The Thebaid
Page 50
the brothers fought for him.Those who descended
from Mars proclaimed him, while the debt Menoeceus
paid for the city reconciled the people.
Creon then took the throne that kills its kings
654
in sad Aonia, where power entices,
where love of rule seduces. Will new rulers
never be taught by previous examples?
Look!—he is pleased to hold his foul position,
to rule his kingdom and become a tyrant.
What more, improving Fortune, can you do?
659
Creon forgot his fatherhood, the kingdom
he had inherited, his son Menoeceus.
Pursuing savage customs of the court
(a gauge and indication of his feelings)
he ordered that Danaans be denied
their final flames, that those unfortunate
in war be left unburied under heaven,
their sad ghosts homeless. But when Oedipus
≥≤≤ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
met him before the portal of Ogygia,
fear made him pause a moment. In his heart
he knew his rank was less. He held his temper,
but he assumed a regal countenance
and dared to chide his blind antagonist:
‘‘Go far away! You are a hated omen
to us, the victors. Turn aside the Furies.
Let your departure unpollute our city.
What you have long desired has come to pass.
Your sons are dead. What vows do you have left?’’
Oedipus shook, enraged. His trembling sockets
673
stared, as if they could see. Dismissing age,
he dropped his sta√. He shoved aside his daughter—
his rage was his support, and pride erupted:
‘‘Have you the leisure, Creon, to be cruel?
You only now assumed our wicked kingdom,
the place of our past fortune, you poor man,
yet you take time to trample fallen kings.
Already you drive victims from their tombs
and comrades from our walls. It seems you are
well able to protect our Theban scepter
on your first day. But why do you restrict
your new authority? Why measure out
so narrowly such honors? You say, ‘Exile!’
This is a timid mercy for a king!
Why not be greedy? Stain your savage sword.
Believe me, you may do it. Your attendants
are ready to comply, and brave enough
to slice a neck that o√ers no resistance.
Begin! Do you expect that I will grovel
prone at the feet of my unruly master?
What if I tried? Would you respond? Would you
threaten to punish me? Do you think any
fears can defeat me? Order me from Thebes?
I would leave earth and heaven willingly
and without urging turn my vengeful hand
cruelly against myself ! What more can you,
my king, my enemy, command? I leave—
I flee—this seat of criminality.
BOOK ∞∞ ≥≤≥
What does it matter where I take my blindness,
my drawn-out death? Not everyone denies
a man who knows misfortune, who requires
only a place to sleep. But Thebes is pleasant.
My origins are known here, and the stars
are gentle to my eyes. I have my wife
and children. You own Thebes. You rule the walls
that Cadmus, Laius, and, in God’s name, I
also once governed. Now you must marry and
breed loyal sons, although I hope you lack
the strength and purpose to evade misfortune
with your own hand. May youlove life when ruined.
There, I have said enough about your future.
Daughter, take me away, and far. But why
should I hurt you? Great king, choose me a guide!’’
Afraid of being left, Antigone
707
petitioned Creon, in her misery,
for something else: ‘‘O reverend Creon, by
Menoeceus’s sacred ghost and your just rule,
assist a man aΔicted. Disregard
his arrogance, for years of su√ering
alter his discourse, make him rude to others.
How he insults the deities and Fates!
Mourning has hardened him. He is not easy,
even for me. He is indomitable.
A wretched liberty and savage hope
for senseless death have long lived in his heart.
See how expertly he provokes your anger.
He welcomes punishment. But you, I pray,
will occupy your reign with charity,
help the unfortunate, and venerate
the fate of former kings. He once was high—
unexiled, on his throne—surrounded by
armed men, but helped the lowly, doling equal
laws to the poor and powerful. He now,
from all those servants, has a single woman.
Is he a hindrance to your happiness?
Do you bring hate, pose your realm’s strength against him,
repulse him from your city? Is it that
he moans too loudly here before your portals
≥≤∂ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
or bothers you with inconvenient vows?
Rest easy. He will weep far from your palace.
I will subdue his pride, teach him submission,
lead him away from men, and settle him
in his accustomed dwelling as an exile.
‘‘What foreign walls will open to a wanderer?
730
Should he proceed to Argos, crawl in filth
to cold Mycenae, or report the deaths
of Grecians at the gates of dashed Adrastus?
Should he, a Theban king, seek charity?
Would you have him expose impieties
committed by our family or reveal
embarrassing occurrences? I pray,
whatever we have done, conceal us, Creon!
This service we request will not last long.
Pity old age, I beg you. Let the sad
ghost of my father find a place to sleep.
Surely he may be buried here in Thebes.’’
So she petitioned him and bowed down low,
739
but Oedipus withdrew her, threatening
wrath and disdaining mercy, like a lion
deep in his cave, whom woods and mountains feared
when he was young—but now he stretches, indolent,
deprived of strength and full of years, and yet
his face is lordly, his maturity
unwelcoming, and if his flaccid ears
should hear a roar, he rises and remembers
who he is. He bemoans his former strength
and envies lions who now rule the plains.
The king was moved by her request, but he
748
would not grant everything she asked. He kept
part of his favor back. ‘‘You will not be
stopped at our country’s borders as you wander,
but do not stain our homes or sacred temples.
Cithaeron and the bogs are fit enough,
and this land suits your darkness to inhabit:
two peoples lie here, bloody, from the battles!’’
He spoke. The groaning people and his courtiers
BOOK ∞∞ ≥≤Σ
feigned approbation as he sought the gates.
He moved with royal dignity and pride.
Meanwhile the Argives secretly
left their encampment, which had proved so fatal.
No standards and no generals remained,
nor any man, as they returned in silence,
c
hoosing, instead of death with glory, lives
of infamy, embarrassing retreat.
Night favored them. Kind shadows veiled defeat.
–?–?–?–
BOOK 12 Clemency
The aftermath of battle. The funeral pyre of Menoeceus. Creon’s decree. From Argos the mourning women travel toward Thebes. Ornytus warns them away, suggesting they ask Theseus and the Athenians for assistance. Argia finds her husband’s body, meets Antigone. The fiery strife of Polynices and Eteocles. Argia and Antigone arrested. Juno leads the Argive women to Athens. The Altar of Clemency. Theseus defeats Creon.
Dawn was awake. Not all the stars had set.
The slim horns of the moon saw day approach.
• Tithonia dispersed the timid clouds
and readied heaven for returning Phoebus
when, from the Theban households, Dirce’s army
started, and men complained of night’s delay.
Even though they might sleep—their first reprieve
since conflict ended—still the sickly peace
dispelled their quiet, and their victory
could not undo the savagery of war.
They hardly dared to sally, to demolish
fortifications, to unbar their portals.
Former fears stood before them, and the horrors
of vacant fields, just as earth totters for
sailors long used to waves when they first land.
So they gazed, stupefied, but moved no closer,
afraid the sprawling bodies might arise.
Just so, if doves of Ida see a serpent
ascend the entrance to an outcropped tower,
they chase their nestlings in. They use their talons
to guard their teeming nursery and unfurl
their passive feathers to prepare for battle.
Although the golden fellow glides away,
the white ones fear void skies, and when they fly
at last, they quake and gaze from stars on high.
BOOK ∞≤ ≥≤π
People moved past the lifeless and the fallen
22
remnants of war, wherever Grief and Mourning—
those blood-stained leaders—took them. Some saw corpses;
some looked at weapons; others stared at gashes
and saw dead friends beside dead enemies.
Some mourned a car or calmed, as best they could,
untended horses. Some kissed wounds or praised
those who showed valor. Some inspected cold
mounds of dead men. Sword hilts and javelins
lay openly in severed hands, and arrows stood
upright in eyeballs, but of many deaths,
no trace. So people wandered, their laments
held in abeyance, ready for the worst.
–?–?–?–
Among the mangled bodies there arose
33
a senseless competition. People strove
to lead a funeral, conduct a rite,
but fortune mocked them. Often they lamented
their enemies, for it was di≈cult
to know whom to avoid, whose blood to tread.
Those with no cause to grieve, whose homes were whole,
wandered and searched the Greeks’ deserted tents
and put them to the torch, or, as occurs
after a battle, scoured the scattered dust
to find where Tydeus lay or see the chasm
that opened when the augurer was seized
or find the gods’ opponent and observe
whether those limbs that lightning struck still burned.
Day waned, but tears continued, nor did evening
44
and the late hour disperse them. Those in pain
loved lamentation. They enjoyed their sorrow.
No one went home; instead, they kept their vigil
nightlong beside the bodies; they made moans
and chased o√ beasts with flames as well as groans.
–?–?–?–
≥≤∫ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
Lucifer, star of morning, and the Dawn
50
were wrestling for the third time, and the hills
had yielded up the honor of their woods.
Great beams had come from Teumesus, and logs
friendly to flames were hewn on Mount Cithaeron.
On high pyres burned the viscera of men.
Ogygian shades rejoiced at this last gift,
but sad souls of uncovered Greeks made gyres
and raised laments around forbidden fires.
The spirit of impiety—that is,
57
savage Eteocles—did not receive
the honors of a king, yet found a pyre.
His brother, by command, was held an Argive
and driven from the flames—his ghost, an exile.
The king (his father) and the Thebans put
60
Menoeceus on no ordinary pile,
no common mound constructed from hard logs.
His pyre was martial, made from chariots
and shields and other weapons of the Greeks.
He lay, as victor, on this hostile heap,
his brow bound by the laurel leaves of peace
• and woolen fillets, just as Hercules
lay down on burning Oeta when the stars
delighted him by calling for his presence.
The father butchered victims still alive—
68
captured Pelasgians and bridled horses—
a solace for his fortunes in the war.
The high flames flickered over them until
Creon spoke words expected from a father:
‘‘Had your desire for fame not been so great,
72
my son, you would be worshiped here in Thebes,
where you would be the future king. But you
have spoiled impending pleasures and made bitter
my public service, which I never sought.
‘‘Although I think your virtue raises you
76
to heaven’s vaults to dwell among immortals
BOOK ∞≤ ≥≤Ω
where you are deified, yet I must grieve.
Let them build temples and high shrines in Thebes.
A parent may be left alone to mourn.
What larger sacrifice, what solemn rites
might I still give? None, not if I—whose life
a son’s blood has preserved (there lies the crime)—
were to mix fatal Argos and myself
and beaten-down Mycenae on your pyre.
‘‘Does one same day, and one same war, send you
84
to Tartarus, my son, together with
those ill-starred brothers? Is my fate the same
as mournful Oedipus? Good Jupiter,
how similar the shadows we lament.
Accept, my son, what your success achieved: