by Seneca
With my own eyes I saw him scatter night
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and boast of conquering Hades to his father —
Hades’ brother.* Why not chain up Jove’s equal,
Hell’s defeated king? Why not drag him in triumph?
Why not seize power in his realm? Look, Styx* is open!
There is a broad path up from the land of the dead.
The rites of ghastly Death are now revealed.
But Hercules is power-crazy now he has burst that prison.
He triumphs over me, proudly displaying
that black dog through every Argive town.
When Cerberus is seen, day slips and Sun is scared:
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I have seen him myself, and even I was frightened:
the three bowed necks of that defeated monster
made me fear my power. But enough of trivial complaints.
Watch out, heaven! He might seize the kingdom
up here, like the one below, usurping his father’s throne.
He will not climb up gently to the stars
as Bacchus did. He wants to strew his path
with ruin, tyrant of an empty sky.
His proven strength has puffed him up. Bearing the world
has taught him he can conquer heaven. He raised
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the massive weight of the world* without a wobble;
the universe was more stable on his neck.
His shoulders held the stars and sky in place,
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and even me, pushing him down. Now he wants to come up here.
Rage, do your worst! Stamp out his great ambitions!
Go on, tear him apart with your own hands!
Why delegate such hatred? No more monsters!
Eurystheus is tired, he need give no more orders.
Send the Titans, daring rebels against Jove,
who tried to break his power. Crack open Etna,
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let Sicily, which trembles as he moves,
set free the monstrous giant* from his jail.
[And let the lofty moon bring forth new monsters.]*
But he has conquered these. Do you want his match?
There is none but himself. So let him fight himself.
Come, from the very depths of Tartarus,
Furies, scatter fire with your hair of flame,
shake your snaky torches in your savage hands.
Go on, arrogant man! Aim for the home of the gods,
despise humanity. Do you think you have already
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escaped from the land of the dead? I will show you hell
on earth.
I will call back Chaos, hidden in thick mist,
from far beyond the sinners’ place of exile —
imprisoned in her cave beneath the mountain.
I will drag out from the very depths of Hell
all that remain there: hated Crime will come,
and savage Treachery to god and man,
lapping at his own blood; Madness, and Passion,
always armed against itself. Let all these serve my hate!
Begin, servants of Hell, rise up and whirl
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your burning torches. Let Megaera lead
the serpentine procession; with cruel hands
let her seize an enormous timber from the pyre.
Take your revenge for Hades’ desecration!
Beat your chests, let your minds burn with fire
hotter than the furnaces of Etna.
To capture Hercules’ mind, to whip him up
to desperate, passionate madness, you must first
go mad yourselves. — Juno, why so calm?
Sisters, let me be the first flung from my mind;
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turn me upside-down and make me ready
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to do what a stepmother should. So flip my wish:
now I pray: ‘May he come back, and see his children safe!
And may his hands be strong.’ Today, for once,
I will be glad at his heroic strength.
He beat me? Let him also beat himself.
Returned from Hell, let him desire to die.
At last I benefit from the fact Jove is his father.
I will stand and take my aim, make sure
the arrows hit their mark. I will guide his maddened hands. 120
This once, I will help Hercules in a fight.
After such evil, let his father welcome him
to heaven — with those hands! — Now time for war; day dawns,
the shining Sun climbs from his yellow bed.
chorus Now the bright stars are few
and tired as they turn to set.
Defeated night tucks in her wandering fires
as light is born again.
Lucifer leads off his sparkling troops:
the icy constellation way up high,
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Ursa Major with its seven stars,
has turned around its Plough* and summons day.
Now the Sun rides out on his blue horses,
looking out over Mount Oeta’s heights.*
Now the thickets known for Pentheus’ death*
are scattered with the redness of the day.
Apollo’s sister* leaves; she will be back.
High up in the branches birds are crying:
the nightingale, mistress of the Thracian king,*
flaps her wings among her cheeping chicks,
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eager to fly up to the new sun.
The flocks of different birds mixed up together
sing their various songs to greet the day.
Hard work gets up, creates anxiety,
and opens everyone’s house. The shepherd drives
his flock out to the field, and gathers up
fodder icy-white with frost. The calf
whose horns have not yet sprouted from his brow
frolics free in the open meadow;
the empty udders of the cows grow fat.
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The cheeky little kid wobbles about,
his legs unsteady on the soft green grass.
The sailor risks his life and trusts his sails to the winds,
as the breezes fill their spreading folds.
One man perches on the craggy cliffs
preparing his hidden hooks;
anxiously he peers at the prize; his hand is steady;
the line can feel the quiver of the fish.
This is how they live: in innocence —
in peace and quiet,
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each home happy with its own small stock.
In cities, great ambitions roam around,
and so do quaking fears.
See this man — he does not sleep,
haunting the doorways of the royal palace,
resting on hard lintels. Here, another
endlessly hoards his wealth, gaping at treasure:
he is poor on top of a heap of gold.
Another man is dazed by hopes of popularity;
the fickle mob, more mutable than the waves,
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lifts him high, puffed up with empty air.
Another yet is set on selling off
the crazy arguments of the noisy city-square,
wickedly hiring out his anger and his words.
The lucky few, familiar with deep peace,
are always conscious of time’s rapid passing,
and they keep hold of moments which will not come back.
While fate allows, live happy.
Life rushes by so fast!
The wheel of the headlong year is turned
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with each soon-ended day.
The brutal sisters finish their spinning,*
and never wind their threads backwards.
But the human race is borne to meet its rushing fates,
unsure of itself;
we seek the Stygian waters of our own accord.
Hercules, you are rushing to see the grieving ghosts;
your courage is too much.
The Fates come at a fixed time.
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Nobody gets to dally when they call,
nobody can postpone the written day.
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Summon the people, and in the urn they go.
Love of honour leads a man
to travel the world; Reputation,
that chatterbox, may praise him through the towns;
another man rides high up on his chariot.
I would rather have a safe, secluded home,
hidden in my own native land.
Unambitious people live to white old age;
the unimpressive fortune of a tiny house
is humble but it stands on solid ground.
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Impetuous courage falls from a great height.
ACT TWO
chorus But here comes Megara, overwhelmed by grief,
her hair is down. She is bringing the little ones with her,
and Hercules’ old father, hobbled with age.
amphitryon O mighty ruler of Olympus, lord of the world,
now is the time to put an end to all our pain.
We have suffered long enough. Every new dawn
has brought me yet more worry. The end of one disaster
leads straight to another. As soon as my son gets home,
new enemies confront him. Before he even reaches
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his happy house, the orders come: ‘Go off and fight again.’
He has no respite, no time off, no rest —
except while he gets his orders. Juno, his enemy,
has tracked him from the first. He was not even safe
as a newborn baby!* He had to conquer monsters
before he could tell their names. Two crested snakes
pointed their tongues at him; but he crawled towards them,
staring straight into their fiery eyes.
His face was calm and peaceful, even gentle,
as they seized hold of him in their knotted coils.
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He squashed their swollen necks in his tiny fists —
good practice for the Hydra. He ran to seize
the speedy hind,* its lovely head adorned
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with golden horns. The terrifying lion*
groaned as Hercules wrapped his arms to squash him.
I could go on: those awful Thracian stables,*
the king who was given as fodder to his herd;
the bristly wild boar,* whose thundering feet
jolted the woods of Arcady, the slopes of Erymanthus;
the bull* who menaced over a hundred towns.
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Among the distant peoples of the west,
the triple-bodied shepherd* of the shore
was killed. The prize was driven from the Occident;
cattle from Ocean grazed on Mount Cithaeron.
They told him: ‘You must go to the lands of the summer sun,
deep in the countries singed by the noon-time heat.’*
He burst the mountains open. Into the gulf
he made a highway for the rushing ocean.*
Next he entered the rich woodland den,
and took the golden spoils* from the sleepless snake.
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Do I need to mention mores? In Lerna,*
he finally used fire, won out against the monster,
and taught it how to die. And what about the birds,*
which used to cloud the day with wings? He got them down
even from the clouds. The ever-virgin queen,*
her bed untouched, could not defeat him. His hands were brave
for every glorious act, but did not shrink
from the dirty work of the Augean stable.*
What good did all this do him? He is gone from the
world he saved.
The earth has understood: its peacemaker
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has gone off-duty. They give the name of virtue
to successful crime. The good obey the bad.
Might is right, and fear stifles the law.
I have seen with my own eyes our sons
slaughtered in defence of their father’s land;
and King Creon, last of Cadmus’ noble line,
dead. I saw them rip his crown from him,
along with his head. Ah, who could weep enough
for Thebes? Mother of gods, what master can you fear?
From her fields and from her fertile lap
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an army jumped up,* newborns with drawn swords;
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and Amphion,* Jove’s son, built up her walls,
lifting the stones with lovely harmonies.
The father of the gods abandoned heaven
not once but often, to come visit Thebes. This city
has hosted and made gods —now and perhaps again
(if it is lawful to say so). But now a degrading yoke
presses down on Thebes. O children of Cadmus,
what depths have you sunk to? You shiver at this stranger,*
who has left his home to ruin ours.
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He whose righteous hands destroyed the rule of tyrants,
who pursued all wickedness by land and sea,
is now enslaved and banished; forced to endure
what he fought against. Lycus has Hercules’ city.—
But not forever! He will return to take revenge. All of a sudden
he will come out to the stars; he will find a way,
or make one. May you come safe back, I pray!
May you come as conqueror to your conquered home.
megara Husband, come up to the air! Scatter the darkness,
tear it with your hands. If there is no way back,
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and the path is closed, then split the world! Come back!
Let loose whatever lies hidden in realms of dark,
as long as you free yourself. Just as you stood firm,
cracking open hilltops to find the river’s path,
and it gushed forth when all Mount Tempe* — boom!—
exploded and lay open — your chest bore the weight
to chop the mountain up, part here, part there;
the rushing river flowed on a new bed.
So now, come to your home, your father and your children;
burst through the limits of the universe,
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take them away with you. Give back all the things
stolen by greedy time through all the years.
Lead out the self-forgetful dead,* despite their fear of light.
You deserve to bring a prize far greater
than what you were told to bring. — But I am talking too big!
I do not know what the future holds, nor when
I can hold you, have you hold me, in your arms —
and tell you: ‘You took so long to come home!
Did you forget about me?’ — I will sacrifice
a hundred perfect cattle for you, Jove; and Ceres,*
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I will enact your secret rites. I will not tell —
trust me. The long torches of Eleusis will be waved.
Then I will think my brothers’ lives restored,
my father alive and well and on his throne.
Or if some power too great holds you imprisoned,
I will come to you. If you can come back safe,
&nb
sp; you must protect us all. If not, drag us down with you.—
Yes, drag us down. No god will help us. We are ruined.
amphitryon You are family and friend to me. You have
been faithful
to great-souled Hercules’ bed, and looked after the children. 310
Cheer up! Be more positive in your thinking.
He will be here soon. He has succeeded
in every labour up till now.
megara Unhappy
people
are ready to believe what they so dearly wish.
amphitryon No, they think their paranoia must come true.
Frightened people always believe the worst.
megara He is drowned and buried and submerged
under the world; how can he get back up?
amphitryon The same way he crossed over the dry beach,*
the sands that rose and fell like waves of the sea,
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and the ocean washing over then retreating.
He left his ship behind and he got stuck
in the Syrtean shallows. The prow stayed fixed.
He crossed over the seas with just his feet.
megara Hostile Fortune is rarely kind to heroes.
Everybody knows you cannot risk
danger after danger and be safe.
Fate may spare you many times, she gets you in the end.
But look, here comes Lycus, scowling, savage,
his violent stride as threatening as his face.
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He is brandishing the sceptre that he stole.
lycus I rule the wealthy regions around Thebes,
and all the fertile soil of sloping Phocis,
and all the places washed by Ismenus,
and all the valleys under high Cithaeron,
and the Isthmus which divides the double sea —
not lazily inheriting the kingdom
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from my father’s house. I have no fancy ancestors,
my family is not loaded up with titles.
I am famous for machismo.* Boasting of blue blood
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means praising other people. — But if one’s power is stolen,
maintaining it is hard. My only hope is force.
Remember how to keep your throne when people hate you:
with a drawn sword. Regimes are unstable when the ruler
does not belong. — But a nice big royal wedding,
and bed with Megara, will make our powers
flow together. Her famous forebears will paint
my unknown family a better colour. And I predict,
she will not reject me or turn down my proposal.
But if she should be stubborn and refuse,
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