Four Tragedies and Octavia (5 page)

GHOST OF TANTALUS

FURY

ATREUS
,
King of Argos

A MINISTER

THYESTES
,
brother of Atreus

YOUNG TANTALUS
,
son of Thyestes

PLISTHENES
(
mute
),
his second son

THIRD SON
(
mute
)

A MESSENGER

CHORUS
of Argive elders

*

Scene: at the palace of Mycenae

GHOST:
Who hales me from my miserable rest

Among the dead below, where my starved mouth

Gapes for the food that runs out of its reach?

What god bids Tantalus return again

To this abode he never should have seen?

Is there some punishment in store for me

Worse than to stand dry-mouthed in running water,

Worse than the everlasting yawn of hunger?

Is there another stone of Sisyphus

Whose slippery weight my shoulders must support;

A turning wheel upon whose spokes my limbs

Must be extended; or a punishment

Like that of Tityos, whose hollowed bowels

Are open caverns where foul birds of prey

Feed on his flesh – each night replenishing

The losses of the day, to bring tomorrow

A rich repast for each returning fiend?

To what new torture have I been assigned?

O, thou unknown implacable dispenser

Of torments to the dead, if there can be

Yet more intolerable penalties –

Such as the keeper of hell's gaol himself

Would loathe to look on, such as would affright

Grim Acheron – to fill my soul with terror,

Find one for me! For from my loins is sprung

A generation whose iniquities,

Whose crimes, of horror never known till now,

Make all their predecessors' sins look small

And me an innocent. Does any place in hell

Still lack a tenant? I can furnish one

From my posterity. While stands the house

Of Pelops, Minos never will be idle.

FURY:
On with your task, abominable ghost:

Let loose the Furies on your impious house.

Let evil vie with evil, sword with sword;

Let anger be unchecked, repentance dumb.

Spurred by insensate rage, let fathers' hate

Live on, and the long heritage of sin

Descend to their posterity. Leave none

The respite for remorse; let crimes be born

Ever anew and, in their punishment,

Each single sin give birth to more than one.

Let those proud brothers each forfeit his throne,
¹

And be recalled to it again from exile –

In this strife-riven house Fortune herself

Will never know which way to turn between them.

The high shall be brought low, the weak made strong,

The kingdom tossed by ceaseless waves of chance.

Let there be culprits banished for their crimes,

And when restored, by mercy of the gods,

Returning to their crimes, to make their names

Hateful to all mankind and to themselves.

Vengeance shall think no way forbidden her;

Brother shall flee from brother, sire from son,

And son from sire; children shall die in shames

More shameful than their birth; revengeful wives

Shall menace husbands, armies sail to war

In lands across the sea, and every soil

Be soaked with blood; the might of men of battle

In all the mortal world shall be brought down

By Lust triumphant. In this house of sin

Brothers' adultery with brothers' wives

Shall be the least of sins; all law, all faith,

All honour shall be dead. Nor shall the heavens

Be unaffected by your evil deeds:

What right have stars to twinkle in the sky?

Why need their lights still ornament the world?

Let night be black, let there be no more day.

Let havoc rule this house; call blood and strife

And death; let every corner of this place

Be filled with the revenge of Tantalus!

    Behold, the pillars shall be wreathed with flowers,

The porches garlanded with festive bay,

The fires heaped high to give you worthy welcome.

Then shall a Thracian tragedy
¹
be played

With larger numbers.… Is the uncle's hand

Ready?… Why does he pause?… When will he strike?

Thyestes does not know his children's fate.…

Now light the fire and make the cauldron boil!…

Divide the bodies into little pieces!…

Splash blood on the paternal hearth! Draw up,

And serve the banquet! Here will be one guest

Not unaccustomed to such villainies.

    See, I am giving you a holiday

And a rich feast to satisfy your hunger.

Fill your lean belly, Tantalus; and see,

There will be wine mingled with blood to drink.

I fear I have devised a meal so strange

That
you
will run away from
it
. No, stay!

Where are you off to?

GHOST
:                        To the lake, the river,

The elusive water and the laden tree

Whose fruits avoid my lips. O let me go

Back to my lightless bed, my prison cell!

Or if my punishment has been too light,

There is another river, Phlegethon –

Let me go there, let me be left to stand

Midstream in waves of everlasting fire.

Hear me, all souls condemned by Fate's decree

To serve your penance: you that cowering sit

Under a vaulted cave, whose imminent fall

Is your eternal terror; you that face

The jaws of hungry lions, or beleaguered

By bands of raving Furies quake with fear;

You that half-burnt ward off a hail of torches –

Hear me! This is the voice of Tantalus,

Who comes in haste to join you. Learn from me,

And be content with your afflictions. When,

Ah, when may I escape this upper world?

FURY
: Not till you have put chaos in your house

And with your coming set its kings at war.

Fill them with evil lust for battle, shake

Their raving souls with storms of insane strife.

GHOST
: It is my place to suffer punishment,

Not be myself a punishment to others.

Am I commanded now to issue forth

Like noxious vapour boiling from the ground

Or some foul pestilence to spread destruction

Over the face of earth? Am I employed

To do a deed of monstrous wickedness

Against my grandsons? Father of all gods! –

My father, though in shame – let my loud tongue

Itself be sentenced to extremest pain

For this audacity, yet it will speak:

My sons, I warn you! Do not soil your hands

With sinful slaughter, keep your altars clean

Of blood aspersed in impious sacrifice.

I shall stand by you and avert that sin….

    Ah, wouldst thou, fiend, brandish thy fearful whip

Before my face, and fright me with the serpents

Writhing about thy horrid head? My belly

Aches with the agony of my old hunger

Awakened at thy bidding. In my blood

A fire of thirst is raging, leaping flames

Consume my vital parts.… Lead on, I follow.

FURY
: So… so… cast wide thy spell of madness… here,

And here, on every part of this doomed house….

With this… this… fury be they all possessed,

And envy, thirsting for each others' blood.

So… now the house has felt your coming in –

It quaked from top to bottom with the touch

Of your corrupting hand. Enough, well done.

Now take your way back to the lower depths,

Back to your river. The offended earth

Protests under your tread: see how the springs

Recede and shrink, the river beds are dry,

The scarce clouds ravaged by a scorching wind.

All trees are drained of colour, branches bare,

Fruit fallen; and the seas, that washed the shores

So close on either side the narrow Isthmus,

Have fled so far apart, the land between,

Now broader, barely hears their distant roar.

The lake of Lerna is dried up, Alpheus

Has closed his sacred river, and Phoroneus
¹

Is scarcely to be seen; Cithaeron's height

Stands naked of its cloak of snow; in Argos

The elders fear the drought of days gone by.

Behold, the very Lord of Heaven, the Sun

Is loth to drive his chariot forth, nor cares

To hasten on the day that soon must die.

If any god loves our Achaean Argos,

Pisa, for chariots known, the twofold harbours

On the twin seas of the Corinthian Isthmus –

If any god looks down upon the far-seen

Heights of Taygetus, where snows of winter

Massed in deep drifts by Scythia's wild north-easter

Melt to the summer winds that sailors wait for –

If any loves the cooling stream, Alpheus,

Running beside the famed Olympian circus –

    May such a god, we pray,

    Regard us with an eye of peace,

    And turn all harm away –

Forbid the ever-repeated alternation

Of crime with crime, spare us a new succession

Of young blood baser than older generations,

Of children apter in sin than were their fathers.

Grant that at last the impious brood descended

From thirsting Tantalus may tire of outrage.

Evil has gone too far – law's rule is powerless,

Even the common bounds of sin exceeded.

Treachery conquered Myrtilus
¹
the traitor;

The sea betrayed him as he betrayed his master,

Drowned him, and kept his name, to make a story

Known, to their cost, by all Ionian seamen.

Tantalus' infant son
²
was infamously

Put to the sword, while running to kiss his father,

Slaughtered, a baby victim upon the altar,

By his own father's hand, and cut to pieces,

Served as a dish to grace the godly tables.

The consequence of this repast was hunger,

Hunger and thirst for all eternity;

    What fitter penalty

    Could any fate decree

For the provider of that bestial banquet!

    Tantalus stands fainting, gasping,

    Empty-mouthed, with food abundant

    Over the sinner's head suspended

    Out of his reach, a prey elusive

    As the wild birds that Phineus
¹
hunted.

Trees all around him bend their laden branches

Stooping and swaying with the fruits they offer

In playful mockery of his empty mouthings.

Time and again deluded, now the sufferer,

Famished and desperate with his long torture,

Will not attempt to touch them, turns his head down,

Clenches his teeth and swallows down his hunger –

Only to see the riches of the orchard

Lowered to meet him, juicy apples dancing

On bending branches, goading again his hunger

Till he must shoot out hands to clutch… but useless –

Soon as he moves, expecting disappointment,

Up to the sky go all the swinging branches,

Out of his reach flies that autumnal richness.

Thirst follows, an agony equal to the hunger;

    His blood burns hotly, fiery torches

    Dry his veins; he stands demented

    Straining to reach the running river

    Close at his side; at once the water

    Turns and deserts its empty channel,

    Runs from him as he tries to follow,

    Leaving, where once a torrent sped,

    Dust for his drink from its deep bed.