Part 47

CHORUS. (Str. 1) Thou by many names adored, Child of Zeus the God of thunder, Of a Theban bride the wonder, Fair Italia’s guardian lord;

In the deep-embosomed glades Of the Eleusinian Queen Haunt of revelers, men and maids, Dionysus, thou art seen.

Where Ismenus rolls his waters, Where the Dragon’s teeth were sown, Where the Bacchanals thy daughters Round thee roam, There thy home; Thebes, O Bacchus, is thine own.

(Ant. 1) Thee on the two-crested rock Lurid-flaming torches see; Where Corisian maidens flock, Thee the springs of Castaly.

By Nysa’s bastion ivy-clad, By shores with clustered vineyards glad, There to thee the hymn rings out, And through our streets we Thebans shout, All hall to thee Evoe, Evoe!

(Str. 2) Oh, as thou lov’st this city best of all, To thee, and to thy Mother levin-stricken, In our dire need we call; Thou see’st with what a plague our townsfolk sicken. Thy ready help we crave, Whether adown Parnassian heights descending, Or o’er the roaring straits thy swift was wending, Save us, O save!

(Ant. 2) Brightest of all the orbs that breathe forth light, Authentic son of Zeus, immortal king, Leader of all the voices of the night, Come, and thy train of Thyiads with thee bring, Thy maddened rout Who dance before thee all night long, and shout, Thy handmaids we, Evoe, Evoe!

MESSENGER. Attend all ye who dwell beside the halls Of Cadmus and Amphion. No man’s life As of one tenor would I praise or blame, For Fortune with a constant ebb and rise Casts down and raises high and low alike, And none can read a mortal’s horoscope. Take Creon; he, methought, if any man, Was enviable. He had saved this land Of Cadmus from our enemies and attained A monarch’s powers and ruled the state supreme, While a right noble issue crowned his bliss. Now all is gone and wasted, for a life Without life’s joys I count a living death. You’ll tell me he has ample store of wealth, The pomp and circumstance of kings; but if These give no pleasure, all the rest I count The shadow of a shade, nor would I weigh His wealth and power ’gainst a dram of joy.

CHORUS. What fresh woes bring’st thou to the royal house?

MESSENGER. Both dead, and they who live deserve to die.

CHORUS. Who is the slayer, who the victim? speak.

MESSENGER. Haemon; his blood shed by no stranger hand.

CHORUS. What mean ye? by his father’s or his own?

MESSENGER. His own; in anger for his father’s crime.

CHORUS. O prophet, what thou spakest comes to pass.

MESSENGER. So stands the case; now ’tis for you to act.

CHORUS. Lo! from the palace gates I see approaching Creon’s unhappy wife, Eurydice. Comes she by chance or learning her son’s fate? [Enter EURYDICE]

EURYDICE Ye men of Thebes, I overheard your talk. As I passed out to offer up my prayer To Pallas, and was drawing back the bar To open wide the door, upon my ears There broke a wail that told of household woe Stricken with terror in my handmaids’ arms I fell and fainted. But repeat your tale To one not unacquaint with misery.

MESSENGER. Dear mistress, I was there and will relate The perfect truth, omitting not one word. Why should we gloze and flatter, to be proved Liars hereafter? Truth is ever best. Well, in attendance on my liege, your lord, I crossed the plain to its utmost margin, where The corse of Polyneices, gnawn and mauled, Was lying yet. We offered first a prayer To Pluto and the goddess of cross-ways, With contrite hearts, to deprecate their ire. Then laved with lustral waves the mangled corse, Laid it on fresh-lopped branches, lit a pyre, And to his memory piled a mighty mound Of mother earth. Then to the caverned rock, The bridal chamber of the maid and Death, We sped, about to enter. But a guard Heard from that godless shrine a far shrill wail, And ran back to our lord to tell the news. But as he nearer drew a hollow sound Of lamentation to the King was borne. He groaned and uttered then this bitter plaint: “Am I a prophet? miserable me! Is this the saddest path I ever trod? ’Tis my son’s voice that calls me. On press on, My henchmen, haste with double speed to the tomb Where rocks down-torn have made a gap, look in And tell me if in truth I recognize The voice of Haemon or am heaven-deceived.” So at the bidding of our distraught lord We looked, and in the craven’s vaulted gloom I saw the maiden lying strangled there, A noose of linen twined about her neck; And hard beside her, clasping her cold form, Her lover lay bewailing his dead bride Death-wedded, and his father’s cruelty. When the King saw him, with a terrible groan He moved towards him, crying, “O my son What hast thou done? What ailed thee? What mischance Has reft thee of thy reason? O come forth, Come forth, my son; thy father supplicates.” But the son glared at him with tiger eyes, Spat in his face, and then, without a word, Drew his two-hilted sword and smote, but missed His father flying backwards. Then the boy, Wroth with himself, poor wretch, incontinent Fell on his sword and drove it through his side Home, but yet breathing clasped in his lax arms The maid, her pallid cheek incarnadined With his expiring gasps. So there they lay Two corpses, one in death. His marriage rites Are consummated in the halls of Death: A witness that of ills whate’er befall Mortals’ unwisdom is the worst of all. [Exit EURYDICE]

CHORUS. What makest thou of this? The Queen has gone Without a word importing good or ill.

MESSENGER. I marvel too, but entertain good hope. ’Tis that she shrinks in public to lament Her son’s sad ending, and in privacy Would with her maidens mourn a private loss. Trust me, she is discreet and will not err.

CHORUS. I know not, but strained silence, so I deem, Is no less ominous than excessive grief.

MESSENGER. Well, let us to the house and solve our doubts, Whether the tumult of her heart conceals Some fell design. It may be thou art right: Unnatural silence signifies no good.

CHORUS. Lo! the King himself appears. Evidence he with him bears ’Gainst himself (ah me! I quake ’Gainst a king such charge to make) But all must own, The guilt is his and his alone.

CREON. (Str. 1) Woe for sin of minds perverse, Deadly fraught with mortal curse. Behold us slain and slayers, all akin. Woe for my counsel dire, conceived in sin. Alas, my son, Life scarce begun, Thou wast undone. The fault was mine, mine only, O my son!

CHORUS. Too late thou seemest to perceive the truth.

CREON. (Str. 2) By sorrow schooled. Heavy the hand of God, Thorny and rough the paths my feet have trod, Humbled my pride, my pleasure turned to pain; Poor mortals, how we labor all in vain! [Enter SECOND MESSENGER]

SECOND MESSENGER. Sorrows are thine, my lord, and more to come, One lying at thy feet, another yet More grievous waits thee, when thou comest home.