Six Tragedies
Page 24
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hercules furens
stand by and watch this horror? — But why waste time
complaining?
Slaughter the victim! Let my record bear this stain,
let Lycus be my final enemy.
I have to pour out streams of enemy blood.
Theseus, stay back, in case of a sudden attack.
More labours for me! Father, wife, I must wait
to hold you in my arms. Lycus will tell Dis*
that I have got back home.
theseus
Queen Megara, do not cry.
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And you, Amphitryon, your son is safe,
so stop your falling tears. If I know Hercules,
Lycus will pay the death he owes to Creon.
‘Will pay’ is slow. He pays. Still slow! He has paid already.
amphitryon May god’s power help our wishes to come true,
abide with us in our troubles. — Friend and companion
of my heroic son, tell us all about his exploits.
How did he travel on that long journey down to the shades?
How did he manage to capture Cerberus?
theseus You force me to recall things which my mind
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shudders even to think of. Even now, I scarcely believe
in the life-giving air. My sight is weak, eyes fail;
they can hardly bear the unaccustomed day.
amphitryon Remnants of fear are still buried deep in your heart.
Defeat them, Theseus, do not cheat yourself
of the prize for all your pain: past suffering
is sweet in memory. Tell us your terrible adventures.
theseus I pray by Natural Law,* and by you, King
of the Limitless Realm,* and you, Proserpine,
sought by your mother in vain across Mount Etna:*
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may I safely reveal the secrets of the earth.
In the land of Sparta there is a famous ridge,
where the thick woods of Taenarus loom over the sea.
Here is the mouth of the hidden house of Dis;
the high cliff gapes and an enormous gulf
opens its great jaws to show a mighty cave,
and reveals a broad path down for everyone.
It is not pitch-dark at the beginning;
from behind your back still shines a gleam of light;
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the flickering glow of the weakened sun now fades,
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frustrating your vision; just as at early dawn,
or dusk, one sees light mixed up with night.
You come to a vast plain, a spreading emptiness.
All of humanity will sink and come to it.
It is no trouble to go there; the path itself leads down.
Just as often a current takes hold of resistant boats,
so the downward wind and the greedy force of Hell
drive you down and the clutching shades will never
let you turn back. When you get inside, you find
the mighty curve of Lethe’s quiet waves,
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which take one’s cares away; and to remove
all chance of going home, the river loops,
winding its heavy waters, just as Meander*
wanders with no fixed bed and retreats from itself,
doubting whether to flow to the sea or back to the source.
Here is the ugly marsh of stagnant Cocytus;
vultures and owls shriek with the sounds of grief,
and the ill-omened screech-owl’s cries ring out.
The leaves are black with shadow and they tremble
on the overhanging yew, where sluggish Sleep
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and desperate Hunger with her skinny lips,
cling, while Shame hides her guilty face, too late.
Fear and dark Terror and gnashing Pain,
black Grief and shaky Sickness follow them,
and War, girded with iron; trailing behind them
feeble Old Age comes leaning on a stick.
amphitryon Is any field there good for corn or vines?
theseus There are no verdant fertile meadows there,
no ripe crops sway under the gentle breeze,
no orchards hang with fruit upon the branch.
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The underworld is barren emptiness,
its ugly earth untended for all time:
the mournful goal of everything, end of the world.
The air hangs motionless, and black night looms
over a lifeless world of universal grief;
the place of death is even worse than death.
amphitryon What about the king of that dark kingdom?
Where is his throne as he guides the ghostly people?
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theseus There is a hiding-place in Tartarus’ shadows,
engulfed in fog and heavy with dense mist.
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Here from a single source two streams emerge,
unlike each other: one flows with quiet waters
down to Styx, the river by which gods swear their oaths.
The other rushes with a mighty swell,
rolling rocks around, to Acheron,
the river nobody can cross back over.
They form a double moat around the palace
of Dis, shadowed by trees. Under a vast rock
looms the tyrant’s entrance. This is the way for the dead,
the gate to the kingdom. A plain lies round the palace,
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where the god sits in terrible majesty,
his face proud as he judges the new souls.
His brow is stern, but he looks like his brother* —
his lineage matches Jove, as does his face —
the face of the Thunderer. Much of the horror of that world
lies in its master, whose face is feared even by
the fearsome.
amphitryon Is the story true that in Hades
there is belated justice, and that sinners
forgetful of their crimes, must still be punished?
Who is the judge of truth and justice there?
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theseus More than one chief justice sits on those high seats,
passing retrospective judgement on trembling souls.
Cretan Minos holds one court, another
Rhadamanthus, and another Aeacus.
Each soul suffers what he or she has done.
Sins rebound upon the sinner, punishments fit the crime.
I saw bloodstained kings locked up in dungeons,
and peasants’ hands whipping the backs
of cruel tyrants. But those who were gentle rulers,
who had the power of life and death, but still showed mercy, 740
and wielded power without spilling blood,
checking their own desires — they measure out
long miles of happiness, then rise to heaven,
or to the fields of joy, Elysium,
to be judges themselves. O you who rule,
hold back from human blood! Your crimes are judged
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more harshly than on earth.
amphitryon
Is there a place
set aside for sinners? Is it like the stories,
the wicked suffer cruelly, held in eternal chains?
theseus Ixion whirls round twisted on the wheel;
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the heavy stone weighs down Sisyphus’ neck;
in the middle of the river, with dry lips,
the old man* tries to get the water; it splashes his chin,
but every time it promises fulfilment,
the drink dies on his lips. The fruit mock at his hunger.
Tityos fore
ver feeds the bird,
the Danaids carry their full urns in vain;
the wicked Theban bacchants are still crazy,
the ravening Harpy snatches Phineus’* food.
amphitryon Now tell about my son’s heroic deeds.
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Did his uncle give the dog? Or did he win it?
theseus The deadly cliffs overhang the sluggish waves,
where the waters hardly move, the sea stagnates.
The hideous old man,* dressed all in rags,
ferries the frightened spirits over the river.
His beard is shaggy and uncombed, a knot of rope
belts his shabby tunic; his cheeks are hollow.
He is the ferryman, punting with his long pole.
He lets the passengers off his boat, then turns
to get more spirits. Hercules asked to be ferried.
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The crowd drew back, and scary Charon shouted:
‘Stop right there, rash man! Where do you think you are going?’
But Hercules brooked no delay. He seized the pole
and mastered the boatman, forced him to surrender,
and climbed in the boat. A vessel large enough
for all the nations sank beneath one man.
The Lethe-water splashed over both sides
when he sat down. Then the monsters he defeated trembled,
Centaurs and Lapiths driven to fight by drink;
the Hydra retreats to the farthest reaches of the marsh,
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sinking his ever-growing heads in the waters of Styx.
After this you come to the house of greedy Dis.
Here the cruel Hell-Hound terrifies the spirits,
barking loud as he shakes all his three heads,
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guarding the kingdom. Snakes lick his rotting face,
his long mane of fur is thick with vipers,
a serpent hisses down his twisty tail.
His looks befit his rage: soon as he hears
footsteps, his snaky fur stands up on end,
he pricks his ears to catch the passing sound —
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he is practised at listening to ghosts. When Jupiter’s son
gets nearer, the dog sits doubtful in his cave,
and shivers a little. — Now look! He barks and howls,
terrifying all the silent world. All over his back, the snakes
are hissing their hostility. The din of the terrible noise
from his three mouths makes all the spirits tremble,
even those in bliss. Then Hercules releases
the cruel jaws from his left hand, thrusts out
the enormous lion’s head for a shield.
His conquering right arm lifts high his club.
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He whirls him here and there, battering blows,
striking again and again. The dog, defeated,
yields, becomes submissive, lowers all his heads,
granting access to the cave. The king and queen
shiver on their thrones, and say: ‘Take him away!’
They gave me, too, to Hercules as a gift.
Stroking the weighty shoulders of the beast,
he bound him in an adamantine net. The watchful guard
of that dark kingdom now forgot himself;
he shyly drooped his ears, submitted to the leash,
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and recognized his master. Head down low
he followed him, wagging his snaky tail.
After we came to the borders of Taenarus,
his eyes bedazzled by the unfamiliar light,
he plucked up courage even in defeat,
and angrily shook his chains. He almost defeated his conqueror,
lowering his heads to drag him off his feet.
Then Hercules needed help even from me;
we joined our strength together and pulled the dog,
wild with rage and trying in vain to fight back,
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up to the world. When he saw the light of day,
and lifted his eyes to the clear and shining sky,
night overwhelmed him, he lowered his face to the ground;
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he shut his eyes, shut out the hateful light,
turned back his faces, and strained with all three necks
to go back under earth. Then he crept to hide his heads
beneath Hercules’ shadow. But with a happy shout
out came a throng of spirits wearing laurel,
singing the praise of Hercules — well deserved.
chorus Eurystheus was hurried into birth,*
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and ordered you to delve down under earth.
Only this was missing from your labours:
robbing the ruler of the underworld.
You dared to go inside the hidden land,
where the path leads down to distant shades,
dark and dismal through the scary woods,
but crowded with a mass of company.
As many as the people in the city,
greedy to see the games at a new theatre;
as many as rush to see Olympic Jove,
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when the fifth summer brings the festival;*
as many as when the nights grow long again,
and even-balanced Libra yearns to rest,
and holds Apollo’s chariot in suspense:
the crowd attends the Mysteries of Ceres;
abandoning their homes, Athenian believers
hurry by night to perform the holy rites.*
So many are driven through the silent fields.
Some of them move slowly, bowed by age,
sad and sated from their long, long lives.
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Some are running, young and vigorous:
virgin girls, who were not yet yoked in marriage,
boys who had not had their hair cut yet;*
babies who have just learnt one word: ‘Mamma.’
Children alone are granted a favour to lessen their fear:
they get to carry a torch to mitigate the night.
The others wander sadly through the dark.
How do you feel, when light is gone, and grieving,
each of you realizes for yourself
that the whole world is pressing on your head?
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No change: thick emptiness, those awful shadows,
the awful colour of night, the nothingness
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hercules furens
of a silent world and clouds that bring no rain.
May we grow old before we travel there!
But no one comes too late to the place from which
you never can return back to your home.
What good is it to hurry our hard fate?
This whole mass of people, wandering the world,
will go to death and sail those sluggish seas.
Death, all things that grow belong to you:
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from east to west, all things that see the light.
Poor things! Life readies us to come to death.
Even if death is slow, we rush ourselves;
the moment which first grants us life, steals it.
This is a happy day for Thebes!
Show your respects at the altars,
kill fat victims there.
Come, all girls and boys together
do your traditional dance.
Farmers of the fertile fields
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put down your ploughs and dance.
Hercules has achieved a peace
between the Dawn and the Evening Star,
and where the Sun holds up the noon
and bodies cast no shade.
All the lands the ocean
washes with her wide waves
are t
amed by Hercules’ labours.
He crossed the river of Hell,
made peace there, and comes back.
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Now there is nothing to fear;
Nothing lies beyond the underworld.
ACT FOUR
chorus Cover your tangly hair with the leaves you love,
the poplar,* while you make your sacrifice.
hercules My hand exacted vengeance upon Lycus: he has fallen
flat on his face on the ground. I also felled
everyone who helped the tyrant’s crimes.
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Now in triumph I sacrifice for father and the gods,
slaughtering the victims at the altars.
I pray to you, the friend and helper of my labours,
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Warrior Goddess Athena, whose Gorgon-headed aegis
threatens to turn your enemies to stone;
come, my Lord* who tamed Lycurgus and the Red Sea,
carrying your spear tipped with the leafy thyrsus;
come, Apollo, with your sister, powerful twins—
the sister skilled at archery, and Phoebus at the lyre —
and come, all you my brothers who live in heaven;
at least the ones not born from my stepmother.*
— Summon here
droves of fattened beasts. Bring to the altars
all the perfumes of Arabian trees, and all the spices
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of Indian fields, to make fat smoke pour out.
Let the poplar leaves adorn my hair,
and, Theseus, on your noble brow, you wear
a wreath of olive. I will worship Jupiter;
you go worship the founders of the city,
the woodland caves of wild-man Zethus, Dirce’s fountain,
and the Tyrian palace* of the stranger-king.
Put the incense on the fire!
amphitryon
Son, stop! First purify
your hands! They are still dripping with your enemies’ blood.
hercules If only I could use the blood of his hateful head
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to pour a libation to the gods! No lovelier liquid
could stain the altars; no victim could be fitter,
more perfect as a gift slaughtered for Jove,
than an unjust king.
amphitryon
Let your father finish your labours;
you need to allow some time for rest and quiet.
You are tired.
hercules
No! I want to do it myself. I will pray
as Jupiter and I myself deserve. May heaven stand still,
and earth and sea; may the everlasting stars
run smooth across the sky, may deep peace feed the people;