but Creon came, and he was hot with grief
because his heart was burning for Menoeceus.
Creon could find no peace, and he felt free
to speak against the war. He thought he reached
and grasped his son; he thought he saw blood spilling
in rivers down his breast, and always, always
he saw Menoeceus fall from that cruel tower.
≥≠∫ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
He knew Eteocles was hesitant
269
to fight and told him, ‘‘Miserable man!
Your power derives from citizens who die,
from war and Fate and tears! So why should we
endure you any longer? Seek your vengeance!
We have atoned for your impieties
for long enough before unfavorable gods.
You have exhausted Thebes, which had been crowded
with citizens and filled with arms and wealth.
You cast long shadows on this emptiness,
like heaven’s plague or earth’s malignancy.
We cannot keep our commoners in service:
their bodies lie unburnt along the ground;
their country’s river wafts them to the sea;
some seek their limbs; some tend their anxious wounds.
‘‘Restore the state its brothers, sons, and fathers.
279
Restore men to the fields and to their homes.
Where is great Hypseus? neighboring Dryas?
sonorous Phocis’s arms? Euboean leaders?
The equal chance of war has made them ghosts,
but you, my son, lie dead! My source of shame,
your city’s sacrifice! A sacrifice!—
like a mute yearling from a common herd
embellished with the first fruits of the field,
condemned to die in some nefarious rite.
Ay, me! And does this man still hesitate
when called to meet opposing Mars? Does he
yet stand? Does impious Tiresias
order another soul to fight, or issue
more prophecies designed for my destruction?
I, in my misery, have only Haemon!
Will you send him to war while you remain
safely inside the walls where you can watch?
Why do you snort and glance at servant soldiers?
Your men want you to go, to pay the price.
Your mother and your sisters each detest you.
Your brother threatens you with death. He rages
and threatens with his sword. Do you not hear?
He’s battering the fierce bars on your gates!’’
BOOK ∞∞ ≥≠Ω
So spoke the father as he rolled in waves
297
of misery and ground his angry teeth.
The king replied, ‘‘You don’t fool anyone,
nor are you moved by your son’s public fate.
It fits a father so to speak and boast,
but your tears hide ambition, secret hopes.
You use his death to veil your foolish vows.
You press me—uselessly—as if you were
the heir presumptive to my vacant throne,
but Fortune will not let the scepter fall
to one like you, unworthy of his son—
not in a city that derives from Sidon!
I could have easy vengeance, even now—
but let me have my arms first. Servants, arms!
The brothers are about to meet in battle!
Creon wants something to assuage his wounds:
let him enjoy my madness. When I win,
he will repay his debt!’’ So he postponed
their disagreement and replaced his sword,
which he had drawn in anger, in its scabbard.
He bristled like a serpent whom some shepherd
has struck by chance: it draws its poison forward
through its long body to its mouth but when
the stranger changes paths and deviates,
and the threat lessens, it relaxes its
pointless defense and drinks its angry venom.
–?–?–?–
Now when Jocasta, their distracted mother,
315
first heard reports that her two sons might die,
she credited the news. She was not slow
to bare her breast, to tear her face and hair
until blood flowed. Unmindful of her sex
and what was inappropriate, she went in public
• just like Agave, Pentheus’ mother, when
she climbed the summit of the frantic mountain
to bring his promised head to fierce Lyaeus.
Neither her pious daughters nor companions
321
could move as fast as she did, for her latest
≥∞≠ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
grief made her strong; her lamentations stirred
fierce sentiments in her declining age.
The king by then had donned his glorious helmet
324
and bound his deadly javelins with thongs.
He was examining his horse, which thrilled
to horns and grew intrepid hearing trumpets,
when suddenly his mother loomed before him.
The king and all his servants paled with fear;
his squire withdrew the o√er of his spear.
‘‘What is this madness? Has the Fury risen
329
again—still undiminished—to our kingdom?
Will you two duel . . . you—after everything,
after you led twin armies, ordered horrors?
Where will the victor go? To seek my lap?
You’ve made my dreadful husband’s darkness happy,
but my eyes punish me: they let me see
this day of destiny! O savage man,
whom do you think you threaten with your stare?
Why do you blanche and blush and change expressions,
murmur and gnash your teeth? I feel great grief
that you might win, but you will fight this duel
at home, where I may stand beside the threshold,
before the gates, an inauspicious sign,
to make you conscious of your awful crime!
You will see these gray hairs, these breasts you trample,
this womb your horse must tread! Degenerate,
why do you push your shield and pommel—stop this!—
when I oppose you? I have sworn no vows
against you by the deities of Styx,
nor called upon the Furies with blind prayers!
Pity a miserable woman, I implore you!
I am your mother, not your father! Sinful man,
delay your guilt! Consider what you hear!
What if your brother pounds the walls and stirs
a war of great impiety against you?
That is because his mother and his sisters
do not deter his movements. We are busy
petitioning and begging you: he has
only Adrastus to dissuade him, who
BOOK ∞∞ ≥∞∞
perhaps has ordered him to fight! Will you
leave your ancestral portals, household gods,
and our embrace to duel against your brother?’’
–?–?–?–
Elsewhere Antigone with silent steps
354
stole through obstructing crowds and madly scaled
the high Ogygian walls. She did not let
her maidenhood and innocence deter her.
Actor, her old companion, followed after
but did not have the strength to climb the towers.
She paused as she surveyed the distant army
359
and recognized her brother, who assailed
their city with proud words and javelins,
a shameful sight. At once she filled the air
&nb
sp; with heartfelt lamentations, and she spoke
like one prepared to hurtle from the wall:
‘‘Constrain your weapons, brother! Pause to look,
363
here, at this tower! Let my eyes behold
your bristling crest! Are we the enemy?
Is this how we demand our yearly turn?
Is this good faith? complaints appropriate
to virtuous exile and a valid cause?
If there is any sweetness in your home life,
then by your Argive hearth (for you have lost
your fame among the Tyrians), my brother,
subdue your rage! Both of the cities and
both armies beg you. So do I, who am
devoted to you both and now suspected
of evil by the king. O dire one, listen!
Soften your warlike face and let me see
the features that I love for what may be
the last time; let me see if these laments
have made you weep. They say our mother’s groans
and prayers have stopped Eteocles already.
He has replaced the sword he had withdrawn!
Do you resist me, one who night and day
weeps for your wandering exile—I, who placate
the father you so frequently enrage?
≥∞≤ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
Why do you free your brother of his guilt?
He did you injury, and he mistreats
his people. Look, you call him, but he stays!’’
His wrath was just beginning to abate,
382
because of what she said, despite the Fury
who shouted and obstructed him. His hand
had dropped already, he had slowly turned
his reins, and he was silent. Then he groaned,
tears filtered through his casque, his rage grew dull;
he felt an equal shame for having come—
being the guilty party—and for leaving.
But then Tisiphone repulsed his mother
and through the broken gates she shoved his brother,
who suddenly was clamoring, ‘‘I’m here,
though envious that you were first to challenge!
Do not accuse me of delay. Our mother
encumbered me as I prepared my weapons.
O Thebes, you are uncertain who will rule.
For sure it will be he who wins this duel!’’
The other was no milder. He exclaimed,
392
‘‘Barbarian, do you keep faith at last?
Do you emerge to fight a fair encounter?
After so long, o brother, we engage!
Our covenant, our contract, still remains!’’
His mood was hostile as he viewed the man:
396
he envied his innumerable attendants,
his royal casque, his horse’s purple drapery,
his shield that gleamed with gold, though he himself
bore honorable weapons and a brilliant cloak.
Argia made his fine, uncommon garment
• in the Maeonian mode, and with her skillful
fingers wove purple threads through webs of gold.
The brothers charged together through the dust.
403
The Furies who’d prepared their shining weapons,
who’d woven serpents through their horse’s manes
controlled their champions and gave them guidance.
BOOK ∞∞ ≥∞≥
Fraternal strife unfolded on that field;
406
similar faces clashed beneath those casques.
A single womb made war against itself:
flags trembled; trumpets ceased; war horns were silent.
Three times from hell’s black shores its vast king thundered;
three times he shook the bottom of the world.
Pallas and Mars—the gods of war—departed:
he drove his frightened chariot far o√;
Minerva hid behind a Gorgon’s visor.
Glorious Virtue left. Bellona snu√ed
her flames. In turn the Stygian sisters blushed.
The miserable people peeped from towering roofs;
groans came from every turret; tears wet towers.
The old complained that they had lived too long;
mothers laid bare their breasts, kept their small children
from witnessing the battle; and the king
of Tartarus himself commanded his
gates opened that Ogygian ghosts might see
their relatives at war. These took their seats
on native hills, where they bedimmed the daylight
and marveled that their own crimes were surpassed.
After Adrastus heard the pair had been
424
goaded to open combat, and no sin
su≈ced to rouse in them a sense of shame,
he rode between them, indiscriminate—
himself a king and venerable with age.
But what did they, who scorned their own relations,
care what a foreign sovereign might say?
Nonetheless he implored: ‘‘Must Tyrians
428
and Argives too watch these impieties?
Where is your sense of justice, of the gods,
the rules of war? Do not maintain this anger!
You are my enemy, Eteocles,
although if rage permitted, you would see
in blood we are not distant: I implore you!
And you, my son-in-law! Here is my o√er:
if you have such desire to hold a scepter,
I will remove my royal livery.
≥∞∂ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
Govern, alone, in Argos and in Lerna!’’
His speech no more convinced the pair to stop
435
their raging battle than tall Black Sea breakers
• keep the Cyanean islands’ cli√s apart.
As his words faded, he could see their steeds
439
driven to battle through twin clouds of dust,
could see mad fingers testing thongs for throwing.
He raced away from everything: the camp,
his army, son-in-law, and Thebes, and he
propelled Arion forward, though that steed
turned in its yoke and uttered prophecies.
• Just so, the king of shadows left his cart
and turned pale when he entered Tartarus,
the portion he inherited, when he
fell to misfortune, lost the lottery.
Fortune, however, intervened, stopped battle,
447
delayed a little, hesitated, waited
as this impiety, this crime, took shape.
Two times they charged in vain. Two times their horses
were spurred but spared by inadvertent errors.
Their spears, untainted yet by sacred blood,
were blocked and pushed aside. Hands strained at reins.
The Thebaid Page 48