Discussion

This second unit of Module 7 readings comprises primary sources, and linked Wikipedia articles for context, concerning Heracles, Orpheus, the Aeneid, and Roman myth. Please don't hesitate to ask questions about the reading in the General Discussion Forum, especially in the thread about myths of human action!

Amphitryon, Heracles' human father, opens the tragedy.

Amphitryon

What mortal has not heard of the one who shared a wife with Zeus, Amphitryon of Argos, whom once Alcaeus, son of Perseus, begot, Amphitryon the father of Heracles? Who lived here in Thebes, where from the sowing [5] of the dragon's teeth grew up a crop of earth-born giants; and of these Ares saved a scanty band, and their children's children people the city of Cadmus. Hence sprung Creon, son of Menoeceus, king of this land; [10] and Creon became the father of this lady Megara, whom once all Cadmus' race escorted with the glad music of lutes at her wedding, when the famous Heracles led her to my halls.

Now he, my son, left Thebes where I was settled, left his wife Megara and her kin, [15] eager to make his home in Argolis, in that walled town which the Cyclopes built, from which I am exiled for the slaying of Electryon; so he, wishing to lighten my affliction and to find a home in his own land, offered Eurystheus a mighty price for my recall: [20] to free the world of savage monsters, whether it was that Hera goaded him to submit to this, or that fate was leagued against him. Other toils he has accomplished, and last of all has he passed through the mouth of Taenarus into the halls of Hades to drag to the light [25] that hound with three bodies, and from there he has never returned.

Now there is an ancient legend among the race of Cadmus that a certain Lycus in days gone by was husband to Dirce, and he was king of this city with its seven towers, before Amphion and Zethus, sons of Zeus, [30] lords of the milk-white steeds, became rulers in the land. His son, called by the same name as his father, although no Theban but a stranger from Euboea, slew Creon, and after that seized the government, having fallen on this city when weakened by dissension. [35] So this family connection with Creon is likely to prove to us a serious evil; for now that my son is in the bowels of the earth, this new monarch Lycus is bent on extirpating the children of Heracles, [40] to quench one bloody feud with another, likewise his wife and me, if useless age like mine is to rank among men, that the boys may never grow up to exact a blood-penalty of their uncle's family. So I, left here by my son, while he is gone into the pitchy darkness of the earth, [45] to tend and guard his children in his house, am taking my place with their mother, that the race of Heracles may not perish, here at the altar of Zeus the Savior, which my own gallant child set up [50] to commemorate his glorious victory over the Minyae. And here we are careful to keep our station, though in need of everything, of food, drink and clothes, huddled together on the hard bare ground; for we are barred out from our house and sit here for want of any other safety. [55] As for friends, some I see are unreliable; while others, who are staunch, have no power to help us further. This is what misfortune means to man; may it never fall to the lot of any who bears the least goodwill to me, to apply this never-failing test of friendship!

Later, the chorus sing of Heracles' labors:

Chorus

Phoebus is singing a dirge, after his happier strains, [350] for Linus dead in his beauty, striking his lyre with key of gold; but I wish to sing a song of praise, a crown to all his toil, on the one who has gone to the gloom beneath the nether world, [355] whether I am to call him son of Zeus or of Amphitryon. For the virtue of noble toils is a glory to the dead.

First he cleared the grove of Zeus [360] of a lion, and put its skin upon his back, hiding his yellow hair in its fearful tawny gaping jaws.

And then one day with murderous bow he wounded [365] the race of wild Centaurs, that range the hills, slaying them with winged shafts. Peneus, the river of fair eddies, knows him well, and those far fields unharvested, [370] and the steadings on Pelion and neighboring caves of Homole, from where the Centaurs rode forth to conquer Thessaly, arming themselves with pines.

[375] And he slew that dappled deer with horns of gold, that preyed upon the country-folk, glorifying Artemis, huntress queen of Oenoe.

[380] Next he mounted on a chariot and tamed with the bit the horses of Diomedes, that greedily champed their bloody food at gory mangers with unbridled jaws, devouring with hideous joy the flesh of men; [385] then crossing the heights of Hebrus that flow with silver, he still toiled on for the tyrant of Mycenae.

And at the strand of the Pelian gulf [390] by the streams of Anaurus, he slew with his arrows Cycnus, murderer of his guests, the savage wretch who dwelt in Amphanae.

And he came to those minstrel maids, [395] to their orchard in the west, to pluck from golden leaves the apple-bearing fruit, when he had slain the tawny dragon, whose terrible coils were twined all round to guard it; [400] and he made his way into ocean's lairs, bringing calm to men that use the oar.

And he stretched out his hands to uphold the firmament, [405] seeking the home of Atlas, and on his manly shoulders took the starry mansions of the gods.

Then he went through the waves of heaving Euxine against the mounted host of Amazons dwelling round Maeotis, [410] the lake that is fed by many a stream, having gathered to his standard all his friends from Hellas, to fetch the gold-embroidered raiment of the warrior queen, [415] a deadly quest for a girdle. Hellas won those glorious spoils of the barbarian maid, and they are safe in Mycenae.

He burned to ashes Lerna's murderous hound, [420] the many-headed hydra, and smeared its venom on his darts, with which he slew the shepherd of Erytheia, a monster with three bodies.

[425] And many another glorious achievement he brought to a happy issue; to Hades' house of tears has he now sailed, the goal of his labors, where he is ending his career of toil, nor does he come back again. [430] Now your house is left without a friend, and Charon's boat awaits your children to bear them on that journey out of life, without return, contrary to the gods' law and man's justice; and it is to your prowess [435] that your house is looking although you are not here.

The theme of Heracles never getting as much respect as he deserves comes to a climax as the hero, wearing the terrible shirt soaked in the blood of Nessus, reproaches all those he aided with his labors.

Heracles

Ah, many and hot and cruel not in name alone have been the labors of these hands, the burdens hoisted upon these shoulders! And yet no toil ever laid on me by the bedfellow of Zeus or by the hateful Eurystheus was as harsh [1050] as this thing which the daughter of Oeneus, fair and false, has fastened upon my back, this woven net of the Erinyes in which I perish! Plastered to my sides, it has eaten away my inmost flesh and sucks the channels of my lungs, [1055] making my body its home. Already it has drunk away my fresh lifeblood, and my whole body is wasted, conquered by these indescribable bonds. Not spearmen on the battlefield, nor the Giants' earth-born army, nor the might of savage beasts, [1060] not Hellas, nor the land of the barbarian, nor any land which I came to purify has ever done this to me. No, a woman, a weak woman, born not to the strength of man, all alone has brought me down without a stroke of the sword!

Son, show yourself my trueborn son, [1065] and do not honor your mother's name above your father's. Bring out the woman that bore you, and give her with your own hands into my hand, that I may know for certain which sight grieves you more—my tortured frame, or hers, when she suffers her just punishment! [1070] Go, my son, be bold! Show your pity for me, whom many might think deserving of pity—pity me moaning and weeping like a girl! No one could say that he had ever seen this man do that before. No, always without complaint I used to pursue my troubles. [1075] But now in my misery I have been found a woman, instead of the man I used to be.

Come close, stand near your father and do examine the magnitude of the misfortune by which I suffer; for I will uncover my suffering. Look! See all of you this miserable body; [1080] see how wretched, how pitiable I am!

Ah, misery! The ruinous spasm flames again; it shoots through my sides—I must wrestle once more with that cruel, devouring plague!

[1085] King Hades, receive me! Strike me, O fire of Zeus! Hurl down your thunderbolt, ruler, dash it, Father, upon my head! Again the pest consumes me, it has blazed up, it has leapt to fury! O hands, my hands, [1090] O shoulders and chest and trusty arms, you are indeed those noted arms which once subdued with your might the dweller in Nemea, the scourge of herdsmen, the lion, a creature that no man might approach or confront; you tamed the Lernaean Hydra, [1095] and that monstrous army of beasts with double form, hostile, going on hoofed feet, violent, lawless, of surpassing violence; you tamed the beast in Erymanthia, and underground the three-headed whelp of Hades, a resistless terror, offspring of the fierce Echidna; you tamed the dragon [1100] that guarded the golden fruit in the farthest places of the earth. These toils and thousands more have I tasted, and no man has ever erected a trophy of victory over my hands. But now, with joints unhinged and with flesh torn to shreds, I have become the miserable spoil of an unseen destroyer, [1105] —I, who am called the son of noblest mother, I, who am reputed the seed of Zeus, lord of the starry sky.

But you may be sure of one thing: though I am nothing, though I cannot move a step, yet she who has done this deed shall feel my heavy hand even so. Let her but come to me [1110] so that she may learn to proclaim this message to all the world, that in my death, as in my life, I punished the guilty!

Arms and the man I sing, who first made way,

predestined exile, from the Trojan shore

to Italy, the blest Lavinian strand.

Smitten of storms he was on land and sea

by violence of Heaven, to satisfy

stern Juno's sleepless wrath; and much in war

he suffered, seeking at the last to found

the city, and bring o'er his fathers' gods

to safe abode in Latium; whence arose

the Latin race, old Alba's reverend lords,

and from her hills wide-walled, imperial Rome.

O Muse, the causes tell! What sacrilege,

or vengeful sorrow, moved the heavenly Queen

to thrust on dangers dark and endless toil

a man whose largest honor in men's eyes

was serving Heaven? Can gods such anger feel?

In ages gone an ancient city stood—

Carthage, a Tyrian seat, which from afar

made front on Italy and on the mouths

of Tiber's stream; its wealth and revenues

were vast, and ruthless was its quest of war.

'T is said that Juno, of all lands she loved,

most cherished this,—not Samos' self so dear.

Here were her arms, her chariot; even then

a throne of power o'er nations near and far,

if Fate opposed not, 't was her darling hope

to 'stablish here; but anxiously she heard

that of the Trojan blood there was a breed

then rising, which upon the destined day

should utterly o'erwhelm her Tyrian towers,

a people of wide sway and conquest proud

should compass Libya's doom;—such was the web

the Fatal Sisters spun. Such was the fear

of Saturn's daughter, who remembered well

what long and unavailing strife she waged

for her loved Greeks at Troy. Nor did she fail

to meditate th' occasions of her rage,

and cherish deep within her bosom proud

its griefs and wrongs: the choice by Paris made;

her scorned and slighted beauty; a whole race

rebellious to her godhead; and Jove's smile

that beamed on eagle-ravished Ganymede.

With all these thoughts infuriate, her power

pursued with tempests o'er the boundless main

the Trojans, though by Grecian victor spared

and fierce Achilles; so she thrust them far

from Latium; and they drifted, Heaven-impelled,

year after year, o'er many an unknown sea—

O labor vast, to found the Roman line!

Below th' horizon the Sicilian isle

just sank from view, as for the open sea

with heart of hope they sailed, and every ship

clove with its brazen beak the salt, white waves.

But Juno of her everlasting wound

knew no surcease, but from her heart of pain

thus darkly mused: “Must I, defeated, fail

of what I will, nor turn the Teucrian King

from Italy away? Can Fate oppose?

Had Pallas power to lay waste in flame

the Argive fleet and sink its mariners,

revenging but the sacrilege obscene

by Ajax wrought, Oileus' desperate son?

She, from the clouds, herself Jove's lightning threw,

scattered the ships, and ploughed the sea with storms.

Her foe, from his pierced breast out-breathing fire,

in whirlwind on a deadly rock she flung.

But I, who move among the gods a queen,

Jove's sister and his spouse, with one weak tribe

make war so long! Who now on Juno calls?

What suppliant gifts henceforth her altars crown?”

Juno makes a storm, which blows Aeneas off course, to Carthage.

Aeneas is telling the story of the Fall of Troy to Queen Dido of Carthage.

Wearied of the war,

and by ill-fortune crushed, year after year,

the kings of Greece, by Pallas' skill divine,

build a huge horse, a thing of mountain size,

with timbered ribs of fir. They falsely say

it has been vowed to Heaven for safe return,

and spread this lie abroad. Then they conceal

choice bands of warriors in the deep, dark side,

and fill the caverns of that monstrous womb

with arms and soldiery. In sight of Troy

lies Tenedos, an island widely famed

and opulent, ere Priam's kingdom fell,

but a poor haven now, with anchorage

not half secure; 't was thitherward they sailed,

and lurked unseen by that abandoned shore.

We deemed them launched away and sailing far,

bound homeward for Mycenae. Teucria then

threw off her grief inveterate; all her gates

swung wide; exultant went we forth, and saw

the Dorian camp untenanted, the siege

abandoned, and the shore without a keel.

“Here!” cried we, “the Dolopian pitched; the host

of fierce Achilles here; here lay the fleet;

and here the battling lines to conflict ran.”

Others, all wonder, scan the gift of doom

by virgin Pallas given, and view with awe

that horse which loomed so large. Thymoetes then

bade lead it through the gates, and set on high

within our citadel,—or traitor he,

or tool of fate in Troy's predestined fall.

But Capys, as did all of wiser heart,

bade hurl into the sea the false Greek gift,

or underneath it thrust a kindling flame

or pierce the hollow ambush of its womb

with probing spear. Yet did the multitude

veer round from voice to voice and doubt of all.

Then from the citadel, conspicuous,

Laocoon, with all his following choir,

hurried indignant down; and from afar

thus hailed the people: “O unhappy men!

What madness this? Who deems our foemen fled?

Think ye the gifts of Greece can lack for guile?

Have ye not known Ulysses? The Achaean

hides, caged in yonder beams; or this is reared

for engin'ry on our proud battlements,

to spy upon our roof-tops, or descend

in ruin on the city. 'T is a snare.

Trust not this horse, O Troy, whate'er it bode!

I fear the Greeks, though gift on gift they bear.”

So saying, he whirled with ponderous javelin

a sturdy stroke straight at the rounded side

of the great, jointed beast. A tremor struck

its towering form, and through the cavernous womb

rolled loud, reverberate rumbling, deep and long.

If heaven's decree, if our own wills, that hour,

had not been fixed on woe, his spear had brought

a bloody slaughter on our ambushed foe,

and Troy were standing on the earth this day!

O Priam's towers, ye were unfallen still!

Troy falls. Aeneas and his companions do a whole bunch of wandering (Book 3).

Back in the present, Juno and Venus keep up their plan to get Aeneas and Dido to fall in love.

Behold and see

how Iove-sick Dido burns, and all her flesh

'The madness feels! So let our common grace

smile on a mingled people! Let her serve

a Phrygian husband, while thy hands receive

her Tyrian subjects for the bridal dower!”

In answer (reading the dissembler's mind

which unto Libyan shores were fain to shift

italia's future throne) thus Venus spoke:

“'T were mad to spurn such favor, or by choice

be numbered with thy foes. But can it be

that fortune on thy noble counsel smiles?

To me Fate shows but dimly whether Jove

unto the Trojan wanderers ordains

a common city with the sons of Tyre,

with mingling blood and sworn, perpetual peace.

His wife thou art; it is thy rightful due

to plead to know his mind. Go, ask him, then!

For humbly I obey!” With instant word

Juno the Queen replied: “Leave that to me!

But in what wise our urgent task and grave

may soon be sped, I will in brief unfold

to thine attending ear. A royal hunt

in sylvan shades unhappy Dido gives

for her Aeneas, when to-morrow's dawn

uplifts its earliest ray and Titan's beam

shall first unveil the world. But I will pour

black storm-clouds with a burst of heavy hail

along their way; and as the huntsmen speed

to hem the wood with snares, I will arouse

all heaven with thunder. The attending train

shall scatter and be veiled in blinding dark,

while Dido and her hero out of Troy

to the same cavern fly. My auspices

I will declare—if thou alike wilt bless;

and yield her in true wedlock for his bride.

Such shall their spousal be!” To Juno's will

Cythera's Queen inclined assenting brow,

and laughed such guile to see. Aurora rose,

and left the ocean's rim. The city's gates

pour forth to greet the morn a gallant train

of huntsmen, bearing many a woven snare

and steel-tipped javelin; while to and fro

run the keen-scented dogs and Libyan squires.

The Queen still keeps her chamber; at her doors

the Punic lords await; her palfrey, brave

in gold and purple housing, paws the ground

and fiercely champs the foam-flecked bridle-rein.

At last, with numerous escort, forth she shines:

her Tyrian pall is bordered in bright hues,

her quiver, gold; her tresses are confined

only with gold; her robes of purple rare

meet in a golden clasp. To greet her come

the noble Phrygian guests; among them smiles

the boy Iulus; and in fair array

Aeneas, goodliest of all his train.

In such a guise Apollo (when he leaves

cold Lycian hills and Xanthus' frosty stream

to visit Delos to Latona dear)

ordains the song, while round his altars cry

the choirs of many islands, with the pied,

fantastic Agathyrsi; soon the god

moves o'er the Cynthian steep; his flowing hair

he binds with laurel garland and bright gold;

upon his shining shoulder as he goes

the arrows ring:—not less uplifted mien

aeneas wore; from his illustrious brow

such beauty shone. Soon to the mountains tall

the cavalcade comes nigh, to pathless haunts

of woodland creatures; the wild goats are seen,

from pointed crag descending leap by leap

down the steep ridges; in the vales below

are routed deer, that scour the spreading plain,

and mass their dust-blown squadrons in wild flight,

far from the mountain's bound. Ascanius

flushed with the sport, spurs on a mettled steed

from vale to vale, and many a flying herd

his chase outspeeds; but in his heart he prays

among these tame things suddenly to see

a tusky boar, or, leaping from the hills,

a growling mountain-lion, golden-maned.

Meanwhile low thunders in the distant sky

mutter confusedly; soon bursts in full

the storm-cloud and the hail. The Tyrian troop

is scattered wide; the chivalry of Troy,

with the young heir of Dardan's kingly line,

of Venus sprung, seek shelter where they may,

with sudden terror; down the deep ravines

the swollen torrents roar. In that same hour

Queen Dido and her hero out of Troy

to the same cavern fly. Old Mother-Earth

and wedlock-keeping Juno gave the sign;

the flash of lightnings on the conscious air

were torches to the bridal; from the hills

the wailing wood-nymphs sobbed a wedding song.

Such was that day of death, the source and spring

of many a woe. For Dido took no heed

of honor and good-name; nor did she mean

her loves to hide; but called the lawlessness

a marriage, and with phrases veiled her shame.

It doesn't end well.

But Dido (horror-struck

at her own dread design, unstrung with fear,

her bloodshot eyes wide-rolling, and her cheek

twitching and fever-spotted, her cold brow

blanched with approaching death)—sped past the doors

into the palace garden; there she leaped,

a frenzied creature, on the lofty pyre

and drew the Trojan's sword; a gift not asked

for use like this! When now she saw the garb

of Ilian fashion, and the nuptial couch

she knew too well, she lingered yet awhile

for memory and tears, and, falling prone

on that cold bed, outpoured a last farewell:

“Sweet relics! Ever dear when Fate and Heaven

upon me smiled, receive my parting breath,

and from my woe set free! My life is done.

I have accomplished what my lot allowed;

and now my spirit to the world of death

in royal honor goes. The founder I

of yonder noble city, I have seen

walls at my bidding rise. I was avenged

for my slain husband: I chastised the crimes

of our injurious brother. Woe is me!

Blest had I been, beyond deserving blest,

if but the Trojan galleys ne'er had moored

upon my kingdom's bound!”So saying, she pressed

one last kiss on the couch. “Though for my death

no vengeance fall, O, give me death!” she cried.

“O thus! O thus! it is my will to take

the journey to the dark. From yonder sea

may his cold Trojan eyes discern the flames

that make me ashes! Be this cruel death

his omen as he sails!” She spoke no more.

But almost ere she ceased, her maidens all

thronged to obey her cry, and found their Queen

prone fallen on the sword, the reeking steel

still in her bloody hands.

Aeneas and his companions reach Italy and have some funeral games for his father (Book 5). Then, as you saw back in the reading for underworld and afterlife, he goes down to visit his dad and get advice. In Books 7-12, there's a war over Lavinia, Aeneas' fiancée, because she was engaged to another dude, Turnus.

It all ends like this.

Aeneas now is near; and waving wide

a spear like some tall tree, he called aloud

with unrelenting heart: “What stays thee now?

Or wherefore, Turnus, backward fly? Our work

is not a foot-race, but the wrathful strife

of man with man. Aye, hasten to put on

tricks and disguises; gather all thou hast

of skill or courage; wish thou wert a bird

to fly to starry heaven, or hide thy head

safe in the hollow ground!” The other then

shook his head, saying: “It is not thy words,

not thy hot words, affright me, savage man!

Only the gods I fear, and hostile Jove.”

Silent he stood, and glancing round him saw

a huge rock Iying by, huge rock and old,

a landmark justly sundering field from field,

which scarce six strong men's shoulders might upraise,

such men as mother-Earth brings forth to-day:

this grasped he with impetuous hand and hurled,

stretched at full height and roused to all his speed,

against his foe. Yet scarcely could he feel

it was himself that ran, himself that moved

with lifted hand to fling the monster stone;

for his knees trembled, and his languid blood

ran shuddering cold; nor could the stone he threw,

tumbling in empty air, attain its goal

nor strike the destined blow. But as in dreams,

when helpless slumber binds the darkened eyes,

we seem with fond desire to tread in vain

along a lengthening road, yet faint and fall

when straining to the utmost, and the tongue

is palsied, and the body's wonted power

obeys not, and we have no speech or cry:

so unto Turnus, whatsoever way

his valiant spirit moved, the direful Fiend

stopped in the act his will. Swift-changing thoughts

rush o'er his soul; on the Rutulian host,

then at the town he glares, shrinks back in fear,

and trembles at th' impending lance; nor sees

what path to fly, what way confront the foe:—

no chariot now, nor sister-charioteer!

Above his faltering terror gleams in air

Aeneas' fatal spear; whose eye perceived

the moment of success, and all whose strength

struck forth: the vast and ponderous rock outflung

from engines which make breach in sieged walls

not louder roars nor breaks in thunder-sound

more terrible; like some black whirlwind flew

the death-delivering spear, and, rending wide

the corselet's edges and the heavy rim

of the last circles of the seven-fold shield,

pierced, hissing, through the thigh. Huge Turnus sinks

o'erwhelmed upon the ground with doubling knee.

Up spring the Rutules, groaning; the whole hill

roars answering round them, and from far and wide

the lofty groves give back an echoing cry.

Lowly, with suppliant eyes, and holding forth

his hand in prayer: “I have my meed,” he cried,

“Nor ask for mercy. Use what Fate has given!

But if a father's grief upon thy heart

have power at all,—for Sire Anchises once

to thee was dear,—I pray thee to show grace

to Daunus in his desolate old age;

and me, or, if thou wilt, my lifeless clay,

to him and his restore. For, lo, thou art

my conqueror! Ausonia's eyes have seen

me suppliant, me fallen. Thou hast made

Lavinia thy bride. Why further urge

our enmity?”With swift and dreadful arms

Aeneas o'er him stood, with rolling eyes,

but his bare sword restraining; for such words

moved on him more and more: when suddenly,

over the mighty shoulder slung, he saw

that fatal baldric studded with bright gold

which youthful Pallas wore, what time he fell

vanquished by Turnus' stroke, whose shoulders now

carried such trophy of a foeman slain.

Aeneas' eyes took sure and slow survey

of spoils that were the proof and memory

of cruel sorrow; then with kindling rage

and terrifying look, he cried, “Wouldst thou,

clad in a prize stripped off my chosen friend,

escape this hand? In this thy mortal wound

't is Pallas has a victim; Pallas takes

the lawful forfeit of thy guilty blood!”

He said, and buried deep his furious blade

in the opposer's heart. The failing limbs

sank cold and helpless; and the vital breath

with moan of wrath to darkness fled away.

Vergil. Aeneid. Theodore C. Williams. trans. Boston. Houghton Mifflin Co. 1910.