In Medea, Seneca focuses on his title character’s psychological complexity and the intensity of her suffering. Medea dominates the play, appearing on stage in every act and speaking over half of the lines. Seneca’s preoccupation with the death-from-life paradox is dominant in this tragedy, as she destroys those whom she has created, her children. The play’s first fifty-five lines act as Medea’s opening soliloquy, where she appeals to the gods of all three realms; the Underworld, Heaven and the Ocean, to hear her pleas for vengeance. It is in this speech that she first mentions the breaking of the oath that was made by her and Jason upon their marriage, and witnessed by the Gods. Jason’s abandonment of his wife and disrespect for the oath they once made acts as a catalyst for her desire for vengeance.
Medea’s soliloquy is juxtaposed with the first Choral Ode which follows her speech. It is made clear that the chorus is objective and not loyal to the protagonist as per usual in Greek drama. The chorus perform a song of wedding celebration, and pray for protection of Jason and his new bride, Creusa. The chorus clearly approve of the new marriage as they contrast the positive attitude all of Corinth has towards it, with the negativity associated with Jason’s union with Medea. An example of this is their mention of Jason’s father-in-law’s acceptance; Creon’s reaction is contrasted with the horror Medea’s father, Aeetes, felt when she fled her homeland with Jason. As they are a chorus of loyal Corinthian women, perhaps it should not be surprising that they side with Jason as he is in favour with the crown and their king.
The chorus’ hostility to Medea is clearly revealed when they state “let her depart in silent darkness, any woman who runs away and marries a foreign husband” (line 114/115). The topic of foreigners is brought up as the chorus disapprove of the marriage of Medea, who is from Colchis, and Jason, who is from Iolcus. Both are foreigners to Corinth but the sympathy they foster for Jason implies a double-standard. The chorus neglect to realise that their statement also applies to Creusa, who is from Corinth. They effectively have forecasted Creusa’s horrible death due to her acceptance of Jason, who is a foreign husband. They also refer to Medea as “an evil worse than the sea”, while they remind the audience of Jason and the Argonauts’ sea journey in their second choral ode. Following this, they pray for forgiveness from the gods so that Jason may be spared from an unfortunate fate. They compare Medea to a ‘tigress’ which shows how dangerous they deem her to be. Gordon Braden has made an interesting comparison between this chorus and an ostrich that mindlessly buries its head in the sand, hoping that the world (and all problems) will go away . The chorus focus on the Argonauts and past events for two of their choral odes which shows their refusal to deal with current issues.
The sympathetic view of Jason is continued when Creon states he is only refraining from ordering Medea’s death due to the entreaties Jason made on her, and their children’s, behalf. He continues to call Jason innocent as he did not directly carry out any crimes. The killing of Medea’s brother, abandonment of her father, and plotting of the murder of Pelias were all carried out by Medea on Jason’s behalf, but according to Creon, Jason’s hands are clean. Creon then claims that Medea is in possession of a woman’s wickedness. This may reveal a misogynistic edge to the play; Seneca has consciously made the chorus and other characters hostile to Medea and friendly to Jason. Jason is depicted as a loving parent when he anxiously fears for his children’s safety, and claims he had no choice but to leave Medea as fate had demanded. At the close of the play he begs Medea to spare their son, and destroy him instead.
The theme of tyranny is brought up constantly in the play. Medea blames Creon for seeking the marriage of his daughter and Jason, and causing the destruction of “faithfulness that was bound with tight pledges” (lines 145-6). This also links to the theme of oaths. Medea insists that Jason’s breaking of their oath by leaving her is a crime and deserves punishment. During his conversation with Medea, Creon states that she should “submit to a king’s power, whether just or unjust” (line 195). This statement places the king of Corinth in a tyrannical light, and is followed by Medea pointing out the unjustness of Creon’s attempted banishment of her. Jason states that he fears “exalted kingly power”, whilst Medea’s mind is “accustomed to despise kingly wealth” showing her as a rebel against authority once again. Seneca has been labelled as a writer of tyrant tragedies as it is a common subject for him. It is speculated that his plays may hold advice for his pupil Nero against acting tyrannically. The fact that he personally observed the nature of tyranny in Imperial Rome may explain his preoccupation with evil and folly in his plays. The theme of silence is then introduced by the Nurse, whose first conversation with Medea is riddled with words such as ‘quiet’, ‘hide’, ‘concealed’, ‘silence’, ‘refrain’, ‘subdue,’ and ‘adjust’. Creon tells his servants to “order (Medea) to be silent”, as well as preventing her from physically touching him, which will prevent her attempting supplication. This also links into the theme of tyranny as Creon attempts to oppress Medea’s ability to speak with his authority.
The question of how much control humans have over their destiny is raised in this play. Medea seems to take her destiny into her own hands and achieves her goal of vengeance. The final words of the play are Jason’s, as he claims “there are no gods” (line 1027). However, Medea’s prayers to Hecate and the sun god have been answered, showing that the gods do not condemn her plans for revenge. Unlike Orestes she is subjected to no trial, but assisted by her ancestor, the sun-god’s chariot in her escape. Medea becomes more concerned with herself than with her children, who she sees as pawns in a game of vengeance. She regrets not having given birth to as many children as Niobe, which is 14, so that her vengeance could have been even more effective. That the play opens with the word ‘gods’ and ends with ‘gods’ also, shows the dominance of the omnipresent beings in this play. Medea’s speech that begins at line 893 is the longest soliloquy in Senecan tragedy, which shows the importance Seneca put on thoroughly treating Medea’s emotions before she slays her children. The ending of the play is also the most theatrical finale in Seneca’s plays, as it includes armed crowds, roof top dialogue, child-slaying and the presence of the serpent drawn chariot of the sun.
A quick comparison between Seneca’s Medea and Euripides’ Medea may be helpful here. The Medea we meet in Seneca’s play has already decided on vengeance, and is praying to the gods for it. Euripides’ Medea’s first lines are “Oh, how unhappy I am, how wretched my sufferings – Oh, woe is me, I wish I could die” (line 196-7). Euripides’ Medea does not seem in control of her fate at the start of the play, Seneca however has empowered her from the beginning. Euripides opens his play with a prologue by the nurse which sets the scene for forthcoming doom, while Seneca opens with Medea’s decisive prologue. Euripides’ Jason is cunning, crafty and rhetorical, in comparison to Seneca’s Jason who is emotionless, mechanical and fearful. Seneca has portrayed him as the antithesis of the heroic Jason of the Argonauts. The number of confrontations between Medea and Jason is less in Seneca than Euripides, but he gives the Nurse more stage time and a more central role. King Aegeus comes to Medea’s aid in Euripides’ plot, but she does not need the help of a social superior to carry out her vengeance in Seneca. Euripides played down the tradition of Medea as a sorceress, but Seneca devotes the entire fourth act to showing Medea’s unleashing of dark powers (it is claimed he is indebted to Ovid for this portrayal). In Euripides’ play, both of the children are slain upon Jason’s arrival. In Seneca however, Medea wants Jason to witness her killing their second son and so waits for his arrival to slay him. Although Euripides’ version of the play is better known, it was seemingly unsuccessful at the time of its first performance as he came 3rd, and last, in the drama competition in the year 431.
Bibliography:
1) Motto, Anna Lydia and John R. Clark Essays on Seneca. Berlin: Peter Lang, 1993.
2) Boyle, A. J. Tragic Seneca: An Essay in the Theatrical Tradition. London: Routledge, 1997.
3) Sorensen, Villy. Seneca: The Humanist at the Court of Nero. trans. W. Glyn Jones. Edinburgh: Canongate, 1984.
4) Costa, C. D. N. Seneca. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1974.
5) Seneca. Medea, trans. Hine, H. M. Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 2000.
Theatre of Dionysus in Athens
Sinead Sheerin - Seneca's Medea
Seneca - Medea
Medea – For the bridegroom I have a worse prayer in store: may he live. May he wander through unknown cities in want, in exile, in fear, hated and homeless; may he seek out men’s doors, by this time a notorious guest; may he long for me as his wife, and – I can make no worse prayer – for children resembling their father and resembling their mother. My revenge is born, already born: I have given birth. (19-26)
Chorus – (part of the matrimonial song) When she takes her place in a women’s dance, her face alone outshines them all. So the stars’ beauty fails before the sun, and the clustered Pleiads are hidden when Phoebe in borrowed light clasps her full orb with encircling horns. (93-8)
Medea – Your own crimes must urge you on, every one of them must return: the famous ornament of my kingdom stolen, the criminal girl’s little companion cut apart with the sword, his death thrust in his father’s face, his body scattered on the sea, and the limbs of old Pelias boiled in a cauldron. How often have I spilled blood fatally – kindred blood! And yet I did no crime from anger; the cruelty came from my unhappy love. (130-6)
Nurse – Be silent, I beg you, hide your grievances, lock them away in secret resentment. One who endures deep wounds mutely, with cool patience, can repay them; anger concealed wreaks havoc; hatred declared loses its chance for revenge. (150-4)
Medea – One who can feel no hope need feel no despair. (163)
Medea – One who feels guilty for your sake should be innocent in your eyes. (503)
Creon – Depart with haste, and remove at long last a savage and fearful horror!
Medea – What crime, what guilt is being punished by exile?
Creon – An innocent woman asks the cause of her expulsion.
Medea – If you are acting as judge, investigate the case; if as king, give orders.
Creon – You must endure a king’s command, just or unjust.
Medea – Unjust kingship never remains unbroken.
Creon – Go and complain to the Colchians.
Medea – I am going, but he who brought me away should take me back.
Creon – Your words come too late, my decree is decided.
Medea – He who decides an issue without hearing one side has not been just, however just the decision.
Creon – Was Pelias given a hearing by you before being punished?
But speak on, let us give your excellent case a chance. (190-202)
Nurse – My child, where are you rushing in such haste from the house? Stop, curb your anger, control your aggression!
Like an ecstatic maenad taking erratic steps, crazed and possessed by the god, on snowy Pindus’ peak or Nysa’s ridges, so she keeps running here and there with wild movements, with signs of frenzied rage in her expression. Her face is blazing, she draws breaths, she shouts out, weeps floods of tears, beams with joy; she shows evidence of each and every emotion. She hesitates, threatens, fumes, laments, groans. Which way will the weight of her mind come down? Where will she implement her threats? Where will that wave break? Her rage is cresting. It is no simple or moderate crime she is contemplating: she will outdo herself. I know the hallmarks of her old anger. Something great is looming, savage, monstrous, unnatural. I see the face of Rage. May the gods prove my fears wrong! (380-96)
Medea – My mind has the power and habit, as you know, of disdaining the wealth of kings. Only allow me to have the children as companions in my exile, in whose embrace I can pour out my tears. You have the prospect of new sons.
Jason – I admit I would like to obey your appeal, but fatherly love for them forbids. Not even my king and father-in-law himself could force me to endure that. This is my reason for living, this is the solace for my heart, so scorched by cares. I would sooner be deprived of my breath, of my body, of the light.
Medea (aside) – Does he love his sons so much? Good, he is caught! The place to wound him is laid bare. (540-50)
Medea – Raise your tear-swollen eyes here, ungrateful Jason. Do you recognise your wife? This is how I always escape. A path has opened to heaven: twin serpents offer their scaly necks bowed to the chariot yoke. Now recover your sons as their parent. I shall ride through the air in my winged chariot. (1019-25)
E. Tavenner, Studies in Magic from Latin Literature, (New York, 1916).
Chorus – (part of the matrimonial song) When she takes her place in a women’s dance, her face alone outshines them all. So the stars’ beauty fails before the sun, and the clustered Pleiads are hidden when Phoebe in borrowed light clasps her full orb with encircling horns. (93-8)
Medea – Your own crimes must urge you on, every one of them must return: the famous ornament of my kingdom stolen, the criminal girl’s little companion cut apart with the sword, his death thrust in his father’s face, his body scattered on the sea, and the limbs of old Pelias boiled in a cauldron. How often have I spilled blood fatally – kindred blood! And yet I did no crime from anger; the cruelty came from my unhappy love. (130-6)
Nurse – Be silent, I beg you, hide your grievances, lock them away in secret resentment. One who endures deep wounds mutely, with cool patience, can repay them; anger concealed wreaks havoc; hatred declared loses its chance for revenge. (150-4)
Medea – One who can feel no hope need feel no despair. (163)
Medea – One who feels guilty for your sake should be innocent in your eyes. (503)
Creon – Depart with haste, and remove at long last a savage and fearful horror!
Medea – What crime, what guilt is being punished by exile?
Creon – An innocent woman asks the cause of her expulsion.
Medea – If you are acting as judge, investigate the case; if as king, give orders.
Creon – You must endure a king’s command, just or unjust.
Medea – Unjust kingship never remains unbroken.
Creon – Go and complain to the Colchians.
Medea – I am going, but he who brought me away should take me back.
Creon – Your words come too late, my decree is decided.
Medea – He who decides an issue without hearing one side has not been just, however just the decision.
Creon – Was Pelias given a hearing by you before being punished?
But speak on, let us give your excellent case a chance. (190-202)
Nurse – My child, where are you rushing in such haste from the house? Stop, curb your anger, control your aggression!
Like an ecstatic maenad taking erratic steps, crazed and possessed by the god, on snowy Pindus’ peak or Nysa’s ridges, so she keeps running here and there with wild movements, with signs of frenzied rage in her expression. Her face is blazing, she draws breaths, she shouts out, weeps floods of tears, beams with joy; she shows evidence of each and every emotion. She hesitates, threatens, fumes, laments, groans. Which way will the weight of her mind come down? Where will she implement her threats? Where will that wave break? Her rage is cresting. It is no simple or moderate crime she is contemplating: she will outdo herself. I know the hallmarks of her old anger. Something great is looming, savage, monstrous, unnatural. I see the face of Rage. May the gods prove my fears wrong! (380-96)
Medea – My mind has the power and habit, as you know, of disdaining the wealth of kings. Only allow me to have the children as companions in my exile, in whose embrace I can pour out my tears. You have the prospect of new sons.
Jason – I admit I would like to obey your appeal, but fatherly love for them forbids. Not even my king and father-in-law himself could force me to endure that. This is my reason for living, this is the solace for my heart, so scorched by cares. I would sooner be deprived of my breath, of my body, of the light.
Medea (aside) – Does he love his sons so much? Good, he is caught! The place to wound him is laid bare. (540-50)
Medea – Raise your tear-swollen eyes here, ungrateful Jason. Do you recognise your wife? This is how I always escape. A path has opened to heaven: twin serpents offer their scaly necks bowed to the chariot yoke. Now recover your sons as their parent. I shall ride through the air in my winged chariot. (1019-25)
Constellations:
See 670-739. esp. 686-90 [Serpens?]; 694-9 [Draco & Ursa Major & Ursa Minor]; 700 [Python]; 701 [Hydra & Hercules]; 758-9 below [Ursa Major & Ursa Minor]; and 93-8 above [Pleiads].
Nurse – My heart shudders with fear: great devastation is near. It is monstrous how her resentment grows, feeds its own fires, renews its past violence. I have often seen her raging, assailing the gods, drawing down the heavens; greater than that, greater still is the monstrosity Medea is preparing. For after going out with frenzied steps and reaching her inner sanctum of death, she pours out her entire resources, brings forth everything that even she has long feared, and deploys all her host of evils, occult, mysterious, hidden things. Making prayers at the sinister shrine with her left hand, she summons all plagues produced by the sand of burning Libya, and all those locked in the everlasting snow of the Taurus, frozen Arctic cold, and every monster. Hauled out by her magic spells, the scaly throng desert their lairs and approach. Here a fierce serpent hauls its vast body, flicks out its three-forked tongue and casts about for those to whom it can bring death; at the sound of her spell it is mesmerised, twines its swollen body into folds upon folds, forces it into coils.
“Too small,” she says, “are the evils, too ordinary the weapons that earth below produces: I must seek my poisons from heaven. Now is the time to embark on something loftier than ordinary criminality. That snake must descend here who lies like a vast torrent, whose gigantic coils are felt by the two beasts, the greater and the less (the greater useful to Pelasgians, the less to Sidonians); Ophiuchus must finally release his gripping hands and let the venom pour out. My chants must bring down Python, who dared provoke the twin deities; the Hydra must return, with each snake that was cut away by Hercules’ hand, renewing itself through its own laceration. You too must leave Colchis and come, unsleeping serpent, lulled for the first time by my chants.” (690-704)
Invocation of the Tortures of the Underworld:
Medea – I invoke the thronging silent dead, and you the gods of the grave, and sightless Chaos, and the shadowy home of dark-enshrouded Dis, the cavernous halls of squalid Death, enclosed by Tartarus’ streams. Eased of your torments, run, you ghosts, to this strange marriage rite; the wheel that tortures limbs may stop, Ixion touch the ground, and Tantalus may swallow down Pirene’s stream in peace. But may heavier punishment rest on one, my husband’s marriage relation: over the rocks may the slippery stone roll Sisyphus back downhill. And you who are mocked by fruitless toil with pitchers pierced by holes, assemble here, you Danaids: this day demands your hands. Now summoned by my rites appear, you heavenly globe of night, displaying your most hostile looks, with menace in every face. For you I have loosed my hair in the style of my people and paced your sequestered groves with naked feet; I have summoned water out of the rainless clouds, and forced the sea to its depths: Ocean withdrew his heavy waves, as the tides were overpowered. With the laws of heaven confounded, the world has seen both sun and stars together, and the Bears have touched the forbidden sea. I have changed the pattern of the seasons: the summer earth has frozen under my spells, and Ceres was compelled to see a winter harvest. The Phasis turned his violent stream to its source, and the Hister, with so many separate mouths, constrained its savage waters in every branch to stillness. Waves have crashed, the maddened seas have swelled with the wind silent; the shelter of the ancient woods has lost its shade at the bidding of my voice. The moment is right to attend your ritual, Phoebe. (740-70)
Medea – What great deed could be dared by untrained hands, by the fury of a girl? Now I am Medea: my genius has grown through evils. (908-10)
Medea – What is the target of this wild throng of Furies? Whom are they hunting, whom are they threatening with fiery blows? At whom is the hellish band pointing its bloody torches? A huge snake hisses, entwined in a lavish whip. Whom is Megaera seeking with her bludgeon? Whose shade approaches ill-defined with limbs dispersed? It is my brother, he seeks amends. We shall pay them, yes, every one. Drive torches into my eyes, mutilate me, burn me: see, my breast is open to the Furies.
Bid the avenging goddesses draw back from me, brother, and return to the deep shades assured of their purpose. Leave me to myself, and act, brother, through this hand that has drawn the sword. With this sacrifice I placate your shade. (958-70)
Bibliography:
A. J. Boyle, Tragic Seneca: An Essay in the Theatrical Tradition. (London: Routledge, 1997).
Mary V. Bragington, The Supernatural in Seneca’s Tragedies, (Wisconsin, 1933).
C. D. N. Costa. Seneca. Greek and Latin Studies: Classical Literature & its Influence (London & Boston: Kegan Paul, 1974).
J. L. Sanderson & E. Zimmerman, eds. Medea: Myth and Dramatic Form. Five plays by Euripides, Seneca, Jean Aouilh, Robinson Jeffers, Maxwell Anderson. (Boston, 1967).
D. & E. Henry, “Loss of Identity: ‘Medea superset?’? A Study of Seneca’s Medea,” Classical Philology 62 (1967), 169-181.
H. V. Canter, Rhetorical Elements in the Tragedies of Seneca, University of Illinois Studies in Language and Literature 10, (Illinois, 1925).
Villy Sorensen, Seneca: the Humanist at the Court of Nero, trans. W. Glyn Jones (Edinburgh: Canongate, 1984).
See 670-739. esp. 686-90 [Serpens?]; 694-9 [Draco & Ursa Major & Ursa Minor]; 700 [Python]; 701 [Hydra & Hercules]; 758-9 below [Ursa Major & Ursa Minor]; and 93-8 above [Pleiads].
Nurse – My heart shudders with fear: great devastation is near. It is monstrous how her resentment grows, feeds its own fires, renews its past violence. I have often seen her raging, assailing the gods, drawing down the heavens; greater than that, greater still is the monstrosity Medea is preparing. For after going out with frenzied steps and reaching her inner sanctum of death, she pours out her entire resources, brings forth everything that even she has long feared, and deploys all her host of evils, occult, mysterious, hidden things. Making prayers at the sinister shrine with her left hand, she summons all plagues produced by the sand of burning Libya, and all those locked in the everlasting snow of the Taurus, frozen Arctic cold, and every monster. Hauled out by her magic spells, the scaly throng desert their lairs and approach. Here a fierce serpent hauls its vast body, flicks out its three-forked tongue and casts about for those to whom it can bring death; at the sound of her spell it is mesmerised, twines its swollen body into folds upon folds, forces it into coils.
“Too small,” she says, “are the evils, too ordinary the weapons that earth below produces: I must seek my poisons from heaven. Now is the time to embark on something loftier than ordinary criminality. That snake must descend here who lies like a vast torrent, whose gigantic coils are felt by the two beasts, the greater and the less (the greater useful to Pelasgians, the less to Sidonians); Ophiuchus must finally release his gripping hands and let the venom pour out. My chants must bring down Python, who dared provoke the twin deities; the Hydra must return, with each snake that was cut away by Hercules’ hand, renewing itself through its own laceration. You too must leave Colchis and come, unsleeping serpent, lulled for the first time by my chants.” (690-704)
Invocation of the Tortures of the Underworld:
Medea – I invoke the thronging silent dead, and you the gods of the grave, and sightless Chaos, and the shadowy home of dark-enshrouded Dis, the cavernous halls of squalid Death, enclosed by Tartarus’ streams. Eased of your torments, run, you ghosts, to this strange marriage rite; the wheel that tortures limbs may stop, Ixion touch the ground, and Tantalus may swallow down Pirene’s stream in peace. But may heavier punishment rest on one, my husband’s marriage relation: over the rocks may the slippery stone roll Sisyphus back downhill. And you who are mocked by fruitless toil with pitchers pierced by holes, assemble here, you Danaids: this day demands your hands. Now summoned by my rites appear, you heavenly globe of night, displaying your most hostile looks, with menace in every face. For you I have loosed my hair in the style of my people and paced your sequestered groves with naked feet; I have summoned water out of the rainless clouds, and forced the sea to its depths: Ocean withdrew his heavy waves, as the tides were overpowered. With the laws of heaven confounded, the world has seen both sun and stars together, and the Bears have touched the forbidden sea. I have changed the pattern of the seasons: the summer earth has frozen under my spells, and Ceres was compelled to see a winter harvest. The Phasis turned his violent stream to its source, and the Hister, with so many separate mouths, constrained its savage waters in every branch to stillness. Waves have crashed, the maddened seas have swelled with the wind silent; the shelter of the ancient woods has lost its shade at the bidding of my voice. The moment is right to attend your ritual, Phoebe. (740-70)
Medea – What great deed could be dared by untrained hands, by the fury of a girl? Now I am Medea: my genius has grown through evils. (908-10)
Medea – What is the target of this wild throng of Furies? Whom are they hunting, whom are they threatening with fiery blows? At whom is the hellish band pointing its bloody torches? A huge snake hisses, entwined in a lavish whip. Whom is Megaera seeking with her bludgeon? Whose shade approaches ill-defined with limbs dispersed? It is my brother, he seeks amends. We shall pay them, yes, every one. Drive torches into my eyes, mutilate me, burn me: see, my breast is open to the Furies.
Bid the avenging goddesses draw back from me, brother, and return to the deep shades assured of their purpose. Leave me to myself, and act, brother, through this hand that has drawn the sword. With this sacrifice I placate your shade. (958-70)
Bibliography:
A. J. Boyle, Tragic Seneca: An Essay in the Theatrical Tradition. (London: Routledge, 1997).
Mary V. Bragington, The Supernatural in Seneca’s Tragedies, (Wisconsin, 1933).
C. D. N. Costa. Seneca. Greek and Latin Studies: Classical Literature & its Influence (London & Boston: Kegan Paul, 1974).
J. L. Sanderson & E. Zimmerman, eds. Medea: Myth and Dramatic Form. Five plays by Euripides, Seneca, Jean Aouilh, Robinson Jeffers, Maxwell Anderson. (Boston, 1967).
D. & E. Henry, “Loss of Identity: ‘Medea superset?’? A Study of Seneca’s Medea,” Classical Philology 62 (1967), 169-181.
H. V. Canter, Rhetorical Elements in the Tragedies of Seneca, University of Illinois Studies in Language and Literature 10, (Illinois, 1925).
Villy Sorensen, Seneca: the Humanist at the Court of Nero, trans. W. Glyn Jones (Edinburgh: Canongate, 1984).
E. Tavenner, Studies in Magic from Latin Literature, (New York, 1916).
Seneca - Thyestes
Tantalus: From the accursed abode of the underworld, who drags forth the one that catches at vanishing food with his avid mouth? Who perversely lets Tantalus see once more the hated homes of the gods? Has something worse been devised than thirst parched amidst water, worse than hunger that gapes forever? Can it be that Sisyphus’ stone comes to be carried – so slippery – on my shoulders, or the wheel that racks limbs in its swift rotation? Or the punishment of Tityos, who with his cavernous vast opening feeds dark birds from his quarried wounds – who regrows by night what he lost by day, and lies as a full meal for the fresh monster? What evil am I being reassigned to? (1-13)
Fury: Proceed, loathsome shade: goad this unnatural house into vengeful rage. Let them compete in crime (scelere) of every kind, and take turns to unsheathe the sword. Let there be no limit to their anger, no shame in it; let blind rage incite their minds, let the parents’ frenzy last and the long-lived evil (nefas) pass into the grandchildren.
…Bring havoc on the housegods, summon hatred, slaughter, death, fill the whole house with Tantalus. (23-29 & 52-3)
Atreus: Come, my spirit, do what no future age will endorse, but none fail to talk about. I must dare some fierce, bloody outrage, such as my brother would have wished his own. You do not avenge crimes unless you surpass them. (192-6)
Assistant: Let a king want what is honourable: everyone will want the same.
Atreus: Where a sovereign is permitted only what is honorable, he rules on sufferance.
Assistant: Where there is no shame, no concern for the law, no righteousness, goodness, loyalty, rule is unstable.
Atreus: Righteousness, goodness, loyalty are private values: kings should go where they please. (213-8)
Atreus: A tumult of frenzy is shaking my breast, and churning it deep within. I am swept along, and know not where, but I am swept along. – The ground moans from its lowest depths, the sky thunders though cloudless, the house cracks throughout its structure as if shattered, and the housegods shake and avert their faces. Let it be done, let it be done, this outrage that makes the gods afraid! (260-266)
Atreus: Agamemnon must serve my scheme knowingly, and Menelaus assist his brother knowingly. Let me gain assurance about my questionable issue from this crime: if they refuse to engage in this war of hatred, if they call him uncle, he is their father. (325-330)
Thyestes: My intention is to proceed, but my body is weak-kneed and faltering, and I am pulled away from the goal I struggle towards. Just so a ship urged on by oar and sail, is carried back by the tide resisting oar and sail. (435-9)
Thyestes: A throne has no room for two. (444)
Thyestes: It is a vast kingdom, to be able to cope without a kingdom. (470)
Thyestes: Thyestes loved by his brother? Sooner the ocean will soak the Bears of heaven, and the whirling waves of Sicily’s tides will halt: ripe grain will grow on the Ionian Sea, and black night give light to the earth; sooner will water join flame, life join death, wind join sea in a bond of allegiance.
Chorus: No one should trust too much in success, no one despair of misfortune improving. Clotho mixes the two, forbidding Fortune to rest, and spins each destiny around. No one has enjoyed such favouring gods that he could promise himself the morrow. God keeps our lives hastening, turning in a speeding whirlwind. (615-622)
Messenger: At the farthest and lowest remove there lies a secret area that confines an age-old woodland in a deep vale – the inner sanctum of the realm.
…In the gloom is a dismal stagnant spring, oozing slowly in the black swamp. Such is the unsightly stream of dread Styx, which generates trust in heaven. Here in the blind darkness rumour has it that death gods groan; the grove resounds to the rattling of chains, and ghosts howl. Anything fearful to hear can be seen there. A hoary crowd walks abroad, released from their ancient tombs, and things more monstrous than any known caper about the place. In addition, flames repeatedly flicker throughout the wood, and the lofty treetrunks burn without fire. Often the grove booms with threefold barking, often the house is awed by huge apparitions. (650-2 & 664-677)
Messenger:…The grove begins to tremble; as the earth shakes the whole palace sways, uncertain which way to topple and seeming to waver. From the sky’s left quarter races a comet, leaving a black trail. Wine poured in libation on the fires changes as it flows to blood; the royal emblem slips repeatedly from his head; ivory statues weep in the temples. All are affected by these prodigies, but Atreus alone remains unaffected and constant; he counter-threatens the menacing gods.
…Torn from the living chests the organs are still trembling, the veins pulsing and the hearts throbbing in terror. But he handles the entrails and looks into destiny and takes note of the still-hot veins on the viscera.
…O long-suffering Phoebus! Though you have fled backward, snatched the day from mid-heaven and drowned it, you set too late! (695-705, 755-7, & 776-8)
Chorus: This highway of the holy planets, that crosses the zones with its slanting track, Sing-bearer, guide of the lengthy years, will see the fallen stars as it falls. This Ram, that before spring weather is kind restores sails to the balmy Zephyr, will fall headlong into the waves over which it carried the frightened Helle. This Bull, that displays the Hyades on his gleaming horn, will drag down with him the Twins, and the claws of the curving Crab. Hercules’ Lion, blazing with fiery heat, will fall once more from heaven; the Virgin will fall to the earth she left, the weights of the even-handed Scales will fall and drag sharp Scorpion down with them. The one who holds feathered darts against his bowstrings, old Haemonian Chiron, will lose his darts, the bowstring broken. The chill restorer of sluggish winter, Goat’s horn, will fall, and smash your, whoever you are; with you will depart the last of heaven’s stars, the Fish.
And the monsters that never bathe in the sea will be drowned by the all-engulfing flood. Both the one that glides like a river between the Bears and keeps them apart, the Snake, and the great Serpent’s lesser neighbour, Cynosura, chilled by icy frost, and the slow guard of the Wain, no longer standing firm, will fall – Bear-ward. (844-875)
Thyestes: I recognize my brother. Earth, can you bear to support such a weight of outrage? Do you not plunge us down with you into infernal Styx – break open a huge passageway and drag this kingdom with its king into the empty void? Not uproot every building from its base and overturn Mycenae? We two should have been set long ago on each side of Tantalus. Wrench your frame apart here and here; if there is anything below Tartarus and our ancestors, hollow out an immense ravine within yourself to plummet down that far: bury us and hide us beneath the whole of Acheron. Over our heads let guilty souls roam, and let fiery Phlegethon, that carries charred sands in its burning stream, flow violently over our place of exile. Do you lie motionless, Earth, just a solid mass? The gods above have fled. (1006-1021)
Fury: Proceed, loathsome shade: goad this unnatural house into vengeful rage. Let them compete in crime (scelere) of every kind, and take turns to unsheathe the sword. Let there be no limit to their anger, no shame in it; let blind rage incite their minds, let the parents’ frenzy last and the long-lived evil (nefas) pass into the grandchildren.
…Bring havoc on the housegods, summon hatred, slaughter, death, fill the whole house with Tantalus. (23-29 & 52-3)
Atreus: Come, my spirit, do what no future age will endorse, but none fail to talk about. I must dare some fierce, bloody outrage, such as my brother would have wished his own. You do not avenge crimes unless you surpass them. (192-6)
Assistant: Let a king want what is honourable: everyone will want the same.
Atreus: Where a sovereign is permitted only what is honorable, he rules on sufferance.
Assistant: Where there is no shame, no concern for the law, no righteousness, goodness, loyalty, rule is unstable.
Atreus: Righteousness, goodness, loyalty are private values: kings should go where they please. (213-8)
Atreus: A tumult of frenzy is shaking my breast, and churning it deep within. I am swept along, and know not where, but I am swept along. – The ground moans from its lowest depths, the sky thunders though cloudless, the house cracks throughout its structure as if shattered, and the housegods shake and avert their faces. Let it be done, let it be done, this outrage that makes the gods afraid! (260-266)
Atreus: Agamemnon must serve my scheme knowingly, and Menelaus assist his brother knowingly. Let me gain assurance about my questionable issue from this crime: if they refuse to engage in this war of hatred, if they call him uncle, he is their father. (325-330)
Thyestes: My intention is to proceed, but my body is weak-kneed and faltering, and I am pulled away from the goal I struggle towards. Just so a ship urged on by oar and sail, is carried back by the tide resisting oar and sail. (435-9)
Thyestes: A throne has no room for two. (444)
Thyestes: It is a vast kingdom, to be able to cope without a kingdom. (470)
Thyestes: Thyestes loved by his brother? Sooner the ocean will soak the Bears of heaven, and the whirling waves of Sicily’s tides will halt: ripe grain will grow on the Ionian Sea, and black night give light to the earth; sooner will water join flame, life join death, wind join sea in a bond of allegiance.
Chorus: No one should trust too much in success, no one despair of misfortune improving. Clotho mixes the two, forbidding Fortune to rest, and spins each destiny around. No one has enjoyed such favouring gods that he could promise himself the morrow. God keeps our lives hastening, turning in a speeding whirlwind. (615-622)
Messenger: At the farthest and lowest remove there lies a secret area that confines an age-old woodland in a deep vale – the inner sanctum of the realm.
…In the gloom is a dismal stagnant spring, oozing slowly in the black swamp. Such is the unsightly stream of dread Styx, which generates trust in heaven. Here in the blind darkness rumour has it that death gods groan; the grove resounds to the rattling of chains, and ghosts howl. Anything fearful to hear can be seen there. A hoary crowd walks abroad, released from their ancient tombs, and things more monstrous than any known caper about the place. In addition, flames repeatedly flicker throughout the wood, and the lofty treetrunks burn without fire. Often the grove booms with threefold barking, often the house is awed by huge apparitions. (650-2 & 664-677)
Messenger:…The grove begins to tremble; as the earth shakes the whole palace sways, uncertain which way to topple and seeming to waver. From the sky’s left quarter races a comet, leaving a black trail. Wine poured in libation on the fires changes as it flows to blood; the royal emblem slips repeatedly from his head; ivory statues weep in the temples. All are affected by these prodigies, but Atreus alone remains unaffected and constant; he counter-threatens the menacing gods.
…Torn from the living chests the organs are still trembling, the veins pulsing and the hearts throbbing in terror. But he handles the entrails and looks into destiny and takes note of the still-hot veins on the viscera.
…O long-suffering Phoebus! Though you have fled backward, snatched the day from mid-heaven and drowned it, you set too late! (695-705, 755-7, & 776-8)
Chorus: This highway of the holy planets, that crosses the zones with its slanting track, Sing-bearer, guide of the lengthy years, will see the fallen stars as it falls. This Ram, that before spring weather is kind restores sails to the balmy Zephyr, will fall headlong into the waves over which it carried the frightened Helle. This Bull, that displays the Hyades on his gleaming horn, will drag down with him the Twins, and the claws of the curving Crab. Hercules’ Lion, blazing with fiery heat, will fall once more from heaven; the Virgin will fall to the earth she left, the weights of the even-handed Scales will fall and drag sharp Scorpion down with them. The one who holds feathered darts against his bowstrings, old Haemonian Chiron, will lose his darts, the bowstring broken. The chill restorer of sluggish winter, Goat’s horn, will fall, and smash your, whoever you are; with you will depart the last of heaven’s stars, the Fish.
And the monsters that never bathe in the sea will be drowned by the all-engulfing flood. Both the one that glides like a river between the Bears and keeps them apart, the Snake, and the great Serpent’s lesser neighbour, Cynosura, chilled by icy frost, and the slow guard of the Wain, no longer standing firm, will fall – Bear-ward. (844-875)
Thyestes: I recognize my brother. Earth, can you bear to support such a weight of outrage? Do you not plunge us down with you into infernal Styx – break open a huge passageway and drag this kingdom with its king into the empty void? Not uproot every building from its base and overturn Mycenae? We two should have been set long ago on each side of Tantalus. Wrench your frame apart here and here; if there is anything below Tartarus and our ancestors, hollow out an immense ravine within yourself to plummet down that far: bury us and hide us beneath the whole of Acheron. Over our heads let guilty souls roam, and let fiery Phlegethon, that carries charred sands in its burning stream, flow violently over our place of exile. Do you lie motionless, Earth, just a solid mass? The gods above have fled. (1006-1021)
Seneca - Hercules Furens
Juno: Sister of the Thunder God: this is the only title left me. Wife no more, I have abandoned ever-unfaithful Jove and the precincts of high heaven; driven from the skies, I have given up my place to his whores. I must dwell on earth; whores inhabit the skies. Over here is the Bear, that lofty constellation high in the frozen North, a lodestar for Greek fleets. Here, where the daylight waxes in early spring, shines the one that carried Tyrian Europa across the waves. Over there rise the far-ranging daughters of Atlas, feared by ships and the sea. Here Orion menaces the gods with his sword, and golden Perseus has his constellation. Here glitters the brilliant sign of the twin Tyndarids, and those at whose birth the drifting land stood still. And not only Bacchus himself and Bacchus’ mother joined the gods above: so that no quarter should be free of scandal, heavens wear the garland of the girl from Cnossus. (1-18)
Juno: Even the earth is not room enough. See, he has broken through the gates of nether Jove, and brings spoils of triumph over that conquered king back to the upper world. With my own eyes I watched him, after he had shattered the gloom of the underworld and subdued Dis, as he showed off to his father spoils won from that father’s brother. Why not drag off Dis himself, bound and loaded with chains – the god who drew a lot equal to Jove’s? Why not rule over captured Erebus, and unroof the Stygian world? It is not enough to return: the terms governing the shades have been breached, a way back to earth has been opened from the deep underworld, and the sanctities of dread death lie in plain view. But he, in his arrogance at having smashed the prison of the ghostly dead, is celebrating his triumph over me, and highhandedly parading the black hound through Argive cities. I saw the daylight faltering at the sight of Cerberus, and the Sun afraid; I too was seized with trembling, and as I gazed at the triple necks of the defeated monster, I shuddered at what I had ordered. (46-63)
Juno: Begin, handmaids of Dis, brandish the blazing pine torch violently. Let Megaera lead your troop, fearsome with snakes, and snatch a huge beam from a blazing pyre in her baleful hand. To your work: avenge the desecration of the underworld! Rouse your hearts, scorch your minds with fiercer fire than that raging in Etna’s furnaces. So that Hercules can be hounded, deranged and enraged, you must first feel madness – Juno, why are you not yet raging? Harry me, sisters, overthrow my mind first, if I plan to take some action worthy of a stepmother. (100-112)
Chorus: Now scattered and weak are the stars shining in the sinking heavens. Vanquished night gathers her straggling fires now the light is reborn; the Dawnstar shepherds the glittering throng. The icy constellation by the high Pole, Arcas’ Bear with its seven stars, has turned its wain and summons the light. Now, carried aloft by cerulean steeds, the Titan looks out from the heights of Oeta; now the thickets made famous by Cadmean Bacchants grow red, spattered with daylight, and Phoebus’ sister flees to return once more. The Thracian paramour perches shrill-voiced on the topmost bough, and amidst her plaintive nestlings she eagerly presents her wings to the new sun; and all around a mingled throng gives voice, proclaiming the day with a medley of sounds.
Hard Toil arises, bestirs every care and opens every home. A herdsman turns his flock loose and gathers fodder whitened by hoarfrost; a calf, its brow not yet broken by horns, plays freely on the open meadow; dams replenish their empty udders; a boisterous kid wanders lightly on a meandering course in the soft grass. A sailor, risking life, entrusts his canvas to the winds, as a breeze fills the loose folds. One fellow, perched on eroded rocks, either prepares his concealed hooks or tensely watches the prize with his hand kept firm; the line senses the quivering fish.
Such are the guiltless lives of those who have quiet peace and a home that delights in its own small means. But in cities giant ambitions roam and trembling fears. One man forgoes sleep to cultivate the proud portals and hard doorways of the mighty. Another endlessly hoards rich resources, gaping at his treasures and poor amidst piled-up gold. One is dazed by popular acclaim; the mob, more shifting than seawaves, hoists him as he swells with an empty breeze. Another traffics in the frenzied disputes of the clamorous forum, and shamelessly hires out indignation and words.
Few are familiar with untroubled peace. They, conscious of fleeting time, hold fast the moments that will never return. While fate allows, live gladly! Life hurries apace, and with each winged day the wheel of the headlong year turns forward. The relentless sisters complete each day’s spinning, and do not unwind the threads again. But humans, unsure of their own good, walk into the path of hurrying fate; of ourselves we head for the Stygian waves. (125-185)
Megara: Emerge, my husband! Dispel the darkness by force, break it open! If there is no way back, if the path is closed, then return by rending the earth, and release with you all that lies in the grip of black night….burst forth, taking with you nature’s boundaries; restore all that greedy time has hidden away through so many passing years, and drive out before you the self-forgetting throngs that fear the light….But if some power greater than your own holds you imprisoned, we shall follow you. Either return safely and defend us all, or drag us all down. – You will drag us down, no god will rebuild our broken lives. (278-283, 290-293, & 305-308)
Left to right: Sisyphus whipped by one of the Erinyes, Hermes, Heracles capturing Cerberus, Hecate and Tantalus.
Megara: Ghost of Creon, house gods of Labdacus, and marriage torches of incestuous Oedipus, now grant the usual fate to our marriage! Now, you murderous daughters-in-law of Egypt’s king, be with us, your hands stained with copious blood. One Danaid is missing from your number: I shall complete the crime. (495-500)
Amphitryon: Why make vain prayers to the gods? Wherever you are, my son, hear me! Why is the shrine rocking and shaking with sudden movement? Why is the earth rumbling? A thunderous noise comes from the depths, from the underworld. We are heard! It is the sound of Hercules’ step. (520)
Chorus: What purpose drove you to the precipitous underworld, to travel boldly irretraceable paths, and to see the realm of Sicilian Prosperpine? There no southerly, no westerly wind causes seas to rise with swelling waves; there no twin Tyndarids come to the aid of fearful ships in starlike form. The sea stands inert with its black flood, and when Death, pale-faced with ravening teeth, has brought innumerable throngs to the shades, one oarsman transports so many peoples.
May you vanquish the laws of cruel Styx, and the irreversible distaffs of the Fates. The king who here rules numerous peoples, when you were attacking Nestor’s Pylos, raised his baneful hands against you, wielding his triple-pointed weapon; once injured with a slight wound, he fled – the lord of death terrified to die. Break through doom by force! For the gloomy underworld let a view of the light be opened, and the impassable boundary give easy passage to the upper world.
Orpheus could sway the pitiless rulers of the shades with songs and suppliant prayers, when he sought back his Eurydice. The art that had drawn trees, birds, and rocks, that had caused rivers to tarry, at whose sound beasts had stood still, soothes the lower world with unwonted song, and rings out clearer in those soundless places. The Eumenides weep for the Tracian bride; so too weep the gods who are proof against tears. Even those who investigate crimes with sternest brows and examine erstwhile culprits, those seated judges weep for Eurydice. At last death’s ruler said, “We submit. Go forth to the world, but with this proviso: you may escort your husband, but behind him; you may not look back on your wife until bright daylight discloses the heavens, and the door of Spartan Taenarus is near.” True love hates delays and cannot endure them: in hurrying to behold his prize, he lost her.
The kingdom that could be conquered by song can and will be conquered by force. (547-591)
Hercules: Lord of the life-giving light, glory of heaven, who circle through two expanses alternately in your fiery chariot and reveal your glorious face to the broad lands: grant pardon, Phoebus, if your gaze has beheld what is forbidden. I brought earth’s hidden things into the light under orders. And you, ruler and father of the heavenly gods, hold out the thunderbolt to shield your vision; and you who rule the seas with the second-drawn sceptre, make for your deepest waters. All who look from on high on earthly things, at risk of defilement from this strange sight, should turn their gaze away and lift their eyes to heaven, shunning such a monstrosity. Only two should behold this enormity: he who fetched it, she who ordered it. (592-604)
Theseus: There rises in the land of Sparta a far-famed ridge, where Cape Taenarus hems the sea with its dense forests. Here the house of hateful Dis opens its mouth; a tall cliff gapes wide, a cavernous abyss extends its vast jaws and spreads a broad path for all the nations. At the outset the way is not obscured by darkness: there falls a faint brightness from the light left behind, a twilight glow of the weakened sunshine, which baffles the eye. Such is the light, mingled with darkness, familiar at dawn or dusk. Then there open up empty regions, spaces extensive enough for all the human race to enter, once plunged into the earth. To travel is no toil: the path itself draws you down. As often a current sweeps ships unwillingly off course, so the downward breeze and the greedy void hurry you on, and the clutching shades never allow you to turn your steps backward.
In the immense abyss within, the River Lethe glides quietly with calm waters, and takes away cares; and lest an opening for return should ever appear, it entwines its sluggish stream in many winding turns, just as the wandering Meander plays with its puzzled waters, bends back on itself and presses forward, uncertain whether to head for the seacoast or its source. Here lies the foul swamp of the torpid Cocytus; here is the shriek of the vulture, there of the foreboding owl, and the grim echoing omen of the unlucky screech owl. Black bedraggled foliage hangs in shadowy fronds on an overhanging yew tree, the haunt of sluggish Sleep. There lies sad Hunger with wasted jaws, and Shame, too late, covers its guilty face. There are Fear and Panic, Death and gnashing Resentment;… (658-694)
…As ferryman, [Charon] he controls his craft himself with a long pole. He was bringing the boat to shore empty of cargo to collect more shades. Alcides demanded room, but as the crowd gave way, dread Charon shouted, “Where are you heading so boldly? Check your hurried steps.” Alcmene’s son brooked no delay, but coerced the sailor into subjection with his own pole, and climbed aboard. The skiff, which could carry crowds, foundered beneath this one man; it settled overburdened in the water, and drank in the Lethe on each side as it rocked. Then the monsters he had conquered panicked, savage Centaurs…; seeking the farthest recesses of the Stygian swamp, the Lernean labour submerged its prolific heads.
After this there came into sight the house of greedy Dis. Here the fierce Stygian hound keeps the shades in fear and guards the kingdom, tossing his triple heads with clamorous noise. Snakes lick the heads foul with pus, his manes bristle with vipers, and a long serpent hisses in his twisted tail. His rage matches his appearance. As he heard the movement of feet, his shaggy coat bristled with quivering snakes, and he pricked up his ears to catch the sound, being practiced in hearing even ghosts. When Jove’s son took his stand closer to the cave, the hound sat back uncertain, and each felt fear. Suddenly with deep barking he alarmed the silent region; the snakes hissed threateningly all over his shoulders. The din of his fearsome bark, emerging through his three mouths, frightened even the shades in bliss…(768-797)
Juno: Even the earth is not room enough. See, he has broken through the gates of nether Jove, and brings spoils of triumph over that conquered king back to the upper world. With my own eyes I watched him, after he had shattered the gloom of the underworld and subdued Dis, as he showed off to his father spoils won from that father’s brother. Why not drag off Dis himself, bound and loaded with chains – the god who drew a lot equal to Jove’s? Why not rule over captured Erebus, and unroof the Stygian world? It is not enough to return: the terms governing the shades have been breached, a way back to earth has been opened from the deep underworld, and the sanctities of dread death lie in plain view. But he, in his arrogance at having smashed the prison of the ghostly dead, is celebrating his triumph over me, and highhandedly parading the black hound through Argive cities. I saw the daylight faltering at the sight of Cerberus, and the Sun afraid; I too was seized with trembling, and as I gazed at the triple necks of the defeated monster, I shuddered at what I had ordered. (46-63)
Juno: Begin, handmaids of Dis, brandish the blazing pine torch violently. Let Megaera lead your troop, fearsome with snakes, and snatch a huge beam from a blazing pyre in her baleful hand. To your work: avenge the desecration of the underworld! Rouse your hearts, scorch your minds with fiercer fire than that raging in Etna’s furnaces. So that Hercules can be hounded, deranged and enraged, you must first feel madness – Juno, why are you not yet raging? Harry me, sisters, overthrow my mind first, if I plan to take some action worthy of a stepmother. (100-112)
Chorus: Now scattered and weak are the stars shining in the sinking heavens. Vanquished night gathers her straggling fires now the light is reborn; the Dawnstar shepherds the glittering throng. The icy constellation by the high Pole, Arcas’ Bear with its seven stars, has turned its wain and summons the light. Now, carried aloft by cerulean steeds, the Titan looks out from the heights of Oeta; now the thickets made famous by Cadmean Bacchants grow red, spattered with daylight, and Phoebus’ sister flees to return once more. The Thracian paramour perches shrill-voiced on the topmost bough, and amidst her plaintive nestlings she eagerly presents her wings to the new sun; and all around a mingled throng gives voice, proclaiming the day with a medley of sounds.
Hard Toil arises, bestirs every care and opens every home. A herdsman turns his flock loose and gathers fodder whitened by hoarfrost; a calf, its brow not yet broken by horns, plays freely on the open meadow; dams replenish their empty udders; a boisterous kid wanders lightly on a meandering course in the soft grass. A sailor, risking life, entrusts his canvas to the winds, as a breeze fills the loose folds. One fellow, perched on eroded rocks, either prepares his concealed hooks or tensely watches the prize with his hand kept firm; the line senses the quivering fish.
Such are the guiltless lives of those who have quiet peace and a home that delights in its own small means. But in cities giant ambitions roam and trembling fears. One man forgoes sleep to cultivate the proud portals and hard doorways of the mighty. Another endlessly hoards rich resources, gaping at his treasures and poor amidst piled-up gold. One is dazed by popular acclaim; the mob, more shifting than seawaves, hoists him as he swells with an empty breeze. Another traffics in the frenzied disputes of the clamorous forum, and shamelessly hires out indignation and words.
Few are familiar with untroubled peace. They, conscious of fleeting time, hold fast the moments that will never return. While fate allows, live gladly! Life hurries apace, and with each winged day the wheel of the headlong year turns forward. The relentless sisters complete each day’s spinning, and do not unwind the threads again. But humans, unsure of their own good, walk into the path of hurrying fate; of ourselves we head for the Stygian waves. (125-185)
Megara: Emerge, my husband! Dispel the darkness by force, break it open! If there is no way back, if the path is closed, then return by rending the earth, and release with you all that lies in the grip of black night….burst forth, taking with you nature’s boundaries; restore all that greedy time has hidden away through so many passing years, and drive out before you the self-forgetting throngs that fear the light….But if some power greater than your own holds you imprisoned, we shall follow you. Either return safely and defend us all, or drag us all down. – You will drag us down, no god will rebuild our broken lives. (278-283, 290-293, & 305-308)
Left to right: Sisyphus whipped by one of the Erinyes, Hermes, Heracles capturing Cerberus, Hecate and Tantalus.Megara: Ghost of Creon, house gods of Labdacus, and marriage torches of incestuous Oedipus, now grant the usual fate to our marriage! Now, you murderous daughters-in-law of Egypt’s king, be with us, your hands stained with copious blood. One Danaid is missing from your number: I shall complete the crime. (495-500)
Amphitryon: Why make vain prayers to the gods? Wherever you are, my son, hear me! Why is the shrine rocking and shaking with sudden movement? Why is the earth rumbling? A thunderous noise comes from the depths, from the underworld. We are heard! It is the sound of Hercules’ step. (520)
Chorus: What purpose drove you to the precipitous underworld, to travel boldly irretraceable paths, and to see the realm of Sicilian Prosperpine? There no southerly, no westerly wind causes seas to rise with swelling waves; there no twin Tyndarids come to the aid of fearful ships in starlike form. The sea stands inert with its black flood, and when Death, pale-faced with ravening teeth, has brought innumerable throngs to the shades, one oarsman transports so many peoples.
May you vanquish the laws of cruel Styx, and the irreversible distaffs of the Fates. The king who here rules numerous peoples, when you were attacking Nestor’s Pylos, raised his baneful hands against you, wielding his triple-pointed weapon; once injured with a slight wound, he fled – the lord of death terrified to die. Break through doom by force! For the gloomy underworld let a view of the light be opened, and the impassable boundary give easy passage to the upper world.
Orpheus could sway the pitiless rulers of the shades with songs and suppliant prayers, when he sought back his Eurydice. The art that had drawn trees, birds, and rocks, that had caused rivers to tarry, at whose sound beasts had stood still, soothes the lower world with unwonted song, and rings out clearer in those soundless places. The Eumenides weep for the Tracian bride; so too weep the gods who are proof against tears. Even those who investigate crimes with sternest brows and examine erstwhile culprits, those seated judges weep for Eurydice. At last death’s ruler said, “We submit. Go forth to the world, but with this proviso: you may escort your husband, but behind him; you may not look back on your wife until bright daylight discloses the heavens, and the door of Spartan Taenarus is near.” True love hates delays and cannot endure them: in hurrying to behold his prize, he lost her.
The kingdom that could be conquered by song can and will be conquered by force. (547-591)
Hercules: Lord of the life-giving light, glory of heaven, who circle through two expanses alternately in your fiery chariot and reveal your glorious face to the broad lands: grant pardon, Phoebus, if your gaze has beheld what is forbidden. I brought earth’s hidden things into the light under orders. And you, ruler and father of the heavenly gods, hold out the thunderbolt to shield your vision; and you who rule the seas with the second-drawn sceptre, make for your deepest waters. All who look from on high on earthly things, at risk of defilement from this strange sight, should turn their gaze away and lift their eyes to heaven, shunning such a monstrosity. Only two should behold this enormity: he who fetched it, she who ordered it. (592-604)
Theseus: There rises in the land of Sparta a far-famed ridge, where Cape Taenarus hems the sea with its dense forests. Here the house of hateful Dis opens its mouth; a tall cliff gapes wide, a cavernous abyss extends its vast jaws and spreads a broad path for all the nations. At the outset the way is not obscured by darkness: there falls a faint brightness from the light left behind, a twilight glow of the weakened sunshine, which baffles the eye. Such is the light, mingled with darkness, familiar at dawn or dusk. Then there open up empty regions, spaces extensive enough for all the human race to enter, once plunged into the earth. To travel is no toil: the path itself draws you down. As often a current sweeps ships unwillingly off course, so the downward breeze and the greedy void hurry you on, and the clutching shades never allow you to turn your steps backward.
In the immense abyss within, the River Lethe glides quietly with calm waters, and takes away cares; and lest an opening for return should ever appear, it entwines its sluggish stream in many winding turns, just as the wandering Meander plays with its puzzled waters, bends back on itself and presses forward, uncertain whether to head for the seacoast or its source. Here lies the foul swamp of the torpid Cocytus; here is the shriek of the vulture, there of the foreboding owl, and the grim echoing omen of the unlucky screech owl. Black bedraggled foliage hangs in shadowy fronds on an overhanging yew tree, the haunt of sluggish Sleep. There lies sad Hunger with wasted jaws, and Shame, too late, covers its guilty face. There are Fear and Panic, Death and gnashing Resentment;… (658-694)
…As ferryman, [Charon] he controls his craft himself with a long pole. He was bringing the boat to shore empty of cargo to collect more shades. Alcides demanded room, but as the crowd gave way, dread Charon shouted, “Where are you heading so boldly? Check your hurried steps.” Alcmene’s son brooked no delay, but coerced the sailor into subjection with his own pole, and climbed aboard. The skiff, which could carry crowds, foundered beneath this one man; it settled overburdened in the water, and drank in the Lethe on each side as it rocked. Then the monsters he had conquered panicked, savage Centaurs…; seeking the farthest recesses of the Stygian swamp, the Lernean labour submerged its prolific heads.
After this there came into sight the house of greedy Dis. Here the fierce Stygian hound keeps the shades in fear and guards the kingdom, tossing his triple heads with clamorous noise. Snakes lick the heads foul with pus, his manes bristle with vipers, and a long serpent hisses in his twisted tail. His rage matches his appearance. As he heard the movement of feet, his shaggy coat bristled with quivering snakes, and he pricked up his ears to catch the sound, being practiced in hearing even ghosts. When Jove’s son took his stand closer to the cave, the hound sat back uncertain, and each felt fear. Suddenly with deep barking he alarmed the silent region; the snakes hissed threateningly all over his shoulders. The din of his fearsome bark, emerging through his three mouths, frightened even the shades in bliss…(768-797)
Select Bibliography:
Boyle, A. J. Seneca Tragicus: Ramus Essays on Senecan Drama. Berwick, Victoria: Aureal, 1983.
Fitch, John G. 'Notes on Seneca's Hercules Furens' Transactions of the American Philological Association 111 (1981) 65-70.
Fitch, John G. 'Pectus o nimium ferum: Act V of Seneca's Hercules Furens' Hermes 107 (1979) 240-248.
Lawall, Gibert. 'Virtus and Pietas in Seneca’s Hercules Furens.' Senecan Tragedy. Spec. issue of Ramus 12.1-2 (1983): 6-26.
Motto, A. L. and J. R. Clark. 'Maxima Virtus in Seneca’s Hercules Furens.' Classical Philology 76.1 (1981): 101-17.
Motto, A. L. and J. R. Clark. 'The Monster in Seneca’s Hercules Furens 926-939.' Classical Philology 89.3 (1994): 269-72.
Rose, A. R. 'Seneca’s Dawn Song (Hercules Furens, 125-58) and the Imagery of Cosmic Disruption.' Latomus 44.1 (1985): 101-23.
Segal, Charles, ‘Dissonant Sympathy: Song, Orpheus and the Golden Age in Seneca's Tragedies’ in Boyle (see above)
Sutton, Dana F. ‘Seneca’s Hercules Furens: One Chorus or Two?’ American Journal of Philology 105 (1984), 301 – 305.
Boyle, A. J. Seneca Tragicus: Ramus Essays on Senecan Drama. Berwick, Victoria: Aureal, 1983.
Fitch, John G. 'Notes on Seneca's Hercules Furens' Transactions of the American Philological Association 111 (1981) 65-70.
Fitch, John G. 'Pectus o nimium ferum: Act V of Seneca's Hercules Furens' Hermes 107 (1979) 240-248.
Lawall, Gibert. 'Virtus and Pietas in Seneca’s Hercules Furens.' Senecan Tragedy. Spec. issue of Ramus 12.1-2 (1983): 6-26.
Motto, A. L. and J. R. Clark. 'Maxima Virtus in Seneca’s Hercules Furens.' Classical Philology 76.1 (1981): 101-17.
Motto, A. L. and J. R. Clark. 'The Monster in Seneca’s Hercules Furens 926-939.' Classical Philology 89.3 (1994): 269-72.
Rose, A. R. 'Seneca’s Dawn Song (Hercules Furens, 125-58) and the Imagery of Cosmic Disruption.' Latomus 44.1 (1985): 101-23.
Segal, Charles, ‘Dissonant Sympathy: Song, Orpheus and the Golden Age in Seneca's Tragedies’ in Boyle (see above)
Sutton, Dana F. ‘Seneca’s Hercules Furens: One Chorus or Two?’ American Journal of Philology 105 (1984), 301 – 305.
Sutton, Dana F. Seneca on the Stage (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1986).
Euripides - Bacchae
Bibliography
Barrett, J., ‘Pentheus and the Spectator in Euripides’ Bacchae,’ American Journal of Philology 119, 1998, 337-60.
Carpenter, T. H. & C. A. Faraone, eds. Masks of Dionysus (Ithaca & London: Cornell U P, 1993).
Evans, A., The God of Ecstasy: Sex Roles and the Madness of Dionysus (New York, St Martin’s Press, 1988).
Godhill, S., ‘The Great Dionysia and Civic Ideology,’ in Winkler & Zeitlin ed. Nothing to Do with Dionysus? Athenian Drama in its Social Context (Princeton: PUP, 1990) 97-129.
Hoffmann, R. J., ‘Ritual License and the Cult of Dionysus,’ Athenaeum 67, 1989, 91-115.
Kott, Jan. The Eating of the Gods: An Interpretation of Greek Tragedy (NY: Random House, 1974).
Padel, Ruth. In and Out of the Mind: Greek Images of the Tragic Self (Princeton: PUP, 1992)
Seaford, R. A. S., ‘Dionysiac Drama and the Dionysiac Mysteries,’ Classical Quarterly 31, 1987, 252-75.
Seaford, R. A. S., ‘Pentheus’ Vision,’ Classical Quarterly 37, 1987, 76-8.
Segal, C., Dionysiac Poetics and Euripides' Bacchae (Princeton: PUP, 1982)
Seidensticker, B., ‘Comic Elements in Euripides’ Bacchae,’ American Journal of Philology 99, 1978, 303-20.
Seidensticker, B., ‘Pentheus,’ Poetica 5, 1972, 35-63.
Winkler, J. J. & F. Zeitlin, ed. Nothing to Do with Dionysus? Athenian Drama in its Social Context (Princeton: PUP, 1990).
Winnington-Ingram, R., Euripides and Dionysus: An Interpretation of the Bacchae (Cambridge: CUP, 1948)
Barrett, J., ‘Pentheus and the Spectator in Euripides’ Bacchae,’ American Journal of Philology 119, 1998, 337-60.
Carpenter, T. H. & C. A. Faraone, eds. Masks of Dionysus (Ithaca & London: Cornell U P, 1993).
Evans, A., The God of Ecstasy: Sex Roles and the Madness of Dionysus (New York, St Martin’s Press, 1988).
Godhill, S., ‘The Great Dionysia and Civic Ideology,’ in Winkler & Zeitlin ed. Nothing to Do with Dionysus? Athenian Drama in its Social Context (Princeton: PUP, 1990) 97-129.
Hoffmann, R. J., ‘Ritual License and the Cult of Dionysus,’ Athenaeum 67, 1989, 91-115.
Kott, Jan. The Eating of the Gods: An Interpretation of Greek Tragedy (NY: Random House, 1974).
Padel, Ruth. In and Out of the Mind: Greek Images of the Tragic Self (Princeton: PUP, 1992)
Seaford, R. A. S., ‘Dionysiac Drama and the Dionysiac Mysteries,’ Classical Quarterly 31, 1987, 252-75.
Seaford, R. A. S., ‘Pentheus’ Vision,’ Classical Quarterly 37, 1987, 76-8.
Segal, C., Dionysiac Poetics and Euripides' Bacchae (Princeton: PUP, 1982)
Seidensticker, B., ‘Comic Elements in Euripides’ Bacchae,’ American Journal of Philology 99, 1978, 303-20.
Seidensticker, B., ‘Pentheus,’ Poetica 5, 1972, 35-63.
Winkler, J. J. & F. Zeitlin, ed. Nothing to Do with Dionysus? Athenian Drama in its Social Context (Princeton: PUP, 1990).
Winnington-Ingram, R., Euripides and Dionysus: An Interpretation of the Bacchae (Cambridge: CUP, 1948)
Plutarch – The Comparison of Alcibiades with Coriolanus
(Plutarch is writing in the 2nd half of the first century A.D.; This is Dryden's transaltion; there is a much longer 'Life of Alcibiades' in Plutarch, but this will give you the idea.)
I (1) HAVING described all their actions that seem to deserve commemoration, their military ones, we may say, incline the balance very decidedly upon neither side. They both, in pretty equal measure, displayed on numerous occasions the daring and courage of the soldier, and the skill and foresight of the general; (2) unless, indeed, the fact that Alcibiades was victorious and successful in many contests both by sea and land, ought to gain him the title of a more complete commander. That so long as they remained and held command in their respective countries they eminently sustained, and when they were driven into exile yet more eminently damaged, the fortunes of those countries, is common to both. (3) All the sober citizens felt disgust at the petulance, the low flattery, and base seductions which Alcibiades, in his public life, allowed himself to employ with the view of winning the people's favour; and the ungraciousness, pride, and oligarchical haughtiness which Marcius, on the other hand, displayed in his, were the abhorrence of the Roman populace. (4) Neither of these courses can be called commendable; but a man who ingratiates himself by indulgence and flattery is hardly so censurable as one who, to avoid the appearance of flattering, insults. To seek power by servility to the people is a disgrace, but to maintain it by terror, violence, and oppression is not a disgrace only, but an injustice.
II (1) Marcius, according to our common conceptions of his character, was undoubtedly simple and straightforward; Alcibiades, unscrupulous as a public man, and false. He is more especially blamed for the dishonourable and treacherous way in which, as Thucydides relates, he imposed upon the Lacedaemonian ambassadors, and disturbed the continuance of the peace. (2) Yet this policy, which engaged the city again in war, nevertheless placed it in a powerful and formidable position, by the accession, which Alcibiades obtained for it, of the alliance of Argos and Mantinea. And Coriolanus also, Dionysius relates, used unfair means to excite war between the Romans and the Volscians, in the false report which he spread about the visitors at the Games; and the motive of this action seems to make it the worse of the two; (3) since it was not done, like the other, out of ordinary political jealousy, strife, and competition. Simply to gratify anger from which, as Ion says, no one ever yet got any return, he threw whole districts of Italy into confusion, and sacrificed to his passion against his country numerous innocent cities. It is true, indeed, that Alcibiades also, by his resentment, was the occasion of great disasters to his country, (4) but he relented as soon as he found their feelings to be changed; and after he was driven out a second time, so far from taking pleasure in the errors and inadvertencies of their commanders, or being indifferent to the danger they were thus incurring, he did the very thing that Aristides is so highly commended for doing to Themistocles; he came to the generals who were his enemies, and pointed out to them what they ought to do. (5) Coriolanus, on the other hand, first of all attacked the whole body of his countrymen, though only one portion of them had done him any wrong, while the other, the better and nobler portion, had actually suffered, as well as sympathized, with him. And, secondly, by the obduracy with which he resisted numerous embassies and supplications, addressed in propitiation of his single anger and offence, he showed that it had been to destroy and overthrow, not to recover and regain his country, that he had excited bitter and implacable hostilities against it. (6) There is, indeed, one distinction that may be drawn. Alcibiades, it may be said, was not safe among the Spartans, and had the inducements at once of fear and of hatred to lead him again to Athens; whereas Marcius could not honourably have left the Volscians, when they were behaving so well to him: he, in the command of their forces and the enjoyment of their entire confidence, (7) was in a very different position from Alcibiades, whom the Lacedaemonians did not so much wish to adopt into their service, as to use and then abandon. Driven about from house to house in the city, and from general to general in the camp, the latter had no resort but to place himself in the hands of Tisaphernes; unless, indeed, we are to suppose that his object in courting favour with him was to avert the entire destruction of his native city, whither he wished himself to return.
III (1) As regards money, Alcibiades, we are told, was often guilty of procuring it by accepting bribes, and spent it ill in luxury and dissipation. Coriolanus declined to receive it, even when pressed upon him by his commanders as an honour; and one great reason for the odium he incurred with the populace in the discussions about their debts was, that he trampled upon the poor, not for money's sake, but out of pride and insolence.
(2) Antipater, in a letter written upon the death of Aristotle the philosopher, observes, "Amongst his other gifts he had that of persuasiveness;" and the absence of this in the character of Marcius made all his great actions and noble qualities unacceptable to those whom they benefited: pride, and self-will, the consort, as Plato calls it, of solitude, made him insufferable. With the skill which Alcibiades, on the contrary, possessed to treat every one in the way most agreeable to him, we cannot wonder that all his successes were attended with the most exuberant favour and honour; his very errors, at times, being accompanied by something of grace and felicity. (3) And so in spite of great and frequent hurt that he had done the city, he was repeatedly appointed to office and command; while Coriolanus stood in vain for a place which his great services had made his due. The one, in spite of the harm he occasioned, could not make himself hated, nor the other, with all the admiration he attracted, succeeded in being beloved by his countrymen.
IV (1) Coriolanus, moreover, it should be said, did not as a general obtain any successes for his country, but only for his enemies against his country. Alcibiades was often of service to Athens, both as a soldier and as a commander. So long as he was personally present, he had the perfect mastery of his political adversaries; calumny only succeeded in his absence. (2) Coriolanus was condemned in person at Rome; and in like manner killed by the Volscians, not indeed with any right or justice, yet not without some pretext occasioned by his own acts; since, after rejecting all conditions of peace in public, in private he yielded to the solicitations of the women and, without establishing peace, threw up the favourable chances of war. (3) He ought, before retiring, to have obtained the consent of those who had placed their trust in him; if indeed he considered their claims on him to be the strongest. Or, if we say that he did not care about the Volscians, but merely had prosecuted the war, which he now abandoned, for the satisfaction of his own resentment, then the noble thing would have been, not to spare his country for his mother's sake, but his mother in and with his country; since both his mother and his wife were part and parcel of that endangered country. (4) After harshly repelling public supplications, the entreaties of ambassadors, and the prayers of priests, to concede all as a private favour to his mother was less an honour to her than a dishonour to the city which thus escaped, in spite, it would seem, of its own demerits through the intercession of a single woman. Such a grace could, indeed, seem merely invidious, ungracious, and unreasonable in the eyes of both parties; he retreated without listening to the persuasions of his opponents or asking the consent of his friends. (5) The origin of all lay in his unsociable, supercilious, and self-willed disposition, which, in all cases, is offensive to most people; and when combined with a passion for distinction passes into absolute savageness and mercilessness. Men decline to ask favours of the people, professing not to need any honours from them; and then are indignant if they do not obtain them. Metellus, Aristides, and Epaminondas certainly did not beg favours of the multitude; (6) but that was because they, in real truth, did not value the gifts which a popular body can either confer or refuse; and when they were more than once driven into exile, rejected at elections, and condemned in courts of justice, they showed no resentment at the ill-humour of their fellow-citizens, but were willing and contented to return and be reconciled when the feeling altered and they were wished for. He who least likes courting favour, ought also least to think of resenting neglect; to feel wounded at being refused a distinction can only arise from an overweening appetite to have it.
V (1) Alcibiades never professed to deny that it was pleasant to him to be honoured, and distasteful to him to be overlooked; and, accordingly, he always tried to place himself upon good terms with all that he met; Coriolanus's pride forbade him to pay attentions to those who could have promoted his advancement, and yet his love of distinction made him feel hurt and angry when he was disregarded. (2) Such are the faulty parts of his character, which in all other respects was a noble one. For his temperance, continence, and probity he claims to be compared with the best and purest of the Greeks; not in any sort or kind with Alcibiades, the least scrupulous and most entirely and most entirely careless of human beings in all these points.
I (1) HAVING described all their actions that seem to deserve commemoration, their military ones, we may say, incline the balance very decidedly upon neither side. They both, in pretty equal measure, displayed on numerous occasions the daring and courage of the soldier, and the skill and foresight of the general; (2) unless, indeed, the fact that Alcibiades was victorious and successful in many contests both by sea and land, ought to gain him the title of a more complete commander. That so long as they remained and held command in their respective countries they eminently sustained, and when they were driven into exile yet more eminently damaged, the fortunes of those countries, is common to both. (3) All the sober citizens felt disgust at the petulance, the low flattery, and base seductions which Alcibiades, in his public life, allowed himself to employ with the view of winning the people's favour; and the ungraciousness, pride, and oligarchical haughtiness which Marcius, on the other hand, displayed in his, were the abhorrence of the Roman populace. (4) Neither of these courses can be called commendable; but a man who ingratiates himself by indulgence and flattery is hardly so censurable as one who, to avoid the appearance of flattering, insults. To seek power by servility to the people is a disgrace, but to maintain it by terror, violence, and oppression is not a disgrace only, but an injustice.
II (1) Marcius, according to our common conceptions of his character, was undoubtedly simple and straightforward; Alcibiades, unscrupulous as a public man, and false. He is more especially blamed for the dishonourable and treacherous way in which, as Thucydides relates, he imposed upon the Lacedaemonian ambassadors, and disturbed the continuance of the peace. (2) Yet this policy, which engaged the city again in war, nevertheless placed it in a powerful and formidable position, by the accession, which Alcibiades obtained for it, of the alliance of Argos and Mantinea. And Coriolanus also, Dionysius relates, used unfair means to excite war between the Romans and the Volscians, in the false report which he spread about the visitors at the Games; and the motive of this action seems to make it the worse of the two; (3) since it was not done, like the other, out of ordinary political jealousy, strife, and competition. Simply to gratify anger from which, as Ion says, no one ever yet got any return, he threw whole districts of Italy into confusion, and sacrificed to his passion against his country numerous innocent cities. It is true, indeed, that Alcibiades also, by his resentment, was the occasion of great disasters to his country, (4) but he relented as soon as he found their feelings to be changed; and after he was driven out a second time, so far from taking pleasure in the errors and inadvertencies of their commanders, or being indifferent to the danger they were thus incurring, he did the very thing that Aristides is so highly commended for doing to Themistocles; he came to the generals who were his enemies, and pointed out to them what they ought to do. (5) Coriolanus, on the other hand, first of all attacked the whole body of his countrymen, though only one portion of them had done him any wrong, while the other, the better and nobler portion, had actually suffered, as well as sympathized, with him. And, secondly, by the obduracy with which he resisted numerous embassies and supplications, addressed in propitiation of his single anger and offence, he showed that it had been to destroy and overthrow, not to recover and regain his country, that he had excited bitter and implacable hostilities against it. (6) There is, indeed, one distinction that may be drawn. Alcibiades, it may be said, was not safe among the Spartans, and had the inducements at once of fear and of hatred to lead him again to Athens; whereas Marcius could not honourably have left the Volscians, when they were behaving so well to him: he, in the command of their forces and the enjoyment of their entire confidence, (7) was in a very different position from Alcibiades, whom the Lacedaemonians did not so much wish to adopt into their service, as to use and then abandon. Driven about from house to house in the city, and from general to general in the camp, the latter had no resort but to place himself in the hands of Tisaphernes; unless, indeed, we are to suppose that his object in courting favour with him was to avert the entire destruction of his native city, whither he wished himself to return.
III (1) As regards money, Alcibiades, we are told, was often guilty of procuring it by accepting bribes, and spent it ill in luxury and dissipation. Coriolanus declined to receive it, even when pressed upon him by his commanders as an honour; and one great reason for the odium he incurred with the populace in the discussions about their debts was, that he trampled upon the poor, not for money's sake, but out of pride and insolence.
(2) Antipater, in a letter written upon the death of Aristotle the philosopher, observes, "Amongst his other gifts he had that of persuasiveness;" and the absence of this in the character of Marcius made all his great actions and noble qualities unacceptable to those whom they benefited: pride, and self-will, the consort, as Plato calls it, of solitude, made him insufferable. With the skill which Alcibiades, on the contrary, possessed to treat every one in the way most agreeable to him, we cannot wonder that all his successes were attended with the most exuberant favour and honour; his very errors, at times, being accompanied by something of grace and felicity. (3) And so in spite of great and frequent hurt that he had done the city, he was repeatedly appointed to office and command; while Coriolanus stood in vain for a place which his great services had made his due. The one, in spite of the harm he occasioned, could not make himself hated, nor the other, with all the admiration he attracted, succeeded in being beloved by his countrymen.
IV (1) Coriolanus, moreover, it should be said, did not as a general obtain any successes for his country, but only for his enemies against his country. Alcibiades was often of service to Athens, both as a soldier and as a commander. So long as he was personally present, he had the perfect mastery of his political adversaries; calumny only succeeded in his absence. (2) Coriolanus was condemned in person at Rome; and in like manner killed by the Volscians, not indeed with any right or justice, yet not without some pretext occasioned by his own acts; since, after rejecting all conditions of peace in public, in private he yielded to the solicitations of the women and, without establishing peace, threw up the favourable chances of war. (3) He ought, before retiring, to have obtained the consent of those who had placed their trust in him; if indeed he considered their claims on him to be the strongest. Or, if we say that he did not care about the Volscians, but merely had prosecuted the war, which he now abandoned, for the satisfaction of his own resentment, then the noble thing would have been, not to spare his country for his mother's sake, but his mother in and with his country; since both his mother and his wife were part and parcel of that endangered country. (4) After harshly repelling public supplications, the entreaties of ambassadors, and the prayers of priests, to concede all as a private favour to his mother was less an honour to her than a dishonour to the city which thus escaped, in spite, it would seem, of its own demerits through the intercession of a single woman. Such a grace could, indeed, seem merely invidious, ungracious, and unreasonable in the eyes of both parties; he retreated without listening to the persuasions of his opponents or asking the consent of his friends. (5) The origin of all lay in his unsociable, supercilious, and self-willed disposition, which, in all cases, is offensive to most people; and when combined with a passion for distinction passes into absolute savageness and mercilessness. Men decline to ask favours of the people, professing not to need any honours from them; and then are indignant if they do not obtain them. Metellus, Aristides, and Epaminondas certainly did not beg favours of the multitude; (6) but that was because they, in real truth, did not value the gifts which a popular body can either confer or refuse; and when they were more than once driven into exile, rejected at elections, and condemned in courts of justice, they showed no resentment at the ill-humour of their fellow-citizens, but were willing and contented to return and be reconciled when the feeling altered and they were wished for. He who least likes courting favour, ought also least to think of resenting neglect; to feel wounded at being refused a distinction can only arise from an overweening appetite to have it.
V (1) Alcibiades never professed to deny that it was pleasant to him to be honoured, and distasteful to him to be overlooked; and, accordingly, he always tried to place himself upon good terms with all that he met; Coriolanus's pride forbade him to pay attentions to those who could have promoted his advancement, and yet his love of distinction made him feel hurt and angry when he was disregarded. (2) Such are the faulty parts of his character, which in all other respects was a noble one. For his temperance, continence, and probity he claims to be compared with the best and purest of the Greeks; not in any sort or kind with Alcibiades, the least scrupulous and most entirely and most entirely careless of human beings in all these points.
Bacchae, 862-881 & 902-912
Euripides - Ion
The Temple of Apollo at Delphi
Can you imagine Ion out front of this huge building swatting away the doves?
Can you imagine Ion out front of this huge building swatting away the doves?
The inscriptions that are on column of the temple that are known as 'the three maxims of the seven sages' are:
"Know thyself"
"Nothing in excess"
"A pledge, and ruin is near"
The picture on the left is of the 'omphalus,' the centre-stone of the temple and the 'navel of the world.'
Select Bibliography:
A. Saxenhouse, “Myths and the Origins of Cities: Reflections on the Autochthony Theme in Euripides' Ion,” in Greek Tragedy and Political Theory, ed. Peter Euben (Berkeley; London: U of California P, 1986), 252-273.
Froma I. Zeitlin, “Mysteries of Identity and Designs of the Self in Euripides’ Ion,” Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society 35 (1989) 144-197.
H. A. Shapiro, “The Cult of Heroines: Kekrops' Daughters,” in Ellen D. Reeder, Pandora: Women in Classical Greece. (Princeton, PUP, 1995).
Lefkowitz, “Women in the Festivals,” in Jenifer Neils, ed., Worshipping Athena: Panathenaia & Parthenon. (Wisconsin, U of WP, 1996).
Loraux, N. “Autochthonous Creusa,” in Children of Athena: Athenian Ideas About Citizenship and the Division Between the Sexes. trans. Caroline Levine (Princeton: PUP, 1993).
Wesserman, Felix Martin, “Divine Violence and Providence in Euripides’ Ion,” Transactions of the American Philological Association, Vol. 71. (1940), 587-604.
Zaidman, “Pandora's Daughters and Rituals in Grecian Cities,” in Pauline Smitt Pantel, ed., History of Women in the West. [Vol.1]; From Ancient Goddesses to Christian Saints. (Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press of Harvard UP, 1992).
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