The Thebaid
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clasped her, and told her, ‘‘Sister, up till now
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I have worked unassisted to perform
our Stygian father’s mad and fearful orders
while you, as I succeeded in this world,
restrained weak spirits in Elysium.
My e√orts were not wasted. I collected
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a fierce toll in that interval. Blood soaks
the fields; it smokes in lakes. The banks of Lethe
rejoice with countless dead: a satisfying
sign of my force. But what is this to me?
• Let Mars be satisfied. Let Enyo take
credit for what she tells the world. You saw—
he surely makes a show in Stygian shadows—
the prince who is insatiable, who gnaws
the miserable head I gave him, he whose jaws
blood stains and fouls, whose face drips thick, black gore.
The horror of the thunder that descended
from heaven even now, you know about.
‘‘But I disdain the wars where deities
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engage the mad assaults of mortal beings,
whose anger is so vast it causes lightning.
So—I confess it, sister—my long e√ort
leaves my heart weary, and my hand is slow.
This air dims my infernal torch. My serpents,
unused to so much starlight, fall asleep.
You, though, have been protected till this moment.
Your tresses, fresh from washing in Cocytos,
stand elevated, strong. Join forces with me,
not to prepare the usual encounter
or war for Mars, but so that brothers—brothers!—
will draw their swords and meet. If Piety
and Faith (the nurturer) resist, they will
be overcome. Although our task is great,
we two will raise discordant arms and hate.
Select the one—why should you hesitate?—
whose standard you will carry. Both should be
easy for us, but I am most concerned
that our resolve not be retarded by
the wavering multitudes, a mother’s pleas,
or smooth persuasions from Antigone.
≥≠≤ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
?’’Moreover, he whose prayers were wearying,
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who called the Furies to avenge his eyes,
who keeps—they say—from all society,
now feels himself a father, mourns his children.
I have resisted, but I’ll enter Thebes
and face the household I have come to know.
The godless outcast must obey your orders.
Impel the Argive to impiety
but take care that Adrastus not prevail
or that Lernaean plebes promote delay.
Join, as my enemy, the mutual fray!’’
With that, the sisters went their separate ways,
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as Boreas and Notus leave the poles
on heaven’s separate hinges and then meet
after one wind has fed on Rhipaean snows,
the other Libyan quicksand. Rivers, forests,
and clouds collide and clamor. Soon destruction
is everywhere apparent. Farmers weep
their damages. Tired sailors wail at sea.
–?–?–?–
When the high Father saw them from Olympus
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defile the light of day and cast a pall
across the shimmering orbit of the sun,
he turned aside his eyes and sternly spoke:
‘‘Heavenly dwellers, we have seen armed madness
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taken as far as decency allows.
• The wars were lawful till a single man
contrived impieties and dared to hurl
• himself against my right hand. Now a pair
of criminals begins a duel that Earth
in all her miseries has never known.
Let it be distant from divinities,
unknown to Jupiter! Avert your eyes!
It was enough we saw the deadly meal
of Tantalus, Lycaon’s wicked altars,
Mycenae rush the rapid stars through heaven.
The orbit of the sun is once again
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about to be disturbed. Accept, o Earth,
these evil clouds, and let the skies recede.
I must protect my world of deities
• and not permit Astraea’s constellation
• or Leda’s brothers to behold such things.’’
Thus the omnipotent father spoke and turned
his gaze from evil fields and let the world
no longer know his sweet serenity.
–?–?–?–
• The virgin daughter of the god of darkness
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by now had followed Polynices’ path
through Argive battle lines. She found the man
under a portal, wondering if he
should end this tragedy by flight, or die.
While walking on the walls in nighttime dimness,
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uncertain, weighing worries and solutions,
he saw an e≈gy that he believed
must be a portent. It was carrying
nuptial tapers. He discerned his wife,
Argia, hair disheveled, who was bearing
a dismal lamp, and when he asked her why
she walked in mourning, what her sad signs meant,
she wept and turned away her silent flame.
He knew he saw a product of his mind.
How could she leave Mycenae and approach
the palisades, and no one see her coming?
He felt Fate’s warning, his impending doom,
and feared what he perceived, when suddenly
the Fury for whom Acheron had opened
tapped on his breastplate three times with her flail.
He burned, he lost his reason, he forgot
his realm; his only thought, impending slaughter,
his misery, his wish to meet his death
in blood that poured from stab wounds on his brother.
At once he told Adrastus, ‘‘I am late
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indeed, the last of our fraternity,
survivor of the Argives, but in this
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time of distress I must make my decision.
I will engage in battle on my own.
I should have fought when Argive blood was whole,
before we lost our leaders’ reverend souls
and all the best Danaan youth were gone.
I could have placed upon my head the crown
that caused such sorrow in so many towns.
‘‘The time for such an o√er has been lost,
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but let me now at least repay my debt.
As my wife’s father, you repress your grief;
you care about your son-in-law’s dishonor.
But I am he who, when you ruled in peace
and pious government, led you to leave
your realm and country. How I wish my troubles
had found a welcome in some other city!
Punish me this way—why draw back? It is
decreed! My destiny is fixed—I’ll challenge
my brother to a final duel. . . . Don’t try
to hinder me. You do not have the power.
Not if my dismal mother or sad sisters
stepped in to stop the fighting, not if my
father himself delayed my rush to battle
or drew a helmet over his dead eyes,
would I desist. Should I not drink Thebes’ blood
and take advantage of your men who died?
‘‘I saw earth gaping, but I did not move—
saw Tydeus dying for a crime I caused.
• Defenseless Tegea demands her lord,
whose childless mother in Parrhasian caves
makes moans against me. When Hippomedon
poured blood into the waters of Ismenos,
I could not scale its banks, nor climb the towers
of Thebes as thunder rumbled. How can I
live in such fear? But I will pay my debt.
Let everyone assemble: aging fathers,
Pelasgian mothers, and the younger women,
all those whose joys I’ve stolen and whose homes
I’ve emptied: I will fight my brother! What
more can I do? Let them observe, and let them
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pray that Eteocles will win. For now,
farewell, my wife. And farewell sweet Mycenae!
‘‘Father-in-law and friend, not all the guilt
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and evils are my fault, for I was helped
by the injurious Parcae and the gods.
Be careful with my ashes. Save me from
flesh-eating birds. Conceal me from my brother.
Carry my urn back. This is all I ask—
then find a better husband for your daughter!’’
They walked in tears, as when the spring returns
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and Thracian snows melt, when high Haemus shrinks
and Rhodope descends in narrow streams.
The elder man was starting to assuage
his violence with genial advice,
when the cruel Fury cut o√ his address
and brought new terror. She assumed the features
of an Inachian named Pherclus: she
quickly gave Polynices fatal arms,
a swift, wing-footed stallion, and his casque,
which dimmed Adrastus’ words. She put it on
his head, then told him: ‘‘Hurry! Cease delaying!
They say Eteocles has reached the gates!’’
She seized the man and set him on his steed.
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The pallid rider turned and caught a last
glimpse of the flitting shadow of the goddess.
–?–?–?–
In vain the Tyrian king made o√erings
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to Jupiter as payment for his lightning;
he also hoped that he’d disarm the Argives.
Neither the heavenly father nor another
divinity was present at his altars,
but mischievous Tisiphone attended
among his trembling servants, redirecting
his prayers to the Thunderer—of hell:
‘‘Greatest of gods, although unreverential
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Argos and bitter Juno may be jealous,
≥≠Π STATIUS, THE THEBAID
the origins of Thebes are owed to you,
for you disturbed the Bacchic dance in Sidon
by ravishing Europa, our ancestress,
whom you allowed to ride your back while you
murmured false vows as you swam peaceful seas.
Nor were you unsuccessful in possessing
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another Cadmean woman, Semele,
whose Tyrian hearth and home you overpowered.
By now, I think, you look with gratitude
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on these beloved walls and us, your kinsmen.
You use your thunder to defend us, just
as if your realm in heaven were assaulted.
We saw you massing clouds around our towers,
and we rejoiced to be recipients
of your benignant lightning and to know
the thunder that old generations heard.
Accept our flocks, our mounds of frankincense,
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our sacrificial bull. But it is not for mortals
to make su≈cient o√erings. Our Bacchus
and Hercules contend to pay your due.
Defend these walls for them.’’ He spoke these words,
but then a burst of black flame struck his face;
it tore his hair and burned away his crown.
A fierce bull started bleeding on the shrine
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before it had been sacrificed; it raised
the altar on its mad horns then escaped
despite the crowds of those who blocked its way.
• Attendants scattered while the haruspex
consoled the king, who lost his strength but ordered
the sacrifice continued and completed.
He hid great fears behind his false expression,
• not unlike Hercules when he felt flames
run through his bones: though the Oetaean garment
clung to his members, nonetheless he finished
his vows and carried o√erings of incense
until the torment was so great, he screamed.
He had been hard before, enured to pain,
but Nessus burned his victim’s inner organs.
–?–?–?–
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Aepytus left his station at the gates
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and half-dead, breathing hard from running, brought
a garbled message to the anxious king:
‘‘Break o√ your pious rituals, o leader!—
your ill-timed, sacred sacrifice. Your brother
stands at the city walls, and he defies
your barricading gates with spear and bridle,
repeats your name, and calls for you to duel!’’
Mournful once more, the king’s companions wept;
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they groaned to hear that message, and their soldiers
caused a commotion as they struck their weapons.
The king prayed, ‘‘Great progenitor of gods,
now is the time for lightning! What o√ense
made Capaneus special?’’ He was wary,
raging with hate, but also took delight
to be so angry, like a ruling bull
after the leisure of his rival’s exile:
he hears a hostile lowing with sharp ears
and recognizes threats. He stands before
his herd, hot, full of anger, and exhales
humid and burning breath. His savage feet
paw at the ground; his horns slice through the air.
Earth quakes; the trembling vales expect a battle.
Advisers to the king were never lacking:
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‘‘He’s harmless. Let him pound the walls.’’ ‘‘Can he
make such a challenge with his broken army?’’
‘‘It’s misery and madness, courting danger,
not to weigh fear, to sco√ and scorn at safety.’’
‘‘Stand firm against this onslaught on your throne.
Let us repulse the enemy. Give us
the order to attack!’’ Thus his attendants,