Four Tragedies and Octavia

by Seneca

  This way and that, and still with flagging speed

  And slackening mouth make passes at the calves:

  So Atreus, still with fury unassuaged,

  His sword now reeking with two victims’ blood,

  Fell on the third, and with no thought of mercy

  For the defenceless child whom he attacked

  So violently, pierced the body through;

  The sword that entered by the breast was seen

  Protruding from the back; the boy fell dead,

  His spurting blood damped out the altar fires

  And through both wounds his spirit fled away.

  CHORUS: Inhuman outrage.

  MESSENGER: Do you shudder now?

  If this had been the end of his foul deed,

  You could have called him innocent.

  CHORUS: What more?

  What more stupendous, more atrocious crime

  Can man conceive?

  MESSENGER: No, this was not the end,

  Only a step upon the villain’s way.

  CHORUS: Could he do more? He threw the bodies out

  For beasts to maul – denied them funeral fire?

  MESSENGER: Denied them fire! Ah, would that that were so!

  Would that he had denied them burial,

  Denied them the consuming flames, left them

  To be a meal for birds, a hideous banquet

  For savage beasts! Well might their father pray

  For what most fathers would abhor to see –

  The unburied bodies of his sons. O sin

  Incredible to any age of man,

  And for the men of ages yet to come

  A thing to be declared impossible!…

  The entrails torn from the warm bodies lay

  Quivering, veins still throbbing, shocked hearts beating.

  Atreus picked at the pieces, scrutinized

  The message of the Fates, noted the signs

  In the internal organs hot with blood.

  Finding no blemish in the sacrifice,

  He was content, and ready to prepare

  The banquet for his brother; hacked the bodies

  Limb from limb – detached the outstretched arms

  Close to the shoulders – severed the ligaments

  That tie the elbow joints – stripped every part

  And roughly wrenched each separate bone away –

  All this he did himself; only the faces,

  And trusting suppliant hands, he left intact.

  And soon the meat is on the spits, the fat

  Drips over a slow fire, while other parts

  Are tossed to boil in singing copper pans.

  The fire seems loth to touch the roasting flesh;

  Two or three times it has to be repaired

  To feed the crackling hearth, and still, reluctant

  To do as it is told, burns sulkily.

  The liver on the spits was heard to squeal;

  Which cried the more, the bodies or the fires,

  It would be hard to say. Above the flames

  A pitch-black smoke ascended, and this too

  Refused to rise up to the roof, but hung

  A thick and noisome cloud, filling the house

  With hideous vapours. Then… O patient Phoebus!

  Thy light was sunk in darkness at mid-day

  And thou hadst fled – thou shouldst have left us sooner!

  The father bites into his children’s bodies,

  Chews his own flesh in his accursed mouth.

  Drowsy with wine, his glistening hair anointed

  With scented oil, he crams his mouth with food

  Till it can hold no more. O doomed Thyestes!

  This is the one good part of your misfortune:

  You know not what you suffer. Not for long

  Will this be true. The Lord of Heaven, the Sun

  May turn his chariot back and drive away;

  Black night may rise untimely from the east,

  And total darkness in the midst of day

  Veil this atrocious deed; but you must see

  And know your own misfortune to the full.

  CHORUS

  O Father of all earth and all that lives,

  Whose rising banishes the lesser lights

  That make the dark night beautiful:

  Why hast thou turned aside

  From thy appointed path?

  Why hast thou blotted out the day

  And fled from heaven’s centre? Why,

  O Phoebus, hast thou turned thy face from us?

  Vesper, the herald of the close of day,

  Is not yet here to usher in the stars;

  Thy wheel has not yet passed the western gate

  Where, with their day’s work done,

  Thy steeds should be unyoked. We have not heard

  The third note of the trumpet telling us

  That day is over.

  Ploughmen will stand amazed –

  Suddenly supper-time, and oxen not yet ready to rest!

  What can have forced you, Sun, from your heavenly road?

  What can have made your horses bolt from their fixed course?

  Are the Giants escaped from their prison and threatening war?

  Has tortured Tityos found strength in his breast again to renew his old aggression?

  Or has Typhoeus stretched his muscles to throw off his mountain burden?

  Is Ossa to be piled on Pelion again

  To build a bridge for the Phlegrean Giants’ assault?1

  Is all the order of the universe plunged into chaos?

  Will there be no more East and no more West?

  The mother of the daylight, dewy Dawn,

  Who never fails to give the chariot-reins

  Into the hands of Phoebus, now with horror sees

  Her kingdom’s frontiers in confusion;

  It is strange work for her

  To lead the tired horses to the water,

  To see them sink their steaming necks into the sea.

  The Sun himself is like a stranger lost in a strange land,

  Meeting the morning as he goes to rest,

  Calling for darkness when no night has come.

  The stars have not appeared, there is no light in all the sky,

  No moon to break the darkness.

  What darkness it may be, we cannot tell,

  But pray that it be nothing else than night.

  This is the fear, the fear that knocks at the heart,

  That the whole world is now to fall in the ruin

  Which Fate foretells; that Chaos will come again

  To bury the world of gods and men; that Nature

  A second time will wipe out all the lands

  That cover the earth and the seas that lie around them,

  And all the stars that scatter their bright lights

  Across the universe.

  Never again will the Lord of Stars lift his undying fire

  To guide the march of time and give his signals to the world

  For summer and for autumn. Never again

  Will there be Moon to catch the Sun’s fire in her face

  And take night’s terrors from us, as she runs, outstripping

  Her brother’s pace upon her shorter orbit.

  All mingled into one vast void will fall

  The multitude of gods.

  That belt of constellations that marks out the passage of the years,

  The highway of the holy stars that lies oblique across the zones,

  Will fall away, and see the stars fall with it.

  The Ram, at whose approach, even before the spring’s full warmth,

  Ships may spread sails to balmy zephyrs – he who once

  Carried the frightened Helle1 over the sea,

  Into the sea himself will fall.

  The Bull, who holds the Hyades between his shining horns,

  Falling will drag the Gemini down, and down will fall

  The bent-armed Crab.

 
Leo, resplendent with the fires of summer,

  Victim of Hercules, will fall again.

  Virgo will fall, back to the earth that once she knew;

  Libra’s true-balanced scales will fall, and after them

  Sharp Scorpio. So too the aged Chiron,2

  With feathered arrows and Thessalian bow,

  Will lose both bow and arrows. Capricornus,

  Slow winter’s icy harbinger, will fall and break the urn

  Of the unknown one whom we call Aquarius;3

  And last of the twelve signs, the Fish, will disappear.

  Into the universal deluge will the Wain descend,

  Which never touched the sea before;

  The Snake, like a meandering river sliding

  Between the Bears; and the great Dragon’s smaller neighbour,

  The freezing Cynosura;1 and the slow-footed watcher

  Beside the wagon, Arctophylax,2 will be shaken

  And fall into the deep.

  And are we chosen out of all earth’s children

  To perish in the last catastrophe

  Of a disjointed universe? Are we

  To see the world’s end come?

  A cruel fate brought us to birth, if we

  Have lived to lose the Sun, or if our sins

  Have driven him away.

  But we must not complain, nor fear;

  Too fond of life is he who would not die

  When all the world dies with him.

  ACT FIVE

  Atreus, Thyestes

  ATREUS: I walk among the stars! Above the world

  My proud head reaches up to heaven’s height!

  Mine is the kingdom and the glory now,

  Mine the ancestral throne. I need no gods;

  I have attained the summit of my wishes.1

  Well done – and more than well. I ask no more.…

  No more? Enough? Nay, but I will do more.

  I will yet see this father eat his fill

  Of his dead offspring. Shame need not deter me;

  Daylight is gone. Yes… I need have no fear

  While heaven itself is empty; gods have fled;

  Would I could stop them, drag them back by force

  And make them see this banquet of revenge!

  Yet he shall see it; that will be enough.

  Day hides its face, but I will bring a light

  Into your darkness, brother, and unseal

  Your sorrows from the night that covers them.

  You have sat long enough at your repast,

  Now it is time to rouse you from your rest

  And change that happy smile. I need Thyestes

  Sober, to face so terrible a sight.…

  Slaves, open wide the doors! Let all men see

  Our hall, our temple of festivity!

  Now… to watch his face!… to see its colour

  Change, when he sees the faces of his sons!

  To listen to his first tormented cries,

  To see his body stiffen with the shock

  As if struck dead. This will be my reward

  For all my pains – I must not only see him

  Broken, but watch the breaking when it comes.…

  There – now the doors are open and the hall

  Is bright with torches. There, upon a couch

  Of gold and purple he reclines full length,

  His left hand propping up his drunken head.…

  His stomach heaves.… Now I am god of gods

  And king of kings! My prayers are more than answered.…

  He has fed full, and now he drinks again

  From a great silver goblet. Drink it up!

  There’s blood to spare from all those slaughtered cattle,

  Of colour to match well with that old wine.…

  Ay, try that cup to finish off the banquet!…

  I want to see him drinking up that potion

  Made with his children’s blood; he would have drunk

  Mine if he could!… Now he begins to sing

  A song of jollity… his wits are wandering.

  THYESTES: Heart, dulled with long despair,

  Rise up, and banish care.

  Let fear and sorrow flee;

  Begone, chill poverty

  That banishment must know.

  Begone, the shame

  That clings to those brought low.

  Man, think not of your plight

  When down, but of the height

  From which you fell.1 ’Twas good

  When, fallen from where you stood

  Upon a dizzy peak, you found

  Your footing firm on level ground.

  ’Twas good, that in your state

  Of humbled misery

  You stood under the weight

  Of ruined royalty

  With back unbowed and head held high,

  An undefeated soul

  Courageous in calamity.

  Away, then, every mark

  Of ill, away the dark

  Shadows of destiny!

  Greet happy days with happy face;

  Forget the old,

  And put a new Thyestes in his place.

  And yet, with those that have known evil days

  One fault remains: the good time, when it comes,

  Seems unbelievable; they will not trust it.

  Fortune may smile again,

  Those that have felt her heavy hand

  Have little heart for laughter.

  Grief, dost thou pluck my sleeve again?

  Dost thou deny me this day’s happiness?

  Grief, dost thou rise unbidden, unprovoked,

  And wouldst thou have me weep?

  Dost thou forbid me crown my head with flowers?

  She does, she does.…

  So, there they go… roses of summer.…

  Now they are off. And what is this?

  My scented and anointed hair

  Stands stiff with horror… tears on my cheeks

  Not of my bidding… sobs in my voice

  When I would speak.…

  ’Tis sorrow’s way; she will not be denied

  The tears that she has grown to love. Weep then!

  Yes! I will weep, though in this time of joy.

  Yes! I will weep and howl

  And tear these Tyrian purple clothes. My brain

  Forewarns me of a thing

  That I shall have to weep for by and bye;

  It knows the coming evil; just as sailors

  Know that a storm is brewing, when the sea

  Begins to rise and swell, though no wind blows.

  Why, fool, what griefs, what dangers

  Does your imagination see?

  Believe your brother with an open heart.

  Your fears, whatever they may be,

  Are either groundless, or too late.…

  It is no use; against my will some fear pervades my being;

  I have no cause to weep, yet tears start from my eyes.

  Is it for grief, or fear? Can a man weep

  For too much happiness?

  ATREUS: Brother, we two must celebrate together

  This memorable day, which will confirm

  My kingdom and assure my confidence

  In everlasting peace.

  THYESTES: I have dined well;

  And you have wined me well. Only one thing

  Can add a culmination to my pleasure –

  That I should share my pleasure with my sons.

  ATREUS: Consider them already with you here

  In your embrace. They are, and will be, with you

  For evermore. No member of your family

  Can now be taken from you. You shall see,

  As you desire, their faces very soon,

  And I shall see a father well content

  Rejoicing in the presence of his loved ones.

  Your cup shall be filled full; have no more fear.

  Your sons are taking part in the enjoyment

  Of festive fare – all the yo
ung folk together;

  They shall be sent for. Let me offer you

  A cup of wine from our ancestral vintage.

  THYESTES: I shall accept your hospitable toast,

  Brother, with pleasure. A libation first

  To our paternal gods; then drain the cup.…

  But what is this? My hand will not obey me,

  The cup grows heavy, I can hardly lift it.

  The wine I try to drink avoids my lips –

  Some trick? – the liquor dribbles down my chin.…

  And see, the table rocked, the floor is shaking.

  The torches’ light sinks low; the sky itself

  Hangs dull and heavy, seeming to be lost

  Between the daylight and the dark. And why –

  The ceiling of the heavens seems to shake

  With violent convulsions – more and more!

  The murk grows darker than the deepest darkness,

  Night is engulfed in night; all stars have fled.

  Whatever be this peril, may it spare

  My brother and my sons; on my vile head

  Let the storm break. But let me see my children!

  ATREUS: I shall; no day shall ever take them from you.

  THYESTES: What agitation in my stomach swells?

  What moves within me? Some protesting burden

  Lies on my heart, and in my breast a voice

  That is not mine is groaning. O my children!

  Where are you? Come! Your ailing father calls you.

  If I can see your faces, all my pain

  Will soon be ended. Do I hear them? Where?

  ATREUS [exhibiting the children’s heads]: Embrace your children, father! They are here

  Beside you. Do you recognize your sons?

  THYESTES: I recognize my brother! Canst thou bear,

  O Earth, the weight of so much wickedness?

  Wilt thou not break, and drown thyself and us

  In the infernal Styx? Wilt thou not open

  Into a vast abyss and sink in chaos

  Kingdom and king? Not overturn Mycenae

  And tear it stone by stone from its foundations?

  We two should now be joined with Tantalus.

  Unlock thy gates, O Earth, open them wide,

  And to whatever dungeon lower lies

  Than Tartarus, where our forefathers are,

  Dispatch us quickly, down the steep descent

  Into thy awful bosom, there to lie

  Entombed under the weight of Acheron.

  Above our heads let guilty spirits float,

  Above our prison let the fierce hot flood