Heracles Mad (0-110)

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

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;

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,

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:

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

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,

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.

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,

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,

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

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.

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!

Old warrior, who once razed the citadel of the Taphians leading on the troops of Thebes to glory, how uncertain are the gods’ dealings with man! I, for instance, as far as concerned my father, was never an outcast of fortune, for he was once accounted a man of might by reason of his wealth,

possessed as he was of royal power, for which long spears are launched at the lives of the fortunate through love of it; children too he had; and he gave me to your son, matching me in glorious marriage with Heracles. And now all that is dead and gone from us;

and I and you, old friend, are doomed to die, and these children of Heracles, whom I am guarding beneath my wing as a bird keeps her tender chicks under her. And they one after another keep asking me: Mother, tell us, where is our father gone from the land?

what is he doing? when will he return? Thus they inquire for their father, in childish perplexity; while I put them off with excuses, inventing stories; but still I wonder if it is he whenever a door creaks on its hinges, and up they all start, thinking to embrace their father’s knees.

What hope or way of salvation are you now devising, old friend? for I look to you. We can never steal beyond the boundaries of the land unseen, for there is too strict a watch set on us at every outlet, nor have we any longer hopes of safety

in our friends. Whatever your scheme is, declare it, lest our death be made ready.

It is by no means easy, my daughter, to give one’s earnest advice on such matters off hand, without weary thought; but let us prolong the time, since we are powerless to escape.

Do you need a further taste of grief, or do you cling so fast to life?

Yes, I love this life, and cling to its hopes.

So do I; but you should not expect the unexpected, old friend.

In these delays the only cure for our evils is left.

It is the biting pain of that interval I feel so.

Daughter, there may yet be a happy escape from present troubles for me and you; my son, your husband, may yet arrive. So calm yourself, and wipe those tears from your children’s eyes, and soothe them with soft words,

inventing a tale to delude then, piteous though such fraud be. Yes, for even men’s misfortunes often flag, and the stormy wind does not always blow so strong, nor are the prosperous ever so; for all things change, making way for each other.

The bravest man is he who relies ever on his hopes, but despair is the mark of a coward.