Thyestes
Thyestes
Headnote
Thyestes is Seneca’s blackest play, and to many readers his greatest: the tragedy of a man who feeds his brother the flesh of that brother’s own children and then, at the height of the feast, shows him the heads. It dramatizes the foundational atrocity of the house of Pelops — the crime that Agamemnon’s ghost and Aegisthus’ birth and the whole later chain of vengeance presuppose — and it is less a plot than the slow, deliberate engineering of a single horror, watched from inside the mind that designs it. There is no Aeschylean suspense here and no balancing justice: Seneca opens the underworld in the first scene and lets the evil rise, and the play’s only question is how far a human will, fully consenting, can go.
The prologue is a tableau of the underworld forced up into the daylight. The ghost of Tantalus — the founder of the line, who once carved his own son Pelops for a banquet of the gods and is punished with the eternal hunger and thirst that bear his name — is dragged from his torment by a Fury and ordered to breathe his own crime back into his descendants. He resists; he would rather suffer punishment than be a punishment, and even warns the house against the altars. The Fury whips him on, and as his frenzy enters the palace a blight spreads outward across the Argive land — the springs fail, the trees wither, the very Sun (Titan) wavers on his course — the first stroke of the cosmic disturbance that will climax in the fourth act. The opening ode prays to the gods of Argos and Olympia to break the cycle of inherited crime, and rehearses the family’s curse from Myrtilus and Pelops back to Tantalus himself, eternally cheated by the fruit and water that flee his lips.
The second act is the play’s psychological engine. Atreus, raging at his own inaction, debates with a cautious Attendant in a long stichomythic agon that is also a primer in tyranny: the attendant urges law, shame, faith, and the love of a brother, and Atreus answers each with a maxim of absolute power — “the greatest good of kingship is that the people is forced to bear its master’s deeds as much as to praise them”; “whatever is forbidden against a brother is lawful against him.” Out of this Atreus conceives a crime that the sword and fire are “too little” to satisfy — the weapon must be Thyestes himself — and settles on the Tereus model, the cannibal feast, vowing to outdo it. The second ode answers with the play’s most famous set-piece, the Stoic ode on the true king: kingship is not purple or gold or armies but the freed mind, and “he is king who fears nothing, he is king who will desire nothing.”
The third act springs the trap on the moral counterweight of the play. Thyestes returns from exile, and Seneca gives him a genuine, hard-won philosophy — the exile’s discovery that “it is a vast kingdom, to be able to live without a kingdom,” that poison is drunk from gold and crime does not enter cottages. He feels the danger and almost turns back; it is his own son, named Tantalus, who argues him into the snare, and his own better instinct that he overrides. Atreus, watching like a hound on the scent, masters his hunger long enough to stage a reconciliation, presses half the kingdom on his brother, and leads him in — to “the victims I have appointed.” The third ode marvels at the sudden peace, in a storm-and-calm simile drawn from the Sicilian seascape of Scylla, Charybdis, and the Cyclops by Etna, and closes on the Senecan refrain that Fortune wheels every fate and no king can promise himself the morrow.
The centerpiece, as so often in Seneca, is a narration. A horrified Messenger reports the slaughter in the palace’s secret grove, a place of yew and cypress and a black Stygian pool where the ghosts of the house already walk: Atreus, priest and butcher at once, binds the three boys, kills them at the altar with every rite observed, reads their still-warm entrails, and then dismembers, boils, and roasts them while the fire recoils and the smoke will not rise. It is one of the most unflinching descriptions of butchery in Latin, and Seneca refuses to look away. The fourth ode is the answering cosmic terror: the Sun has turned back in horror and fled the sky, and the chorus, fearing that the world is collapsing into chaos, watches the whole zodiac and the northern constellations fall one by one — a versified Stoic ekpyrosis, the dissolution of the cosmos read off the crime below.
The last act is the revelation, staged for maximum cruelty. Atreus, exalting that he “walks equal to the stars,” watches his brother feast and drink, sober enough to be made to understand. Thyestes, heavy with wine and a groundless grief, sings a monody in which his body knows what his mind does not. Then the cups resist his hand, the wine turns to blood, the daylight fails — and Atreus brings out the severed heads and hands. The closing exchange is pure stichomythic cut-and-thrust: Thyestes calls on the Earth to swallow the house and on Jupiter to burn it, Atreus caps every appeal, and the play ends not in punishment but in the murderer’s triumph and a curse deferred — “the avenging gods will be at hand”; “I hand you over for punishment to your own children.” The vengeance the audience knows is coming (Aegisthus, Clytemnestra, Agamemnon) is left hanging, one link further down the chain the prologue opened.
The translation renders the verse in clear modern English lines, keeping the line structure of the Latin and the line-for-line cut of the stichomythia — the king-and-tyranny debate of Act 2, the father-and-son argument of Act 3, and the rapid half-line duel of the finale — and imposing no English meter or rhyme. The choral odes (the family-curse ode, the ode on the true king, the storm-calm ode, and the great cosmic-collapse ode) are left to register through their syntax. The gods are kept Roman (Jupiter, Dis, Phoebus and Titan the Sun, the Furies, Megaera, Erinys, personified Piety and Lust), never Christianized, even where Thyestes’ final appeal to the “highest ruler of heaven” reads quasi-monotheistically. Speakers and act-divisions are editorial (the manuscripts supply neither) and follow the standard tradition. Section numbers track the line numbering by which the play is cited; because the source counts antilabe half-lines as separate physical lines, the numbering runs somewhat above the canonical Fitch lineation by the close. The dense realia — the torments of Tartarus, the golden ram, the Tereus parallel, the Sicilian seascape, and the catalogue of falling constellations — are preserved in the body, with named persons, places, peoples, and doctrines carried in the glossary.
Who drags me out from the ill-starred seat of the dead as I snatch with greedy mouth at the food that flees me, who shows Tantalus, to his hurt, once again the halls of the gods he saw? Has something been devised worse than thirst parched amid the waters, worse than hunger forever gaping? Does the slippery stone of Sisyphus come now to be borne upon my shoulders, or the wheel that scatters the limbs in its swift career, or the punishment of Tityos, who, spread open in a vast cavern, feeds the black birds on his dug-out vitals, and, restoring by night whatever he lost by day, lies, full fodder for the renewed monster? To what evil am I transferred? O you, whoever you are, harsh arbiter of the shades, who deal out new punishments to the dead, if anything can be added to my penalties that the very keeper of the grim prison would shudder at, that gloomy Acheron would dread, at the fear of which even we would tremble — seek it out: now there rises from my stock a throng that will outdo its own kind, that will make me innocent, and dare what none has dared. Whatever room stands empty in the region of the impious, I will fill it — never, while the house of Pelops stands, will Minos sit idle.
Quis inferorum sede ab infausta extrahit avido fugaces ore captantem cibos, quis male deorum Tantalo visas domos ostendit iterum? peius inventum est siti arente in undis aliquid et peius fame hiante semper? Sisyphi numquid lapis gestandus umeris lubricus nostris venit aut membra celeri differens cursu rota, aut poena Tityi qui specu vasto patens visceribus atras pascit effossis aves et nocte reparans quicquid amisit die plenum recenti pabulum monstro iacet? in quod malum transcribor? o quisquis nova supplicia functis durus umbrarum arbiter disponis, addi si quid ad poenas potest quod ipse custos carceris diri horreat, quod maestus Acheron paveat, ad cuius metum nos quoque tremamus, quaere: iam nostra subit e stirpe turba quae suum vincat genus ac me innocentem faciat et inausa audeat. regione quicquid impia cessat loci complebo— numquam stante Pelopea domo Minos vacabit.
Go on, detestable shade, and goad the impious house to frenzy. Let them vie in every crime, and turn by turn let the sword be drawn; let there be no measure to their rage, no shame; let blind frenzy goad their minds, let the fathers’ madness last, and the long abomination pass down into the grandsons; let none have leisure to hate the old crime: let a new one always be rising, and not one crime in one man; and while a crime is punished, let it grow. Let the kingdom fall from the proud brothers and seek them again as exiles; let the wavering fortune of the violent house totter among kings made uncertain: let the powerful become wretched, the wretched powerful, and let chance carry the kingdom on its ceaseless swell. Driven out for their crimes, when a god gives back their homeland, let them return to crime, and be as hateful to all as to themselves; let their rage think nothing forbidden: let brother dread brother, father son, and son father; let children perish foully, yet be born more foully still; let a hostile wife threaten her husband, let them carry wars across the sea, let blood poured out drench every land, and over the great captains of nations let Lust exult in victory: in the impious house let outrage be the lightest of crimes; let right and faith and all justice perish, let heaven not stand immune from your evils. Why do the stars glitter in the sky, why do their fires keep the splendor owed the world? Let a different night come on, let day fall from the sky. Throw the house into chaos; summon hatreds, slaughters, deaths, and fill the whole house with Tantalus. Let the high roof-beam be decked, and let the doors grow green and glad with laurel, let a fire worthy of your coming blaze bright — let the Thracian abomination be done on a greater scale. Why is the uncle’s hand idle? Not yet does Thyestes weep for his own children — and when will he lift the blade? Let the cauldrons foam, the fires already laid beneath, let the limbs go in pieces, torn apart, let blood defile the ancestral hearths, let the feast be set — you come as guest to no new crime. We have granted you a free day and loosed your hunger for that table: glut your fasting; let blood mixed into the wine be drunk with you looking on; I have found a banquet you yourself would flee — stop! Where are you rushing headlong?
Perge, detestabilis umbra, et penates impios furiis age. certetur omni scelere et alterna vice stringatur ensis; ne sit irarum modus pudorve, mentes caecus instiget furor, rabies parentum duret et longum nefas eat in nepotes; nec vacet cuiquam vetus odisse crimen: semper oriatur novum, nec unum in uno, dumque punitur scelus, crescat, superbis fratribus regna excidant repetantque profugos; dubia violentae domus fortuna reges inter incertos labet: miser ex potente fiat, ex misero potens fluctuque regnum casus assiduo ferat, ob scelera pulsi, cum dabit patriam deus in scelera redeant, sintque tam invisi omnibus, quam sibi; nihil sit ira quod vetitum putet: fratrem expavescat frater et gnatum parens gnatusque patrem, liberi pereant male, peius tamen nascantur; immineat viro infesta coniunx, bella trans pontum vehant,- effusus omnis irriget terras cruor, supraque magnos gentium exultet duces Libido victrix: impia stuprum in domo levissimum sit facinus; et fas et fides iusque omne pereat, non sit a vestris malis immune caelum, cur micant stellae polo flammaeque.servant debitum mundo decus? nox alia fiat, excidat caelo dies. s misce penates, odia caedes funera accerse et imple Tantalo totam domum. ornetur altum columen et lauro fores laetae virescant, dignus adventu tuo splendescat ignis— Thracium fiat nefas maiore numero, dextra cur patrui vacat? nondum Thyestes liberos deflet suos— et quando tollet? ignibus iam subditis spument aena, membra per partes eant discerpta, patruos polluat sanguis focos, epulae instruantur— non novi sceleris tibi conviva venies, liberum dedimus diem tuamque ad istas solvimus mensas famem: ieiunia exple, mixtus in Bacchum cruor spectante te potetur; inveni dapes quas ipse fugeres— siste, quo praeceps ruis?
To the pools and streams and retreating waters, and the laden tree’s branches that flee my very lips. Let me be allowed to go into the black cell of my prison, let me be allowed, and, if I seem too little wretched, to change my riverbanks: let me be left in the middle of your channel, Phlegethon, girt round by a flood of fire. Whoever you are, commanded to suffer the penalties that the law of fate ordains, whoever lies in fear beneath an eaten-out cavern, dreading already the collapse of the mountain about to fall, whoever, entangled, shudders at the savage maws of greedy lions and the dread ranks of the Furies, whoever, half-burnt, beats back the brands flung at him — hear the voice of Tantalus hastening toward you: believe me, who have learned it — love your punishments. When will it fall to me to escape the world above?
Ad stagna et amnes et recedentes aquas labrisque ab ipsis arboris plenae fugas. abire in atrum carceris liceat mei cubile, liceat, si parum videor miser, mutare ripas: alveo medius tuo, Phlegethon, relinquar igneo cinctus freto. quicumque poenas lege fatorum datas pati iuberis, quisquis exeso iaces pavidus sub antro iamque venturi times montis ruinam, quisquis avidorum feros rictus leonum et dira Furiarum agmina implicitus horres, quisquis immissas faces semiustus abigis, Tantali vocem excipe properantis ad vos: credite experto mihi, amate poenas, quando continget mihi effugere superos?
First throw the house into turmoil, and bring with you war and the sword’s evil love to the kings, shake their savage breasts with mad tumult.
Ante perturba domum inferque tecum proelia et ferri malum regibus amorem, concute insano ferum pectus tumultu,
It befits me to suffer punishment, not to be a punishment. I am sent like a dire exhalation from the riven earth, or like a plague scattered, a heavy pestilence on the peoples — shall I, a grandfather, lead my grandsons into horrendous wickedness? Great father of the gods and ours: though it bring me shame, though my babbling tongue be racked with the huge punishment appointed it, I will not keep silent on this either. I warn you: do not defile your sacred hands with slaughter, nor with the Fury’s evil spatter the altars. I will stand and ward off the crime — why do you lash my face with the whip, and fiercely menace me with your twisted snakes? Why do you stir the hunger fixed in my inmost marrow? My heart blazes, kindled with thirst, and the flame darts through my burnt-out vitals — I follow.
Me pati poenas decet, non esse poenam, mittor ut dirus vapor tellure rupta vel gravem populis luem sparsum pestis, ducam in horrendum nefas avus nepotes— magne divorum parens nosterque, quamvis pudeat, ingenti licet taxata poena lingua crucietur loquax, nec hoc tacebo: moneo, ne sacras manus violate caede neve furiali malo aspergite aras. stabo et arcebo scelus— quid ora ferres verbere et tortos ferox minaris angues? quid famem infixam intimis agitas medullis? flagrat incensum siti cor et perustis flamma visceribus micat— sequor.
This frenzy, this — spread it through the whole house! So, so let them be driven, and, set against each other, thirst each for the other’s blood. The house feels your entering, and has shuddered all over at the unspeakable touch. It is done, and amply: go down to the caverns of the dead and the river you know; already the mourning earth is burdened by your tread. Do you see how the spring-water, driven inward, deserts its bed, how the banks lie empty, and a fiery wind drives the thinning clouds? Every tree grows pale, and the bared bough thirsts as its fruit flees, and the Isthmus, which roars with the waves close on this side and on that, a slender strip of land dividing the neighboring straits, now, safe, hears those sounds far off. Now Lerna has shrunk back, and the springs of Phoroneus have hidden away, nor does sacred Alpheus put forth his waters, and the ridges of Cithaeron stand nowhere white, their snow laid aside, and noble Argos dreads its old thirst. See — Titan himself wavers whether to bid the day follow and force it on with the reins, the day that is doomed to die.
Hunc, hunc furorem divide in totam domum! sic, sic ferantur et suum infensi invicem sitiant cruorem, sentit introitus tuos domus et nefando tota contactu horruit. actum est abunde, gradere ad infernos specus amnemque notum; iam tuum maestae pedem terrae gravantur: cernis ut fontis liquor introrsus actus linquat, ut ripae vacent ventusque raras igneus nubes ferat? pallescit omnis arbor ac nudus sitit fugiente pomo ramus, et qui fluctibus illinc propinquis Isthmos atque illinc fremit vicina gracili dividens terra vada, longe remotos tutus exaudit sonos. iam Lerna retro cessit et Phoronides latuere venae nec suas profert sacer Alpheos undas et Cithaeronis iuga stant parte nulla cana deposita nive timentque veterem nobiles Argi sitim. en ipse Titan dubitat an iubeat sequi cogatque habenis ire periturum diem.
If any of the gods loves Achaean Argos and the halls of Pisa famed for their chariots, if any loves the realms of the Corinthian Isthmus and its twin harbors and the sundered sea, if any loves the conspicuous snows of Taygetus, which, when Sarmatian Boreas in the cold season has piled them on the high ridges, summer melts with the sail-bearing Etesian winds, any whom bright Alpheus touches with his cold stream, Alpheus famed for the Olympic course — let him turn his kindly godhead here and forbid the alternating turns of crime to come round again, let no grandson worse than his grandfather succeed, nor a greater guilt please the younger born. Let the impious progeny of parched Tantalus at last, grown weary, put off its savage onslaughts. Enough has been sinned; right has availed nothing, nor the common bond of crime. Betrayed, Myrtilus fell, who had betrayed his master, and, carried by the same faith he himself had kept, he gave the sea its famous name, changed to his own: no tale is better known to Ionian ships. Caught on the impious sword, the little boy, as he ran to his father’s kiss, fell, an untimely victim at the hearth, and was carved up by your hand, Tantalus, that you might spread a table for the gods, your guests. This food eternal hunger pursues, this, eternal thirst; nor for that savage banquet could a fitter penalty be decreed. Tantalus stands weary, his throat empty: over his guilty head hangs abundant plunder, more elusive than the birds of Phineus; on this side and that the tree leans with its laden leaves, and, bowed with its own fruit and trembling, it mocks his gaping open mouth. This fruit, though he is greedy and brooks no delay, cheated so often, he forbears to touch, turns his eyes aside and shuts his mouth and locks his hunger behind clenched teeth. But then the whole grove lowers its riches nearer, and from above the mellow fruit taunts him amid the drooping leaves and kindles his hunger, which bids him ply his hands in vain — and when he has stretched them out and consented to be fooled, the whole harvest is snatched up on high, and the forest shifts away. Then thirst presses on, no lighter than the hunger; and when his blood has grown hot with it and blazed up with fiery torches, the wretch stands reaching with his mouth for the waters before him, which the fleeing water turns away, sinking to a barren shallows, and abandons him as he tries to follow; and here he drinks deep dust from the racing flood.
Argos de superis si quis Achaicum Pisaeasque domos curribus inclitas, Isthmi si quis amat regna Corinthii et portus geminos et mare dissidens, si quis Taygeti conspicuas nives, quas cum Sarmaticus tempore frigido in summis Boreas composuit iugis, aestas veliferis solvit Etesiis, quem tangit gelido flumine lucidus Alpheos, stadio notus Olympico, advertat placidum numen et arceat, alternae scelerum no redeant vices nec succedat avo deterior nepos et maior placeat culpa minoribus. tandem lassa feros exuat impetus eieci progenies impia Tantali. Peccatum satis est; fas valuit nihil aut commune nefas, proditus occidit deceptor domini Myrtilus, et fide vectus qua fuerat nobile reddidit mutato pelagus nomine: notior nulla est Ioniis fabula navibus. exceptus gladio parvulus impio dum currit patrium natus ad osculum, immatura focis victima concidit divisusque tua est, Tantale, dextera, mensas ut strueres hospitibus deis. hos aeterna fames persequitur cibos, hos aeterna sitis; nec dapibus feris decerni potuit poena decentior. Stat lassus vacuo gutture Tantalus: impendet capiti plurima noxio Phineis avibus praeda fugacior; hinc illinc gravidis frondibus incubat et curvata suis fetibus ac tremens alludit patulis arbor hiatibus. haec, quamvis avidus nec patiens morae, deceptus totiens tangere neglegit obliquatque oculos oraque comprimit inclusisque famem dentibus alligat sed tunc divitias omne nemus suas demittit propius pomaque desuper insultant foliis mitia languidis accenduntque famem, quae iubet irritas exercere manus— has ubi protulit et falli libuit, totus in arduum autumnus rapitur silvaque mobilis, instat deinde sitis non levior fame; qua cum percaluit sanguis et igneis exarsit facibus, stat miser obvios fluctus ore petens, quos profugus latex avertit sterili deficiens vado conantem que sequi deserit; hic bibit altum de rapido gurgite pulverem.
Spiritless, sluggish, nerveless, and — what I count the greatest reproach to a tyrant in the highest affairs — unavenged: after so many crimes, after your brother’s wiles and all right torn away, do you wear out your time in empty complaints, Atreus, you the wronged? By now the whole world ought to be roaring with your arms, your fleets driving from both sides over the twin sea, by now the fields ought to be ablaze with fire, the cities aglow, and the drawn sword everywhere flashing; let all the land of Argos resound beneath our cavalry; let no woods hide the enemy, no citadels reared on the high mountain ridges; let the whole people, leaving Mycenae, sound the war-cry; whoever shelters and shields that hated head, let him fall in deadly ruin; let this very house, the proud and famous house of glorious Pelops, come crashing down even on me — provided it crash on my brother. Come, my soul, do what no posterity will approve, but none keep silent. Some atrocity must be dared, bloody, of the kind that my brother would rather were his own. You do not avenge crimes unless you outdo them. And what can be so savage as to overtop him? Does he ever lie cast down? Does he, in good fortune, endure a measure, in weariness a rest? I know the man’s temper, unteachable: it cannot be bent — it can be broken. So before he steadies himself or musters strength, let him be struck first, lest at rest he strike me. He will destroy or be destroyed: the crime lies ready for whoever seizes it first.
Ignave, iners, enervis et (quod maximum probrum tyranno rebus in summis reor) inulte, post tot scelera, post fratris dolos fasque omne raptum questibus vanis agis iratus Atreus? fremere iam totus tuis debebat armis orbis et geminum mare utrimque classes agere, iam flammis agros lucere et urbes decuit ac strictum undique micare ferrum, tota sub nostro sonet Argolica tellus equite; non silvae tegant hostem nec altis montium structae iugis arces; relictis bellicum totus canat populus My cenis, quisquis invisum caput tegit ac tuetur, clade funesta occidat, haec ipsa pollens incliti Pelopis domus ruat vel in me, dummodo in fratrem ruat. age, anime, fac quod nulla posteritas probet, sed nulla taceat, aliquod audendum est nefas atrox, cruentum, tale quod frater meus suum esse mallet— scelera non ulciscens, nisi vineis, et quid esse tam saevum potest quod superet illum? numquid abiectus iacet? numquid secundis patitur in rebus modum, fessis quietem? novi ego ingenium viri indocile: flecti non potest— frangi potest. proinde antequam se firmat aut vires parat, petatur ultro, ne quiescentem petat. aut perdet aut peribit: in medio est scelus s positum occupanti.
Does the people’s hostile talk not frighten you at all? This is the greatest good of kingship, that the people is forced to bear its master’s deeds as much as to praise them. Those whom fear compels to praise, the same fear turns into enemies; but he who seeks the glory of true favor will want to be praised in heart rather than in voice. True praise often falls even to a humble man, false praise only to the powerful — let them want what they do not want. Let the king will what is honorable: everyone will will the same. Wherever only what is honorable is permitted the ruler, he reigns on sufferance. Where there is no shame, no care for law, no sanctity, no piety, no faith, the kingdom stands unstable. Sanctity, piety, faith are private goods; let kings go where they please. Think it wrong to harm a brother, even a bad one.
Fama te populi nihil adversa terret? Maximum hoc regni bonum est, quod facta domini cogitur populus sui tam ferre quam laudare. Quos cogit metus laudare, eosdem reddit inimicos metus, at qui favoris gloriam veri petit, animo magis quam. voce laudari volet. Laus vera et humili saepe contingit viro, non nisi potenti falsa, quod nolunt velint. Rex velit honesta: nemo non eadem volet. Vbicumque tantum honesta dominanti licent, precario regnatur. Vbi non est pudor nec cura iuris sanctitas pietas fides, instabile regnum est. Sanctitas pietas fides privata bona sunt, qua iuvat reges eant. Nefas nocere vel malo fratri puta.
Whatever is forbidden against a brother is lawful against him. For what has he left untouched by crime, or where has he spared his wickedness? He took my wife by adultery, my kingdom by theft; the ancient token of empire he won by fraud, by fraud he threw my house into turmoil. There is in the deep stalls of Pelops a noble beast, a secret ram, leader of a wealthy flock, down whose whole body, poured out, hangs a fleece of gold, and from whose back the new kings of the line of Tantalus bear their gilded scepters; its possessor reigns, on him the fortune of so great a house follows; safe, set apart, in a sacred quarter it crops the meadows, which a stone wall shuts in, guarding the fateful pasture behind its rock. This — daring a monstrous deed, taking as partner in the crime the consort of my marriage-bed — the traitor carried off. From here flowed all the evil of mutual ruin: through my own realms, a trembling exile, I wandered; no part of my line is safe, free of his snares, my wife corrupted, the faith of empire shaken, my house sick, my blood in doubt — nothing certain but that my brother is my enemy. Why do you stand stunned? At last begin, take heart: look upon Tantalus and Pelops; to such examples my hands are summoned. Speak — by what road shall I slaughter the accursed head?
Fas est in illo quicquid in fratre est nefas. quid enim reliquit crimine intactum aut ubi sceleri pepercit? coniugem stupro abstulit regnumque furto: specimen antiquum imperi fraude est adeptus, fraude turbavit domum, est Pelopis altis nobile in stabulis pecus, arcanus aries, ductor opulenti gregis, huius per omne corpus effuso coma dependet auro, cuius e tergo novi aurata reges sceptra Tantalici gerunt; possessor huius regnat, hunc tantae domus fortuna sequitur, tuta seposita sacer in parte carpit prata, quae cludit lapis fatale saxeo pascuum muro tegens. hunc facinus ingens ausus assumpta in scelus consorte nostri perfidus thalami avehit. hinc omne cladis mutuae fluxit malum: per regna trepidus exul erravi mea, pars nulla generis tuta ab insidiis vacat, corrupta coniunx, imperi quassa est fides, domus aegra, dubius sanguis est— certi nihil nisi frater hostis, quid stupes? tandem incipe animosque sume: Tantalum et Pelopem aspice; ad haec manus exempla poscuntur meae. profare, dirum qua caput mactem via.
Slain by the sword, let him spit out his hostile breath.
Ferro peremptus spiritum inimicum expuat.
You speak of the end of punishment; I want the punishment. Let a mild tyrant kill: in my kingdom death is a thing men beg for.
De fine poenae.loqueris; ego poenam volo. perimat tyrannus lenis: in regno meo mors impetratur.
Does no piety move you? Depart, Piety, if ever in our house you once were, and let the dire cohort of the Furies come, and discordant Erinys, and Megaera brandishing her twin torches: my breast does not yet blaze with frenzy great enough; I would be filled with a greater monstrousness.
Nulla te pietas movet? Excede, Pietas, si modo in nostra domo umquam fuisti, dira Furiarum cohors discorsque Erinys veniat et geminas faces Megaera quatiens: non satis magno meum ardet furore pectus, impleri iuvat maiore monstro.
What new thing do you in your madness contrive? Nothing that the measure of accustomed grief could hold; I will leave no crime undone, and none is enough. The sword? Too little. Fire, then? Even that is too little still. With what weapon, then, will so great a grief arm itself? With Thyestes himself. This is an evil greater than rage.
Quid novi rabidus struis? Nil quod doloris capiat assueti modus; nullum relinquam facinus et nullum est satis. Ferrum? Parum est Quid ignis? Etiamnunc parum est. Quonam ergo telo tantus utetur dolor? Ipso Thyeste. Maius hoc ira est malum.
I confess it. A stunned turmoil shakes my breast and churns it deep; I am swept away, and where I know not, but I am swept. The ground bellows from its lowest depth, the clear day thunders, and the whole house, as if its roof were broken, has cracked, and the shaken household gods have turned their faces away: let it be done, let the abomination be done that you, gods, will dread.
Fateor, tumultus pectora attonitus quatit penitusque volvit; rapior et quo nescio, sed rapior. imo mugit e fundo solum, tonat dies serenus ac totis domus ut fracta tectis crepuit et. moti lares vertere voltum: fiat hoc, fiat nefas quod. di. timebis,
What in the end do you prepare to do?
Facere quid tandem paras?
Something greater than I know, and beyond the usual, beyond the bounds of human custom, swells in my mind and presses on my sluggish hands — I do not know what it is, but it is something huge. So be it. Seize on this, my soul. It is a deed worthy of Thyestes and worthy of Atreus: let each of them do it. The unspeakable Odrysian house saw such a banquet — I confess, it is a monstrous crime, but already taken: let my grief find something greater than this. Breathe your spirit into me, mother and sister of Daulis; the case is like: stand by and drive on my hand. Let the father, greedy and glad, tear his children and eat his own flesh. Good — it is ample. This measure of punishment pleases me for now. Where is he? Why so long does Atreus walk about innocent? Already before my eyes the whole image of the slaughter wanders, the bereavement heaped up before the father’s face — my soul, why again do you fear and shrink before the deed? It must be dared, come: the chief abomination in this crime — that he himself shall do.
Nescio quid animo maius et solito amplius supraque fines moris humani tumet instatque pigris manibus— haud quid sit scio, sed grando quiddam est. ita sit. hoc, anime, occupa. dignum est Thyeste facinus et dignum Atreo: quod uterque faciat, vidit infandae domus Odrysia mensas— fateor, immane est scelus, sed occupatum: maius hoc aliquid dolor inveniat, animum Baulis inspira parens sororque; causa est similis: assiste et manum impelle nostram, liberos avidus pater gaudetque Iaceret et suos artus edat. bene est, abunde est. hic placet poenae modus tantisper, ubinam est? tam diu cur innocens versatur Atreus? tota iam ante oculos meos imago caedis errat, ingesta orbitas in ora patris— anime, quid rursus times et ante rem subsidis? audendum est, age: quod est in isto scelere praecipuum nefas, hoc ipse faciet,
But by what wiles ensnared will he set his foot, led into our nets? He believes all things hostile.
Sed quibus captus dolis nostros dabit perductus in laqueos pedem? inimica credit cuncta,
He could not be caught unless he wished to catch. Now he hopes for my kingdom: in this hope he would go to meet Jupiter threatening his thunderbolt, in this hope he will face the menace of the swelling whirlpool and enter the doubtful strait of the Libyan Syrtis, in this hope — what he reckons the greatest of evils — he will look upon his brother.
Non poterat capi, nisi capere vellet, regna nune sperat mea: hac spe minanti fulmen occurret Iovi, hac spe subibit gurgitis tumidi minas dubiumque Libycae Syrtis intrabit fretum, hac spe, quod esse maximum retur malum, fratrem videbit.
Who will give the pledge of peace? Whom will he trust so far?
Quis fidem pacis dabit? cui tanta credet?
Wicked hope is credulous. Yet to our sons we will give messages to carry to their uncle: that, leaving his wandering exile’s lodgings, he exchange his miseries for a kingdom and rule Argos, joint lord in part. If Thyestes, too hard, spurns the entreaty, his children — untaught, worn out by heavy troubles and easy to catch — the prayer will move. On this side the old madness for the kingdom, on that grim want and hard toil will subdue the man, however stiffened by so many troubles.
Credula est spes improba. gnatis tamen mandata quae patruo ferant dabimus: relictis exul hospitiis vagus regno ut miserias mutet atque Argos regat ex parte dominus, si nimis durus preces spernet Thyestes, liberos eius rudes malisque fessos gravibus et faciles capi prece commovebunt: hinc vetus regni furor, illinc egestas tristis ac durus labor quamvis rigentem tot malis subigent virum.
By now time has made his hardships light.
Iam tempus illi fecit aerumnas leves.
You err: the sense of troubles grows with the day. It is light to bear miseries, heavy to endure them to the end.
Erras: malorum sensus accrescit die. leve est miserias ferre, perferre est grave
Choose other agents for your grim design.
Alios ministros consili tristis lege.
The young hear the worse lessons readily.
Peiora iuvenes facile praecepta audiunt.
What you teach them against their uncle they will do against their father: often crimes have come back upon their teacher.
In patre facient quicquid in patruo doces: saepe in magistrum scelera redierunt sua.
Though no one teach them the ways of fraud and crime, kingship will teach them. Do you fear they will turn out evil? They are born so. That which you call savage and harsh and think done cruelly and too impiously — perhaps over there it is being done as well.
Vt nemo doceat fraudis et sceleris vias, regnum docebit, ne mali fiant times? nascuntur, istud quod vocas saevum asperum agique dure credis et nimium impie, fortasse et illic agitur,
Will your sons know this fraud is being prepared?
Hanc fraudem scient nati parari?
Silent trust is not in years so raw; perhaps they will lay the plot bare: to keep silence is learned through life’s many evils.
Tacita tam rudibus fides non est in annis; detegent forsan dolos: tacere multis discitur vitae malis.
And the very ones through whom you plan to deceive another — will you deceive them too?
SAT,. Ipsosque per quos fallere alium cogitas falles?
That they themselves may be free of crime and guilt — for why need I thrust my children into the crime? Through me let our hatreds work themselves out. — You do ill, you draw back, my soul: if you spare your own, you will spare his too. Let Agamemnon become the knowing agent of my plan, and let Menelaus, knowing, stand by his father. From this crime let the truth of my doubtful offspring be sought: if they refuse the war and will not carry on the hatred, if they call him uncle — he is their father. Let it proceed. — But a frightened face is wont to betray much; great designs give away even the unwilling: let them not know of how great a matter they are made the agents. And you — keep our undertaking hidden.
Vt ipsi crimine et culpa vacent, quid enim necesse est liberos sceleri meos inserere? per nos odia se nostra explicent.— male agis, recedis, anime: si parcis tuis, parces et illis, consili Agamemnon mei sciens minister fiat et fratri sciens Menelaus adsit, prolis incertae fides ex hoc petatur scelere: si bella abnuunt et gerere nolunt odia. si patruum vocant. pater est, eatur.—— multa sed trepidus solet detegere vultus, magna nolentem quoque consilia produnt: nesciant quantae rei fiant ministri, nostra tu coepta occides.
I need no warning: in my breast that secret both loyalty and fear will lock away — but loyalty the more.
Haud sum monendus: ista nostro in pectore fides timorque, sed magis claudet fides.
At last the noble royal house, the line of ancient Inachus, has stilled the brothers’ threats. What frenzy goads you on, to spill each other’s blood and seize the scepter by crime? You do not know, you who covet citadels, in what place kingship lies. It is not riches that make a king, not the color of Tyrian cloth, not the royal mark upon the brow, not beams agleam with gold: a king is he who has laid aside fear and the evils of a black heart, whom unbridled ambition and the never-steady favor of the headlong crowd do not move, not all that the West digs up, or what golden Tagus carries down in its bright channel, not all that the burning threshing-floor grinds out in Libyan harvests, whom the falling path of the slanting bolt will not shake, nor Eurus sweeping the sea, nor, raging in its savage strait, the windswept swell of the Adriatic, whom no soldier’s lance, no drawn steel has subdued, who, set in a safe place, sees all things below him and meets his own fate gladly and makes no complaint at dying. Though kings should gather — those who harry the scattered Dahae, those who hold the shoals of the Red shore and the sea bright with gleaming gems, blood-red far and wide, or those who unbar the Caspian ridges to the brave Sarmatians — let him contend who dares to set foot on Danube’s ford, and (wherever they lie) the Seres, famed for their fleece: there is no need of any horses, no need of arms and the idle darts the Parthian hurls from afar when he feigns flight, no need to bring up engines to level cities, hurling stones from a distance. A good mind possesses a kingdom. He is king who fears nothing, he is king who will desire nothing. This kingdom each man gives himself. Let whoever wishes stand in power on the slippery summit of the court: let sweet quiet fill me; set in an obscure place, let me enjoy a gentle ease, and, known to no citizens, let my years flow on through the silence. So, when my days have passed with no clamor at all, let me die an old man of the common sort. On that man death lies heavy who, too well known to all, dies unknown to himself.
Tandem regia nobilis, antiqui genus Inachi, fratrum composuit minas. Quis vos exagitat furor, alternis dare sanguinem et sceptrum scelere aggredi? nescitis, cupidi arcium, regnum qua iaceat loco. regem non faciunt opes, non vestis Tyriae color, non frontis nota regiae, non auro nitidae trabes: rex est qui posuit metus et diri mala pectoris, quem non ambitio inpotens et numquam stabilis favor vulgi praecipitis movet, non quicquid fodit Occideris ant unda Tagus aurea claro devenit alveo, non quicquid Libycis terit fervens area messibus, quem non concutiet cadens obliqui via fulminis, non Eurus rapiens mare aut saevo rabidus freto ventosi tumor Hadriae, quem non lancea militis, non strictas domuit chalybs, qui tuto positus loco infra se videt omnia occurritque suo libens fato nec queritur mori. Reges conveniant licet qui sparsos agitant Dabas, qui rubri vada litoris et gemmis mare lucidis late sanguineum tenent, aut qui Caspia fortibus recludunt iuga Sarmatis, certet Danuvii vadum audet qui pedes ingredi et (quocumque loco iacent) Seres vellere nobiles: nil ullis opus est equis, nil armis et inertibus telis quae procul ingerit Parthus, cum simulat fugas, admotis nihil est opus urbes sternere machinis, longe saxa rotantibus. mens regnum bona possidet. rex est qui metuit nihil, rex est qui cupiet nihil. hoc regnum sibi quisque dat. Stet quicumque volet potens aulae culmine lubrico: me dulcis saturet quies; obscuro positus loco leni perfruar otio, nullis nota Quiritibus aetas per tacitum fluat. sic cum transierint mei nullo cum strepitu dies. plebeius moriar senex. illi mors gravis incubat qui, notus nimis omnibus, ignotus moritur sibi.
The longed-for roofs of my homeland and the wealth of Argos, and the highest good for the wretched and most of all for exiles — the stretch of native soil and my fathers’ gods (if gods there are after all) — I behold, the sacred towers of the Cyclopes, a glory beyond human toil, the stadium thronged in my youth, through which, made famous, more than once I bore the palm in my father’s chariot. Argos will come to meet me, the crowded people will come to meet me — but surely Atreus too. Go back rather to the woodland flights and the dense glades, and a life mixed with the beasts and like to theirs. This bright splendor of kingship is no cause to let it steal my eyes with false glitter: when you look at what is given, look also at the giver. Just now, amid those things all men think harsh, I was brave and glad; now, on the contrary, I am rolled back into fears: my spirit holds back and longs to carry my body backward; I move my steps unwilling.
Optata patriae tecta et Argolicas opes miserisque summum ac maxime exulibus bonum, tractum soli natalis et patrios deos (si sunt tamen di) cerno, Cyclopum sacras turres, labore maius humano decus, celebrata iuveni stadia, per quae nobilis palmam paterno non semel curru tuli. occurret Argos, populus occurret frequens— sed nempe et Atreus. repete silvestres fugas saltusque densos potius et mixtam feris similemque vitam; clarus hic regni nitor fulgore non est quod oculos falso auferat: cum quod datur spectabis, et dantem aspice. modo inter illa, quae putant cuncti aspera, fortis fui laetusque; nunc contra in metus revolvor: animus haeret ac retro cupit corpus referre, moveo nolentem gradum.
With sluggish step (what is this?) my father stands dazed and turns his face about and holds himself in doubt.
Pigro (quid hoc est?) genitor incessu stupet vultumque versat seque in incerto tenet.
Why, my soul, do you hang back, why do you twist so long a plan so easy? Do you trust to things most uncertain, your brother and a kingdom? Do you fear evils already conquered, already tamed, and flee hardships well bestowed? It is now a joy to be wretched. Turn back your step, while you may, and snatch yourself away.
Quid, anime, pendes quidve consilium diu tam facile torques? rebus incertissimis, fratri atque regno, credis ac metuis mala iam victa, iam mansueta et aerumnas fugis bene collocatas? esse iam miserum iuvat, reflecte gressum, dum licet, teque eripe.
What cause compels you, father, to draw your step back from your homeland now in sight? Why do you withdraw your heart from goods so great? Your brother returns, his anger cast aside, and gives back part of the kingdom, and reknits the limbs of the torn house, and restores you to yourself.
T AN T. Quae causa cogit, genitor, a patria gradum referre visa? cur bonis tantis sinum subducis? ira frater abiecta redit partemque regni reddit et lacerae domus componit artus teque restituit tibi.
You demand the cause of a fear I myself do not know. I see nothing to be feared, yet I fear all the same. I want to go, but my limbs falter on sluggish knees, and I am carried off elsewhere than where I strive. So a ship, driven on by oar and sail, the resisting tide carries back against oar and sail.
Causam timoris ipse quam ignoro exigis. nihil timendum video, sed timeo tamen. placet ire, pigris membra sed genibus labant alioque quam quo nitor abductus feror, sic concitatam remige et velo ratem aestus resistens remigi et velo refert.
Overcome whatever blocks you and clogs your mind, and see what great rewards await your return. Father, you can reign. When I can die. Power is the highest thing — It is nothing — if you desire nothing. You will leave it to your sons. A kingdom holds not two. Does he prefer to be wretched who can be happy?
Evince quicquid obstat et mentem impedit reducemque quanta praemia expectent vide. pater, potes regnare, Cum possim mori. Summa est potestas— Nulla: si cupias nihil. Gnatis relinques, Non capit regnum duos. Miser esse mavult esse qui felix potest?
Believe me, great things please by false names, and hard things are feared in vain. While I stood on high, I never ceased to be afraid and to dread the very sword at my own side. O what a good it is to stand in no one’s way, to take untroubled feasts lying on the ground! Crimes do not enter cottages, and one’s whole meal is taken at a narrow table; poison is drunk from gold — I speak from experience: one may prefer bad fortune to good. No humble town trembles at a house set on a high mountain’s peak and towering up; no ivory gleams bright on lofty ceilings, no watchman guards my sleep; I do not fish with fleets, nor drive back the sea with a flung-out mole, nor feed a wicked belly with the tribute of nations; no field is marked out for me beyond the Getae and the Parthians; I am not worshipped with incense, nor, with Jupiter shut out, are my altars decked; no forest, set upon my roofs, sways there, nor do pools smoke, kindled by many a hand, nor are my days given over to sleep and my nights, wakeful, to Bacchus; I am not feared, my house is safe without a weapon, and to small means great peace is granted — it is a vast kingdom, to be able to live without a kingdom.
Mihi crede, falsis magna nominibus placent, frustra timentur dura. dum excelsus steti, numquam pavere destiti atque ipsum mei ferrum timere lateris, o quantum bonum est obstare nulli, capere securas dapes humi iacentem! scelera non intrant casas, totusque mensa capitur angusta cibus; venenum in auro bibitur— expertus loquor: malam bonae praeferre fortunam licet. non vertice alti montis impositam domum et eminentem civitas humilis tremit nec fulget altis splendidum tectis ebur somnosque non defendit excubitor meos; non classibus piscamur et retro mare iacta fugamus mole nec ventrem improbum alimus tributo gentium, nullus mihi ultra Getas metatur et Parthos ager; non ture colimur nec meae excluso Iove ornantur arae; nulla culminibus meis imposita nutat silva nec fumant manu succensa multa stagna nec somno dies Bacchoque nox iungenda pervigil! datur: sed non timemur, tuta sine telo est domus rebusque parvis magna praestatur quies— immane regnum est posse sine regno pati.
It is not to be refused, if a god gives the rule, nor to be sought: your brother asks that you reign.
Nec abnuendum, si dat imperium deus, nec appetendum est: frater ut regnes rogat.
Asks? Then there is cause for fear. Some trick wanders here.
Rogat? timendum est. errat hic aliquis dolus.
Piety is wont to return whence it was driven out, and true love repairs the strength it lost.
Redire pietas unde submota est solet reparatque vires iustus amissas amor.
Does my brother love Thyestes? Sooner shall the sea drench the heavenly Bears, and the ravening tide of the Sicilian wave stand still, and ripe grain rise from the Ionian deep, and black night give light to the lands, sooner shall water with fire, life with death, the wind with the sea, join in pledge and treaty.
Amat Thyesten frater? aetherias prius perfundet Arctos pontus et Siculi rapax consistet aestus unda et Ionio seges matura pelago surget et lucem dabit nox atra terris, ante cum flammis aquae. cum morte vita. cum mari ventus fidem foedusque iungent.
Yet what fraud do you fear? Every kind: what limit shall I set to my fear? He can do as much as he hates. Against you, what can he do? For myself I no longer fear anything: it is you who make Atreus to be feared by me. Cautious, do you fear to be deceived? It is too late a time for caution in the midst of evils: let us go. Yet this one thing I, your father, call to witness: I follow you, I do not lead. A god will look with favor on well-meant plans; go on with no doubtful step.
Quam tamen fraudem times? Omnem: timori quem meo statuam modum? tantum potest quantum odit. In te quid potest? Pro me nihil iam metuo: vos facitis mihi Atrea timendum, Decipi cautus times? Serum est cavendi tempus in mediis malis: eatur. unum genitor hoc testor tamen: ego vos sequor, non duco. Respiciet deus bene cogitata, perge non dubio gradu.
The beast is held, shut in by the nets I set: I see both him and, joined to their parent, the offspring of the hated line. Now in a safe place my hatred turns. At last Thyestes comes into my hands, he comes — and all of him indeed. I scarcely govern my spirit, scarcely does my grief take the rein. So, when the keen Umbrian hound tracks the game and, held by a long leash, searches out the trails with lowered muzzle, while far off he scents the boar by its faint odor, he obeys and, silent, roams the ground with quiet snout; when the prey is nearer, he fights with all his neck and calls his lingering master with a whine and tears himself from the one who holds him: when rage hopes for blood, it cannot be hidden; yet let it be hidden. Look how, heavy with much squalor, his hair buries his mournful face, how foul his beard lies. — Let good faith be shown. — It is a joy to see my brother. Give me back the embraces I have longed for. Whatever of anger there was, let it have passed; from this day let blood and natural love be cherished, let hatred, condemned, fall from our hearts.
Plagis tenetur clausa dispositis fera: et ipsum et una generis invisi indolem iunctam parenti cerno, iam tuto in loco vorsantur odia. venit in nostras manus tandem Thyestes, venit, et totus quidem. vix tempero animo, vix dolor frenos capit sic, cum feras vestigat et longo sagax loro tenetur Vmber ac presso vias scrutatur ore, dum procul lento suem odore sentit, paret et tacito locum rostro pererrat; praeda cum propior fuit, cervice tota pugnat et gemitu vocat dominum morantem seque retinenti eripit: cum sperat ira sanguinem, nescit tegi; tamen tegatur. aspice, ut multo gravis squalore vultus obruat maestos coma, quam foeda iaceat barba, praestetur fides— fratrem iuvat videre, complexus mihi redde expetitos. quicquid irarum fuit transierit; ex hoc sanguis ac pietas die colantur, animis odia damnata excidant.
I could wash all this away, were you not such as you are. But I confess, Atreus, I confess, I committed everything you believed; your goodwill today has made my case the worst. He is guilty outright, whoever has seemed guilty to so good a brother. I must plead with tears: you are the first to see me a suppliant; these hands, that have touched no man’s feet, beseech you: let all anger be laid down, and from the heart let the swelling be erased and gone. Take as pledges of my faith these innocent boys, brother.
Diluere possem cuncta, nisi talis fores. sed fateor, Atreu, fateor, admisi omnia quae credidisti, pessimam causam meam hodierna, pietas fecit, est prorsus nocens quicumque visus tam bono fratri est nocens. lacrimis agendum est: supplicem primus vides; hae te precantur pedibus intactae manus: ponatur omnis ira et ex animo tumor erasus abeat. obsides fidei accipe hos innocentes, frater,
Take your hand from my knees and seek my embraces instead. You too, you young men, so many, the bulwark of the old, hang upon my neck. Put off that squalid garb, spare my eyes, and take adornment equal to mine. And gladly take your share of a brother’s rule. This is the greater glory, mine: to restore to my brother, unharmed, our father’s honor: to hold a kingdom is chance, to give one is virtue.
A genibus manum aufer meosque potius amplexus pete. vos quoque, senum praesidia, tot iuvenes, meo pendete collo, squalidam vestem exue oculisque nostris parce et ornatus cape pares meis. laetusque fraterni imperi capesse partem, maior haec laus est mea, fratri paternum reddere incolumi decus: habere regnum casus est, virtus dare.
May the gods, brother, repay you rewards equal to kindnesses so great. My squalor refuses the royal mark upon my head, and my unlucky hand shrinks from the scepter; let me be allowed to hide in the midst of the crowd.
Di paria, frater, pretia pro tantis tibi meritis rependant. regiam capitis notam squalor recusat noster et sceptrum manus infausta refugit, liceat in media mihi latere turba,
This kingdom admits two. I count as mine, brother, whatever is yours. Who refuses the gifts of inflowing fortune? Anyone who has learned how easily they flow away. Do you forbid your brother to win a vast glory? Your glory is already achieved, mine remains: it is my fixed resolve to spurn the kingdom. I will leave my own share too, unless you take yours. I accept: I will bear the name of the kingship laid on me, but its laws and arms will serve you, and me with them. Wear the bonds set upon your venerable head; I will give to the gods above the victims I have appointed.
Recipit hoc regnum duos. Meum esse credo quicquid est, frater, tuum. Quis influentis dona fortunae abnuit? Expertus est quicumque quam facile effluant. Fratrem potiri gloria ingenti vetas? Tua iam peracta gloria est, restat mea: respuere certum est regna consilium mihi. Meam relinquam, nisi tuam partem accipis. Accipio: regni nomen impositi feram, sed iura et arma servient mecum tibi. Imposita capiti vincla venerando gere; ego destinatas victimas superis dabo.
Could anyone believe it? That fierce, keen Atreus, not master of his mind, ferocious, stood stunned at the sight of his brother. No force is greater than true affection: quarrels with strangers last as enmities, but those whom true love has held, it will hold. When anger, stirred by great causes, has broken the bond and sounded the call to war, when the light squadrons have rung at the bit, and the sword, brandished here and there, has flashed — the sword that frenzied Mavors plies with stroke on stroke, lusting for fresh blood: Affection holds down the steel and, with hands joined, leads to peace those who refuse it. What god made this sudden calm out of so great a tumult? Just now through Mycenae the arms of civil war clashed: pale mothers held their sons fast; the wife feared for her armed husband, when the sword followed his hand against its will, dingy with the rust of quiet peace; one strove to renew the crumbling walls, another to prop the towers cracked with decay, another to bar the gates with iron bolts, and the fearful watchman, awake, brooded on the battlements through the anxious night: worse than war is the very fear of war. Now the menace of the savage sword has fallen, now the heavy roll of the war-trumpets is silent, now the shriek of the blaring clarion is hushed: deep peace is restored to the glad city. So, when the waves have swelled from the deep, Corus striking the Bruttian sea, Scylla resounds from her battered caverns, and the sailors feared the sea even in the harbor, the sea that ravening Charybdis vomits back, once swallowed, and the savage Cyclops feared his father, seated on the rock of burning Etna, lest the fire, blazing in the eternal furnaces, be quenched by the waves washed over it, and poor Laertes thinks his realms can be sunk, Ithaca trembling: if the winds’ strength has fallen, the sea sinks back gentler than a pool; the deep that ships feared to cut, fair with sails spread on either side, lies smooth and open to the sporting skiff, and there is leisure to count the fish below just there, where lately under a vast storm the shaken Cyclades feared the sea. No lot lasts long: grief and pleasure give way by turns; pleasure is the briefer; a light hour exchanges the lowest with the highest: he who bestows the diadem on a brow, before whom nations trembled on bended knee, at whose nod the Mede laid down his wars, and the Indian of the nearer Sun, and the Dahae who threatened the Parthians’ cavalry, holds his scepter in anxiety, and forebodes the chances that move all things, and fears the shifting turns of fortune and the uncertain hour. You to whom the ruler of sea and land has given the great right of death and life, lay aside your puffed and swollen looks: whatever a lesser man dreads from you, a greater lord threatens against you; every kingdom lies beneath a heavier kingdom. Whom the rising day saw proud, the departing day saw laid low. Let no one trust too much in good fortune, let no one in weariness despair of better: Clotho mixes these with those and forbids Fortune to stand still; she wheels every fate. No one has had the gods so favorable that he could promise himself the morrow: a god whirls our affairs, driven headlong in a swift eddy.
Credat hoc quisquam? ferus ille et acer nec potens mentis truculentus Atreus fratris aspectu stupefactus haesit, nulla vis maior pietate vera est: iurgia externis inimica durant, quos amor verus tenuit, tenebit ira cum magnis agitata causis gratiam rupit cocinitque bellum, cum leves frenis sonuere turmae, fulsit hinc illinc agitatus ensis quem movet crebro furibundus ictu sanguinem Mavors cupiens recentem: opprimit ferrum manibusque iunctis ducit ad pacem Pietas negantes. Otium tanto subitum e tumultu quis deus fecit? modo per Mycenas arma civilis’ crepuere belli: pallidae natos tenuere matres; uxor armato timuit marito, cum manum invitus sequeretur ensis, sordidus pacis vitio quietae; ille labentes renovare muros, hic situ quassas stabilire turres, ferreis portas cohibere claustris ille certabat, pavidusque pinnis anxiae noctis vigil incubabat: peior est bello timor ipse belli. Iam minae saevi cecidere ferri, iam silet murmur grave classicorum, iam tacet stridor litui strepentis: alta pax urbi revocata, laetae est. sic, ubi ex alto tumuere fluctus Bruttium Coro feriente pontum, Scylla pulsati s resonat cavernis ac mare in portu timuere nautae quod rapax haustum revomit Charybdis, et ferus Cyclops metuit parentem rupe ferventis residens in Aetnae, ne superfusis violator undis ignis aeternis resonans caminis, et putat mergi sua posse pauper regna Laertes Ithaca tremente: si suae ventis cecidere vires, mitius stagno pelagus recumbit; alta, quae navis timuit secare, hinc et hinc fusis speciosa velis strata ludenti patuere cumbae, et vacat mersos numerare pisces hic ubi ingenti modo sub procella Cycladas pontum timuere motae. Nulla sors longa est: dolor ac voluptas invicem cedunt; brevior voluptas, ima permutat levis hora summis: ille qui donat diadema fronti, quem genu nixae tremuere gentes, cuius ad nutum posuere bella Medus et Phoebi propioris Indus et Dahae-Parthis equitem minati, anxius sceptrum tenet et moventes cuncta divinat metuitque casus mobiles rerum dubiumque tempus. Vos quibus rector maris atque terrae ius dedit magnum necis atque vitae, ponite inflatos tumidosque vultus: quicquid a vobis minor expavescit, maior hoc vobis dominus minatur; omne sub regno graviore regnum est. quem dies vidit veniens superbum, hunc dies vidit fugiens iacentem. Nemo confidat nimium secundis, nemo desperet meliora lassis: miscet haec illis prohibetque Clotho stare Fortunam, rotat omne fatum, nemo tam divos habuit faventes, crastinum ut posset sibi polliceri: res deus nostras celeri citatas turbine versat.
What whirlwind will carry me headlong through the air and wrap me in a black cloud, to snatch so great an abomination from my eyes? O house, shameful even to Pelops and to Tantalus!
Quis me per auras turbo praecipitem vehet- atraque nube involvet, ut tantum nefas eripiat oculis? o domus Pelopi quoque et Tantalo pudenda!
What news do you bring?
Quid portas novi?
What land is this? Argos and Sparta, allotted loving brothers, and Corinth pressing the jaws of the twin sea, or Hister offering flight to the wild Alani, or, under eternal snow, the Hyrcanian land, or the Scythians roaming everywhere? What place here is accomplice to the unspeakable monstrousness?
Quaenam ista regio est? Argos et Sparte, pios sortita fratres, et maris gemini premens fauces Corinthos, an feris Hister fugam praebens Alanis, an sub aeterna nive Hyrcana tellus an vagi passim Scythae? quis hic nefandi est conscius monstri locus?
Speak out and lay bare that evil, whatever it is.
Effare et istud pande, quodcumque est, malum.
If my spirit will stand firm, if my body, stiff with fear, will loose its limbs — the image of the savage deed clings in my face. Carry me far off, you raging storms, carry me there where the day is borne, snatched away from here.
Si steterit animus, si metu corpus rigens remittet artus, haeret in vultu trucis imago facti, ferte me insanae procul, illo, procellae, ferte quo fertur dies hinc raptus,
You hold our uncertain minds the more in suspense. Tell what it is you shudder at, and name the doer: I do not ask who he is, but which one. Speak quickly.
Animos gravius incertos tenes, quid sit quod horres ede et auctorem indica: non quaero quis sit, sed uter. effare ocius.
On the topmost height there is a part of the house of Pelops turned to the south, whose furthest flank rises level with a mountain and presses on the city and holds beneath its stroke a people defiant of its own kings; here gleams a hall vast enough to hold a multitude, whose gilded beams noble columns bear, dappled with varied veining. Behind these parts, known to the crowd, which the people frequent, the rich house draws apart into many spaces; a secret region lies in the deepest recess, penning an ancient grove in a deep valley, the inmost sanctum of the kingdom, where no tree is wont to offer glad boughs or be tended with the pruning-iron, but yew and cypress and dark holm-oak — the shadowy forest sways, and, towering over it, an oak looks down from on high and overtops the grove. From here the sons of Tantalus take their auspices for the kingdom, from here they seek help in weary and doubtful affairs. Offerings hang fixed to it: clarion trumpets, and wheels undone by treacherous axles hang there, and broken chariots, spoils of the Myrtoan sea, and every crime of the race; here, fastened in this place, the Phrygian turban of Pelops, here the plunder of enemies and the cloak embroidered from a barbarian triumph. A grim spring stands beneath the shade, sluggish, clinging to a black marsh: such is the ugly wave of dread Styx, by which the gods of heaven swear. Here, in the blind night, the deathly gods are said to groan, the grove sounds with rattling chains, and the ghosts howl. Whatever it is fearful to hear is seen there: an ancient throng, let loose from old tombs, wanders, and monsters greater than the known leap riot in the place; nay, the whole forest often flickers with flame, and the lofty beams burn without fire. Often the grove bellows back with a threefold barking, often the house is stunned with great phantoms. Nor does day settle the fear: the grove has a night of its own, and the dread of the powers below reigns in the midst of the light. From here, to those who pray, sure answers are given, when with a vast sound the oracles are loosed from the shrine and the cavern bellows as the god releases his voice. After raging Atreus had entered there, dragging his brother’s children, the altars are decked — who could tell it as it deserves? He binds the youths’ noble hands behind their backs, and binds their wretched heads with the purple fillet; no incense is wanting, no sacred liquor of Bacchus, nor the knife touching the victim with the salted meal. Every rite is observed, lest so great an abomination be done without due form.
In arce summa Pelopiae pars est domus conversa ad austros, cuius extremum latus aequale monti crescit atque urbem premit et contumacem regibus populum suis habet sub ictu; fulget hic turbae capax immane. tectum-, cuius auratas trabes variis columnae nobiles maculis ferunt, post ista vulgo nota, quae populi colunt, in multa dives spatia discedit domus; arcana in imo regio secessu iacet, alta vetustum valle compescens nemus, penetrale regni, nulla qua laetos solet praebere ramos arbor aut ferro coli, sed taxus et cupressus et nigra ilice obscura natat silva, quam supra eminens despectat alte quercus et vincit nemus. hinc suspicari regna Tantalidae solent, hinc petere lassis rebus ac dubiis opem. affixa inhaerent dona: vocales tubae victaeque falsis axibus pendent rotae fractique currus", spolia Myrtoi maris et omne gentis facinus; hoc Phrygius loco fixus tiaras Pelopis, hic praeda hostium et de triumpho picta barbarico chlamys. fons stat sub umbra tristis et nigra piger haeret palude: talis est dirae Stygis deformis unda quae facit caelo fidem. hinc nocte caeca gemere feralis deos fama est, catenis lucus excussis sonat ululantque manes, quicquid - audire est metus illic videtur: errat antiquis vetus emissa bustis turba et insultent loco maiora notis monstra; quin tecta solet micare silva flamma, et excelsae trabes ardent sine igne. saepe latratu nemus trino remugit, saepe simulacris domus attonita magnis, nec dies sedat metum: nox propria luco est et superstitio inferum in luce media regnat, hinc orantibus responsa dantur certa, cum ingenti sono laxantur adyto fata et inmugit specus vocem deo solvente. quo postquam furens intravit Atreus liberos fratris trahens, ornantur arae— quis queat digne eloqui? post terga iuvenum nobiles religat manus et maesta vitta capita purpurea ligat; non tura desunt, non sacer Bacchi liquor tangensque salsa victimam culter mola. servatur omnis ordo, ne tantum nefas non rite fiat.
Who sets his hand to the steel?
Quis manum ferro admovet?
He himself is the priest, he himself with deadly prayer chants the lethal song with violent mouth, he himself stands at the altars, he himself handles those vowed to death and arranges them and sets the steel to them; he himself attends: no part of the rite is lost. The grove trembles, the whole hall swayed as the ground was shaken, uncertain where to lay its weight and like a thing afloat; from the left of the sky a black star ran, trailing a furrow behind it. The wine, poured as libation on the fires, flows bloody, its Bacchus changed; the royal crown slipped from his head twice and thrice, the ivory wept in the temples. The prodigies moved all men, but Atreus alone stands unmoved to himself and even terrifies the gods who threaten. And now, all delay cast off, he stands at the altars, glaring grim and askance. As, hungry in the Gangetic woods, a tigress has roamed between two young bulls, greedy for either prey, uncertain where first to bring her bite (she turns her jaws this way, turns them back that way, and holds her hunger in doubt), so dread Atreus eyes the heads devoted to his impious rage. Whom to slaughter first he wavers, and then whom to immolate in the second killing. It makes no difference, yet he wavers, and it pleases him to order the savage crime.
Ipse est sacerdos, ipse funesta prece letale carmen ore violento canit, stat ipse ad aras, ipse devotos neci contrectat et componit et † ferro admovet; attendit ipse: nulla pars sacri perit lucus tremescit, tota succusso solo nutavit aula, dubia quo pondus daret ac fluctuanti similis; e laevo aethere atrum cucurrit limitem sidus trahens. libata in ignes vina mutato fluunt cruenta Baccho., regium capiti decus bis terque lapsum est, flevit in templis ebur. movere cunctos monstra, sed solus sibi immotus Atreus constat atque ultro deos terret minantes, iamque dimissa mora adsistit aris, torvum et obliquum intuens. ieiuna silvis qualis in Gangeticis inter iuvencos tigris erravit duos, utriusque praedae cupida quo primum ferat incerta morsus (flectit hoc rictus suos, illo reflectit et famem dubiam tenet), sic dirus Atreus capita devota impiae speculatur irae: quem prius mactet sibi dubitat, secunda deinde quem caede immolet. nec interest, sed dubitat et saevum scelus iuvat ordinare.
Yet whom does he take first with the steel?
Quem tamen ferro occupat?
The first place (lest you think piety lacking) is given to the grandfather: Tantalus is the first victim.
Primus locus (ne desse pietatem putes) aro dicatur: Tantalus prima hostia est.
With what spirit, with what look did the youth bear his death?
Quo iuvenis animo, quo tulit vultu necem?
He stood unconcerned for himself and did not let his prayers be wasted in vain; but the savage one buried the sword in the wound and, pressing deep, drove his hand into the throat: the sword drawn out, the corpse stood, and when it had wavered long whether to fall this way or that, it falls upon the uncle. Then the savage one drags Plisthenes to the altars and adds him to his brother; he strikes off the smitten neck; the neck severed, the trunk rushes forward and down, and the head ran on, complaining with an uncertain murmur.
Stetit sui securus et non est preces perire frustra passus; ast illi ferus in vulnere ensem abscondit et penitus premens iugulo manum commisit: educto stetit ferro cadaver, cumque dubitasset diu, hac parte an illa caderet, in patruum cadit. tunc ille ad aras Plisthenem saevus trahit adicitque fratri; colla percussa amputat; cervice caesa truncus in pronum ruit, querulum cucurrit murmure incerto caput.
What then, the double slaughter done, does he do? Does he spare the boy, or heap crime on crime?
Quid deinde gemina caede perfunctus facit? puerone parcit an scelus sceleri ingerit?
As a maned lion in the Armenian wood, victor amid much slaughter, lies upon the herd (his jaws wet with gore, and though his hunger is sated he does not lay down his rage: pressing the bulls this side and that he threatens the calves, sluggish now, his fang already wearied), not otherwise Atreus rages and swells with anger, and holding the steel drenched with the double killing, forgetful against whom he raged, with hostile hand he drove it on through the body — and at once, received in the boy’s breast, the sword stood out at his back; he falls, and quenching the altars with his own blood, through both wounds he dies.
Silva iubatus qualis Armenia leo in caede multa victor armento incubat (cruore rictus madidus et pulsa fame non ponit iras: hinc et hinc tauros premens vitulis minatur dente iam lasso piger), non aliter Atreus saevit atque ira tumet, ferrumque gemina caede perfusum tenens, oblitus in quem fureret, infesta manu exegit ultra corpus— ut pueri statim pectore receptus ensis in tergo extitit; cadit ille et aras sanguine extinguens suo per utrumque vulnus moritur.
O savage crime!
O saevum scelus!
Do you shudder? If the abomination stops here, he is dutiful.
Exhorruistis? hactenus si stat nefas, pius est.
Does nature admit anything greater or more atrocious beyond this?
An ultra maius aut atrocius natura recipit?
Do you think this the end of the crime? It is a step.
Sceleris hunc finem putas? gradus est.
What more could he do? Did he throw the bodies, perhaps, to wild beasts to be torn, and keep them from the fire?
Quid ultra potuit? obiecit feris lanianda forsan corpora atque igne arcuit?
Would that he had kept them from it! May the earth not cover the dead, nor fire release them! Though he drag them to be feasted on by birds and given as grim fodder to savage beasts — it would be a prayer, what is usually a punishment: let the father look on them unburied! O crime believable in no age, which posterity will deny — the entrails, torn from the living breasts, quiver, and the veins breathe, and the heart, still fearful, throbs; but he handles the lots and inspects the fates and marks the still-warm veins of the vitals. After the victims pleased him, freed of care he turns now to his brother’s feast: he himself cuts the body, divided into limbs, lops the broad shoulders down to the trunk and the joints of the arms, strips the limbs bare, harsh, and hacks off the bones; only the faces he keeps, and the hands given him in pledge of faith. These vitals cling to spits and, set to slow furnaces, drip; those the boiling liquid tosses in the complaining cauldron, the fire leapt over the feast set upon it and, twice and thrice heaped back onto the shuddering hearth and commanded to endure delay, burns unwilling; the liver hisses on the spits; nor could I easily say whether the bodies or the flames groaned the more. The fire passes off into pitch-black smoke; and the smoke itself, grim and a heavy fog, does not go straight up and lift itself on high: it besieges the very household gods with its foul cloud. O long-suffering Phoebus, though you fled backward and sank the day, broken off, in mid-heaven, you set too late. The father mangles his sons and chews his own limbs with deadly mouth; he gleams, his hair wet with flowing unguent and heavy with wine; often his closed throat held back the food — in your evils this one good remains, Thyestes: that you do not know your evils. But this too will perish. Though Titan himself has turned his chariot, leading his course back to meet himself, and though night, sent from the east at an alien hour, heavy, buries the foul deed in new darkness, yet it must be seen. All the evil will be laid bare.
Vtinam arcuisset! ne tegat functos humus nec solvat ignis! avibus epulandos licet ferisque triste pabulum saevis trahat— votum est sub hoc quod esse supplicium solet: pater insepultos spectet! o nullo scelus credibile in aevo quodque posteritas neget— erepta vivis exta pectoribus tremunt spirantque venae corque adhuc pavidum salit; at ille libras tractat ac fata inspicit et adhuc calentes viscerum venas notat. postquam hostiae placuere, securus vacat iam fratris epulis: ipse divisum secat in membra corpus, amputat trunco tenus umeros patentis et lacertorum. moras, denudat artus durus atque ossa amputat; tantum ora servat et datas fidei manus. haec veribus’ haerent viscera et lentis data stillant caminis, illa flammatus latex querente aeno iactat, impositas dapes transiluit ignis inque trepidantes focos bis ter regestus et pati iussus moram invitus ardet, stridet in veribus iecur; nec facile dicam, corpora an flammae magis gemuere. piceos ignis in fumos abit; et ipse fumus, tristis ac nebula gravis, non rectus exit seque in excelsum levat: ipsos penates nube deformi obsidet. O Phoebe patiens, fugeris retro licet medioque ruptum merseris caelo diem. sero occidisti. lancinat gnatos pater artusque mandit ore funesto suos; nitet fluente madidus unguento comam gravisque vino; saepe praeclusae cibum tenuere fauces— in malis unum hoc tuis bonum est, Thyesta, quod mala ignoras tua. sed et hoc peribit, verterit currus licet sibi ipse Titan obvium ducens iter tenebrisque facinus obruat tetrum novis nox missa ab ortu tempore alieno gravis, tamen videndum est. tota patefient mala.
Where, O father of lands and of the gods above, at whose rising all the splendor of dark night flees — where do you turn your course and lose the day in mid-Olympus? Why, Phoebus, do you snatch away your gaze? Not yet does Vesper, herald of the late hour, summon the lamps of night; not yet does the turning of the Hesperian wheel bid you unyoke the chariots that have done their service; not yet, as day sinks toward night, has the third trumpet given its signal: the plowman stands amazed at the hour of a sudden supper, his oxen not yet weary. What has driven you from your heavenly course? What cause has flung your horses from their fixed track? Have the conquered Giants, the prison of Dis thrown open, attempted war once more? Does Tityos, his breast worn out, wounded, renew his old wrath? Has Typhoeus, the mountain cast off, loosed his flank? Is a high road being built across the Phlegraean foes, and is Thessalian Pelion pressed by Thracian Ossa? Have the world’s accustomed turns perished? Will there be no setting, no rising? The dewy mother of the first light, wont to hand the eastern reins to the god, stands amazed at the overturned threshold of her realm; she knows not how to bathe the weary chariots nor to plunge in the sea the manes smoking with sweat. The Sun himself, a stranger to the unaccustomed lodging, setting, sees the Dawn, and bids the darkness rise though night is not yet ready: no stars come up, nor does the pole glitter with any fire, no heavy Moon disperses the shadows. But whatever it is, would that it were night! They tremble, they tremble, our hearts, struck with a great fear, lest all things, shaken with a fatal collapse, give way, and shapeless chaos press down once more on gods and men, lest nature once again cover the lands, and the sea that girds them, and the wandering stars of the painted firmament. No longer, at the rising of the eternal torch, will the leader of the stars, marshaling the ages, give the signs of summer and of winter; no longer will the Moon, meeting Phoebus’ flames, take from the night its fears and outrun her brother’s reins, running on a shorter course; the throng of the gods, heaped together, will go down into a single hollow. He who, passable to the sacred stars, cuts the zones on a slanting path, the zodiac-bearer, bending the long years, falling himself, will see the stars fall; he who, when spring is not yet kind, gives back his sails to the warming Zephyr, the Ram, will plunge headlong into the waves through which he had carried trembling Helle; he, the Bull, who with his bright horn leads the Hyades, will drag the Twins down with him and the arms of the curving Crab; the Lion of Hercules, ablaze with flame-bearing heat, will fall once more from the sky, the Virgin will fall to the lands she abandoned, and the weights of the just Scales will fall and drag down with them the fierce Scorpion; and old Chiron, who holds on his Haemonian string the feathered shafts, will lose his shafts, his string snapped; the cold Goat, bringing back sluggish winter, will fall and shatter your urn, whoever you are; with you will depart the Fish, the last stars of heaven, and the Wains the sea has never washed the flood will sink, burying all things; and the Serpent that divides the two Bears, slippery, like a river, and Cynosura, cold with hard frost, lesser, joined to the great Dragon, and the slow guardian of his own wain, Arctophylax, no longer steady, will crash down. Were we, out of so great a people, deemed worthy to be crushed by a world with its axis overthrown? Has the last age come upon us? O we, born to a hard lot, whether, wretched, we have lost the sun, or driven it away! Let complaints depart, depart, fear: greedy for life is he who is unwilling, when the world perishes with him, to die.
Quo terrarum superumque parem, cuius ad ortus noctis opacae decus omne fugit, quo vertis iter medioque diem perdis Olympo? cur, Phoebe, tuos rapis aspectus? nondum serae nuntius horae nocturna vocat lumina Vesper; nondum Hesperiae flexura rotae iubet emeritos solvere currus; nondum in noctem vergente die tertia misit bucina signum: stupet ad subitae tempora cenae nondum fessis bubus arator, quid te aetherio pepulit cursu? quae causa tuos limite certo deiecit equos? numquid aperto carcere Ditis victi temptant bella Gigantes? numquid Tityos pectore fesso renovat veteres saucius iras? num reiecto latus explicuit monte Typhoeus? numquid struitur via Phlegraeos alta per hostes et Thessalicum Thressa premitur Pelion Ossa? solitae mundi periere vices? nihil occasus, nihil ortus erit? stupet Eoos assueta deo tradere frenos genetrix primae roscida lucis perversa sui limina regni; nescit fessos tinguere currus nec fumantes sudore iubas mergere ponto. ipse insueto novus hospitio Sol Auroram videt occiduus, tenebrasque iubet surgere nondum nocte parata: non succedunt astra nec ullo micat igne polus, non Luna gravis digerit umbras. Sed quicquid id est, utinam nox sit! trepidant, trepidant pectora magno percussa metu: ne fatali cuncta ruina quassata labent iterumque, deos hominesque premat deforme chaos, iterum terras et mare cingens et vaga picti sidera mundi natura tegat. non aeternae facis exortu dux astrorum saecula ducens dabit aestatis brumaeque notas, non Phoebeis obvia flammis dement nocti Luna timores vincetque sui fratris habenas, curro brevius limite currens; ibit in unum congesta sinum turba deorum, hic qui sacris pervius astris secat obliquo tramite zonas flectens longos signifer annos, lapsa videbit sidera labens; hic qui nondum vere benigno reddit Zephyro- vela tepenti, Aries praeceps ibit in undas, per quas pavidam vexerat Hellen; hic qui nitido Taurus cornu praefert Hyadas, secum Geminos trahet et curvi bracchia Cancri; Leo flammiferis aestibus ardens iterum e caelo cadet Herculens, cadet in terras Virgo relictas iustaeqne cadent pondera Librae secumque trahent Scorpion acrem; et qui nervo tenet Haemonio pinnata senex spicula Chiron, rupto perdet spicula nervo; pigram referens hiemem gelidus cadet Aegoceros frangetque tuam, quisquis es, urnam; tecum excedent ultima caeli sidera Pisces, Plostraque numquam perfusa mari merget condens omnia gurges; et qui medias dividit Vrsas, fluminis instar lubricus Anguis magnoque minor iuncta Draconi frigida duro. Cynosura gelu, custosque sui tardus plaustri iam non stabilis ruet Arctophylax. Nos e tanto visi populo digni premeret quos everso cardine mundus? in nos aetas ultima venit? o nos dura sorte creatos, seu perdidimus solem miseri, sive expulimus! abeant questus, discedo, timor: vitae est avidus quisquis non vult mundo secum pereunte mori.
I walk equal to the stars, and above all men, touching the high pole with a proud crown. Now I hold the glories of the kingdom, now my father’s throne. I dismiss the gods above: I have reached the summit of my prayers. It is well, it is ample. Now even for me it is enough. But why should it be enough? I will go on, and fill the father with the funeral of his own. That no shame might stand in the way, the day has withdrawn: go on while the sky is empty. Would indeed that I could hold the fleeing gods and drag them back by force, that all might see the avenging feast — enough that the father see it. Even against the day’s will I will scatter for you the darkness under which your miseries lie hidden. Too long you lie a banqueter with untroubled and cheerful face; enough has now been given to the table and to Bacchus: a sober Thyestes is needed for evils so great. You crowd of servants, unbar the doors of the temple, let the festal house be opened. I long to see, as he looks upon his children’s heads, what colors he gives, what words his first grief pours out, or how, stunned with the breath driven out, his body stiffens. This is the fruit of my work. I do not want to see him wretched, but while he becomes so. The opened hall gleams bright with many a torch. He himself, leaning back, reclines on purple and gold, propping on his left hand his head, heavy with wine. He belches. O I, highest of the gods, and king of kings! I have surpassed my own prayers. He is sated, he draws the unmixed wine in the capacious silver — spare not your drinking: there remains even now the blood of so many victims; the color of the old Bacchus will hide it — with this cup, this, let the table be closed. Let the father drink the mingled blood of his own: he would have drunk mine. See, now he raises song and festive voices, and does not well command his mind.
Aequalis astris gradior et cunctos super altum superbo vertice attingens polum. nunc decora regni teneo, nunc solium patris, dimitto superos: summa votorum attigi, bene est, abunde est. iam sat est etiam mihi. sed cur satis sit? pergam et impleto patre funere suorum, ne quid obstaret pudor, dies recessit: perge dum caelum vacat, utinam quidem tenere fugientes deos possem et coaetos trahere, ut ultricem dapem omnes viderent— quod sat est, videat pater. etiam die nolente discutiam tibi tenebras, miseriae sub quibus latitant tuae. nimis diu conviva securo iaces hilarique vultu, iam satis mensis datum est satisque Baccho: sobrio tanta ad mala opus est Thyeste. turba familiaris, fores templi relaxa, festa patefiat domus. libet videre, capita natorum intuens quos det colores, verba quae primus dolor effundat aut ut spiritu expulso stupens corpus rigescat. fructus hic operis mei est. miserum videre nolo, sed dum fit miser. aperta multa tecta conlucent face. resupinus ipse purpurae atque auro incubat, vino gravatum fulciens laeva caput. eructat. o me caelitum excelsissimum, regumque regem! vota transcendi mea. satur est, capaci ducit argento merum— ne parce potu: restat etiamnunc cruor tot hostiarum; veteris hunc Bacchi color abscondet— hoc, hoc mensa cludatur scypho mixtum suorum sanguinem genitor bibat: meum bibisset. ecce, iam cantus ciet festasque voces nec satis menti imperat.
My heart, dulled by long evils, lay down now your anxious cares. Let grief flee and let dread flee, let the companion of trembling exile, grim want, flee, and the shame heavy upon stricken fortunes: it matters more from where you fall than to where. It is a great thing, fallen from a lofty peak, to plant a steady step on the level ground; a great thing, crushed under a vast ruin of evils, to bear the weights of a broken kingdom with neck unbent, and, not degenerate nor conquered by ills, upright, to carry the ruins laid upon one. But now drive away the clouds of savage fate and dismiss all the marks of the wretched time; let a good man’s looks return to gladness, send the old Thyestes from your mind. This is the vice that follows the wretched as their own, never to trust in glad fortune: though happy fortune return, still the afflicted are loath to rejoice. Why do you call me back and forbid me to keep the festal day, why bid me weep, O grief, rising from no cause? Why do you forbid me to bind my hair with the seemly flower? It forbids, it forbids! The spring roses have slipped from my head, my hair, wet with rich balsam, stood on end amid sudden shudderings, a shower falls down my unwilling face, a groan comes in the midst of my words. Grief loves its accustomed tears, and the wretched have a dread craving to weep. I long to utter ill-omened complaints, I long to rend my garments soaked with Tyrian purple, I long to wail. My mind sends signs of grief to come, foreboding beforehand its own evil: a fierce storm presses upon sailors when the calm swells without a wind. What griefs, what turmoils do you imagine for yourself, madman? Offer a trusting heart to your brother: now, whatever it is, either without cause or too late you fear. I wish it not, unhappy man, but a wandering terror strays within, my eyes pour sudden tears, and no cause underlies it. Is it grief or fear? Or does great pleasure have its tears?
Pectora longis hebetata malis, iam sollicitae ponite curas. fugiat maeror fugiatque pavor, fugiat trepidi comes exilii tristis egestas rebusque gravis pudor afflictis: magis unde cadas quam quo refert. Magnum, ex alto culmine lapsum stabilem in plano figere gressum; magnum, ingenti strage malorum pressum fracti pondera regni non inflexa cervice pati nec degenerem victumque malis rectum impositas ferre ruinas. Sed iam saevi nubila fati pelle ac miseri temporis omnis dimitte notas; redeant vultus ad laeta boni, veterem ex animo mitte Thyesten. Proprium hoc miseros sequitur vitium, numquam rebus credere laetis: redeat felix fortuna licet, tamen afflictos gaudere piget, quid me revocas festumque vetas celebrare diem. quid flere iubes, nulla surgens dolor ex causa? quid me prohibes flore decenti vincire comam? prohibet, prohibet! Vernae capiti Auxere rosae, pingui madidus crinis amomo inter subitos stetit horrores, imber vultu nolente cadit, venit in medias voces gemitus, maeror lacrimas amat assuetas, flendi miseris dira cupido est. libet infaustos mittere questus, libet et Tyrio saturas ostro rumpere vestes, ululare libet. Mittit luctus signa futuri mens, ante sui praesaga mali: instat nautis fera tempestas, cum sine vento tranquilla tument. Quos tibi luctus quosve tumultus fingis, demens? credula praesta pectora fratri: iam, quicquid id est, vel sine causa vel sero times. Nolo infelix, sed vagus intra terror oberrat, subitos fundunt oculi fletus, nec causa subest, dolor an metus est? an habet lacrimas magna voluptas?
Let us keep the festal day, brother, with equal accord: this is the day that may make firm my scepter and bind the solid pledge of a sure peace.
Festum diem, germane, consensu pari celebremus: hic est, sceptra qui firmet mea solidamque pacis alliget certae fidem.
A surfeit of feasting holds me, and no less of Bacchus. This heaping-up could increase my pleasure, if it were granted me to rejoice, happy, with my own.
Satias dapis me nec minus Bacchi tenet, augere cumulus hic voluptatem potest, si cum meis gaudere felici datur.
Believe your sons are here, in their father’s embrace: here they are and will be; no part of your offspring will be withdrawn from you. The faces you long for I will give, and fill the father full now with his own throng. You shall be sated, fear not. Now, mingled with mine, they keep the glad rites of the youthful table; but they shall be summoned. Take the ancestral cup, with Bacchus poured in.
Hic esse natos crede in amplexu patris, hic sunt eruntque; nulla pars prolis tuae tibi subtrahetur. ora quae exoptas dabo totumque turba iam sua implebo patrem, satiaberis, ne metue. nunc mixti meis iucunda mensae sacra iuvenilis colunt; sed accientur. poculum infuso cape gentile Baccho,
I take the gift of my brother’s feast. Let the wine be poured to our fathers’ gods, then let it be drained. But what is this? My hands will not obey, the weight grows and burdens my right hand; the wine, brought to my very lips, flees, and flows about my jaws with my mouth cheated, and the table itself leapt up from the trembling floor. The fire scarcely shines; nay, the heavy heaven itself, deserted between day and night, stands stunned. What is this? More and more the vaults of heaven, shaken, totter; a thicker murk gathers with dense shadows, and night has hidden itself in night; every star has fled. Whatever it is, I pray it spare my brother and my sons, let all the storm break upon this worthless head. Give me back my sons now!
Capio fraternae dapis donum, paternis vina libentur deis. tunc hauriantur. sed quid hoc? nolunt manus parere, crescit pondus et dextram gravat; admotus ipsis Bacchus a labris fugit circaque rictus ore decepto fluit et ipsa trepido mensa subsiluit solo. vix lucet ignis; ipse quin aether gravis inter diem noctemque desertus stupet, quid hoc? magis magisque concussi labant convexa caeli; spissior densis coit caligo tenebris noxque se in noctem abdidit; fugit omne sidus, quicquid est, fratri precor gnatisque parcat, omnis in vile hoc caput abeat procella, redde iam gnatos mihi!
I will give them back, and no day shall ever snatch them from you.
Reddam, et tibi illos nullus eripiet dies.
What tumult here harries my entrails? What has trembled within? I feel a burden that will not be borne, and my breast groans with a groaning not my own. Come, my sons, your unhappy father calls you, come. At the sight of you this grief will flee — whence do they answer back?
Quis hic tumultus viscera exagitat mea? quid tremuit intus? sentio impatiens onus meumque gemitu non meo pectus gemit, adeste, nati, genitor infelix vocat, adeste. visis fugiet hic vobis dolor— unde obloquuntur?
Spread wide your embrace, father: they have come. Do you recognize your sons at all?
Expedi amplexus pater: «venere, gnatos ecquid agnoscis tuos?
I recognize my brother. Do you endure, Earth, to bear so great an abomination? Do you not, torn open, plunge yourself down to the infernal Styx and the darkness, and by a vast road sweep the kingdom, king and all, to empty chaos? Do you not, tearing the whole house from its lowest ground, overturn Mycenae? We both ought by now to be standing about Tantalus. Wrench your joints apart, on this side and on that; if there is anything below Tartarus and our forefathers, send this valley of yours down into that monstrous gulf, and bury us, sunk deep, beneath all of Acheron. Above our heads let guilty souls wander, and let fiery Phlegethon, driving all his sands on a burning flood, flow violent above our exile — unmoved earth, a sluggish weight, do you lie still? The gods have fled.
Agnosco fratrem, sustines tantum nefas gestare, Tellus? non ad infernam Styga tenebrasque mergis rupta et ingenti via ad chaos inane regna cum rege abripis? non tota ab imo tecta convellens solo verti» Mycenas? stare circa Tantalum uterque iam debuimus: hinc compagibus et hinc revulsis, si quid infra Tartara est avesque nostros, hoc tuam, inmani sinu demitte vallem nosque defossos tege Acheronte toto. noxiae supra, caput animae vagentur nostrum et ardenti freto Phlegethon harenas igneus totas agens exilia supra nostra violentus fluat— immota tellus pondus ignavum iaces? fugere superi,
Now rather receive these gladly, long sought for — through your brother there is no delay: enjoy them, kiss them, share your embraces among the three.
Iam accipe hos potius libens diu expetitos— nulla per fratrem est mora: fruere, osculare, divide amplexus tribus.
Is this your covenant? Is this your grace, this a brother’s faith? Is it thus you lay aside your hatreds? I do not ask, an unharmed father, to have my sons; what may be given with crime and hatred kept safe, this I, a brother, ask of a brother: let me be allowed to bury them. Give back what you shall see burned at once; I ask you, a father, for nothing I shall keep, but for what I shall destroy.
Hoc foedus? haec est gratia, haec fratris fides? sic odia ponis? non peto. incolumis pater natos ut habeam; scelere quod salvo dari odioque possit, frater hoc fratrem rogo: sepelire liceat, redde quod cernas statim uri; nihil te genitor habiturus rogo. sed perditurus.
Whatever of your sons remains, you have; whatever does not remain, you have.
Quicquid e natis tuis superest habes, quodcumque non superest habes.
Do they lie as fodder for savage birds, or are they kept for monsters, or do they feed wild beasts?
Vtrumne saevis pabulum alitibus iacent, an beluis servantur, an pascunt feras?
You have feasted, yourself, on your sons in an impious banquet.
Epulatus ipse es impia natos dape.
This is what shamed the gods, this drove the day backward to its rising. What cries shall I, wretched, utter, and what laments? What words will suffice me? I see the severed heads and the torn-off hands and the footprints broken with shattered legs — this is what the greedy father could not take in. The vitals roll within, and the shut-in abomination struggles with no way out and seeks escape. Give me, brother, the sword (much of my own blood it holds already): by the steel let a way be given to my children. Is the sword refused? Let my breast, bruised, resound with the dashed-in blow — stay, unhappy one, your hand, let us spare the shades. Who has seen such an abomination? What Heniochus dwelling on the rough crag of the inhospitable Caucasus, or what Procrustes, terror to the land of Cecrops? See — a father, I press my sons and am pressed by my sons — is there some measure to crime?
Hoc est deos quod puduit, hoc egit diem aversum in ortus, quas miser voces dabo qnestusque quos? quae verba sufficient mihi? abscisa cerno capita et avulsas manus et rupta fractis cruribus vestigia— hoc est quod avidus capere non potuit pater. volvuntur intus viscera et clusum nefas sine exitu luctatur et quaerit fugam. da, frater, ensem (sanguinis multum mei habet ille): ferro liberis detur via. negatur ensis? pectora inliso sonent contusa planctu— sustine, infelix, manum, pareamus umbris, tale quis vidit nefas? quis inhospitalis Caucasi rupem asperam Heniochus habitans quisve Cecropiis metus terris Procrustes? genitor en natos premo premorque natis— sceleris est aliquis modus.
A measure is owed to crime when you commit the crime, not when you repay it. Even this is too little for me. From the very wound I ought to have poured the warm blood into your mouth, that you might drink the gore of the living — words were given to my anger while I hastened. With the steel pressed home I dealt the wounds, I felled them at the altars, with votive slaughter I appeased the hearths, and, cutting up the lifeless bodies, I carved the limbs into small pieces and plunged these in seething cauldrons, those I bade drip over slow fires; I cut off limbs and sinews while they yet lived, and on the slender spit I saw the pierced flesh bellow, and with my own hand I heaped up the flames — all this the father might have done better. My grief has fallen in vain: he tore his sons with impious mouth, but unknowing, and they unknowing.
Sceleri modus debetur ubi facias scelus, non ubi reponas. hoc quoque exiguum est mihi. ex vulnere ipso sanguinem calidum in tua defundere ora debui, ut viventium biberes cruorem— verba sunt irae data dum propero, ferro vulnera impresso dedi, cecidi ad aras, caede votiva focos placavi et artus, corpora exanima amputans, in parva carpsi frusta et haec ferventibus demersi aenis, illa lentis ignibus stillare iussi; membra nervosque abscidi viventibus, gracilique traiectas veru mugire fibras vidi et aggessi manu mea ipse flammas— omnia haec melius pater fecisse potuit, cecidit in cassum dolor: scidit ore natos impio, sed nesciens, sed nescientes,
You seas, shut in by wandering shores, hear; you too hear this crime, wherever, O gods, you have fled. Hear, you powers below, hear, you lands, and you, Night of Tartarus, heavy with your black cloud, give heed to my cries (to you I am left, you alone behold me wretched, you too without your stars), I will make no wicked prayers. For myself I will pray nothing — and what now can there be for me? Yet my prayers shall look to you. You, highest ruler of heaven, mighty lord of the ethereal hall, wrap the whole world round with bristling clouds, set the wars of the winds clashing on every side, and from every quarter thunder violently, and with that hand — not the one with which you assail roofs and undeserving houses with a lesser bolt, but the one with which the threefold mass of mountains fell and the Giants who stood the equals of mountains — with that hand make ready your arms and hurl your fires. Avenge the lost day, launch your flames, make good with thunderbolts the light snatched from the sky. That you may not long hesitate over the cause — let it be an evil cause for us both; or if not, let it be evil for me: strike me, drive the flaming brand of your three-forked bolt through this breast — if, a father, I wish to bury my sons and give them to the final fire, it is I who must be burned. If nothing moves the gods above, and no divinity aims its weapons at the impious, let eternal night remain and cover with its long darkness boundless crimes. I make no complaint, Titan, if you persevere.
Clausa litoribus vagis audite maria, vos quoque audite hoc scelus, quocumque, di, fugistis, audite inferi, audite terrae, Noxque Tartarea gravis et atra nube, vocibus nostris vaca (tibi sum relictus, sola tu miserum vides, tu quoque sine astris), vota non faciam improba, pro me nihil precabor— et quid iam potest pro me esse? vobis vota prospicient mea. tu, summe caeli rector, aetheriae potens dominator aulae, nubibus totum horridis convolve mundum, bella ventorum undique committe et omni parte violentum intona, manuque non qua tecta et immeritas domos telo petis minore, sed qua montium tergemina moles cecidit et qui montibus stabant pares Gigantes, hac arma expedi ignesque torque, vindica amissum diem, iaculare flammas, lumen ereptum polo fulminibus exple. causa, ne dubites diu, utriusque mala sit; si minus, mala sit mea: me pete, trisulco flammeam telo facem per pectus hoc transmitte— si gnatos pater humare et igni tradere extremo volo, ego sum cremandus. si nihil superos movet nullumque telis impios numen petit, aeterna nox permaneat et tenebris tegat inmensa longis scelera, nil, Titan, queror, si perseveras.
Now I praise my hands, now the true palm is won. I had wasted the crime, had you not grieved so. Now I believe my children are truly born to me, now that faith is restored to my chaste bed.
Nunc meas laudo manus, nunc parta vera est palma, perdideram scelus, nisi sic doleres. liberos nasci mihi nunc credo, castis nunc fidem reddi toris.
What did the children deserve? That they were yours. Sons, to a father — I confess it — and, what pleases me, sons beyond doubt. I call to witness the gods who guard the righteous. Why not the gods of marriage? Who repays crime with crime? I know what you complain of: you grieve that the crime was snatched from you first, and it is not that you swallowed the unspeakable feast that galls you — but that you did not prepare it. This was your intent: to set before your unwitting brother a like meal and, with the mother’s help, to attack my children and lay them low in a like death — this one thing stood in the way: you thought them yours.
Quid liberi meruere? Quod fuerant tui. Natos parenti Fateor et, quod me iuvat, certos. Piorum praesides testor deos. Quin coniugales? Scelere quis pensat scelus? Scio quid queraris: scelere praerepto doles, nec quod nefandas hauseris angit dapes — quod non parans! fuerat hic animus tibi instruere similes inscio fratri cibos et adiuvante liberos matre aggredi similique leto sternere — hoc unum obstitit: tuos putasti.
The avenging gods will be at hand. To them my prayers hand you over for punishment.
Vindices aderunt dei; his puniendum vota te tradunt mea.
I hand you over for punishment to your own children.
Te puniendum liberis trado tuis.