Trachiniae

1Enter the Chorus on the other side. Chorus You, to whom Night gives birth when she is vanquished and despoiled of her starry crown, and whom, as you blaze, she lays to rest, I pray you, O Sun, Sun, tell me, where is Alcmena’s son, where dwells her child? O Shining god with your bright flash, is he on the straits of the sea, or does he lean upon the twin continents? Speak, you who surpass all in sight!

1Chorus For with longing heart, as I hear, Deianeira, the battle-prize, now, like some mournful bird, never rests her eyes’ longing that they might be without tears, but nourishing a well-remembered fear for her husband’s travels she is constantly afflicted by her anxious, widowed marriage-bed and in her misery anticipates misfortune.

2Chorus For just as one may see billow after billow advancing and passing over the wide deep before the tireless south-wind, or the north, so the great toil of his life, stormy as the Cretan sea, now whirls back the heir of Cadmus, now exalts him. But some god always keeps him unerring from the house of Hades.

2To Deianeira. Chorus With respect I reproach you for your weeping, but still I will speak in dissent. You must not, I say, wear away fair hope. Remember that the all-accomplishing king, the son of Cronus, does not appoint a painless lot for mortals. Sorrow and joy revolve to all, as the stars of the Bear move in their circling paths.

1Chorus Great and mighty is the victory which the Cyprian queen always bears away. I bypass the tales of the gods, and do not narrate how she beguiled the son of Cronus, and Hades, the lord of darkness, or Poseidon, shaker of the earth. But, when this bride was to be won, who were the massive rivals that entered the contest for her nuptials? Who stepped forward to the ordeal of battle full of blows and raising dust?

1Chorus One was a mighty river-god, the form of a bull, high-horned and four-legged, Achelous, from Oeniadae. The other came from Thebes, home of Bacchus, brandishing his resilient bow, his spears and club; he was the son of Zeus. These two then met in a mass, lusting to win a bride, and the Cyprian goddess of nuptial joy was there with them, acting as sole umpire.

1Chorus O you who dwell by the warm springs near ships’ haven and rocky cliff, and you who live by the crags of Oeta! And you dwellers by the land-locked waters of the Malian gulf, and the headland sacred to the virgin-goddess of the golden shuttle, where are the famed councils of the Greeks at the gates!

1Chorus Soon the glorious voice of the flute will go up for you again, sounding no bothersome, strident notes, but divine music worthy of the lyre! For the son whom Alcmena bore to Zeus is hurrying homeward, with spoils won by supreme valor.

2Chorus We thought him lost utterly to our land, a wanderer over sea, while we waited through twelve long months and knew nothing. She, his loving wife, miserable, was ever pining in her miserable heart, always weeping. But now Ares, stung to rage, has freed her days from their toil.

2Chorus May he come, may he come! Let him not halt the many-oared ship that carries him before he has reached this town, leaving the island altar where he is reported to be sacrificing! May he come from there full of desire, steeped in love on the pretext of the robe by Persuasion’s all-powerful ointment!

1Chorus See, maidens, how suddenly the divine word of the old prophecy has closed upon us, which allotted this destiny: that when the twelfth year with its full complement of months should have come to an end, it would complete the undertaking of toils for the true-born son of Zeus! And that promise rides before a steady wind to sure fulfillment. For how shall he who does not see the light of day ever have toilsome servitude any more in death?

1Chorus For if the Centaur’s deceitful torture smears his sides with a murderous net, where clings the venom which Death birthed and the gleaming serpent nourished, how can he look upon tomorrow’s sun, when that appalling Hydra-shape grasps him? Those murderous goads, prepared by the deceptive words of black-haired Nessus, torment him with confused thrashing and seethe on his skin.

2Chorus In these matters this miserable lady had no apprehension, when she foresaw in the new marriage a great plague swiftly rushing upon her household. Her own hand applied the drug. But no doubt for the results yielded by a stranger’s counsel, given at a fatal meeting—for these she despairingly groans and sheds a tender dew of thickly-falling tears. And the coming fate foreshadows a great disaster, contrived by guile.

2Chorus Our streaming tears break forth. Ah, no! An infection pours over him, an illness more to be pitied than any suffering that adversaries ever brought upon that glorious hero. Ah, you dark head of the spear foremost in battle, who by your mighty point recently led that swift bride from Oechalia’s heights! But the Cyprian goddess, ministering in silence, has been plainly proved the author of these deeds.

1Chorus Which disaster shall I bewail first? Which is more to be pitied? In my grief I cannot decide.

1Chorus One sorrow may be seen in the house; for one we wait with apprehension. To have and to await are one and the same.

2Chorus oh, that some strong breeze, a fair wind, might arise at our hearth to bear me far from this land, so that I might not die of terror when I look but once upon the mighty seed of Zeus! For they say that he is approaching the house in torments from which there is no deliverance, a wonder of unutterable woe.

2Chorus Ah, he was not far off, but close to us, he for whom I cried in advance, like the shrill nightingale! Here is a foreign procession of strange men. And in what manner, then, do they bring him? In sorrow, as for some loved one, they tread their mournful, noiseless tread. Ah, he is carried on in silence! Should I think that he is dead, or just asleep?

1Heracles Ah! Leave me! Leave me in my misfortune! Leave me to sleep my last. Where, where do you touch me? Where do you lay me? You will kill me, you will kill me! If there was any pain that slumbered, you have aroused it! It has seized me,—oh, the pest comes again!—What is your homeland, you men most ungrateful of all the Greeks? I wore out my wretched days in ridding the Greeks of pests both on the deep and throughout every forest. And now, when I am afflicted, will no man turn merciful fire or sword on me? Oh! Oh! Will no one come and strike the head from this accursed body with one fierce stroke? Ah, me!

1Heracles O my son, where are you? Raise me, take hold of me here, here! Oh, oh, my god! Again, again the cruel pest leaps, leaps up to rend me, the wild, uncombatable plague! O Pallas, Pallas, it tortures me again! oh, please, my son, pity your sire! Draw a sword—you will not be blamed for it—strike me beneath my collarbone. Heal this pain with which your godless mother has enraged me! So may I see her fall to ruin, exactly, just exactly, as she has destroyed me! Sweet Hades, brother of Zeus, give me sleep, give me sleep. Kill me in my misery by a swift-flying doom!