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)
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.
Sutton, Dana F.
Seneca on the Stage (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1986).
