University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

The interior of the Funereal Grove at Corinth.
The Urn of Creon.
Creusa discovered bending over it.
CREUSA.
'Tis strange!—I cannot weep for him; I've tried
To reckon every artifice of love
Which mid my father's waywardness proclaim'd
His tenderness unalter'd;—felt again
The sweet caresses infancy receiv'd,
And read the prideful look that made them sweeter,
Have run the old familiar round of things
Indifferent, on which affection hangs
In delicate remembrances which make
Each household custom sacred;—I've recall'd
From Memory's never-failing book of pain,
My own neglects of dutiful regard
Too frequent—all that should provoke a tear—
And all in vain. My feelings are as dull,
Mine eyes are rigid as when first they met
The horrid vision of his thin white hairs
Matted with blood. Gods! let me know again
A touch of natural grief, or I shall go
Distract, and think the bloody form is here.
Enter Hyllus.
Hyllus! my brother! thou wilt make me weep,
For we shall mourn as we were lov'd together.
Dost thou know all?

HYLLUS.
Yes, all.—Alas! Creusa,
He died in anger with me.

CREUSA.
Do not dwell
On that sad thought;—but recollect the cause
Was noble—the defence of one whose soul
Claims kindred with thine own.

HYLLUS.
Unhappy sister,
What sorrow stranger than thy present grief
Awaits thee yet! I cannot utter it.

CREUSA.
Speak;—any words of thine will comfort me.

HYLLUS.
I fear thou must no longer link the thoughts
Of nobleness and Thoas.

CREUSA.
Then my soul
Must cease all thinkings; for I've blended them
Till they have grown inseparate. What is this?

HYLLUS.
That he hath made us orphans.

CREUSA.
He is free
From such ignoble guiltiness as thou.
What fury shed this thought into a soul
Once proud to be his debtor?

HYLLUS.
Poor believer
In virtue's dazzling counterfeit, 'tis sad
To undeceive thee. At the break of day
I met the murderer, frantic from his crime,
In anguish which explain'd by after proofs
Attests his guilt.

CREUSA.
And is this all? Hast said?
All thou canst urge against the nobleness
Which breathes in every word? Against thy life
Preserv'd at liberal hazard of his own?
Against the love which I was proud to bear
For him, and that with which he more than paid me?
He in some frenzy utter'd aimless words,
And thou at once believ'd him guilty. Go!
Haste and accuse him. Henceforth we are twain.

HYLLUS.
Sister, I never will accuse him.

CREUSA.
Take
My thanks for that small promise, though our souls,
While thine is tainted with this foul belief,
Can ne'er be mingled as they have been. Now
I see why I was passionless. Ismene
Bends her steps hither; thou hadst best retire;
She rules the city, for her secret friends
Cast off their masks, and own themselves the foes
Of Corinth's prince.

HYLLUS.
Beside my father's urn
I shall await her.

CREUSA.
I will not expose
My anguish to her cold and scornful gaze;—
Brother, farewell awhile; we are divided,
But I will bless thee.

[Exit.
Enter Ismene and Guards.
ISMENE.
Wherefore art thou here,
Despite the sentence which the king pronounc'd
Of exile?

HYLLUS.
I have come to mourn a father,
Whose words of passion had been long unsaid,
Had his kind heart still throbb'd; and next, to claim
My heritage.

ISMENE.
Thine!—win it if thou canst—
Enter Calchas.
How stands the battle?

CALCHAS.
Corinth's soldiers fly,
Routed in wild disorder. Thoas leads
The troops of Athens, and will soon appear
In triumph at our gates.

ISMENE.
Leads, say'st thou?—leads?
Let Corinth's gates stand open to admit
The hero,—give him conduct to the hall,
Where sculptur'd glories of Corinthian kings
Shall circle him who sham'd them,—there, alone,
I would crave speech with him.

[Exit Calchas.
HYLLUS.
[To the Soldiers.
My countrymen,
Will ye endure this shame? I am a youth
Unskill'd in war; but I have learn'd to die
When life is infamy. If ye will join me,
We'll close the gates with ramparts of the slain.
Does no heart answer mine?

ISMENE.
Their swords shall curb
Thy idle ravings. Athens triumphs now!—
Attend him to his chamber, and beware
He leaves it not.

HYLLUS.
For this I ought to thank thee:
I would not see my country's foul disgrace;
But thou shalt tremble yet.

[Exit, guarded.
ISMENE.
Now shall I clasp him—
Clasp him a victor o'er my country's foes;—
The slayer of him most hated. Double transport!
The dream of great revenge I lived upon
Was never bright with image of such joy,
And now comes link'd with vengeance! Thoas, haste!

[Exit.

SCENE II.

Before the Gates of Corinth.
Shouts without.
Enter Thoas in armour, with his sword drawn, and Athenian Soldiers, as in pursuit.
THOAS.
Here we may breathe awhile from conquest; 'twas
A noble chase, we scarce may call it battle;
Success so quick hath followed on success,
That we shall want more time to count our glories
Than we have spent in winning them. The foe
Is niggard, and will not allow our arms
One day of conflict. We have won too soon.
Grant me, great gods, instead of years of life,
Another such an hour!

SOLDIER.
My lord, here's wine;
'Tis from the tents of Corinth.

THOAS.
Not a drop.
My heart's too light—too jocund, to allow
Another touch of ecstacy, deriv'd
From mortal fruitage; nay, were it Jove's nectar,
I'd set the untasted cup of crystal down,
And wait till all our glorious work were finish'd!
Soldiers! we sup in Corinth! You'll not wait
Past time of hunger, if ye are not faint
With rapid conquest.

Enter Pentheus and Soldiers.
PENTHEUS.
Noble leader, hail!
Thy country's heroes bless thee with the sense
Of their delighted wonder! With one voice
They greet thee as the winner of this fight,
To which thou led them. Never was a scheme
Of battle, plann'd in council of the sage,
Form'd with a skill more exquisite than that
Which, in the instant thou wert call'd to lead us,
Flash'd on thy spirit, and in lines of fire
From thine was manifest to ours! Art wounded?

THOAS.
A very scratch; I blush to think no more:
Some frolic blood let in the strife had serv'd
To moderate my fervours.

PENTHEUS.
See; our comrades
Have snatched a branch from the Corinthian laurels
(Which now I fear must wither) for a wreath
To grace thy brow! Soldiers, 'tis much I ask;
But when I tell ye I have watch'd your chief
From the first flash that dazzled in his eye
At tale of glory, ye may yield to me
The proud delight of offering him this honor.

[Soldier gives the wreath to Pentheus, who gives it to Thoas.
PENTHEUS.
I thank ye, comrades.

THOAS.
The immortal gods
Grant me a double blessing in the friend
From whom I take this happiness. O, Pentheus!
I have mus'd fondly—proudly—on the fate
Which waits upon my country; when the brow
Which thou wouldst deck, was bar'd to mist and storm;
When every moonlit fountain which displaced
The blackness of the moss-grown hillock told
Of the pure beauty which her name should keep,
Empearling starless ages; when each wave
That rippled in her harbour to my ear
Spoke glad submission to the Queen of Cities;
But never, 'mid my burning hopes for Athens,
Did I believe that I should stand thus crown'd,
Her laurell'd soldier! Friends, the sun-light wanes,
And we must sup in Corinth!

PENTHEUS.
See, the gates
Open to welcome us!

[The gates open.
THOAS.
Without a blow?
We shall not earn our banquet. So expands
Before the vision of my soul, the east
To the small cluster of our godlike sons.
Let Asia break the mirror of our seas
With thousand sterns of ivory, and cast
The glare of gold upon them to disturb
The azure hue of heaven, they shall be swept
As glittering clouds before the sun-like face
Of unapplianced virtue! Friends, forgive me;
I have been used to idle thought, nor yet
Have learn'd to marry it to action. Blest
To-day in both.

PENTHEUS.
A herald from the city.

Enter Calchas.
CALCHAS.
I am commission'd by the queen to speak
With Thoas.

THOAS.
I am here.
[Trembles, and supports himself, as paralysed, on Pentheus.
Thou art commission'd
From the infernal powers to cross my path
Of glorious triumph, with a shape that brings
Before me terrible remembrance, which
Had strangely vanish'd from me.

PENTHEUS.
[To the Soldiers.
He is ill,—
Retire.

THOAS.
No—should the herald fade in air
He would not leave his office unfulfill'd,
One look hath smit my soul.

PENTHEUS.
Is this a dream?

THOAS.
No—'tis a dreadful waking—I have dreamt
Of honour, and have struggled in my dream
For Athens, as if I deserved to fight
Unsullied in her cause. The joy of battle
In eddies as a whirlpool had engulf'd
The thought of one sad moment, when my soul
Was blasted; but it rises in the calm,
Like to a slaughter'd seaman, who pursues
The murderous vessel which swept proudly on,
When his death-gurgle ended. Hence, vain wreath!—
Thou wouldst entwine my brow with serpent coldness,
And wither instant there.
[Tears the wreath.
So vanish all
My hopes; they are gone—I'm fit to answer thee
Who sent thee here?

[To Calchas.
CALCHAS.
The queen.

THOAS.
A worthy mistress
Of such a slave—thy errand?

CALCHAS.
She who rules
In Corinth now, admits the victor's power,
And bids the gates thus open: she requires
A conference with Thoas in the hall
Next to the royal chamber—thou hast been
There, as I think, my lord.

THOAS.
I know full well,
Lead, dreadful herald, on.

PENTHEUS.
The troops attend
The order of their general.

THOAS.
[To Calchas.
Why dost wait?
Thou see'st that I obey thy call.

PENTHEUS.
My friend,
Thy blood is sever'd—thou may'st choose thy time—
Postpone this meeting.

THOAS.
[To Calchas.
Why dost tarry? turn
Thy face away—it maddens me—go on!

[Exit after Calchas.
SOLDIER.
[To Pentheus.
My lord, we wait for orders; this strange man,
Half warrior and half rhapsodist, may bring
Our army into peril.

PENTHEUS.
Fear it not;
He has all elements of greatness in him,
Although as yet not perfectly commingled,
Which is sole privilege of gods. They cast
Such piteous weakness on the noblest men
That we may feel them mortal. 'Tis a cloud
Which speedily will pass, and thou shalt see
The hero shine as clearly forth in council
As he has done in victory. Meanwhile
He leaves us pleasant duty—form your lines—
Sound trumpets—march triumphant into Corinth!

[The Athenians enter Corinth.

SCENE III.

The Hall of Statues in the Palace, same as in Third Act.
THOAS.
[Alone.
Again I stand within this awful hall;
I found the entrance here, without the sense
Of vision; for a foul and clinging mist,
Like the damp vapour of a long-closed vault,
Is round me. Now its objects start to sight
With terrible distinctness! Crimson stains
Break sudden on the walls! The fretted roof
Grows living! Let me hear a human voice,
Or I shall play the madman!

Enter Ismene, richly dressed.
ISMENE.
Noble soldier,
I bid thee welcome, with the rapturous heart
Of one, for whom thy patriot arm hath wrought
Deliverance and revenge—but more for Athens
Than for myself, I hail thee: why dost droop?
Art thou oppressed with honours, as a weight
Thou wert not born to carry? I will tell
That which shall show thee native to the load,
And will requite thee with a joy as great
As that thou hast conferr'd. Thy life was hid
Beneath inglorious accident, till force
Of its strong current urged it forth to day,
To glisten and expand in sun-light. Know
That it has issu'd from a fountain great
As is its destiny.—Thou sharest with me
The blood of Theseus.

THOAS.
If thy speech is true,
And I have something in me which responds
To its high tidings, I am doom'd to bear
A heavier woe than I believ'd the gods
Would ever lay on mortal; I have stood
Unwittingly upon a skiey height,
By ponderous gloom encircled,—thou hast shown
The mountain-summit mournfully revers'd
In the black mirror of a lurid lake,
Whose waters soon shall cover me,—I've stain'd
A freeman's nature; thou hast shown it sprung
From gods and heroes, and wouldst have me proud
Of the foul sacrilege.

ISMENE.
If that just deed,
Which thus disturbs thy fancy, were a crime,
What is it in the range of glorious acts,
Past and to come, to which thou art allied,
But a faint speck, an atom, which no eye
But thine would dwell on?

THOAS.
It infests them all,
Spreads out funereal blackness as they pass
In sad review before me. Hadst thou pour'd
This greatness on my unpolluted heart,
How had it bounded! now it tortures me,
From thee, fell sorceress, who snar'd my soul
Here—in this very hall!—May the strong curse
Which breathes from out the ruins of a nature
Blasted by guilt—

ISMENE.
Hold! Parricide—forbear!
She whom thou hast aveng'd, she whom the death
Of Creon hath set free, whom thou wouldst curse,
Is she who bore thee!

THOAS.
Thou!

ISMENE.
Dost doubt my word?
Is there no witness in thy mantling blood
Which tells thee whence 'twas drawn? Is nature silent?
If, from the mists of infancy, no form
Of her who, sunk in poverty, forgat
Its ills in tending thee, and made the hopes
Which glimmer'd in thy smiles her comfort,—gleams
Upon thee yet;—hast thou forgot the night
When foragers from Corinth toss'd a brand
Upon the roof that shelter'd thee; dragg'd out
The mother from the hearth-stone where she sat,
Resign'd to perish, shrieking for the babe
Whom from her bosom they had rent? That child
Now listens. As in rapid flight, I gazed
Backward upon the blazing ruin, shapes
Of furies, from amid the fire, look'd out
And grinn'd upon me. Every weary night
While I have lain upon my wretched bed,
They have been with me, pointing to the hour
Of vengeance. Thou hast wrought it for me, son!
Embrace thy mother.

THOAS.
Would the solid earth
Would open, and enfold me in its strong
And stifling grasp, that I might be as though
I ne'er was born.

ISMENE.
Dost mock me? I have clasp'd
Sorrow and shame as if they were my sons,
To keep my heart from hardening into stone;
The promis'd hour arriv'd; and when it came,
The furies, in repayment, sent an arm,
Moulded from mine, to strike the oppressor dead.
I triumph'd,—and I sent thee!

THOAS.
Dost confess
That, conscious who I was, thou urg'd my knife
Against the king?

ISMENE.
Confess!—I glory in it!—
Thy arm hath done the purpose of my will;
For which I bless it. Now I am thy suitor.
Victorious hero! Pay me for those cares
Long past, which man ne'er guesses at;—for years
Of daily, silent suffering, which young soldiers
Have not a word to body forth; for all,—
By filling for a moment these fond arms,
Which held thee first.

THOAS.
[Shrinking from her.
I cannot. I will kneel,
To thank thee for thy love, ere thou didst kill
Honour and hope;—then grovel at thy feet,
And pray thee trample out the wretched life
Thou gav'st me.

ISMENE.
Ha! Beware, unfeeling man:—
I had oppos'd, had crush'd all human loves,
And they were wither'd; thou hast call'd them forth,
Rushing in crowds from memory's thousand cells,
To scoff at them. Beware! They will not slumber,
But sting like scorpions.
Enter Iphitus.
Wherefore dost intrude
On this high conference?

IPHITUS.
The people cry
That solemn inquisition should be held
For Creon's blood;—else do they fear the gods
Will visit it on them.

ISMENE.
They need not fear.
It will be well aveng'd.

IPHITUS.
To thee, Ismene,
That which I next must speak, is of dear import;—
Wilt hear it in this noble stranger's presence?

ISMENE.
Say on, old man.

IPHITUS.
From the old crumbling altar,
Just as the gates were open'd, breath'd a voice
In whisper low, yet heard through each recess
Of Jove's vast temple, bidding us to seek
Of thee, Ismene, who the murderer is,
And summon thee to the same fearful spot,
To speak it there.

ISMENE.
[To Thoas.
Athenian! dost thou hear?

THOAS.
I hear.

IPHITUS.
The hostile nations lay aside
Their quarrel, till this justice to the dead
Is render'd. Chiefs of each will guard the fane,
And wait the solemn issue.—In their name,
And in the mightier name of him whose shrine
Hath burst long silence, I command thee, queen,
Thou presently be there.

ISMENE.
I shall obey—
Beside the altar place the regal seat;
And there, in state befitting Corinth's queen,
I'll take my place.
[To Thoas.
Farewell! Thou wilt be there!

THOAS.
Be sure I will not fail.

ISMENE.
'Tis well! 'Tis well!

[Exit.
IPHITUS.
Thou saidst thou shouldst attend?

THOAS.
I shall. What more
Would'st thou have with me?

IPHITUS.
I would ask a band
Of the most noble of Athenian youth,
To witness this procedure; and to lend
Their conduct, should the murderer stand reveal'd,
To keep the course of justice unassail'd,
And line the path of death.

THOAS.
All that can make
The wretch accurs'd, shall wait him. Let me breathe
Alone a moment.
[Exit Iphitus.
How they'll start to see
The guilty one descend the solemn steps,
And hang their heads for shame, and turn their eyes
In mercy from him.

[Going.
Enter Creusa.
CREUSA.
For a moment hear me—
I would not break on thy triumphant hours,
But for my brother's sake. Do not refuse,
For, if he wrong'd thee by a frantic thought,
There was one ready to defend thy honour
From slightest taint!

THOAS.
What taint? the breath of infamy
Spreads o'er my name already!

CREUSA.
Do not ask—
'Twas a wild thought;—but there are tongues which make
As false a charge; tongues which have power to crush
The guiltless!—They have murmur'd that this crime
Is that of Hyllus!

THOAS.
Hyllus the unsullied!

CREUSA.
I knew that thou would'st say so—that no force
Of circumstance would weigh in thy pure thought
Against the beauty of his life. They found him
Just after day-break, suddenly return'd
From exile, in the chamber of the king,
Gazing with bloodless aspect on a sight
Of bloodshed;—yet thou dost not think 'twas he
That with a craven hand—

THOAS.
O no!

CREUSA.
And thou
Wilt plead his cause—wilt save him from the fate
That threatens his young life?

THOAS.
My own shall first
Be quench'd!

CREUSA.
The gods repay thee for the word!
O brother, brother! could'st thou wrong this heart
With one suspicion? Why dost turn away,
And shrink and shudder in the warrior's dress,
As when I thank'd thee for that brother's life,
At the slave's vest which then, in thy proud thought,
Debas'd the wearer?

THOAS.
O, I thought so then!
Now I would give the treasures of the deep,
Nay more—the hope of glory—to resume
Those servile garments with the spotless thoughts
Of yesterday.

Enter Messenger.
MESSENGER.
My general, Pentheus, asks
If, by thy sanction, Iphitus requires
His presence in the temple?

THOAS.
Pentheus?—Yes.

CREUSA.
[Thoas turns away.
Why in the temple? wilt not speak?

MESSENGER.
The priest
There summons all to some high trial.

CREUSA.
I see it!—
They meet to judge my brother. I will fly—

THOAS.
Thou must not, lady—in that fearful place,
Horrors unguess'd at by thy gentle nature
Will freeze thy youthful blood, that thou shalt pass
No happy moment more.

CREUSA.
And what have I
To do with happiness? I am not young,
For I grew old in moments charg'd with love
And anguish. Now I feel that I could point
The murderer out with dreadful skill—could mark
The livid paleness, read the shrinking eye,
Detect the empty grasping of the hand
Renewing fancied slaughter;—why dost turn
Thus coldly from me?—Ah! thou hast forgot
The vows which, when in slavery, thou offer'd,
And I was proud to answer—if not, Thoas,
Once press my hand; O gods! he lets it fall!—
So withers my last hope—so my poor heart
Is broken.

[Faints.
THOAS.
[To Messenger.
Take her gently in.

[Messenger supports her out.
THOAS.
One glance.
[Looks at her and shudders.
O that the beauty I have lov'd and worshipp'd
Should be a thing to shiver me!—'Tis just.

[Exit.