdoms! But in sooth I hope,\n           If the benignant Gods can aught avail,\n           Vengeance will strike thee midway on the rocks,\n           Calling and calling upon Dido\u2019s name._\u201c[34]\n\nShe was borne away fainting, and \u00c6neas, racked by pity that he dare not\nshow, made his way down to the harbour to hasten the sailing of the\nfleet. Day by day his men toiled with a will, for they were sick of\ninaction and eager to get away, although winter was already upon them.\nAnd watching from her tower, Dido saw each day\u2019s work completed with\ndeeper misery, and a growing sense of despair. Very soon now all would\nbe ready; the day was rapidly approaching when \u00c6neas would trust himself\nto that stormy winter sea, with small chance, as she knew, of ever\nreaching Latium. At the thought of that final parting and of her lover\u2019s\ndanger, Dido\u2019s anger melted, and every vestige of her pride was swept\naway. She could not and would not let him go like this. At the risk of\nworse humiliation still, she would make another effort to keep him in\nCarthage, at least until the stormy season should be passed. In feverish\nhaste she called Anna and sent a poignant message.\n\n                          \u201c_In pity of my love,\n          Let him concede this boon\u2014the last I crave,\u2014\n          And wait propitious winds to speed his flight._\u201c[34]\n\nBut \u00c6neas is inexorable, and when Anna returns to the queen with his\nrefusal, it adds the last intolerable touch to her pain and shame.\nNightlong she roams the palace, like one distraught; and finding her way\nto the tomb of Sich\u00e6us, she prays to die. Strange omens answer her; and\nto her maddened brain it seems that the voice of her husband is calling\nher to come to him. The water of her libation turns black as she pours\nit upon the altar, and the wine congeals to blood. The high gods have\nanswered her: they approve her purpose.\n\nAs soon as day comes, she begins with deliberate care to make all ready\nfor her death. Under her directions, a great pyre is built within the\ncourtyard, on which the queen announces that she intends to offer a\nsolemn sacrifice. Every relic of \u00c6neas is gathered and laid upon it; his\narmour, his cloak and his sword; while all about it Dido herself hangs\ngarlands and funeral chaplets. Her sister and her women wonder, but have\nno hint of her intention. When night falls and all the palace is sunk in\nsleep, Dido stands again before the altar and consecrates herself for\nthe sacrifice. But she cannot yet take the fatal step. She longs for one\nmore look from her watch-tower, down upon the ships that are so soon to\ncarry her lover away. So she strains her eyes through the darkness, only\nto find, with the first gleam of light, that the harbour is bare. The\nfleet has sailed: \u00c6neas, warned by a vision from Jove, has fled in the\nnight. A bitter cry escapes her:\n\n                                 \u201c_Oh rare\n             Fidelity and honour! And they say,\n             He takes his household gods about with him,\n             And on his shoulders bore his aged sire!_\u201c[34]\n\nShe calls upon the great powers of Earth and Sky and the dreadful\nUnderworld to avenge her wrongs; and looking forward to the years that\nare to come, she invokes upon \u00c6neas and his descendants the curse that\nfollowed the Roman race through many generations:\n\n                          \u201c_So then do you,\n            My Tyrians, harry with envenomed hate\n            His race and kin through ages yet to come:\n            Be this your tribute to my timeless death!...\n            Let coast conflict with coast, and sea with sea.\n            Embattled host with host, and endless war\n            Be waged, \u2018twixt their and your posterity!_\u201c[34]\n\nThen, rushing to the courtyard, she climbs the great pyre, and grasps\n\u00c6neas\u2019 sword. For one moment, ere she falls upon it, the frenzy lifts\nfrom her brain and shows her all the course of her troubled life.\n\n            \u201c_Lo! I have lived my life, have run the course\n            Assigned to me by fate; now \u2018neath the earth\n            I go, the queenly shade of what I was.\n            I have built a goodly city; I have seen\n            Its walls complete; I have avenged my spouse,\n            And struck my cruel brother blow for blow!..._\n\n            \u201c_This heartless Trojan, let him from the waves\n            Drink in with startled eyes the funeral fires,\n            And bear with him the presage of my death!_\u201d[34]\n\nSo the founder of Carthage died; and the father of great Rome, looking\nback with remorseful eyes from his fleeing ship, saw the flames of her\npyre reddening the dawn.\n\n-----\n\nFootnote 34:\n\n  From Sir Theodore Martin\u2019s translation of the _\u00c6neid_ (Wm. Blackwood &\n  Sons).\n\n\n\n\n_Index_\n\n\n Absyrtus, 229, 230\n\n Achilles, 24, 30, 33, 34, 40, 41, 139, 140, 257, 266, 274\n\n Admetus, 212, 213, 214, 215, 216, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 222, 223,\n    224, 225, 226\n\n Adrastus, 190\n\n Ae\u00eates, 229\n\n \u00c6geus, 238\n\n \u00c6neas, 37, 273, 274, 275, 276, 277, 278, 279, 280, 281, 282, 283, 284,\n    285, 286, 287\n\n \u00c6schylus, 101, 102, 103, 104, 118, 132, 133, 136, 137, 139, 148, 150,\n    151, 163, 164, 165, 168, 187, 190, 209, 257\n\n Aeolus, King, 62\n\n Agamemnon, 35, 39, 58, 59, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111,\n    112, 113, 114, 117, 118, 120, 127, 129, 136, 140, 142, 143, 146,\n    152, 256, 257, 258, 259, 262, 266, 267, 268\n\n Aigeus, 190\n\n Ajax, 23\n\n Alcestis, 209, 210, 211, 212, 213, 214, 215, 216, 217, 218, 220, 221,\n    222, 223, 224, 225, 226, 227\n\n Alcinous, 60, 62, 85, 90, 93, 94, 97, 230\n\n Alcmena, 42\n\n Andromache, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 140\n\n Andromeda, 22\n\n Anna, 281, 286\n\n Antigone, 22, 150, 166, 171, 186, 187, 188, 189, 191, 192, 193, 194,\n    195, 196, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 205, 206, 207\n\n Antinous, 42, 46, 47\n\n Aphrodite, 18, 19, 20, 23, 25, 26, 244, 245, 246, 250, 255\n\n Apollo, 97, 105, 109, 112, 113, 118, 123, 126, 129, 131, 133, 135, 137,\n    140, 144, 146, 168, 169, 172, 173, 181, 189, 212, 213, 214, 226,\n    238, 258, 271\n\n Ares, 21, 40\n\n Arete, Queen, 85, 97, 230\n\n Argus, 157, 158\n\n Artemis, 92, 93, 213, 244, 246, 247, 255, 257, 258, 261, 262, 271, 272\n\n Astyanax, 35, 36, 37\n\n At\u00e8, 115, 132\n\n Athena, 18, 19, 24, 30, 31, 42, 44, 45, 46, 50, 55, 76, 85, 87, 88, 89,\n    92, 93, 95, 97, 137, 256, 272\n\n Athene (_see_ Athena)\n\n Atlas, 76, 151\n\n Augustus, 273\n\n\n Bacchus, 280\n\n\n Cadmus, 149, 163, 206\n\n Calypso, 43, 60, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 81, 82, 83, 84, 87\n\n Camilla, 12\n\n Cassandra, 35, 109, 112, 135, 136, 137, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 143,\n    144, 145, 164\n\n Castor, 23\n\n Charon, 218\n\n Charybdis, 72\n\n Chiron, 228\n\n Chrysothomis, 165\n\n Cilix, 149\n\n Circe, 60, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 230\n\n Clytemnestra, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 112, 113,\n    114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 123, 127, 129, 130, 131,\n    137, 143, 144, 164, 165, 256, 257, 258, 266\n\n Creon, 12, 171, 172, 173, 174, 176, 177, 178, 185, 186, 187, 188, 190,\n    193, 194, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 206, 207,\n    231, 232, 234, 235, 241\n\n Creusa, 276\n\n Cronos, 151, 157\n\n Cycl\u00f4pes, 269\n\n Cypris, 244, 250, 251\n\n\n Diana, 277\n\n Dido, 10, 12, 273, 274, 275, 276, 277, 279, 280, 281, 282, 283, 284,\n    285, 286, 287\n\n Diomedes, 30\n\n Dionysus, 101\n\n\n E\u00ebtion, 30\n\n Egisthus, 106, 107, 115, 117, 121, 124, 127, 130\n\n Electra, 12, 116, 118, 119, 120, 121, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128,\n    129, 130, 132, 133, 134, 164, 166\n\n Elpenor, 71\n\n Enone, 18, 21\n\n Epaphus, 149, 161\n\n Epicasta, 167\n\n Erinys, 115\n\n Eteocles, 171, 188, 190, 191, 193, 197\n\n Euripides, 10, 35, 102, 132, 133, 136, 137, 150, 209, 210, 211, 212,\n    214, 231, 243, 247, 256\n\n Europa, 149\n\n Euryclea, 50, 53, 57\n\n Eurydice, 208\n\n Eurylochus, 67\n\n Eurystheus, 216, 220\n\n\n Force, 152\n\n\n Glauc\u00e9, 231, 237, 239, 240, 241\n\n\n H\u00e6mon, 202, 203, 204, 207\n\n Hector, 21, 24, 25, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 139, 273\n\n Hecuba, 29, 32, 35, 36, 140, 141\n\n Hekabe (_see_ Hecuba)\n\n Helen, 12, 15, 16, 17, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30,\n    35, 37, 41, 42, 43, 103, 135, 138, 141, 259, 265\n\n Helenus, 37\n\n Heph\u00e6stus, 152, 153\n\n Hera, 18, 19, 24, 33, 98, 148, 150, 156, 169\n\n Heracles, 161, 220, 221, 223, 224, 225, 226, 270\n\n Hermes, 65, 66, 77, 78, 79, 119\n\n Hesiod, 152\n\n Hippolytus, 243, 244, 245, 246, 249, 251, 252, 253, 254\n\n Homer, 9, 11, 12, 16, 25, 29, 58, 65, 73, 85, 87, 99, 163, 167, 274\n\n Hymen, 141\n\n\n Icarius, 46, 59, 60\n\n Idomeneus, 23, 139\n\n Ilione, 280\n\n Inachus, 150, 157, 158\n\n Io, 148, 149, 150, 151, 157, 158, 160, 161, 162, 164, 167\n\n Iphigenia, 103, 104, 105, 121, 211, 256, 257, 259, 260, 261, 262, 263,\n    264, 265, 267, 268, 269, 270, 271\n\n Ismene, 166, 171, 192, 194, 195, 196, 201, 202\n\n Iulus, 276\n\n\n Jason, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 233, 234, 235, 236, 237, 238, 239, 240,\n    242\n\n Jocasta, 150, 163, 166, 167, 168, 170, 171, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181,\n    182, 183, 184, 185\n\n Jove, 108, 287\n\n Juno, 276, 280\n\n Jupiter, 280, 283\n\n\n Laertes, 59\n\n Laius, 168, 169, 170, 171, 173, 175, 178, 179, 181\n\n Leto, 261\n\n Loxias, 141, 180\n\n\n Medea, 211, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 234, 235, 236, 238, 239, 240, 241,\n    242, 243, 247\n\n Medon, 48, 49\n\n Menelaus, 17, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 25, 26, 27, 35\n\n Mercury, 283\n\n Merope, 169, 180, 182\n\n Minos, 53\n\n Mycene, 42\n\n\n Nausicaa, 60, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98\n\n Neoptolemus, 140\n\n\n Oceanus, 153, 154\n\n Odysseus, 23, 27, 39, 40, 41, 43, 44, 46, 48, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55,\n    56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 71, 72, 73, 74,\n    75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 87, 88, 89, 90, 92, 93,\n    94, 96, 97, 98, 140, 274\n\n \u0152dipus, 12, 166, 167, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172, 173, 174, 175, 176, 177,\n    178, 179, 180, 181, 182, 183, 184, 185, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191,\n    192, 195, 201\n\n Orestes, 118, 119, 121, 122, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 130,\n    131, 133, 164, 165, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 262, 263, 264,\n    265, 266, 267, 268, 269, 270, 272\n\n Othryoneus, 138\n\n\n Paris, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 23, 29, 30, 137, 138, 276\n\n Patroclus, 33, 34\n\n Pelias, 212, 228, 230, 231\n\n Pelops, 262\n\n Penelope, 39, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54,\n    55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 75, 79, 82, 86, 87, 163, 164\n\n Persephone, 69, 70\n\n Ph\u00e6dra, 211, 243, 244, 245, 246, 247, 248, 249, 250, 251, 252, 254\n\n Phemius, 45\n\n Pheres, 222, 223\n\n Phoebus, 173\n\n Pollux, 23\n\n Polybus, 168, 169, 180, 181, 182, 183\n\n Polynices, 171, 188, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194, 196, 197, 198, 207\n\n Polyxena, 140\n\n Poseidon, 27, 39, 40, 87, 88, 94, 189, 191, 254\n\n Priam, 17, 18, 22, 24, 25, 29, 30, 32, 34, 35, 36, 109, 135, 137, 138,\n    280\n\n Prometheus, 149, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161,\n    162, 189\n\n Pygmalion, 276, 277\n\n Pylades, 118, 119, 130, 131, 258, 261, 263, 264, 267, 268\n\n\n Rhodius, Apollonius, 228\n\n\n Scylla, 72\n\n Sich\u00e6us, 276, 277, 281, 282, 286\n\n Sophocles, 102, 132, 133, 150, 163, 165, 166, 172, 186, 194, 206, 209,\n    210\n\n\n Talthybius, 140, 142\n\n Tantalus, 103, 123\n\n Telemachus, 27, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 50, 51, 55, 56\n\n Themis, 162\n\n Theseus, 189, 190, 191, 243, 248, 253, 254\n\n Thetis, 33, 41\n\n Thoas, 259, 261, 267, 270, 271, 272\n\n Tiresias, 69, 70, 170, 171, 174, 175, 178, 206\n\n Tyndareus, 19, 20, 41\n\n Typhon, 151\n\n Tyro, 42\n\n\n Venus, 276, 277, 278\n\n Virgil, 9, 12, 273, 274\n\n\n Zeus, 18, 24, 27, 32, 33, 41, 47, 49, 50, 54, 65, 73, 76, 77, 78, 79,\n    93, 94, 97, 98, 112, 126, 127, 128, 148, 149, 151, 152, 153, 154,\n    155, 156, 157, 158, 160, 161, 167, 200, 226\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\nTRANSCRIBER\u2019S NOTES\n\n\n 1. Changed \u2018hales\u2019 to \u2018hails\u2019 on p. 220.\n 2. Silently corrected typographical errors.\n 3. Retained anachronistic and non-standard spellings as printed.\n 4. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.","title":"Women of the Classics","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":80985}