30 LITERATURE AND DRAMA 



married life, the recent acts of Heracles, the quarrel with Iphitus, 

 his slaying, the slavery of Heracles under Omphale and the 

 terrible revenge he took on GBchalia, and finally the story of 

 Heracles' love for lole, the love which is the cause of all his 

 woe. Yet these facts are so cunningly interwoven that we 

 learn them unconsciously, and seem merely to have been watch- 

 ing the development of the action which, now and here, brings 

 Deianira to this misery. We may analyse and admire this art. 

 What passes analysis is the gentleness and nobility of Deianira's 

 character, the truth and pathos in her appeal to Lichas. We 

 see the art with which the situation is chosen, but the art with 

 which the situation is used is too like nature to be fathomed. 



The chorus take up their song. What strikes these maidens 

 is the terrible, wonderful power of love. They recur to the day 

 when young Heracles saved the maiden Deianira from her 

 monster suitor, the river god and bull Achelous saved her and 

 bore her off far from her mother's care. Now this which we 

 have just seen is her lot. Terrible subject of contemplation 

 truly for these maidens, the power of Aphrodite ! 



By Deianira's sad mention of gifts, the spectator has been 

 prepared a little for what is next to happen. Perhaps the 

 thought of what she would do had already occurred to her. 



See! no longer with mere misery in her face, but with 

 trembling, eager, excited step, she comes, and in her hand a 

 casket. Her friends are there, and she is come in part to tell 

 the craft her hand had mastered, and in part to crave their 

 sympathy. The fatal casket is set down, while Deianira tells 

 her thoughts. Probably lole, even when welcomed, was no 

 maiden any more, but married. It was ungenerous in her lord, 

 and yet, often as he has sinned, she knows not how to harbour 

 indignation against Mm. 



But who that is a woman could endure 



To dwell with her, both married to one man ? 



One bloom is still advancing, one doth fade ; 



The budding flower is plucked ; the full-blown head 



Is left to wither, while love passeth by 



On the other side. 



With tight throat, swimming eyes, and sadly shaken head, the 

 fatal truth is spoken no remedy in her own youth and beauty 



