Summary
Kratos and Bia, the servants of Zeus, arrive at the top of the Scythian mountains, the very edge
of Greek civilization, with Hephaistos and a captive Prometheus. “Hephaistos,” Kratos says, “you must carry out the
Father’s will / and bind the criminal to this steep looming rock / with chains of adamant, unbreakable.” It was the “flower” of
Hephaistos, the “bright and dancing fire,” that Prometheus has stolen and given to humankind; thus,
it is Hephaistos whom Zeus has ordered to bind Prometheus.
Because Prometheus has stolen fire, he must “pay / the price to all the gods, that he may
learn / to love the tyranny of Zeus / and quit his friendship with the human race.” Hephaistos doesn’t want to chain Prometheus to the rock, but “Necessity compels [him]
to it.” Hephaistos is forced by the same “power that holds [Prometheus]
captive,” and he has little choice in the matter. Prometheus will be chained to
the side of the mountain and left exposed to the elements. “Thus at times one
torment or another,” Hephaistos says to Prometheus, “will plague you. Your
rescuer is not yet born.”
“Why hold back now?” Kratos asks
a hesitant Hephaistos. “What’s all this foolish pity?” Kratos can’t understand
why Hephaistos doesn’t “hate” Prometheus—“the gods’ worst enemy”—especially since Prometheus gave
Hephaistos’s “treasure to those dayflies,” but Hephaistos is torn. “Kinship
holds fearsome power. So does good fellowship,” he says. Crying for Prometheus
will do no good, Kratos says, and ignoring Zeus’s orders is not advisable. “My skill, my handicraft, I hate
you!” Hephaistos cries.
Hephaistos wishes his “skill” belonged to someone else. “There
are no carefree gods, except for Zeus,” Kratos says.
“He rules us all, so he alone is free.” Hephaistos continues to bind Prometheus to the massive mountain, and Kratos prods Hephaistos
along, reminding him of his task. “Now drive that wedge right through his
chest,” Kratos says, “and let its bite reach deep into the rock.” Hephaistos is
still reluctant. “Oh pitiful Prometheus, forgive me!” he cries. “More pity
for the enemy of Zeus?” Kratos asks. “Take care you don’t bewail yourself some
day,” he warns.
“The
job is done,” Hephaistos says as he finishes binding Prometheus to the mountain. “It didn’t take long.” Hephaistos is
eager to leave, and he says as much to Kratos.
“Be soft if that’s your way,” Kratos says to Hephaistos. “But don’t begrudge me
/ my iron will and furious disposition.” Then, Kratos turns to Prometheus. “Go
play the rebel now,” he says, “go plunder the gods’ treasure / and
give it to your creatures of a day.” Prometheus’s beloved “mortals” can do
nothing to spare him his pain now. “The gods who named you the Forethinker were
mistaken,” Kratos says as he leaves with Bia and Hephaistos.
“Oh Mother Earth! Oh Sun, all-seeing brilliant
eye!” Prometheus cries once he is alone. “I call you all to witness—see
what I, a god, must suffer at the hands of the gods.” He will be chained to the mountain to suffer “through endless time” and
“miseries.” Prometheus knew he would be made to suffer for giving the
humans fire, and he knows that his future will be nothing but pain.
There is no “hidden hurt” that can “take [him] by surprise.” Prometheus will
“bear as lightly as [he] can” the “fate” that has been “decreed” for him. “I
know full well / no power can stand against Necessity,” Prometheus says.
But Prometheus still “can’t accept [his] lot.” He is “yoked in chains” for giving the mortals fire to “teach them every art and skill, / with endless
benefit,” and now he must “pay the penalty.” Prometheus hears a sound in the
distance. He isn’t yet sure who or what is coming to see the “ill-fated god”
bound in chains by Zeus. “Whatever it is,” Prometheus says, “I fear it.”
The chorus, the daughters of Okeanos,
arrive in a “winged chariot” and approach Prometheus. “Don’t be afraid,” they say. “We come as friends!”
Prometheus is happy to see them. “Aaah!” he cries. “See / the cruel watch / I
must keep!” Okeanos’s daughters are sympathetic. “I see you, though my eyes are
dimmed / by terror and a haze of tears / at your predicament,” the women say.
Prometheus tells the chorus he would rather have been sent to the “House
of Hades” or even Tartaros.
“But here I hang up high, / a plaything for the winds to buffet, / and for my
enemies to gloat on,” he says.
“Who would not groan with pity / at your
sight—except for Zeus?” the chorus asks. The women claim that Zeus’s “wrath is constant,”
and “his resolve / to crush the Progeny of Heaven” will not yield until he is
“satisfied” or struck by another whim. “And yet, though I am tortured
now,” Prometheus says, “and bound immovably, / the Lord of the
Immortals will one day / have need of me / to show him the new plot / that
dooms his scepter and his pride.”
Still, Prometheus refuses to tell Zeus what he knows, unless Zeus agrees to free him “from
[his] chains.” The chorus is in awe of Prometheus. “You are so daring, /
unbending in the face / of such atrocious pain,” the women say, “but you give
too much freedom / to your tongue.” Zeus is sure to hear him, they say, and
when he does there will be trouble. Prometheus knows “very well” that Zeus is
“cruel” and “rules by whim,” but he also knows the day will come when Zeus will
need him. Zeus’s “heart will soften” then, Prometheus says, and “his rage will
finally relent.”
The chorus asks Prometheus why he has been punished so severely by Zeus. “Tell us,” they say, “unless telling adds to your pain.”
Prometheus says there is “no escape” from his “misery either way,” so he may as
well tell them the story. At the beginning of the Battle
of the Titans, Prometheus tells the women, he had
“offered to advise the Titans,” but he was unable “to persuade them.” The Titans were
“proud of their strength, and arrogant,” and they “despised” Prometheus’s plan,
believing that they could instead be victorious “with little effort and by
force alone.” But Prometheus’s mother, Themis, gave him “foreknowledge,” and he knew “that victory would
fall / to those who show superior guile, not might.”
The Titans refused to listen to Prometheus, so he joined forces with Zeus. Zeus “willingly accepted” Prometheus’s plan, and Kronos and the Titans were defeated and sent to the “depths
of Tartaros.”
Prometheus had been of “service to the tyrant god,” but he has still punished
him. “There is a sickness / among tyrants,” Prometheus tells the chorus. “They cannot trust their friends.”
Not
long after the Battle
of the Titans, Prometheus tells the chorus, Zeus “intended to expunge” the human race and “grow another
one more to his liking.” Prometheus couldn’t let his creation die, so he saved
them. “And that is why you see me racked by suffering,” Prometheus tells the
chorus. “I wish my eyes had never settled / on this sight,” the chorus says,
“for now my heart is wounded.” They ask if Prometheus might be leaving
something out of his story. “I gave men power to stop foreseeing their death,”
Prometheus says. “I sowed blind hopes to live as their companions,” and “I gave
them fire,” he says.
“Are these in truth the charges on which Zeus—,” the chorus asks. “Torments me and will never let me go,” Prometheus finishes. “Let the pronouncement that would hurt us
both / remain unspoken,” the chorus says, “but find a way to end this!”
Prometheus has “willfully” offended Zeus, but even he did not think that his
punishment would be quite so severe. “But don’t lament over my present woes,”
Prometheus says as he invites the chorus to sit near him. “For my sake, please,
come down and share my sorrow,” he continues. “Misfortune is a migrant bird
that settles, / now here, now there, on each of us in turn.”
Suddenly,
“on a winged horse,” Okeanos arrives.
“I’ve traveled far to find you, Prometheus,” he says. “But even kinship aside, in my heart / no one
dwells higher than you.” He has come to help Prometheus, but Prometheus can’t
understand why. “Look at me, then, / and view the display,” Prometheus says.
“Witness the friend of Zeus, / who helped create the tyrant’s rule, / twisted in agony
by his command.” Okeanos offers Prometheus “a better wisdom.” A “new master”
rules now, Okeanos says, and if he hears Prometheus talking like he is, there
is sure to be even more trouble. “Humility, just / a small touch of it,”
Okeanos says to Prometheus, “would serve you well.”
“Now I will go / and see what I can do to set
you free,” Okeanos says
to Prometheus. “I envy you, that escaped all blame,” Prometheus replies,
“though you risked everything to lend me your support.” He begs Okeanos not to attempt
to persuade Zeus, as the king is unyielding. “Just see to it that you don’t
come to harm,” Prometheus says. But Okeanos claims that his “will is set,” and
he is “indeed very sure” that Zeus will hear his plea and free Prometheus from
his suffering.
Prometheus is thankful for Okeanos’s
support, but he cannot let him go to Zeus. “So don’t concern yourself,” Prometheus says to Okeanos,
“steer a wide berth / from all action, and rest easy.” He reminds Okeanos of
his brother, Atlas, whom Zeus has made to bear “upon his shoulders / the
weight of heaven and earth” for all eternity, and Typhon, the “hundred-headed monster,” who challenged Zeus and now
is “a sprawling, helpless form” deep “beneath the roots of Aetna.” Prometheus
says he will “drain out [his] suffering / until the day when Zeus gives up his
wrath.”
“Clearly your words are sending me back
home,” Okeanos says
to Prometheus. “So that your pity won’t draw hate against you,”
Prometheus replies. Okeanos agrees to leave the mountain and not approach Zeus on Prometheus’s behalf. Okeanos climbs on his winged
horse and flies away. “I weep for you, Prometheus, and I mourn your terrible
fate,” the chorus says. “This is a tyrant’s act, cruel and remorseless.”
“Don’t think that I am silent out of pride /
or stubbornness,” Prometheus says. “My backward-turning thoughts / eat at my heart
on seeing myself discarded / in this way.” Instead of speaking of his own
misfortune, he asks the chorus to listen to what he has to say of “human misery.” He
gave “shrewdness” to the humans’ “childish minds, and taught them how to
reason.” From the start they could hear and see, but this was “useless to
them.” Their lives were “like dreams with shifting shapes” that had been only
“meaningless confusion.”
Before Prometheus gave the humans reason, they knew nothing of “brick
homes / built to face the sun,” and they “burrowed underground and dwelt” like
“ants.” They did now know about “the approach of winter, or of flowery spring,
/ or summer with its fruits.” Without reason, every human act “was without
purpose.” Then Prometheus showed them how to read the stars, and he created
“numbers” and “the joining of letters, which is / the very memory of things.”
He gave them “the subtlest science” and taught them to “bring wild beasts /
under the yoke.”
All
these things Prometheus has given to humankind. “But I have no device to free
myself / from this disaster,” he says. He also gave them “many arts / and
skillful means,” including the knowledge of “how to mix / soothing elixirs that
can steer the course / of any sickness.” He taught them to read the “flight” of
birds and how to “burn a thighbone” in the “difficult to learn” art “of
enticing the gods.” He revealed the “treasures” deep in the earth, of “bronze,
iron, silver, [and] gold.” Every last “human art” was “founded by Prometheus,”
he tells the chorus.
“You have already helped these mortals beyond
measure,” the chorus says to Prometheus. “Now don’t neglect yourself, unfortunate god.” They tell
him he will be as powerful as Zeus by the time he is free. “The fate who brings to
fulfillment / has made no such decree,” Prometheus says. “Skill is weaker than
Necessity.” The chorus asks who “plots the course” for Necessity. “The triple
Fates,” Prometheus answers. “The unforgetting Furies.” Even Zeus cannot escape the Furies, Prometheus says. The
chorus asks him what Zeus’s fate is, but Prometheus refuses to tell. “For only
/ by holding it away will I escape / these agonies and this humiliation,” he
claims.
“You give too much honor to mortals,”
the chorus says to Prometheus, “this is your punishment.” Suddenly, Io appears. “What land is this?” she asks. “What tribe?”
She looks to Prometheus but doesn’t know who he is. “Ah! Ah! Eh! Eh!” Io
screams. “The gadfly, it stings me.” She claims that the fly “chases” her,
“wretched and hungry, / along the sands of the seashore.” Io only wanders now,
pursued by the gadfly. “What did I do, son of Kronos, what fault did you find in me,” asks Io, “that you would
yoke me to such pain?”
“Who are you?” Io asks Prometheus again. “Tell me, tormented one, who you are, speak to
my misery. / Oh my unfortunate life! Pain, hunger, and deadly fear / are my
only friends.” She begs Prometheus to tell her what the future holds. “Is there
a cure for me?” she asks. “Tell me plainly.” Prometheus tells Io who he is, and
that he gave fire to mankind. “When will my suffering end?” she asks.
“Is there a limit to this misery?”
“Better
for you to not know than to know,” Prometheus says to Io of her suffering. “Do not be kinder to me than I
want,” Io says. “Since you demand, I will tell you,” Prometheus says. “Listen.”
The chorus interrupts. They want to know more about Io’s
condition. “Then let her hear from you / the future trials that she must
suffer,” the chorus says. Prometheus encourages Io to tell her story,
especially since the chorus are her “father’s sisters.” “It will be worth your
waiting / if you unburden yourself of your bitter tale / while they pay tribute
with their tears,” he says.
Io tells Prometheus and the chorus of the “hideous mock of [her] appearance,” which she
says makes her “ashamed.” She claims that “visions came by night” into her
“maiden chamber,” and “visitors” spoke in “smooth and urging voices.” The
voices asked why she was “still a virgin” when she could “be the bride of the
supreme.” Zeus was in love with her, “the dart of passion” having
“set him on fire,” and he wanted to “share his pleasure” with her. The
voices warned her not to “spurn the god’s bed,” and to go to Lerna, where her
“father’s flocks graze, / so Zeus’s eye” could “find relief from longing.”
Io told her father about the voice and he sought guidance
in the oracles, whose prophecies were “too dark to fathom” and full of “double
meaning.” One day, a message came that was “unmistakable.” If Io’s father did
not “drive [Io] from [her] home” and turn her out to “wander at [her] will,” Zeus would “blot out” all of Io’s people with a fiery thunderbolt.
And
so, Io’s father “shut his doors against [her], weeping.” It was,
of course, not of his own choosing, but Zeus “pulled the reins and forced him against his will.” As
soon as Io’s father closed the door, Io’s “shape and mind / became distorted.”
Horns grew from her head, and a gadfly began to chase her relentlessly. Io has
been wandering ever since, “driven by the god-sent scourge, / the gadfly, from
land to land.” Io looks to Prometheus. She has told them everything, she says, “and if you know /
what still awaits me, tell me, / don’t serve me the cold truth warmed up with
false words. / There is no sickness worse than that.”
“Ea, ea, stop!” the chorus shrieks. They had not anticipated that Io’s story would be so awful. “Horror / freezes my heart with
a double-edged point,” they claim. “You moan too soon,” Prometheus says, for he must still tell of what’s to come. “Wait
till you hear the rest.” He claims that Io will greatly suffer at the hands
of Hera, Zeus’s wife, but if Io heeds Prometheus’s words, she will
“recognize the end” when it arrives. He tells Io to turn and head in the
direction of the “rising sun” until she comes to the village of the “Scythian nomads.”
He warns her to stay away from them and travel on to the river Hubristes.
Prometheus tells Io she must continue to Mount Caucasus, “the highest
mountain,” and then walk until she finds the Amazons, “a race of women sworn to
enmity of men.” The Amazons will “gladly” show Io the way to the “isthmus of
Cimerria,” where she must “cross the channel of Maiotis.” This crossing will
forever be remembered by mortals as the “Bosporus,” or “Cow’s Ford.” Upon Io’s
crossing, Prometheus says, she will “arrive in Asia.” This is just the
beginning, Prometheus tells Io. She is headed for a “storm-swept sea of pain
and misery.”
Io is distraught. “What is the good of life to me now?”
she asks Prometheus. “It would be better to die once, and quickly, / than to
drag myself through years and years of pain,” she says. “Ah, you would find it
hard to bear what I must bear,” Prometheus says. “I cannot die.” He must suffer
“until the tyranny of Zeus is overthrown.” Io is shocked. “Zeus overthrown—is
that conceivable?” she asks. Prometheus says it is. “It will come to pass,” he
affirms. Io wants to know how. “A marriage he will regret,” Prometheus says.
The bride will bear a son “who’s stronger than his father.”
According
to Prometheus, Zeus can “avert this doom” only if he frees Prometheus from
his chains. “But who will free you against Zeus’s will?” Io asks. “My savior will descend from your own womb,” he
answers. In “ten generations, then another three,” Prometheus’s “savior” will
be born. Prometheus offers Io one more prophecy; to tell of her “further
suffering” or the story of his savior. The choice is hers. The chorus again interrupts. “Grant her one of the two, and me
the other. / Do not begrudge me your words.”
“Since
you’re so eager,” Prometheus says to Io and the chorus, “I won’t disappoint you.” He begins with Io. Once she
crosses the water between the two continents, she will move in the direction of
the “sunrise.” There, she will arrive at the “Gorgonean plains of Kisthenes,”
where there are “three ancient maidens / in the shape of swans, with but one
eye among them / and a single tooth.” Close by, Io will find “their winged
sisters, snake-haired, / human-hating Gorgons.” Beware of them, Prometheus
says, for the Gorgons will kill “any mortal who beholds them.”
“Beware
as well / of Zeus’s sharp-toothed barkless dogs, the gryphons,” Prometheus says to Io, “and the one-eyed horsemen called the Arimaspians.” Stay
clear of all them, Prometheus warns. Io will then arrive at “a very far-off
land, / inhabited by black men living near the sources / of the sun.” She is to
follow a river called the Ethiops until she reaches the Bybline mountains.
There, Io and her “descendants” will begin a “distant colony.”
The chorus is eager to hear the story of Prometheus’s savior, and he begins to tell it willingly. “I have more
time than I would like,” he says. According to Prometheus, after Io arrives at “Thesprotian Zeus’s shrine of prophecy,” she will meet Dodona “on her lofty ridge.” “Thou shalt be Zeus’s fabled
bride one day,” Dodona will say, and Io will “smile” and be “flattered.” Still
plagued by the gadfly, Io will move along the coast to “the great gulf of
Rhea,” where a storm will force her to change direction. This part of the sea
will forever bear the name, “Ionian,” Prometheus says.
In
the town of Canopus, Prometheus tells Io and the chorus, Zeus will “cause [Io] to conceive, simply by touching
[her].” Io will “bring forth / a black son, Epaphos, “the one conceived by
touch.” Five generations later, “fifty daughters” will be forced to return to
Argos to marry their cousins, but they will flee, only to be pursued by the men
“like hawks in chase of doves.” The men will be killed by a “female Ares’
murdering hand,” and the women will “find refuge on Pelagian soil.” One of the
daughters will be “charmed / by love to spare her bed companion,” and she will
go on to give birth to a “race of kings” in Argos.
From
this “seed,” says Prometheus to Io and the chorus, “shall spring a hero, famous for his bow, / who will
release me from this suffering.” This prophecy has been revealed to Prometheus
by his mother, Themis. “Eleleleleleleu!” screams Io. The gadfly is again biting
at her and standing with Prometheus is nearly unbearable. Io turns and
continues her wandering. The chorus notes “that a marriage of equals /
surpasses all others. The women hope to “find a husband who is equal,” and not
fight a “war without a battle,” of which there is “no way out.”
“I
tell you,” Prometheus says to the chorus, “Zeus with all his arrogance / will be brought low.” Zeus is
already planning his marriage to Io, which “will throw him / from his omnipotence into
oblivion.” When Zeus drove Kronos to Tartaros,
Kronos cursed Zeus, and Prometheus knows “the What and the How.” Zeus’s
“downfall” cannot be avoided, Prometheus says. “Struck by that fist,”
Prometheus tells the chorus, “[Zeus will] understand the difference / between a
ruler and a slave.”
“You threaten Zeus with what you hope will happen,” the chorus says to Prometheus. “I speak the future and what I desire,”
Prometheus says. “[Zeus’s] yoke will be far harsher than my own.” The chorus
asks Prometheus if he is scared to speak of Zeus in such a way. “What should I
fear?” Prometheus answers. “It’s not my fate to die.” Zeus can only bring
Prometheus pain, but “he cannot surprise” Prometheus. “Let him rule a little
while,” Prometheus says. “Let him play King. He will not be / the highest god
for very much longer.”
Suddenly, Hermes appears. “But look,” Prometheus says, “here comes [Zeus’s] lackey, / the carrier pigeon of our new commander in
chief.” Hermes approaches Prometheus. “Supreme conniver,” Hermes says, “master
of complaints, / fire-thief who mocks the gods and / idolizes dayflies: The
Father wants to know / what is this marriage which you boast / will cause his
downfall.” Prometheus refuses to give Hermes the answer he seeks. He claims
that Zeus is “young in power,” and Prometheus has already seen “two tyrants fall.”
Hermes claims it is only “arrogance” that has brought Prometheus to the mountain face. “Let me assure you,” Prometheus
says to Hermes, “I would not exchange / my own misfortune for your slavery.”
Hermes thinks his own “slavery” is better than Prometheus’s fate chained to a rock. “A tyrant’s trust dishonors those who earn
it,” Prometheus says.
Hermes asks Prometheus “what honor is there in [his] insolence,” and
Prometheus claims that his “insolence” “spits contempt at insolence itself.”
Hermes says that it appears as if Prometheus “relishes” his current
predicament. “Relish?” Prometheus asks. “I wish my enemies could relish / this.
And I count you among them.” Hermes cannot believe that Prometheus is blaming
him for his own plight. “I’ll say it plainly,” Prometheus remarks. “I hate all
the gods / for repaying right with wrong and good with evil.”
“You’ve clearly lost your mind,” Hermes says to Prometheus. “This is a sickness.” Hermes again asks Prometheus to
answer Zeus’s question about his fate. “Am I indebted to him for his
kindness?” Prometheus asks. Hermes accuses Prometheus of “mocking” him, like a
“child.” Still, Prometheus refuses to talk. “No torture, promise, or device /
will ever move me to tell Zeus / the things I know until he sets me free,” he
says. Prometheus knows that Zeus’s fury will be severe, but it makes little
difference. “I won’t bend,” Prometheus says.
“Think
better of it, fool!” Hermes says to Prometheus. “Take stock / of who you are and where your fate has
brought you!” Prometheus is unyielding. Hermes may as well “try to persuade / a
wave out of its course” before he convinces Prometheus to tell Zeus what he knows. Prometheus tells Hermes that he will
not beg Zeus to free him. “I do not have it in me,” Prometheus says. Hermes can
see that Prometheus will not budge. “What good is obstinate will / untamed by
sound thought and good measure?” Hermes asks.
Hermes warns Prometheus that if he doesn’t tell Zeus what he knows, “a threefold tidal way wave of misery”
will come his way. First, Zeus will “destroy” the mountain with “thunder and
lightning.” The mountain will crumble, burying Prometheus. After an “enormous
span of time,” the light will return, and bring with it Zeus’s “winged hound, a
scarlet eagle,” to tear the flesh from Prometheus’s body. The eagle will feast
on Prometheus’s liver each day—and “he will return, day in, day out.” This
will continue without end until Zeus sees fit to stop.
“Heed his words!” the chorus cries. “It’s shameful for the wise to dwell in
error!” Prometheus had known that Hermes was coming, however, and he also knew that he would
refuse him. “But for an enemy to suffer / at an enemy’s hand / is no natural
disgrace,” Prometheus says. He is prepared for the “doubly twisted / blade of
fire” that will likely strike his head, and that the world with shake
with Zeus’s fury. Zeus can even banish Prometheus to Tartaros if
he wishes. “He cannot kill me,” Prometheus says.
Hermes again says that Prometheus is “mad.” He turns to the chorus. “But you, who weep / on this behalf, hurry / and leave
this place, / go far away, and quickly” before they become the next target
of Zeus’s wrath. “Speak to me in a different voice, / or give me
counsel I can follow!” the chorus says. They wish to “suffer” as Prometheus
does and will stay by his side. They have “learned to despise traitors,” they
claim. “There is no plague more worthy of / being spat on,” they claim. “Do not
blame fortune when / disaster hunts you down,” Hermes says to them and departs.
“The earth is shaking now / in truth, no
longer in words,” Prometheus says. He can hear a “hollow roar / of thunder” in the
distance and see “great winding coils / of light shoot forth / with heat and
hissing.” He can see it coming “in plain view, / the onslaught / sent by Zeus / for [his] own terror.” Prometheus is ready. “Oh holy
Mother Earth, / oh sky whose light revolves for all, / you see me. You see /
the wrongs I suffer.”
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