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ADRASTUS SACRIFICING,
OR REVENGE  

 

TO THAT MOST ESTEEMED PRELATE OF LETTERS, LANCELOT, BISHOP OF WINCHESTER, ECCLESIASTICAL PRIVY COUNSELOR TO HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, &c.

Most worthy prelate:

Assuming an urbane expression, my humble Muse offers your excellency a tale, written in conformity with the exacting canons of tragedy (novel for the ancients, ancient for ourselves). If your gravity should blame her forwardness, you should forgive her enthusiasms, which compel her to prefer to displease you altogether, rather than not to wish to please. Our life is a tragedy, in which every member of the audience plays a role. And every man is “happy who, thanks to anothercs grief, learns to avoid his own.” Happy is your government, which has so perfected its final act that no part of it seems to have been neglected by a slovenly poet. Let it thus regard this tragedy with the same countenance that it acts out your own. Thus he prays that all things eventuate as you wish for your honor, he who prays for this one thing, that he may always appear to be what he is, namely,

Most devoted to your excellency,
PETER MEASE 

 

THE ARGUMENT (FROM HERODOTUS’ CLIO)

Croesus, destined to encounter his fate, acquired a wife for his son, whom he had dreamed to be killed by the strike of a spear. On the very day of the wedding, the Mysians appeared, begging that he despatch his son and the other young men to hunt down a boar who, coming from Mt. Olympus, was ravaging their fields. At length he yielded to the boy’s ardor, entrusting him to Adrastus’ care. But as the boar charged, Adrastus, aiming at the beast with his deadly weapon, killed Croesus’ son with a cast gone awry. And soon he made sacrificed himself to this beloved shade at its tomb, by his own avenging hand. 

 

PERSONAE

GYGES’ GHOST
AEGLAEA, THE BRIDE
NURSE
CROESUS
SOLON
TWO MESSENGERS
ADRASTUS
CHORUS OF MAIDENS, SERVANTS OF THE BRIDE 

 

GYGES’ GHOST

Leaving dark Pluto’s squalid home, I revisit the airy tracts of heaven’s gods, an unenviable guest. This capitol of high Lydia is the city of Sardis, through which flows the river Pactolus, washing it with its gold-bearing stream. Here is this nation’s palace, in which with threatening hand I, Gyges, once wielded a scepter acquired by crime. While as a shepherd I chanced to be tending the royal flocks, a dire storm’s gale swiftly arose and began to confound earth and sky. From the clouds flashed lightning, shot from all sides, burning the treetops with its glowing torch. I was fearing the lightning’s strike when the earth yawned and opened a cave. Descending there, I took advantage of its opening and, while terror forbade me to peer outside, with my eyes I scrutinized everything the cave contained in its vast bosom. And, among much else, I espied a brazen horse. Next, inquiring what it held in its great belly, I caught sight of a great, superhuman corpse wearing on its finger a ring of wondrous virtue. For when I turned it one way on my hand, lo, I was seen as present only to myself, but absent to everyone else. When it was turned the other way, I was visible to those I had previously eluded. Alas, how the avoidance of blame leads us headlong into vices! How prone we are to crime, as often as we are permitted to avoid human eyes! How easy to scorn the knowing gods, if no man knows of our sins, will be shown by my example. when I perceived that at my will my wrongdoings could elude even keen-eyed Lynceus, I conceived a crime, and committed it. A noble adulterer, I entered the royal bed. I led the king’s consort into iniquity; and with her as an accomplice, unbeknownst to his guards, I murdered him in his deep slumber. And for a long while in my arrogance I held a kingdom gained by double crime. The joy of my transgression was brief, my pleasure brief, my repentance long. With these things impending, fear of punishment corrupts the unsullied joy of those burned by black conscience’s coal. For when I possessed the realm itself, royal wealth, feasts all a miser or a spendthrift can covet, in my unhappiness I scarce was in possession of myself. The vengeful Cares, making their diseased bed in my breast, banished dreams and easy sleep. With his countenance the Frightener. terrorized me in piteous ways so he left me no peaceful quiet. There is an old saying that gifts can appease even the gods: I decided to appease with gifts the spirit angry at me. I sent consecrated gifts and noblemen to Delphi’s god, instructed to ask that he reveal to them what punishments remained for my crime, whether my realm would be secure. The god responded there would be impunity for me, but heavy penalties for my descendants. I lived out the remainder of my life carefree. But, when a final day had closed my eyes, I shut myself up in Tartarus’ gloomy cave, where, wakeful, each day I have suffered to have my worm-gnawed bowels grow anew, as it has daily devoured them, so that from this mankind might learn to shudder at the avenging spirit, not to imagine the gods’ mercy to be an opportunity for their own wrongdoing. The savage Fury roused me from my baleful bed, that I might witness my dynasty’s downfall. Croesus, fifth in my line, now wields the scepter, for whom the prophecy, scarce pointless, foretold punishment. Hence it prophecizes that the father-in-law, in the selfsame hour he has seen the girl a bride, will see her his widowed daughter-in-law. She will wholly drench the corpse with pious tears, and the man responsible for the killing will be responsible for his own death. Who can witness these things, who can endure the ? The divine hand achieves vengeance slowly, but makes up for its sloth with its weight, when once it falls.

Nothing on earth is fixed for Man, while the earth endures. The heaven moves, and everything in the heavens holds steady for all time. But the earth endures, though nothing upon the earth. With her doubtful wheel Fortune sets human affairs a-turning. Human life is a chariot wheel, which, running its appointed race, quickly completes its course. Hence, warned of his personal lot, the tyrant learns to be milder. As conquered kings pull his car, and one looks over his shoulder, the charioteer asks the reason. The man answers back that he wonders why the wheel should quickly crush those it is lately raised on high. The wheel of Fortune whirls both families and realms with its baleful playfulness. It gives and takes away, it lifts up and casts down, constant only in its fickleness. Happy he who is prudently able to hold steady a mind variable according to Fortune. He is able to scorn Fortune’s varying quarrels, who mistrusts her when friendly, and refuses to yield to her when she is harsh. For she can offer fear when friendly, and hope when adverse. Where now is the realm of lofty Priam, he before whom flourishing Asia lately shuddered? Where is Candaules? He lies by the altar of Jupiter of the Household, slaughtered by the hand of a lad, but this adulterer murdered him in his queen’s bedchamber. Every man is governed by his own fates. Thus Fortune has her alterations, which we hapless men suffer, each one his own. The same Fortune which lately toppled kings from off their thrones has raised others aloft. Neither kingdoms remain the same for nations, nor do kings endure in their realms. A different Fortune whirls each man, constant for nobody. Destiny is constant, Fortune fickle, but Fortune’s fickleness is wont to obey Destiny’s constant will. With headlong fall the god, governing the lot balanced in the scale of the Fates, casts down those he has previously uplifted. In sum, let to man dare raise his face in arrogance, fearing the deceitful future. But why does the royal bride come forth, soaking her cheeks with tears? She wears a dark expression.

AEGLAEA, NURSE

AEG. The gods, ever hostile to mankind’s goods!
NUR. What sorrow, my child, weighs on your mind? With this countenance you greet your returned bridegroom?
AEG. Greet my bridegroom? But where is my bridegroom?
NUR. He will soon be here. I seem to see him, bearing the spoils of the savage boar, and the youths cheering him, singing the victory-song.
AEG. Thus sing the swans, but on the verge of death.
NUR. Here there is no fear of death.
AEG. Yet black fears terrify my heart, yesterday’s dreams from night’s hot bosom.
NUR. Dismiss the mind’s vain tricks: prophecize better, and fear less.
AEG. Would I had the power! But as often as the dream’s image comes to mind, I seem to see my husband’s bloody corpse, his face besmeared with black gore. For as two lions lay in wait for prey, opposite each other, with the same intent, their quarry came dashing swiftly along its way. When it escaped, the lions came together, each attacking the prey at its chosen speed. But their unequal collision produced an unequal result. With powerful claw the savage elder ripped the younger’s breast, and his strike laid low the huge lion’s mane, the pointless token of its strength. Yet the other did not exult as a victor, but, as one about to die, collapsed upon the dead one, and loathed himself as the one responsible for its killing. My limbs, relaxed in slumber, quaked for fear. But you stars, knowing of our birth, knowing of our fate, who, gliding over the silent world, govern the doubtful accidents of us lower beings with the steady changes of your motions, if something overhangs my poor bridegroom, let it rather fall on mind.
NUR. Why, child, thus assault the unknowing air with your complaints? Rather go to meet your returning husband, and with your hair bound with garlands now lead the general triumph.
AEG. Would this were a time for triumph, as I would wish! There is no hope to be able. The lion is the royal race, the lion killed, my bridegroom.
NUR. Most often a vain and tricksy dream is an evil thing. Those which the gods send are more truthful and not as trifling as these. I would proclaim the man who pays no heed to dreams more prudent.AEG. Rumor is often an evil, lying thing, yet often is truthful, and so it is with dreams.
NUR. Let rumor report a cub has been killed and you forecast the royal family to be murdered, silly?
AEG. But when their husbands are away, truly loving wives are wont to fear everything that can befall.
NUR. But this “everything that can befall” cannot happen. Or think you it a crime to hope, because you now see that fear is a vain, empty, foolish, useless thing?
AEG. The thing that cannot be can also be. So is it a wrong to feel panic? Is this not better than to cherish blind, doubtful vague hope?
NUR. Since your sick mind holds doubtful dangers to be real, I shall try another way. I fancy you believe the gods cannot be resisted.
AEG. She to him this belief is denied denies herself to be pious.
NUR. Thus the person who remembers that sorrows come from the gods remembers to endure them with a calm mind.
AEG. What you say is true, nurse.
NUR. Come then, if your husband were dead, to you imagine he would be brought back by your weeping? He who bears with unbalanced mind the sorrows that come, gives birth to sorrows of the mind, and yet he suffers them.
AEG. Earth, yawn wide and swallow me in the vast cavern of deepest Tartarus on the day I crave to survive you, bridegroom. O whatever spirits rule the zones in their rapid turning, either return me my bridegroom save, or give me to a like destruction. [Enter Croesus.]

CROESUS, AEGLAEA, NURSE

CROE. What wailing, coming from this quarter, assaults my ears, nurse? Why has she stained her fair cheeks with tears? Feel free to reveal her heart’s discontent.
AEG. Respected father-in-law…
CROE. Tell me what sorrow disturbs her mind, nurse. Has a grave disease befallen her?
NUR. No sickness afflicts her body.
CROE. So what has stopped her voice, so that she is suddenly dumbstruck? Surely this is some serious evil, that can impose deep silence on a female tongue.
NUR. Fear can do so even more.
CROE. So tell me what she fears.
NUR. She is over-pious.
CROE. How can that be?
NUR. For she is afraid for her bridegroom, as she dreamt a lion’s cub was ripped by savage claw.
CROE. So she gladdens me. Free of care, I command her to be carefree.
AEG. Would I could relieve my anxious heart of dread!
CROE. Pillar and single hope of your paternal home, my son, once I dreamed you were killed by strike of heavy spear. But now, daughter-in-law, thanks to your dream I recognize the pointlessness of my own. If you had dreamed a dream similar to my own, or that he was done in by tusk of foaming beast, this would have been cause for fear.
AEG. Lions inhabit mountain ridges, the boar the mountains of Mysia. They are hunting it.
CROE. Free your mind of fear. A boar cannot rip with claw.
AEG. I shall stifle and […] my fear as best I can, father-in-law. But if you wish to make my mind carefree, tell me if he has a sufficiently stout and trusty escort. This matters greatly.
CROE. If good deeds can prove a man trusty, they prove so of Adrastus. A dream frightened me also, when men arrived from Olympus asking me for help. For they reported their fields were everywhere being wasted with grim devastation by a boar. I would have refused to send my son, had not he himself insisted: “what manner of man will my bride think she has, who is terrified by such a trifling appearance of danger?” Anxiously, I explained my fear, and the dream that was its cause. But he asked whence a fierce boar would obtain a spear. Bested, I granted my permission.
AEG. [Aside. ] While he takes care that I in my unhappiness shall see him to be a man, he makes me fear that I shall never see my man.
CROE. [Overhearing. ] I know that all is safer than that you should be afraid.
AEG. I suspect that all is more perilous than that I can have confidence.
CROE. Look at Adrastus, have faith in this often-tested man, to whose care I have given my son. My realm received him, exiled from his homeland because of his brother’s killing, a wander, accursed. Here I purified him, made him free of guilt, and as he was born of royal parents, I raised him equally with my son, hoping that his bond of love would last forever, being formed in tender youth. Long have mutually cherished this thing with reverence, both the lover and the loved. First I drew him aside and reminded him of his duty, then of his love, so he would be careful to bring back my son to my hall unhurt, whom he will keep save as the sole support of my old age. Hence I entrusted my son. But he receives him into his trust, guards him in his safekeeping, and will protect him, my daughter-in-law.
AEG. I shall do your bidding, father-in-law, as your gentle and confident speech all but banished the fright from my timid heart.
CROE. No full of hope, together with your nurse, prepare a soft bed for your returned husband, in whose sweet bosom he may refresh his limbs.
AEG. So follow, nurse.
NUR. And right gladly, as gladly I see you happy, and your sorrow saddens me. [Exeunt Aglaea and Nurse.]
CROE. I marvel that my son is not yet returned; my daughter-in-law makes me happier. Gods, if you grant my son and pious daughter-in-law like offspring, no man should live more blessed than me. Yet my mind is eager that he come back soon. You maidens, greet him with the victory-song, and likewise sing the marriage-song for the bridegroom. [Exit.]

CHORUS

Nourishing sun, by whose light is refreshed whatever thrives and moves upon the earth, sky’s bright glory, from whom the stars absorb their light, return the lad to the expectant girl. Return a victor, prideful with his spoil, and we shall sing due praises for the victor. And you who aims swift arrows, who shoots the beasts with savage strike, maiden, protect this our disciple of your work. Erymanthus produced a foaming boar, Hercules’ strength tamed the fierce animal. Calydon brought forth a bane, to the injury of Diana’s godhead, until bold Meleager, laying low the daring beast, blessed the maiden with its spoils - by which gift he killed both himself and his mother’s jealous brothers. When, a sister, she wished to be made the avenger of her brothers’ blood, she was made an impious mother. Scarce did either deserve so little praise, stout Hercules and bold Meleager: to be dragged away from his bride’s gentle side, to be dragged away from the happy feasts of the gods, and to be dragged away from gentle sleep and trade Lydian songs for the barking of dogs. Rather, they deserved lauds, laurels, and a triumph. Sweet Cytherea adored Adonis. She bade him chase fleet stags, she let him hunt down hares, but the bade him be more careful and shun the boars, the bears, the swift lions. But, heedless of the goddess’ words, he lost his live and Venus’ love. Let our lad come home, led by Fate’s better auspices. Expectation alone makes our days be long. Return yourself to us once and for all, gracious prince, return us to ourselves. Lo, to us your countenance will be as the springtime, let us refresh ourselves in the blaze of your light, like that of Phoebus. Either remove the fear of our expectant band, or enhance the good joy for us, timid for no good reason, prince, under whose leadership, o, we seem to catch a better sight of shining days; with you preserved, we believe we too are safe. return yourself, rejoicing in your people, and while you march along, ho triumph, we will say not just once, ho triumph, and Pactolus’ darkling floods will resound, hurrah the triumph!
Thrice happy and more who are bound by a tie never to be dissolved save by death, whose love, not rent asunder by evil quarrels, is never to be dissolved before their dying day. Let such a love that united these two bind them together, so that she may not love another man or he crave another woman, even if Venus seek him, and golden Jupiter her.
SEMICHORUS As Phoebe surpasses the rest when she shines with her full disk, so Aglaea shines amidst the adorable brides, not otherwise than when Delos’ goddess, hunting the beasts, her ambrosial tresses hanging down loose upon her shoulders, stands out amidst the bevy of maidens. Such would sweet Venus and friendly Juno provide her. Such would each suitor crave for his wife, and such would every brother-in-law crave as a husband. For by far she surpasses the brides of Athens and the girls that Sparta exercises on Taygetus’ holy ridges, together with the band of young boys.
SEMICHORUS As when once Phoebus sends forth his rays, and the glowing stars flee at the sight, thus the splendor departs the throng of youths, as often as Atys is seen among them. She would be worthy of such a man, and he too will be worthy of such a woman. He is like Bacchus come from thyrsus-bearing India, he is like Phoebus shining with his uncut locks. Such he has always been, there is always such beauty in Atys, he is the manner of man a wooer wishes to appear to his mistress. Whenever Aeglaea holds such a man in her bed, a royal bride holds a royal bridegroom.
CHORUS O sun, who by yourself dispels from afar Erebus’ sad threats, the shades of darkness, remove now the fear from our minds, revealing the close by the prince whose like you may never see, looking at all things with your eye - unless you see his bride Aglaea, whose cheeks sorrow nonetheless has defaced with an evil wasting. O would you return at length, good leader, and provide long holidays for your Maeonia. [Enter Croesus and Solon.]

CROESUS, SOLON

CROE. At length you have come to our royal household, Solon, a welcome guest.
SOL. Would my homeland, whence I have gone into exile, were so friendly to me!
CROE. It is an ungrateful homeland from which a wise, deserving man is exiled. Repute says that you, a wise man, have made legislations, thanks to which your nation, shaped according to them, may thrive, and I am aware you know more.
SOL. Who knows himself knows enough.
CROE. May the man unknown to himself die unknown to others. But I wish to ask you certain things, Solon, which I would have you answer by virtue of your singular wit.
SOL. I am awaiting your wish.
CROE. Clearly each man chases after happiness, but by various pursuits. You know full well the manners of men, their cities, and so I crave to know whom you judge to be the most blessed.
SOL. Tellus.
CROE. Explain to me who is this Tellus, that you would award him the palm for blessedness.
SOL. A poor Athenian, scarce inglorious, who achieved a famous name. Since, dying for his nation’s freedom, he besmirched his glory with no disgrace, I adjudge him blessed; now the entire state, judging him blessed along with me, is wise.
CROE. But tell me who in your opinion takes the second place.
SOL. Cleobis and Biton claim the place for themselves. And I form a wholesome mind’s opinion.
CROE. I am astonished you name these ignoble fellows, yet my mind is eager to hear why you deem them blessed.
SOL. And mine to tell. Cleobis and Biton were two brothers. When their mother, readying Juno’s rites, lacked horses to pull the sacred chariot to the shrine, as is the custom, these lads did the horses’ work, and their mother was not late in entering into the temple. And, grateful, she offered up prayers for her sons’ good service, that whatever seemed the best thing to the goddess, that she would grant to the pair as a reward for this piety. Hopeful that the goddess would do this, she left her sons sleeping at her altar. In the morning, when Aurora left her rosy bed, offering her friendly torch of light to mortals, they were both found dead by the altar. would that when I draw my final breath no worse an ending of life befall me! Let nobody call him wretched who dies in the service of the gods.
CROE. Yet happy he seems to me who lives for himself, content with his lot.
SOL. He alone should seem blessed me to me, who happily sees the ending of his life.
CROE. They say it is happy to be envied, sad to be pitied.
SOL. He is to be pitied who denies this to be true.
CROE. So come, whoever is enviable to all, and piteous to none, will he seem blessed to you, or no?
SOL. Nobody more fortunate.
CROE. Croesus does not wish to be great Astyages, and wants to be Croesus, though he has the power to be Astyages.
SOL. You are enviable to many, yet in no wise to me.
CROE. Pray, do you not perceive these carpets, the Phrygian hangings, this royal equipage? Whatever you behold is kingly. I think you will never see anyone more ornate.
SOL. I have often seen peacocks, which Jove’s sister claims as her own, and I have seen doves.
CROE. I have wealth in heaps. I can enrich whom I please, when I please.
SOL. Wealth does not make one blessed, the mind does that.
CROE. A mind judging one to blessed confers enough of wealth.
SOL. But rightly you are still proclaiming the man not owning much to be blessed, for he more rightly claims the title of blessed whose tested good-will imparts a heedful reverence of the god.
CROE. Croesus’ greatest glory is to have cared for the celestials. I call to witness what I have dedicated to the god of Delphi.
SOL. Now at length I perceive and hear that misery and weak-mindedness drives all the wealthy to a arrogant opinion.
CROE. But I beg you dispute these things with prudence, Solon.
SOL. If you think my mind to be unsound, you are unwise.
CROE. And you would be more wise if you were less wise.
SOL. I should prefer to be unwise, if reason thus persuaded me, than to wish to be wise, if reason refused to be my guide.
CROE. But pray tell, by what reasoning are you impelled to refuse to be wise along with me?
SOL. I imagine you would listen more readily than you would be healed.
CROE. Possibly, but let me listen.
SOL. An Athenian, as our fathers report this event, suffering from madness and poverty, flattered himself that he was exceedingly wealthy, imagining that all his ships had come in to port; but when he had been cured and regained his wandering wits, he ungraciously resented the healing of his disease. And so insane pride unhinges the wealthy, who fancy all they possess to be their own.
CROE. Why should I foolishly disbelieve that what I possess is mine?
SOL. The honor is empty which popular favor confers upon the mighty, and swiftly takes away: nobody should believe that gift to be his own, whose highest virtue belongs to the man who confers the honor.
CROE. Wealth is tangible things, not an empty spirit.
SOL. But the goods Fortune bestows on mankind are not enduring: Fortune is a blind goddess, and in her fickleness makes us blind. The man she now raises with friendly spirit, she soon casts down, afflicts, and thrusts out the door. And though in human affairs she alone writes on both sides of the page, rashly lifting up and casting down, nonetheless according to her whim she is now called good, now bad, and is heaped with abuse because of her erratic inconstancy. Thus from old this sentiment has remained fixed for me as I ponder, to call no man by the august title of wholly blessed, unless he has seen his final day in happiness. It is no novelty that the limit of our life spans fourteen lustra, and it is sufficiently agreed that a lustrum consists of five years. A year has twice six sons, each with a face half-white, half-black, through which shining Phoebus, stablishing and bringing forth the day, drives his golden car. No day passes similar to its predecessor, and the day to be recorded with a white stone calls a man blessed, while another, black, will be able to call him a wretch. But he who climbs to dignity’s highest rung by fate’s lucky auspices cannot be so great that no malign aspect of Fortune can harm him. Thus nobody can have joy unmixed, which no mean sorrow can disturb. Our life is exposed to so many ills. When he whose bones are gently resting fears none of its evil, which harsh fate or an unkind lot might bring, wholly exempt from their insults, I shall judge him a blessed man on whom the Fates smile, and for whom favorable Fortune has engendered no misfortune. With his mind happy, he dies happily, as he has lived, equally prepared to live and die.
CROE. You have disputed enough. Now make an ending to your words. Enter our palace. Servants will tend to your body. I would you would fare well in body.
SOL. And you yourself, who scorns my words, farewell. [Exit.]
CROE. I loathe a sophist who employs no wisdom on himself. So whoever will wish to be wise according to his opinion, will wish to be dead. I care not a fig, I will not purchase at any price your novel title of blessed, Solon. People on whom Fortune has never shone with a serene face, who eat worse than do my dogs, whose skin is scraped by hard beds, I do not wonder that they prefer death, for of two evils they choose by far the lesser. I see the crowded throng of the rich, whom Fortune greatly favors, but who never favor themselves. They are sparing of their piles, but not of themselves, they scrape up coins which some unknown heir will spend. Act thus? I’d rather die. But all my prosperity goes according to my will. While I care for the gods, in turn I am cared for by the gods, nor do I dread some divinity will turn his wrath against my guilt. Is death to be sought? Surely I would not fear it, and I wish to hope for nothing save my son. But what panting fellow approaches on swift foot? I am waiting. He’s a Phrygian, bearing some news. [Enter Messenger.]

MESSENGER, CROESUS

MESS. Is this the lofty palace of Croesus, to whom the gods are dearer than he to the gods?
CROE. Who are you seeking, guest?
MESS. I am seeking Croesus.
CROE. Unburden your mind; behold, Croesus is at your service.
MESS. Would I could speak out what I’d rather keep silent!
CROE. Have confidence. My knowing mind is quite eager to hear what you are making ready to say.
MESS. Would I did not have the power to speak things, Croesus, which I would rather bury in deep silence!
CROE. Are you sure of what you are saying?
MESS. Do you imagine a newcomer would wish to terrorize the royal mind with empty fear? Behold, I am a Phrygian, not a citizen of Lydia known to you.
CROE. But are telling of what you have seen?
MESS. With these eyes I have seen him slain.
CROE. Tell me by what hand he died. Tell me the reason, unfold the events of his death.
MESS. With night’s shadows banished, Aurora was showing a right troubled face (I imagine the goddess had foreknowledge of the killing to come), when we arrived at Olympus. When the spears were distributed, all the determined duly made ready, hefting javelins in their hands, and stood blocking the paths where they thought the beast would erupt. And as Diana is wont to overtop her maidens, so your son and Adrastus his companion shone amidst their peers, both ready to shoot the beast with their shining spears. As leaders of the band they stood in front, the other noblemen on either side. They roused the beast from his cave with a nose like that the Corybants set up. celebrating Dindymene’s rites on Gargarus’ ridges. Baring his dangerous tusks his bristling back, pig-like, the fierce thing abandoned its cave and [ . . . ] made his dash Seeing his way entirely barred by weapons, he boldly made his way on a path through the midst of the weapons. Then Adrastus was the first who burned to cast his spear at the boar, and Adrastus was the next. while each craved to forestall the other in winning the palm, Adrastus’ hand, aiming perversely, killed Atys with the strike meant for the beat. Now all the youths are readying a funeral procession instead of a triumph. Adrastus is coming among them. The whole band sent me on before to bring the news, lest the unexpected sight of this evil do you harm. [Exit.]

CROESUS, CHORUS

CROE. Do you thus look upon all your devotees, o Phoebus? Do you despise us all? Would now the spear have pierced my heart, and my heart had not first felt this heavy wounding! I swear by the stars and the fickle gods (if the gods have any care for human affairs), whom I foolishly worshipped in vain, that I held nothing on earth, nothing in my prayers, more important than to see my son safely returned to my kingdom. Our homeland’s single prop, and his father’s hope, is fallen. Alas, he is fallen by a savage strike. Gods, whom I worshipped in vain, by what crime have I deserved this punishment? By my piety?
CHO. Cease assaulting the great god’s ears with your complaints, Croesus. For trust us, if you harm him you will do him no injury, but much to yourself. It befalls nothing on earth that feeds on the air of the sky to be entirely free of sorrow. By divine will, two jars are set up in heaven’s citadel, over which presides Jupiter himself. Distributing good things from the others, he is in the habit of mixing in evils from the other. Nobody is blessed, nobody drinks the good undiluted, nobody the bad. The man is least wretched to whom befalls the smallest part of this, yet if it be larger, it is to be born with quiet mind and cheerful spirit. For thus it seems best to the gods, by whose wills all things go well.
CROE. Whoever has endured the greatest has endured lighter than mine. I, whom just now the greatest captains and kings could have envied, am now envious. Lo I, who just now was blessed by my son’s life, and by my dear daughter-in-law, am made bereft by a dire strike. Thus to have died by a savage hand? Thus for a prince of noble blood to have perished? O if an earlier fate had carried me off, now I should not know how sad it is to be made bereft! For if little Atys were now playing in my great hall, the force of such sick sorrow would not lie upon me. Alas, he is fallen by a dire strike, and any hope of progeny is fallen.
CHO. A wonderful thing the eye is for mortals! To each man the evil he works looks small, the evil he suffers great. To you, great king, these ills may seem the heavier because you are experiencing them, inexperienced before in your life. Yet they are to be borne. It is a hard thing to contemplate your slain son, and the lost hope of descendants, a harder thing than that. It is wrong to mourn, and wholly useless. Why wear out your miserable old age with grieving? For why will grieving help him? Assuredly it harms you, famed among kings. For a youth of such a nature to die by a premature fate is a hard thing, but whatever is a sin to amend grows lighter thanks to patience.
CROE. I remember that once I cautiously feared a dreadful dream, and to have manufactured an anxiety, because in my sleep I saw my son killed by strike of a spear. How often he wanted to play with a spear! How often he wanted to lead the Phrygian band! How often I forbade him to wield a spear! The ravaging boar laid waste the Mysian fields, while for him the marriage-bed was already prepared. The inhabitants compelled him, and he me, to grant him permission to hunt. But now whence can I hope for salvation? A dire hand has killed him. I have killed him myself, being too easy-going, harsh, alas, only in my love. From me let a mild father learn to be unbending, for when I strove to escape my fate I fulfilled it.
CHO. No man can escape the fates, and the fates conquer Jove himself, for mortals there is no hope of escaping. Yield to the fates. Fortify your mind as best you can. He who bears misfortune with equanimity breaks the evil’s strength and weight. But behold, the funeral procession makes its solemn way. Now trumpets blare with their keen sound. [Enter Adrastus and others, bearing Atys’ corpse.]

CROESUS, ADRASTUS, CHORUS

CROE. Highest Jupiter, who ordains laws for guests, a deity angry at the wicked if they violate your laws, I pray you, and you celestials who judge us mortals’ actions by the abundant light of equity’s law, even through the errant darkness of the mind’s mistakings, damn this accursed person to Tartarus’ deep cave. Yet do not think simple death enough, sentence him to the horrendous chains of a savage punishment, that he might envy Tantalus his parched thirst and prefer to be Sisyphus rolling his rock, and that the Belides pity this man, doomed to the worst of penalties; thus may you act, you avenging goddesses. Thus, thus, Adrastus, you return him safe to me? Thus I pray all my enemies be safe; thus, I pray, may you (than whom I hate none more) be safe. For what crime did I deserve such a crime? Thus you repay my favors? That I purified your murder-polluted hands? That I raised you equal with my son? That I placed myself in the place of your father, and you in that of my son? Ingrate! You hesitate to speak? Or at least are you ashamed to, you who dared commit such a wrong? Perhaps you hoped to be my heir, my son being killed off, here is the evil’s chief point if any foul dead is to be done. They think they may do this for a kingdom’s sake.
ADR. I swear to you by whatever god rules in heaven, by every divinity of the blue see, by the gods below, by your shade, Atys (no holier does the Underworld possess), and by your holy head, Croesus, I would rather have fallen by my own hand. Not my will, but the inescapable power of malign fate compelled me to do this crime by my fell hand. It is not my love of life which compels me to postpone my life’s end, but lest I seem to you guilty of the murder. I shall seem to my self to won a sufficient reward for my life, if it is known that your Adrastus’ lot was evil but his intention sound. Wherefore, Croesus, by all the gods, by the shade of the son stolen from you, I beg and beseech (if Adrastus’ prayers have any power), by your own hand offer me as a sacrifice at the sad tomb, that the cause of his death may be his comrade on the pyre.
CROE. So, as far as I hear, you are in no way to be blamed by me, but rather the fickle gods, in whom I vainly trusted, and my harsher fate, harsh also to you. No man can penalize the Fates, but I would not choose to penalize an unwitting man. Live, Adrastus, live, if it is for me to decide, scarcely with a calmer mind, but with a calmer fate, I pray. But, my son, with what lamentation should I follow your bier? You did not utter these promises to you father, son, when you departed. Is this hearse to carry you off, you? Will the pyre claim your bones first, with me still living? O great crime of destiny! O heavy misfortune! I would not have wanted this to happen to you, I would have preferred it befall myself, nor would this lot be unbecoming to my old age. But now I shall bear this catastrophe of unfair destiny, which the Fate has granted. Take up your unhappy burden.
CHO. But behold, the tear-drenched bride approaches, wearing a sad look, like a tigress deprived of her cubs. [Enter Aglaea. ]

AEGLAEA, CROESUS, ADRASTUS

AEG. What mourner’s funeral wail do I hear? I seem to be hearing your voice, father-in-law. Are we now ruined?
CROE. Indeed, thus has perished Atys. You, virgin bride, are now a widowed bride, daughter-in-law. What’s this commotion? Do her limbs fail in numbness? Revive her, servants, we have had enough of death. Keep her far from the pyre, lest the unhappy grief harm her helpless mind. And now let us consign this beloved man to the tomb, Adrastus. [Exit. ]
ADR. I shall follow these dear exequies. No death will wrench him from me, I was his comrade when he was active, I shall be his comrade when he is dead. This will be my desire’s highest ambition. But fare you well, fare well, Aeglaea’s glory. Care for your mistress’ body, trusty maidens. Since I do not seem to the gods to be willingly hurtful, I shall pray lest I be hurtful further, as I seem. [Exit.]

CHORUS

Woe, woe, how everything is spinning in a gyre. Quickly things come to pass, which just now you would deny were possible. How there is nothing on earth, the ownership of which is sure! How there is nothing on earth, the hope for which is secure! What you love over-much, you will regret having liked. Thus there should be a limit on your desire, and also modesty. Now the true story told by the unkempt Phrygian merits our sure belief. [ . . . ] For the immoderate, life is short, nor is pleasure long. How quickly sorrow, slow to depart, destroys you! Inauspiciously, evil presses upon evil, sent by the god, nor may any mortal promise himself something enduring; everything is transitory. If someone should ask my opinion what is best, I think it is not to be born. His life flows by happiest, who judges thus. Whoever thinks otherwise will find this is true, nor let him think death an evil. O Phoebus, who sees all with your eye, why do you take pleasure in gazing at our misery? Now, rather, regard us suppliants with your wholesome light. Confer vital strength upon the weary, helpful god, and so that grief may depart from here, drive quickly your horses westward, so that, the day banished, in the dark of night the darkness of shadows may bring forgetfulness of our sad grievings. [Enter Aglaea.]

AEGLAEA, CHORUS

AEG. What clamor strikes my ears as I sleep? Has a palace pillar collapsed?
CHO. The building stands firm.
AEG. O the deceptive show of a dream! And yet they say that the male offspring of a household are its pillars. Alas, my Atys is fallen! But where have they taken his corpse, maidens?
CHO. They are readying it for the tomb.
AEG. Then why am I delaying? Direct your mistress’ feeble step.
CHO. But we cannot, being wholly ignorant of the place.
AEG. So has Croesus not told you the place?
CHO. He was prudently taking care less this cruel sight hurt you, unable to control your grief.
AEG. So, Atys, has death wholly stolen you from us? Lament with me. I lament my bridegroom, lament a liking. In sadness, loosen your head’s vain beauty, for your prince has gone to his rest. Let all the air resound with the wails of the grieving.
CHO. So now, in mourning, we all sadly loosen our hair. It is fitting to mourn. If our tears had the power to recall his holy shade from the gloomy lake, another river would flow, made of our tears, and not just the banks of the Pactolus would resound with the city’s lamentation. Alas! we will all weep with a vain lamentation, as for those whom it has penned in with its dark waters Orcus remains the place from which there is no return.
AEG. So thus you leave me, my bridegroom? Thus in your youth you abandon life? Had you died in battle now, your strong right hand having avenging itself, for me your death. But the strike of a lifeless spear stole you from my embraces, alas, you from me, and me from you, and it befalls neither of us to drink our fill. From all sides bitters floods me, nor, dying, did you give me any injunctions to remember throughout my life.
CHO. A man does not have a sufficient warning what he should avoid at all times. Rather, end your sad lamentations. You are not the only one to lose a husband, nor indeed the first. That pain gnaws us less, in which we have companions. He at whose lyre-stroke rivers stood still, he whom every tree followed, and at whom the throng of beasts were amazed, holy Orpheus, he married Eurydice, but the joy of their marriage was short. For on the day he made her his own a chill snake, lurking in the grass, struck her. Thus it is easier to bear your grief, with this great companion.
AEG. Beat your soft breasts with your hard hands, I am not content with a gentle sound. Atys is dead. This noise I consecrate to your shade, you who glowingly surpassed the roses in the ruddiness of your cheeks, I consecrate to your shades, and will appease is ghost, and I shall appease your ghost with a great libation made of my tears. Wail with me, wail. Let all the welkin groan along with our lamentations.
CHO. We are all beating our breasts, best of princes, let the welkin right with our wailing. We must not lament with a gentler sound. Lo, Atys is fallen, alas, he is fallen. Whoever wishes to lament him justly, let him spend his whole life in lamentations. Let him consume all the time of his life in plaintive wailing, in piteous lamentation. The one hope of the Phrygians, the hope of Lydia, the sole pillar of his father’s throne, Atys, has fallen by strike of a spear, and we pass our hours in weeping.

MESSENGER, AGLAEA

MESS. O dire, dire fates, piteous, horrible!
AEG. My mind can foretell nothing worse than this. Is Croesus well, or is my father-in law Pluto’s guest?
MESS. He is well and lives, and I pray he live longer, but with calmer mind, more wholesome.
AEG. So of what savage fates are you shouting?
MESS. Faithful Adrastus, Atys’ comrade, is fallen.
AEG. Would he had fallen long ago, if such had pleased the gods! Then my raging heart would not have felt such evil raging deep within my breast.
MESS. Cease blaming Adrastus. Hearing his cruel death’s tale, you will pronounce him a noble man.
AEG. I refuse to hate him. Say by what hand he perished.
MESS. He fell in death, done in by his own hand.
AEG. But for me good reputation has a cheaper price.
MESS. With far-sounding wails we filled the roads, transporting the corpse to the city boundary, and Adrastus wailed louder than the rest. From his hard face you could tell that the man was stricken by anger and sorrow, complaining of harsh fate’s iniquity. When we came to the place marked for the cremation, the pyre was built of pine and oak. Here we took him from his hearse, and gifts of frankincense and foodstuffs, all to be burnt along with the pyre. But when the greedy fire had devoured all, we gathered the beloved man’s bones and committed them to the tomb, according to the custom. And now Croesus himself, having said his final farewell, had gone off home with feeble step, and the others followed behind. In secret I remained alone, for the sake of my piety towards the pious shade. And so, thinking the place to be free of onlookers, I made ready to make my heartfelt lamentations unwitnessed. But another man had occupied the place before me, Adrastus. This ear of mine received his final utterance. “So is this tomb to hold Atys with me still living? But Atys is dead by Adrastus’ doing, this hand will expiate him, guilty of this new murder. Let this be a wrong in Croesus eyes, it is right in mine, done against myself. No Jupiter forbids this according to hospitality’s law. I pray you shades, accept what is accomplished by a rightful hand.” Thus complaining much in few words about his destiny’s lot, he plunged the steel deep within his guts, and in death fell upon the dead man’s ashes. [Exit.]

AEGLAEA, CHORUS

AEG. So my dreams told me all this true. He is the lion, he is the friendly killer of the cub. Would that my end were the same! Happy he who has the power to summon sadness’ ending. Such was Adrastus, but cares await me as I live.
CHO. But put an end on your sadness, and console your self among Maeonia’s maidens. You who were lately ripe for a man, were scarce yet ripe for death. Henceforth you will be able to gain happiness.
AEG. Rather you join me in mourning a youth slain by his own vengeful hand. As he was my bridegroom’s true friend, he dies an object of my grieving. Who does not think a life wretched fenced around by so many miseries, so that one sorrow is linked to the next in a constant chain?
CHO. Brave lad, we mourn you slain. It is for the timid to hope for death, but the bold dares summon it. Though the fates made you wretched, they have blessed you. Never is noble virtue be borne to Styx waters, never does it die, though the greedy urn imprison the bones: fame endures forever. Farewell for ever, forever good-bye. Perish the man who craves to be evil in the good times; long live whoever craves to be good in a time of evil.

 Finis