Statius’s “Thebaid”
[The poet begins his song with a meditation on the complexity of Theban myth and the miseries suffered by so many there.]
The strife of brothers and alternate reigns
in impious hatred and the guilt
Of tragic Thebes, these themes the Muses' fire
Has kindled in my heart. Whence, Heavenly Ones,
Am I to take the road? Shall I relate
The origins of that disastrous race,
Europa's rape, Agenor's ordinance
Inexorable, Cadmus' searching quest
Across the sea? Far back the chain would reach
Should I recount the trembling husbandman
Of hidden warfare and the battles sown
In fiendish furrows, should my verse pursue
What song Amphion sang to bid the hills
Of Tyre advance to build a city's walls,
Whence fell the weight of Bacchus' wrath upon
His kindred battlements, what deed was done
By savage Juno, against whom the bow
Of ill-starred Athamas was drawn, and why
Poor Ino, with Palaemon, fearlessly
Plummeted to the vast Ionian sea.
Rather at present I'll permit the joys
And agonies of Cadmus to have passed.
[Much later in the poem, Statius vividly recounts the final combat of Eteocles and Polynices]
Such was their battle. Not with normal skill
They met but fury and passion; flaming hate
They saw through vizors, bitter eyes explored
Faces. No space between them; swords are locked,
Arms twined, each catches at the other's cries
Like thrilling bugle-calls or trumpet blasts.
So when at lightning speed two boars are driven
By headlong rage to battle, bristles bared
High on their backs, their eyes flash fire and loud
Ring curving crescent tusks, and watching from
A rock nearby the hunter pales and bids
His hounds be silent: in such lust of blood
Those brothers clashed. No deadly wounds as yet
But blood began, the deed of doom was done.
No need now for the Furies: marvelling
And full of praise they stood and only grieved
That mankind's madness could exceed their own.
Each brother, lusting, sought his brother's blood,
Nor felt his own was flowing, till at last
The exile, rage more valiant, crime more just,
Exhorts his hand and drives his spear deep home
Into his kinsman, where the corselet scales
Now give poor cover to the groin below.
Not yet in pain but panic-striken by
The steel's first chill, he hunched his shaken frame
Behind his shield. Soon, certain of his wound,
He gasped weaker and weaker; nor did his foe
Spare him as be drew back but taunted him:
"Why back away good brother? See what comes
Of sloth and sleep, the rusty calm of kings!
Exile and wounds have trained these limbs of mine.
Learn war's hard ways and never trust good times!”
So those poor wretches fought. The wicked king
Still had some feeble life, last dregs of blood,
Could still have stood awhile, but purposely
He fell and in the throes of death devised
A final subterfuge. Shouts rose that roused
Cithaeron, and his brother raised his hand
To heaven, sure of triumph: 'All is well!
My vow is heard. I see his swimming eyes
Are glazed in death. Quick, while his sight remains
Bring me the crown and sceptre.' Forward then
He stepped intent to strip his arms- his arms!-
As though to bring them back to grace the shrine
Of his triumphal land. But Eteocles,
No ghost as yet, was hoarding life to wreak
His wrath's revenge, and when he saw his brother
Standing and leaning over him, he raised
His sword unseen, and, hatred bolstering
His ebbing life's last remnants, glad to die,
Buried his blade deep in his brother's heart.
Then he: 'So you're alive, you crafty crook
Your anger still survives! You'll never earn
Abodes of bliss. Come with me to the shades.
There too I shall demand my right to reign
If Minos' urn still stands, whose verdict gives
Kings their due punishment.' With that last threat
He fell and crushed his foe by his arms' weight.
Go, savage souls, and by your deaths pollute
The baleful Underworld and pay in full
All of Hell's pains and punishments. And ye,
Grim goddesses of Styx, spare humankind
Evils henceforth. Let one sole day suffice
In every land and every age to have seen
Crime such as this; and let posterity
Forget its ghastly horror and kings alone
Recount this shameful battle for the throne.
The strife of brothers and alternate reigns
in impious hatred and the guilt
Of tragic Thebes, these themes the Muses' fire
Has kindled in my heart. Whence, Heavenly Ones,
Am I to take the road? Shall I relate
The origins of that disastrous race,
Europa's rape, Agenor's ordinance
Inexorable, Cadmus' searching quest
Across the sea? Far back the chain would reach
Should I recount the trembling husbandman
Of hidden warfare and the battles sown
In fiendish furrows, should my verse pursue
What song Amphion sang to bid the hills
Of Tyre advance to build a city's walls,
Whence fell the weight of Bacchus' wrath upon
His kindred battlements, what deed was done
By savage Juno, against whom the bow
Of ill-starred Athamas was drawn, and why
Poor Ino, with Palaemon, fearlessly
Plummeted to the vast Ionian sea.
Rather at present I'll permit the joys
And agonies of Cadmus to have passed.
[Much later in the poem, Statius vividly recounts the final combat of Eteocles and Polynices]
Such was their battle. Not with normal skill
They met but fury and passion; flaming hate
They saw through vizors, bitter eyes explored
Faces. No space between them; swords are locked,
Arms twined, each catches at the other's cries
Like thrilling bugle-calls or trumpet blasts.
So when at lightning speed two boars are driven
By headlong rage to battle, bristles bared
High on their backs, their eyes flash fire and loud
Ring curving crescent tusks, and watching from
A rock nearby the hunter pales and bids
His hounds be silent: in such lust of blood
Those brothers clashed. No deadly wounds as yet
But blood began, the deed of doom was done.
No need now for the Furies: marvelling
And full of praise they stood and only grieved
That mankind's madness could exceed their own.
Each brother, lusting, sought his brother's blood,
Nor felt his own was flowing, till at last
The exile, rage more valiant, crime more just,
Exhorts his hand and drives his spear deep home
Into his kinsman, where the corselet scales
Now give poor cover to the groin below.
Not yet in pain but panic-striken by
The steel's first chill, he hunched his shaken frame
Behind his shield. Soon, certain of his wound,
He gasped weaker and weaker; nor did his foe
Spare him as be drew back but taunted him:
"Why back away good brother? See what comes
Of sloth and sleep, the rusty calm of kings!
Exile and wounds have trained these limbs of mine.
Learn war's hard ways and never trust good times!”
So those poor wretches fought. The wicked king
Still had some feeble life, last dregs of blood,
Could still have stood awhile, but purposely
He fell and in the throes of death devised
A final subterfuge. Shouts rose that roused
Cithaeron, and his brother raised his hand
To heaven, sure of triumph: 'All is well!
My vow is heard. I see his swimming eyes
Are glazed in death. Quick, while his sight remains
Bring me the crown and sceptre.' Forward then
He stepped intent to strip his arms- his arms!-
As though to bring them back to grace the shrine
Of his triumphal land. But Eteocles,
No ghost as yet, was hoarding life to wreak
His wrath's revenge, and when he saw his brother
Standing and leaning over him, he raised
His sword unseen, and, hatred bolstering
His ebbing life's last remnants, glad to die,
Buried his blade deep in his brother's heart.
Then he: 'So you're alive, you crafty crook
Your anger still survives! You'll never earn
Abodes of bliss. Come with me to the shades.
There too I shall demand my right to reign
If Minos' urn still stands, whose verdict gives
Kings their due punishment.' With that last threat
He fell and crushed his foe by his arms' weight.
Go, savage souls, and by your deaths pollute
The baleful Underworld and pay in full
All of Hell's pains and punishments. And ye,
Grim goddesses of Styx, spare humankind
Evils henceforth. Let one sole day suffice
In every land and every age to have seen
Crime such as this; and let posterity
Forget its ghastly horror and kings alone
Recount this shameful battle for the throne.