走れメロス English

Melos was furious.

He resolved that he must rid the world of that wicked and tyrannical king.

Melos knew nothing of politics.

Melos was a shepherd from the village.

He had passed his days playing his flute and frolicking with his sheep.

Yet when it came to wickedness, he was more keenly sensitive than most.

This morning before dawn Melos had set out from the village, crossing fields and mountains, and had arrived at the city of Syracuse, ten leagues away.

Melos had neither father nor mother.

Nor a wife.

He lived alone with his sixteen-year-old, timid sister.

This sister was soon to take a certain honest young shepherd from the village as her husband.

The wedding was close at hand.

Melos had therefore come all this way to the city to buy a bridal gown and provisions for the celebration.

He first gathered all the necessary items, then strolled leisurely along the main streets of the city.

Melos had a childhood friend.

His name was Selinuntius.

He was now working as a stonemason in the city of Syracuse.

Melos intended to pay this friend a visit.

It had been a long time since they had met, and he looked forward to seeing him.

As he walked, Melos began to find something strange about the mood of the town.

It was hushed.

The sun had already set and darkness was to be expected, but somehow it was not merely the night — the whole city felt strangely desolate.

Even the carefree Melos grew gradually uneasy.

He stopped a young man on the road and asked whether something had happened, saying that when he had come to the city two years ago, people were singing even at night and the town had been lively.

The young man shook his head and did not answer.

After walking a bit further he encountered an old man, and this time pressed him with more urgency.

The old man did not answer.

Melos seized the old man's body with both hands and pressed him with question after question.

The old man answered in a low voice, barely above a whisper, as if wary of being overheard.

"The king kills people."

"Why does he kill them?"

"He says they harbor evil intentions, but no one harbors any such thing."

"Has he killed many people?"

"Yes. First, the king's own brother-in-law. Then his own heir. Then his sister. Then his sister's child. Then the empress. Then the wise minister Alexis."

"Astonishing. Has the king gone mad?"

"No, he has not gone mad. He says he cannot trust people. Of late he has grown suspicious even of his ministers' hearts, and has ordered those who live in any degree of luxury to each surrender a hostage. Those who refuse the command are crucified and killed. Today, six people were put to death."

Hearing this, Melos was seized with rage.

"What a monstrous king. He cannot be left alive."

Melos was a straightforward man.

Still carrying his purchases on his back, he lumbered his way straight into the royal castle.

He was immediately seized by the guards on patrol.

When he was searched, a short dagger was found inside Melos's breast, and the commotion grew.

Melos was dragged before the king.

"What did you intend to do with this dagger? Speak!"

The tyrant Dionys questioned him calmly, yet with authority.

The king's face was pale, and the furrows on his brow were deeply carved, as if etched there.

"To save the city from the hands of a tyrant."

Melos answered without any trace of shame.

"You?"

The king gave a scornful smile.

"Hopeless fool. You cannot understand my loneliness."

"Silence!"

Melos flared up and retorted hotly.

"To doubt the hearts of others is the most shameful of vices. The king doubts even the loyalty of his own people."

"It was you people who taught me that suspicion is the proper disposition. The human heart is unreliable. Human beings are nothing but a lump of self-interest from the start. One must not trust."

The tyrant muttered these words calmly and let out a weary sigh.

"I too wish for peace."

"Peace for what purpose? To protect your own position?"

This time it was Melos who laughed in contempt.

"What kind of peace is it that kills innocent people?"

"Silence, you lowborn wretch."

The king raised his face sharply and replied.

"Anyone can say fine-sounding things with their mouth. I can see through to the innermost depths of a man's belly. Even you — once you are crucified, even if you weep and beg for forgiveness, I will not listen."

"Ah, the king is clever. Go on flattering yourself. I have already prepared to die a proper death. I will never beg for my life. There is only one thing — "

At that point Melos broke off, dropped his gaze to his feet, hesitated for a moment, then said: "Only if you wish to show me some compassion, grant me three days before the execution. I want to see my only sister wed. Within three days I will hold the wedding ceremony in the village and return here without fail."

"Foolish."

The tyrant laughed quietly in a hoarse voice.

"What a preposterous lie. Do you expect a bird that has flown free to come back?"

"Yes. I will come back."

Melos insisted desperately.

"I will keep my promise. Allow me three days. My sister is waiting for my return. If you cannot bring yourself to trust me, very well — there is a stonemason in this city named Selinuntius. He is my dearest friend. I will leave him here as a hostage. If I should flee and fail to return by sunset on the third day, you may strangle that friend of mine. I beg you, do as I say."

Hearing this, the king felt a cruel delight and grinned quietly to himself.

Insolent words.

Of course he will not come back.

It might be amusing to pretend to be deceived by this liar and let him go.

And then it would be most satisfying to kill the substitute on the third day.

I will put on a sorrowful face and say that this is why people cannot be trusted, and have that substitute crucified.

I would dearly like to rub that in the faces of those who call themselves honest men in this world.

"Your wish is granted. Summon your substitute. Return by sunset on the third day. If you are late, I will surely kill your substitute. Go ahead and come back a little late. I will forgive your crime forever."

"What? What are you saying?"

"Ha. If your life is dear to you, come back late. I know what is in your heart."

Melos was mortified, and stamped his feet in frustration.

He had no more words.

Selinuntius, his childhood friend, was summoned to the royal castle in the dead of night.

Before the tyrant Dionys, two good friends met each other for the first time in two years.

Melos told his friend everything that had happened.

Selinuntius nodded in silence and clasped Melos tightly in his arms.

Between friends, that was enough.

Selinuntius was bound.

Melos departed at once.

It was early summer, and the sky was full of stars.

That night Melos did not sleep a wink, hurrying with all haste along the ten-league road, and arrived at the village the next morning; the sun was already high and the villagers had gone out to the fields and begun their work.

On that day, Melos's sixteen-year-old sister was tending the flock of sheep in his place.

She was startled to see her brother staggering toward her in a state of utter exhaustion.

Then she pelted him with a stream of questions.

"It is nothing."

Melos forced himself to try to smile.

"I have some business left in the city. I must go back there soon. Tomorrow we will hold your wedding. The sooner, the better."

His sister blushed.

"Are you happy? I bought you a beautiful gown. Now then, go and tell the people of the village. The wedding is tomorrow."

Melos staggered off again, went home, decorated the altar of the gods, arranged the celebration, and before long collapsed onto the floor and fell into a sleep so deep he scarcely seemed to breathe.

He woke in the night.

As soon as he rose, Melos went to call on the bridegroom.

He asked him to please hold the wedding tomorrow, as there were some circumstances that required it.

The young shepherd bridegroom was taken aback, said that would not do, that he had not yet made any preparations, and asked Melos to wait until the grape harvest season.

Melos pressed him further, saying he could not wait and asking him to please make it tomorrow.

The shepherd bridegroom was equally stubborn.

He would not agree.

They argued through until dawn, and at last Melos managed somehow to coax, soothe, and persuade the bridegroom.

The wedding was held at noon.

Around the time the bride and groom had finished their vows to the gods, dark clouds covered the sky, and rain began to fall drop by drop, and soon it became a torrential downpour.

The villagers gathered for the celebration felt some foreboding, but even so each one roused his own spirits, enduring the stifling heat inside the cramped house, singing merrily and clapping their hands.

Melos too, with joy spread across his whole face, for a time even forgot his promise to the king.

As night fell, the celebration grew ever more lively and boisterous, and the people paid no heed at all to the downpour outside.

Melos thought he wished he could stay here like this for the rest of his life.

He longed to live out his days with these good people, but his body was no longer his own.

There was no helping it.

Melos steeled himself, and finally resolved to depart.

There was still plenty of time before sunset tomorrow.

He thought he would sleep a little while, then set out right away.

By then the rain would likely have let up.

He wanted to linger in this house a little longer.

Even a man like Melos had his share of reluctance to leave.

He approached the bride, who seemed this night to be in a blissful daze of joy,

"Congratulations. I am tired, so if you will excuse me I should like to sleep a little while. When I wake I will head off to the city at once. I have an important matter to attend to. Even without me, you now have a kind husband, so you will never be lonely. The one thing your brother hates most is doubting people, and the other is telling lies. You know that, don't you? You must never keep any secret from your husband. That is all I want to tell you. Your brother is, I dare say, a great man, so hold that as your pride."

The bride nodded, as if in a dream.

Melos then clapped the bridegroom on the shoulder,

"Lack of preparations is the same for both of us. Everything I have in my house — my sister and the sheep — is my only treasure. There is nothing else. I give it all to you. One more thing: be proud that you have become Melos's brother."

The bridegroom was rubbing his hands together, embarrassed.

Melos smiled, bowed slightly to the villagers as well, took his leave from the banquet, crept into the sheep shed, and fell into a deep sleep like the dead.

He woke in the dim light before dawn the next morning.

Melos sprang up, thought — heavens, have I overslept? — no, it was still all right, if he left at once he would have more than enough time to make it by the promised hour.

Today he would show that king, once and for all, where humanity's good faith resides.

And then he would mount the scaffold laughing.

Melos began his preparations in an unhurried manner.

The rain seemed to have eased somewhat.

He was ready.

Then Melos swung both arms wide, and shot out into the rain like an arrow.

Tonight, I will be killed.

I run in order to be killed.

I run to save my friend who stands in my place.

I run to shatter the king's cunning and treachery.

I must run.

And then, I will be killed.

Guard your honor from your youth.

Farewell, my home.

Young Melos suffered.

Several times he nearly stopped.

He ran, shouting "Go! Go!" at the top of his voice, chiding himself onward.

By the time he had left the village, crossed the fields, pushed through the forest, and reached the neighboring village, the rain had stopped and the sun had climbed high, and it was growing warm.

Melos wiped the sweat from his brow with his fist and thought — this far is safe enough, I have no more longing for home now.

My sister and her husband will surely make a fine couple.

I should have nothing to worry about now.

All I need to do is go straight to the royal castle.

There is no need to rush so.

He recovered his habitual easygoing nature, told himself to walk slowly, and began to sing a favorite ditty in a fine voice.

Strolling along, two leagues, three leagues, just about when he reached the halfway point of the whole journey, a sudden calamity struck — Melos's feet halted dead.

Look at the river ahead.

The previous day's downpour had flooded the mountain headwaters, the muddy torrent flowing swollen and surging downstream, its tremendous force demolishing the bridge in a single rush, and the roaring rapids had sent the bridge timbers flying in splinters.

He stood there, dumbstruck.

He looked about on every side, called out at the top of his voice, but all the moored boats had been swept away by the waves without a trace, and there was no sign of a ferryman.

The current was swelling further and further, spreading like a sea.

Melos crouched on the bank, weeping as a man weeps, and raised his hands to Zeus in supplication.

"Oh, calm this raging torrent! Time passes with every moment. The sun is already at midday. If I cannot reach the royal castle before it sets, my dear friend will die for my sake."

The muddy torrent, as if mocking Melos's cries, raged and thrashed ever more violently.

Wave swallowed wave, churned and whipped them up, and so the moments slipped away one by one.

Now Melos too steeled his resolve.

There was no choice but to swim across.

Ah, let the gods bear witness!

Now I will show the magnificent power of love and faithfulness that will not be beaten even by a muddy torrent.

Melos plunged into the current with a mighty splash and launched into a desperate struggle with the waves that writhed and raged like a hundred great serpents.

Pouring all the strength of his body into his arms, cleaving again and again through the surging, swirling, pulling current — this sight of a human being striving with all the ferocity of a lion must have moved even the gods to pity, for at last they showed him mercy.

Though swept downstream, he managed splendidly to cling to the trunk of a tree on the far bank.

Thank heavens.

Melos gave one great shudder like a horse, then immediately pressed onward.

Not a moment could be wasted.

The sun was already beginning to tilt toward the west.

Breathing in ragged gasps, he climbed the mountain pass, and just as he crested it and breathed a sigh of relief, a band of mountain brigands suddenly leapt out before him.

"Hold there."

"What do you want? I must reach the royal castle before the sun sets. Release me."

"Not a chance. Leave everything you carry."

"I have nothing but my life. And even that one life I am about to give to the king."

"It is that life we want."

"So you were lying in wait for me here on the king's orders."

The brigands raised their clubs all at once without a word.

Melos bent his body sharply, hurled himself like a swift upon the nearest man, wrenched the club from his hands,

"I am sorry, but it is for justice!"

With one fierce blow he struck down three men in an instant, and while the rest flinched and faltered, he made off at a run and descended the pass.

He ran down the pass in one burst, but was thoroughly exhausted, and just then the blazing afternoon sun beat down full upon him, and Melos felt dizzy again and again; each time he pulled himself together, staggered two or three steps, and finally his knees buckled beneath him.

He could not rise.

He looked up at the sky and burst into tears of bitter frustration.

Ah — Melos, who swam the muddy torrent, struck down three brigands, and drove like a deity all the way to this point.

Melos, true hero.

How pitiful that you should now be too spent to move.

Your beloved friend, only because he trusted you, must soon be put to death.

He chided himself — you are a man of unparalleled faithlessness, playing right into the king's hands — but his entire body had gone limp and he could no longer advance even as much as a caterpillar.

He sprawled out on the grass by the roadside.

When the body is exhausted, the spirit is dragged down with it.

A sullen, defeatist attitude, unworthy of a hero, took root in a corner of his heart: it was all the same to him now.

I tried as hard as I could.

There was not the smallest intention in my heart of breaking my promise.

The gods are my witness — I made every effort I had.

I ran until I could run no more.

I am not a man of bad faith.

If only I could, I would split open my chest and let you see the crimson heart within.

I want to show you this heart that beats on nothing but love and faithfulness.

But at this crucial moment, my spirit and strength are utterly spent.

I am a most wretched man.

I will surely be laughed at.

My family will be laughed at.

I have betrayed my friend.

To fall halfway is the same as having done nothing from the start.

Ah, it is all hopeless now.

Perhaps this is the fate I was destined for.

Selinuntius, forgive me.

You always believed in me.

And I never deceived you.

We were truly good friends, you and I.

Not once did we ever harbor a cloud of dark suspicion in our hearts toward each other.

Even now, you must be waiting for me with pure faith.

Ah, yes, you must be waiting.

Thank you, Selinuntius.

You believed in me so well.

When I think of that, it is unbearable.

For the faithfulness between friends is the most precious treasure this world has to be proud of.

Selinuntius, I ran.

There was not the slightest intention in my heart of deceiving you.

Believe me!

I rushed with all the haste I had to reach this point.

I broke through the torrent.

I slipped free from the brigands' encirclement and ran down the pass in a single dash.

It was because it was I that it could be done.

Ah, ask no more of me than this.

Leave me alone.

It does not matter anymore.

I have been defeated.

How shameful.

Go ahead and laugh.

The king whispered in my ear that I should come back a little late.

He promised that if I were late, he would kill my substitute and spare me.

I despised the king's cowardice.

But now, I am doing exactly as the king said.

I will arrive late.

The king, congratulating himself, will laugh at me and then release me without incident.

If that happens, it will be worse than death for me.

I will be a traitor forever.

The most dishonored person on earth.

Selinuntius, I too will die.

Let me die together with you.

You alone will surely still believe in me.

No — is that too only my self-delusion?

Ah, perhaps it would be better to live on as a wicked man after all.

My house is in the village.

My sheep are there.

Surely my sister and her husband would not drive me from the village.

Justice, faithfulness, love — when I think about it, they are all meaningless.

Kill another person and go on living yourself.

Is that not the established way of the human world?

Ah, everything is absurd.

I am a filthy traitor.

Let things be as they will.

All is lost. —

He flung his limbs out and drifted into a half-doze.

Suddenly he heard in his ear the soft murmur of water flowing.

He lifted his head gently, held his breath, and strained to listen.

There seemed to be water flowing just at his feet.

He dragged himself upright and looked: from a crack in the rock, a spring was welling up in a steady stream, whispering something faint and small.

Melos bent down toward the spring as if drawn into it.

He cupped both hands, scooped up the water, and drank one mouthful.

A long breath escaped him, and he felt as though he had awakened from a dream.

I can walk.

Let us go.

As his body recovered from its exhaustion, a slender hope was born within him.

The hope of fulfilling his duty.

The hope of laying down his life and guarding his honor.

The setting sun cast its red light upon the leaves of the trees, and the leaves and branches blazed with light as if on fire.

There was still time before sunset.

There is someone waiting for me.

There is someone waiting quietly, without the slightest doubt.

I am trusted.

My life is not the issue.

I cannot afford comforting notions like "I will apologize by dying."

I must repay the trust that has been placed in me.

Right now that is all.

Run!

Melos.

I am trusted.

I am trusted.

That devil's whisper earlier — that was a dream.

A bad dream.

Forget it.

When one's body is weary to the core, a bad dream like that comes suddenly.

Melos, it is not your shame.

You are still a true hero.

Have you not risen and become able to run again?

Thank heavens!

I can die as a man of justice.

Ah, the sun is sinking.

Sinking steadily.

Wait, O Zeus.

I have been an honest man from the day I was born.

Let me die as an honest man.

Pushing people aside, leaping past them, Melos ran like a black wind.

He plunged straight through the middle of a banquet in the fields, startling the revelers, kicked a dog aside, leapt over a stream, and ran ten times faster than the sun that was setting little by little.

In the instant he swept past a party of travelers, he caught a fragment of ominous conversation.

"By now that man must already be hanging on the cross."

Ah — for that man, for that very man, I am running like this right now.

That man must not be allowed to die.

Hurry, Melos.

You must not be late.

Now is the time to show the world the power of love and faithfulness.

Appearances do not matter at all.

Melos was by now nearly naked.

He could not breathe, and two, three times blood spurted from his mouth.

I can see it.

Far in the distance, small, I can see the towers of the city of Syracuse.

The towers glitter and gleam in the evening sun.

"Ah, Master Melos."

A groaning voice reached him, carried on the wind.

"Who is there?"

Melos asked as he ran.

"I am Philostratos. I am a disciple of your friend Selinuntius."

The young stonemason too ran behind Melos, calling out to him.

"It is no use now. It is pointless. Please stop running. You cannot save him anymore."

"No, the sun has not yet set."

"He is being executed at this very moment. Oh, you have come too late. I hold it against you. If only you had been just a little, even a bit earlier!"

"No, the sun has not yet set."

Melos stared with a heart near bursting at nothing but the great red evening sun.

There was nothing to do but run.

"Please stop. Please stop running. Your own life is what matters now. He believed in you. Even when he was led out to the place of execution, he was composed. No matter how much the king taunted him, he answered only that Melos would come, and seemed to hold fast to his firm conviction."

"That is precisely why I run. Because I am trusted, I run. Whether I make it in time or not is not the question. Whether a person lives or dies is not the question. I am running for something far more terrible and great. Follow me! Philostratos."

"Oh, have you lost your mind? Very well then, run with all you have. Perhaps it is not so impossible to make it in time. Run."

Need it even be said.

The sun had not yet set.

With his last mortal strength, Melos ran.

Melos's mind was empty.

He was not thinking of a single thing.

He was simply dragged forward by some great, inexplicable force, and ran.

As the sun wavered and sank below the horizon and the very last sliver of remaining light was on the verge of vanishing, Melos burst into the place of execution like a gust of wind.

He was in time.

"Wait. You must not kill that man. Melos has returned. Just as promised, I have come back now."

He thought he was shouting with a great voice to the crowd at the place of execution, but his throat had given out and only a hoarse, faint sound came — not a single person in the crowd noticed his arrival.

The cross had already been raised up high, and Selinuntius, bound in ropes, was being slowly hoisted up.

Melos saw this and summoned his last courage; just as he had swum through the torrent earlier, he pushed and elbowed his way through the crowd,

"It is I, executioner! It is I who am to be killed. I am Melos. I who made him my hostage am right here!"

Crying out with all his remaining strength in a cracked voice, he finally climbed up to the scaffold and seized the feet of his friend, who was being drawn upward.

The crowd broke into an uproar.

"Bravo."

"Forgive them," voices cried out on every side.

The ropes binding Selinuntius were undone.

"Selinuntius."

Melos said, tears welling in his eyes.

"Strike me. Strike my cheek with all your strength. Along the way I had one bad dream. If you do not strike me, I have no right even to embrace you. Strike me."

Selinuntius seemed to understand everything; he nodded, and struck Melos on the right cheek with a resounding blow that rang out across the entire place of execution.

After striking him, he smiled gently,

"Melos, strike me. Strike my cheek, equally loud. In these three days, just once, for just a moment, I doubted you. It was the first time in my life I doubted you. If you do not strike me, I cannot embrace you."

Melos swung his arm with a whistle and struck Selinuntius on the cheek.

"Thank you, my friend."

Both said it at the same time, clasped each other tightly, and then wept aloud with tears of joy.

From among the crowd, too, the sound of weeping was heard.

The tyrant Dionys had been gazing fixedly at the two men from behind the crowd, and presently he approached them quietly, his face flushed, and spoke.

"Your wish has been granted. You have won over my heart. Faithfulness was never an empty fantasy. Please, let me join your company. Please grant my wish and make me one among your number."

A great cheer erupted from among the crowd.

"Long live the king, long live the king!"

A young girl offered a scarlet mantle to Melos.

Melos was bewildered.

His good friend, quick-witted, told him what he needed to know.

"Melos, you are stark naked. Put on that mantle quickly. This sweet girl cannot bear the thought of Melos's naked body being seen by everyone."

The hero blushed terribly.

(From an old legend and a poem by Schiller.)