Chapter III

O veteran, sprung from Æacus, thy spear
Chilled the Lapithæ with fear,
And from their hills the Centaurs drove.
When glory called, and prosperous gales
Swelled the Argo’s daring sails,
Intrepid didst thou pass that strait
Where ruin oft the crashing bark attends,
And ocean’s foam descends
From the Symplegades’ obstructing height.
Next didst thou land on perjured Ilion’s shore,
With Hercules illustrious son of Jove,
Then first its bulwarks streamed with gore:
Till crowned with fame a partner of his toil,
Europe again thou sought’st and Phthia’s frozen soil.

THE NURSE OF HERMIONE, CHORUS.

NUR. How doth a rapid series of events
The most disastrous, O my dearest friends,
This day invade us! for within these doors
Hermione my mistress, by her sire
Forsaken, and grown conscious of the guilt
She hath incurred, by that attempt to murder
Andromache and her unhappy son,
Resolves to die, because she dreads, lest fired
With indignation at her guilt, her lord
Should cast her forth with scorn, or take away
Her life, because she purposed to have slain
The innocent. The servants who attend
Can hardly by their vigilance prevent her
From fixing round her neck the deadly noose,
Or snatch the dagger from her hand, so great
Is her affliction, and she now confesses
That she has done amiss. My strength’s exhausted
In striving to withhold my royal mistress
From perishing by an ignoble death.
But enter ye these mansions, and attempt
To save her life, for strangers can persuade
Far better than old friends.

CHOR. We hear the voice
Of her attendants from within confirm
Th’ intelligence thou hither cam’st to bring:
That hapless woman seems just on the point
Of showing with what rage she by her guilt
Is hurried on: for lo, she rushes forth
From yon abodes, already hath she ’scaped
Her servants’ hands, and is resolved to die.

HERMIONE, NURSE, CHORUS.

HER. Ah me! these ringlets how will I tear off,
How rend my cheeks!

NUR. What mean’st thou, O my daughter?
Wilt thou thus injure that fair frame?

HER. Away,
O thou slight veil, I pluck thee from my head,
And toss thy scattered fragments in the air.

NUR. Cover thy bosom with the decent robe.

HER. Why with a robe my bosom should I hide?
The crimes I have committed ’gainst my lord
Are clear, well known, and cannot be concealed.

NUR. Griev’st thou because thou hast formed schemes to slay
Thy rival?

HER. I with many groans bewail
Those hostile darings, execrable wretch,
Wretch that I am, an object of just hate
To all mankind.

NUR. Thy husband such offence
Will pardon.

HER. From my hand why didst thou snatch
The sword? Restore, restore it, O my friends,
That I this bosom may transpierce. Why force me
To quit yon pendant noose?

NUR. In thy distraction
Shall I forsake and leave thee thus to die?

HER. Where shall I find (inform me, O ye Fates)
The blazing pyre, ascend the craggy rock,
Plunge in the billows, or amidst the woods
On a steep mountain waste the life I loathe,
That after death the gods beneath may take me
To their protection?

CHOR. Why wouldst thou make efforts
So violent? some mischiefs sent by Heaven
Sooner or later visit all mankind.

HER. Me like a stranded bark, thou, O my sire,
Hast left forsaken and without an oar.
To thee I owe my ruin. I no longer
In these my bridal mansions can reside.
To the propitious statues of what God
With suppliant haste shall I repair, or fall
At a slave’s knees, myself an abject slave?
I from the land of Phthia, like a bird
Upborne on azure wings, would speed my flight,
Or imitate that ship whose dashing oars
’Twixt the Cyanean straits first urged their way.

NUR. As little, O my daughter, can I praise
That vehemence which caused thee to transgress
Against the Trojan dame, as these thy fears
Which are immoderate. For such slight offence
Thy lord, misled by the pernicious tongue
Of a barbarian woman, from his couch
Will not expel thee: for thou art not his
By right of conquest, borne from vanquished Troy;
But thee, the daughter of a mighty king,
He with abundant dower, and from a city
Most flourishing, received: nor will thy sire,
His child forsaking, as thou dread’st, permit thee
To be cast forth: but enter these abodes,
Nor show thyself without, lest some affront
Thou shouldst receive if haply thou art seen
Before these doors.

[_Exit_ NURSE.

CHOR. Behold a man, whose dress
Is of such different fashion that it speaks
The foreigner, comes swiftly from the gate.

ORESTES, HERMIONE, CHORUS.

ORE. Is this th’ abode of great Achilles’ son,
The regal mansion, O ye foreign dames?

CHOR. It is as thou hast said. But who art thou
That ask’st this question?

ORE. Agamemnon’s son,
And Clytemnestra’s; but my name’s Orestes:
I to Dodona, th’ oracle of Jove,
Am on my road; but since I now have reached
The land of Phthia, first would I inquire
How fares Hermione, the Spartan dame,
My kinswoman; doth she yet live and prosper?
For though from me far distant be the land
In which she now resides, she still is dear.

HER. O son of Agamemnon, who thus make
Your seasonable appearance, like the haven
To mariners amidst a furious storm,
Take pity, I implore you by those knees,
On me a wretch whose inauspicious fortunes
You witness. Hence around your knees I fling
These arms, which ought to prove of equal force
With hallowed branches by the suppliant borne.

ORE. What’s this? am I deceived? or do my eyes
Indeed behold the queen of these abodes,
And Menelaus’ daughter?

HER. Th’ only child
Whom to the Spartan monarch Helen bore.
Mistake me not.

ORE. O Phœbus, healing power,
Protect us! But what dire mischance hath happened?
Or from the gods, or human foes, proceed
The evils thou endur’st?

HER. Some from myself,
But others from the husband whom I wedded
The rest from one of the immortal gods.
I utterly am ruined.

ORE. What afflictions
Can any woman who’s yet childless feel
But those which from her nuptial union spring?

HER. Hence these distempers of the soul arise,
And well do you anticipate my words.

ORE. Enamoured with another, is thy lord
False to thy bed?

HER. He loves a captive dame,
The wife of Hector.

ORE. This of which thou speak’st
Is a great evil, when one man possesses
Two wives.

HER. ’Twas thus, till I avenged the wrong.

ORE. Didst thou with arts familiar to thy sex
Plot ’gainst thy rival’s life?

HER. I would have killed
Her and her spurious son.

ORE. Hast thou despatched them?
Or were they screened from their impending fate?

HER. Old Peleus to these worthless objects showed
Too great a reverence.

ORE. Was there any friend
Ready to aid thee in the purposed slaughter?

HER. My sire, who for this cause from Sparta came.

ORE. Yet by that aged man was he subdued?

HER. Abashed he fled, and left me here alone.

ORE. I understand thee well: thy husband’s wrath
Thou fear’st for what thou’st done.

HER. The fact you know:
Hence justly will he take away my life.
What can be said? yet by immortal Jove,
Our grandsire, I conjure you, send me far
From these domains, or to my father’s house.
Had but these walls a voice, they would proclaim
The sentence of my exile, for the land
Of Phthia hates me. If my lord return
From Phœbus’ oracle, for the misdeeds
I have committed, he will strike me dead,
Or force me to become that harlot’s slave
Whom erst I ruled.

ORE. By some will it be asked
Whence then into such errors didst thou fall?

HER. My ruin I derive from the admission
Of these vile women, who inflamed my pride
By uttering these rash words: “Wilt thou endure
Beneath thy roof that odious slave who shares
Thy bridal couch? by Juno, awful queen,
I would not suffer such a wretch to breathe
In my polluted chamber.” When I heard
The language uttered by these crafty sirens,
Artificers of mischief, who, to suit
Their purpose, in persuasive strains displayed
The power of eloquence, I was puffed up
With folly: for what need had I to hold
My lord in reverence while possessed of all
That I could wish? abundant wealth was mine,
O’er these abodes I reigned, and any children
I to my husband might hereafter bare
Would be legitimate; but hers, by mine
In strict subjection held, a spurious race.
But never, never (I this truth repeat)
Should wedded men, who have the gift of reason,
Let women have a free access, and visit
Their consort. For they teach her evil lessons:
Urged by the hopes of lucre, one corrupts
Her chastity; a second hath already
Transgressed herself, and wishes that her friend
May be as vicious: many by their lust
Are led astray: hence to their husband’s house
A train of mischief rises. Guard the doors
Of your abodes with locks and massive bars;
Since from the intrusion of these female guests,
No good, but mischiefs numberless ensue.

CHOR. Thou to thy tongue hast given too free a scope
In thus aspersing the whole female race:
Thy present woes indeed our pardon claim;
Yet every woman is in duty bound
To gloss o’er the misconduct of her sex.

ORE. Wisdom pertained to him who taught mankind
To hear the reasons by both parties urged
In a debate. Aware of the confusion
In these abodes, and of the strife ’twixt thee
And Hector’s wife, I stayed not to observe
Whether thou in this house wouldst still remain,
Or through a fear of yonder captive dame
Abandon it: I therefore hither came,
Nor waited for intelligence from thee.
And if a satisfactory account
Of thy proceedings thou to me canst give,
I will convey thee hence. For thou, who erst
Wert mine, with this thy present husband liv’st,
Through the perfidious conduct of thy sire,
Who ere he entered the domains of Troy
Affianced thee to me, and then to him
Who now possesses thee, again engaged,
If he the Phrygian city should subdue.
But I forgive thy father for this wrong,
When hither great Achilles’ son returned,
And to the bridegroom sued that he would loose
Thy plighted hand; of all my various fortunes
Informing him, and of my present woes;
How feasible it were for me to wed
Among my friends, but that for such an exile
As I am, driven from my paternal throne,
’Twould not be easy to obtain a consort
In any foreign land: on this he grew
More arrogant, and bitterly reproached me
Both with my mother’s murder, and those Furies
Whose blood-stained visages inspire dismay.
By the misfortunes of my house bowed down
To earth, I grieved indeed, but grieving bore
The weight of these calamities, and reft
Of thee my bride, reluctantly departed.
But since thy fortunes now have undergone
A change so unexpected, and involved
In woe, thou stand’st aghast; from these abodes
Thee will I take and to thy sire convey.
For wondrous is the force of kindred ties;
And in misfortunes nought exceeds the friend
Who from the self-same house derives his birth.

HER. My father will take care how to dispose
Of me in marriage, nor is it my province
Such question to decide. But, O convey me
From these loathed mansions with the utmost speed,
Lest when my husband at his first return
Enters the doors, he intercept my flight;
Or, hearing that I leave his grandson’s house,
Peleus pursue me with his rapid steeds.

ORE. Be of good cheer against that aged man,
And from thy furious lord, Achilles’ son,
Who treated me with scorn, fear nought; this hand
Hath with such cautious artifice prepared
For him th’ inevitable snares of death,
Of which no previous mention will I make:
But when it is accomplished, this exploit
Shall on the rock of Delphi be proclaimed.
I who my mother slew, if th’ armed friends
Whom I have stationed in the Pythian realm
Observe their oaths, will teach him that he ought
To have abstained from wedding any dame
Betrothed to me. He in an evil hour
Shall claim atonement for his father’s death
Of Phœbus mighty king; nor shall repentance
For these audacious blasphemies avail
To save the miscreant on whose impious head
Apollo wreaks just vengeance; by his wrath
O’ertaken, and entangled in my snares,
He wretchedly shall perish. For the gods
Subvert the prosperous fortunes of their foes
Nor suffer pride to rear her towering crest.

[_Exeunt_ ORESTES _and_ HERMIONE.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I. 1.

Phœbus, thou god who with a mound
Of stately towers didst Ilion’s rock surround;
And thou, O Neptune, ruler of the main,
Borne swiftly by thy azure steeds
In a light car, who cleav’st the watery plain;
After exerting with unwearied toil
Such skill as human works exceeds,
’Gainst wretched Troy when Mars his javelin bore,
Why, faithless to that chosen soil,
Left ye your city drenched in gore?

I. 2.

The steeds ye yoked on Simois’ banks
Whirled many a chariot through the broken ranks;
No hero gathered in that stubborn fray
One laurel to adorn his head:
Phrygia’s illustrious rulers swept away,
Took their last voyage to a distant shore,
And mingled with the vulgar dead,
While the polluted altars ceased to gleam
Upwafting to the skies no more
Their frankincense in odorous steam.

II. 1.

Slain by his wife Atrides fell;
His furious son sent to the shades of Hell
The murderess, and returned th’ unnatural deed,
That fatal stroke the god approved,
His oracles ordained that she should bleed,
When young Orestes at the inmost shrine
Was by a heavenly impulse moved,
His hands in gore maternal to imbrue.
O Phœbus, O thou power divine,
How shall I think th’ assertion true?

II. 2.

In Greece doth many a dame complain
Chaunting rude dirges for her children slain;
Others their native land reluctant leave,
And to a foreign lord are brought.
Nor yet hast thou alone just cause to grieve,
Nor to thy friends hath Heaven’s peculiar hate
These signal miseries wrought:
Victorious Greece still feels as deep a wound,
From whence the thunderbolt of fate
Through Phrygia scattered deaths around.

PELEUS, CHORUS.

PEL. Answer my questions, O ye Phthian dames,
For doubtful is the rumour I have heard,
That Menelaus’ daughter, when she left
This house departed from the realm. I come
Anxious to learn if this account be true.
For ’tis their duty who remain at home
To guard the fortunes of their absent friends.

CHOR. What thou hast heard, O Peleus, is the truth,
And ill would it become me to conceal
The woes in which I deeply am involved:
Our royal mistress from these walls is fled.

PEL. What feared she? say.

CHOR. The anger of her lord,
Lest he from these abodes should cast her forth.

PEL. Because she plotted to have slain the boy?

CHOR. E’en so it was. Yon captive too she dreaded.

PEL. But from these mansions did she go, attended,
Or by her father or by whom?

CHOR. The son
Of Agamemnon from this land conveyed her.

PEL. What are his views? to take her for his bride?

CHOR. Thy grandson too he meditates to slay.

PEL. Stationed in secret ambush, or resolved
To meet the dauntless warrior face to face?

CHOR. Beneath Apollo’s unpolluted fane
With Delphi’s citizens.

PEL. Atrocious crime!
Ah me! will no one with his utmost speed
Go to the altar of the Pythian god,
And to our friends disclose what passes here,
Ere by his foes Achilles’ son is slain?

MESSENGER, PELEUS, CHORUS.

MES. What evil tidings do I bring to you,
O aged man, and all my master’s friends!

PEL. By a sad presage which affects my soul
I of th’ impending evil am forewarned.

MES. Know then, O Peleus, that your wretched grandson
Is now no more, with such unnumbered wounds
He by the Delphic citizens transpierced,
And by that stranger from Mycene died.

CHOR. Alas! alas! but what resource is left
For thee, thou hoary veteran? do not fall;
Raise thyself up.

PEL. To very nothing now
Am I reduced, I utterly am ruined:
The power of speech deserts me, and these limbs
Forget their office.

MES. Hear me, and from earth
Arise, if, with th’ assistance of your friends,
You for this murder wish to be revenged.

PEL. How hast thou compassed wretched me, who stand
On the last verge of spiritless old age,
O cruel fate! say how the only son
Of my deceased, my only son, was slain.
These tidings though unwelcome would I hear.

MES. After we reached Apollo’s sacred realm,
While thrice the chariot of the sun performed
Its bright career, we satiated our eyes
With viewing all around. The circumstance
Which raised suspicion first, was this: the people
Who dwell within the temple of the god
Held frequent meetings, and in crowds assembled.
Meanwhile the son of Agamemnon went
Through the whole city, and in every ear
Whispered malignant words like these: “Behold
Him who is visiting the hallowed shrine
Of Phœbus piled with gold, the treasures given
By all mankind; the miscreant comes again
On the same purpose which first drew him hither,
To overthrow the temple of the god.”
Through the whole city hence an evil rumour
Went forth, and all the magistrates, to whom
The holy treasures were consigned, assembled,
In secret councils held, and placed a guard
Behind the massive columns in the fane.
We, unapprized of this, meantime had caught
Some sheep, that fed amid Parnassus’ grove,
And with our Delphic friends and Pythian seers
Approached the altar: some one said: “Young man,
What vows on thy behalf shall we address
To Phœbus? for what purpose art thou come?”
He answered: “To the god I wish to make
A due atonement for my past offence,
Because I erst from him with impious tongue
Claimed satisfaction for my father’s blood.”
Hence did Orestes’ calumnies appear
To have great weight, suggesting that my lord
Spoke an untruth, and that he hither came
With vile designs. Beneath the holy roof,
That to Apollo he might offer up
His prayers in that oracular abode,
He now advanced, and as they blazed, observed
The victims: here a troop with falchions armed
Screened by the branching laurels stood; the son
Of Clytemnestra was the sole contriver
Of all these stratagems. Our lord stood forth,
And, in the sight of this insidious band,
Adored the god: while they with their keen swords,
Ere he discerned them, pierced Achilles’ son
Unsheathed in mail. He instantly retreated;
For he as yet had by no deadly wound
Been smitten; but snatched up in his retreat
Those glittering arms which near the portals hung,
And stood a champion terrible to view,
Close to the blazing altar: with loud voice
He questioned the inhabitants of Delphi:
“Me who a pious votary hither come,
Why, or for what offences, would ye slay!”
Although the number of his foes was great,
None of them answered, but all hands hurled stones:
On every side assaulted by a storm
Thick as the falling snows, he warded off,
Extending the broad margin of his shield,
Each missile weapon: but of no avail
Was this resistance: for the spear, the shaft,
The dart, were thrown at once, and at his feet
Mixed instruments of sacrifice lay scattered.
Th’ agility with which your grandson shunned
The blows they aimed, was wondrous to behold:
They in a circle gathering round, closed in,
Nor gave him space to breathe, till from the altar
Descending with a leap like that which bore
The hapless Grecian chief to Phrygia’s coast,
He rushed among them: like a flock of doves
Who see the hawk appear, they turned and fled:
In heaps on heaps promiscuous, many fell,
Some in the narrow passage wounded lay,
While others o’er them trampled, and their groans
Unholy echoed through the hallowed dome.
But, tranquil as the waters in a calm,
In golden arms my lord resplendent stood,
Till from the inmost sanctuary burst forth
A deep-toned voice of horror, which impelled
The recreant warriors to renew the fight:
Achilles’ son then smitten through the flank
With a keen sword, by one of Delphi fell,
Who slew him, yet ignobly, with the aid
Of multitudes. But after he to earth
Was fallen, what sword transpierced him not, what hand
Threw not a stone to smite him? his whole frame,
So graceful erst, was with unnumbered wounds
Disfigured: till at length his mangled corse,
Which stained the altar’s basis, from the fane
Drenched with the blood of victims they cast forth.
But gathering up with speed, his loved remains
To you we bear, O venerable man,
That o’er them you may shed the plenteous tear,
And grace them with sepulchral rites. Thus Phœbus,
Who prophesies to others, mighty king,
And deals out justice to th’ admiring world,
Hath on Achilles’ son revenged himself,
And, like some worthless human foe, revived
An ancient grudge: how then can he be wise?

[_Exit_ MESSENGER.

CHOR. But lo! our royal master, from the land
Of Delphi borne, approaches these abodes!
Wretched was he, by such untimely doom
O’ertaken: nor art thou, O aged man,
Less wretched than the slaughtered youth: for thou
Into thy doors receiv’st Achilles’ son,
But not as thou couldst wish; thou too art fallen
Into affliction’s snare.

PEL. What piteous object,
Ah me! do I behold, and with these hands
Receive into my house! we are undone,
We are undone, O thou Thessalian city;
I have no children, no descendants left,
To occupy these mansions. On what friend
Shall I a wretched sufferer turn my eyes,
And hope to find relief? O thou dear face,
Ye cheeks, ye hands! thee would to Heaven that fate
In those embattled fields of Troy had slain
Beside the waves of Simois!

CHOR. He in death
Hence would have found renown; thou too, old man,
Wouldst have been happier.

PEL. Thou, O wedlock, wedlock,
These mansions and my city hast o’erthrown.
My grandson, through the inauspicious nuptials
By thee contracted, would to heaven my gates
Had ne’er received that execrable fiend
Hermione, thy bane! O had she first
With thunderbolts been smitten! nor hadst thou,
Presumptuous mortal, charged the Delphic god
With having aimed the shaft which slew thy sire!

CHOR. I will awake the sad funereal dirge,
And wailing pay to my departed lord
Such customary tribute as attends
The shades of mighty chiefs.

PEL. Ah me! at once
With misery and old age bowed down to earth,
I shed th’ incessant tear.

CHOR. Thus hath the god
Ordained, the god’s vindictive arm hath wrought
All these calamities.

PEL. O most beloved,
This house, ah me! a desert hast thou left,
And me a miserable old man made childless.

CHOR. Before thy children, O thou aged man,
Thou shouldst have died.

PEL. Shall I not rend my hair,
And beat with desperate hands this hoary head?
O city! Phœbus hath of both my sons
Deprived me.

CHOR. O thou miserable old man,
What evils hast thou witnessed and endured!
How wilt thou pass the remnant of thy life?

PEL. Childless, forlorn, no period to my woes
Can I discover, but till death must drink
The bitter potion.

CHOR. Sure the gods in vain
Showered blessings on thy nuptials.

PEL. Fled and withered
Is all our ancient pomp.

CHOR. Alone thou mov’st
Around thy lonely house.

PEL. I have no city.
Thee, O my sceptre, to the ground I cast,
And from yon dreary caverns of the main,
Daughter of Nereus, me wilt thou behold
Utterly ruined, grovelling in the dust.

CHOR. Ha! who was it that moved? what form divine
Do I perceive? look there! ye nymphs, attend,
With rapid passage through the fleecy clouds
Borne onward, some divinity arrives
At Phthia’s pastures, famed for generous steeds.

THETIS, PELEUS, CHORUS.

THE. O Peleus, mindful of the ties which bound
Our plighted love, I hither from the house
Of Nereus come, and with these wholesome counsels
Begin; despair not, though thy present woes
Are grievous: for e’en I who should have borne
A race of children such as ne’er might cause
My tears to stream, have lost the son who crowned
Our hopes, Achilles, swift of foot, the first
Of Grecian heroes. But to thee, the motives
Which brought me hither, will I now relate;
O listen to my voice. Back to that altar
Devoted to the Pythian god, convey
This body of Achilles’ slaughtered son,
And bury it; so shall his tomb declare
The murderous violence Orestes’ band
Committed: but yon captive dame, I mean
Andromache, on Helenus bestowed
In marriage, in Molossia’s land must dwell,
And her young son, the only royal branch
Which of the stem of Æacus remains;
From him in long succession shall a race
Of happy kings Molossia’s sceptre wield:
Nor will our progeny, O aged man,
Be utterly extinct, when blended thus
With Ilion, still protected by the gods,
Though by Minerva’s stratagems it fell.
But, as for thee, that thou mayst know the blessing
Of having wedded me, who am by birth
A goddess and the daughter of a god,
From all the ills which wait on human life
Releasing, thee immortal will I make
And incorruptible; with me a goddess
In Nereus’ watery mansions thou a god
Hereafter shalt reside, and from the waves
Emerging with dry feet, behold our son
Achilles, to his parents justly dear,
Inhabiting that isle whose chalky coasts
Are laved by the surrounding Euxine deep.
But go to Delphi’s city by the gods
Erected, thither bear this weltering corse,
And when thou hast interred it, to this land
Return, and in that cave which through the rock
Of Sepia time hath worn, thy station keep
Till from the waves I with my sister choir
The fifty Nereids come, to bear thee hence.
Thou must endure the woe’s imposed by fate,
For thus hath Jove ordained. But cease to grieve
For the deceased: for by the righteous gods
The same impartial sentence is awarded
To the whole human race, and death’s a debt
Which all must pay.

PEL. Hail, venerable dame,
Daughter of Nereus, my illustrious wife:
For what thou dost is worthy of thyself,
And of thy progeny. I cease to grieve
At thy command, O goddess, and will go,
Soon as my grandson’s corse I have interred,
To Pelion’s cave, where first thy beauteous form
I in these arms received. The man whose choice
Is by discretion guided, should select
A consort nobly born, and give his daughters
To those of virtuous families, nor wish
To wed a damsel sprung from worthless sires,
Though to his house a plenteous dower she bring:
So shall he ne’er incur the wrath of Heaven.

CHOR. A thousand shapes our varying fates assume,
The gods perform what we could least expect,
And oft the things for which we fondly hoped
Come not to pass: but Heaven still finds a clue
To guide our steps through life’s perplexing maze.
And thus does this important business end.