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Title: The Suppliant Women [Supplices]
Author: Aeschylus (ca. 525-456 B.C.)
Translator: Murray, George Gilbert Aim (1866-1957)
Date of first publication [this translation]: 1930
Date of first performance [original play]: ca. 463 B.C.
Edition used as base for this ebook:
   London: George Allen & Unwin, 1930
   [first edition]
Date first posted: 24 August 2011
Date last updated: 24 August 2011
Project Gutenberg Canada ebook #841

This ebook was produced by:
Barbara Watson, James Wright
& the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team
at http://www.pgdpcanada.net






                        THE SUPPLIANT WOMEN




                     _Uniform with this volume_


EURIPIDES

    ALCESTIS (_20th Thousand_)
    BACCH (_25th Thousand_)
    ELECTRA (_42nd Thousand_)
    HIPPOLYTUS (_28th Thousand_)
    IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS (_28th Thousand_)
    MEDEA (_26th Thousand_)
    RHESUS (_9th Thousand_)
    THE TROJAN WOMEN (_39th Thousand_)

ARISTOPHANES

    THE FROGS (_21st Thousand_)

SOPHOCLES

    OEDIPUS, KING OF THEBES (_20th Thousand_)

AESCHYLUS

    AGAMEMNON (_10th Thousand_)
    THE CHOPHOROE (_5th Thousand_)
    THE EUMENIDES (_4th Thousand_)

                      *    *    *    *    *

    THE ORESTEIA
        (collected edition)




                            AESCHYLUS

                       THE SUPPLIANT WOMEN
                           [SUPPLICES]

              TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH RHYMING VERSE
                   WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES

                               BY

                         GILBERT MURRAY

                   REGIUS PROFESSOR OF GREEK
                  IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD


                             LONDON
                    GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD
                         MUSEUM STREET




                    FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1930




                     _All rights reserved_

                  PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY
                  UNWIN BROTHERS LTD., WOKING




                           INTRODUCTION


The _Supplices_, or _Suppliant Women_, of Aeschylus is generally
recognized as the earliest of extant Greek plays. It is certainly the
most primitive, and perhaps, in the common opinion of scholars, the most
stiff, helpless, and unintelligible. Yet it is not only a document of
extraordinary interest to a student of the origins of drama; it has also
on its own lines a profound and haunting beauty. It is a cantata or a
religious ballet, in parts a pageant, rather than what we mean by a
play. As we have it now, music, dance, and spectacle are all gone, or,
as it were, veiled; one feels them in the background behind the rhythm
of the poetry. Only the words remain; and the words have, as so often in
Greek things, an almost magical power of recreating the very remote
past. It is just the helplessly crude myth and the primitive images on
which this poem is built that make its message into something universal
or eternal. It had to be re-interpreted before it "made sense" in
Aeschylus' time, and it lives because it has still to be re-interpreted.

The whole history of classical Greek tragedy falls within a space of a
hundred years, a short time when one thinks of the differences between
the first stage and the last. The _Iphigenia in Aulis_, for example,
produced soon after 406 B.C., has developed almost all the licences and
ingenuities of the New Comedy. It is a good entertainment, full of
variety, amusement, surprise, plot interest, and character study. The
_Supplices_, produced some time between 499 and 472 B.C., is still in
the main a simple religious celebration, with no individual characters,
and almost no plot. More than half of the play is lyrical--to be exact,
605 verses out of 1,070; whereas in the _Oedipus_ the proportion is 317
out of 1,530. The Dramatis Personae are usually given as follows:
"DANAUS; a KING OF ARGOS; a HERALD; CHORUS OF THE DAUGHTERS OF DANAUS."
The list seems simple enough; but, if we look closely, we shall find
that the truth is simpler still. There are really no "actors" at all,
only three Choruses with their respective directors or "Exarchontes".
Danaus and his Daughters--accompanied for part of the time at least by
their Handmaids; the King and his Argive Soldiers; the Herald and his
Swarm of Black Slaves. In a sense the more ancient type of Greek chorus
has regularly two leaders: one a member of the Chorus itself, the
technical Coryphaeus; and one different in character and more
authoritative, the _Exarchon_. The Muses are led by one of themselves as
Leader, but directed by Apollo as Exarchon. A Chorus of Bacchanals is
normally led by the First Bacchanal, but directed by Dionysus. In the
only two Satyr-plays that have come down to us the Chorus of Satyrs is
led by the First Satyr, but also directed by Silenus, the Father of the
Satyrs. Similarly the Daughters of Danaus are led by the First Daughter,
but guided and directed by Danaus. I have little doubt that the Argive
Soldiers in their movements were led by a First Soldier, as well as
directed by the King; the Black Slaves led by a First Black Slave, as
well as directed by the Herald.

Thus the _Supplices_ is extremely close--much closer than critics have
suspected--to the original choric or communal dance out of which Tragedy
arose. It consists in the manoeuvring or interaction of three Choruses
and their Leaders, and it is hardly accidental that both the Daughters
of Danaus and the Sons of Aegyptus are fifty in number. The old tragic
Chorus consisted of fifty (_Pollux_ iv. 110). In later times it was
divided among the four plays of a tetralogy into four sets of twelve
_plus_ two actors; but the _Supplices_ apparently dates from a time when
it was still undivided.

Next we may notice the purpose for which these Choruses meet. The
Danaids are Suppliants; the Egyptians their persecutors; the Argives
their protectors. The subject of the play is a rite of sanctuary or
supplication, i.e. a ritual in which helpless and desperate people seek
and find refuge at an altar. The situation forms one of the most common
subjects of tragedy. Its ritual character is obvious. Suppose a
particular altar or enclosure has the right of giving sanctuary, how
does it make sure of preserving that right? Just as one preserves a
right of way. On some particular day of the year there is a public
ritual performance in which some fugitive, pursued by his enemies, flies
to the altar or enclosure and is there held to be inviolable. That is, a
sacred story is enacted in which the place in question was on some known
occasion definitely recognized as a sanctuary. In its earliest form, I
presume, both fugitives and pursuers would be Choruses, and probably
the authorities who establish the sanctuary would be a chorus, too;
exactly like the _Supplices_, with its Chorus of flying Maidens, its
chorus of Pursuers, and its Chorus of Argives who give protection.

On the other hand, the play has moved one step away from the original
ritual. It is not performed at the original place of sanctuary, which is
supposed to be a common altar of the Gods of the agora at Argos. It is
played in the precinct of Dionysus at Athens. The performance has been
cut loose from its roots as a ritual act, and has started on its free
career as a work of art. The leaven of drama is already working; and by
the time Aeschylus reaches the second play of this trilogy we find him
making one of the Danaids emerge as an individual character and stand
out against her sisters.

But now let us take the plot. It is a plot which would have raised a
smile on the face of Sophocles or Euripides, and I think on that of
Aeschylus himself in his later years.

The fifty daughters of Danaus, flying from the persecution of their
cousins, the fifty sons of Aegyptus--we remember that the original
circular chorus regularly numbered fifty, hence these large and
symmetrical families--have fled under their father's guidance from Egypt
to Argos. They choose that country because they are descended from Io,
the Argive priestess, and they know by family tradition her marvellous
history. Consequently, when the King of Argos questions them, they find
it easy to convince him that they are true Argives and have a claim upon
his protection against their pursuers. Such protection may mean war; the
King hesitates, but at last goes with Danaus to put the case before the
people of Argos. Left alone, the Danaids meditate on the mystery of the
dealings of Zeus with their ancestress Io, her wrongs, her suffering,
and her strange deliverance. Danaus returns from the Assembly with a
firm promise of assistance, but almost immediately after, from his place
of watch, sees in the offing the Egyptian ship. He goes to get help, the
Maidens are left alone, and the Egyptian Herald, with his horrible
retinue, arrives and proceeds to hale them away. There is a wild and
imaginative Dance of Flight and Pursuit, when the King appears with
Danaus, saves the Maidens and defies the Herald, who departs threatening
war. The Danaids are given a home in Argos; they utter a song of
blessing, and are left for the moment safe, but under the shadow of war
with its uncertain issue.

The _Supplices_ seems to have been the first play of a tragic trilogy,
_Supplices_, _Egyptians_, _Danaids_. Of the other two only fragments are
extant, but it appears that in the second play the Maidens are in the
power of the Egyptians. Since it is difficult to suppose that the Argive
army has been conquered, we may conjecture that Danaus, to avoid a
ruinous war, is practising deliberate treachery upon his enemies (cf.
his conduct in this play, ll. 753 ff.). The Egyptians force the Danaids
to their bed, but the Maidens, by their father's counsel, take daggers
with them and swear at all costs to save their virginity. They all keep
their oath and slay their would-be violators except one, Hypermnestra,
who yields herself in love to her cousin Lynkeus, and helps him to
escape. In the third play Hypermnestra is brought to trial and judged,
it would seem, both for perjury and unchastity, since she has broken her
oath and forfeited her virginity.[1] Is she guilty or no? We may
remember a similar situation in the _Eumenides_. There the problem of
the possibility of forgiveness for the shedding of kindred blood is
treated by Aeschylus as a mystery too difficult for human justice, and
passed on to a tribunal presided over by the goddess Athena. Here the
problem of Hypermnestra's conduct goes to a tribunal presided over by
Aphrodite, the goddess of love. A fragment of the judgement is
preserved, asserting the influence of Aphrodite over all life:

    The Sky most holy for Earth's kiss doth cry,
    And the Earth yearns to melt into the Sky,
    Till from that heavenly lover falls the rain
    And steeps Earth's body, that she bears amain
    Grass, the flock's food, and corn, man's living bread.
    And all trees blossom, and all fruit is fed
    To fulness by that rain which maketh one.
    Whereof the cause am I.

These lines are not in themselves conclusive. But we know from other
sources that Hypermnestra was acquitted, and it seems certain that the
ground of her acquittal was the simple fact that she loved Lynkeus, and
therefore was right to yield herself to him (cf. _Prom._ 865 ff.).

This result is so remarkable that we must consider further the poet's
attitude to Supplication and to Virginity.

[Footnote 1: There is no mention of any judgement upon the other
Danaids. Apparently the sympathy of the poet is still with them, as it
certainly is in the present play. In later myth, of course, they are
_scelestae sorores_, husband-murderers, and are represented as punished
among the great sinners of Hades, being condemned to carry water in
vessels with holes in them. Some scholars, such as Dieterich and
Wilamowitz, have considered this fruitless labour a suitable punishment
for the sin of rejecting marriage, and argued that the Danaids are meant
by Aeschylus to be in the wrong throughout. Mazon takes a somewhat
similar view. See the excellent answer in Vrtheim's Introduction. Apart
from the fact that Aeschylus shows no knowledge of any future punishment
of his heroines, the story of the water-carrying itself looks like the
misinterpretation of a work of art, a common enough source of stories.
We know that the Danaids were connected in Argive ritual with streams
and irrigation; it was Danaus who "made dry Argos well-watered". What
more natural than that the Danaids should be represented as carrying
vessels from which the water ran?]

The first words of the play are "Zeus the Suppliant," [Greek: Zeus men
Aphiktr]. A Suppliant is one who confesses his helplessness, throws
away all defence, and flies either to an altar or to the knees of some
strong man or woman for protection; and Zeus is, of course, well known
as the protector of Suppliants. Ordinary human feeling hates the idea of
a wrong done to the helpless--to a blind beggar, to a sick or wounded
man, to a child; and that feeling expresses itself by saying that a
wrong done to these is particularly hateful to God, or that the
suppliant is [Greek: araios] or [Greek: prostropaios], "charged with the
power of cursing". That is simple enough, and the idea permeates the
whole of this play, as it permeates many later tragedies. To betray the
Suppliant is a sin of the worst type, "unforgivable even in the grave"
(l. 416); Zeus himself marks and punishes it. But there is a further
extension of the same sentiment. In some mystical sense, just as Zeus
the protector of Kings is himself a King, as He to whom the bull is
sacrificed is himself a bull, so the Protector of Suppliants is himself
a Suppliant. Nay, it might even be argued from two doubtful passages in
Aeschylus and one in Nonnus that He who forgives sinners is himself a
sinner: ([Greek: alastr], _Orphica_ 733; _Aesch._ fr. 92, 194).
Suffering man makes a god in his own image, a Suffering God. The idea is
less unfamiliar to us than it might be, owing to the place it occupies
in Christianity. Reject that helpless blind man, and in some sense you
have rejected Zeus himself. The conception is hinted at several times in
Greek literature, but it is always left more or less a mystery.

But what is the ground of the Danaids' supplication? From what are they
seeking sanctuary? They have fled from Egypt over the sea, since their
father, in a situation where every way led to grief, "deemed this the
noblest grief", in order to escape from the sons of Aegyptus. If we look
at other cases of formal Supplication in Greek tragedy we find, first
and most frequent, people taking sanctuary to save their lives, or, it
may be, the lives of their children; as in Euripides' _Heracleidae_,
_Andromache_, _Heracles_, _Ion_, _Helena_. In the _Eumenides_ Orestes
takes sanctuary with Athena, not exactly to save his life, but to save
himself from the Furies. In Euripides' _Supplices_ the Mothers of the
Seven Chieftains slain at Thebes are suppliants to Theseus to recover
their sons' dead bodies for proper mourning and burial. It is well known
what a horror the ancients had of dying without--so to speak--the last
rites of the Church. Death, torture, lack of funeral rites: those are
three well-known and obvious horrors. The Danaids, however, are
suppliant, and facing and almost inviting death in the course of their
supplication, in order to avoid union--the Greek word "Gamos" has not
the same legal connotations as our "marriage"--with their cousins. The
nearest parallel is the _Helena_, where the heroine takes sanctuary in a
tomb to preserve her chastity from a wicked king.

Now why do the Danaids object so strongly to their cousins? One's first
thought is that the marriage of first cousins counted as incest, but I
do not think that this explanation will hold. For one thing, in Greek
literature as a whole, though there is a great deal of strong feeling on
the subject of incest, as well as a good deal of philosophic scepticism,
I can find no objection to the marriage of first cousins. And secondly,
although the speakers in this play are constantly seeking grounds for
objection to the marriage, no one actually says that it would be
incestuous. (The nearest approaches to it are ll. 8--if [Greek:
autogen] be read--and 37).

One passage seems fairly decisive on the other side. At ll. 330 ff. the
King definitely asks the Leader: "Why do you fly from your cousins? Is
it because you dislike them, or do you mean that there is some sin
involved?" Literally, "do you mean [Greek: to m themis], 'that which is
not lawful'?" And the Leader answers, not quite directly but clearly
enough: "What woman would complain of a master whom she loved?" That is,
she does not accept the suggestion that the marriage is "not lawful" or
"forbidden". She does accept the other alternative. They hate their
cousins, and therefore will die rather than marry them.

But furthermore it was a well-known rule of Attic Law that if the owner
of an estate died leaving daughters but no sons, the next male of kin
had a right, and even a duty, to take the family estate into his care
and the heiress with it. The heiress was, so to speak, _adscripta
glebae_; the duty of taking on the derelict family estate involved the
duty of marrying the derelict female attached to it.[2] Thus the King
first remarks that a marriage within the family has obvious economic
advantages, since it keeps the estate together, and then raises the
definite question:

    How if by law the Sons of Egypt claim,
    As next in blood, the kinsman's right on ye? (l. 387.)

The correct answer, in prose, in a Law-court, would be first, perhaps,
that Attic Law did not hold in Egypt, and secondly, that since their
father was still alive all rights over them obviously belonged to him,
and the whole plea was frivolous. The actual answer of the Chorus is a
passionate cry that they will rather die than submit to the brute
strength of their pursuers (l. 392).

[Footnote 2: Professor Ridgeway actually took the main subject of the
play to be a conflict of two systems of law on this point.--_Cambridge
Praelections_, 1906.]

This shows, I think, that there is no question of incest. The fact that
the suitors are cousins is a point in favour of their suit rather than
against it. The one conclusive and damning objection to them is the fact
that the Maidens dislike them. That fact turns their suit into a
persecution and the marriage into a violation. Whatever the law may or
may not be, the Danaids will die rather than let their cousins get
possession of them. And the King, after weighing the costs, supports
them (l. 940).

Their resolution expresses itself, as it naturally would, in two ways:
once or twice (ll. 143-9, 804) in what looks like a rejection of
marriage in any form, a prayer to the virgin goddesses Artemis and
Athena to let the Danaids preserve their virginity (cf. "the inborn
shrinking" in l. 8); and, second, in a claim at least for some freedom
of choice in marriage (ll. 337, 1031, 1068-9; cf. 996-1009). This is
quite clear in the text and obviously true to character. A girl pressed
to marry an unwelcome suitor usually says she does not wish to marry at
all. Consequently I am entirely unconvinced by those scholars who regard
the Danaids as committing a mortal sin by their blasphemous rejection of
the Institution of Marriage. There is not a suggestion of this in the
play. Again and again there is a prayer to the gods, especially to
Zeus, to regard the woman's cause, and uphold the freedom of woman to
choose her mate as against man's superior strength. There is also the
special appeal to Zeus as the lover of Io, the ancestress of the
Danaids. Now the story of Io forms the most curious and the most
intriguing element in the whole scheme of this play. It presents, as so
often happens in early Greek literature, both the lowest and the highest
range of thought: its very crudity and absurdity compel the poet to
think, and by thinking he turns a piece of primitive folklore into a
mystery, a palpable absurdity into a serious explanation of one of the
riddles of human life.

Let us touch for a moment on the mythology. Io as a priestess of Hera is
presumably a goddess of the same type as Hera, connected with marriage,
fertility, childbirth; like most such goddesses she is connected with
cows and with the moon. But the moon element in Io is unusually strong.
According to the ancients themselves (Herodian, Suidas), Io was the
Argive name for the Moon; hence she is horned, whether a horned woman or
actually a cow; hence she is a consort of Zeus; hence she is driven
across the sky for ever and ever, a hunted thing; hence she is watched
by the watcher with a myriad eyes, who is, so Euripides (_Phoen._ 1116)
and others tell us, the starry sky. Furthermore, when the Greeks, who
knew of Io's wandering to Egypt, found the bull-calf Apis (Egyptian
_Hapi_) worshipped there, it was easy to see in him the child of the
cow-goddess Io. The Greek form of the name Hapi, "Epaphus," seemed to
mean "touch" or "touching", and thus fitted in with the story of a
virgin birth through the touch of the hand of Zeus.

The first song of the Danaid Chorus when they reach Argos is full of
mysterious hints about Epaphus, son of Io, and the secret which they are
going to reveal at the proper moment to the Lords of Argos. For the
story of Io is a [Greek: hieros logos], a holy tale with a secret
meaning, not known to the vulgar. It would be known perhaps to the King,
the Priestess of Hera, and Io's own family. Such "holy tales" were, of
course, a well-known fact in many communities. We have a good example of
the way in which they might be used in the scene where the strange women
have to convince the King of their identity. The King asks their name
and race; they say they are true Argives, and prove their descent by
showing their knowledge of all that happened to Io in Argos, and adding
further facts about her adventures in Egypt (ll. 291-324).

So far so good. The Suppliant Women's relation to Io gives them a
footing in Argive society. But if we look deeper the story of Io causes
a great difficulty. The Danaids are being pursued by their unwelcome
lovers; they fly over the seas and face death in order to escape; they
appeal to Zeus to be their protector and deliverer, and they base their
appeal on the memory of Io. But the trouble is that, if the ordinary
myth is to be taken at its face value, Zeus acted to Io almost exactly
as the sons of Aegyptus are acting towards the Danaids. In more senses
than one the Danaids "wander in the print of ancient feet". The matter
is stated plainly in the _Promtheus_, in which the gadfly-driven Io
actually appears and tells Prometheus her story: the dreams that came to
her of the love of Zeus; the oracle that commanded her father to drive
her out from his house so that Zeus might more easily possess her; then
the maddening distortion that fell upon her shape and her mind, the
gadfly and the infinite tortured wandering. Prometheus in his answer
turns to the Chorus: "How think ye? Is not the monarch of the gods a
tyrant everywhere? God as he is, he lusted to enjoy this mortal woman,
and for that has cast upon her these afflictions. A cruel suitor is
thine, O Damsel!" (_Promtheus_, ll. 735-740). And to make the parallel
more complete Io seeks death rather than violation, just as the Danaids
do. Her only comfort is the knowledge that Zeus will some day be cast
out from his throne, unless, indeed, Prometheus forgives and saves him.
As a matter of fact we know that, in the last play of the Prometheus
trilogy, Zeus and Prometheus were reconciled. Zeus, who has the special
power of learning by suffering, has suffered and therefore learnt. He
has learnt wisdom, and, as a part of wisdom, mercy; he has forgiven and
set free his enemies. And with such a Monarch of Heaven Prometheus, and
doubtless Io too, can be reconciled.

It is always rash to suppose that an ancient writer, especially a poet,
is expressing original views of his own on any religious or
philosophical subject; ancient poets normally express the current
_Logos_ in one of its forms. But one can sometimes feel individual
character in the mode of expression. So here. I cannot but feel that
Aeschylus has thought and felt deeply over the contradictions involved
in this story and this situation. Such contradictions are common in all
religious tradition, but particularly common in Greek legend. Some
innocent local myth of the descent of the local chief from the local god
and a cow-or moon-consort begins to go wrong when the local god is
identified with Zeus, who has already his wife Hera; then it becomes
totally intolerable when the Zeus of mythology gradually develops in
men's minds into the One God or Supreme Being of Greek philosophy. It
was not possible for Aeschylus to solve his problem on these historical
and sceptical lines; so he attempts it, first, by deepening all the
issues of the story: that takes us a long way towards a satisfactory
solution; and secondly, if that is not enough, by his special doctrine
of Learning by Suffering. Zeus won the throne of Heaven by violence and
war, as the previous Kings of Heaven had won it; but whereas they, when
they suffered, merely struck back till they were beaten, Zeus had his
great secret, the power to learn. I have written about this
elsewhere.[3]

[Footnote 3: _Rise of the Greek Epic_, Edn. 3, Chapter X; _Oresteia_,
Introduction.]

To understand what I mean by deepening the issues, I would ask the
reader to study carefully the chief Io Chorus (ll. 524-598), in which
Aeschylus seems to have expressed some of his profoundest feelings. No
analysis--and, I fear, no translation--can do justice to the beauty of
this wonderful religious poem, but its meaning may be made more clear by
two or three comments. In the first place, Zeus is not the mere
libertine described by Prometheus. The birth of Epaphus is a virgin
birth, due to the laying on of hands and some reception of the "breath"
or "true word" of Zeus. As in similar stories of miraculous births,
there is here an element of mystery. Not all is explained; but at least
the gross form of the myth is utterly denied. The purpose of Zeus in
thus afflicting Io with torment and wandering is not lust; it is a
purpose inscrutable. The suffering of Io is not in the least minimized:
quite the reverse. But we are somehow intended to feel that Io's misery,
like that of Orestes, was all a means to a blessed end, and presumably
that the end could not have been reached otherwise.

Is there some allegory about the whole story? I do not like to be
positive, but allegory was all through Greek history a fairly common
method of explaining mythological difficulties. And it is difficult,
without allegory, to understand the rle of Hera in the story as now
told. The torment is now her work; Zeus is the Deliverer. And Io is
actually described as [Greek: thuias Hras], the mad or inspired
votaress of Hera, who causes her torment as, for example, Apollo causes
that of Cassandra, or Dionysus that of a Maenad. This Hera can hardly be
merely the Hera of mythology, jealous of her husband's amours, because
there are no amours. We may perhaps remember that Hera is, beyond all
else, the goddess of marriage or Gamos. Is it Gamos--or as we should
say, sex--which, at least until its conditions are right, causes the
torment? In any case I cannot help seeing in the Io Chorus the same
doctrine that is apparently enunciated by Aphrodite at the end of the
trilogy. The Danaids prize above all things their virginity; they will
die or slay rather than submit to their pursuers. They are right. But
one of them, Hypermnestra, breaks her oath and does submit; she is
judged by a divine tribunal and the judgement is that she, too, is
right. She is right because she loved her suitor. By that fact, and that
alone, the [Greek: gamos] is justified. The violation is transformed
into a sacrament. Since virginity is an impossible ideal for the race;
and since the whole drama is set in an atmosphere in which virginity is
a sacred thing, dearer than life itself, this is the only kind of
solution possible.

Similarly, if Io is said again and again to represent "the woman's
cause", and if the Danaids are born of Io, with all her wrong, her
agony, and her love, I think it is on these lines that the words must be
understood. Virginity must be violated: that is the wrong; woman must go
through the pangs of childbirth: that is the agony; yet there is
something which according to Aeschylus atones, or more than atones, for
both: that is the love.

                      *    *    *    *    *

There is no difficulty about the main action of the play: that is, the
arrival of the Egyptian Herald, the pursuit and flight of the Maidens,
and their rescue by the King. But when the Herald has retired, baffled
and breathing wrath, Danaus gives his last directions to his daughters.
They culminate in a passionate and beautiful exhortation to do what they
have been doing all the time, to preserve and prize their virginity.
They carry with them something that is precious and will be coveted. It
is like the bloom of a flower or fruit; wild beasts pursue it, and
mortal men, and fierce things that fly and that crawl. Let them not, at
the last, lose that for which they have endured much travail and crossed
perilous seas.

I can see that some scholars will criticize my interpretation of this
very primitive tragedy as being made up of modern ideas, but I hope for
better treatment from anthropologists. All sanctities are difficult to
justify on purely common-sense grounds. To send the women and children
first to the boats, to abstain from hitting a man when he is down, to
fight to the death rather than accept certain forms of dishonour,
principles ingrained in our Western tradition of chivalry, are not
perhaps much more rational than those which we regard as extravagant in
Japanese _bushido_, or as laughable in a Red Indian's avoidance of his
mother-in-law. But it does seem as if no man and no race of men ever
came to much good unless there were some things which they held more
precious than life. Now the prizing of virginity, or of that mysterious
thing chastity, as something of inestimable value, is extremely ancient
in Aryan and Semitic lands; indeed, it is more characteristically
ancient than modern because, in disturbed societies the violation of
women is a live danger, and the resistance to it not a sentiment but a
live problem. Greek mythology is full of heroines who die to save their
honour, or because they have lost it, and of men stoned to death or
haunted by avenging ghosts because they have violated virgins. The
ancient imagination was not less preoccupied than the modern by these
problems and taboos of sex, but, if anything, more so. And the need
somehow to combine the sacredness of virginity with the acceptance of
marriage was, of course, just as absolute then as now. Dozens of
elements in ancient Greek rituals are extant to prove it (see Frazer,
_Psyche's Task_, _passim_).

What is much more remarkable in the _Supplices_ is the attempt to find
for this problem a purely spiritual or psychological answer, not one
based on any external ritual. The conventional solution, in ancient
times as in modern, was, of course, to insist on the correct nuptial
rites. A _Gamos_ without the correct marriage service was wrong,
dangerous, and likely to upset the harvest; with the correct marriage
service it was right and beneficial. Aeschylus might have ended his play
with a speech from Hera, the goddess of legal marriage, and all would
have been plain. But he chose to go deeper, and make the problem depend
not on any mere ritual, but on love.

As far as the present play goes--and the rest of the trilogy seems to
confirm it--we find only the principle that virginity is more precious
than life; that violation, [Greek: gamos biaios], is an indelible
infamy: "Not even in Hades, after death, can the doer of such a deed be
purified" (l. 227). A [Greek: gamos hekousios], on the other hand, the
same act as a willing expression of love, has its _Moira_, its due place
in the divine scheme. It would be interesting to know if in the last
play of the trilogy the Danaids make any formal recantation of their
"inborn shrinking": but the evidence fails us.

It is an interesting confirmation of this view that exactly the same
problem and the same solution were put forward by Aeschylus in a play
which treated of the story of one of these same daughters of Danaus,
Amymne. The _Amymne_ was a satyr-play, and may well have been actually
the satyr-play which closed this trilogy. In it the heroine is pursued
by a satyr and rescued by Poseidon, who, after routing the would-be
violator, reveals himself as her fate-ordained lover and is accepted
("Thou art ordained by fate to be mine, and I to wed thee").

In the last scene of the present play the Handmaids remind their
mistresses of the greatness of Aphrodite:

    For of Her comes the dumb heart that longeth,
      And the soft word that fails not, though afraid;
    And the music of the world to her belongeth,
      And the whisper of a man with a maid.

The Danaids themselves implicitly accept her power when they pray that
she will not let their _Gamos_ come by violence, and in their last song
definitely accept "the twofold life", so long as it is combined with
freedom of choice. It is the same doctrine as that enunciated by
Aphrodite in her final judgement at the end of the trilogy, when she
ordains the solemn rite of marriage based upon love.

That, then, is what this very ancient play, so far as I can understand
it, explicitly says. Critics have been unwilling to admit such a
conclusion. They will say it is like the language of the romantic
revival at the beginning of the nineteenth century, and no doubt it is.
After all, the romantic tradition has its roots in the history of
mankind. It descends from the Greeks, like almost all the rest of our
poetical convention. Again and again we find that the thing which is
conventional sentiment among us was genuine and practical conviction
with them. People then did the things which we now consider it poetical
to imagine. I cannot resist the conclusion that we have in the
_Supplices_ an expression of the real conflict of emotions, practical,
serious, and passionate, from which this part of our romantic tradition
is descended. But this raises a historical question too large to be
treated here.




                       THE SUPPLIANT WOMEN OR
                       SUPPLICES OF AESCHYLUS




                          DRAMATIS PERSONAE


DANAUS, _with a_ CHORUS _of_ DANAIDS, _and their_ HANDMAIDS
PELASGUS, _King of Argos_, _with a_ CHORUS _of_ ARGIVE MEN
HERALD, _with a_ CHORUS _of_ EGYPTIAN SLAVES
LEADER _of the_ CHORUS _of_ DANAIDS

[The names Danus, Danid have three syllables, the accent being on the
    first _Dan_-.

The title _Supplices_ also has three syllables, with the accent on the
    first.]

_The_ SUPPLICES _is the earliest of extant Greek Tragedies_. _See Notes,
    p._ 92.




                             THE SUPPLICES


_There is no stage, only a large circular Orchestra, or Dancing Ground,
    in the centre of which--or perhaps at the back--rises a Sacred Hill
    surmounted by a Common Altar, with figures or emblems representing all
    the chief Gods of Argos._

_Enter the Chorus of fifty_ DANAIDS _led by their Father_, DANAUS.

                                 CHORUS.                                  [1-16]

    May Zeus, the Eternal Suppliant, smile
    In mercy on this suppliant band
    Sea-lifted from the slender sand
      That masks the mouths of Nile;
    Outcast from that diviner land,
    By Syrian gardens fringed, we fly
    In exile, not with tainted hand
    Nor by our city doomed to die:
    A shrinking of the flesh inborn
    From man's touch, from the lust and scorn
    Of dark Aegyptus' sons, to shame
    Hath cast us. For the King our sire,
    Who leads our thought, who guides our choir,
    'Mid all the mazes of a game
    Where grief in every move must lie,
    Deemed this the noblest grief: to fly
    O'erseas, forsaking all, and find
    That Argos where began, 'tis said,
    The many wonders of our kind,
    The Hand of Peace on one who fled                                    [17-39]
    With tortured flesh, with hornd head,
      The life by God's breath poured.
    Where should I seek a dearer city,
    Armed with these olive-boughs of pity,
      The suppliant's only sword?
    O walls, O soil, O gleaming sea,
    O gods of heaven above, and ye
    Heroes beneath the ground, who hold
    Your honoured graves, our fathers old;
    And Zeus, O Zeus of the Third Day,
    The Saviour, thou who holdest guard
    Of good men's houses, be not hard,
    But from the land's deep bosom send
    A wind of mercy to befriend
    Women who suffer and who pray!
    And thrust the Egyptian back--Oh, thrust
    Proud man and man's outswarming lust
    Back to the tempest reeling, there
    'Mid storm and fire and thunder-blare
    To meet the wrath of the great Sea
    And perish, ere by some false mesh
    Of law from this rejecting flesh
    They seize the love that may not be!

    [_They take position for the Dance._ DANAUS _seats himself on the steps
        of the Great Altar_.

                                 CHORUS.

(_They speak in riddles, calling upon Epaphus, son of Io their
    ancestress, identified with the Egyptian Apis, son of Isis._)


                                    [_Strophe 1_                         [40-62]
    I call upon One far away
      Over deep seas, our Help heavenborn:
    A babe among blossoms he lay,
      Hornd child of the Maid of the Horn,
      Our Mother: of her was he born
    And begotten by God's pure breath.
      And the name of him ever for us
    To the God's touch witnesseth,
      For the babe was Epaphus.

                                [_Antistrophe 1_
    I have called him, and, roaming again
      In the flowery places, the fold
    Where our Mother roamed in her pain,
      I muse on the sorrows of old.
      I will show to the princes who hold
    Her meadows a sign ere the night;
      Yea, things undreamed shall appear,
    And a great word be spoken aright,
      When the hour in its fulness is here.

(_Pursued and shut out from home, they mourn for ancient sorrows, like
    the Nightingale:_)

                                    [_Strophe 2_
      If one of the bird-seer's art
        Should hear in the waste our crying,
      A thought will well in his heart
        Of Tereus' bride, the undying,
      The piteous, the unforgiven
      Nightingale falcon-driven.


                                [_Antistrophe 2_                         [63-80]
      She is shut out from river and meadow;
        There are tears in her old sunny places;
      And weeping far off in the shadow
        The sorrow of old she retraces,
      Tells of the child she slew
      And the mother's heart untrue.

                                    [_Strophe 3_
      Through me too sorrow runs
        Like a strange Ionian song;
      I rend a cheek that is warm with the suns
      Of Egypt, and tender with benisons,
        A heart unschooled by wrong.
      I gather flowers and weave
      A garland of thoughts that grieve;
      For in dread of my kin, my own,
        Away from the shore I flee,
      Away to the mist, where none
        Shall care for me.

          [_They turn to the Great Altar and address
              the Gods in prayer._

                                [_Antistrophe 3_
      Give not the strength of youth
        A portion beyond the laws,
    Nor let man's pride be above God's ruth:
    Gods of our race, turn to the truth
      Your eyes, and hear our cause!
      Only by loathing lust                                             [81-103]
      Can ye to love be just.
      A very shield in war
        To them that in sorrow sit
      Is an altar, and God's great star
             Is over it.

    (_They speak of Zeus, the Inscrutable._)

                                    [_Strophe 4_
  Oh, may the desire of God be indeed of God!
    Is it not strong in the chase?
  On all roads with dark issue, a burning rod,
    It guides man's mortal race.

                                [_Antistrophe 4_
It falleth firm, it slippeth not, whatso thought
  In the brain of Zeus is formed: it is thought and deed.
Through tangled forest and shadow his paths are wrought,
  Which none may trace nor read.

                                    [_Strophe 5_
From the high towers of hope on which they stand
  He casts men down; they perish utterly.
  Yet he takes no sword, he lifts no violent hand.
      Effortless all must be
That is of God. All things
  Whereon his thought may light
Moveless to pass he brings
      There on the height.

                                [_Antistrophe 5_                       [104-122]
Let him look now on this ungodliness
  Of man: it groweth strong as a green tree
In hearts unchanging-hard, hot to possess
       This loveless flesh of me.
In dreams infatuate
  To its own wound it cleaves,
Till it learn, all too late,
        That sin deceives.

      [_They turn again in prayer to Earth:_

                              SOME WOMEN.

                                    [_Strophe 6_
     As I speak there comes a crying
       From within that checks my breath:
     Tis a music full of tears
     For some terror that it hears,
     As a dirge over the dying;
       For this life I count as death.

                                  ALL.

       Be ours, O bosomed Earth,
         Earth o'er the sea!
       No tongue of thine own birth
         Is strange to thee.
       Thou hear'st us, Earth, our friend!
         Or, where words fail,
       I beat my breast, and rend
         This Tyrian veil.

                              SOME WOMEN.                              [123-141]

                                [_Antistrophe 6_
     Yet a full joy on the morrow
       By the turning of God's hand,
     May yet find us, night or day,
     So but death be kept away!
    Oh, the mystery of sorrow!
       The wave bears us--to what land?

                                  ALL.


       Be ours, O bosomed Earth,
         Earth o'er the sea!
       No tongue of thine own birth
         Is strange to thee.
       Thou hear'st us, Earth, our friend:
         Or, where words fail,
       I beat my breast, and rend
         This Tyrian veil

                                    [_Strophe 7_
     The driven oar, the flaxen gear,
       A tower full-orbed against the brine,
     Have borne me un-stormconquered here:
       I blame not nor repine:
     Only the end, the end,
     Father All-seeing, send
       Gentle to me and mine!

                            ALL. [_to Epaphus:_

Great seed of the Untamed Mother, hark to me!
       Hear my word spoken!
From the arms of the defiler keep me free,                             [142-162]
       Unwed, unbroken!

                                [_Antistrophe 7_
                        [_To Artemis, or Athena_
           Thou of the Portal high,
             Rock-built immutably,
           My will in thine doth lie:
             God's daughter, look on me!
           Set thy protecting wrath
           Across our hunters' path;
           Oh, tameless even as I,
             Virgin, our saviour be!

                                  ALL.

Great seed of the Untamed Mother, hark to me!
      Hear my word spoken!
From the arms of the defiler keep me free,
      Unwed, unbroken!

                                    [_Strophe 8_
                               [_To Zeus again._
        Else . . . dark our cheek doth glow;
          Dark in the burning sun:
        Earth knows a Zeus below,
          Dark, who rejecteth none.
        We know his strangling knot;
          To him with suppliant breath,
        If heaven will hearken not,
          We turn for peace, for death.

                                  ALL.                                 [163-177]

Ah, Zeus, alas for Io! The wrath above
  Forgetteth naught. It searcheth the ways of the worm.
O ye that have conquered heaven, I know the love
Ye show unto men, and the bitter end thereof:
  The great wind, the cold storm.

                                [_Antistrophe 8_
           Then shall of Zeus indeed
             A tale of shame be told,
           Who helped not in his need
             The Child of Her of old,
           The Hornd Child, returned
             To thy land and his own:
           Oh, let him not lie spurned
             Before thy throne.

                                  ALL.

Ah, Zeus, alas for Io! The wrath above
  Forgetteth naught. It searcheth the ways of the worm.
O ye that have conquered heaven, I know the love
Ye show unto men, and the bitter end thereof:
  The great wind, the cold storm.

                                 DANAUS.

Bethink ye now, my children. By the thought
Of this old trusty pilot ye have wrought
Your voyage, and now on shore I charge ye bind                         [178-203]
With counsel new the tablets of your mind.
I see that voiceless herald that doth speak
Of armies, dust: I hear the axles' creak;
And lo, a regiment under spear and shield,
With horses at the flank and chariots wheeled!
Methinks some Argive chief hath learnt from spies
Your coming, and would see with his own eyes.
But be it with good intent, or be it hard
With savage wrath he marcheth hitherward,
Both ways 'twere wiser, Maidens, here beside
The altars of the Gathered Gods to abide,
Kneeling. An altar is a flawless shield,
More true than any wall. Go near, and wield
In your left hands the olive-branch with wool
White-wreathd, pledge of Zeus the Merciful.
And let your words be gentle, close to tears
And full of need, as fitteth sojourners
In a strange land, revealing earnestly
How guiltless from your fatherland ye flee.
Your voice be free from boldness, your calm eyes,
In chastened front, far from all vanities.
Your converse not too forward, nor too hot
To entice men's eyes. Such graces like me not.
Remember to give way. Ye have here nor gold
Nor home nor kin. Let not the weak be bold.
            [_He seats himself on the Altar Steps._

                                 LEADER.                               [204-213]

Father, thy thought well answereth to the thought
Within me. I will keep thy charges, fraught
With wisdom. May but Zeus our grandsire see!

                                 DANAUS.

Yea, surely: and with eyes of charity!

                                 LEADER.

I fain would make my seat beside thine own.

                                 DANAUS.

Delay not till the altar stair be won.

[_They come to the steps of the Great Altar, and see the emblems of
various gods._

                                 LEADER.

Zeus, pity our sorrows, and we perish not.

                                 DANAUS.

If He but will, all grief shall be forgot.

                                 LEADER.

We are with thee. Teach us now this people's use.

                                 DANAUS.

Lift first your voices to the Bird of Zeus.

                                 LEADER.

I hail the eagle Sun's all-seeing eye.

                                 DANAUS.                               [214-226]

And pure Apollo, exiled from the sky.

                                 LEADER.

He knoweth exile, he can feel for man.

                                 DANAUS.

Ah! Let him feel for us, if feel he can!

                                 LEADER.

Whom shall I pray to next, of all this line?

                                 DANAUS.

I see the Trident here, Poseidon's sign.

                                 LEADER.

Our guide at sea: may he befriend us still!

                                 DANAUS.

Lo, a strange Hermes, shaped as Hellenes will.

                                 LEADER.

O Herald, speak the word that we are free!

                                 DANAUS.

Now worship this whole altar-company
Of gods, and cower the holy place within,
Like doves in terror from your falcon kin:
Oh, kin of hate, who would defile our blood!
Shall bird be clean, that maketh bird his food?
Shall man be clean, who doth his lust fulfil,                          [227-248]
Against her will, against her father's will,
On woman? Never more shall such an one,
Nay, not in death, escape the deed he has done.
A Zeus is there, not ours, on each bowed head
Who deals the unchanging judgement of the dead.
Watch, therefore, and, when questioned, keep the laws
I have shown you, that this day may speed our cause.
            [_Enter the_ KING _with the Argive host_.

                                  KING.

What company in all un-Greek array,
Rich with barbarian robes and coifing gay,
Awaits us here? For, sure, not Argolis,
Not Hellas knows such woman's garb as this.
And hither fearless, by no herald cried,
Ye come, none to receive you, none to guide;
At this I marvel. Yet your olive-wands,
With white bewreathd by well-witting hands,
I see before the Gods of Gathering thrown.
In none save Hellene lands that rite is known.
And many another sign I well might seek,
But here ye stand, nor lack a voice to speak.

                                 LEADER.

Touching the garb we wear, thy word is true.--
But first, how should we name thee as is due?
A citizen? Or is the watchful wand
Of Hermes thine? Or lordship of the land?

                                  KING.                                [249-273]

For that, speak on, and answer fearlessly.
Earthborn Palaichthon was my sire, and I
Pelasgus, of these regions lord and king.
Whence a great race, duly inheriting
Their leader's name, Pelasgian, taketh due
Of all this soil. Yea, all the lands wherethrough
Pure Strymon floweth are mine own, away
To the sinking sun. The limits of my sway
Perrhaebia marketh, and the further side
Of Pindus, near the Paiones; then wide
Dodona's mountains; and, beyond, the cool
Dividing sea. Within those bounds I rule.
This land on which we tread of old did take
The name of Apia for its healer's sake,
Apis, who, crossing from Naupactus--son
Of Phoebus he, healer and priest in one--
Did cleanse the land of evil things and wild,
Which Earth, by ancient deeds of blood defiled,
Sent up to ease her fury, swarms of grim
Serpents, which dwelt with man and hated him.
Of these a swift and all-delivering purge
Wrought Apis. In all Argos none could urge
Failure or fault; for which good work he bears
No guerdon save a memory in our prayers.
  Ye know me now; speak plainly--for no grace
Of fine words moves our folk--your name and race.

                                 LEADER.                               [274-295]

Brief is our tale and clear. Of Argive breed
We spring, a hornd mother's high-born seed.
Hereof sure warrant ask, and I will give.

                                  KING.

I hear your words, strange damsels, but believe
I cannot, that our blood is in your veins.
More like the rovers of the Libyan plains
Than Greek women are ye. Or by the flow
Of ancient Nile, methinks, such flowers may grow.
And Cyprus hath its type, on woman's mould
Impressed by male artificers of old;
And tales I know, how Indian women roam,
By camels drawn, each in her tented home,
Beyond the walld Ethiop, in waste lands.
Nay, were there bows and arrows in your hands,
As Amazons had I your lineage read,
The flesh-devourers, the unhusbanded.
Teach me this mystery, Maidens, till I see
How that of Argive race and blood ye be.

                                 LEADER.

    (_She proves her descent by showing that she knows the secret story
        of Io._)

Men say that Io once of Hera's dome
Was key-bearer, in this her Argive home.

                           KING (_surprised_).

'Tis a true tale; and wide the fame thereof . . .
And can it be that Zeus felt mortal love?

                                 LEADER.                               [296-306]

Not hid from Hera were those secret hours.

                                  KING.

What end came to that strife of heavenly powers?

                                 LEADER.

To a hornd heifer Hera changed the maid.

                                  KING.

And Zeus that hornd one so fair betrayed?

                                 LEADER.

Never! Himself took bull-form for her sake.

                                  KING.

What answer, then, did Jove's dread consort make?

                                 LEADER.

Set her all-seeing watcher o'er that cow.

                                  KING.

What myriad-eyed kine-warden meanest thou?

                                 LEADER.

Argos, whom Hermes slew, Earth's marvellous son.

                                  KING.

What next befell that sad, that hornd one?

                                 LEADER.                               [307-318]

A fiery goad, which spurred her, blind with fear . . .

                                  KING.

Oistros they name it in the meadows here.

                                 LEADER.

And drove her from the land, long leagues of way.

                           KING (_reflecting_).

Ye tell our own tale.--All was as ye say.

                                 LEADER.

Then to Canpus, then to Memphis shore
She came, till Jove's hand touched her, and she bore . . .

                                  KING.

Of god and beast, what birth unknown before?

                                 LEADER.

Epaphus she called him, from that saving hand.

                                  KING.

And what was Epaphus' issue in the land?

                                 LEADER.

Libya, who reapeth the world's widest plain.

                                  KING.

And what new life from Libya bloomed again?

                                 LEADER.                               [319-332]

Two-childed Blus, sire of this my sire.

                                  KING.

His gracious name to know were my desire.

                                 LEADER.

Danaus; his brother, fifty-childed too . . .

                                  KING.

His name? Fear not to tell thy story through.

                                 LEADER.

Aegyptus.--Now ye know mine ancestries,
Oh, lift thine Argive suppliants from their knees.
                  [_She kneels: the_ KING _raises her_.

                                  KING.

'Tis well. Ye have convinced me that ye share
Our blood and race. But say, how did ye dare
To fly your father's home? What thing befell?

                                 LEADER.

Lord of Pelasgia, strange and variable
Is sorrow, never twice of the same wing.
Who could have thought or dreamed so dire a thing,
That our own kin, our cousins born, should drive
This band to Argos, lost and fugitive,
In fear of dark arms and a loathd bed?

                                  KING.                                [333-343]

What fear, then, with white wands new-garlanded,
Leads ye before our Gathered Gods to fall?

                                 LEADER.

To Egypt's sons I never will be thrall!

                                  KING.

'Tis hate, or fear of sin, your spirit moves?

                                 LEADER.

Doth woman dread the yoke of one she loves?

                                  KING.

To wed your kin--to both 'twould bring increase.

                                 LEADER.

And from our troubling give you quick release!

                                  KING.

I seek not that. . . . What would ye I should do?

                                 LEADER.

When Egypt claims, stand by us and be true!

                                  KING.

A hard task! Is it war ye needs must bring?

                                 LEADER.

Justice forsaketh not her friends, O King.

                                  KING.                                [344-358]

Aye, not if from the first her cause was theirs.

                                 LEADER.

Your city's helm is wreathd with our prayers!

                                  KING.

I see those shadowy altars palm-bestrowed.

                                 LEADER.

Dire is the anger of the Suppliants' God.

                                 CHORUS.

                                    [_Strophe 1_
Pelasgian king, O child of Earth, give ear!
  Pity one sore afraid,
Who prays thee, in flight surrounded, as in rude
Untrodden rocks some heifer, wolf-pursued,
Lows to the herdsman in her extreme fear,
  Sure of his strength to aid.

                                  KING.

I see our Gathering Gods enshadowed all
  With prayer: they sway, with new-cut branches fraught.
God grant this stranger's parleying may not fall
  To ill, nor out of things unhoped, unsought,
  Our City suffer. Strife she needeth not.

                                 CHORUS.                               [359-380]

                                [_Antistrophe 1_
Thou ancient law of pity, that bindest Heaven,
  This crimeless exile see!
The God who ordereth Fate must yet know ruth.
Wise King and aged, hearken to our youth;
Regard the suppliant and thine offerings given
  In God's house blest shall be.

                                  KING.

Not on my hearthstone do ye plant your prayer,
  Nor need I tremble. If some general stain
Be near my city, 'tis my people's care.
  For me, I plight no promise; it were vain
  To answer till my people's will be plain.

                                 CHORUS.

                                    [_Strophe 2_
Thou art the City, thine the people's deed,
  A judge no law hems in;
Thy nod doth move the central altar-stone
That is the City's hearth; thy staff alone
Decrees the City's act, fulfills her need.
  O king, beware of sin!

                                  KING.

Not on my head but on mine enemies'
  Be sin! How can I help ye without harm
To Argos; yet how spurn such prayers as these?
  Howe'er I turn, doubt holds me and alarm--
  To accept, reject, or wait on Fortune's arm.

                                 CHORUS.                               [381-401]

                                [_Antistrophe 2_
Raise up thine eyes to the great Judge on high,
  Guardian of suffering men
Who have knelt to man and been sent empty away!
The wrath of Zeus the Suppliant bides his day
'Gainst them whose bosoms melt not at the cry
  Of wronged souls in their pain.

                                  KING.

How if by law the Sons of Egypt claim,
  As next in blood, the kinsman's rights on ye?
Who shall withstand them or deny that name?
  By your own laws ye needs must shape your plea
  That o'er your flesh they own no mastery.

                                 CHORUS.

                                    [_Strophe 3_
I will not suffer, like a hawk-torn bird,
  The brute strength of the male!
Better fly on, yea fly to the abyss
Of stars, to save me from that loathd kiss!
Choose thou the right, O King, and by thy word
  Let fear of God prevail!

                                  KING.

Make me not judge! The judgement is too hard.
  Without my folk, I warn thee once again,
I speak not--though in power I be not barred--
  Lest, if the end be evil, men complain:
  "For strangers' love thou hast thy people slain."

                                 CHORUS.                               [402-422]

                                [_Antistrophe 3_
Kinsman to both, Zeus who upholds the scale,
  On both now turns his sight,
And, watching, to the ungodly his offence
He reckons, to the just his innocence:
The scales are true; how then can after-bale
  Follow the deed of right?

                                  KING.

Now, like a diver plunging to the deep,
I need some saving thought; I need to keep
A seeing eye, not wild or flushed with wine,
If first to Argos, then to me and mine,
This whole emprise may without peril end;
Lest either war his hot reprisals send
To spoil our fields, or by betraying you
Who cleave to our gods' altars, suppliants true,
I waken some destroying Wrath, to dwell
For ever on my hearth--some power of Hell
From whom is no release, not in the grave.
Have we not dire need of the thoughts that save?

                    CHORUS (_kneeling to the_ KING).

      Think, then! For thy thought, O Friend,
      Needs must save me and defend.
    Not in thee is our undoing--
      Suppliant, at our journey's end,
    And the hate of Hell pursuing!

      Shall they drag me from thy stair                                [423-444]
      And the great gods thrond there?
    In thy hand is all the City;
      Know man's vileness, and beware!
    There is anger in God's pity.

      Shall I kneel to thee in vain?
      Wilt thou see me torn amain
    From God's image? Shall they hale me
      Like a horse dragged by the mane?
    Shall they rend the robes that veil me?

      Lo, the deed thy hand hath done
      Shall not end with thee alone;
    Child and house in dateless title
      Hold it from thee and atone!
    'Tis God's law and just requital.

                                  KING.

I have thought enough.--Here I must haul to land
My wavering barque, with war--upon one hand
Or the other--sure! The great bolts hold her hull,
And up the beach the windlass-cables pull;
But who can ground her safe on such a shore?
  If a man's house be pillaged of its store
New gain, by God's will, may supplant the old,
And freight all loss surpassing fill his hold.
Or if his tongue shoots out some dangerous word                        [445-461]
Till hearts be wounded and men's anger stirred,
The wound that speech hath stricken speech can heal.
But kindred blood . . . I charge ye, damsels, kneel
In prayer and sacrifice ere that be shed!
Let many a questioning embassy be sped
To many a god to avert it; or count me
A man most ignorant! Which verily
I would I were, of things so miserable!
I pray, but hope not, that the end be well.

                                 LEADER.

Hear now the last word of our piteous prayer.

                                  KING.

Say on. I listen. Ye have all my care.

                                 LEADER.

Thou seest this twind zone below my breast?

                                  KING.

Surely; 'tis suited to a woman's vest.

                                 LEADER.

A goodly weapon can of these be wrought.

                                  KING.

For what? What dark word trembles in thy thought?

                                 LEADER.

Unless thou grant some pledge that cannot fail . . .

                                  KING.                                [462-477]

How then? To what end shall your zones avail?

                                 LEADER.

These altars with strange sacrifice to bind.

                                  KING.

Thy words are riddles. Plainlier show thy mind.

                                 LEADER.

On these gods we will hang ourselves and die!

                                  KING.

Not that! It stabs my heart like agony.

                                 LEADER.

Thou knowest all. I have given our purpose eyes.

                                  KING.

'Fore God, in many shapes this peril cries
Against us. 'Tis a shoreless river, poured
In flood, a waste of waters without ford
Or sounding, where I stand and searching see
No refuge. If I fail to succour ye,
A deed thou threatenest which for sin and stain
Passeth all arrows' flight; and if again
Against your kin, Aegyptus' sons, I stand
Before my walls and battle hand to hand,
A bitter waste of life were that, to make
Strong men to bite the dust for women's sake.
Yet come what may, I must the wrath revere                             [478-501]
Of Zeus the Suppliant: 'tis man's highest fear.
  O aged Father of this maiden crew,
Take in thine arm these branches, and pursue
Thy way through all the altars of the land,
Outspreading them, that folk may understand
Your needs here by that suppliant altar-gift.
But speak no word of me. My folk are swift
To blame their prince. The sight of these may stir
Pity and wrath against the ravisher,
And thus the people's will toward you be bowed.
All hearts are for the lowly against the proud.

                                 DANAUS.

'Tis beyond treasure, to be granted thus
In exile a protector bounteous.
But with us send companions, guides to show
The country's secret ways, that we may know
What gods possess the City, and where lie
The temple-fronting altars and the high
Enwreathd solitary thrones, that so
Safety be ours as through the streets we go:
For alien is the garb and face of us,
And Nile bears other fruit than Inachus.
Aye, hope too confident makes way for pain,
And man in blindness hath his brother slain.

                                  KING.

Go show him--for the stranger reasoneth well--
All altars where the Gods of Argos dwell.
Greet no man as ye pass, but silently                                  [502-512]
Guide to his goal this rover of the sea.
                       [_Exit_ DANAUS _with_ GUIDES.

                                 LEADER.

Thou speakest and he goes. Be it even thus.
But we? What comfort wilt thou make for us?

                                  KING.

Yield up these branches, sign of sorrows past.

                                 LEADER.

Take them; thy promise and thine hand shall last.

                                  KING.

Then roam at will through all this level grove.

                                 LEADER.

What safety that? Here any beast may rove.

                                  KING.

We will not yield thee up to birds of prey!

                                 LEADER.

To direr than a serpent's hate ye may.

                                  KING.

Why such ill words, when ours to thee are kind?

                                 LEADER.                               [513-525]

Forgive me; 'tis the terror in my mind.

                                  KING.

Kings have no part in terror. Tremble not.

                                 LEADER.

Oh, comfort me with word and deed and thought!

                                  KING.

Be sure your father will not leave you long.
I go to call my people to the throng
Of counsel, soften their stern hearts and seek
To show thy father the right words to speak.
Remain then, and with prayer and song implore
Our gods to grant the thing thou cravest for,
While I go forth to further our great quest.
Persuasion sweet be ours, and Fortune blest!
                                     [_Exit_ KING.

    [_The_ DANAIDS _meditate on the mystery of the dealings of Zeus with
        Io, her wrongs and her deliverance_.

                                 CHORUS.

                                    [_Strophe 1_
        O King of Kings,
          Blest beyond all things blest,
        Of perfect things
          In power the perfectest,
          Hear in thy bliss,                                           [526-549]
            Our prayer, and let it be!
          Keep from us this
            That is abhorred by thee,
      The lust of man; Oh, dead beneath the dark
      Blue water sink that black and evil barque!

                                [_Antistrophe 1_
        To woman turn thine eye,
          Regard us here:
        The children's child am I
          Of her once dear;
        Remember; understand
          Dear thoughts long dead,
        Thou who didst lay thine hand
          On Io's head!
    From her who once was thine, O Zeus, we come,
    Lost children, seeking Argos and our home.

                                    [_Strophe 2_
    I wander in the print of ancient feet:
      'Mid these same blossoms haunted Io grazed;
    From this same pasture sweet
    She fled, by pain made fleet,
      Through many tribes of men, with mind amazed,
    Till all the fronting world she clove in twain,
    And left deep-scored her pathway o'er the main.

                                [_Antistrophe 2_
    On, on through Asia, flying vainly fast,
      Through Phrygian sheepfolds, Mysia's royal keep,
    Through Lydian vales she passed;                                   [550-573]
    On over mountains vast
      Cilician and Pamphylian, on by deep
    Rivers that fail not, gold far hid from sight,
    And corn-rich isles beloved of Aphrodite.

                                    [_Strophe 3_
    On, on--and by that wingd herdsman's blow
      Ever her heart was torn--
    To God's great garden, fed by distant snow,
      Where bloom all flowers and corn;
    There Typhon burns, there floodeth Nile's soft flow
    Untouched by sickness: there must Io go,
      Mad with long shame and scorn,
    Witness to Hera's greatness, and a cry
    Of torment on her lips like prophecy.

                                [_Antistrophe 3_
    Mortals in that day dwelling in the land,
      Their hearts shook inwardly,
    Seeing a sight they might not understand:
      In pale fear every eye,
    Gazed on a Being agonized, half-human,
    Some part a tortured beast and some part woman:
      Behold a mystery!
    By whose word at the last was comfort given
    To Io wounded, wandering, gadfly-driven?

                                    [_Strophe 4_                       [574-593]
    Thou, Zeus, from everlasting ages Lord,
      Didst set her free;
    By thine unwounding strength, thy breath in-poured,
      Wrath ceased to be;
    In a last tenderness of tears her shame
      Flowed forth to die:
    She took into her body the great Name,
      The word that cannot lie,
    And bore a babe most flawless, without blame,

                                [_Antistrophe 4_
    Through ages long perfect in happiness.
      Wherefore all Earth
    Lifteth her voice to praise the Father, and bless
      The supreme birth.
    This is the deed of Zeus, all deeds above.
      Who else but He
    Could tear the web of hate that Hera wove?
      And thus are we, even we,
    Born of that wrong, that agony, that love.

                                    [_Strophe 5_
    What God then shall I praise in thought and word
      For works more justly planned?
    O Father, Planter of the Garden, Lord,
      Thou of the Healing Hand;
      Thinker of ancient thought,
      Artificer of man,
    Zeus, by whose breath, as by the wind, is brought
      To the harbour every plan!

                                [_Antistrophe 5_                       [594-612]
    Behold, He hasteth not to do the thing
      That others speak;
    Being more high than any lord or king,
      He maketh strong the weak.
      Above Him is no throne:
      No prayers below can bind
    His doings, for the deed and word are one,
      And one the counselling mind.
               [DANAUS _with his retinue returns_.

                                 DANAUS.

Rejoice, my children! Well for you and me
The people's voice hath passed its full decree.

                                 LEADER.

I bless thee, Father. All thy words are well!
But tell us quick what way the issue fell,
What vote was passed, and by what multitude?

                                 DANAUS.

All voted, all, with no divided mood,
Till my old heart was young again and stirred.
Gathered they stood, and at the herald's word
A myriad right hands quivered in the air
From that massed people, lifted to declare
That here we dwell, strangers within the gate,
By law protected and inviolate
'Gainst all who seek to take us, alien
Or Argive. And if war should follow, then
He who defends us not at need, shall stand                             [613-634]
Dishonoured and go exiled from the land.
  Thus spake Pelasgia's King, and turned their path
Toward mercy, warning of the eternal wrath
Of Zeus the Suppliant: "never let his folk
Uprouse it! For this day a twofold yoke
Full nigh the City lay, of grievous sin,
Wrong to the stranger, wrong to their own kin;
Whence in due time a monster should be reared,
Feeding on wounds and blood." All this they heard,
And straight, no question put nor heralding,
With lifted arms, cried to obey the King.

                                 LEADER.

Ah, well the King his charmd counsels spake,
Well the folk heard; but Zeus the end did make.
    Speak upon Argos all ye would
    Of prayers in recompense for good,
      While Zeus, the Stranger and the Friend
    Of strangers, watching, in good sooth
    Our words of blessing turns to truth,
      And guides them to their perfect end.

    [_The_ CHORUS _again take position for the Dance_; DANAUS _mounts the
        Altar Steps_.

                                 CHORUS.

        Turn to me now your care,
          Ye gods, ye children of God,
        As I pour libation of prayer:
          Let not this land be trod
        By the feet of fire and lance                                  [635-663]
          Nor a prey to Ares thrown,
        Who singeth where none may dance,
          Who reapeth, in fields not his own,
          Men, as grain that is sown.
              Argos hath pitied us:
                Argos her vote hath given,
              Aiding the lost army, who thus
                Kneel unto Zeus in heaven.

        They gave not to man his lust,
          They mocked not the woman's war;
        For they saw the Requital just
          Of Zeus, they knew it afar.
        It watcheth, yea it shall smite
          In its season, a perilous foe;
        The roof whereon it shall light
          Shall be broken; a bird of woe,
          Heavy it sits and slow.
              These men, seeing their kin
                Bowed before Zeus, revere them:
              These at a shrine stainless of sin
                Pray, and the gods shall hear them.

        Therefore my veild mouth
          Under its veil entreats:
        Never may plague nor drouth
          Lay waste this City's streets,
          Nor kindred strife make red
          The valleys with Argive dead.
              Pluck not the flower of youth!                           [664-692]
                Let not the War-god cruel,
              Lover of lust, scorner of ruth,
                Tear from the land its jewel!

        Brave be the Elders too,
          And the altars flame in use
        Of a land that to Zeus is true,
          And most to the Stranger Zeus,
          Whose gentle laws make straight
          The tangle of mortal fate.
              Let not the kingly seed
                Ever in Argos languish;
              Thou of the Bow, Comfort in need,
                Watch over woman's anguish!

        No bane by which men die
          Come hither to waste the land--
        On the hills a sudden cry,
          And a sword in Ares' hand:
          Ares, of tears the sire,
          Who knows not dance nor lyre.
              Far be the Pests that swarm,
                Darkly, with sickness laden:
              Lift as a shield, Phoebus, thine arm
                High over youth and maiden!

        May Zeus the fruitful earth
          Fulfil as the seasons pass;
        Abundant be the birth
          Of flocks in the grazing grass:
          All gifts to the folk be given                               [693-713]
          As men that are loved of heaven!
              Bards, to the altar fire
                Carry your gifts of story!
              Voices of love waken the lyre;
                Stainless be Argos' glory!

                                 LEADER.

The people, who this City's power hath wrought,
Preserve its ranks and orders undistraught:
So reigns with Brotherhood foreseeing Thought.

To strangers and strange lands let them afford
Without long strife, Law and the healing Word,
And Justice grant ere any draw the sword.

With offerings due let laurel-bearers pray
The native gods who hold the land in sway,
And yield the wild bull's blood in the ancient way.

Thy gods, thy law, thy parents--so I deem
The rule is written in the eternal scheme
Of Zeus the King, in glory all-supreme.

                                 DANAUS.

Daughters, your prayer so gentle likes me well.
Now tremble not. I have a tale to tell
New and unlooked-for. From this refuge high
Outlooking, in the distance I descry
A ship of Egypt. Aye, 'tis all too clear.                              [714-735]
I know the gathered sail. I know the sheer
Drop of the shielded sides, and in what guise
The black prow seeks its way with gleaming eyes,
Too well--to my mind--answering each turn
Of the helmsman's guiding wrist, far in the stern.
I see the shipmen there: they catch the light
With such black limbs against their robes of white.
The small boats too, and all the furniture
Of battle can be seen: to guide them sure
Toward land the leading ship has furled her sail,
And rows, with all oars, in.--Our best avail
Is patience and a chastened heart; to set
Eyes to the truth and not the gods forget.
I will go seek some champion, or may be
Some advocate. From them an embassy
Must come, or herald, and prepare the way
To claim their kindred--or to seize their prey.
They shall not have their will! Be not afraid
Of herald nor of host! Yet, if my aid
Be slow to arrive, forget not, through all fear,
Your surest comfort and defence is here.
                            [_Pointing to the altars._
Take heart. At last a day comes and an hour
When he who mocks the gods will feel their power.

                                 LEADER.

  Father, I shake with dread. The wingd ship
  Is here, is here! The cup is at my lip.

                                 CHORUS.                               [736-749]

                                    [_Strophe 1_
        Terror uncomforted
          Hath me. I fly from here . . .
        Yet what help to have fled?
          What refuge anywhere?
        Father, I faint with fear.

                                 DANAUS.

  Take heart. Full sure the votes of Argos fell.
  They will face war to save you, I know well.

                                 LEADER.

  Workers of death those wild Egyptians are--
  Thou know'st them--and insatiate of war.

                                 CHORUS.

                                [_Antistrophe 1_
      They launched their blue-eyed barque
        Builded of bitter wood;
      Their hate hath found its mark,
        And here they swarm, a lewd
        And black-limbed multitude.

                                 DANAUS.

  And multitudes they here shall find, with feet
  And fists well toughened in the noonday heat.

                                 LEADER.

  But do not leave me, Father. Left alone
  Woman is helpless: valour hath she none.

                                 CHORUS.                               [750-763]

                                    [_Strophe 2_
          Treason is in their soul,
            Ever of craft they plot;
          Their very heart is foul--
            Like carrion crows, who rot
            By the altars, caring not.

                                 DANAUS.

  Would it not suit us well, child, if they trod
  That path--to your hate and the hate of God?

                                 LEADER.

  What do they care for trident or for sign
  Of heaven? They will not spare this flesh of mine!

                                 CHORUS.

                                [_Antistrophe 2_
          Lifted with bitter pride,
            With godless fury fraught,
          Maddened with lust, they stride,
            Shameless as dogs; and naught
            Holy can pierce their thought.

                                 DANAUS.

  The wolf is stronger than the dog, 'tis said,
  And byblus pith poor food by wheaten bread.

                                 LEADER.

  Oh, fierce and vain and noisome beasts they be,
  Not dogs. Oh, let them not have hold on me!

                                 DANAUS.                               [764-783]

'Tis not so swift a business, to prepare
A landing force; to moor, to take full care
The cables hold; then, anchors, too, may slip,
And time goes ere the shepherd of the ship
Can lose his fears.--Aye, and they vex him most
Faced by an unknown and unharboured coast,
With the sun rolling nightward. Every night
Is pain to a pilot if he thinks aright,
And any landing needs must be delayed
Till safe the ship is moored.--Thou art still afraid?
Keep alway in thy mind, whate'er may chance,
The gods: while I go seek deliverance.
Argos will not disdain this herald, weak
In years belike, but strong to think and speak.
                                     [_Exit_ DANAUS

                                 CHORUS.

                                    [_Strophe 1_
O bosomed Earth, O altar of my prayer
  What is upon us? Whither can I fly?
In all this Apian land is there no lair
       Hid deep from every eye?
I'd be a wisp of smoke, up-curled
To the soft clouds above the world,
  Up, without wings, in the bright day,
Like dust, in dying streamers whirled
  To pass in nothingness away.

                                [_Antistrophe 1_                       [784-807]
The heart within my breast is passion-tossed
  And will not sleep; mine eyes see nothing clear.
That sight my father saw has left me lost,
      And my strength gone, with fear.
Oh, better toward my doom to hie
In a rope's strangling agony,
  Than lay this body down beside
The man I loathe. Oh, best to die!
  Let Hades take his bride!

                                    [_Strophe 2_
Some skyey throne--Oh, thither I would go,
Where the wet clouds, back-beaten, freeze to snow:
  Some unbestridden, undescried,
  Smooth vulture-crag, in lonely pride
  Hanging; there to stand, and leap
  Alone, alone, to the great deep,
  Rather than face that forcd Love
  And the heart-stabbing shame thereof.

                                [_Antistrophe 2_
I fear not then a prey for dogs to lie,
A feast for all the vultures of the sky.
  Once to be dead sets woman free
  From every wrong and misery.
  God give me to the grave instead
  Of that polluting marriage bed.
  What outlet can I hew, what path
  To save us from this lust and wrath?

                                    [_Strophe 3_                       [808-827]
A sobbing voice, a music in the air,
  Rising to God in prayers that still increase:
Thou hear'st them, Zeus! Let them fulfilment bear,
  Fulfilment, freedom, stormless peace.

  Look on this battle: mark the path
  Of violence; let it know thy wrath:
  And pity them that suppliant fall,
  O Argive Zeus, O Lord of all!

                                [_Antistrophe 3_
The sons of Egypt, wantoning in pride,
  In man's hot pride, pursue me as I fly:
They are swift of foot; their eyes mark where I hide:
  Their hands grasp: shouting fills the sky.

    O Zeus, in thy hands, come what may,
    The scales of Fortune shift or stay,
    And nothing to its end is sped
    Save by the bowing of thy head.
                                    Ah! Ah!

    [_When they look up they see, already entering, the Egyptian_ HERALD
        _with his fifty Black Slaves. The_ DANAIDS _fly with confused
        cries, the Egyptians pursue. The cries become articulate._

                        DANAIDS (_confusedly_).

            The slaver is here
              In the ship, on the shore
            He graspeth, he claspeth:
              Ah never! Before
            That cometh, O grasper,                                    [828-842]
              I shall fear thee no more!

            From his galley on high
              He swoopeth again:
              The cry of my pain
            Betrays where I lie.
      See: it is here and begun, the day we must suffer or die,
      The day that shall end us.
    Away to refuge! On they come, tremendous
    In scorn, luxurious scorn . . . I can no more!
    A prison ship, and this a prison shore!
      Lord of the Shore, defend us!

        [_In the following Dance the_ DANAIDS, _seeking to escape from the
            circle, are gradually driven back to the Great Altar_.

                                 HERALD.

            Away, away to the galley!
              Ye leaden feet of fear!
            On, on, with you. Would ye dally?
              Rendings of hair be here,
              And irons your flesh to sear.
        How? Would ye look on blood new-shed,
        The trip-hook and the severed head?
        Away, ye jades! Away, lest worse
        Befall you, children of the curse!
                  Away to the galley!

                                 CHORUS.                               [843-861]

        Oh, would, where the ways of disaster
          Cross in the troughs of the brine,
        Thou hadst died with the lust of thy master
          And that black-morticed galley of thine.

                                 HERALD.

        To the galley, bloodily, back!
          Though thy weeping be louder yet,
        I command, I force thee. Slack
          That failing hold, and forget
        The desire and the madness. Back!
        Leave the altar and come
          To the black ship. Why should I pity
        A woman lost, without home,
          Without honour or city?

                                 CHORUS.

        Never again may I see
          That water which filleth man's vein
        With lifeblood, where wandereth free
          The Hornd One; never again!
        My home is made evil by thee.

                                 HERALD.

      Am I not a guide, I trusty and true,
        To the altar steps, to the sanctuary? . . .
      But the peaceful places are not for you.
        For you the ship, the ship shall it be,
      Love it or loathe it, the ship and the sea:                      [862-881]
          Where rough force waiteth plain
            By day and night,
          A girdle deep with pain
            And hands that smite.

                                 CHORUS.

      Aiai! Aiai!
          Without help be thine hand
            When upraised in despair!
          Dead, dead, far from land
            'Twixt the sea and the air
        Mayst thou drift in the desert of waters
          And beat on the sandshoals bare
            Where dead Sarpdon's grave
            Rocks o'er the wandering wave,
              And the winds rave!

                                 HERALD.

Sob if you will, and shriek and pray! The ship
Of Egypt holds and will not let ye slip.

                                 CHORUS.

        Aiai! So strong, so vile!
Art thou a dog that howlest at the door?
Dost thou so foam with noise and rage? Therefore
May thine own god, who sees thee, the great Nile,
Sweep thy proud deeds to darkness evermore!

                                 HERALD.                               [882-903]

  The ship's prow turns. Embark! Delay not there!
  When once I drag, woe to the tressd hair!

                                 CHORUS.

The Gods fail me! They are not what they seem.
    Seaward it makes me go,
This thing, this spider, slow,
    Dark like an evil dream . . .
  O Mother, Mother Earth, I am sore afraid;
    Beat back my fear!
  O Father, her first birth, Great Zeus, give aid!
    Be with us here!

                                 HERALD.

  To these Greek gods we owe no vassalage;
  Our youth they fed not, nor protect our age.

    [_The_ DANAIDS _are by now driven to the topmost parts of the Great
        Altar_.

                                 CHORUS.

  It reaches, reaches, this two-handed snake:
    'Tis near me as I kneel.
  The asp of Egypt crawls. Ah, what firedrake
  In the holy place? Its fang is in my heel.

    [_The_ HERALD _has caught the_ LEADER _by the foot_.

                                 HERALD.

  Come straightway to the ship, and be content;
  Else ye shall come ashamed, with tunics rent.

                                 CHORUS.                               [904-916]

        Chiefs of the City, bring
          Aid, or they conquer me!

                                 HERALD.

It seems then, since for my plain words ye care
So little, I must drag you by the hair.

      [_He seizes the_ LEADER _by the hair and drags her down_.

                                 CHORUS.

        I am lost. O King! My King!
          I dreamed not this could be!

                                 HERALD.

  King? Egypt's sons will show you kings galore,
  And masters. Ye will never ask for more.

          [_Enter the_ KING _with the Argive Host_.

                                  KING.

Ho man, what wouldst thou? What possessed thy brain
To challenge with such brawling and disdain
This city of Argive men? Didst think that here
Were none but maids like these to meet thy spear?
Or doth the barbarous man so scorn the Greek?
Thy folly is much; thy wits seem far to seek.

                                 HERALD.

Where is the wrong? What error have I wrought?

                                  KING.                                [917-926]

Not so demeaned thee as a stranger ought.

                                 HERALD.

I have found the chattels I had lost. What more?

                                  KING.

What strangers' Guardian didst appear before?

                                 HERALD.

The greatest, Hermes, who the lost hath found.

                                  KING.

He bade thee violate God's holy ground?

                                 HERALD.

In Egypt dwell the Gods whom I obey.

                                  KING.

And those of Greece are nothing, darest thou say?

                                 HERALD.

Unless thieves hinder, here I take mine own.

                                  KING.

But touch them, and thine every limb shall groan.

                                 HERALD.

To a foreign guest this shows scant piety.

                                  KING.                                [927-945]

No wrecker of God's laws is guest to me.

                                 HERALD.

That message I must bear to Egypt's sons?

                                  KING.

It moves me little how thy message runs.

                                 HERALD.

Still, I would fain for certain know my news
Ere I report: 'tis thus that heralds use.
What shall I say? Who is't, and by what powers,
Thus robs us of these damsels who are ours
By blood? 'Tis Ares that on this shall hold
Court, with no law nor witness; nor shall gold
Win for such deeds his pardon. For this day
Good men shall fall and lives be spurned away.

                                  KING.

What boots my name to thee? In time enough
Thou and thy galley-mates shall hear thereof.
  By their own will, in kindliness of heart,
With fair words, win these maidens to depart,
And none shall check you. . . . But one oath all through
My people hath prevailed, and standeth true,
Never these suppliant maidens to betray;
And fast with nails of iron that oath shall stay.
It is not writ on wax, not shut between                                [946-965]
A book's dim pages, seald and unseen,
'Tis a clear word, outspoken to the light,
From a free tongue.
                    Go, get thee from my sight!

                                 HERALD.

Ye know 'tis battle, if these maids prevail?
So be it! Power and victory to the male!

                                  KING.

Not female shall ye find our dwellers here
In Argolis, nor drunk with barley beer!
                     [_Exit_ HERALD _with followers_.
Take comfort now, and with your trusty band
Of handmaids seek the fortress of the land
Well-holden, girt with deep-devisd towers.
Houses full many for your maiden bowers
Hath Argos, nor with puny strength am I
Be-castled. There in shelter ye may lie,
And ringed with swords. But if ye fain would use
Some single house alone, 'tis yours to choose.
Cull of these flowers whiche'er may please you best
And smell the sweetest. Here am I to attest
The City's will, and with me they whose charge
Is thus fulfilled. Who speaks with right more large?

                                 LEADER.                               [966-985]

    O King of men, may blessings light
      On thy good deeds! But prithee call
      Our happy father: he, in all
    Guiding our thought, will choose aright,

    Some kindly place where we may dwell,
      Fair-spoken, touched by no despite;
      So swift is common speech to smite
    The alien.--Thus may all be well!
                      [_Exit_ KING _with Retinue_.

    Dear bondmaids, to your stations move;
              [_Enter_ CHORUS _of_ HANDMAIDS.

      And each beside that mistress stand,
      For whom of old our Father planned
    The dowery of your trusty love.
            [_The_ HANDMAIDS _take their position_.

                                 DANAUS.

My children, to these Argives we must raise
Our voices, yea, give sacrifice and praise
As to Olympian gods. In our great need,
Not wavering in the scale, they were indeed
Our Saviours. For the tale of our distress
Woke in them love for us, and bitterness
'Gainst our pursuers. And these followers here
They have granted me, with many a trusty spear,
That neither in peace unhonoured I may go                             [986-1013]
Nor yet, chance-smitten by some random blow,
Die, and bring bane eternal on the state.
For such high bounties, see ye consecrate
Deep-hearted thankfulness; and one charge more
Grave in your hearts, with those ye have writ before,
Of this grey father's words. By time alone
In strange lands is the stranger judged and known;
Till then all men are quick to speak him wrong:
A thing so light and evil is man's tongue.
Wherefore I charge you bring me not to shame
With that young loveliness, which sets aflame
Man's longing. Hard to watch is ripening fruit.
All wild things gather round it, man and brute--
How else?--and all that crawls and all that flies.
"My grapes are ripe, are ripe," the Cyprian cries,
Nor leaves that momentary loveliness
To stay unchanged by longing. And no less
When such young grace and wonder passeth nigh
Of maidenhood, there leaps from every eye
An arrow of beseeching, and each heart
Faints with desire. Let us then play our part;
Lose not that prize for which ye have faced with me
Hard days of peril and long leagues of sea,
Lest our foes laugh and Danaus hide his head.
  Behold, a choice of dwellings here is spread
Before you: one the City gives and one
Pelasgus, free and feeless. 'Tis well done.
Only my charge remember. Steadfastly,
Dearer than life uphold your chastity.

                                 LEADER.                             [1014-1033]

By the Olympians' grace all peace be ours!
And fear not, Father, for my fruit nor flowers;
For, save God hides from me some purpose strange,
My bosom's path is clear, and shall not change.

  [_The_ DANAIDS _and their_ HANDMAIDS _compose a dance together, with
      prayers of fruitfulness for Argos and virginity--or at least no
      marriage without love--for themselves_.

                           CHORUS OF DANAIDS.

Come with me, and give blessing to the Blessd
  Of Argos, O ye who are his daughters,
To the City-gods and them beside the waters
  Of old Erasnus many-tressd.

Upgather now the prayer and the praising,
  Ye handmaids; your benison deliver
To Argos, and forget the old raising
  Of our voices to the flood of Egypt's river.

Give blessing to the small streams flowing
  With their sweet bright water through the meadows,
With the children on their banks growing, growing,
  And the soil they make soft with liquid shadows.

O Artemis, incline thee to the paean,
  God's Virgin, of the virgins who implore thee!
And thou: not by force, O Cytherean,
  Be thy touch upon our flesh, lest we abhor thee!

                        HANDMAIDS (_warning them_).                  [1034-1056]

Yet the Cyprian we forget not in our dances;
  Like Hera, she is close at Jove's hand.
Her light thought, it quivers and it glances,
  But her works, they are wondrous in the land.

For of Her comes the dumb heart that longeth,
  And the soft word that fails not, though afraid;
And the music of the world to Her belongeth,
  And the whisper of a man with a maid.

Yet my spirit for the fugitives great wailing
  Foreseeth, and red battles yet to be:
So untroubled was the black galley's sailing,
  So swift came the hunters o'er the sea!

What is there against Fate? What abating
  Of Jove's deep purposes untold?
Let it end, then, like many another mating
  Of women, man-mastered as of old!

                                DANAIDS.

God shelter me from Egypt and his wooing!

                               HANDMAIDS.

  It were best so, for all men and for thee!

                                DANAIDS.

Shalt thou melt the unmelted by thy suing?

                               HANDMAIDS.

  Has thy spirit read the things that shall be?

                                DANAIDS.                             [1057-1073]

Can I see into the Mind that hath no measure?

                               HANDMAIDS.

  If thy prayer be not bold, thou canst pray.

                                DANAIDS.

What hope, then, what yearning may I treasure?

                               HANDMAIDS.

  To welcome God's will and to obey.

                                DANAIDS.

    Oh, shield me from that kiss of hate,
    That mastery of an evil mate,
      O Io's Aid, O Zeus above!
    On her thy hand was laid, and healed
    Her anguish, thine her life was sealed,
    And violence turned to love.

    Give freedom, Zeus, to woman's will!
    I accept the better part of ill,
      The twofold life I praise.
    As Justice is let Judgement be!
    For this shall God's hand set us free,
      For this our prayer we raise.
                                [_Exeunt_ OMNES.




                               NOTES


THE SCENE.--A Greek tragedy in the time of Sophocles had for its scene a
round Orchestra, or Dancing ground, for the Chorus, and, behind this,
cutting off a segment of the circle, a raised stage for the actors. In
the centre of the orchestra was an altar of Dionysus. It seems clear
that the _Supplices_ was performed on the old circular orchestra, some
thirty yards in diameter, with no stage; but the position of the "Common
Altar" or "Sacred Hill" is far from clear. Was it in the centre, taking
the place of the regular Altar of Dionysus? This suits the idea of a
"hill" or "mound", and gives a better scheme for the Dance of Pursuit
and Flight, but would interfere with the view of the spectators. Or was
it right at the back, more or less in the position of the later stage,
though outside the circle? This would leave more room for the large
numbers required in the orchestra, and would suit the shape of the
"Common Altar", if that was like most of the Common Altars known to us:
a long table with the altars in a row.

As to the numbers on the stage, much depends on the question whether the
Danaids were accompanied by their Handmaids all through the play, or
whether these only appeared in the last scene. Without Handmaids there
would be fifty Danaids, at least fifty Egyptian Slaves to carry them
off, and at least fifty Argive soldiers to cow the Egyptian Slaves. This
would give a maximum of rather over 150 persons present at the same
time. If the Handmaids are present from the beginning all these figures
must be doubled. An orchestra 30 yards in diameter would hold a very
large number of people, but we may notice that at the crowded
moments--e.g. the two entries of the Argive host--the rest of the
performers are cleared away on to the Sacred Hill.

There is no record of the production of the _Supplices_, and no clear
evidence as to its date. It must be later than 499 B.C., which was
Aeschylus' first appearance, and earlier--I should say, on grounds of
style, much earlier--than the _Persae_, produced in 472 B.C. Many
conjectures may be found in Vrtheim's introduction. I am inclined,
tentatively, to agree with Mazon in putting the play earlier than the
battle of Marathon (491-490 B.C.), and to connect it with the memories
and emotions of the Ionian Revolt. The argument for this view, put
briefly, is as follows. The Ionians appealed to Athens for help, even at
the cost of war, against the barbarian Persian conqueror on the ground
that they were Greeks and descended from Athens, and unless their
Mother-City helped them they were lost. After the destruction of the
Ionian cities in 494, Phrynichus produced a play, _The Sack of Miletus_,
which was evidently a strong protest against the desertion of the
Ionians by Athens. Phrynichus was prosecuted and fined; consequently any
other poet writing in the same spirit would have to do so in carefully
veiled form. Now in this play the Danaids come as Suppliants to
Pelasgus, King of all Hellas, and plead "in Ionian music" (v. 69), on
the ground that they are his kindred and children of Io, for protection
even at the cost of war against their barbarous Egyptian pursuers; and
the whole discussion whether war, with all its horrors, is not less bad
than the betrayal of a suppliant kinsman, is treated fully and with
great emotion. It may well be that Aeschylus at the time of writing was
feeling strongly the desertion of Ionia.

P. 33, l. 1, CHORUS: This does not mean that the whole Chorus spoke
together. We do not know how the various strophes were distributed among
different speakers or groups.

P. 33, l. 6, A stranger was usually an exile, an exile usually a
political refugee or a criminal.

P. 34, l. 17, "One who fled, etc.": Io; see Introduction, pp. 18 ff.

P. 34, l. 22, Olive-branches wrapped in wool, the regular sign of a
suppliant. Cf. the modern "white flag" as a sign of peace or surrender.

P. 34, l. 38, "mesh of law": i.e. by claiming the rights of next of kin
(see l. 386, and Introduction, p. 16).

P. 35, l. 48, "Epaphus": In the time of Aeschylus [Greek: Epaphos] was
the Greek representation of the Egyptian Hapi, son of the Horned Moon or
Cow, Isis, and seemed to mean "touch" ([Greek: epaph]). In Plutarch and
later Greek [H.]api is called Apis; but the Apis mentioned below as having
given the name "Apia" to the Peloponnese is an entirely different
person. For the Virgin Birth of Epaphus see on l. 580.

P. 35, l. 61, The Nightingale-fable has many variants. In Aeschylus it
seems that the wife of Treus King of Thrace killed her child (Itys) in
fury at her husband's infidelity; she was changed into a nightingale
(Adon), and weeps over the deed she has done, while Treus, changed to
a hawk, pursues her. The Danaids, like her, are driven away from their
accustomed place, pursued by enemies and friendless.

P. 37, ll. 76-101, This sudden change from mere song to deep religious
musing is very characteristic of Aeschylus. Observe also how close to
monotheism his worship of Zeus becomes.

P. 37, l. 86, I keep the MS. reading, and translate literally: "May the
desire of Zeus be all-truly of Zeus."

P. 38, l. 116, "O bosomed Earth": Earth can surely understand the
language of all the children of Earth? Or, if not, she at any rate
understands the gestures of mourning.

P. 40, ll. 145 ff. There were two "virgin daughters of Zeus", Athna and
Artemis: which is meant here? To an Athenian audience of the later part
of the fifth century "the virgin of Zeus who holds the august portal (or
fronting wall) unshakeable" would inevitably mean Athna in the
Parthenon. But the Parthenon was not built till after Aeschylus' death,
and neither the temple which preceded the Parthenon nor the ancient
pre-Persian Propylaea seems to have had so great a place in the public
imagination. Also Athna is not elsewhere invoked in the play, while
Artemis is, 676 and 1031. It seems probable, then, that Artemis is
meant, and that we do not understand the allusion to the [Greek:
enpia].

P. 40, l. 154, "Dark our cheek . . .", etc.: Hades was to darkness and
the dead what Zeus was to light and the living; hence he was "the dark
Zeus" or "Zeus of the darkness".

P. 41, l. 161, "Alas for Io . . .", etc.: The wrath of the gods is
pitiless and searches out every offence; whereas their love of the
daughters of men brings only violence and misery.

P. 42, l. 188, "Gathered Gods": or, Gods of Gathering. All the gods
worshipped in the Agora are here brought together at one vast common
altar. We hear in Strabo of an "Altar of the Twelve Gods" (p. 923), and
in Pausanias of one "to all the Gods in common" (v. 15, 1).

P. 43, ll. 206-212, The order of these lines seems to have been
disarranged in the MSS. In one place I have added a line ("We are with
thee . . .", etc.).

P. 44, l. 220, "Hermes": identified with Thoth, the Egyptian Herald; but
the Hermes carved here is very different from that ibis-headed god.

P. 45, l. 231, This emphasis on the Judgement of the Dead gives an
Egyptian colour to the passage; cf. the "Book of the Dead". The
doctrine, however, was well known in Greece.

P. 45, l. 238, Literally: "Without heralds or _proxenoi_." Ordinarily
travellers entering a foreign country would send a herald (with signs of
peace) to announce their coming, and then a _proxenos_ or official
"protector of strangers" would do for them much what a consul does
nowadays.

P. 46, ll. 251-260, This account of an early but apparently not
pre-Hellenic Kingdom of the Pelasgi, embracing practically all the
mainland of Greece, is not necessarily to be taken as historical, though
it had much influence on Ephorus and other Greek historians.

P. 47, ll. 278-290, The Danaids evidently had an exotic and Amazonian
appearance. In an early epic, the _Danais_, they actually did battle in
Egypt with the sons of Aegyptus.

Pp. 47 ff, ll. 291-321, On this Sacred Logos see Introduction, p. 19.

P. 49, l. 311, "Epaphus": see above, l. 47.

P. 51, l. 331, The language is compressed, but the meaning fairly clear.
KING: "Do you reject them because their proposal is unlawful, or just
because you dislike them?" LEADER: "Oh, if we liked them we should not
complain!" KING: "If it is only a question of dislike you should
remember the economic advantages of marrying within the family." LEADER:
"You say that because you want to get rid of us."

P. 53, l. 360, "The God who ordereth Fate must yet know ruth", i.e.
Pity; and therefore Prayer has its function in the chain of cause and
effect.

P. 53, l. 368, "It were vain to answer till my people's will is plain":
The King here is made democratic and constitutional, so as not to
conflict with the principle of Argive democracy. Cf. the usual treatment
of Theseus in tragedy (e.g. in Euripides' _Supplices_) as the champion
of Athenian democracy.

P. 54, l. 392, "I will not suffer . . .", etc.: i.e. Law or no law,
there are some wrongs which I will die rather than endure.

P. 56, ll. 440 ff., A difficult passage. I take it to mean: "I must
needs bring my boat to land", i.e. hesitate no longer. "The ship-bolts
(to which the cables are fastened) are firm in the hull, and the
windlass is pulling her up the beach."

P. 57, l. 449, "Kindred blood": Of course the sons of Aegyptus are
descended from Io as well as the Danaids.

P. 59, ll. 493 ff., There would be many wayside shrines and even secret
"holy places" which a stranger could hardly find, and at which his
presence might well give offence unless he was duly authorized and
escorted.

Pp. 61 ff., ll. 524-600, The Io chorus: see Introduction, p. 21. This
poem is a signal instance of the power of creative imagination working
on primitive material.

P. 63, l. 559, "Fed by distant snow": This phrase has been used as a
means of dating the play. The theory that the Nile came from melting
snow is ascribed to Anaxagoras by Theophrastus (_Hippol. Refut._ i. 8),
but this may only mean that it was the theory given in Anaxagoras'
book, not that it was invented by him. He did not actually come to
Athens till 463 B.C.

P. 64, l. 580, The virgin birth of Epaphus through the hand, word, or
breath of a divine being has, of course, many parallels: see Vrtheim's
Introduction, _Wunderzeugung_.

Pp. 66 ff. 1, ll. 625-709, This prayer of blessing may be compared to
the finer one in the _Eumenides_, 916 ff., the refrain here with that in
_Agamemnon_, 355-474.

P. 68, l. 663, Ares is (1) paramour of Aphrodite, (2) "murderer of men":
i.e. he combines lust with bloodthirstiness, like the Egyptians.

P. 70, l. 726, Why does Danaus leave his daughters at this moment? See
l. 753. In view of his traditional reputation for "cunning", it looks as
if he wanted the enemy to put themselves in the wrong by committing
sacrilege.

P. 72, l. 760, The wolf was the emblem of Argos, as shown e.g. on Argive
coins. The Egyptians are "dogs" because of the last words of the Chorus:
the byblus-pith which they eat and the barley-beer which they drink are
treated as contemptible in comparison to the wheaten bread and good wine
of the Greeks. Cf. 953.

P. 74, l. 795, The string of adjectives in the Greek is striking.

Pp. 75-80, ll. 825-900, Throughout this scene the MS. is often
completely unintelligible and apparently mutilated, particularly in the
Herald's speeches. The mutilation of the archetype may be due to
accidental damage; but it seems certain that Aeschylus made his
barbarian Herald speak in such a way as to suggest barbaric language,
and probably this confused the copyists. Similarly in the _Persae_ there
are phrases where the Greek is strained so as to give a Persian or
Oriental colour (cf. Aristophanes' _Frogs_, 1028, who says, incorrectly,
that Aeschylus made his Persians exclaim "Yow-oy!"). The effect in the
_Persae_ is very fine; in the dithyramb of the same name by Timotheus it
is carried to lengths which make it ridiculous. I have in part guessed
at the meaning of the mutilated lines, in part omitted them.

P. 77, l. 853, Obscure. I take it that she wishes never again to see the
nourishing Nile nor the sacred cattle; her home has been made
intolerable.

P. 79, l. 881, "The ship's prow turns": If this is the meaning, he sees
the ship turning so as to be ready to start.

Pp. 79 f., ll. 895-910, Besides the mutilation of the Herald's speech
(ll. 895-900) there seems to be some disarrangement of the order of the
speeches up to l. 910.

P. 81, l. 920, The god Hermes, like St. Nicholas, was a Finder of Lost
Property. The Herald ought to have applied to a "_Proxenos_"--an
official whose business was to look after strangers in difficulty. He
says, impudently, that he went straight to Hermes, who did all that was
necessary! "And after speaking to a god on the subject you proceed to
insult the gods by your conduct?" "Your gods have no authority over me;
I worship the gods of Egypt." Observe that the Greek instinctively pays
reverence to all gods; the Egyptian is represented as only recognizing
his own--like the Jew.

P. 85, ll. 996 ff., The emphasis laid in these last words on the duty of
chastity seems to me to show conclusively that Wilamowitz and others are
wrong in regarding the Danaids as guilty of a kind of _Hubris_ or sin.

P. 85, ll. 1001-2, These two lines are generally regarded as badly
corrupt: I translate them practically as they stand ( [Greek: klyousa
ts menein er]).

P. 86, l. 1020, "Erasnus many-tressd": The Erasnus was broken into
many little channels for irrigation.

Pp. 86-88, ll. 1018-1074, Final Chorus. The assignment of these verses
to their proper speakers is difficult. It seems that the Danaids (1)
speak a blessing of fertility on Argos, (2) pray to Artemis to preserve
their virginity, and to Aphrodite that they may not suffer violence. The
Handmaids say: (1) Yes, but do not forget the due rights and power of
Aphrodite; (2) In spite of our sympathy we fear that the gods are on the
side of the pursuers; if so, it will be still the old story of woman
mastered by man, irrespective of her wishes. In the dialogue that
follows the Danaids again assert that they will never give way. "How can
you tell what the purpose of Zeus may be?" return the Handmaids; "you
can only pray, not that the purpose be changed, but that, whatever it
is, you may accept it willingly." "As Zeus had mercy on Io", reply the
Danaids, "so may He have on us. We accept the two-fold life of marriage,
as long as we have freedom of choice. Only let the Law that governs us
not be mere injustice!"




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Transcriber's Notes:-

P. 84  "So swift is comon speech to smite" changed to "So swift is
    common speech to smite"

Note to p. 35, line 48--capital H with a dot beneath represented by [H.]

The line numbers refer to the lines in the original Greek text, not
    the lines as translated.

Minor punctuation errors corrected.




[End of The Suppliant Women, by Aeschylus,
translated by Gilbert Murray]
