The Project Gutenberg eBook of Two Tragedies of Seneca, by Ella Isabel Harris.

Nurse. Up! up! Medea! Swiftly flee the land
Of Pelops; seek in haste a distant shore.

Medea. Shall I fly? I? Were I already gone
I would return for this, that I might see
These new betrothals. Dost thou pause, my soul? 855
This joy's but the beginning of revenge.
Thou dost but love if thou art satisfied
To widow Jason. Seek new penalties,
Honor is gone and maiden modesty,—
It were a light revenge pure hands could yield. 860
Strengthen thy drooping spirit, stir up wrath,
Drain from thy heart its all of ancient force,
Thy deeds till now call honor; wake, and act,
That they may see how light, how little worth,
All former crime—the prelude of revenge! 865
What was there great my novice hands could dare?
What was the madness of my girlhood days?
I am Medea now, through sorrow strong.
Rejoice, because through thee thy brother died;
Rejoice, because through thee his limbs were torn, 870
Through thee thy father lost the golden fleece;
Rejoice, that armed by thee his daughters slew
Old Pelias! Seek revenge! No novice hand
Thou bring'st to crime; what wilt thou do; what dart
Let fly against thy hated enemy? 875
I know not what my maddened spirit plots,
Nor yet dare I confess it to myself!
In folly I made haste—would that my foe
Had children by this other! Mine are his,
We'll say Creusa bore them! 'Tis enough; 880
Through them my heart at last finds full revenge;
My soul must be prepared for this last crime.
Ye who were once my children, mine no more,
Ye pay the forfeit for your father's crimes.
Awe strikes my spirit and benumbs my hand; 885
My heart beats wildly; mother-love drives out
Hate of my husband; shall I shed their blood—
My children's blood? Demented one, rage not,
Be far from thee this crime! What guilt is theirs?
Is Jason not their father?—guilt enough! 890
And worse, Medea claims them as her sons.
They are not sons of mine, so let them die!
Nay, rather let them perish since they are!
But they are innocent—my brother was!
Fear'st thou? Do tears already mar thy cheek? 895
Do wrath and love like adverse tides impel
Now here, now there? As when the winds wage war,
And the wild waves against each other smite,
My heart is beaten; duty drives out fear,
As wrath drives duty. Anger dies in love. 900
Dear sons, sole solace of a storm-tossed house,
Come hither, he may have you safe if I
May claim you too! But he has banished me;
Already from my bosom torn away
They go lamenting—perish then to both, 905
To him as me! My wrath again grows hot;
Furies, I go wherever you may lead.
Would that the children of the haughty child
Of Tantalus were mine, that I had borne
Twice seven sons! In bearing only two 910
I have been cursed! And yet it is enough
For father, brother, that I have borne two.—
Where does that horde of furies haste? whom seek?
For whom prepare their fires? or for whom
Intends the infernal band its bloody torch? 915
Whom does Megaera seek with hostile brand?
The mighty dragon lashes its fierce tail—
What shade uncertain brings its scattered limbs?
It is my brother, and he seeks revenge;
I grant it, thrust the torches in my eyes; 920
Kill, burn, the furies have me in their power!
Brother, command the avenging goddesses
To leave me, and the shades to seek their place
In the infernal regions without fear;
Here leave me to myself, and use this hand 925
That held the sword—your soul has found revenge. [Kills one of her sons.
What is the sudden noise? They come in arms
And think to drive me into banishment.
I will go up on the high roof, come thou;
I'll take the body with me. Now my soul, 930
Strike! hold not hid thy power, but show the world
What thou art able.

[She goes out with the nurse and the living boy, and carries with her the body of her dead son.

Scene III

Jason. Ye faithful ones, who share
In the misfortunes of your harassed king,
Hasten to take the author of these deeds. 935
Come hither, hither, cohorts of brave men;
Bring up your weapons; overthrow the house.

Medea. I have recaptured now my crown and throne,
My brother and my father; Colchians hold
The golden fleece; my kingdom is won back; 940
My lost virginity returns to me!
O gods appeased, marriage, and happy days,
Go now,—my vengeance is complete! Not yet—
Finish it while thy hands are strong to strike.
Why seek delay? Why hesitate, my soul? 945
Thou art able! All thine anger falls to nought!
I do repent of that which I have done!
Why did'st thou do it, miserable one?
Yea, miserable! Ruth shall follow thee!
'Tis done, great joy fills my unwilling heart, 950
And, lo, the joy increases. But one thing
Before was lacking—Jason did not see!
All that he has not seen I count as lost.

Jason. She threatens from the roof; let fire be brought,
That she may perish burned with her own flame. 955

Medea. Pile high the funeral pyre of thy sons,
And rear their tomb. To Creon and thy wife
I have already paid the honors due.
This son is dead, and this shall soon be so,
And thou shalt see him perish. 960

Jason. By the gods,
By our sad flight together, and the bond
I have not willingly forsaken, spare
Our son! If there is any crime, 'tis mine;
Put me to death, strike down the guilty one.

Medea. There where thou askest mercy, and canst feel 965
The sting, I thrust the sword. Go, Jason, seek
Thy virgin bride, desert a mother's bed.

Jason. Let one suffice for vengeance.

Medea. Had it been
That one could satisfy my hands with blood,
I had slain none. But two is not enough. 970

Jason. Then go, fill up the measure of thy crime,
I ask for nothing but that thou should'st make
A speedy end.

Medea. Now, grief, take slow revenge;
It is my day; haste not, let me enjoy.

Jason. Slay me, mine enemy! 975

Medea. Dost thou implore
My pity? It is well! I am avenged.
Grief, there is nothing more that thou canst slay!
Look up, ungrateful Jason, recognize
Thy wife; so I am wont to flee. The way
Lies open through the skies; two dragons bend 980
Their necks, submissive to the yoke. I go
In my bright car through heaven. Take thy sons!

[She casts down to him the bodies of her children, and is borne away in a chariot drawn by dragons.

Jason. Go through the skies sublime, and going prove
That the gods dwell not in the heavens you seek. 984

THE DAUGHTERS OF TROY

ACT I

Scene I

Hecuba. Let him who puts his trust in kingly crown,
Who rules in prince's court with power supreme,
Who, credulous of heart, dreads not the gods,
But in his happy lot confides, behold
My fate and Troy's. Never by clearer proof 5
Was shown how frail a thing is human pride.
Strong Asia's capital, the work of gods,
Is fallen; and she beneath whose banners fought
The men who drink the Tanais' cold stream
That flows by sevenfold outlet to the sea, 10
And those who see the new-born day where blends
Tigris' warm waters with the blushing strait,
Is fallen; her walls and towers, to ashes burned,
Lie low amid her ruined palaces.
The flames destroy the city; far and near 15
Smolders the home of King Assaracus.
But flames stay not the eager conqueror's hand
From plundering Troy. The sky is hid with smoke;
And day, as though enveloped in black cloud,
Is dark with ashes. Eager for revenge, 20
The victor stands and measures her slow fall;
Forgets the long ten years; deplores her fate;
Nor yet believes that he has vanquished her,
Although he sees her conquered in the dust.
The pillagers are busy with the spoil; 25
A thousand ships will hardly bear it hence.
Witness, ye adverse deities; and ye,
My country's ashes, and thou, Phrygia's king,
Buried beneath the ruins of thy realm;
Ye spirits of the mighty, in whose life 30
Troy lived; and ye my offspring, lesser shades;—
Whatever ills have happened; whatsoe'er
The priestess of Apollo, to whose word
The god denied belief, has prophesied,
I, going great with child, have earlier feared, 35
Nor feared in silence, though in vain I spoke;—
Cassandra too has prophesied in vain.
Alas, 'twas not the crafty Ithacan,
Nor the companions of his night attack,
Nor Sinon false, who flung into your midst 40
Devouring flame; the glowing torch was mine!
Aged, and sick of life, why weep for Troy?
Unhappy one, recall more recent woes;
The fall of Troy is now an ancient grief!
I've seen the murder of a king—base crime! 45
And, at the altar's foot allowed, I've seen
A baser crime, when Æacus' fierce son,
His left hand in the twisted locks, bent back
That royal head, and drove the iron home
In the deep wound; freely it was received, 50
And buried deep, and yet drawn forth unstained,
So sluggish is the blood of frozen age.
This old man's cruel death at the last mete
Of human life; and the immortal gods,
Witnesses of the deed; and fallen Troy's 55
Fair altars, cannot stay the savage hand.
Priam, the father of so many kings,
Has found no grave, and in the flames of Troy
No funeral pyre, and yet the wrathful gods
Are not appeased; behold, the lot is cast 60
That gives to Priam's daughters and his sons
A master; and I go to servitude.
This one seeks Hector's wife, this Helenus';
And this Antenor's; nor are wanting those
Who long for thee, Cassandra; me alone 65
They shun, and I alone affright the Greeks.
Why cease your lamentations, captive ones?
Make moan, and smite your breasts, pay funeral rites;
Let fatal Ida, home of your harsh judge,
Reëcho long your sorrowful lament. 70

Scene II

Chorus. You bid those weep who are not new to grief;
Our lamentations have not ceased to rise
From that day when the Phrygian stranger sought
Grecian Amyclæ; and the sacred pine
Of Mother Cybele, through Grecian seas 75
A pathway cut. Ten times the winter snows
Have whitened Ida—Ida stripped of trees
To furnish Trojan dead with funeral pyres—
Ten times the trembling reaper has gone forth
To cut the bearded grain from Ilium's fields, 80
Since any day has seen us free from tears.
New sorrows ask new mourning, lift thy hand
And beat upon thy breast: thy followers, queen,
Are not inept at weeping.

Hecuba. Faithful ones,
Companions of my grief, unbind your hair; 85
About your shoulders let it flow defiled
With Troy's hot ashes; come with breast exposed,
Carelessly loosened robes, and naked limbs;
Why veil your modest bosoms, captive ones?
Gird up your flowing tunics, free your hands 90
For fierce and frequent beating of your breasts.
So I am satisfied, I recognize
My Trojan followers; again I hear
Their wonted lamentations. Weep indeed;
We weep for Hector. 95

Chorus. We unbind our hair,
So often torn in wild laments, and strew
Troy's glowing ashes on our heads; permit
Our loosened robe to drop from shoulders bare;
Our naked bosoms now invite our blows.
O sorrow, show thy power; let Rhœta's shores 100
Give back the blows, nor from her hollow hills
Faint Echo sound the closing words alone,
But let her voice repeat each bitter groan,
And earth and ocean hear. With cruel blows
Smite, smite, nor be content with faint laments: 105
We weep for Hector.

Hecuba. For thee our hands have torn our naked arms
And bleeding shoulders; Hector, 'tis for thee
We beat our brows and lacerate our breasts;
The wounds inflicted in thy funeral rites 110
Still gape and flow with blood. Thou, Hector, wast
The pillar of thy land, her fates' delay,
The prop of wearied Phrygians, and the wall
Of Troy; by thee supported, firm she stood,
Ten years upheld. With thee thy country fell, 115
Her day of doom and Hector's were the same.
Weep now for Priam, smite for him your breasts;
Hector has tears enough.

Chorus. Pilot of Phrygia, twice a captive made,
Receive our tears, receive our wild laments. 120
Whilst thou wast king, Troy suffered many woes;
Twice by Greek weapons were her walls assailed;
Twice were they made a target for the darts
Of Hercules; and when that kingly band,
Hecuba's offspring, had been offered up, 125
With thee, their sire, the funeral rites were stayed;
An offering to great Jove, thy headless trunk
Lies on Sigea's plain.

Hecuba. Women of Troy,
For others shed your tears; not Priam's death
I weep; say rather all, thrice happy he! 130
Free he descended to the land of shades,
Nor will he ever bear on conquered neck
The Grecian yoke; nor the Atrides see;
Nor look on shrewd Ulysses; nor, a slave,
Carry the trophies on his neck to grace 135
A Grecian triumph; feel his sceptered hands
Bound at his back; nor add a further pomp
To proud Mycene, forced in golden chains
To follow Agamemnon's royal car.

Chorus. Thrice happy Priam! as a king he went 140
Into the land of spirits; wanders now
Through the safe shadows of Elysian Fields,
In happiness among the peaceful shades,
And seeks for Hector. Happy Priam say!
Thrice happy he, who, dying in the fight, 145
Bears with him to destruction all his land.

ACT II

Scene I

Talthybius. O long delay, that holds the Greeks in port,
Whether they seek for war or for their homes.

Chorus. Say what the reason of the long delay,
What god forbids the Greeks the homeward road? 150

Talthybius. I tremble, and my spirit shrinks with fear;
Such prodigies will hardly find belief.
I saw them, I myself; Titan had touched
The mountain summits, dayspring conquered night,
When, on a sudden, with a muttered groan, 155
Earth trembled, in the woods the tree-tops shook;
The lofty forests and the sacred grove
Thundered with mighty ruin; Ida's cliffs
Fell from her summit; nor did earth alone
Tremble, the ocean also recognized 160
Achilles' coming, and laid bare her depths;
In the torn earth a gloomy cavern yawned;
A way was opened up from Erebus
To upper day; the tomb gave up its dead;
The towering shade of the Thessalian chief 165
Leaped forth as when, preparing for thy fate,
O Troy, he put to flight the Thracian host,
And struck down Neptune's shining, fair-haired son;
Or as when, breathing battle from the field,
He filled the rivers with the fallen dead, 170
And Xanthus wandered over bloody shoals
Seeking slow channels; or as when he stood
In his proud car, a victor, while he dragged
Hector and Troy behind him in the dust.
His wrathful voice rang out along the shore: 175
'Go, go, ye slothful ones, pay honors due
My manes. Let the thankless ships be freed
To sail my seas. Not lightly Greece has felt
Achilles' wrath; that wrath shall heavier fall.
Polyxena, betrothed to me in death, 180
Must die a sacrifice at Pyrrhus' hand,
And make my tomb glow crimson.' Thus he spake,
Shadowed the day with night, and sought again
The realm of Dis. He took the riven path;
Earth closed above him, and the tranquil sea 185
Lay undisturbed, the raging wind was still,
Softly the ocean murmured, Tritons sang
From the blue deep their hymeneal chant.

Scene II

Pyrrhus. When, homeward turning, you would fain have spread
Your happy sails, Achilles was forgot. 190
By him alone struck down, Troy fell; her fall,
Ev'n at his death, was but so long delayed
As she stood doubtful whither she should fall;
Haste as you will to give him what he asks
You give too late. Already all the chiefs 195
Have carried off their prizes; what reward
Of lesser price have you to offer him
For so great valor? Does he merit less?
He, bidden shun the battle and enjoy
A long and happy age, outnumbering 200
The many years of Pylos' aged king,
Threw off his mother's mantle, stood confessed
A man of arms. When Telephus in vain
Refused Achilles entrance to the coast
Of rocky Mysia, with his royal blood 205
He stained Achilles' hand, but found that hand
Gentle as strong. When Thebes was overcome
Eëtion, its conquered ruler, saw
His realm made captive. With like slaughter fell
Little Lyrnessus, built at Ida's foot; 210
Briseia's land was captured; Chryse, too,
The cause of royal strife, is overthrown;
And well-known Tenedos, and Sciro's isle
That, rich with fertile pastures, nourishes
The Thracian herd, and Lesbos that divides 215
The Ægean straits, Cilla to Phœbus dear,
Yes, and whatever land Caïcus laves
With its green depths of waters. This had been
To any other, glory, honor, fame,—
Achilles is but on the march; so sped 220
My father, and so great the war he waged
While he made ready for his great campaign.
Though I were silent of his other deeds,
Would it not be enough that Hector died?
My father conquered Ilium; as for you, 225
You have but made it naught. It gives me joy
To speak the praises and illustrious deeds
Of my great sire: how Hector in the eyes
Of fatherland and father prostrate fell,
How Memnon, too, lies slain, whose mother shuns 230
The gloomy light of day, with pallid cheek
Mourning his fate; and at his own great deeds
Achilles trembles, and, a victor, learns
That death may touch the children of a god.
The Amazons' harsh queen, thy final fear, 235
Last yielded. Wouldst thou honor worthily
His mighty arms, then yield him what he will,
Though he should ask a virgin from the land
Of Argos or Mycene. Dost thou doubt;
Too soon content, art loth to offer up 240
A maiden, Priam's child, to Peleus' son?
Thy child was sacrificed to Helenus,
'Tis not an unaccustomed gift I ask.

Agamemnon. To have no power to check the passions' glow
Is ever found a fault of youthful hearts; 245
That which in others is the zeal of youth,
In Pyrrhus is his father's fiery heart.
Thus mildly once I stood the savage threats
Of Æacus' fierce son; most patiently
He bears, who is most strong. With slaughter harsh 250
Why sprinkle our illustrious leader's shade?
Learn first how much the conqueror may do,
The conquered suffer. 'Tis the mild endure,
But he who harshly rules, rules not for long.
The higher Fortune doth exalt a man, 255
Increasing human power, so much the more—
Fearing the gods who too much favor him,
And not unmindful of uncertain fate—
He should be meek. In conquering, I have learned
How in a moment greatness is o'erthrown. 260
Has Trojan triumph too soon made us proud?
We stand, we Greeks, in that place whence Troy fell.
Imperious I have been, and borne myself
At times too proudly; Fortune's gifts correct
In me the pride they oft in others rouse. 265
Priam, thou mak'st me proud, but mak'st me fear.
What can I deem my scepter, but a name
Made bright with idle glitter; or my crown,
But empty ornament? Fate overthrows
Swiftly, nor will it need a thousand ships, 270
Perchance, nor ten years' war. I own, indeed,
(This can I do, oh Argive land, nor wound
Thy honor) I have troubled Phrygia
And wished her conquered; but I would have stayed
The hand that crushed and laid her in the dust. 275
A foe enraged, who gains the victory
By night, checks not his raging at command;
Whatever cruel or unworthy deed
Appeared in any, anger was the cause—
Anger and darkness and the savage sword 280
Made glad with blood and seeking still for more.
All that yet stands of ruined Troy shall stand,
Enough of punishment—more than enough—
Has been exacted; that a royal maid
Should fall, and, offered as a sacrifice 285
Upon a tomb, should crimson with her blood
The ashes, and this hateful crime be called
A marriage—I will never suffer it.
Upon my head would rest the guilt of all;
He who forbids not crime when he has power, 290
Commands it.

Pyrrhus. Shall Achilles then go hence
With empty hand?

Agamemnon. No, all shall tell his praise,
And unknown lands shall sing his glorious name;
And if his shade would take delight in blood
Poured forth upon his ashes, let us slay 295
A Phrygian sheep, rich sacrifice. No blood
Shall flow to cause a sorrowing mother's tears.
What fashion this, by which a living soul
Is sacrificed to one gone down to hell?
Think not to soil thy father's memory 300
With such revenge, commanding us to pay
Due reverence with blood.

Pyrrhus. Harsh king of kings!
So arrogant while favoring fortune smiles,
So timid when aught threatens! Is thy heart
So soon inflamed with love and new desire; 305
And wilt thou bear away from us the spoil?
I'll give Achilles back, with this right hand,
His victim, and, if thou withholdest her,
I'll give a greater, and whom Pyrrhus gives
Will prove one worthy. All too long our hand 310
Has ceased from slaughter, Priam seeks his peer.

Agamemnon. That was, indeed, the worthiest warlike act
Of Pyrrhus: with relentless hand he slew
Priam, whose suppliant prayer Achilles heard.

Pyrrhus. We know our father's foes were suppliants, 315
But Priam made his prayer himself, whilst thou,
Not brave to ask, and overcome with fear,
Lurked trembling in thy tent, and sought as aid
The intercessions of the Ithacan
And Ajax.

Agamemnon. That thy father did not fear, 320
I own; amid the slaughter of the Greeks
And burning of the fleet, forgetting war,
He idly lay, and with his plectrum touched
Lightly his lyre.

Pyrrhus. Mighty Hector then
Laughed at thy arms but feared Achilles' song; 325
By reason of that fear peace reigned supreme
In the Thessalian fleet.

Agamemnon. There was in truth
Deep peace for Hector's father in that fleet.

Pyrrhus. To grant kings life is kingly.

Agamemnon. Why wouldst thou
With thy right hand cut short a royal life? 330

Pyrrhus. Mercy gives often death instead of life.

Agamemnon. Mercy seeks now a virgin for the tomb?

Pyrrhus. Thou deemst it crime to sacrifice a maid?

Agamemnon. More than their children, kings should love their land.

Pyrrhus. No law spares captives or denies revenge. 335

Agamemnon. What law forbids not, honor's self forbids.

Pyrrhus. To victors is permitted what they will.

Agamemnon. He least should wish to whom is granted most.

Pyrrhus. And this thou sayest to us, who ten long years
Have borne thy heavy yoke, whom my hand freed? 340

Agamemnon. Is this the boast of Scyros?

Pyrrhus. There no stain
Of brother's blood is found.

Agamemnon. Shut in by waves—

Pyrrhus. Nay, but the seas are kin. I know thy house—
Yea, Atreus' and Thyestes' noble house!

Agamemnon. Son of Achilles ere he was a man, 345
And of the maid he ravished secretly—

Pyrrhus. Of that Achilles, who, by right of race,
Through all the world held sway, inherited
The ocean from his mother, and the shades
From Æacus, from Jupiter the sky. 350

Agamemnon. Achilles, who by Paris' hand was slain.

Pyrrhus. One whom the gods attacked not openly.

Agamemnon. To curb thy insolence and daring words
I well were able, but my sword can spare
The conquered. 355

Scene III

THE DAUGHTERS OF TROY

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

ACT I

Scene I

Scene II

ACT II

Scene I

Scene II

Scene III

Scene IV