22 LITERATURE AND DRAMA 



He describes his agony in words too terrible to be quoted on 

 cold paper : 



Yet me nor Lapiths, nor Earth's giant brood, 

 Nor Centaur's monstrous violence could subdue, 

 Nor Hellas, nor the stranger, nor all lands 

 Where I have gone, cleansing the world from harms ; 

 But a soft woman, without manhood's strain, 

 Alone and weaponless hath conquered me. 



And so it still is. Our mighty ones fall before a little grain, a 

 poison-germ. Our hearts are broken when our wives betray us. 

 All this is true now in England as then in Attica. But no more 

 curses ; bring out the woman, says the hero, and I will slay her 

 righteously. The son shrinks at the mention of his mother, 

 dead even now, but Heracles supposes that he shrinks through 

 simple pity, and claims that pity for himself, not her. Then 

 suddenly he shudders at the thought that he, Heracles, has 

 asked for pity; but he will justify even this. He bares his 

 breast. 



O see ! 



Ye people, gaze on this poor quivering flesh, 



Look with compassion on my misery. 



Another spasm follows, when, looking on his bare body, he thus 



addresses it : 



O breast and back, 



hands and arms of mine, ye are the same 

 That crushed the dweller of the Nemean wild. 



And then a little comforted, even in death, to think of all that 

 he has done, his mind runs over those great triumphs. 



But now 



Jointless and riven to tatters, I am wrecked 

 Thus utterly by imperceptible woe ; 



one thing only is left. Bring Deianira hither. Then Hyllus 

 tells her fatal error and her death. The hero's mind is dull 

 with pain and sickness, but at last he understands. No word 

 of pity comes from him for Deianira. It is easy to explain this 

 by saying that hero and author were mere pagans, but if 



