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diff --git a/8418-h/8418-h.htm b/8418-h/8418-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..95bc330 --- /dev/null +++ b/8418-h/8418-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5511 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Hippolytus and the Bacchae, by Euripides</title> + +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + pre {font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 100%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> +</head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Hippolytus and The Bacchae, by Euripides</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Hippolytus and The Bacchae</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Euripides</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Translator: Gilbert Murray</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 8, 2003 [eBook #8418]<br /> +[Most recently updated: October 11, 2023]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Ted Garvin, Charles Bidwell, the Online Distributed Proofreading Team and David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIPPOLYTUS AND THE BACCHAE ***</div> + + <h1> + HIPPOLYTUS and THE BACCHAE + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Euripides + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h3> + Translated by GILBERT MURRAY + </h3> + <h5> + Nine Greek Dramas<br /> <br /> By Aeschylus, Sophocles, Euripides And + Aristophanes<br /> <br /> Translations By<br /> E.D.A. Morshead<br /> E.H. + Plumptre<br /> Gilbert Murray<br /> And<br /> B.B. Rogers + </h5> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + INTRODUCTORY NOTE + </h2> + + <p> + Euripides, the youngest of the trio of great Greek tragedians was born at + Salamis in 480 B.C., on the day when the Greeks won their momentous naval + victory there over the fleet of the Persians. The precise social status of + his parents is not clear but he received a good education, was early + distinguished as an athlete, and showed talent in painting and oratory. He + was a fellow student of Pericles, and his dramas show the influence of the + philosophical ideas of Anaxagoras and of Socrates, with whom he was + personally intimate. Like Socrates, he was accused of impiety, and this, + along with domestic infelicity, has been supposed to afford a motive for + his withdrawal from Athens, first to Magnesia and later to the court of + Archelaüs in Macedonia where he died in 406 B.C. + </p> + + <p> + The first tragedy of Euripides was produced when he was about twenty-five, + and he was several times a victor in the tragic contests. In spite of the + antagonisms which he aroused and the criticisms which were hurled upon him + in, for example, the comedies of Aristophanes, he attained a very great + popularity; and Plutarch tells that those Athenians who were taken captive + in the disastrous Sicilian expedition of 413 B.C. were offered freedom by + their captors if they could recite from the works of Euripides. Of the + hundred and twenty dramas ascribed to Euripides, there have come down to + us complete eighteen tragedies and one satyric drama, "Cyclops," beside + numerous fragments. + </p> + + <p> + The works of Euripides are generally regarded as showing the beginning of + the decline of Greek tragedy. The idea of Fate hitherto dominant in the + plays of his predecessors, tends to be degraded by him into mere chance; + the characters lose much of their ideal quality; and even gods and heroes + are represented as moved by the petty motives of ordinary humanity. The + chorus is often quite detached from the action; the poetry is florid; and + the action is frequently tinged with sensationalism. In spite of all this, + Euripides remains a great poet; and his picturesqueness and tendencies to + what are now called realism and romanticism, while marking his inferiority + to the chaste classicism of Sophocles, bring him more easily within the + sympathetic interest of the modern reader. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> HIPPOLYTUS </a> + </p> + + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE BACCHAE </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + <h2> + HIPPOLYTUS + </h2> + + <h3> + OF EURIPIDES + </h3> + + <p> + <b>DRAMATIS PERSONAE</b> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE GODDESS APHRODITE + THESEUS, <i>King of Athens and Trozên</i> + PHAEDRA, <i>daughter of Minos, King of Crete, wife to Theseus</i> + HIPPOLYTUS, <i>bastard son of Theseus and the Amazon Hippolyte</i> + THE NURSE OF PHAEDRA + A HENCHMAN OF HIPPOLYTUS + THE GODDESS ARTEMIS + AN OLD HUNTSMAN + A CHORUS OF HUNTSMEN + ATTENDANTS ON THE THREE ROYAL PERSONS + A CHORUS OF TROZENIAN WOMEN, WITH THEIR LEADER +</pre> + + <p> + <i>The scene is laid in Trozên. The play was first acted when Epameinon + was Archon, Olympiad 87, year 4 (B.C. 429). Euripides was first, Iophon + second, Ion third.</i> + </p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + APHRODITE + Great among men, and not unnamed am I, + The Cyprian, in God's inmost halls on high. + And wheresoe'er from Pontus to the far + Red West men dwell, and see the glad day-star, + And worship Me, the pious heart I bless, + And wreck that life that lives in stubbornness. + For that there is, even in a great God's mind, + That hungereth for the praise of human kind. + + So runs my word; and soon the very deed + Shall follow. For this Prince of Theseus' seed, + Hippolytus, child of that dead Amazon, + And reared by saintly Pittheus in his own + Strait ways, hath dared, alone of all Trozên, + To hold me least of spirits and most mean, + And spurns my spell and seeks no woman's kiss, + But great Apollo's sister, Artemis, + He holds of all most high, gives love and praise, + And through the wild dark woods for ever strays, + He and the Maid together, with swift hounds + To slay all angry beasts from out these bounds, + To more than mortal friendship consecrate! + + I grudge it not. No grudge know I, nor hate; + Yet, seeing he hath offended, I this day + Shall smite Hippolytus. Long since my way + Was opened, nor needs now much labour more. + + For once from Pittheus' castle to the shore + Of Athens came Hippolytus over-seas + Seeking the vision of the Mysteries. + And Phaedra there, his father's Queen high-born; + Saw him, and as she saw, her heart was torn + With great love, by the working of my will. + And for his sake, long since, on Pallas' hill, + Deep in the rock, that Love no more might roam, + She built a shrine, and named it <i>Love-at-home</i> : + And the rock held it, but its face alway + Seeks Trozên o'er the seas. Then came the day + When Theseus, for the blood of kinsmen shed, + Spake doom of exile on himself, and fled, + Phaedra beside him, even to this Trozên. + And here that grievous and amazed Queen, + Wounded and wondering, with ne'er a word, + Wastes slowly; and her secret none hath heard + Nor dreamed. + + But never thus this love shall end! + To Theseus' ear some whisper will I send, + And all be bare! And that proud Prince, my foe, + His sire shall slay with curses. Even so + Endeth that boon the great Lord of the Main + To Theseus gave, the Three Prayers not in vain. + + And she, not in dishonour, yet shall die. + I would not rate this woman's pain so high + As not to pay mine haters in full fee + That vengeance that shall make all well with me. + + But soft, here comes he, striding from the chase, + Our Prince Hippolytus!—I will go my ways.— + And hunters at his heels: and a loud throng + Glorying Artemis with praise and song! + Little he knows that Hell's gates opened are, + And this his last look on the great Day-star! + [APHRODITE <i>withdraws, unseen by</i> HIPPOLYTUS + <i>and a band of huntsmen, who enter from the left, singing. + They pass the Statue of</i> APHRODITE <i>without notice.</i> ] + + HIPPOLYTUS + Follow, O follow me, + Singing on your ways + Her in whose hand are we, + Her whose own flock we be, + The Zeus-Child, the Heavenly; + To Artemis be praise! + + HUNTSMAN + Hail to thee, Maiden blest, + Proudest and holiest: + God's Daughter, great in bliss, + Leto-born, Artemis! + Hail to thee, Maiden, far + Fairest of all that are, + Yea, and most high thine home, + Child of the Father's hall; + Hear, O most virginal, + Hear, O most fair of all, + In high God's golden dome. + + [ <i>The huntsmen have gathered about the altar of</i> ARTEMIS. + HIPPOLYTUS <i>now advances from them, and approaches the Statue + with a wreath in his hand.</i> ] + + HIPPOLYTUS + To thee this wreathed garland, from a green + And virgin meadow bear I, O my Queen, + Where never shepherd leads his grazing ewes + Nor scythe has touched. Only the river dews + Gleam, and the spring bee sings, and in the glade + Hath Solitude her mystic garden made. + No evil hand may cull it: only he + Whose heart hath known the heart of Purity, + Unlearned of man, and true whate'er befall. + Take therefore from pure hands this coronal, + O mistress loved, thy golden hair to twine. + For, sole of living men, this grace is mine, + To dwell with thee, and speak, and hear replies + Of voice divine, though none may see thine eyes. + Oh, keep me to the end in this same road! + [ <i>An</i> OLD HUNTSMAN, <i>who has stood apart from + the rest, here comes up to</i> HIPPOLYTUS.] + + HUNTSMAN + My Prince—for "Master" name I none but God— + Gave I good counsel, wouldst thou welcome it? + + HIPPOLYTUS + Right gladly, friend; else were I poor of wit. + + HUNTSMAN + Knowest thou one law, that through the world has won? + + HIPPOLYTUS + What wouldst thou? And how runs thy law? Say on. + + HUNTSMAN + It hates that Pride that speaks not all men fair! + + HIPPOLYTUS + And rightly. Pride breeds hatred everywhere. + + HUNTSMAN + And good words love, and grace in all men's sight? + + HIPPOLYTUS + Aye, and much gain withal, for trouble slight. + + HUNTSMAN + How deem'st thou of the Gods? Are they the same? + + HIPPOLYTUS + Surely: we are but fashioned on their frame. + + HUNTSMAN + Why then wilt thou be proud, and worship not.. + + HIPPOLYTUS + Whom? If the name be speakable, speak out! + + HUNTSMAN + She stands here at thy gate: the Cyprian Queen! + + HIPPOLYTUS + I greet her from afar: my life is clean. + + HUNTSMAN + Clean? Nay, proud, proud; a mark for all to scan! + + HIPPOLYTUS + Each mind hath its own bent, for God or man. + + HUNTSMAN + God grant thee happiness.. and wiser thought! + + HIPPOLYTUS + These Spirits that reign in darkness like me not. + + HUNTSMAN + What the Gods ask, O Son, that man must pay! + + HIPPOLYTUS ( <i>turning from him to the others</i> ). + On, huntsmen, to the Castle! Make your way + Straight to the feast room; 'tis a merry thing + After the chase, a board of banqueting. + And see the steeds be groomed, and in array + The chariot dight. I drive them forth to-day + [ <i>He pauses, and makes a slight gesture of reverence to the Statue on + the left. Then to the</i> OLD HUNTSMAN.] + That for thy Cyprian, friend, and nought beside! + [HIPPOLYTUS <i>follows the huntsmen, who stream by the central door in + the Castle. The</i> OLD HUNTSMAN <i>remains</i>] + + HUNTSMAN ( <i>approaching the Statue and kneeling</i> ) + O Cyprian—for a young man in his pride + I will not follow!—here before thee, meek, + In that one language that a slave may speak, + I pray thee; Oh, if some wild heart in froth + Of youth surges against thee, be not wroth + For ever! Nay, be far and hear not then: + Gods should be gentler and more wise than men! + [ <i>He rises and follows the others into the Castle</i>.] + + <i>The Orchestra is empty for a moment, then there enter from right and + left several Trosenian women young and old. Their number eventually + amounts to fifteen.</i> + + CHORUS + There riseth a rock-born river, + Of Ocean's tribe, men say; + The crags of it gleam and quiver, + And pitchers dip in the spray: + A woman was there with raiment white + To bathe and spread in the warm sunlight, + And she told a tale to me there by the river + The tale of the Queen and her evil day: + + How, ailing beyond allayment, + Within she hath bowed her head, + And with shadow of silken raiment + The bright brown hair bespread. + For three long days she hath lain forlorn, + Her lips untainted of flesh or corn, + For that secret sorrow beyond allayment + That steers to the far sad shore of the dead. + + <i>Some Women</i> + Is this some Spirit, O child of man? + Doth Hecat hold thee perchance, or Pan? + Doth she of the Mountains work her ban, + Or the dread Corybantes bind thee? + + <i>Others</i> + Nay, is it sin that upon thee lies, + Sin of forgotten sacrifice, + In thine own Dictynna's sea-wild eyes? + Who in Limna here can find thee; + For the Deep's dry floor is her easy way, + And she moves in the salt wet whirl of the spray. + + <i>Other Women</i> + Or doth the Lord of Erechtheus' race, + Thy Theseus, watch for a fairer face, + For secret arms in a silent place, + Far from thy love or chiding? + + <i>Others</i> + Or hath there landed, amid the loud + Hum of Piraeus' sailor-crowd, + Some Cretan venturer, weary-browed, + Who bears to the Queen some tiding; + Some far home-grief, that hath bowed her low, + And chained her soul to a bed of woe? + + <i>An Older Woman</i> + Nay—know yet not?—this burden hath alway lain + On the devious being of woman; yea, burdens twain, + The burden of Wild Will and the burden of Pain. + Through my heart once that wind of terror sped; + But I, in fear confessèd, + Cried from the dark to Her in heavenly bliss, + The Helper of Pain, the Bow-Maid Artemis: + Whose feet I praise for ever, where they tread + Far off among the blessèd! + + THE LEADER + But see, the Queen's grey nurse at the door, + Sad-eyed and sterner, methinks, than of yore + With the Queen. Doth she lead her hither + To the wind and sun?—Ah, fain would I know + What strange betiding hath blanched that brow + And made that young life wither. + [ <i>The NURSE comes out from the central door followed by</i> PHAEDRA, + <i>who is supported by two handmaids. They make ready a couch for</i> + PHAEDRA <i>to lie upon</i>.] + + NURSE + O sick and sore are the days of men! + What wouldst thou? What shall I change again + Here is the Sun for thee; here is the sky; + And thy weary pillows wind-swept lie, + By the castle door. + But the cloud of thy brow is dark, I ween; + And soon thou wilt back to thy bower within: + So swift to change is the path of thy feet, + And near things hateful, and far things sweet; + So was it before! + + Oh, pain were better than tending pain! + For that were single, and this is twain, + With grief of heart and labour of limb. + Yet all man's life is but ailing and dim, + And rest upon earth comes never. + But if any far-off state there be, + Dearer than life to mortality; + The hand of the Dark hath hold thereof, + And mist is under and mist above. + And so we are sick of life, and cling + On earth to this nameless and shining thing. + For other life is a fountain sealed, + And the deeps below are unrevealed, + And we drift on legends for ever! + [PHAEDRA <i>during this has been laid on her couch; + she speaks to the handmaids</i>.] + + PHAEDRA + Yes; lift me: not my head so low. + There, hold my arms.—Fair arms they seem!— + My poor limbs scarce obey me now! + Take off that hood that weighs my brow, + And let my long hair stream. + + NURSE + Nay, toss not, Child, so feveredly. + The sickness best will win relief + By quiet rest and constancy. + All men have grief. + + PHAEDRA ( <i>not noticing her</i> ) + Oh for a deep and dewy spring, + With runlets cold to draw and drink! + And a great meadow blossoming, + Long-grassed, and poplars in a ring, + To rest me by the brink! + + NURSE + Nay, Child! Shall strangers hear this tone + So wild, and thoughts so fever-flown? + + PHAEDRA + Oh, take me to the Mountain! Oh, + Pass the great pines and through the wood, + Up where the lean hounds softly go, + A-whine for wild things' blood, + And madly flies the dappled roe. + O God, to shout and speed them there, + An arrow by my chestnut hair + Drawn tight, and one keen glimmering spear— + Ah! if I could! + + NURSE + What wouldst thou with them—fancies all!— + Thy hunting and thy fountain brink? + What wouldst thou? By the city wall + Canst hear our own brook plash and fall + Downhill, if thou wouldst drink. + + PHAEDRA + O Mistress of the Sea-lorn Mere + Where horse-hoofs beat the sand and sing, + O Artemis, that I were there + To tame Enetian steeds and steer + Swift chariots in the ring! + + NURSE + Nay, mountainward but now thy hands + Yearned out, with craving for the chase; + And now toward the unseaswept sands + Thou roamest, where the coursers pace! + O wild young steed, what prophet knows + The power that holds thy curb, and throws + Thy swift heart from its race? + [ <i>At these words PHAEDRA gradually recovers herself + and pays attention.</i> ] + + PHAEDRA + What have I said? Woe's me! And where + Gone straying from my wholesome mind? + What? Did I fall in some god's snare? + —Nurse, veil my head again, and blind + Mine eyes.—There is a tear behind + That lash.—Oh, I am sick with shame! + Aye, but it hath a sting, + To come to reason; yet the name + Of madness is an awful thing.— + Could I but die in one swift flame + Unthinking, unknowing! + + NURSE + I veil thy face, Child.—Would that so + Mine own were veiled for evermore, + So sore I love thee!... Though the lore + Of long life mocks me, and I know + How love should be a lightsome thing + Not rooted in the deep o' the heart; + With gentle ties, to twine apart + If need so call, or closer cling.— + Why do I love thee so? O fool, + O fool, the heart that bleeds for twain, + And builds, men tell us, walls of pain, + To walk by love's unswerving rule + The same for ever, stern and true! + For "Thorough" is no word of peace: + 'Tis "Naught-too-much" makes trouble cease. + And many a wise man bows thereto. + [ <i>The</i> LEADER OF THE CHORUS <i>here approaches the</i> NURSE.] + + LEADER + Nurse of our Queen, thou watcher old and true, + We see her great affliction, but no clue + Have we to learn the sickness. Wouldst thou tell + The name and sort thereof, 'twould like us well. + + NURSE + Small leechcraft have I, and she tells no man. + + LEADER + Thou know'st no cause? Nor when the unrest began? + + NURSE + It all comes to the same. She will not speak. + + LEADER ( <i>turning and looking at</i> PHAEDRA). + How she is changed and wasted! And how weak! + + NURSE + 'Tis the third day she hath fasted utterly. + + LEADER + What, is she mad? Or doth she seek to die? + + NURSE + I know not. But to death it sure must lead. + + LEADER + 'Tis strange that Theseus takes hereof no heed. + + NURSE + She hides her wound, and vows it is not so. + + LEADER + Can he not look into her face and know? + + NURSE + Nay, he is on a journey these last days. + + LEADER + Canst thou not force her, then? Or think of ways + To trap the secret of the sick heart's pain? + + NURSE + Have I not tried all ways, and all in vain? + Yet will I cease not now, and thou shalt tell + If in her grief I serve my mistress well! + [ <i>She goes across to where</i> PHAEDRA <i>lies; and + presently, while speaking, kneels by her</i>.] + Dear daughter mine, all that before was said + Let both of us forget; and thou instead + Be kindlier, and unlock that prisoned brow. + And I, who followed then the wrong road, now + Will leave it and be wiser. If thou fear + Some secret sickness, there be women here + To give thee comfort. [PHAEDRA <i>shakes her head</i>. + No; not secret? Then + Is it a sickness meet for aid of men? + Speak, that a leech may tend thee. + Silent still? + Nay, Child, what profits silence? If 'tis ill + This that I counsel, makes me see the wrong: + If well, then yield to me. + Nay, Child, I long + For one kind word, one look! + [PHAEDRA <i>lies motionless. The</i> NURSE <i>rises.</i> ] + Oh, woe is me! + Women, we labour here all fruitlessly, + All as far off as ever from her heart! + She ever scorned me, and now hears no part + Of all my prayers! [ <i>Turning to</i> PHAEDRA <i>again.</i> ] + Nay, hear thou shalt, and be, + If so thou will, more wild than the wild sea; + But know, thou art thy little ones' betrayer! + If thou die now, shall child of thine be heir + To Theseus' castle? Nay, not thine, I ween, + But hers! That barbèd Amazonian Queen + Hath left a child to bend thy children low, + A bastard royal-hearted—sayst not so?— + Hippolytus... + + PHAEDRA + Ah! + [ <i>She starts up, sitting, and throws the veil off</i>.] + + NURSE + That stings thee? + + PHAEDRA + Nurse, most sore + Thou hast hurt me! In God's name, speak that name no more. + + NURSE + Thou seest? Thy mind is clear; but with thy mind + Thou wilt not save thy children, nor be kind + To thine own life. + + PHAEDRA + My children? Nay, most dear + I love them,—Far, far other grief is here. + + NURSE ( <i>after a pause, wondering</i> ) + Thy hand is clean, O Child, from stain of blood? + + PHAEDRA + My hand is clean; but is my heart, O God? + + NURSE + Some enemy's spell hath made thy spirit dim? + + PHAEDRA + He hates me not that slays me, nor I him. + + NURSE + Theseus, the King, hath wronged thee in man's wise? + + PHAEDRA + Ah, could but I stand guiltless in his eyes! + + NURSE + O speak! What is this death-fraught mystery? + + PHAEDRA + Nay, leave me to my wrong. I wrong not thee. + + NURSE ( <i>suddenly throwing herself in supplication at PHAEDRA'S feet</i> ) + Not wrong me, whom thou wouldst all desolate leave? + + PHAEDRA ( <i>rising and trying to move away</i> ) + What wouldst thou? Force me? Clinging to my sleeve? + + NURSE + Yea, to thy knees; and weep; and let not go! + + PHAEDRA + Woe to thee, Woman, if thou learn it, woe! + + NURSE + I know no bitterer woe than losing thee. + + PHAEDRA + Yet the deed shall honour me. + + NURSE + Why hide what honours thee? 'Tis all I claim! + + PHAEDRA + Why, so I build up honour out of shame! + + NURSE + Then speak, and higher still thy fame shall stand. + + PHAEDRA + Go, in God's name!—Nay, leave me; loose my hand! + + NURSE + Never, until thou grant me what I pray. + + PHAEDRA ( <i>yielding, after a pause</i> ) + So be it. I dare not tear that hand away. + + NURSE ( <i>rising and releasing PHAEDRA</i> ) + Tell all thou wilt, Daughter. I speak no more. + + PHAEDRA ( <i>after a long pause</i> ) + Mother, poor Mother, that didst love so sore! + + NURSE + What mean'st thou, Child? The Wild Bull of the Tide? + + PHAEDRA + And thou, sad sister, Dionysus' bride! + + NURSE + Child! wouldst thou shame the house where thou wast born? + + PHAEDRA + And I the third, sinking most all-forlorn! + + NURSE ( <i>to herself</i> ) + I am all lost and feared. What will she say? + + PHAEDRA + From there my grief comes, not from yesterday. + + NURSE + I come no nearer to thy parable. + + PHAEDRA + Oh, would that thou could'st tell what I must tell! + + NURSE + I am no seer in things I wot not of. + + PHAEDRA ( <i>again hesitating</i> ) + What is it that they mean, who say men...love? + + NURSE + A thing most sweet, my Child, yet dolorous. + + PHAEDRA + Only the half, belike, hath fallen on us! + + NURSE ( <i>starting</i> ) + On thee? Love?—Oh, what say'st thou? What man's son? + + PHAEDRA + What man's? There was a Queen, an Amazon... + + NURSE + Hippolytus, say'st thou? + + PHAEDRA ( <i>again wrapping her face in the veil</i> ) + Nay, 'twas thou, not I! + [PHAEDRA <i>sinks back on the couch and covers her face again. + The</i> NURSE <i>starts violently from her and walks up and down.</i> ] + + NURSE + O God! what wilt thou say, Child? Wouldst thou try + To kill me?—Oh, 'tis more than I can bear; + Women. I will no more of it, this glare + Of hated day, this shining of the sky. + I will fling down my body, and let it lie + Till life be gone! + Women, God rest with you, + My works are over! For the pure and true + Are forced to evil, against their own heart's vow, + And love it! + [ <i>She suddenly sees the Statue of</i> CYPRIS, <i>and + stands with her eyes riveted upon it.</i> ] + Ah, Cyprian! No god art thou, + But more than god, and greater, that hath thrust + Me and my queen and all our house to dust! + [ <i>She throws herself on the ground close to the statue.</i> ] + + CHORUS + + <i>Some Women</i> + O Women, have ye heard? Nay, dare ye hear + The desolate cry of the young Queen's misery? + + <i>A Woman</i> + My Queen, I love thee dear, + Yet liefer were I dead than framed like thee. + + <i>Others</i> + Woe, woe to me for this thy bitter bane, + Surely the food man feeds upon is pain! + + <i>Others</i> + How wilt thou bear thee through this livelong day, + Lost, and thine evil naked to the light? + Strange things are close upon us—who shall say + How strange?—save one thing that is plain to sight, + The stroke of the Cyprian and the fall thereof + On thee, thou child of the Isle of fearful Love! + + [PHAEDRA <i>during this has risen from the couch and comes forward + collectedly. As she speaks the</i> NURSE <i>gradually rouses herself, + and listens more calmly.</i> ] + + PHAEDRA + O Women, dwellers in this portal-seat + Of Pelops' land, gazing towards my Crete, + How oft, in other days than these, have I + Through night's long hours thought of man's misery, + And how this life is wrecked! And, to mine eyes, + Not in man's knowledge, not in wisdom, lies + The lack that makes for sorrow. Nay, we scan + And know the right—for wit hath many a man— + But will not to the last end strive and serve. + For some grow too soon weary, and some swerve + To other paths, setting before the Right + The diverse far-off image of Delight: + And many are delights beneath the sun! + Long hours of converse; and to sit alone + Musing—a deadly happiness!—and Shame: + Though two things there be hidden in one name, + And Shame can be slow poison if it will; + This is the truth I saw then, and see still; + Nor is there any magic that can stain + That white truth for me, or make me blind again. + Come, I will show thee how my spirit hath moved. + When the first stab came, and I knew I loved, + I cast about how best to face mine ill. + And the first thought that came, was to be still + And hide my sickness.—For no trust there is + In man's tongue, that so well admonishes + And counsels and betrays, and waxes fat + With griefs of its own gathering!—After that + I would my madness bravely bear, and try + To conquer by mine own heart's purity. + My third mind, when these two availed me naught + To quell love was to die— + [ <i>Motion of protest among the Women.</i> ] + —the best, best thought— —Gainsay me not—of all that man can say! + I would not have mine honour hidden away; + Why should I have my shame before men's eyes + Kept living? And I knew, in deadly wise, + Shame was the deed and shame the suffering; + And I a woman, too, to face the thing, + Despised of all! + + Oh, utterly accurst + Be she of women, whoso dared the first + To cast her honour out to a strange man! + 'Twas in some great house, surely, that began + This plague upon us; then the baser kind, + When the good led towards evil, followed blind + And joyous! Cursed be they whose lips are clean + And wise and seemly, but their hearts within + Rank with bad daring! How can they, O Thou + That walkest on the waves, great Cyprian, how + Smile in their husbands' faces, and not fall, + Not cower before the Darkness that knows all, + Aye, dread the dead still chambers, lest one day + The stones find voice, and all be finished! + Nay, + Friends, 'tis for this I die; lest I stand there + Having shamed my husband and the babes I bare. + In ancient Athens they shall some day dwell, + My babes, free men, free-spoken, honourable, + + EURIPIDES + And when one asks their mother, proud of me! + For, oh, it cows a man, though bold he be, + To know a mother's or a father's sin. + 'Tis written, one way is there, one, to win + This life's race, could man keep it from his birth, + A true clean spirit. And through all this earth + To every false man, that hour comes apace + When Time holds up a mirror to his face, + And girl-like, marvelling, there he stares to see + How foul his heart! Be it not so with me! + + LEADER OF CHORUS + Ah, God, how sweet is virtue, and how wise, + And honour its due meed in all men's eyes! + + NURSE ( <i>who has now risen and recovered herself</i> ) + Mistress, a sharp swift terror struck me low + A moment since, hearing of this thy woe. + But now—I was a coward! And men say + Our second thought the wiser is alway. + This is no monstrous thing; no grief too dire + To meet with quiet thinking. In her ire + A most strong goddess hath swept down on thee. + Thou lovest. Is that so strange? Many there be + Beside thee!... And because thou lovest, wilt fall + And die! And must all lovers die, then? All + That are or shall be? A blithe law for them! + Nay, when in might she swoops, no strength can stem + Cypris; and if man yields him, she is sweet; + But is he proud and stubborn? From his feet + She lifts him, and—how think you?—flings to scorn! + She ranges with the stars of eve and morn, + She wanders in the heaving of the sea, + And all life lives from her.—Aye, this is she + That sows Love's seed and brings Love's fruit to birth; + And great Love's brethren are all we on earth! + Nay, they who con grey books of ancient days + Or dwell among the Muses, tell—and praise— + How Zeus himself once yearned for Semelê; + How maiden Eôs in her radiancy + Swept Kephalos to heaven away, away, + For sore love's sake. And there they dwell, men say, + And fear not, fret not; for a thing too stern + Hath met and crushed them! + And must thou, then, turn + And struggle? Sprang there from thy father's blood + Thy little soul all lonely? Or the god + That rules thee, is he other than our gods? + Nay, yield thee to men's ways, and kiss their rods! + How many, deem'st thou, of men good and wise + Know their own home's blot, and avert their eyes? + How many fathers, when a son has strayed + And toiled beneath the Cyprian, bring him aid, + Not chiding? And man's wisdom e'er hath been + To keep what is not good to see, unseen! + A straight and perfect life is not for man; + Nay, in a shut house, let him, if he can, + 'Mid sheltered rooms, make all lines true. But here, + Out in the wide sea fallen, and full of fear, + Hopest thou so easily to swim to land? + Canst thou but set thine ill days on one hand + And more good days on the other, verily, + O child of woman, life is well with thee! + + [ <i>She pauses, and then draws nearer to</i> PHAEDRA.] + + Nay, dear my daughter, cease thine evil mind, + Cease thy fierce pride! For pride it is, and blind, + To seek to outpass gods!—Love on and dare: + A god hath willed it! And, since pain is there, + Make the pain sleep! Songs are there to bring calm, + And magic words. And I shall find the balm, + Be sure, to heal thee. Else in sore dismay + Were men, could not we women find our way! + + LEADER OF THE CHORUS + Help is there, Queen, in all this woman says, + To ease thy suffering. But 'tis thee I praise; + Albeit that praise is harder to thine ear + Than all her chiding was, and bitterer! + + PHAEDRA + Oh, this it is hath flung to dogs and birds + Men's lives and homes and cities-fair false word! + Oh, why speak things to please our ears? We crave + Not that. Tis honour, honour, we must save! + + NURSE + Why prate so proud! 'Tis no words, brave nor base + Thou cravest; 'tis a man's arms! + + [PHAEDRA <i>moves indignantly</i>.] + + Up and face + The truth of what thou art, and name it straight! + Were not thy life thrown open here for Fate + To beat on; hadst thou been a woman pure + Or wise or strong; never had I for lure + Of joy nor heartache led thee on to this! + But when a whole life one great battle is, + To win or lose—no man can blame me then. + + PHAEDRA + Shame on thee! Lock those lips, and ne'er again + Let word nor thought so foul have harbour there! + + NURSE + Foul, if thou wilt: but better than the fair + For thee and me. And better, too, the deed + Behind them, if it save thee in thy need, + Than that word Honour thou wilt die to win! + + PHAEDRA + Nay, in God's name,—such wisdom and such sin + Are all about thy lips!—urge me no more. + For all the soul within me is wrought o'er + By Love; and if thou speak and speak, I may + Be spent, and drift where now I shrink away. + + NURSE + Well, if thou wilt!—'Twere best never to err, + But, having erred, to take a counsellor + Is second.—Mark me now. I have within + love-philtres, to make peace where storm hath been, + That, with no shame, no scathe of mind, shall save + Thy life from anguish; wilt but thou be brave! + [ <i>To herself, rejecting</i>.] + Ah, but from him, the well-beloved, some sign + We need, or word, or raiment's hem, to twine + Amid the charm, and one spell knit from twain. + + PHAEDRA + Is it a potion or a salve? Be plain. + + NURSE + Who knows? Seek to be helped, Child, not to know. + + PHAEDRA + Why art thou ever subtle? I dread thee, so. + + NURSE + Thou wouldst dread everything!—What dost thou dread? + + PHAEDRA + Least to his ear some word be whispered. + + NURSE + Let be, Child! I will make all well with thee! + —Only do thou, O Cyprian of the Sea, + Be with me! And mine own heart, come what may, + Shall know what ear to seek, what word to say! + + [ <i>The</i> NURSE, <i>having spoken these last words in prayer apart to the + Statue of</i> CYPRIS, <i>turns back and goes into the house</i>. PHAEDRA <i>sits + pensive again on her couch till towards the end of the following Song, + when she rises and bends close to the door</i>.] + + CHORUS + + Erôs, Erôs, who blindest, tear by tear, + Men's eyes with hunger; thou swift Foe + that pliest + Deep in our hearts joy like an edgèd spear; + Come not to me with Evil haunting near, + Wrath on the wind, nor jarring of the clear + Wing's music as thou fliest! + There is no shaft that burneth, not in fire, + Not in wild stars, far off and flinging fear, + As in thine hands the shaft of All Desire, + Erôs, Child of the Highest! + + In vain, in vain, by old Alpheüs' shore + The blood of many bulls doth stain the river + And all Greece bows on Phoebus' Pythian floor; + Yet bring we to the Master of Man no store + The Keybearer, who standeth at the door + Close-barred, where hideth ever + The heart of the shrine. Yea, though he sack + man's life + Like a sacked city, and moveth evermore + Girt with calamity and strange ways of strife, + Him have we worshipped never! + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There roamed a Steed in Oechalia's wild, + A Maid without yoke, without Master, + And Love she knew not, that far King's child; + But he came, he came, with a song in the night. + With fire, with blood; and she strove in flight, + A Torrent Spirit, a Maenad white, + Faster and vainly faster, + Sealed unto Heracles by the Cyprian's Might. + Alas, thou Bride of Disaster! + + O Mouth of Dirce, O god-built wall, + That Dirce's wells run under, + Ye know the Cyprian's fleet footfall! + Ye saw the heavens around her flare, + When she lulled to her sleep that Mother fair + Of twy-born Bacchus, and decked her there + The Bride of the bladed Thunder. + For her breath is on all that hath life, and she floats in the air, + Bee-like, death-like, a wonder. + [ <i>During the last lines</i> PHAEDRA <i>has approached the door + and is listening</i>.] + + PHAEDRA + Silence ye Women! Something is amiss. + + LEADER + How? In the house?—Phaedra, what fear is this? + + PHAEDRA + Let me but listen! There are voices. Hark! + + LEADER + I hold my peace: yet is thy presage dark. + + PHAEDRA + Oh, misery! + O God, that such a thing should fall on me! + + LEADER + What sound, what word, + O Women, Friend, makes that sharp terror start + Out at thy lips? What ominous cry half-heard + Hath leapt upon thine heart? + + PHAEDRA + I am undone!—Bend to the door and hark, + Hark what a tone sounds there, and sinks away! + + LEADER + Thou art beside the bars. 'Tis thine to mark + The castle's floating message. Say, Oh, say + What thing hath come to thee? + + PHAEDRA ( <i>calmly</i> ) + Why, what thing should it be? + The son of that proud Amazon speaks again + In bitter wrath: speaks to my handmaiden! + + LEADER + I hear a noise of voices, nothing clear. + For thee the din hath words, as through barred locks + Floating, at thy heart it knocks. + + PHAEDRA + "Pander of Sin" it says.—Now canst thou hear?— + And there: "Betrayer of a master's bed." + + LEADER + Ah me, betrayed! Betrayed! + Sweet Princess, thou art ill bested, + Thy secret brought to light, and ruin near, + By her thou heldest dear, + By her that should have loved thee and obeyed! + + PHAEDRA + Aye, I am slain. She thought to help my fall + With love instead of honour, and wrecked all. + + LEADER + Where wilt thou turn thee, where? + And what help seek, O wounded to despair? + + PHAEDRA + I know not, save one thing to die right soon. + For such as me God keeps no other boon. + + [ <i>The door in the centre bursts open, and</i> HIPPOLYTUS <i>comes forth, + closely followed by the</i> NURSE. PHAEDRA <i>cowers aside</i>.] + + HIPPOLYTUS + O Mother Earth, O Sun that makest clean, + What poison have I heard, what speechless sin! + + NURSE + Hush O my Prince, lest others mark, and guess... + + HIPPOLYTUS + I have heard horrors! Shall I hold my peace? + + NURSE + Yea by this fair right arm, Son, by thy pledge... + + HIPPOLYTUS + Down with that hand! Touch not my garment's edge! + + NURSE + Oh, by thy knees, be silent or I die! + + HIPPOLYTUS + Why, when thy speech was all so guiltless? Why? + + NURSE + It is not meet, fair Son, for every ear! + + HIPPOLYTUS + Good words can bravely forth, and have no fear. + + NURSE + Thine oath, thine oath! I took thine oath before! + + HIPPOLYTUS + 'Twas but my tongue, 'twas not my soul that swore. + + NURSE + O Son, what wilt thou? Wilt thou slay thy kin? + + HIPPOLYTUS + I own no kindred with the spawn of sin! + [ <i>He flings her from him</i>.] + + NURSE + Nay, spare me! Man was born to err; oh, spare! + + HIPPOLYTUS + O God, why hast Thou made this gleaming snare, + Woman, to dog us on the happy earth? + Was it Thy will to make Man, why his birth + Through Love and Woman? Could we not have rolled + Our store of prayer and offering, royal gold + Silver and weight of bronze before Thy feet, + And bought of God new child souls, as were meet + For each man's sacrifice, and dwelt in homes + Free, where nor Love nor Woman goes and comes + How, is that daughter not a bane confessed, + Whom her own sire sends forth—(He knows her best!)— + And, will some man but take her, pays a dower! + And he, poor fool, takes home the poison-flower; + Laughs to hang jewels on the deadly thing + He joys in; labours for her robe-wearing, + Till wealth and peace are dead. He smarts the less + In whose high seat is set a Nothingness, + A woman naught availing. Worst of all + The wise deep-thoughted! Never in my hall + May she sit throned who thinks and waits and sighs! + For Cypris breeds most evil in the wise, + And least in her whose heart has naught within; + For puny wit can work but puny sin. + Why do we let their handmaids pass the gate? + Wild beasts were best, voiceless and fanged, to wait + About their rooms, that they might speak with none, + Nor ever hear one answering human tone! + But now dark women in still chambers lay + Plans that creep out into light of day + On handmaids' lips—[ <i>Turning to the</i> NURSE.] + As thine accursèd head + Braved the high honour of my Father's bed. + And came to traffic... Our white torrent's spray + Shall drench mine ears to wash those words away! + And couldst thou dream that <i>I</i>...? I feel impure + Still at the very hearing! Know for sure, + Woman, naught but mine honour saves ye both. + Hadst thou not trapped me with that guileful oath, + No power had held me secret till the King + Knew all! But now, while he is journeying, + I too will go my ways and make no sound. + And when he comes again, I shall be found + Beside him, silent, watching with what grace + Thou and thy mistress shall greet him face to face! + Then shall I have the taste of it, and know + What woman's guile is.—Woe upon you, woe! + How can I too much hate you, while the ill + Ye work upon the world grows deadlier still? + Too much? Make woman pure, and wild Love tame, + Or let me cry for ever on their shame! + [ <i>He goes off in fury to the left</i>. + PHAEDRA <i>still cowering in her place begins to sob</i>.] + + PHAEDRA + Sad, sad and evil-starred is Woman's state. + What shelter now is left or guard? + What spell to loose the iron knot of fate? + And this thing, O my God, + O thou sweet Sunlight, is but my desert! + I cannot fly before the avenging rod + Falls, cannot hide my hurt. + What help, O ye who love me, can come near, + What god or man appear, + To aid a thing so evil and so lost? + Lost, for this anguish presses, soon or late, + To that swift river that no life hath crossed. + No woman ever lived so desolate! + + LEADER OF THE CHORUS + Ah me, the time for deeds is gone; the boast + Proved vain that spake thine handmaid; and all lost! + [ <i>At these words</i> PHAEDRA <i>suddenly remembers the</i> NURSE, <i>who is + cowering silently where</i> HIPPOLYTUS <i>had thrown her from him. + She turns upon her</i>.] + + PHAEDRA + O wicked, wicked, wicked! Murderess heart + To them that loved thee! Hast thou played thy part? + Am I enough trod down? + May Zeus, my sire, + Blast and uproot thee! Stab thee dead with fire! + Said I not—Knew I not thine heart?—to name + To no one soul this that is now my shame? + And thou couldst not be silent! So no more + I die in honour. But enough; a store + Of new words must be spoke and new things thought. + This man's whole being to one blade is wrought + Of rage against me. Even now he speeds + To abase me to the King with thy misdeeds; + Tell Pittheus; fill the land with talk of sin! + Cursèd be thou, and whoso else leaps in + To bring bad aid to friends that want it not. + [ <i>The</i> NURSE <i>has raised herself, and faces</i> PHAEDRA, + <i>downcast but calm</i>.] + + NURSE + Mistress, thou blamest me; and all thy lot + So bitter sore is, and the sting so wild, + I bear with all. Yet, if I would, my Child, + I have mine answer, couldst thou hearken aught. + I nursed thee, and I love thee; and I sought + Only some balm to heal thy deep despair, + And found—not what I sought for. Else I were + Wise, and thy friend, and good, had all sped right. + So fares it with us all in the world's sight. + + PHAEDRA + First stab me to the heart, then humour me + With words! 'Tis fair; 'tis all as it should be! + + NURSE + We talk too long, Child. I did ill; but, oh, + There is a way to save thee, even so! + + PHAEDRA + A way? No more ways! One way hast thou trod + Already, foul and false and loathed of god! + Begone out of my sight; and ponder how + Thine own life stands! I need no helpers now. + [ <i>She turns from the</i> NURSE, <i>who creeps abashed away into the Castle</i>.] + + Only do ye, high Daughters of Trozên, + Let all ye hear be as it had not been; + Know naught, and speak of naught! 'Tis my last prayer. + + LEADER + By God's pure daughter, Artemis, I swear, + No word will I of these thy griefs reveal! + + PHAEDRA + 'Tis well. But now, yea, even while I reel + And falter, one poor hope, as hope now is, + I clutch at in this coil of miseries; + To save some honour for my children's sake; + Yea, for myself some fragment, though things break + In ruin around me. Nay, I will not shame + The old proud Cretan castle whence I came, + I will not cower before King Theseus' eyes, + Abased, for want of one life's sacrifice! + + LEADER + What wilt thou? Some dire deed beyond recall? + + PHAEDRA ( <i>musing</i> ) + Die; but how die? + + LEADER + Let not such wild words fall! + + PHAEDRA ( <i>turning upon her</i> ) + Give thou not such light counsel! Let me be + To sate the Cyprian that is murdering me! + To-day shall be her day; and, all strife past + Her bitter Love shall quell me at the last. + Yet, dying, shall I die another's bane! + He shall not stand so proud where I have lain + Bent in the dust! Oh, he shall stoop to share + The life I live in, and learn mercy there! + [ <i>She goes off wildly into the Castle</i>.] + + CHORUS + + Could I take me to some cavern for mine hiding, + In the hill-tops where the Sun scarce hath trod; + Or a cloud make the home of mine abiding, + As a bird among the bird-droves of God! + Could I wing me to my rest amid the roar + Of the deep Adriatic on the shore, + Where the waters of Eridanus are clear, + And Phaëthon's sad sisters by his grave + Weep into the river, and each tear + Gleams, a drop of amber, in the wave. + + To the strand of the Daughters of the Sunset, + The Apple-tree, the singing and the gold; + Where the mariner must stay him from his onset, + And the red wave is tranquil as of old; + Yea, beyond that Pillar of the End + That Atlas guardeth, would I wend; + Where a voice of living waters never ceaseth + In God's quiet garden by the sea, + And Earth, the ancient life-giver, increaseth + Joy among the meadows, like a tree. + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O shallop of Crete, whose milk-white wing + Through the swell and the storm-beating, + Bore us thy Prince's daughter, + Was it well she came from a joyous home + To a far King's bridal across the foam? + What joy hath her bridal brought her? + Sure some spell upon either hand + Flew with thee from the Cretan strand, + Seeking Athena's tower divine; + And there, where Munychus fronts the brine, + Crept by the shore-flung cables' line, + The curse from the Cretan water! + + And for that dark spell that about her clings, + Sick desires of forbidden things + The soul of her rend and sever; + The bitter tide of calamity + Hath risen above her lips; and she, + Where bends she her last endeavour? + She will hie her alone to her bridal room, + And a rope swing slow in the rafters' gloom; + And a fair white neck shall creep to the noose, + A-shudder with dread, yet firm to choose + The one strait way for fame, and lose + The Love and the pain for ever. + + [ <i>The Voice of the</i> NURSE <i>is heard from within, crying, + at first inarticulately, then clearly</i>.] + + VOICE + Help ho! The Queen! Help, whoso hearkeneth! + Help! Theseus' spouse caught in a noose of death! + + A WOMAN + God, is it so soon finished? That bright head + Swinging beneath the rafters! Phaedra dead! + + VOICE + O haste! This knot about her throat is made + So fast! Will no one bring me a swift blade? + + A WOMAN + Say, friends, what think ye? Should we haste within, + And from her own hand's knotting loose the Queen? + + ANOTHER + Nay, are there not men there? 'Tis an ill road + In life, to finger at another's load. + + VOICE + Let it lie straight! Alas! the cold white thing + That guards his empty castle for the King! + + A WOMAN + Ah! "Let it lie straight!" Heard ye what she said? + No need for helpers now; the Queen is dead! + [ <i>The Women, intent upon the voices from the Castle, have not noticed + the approach of</i> THESEUS. <i>He enters from the left; his dress and the + garland on his head show that he has returned from some oracle or + special abode of a God. He stands for a moment perplexed</i>.] + + THESEUS + Ho, Women, and what means this loud acclaim + Within the house? The vassals' outcry came + To smite mine ears far off. It were more meet + To fling out wide the Castle gates, and greet + With a joy held from God's Presence! + [ <i>The confusion and horror of the Women's faces gradually affects him. + A dirge-cry comes from the Castle</i>.] + + How? + Not Pittheus? Hath Time struck that hoary brow? + Old is he, old, I know. But sore it were, + Returning thus, to find his empty chair! + [ <i>The Women hesitate; then the Leader comes forward</i>.] + + LEADER + O Theseus, not on any old man's head + This stroke falls. Young and tender is the dead. + + THESEUS + Ye Gods! One of my children torn from me? + + LEADER + Thy motherless children live, most grievously. + + THESEUS + How sayst thou? What? My wife?... + Say how she died. + LEADER + In a high death-knot that her own hands tied. + + THESEUS + A fit of the old cold anguish? Tell me all— + That held her? Or did some fresh thing befall? + + LEADER + We know no more. But now arrived we be, + Theseus, to mourn for thy calamity. + [THESEUS <i>stays for a moment silent, and puts his hand on his brow. + He notices the wreath</i>.] + + THESEUS + What? And all garlanded I come to her + With flowers, most evil-starred God's-messenger! + Ho, varlets, loose the portal bars; undo + The bolts; and let me see the bitter view + Of her whose death hath brought me to mine own. + [ <i>The great central door of the Castle is thrown open wide, and the body + of</i> PHAEDRA <i>is seen lying on a bier, surrounded by a group of + Handmaids, wailing</i>.] + + THE HANDMAIDS + Ah me, what thou hast suffered and hast done: + A deed to wrap this roof in flame! + Why was thine hand so strong, thine heart so bold? + Wherefore. O dead in anger, dead in shame, + The long, long wrestling ere thy breath was cold? + O ill-starred Wife, + What brought this blackness over all thy life? + [ <i>A throng of Men and Women has gradually collected</i>.] + + THESEUS + Ah me, this is the last + —Hear, O my countrymen!—and bitterest + Of Theseus' labours! Fortune all unblest, + How hath thine heavy heel across me passed! + Is it the stain of sins done long ago, + Some fell God still remembereth, + That must so dim and fret my life with death? + I cannot win to shore; and the waves flow + Above mine eyes, to be surmounted not. + Ah wife, sweet wife, what name + Can fit thine heavy lot? + Gone like a wild bird, like a blowing flame, + In one swift gust, where all things are forgot! + Alas! this misery! + Sure 'tis some stroke of God's great anger rolled + From age to age on me, + For some dire sin wrought by dim kings of old. + + LEADER + Sire, this great grief hath come to many an one, + A true wife lost. Thou art not all alone. + + THESEUS + Deep, deep beneath the Earth, + Dark may my dwelling be, + And night my heart's one comrade, in the dearth, + O Love, of thy most sweet society. + This is my death, O Phaedra, more than thine. + [ <i>He turns suddenly on the Attendants</i>.] + Speak who speak can! What was it? What malign + Swift stroke, O heart discounselled, leapt on thee? + [ <i>He bends over</i> PHAEDRA; <i>then, as no one speaks looks fiercely up</i>.] + What, will ye speak? Or are they dumb as death, + This herd of thralls, my high house harboureth? + [ <i>There is no answer. He bends again over</i> PHAEDRA.] + + SOME WOMEN + Woe, woe! God brings to birth + A new grief here, close on the other's tread! + My life hath lost its worth. + May all go now with what is finishèd! + The castle of my King is overthrown, + A house no more, a house vanished and gone! + + OTHER WOMEN + O God, if it may be in any way, + Let not this house be wrecked! Help us who pray! + I know not what is here: some unseen thing + That shows the Bird of Evil on the wing. + [THESEUS <i>has read the tablet and breaks out in uncontrollable emotion</i>.] + + THESEUS + Oh, horror piled on horror!—Here is writ... + Nay, who could bear it, who could speak of it? + + LEADER + What, O my King? If I may hear it, speak! + + THESEUS + Doth not the tablet cry aloud, yea, shriek, + Things not to be forgotten?—Oh, to fly + And hide mine head! No more a man am I. + God what ghastly music echoes here! + + LEADER + How wild thy voice! Some terrible thing is near. + + THESEUS + No; my lips' gates will hold it back no more; + This deadly word, + That struggles on the brink and will not o'er, + Yet will not stay unheard. + [ <i>He raises his hand, to make proclamation to all present</i>.] + Ho, hearken all this land! + [ <i>The people gather expectantly about him</i>.] + Hippolytus by violence hath laid hand + On this my wife, forgetting God's great eye. + [ <i>Murmurs of amazement and horror; THESEUS, apparently calm, + raises both arms to heaven.</i> ] + Therefore, O Thou my Father, hear my cry, + Poseidon! Thou didst grant me for mine own + Three prayers; for one of these, slay now my son, + Hippolytus; let him not outlive this day, + If true thy promise was! Lo, thus I pray. + + LEADER + Oh, call that wild prayer back! O King, take heed! + I know that thou wilt live to rue this deed. + + THESEUS + It may not be.—And more, I cast him out + From all my realms. He shall be held about + By two great dooms. Or by Poseidon's breath + He shall fall swiftly to the house of Death; + Or wandering, outcast, o'er strange land and sea, + Shall live and drain the cup of misery. + + LEADER + Ah; see! here comes he at the point of need. + Shake off that evil mood, O King; have heed + For all thine house and folk—Great Theseus, hear! + [THESEUS <i>stands silent in fierce gloom.</i> + HIPPOLYTUS <i>comes in from the right.</i> ] + + HIPPOLYTUS + Father, I heard thy cry, and sped in fear + To help thee, but I see not yet the cause + That racked thee so. Say, Father, what it was. + [ <i>The murmurs in the crowd, the silent gloom of his Father, + and the horror of the Chorus-women gradually work on</i> HIPPOLYTUS + <i>and bewilder him. He catches sight of the bier.</i> ] + Ah, what is that! Nay, Father, not the Queen + Dead! + [ <i>Murmurs in the crowd.</i> ] + 'Tis most strange. 'Tis passing strange, I ween. + 'Twas here I left her. Scarce an hour hath run + Since here she stood and looked on this same sun. + What is it with her? Wherefore did she die? + [THESEUS <i>remains silent. The murmurs increase.</i> ] + Father, to thee I speak. Oh, tell me, why, + Why art thou silent? What doth silence know + Of skill to stem the bitter flood of woe? + And human hearts in sorrow crave the more, + For knowledge, though the knowledge grieve them sore. + It is not love, to veil thy sorrows in + From one most near to thee, and more than kin. + + THESEUS ( <i>to himself</i> ) + Fond race of men, so striving and so blind, + Ten thousand arts and wisdoms can ye find, + Desiring all and all imagining: + But ne'er have reached nor understood one thing, + To make a true heart there where no heart is! + + HIPPOLYTUS + That were indeed beyond man's mysteries, + To make a false heart true against his will. + But why this subtle talk? It likes me ill, + Father; thy speech runs wild beneath this blow. + + THESEUS ( <i>as before</i> ) + O would that God had given us here below + Some test of love, some sifting of the soul, + To tell the false and true! Or through the whole + Of men two voices ran, one true and right, + The other as chance willed it; that we might + Convict the liar by the true man's tone, + And not live duped forever, every one! + + HIPPOLYTUS ( <i>misunderstanding him; then guessing at something + of the truth</i> ) + What? Hath some friend proved false? + Or in thine ear + Whispered some slander? Stand I tainted here, + Though utterly innocent? [ <i>Murmurs from the crowd</i>.] + Yea, dazed am I; + 'Tis thy words daze me, falling all awry, + Away from reason, by fell fancies vexed! + + THESEUS + O heart of man, what height wilt venture next? + What end comes to thy daring and thy crime? + For if with each man's life 'twill higher climb, + And every age break out in blood and lies + Beyond its fathers, must not God devise + Some new world far from ours, to hold therein + Such brood of all unfaithfulness and sin? + Look, all, upon this man, my son, his life + Sprung forth from mine! He hath defiled my wife; + And standeth here convicted by the dead, + A most black villain! + [HIPPOLYTUS <i>falls back with a cry and covers his face with his robe</i>.] + Nay, hide not thine head! + Pollution, is it? Thee it will not stain. + Look up, and face thy Father's eyes again! + Thou friend of Gods, of all mankind elect; + Thou the pure heart, by thoughts of ill unflecked! + I care not for thy boasts. I am not mad, + To deem that Gods love best the base and bad. + Now is thy day! Now vaunt thee; thou so pure, + No flesh of life may pass thy lips! Now lure + Fools after thee; call Orpheus King and Lord; + Make ecstasies and wonders! Thumb thine hoard + Of ancient scrolls and ghostly mysteries— + Now thou art caught and known! + Shun men like these, + I charge ye all! With solemn words they chase + their prey, and in their hearts plot foul disgrace. + My wife is dead.—"Ha, so that saves thee now," + That is what grips thee worst, thou caitiff, thou! + What oaths, what subtle words, shall stronger be + Than this dead hand, to clear the guilt from thee? + "She hated thee," thou sayest; "the bastard born + Is ever sore and bitter as a thorn + To the true brood."—A sorry bargainer + In the ills and goods of life thou makest her, + If all her best-beloved she cast away + To wreck blind hate on thee!—What, wilt thou say + "Through every woman's nature one blind strand + Of passion winds, that men scarce understand?"— + Are we so different? Know I not the fire + And perilous flood of a young man's desire, + Desperate as any woman, and as blind, + When Cypris stings? Save that the man behind + Has all men's strength to aid him. Nay, 'twas thou... + But what avail to wrangle with thee now, + When the dead speaks for all to understand, + A perfect witness! + Hie thee from this land + To exile with all speed. Come never more + To god-built Athens, not to the utmost shore + Of any realm where Theseus' arm is strong! + What? Shall I bow my head beneath this wrong, + And cower to thee? Not Isthmian Sinis so + Will bear men witness that I laid him low, + Nor Skiron's rocks, that share the salt sea's prey, + Grant that my hand hath weight vile things to slay! + + LEADER + Alas! whom shall I call of mortal men + Happy? The highest are cast down again. + + HIPPOLYTUS + Father, the hot strained fury of thy heart + Is terrible. Yet, albeit so swift thou art + Of speech, if all this matter were laid bare, + Speech were not then so swift; nay, nor so fair... + [ <i>Murmurs again in the crowd</i>.] + I have no skill before a crowd to tell + My thoughts. 'Twere best with few, that know me well.— + Nay that is natural; tongues that sound but rude + In wise men's ears, speak to the multitude + With music. + None the less, since there is come + This stroke upon me, I must not be dumb, + But speak perforce... And there will I begin + Where thou beganst, as though to strip my sin + Naked, and I not speak a word! + Dost see + This sunlight and this earth? I swear to thee + There dwelleth not in these one man—deny + All that thou wilt!—more pure of sin than I. + Two things I know on earth: God's worship first; + Next to win friends about me, few, that thirst + To hold them clean of all unrighteousness. + Our rule doth curse the tempters, and no less + Who yieldeth to the tempters.—How, thou say'st, + "Dupes that I jest at?" Nay; I make a jest + Of no man. I am honest to the end, + Near or far off, with him I call my friend. + And most in that one thing, where now thy mesh + Would grip me, stainless quite! No woman's flesh + Hath e'er this body touched. Of all such deed + Naught wot I, save what things a man may read + In pictures or hear spoke; nor am I fain, + Being virgin-souled, to read or hear again. + My life of innocence moves thee not; so be it. + Show then what hath seduced me; let me see it. + Was that poor flesh so passing fair, beyond + All woman's loveliness? + Was I some fond + False plotter, that I schemed to win through her + Thy castle's heirdom? Fond indeed I were! + Nay, a stark madman! "But a crown," thou sayest, + "Usurped, is sweet." Nay, rather most unblest + To all wise-hearted; sweet to fools and them + Whose eyes are blinded by the diadem. + In contests of all valour fain would I + Lead Hellas; but in rank and majesty + Not lead, but be at ease, with good men near + To love me, free to work and not to fear. + That brings more joy than any crown or throne. + [ <i>He sees from the demeanor of</i> THESEUS <i>and of the crowd that his words + are not winning them, but rather making them bitterer than before. + It comes to his lips to speak the whole truth</i>.] + I have said my say; save one thing...one alone + O had I here some witness in my need, + As I was witness! Could she hear me plead, + Face me and face the sunlight; well I know, + Our deeds would search us out for thee, and show + Who lies! + But now, I swear—so hear me both, + The Earth beneath and Zeus who Guards the Oath— + I never touched this woman that was thine! + No words could win me to it, nor incline + My heart to dream it. May God strike me down, + Nameless and fameless, without home or town, + An outcast and a wanderer of the world; + May my dead bones rest never, but be hurled + From sea to land, from land to angry sea, + If evil is my heart and false to thee! + [ <i>He waits a moment; but sees that his Father is unmoved. + The truth again comes to his lips</i>.] + If 'twas some fear that made her cast away + Her life... I know not. More I must not say. + Right hath she done when in her was no right; + And Right I follow to mine own despite! + + LEADER + It is enough! God's name is witness large, + And thy great oath, to assoil thee of this charge, + + THESEUS + Is not the man a juggler and a mage, + Cool wits and one right oath—what more?—to assuage + Sin and the wrath of injured fatherhood! + + HIPPOLYTUS + Am I so cool? Nay, Father, 'tis thy mood + That makes me marvel! By my faith, wert thou + The son, and I the sire; and deemed I now + In very truth thou hadst my wife assailed, + I had not exiled thee, nor stood and railed, + But lifted once mine arm, and struck thee dead! + + THESEUS + Thou gentle judge! Thou shalt not so be sped + To simple death, nor by thine own decree. + Swift death is bliss to men in misery. + Far off, friendless forever, thou shalt drain + Amid strange cities the last dregs of pain! + + HIPPOLYTUS + Wilt verily cast me now beyond thy pale, + Not wait for Time, the lifter of the veil? + + THESEUS + Aye, if I could, past Pontus, and the red + Atlantic marge! So do I hate thine head. + + HIPPOLYTUS + Wilt weigh nor oath nor faith nor prophet's word + To prove me? Drive me from thy sight unheard? + + THESEUS + This tablet here, that needs no prophet's lot + To speak from, tells me all. I ponder not + Thy fowls that fly above us! Let them fly. + + HIPPOLYTUS + O ye great Gods, wherefore unlock not I + My lips, ere yet ye have slain me utterly, + Ye whom I love most? No. It may not be! + The one heart that I need I ne'er should gain + To trust me. I should break mine oath in vain. + + THESEUS + Death! but he chokes me with his saintly tone!— + Up, get thee from this land! Begone! Begone! + + HIPPOLYTUS + Where shall I turn me? Think. To what friend's door + Betake me, banished on a charge so sore? + + THESEUS + Whoso delights to welcome to his hall + Vile ravishers... to guard his hearth withal! + + HIPPOLYTUS + Thou seekst my heart, my tears? Aye, let it be + Thus! I am vile to all men, and to thee! + + THESEUS + There was a time for tears and thought; the time + Ere thou didst up and gird thee to thy crime. + + HIPPOLYTUS + Ye stones, will ye not speak? Ye castle walls! + Bear witness if I be so vile, so false! + + THESEUS + Aye, fly to voiceless witnesses! Yet here + A dumb deed speaks against thee, and speaks clear! + + HIPPOLYTUS + Alas! + Would I could stand and watch this thing, and see + My face, and weep for very pity of me! + + THESEUS + Full of thyself, as ever! Not a thought + For them that gave thee birth; nay, they are naught! + + HIPPOLYTUS + O my wronged Mother! O my birth of shame! + May none I love e'er bear a bastard's name! + + THESEUS ( <i>in a sudden blaze of rage</i> ) + Up, thralls, and drag him from my presence! What, + 'Tis but a foreign felon! Heard ye not? + [ <i>The thralls still hesitate in spite of his fury.</i> ] + + HIPPOLYTUS + They touch me at their peril! Thine own hand + Lift, if thou canst, to drive me from the land. + + THESEUS + That will I straight, unless my will be done! + [HIPPOLYTUS <i>comes close to him and kneels.</i> ] + Nay! Not for thee my pity! Get thee gone! + [HIPPOLYTUS <i>rises, makes a sign of submission, and slowly moves away.</i> + THESEUS, <i>as soon as he sees him going, turns rapidly and enters the + Castle. The door is closed again.</i> HIPPOLYTUS <i>has stopped for a + moment before the Statue of</i> ARTEMIS, <i>and, as</i> THESEUS <i>departs, + breaks out in prayer.</i> ] + + HIPPOLYTUS + So; it is done! O dark and miserable! + I see it all, but see not how to tell + The tale.—O thou belovèd, Leto's Maid, + Chase-comrade, fellow-rester in the glade, + Lo, I am driven with a caitiff's brand + Forth from great Athens! Fare ye well, O land + And city of old Erechtheus! Thou, Trozên, + What riches of glad youth mine eyes have seen + In thy broad plain! Farewell! This is the end; + The last word, the last look! + Come, every friend + And fellow of my youth that still may stay, + Give me god-speed and cheer me on my way. + Ne'er shall ye see a man more pure of spot + Than me, though mine own Father loves me not! + [HIPPOLYTUS <i>goes away to the right, followed by many Huntsmen and other + young men. The rest of the crowd has by this time dispersed, except the + Women of the Chorus and some Men of the Chorus of Huntsmen</i>.] + + CHORUS + + <i>Men</i> + Surely the thought of the Gods hath balm in it alway, to win me + Far from my griefs; and a thought, deep in the dark of my mind, + Clings to a great Understanding. Yet all the spirit within me + Faints, when I watch men's deeds matched with the guerdon they find. + For Good comes in Evil's traces, + And the Evil the Good replaces; + And Life, 'mid the changing faces, + Wandereth weak and blind. + + <i>Women</i> + What wilt thou grant me, O God? Lo, this is the prayer of my travail— + Some well-being; and chance not very bitter thereby; + Spirit uncrippled by pain; and a mind not deep to unravel + Truth unseen, nor yet dark with the brand of a lie. + With a veering mood to borrow + Its light from every morrow, + Fair friends and no deep sorrow, + Well could man live and die! + + <i>Men</i> + Yet my spirit is no more clean, + And the weft of my hope is torn, + For the deed of wrong that mine eyes have seen, + The lie and the rage and the scorn; + A Star among men, yea, a Star + That in Hellas was bright, + By a Father's wrath driven far + To the wilds and the night. + Oh, alas for the sands of the shore! + Alas for the brakes of the hill, + Where the wolves shall fear thee no more, + And thy cry to Dictynna is still! + + <i>Women</i> + No more in the yoke of thy car + Shall the colts of Enetia fleet; + Nor Limna's echoes quiver afar + To the clatter of galloping feet. + The sleepless music of old, + That leaped in the lyre, + Ceaseth now, and is cold, + In the halls of thy sire. + The bowers are discrowned and unladen + Where Artemis lay on the lea; + And the love-dream of many a maiden + Lost, in the losing of thee. + + <i>A Maiden</i> + And I, even I, + For thy fall, O Friend, + Amid tears and tears, + Endure to the end + Of the empty years, + Of a life run dry. + In vain didst thou bear him, + Thou Mother forlorn! + Ye Gods that did snare him, + Lo, I cast in your faces + My hate and my scorn! + Ye love-linkèd Graces, + (Alas for the day!) + Was he naught, then, to you, + That ye cast him away, + The stainless and true, + From the old happy places? + + LEADER + Look yonder! 'Tis the Prince's man, I ween + Speeding toward this gate, most dark of mien. + [A HENCHMAN <i>enters in haste</i>.] + + HENCHMAN + Ye women, whither shall I go to seek + King Theseus? Is he in this dwelling? Speak! + + LEADER + Lo, where he cometh through the Castle gate! + [THESEUS <i>comes out from the Castle</i>.] + + HENCHMAN + O King, I bear thee tidings of dire weight + To thee, aye, and to every man, I ween, + From Athens to the marches of Trozên. + + THESEUS + What? Some new stroke hath touched, unknown to me, + The sister cities of my sovranty? + + HENCHMAN + Hippolytus is...Nay, not dead; but stark + Outstretched, a hairsbreadth this side of the dark. + + THESEUS ( <i>as though unmoved</i> ) + How slain? Was there some other man, whose wife + He had like mine denied, that sought his life? + + HENCHMAN + His own wild team destroyed him, and the dire + Curse of thy lips. + The boon of thy great Sire + Is granted thee, O King, and thy son slain. + + THESEUS + Ye Gods! And thou, Poseidon! Not in vain + I called thee Father; thou hast heard my prayer! + How did he die? Speak on. How closed the snare + Of Heaven to slay the shamer of my blood? + + HENCHMAN + 'Twas by the bank of beating sea we stood, + We thralls, and decked the steeds, and combed each mane; + Weeping; for word had come that ne'er again + The foot of our Hippolytus should roam + This land, but waste in exile by thy doom. + So stood we till he came, and in his tone + No music now save sorrow's, like our own, + And in his train a concourse without end + Of many a chase-fellow and many a friend. + At last he brushed his sobs away, and spake: + "Why this fond loitering? I would not break + My Father's law—Ho, there! My coursers four + And chariot, quick! This land is mine no more." + Thereat, be sure, each man of us made speed. + Swifter than speech we brought them up, each steed + Well dight and shining, at our Prince's side. + He grasped the reins upon the rail: one stride + And there he stood, a perfect charioteer, + Each foot in its own station set. Then clear + His voice rose, and his arms to heaven were spread: + "O Zeus, if I be false, strike thou me dead! + But, dead or living, let my Father see + One day, how falsely he hath hated me!" + Even as he spake, he lifted up the goad + And smote; and the steeds sprang. And down the road + We henchmen followed, hard beside the rein, + Each hand, to speed him, toward the Argive plain + And Epidaurus. + So we made our way + Up toward the desert region, where the bay + Curls to a promontory near the verge + Of our Trozên, facing the southward surge + Of Saron's gulf. Just there an angry sound, + Slow-swelling, like God's thunder underground + Broke on us, and we trembled. And the steeds + Pricked their ears skyward, and threw back their heads. + And wonder came on all men, and affright, + Whence rose that awful voice. And swift our sight + Turned seaward, down the salt and roaring sand. + And there, above the horizon, seemed to stand + A wave unearthly, crested in the sky; + Till Skiron's Cape first vanished from mine eye, + Then sank the Isthmus hidden, then the rock + Of Epidaurus. Then it broke, one shock + And roar of gasping sea and spray flung far, + And shoreward swept, where stood the Prince's car. + Three lines of wave together raced, and, full + In the white crest of them, a wild Sea-Bull + Flung to the shore, a fell and marvellous Thing. + The whole land held his voice, and answering + Roared in each echo. And all we, gazing there, + Gazed seeing not; 'twas more than eyes could bear. + Then straight upon the team wild terror fell. + Howbeit, the Prince, cool-eyed and knowing well + Each changing mood a horse has, gripped the reins + Hard in both hands; then as an oarsman strains + Up from his bench, so strained he on the thong, + Back in the chariot swinging. But the young + Wild steeds bit hard the curb, and fled afar; + Nor rein nor guiding hand nor morticed car + Stayed them at all. For when he veered them round, + And aimed their flying feet to grassy ground, + In front uprose that Thing, and turned again + The four great coursers, terror-mad. But when + Their blind rage drove them toward the rocky places, + Silent and ever nearer to the traces, + It followed rockward, till one wheel-edge grazed. + The chariot tript and flew, and all was mazed + In turmoil. Up went wheel-box with a din, + Where the rock jagged, and nave and axle-pin. + And there—the long reins round him—there was he + Dragging, entangled irretrievably. + A dear head battering at the chariot side, + Sharp rocks, and rippled flesh, and a voice that cried: + "Stay, stay, O ye who fattened at my stalls, + Dash me not into nothing!—O thou false + Curse of my Father!—Help! Help, whoso can, + An innocent, innocent and stainless man!" + Many there were that laboured then, I wot, + To bear him succour, but could reach him not, + Till—who knows how?—at last the tangled rein + Unclasped him, and he fell, some little vein + Of life still pulsing in him. + All beside, + The steeds, the hornèd Horror of the Tide, + Had vanished—who knows where?—in that wild land. + O King, I am a bondsman of thine hand; + Yet love nor fear nor duty me shall win + To say thine innocent son hath died in sin. + All women born may hang themselves, for me, + And swing their dying words from every tree + On Ida! For I know that he was true! + + LEADER + O God, so cometh new disaster, new + Despair! And no escape from what must be! + + THESEUS + Hate of the man thus stricken lifted me + At first to joy at hearing of thy tale; + But now, some shame before the Gods, some pale + Pity for mine own blood, hath o'er me come. + I laugh not, neither weep, at this fell doom. + + HENCHMAN + How then? Behoves it bear him here, or how + Best do thy pleasure?—Speak, Lord. Yet if thou + Wilt mark at all my word, thou wilt not be + Fierce-hearted to thy child in misery. + + THESEUS + Aye, bring him hither. Let me see the face + Of him who durst deny my deep disgrace + And his own sin; yea, speak with him, and prove + His clear guilt by God's judgments from above. + [ <i>The</i> HENCHMAN <i>departs to fetch</i> HIPPOLYTUS; THESEUS <i>sits waiting in + stern gloom, while the</i> CHORUS <i>sing. At the close of their song a + Divine Figure is seen approaching on a cloud in the air and the voice + of</i> ARTEMIS <i>speaks</i>.] + + CHORUS + Thou comest to bend the pride + Of the hearts of God and man, + Cypris; and by thy side, + In earth-encircling span, + He of the changing plumes, + The Wing that the world illumes, + As over the leagues of land flies he, + Over the salt and sounding sea. + + For mad is the heart of Love, + And gold the gleam of his wing; + And all to the spell thereof + Bend, when he makes his spring; + All life that is wild and young + In mountain and wave and stream, + All that of earth is sprung, + Or breathes in the red sunbeam; + Yea, and Mankind. O'er all a royal throne, + Cyprian, Cyprian, is thine alone! + + A VOICE FROM THE CLOUD + O thou that rulest in Aegeus' Hall, + I charge thee, hearken! + Yea, it is I, + Artemis, Virgin of God most High. + Thou bitter King, art thou glad withal + For thy murdered son? + For thine ear bent low to a lying Queen, + For thine heart so swift amid things unseen? + Lo, all may see what end thou hast won! + Go, sink thine head in the waste abyss; + Or aloft to another world than this, + Birdwise with wings, + Fly far to thine hiding, + Far over this blood that clots and clings; + For in righteous men and in holy things + No rest is thine nor abiding! + [ <i>The cloud has become stationary in the air.</i> ] + Hear, Theseus, all the story of thy grief! + Verily, I bring but anguish, not relief; + Yet, 'twas for this I came, to show how high + And clean was thy son's heart, that he may die + Honoured of men; aye, and to tell no less + The frenzy, or in some sort the nobleness, + Of thy dead wife. One Spirit there is, whom we + That know the joy of white virginity, + Most hate in heaven. She sent her fire to run + In Phaedra's veins, so that she loved thy son. + Yet strove she long with love, and in the stress + Fell not, till by her Nurse's craftiness + Betrayed, who stole, with oaths of secrecy, + To entreat thy son. And he, most righteously, + Nor did her will, nor, when thy railing scorn + Beat on him, broke the oath that he had sworn, + For God's sake. And thy Phaedra, panic-eyed, + Wrote a false writ, and slew thy son, and died, + Lying; but thou wast nimble to believe! + [THESEUS, <i>at first bewildered, then dumfounded, + now utters a deep groan.</i> ] + It stings thee, Theseus?—Nay, hear on and grieve + Yet sorer. Wottest thou three prayers were thine + Of sure fulfilment, from thy Sire divine? + Hast thou no foes about thee, then, that one— + Thou vile King!—must be turned against thy son? + The deed was thine. Thy Sea-born Sire but heard + The call of prayer, and bowed him to his word. + But thou in his eyes and in mine art found + Evil, who wouldst not think, nor probe, nor sound + The deeps of prophet's lore, nor day by day + Leave Time to search; but swifter than man may, + Let loose the curse to slay thine innocent son! + + THESEUS + O Goddess, let me die! + + ARTEMIS + Nay; thou hast done + A heavy wrong; yet even beyond this ill + Abides for thee forgiveness. 'Twas the will + Of Cypris that these evil things should be, + Sating her wrath. And this immutably + Hath Zeus ordained in heaven: no God may thwart + A God's fixed will; we grieve but stand apart. + Else, but for fear of the Great Father's blame, + Never had I to such extreme of shame + Bowed me, be sure, as here to stand and see + Slain him I loved best of mortality! + Thy fault, O King, its ignorance sunders wide + From very wickedness; and she who died + By death the more disarmed thee, making dumb + The voice of question. And the storm has come + Most bitterly of all on thee! Yet I + Have mine own sorrow, too. When good men die, + There is no joy in heaven, albeit our ire + On child and house of the evil falls like fire. + [ <i>A throng is seen approaching;</i> HIPPOLYTUS <i>enters, + supported by his attendants.</i> ] + + CHORUS + Lo, it is he! The bright young head + Yet upright there! + Ah the torn flesh and the blood-stained hair; + Alas for the kindred's trouble! + It falls as fire from a God's hand sped, + Two deaths, and mourning double. + + HIPPOLYTUS + Ah, pain, pain, pain! + O unrighteous curse! O unrighteous sire! + No hope.—My head is stabbed with fire, + And a leaping spasm about my brain. + Stay, let me rest. I can no more. + O fell, fell steeds that my own hand fed, + Have ye maimed me and slain, that loved me of yore? + —Soft there, ye thralls! No trembling hands + As ye lift me, now!—Who is that that stands + At the right?—Now firm, and with measured tread, + Lift one accursèd and stricken sore + By a father's sinning. + + Thou, Zeus, dost see me? Yea, it is I; + The proud and pure, the server of God, + The white and shining in sanctity! + To a visible death, to an open sod, + I walk my ways; + And all the labour of saintly days + Lost, lost, without meaning! + + Ah God, it crawls + This agony, over me! + Let be, ye thralls! + Come, Death, and cover me: + Come, O thou Healer blest! + + But a little more, + And my soul is clear, + And the anguish o'er! + Oh, a spear, a spear! + To rend my soul to its rest! + + Oh, strange, false Curse! Was there some blood-stained head, + Some father of my line, unpunishèd, + Whose guilt lived in his kin, + And passed, and slept, till after this long day + It lights... Oh, why on me? Me, far away + And innocent of sin? + + O words that cannot save! + When will this breathing end in that last deep + Pain that is painlessness? 'Tis sleep I crave. + When wilt thou bring me sleep, + Thou dark and midnight magic of the grave! + + ARTEMIS + Sore-stricken man, bethink thee in this stress, + Thou dost but die for thine own nobleness. + + HIPPOLYTUS + Ah! + O breath of heavenly fragrance! Though my pain + Burns, I can feel thee and find rest again. + The Goddess Artemis is with me here. + + ARTEMIS + With thee and loving thee, poor sufferer! + + HIPPOLYTUS + Dost see me, Mistress, nearing my last sleep? + + ARTEMIS + Aye, and would weep for thee, if Gods could weep. + + HIPPOLYTUS + Who now shall hunt with thee or hold thy quiver? + + ARTEMIS + He dies but my love cleaves to him for ever. + + HIPPOLYTUS + Who guide thy chariot, keep thy shrine-flowers fresh? + + ARTEMIS + The accursed Cyprian caught him in her mesh! + + HIPPOLYTUS + The Cyprian? Now I see it!—Aye, 'twas she. + + ARTEMIS + She missed her worship, loathed thy chastity! + + HIPPOLYTUS + Three lives by her one hand! 'Tis all clear now. + + ARTEMIS + Yea, three; thy father and his Queen and thou. + + HIPPOLYTUS + My father; yea, he too is pitiable! + + ARTEMIS + A plotting Goddess tripped him, and he fell. + + HIPPOLYTUS + Father, where art thou?... Oh, thou sufferest sore! + + THESEUS + Even unto death, child. There is joy no more. + + HIPPOLYTUS + I pity thee in this coil; aye, more than me. + + THESEUS + Would I could lie there dead instead of thee! + + HIPPOLYTUS + Oh, bitter bounty of Poseidon's love! + + THESEUS + Would God my lips had never breathed thereof! + + HIPPOLYTUS ( <i>gently</i> ) + Nay, thine own rage had slain me then, some wise! + + THESEUS + A lying spirit had made blind mine eyes! + + HIPPOLYTUS + Ah me! + Would that a mortal's curse could reach to God! + + ARTEMIS + Let be! For not, though deep beneath the sod + Thou liest, not unrequited nor unsung + Shall this fell stroke, from Cypris' rancour sprung, + Quell thee, mine own, the saintly and the true! + My hand shall win its vengeance through and through, + Piercing with flawless shaft what heart soe'er + Of all men living is most dear to Her. + Yea, and to thee, for this sore travail's sake, + Honours most high in Trozên will I make; + For yokeless maids before their bridal night + Shall shear for thee their tresses; and a rite + Of honouring tears be thine in ceaseless store; + And virgin's thoughts in music evermore + Turn toward thee, and praise thee in the Song + Of Phaedra's far-famed love and thy great wrong. + O seed of ancient Aegeus, bend thee now + And clasp thy son. Aye, hold and fear not thou! + Not knowingly hast thou slain him; and man's way, + When Gods send error, needs must fall astray. + And thou, Hippolytus, shrink not from the King, + Thy father. Thou wast born to bear this thing. + Farewell! I may not watch man's fleeting breath, + Nor strain mine eyes with the effluence of death. + And sure that Terror now is very near. + [ <i>The cloud slowly rises and floats away</i>.] + + HIPPOLYTUS + Farewell, farewell, most Blessèd! Lift thee clear + Of soiling men! Thou wilt not grieve in heaven + For my long love!...Father, thou art forgiven. + It was Her will. I am not wroth with thee... + I have obeyed Her all my days!... + Ah me, + The dark is drawing down upon mine eyes; + It hath me!... Father!... Hold me! Help me rise! + + THESEUS ( <i>supporting him in his arms</i> ) + Ah, woe! How dost thou torture me, my son! + + HIPPOLYTUS + I see the Great Gates opening. I am gone. + + THESEUS + Gone? And my hand red-reeking from this thing! + + HIPPOLYTUS + Nay, nay; thou art assoiled of manslaying. + + THESEUS + Thou leav'st me clear of murder? Sayst thou so? + + HIPPOLYTUS + Yea, by the Virgin of the Stainless Bow! + + THESEUS + Dear Son! Ah, now I see thy nobleness! + + HIPPOLYTUS + Pray that a true-born child may fill my place. + + THESEUS + Ah me, thy righteous and god-fearing heart! + + HIPPOLYTUS + Farewell; + A long farewell, dear Father, ere we part! + [THESEUS <i>bends down and embraces him passionately</i>.] + + THESEUS + Not yet!—O hope and bear while thou hast breath! + + HIPPOLYTUS + Lo, I have borne my burden. This is death... + Quick, Father; lay the mantle on my face. + [THESEUS <i>covers his face with a mantle and rises.</i> ] + + THESEUS + Ye bounds of Pallas and of Pelops' race, + What greatness have ye lost! + Woe, woe is me! + Thou Cyprian, long shall I remember thee! + + CHORUS + On all this folk, both low and high, + A grief hath fallen beyond men's fears. + There cometh a throbbing of many tears, + A sound as of waters falling. + For when great men die, + A mighty name and a bitter cry + Rise up from a nation calling. + [ <i>They move into the Castle, carrying the body of</i> HIPPOLYTUS.] +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + <h2> + THE BACCHAE + </h2> + + <h3> + OF EURIPIDES + </h3> + + <h3> + DRAMATIS PERSONAE + </h3> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + DIONYSUS, THE GOD; <i>son of Zeus and of the Theban princess Semelê</i>. + CADMUS, <i>formerly King of Thebes, father of Semelê</i>. + PENTHEUS, <i>King of Thebes, grandson of Cadmus</i>. + AGAVE, <i>daughter of Cadmus, mother of Pentheus</i>. + TEIRESIAS, <i>an aged Theban prophet</i>. + A SOLDIER OF PENTHEUS' GUARD. + TWO MESSENGERS. + A CHORUS OF INSPIRED DAMSELS, <i>following Dionysus from the East</i>. +</pre> + + <p> + <i>"The play was first produced after the death of Euripides by his son + who bore the same name, together with the Iphigenia in Aulis and the + Alcmaeon, probably in the year 405 B.C."</i> + </p> + + <p> + <i>The background represents the front of the Castle of</i> PENTHEUS, <i>King + of Thebes. At one side is visible the sacred Tomb of Semelê, a little + enclosure overgrown with wild vines, with a cleft in the rocky floor of it + from which there issues at times steam or smoke. The God</i> DIONYSUS <i>is + discovered alone.</i> + </p> + +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + DIONYSUS + Behold, God's Son is come unto this land + Of heaven's hot splendour lit to life, when she + Of Thebes, even I, Dionysus, whom the brand + Who bore me, Cadmus' daughter Semelê, + Died here. So, changed in shape from God to man, + I walk again by Dirce's streams and scan + Ismenus' shore. There by the castle side + I see her place, the Tomb of the Lightning's Bride, + The wreck of smouldering chambers, and the great + Faint wreaths of fire undying—as the hate + Dies not, that Hera held for Semelê. + Aye, Cadmus hath done well; in purity + He keeps this place apart, inviolate, + His daughter's sanctuary; and I have set + My green and clustered vines to robe it round + Far now behind me lies the golden ground + Of Lydian and of Phrygian; far away + The wide hot plains where Persian sunbeams play, + The Bactrian war-holds, and the storm-oppressed + Clime of the Mede, and Araby the Blest, + And Asia all, that by the salt sea lies + In proud embattled cities, motley-wise + Of Hellene and Barbarian interwrought; + And now I come to Hellas—having taught + All the world else my dances and my rite + Of mysteries, to show me in men's sight + Manifest God. + And first of Helene lands + I cry this Thebes to waken; set her hands + To clasp my wand, mine ivied javelin, + And round her shoulders hang my wild fawn-skin. + For they have scorned me whom it least beseemed, + Semelê's sisters; mocked by birth, nor deemed + That Dionysus sprang from Dian seed. + My mother sinned, said they; and in her need, + With Cadmus plotting, cloaked her human shame + With the dread name of Zeus; for that the flame + From heaven consumed her, seeing she lied to God. + Thus must they vaunt; and therefore hath my rod + On them first fallen, and stung them forth wild-eyed + From empty chambers; the bare mountain side + Is made their home, and all their hearts are flame. + Yea, I have bound upon the necks of them + The harness of my rites. And with them all + The seed of womankind from hut and hall + Of Thebes, hath this my magic goaded out. + And there, with the old King's daughters, in a rout + Confused, they make their dwelling-place between + The roofless rocks and shadowy pine trees green. + Thus shall this Thebes, how sore soe'er it smart, + Learn and forget not, till she crave her part + In mine adoring; thus must I speak clear + To save my mother's fame, and crown me here, + As true God, born by Semelê to Zeus. + + Now Cadmus yieldeth up his throne and use + Of royal honour to his daughter's son + Pentheus; who on my body hath begun + A war with God. He thrusteth me away + From due drink-offering, and, when men pray, + My name entreats not. Therefore on his own + Head and his people's shall my power be shown. + Then to another land, when all things here + Are well, must I fare onward, making clear + My godhead's might. But should this Theban town + Essay with wrath and battle to drag down + My maids, lo, in their path myself shall be, + And maniac armies battled after me! + For this I veil my godhead with the wan + Form of the things that die, and walk as Man. + + O Brood of Tmolus o'er the wide world flown, + O Lydian band, my chosen and mine own, + Damsels uplifted o'er the orient deep + To wander where I wander, and to sleep + Where I sleep; up, and wake the old sweet sound, + The clang that I and mystic Rhea found, + The Timbrel of the Mountain! Gather all + Thebes to your song round Pentheus' royal hall. + I seek my new-made worshippers, to guide + Their dances up Kithaeron's pine clad side. + + [ <i>As he departs, there comes stealing in from the left a band of fifteen + Eastern Women, the light of the sunrise streaming upon their long white + robes and ivy-bound hair. They wear fawn-skins over the robes, and + carry some of them timbrels, some pipes and other instruments. Many + bear the thyrsus, or sacred Wand, made of reed ringed with ivy. They + enter stealthily till they see that the place is empty, and then begin + their mystic song of worship.</i> ] + + CHORUS + + <i>A Maiden</i> + From Asia, from the dayspring that uprises + To Bromios ever glorying we came. + We laboured for our Lord in many guises; + We toiled, but the toil is as the prize is; + Thou Mystery, we hail thee by thy name! + + <i>Another</i> + Who lingers in the road? Who espies us? + We shall hide him in his house nor be bold. + Let the heart keep silence that defies us; + For I sing this day to Dionysus + The song that is appointed from of old. + + <i>All the Maidens</i> + Oh, blessèd he in all wise, + Who hath drunk the Living Fountain, + Whose life no folly staineth, + And his soul is near to God; + Whose sins are lifted, pall-wise, + As he worships on the Mountain, + And where Cybele ordaineth, + Our Mother, he has trod: + + His head with ivy laden + And his thyrsus tossing high, + For our God he lifts his cry; + "Up, O Bacchae, wife and maiden, + Come, O ye Bacchae, come; + Oh, bring the Joy-bestower, + God-seed of God the Sower, + Bring Bromios in his power + From Phrygia's mountain dome; + To street and town and tower, + Oh, bring ye Bromios home." + + Whom erst in anguish lying + For an unborn life's desire, + As a dead thing in the Thunder + His mother cast to earth; + For her heart was dying, dying, + In the white heart of the fire; + Till Zeus, the Lord of Wonder, + Devised new lairs of birth; + + Yea, his own flesh tore to hide him, + And with clasps of bitter gold + Did a secret son enfold, + And the Queen knew not beside him; + Till the perfect hour was there; + Then a hornèd God was found, + And a God of serpents crowned; + And for that are serpents wound + In the wands his maidens bear, + And the songs of serpents sound + In the mazes of their hair. + + <i>Some Maidens</i> + All hail, O Thebes, thou nurse of Semelê! + With Semelê's wild ivy crown thy towers; + Oh, burst in bloom of wreathing bryony, + Berries and leaves and flowers; + Uplift the dark divine wand, + The oak-wand and the pine-wand, + And don thy fawn-skin, fringed in purity + With fleecy white, like ours. + + Oh, cleanse thee in the wands' waving pride! + Yea, all men shall dance with us and pray, + When Bromios his companies shall guide + Hillward, ever hillward, where they stay, + The flock of the Believing, + The maids from loom and weaving + By the magic of his breath borne away. + + <i>Others</i> + Hail thou, O Nurse of Zeus, O Caverned Haunt + Where fierce arms clanged to guard God's cradle rare, + For thee of old crested Corybant + First woke in Cretan air + The wild orb of our orgies, + The Timbrel; and thy gorges + Rang with this strain; and blended Phrygian chant + And sweet keen pipes were there. + + But the Timbrel, the Timbrel was another's, + And away to Mother Rhea it must wend; + And to our holy singing from the Mother's + The mad Satyrs carried it, to blend + In the dancing and the cheer + Of our third and perfect Year; + And it serves Dionysus in the end! + + <i>A Maiden</i> + O glad, glad on the mountains + To swoon in the race outworn, + When the holy fawn-skin clings, + And all else sweeps away, + To the joy of the red quick fountains, + The blood of the hill-goat torn, + The glory of wild-beast ravenings, + Where the hill-tops catch the day; + To the Phrygian, Lydian, mountains! + 'Tis Bromios leads the way. + + <i>Another Maiden</i> + Then streams the earth with milk, yea, streams + With wine and nectar of the bee, + And through the air dim perfume steams + Of Syrian frankincense; and He, + Our leader, from his thyrsus spray + A torchlight tosses high and higher, + A torchlight like a beacon-fire, + To waken all that faint and stray; + And sets them leaping as he sings, + His tresses rippling to the sky, + And deep beneath the Maenad cry + His proud voice rings: + "Come, O ye Bacchae, come!" + + <i>All the Maidens</i> + Hither, O fragrant of Tmolus the Golden, + Come with the voice of timbrel and drum; + Let the cry of your joyance uplift and embolden + The God of the joy-cry; O Bacchanals, come! + With pealing of pipes and with Phrygian clamour, + On, where the vision of holiness thrills, + And the music climbs and the maddening glamour, + With the wild White Maids, to the hills, to the hills! + Oh, then, like a colt as he runs by a river, + A colt by his dam, when the heart of him sings, + With the keen limbs drawn and the fleet foot a-quiver, + Away the Bacchanal springs! + + [ <i>Enter</i> TEIRESIAS. <i>He is an old man and blind, leaning upon a staff + and moving with slow stateliness, though wearing the Ivy and the + Bacchic fawn-skin</i>.] + + TEIRESIAS + Ho, there, who keeps the gate?—Go, summon me + Cadmus, Agênor's son, who crossed the sea + From Sidon and upreared this Theban hold. + Go, whosoe'er thou art. See he be told + Teiresias seeketh him. Himself will gauge + Mine errand, and the compact, age with age, + I vowed with him, grey hair with snow-white hair, + To deck the new God's thyrsus, and to wear + His fawn-skin, and with ivy crown our brows. + + [ <i>Enter</i> CADMUS <i>from the Castle. He is even older than</i> + TEIRESIAS, <i>and wears the same attire</i>.] + + CADMUS + True friend! I knew that voice of thine, that flows + Like mellow wisdom from a fountain wise. + And, lo, I come prepared, in all the guise + And harness of this God. Are we not told + His is the soul of that dead life of old + That sprang from mine own daughter? Surely then + Must thou and I with all the strength of men + Exalt him. + Where then shall I stand, where tread + The dance and toss this bowed and hoary head? + O friend, in thee is wisdom; guide my grey + And eld-worn steps, eld-worn Teiresias.—Nay; + I am not weak. + [ <i>At the first movement of worship his manner begins to change; + a mysterious strength and exaltation enter into him.</i> ] + + Surely this arm could smite + The wild earth with its thyrsus, day and night, + And faint not! Sweetly and forgetfully + The dim years fall from off me! + + TEIRESIAS + As with thee, + With me 'tis likewise. Light am I and young, + And will essay the dancing and the song. + + CADMUS + Quick, then, our chariots to the mountain road. + + TEIRESIAS + Nay; to take steeds were to mistrust the God. + + CADMUS + So be it. Mine old arms shall guide thee there. + + TEIRESIAS + The God himself shall guide! Have thou no care. + + CADMUS + And in all Thebes shall no man dance but we? + + TEIRESIAS + Aye, Thebes is blinded. Thou and I can see. + + CADMUS + 'Tis weary waiting; hold my hand, friend; so. + + TEIRESIAS + Lo, there is mine. So linkèd let us go. + + CADMUS + Shall things of dust the Gods' dark ways despise? + + TEIRESIAS + Or prove our wit on Heaven's high mysteries? + Not thou and I! That heritage sublime + Our sires have left us, wisdom old as time, + No word of man, how deep soe'er his thought + And won of subtlest toil, may bring to naught. + Aye, men will rail that I forgot my years, + To dance and wreath with ivy these white hairs; + What recks it? Seeing the God no line hath told + To mark what man shall dance, or young or old; + But craves his honours from mortality + All, no man marked apart; and great shall be! + + CADMUS ( <i>after looking away toward the Mountain</i> ). + Teiresias, since this light thou canst not read, + I must be seer for thee. Here comes in speed + Pentheus, Echîon's son, whom I have raised + To rule my people in my stead.—Amazed + He seems. Stand close, and mark what we shall hear. + + [ <i>The two stand back, partially concealed, while there enters in hot + haste</i> PENTHEUS, <i>followed by a bodyguard. He is speaking to the</i> + SOLDIER <i>in command.</i> ] + + PENTHEUS + Scarce had I crossed our borders, when mine ear + Was caught by this strange rumour, that our own + Wives, our own sisters, from their hearths are flown + To wild and secret rites; and cluster there + High on the shadowy hills, with dance and prayer + To adore this new-made God, this Dionyse, + Whate'er he be!—And in their companies + Deep wine-jars stand, and ever and anon + Away into the loneliness now one + Steals forth, and now a second, maid or dame + Where love lies waiting, not of God! The flame + They say, of Bacchios wraps them. Bacchios! Nay, + 'Tis more to Aphrodite that they pray. + Howbeit, all that I have found, my men + Hold bound and shackled in our dungeon den; + The rest, I will go hunt them! Aye, and snare + My birds with nets of iron, to quell their prayer + And mountain song and rites of rascaldom! + They tell me, too, there is a stranger come, + A man of charm and spell, from Lydian seas, + A head all gold and cloudy fragrancies, + A wine-red cheek, and eyes that hold the light + Of the very Cyprian. Day and livelong night + He haunts amid the damsels, o'er each lip + Dangling his cup of joyance! Let me grip + Him once, but once, within these walls, right swift + That wand shall cease its music, and that drift + Of tossing curls lie still—when my rude sword + Falls between neck and trunk! 'Tis all his word, + This tale of Dionysus; how that same + Babe that was blasted by the lightning flame + With his dead mother, for that mother's lie, + Was re-conceived, born perfect from the thigh + Of Zeus, and now is God! What call ye these? + Dreams? Gibes of the unknown wanderer? Blasphemies + That crave the very gibbet? + Stay! God wot, + Here is another marvel! See I not + In motley fawn-skins robed the vision-seer + Teiresias? And my mother's father here— + O depth of scorn!—adoring with the wand + Of Bacchios?—Father!—Nay, mine eyes are fond; + It is not your white heads so fancy-flown! + It cannot be! Cast off that ivy crown, + O mine own mother's sire! Set free that hand + That cowers about its staff. + 'Tis thou hast planned + This work, Teiresias! 'Tis thou must set + Another altar and another yet + Amongst us, watch new birds, and win more hire + Of gold, interpreting new signs of fire! + But for thy silver hairs, I tell thee true, + Thou now wert sitting chained amid thy crew + Of raving damsels, for this evil dream + Thou hast brought us, of new Gods! When once the gleam + Of grapes hath lit a Woman's Festival, + In all their prayers is no more health at all! + + LEADER OF THE CHORUS ( <i>the words are not heard by</i> PENTHEUS) + Injurious King, hast thou no fear of God, + Nor Cadmus, sower of the Giants' Sod, + Life-spring to great Echîon and to thee? + + TEIRESIAS + Good words my son, come easily, when he + That speaks is wise, and speaks but for the right. + Else come they never! Swift are thine, and bright + As though with thought, yet have no thought at all + Lo this new God, whom thou dost flout withal, + I cannot speak the greatness wherewith He + In Hellas shall be great! Two spirits there be, + Young Prince, that in man's world are first of worth. + Dêmêtêr one is named; she is the Earth— + Call her which name thou will!—who feeds man's frame + With sustenance of things dry. And that which came + Her work to perfect, second, is the Power + From Semelê born. He found the liquid show + Hid in the grape. He rests man's spirit dim + From grieving, when the vine exalteth him. + He giveth sleep to sink the fretful day + In cool forgetting. Is there any way + With man's sore heart, save only to forget? + Yea, being God, the blood of him is set + Before the Gods in sacrifice, that we + For his sake may be blest.—And so, to thee, + That fable shames him, how this God was knit + Into God's flesh? Nay, learn the truth of it + Cleared from the false.—When from that deadly light + Zeus saved the babe, and up to Olympus' height + Raised him, and Hera's wrath would cast him thence + Then Zeus devised him a divine defence. + A fragment of the world-encircling fire + He rent apart, and wrought to his desire + Of shape and hue, in the image of the child, + And gave to Hera's rage. And so, beguiled + By change and passing time, this tale was born, + How the babe-god was hidden in the torn + Flesh of his sire. He hath no shame thereby. + A prophet is he likewise. Prophecy + Cleaves to all frenzy, but beyond all else + To frenzy of prayer. Then in us verily dwells + The God himself, and speaks the thing to be. + Yea, and of Ares' realm a part hath he. + When mortal armies, mailêd and arrayed, + Have in strange fear, or ever blade met blade, + Fled maddened, 'tis this God hath palsied them. + Aye, over Delphi's rock-built diadem + Thou yet shalt see him leaping with his train + Of fire across the twin-peaked mountain-plain, + Flaming the darkness with his mystic wand, + And great in Hellas.—List and understand, + King Pentheus! Dream not thou that force is power; + Nor, if thou hast a thought, and that thought sour + And sick, oh, dream not thought is wisdom!—Up, + Receive this God to Thebes; pour forth the cup + Of sacrifice, and pray, and wreathe thy brow. + Thou fearest for the damsels? Think thee now; + How toucheth this the part of Dionyse + To hold maids pure perforce? In them it lies, + And their own hearts; and in the wildest rite + Cometh no stain to her whose heart is white. + Nay, mark me! Thou hast thy joy, when the Gate + Stands thronged, and Pentheus' name is lifted great + And high by Thebes in clamour; shall not He + Rejoice in his due meed of majesty? + Howbeit, this Cadmus whom thou scorn'st and I + Will wear His crown, and tread His dances! Aye, + Our hairs are white, yet shall that dance be trod! + I will not lift mine arm to war with God + For thee nor all thy words. Madness most fell + Is on thee, madness wrought by some dread spell, + But not by spell nor leechcraft to be cured! + + CHORUS + Grey prophet, worthy of Phoebus is thy word, + And wise in honouring Bromios, our great God. + + CADMUS + My son, right well Teiresias points thy road. + Oh, make thine habitation here with us, + Not lonely, against men's uses. Hazardous + Is this quick bird-like beating of thy thought + Where no thought dwells.—Grant that this God be naught, + Yet let that Naught be Somewhat in thy mouth; + Lie boldly, and say He is! So north and south + Shall marvel, how there sprang a thing divine + From Semelê's flesh, and honour all our line. + [ <i>Drawing nearer to</i> PENTHEUS.] + Is there not blood before thine eyes even now? + Our lost Actaeon's blood, whom long ago + His own red hounds through yonder forest dim + Tore unto death, because he vaunted him + Against most holy Artemis? Oh, beware + And let me wreathe thy temples. Make thy prayer + With us, and walk thee humbly in God's sight. + [ <i>He makes as if to set the wreath on</i> PENTHEUS <i>head</i>.] + + PENTHEUS + Down with that hand! Aroint thee to thy rite + Nor smear on me thy foul contagion! + [Turning upon TEIRESIAS.] + This + Thy folly's head and prompter shall not miss + The justice that he needs!—Go, half my guard + Forth to the rock-seat where he dwells in ward + O'er birds and wonders; rend the stone with crown + And trident; make one wreck of high and low + And toss his bands to all the winds of air! + Ha, have I found the way to sting thee, there? + The rest, forth through the town! And seek amain + This girl-faced stranger, that hath wrought such bane + To all Thebes, preying on our maids and wives + Seek till ye find; and lead him here in gyves, + Till he be judged and stoned and weep in blood + The day he troubled Pentheus with his God! + [ <i>The guards set forth in two bodies</i> ) PENTHEUS <i>goes into the Castle.</i> ] + + TEIRESIAS + Hard heart, how little dost thou know what seed + Thou sowest! Blind before, and now indeed + Most mad!—Come, Cadmus, let us go our way, + And pray for this our persecutor, pray + For this poor city, that the righteous God + Move not in anger.—Take thine ivy rod + And help my steps, as I help thine. 'Twere ill, + If two old men should fall by the roadway. Still, + Come what come may, our service shall be done + To Bacchios, the All-Father's mystic son + O Pentheus, named of sorrow! Shall he claim + From all thy house fulfilment of his name, + Old Cadmus?—Nay, I speak not from mine art, + But as I see—blind words and a blind heart! + [ <i>The two Old Men go off towards the Mountain.</i> ] + + CHORUS + + <i>Some Maidens</i> + Thou Immaculate on high; + Thou Recording Purity; + Thou that stoopest, Golden Wing, + Earthward, manward, pitying, + Hearest thou this angry King? + Hearest thou the rage and scorn + 'Gainst the Lord of Many Voices, + Him of mortal mother born, + Him in whom man's heart rejoices, + Girt with garlands and with glee, + First in Heaven's sovranty? + For his kingdom, it is there, + In the dancing and the prayer, + In the music and the laughter, + In the vanishing of care, + And of all before and after; + In the Gods' high banquet, when + Gleams the graperflood, flashed to heaven; + Yea, and in the feasts of men + Comes his crownèd slumber; then + Pain is dead and hate forgiven! + + <i>Others</i> + Loose thy lips from out the rein; + Lift thy wisdom to disdain; + Whatso law thou canst not see, + Scorning; so the end shall be + Uttermost calamity! + 'Tis the life of quiet breath, + 'Tis the simple and the true, + Storm nor earthquake shattereth, + Nor shall aught the house undo + + Where they dwell. For, far away, + Hidden from the eyes of day, + Watchers are there in the skies, + That can see man's life, and prize + Deeds well done by things of clay. + But the world's Wise are not wise, + Claiming more than mortal may. + Life is such a little thing; + Lo, their present is departed, + And the dreams to which they cling + Come not. Mad imagining + Theirs, I ween, and empty-hearted! + + <i>Divers Maidens</i> + Where is the Home for me? + O Cyprus, set in the sea, + Aphrodite's home In the soft sea-foam, + Would I could wend to thee; + Where the wings of the Loves are furled, + And faint the heart of the world. + + Aye, unto Paphos' isle, + Where the rainless meadows smile + With riches rolled From the hundred-fold + Mouths of the far-off Nile, + Streaming beneath the waves + To the roots of the seaward caves. + + But a better land is there + Where Olympus cleaves the air, + The high still dell Where the Muses dwell, + Fairest of all things fair! + O there is Grace, and there is the Heart's Desire, + And peace to adore thee, thou Spirit of Guiding Fire! + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A God of Heaven is he, + And born in majesty; + Yet hath he mirth + In the joy of the Earth, + + And he loveth constantly + Her who brings increase, + The Feeder of Children, Peace. + No grudge hath he of the great; + No scorn of the mean estate; + But to all that liveth His wine he giveth, + Griefless, immaculate; + Only on them that spurn + Joy, may his anger burn. + + Love thou the Day and the Night; + Be glad of the Dark and the Light; + And avert thine eyes From the lore of the wise, + That have honour in proud men's sight. + The simple nameless herd of Humanity + Hath deeds and faith that are truth enough for me! + + [ <i>As the Chorus ceases, a party of the guards return, leading in the + midst of them</i> DIONYSUS, <i>bound. The</i> SOLDIER <i>in command stands forth, + as</i> PENTHEUS, <i>hearing the tramp of feet, comes out from the Castle.</i> ] + + SOLDIER + Our quest is finished, and thy prey, O King, + Caught; for the chase was swift, and this wild thing + Most tame; yet never flinched, nor thought to flee, + But held both hands out unresistingly— + No change, no blanching of the wine-red cheek. + He waited while we came, and bade us wreak + All thy decree; yea, laughed, and made my best + Easy, till I for very shame confessed + And said: "O stranger, not of mine own will + I bind thee, but his bidding to fulfil + Who sent me." + + And those prisoned Maids withal + Whom thou didst seize and bind within the wall + Of thy great dungeon, they are fled, O King. + Free in the woods, a-dance and glorying + To Bromios. Of their own impulse fell + To earth, men say, fetter and manacle, + And bars slid back untouched of mortal hand + Yea, full of many wonders to thy land + Is this man come.... Howbeit, it lies with thee! + + PENTHEUS + Ye are mad!—Unhand him. Howso swift he be, + My toils are round him and he shall not fly. + [ <i>The guards loose the arms of</i> DIONYSUS; PENTHEUS <i>studies him for a + while in silence then speaks jeeringly.</i> DIONYSUS <i>remains gentle + and unafraid.</i> ] + Marry, a fair shape for a woman's eye, + Sir stranger! And thou seek'st no more, I ween! + Long curls, withal! That shows thou ne'er hast been + A wrestler!—down both cheeks so softly tossed + And winsome! And a white skin! It hath cost + Thee pains, to please thy damsels with this white + And red of cheeks that never face the light! + [ <i>DIONYSUS is silent.</i> ] + Speak, sirrah; tell me first thy name and race. + + DIONYSUS + No glory is therein, nor yet disgrace. + Thou hast heard of Tmolus, the bright hill of flowers? + + PENTHEUS + Surely, the ridge that winds by Sardis towers. + + DIONYSUS + Thence am I; Lydia was my fatherland. + + PENTHEUS + And whence these revelations, that thy band + Spreadeth in Hellas? + + DIONYSUS + Their intent and use + Dionysus oped to me, the Child of Zeus. + + PENTHEUS ( <i>brutally</i> ) + Is there a Zeus there, that can still beget + Young Gods? + + DIONYSUS + Nay, only He whose seal was set + Here in thy Thebes on Semele. + + PENTHEUS + What way + Descended he upon thee? In full day + Or vision of night? + + DIONYSUS + Most clear he stood, and scanned + My soul, and gave his emblems to mine hand. + + PENTHEUS + What like be they, these emblems? + + DIONYSUS + That may none + Reveal, nor know, save his Elect alone. + + PENTHEUS + And what good bring they to the worshipper? + + DIONYSUS + Good beyond price, but not for thee to hear. + + PENTHEUS + Thou trickster? Thou wouldst prick me on the more + To seek them out! + + DIONYSUS + His mysteries abhor + The touch of sin-lovers. + + PENTHEUS + And so thine eyes + Saw this God plain; what guise had he? + + DIONYSUS + What guise + It liked him. 'Twas not I ordained his shape. + + PENTHEUS + Aye, deftly turned again. An idle jape, + And nothing answered! + + DIONYSUS + Wise words being brought + To blinded eyes will seem as things of nought. + + PENTHEUS + And comest thou first to Thebes, to have thy God + Established? + + DIONYSUS + Nay; all Barbary hath trod + His dance ere this. + + PENTHEUS + A low blind folk, I ween, + Beside our Hellenes! + + DIONYSUS + Higher and more keen + In this thing, though their ways are not thy way. + + PENTHEUS + How is thy worship held, by night or day? + + DIONYSUS + Most oft by night; 'tis a majestic thing, + The darkness. + + PENTHEUS + Ha! with women worshipping? + 'Tis craft and rottenness! + + DIONYSUS + By day no less, + Whoso will seek may find unholiness— + + PENTHEUS + Enough! Thy doom is fixed, for false pretence + Corrupting Thebes. + + DIONYSUS + Not mine; but thine, for dense + Blindness of heart, and for blaspheming God! + + PENTHEUS + A ready knave it is, and brazen-browed, + This mystery-priest! + + DIONYSUS + Come, say what it shall be, + My doom; what dire thing wilt thou do to me? + + PENTHEUS + First, shear that delicate curl that dangles there. + [ <i>He beckons to the soldiers, who approach</i> DIONYSUS.] + + DIONYSUS + I have vowed it to my God; 'tis holy hair. + [ <i>The soldiers cut off the tress</i>.] + + PENTHEUS + Next, yield me up thy staff! + + DIONYSUS + Raise thine own hand + To take it. This is Dionysus' wand. + [PENTHEUS <i>takes the staff</i>.] + + PENTHEUS + Last, I will hold thee prisoned here. + + DIONYSUS + My Lord + God will unloose me, when I speak the word. + + PENTHEUS + He may, if e'er again amid his bands + Of saints he hears thy voice! + + DIONYSUS + Even now he stands + Close here, and sees all that I suffer. + + PENTHEUS + What? + Where is he? For mine eyes discern him not. + + DIONYSUS + Where I am! 'Tis thine own impurity + That veils him from thee. + + PENTHEUS + The dog jeers at me! + At me and Thebes! Bind him! + [ <i>The soldiers begin to bind him</i>.] + + DIONYSUS + I charge ye, bind + Me not! I having vision and ye blind! + + PENTHEUS + And I, with better right, say bind the more! + [ <i>The soldiers obey</i>.] + + DIONYSUS + Thou knowest not what end thou seekest, nor + What deed thou doest, nor what man thou art! + + PENTHEUS ( <i>mocking</i> ) + Agâvê's son, and on the father's part + Echion's, hight Pentheus! + + DIONYSUS + So let it be, + A name fore-written to calamity! + + PENTHEUS + Away, and tie him where the steeds are tied; + Aye, let him lie in the manger!—There abide + And stare into the darkness!—And this rout + Of womankind that clusters thee about, + Thy ministers of worship, are my slaves! + It may be I will sell them o'er the waves, + Hither and thither; else they shall be set + To labour at my distaffs, and forget + Their timbrel and their songs of dawning day! + + DIONYSUS + I go; for that which may not be, I may + Not suffer! Yet for this thy sin, lo, He + Whom thou deniest cometh after thee + For recompense. Yea, in thy wrong to us, + Thou hast cast Him into thy prison-house! + [DIONYSUS, <i>without his wand, his hair shorn, and his arms tightly + bound, is led off by the guards to his dungeon.</i> PENTHEUS <i>returns + into the Palace.</i> ] + + CHORUS + + <i>Some Maidens</i> + Achelous' roaming daughter, + Holy Dircê, virgin water, + Bathed he not of old in thee, + The Babe of God, the Mystery? + When from out the fire immortal + To himself his God did take him, + To his own flesh, and bespake him: + "Enter now life's second portal, + Motherless Mystery; lo, I break + Mine own body for thy sake, + Thou of the Twofold Door, and seal thee + Mine, O Bromios,"—thus he spake— + "And to this thy land reveal thee." + + <i>All</i> + Still my prayer toward thee quivers, + Dircê, still to thee I hie me; + Why, O Blessed among Rivers, + Wilt thou fly me and deny me? + By His own joy I vow, + By the grape upon the bough, + Thou shalt seek Him in the midnight, thou shalt love Him, even now! + + <i>Other Maidens</i> + Dark and of the dark impassioned + Is this Pentheus' blood; yea, fashioned + Of the Dragon, and his birth + From Echion, child of Earth. + He is no man, but a wonder; + Did the Earth-Child not beget him, + As a red Giant, to set him + Against God, against the Thunder? + He will bind me for his prize, + Me, the Bride of Dionyse; + And my priest, my friend, is taken + Even now, and buried lies; + In the dark he lies forsaken! + + <i>All</i> + Lo, we race with death, we perish, + Dionysus, here before thee! + Dost thou mark us not, nor cherish, + Who implore thee, and adore thee? + Hither down Olympus' side, + Come, O Holy One defied, + Be thy golden wand uplifted o'er the tyrant in his pride! + + <i>A Maiden</i> + Oh, where art thou? In thine own + Nysa, thou our help alone? + O'er fierce beasts in orient lands + Doth thy thronging thyrsus wave, + By the high Corycian Cave, + Or where stern Olympus stands; + In the elm-woods and the oaken, + There where Orpheus harped of old, + And the trees awoke and knew him, + And the wild things gathered to him, + As he sang amid the broken + Glens his music manifold? + Dionysus loveth thee; + Blessed Land of Piërie, + He will come to thee with dancing, + Come with joy and mystery; + With the Maenads at his hest + Winding, winding to the West; + Cross the flood of swiftly glancing + Axios in majesty; + Cross the Lydias, the giver + Of good gifts and waving green; + Cross that Father-Stream of story, + Through a land of steeds and glory + Rolling, bravest, fairest River + E'er of mortals seen! + + A VOICE WITHIN + Io! Io! + Awake, ye damsels; hear my cry, + Calling my Chosen; hearken ye! + + A MAIDEN + Who speaketh? Oh, what echoes thus? + + ANOTHER + A Voice, a Voice, that calleth us! + + THE VOICE + Be of good cheer! Lo, it is I, + The Child of Zeus and Semelê. + + A MAIDEN + O Master, Master, it is Thou! + + ANOTHER + O Holy Voice, be with us now! + + THE VOICE + Spirit of the Chained Earthquake, + Hear my word; awake, awake! + [ <i>An Earthquake suddenly shakes the pillars of the Castle.</i> ] + + A MAIDEN + Ha! what is coming? Shall the hall + Of Pentheus racked in ruin fall? + + LEADER + Our God is in the house! Ye maids adore Him! + + CHORUS + We adore Him all! + + THE VOICE + Unveil the Lightning's eye; arouse + The fire that sleeps, against this house! + [ <i>Fire leaps upon the Tomb of Semelê.</i> ] + + A MAIDEN + Ah, saw ye, marked ye there the flame + From Semelê's enhallowed sod + Awakened? Yea, the Death that came + Ablaze from heaven of old, the same + Hot splendour of the shaft of God? + + LEADER + Oh cast ye, cast ye, to the earth! The Lord + Cometh against this house! Oh, cast ye down, + Ye trembling damsels; He, our own adored, + God's Child hath come, and all is overthrown! + + [ <i>The Maidens cast themselves upon the ground, their eyes earthward.</i> + DIONYSUS, <i>alone and unbound, enters from the Castle.</i> ] + + DIONYSUS + Ye Damsels of the Morning Hills, why lie ye thus dismayed? + Ye marked him, then, our Master, and the mighty hand he laid + On tower and rock, shaking the house of Pentheus?—But arise, + And cast the trembling from your flesh, and lift untroubled eyes. + + LEADER + O Light in Darkness, is it thou? O Priest, is this thy face? + My heart leaps out to greet thee from the deep of loneliness. + + DIONYSUS + Fell ye so quick despairing, when beneath the Gate I passed? + Should the gates of Pentheus quell me, or his darkness make me fast? + + LEADER + Oh, what was left if thou wert gone? What could I but despair? + How hast thou 'scaped the man of sin? Who freed thee from the snare? + + DIONYSUS + I had no pain nor peril; 'twas mine own hand set me free. + + LEADER + Thine arms were gyvèd! + + DIONYSUS + Nay, no gyve, no touch, was laid on me! + 'Twas there I mocked him, in his gyves, and gave him dreams for food. + For when he laid me down, behold, before the stall there stood + A Bull of Offering. And this King, he bit his lips and straight + Fell on and bound it, hoof and limb, with gasping wrath and sweat. + And I sat watching!—Then a Voice; and lo, our Lord was come, + And the house shook, and a great flame stood o'er his mother's tomb. + And Pentheus hied this way and that, and called his thralls amain + For water, lest his roof-tree burn; and all toiled, all in vain. + Then deemed a-sudden I was gone; and left his fire, and sped + Back to the prison portals, and his lifted sword shone red. + But there, methinks, the God had wrought—I speak but as I guess— + Some dream-shape in mine image; for he smote at emptiness, + Stabbed in the air, and strove in wrath, as though 'twere me he slew. + Then 'mid his dreams God smote him yet again! He overthrew + All that high house. And there in wreck for evermore it lies, + That the day of this my bondage may be sore in Pentheus' eyes! + And now his sword is fallen, and he lies outworn and wan + Who dared to rise against his God in wrath, being but man. + And I uprose and left him, and in all peace took my path + Force to my Chosen, recking light of Pentheus and his wrath. + But soft, methinks a footstep sounds even now within the hall; + 'Tis he; how think ye he will stand, and what words speak withal? + I will endure him gently, though he come in fury hot. + For still are the ways of Wisdom, and her temper trembleth not! + [ <i>Enter</i> PENTHEUS <i>in fury</i> ] + + PENTHEUS + It is too much! This Eastern knave hath slipped + His prison, whom I held but now, hard gripped + In bondage.—Ha! 'Tis he!—What, sirrah, how + Show'st thou before my portals? + [ <i>He advances furiously upon him.</i> ] + + DIONYSUS + And set a quiet carriage to thy rage. + + PENTHEUS + How comest thou here? How didst thou break thy cage? + Speak! + + DIONYSUS + Said I not, or didst thou mark not me, + There was One living that should set me free? + + PENTHEUS + Who? Ever wilder are these tales of thine. + + DIONYSUS + He who first made for man the clustered vine. + + PENTHEUS + I scorn him and his vines. + + DIONYSUS + For Dionyse + 'Tis well; for in thy scorn his glory lies. + + PENTHEUS ( <i>to his guard</i> ) + Go swift to all the towers, and bar withal + Each gate! + + DIONYSUS + What, cannot God o'erleap a wall? + + PENTHEUS + Oh, wit thou hast, save where thou needest it! + + DIONYSUS + Whereso it most imports, there is my wit!— + Nay, peace! Abide till he who hasteth from + The mountain side with news for thee, be come. + We will not fly, but wait on thy command. + [ <i>Enter suddenly and in haste a Messenger from the Mountain.</i> ] + + MESSENGER + Great Pentheus, Lord of all this Theban land, + I come from high Kithaeron, where the frore + Snow spangles gleam and cease not evermore.... + + PENTHEUS + And what of import may thy coming bring? + + MESSENGER + I have seen the Wild White Women there, O King, + Whose fleet limbs darted arrow-like but now + From Thebes away, and come to tell thee how + They work strange deeds and passing marvel. Yet + I first would learn thy pleasure. Shall I set + My whole tale forth, or veil the stranger part? + Yea Lord, I fear the swiftness of thy heart, + Thine edgèd wrath and more than royal soul. + + PENTHEUS + Thy tale shall nothing scathe thee.—Tell the whole. + It skills not to be wroth with honesty. + Nay, if thy news of them be dark, 'tis he + Shall pay it, who bewitched and led them on. + + MESSENGER + Our herded kine were moving in the dawn + Up to the peaks, the greyest, coldest time, + When the first rays steal earthward, and the rime + Yields, when I saw three bands of them. The one + Autonoë led, one Ino, one thine own + Mother, Agâvê. There beneath the trees + Sleeping they lay, like wild things flung at ease + In the forest; one half sinking on a bed + Of deep pine greenery; one with careless head + Amid the fallen oak leaves; all most cold + In purity—not as thy tale was told + Of wine-cups and wild music and the chase + For love amid the forest's loneliness. + Then rose the Queen Agâvê suddenly + Amid her band, and gave the God's wild cry, + "Awake, ye Bacchanals! I hear the sound + Of hornèd kine. Awake ye!"—Then, all round, + Alert, the warm sleep fallen from their eyes, + A marvel of swift ranks I saw them rise, + Dames young and old, and gentle maids unwed + Among them. O'er their shoulders first they shed + Their tresses, and caught up the fallen fold + Of mantles where some clasp had loosened hold, + And girt the dappled fawn-skins in with long + Quick snakes that hissed and writhed with quivering tongue. + And one a young fawn held, and one a wild + Wolf cub, and fed them with white milk, and smiled + In love, young mothers with a mother's breast + And babes at home forgotten! Then they pressed + Wreathed ivy round their brows, and oaken sprays + And flowering bryony. And one would raise + Her wand and smite the rock, and straight a jet + Of quick bright water came. Another set + Her thyrsus in the bosomed earth, and there + Was red wine that the God sent up to her, + A darkling fountain. And if any lips + Sought whiter draughts, with dipping finger-tips + They pressed the sod, and gushing from the ground + Came springs of milk. And reed-wands ivy-crowned + Ran with sweet honey, drop by drop.—O King, + Hadst thou been there, as I, and seen this thing, + With prayer and most high wonder hadst thou gone + To adore this God whom now thou rail'st upon! + Howbeit, the kine-wardens and shepherds straight + Came to one place, amazed, and held debate; + And one being there who walked the streets and scanned + The ways of speech, took lead of them whose hand + Knew but the slow soil and the solemn hill, + And flattering spoke, and asked: "Is it your will, + Masters, we stay the mother of the King, + Agâvê, from her lawless worshipping, + And win us royal thanks?"—And this seemed good + To all; and through the branching underwood + We hid us, cowering in the leaves. And there + Through the appointed hour they made their prayer + And worship of the Wand, with one accord + Of heart and cry—"Iacchos, Bromios, Lord, + God of God born!"—And all the mountain felt, + And worshipped with them; and the wild things knelt + And ramped and gloried, and the wilderness + Was filled with moving voices and dim stress. + Soon, as it chanced, beside my thicket-close + The Queen herself passed dancing, and I rose + And sprang to seize her. But she turned her face + Upon me: "Ho, my rovers of the chase, + My wild White Hounds, we are hunted! Up, each rod + And follow, follow, for our Lord and God!" + Thereat, for fear they tear us, all we fled + Amazed; and on, with hand unweaponèd + They swept toward our herds that browsed the green + Hill grass. Great uddered kine then hadst thou seen + Bellowing in sword-like hands that cleave and tear, + A live steer riven asunder, and the air + Tossed with rent ribs or limbs of cloven tread, + And flesh upon the branches, and a red + Rain from the deep green pines. Yea, bulls of pride, + Horns swift to rage, were fronted and aside + Flung stumbling, by those multitudinous hands + Dragged pitilessly. And swifter were the bands + Of garbèd flesh and bone unbound withal + Than on thy royal eyes the lids may fall. + Then on like birds, by their own speed upborne, + They swept toward the plains of waving corn + That lie beside Asopus' banks, and bring + To Thebes the rich fruit of her harvesting. + On Hysiae and Erythrae that lie nursed + Amid Kithaeron's bowering rocks, they burst + Destroying, as a foeman's army comes. + They caught up little children from their homes, + High on their shoulders, babes unheld, that swayed + And laughed and fell not; all a wreck they made; + Yea, bronze and iron did shatter, and in play + Struck hither and thither, yet no wound had they; + Caught fire from out the hearths, yea, carried hot + Flames in their tresses and were scorchèd not! + The village folk in wrath took spear and sword, + And turned upon the Bacchae. Then, dread Lord, + The wonder was. For spear nor barbèd brand + Could scathe nor touch the damsels; but the Wand, + The soft and wreathèd wand their white hands sped, + Blasted those men and quelled them, and they fled + Dizzily. Sure some God was in these things! + And the holy women back to those strange springs + Returned, that God had sent them when the day + Dawned, on the upper heights; and washed away + The stain of battle. And those girdling snakes + Hissed out to lap the waterdrops from cheeks + And hair and breast. + Therefore I counsel thee + O King, receive this Spirit, whoe'er he be, + To Thebes in glory. Greatness manifold + Is all about him; and the tale is told + That this is he who first to man did give + The grief-assuaging vine. Oh, let him live; + For if he die, then Love herself is slain, + And nothing joyous in the world again! + + LEADER + Albeit I tremble, and scarce may speak my thought + To a king's face, yet will I hide it not. + Dionyse is God, no God more true nor higher! + + PENTHEUS + It bursts hard by us, like a smothered fire, + This frenzy of Bacchic women! All my land + Is made their mock.—This needs an iron hand! + Ho, Captain! Quick to the Electran Gate; + Bid gather all my men-at-arms thereat; + Call all that spur the charger, all who know + To wield the orbèd targe or bend the bow; + We march to war—'Fore God, shall women dare + Such deeds against us? 'Tis too much to bear! + + DIONYSUS + Thou mark'st me not, O King, and holdest light + My solemn words; yet, in thine own despite, + I warn thee still. Lift thou not up thy spear + Against a God, but hold thy peace, and fear + His wrath! He will not brook it, if thou fright + His Chosen from the hills of their delight. + + PENTHEUS + Peace, thou! And if for once thou hast slipped chain, + Give thanks!—Or shall I knot thine arms again? + + DIONYSUS + Better to yield him prayer and sacrifice + Than kick against the pricks, since Dionyse + Is God, and thou but mortal. + + PENTHEUS + That will I! + Yea, sacrifice of women's blood, to cry + His name through all Kithaeron! + + DIONYSUS + Ye shall fly, + All, and abase your shields of bronzen rim + Before their wands. + + PENTHEUS + There is no way with him, + This stranger that so dogs us! Well or ill + I may entreat him, he must babble still! + + DIONYSUS + Wait, good my friend! These crooked matters may + Even yet be straightened. + [PENTHEUS <i>has started as though to seek his army at the gate.</i> ] + + PENTHEUS + Aye, if I obey + Mine own slaves' will; how else? + + DIONYSUS + Myself will lead + The damsels hither, without sword or steed. + + PENTHEUS + How now?—This is some plot against me! + + DIONYSUS + What + Dost fear? Only to save thee do I plot. + + PENTHEUS + It is some compact ye have made, whereby + To dance these hills for ever! + + DIONYSUS + Verily, + That is my compact, plighted with my Lord! + + PENTHEUS ( <i>turning from him</i> ) + Ho, armourers! Bring forth my shield and sword!— + And thou, be silent! + + DIONYSUS ( <i>after regarding him fixedly, speaks with resignation</i> ) + Ah!—Have then thy will! + [ <i>He fixes his eyes upon</i> PENTHEUS <i>again, while the armourers bring out + his armour; then speaks in a tone of command.</i> ] + Man, thou wouldst fain behold them on the hill + Praying! + + PENTHEUS ( <i>who during the rest of this scene, with a few exceptions, + simply speaks the thoughts that</i> DIONYSUS <i>puts into him, losing power + over his own mind</i> ) + That would I, though it cost me all + The gold of Thebes! + + DIONYSUS + So much? Thou art quick to fall + To such great longing. + + PENTHEUS ( <i>somewhat bewildered at what he has said</i> ) + Aye; 'twould grieve me much + To see them flown with wine. + + DIONYSUS + Yet cravest thou such + A sight as would much grieve thee? + + PENTHEUS + Yes; I fain + Would watch, ambushed among the pines. + + DIONYSUS + 'Twere vain + To hide. They soon will track thee out. + + PENTHEUS + Well said! + 'Twere best done openly. + + DIONYSUS + Wilt thou be led + By me, and try the venture? + + PENTHEUS + Aye, indeed! + Lead on. Why should we tarry? + + DIONYSUS + First we need + A rich and trailing robe of fine-linen + To gird thee. + + PENTHEUS + Nay; am I a woman, then, + And no man more. + + DIONYSUS + Wouldst have them slay thee dead? + No man may see their mysteries. + + PENTHEUS + Well said'— + I marked thy subtle temper long ere now. + + DIONYSUS + 'Tis Dionyse that prompteth me. + + PENTHEUS + And how + Mean'st thou the further plan? + + DIONYSUS + First take thy way + Within. I will array thee. + + PENTHEUS + What array! + The woman's? Nay, I will not. + + DIONYSUS + Doth it change + So soon, all thy desire to see this strange + Adoring? + + PENTHEUS + Wait! What garb wilt thou bestow + About me? + + DIONYSUS + First a long tress dangling low + Beneath thy shoulders. + + PENTHEUS + Aye, and next? + + DIONYSUS + The same red + Robe, falling to thy feet; and on thine head + A snood. + + PENTHEUS + And after? Hast thou aught beyond? + + DIONYSUS + Surely; the dappled fawn-skin and the wand. + + PENTHEUS ( <i>after a struggle with himself</i> ) + Enough! I cannot wear a robe and snood. + + DIONYSUS + Wouldst liefer draw the sword and spill men's blood? + + PENTHEUS ( <i>again doubting</i> ) + True, that were evil.—Aye; 'tis best to go + First to some place of watch. + + DIONYSUS + Far wiser so, + Than seek by wrath wrath's bitter recompense. + + PENTHEUS + What of the city streets? Canst lead me hence + Unseen of any? + + DIONYSUS + Lonely and untried + Thy path from hence shall be, and I thy guide! + + PENTHEUS + I care for nothing, so these Bacchanals + Triumph not against me!...Forward to my halls + Within!—I will ordain what seemeth best. + + DIONYSUS + So be it, O King! 'Tis mine to obey thine hest, + Whate'er it be. + + PENTHEUS ( <i>after hesitating once more and waiting</i> ) + Well, I will go—perchance + To march and scatter them with serried lance. + Perchance to take thy plan.... I know not yet. + [ <i>Exit</i> PENTHEUS <i>into the Castle.</i> ] + + DIONYSUS + Damsels, the lion walketh to the net! + He finds his Bacchae now, and sees and dies, + And pays for all his sin!—O Dionyse, + This is thine hour and thou not far away. + Grant us our vengeance!—First, O Master, stay + The course of reason in him, and instil + A foam of madness. Let his seeing will, + Which ne'er had stooped to put thy vesture on, + Be darkened, till the deed is lightly done. + Grant likewise that he find through all his streets + Loud scorn, this man of wrath and bitter threats + That made Thebes tremble, led in woman's guise. + I go to fold that robe of sacrifice + On Pentheus, that shall deck him to the dark. + His mother's gift!—So shall he learn and mark + God's true Son, Dionyse, in fulness God, + Most fearful, yet to man most soft of mood. + [ <i>Exit</i> DIONYSUS, <i>following PENTHEUS into Castle.</i> ] + + CHORUS + + <i>Some Maidens</i> + + Will they ever come to me, ever again, + The long long dances, + On through the dark till the dim stars wane? + Shall I feel the dew on my throat, and the stream + Of wind in my hair? Shall our white feet gleam + In the dim expanses? + Oh, feet of a fawn to the greenwood fled, + Alone in the grass and the loveliness; + + Leap of the hunted, no more in dread, + Beyond the snares and the deadly press: + Yet a voice still in the distance sounds, + A voice and a fear and a haste of hounds; + O wildly labouring, fiercely fleet, + Onward yet by river and glen... + Is it joy or terror, ye storm-swift feet?... + To the dear lone lands untroubled of men, + Where no voice sounds, and amid the shadowy green + The little things of the woodland live unseen. + + What else is Wisdom? What of man's endeavour + Or God's high grace, so lovely and so great? + To stand from fear set free, to breathe and wait; + To hold a hand uplifted over Hate; + And shall not Loveliness be loved for ever? + + <i>Others</i> + O Strength of God, slow art thou and still, + Yet failest never! + On them that worship the Ruthless Will, + On them that dream, doth His judgment wait. + Dreams of the proud man, making great + And greater ever, + Things which are not of God. In wide + And devious coverts, hunter-wise, + He coucheth Time's unhasting stride, + Following, following, him whose eyes + Look not to Heaven. For all is vain, + The pulse of the heart, the plot of the brain, + That striveth beyond the laws that live. + And is thy Fate so much to give, + Is it so hard a thing to see, + That the Spirit of God, whate'er it be, + The Law that abides and changes not, ages long, + The Eternal and Nature-born—these things be strong? + + What else is Wisdom? What of man's endeavour + Or God's high grace so lovely and so great? + To stand from fear set free, to breathe and wait; + To hold a hand uplifted over Hate; + And shall not Loveliness be loved for ever? + + LEADER + Happy he, on the weary sea + Who hath fled the tempest and won the haven. + Happy whoso hath risen, free, + Above his striving. For strangely graven + Is the orb of life, that one and another + In gold and power may outpass his brother, + And men in their millions float and flow + And seethe with a million hopes as leaven; + And they win their Will, or they miss their Will, + And the hopes are dead or are pined for still, + But whoe'er can know, + As the long days go, + That To Live is happy, hath found his Heaven! + + [ <i>Re-enter</i> DIONYSUS, <i>from the Castle</i> ] + + DIONYSUS + O eye that cravest sights thou must not see, + O heart athirst for that which slakes not! Thee, + Pentheus, I call; forth and be seen, in guise + Of woman, Maenad, saint of Dionyse, + To spy upon His Chosen and thine own + Mother! + [ <i>Enter</i> PENTHEUS, <i>clad like a Bacchanal, and strangely excited, + a spirit of Bacchic madness overshadowing him.</i> ] + Thy shape, methinks, is like to one + Of Cadmus' royal maids! + + PENTHEUS + Yea; and mine eye + Is bright! Yon sun shines twofold in the sky, + Thebes twofold and the Wall of Seven Gates.... + And is it a Wild Bull this, that walks and waits + Before me? There are horns upon thy brow! + What art thou, man or beast! For surely now + The Bull is on thee! + + DIONYSUS + He who erst was wrath, + Goes with us now in gentleness. He hath + Unsealed thine eyes to see what thou shouldst see. + + PENTHEUS + Say; stand I not as Ino stands, or she + Who bore me? + + DIONYSUS + When I look on thee, it seems + I see their very selves!—But stay; why streams + That lock abroad, not where I laid it, crossed + Under the coif? + + PENTHEUS + I did it, as I tossed + My head in dancing, to and fro, and cried + His holy music! + + DIONYSUS ( <i>tending him</i> ) + It shall soon be tied + Aright. 'Tis mine to tend thee.... Nay, but stand + With head straight. + + PENTHEUS + In the hollow of thine hand + I lay me. Deck me as thou wilt. + + DIONYSUS + Thy zone + Is loosened likewise; and the folded gown + Not evenly falling to the feet. + + PENTHEUS + 'Tis so, + By the right foot. But here methinks, they flow + In one straight line to the heel. + + DIONYSUS ( <i>while tending him</i> ) + And if thou prove + Their madness true, aye, more than true, what love + And thanks hast thou for me? + + PENTHEUS ( <i>not listening to him</i> ) + In my right hand + Is it, or thus, that I should bear the wand + To be most like to them? + + DIONYSUS + Up let it swing + In the right hand, timed with the right foot's spring.... + 'Tis well thy heart is changed! + + PENTHEUS ( <i>more wildly</i> ) + What strength is this! + Kithaeron's steeps and all that in them is— + How say'st thou?—Could my shoulders lift the whole? + + DIONYSUS + Surely thou canst, and if thou wilt! Thy soul, + Being once so sick, now stands as it should stand. + + PENTHEUS + Shall it be bars of iron? Or this bare hand + And shoulder to the crags, to wrench them down? + + DIONYSUS + Wouldst wreck the Nymphs' wild temples, and the brown + Rocks, where Pan pipes at noonday? + + PENTHEUS + Nay; not I! + Force is not well with women. I will lie + Hid in the pine-brake. + + DIONYSUS + Even as fits a spy + On holy and fearful things, so shalt thou lie! + + PENTHEUS ( <i>with a laugh</i> ) + They lie there now, methinks—the wild birds, caught + By love among the leaves, and fluttering not! + + DIONYSUS + It may be. That is what thou goest to see, + Aye, and to trap them—so they trap not thee! + + PENTHEUS + Forth through the Thebans' town! I am their king, + Aye, their one Man, seeing I dare this thing! + + DIONYSUS + Yea, thou shalt bear their burden, thou alone; + Therefore thy trial awaiteth thee!—But on; + With me into thine ambush shalt thou come + Unscathed; then let another bear thee home! + + PENTHEUS + The Queen, my mother. + + DIONYSUS + Marked of every eye. + + PENTHEUS + For that I go! + + DIONYSUS + Thou shalt be borne on high! + + PENTHEUS + That were like pride! + + DIONYSUS + Thy mother's hands shall share + Thy carrying. + + PENTHEUS + Nay; I need not such soft care! + + DIONYSUS + So soft? + + PENTHEUS + Whate'er it be, I have earned it well! + [ <i>Exit</i> PENTHEUS <i>towards the Mountain.</i> ] + + DIONYSUS + Fell, fell art thou; and to a doom so fell + Thou walkest, that thy name from South to North + Shall shine, a sign for ever!—Reach thou forth + Thine arms, Agâvê, now, and ye dark-browed + Cadmeian sisters! Greet this prince so proud + To the high ordeal, where save God and me, + None walks unscathed!—The rest this day shall see. + [ <i>Exit</i> DIONYSUS <i>following</i> PENTHEUS.] + + CHORUS + + <i>Some Maidens</i> + O hounds raging and blind, + Up by the mountain road, + Sprites of the maddened mind, + To the wild Maids of God; + Fill with your rage their eyes, + Rage at the rage unblest, + Watching in woman's guise, + The spy upon God's Possessed. + + <i>A Bacchanal</i> + Who shall be first, to mark + Eyes in the rock that spy, + Eyes in the pine-tree dark— + Is it his mother?—and cry: + "Lo, what is this that comes, + Haunting, troubling still, + Even in our heights, our homes, + The wild Maids of the Hill? + What flesh bare this child? + Never on woman's breast + Changeling so evil smiled; + Man is he not, but Beast! + Loin-shape of the wild, + Gorgon-breed of the waste!" + + <i>All the Chorus</i> + Hither, for doom and deed! + Hither with lifted sword, + Justice, Wrath of the Lord, + Come in our visible need! + Smite till the throat shall bleed, + Smite till the heart shall bleed, + Him the tyrannous, lawless, Godless, Echîon's earthborn seed! + + <i>Other Maidens</i> + Tyrannously hath he trod; + Marched him, in Law's despite, + Against thy Light, O God, + Yea, and thy Mother's Light; + Girded him, falsely bold, + Blinded in craft, to quell + And by man's violence hold, + Things unconquerable + + <i>A Bacchanal</i> + A strait pitiless mind + Is death unto godliness; + And to feel in human kind + Life, and a pain the less. + Knowledge, we are not foes! + I seek thee diligently; + But the world with a great wind blows, + Shining, and not from thee; + Blowing to beautiful things, + On, amid dark and light, + Till Life, through the trammellings + Of Laws that are not the Right, + Breaks, clean and pure, and sings + Glorying to God in the height! + + <i>All the Chorus</i> + Hither for doom and deed! + Hither with lifted sword, + Justice, Wrath of the Lord, + Come in our visible need! + Smite till the throat shall bleed, + Smite till the heart shall bleed, + Him the tyrannous, lawless, Godless, Echion's earthborn seed! + + LEADER + Appear, appear, whatso thy shape or name + O Mountain Bull, Snake of the Hundred Heads, + Lion of Burning Flame! + O God, Beast, Mystery, come! Thy mystic maids + Are hunted!—Blast their hunter with thy breath, + Cast o'er his head thy snare; + And laugh aloud and drag him to his death, + Who stalks thy herded madness in its lair! + [ <i>Enter hastily a</i> MESSENGER <i>from the Mountain, pale and distraught.</i> ] + + MESSENGER + Woe to the house once blest in Hellas! Woe + To thee, old King Sidonian, who didst sow + The dragon-seed on Ares' bloody lea! + Alas, even thy slaves must weep for thee! + + LEADER + News from the mountain?—Speak! How hath it sped? + + MESSENGER + Pentheus, my king, Echîon's son, is dead! + + LEADER + All hail, God of the Voice, + Manifest ever more! + + MESSENGER + What say'st thou?—And how strange thy tone, as though + In joy at this my master's overthrow! + + LEADER + With fierce joy I rejoice, + Child of a savage shore; + For the chains of my prison are broken, and the dread where I cowered of + yore! + + MESSENGER + And deem'st thou Thebes so beggared, so forlorn + Of manhood, as to sit beneath thy scorn? + + LEADER + Thebes hath o'er me no sway! + None save Him I obey, + Dionysus, Child of the Highest, Him I obey and adore! + + MESSENGER + One can forgive thee!—Yet 'tis no fair thing, + Maids, to rejoice in a man's suffering. + + LEADER + Speak of the mountain side! + Tell us the doom he died, + The sinner smitten to death, even where his sin was sore! + + MESSENGER + We climbed beyond the utmost habitings + Of Theban shepherds, passed Asopus' springs, + And struck into the land of rock on dim + Kithaeron—Pentheus, and, attending him, + I, and the Stranger who should guide our way, + Then first in a green dell we stopped, and lay, + Lips dumb and feet unmoving, warily + Watching, to be unseen and yet to see. + + A narrow glen it was, by crags o'ertowered, + Torn through by tossing waters, and there lowered + A shadow of great pines over it. And there + The Maenad maidens sate; in toil they were, + Busily glad. Some with an ivy chain + Tricked a worn wand to toss its locks again; + Some, wild in joyance, like young steeds set free, + Made answering songs of mystic melody. + + But my poor master saw not the great band + Before him. "Stranger," he cried, "where we stand + Mine eyes can reach not these false saints of thine. + Mount we the bank, or some high-shouldered pine, + And I shall see their follies clear!" At that + There came a marvel. For the Stranger straight + Touched a great pine-tree's high and heavenward crown, + And lower, lower, lower, urged it down + To the herbless floor. Round like a bending bow, + Or slow wheel's rim a joiner forces to. + So in those hands that tough and mountain stem + Bowed slow—oh, strength not mortal dwelt in them!— + To the very earth. And there he set the King, + And slowly, lest it cast him in its spring. + Let back the young and straining tree, till high + It towered again amid the towering sky; + And Pentheus in the branches! Well, I ween, + He saw the Maenads then, and well was seen! + For scarce was he aloft, when suddenly + There was no stranger any more with me, + But out of Heaven a Voice—oh, what voice else?— + 'Twas He that called! "Behold, O damosels, + I bring ye him who turneth to despite + Both me and ye, and darkeneth my great Light. + Tis yours to avenge!" So spake he, and there came + 'Twixt earth and sky a pillar of high flame. + And silence took the air, and no leaf stirred + In all the forest dell. Thou hadst not heard + In that vast silence any wild things's cry. + And up they sprang; but with bewildered eye, + Agaze and listening, scarce yet hearing true. + Then came the Voice again. And when they knew + Their God's clear call, old Cadmus' royal brood, + Up, like wild pigeons startled in a wood, + On flying feet they came, his mother blind, + Agâvê, and her sisters, and behind + All the wild crowd, more deeply maddened then, + Through the angry rocks and torrent-tossing glen, + Until they spied him in the dark pine-tree: + Then climbed a crag hard by and furiously + Some sought to stone him, some their wands would fling + Lance-wise aloft, in cruel targeting. + But none could strike. The height o'ertopped their rage, + And there he clung, unscathed, as in a cage + Caught. And of all their strife no end was found. + Then, "Hither," cried Agâvê; "stand we round + And grip the stem, my Wild Ones, till we take + This climbing cat-o'-the-mount! He shall not make + A tale of God's high dances!" Out then shone + Arm upon arm, past count, and closed upon + The pine, and gripped; and the ground gave, and down + It reeled. And that high sitter from the crown + Of the green pine-top, with a shrieking cry + Fell, as his mind grew clear, and there hard by + Was horror visible. 'Twas his mother stood + O'er him, first priestess of those rites of blood. + He tore the coif, and from his head away + Flung it, that she might know him, and not slay + To her own misery. He touched the wild + Cheek, crying: "Mother, it is I, thy child, + Thy Pentheus, born thee in Echion's hall! + Have mercy, Mother! Let it not befall + Through sin of mine, that thou shouldst slay thy son!" + But she, with lips a-foam and eyes that run + Like leaping fire, with thoughts that ne'er should be + On earth, possessed by Bacchios utterly, + Stays not nor hears. Round his left arm she put + Both hands, set hard against his side her foot, + Drew... and the shoulder severed!—not by might + Of arm, but easily, as the God made light + Her hand's essay. And at the other side + Was Ino rending; and the torn flesh cried, + And on Autonoë pressed, and all the crowd + Of ravening arms. 'Yea, all the air was loud + With groans that faded into sobbing breath, + Dim shrieks, and joy, and triumph-cries of death. + And here was borne a severed arm, and there + A hunter's booted foot; white bones lay bare + With rending; and swift hands ensanguinèd + Tossed as in sport the flesh of Pentheus dead. + His body lies afar. The precipice + Hath part, and parts in many an interstice + Lurk of the tangled woodland—no light quest + To find. And, ah, the head! Of all the rest, + His mother hath it, pierced upon a wand, + As one might pierce a lion's, and through the land, + Leaving her sisters in their dancing place, + Bears it on high! Yea, to these walls her face + Was set, exulting in her deed of blood, + Calling upon her Bromios, her God, + Her Comrade, Fellow-Render of the Prey, + Her All-Victorious, to whom this day + She bears in triumph... her own broken heart. + For me, after that sight, I will depart + Before Agave comes.—Oh, to fulfil + God's laws, and have no thought beyond His will, + Is man's best treasure. Aye, and wisdom true, + Methinks, for things of dust to cleave unto! + [ <i>The</i> MESSENGER <i>departs into the Castle</i>.] + + CHORUS + + <i>Some Maidens</i> + Weave ye the dance, and call + Praise to God! + Bless ye the Tyrant's fall! + Down is trod + Pentheus, the Dragon's Seed! + Wore he the woman's weed? + Clasped he his death indeed, + Clasped the rod? + + <i>A Bacchanal</i> + Yea, the wild ivy lapt him, and the doomed + Wild Bull of Sacrifice before him loomed! + + <i>Others</i> + Ye who did Bromios scorn, + Praise Him the more, + Bacchanals, Cadmus-born; + Praise with sore + Agony, yea, with tears! + Great are the gifts he bears! + Hands that a mother rears + Red with gore! + + LEADER + But stay, Agâvê cometh! And her eyes + Make fire around her, reeling! Ho, the prize + Cometh! All hail, O Rout of Dionyse! + [ <i>Enter from the Mountain</i> AGAVE, <i>mad, and to all seeming wondrously + happy, bearing the head of</i> PENTHEUS <i>in her hand. The</i> CHORUS MAIDENS + <i>stand horror-struck at the sight; the</i> LEADER, <i>also horror-struck, + strives to accept it and rejoice in it as the God's deed</i>.] + + AGAVE + Ye from the lands of Morn! + + LEADER + Call me not; I give praise! + + AGAVE + Lo, from the trunk new-shorn + Hither a Mountain Thorn + Bear we! O Asia-born + Bacchanals, bless this chase! + + LEADER + I see. Yea; I see. + Have I not welcomed thee? + + AGAVE ( <i>very calmly and peacefully</i> ) + He was young in the wildwood + Without nets I caught him! + Nay; look without fear on + The Lion; I have ta'en him! + + LEADER + Where in the wildwood? + Whence have ye brought him? + + AGAVE + Kithaeron.... + + LEADER + Kithaeron? + + AGAVE + The Mountain hath slain him! + + LEADER + Who first came nigh him? + + AGAVE + + I, I, 'tis confessèd! + And they named me there by him + Agave the Blessèd! + + LEADER + Who was next in the band on him? + + AGAVE + The daughters.... + + LEADER + The daughters? + + AGAVE + Of Cadmus laid hand on him. + But the swift hand that slaughters + Is mine; mine is the praise! + Bless ye this day of days! + [ <i>The</i> LEADER <i>tries to speak, but is not able;</i> + AGAVE <i>begins gently stroking the head</i>.] + + AGAVE + Gather ye now to the feast! + + LEADER + Feast!—O miserable! + + AGAVE + See, it falls to his breast, + Curling and gently tressed, + The hair of the Wild Bull's crest— + The young steer of the fell! + + LEADER + Most like a beast of the wild + That head, those locks defiled. + + AGAVE ( <i>lifting up the head, more excitedly</i> ) + He wakened his Mad Ones, + A Chase-God, a wise God! + He sprang them to seize this! + He preys where his band preys. + + LEADER ( <i>brooding, with horror</i> ) + In the trail of thy Mad Ones + Thou tearest thy prize, God! + + AGAVE + Dost praise it? + + LEADER + I praise this? + + AGAVE + Ah, soon shall the land praise! + + LEADER + And Pentheus, O Mother, + Thy child? + + AGAVE + He shall cry on + My name as none other, + Bless the spoils of the Lion! + + LEADER + Aye, strange is thy treasure! + + AGAVE + And strange was the taking! + + LEADER + Thou art glad? + + AGAVE + Beyond measure; + Yea, glad in the breaking + Of dawn upon all this land, + By the prize, the prize of my hand! + + LEADER + Show them to all the land, unhappy one, + The trophy of this deed that thou hast done! + + AGAVE + Ho, all ye men that round the citadel + And shining towers of ancient Thêbê dwell, + Come! Look upon this prize, this lion's spoil, + That we have taken—yea, with our own toil, + We, Cadmus' daughters! Not with leathern-set + Thessalian javelins, not with hunter's net, + Only white arms and swift hands' bladed fall + Why make ye much ado, and boast withal + Your armourers' engines? See, these palms were bare + That caught the angry beast, and held, and tare + The limbs of him!... Father!... Go, bring to me + My father!... Aye, and Pentheus, where is he, + My son? He shall set up a ladder-stair + Against this house, and in the triglyphs there + Nail me this lion's head, that gloriously + I bring ye, having slain him—I, even I! + [ <i>She goes through the crowd towards the Castle, showing the head and + looking for a place to hang it. Enter from the Mountain</i> CADMUS, <i>with + attendants, bearing the body of</i> PENTHEUS <i>on a bier</i>.] + + CADMUS + On, with your awful burden. Follow me, + Thralls, to his house, whose body grievously + With many a weary search at last in dim + Kithaeron's glens I found, torn limb from limb, + And through the intervening forest weed + Scattered.—Men told me of my daughters' deed, + When I was just returned within these walls, + With grey Teiresias, from the Bacchanals. + And back I hied me to the hills again + To seek my murdered son. There saw I plain + Actaeon's mother, ranging where he died, + Autonoë; and Ino by her side, + Wandering ghastly in the pine-copses. + + Agâvê was not there. The rumour is + She cometh fleet-foot hither.—Ah! 'Tis true; + A sight I scarce can bend mine eyes unto. + + AGAVE ( <i>turning from the Palace and seeing him</i> ) + My father, a great boast is thine this hour. + Thou hast begotten daughters, high in power + And valiant above all mankind—yea, all + Valiant, though none like me! I have let fall + The shuttle by the loom, and raised my hand + For higher things, to slay from out thy land + Wild beasts! See, in mine arms I bear the prize, + That nailed above these portals it may rise + To show what things thy daughters did! Do thou + Take it, and call a feast. Proud art thou now + And highly favoured in our valiancy! + + CADMUS + O depth of grief, how can I fathom thee + Or look upon thee!—Poor, poor bloodstained hand! + Poor sisters!—A fair sacrifice to stand + Before God's altars, daughter; yea, and call + Me and my citizens to feast withal! + + Nay, let me weep—for thine affliction most, + Then for mine own. All, all of us are lost, + Not wrongfully, yet is it hard, from one + Who might have loved—our Bromios, our own! + + AGAVE + How crabbèd and how scowling in the eyes + Is man's old age!—Would that my son likewise + Were happy of his hunting, in my way + When with his warrior bands he will essay + The wild beast!—Nay, his valiance is to fight + With God's will! Father, thou shouldst set him right. + Will no one bring him thither, that mine eyes + May look on his, and show him this my prize! + + CADMUS + Alas, if ever ye can know again + The truth of what ye did, what pain of pain + That truth shall bring! Or were it best to wait + Darkened for evermore, and deem your state + Not misery, though ye know no happiness? + + AGAVE + What seest thou here to chide, or not to bless? + + CADMUS ( <i>after hesitation, resolving himself</i> ) + Raise me thine eyes to yon blue dome of air! + + AGAVE + 'Tis done. What dost thou bid me seek for there? + + CADMUS + Is it the same, or changèd in thy sight? + + AGAVE + More shining than before, more heavenly bright! + + CADMUS + And that wild tremour, is it with thee still? + + AGAVE ( <i>troubled</i> ) + I know not what thou sayest; but my will + Clears, and some change cometh, I know not how. + + CADMUS + Canst hearken then, being changed, and answer, now! + + AGAVE + I have forgotten something; else I could. + + CADMUS + What husband led thee of old from mine abode? + + AGAVE + Echîon, whom men named the Child of Earth. + + CADMUS + And what child in Echîon's house had birth? + + AGAVE + Pentheus, of my love and his father's bred. + + CADMUS + Thou bearest in thine arms an head—what head? + + AGAVE ( <i>beginning to tremble, and not looking at what she carries</i> ) + A lion's—so they all said in the chase. + + CADMUS + Turn to it now—'tis no long toil—and gaze. + + AGAVE + Ah! But what is it? What am I carrying here? + + CADMUS + Look once upon it full, till all be clear! + + AGAVE + I see... most deadly pain! Oh, woe is me! + + CADMUS + Wears it the likeness of a lion to thee? + + AGAVE + No; 'tis the head—O God!—of Pentheus, this! + + CADMUS + Blood-drenched ere thou wouldst know him! Aye, 'tis his. + + AGAVE + Who slew him?—How came I to hold this thing? + + CADMUS + O cruel Truth, is this thine home-coming? + + AGAVE + Answer! My heart is hanging on thy breath! + + CADMUS + 'Twas thou.—Thou and thy sisters wrought his death. + + AGAVE + In what place was it? His own house, or where? + + CADMUS + Where the dogs tore Actaeon, even there. + + AGAVE + Why went he to Kithaeron? What sought he? + + CADMUS + To mock the God and thine own ecstasy. + + AGAVE + But how should we be on the hills this day? + + CADMUS + Being mad! A spirit drove all the land that way. + + AGAVE + 'Tis Dionyse hath done it! Now I see. + + CADMUS ( <i>earnestly</i> ) + Ye wronged Him! Ye denied his deity! + + AGAVE ( <i>turning from him</i> ) + Show me the body of the son I love! + + CADMUS ( <i>leading her to the bier</i> ) + 'Tis here, my child. Hard was the quest thereof. + + AGAVE + Laid in due state? + [ <i>As there is no answer, she lifts the veil of the bier, and sees.</i> ] + Oh, if I wrought a sin, + 'Twas mine! What portion had my child therein! + + CADMUS + He made him like to you, adoring not + The God; who therefore to one bane hath brought + You and this body, wrecking all our line, + And me. Aye, no man-child was ever mine; + And now this first-fruit of the flesh of thee, + Sad woman, foully here and frightfully + Lies murdered! Whom the house looked up unto, + [ <i>Kneeling by the body.</i> ] + O Child, my daughter's child! who heldest true + My castle walls; and to the folk a name + Of fear thou wast; and no man sought to shame + My grey beard, when they knew that thou wast there, + Else had they swift reward!—And now I fare + Forth in dishonour, outcast, I, the great + Cadmus, who sowed the seed-rows of this state + Of Thebes, and reaped the harvest wonderful. + O my belovèd, though thy heart is dull + In death, O still belovèd, and alway + Beloved! Never more, then, shalt thou lay + Thine hand to this white beard, and speak to me + Thy "Mother's Father"; ask "Who wrongeth thee? + Who stints thine honour, or with malice stirs + Thine heart? Speak, and I smite thine injurers!" + But now—woe, woe, to me and thee also, + Woe to thy mother and her sisters, woe + Alway! Oh, whoso walketh not in dread + Of Gods, let him but look on this man dead! + + LEADER + Lo, I weep with thee. 'Twas but due reward + God sent on Pentheus; but for thee... 'Tis hard. + + AGAVE + My father, thou canst see the change in me, +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [ <i>A page or more has here been torn out of the MS. from which all our + copies of "The Bacchae" are derived. It evidently contained a speech of + Agâvê (followed presumably by some words of the Chorus), and an appearance + of</i> DIONYSUS <i>upon a cloud. He must have pronounced judgment upon the + Thebans in general, and especially upon the daughters of</i> CADMUS, <i>have + justified his own action, and declared his determination to establish his + godhead. Where the MS begins again, we find him addressing</i> CADMUS.] +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + DIONYSUS +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + And tell of Time, what gifts for thee he bears, + What griefs and wonders in the winding years. + For thou must change and be a Serpent Thing + Strange, and beside thee she whom thou didst bring + Of old to be thy bride from Heaven afar, + Harmonia, daughter of the Lord of War. + Yea, and a chariot of kine—so spake + The word of Zeus—thee and thy Queen shall take + Through many lands, Lord of a wild array + Of orient spears. And many towns shall they + Destroy beneath thee, that vast horde, until + They touch Apollo's dwelling, and fulfil + Their doom, back driven on stormy ways and steep. + Thee only and thy spouse shall Ares keep, + And save alive to the Islands of the Blest. + Thus speaketh Dionysus, Son confessed + Of no man but of Zeus!—Ah, had ye seen + Truth in the hour ye would not, all had been + Well with ye, and the Child of God your friend! + + AGAVE + Dionysus, we beseech thee! We have sinned! + + DIONYSUS + Too late! When there was time, ye knew me not! + + AGAVE + We have confessed. Yet is thine hand too hot. + + DIONYSUS + Ye mocked me, being God; this your wage. + + AGAVE + Should God be like a proud man in his rage? + + DIONYSUS + 'Tis as my sire, Zeus, willed it long ago. + + AGAVE ( <i>turning from him almost with disdain</i> ) + Old man, the word is spoken; we must go. + + DIONYSUS + And seeing ye must, what is it that ye wait? + + CADMUS + Child, we are come into a deadly strait, + All; thou, poor sufferer, and thy sisters twain, + And my sad self. Far off to barbarous men, + A grey-haired wanderer, I must take my road. + And then the oracle, the doom of God, + That I must lead a raging horde far-flown + To prey on Hellas; lead my spouse, mine own + Harmonia. Ares' child, discorporate + And haunting forms, dragon and dragon-mate, + Against the tombs and altar-stones of Greece, + Lance upon lance behind us; and not cease + From toils, like other men, nor dream, nor past + The foam of Acheron find my peace at last. + + AGAVE + Father! And I must wander far from thee! + + CADMUS + O Child, why wilt thou reach thine arms to me, + As yearns the milk-white swan, when old swans die? + + AGAVE + Where shall I turn me else? No home have I. + + CADMUS + I know not; I can help thee not. + + AGAVE + Farewell, O home, O ancient tower! + Lo, I am outcast from my bower, + And leave ye for a worser lot. + + CADMUS + Go forth, go forth to misery, + The way Actaeon's father went! + + AGAVE + Father, for thee my tears are spent. + + CADMUS + Nay, Child, 'tis I must weep for thee; + For thee and for thy sisters twain! + + AGAVE + On all this house, in bitter wise, + Our Lord and Master, Dionyse, + Hath poured the utter dregs of pain! + + DIONYSUS + In bitter wise, for bitter was the shame + Ye did me, when Thebes honoured not my name. + + AGAVE + Then lead me where my sisters be; + Together let our tears be shed, + Our ways be wandered; where no red + Kithaeron waits to gaze on me; + Nor I gaze back; no thyrsus stem, + Nor song, nor memory in the air. + Oh, other Bacchanals be there, + Not I, not I, to dream of them! + [AGAVE <i>with her group of attendants goes out on the side away from + the Mountain.</i> DIONYSUS <i>rises upon the Cloud and disappears.</i> ] + + CHORUS + There may be many shapes of mystery, + And many things God makes to be, + Past hope or fear. + And the end men looked for cometh not, + And a path is there where no man thought. + So hath it fallen here. [ <i>Exeunt</i>.] +</pre> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIPPOLYTUS AND THE BACCHAE ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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