The Trachiniae

By Sophocles.

Translated by Francis Storr.

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Argument

Derantra, alarmed at the long absence of her husband, resolves to send their son Hyllus in quest of his father. When he left home Heracles had told her that in fifteen months would come the crisis of his fate⁠—either death or glory and rest from his toils. As she meditates, Lichas, the henchman of Heracles, comes in sight, tells her that his master is safe and will shortly follow. He is now at Cape Cenaeum in Euboea, about to raise an altar to Zeus in honour of his victories. With Lichas are a train of captive maidens and among them she espies Iolè. By cross-questioning she learns that Heracles has transferred to Iolè his love, and determines to win it back by means of a love-charm that the Centaur Nessus had left to her as he lay dying. So she sends by the hand of Lichas a festal robe besmeared with what proves to be a burning poison. Too late she discovers her mistake. The flock of wool that she had used to apply the charm and flung away smoulders self-consumed before her eyes. Hyllus returns from Euboea and denounces his mother as a murderer, describing the agonies of his tortured father. At the news Deianira passes within the house and slays herself with a sword. The dying Heracles is borne home on a litter. He gives his last injunctions to Hyllus, to bear him to Mount Oeta, there burn him on a pyre, and then to return and take Iolè to wife. With a bitter word against the gods who have thus afflicted their own son, the noblest man on earth, Hyllus gives an unwilling consent.

Dramatis Personae

Heracles, son of Zeus and Alcmena
Deianira, daughter of Oeneus, his wife
Hyllus, their son
Lichas, herald of Heracles
A messenger
Nurse
Old man
Iolè, daughter of Eurytus, captive wife to Heracles, mute character
Captive women, mute character
Chorus of Trachinian maidens

Scene: Before the house of Heracles at Trachis.

The Trachiniae

	Enter Deianira and Nurse.
Deianira	There is an old-world saying current still, “Of no man canst thou judge the destiny To call it good or evil, till he die.” But I, before I pass into the world Of shadows, know my lot is hard and sad. E’en in my childhood’s home, while yet I dwelt At Pleuron with my father, I had dread Of marriage more than any Aetolian maid; For my first wooer was a river god, Acheloiis, who in triple form appeared To sue my father Oeneus for my hand, Now as a bull, now as a sinuous snake With glittering coils, and now in bulk a man With front of ox, while from his shaggy beard Runnels of fountain-water spouted forth. In terror of so strange a wooer, I Was ever praying death might end my woes, Before I came to such a marriage bed. Then to my joy, though long delayed, the son Of Zeus and of Alemena, good at need, Grappled the monster and delivered me. The circumstance and manner of that fight I cannot tell, not knowing; whoso watched it, Indifferent to the issue, might describe. For me⁠—I sat distracted by the dread That beauty in the end might prove my bane. But Zeus who holds the arbitrament of war Ordered it well, if well indeed it be. For since, his chosen bride, I shared the home Of Heracles, my cares have never ceased; Terror on terror follows, dread on dread, And one night’s trouble drives the last night’s out. Children were born to us, but them he sees Fen as the tiller of a distant field Sees it at seedtime, sees it once again At harvest, and no more. Such life was his That kept him roaming to and fro from home, To drudge for some taskmaster. And to-day When he has overcome these many toils, To-day I am terror-stricken most of all. For since he slew the doughty Iphitus, We have been dwelling with a stranger, here In Trachis, banished from our home, and he⁠— None knoweth where he bides; but this I know, He has gone and left me here to yearn and pine. Surely some mischief has befallen him, (For since he went an age⁠—ten long, long months, And other five⁠—has passed, and not a word), Some dread calamity, as signifies This tablet that he left me. Oh! how oft I’ve prayed it prove no harbinger of woe.
Nurse	My lady Deianira, many a time I’ve listened to thy lamentable plaints And groanings for the absence of thy lord. Now, if I seem not overbold, a slave Would lend her counsel to a free-born dame. Why, since thou art so rich in sons, not send One on the quest, and Hyllus most of all? Who could assist thee better, if he cares To ascertain the safety of his sire? And lo, I see him in the nick of time Approaching hotfoot. Wherefore, if