Robert Browning - Delphi Poets Series
Page 299
A household-expiation: since the king
O’ the country, Herakles had killed and cast
From out the dwelling; and a beauteous choir
Of boys stood by his sire, too, and his wife.
And now the basket had been carried round
The altar in a circle, and we used
The consecrated speech. Alkmené’s son, —
Just as he was about, in his right hand,
To bear the torch, that he might dip into
The cleansing-water, — came to a stand-still;
And, as their father yet delayed, his boys
Had their eyes on him. But he was himself
No longer: lost in rollings of the eyes;
Outthrusting eyes — their very roots — like blood!
Froth he dropped down his bushy-bearded cheek,
And said — together with a madman’s laugh —
“Father! why sacrifice, before I slay
Eurustheus? why have twice the lustral fire,
And double pains, when ‘t is permitted me
To end, with one good hand-sweep, matters here?
Then, — when I hither bring Eurustheus’ head, —
Then for these just slain, wash hands once for all!
Now, — cast drink-offerings forth, throw baskets down!
Who gives me bow and arrows, who my club?
I go to that Mukenai. One must match
Crowbars and mattocks, so that — those sunk stones
The Kuklops squared with picks and plumb-line red —
I, with my bent steel, may o’ertumble town.”
Which said, he goes and — with no car to have —
Affirms he has one! mounts the chariot-board,
And strikes, as having really goad in hand!
And two ways laughed the servants — laugh with awe;
And one said, as each met the other’s stare,
“Playing us boys’ tricks? or is master mad?”
But up he climbs, and down along the roof,
And, dropping into the men’s place, maintains
He’s come to Nisos city, when he’s come
Only inside his own house! then reclines
On floor, for couch, and, as arrived indeed,
Makes himself supper; goes through some brief stay
Then says he’s traversing the forest-flats
Of Isthmos; thereupon lays body bare
Of bucklings, and begins a contest with
— No one! and is proclaimed the conqueror —
He by himself — having called out to hear
— Nobody! Then, if you will take his word,
Blaring against Eurustheus horribly,
He’s at Mukenai. But his father laid
Hold of the strong hand and addressed him thus:
“O son, what ails thee? Of what sort is this
Extravagance? Has not some murder-craze,
Bred of those corpses thou didst just despatch,
Danced thee drunk?” But he, — taking him to crouch,
Eurustheus’ sire, that apprehensive touched
His hand, a suppliant, — pushes him aside,
Gets ready quiver, and bends bow against
His children — thinking them Eurustheus’ boys
He means to slay. They, horrified with fear,
Rushed here and there, — this child, into the robes
O’ the wretched mother — this, beneath the shade
O’ the column, — and this other, like a bird,
Cowered at the altar-foot. The mother shrieks
“Parent — what dost thou? — kill thy children?” So
Shriek the old sire and crowd of servitors.
But he, outwinding him, as round about
The column ran the boy, — a horrid whirl
O’ the lathe his foot described! — stands opposite,
Strikes through the liver; and supine the boy
Bedews the stone shafts, breathing out his life.
But “Victory!” he shouted — boasted thus:
“Well, this one nestling of Eurustheus — dead —
Falls by me, pays back the paternal hate!”
Then bends bow on another who was crouched
At base of altar — overlooked, he thought —
And now prevents him, falls at father’s knee,
Throwing up hand to beard and cheek above.
“O dearest!” cries he; “father, kill me not!
Yours I am — your boy: not Eurustheus’ boy
You kill now!” But he, rolling the wild eye
Of Gorgon, — as the boy stood all too close
For deadly bowshot, — mimicry of smith
Who batters red-hot iron, — hand o’er head
Heaving his club, on the boy’s yellow hair
Hurls it and breaks the bone. This second caught, —
He goes, would slay the third, one sacrifice
He and the couple; but, beforehand here,
The miserable mother catches up,
Carries him inside house and bars the gate.
Then he, as he were at those Kuklops’ work,
Digs at, heaves doors up, wrenches doorposts out,
Lays wife and child low with the selfsame shaft.
And this done, at the old man’s death he drives;
But there came, as it seemed to us who saw,
A statue — Pallas with the crested head,
Swinging her spear — and threw a stone which smote
Herakles’ breast and stayed his slaughter-rage,
And sent him safe to sleep. He falls to ground —
Striking against the column with his back —
Column which, with the falling of the roof,
Broken in two, lay by the altar-base.
And we, foot-free now from our several flights,
Along with the old man, we fastened bonds
Of rope-noose to the column, so that he,
Ceasing from sleep, might not go adding deeds
To deeds done. And he sleeps a sleep, poor wretch,
No gift of any god! since he has slain
Children and wife. For me, I do not know
What mortal has more misery to bear.
CHOROS.
A murder there was which Argolis
Holds in remembrance, Hellas through,
As, at that time, best and famousest:
Of those, the daughters of Danaos slew.
A murder indeed was that! but this
Outstrips it, straight to the goal has pressed.
I am able to speak of a murder done
To the hapless Zeus-born offspring, too —
Prokné’s son, who had but one —
Or a sacrifice to the Muses, say
Rather, who Itus sing alway,
Her single child. But thou, the sire
Of children three — O thou consuming fire! —
In one outrageous fate hast made them all expire.
And this outrageous fate —
What groan, or wail, or deadmen’s dirge,
Or choric dance of Haides shall I urge
The Muse to celebrate?
Woe! woe! behold!
The portalled palace lies unrolled,
This way and that way, each prodigious fold!
Alas for me! these children, see,
Stretched, hapless group, before their father — he
The all-unhappy, who lies sleeping out
The murder of his sons, a dreadful sleep!
And bonds, see, all about, —
Rope-tangle, ties and tether, — these
Tightenings around the body of Herakles
To the stone columns of the house made fast!
But — like a bird that grieves
For callow nestlings some rude hand bereaves —
See, here, a bitter journey overpast,
The old man — all too late — is here at last!
AMPHITRUON.
Silently, silently, aged Kadmeians!
Will ye not suffer my son, diffused
Yonder, to slide from his sorrows in sleep?
CHOROS.
And thee, old man, do I, groaning, weep,
And the children too, and the head there — used
Of old to the wreaths and paians!
AMPHITRUON.
Farther away! Nor beat the breast,
Nor wail aloud, nor rouse from rest
The slumberer — asleep, so best!
CHOROS.
Ah me — what a slaughter!
AMPHITRUON.
Refrain — refrain!
Ye will prove my perdition.
CHOROS.
Unlike water,
Bloodshed rises from earth again.
AMPHITRUON.
Do I bid you bate your breath, in vain —
Ye elders? Lament in a softer strain!
Lest he rouse himself, burst every chain,
And bury the city in ravage — bray
Father and house to dust away!
CHOROS.
I cannot forbear — I cannot forbear!
AMPHITRUON.
Hush! I will learn his breathings: there!
I will lay my ears close.
CHOROS.
What, he sleeps?
AMPHITRUON.
Ay, — sleeps! A horror of slumber keeps
The man who has piled
On wife and child
Death and death, as he shot them down
With clang o’ the bow.
CHOROS.
Wail —
AMPHITRUON.
Even so!
CHOROS.
— The fate of the children —
AMPHITRUON.
Triple woe
CHOROS.
— Old man, the fate of thy son!
AMPHITRUON.
Hush, hush! Have done!
He is turning about!
He is breaking out!
Away! I steal
And my body conceal,
Before he arouse,
In the depths of the house.
CHOROS.
Courage! The Night
Maintains her right
On the lids of thy son there, sealed from sight!
AMPHITRUON.
See, see! To leave the light
And, wretch that I am, bear one last ill,
I do not avoid; but if he kill
Me his own father, and devise
Beyond the present miseries
A misery more ghastly still —
And to haunt him, over and above
Those here who, as they used to love,
Now hate him, what if he have with these
My murder, the worst of Erinues?
CHOROS.
Then was the time to die, for thee,
When ready to wreak in the full degree
Vengeance on those
Thy consort’s foes
Who murdered her brothers! glad, life’s close,
With the Taphioi down,
And sacked their town
Clustered about with a wash of sea!
AMPHITRUON.
To flight — to flight!
Away from the house, troop off, old men!
Save yourselves out of the maniac’s sight!
He is rousing himself right up: and then,
Murder on murder heaping anew,
He will revel in blood your city through!
CHOROS.
O Zeus, why hast, with such unmeasured hate,
Hated thy son, whelmed in this sea of woes?
HERAKLES.
Ha, —
In breath indeed I am — see things I ought —
Æther, and earth, and these the sunbeam-shafts!
But then — some billow and strange whirl of sense
I have fallen into! and breathings hot I breathe —
Smoked upwards, not the steady work from lungs.
See now! Why bound, — at moorings like a ship, —
About my young breast and young arm, to this
Stone piece of carved work broke in half, do I
Sit, have my rest in corpses’ neighbourhood?
Strewn on the ground are winged darts, and bow
Which played my brother-shieldman, held in hand, —
Guarded my side, and got my guardianship!
I cannot have gone back to Haides — twice
Begun Eurustheus’ race I ended thence?
But I nor see the Sisupheian stone,
Nor Plouton, nor Demeter’s sceptred maid!
I am struck witless sure! Where can I be?
Ho there! what friend of mine is near or far —
Some one to cure me of bewilderment?
For nought familiar do I recognize.
AMPHITRUON.
Old friends, shall I go close to these my woes?
CHOROS.
Ay, and let me too, — nor desert your ills!
HERAKLES.
Father, why weepest thou, and buriest up
Thine eyes, aloof so from thy much-loved son?
AMPHITRUON.
O child! — for, faring badly, mine thou art!
HERAKLES.
Do I fare somehow ill, that tears should flow?
AMPHITRUON.
Ill, — would cause any god who bore, to groan!
HERAKLES.
That’s boasting, truly! still, you state no hap.
AMPHITRUON.
For, thyself seest — if in thy wits again.
HERAKLES.
Heyday! How riddlingly that hint returns!
AMPHITRUON.
Well, I am trying — art thou sane and sound!
HERAKLES.
Say if thou lay’st aught strange to my life’s charge!
AMPHITRUON.
If thou no more art Haides-drunk, — I tell!
HERAKLES.
I bring to mind no drunkenness of soul.
AMPHITRUON.
Shall I unbind my son, old men, or what?
HERAKLES.
And who was binder, tell! — not that , my deed!
AMPHITRUON.
Mind that much of misfortune — pass the rest!
HERAKLES.
Enough! from silence, I nor learn nor wish.
AMPHITRUON.
O Zeus, dost witness here throned Heré’s work?
HERAKLES.
But have I had to bear aught hostile thence?
AMPHITRUON.
Let be the goddess — bury thine own guilt!
HERAKLES.
Undone! What is the sorrow thou wilt say?
AMPHITRUON.
Look! See the ruins of thy children here!
HERAKLES.
Ah me! What sight do wretched I behold?
AMPHITRUON.
Unfair fight, son, this fight thou fastenedst
On thine own children!
HERAKLES.
What fight? Who slew these?
AMPHITRUON.
Thou and thy bow, and who of gods was cause.
HERAKLES.
How say’st? What did I? Ill-announcing sire!
AMPHITRUON.
— Go mad! Thou askest a sad clearing up.
HERAKLES.
And am I also murderer of my wife?
AMPHITRUON.
All the work here was just one hand’s work — thine!
HERAKLES.
Ai ai — for groans encompass me — a cloud!
AMPHITRUON.
For these deeds’ sake do I begroan thy fate.
HERAKLES.
Did I break up my house or dance it down?
AMPHITRUON.
I know just one thing — all’s a woe with thee.
HERAKLES.
But where did the craze catch me? where destroy?
AMPHITRUON.
When thou didst cleanse hands at the altar-flame.
HERAKLES.
Ah me! why is it then I save my life
—
Proved murderer of my dearest ones, my boys?
Shall not I rush to the rock-level’s leap,
Or, darting sword through breast and all, become
My children’s blood-avenger? or, this flesh
Burning away with fire, so thrust away
The infamy, which waits me there, from life?
Ah but, — a hindrance to my purposed death,
Theseus arrives, my friend and kinsman, here!
Eyes will be on me! my child-murder-plague
In evidence before friends loved so much!
O me, what shall I do? Where, taking wing
Or gliding underground, shall I seek out
A solitariness from misery?
I will pull night upon my muffled head!
Let this wretch here content him with his curse
Of blood: I would pollute no innocents.
THESEUS.
I come, — with others who await beside
Asopos’ stream, the armed Athenian youth, —
Bring thy son, old man, spear’s fight-fellowship!
For a bruit reached the Erechtheidai’s town
That, having seized the sceptre of this realm,
Lukos prepares you battle-violence.
So, paying good back, — Herakles began,
Saving me down there, — I have come, old man,
If aught, of my hand or my friends’, you want.
What’s here? Why all these corpses on the ground?
Am I perhaps behindhand — come too late
For newer ill? Who killed these children now?
Whose wife was she, this woman I behold?
Boys, at least, take no stand in reach of spear!
Some other woe than war, I chance upon.
AMPHITRUON.
O thou, who sway’st the olive-bearing height! —
THESEUS.
Why hail’st thou me with woeful prelude thus?
AMPHITRUON.
Dire sufferings have we suffered from the gods.
THESEUS.
These boys, — who are they thou art weeping o’er?
AMPHITRUON.
He gave them birth, indeed, my hapless son!
Begot, but killed them — dared their bloody death.
THESEUS.
Speak no such horror!
AMPHITRUON.
Would I might obey!
THESEUS.
O teller of dread tidings!
AMPHITRUON.
Lost are we —
Lost — flown away from life!
THESEUS.
What sayest thou?
What did he?
AMPHITRUON.
Erring through a frenzy-fit,
He did all, with the arrows dipt in dye
Of hundred-headed Hudra.
THESEUS.
Heré’s strife!
But who is this among the dead, old man?
AMPHITRUON.
Mine, mine, this progeny — the labour-plagued,
Who went with gods once to Phlegruia’s plain,
And in the giant-slaying war bore shield.
THESEUS.
Woe — woe! What man was born mischanceful thus!