Six Tragedies

by Seneca

  but his rage has shifted, and his madness turns

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  upon himself. That is how passion works.

  hercules Terrible

  home

  of the Furies, hellish prison, and places set aside

  for throngs of sinners! If any place of exile

  * * *

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  hercules furens

  lies hidden beyond Hell, unknown to me

  and Cerberus, hide me there; I will go to the bottom-most pit,

  and stay there. — Oh, my heart has been too fierce!

  Who could grieve enough for you, my children, scattered

  over the whole of the house? I have not learnt to cry;

  my face is hardened by my sufferings. — One boy

  can have my bow, another have my arrows,

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  this one, my mighty club. For you I will break my weapons:

  child, for you I will break my bow, and my club will burn

  for you, my dead son. On your pyre, child, I will lay

  my quiver full of arrows, tipped with Hydra-poison.

  My weapons will be punished. And I will burn you too,

  the ones that cursed my weapons: my stepmother hands.

  amphitryon Who has ever called an accident, a crime?

  hercules Major accidents are often crimes.

  amphitryon Now we need a Hercules: to bear this weight

  of pain.

  hercules Madness has not deprived me of all my sense

  of shame:

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  nobody could bear to see my wicked face.

  My arms have been stolen: Theseus, I demand

  you give them back right now. If I am sane,

  give them to my hands; and if still mad,

  father, stand back; I will find a way to die.

  amphitryon By all the sanctity of family, and by my rights,

  whether you call me ‘guardian’ or ‘father’,

  by my white hair which should earn me respect,

  I beg you, do not leave me lonely in old age,

  tired out by life; you are the one support

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  of this ruined house, the one light for my pain;

  protect yourself. I got no benefit

  from all your labours; I was always scared

  of treacherous seas and monsters; I feared the bloody hands

  or bloody altars of every tyrant in the world;

  You were always gone from me, my son. Grant me the joy

  of seeing you and touching you, I beg you.

  hercules There is no reason I should linger out my life

  delaying this awful day. I have lost everything:

  mind, arms, fame, wife, children, hands,

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  * * *

  hercules furens

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  and even madness. Nobody could cure

  a heart so tainted: sin must be healed by death.

  amphitryon You will kill your father.

  hercules

  I will die, so as not to.

  amphitryon With your father watching?

  hercules

  I have taught him to

  watch my crimes.

  amphitryon No: remember all your world-renowned good deeds;

  forgive yourself for just this one bad act.

  hercules Shall I forgive myself, after forgiving no one?

  I did good under orders. Only this is mine.

  Help me, Father, think of family loyalty,

  or of my cruel fate, or of the ruined glory

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  of my old courage. Bring me my arms, let my hands

  take revenge on Fortune.

  theseus

  Your father’s prayers

  ought to work, but let me also try

  to move you with my tears. Get up, burst through your troubles,

  with your usual energy. Take up again that spirit

  which can face any danger. Now is the time

  to use your heroic courage: Hercules must not stay angry.

  hercules If I live, I am a murderer. If dead, a victim.

  I need to hurry up and clean the earth; too long

  this wicked, cruel, wild, barbaric monster

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  has wandered free before me. Come, right hand,

  try a mighty labour, bigger than the Twelve.

  Coward, do you hesitate? Are you only tough

  when facing children and their frightened mothers?

  Unless I get my arms, I will tear up all the woodland

  of Pindus, and the groves of Mount Cithaeron

  and burn the forests as my pyre; or else destroy

  the roof of every house on every household, all the temples

  along with all the gods, down on my body,

  and bury myself in the ruins of my city.

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  If the city walls feel light on my strong back,

  and seven gates are not enough to weigh me down,

  I will pull down upon my head the total mass

  of the central firmament, the boundary of the gods.

  amphitryon Here are your arms.

  * * *

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  hercules furens

  hercules

  Fit words for Hercules’ father.

  Look, this arrow was the one that killed my son.

  amphitryon Juno used your hands to fire this shot.

  hercules Now I will use it myself.

  amphitryon

  How my poor heart

  thumps with fear, and beats my troubled chest.

  hercules The arrow is on the string.

  amphitryon

  Watch out! This time you

  know

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  what you are doing; this crime will be your choice.

  hercules Well,

  what should I do?

  amphitryon I ask for nothing; my grief is secure;

  you alone can save my son for me,

  and you cannot rob me of him. My worst fear

  is over now; you cannot hurt me, but you can

  still make me happy. Make your decision, knowing

  your reputation hangs here in the balance:

  either you live, or kill me. My frail life

  is weary with old age, weary with pain;

  I hold it on my lips. How can you hesitate

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  to give your father life? I will not bear it longer:

  I will push my chest against the deadly sword:

  here, here is the crime of Hercules sane.

  hercules Stop it, Father, stop it now, take back your hand.

  Lie down, my heroism: endure your father’s order.

  Let this labour now be added to my labours:

  staying alive. Theseus, lift my poor father,

  collapsed on the ground. My guilty hand cannot touch

  my loved ones.

  amphitryon I am happy to hold this hand,

  I will walk and lean on it, and holding it close to my heart

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  I will find comfort for my sadness.

  hercules

  In exile, where can I go?

  Where can I hide myself, or where can I be buried?

  What Tanais or Nile or turbulent Tigris

  in Persia, or what wild barbarian Rhine,

  or Tagus, flowing full with Spanish gold,

  could ever wash my hand? If icy Maeotis

  * * *

  hercules furens

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  poured its frozen waters over me,

  and all the ocean ran across my hands,

  still my guilt sticks deep. Sinner, where can you run?

  Do you want to go to the east or west?

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  Both of them know me; I spoilt my chance of sanctuary.

  The whole world flees from me, the stars have turned

  revolving on perverted paths; even the Sun

  was happier looking at Cerb
erus. O loyal friend,

  Theseus, find me a distant hiding-place;

  since when you witness other people’s crimes

  you sympathize with the guilty, pay me back

  for what I did for you; I beg you, take me back

  to Hell, back to the shades, and tie me up

  in the chains you left; that place will keep me hidden —

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  but even Hell knows me.

  theseus

  My country awaits you.

  There Mars had his hands washed clean of murder,*

  and he got back his arms; to you that land is calling,

  practised in giving innocence back to gods.

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  * * *

  THYESTES

  Tantalus killed his son, Pelops, and gave him as a feast to

  the gods. As punishment in the underworld he suffered eternal

  hunger and eternal thirst, with water and food forever just

  out of his grasp. The two sons of Pelops struggled for power

  over the throne of Mycenae. They agreed that whichever of

  them possessed the golden sheep from Atreus’ herd should be

  king. Thyestes produced the sheep, and seized power, ousting

  Atreus. But Atreus accused his brother of plotting with his

  own wife, Aerope, to steal the fleece and the throne; he seized

  power in turn, and exiled his brother. Seneca’s play shows

  what happened when Thyestes returned from exile.

  * * *

  dramatis personae

  ghost of tantalus

  fury

  atreus

  attendant

  thyestes

  tantalus junior, older son of Thyestes

  plisthenes, younger son of Thyestes; silent part

  messenger

  chorus

  * * *

  ACT ONE

  ghost of tantalus Who draws me from the cursed realm of

  Hell

  where I must gape my greedy mouth for food

  that flees my grasp? Who shows the homes of gods

  to Tantalus again — despite that past disaster? Is anything worse

  than to be always wet and always thirsty, worse than hunger

  yearning without end? Can the slippery stone of Sisyphus

  be coming for me, must my shoulders bear it?

  Or the wheel which whirls the limbs in all directions?

  Or the sufferings of spreadeagled Tityos,* whose belly is an

  empty cave,

  who feeds black birds on his own eviscerated flesh,

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  and since night heals whatever day destroyed,

  his horizontal body gives fresh food for every beak?

  I am doomed to some new torture. What will it be?

  O cruel judge, whoever you are, that give new punishments

  to those already dead: now try to increase the pain

  at which even the guard* of this terrible jail trembles,

  which makes grim Acheron shudder,* and terrifies

  even me. Now from my family line a swarm of children

  creeps out, who will surpass their ancestors.

  They will make me look innocent. No one has dared

  such deeds.

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  If any space lies empty in the world of sin,

  I claim it. Minos* has work to do

  as long as Pelops’ house still stands.

  fury Go

  on,

  horrible Ghost, torment the wicked gods with all your rage.

  Let every crime participate, and let the sword

  be drawn by each in turn. Let anger know no limit,

  no shame, while darkening passion whips their hearts,

  Long live the father’s fury, and let eternal sin

  enter the hearts of his offspring. Let nobody have the time

  to hate a bygone sin. Let new ones always rise,

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  with more than one in every one, and let crime grow

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  thyestes

  until it is avenged. Let the arrogant brothers lose

  their power, and get it back from exile.* While kings falter,

  let Fortune’s shifting wheel turn from that troubled house.

  Let power turn to grief, and grief to power,

  and wash away the kingdom in the eternal tide of chance.

  When god* says: ‘Now go home,’ let those exiled

  for crime, return for new crimes; let them be hated

  by everyone — as much as by themselves. Let there be nothing

  out-of-bounds for anger. Let brother fear brother,

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  parent child, child parent; let children’s deaths be terrible,

  but even worse their births;* let wife be enemy

  to husband, plotting against him;* let war cross the sea,

  let blood drench every land, and let Desire

  conquer the mighty leaders of the people;

  let sexual wickedness be the least of sins;

  let moral righteousness, and faithfulness,

  and all law perish. Let even heaven be touched

  by human wickedness; why do the stars still shine,

  and give their usual fiery glory to the world?

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  Let deep night come, let day fall from the sky.

  No more household gods! Bring hatred, murder, death;

  use them to fill up all house of Tantalus.

  Adorn the pillars, let the doors look green and merry,

  bedecked with laurel leaves; and light a fire

  fitting for your return. Repeat that Thracian crime,*

  but with more victims. Uncle,* why so slow?

  [Is Thyestes not yet grieving for his children?]*

  Will he ever strike? Now let the fires be lit,

  to boil the cauldrons; chop up the bodies in pieces,

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  let children’s blood pollute the ancestral hearth,

  let the tables be set. You will come as a guest to a crime,

  but one you* already know well. Today you will have a vacation,

  to free yourself from hunger at that table.

  Fill up your empty belly; watch as he drinks that cocktail

  of blood and wine. I have found a type of feast

  which even you would avoid. Stop, where are you going?

  tantalus Down to the lakes, the rivers, the waters which flee me,

  the tree whose laden branches escape my hungry lips.

  If only I could escape to the black bed of my prison,

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  * * *

  thyestes

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  and if my punishment seems too light, I would change

  to a different river: may I be plunged in fire,

  trapped in the middle of Phlegethon’s boiling water.*

  I call to all who suffer punishments*

  decreed by fate: to you, who lie in fear,

  beneath the hollow cavern, always frightened

  the mass will fall upon you; you who shudder

  at the gaping jaws of the ravening lions, and the awful Furies

  who tangle you in their nets; and you, half-burnt,

  trying to ward off the approaching torches.

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  Listen to what I have to say: believe me, I learnt the hard way:

  love your punishments. When will I achieve

  escape from those above?*

  fury

  First you must cause chaos,

  bring evil to the house, create in the kings

  the urge to fight and kill; stir up the heart

  into a crazy commotion.

  tantalus

  Punishment is something

  I must accept, not become. Is it my mission to go

  like deadly gas from a vent in the earth, or a plague

  infecting the world? Will I br
ing my very own grandsons

  to such a horror? Great Father of Gods — and my father*

  as well,

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  though you blush to admit it — you may judge that my tongue

  talks too much and deserves the cruellest torture;

  still I must speak of this: I warn you all, do not

  pollute your hands with blasphemous murder, do not

  infect the altars with a Fury’s curse. I will stand by,

  I will prevent this evil. — Why are you lashing your whip

  in my face? Why the threat of these circling snakes? Why pierce

  my belly with desperate hunger? My heart is burning,

  alight with thirst; my half-charred stomach smokes.

  I follow you.*

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  fury Good! Spread out your madness through the house.

  Make them resemble you, make them hate, make them thirst

  to drink their own blood. Now the palace feels

  your coming and it trembles with your touch.

  Well done! Now go back to your hellish lakes,

  your old familiar water. Now earth grieves

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  thyestes

  to feel the burden of your feet. Do you not see

  how water is pushed back* into the ground, and how the banks

  stand dry, as a fiery wind drives the clouds away?

  The trees grow white, the fruit falls from the branches,

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  and near at hand the Isthmus, roaring with the sound

  of breaking waves dashing on both its sides,

  as its slim strip of land divides the neighbouring waters,

  now widens and hears the sound of distant tides.

  Lerna* now moves back, and river Inachus

  lies hidden, nor does sacred Alpheus

  reveal its waters. Mount Cithaeron’s heights

  have shed their snow and all their white is gone.

  The famous town of Argos fears its ancient thirst.*

  See, even the Sun wonders whether to order the day,

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  whether to goad to life a day which is doomed to die.

  chorus If any of the gods loves Argos, in Achaea,

  or Pisa famous for its chariot-race,

  or the Corinthian realm around the Isthmus,

  which divides the twin gates and the sea;

  if any cares for the snows of Mount Taygetus,

  frozen by Boreas in the winter-time

  on the topmost mountain peaks, melted again

  in summer by the winds that guide the sails;

  or if Alpheus’ icy stream, that shines

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