As they did with much of Greek culture, the Romans appropriated and transformed Athenian tragedy beginning in the third century BCE. When the originals were lost to Western Europe during the Middle Ages, these Latin adaptations would go on to heavily influence playwrights in England, most notably Shakespeare.
Enduring to our time is the hugely impactful work of Lucius Annaeus Seneca, a Stoic philosopher born in what is now Cordoba, Spain. Tutor and later advisor to the Emperor Nero, he was implicated in the conspiracy to assassinate that tyrant and forced to commit suicide.
Nine tragedies written by Seneca survive, all of them reworkings of Greek originals. Beautifully written, full of bizarre supernatural entities and dripping with gore, Senecan plays spat on norms of staging and pacing and indulged themselves in long soliloquies rather than the rapid-fire exchanges more common in ancient Athens. As a result, many scholars believe the plays were meant to be read or recited rather than acted out.
To my mind, the most brutally effective of these tragedies is “The Madness of Hercules” (called simply Hercules or Hercules Furens — “mad Hercules” — in the original Latin).
Nearly all my readers will be familiar with the story of Hercules (though hopefully not just from the Disney animated feature): Zeus (Jupiter or Jove in Latin) has a penchant for mortal women and he engages in a dalliance with Alcmene, disguised as her husband, Amphitryon. Hercules is born from this union. Fed up with her husband’s philandering, the goddess Hera (Juno) determines to destroy Hercules, hence the many trials and labors the demi-god has to go through.
As “The Madness of Hercules” opens, Juno is seething with rage and swears to find the means to finally undo the hero, who is in Hades, performing the 12th labor assigned by his nemesis, King Eurystheus — bring back the three-headed hound of hell, Cerberus.
Meanwhile, the father-in-law of Hercules, King Creon of Thebes, has been slain by Lycus, who has taken control of the city and sequestered away the hero’s wife, Megara, along with their children and Amphitryon, the man who raised Hercules. Lycus demands that Megara marry him and legitimize his rule; she refuses, preferring death for herself and her sons.
It is at this point that Hercules returns, having mastered Cerberus and accompanied by Theseus, whom he freed from the bowels of hell. Reunited with his family, he learns of the plans Lycus has for them and he sets out to slay the usurper. Now Juno springs her trap, through one of the Furies and Isis (an Egyptian goddess whose worship was sponsored by the Emperor Caligula). The two blind Hercules with mad rage, and he slaughters his wife and sons, as well, before falling into a deep sleep.
Upon awakening, the demigod realizes what he has done. Overcome with grief, Hercules longs to kill himself, but Amphitryon and Theseus persuade him to stay his hand and seek atonement for his sins in Athens. His reluctant agreement is inexpressibly moving: “To the Herculean labors let one more be added: to live.”
There are several translations of the play available; I read that of John G. Fitch, part of the bilingual Loeb Classical Library (a collection I highly recommend). Faithful to the Latin and powerful in its own right, Fitch’s rendering is top-notch.
A source of stunning dark imagery, meditations on suffering and revenge, and a wealth of epigrams (“Successful and fortunate crime is called valor,” for example), “The Madness of Hercules” is most certainly timeless and powerful.