 | Oedipus, King of Thebes |  |
2
Œdipus.
—My children, the young brood of Cadmus old ,
Why sit ye in this posture? why come hither
With boughs of supplication thus equipt ?
Our streets too, wrapt in clouds of incense, ring
At once, with sacred hymns, and lamentations.
Of this, it suits me not through other men,
As messengers, to learn the meaning; wherefore
Known to you all as Œdipus the Great,
I here in person come. Say then, old man,
Since 'tis thy natural post to speak for these,
Say, in what spirit are ye sitting here?
In panic terror, or in deep submission?
Be firm in faith, that every thought of mine
Shall work to do you service; for in truth
Ruthless of soul I should be, to behold
So sad a company, nor pity them.
Priest.
—Oh Œdipus! king of my native land,
Thou seest our ages here—the age of each
That round thine altar sits,—these little ones,
3
And others, weary with the weight of age.—
The priest of Jove am I—and these the prime
Of all our youth—for, lo, in like array
The rest of Thebes before the double shrine
Of Pallas, over the Ismenian ashes
Oracular, sits in our public halls.
For, as thou seest, the state is tempest-tost
Beyond her strength, nor can she lift her head
Up from the depths of this ensanguin'd sea:
She perishes, in all she perishes,
4
Her grazing herds are stricken, and the pangs
Of teeming women come not to the birth;
Whilst the flame-breathing god, loath'd Pestilence ,
Shatters the reeling city, touched by whom
Desolate are the halls of Cadmus, and
Black Hades is enriched by sobs and groans.
'Tis not because we rank thee with the gods
That we, these youths and I, surround thy door,
But that we deem thee first of men, to face
Life's common chances, and those ills which flow from
Directer intervention of the gods:
Thou who, to Thebes once come, didst cancel straight
The rent to that grim songstress , which we paid:
And that by us untaught, unhelped, in truth
Men say, and think, 'twas through some god's assistance
Our life by thee was lifted from the earth;
Come then, thou noblest nature, Œdipus.
To thee we all bow down in supplication—
Find out some means of help, if thou hast heard
The voice of some one of the gods, or if
5
Of those with practis'd minds alone, are they
Which in their issues shew a living force.
Come, first of men, build up the state anew,
Be wise for us, and though the land now call thee
Her saviour, in reward of ancient zeal,
Let not thy reign be memoriz'd, as one
In which once righted, we but fell again;
But seat the state in full security.
If then by favouring omens led, thou broughtest
A happy fortune, rival now thyself.
Think too, if destined still to sway this land
As now thou rulest it, how much more noble
Is princedom over men, than empty realms?
For what are towers? what navies? nothing worth—
If barren of the life of man within them.
Œd.
—Ah! hapless children! all is known by me,
Not undiscern'd, that ye have come to ask;
Ye suffer all, yet in these sufferings, none
Among you here now suffereth like myself;
Your single sorrows on yourselves alone
Come down, nor pass beyond.—This heart of mine
Bleeds for the state at once, myself, and thee;
No slumber is it that ye rouse me from;
Much have I wept, believe me—long have tracked
The many windings of the maze of thought,
And the one cure which, searching well, I found,
Already have I tried, for lo! the son
Of old Meneceus, Creon, unto me
Brother by marriage, to the Pythian halls
6
What deeds or words of mine might save the state;
And how he fares, this very present day,
Computed by just measurement of hours,
Fills me with anxious thought: for past all reason,
He has been gone more than his destin'd time,
But when he comes, I should be base indeed
Did I not act in all as Heaven enjoins.—
Pr.
—Thou speak'st in season; these but now reported
That Creon hasteth thither on his way.
Œd.
—Oh, King Apollo! grant that he may come
With saving fortune, cheerful as his looks.
Pr.
—He brings glad news, methinks—would he march else
His head thick-wreath'd with yon full-fruited bay ?
Œd.
—Soon shall we know, for now my voice can reach him.
Hail, kinsman! Hail, Meneceus' royal son!
What answer hast thou borne us from the God?
Enter Creon.
Cr.
—Good: for I think harsh measures, if they reach
A prosperous end, are fortunate for all.
Œd.
—How runs the rede? for by thy present speech
I am nor cheered nor more depressed as yet.
Cr.
—If 'tis thy will to hear with these in presence,
To speak I'm ready, or to pass within.
Œd.
—Speak before all, for greater is the grief
I feel for these, than for mine own poor life.
Cr.
—What from the God I heard then, I repeat:
7
To purge away, ere grown inveterate,
The gross inbred pollution of this land.
Œd.
—Aye, with what drug? what turn has this to take?
Cr.
—Exile—or death for death—it is that blood
Which beats, a wintry sea, upon the state.
Œd.
—And who the man whose fate he thus unfolds?
Cr.
—King, ere the state had righted underneath
Thy steering, Laius ruled this land of ours.
Œd.
—I know by hearsay—for I saw him never.
Cr.
—Now for his death, the God doth clearly charge us
To punish those who slew him with the sword.
Œd.
—And where on this wide earth lurk they? how track
Each doubtful footmark of this ancient crime?
Cr.
—Here, in this land, he said: that which men seek
They find, but that which all neglect, is lost.
Œd.
—At home? a-field? or in some distant land
Did Laius to this murder fall a prey?
Cr.
—To seek some foreign shrine—for so he told us—
He went, but came, as he went forth, no more.
Œd.
—Were there no messengers? none with him on
That road, who know, that we might ask and learn?
Cr.
—All dead, save one: he, fugitive through fear,
One thing alone, of all he saw, can tell.
Œd.
—And that—what is't? one thing might trace out much,
Had we but this, a starting point for hope.
Cr.
—He said that robbers met and slew him, not
By single strength, but with outnumbering hands.
Œd.
—And how could robbers, if not tampered with
By gold from hence, to such a boldness soar?
8
—Such thoughts were rife; but then when Laius died,
No helper in those evil days arose.
Œd.
—Evil! what evil, when the sovereign power
Sunk thus to earth, hindered your learning all?
Cre.
—The Sphinx of juggling song it was that forced us,
Leaving dark things unsearched, to look at home.
Œd.
—But I, starting afresh, will lay all bare;
Rightly has Phœbus, rightly hast thou too,
Fixed this keen quest in honour of the dead,
And justly may ye look to me for aid,
As minister of vengeance, in behalf
Of Thebes, and of the God; no distant friends
Are those for whom I seek to pierce this gloom.
'Tis for myself, and mine own life I work,
For he, whoe'er it was, that slew the man,
With that same hand might seek to murder me.
Thus, by avenging him, myself I serve.
But haste ye now, my children, from these seats
Rise up, and take your suppliant boughs away,
Let others summon here the Theban people;
Nought will I leave undone, and by God's help
We will be saved, or we will fall together.
Exit Œdipus.
Pr.
—Let us rise up, my children, for the sake
Of what the king proclaims, hither we came,
And now may he who sent these prophecies,
Phœbus, draw near to save, and stay the plague.
Argument to Chorus, l. 160–230.
The Chorus deliver an address to the oracle just promulgated by Creon, l. 160–165. Offer up prayers for its happy issue, l. 165–170. Invoke the assistance of various deities, l. 170–182.
9
Chorus.
—Oh voice from Jove, fraught with words sweet to hear,—
What art thou, wondrous Voice? which hast
To glittering Thebes, from gorgeous Pytho past?
My mind is on the rack of fear,—
I shiver all aghast.
Hail! Delian Pæan , hail! I bow
In reverential awe to learn
What issues thou wilt perfect, Now,
Or when the rolling hours return.
Oh voice oracular of deathless Fame,
Thou child of Golden Hope, declare the same!
Oh thou, Immortal Pallas, first we call,
Daughter of Jove, on thee for aid,
Realm-ruling Dian next, thy sister-maid ,
Who on her round throne sitteth, clad
With glory in our people's hall,
To her our vows are paid,
And thou, far-darting Phœbus, ye
Shine forth three guardian gods on me:
Yea, if of old, when former fate
Rolled in to overwhelm the state,
Ye quenched that ruin's flame, come now!
For under countless ills I bow.
The whole host sickens fast, nor can one find
A single weapon of the mind
To shield one's-self, for lo, the glorious earth
Can now no increase give,
Nor from the thrilling pangs that wait on birth,
Do women rise—and live.
Each after each, like swift-winged birds, we see
Faster than flash the tameless lightnings, flee
O'er the dim limits of the gloomy god ;
Thus numberless in these the nation dies,
Whilst all that ruthless brood, death-bringing, lies
Itself unpitied on the sod:
Wives too, and greyhaired mothers, round
The high-raised shrine, in suppliant guise
From every side have wended;
Over these bitter agonies
They lengthen out their mournful cries,
Whilst the loud Pæan's sparkling sound,
With sounds of wail is blended.
Wherefore Jove's golden daughter hear us,
Send smiling Help to cheer us;
And Ares, the death-spirit dire,
Who now, not armed for war, but still
With savage shoutings, bent to kill,
Raves round us, a consuming fire,
Him, exiled from my country, force,
Re-rushing on his rapid course,
To turn him back again, and flee
To the great chamber of the sea,
Or where, around barbaric shores,
The swell of Thracian surges roars .
What art thou, wondrous Voice? which hast
To glittering Thebes, from gorgeous Pytho past?
My mind is on the rack of fear,—
I shiver all aghast.
Hail! Delian Pæan , hail! I bow
In reverential awe to learn
What issues thou wilt perfect, Now,
Or when the rolling hours return.
Oh voice oracular of deathless Fame,
Thou child of Golden Hope, declare the same!
Oh thou, Immortal Pallas, first we call,
Daughter of Jove, on thee for aid,
Realm-ruling Dian next, thy sister-maid ,
Who on her round throne sitteth, clad
With glory in our people's hall,
To her our vows are paid,
10
Shine forth three guardian gods on me:
Yea, if of old, when former fate
Rolled in to overwhelm the state,
Ye quenched that ruin's flame, come now!
For under countless ills I bow.
The whole host sickens fast, nor can one find
A single weapon of the mind
To shield one's-self, for lo, the glorious earth
Can now no increase give,
Nor from the thrilling pangs that wait on birth,
Do women rise—and live.
Each after each, like swift-winged birds, we see
Faster than flash the tameless lightnings, flee
O'er the dim limits of the gloomy god ;
Thus numberless in these the nation dies,
Whilst all that ruthless brood, death-bringing, lies
Itself unpitied on the sod:
Wives too, and greyhaired mothers, round
The high-raised shrine, in suppliant guise
From every side have wended;
Over these bitter agonies
They lengthen out their mournful cries,
Whilst the loud Pæan's sparkling sound,
With sounds of wail is blended.
Wherefore Jove's golden daughter hear us,
Send smiling Help to cheer us;
11
Who now, not armed for war, but still
With savage shoutings, bent to kill,
Raves round us, a consuming fire,
Him, exiled from my country, force,
Re-rushing on his rapid course,
To turn him back again, and flee
To the great chamber of the sea,
Or where, around barbaric shores,
The swell of Thracian surges roars .
Aught that night's close may leave entire,
Just sees the light of day, and endeth;
Wherefore, great Jove, on whom dependeth
The lordship of the lightning fire,
Blast down to death that demon, under
Thine own annihilating thunder,
And thee too, Oh Lyceian king ,
And thy unconquered shafts, that ring
Sharp from the golden-twisted string,
A present help—I fain would sing.
Yea, and Diana's burning gleams,
With which o'er Lycian hills she streams,
And thee too with thy golden band,
I call, thou namesake of the land ,
Bright-fronted Bacchus—Evian lord,
Comrade of Mœnad nymphs, draw near,
With thy great pine-brand blazing clear,
So crush that god, among the gods abhorred.
Just sees the light of day, and endeth;
Wherefore, great Jove, on whom dependeth
The lordship of the lightning fire,
Blast down to death that demon, under
Thine own annihilating thunder,
And thee too, Oh Lyceian king ,
And thy unconquered shafts, that ring
Sharp from the golden-twisted string,
A present help—I fain would sing.
12
With which o'er Lycian hills she streams,
And thee too with thy golden band,
I call, thou namesake of the land ,
Bright-fronted Bacchus—Evian lord,
Comrade of Mœnad nymphs, draw near,
With thy great pine-brand blazing clear,
So crush that god, among the gods abhorred.
To them enter Œdipus.
Œd.
—Ye pray, but what ye pray for, help from heaven,
And an alleviation of these ills,
May yet be yours, if having heard my words
Ye will adopt them—striving under me
To stem the plague. A stranger to the tale,
A stranger to the deed, I speak, for truly
Having no clue, I scarce could track it far.
But ranked since then among your citizens
A citizen, to every Theban here
13
The man, by whom the son of Labdacus,
Laius, was slain, stands here enjoined by me
To open out the whole, even though he fear
To drag this charge to light against himself.
Nought else of harshness shall he suffer, but
Out of the land depart unharm'd, and if
One here, perchance, should know the murderer
To be some other from another land,
Let him not hold his peace—for I will give him
Reward—and thanks will wait on him besides.
But if ye still are silent, and my words,
In terror for yourselves or for your friends,
Ye set at nought,—it is befitting then
To learn from me, how I shall act thereon.
That man, whoe'er he be, I do forbid
Each dweller in this land, whose throne of power
I fill as king, to speak to or receive;
In prayers or victims offered to the gods
Let him not share, nor in the hallowing use
Of water; but join all to thrust him forth,
Our foul pollution, as but now to me
The Pythian oracle of God has shewn.
So firm an ally to the powers divine,
And to the spirit of the dead, am I.
And on that doer's head I imprecate,
Whether one only or with more he 'scaped,
That wretchedly he spend his wretched life.
Yea! in the self-same curse, if to my knowledge
An inmate of my halls this man should be,
I bind myself to suffer every ill
I have invoked on him; and as for you,
14
For my sake, for the God's, and for this land
Now withered up in godless desolation;
Nay, though no deity had urged the quest,
When that a king of his great race was slain,
It were not right to leave it unaton'd.
This must have been unravell'd; and since I
Hold here the empire which he held of yore,
Our nuptial bed the same—one wife for both—
His children too, and mine, but that his seed
Was luckless, would have sprung from common blood.
Moved by all this, since fortune at his head
Has swooped to strike, as though he were my father
Will I do battle in his cause, and leave
No means untried, until I seize upon
The hand, that slew the son of Labdacus,
Of Polydore, of Cadmus long ago,
And of Agenor old ; and if there be
Who will not act as I act, then ye gods
Mature from out the earth no fruits for them,
No children from their wives, but in this plague
Uproot them, or in one more deadly still.
But you, my Theban people, you to whom
This seemeth good,—may earth-supporting Justice,
And all the everlasting gods, protect.
15
(speaking by the high-priest their chief.)
Since in the compass of your curse I stand,
My lord, I must say this, I slew him not,
Nor do I know the slayer: but in truth
This problem, who it was that did the deed,
Phœbus, the prompter of the search, should solve.
Œd.
—Rightly you speak: but to force on the gods
Against their will, is what no man can do.
Cho.
—My second thought thereon I could impart.
Œd.
—Were it the third, speak on; suppress it not.
Cho.
—Phœbus the Great, and great Tiresias ,
With the same eyes see much we know, of him
Enquiring one might learn the whole, my lord.
Œd.
—Nor is this left among the things undone,
By Creon urged, two heralds have I sent,
And long have marvelled that he is not here.
Cho.
—There were besides old rumours whispered low.
Œd.
—What were they? I shall have to weigh each word.
Cho.
—He was slain, say they, by some travellers.
Œd.
—Aye, so I heard, but none the witness name.
Cho.
—Still if his nature owns the touch of fear,
He will not silently endure thy curse.
Œd.
—Who fears not deeds, words will not frighten him.
Cho.
—Here then at least comes one who will unveil him,
For hitherwards they lead that holy seer
In whom alone of men the truth abides.
16
Œd.
—Tiresias, master of all lore which men
May teach, all which they dare not utter, all
Which comes from heaven above or earth beneath,
The plague that lies so heavy on our state,
Though blind thou canst discern! 'gainst which, my lord
Nor shield or champion can we find but thee.
If from my messengers thou hast not heard it,
Know this, that Phœbus when we sent, sent back
That the remission of this curse should come
Then only, when we should have clearly traced
The men who slew King Laius,—slain them too,
Or from the land as exiles thrust them forth;
Then grudge not thou, or through the voice of birds ,
Or by some other path of prophecy,
To aid thyself, the state, and me; to aid
In cleansing this whole blood-taint of the dead.
On thee we lean, and to help fellow-men
As one best can, is of all works the noblest.
Tir.
—Alas! alas! how sad is wisdom, when
It profits not the wise, though I know all,
All was forgotten, else I had not come.
Œd.
—Great God! in what a gloomy mood thou'rt here!
Tir.
—Send me home straight. Heark'ning in this to me
Thy life thou best will govern, and I mine.
Œd.
—These words, which rob us of thy warning, are
Nor just, nor to this land that bred thee, kind.
Tir.
—I see thy words to no good issue tend,
And fear lest the same evil fall on mine.
17
—In God's name, knowing this, turn not away,
When all to thee bow down in supplication.
Tir.
—For all are void of wisdom: never—never,
Lest when I speak, I bring thy ills to light.
Œd.
—What? mute though knowing all,—hast thou the heart
Thus to betray us, and destroy the state?
Tir.
—Nor thee—nor yet myself I harm. Why waste
These words of wrath? from me thou hearest nothing.
Œd.
—Basest of men, for this would rouse to wrath
The spirit of a stone, wilt thou speak out,
Not stand thus stern and unpersuadable?
Tir.
—My temper thou canst carp at, but thine own
Housed with thee thou seest not,—then blamest me.
Œd.
—Why? who would not be angered when he heard,
The words wherewith thou laugh'st the land to scorn?
Tir.
—Though I in silence shroud it,—come it must.
Œd.
—Why not impart to me then what must come?
Tir.
—I speak no more, and therefore, if thou wilt,
Rave on, let loose the wildest mood of wrath.
Œd.
—So keen that wrath, that I will leave unsaid
Nought I can call to mind: know that I deem thee
The planner of the crime—the actor—only
Not with thy hand the slayer—hadst thou sight,
I should have said the deed was thine alone.
Tir.
—Say'st thou? the edict thou hast just proclaimed,
By it I call thee to abide, and from
This day to speak no word to me or them—
Thyself the foul pollutor of this realm.
18
—Ha! after uttering shameless words like these,
Where dost thou think to save thyself by flight?
Tir.
—Safe am I—resting on the strength of truth.
Œd.
—Who taught thee? 'twas not thine own art, at least
Tir.
—Thou; for thou mak'st me speak against my will!
Œd.
—Speak what? say it again: that I may know—
Tir.
—Dost thou not know enough? why tempt me further?
Œd.
—No—not to call it known—repeat it prithee.
Tir.
—Thou seek'st the monarch's murderer—thou art he
Œd.
—Unpunished thou shalt not repeat these insults.
Tir.
—Shall I say more, and make thee fiercer yet?
Œd.
—Say what thou wilt—we heed not idle words!
Tir.
—I say that linked with those most near and dear
In horrible companionship, thou'rt blind,
And dost not see thy miserable state.
Œd.
—And think'st thou to speak ever thus at ease?
Tir.
—I do; if there is any strength in truth.
Œd.
—To all but thee there is; but thou, thou hast
No portion in the truth, for thee alike
Thine ears, thy mind, thine eyes, are full of darkness.
Tir.
—Thou miserable man! reviling me
For my calamity; not one stands here
But he shall soon reproach thee with the same.
Œd.
—Thou art the nurseling of mere night, and canst not
Hurt me nor any man who sees the sun.
Tir.
—To fall by me is not thy fate; for this
Apollo will suffice, whose task it is.
Œd.
—Are these inventions Creon's, or thine own?
Tir.
—Nay, Creon harms thee not—'tis thou thyself.
Œd.
—O Wealth! O Power! and Art surpassing art,
In life with all its jealousies and strifes,
How vast the mass of Envy stored against you!
19
Placed as a gift within these hands of mine,
Creon, the trusty, my most ancient friend,
Hopes now by secret working to expel me,
Having suborned this scheming mountebank,
This crafty juggler, who for gain alone
Has eyes, to his own science blind of soul,—
For tell me! I say, tell me—if so wise,
Oh thou great prophet, how it was thou could'st not,
When the Sphinx monster with her spells was here,
Find aught to free thy fellow-citizens?
And yet that riddle should not have been solved
By a chance comer; some prophetic power
Was needed; but that power, whether through birds,
Or straight from heaven, thou shewd'st not. It was I,
The unenlightened Œdipus, untaught
Of omens,—by mine own clear spirit led,
Set it at rest,—whom thou would'st banish,—hoping
To take thy place near Creon on his throne;
With tears, I wot, both thou, and he who framed
These plots, shall rue the attempt to drive me forth.
But for thine age, by suffering thou should'st learn
Even now, how great the folly of thy thoughts.
Cho.
—In our poor judgment, both the prophet's words
And thine, Lord Œdipus, in wrath were spoken:
Not such are fitting, what we aim at, is
How best to solve these oracles of God.
Tir.
—King though thou art, an equal right I claim
To answer as an equal,—that I can do,
Slave, not to thee, but to the Loxian god .
20
With Creon for a patron. Mark my words!
Thou, who now mockest at my blindness,—thou
Seeing, perceivest not the misery
In which thou art, nor where thou dwellest, nor
With whom thy life is spent. Tell me—from whom
Thou springest? thou unconscious enemy
Of thine own blood under the earth, and on it.
Soon with swift foot the double-branding curse
Of father, and of mother, from this soil
Shall hunt thee forth, beholding now the light,
Then looking on gloom only—what place soon
Shall not become a haven for thy groans?
What crags in old Cithæron shall not ring,
Re-echoing thy cries? when thou hast learnt
The truth veiled by those nuptials, unto which
As to a harbour, where no harbour is,
Thou didst sail on through yonder palace halls,
A voyage falsely fair—nor dost thou see
The crowd of ills impending, which shall make thee
As one with thine own children. Now go on,
Heap insults both on Creon and on me,
Since among mortal men no one that breathes
Shall spend a life so wretched as thine own.
Œd.
—Is it endurable to hear such things?
Wilt thou not hence to ruin? wilt thou not
Turn back at once, and leave these halls of mine?
Tir.
—But for thy summons I should not have come.
Œd.
—I could not tell what folly thou wouldst speak,
Or I had hardly called thee to my house.
21
—Such is my nature—deemed a fool by thee,
The father who begot thee thought me wise.
Œd.
—What father? stay—who among men begot me?
Tir.
—This day which finds thy father—ruins thee.
Œd.
—How dark and riddle-like each phrase of thine!
Tir.
—Well,—art not thou supreme in solving such?
Œd.
—Sneer, if thou wilt, at that which makes me great
Tir.
—And yet that seeming fortune is thy bane.
Œd.
—Well, I have saved this city,—so I care not.
Tir.
—I may depart then,—guide me, boy, from hence.
Œd.
—Ay, let him guide thee, here thou troublest all,
And once removed thou canst not vex us farther.
Tir.
—When I have spoken what I came to speak,
Then will I go—thy sullen looks I fear not,—
Thou hast no power against me—therefore mark.
I now declare, the man whom thou so long
Hast hunted, with thy threats and proclamations
Touching the death of Laius, standeth here.
Pronounced a stranger and a sojourner,
He shall come forth a native Theban soon,
Yet take no pleasure in the change, for blind
Where now he sees, and poor instead of rich,
To a strange land, staff-guided, must he crawl.
To his own children whom he liveth with
A father and a brother, to the woman
From whom he sprung a husband and a son;
Assassin of his sire, yet his heir,
And partner in one bed of love. Go ponder well
These words within, and if thou find'st me erring,
Say then—I know not how to prophesy.
22
Argument of the second Chorus, l. 490–545.
The Chorus describe the terrible punishment impending over the murderer of Laius, in spite of his despairing efforts to escape the pursuing deities, l. 490–513. Express their grief and perplexity that Tiresias should ascribe this crime to Œdipus Dwell upon the improbability of this being the truth, admitting at the same time that the workings of Providence are inscrutable l. 513–529. Hint a doubt whether prophets and soothsayers are as infallible as they claim to be, without however daring to do more than doubt, l. 530–536. Recall the former service of Œdipus, and determine to believe these accusations false, as long as possible, l. 536–545.
Chorus,
(headed by the high-priest as before.)
Who is that man whom Delphi's rock
Divinely uttering, brands
Doer of deeds, whose horrors mock
All speech, with blood-stained hands?
'Tis time for him, in flying course,
More furious than the storm-paced horse,
His foot to ply:
Full-armed, with flashing bolts of fire,
On him the Jove-born leaps from high,
And the dread Fates, that never tire,
Are following nigh;
Forth from Parnassus , topped with snow,
Like flame an utterance ran,
Made clear but now, that all should go
23
For underneath the forest grim,
Through crags and caves, like some wild bull,
He drags along each wretched limb,
All desolate and sorrowful;
Since from the oracles that soar
Out of mid earth's prophetic core ,
To flee away
He strives, but they
Float round him, living evermore.
Shuddering I hear those words of woe
That from the mighty prophet flow,
Their truth I dare not own, although
They may not be by man denied.
How I should speak I doubt, and glide
On airy hopes along, nor see
The present, nor the time to be.
For that a death-feud ever burnt
Between the house of Labdacus,
And this, the son of Polybus,
Nor now, nor yet of old I learnt.
If any such there were in sooth
To serve as touch-stone for the truth,
I then might join the clamour loud
'Gainst Œdipus—avenging thus
24
The progeny of Labdacus.
Phœbus and Jove are wise, and aught
That mortals e'er have done, they know.
But, for the sons of human kind,
That any prophet's soul is fraught
With more of truth than mine, I find
No pledge to trust, that this is so.
And yet one man by deeper lore
Another's skill may oversoar,
But still, not yet will I, before
I shall have seen these words come right,
Lend my assent to those who blame;
For manifest of old to sight,
On him the wingèd virgin came,
And by that touchstone tested through,
Skilful and wise—he stood to view—
And of the state a lover true—
Wherefore my heart will bide its time,
Ere it condemn him of a crime.
To them enter Creon.
My fellow-citizens, hearing but now,
That Œdipus the king accuses me
With bitter words, impatiently I come.
For if he think in these calamities
That he has suffered injury in aught
Through deeds or words of mine, I feel no wish
With guilt like this imputed, to live on.
It is no trifle, but of utmost weight
The penalty which follows such a charge,
25
And by my nearest kinsmen, I am held.
Cho.
—Yet haply this invective issued, more
Forced out by anger, than in sober judgment.
Cr.
—But how appeared it, that through arts of mine,
The prophet was induced to frame a lie?
Cho.
—'Twas said—on what authority I know not.
Cr.
—And was this charge against me, uttered forth
With eye uplifted, and unshrinking heart?
Cho.
—I know not—blind to all my rulers do—
But see—from yonder halls he comes himself.
Œd.
—How now! thou here? where gott'st thou such a front
Of boldness? as to come beneath my roof,
Thou open thief of my authority,
And manifest assassin of this man;
Say, in God's name, hast thou discerned in me
The bearing of a craven, or a fool,
Led thence to frame these plots? or didst thou think
The reptile onset of this traitorous fraud
I should not trace to thee? or when I learnt
The truth, I should not then protect myself?
Is not thy project utter foolishness,
Thus friendless and alone to chace a crown,
Which nought but wealth by numbers backed, can win?
Cr.
—Think what thou dost—in answer to thy speech
Hear me in turn, and having heard, decide.
Œd.
—Thy skill in words I know; but I who find thee
My foe, shall not be easy to persuade.—
Cr.
—Nay, but just listen first to what I say.
Œd.
—Nay, but deny not this, that thou art base.
Cr.
—If thou conceivest stubborn arrogance
Has worth, when void of wisdom, thou art wrong.
26
—If thou conceivest, that a kinsman when
He errs, will not be punished, thou'rt deceived.
Cr.
—These words I grant are just, but tell me now
What wrongs thou dost assert thyself to suffer?
Œd.
—Didst thou, or didst thou not advise, that I
Should send for that same pompous prophet here?
Cr.
—And by that counsel I as yet abide.
Œd.
—What time forsooth has passed—since Laius?—
Cr.
—Since he did what? I comprehend thee not.
Œd.
—Struck by the hand of murder, vanished hence?
Cr.
—Long are the years, and measured from of old.
Œd.
—Did not this prophet then profess his art?
Cr.
—He did, for wisdom honoured then, as now.
Œd.
—He mentioned me then, doubtless, at that time?
Cr.
—Never—at least whilst I was standing by.
Œd.
—And yet ye made enquiry for the dead?
Cr.
—We did, no doubt; but nothing could we learn.
Œd.
—Why spoke not thus your man of wisdom then?
Cr.
—I know not; therefore shall I hold my peace.
Œd.
—Yet this thou knowst—and couldst declare if willing.
Cr.
—This? what? I will not hide it if I know.
Œd.
—That never, had he not conspired with thee,
Would he have charged me with the death of Laius.
Cr.
—If such his words thou knowest—as for me
I claim to put my questions, as thou thine.
Œd.
—Proceed, I shall not prove a murderer.
Cr.
—Say then—hast thou my sister to thy wife?
Œd.
—So far thy questions must command assent.
Cr.
—Rul'st thou not here, sharing this realm with her?
Œd.
—She may have all from me—if such her will.
Cr.
—Rank I not third? held equal with you both?
27
—Equal! why here the faithless friend appears.
Cr.
—Not so, but reason with thyself as I do;
Think'st thou that any one would rather grasp
At actual empire, in the midst of fear,
Than sleep unshaken, and enjoy its fruits;
Not mine the mood, (no, nor of any one
Who has learnt wisdom,) that would wish to be
A king, rather than lead a kingly life.
Now without any fear I can obtain
All things from thee; were I myself in power
Oft must I act against my will: how then
Should royal rule give me so much delight,
As painless princedom and authority?
I am not yet so utterly deceived
As to seek more than honour and advantage:
All love me now; all welcome me; all who
Ask aught of thee, address themselves to me,
Since through my favour comes success in all.
What were I then to throw away these gifts
For the mere name of power? Not so—a mind
In wisdom trained, turns not to folly thus.
No appetite have I for schemes like these,
Nor if another urged me, would I bear it.
And first in proof of this, to Pytho send
And learn if I have truthfully announc'd
These oracles to thee. Yea, more than this,
Shouldst thou convict me of devising aught
In common with the seer, then seize and slay me;
Not by a single, but a double sentence;
My own, as well as thine: but do not now
Judge me unheard upon such doubtful grounds—
Since without proof to hold the bad for good,
28
And to throw off a worthy friend is like
Parting with life, the thing man holds most dear.
But this in time full surely shalt thou see,
Since time alone the good makes manifest,
Whilst in one day thou mayst discern the bad.
Cho.
—Well speaks he king, to one who fears to fall;
The hasty-minded man shall not be safe.
Œd.
—When secret traitors hastily move on,
I must take hasty counsel in my turn;
If at my ease I wait, this man's designs
Will be achieved, my fortunes overthrown.
Cr.
—What is thy aim, then: from this land to drive me?
Œd.
—No,—not thy exile,—'tis thy death I need.
Cr.
—But shew me first good ground for this fierce hatred
Œd.
—Thou speak'st like one who means not to obey.
Cr.
—Thou art not sane—
Œd.-
Oh! for myself I am.
Cr.
—But I have equal claims.
Œd.-
Thou'rt a mere knave.
Cr.
—What if thou errest?
Œd.-
Still I must be ruler.
Cr.
—Not if thou rulest badly.
Œd.-
Oh my country!
Cr.
—Mine too that country is—not thine alone.
Cho.
—Cease, princes, cease: in time, from yonder halls
I see Jocasta come to you; with whom
T'were well to set this present quarrel straight.
Enter to them Jocasta.
Jo.
—Oh! miserable men, why have ye raised
This idle strife of tongues? feel ye no shame
29
Go in, my lord, and Creon, get thee hence,
Fan not each petty grievance to a flame.
Cr.
—Thy husband, sister, is in savage mood,
And orders me to choose between two evils,
Or death, or exile from my native land.
Œd.
—'Tis so I grant, for woman, I have found him
Weaving his baleful arts against my life.
Cr.
—May I ne'er thrive, but die a cursed thing,
If aught he charges on me I have done.
Jo.
—Believe him, Œdipus, in this, for God's sake,
Respecting first his oath unto that God,
Me next, and then these good men present here.
Cho.
—To this belief I pray thee bring
Thy reason and thy will, Oh king!
Œd.
—What wishest thou that I should grant to thee?
Cho.
—Respect this man, not weak before,
Now by his oath confirmed the more.
Œd.
—And dost thou understand this wish of thine?
Cho.
—I do.
Œd.-
Then make it clear to me.
Cho.
—Oh! cast not off dishonourèd
As guilty, by vague reasons led,
A friend so pledged by oath as he.
Œd.
—Be well assured that asking this, ye ask
My ruin, or my exile from this land.
Cho.
—No; by the sun I swear,
That God of gods the first,
May I, if such a mind I bear,
All friendless, and of Heaven accurst,
Die by whatever death is worst.
30
'Tis that, which eats my wretched heart away.
And now I fear, lest with old ills combine
Fresh evils, springing from this strife of thine.
Œd.
—Let him go free then, even if utterly
To perish I am doomed, or from this land
To be forced headlong a dishonoured thing;
'Tis thy sad plaint that moves my heart to pity,
But him, I hate him wheresoe'er he be.
Cr.
—Though yielding, yet thou hatest, conquering wrath
Thou ragest still; but fitly minds like thine
Unto themselves the heaviest burdens are.
Œd.
—Wilt thou not leave me and depart?
Cr.-
I go,
Clear before these men, though thou know'st me not.
Cho.
—Oh lady, why art thou so slow
Within yon halls to lead the king?
Jo.
—First, how it chanced I fain would know.
Cho.
—By some vague word
Dark doubts were stirred,
And all injustice has a sting.
Jo.
—Were both in fault?
Cho.-
They were.
Jo.
—What words were used?
Cho.
—Enough for me, with the land thus in pain,
That where they died away they should remain.
Œd.
—See what, right-hearted as thou art, by blunting
And taming down my spirit, thou hast done?
Cho.
—Not once alone, Oh king!
Thus have I spoken, know
That from all reason wandering
31
If ever I forsake thee so,
Who, when my much-loved country lay,
Tost on the waves of woe,
In safety steered her on her way .
Become again, if thou hast power,
Her pilot in this fearful hour.
Jo.
—Tell me, my lord, in God's name, what the cause
Which fills thee with so violent a wrath?
Œd.
—Lady, I will, for I esteem thee more
Than I do these; 'tis Creon and his plots.
Jo.
—If thou canst throw true blame on him, speak on.
Œd.
—He says that I it was who murdered Laius.
Jo.
—Of his own knowledge? or have others told him?
Œd.
—He sent a scoundrel seer, for he would set,
As far as he has power, all tongues in motion.
Jo.
—Withdraw thy mind from what thou speak'st of, and
Listen to me, learn thence that nothing human
Has any portion in prophetic art.
Of this I'll give thee proofs compact and clear.
Voices to Laius came of old, (from Phœbus,
The god himself, I say not,) but his priests,
That destiny should slay him by the hands
Of his own child, bred betwixt him and me;
Yet him as rumour words it, foreign robbers
Slaughtered, where three cross roads are joined in one,
Whilst for that infant blossom, not three days
Had passed before his father pierced his feet,
And cast him by the hands of others forth
32
Apollo ruled not, that he should become
His father's slayer, nor for Laius, Death,
The evil which he feared, from his own son.
Yet words of prophecy had marked this out.
Then heed them not, for easily the God
What he resolves himself will bring to light.
Œd.
—Yet woman, as I hear thee now, my heart
Shakes, and my soul is tossèd to and fro.
Jo.
—Seized sudden by what terror speak'st thou thus!
Œd.
—I seemed to hear from thee these words, that Laius
Was slain of old where three cross roads are joined.
Jo.
—So it was said, nor has the rumour ceased.
Œd.
—And where the place where this misfortune chanced?
Jo.
—Phocis the land is called; there separate roads
From Delphi and from Daulis meet in one.
Œd.
—And what the time that has elapsed since then?
Jo.
—Shortly before thou cam'st to rule this land
It was made public to our people here.
Œd.
—Oh Jove! what hast thou planned against me now?
Jo.
—Say what afflicts thy spirit, Œdipus?
Œd.
—Ask me not yet,—but tell me what a presence
Had Laius, how much left of youthful strength?
Jo.
—Of mighty stature, but his whitening head
Sprinkled as if with flowers of snow; his aspect
Differed, methinks, but little from thine own.
Œd.
—Ah miserable me,
I seem unknowingly t'have cast myself
Into the trammels of an awful curse!
33
—What now? I dread to look on thee, oh king!
Œd.
—Sadly I fear that prophet has his sight;
But thou canst make all clearer by one word.
Jo.
—I tremble, but will tell thee what I can.
Œd.
—Went he with escort slight, or led he forth
A long array of spearmen, Like a king?
Jo.
—Five men in all, a herald one of them,
And Laius seated on a single car.
Œd.
—Ah me! 'tis all too manifest; and who
Was he that brought these tidings hither, lady?
Jo.
—A certain slave, who came back safe alone.
Œd.
—Is he still living in these halls of ours?
Jo.
—Not so, for when he came and saw thee here
Fixed on the throne of Laius, his dead lord,
He as a suppliant touched my hand, and prayed
That I would send him to far pasture-fields,
Where he might never see this city more.
I sent him straight, since, for a slave, he was
Worthy of favours greater far than this.
Œd.
—Could he with speed return to us from thence?
Jo.
—He shall be here; but why is such thy wish?
Œd.
—I fear, oh woman, lest I may have said
Too much of that for which I wish to see him.
Jo.
—He shall come straight; but surely I deserve
To know what lies so heavy on thy heart?
Œd.
—Nor will I keep it back; since I am filled
With such dread expectations, unto whom
Should I tell all so soon as unto thee?—
Of Corinth was my father Polybus ,
34
There first in rank among the citizens
Was held, until this chanced, a cause for wonder,
And yet not meriting the weight I gave it.
A certain man at supper, full of wine,
Over his cups called me a foundling—palmed
Upon my father. I oppressed with wrath
Scarcely throughout that day restrained myself;
And on the next, confronting close my father
And mother both, I put them to the proof.
Incensed with him from whom those words had fallen,
They felt the insult deeply; hence with them
Was I well pleased, but not the less the wound
Kept rankling, for the rumour spread apace:
To Pytho went I then, keeping it hid
From both of them, but Phœbus in respect
Of what I came for, sent me back at once,
Unhonoured with an answer, but he spoke
Clearly of other things, things horrible,
Dismal, and dark; that I should mix in love
With my own mother, and rear thence in sight
Of all men, an insufferable brood;
Yea, slay the father who begot me. When
I heard him, straight I fled, and henceforth viewed
The land of Corinth only from afar;
Seeking some place where I might never see
These monstrous imputations brought to pass.
As I went on, I reached the very spot
Where thou hast told me that this king was slain,
And woman, I will speak the truth to thee,
A herald there, and on a car horse-drawn
35
Encountered me, and from the path his driver
And the old man himself, by violence
Would then have thrust me forth, but him that tried it,
The charioteer, I in my anger struck;
The old man, as he saw me pass the car,
Watching his opportunity, came down
Full on my head with his two-pointed goad.
But more than equal my revenge, at once
Struck by the staff in this right hand, he fell
From his mid chariot rolling in the dust.
In fine I slew them all. Now if this stranger
Connect himself in aught with Laius, who
Can be more wretched than the man before thee,
More hateful to the gods; since 'tis forbid
That sojourner or citizen should change
One word with me, or take me to his home,
But all must thrust me from their gates; and, more,
The man who laid these curses on me, was
No other than myself, and with these hands
That slew him, on the dead man's nuptial couch
I bring pollution? Am I not then base?
Am I not all unclean? yet if I fly
I may not by that flight approach mine own,
Or plant my foot upon my native soil,
Else am I doomed in marriage to be yoked
With my own mother, and to slay my sire,
Him who begot and bred me, Polybus.
Who then can fail to see in this the hand,
Against me set, of some relentless god?
Oh hear me, Holy Majesty of heaven!
Ere I behold that day, may I from earth
36
Of such a curse strike deep into my soul!
Cho.
—These things perplex us sorely, king, but yet
Till thou hast heard the witness, cherish hope.
Œd.
—Ay, just so much of hope remains to me
To wait that herdsman here,—so much, no more.
Jo.
—And when he comes, what purpose holds with thee?
Œd.
—I'll tell thee, if he should be found to say
The same as thou, I then escape this curse.
Jo.
—What word worth noting hast thou heard from me?
Œd.
—Thou say'st he mentioned robbers, as the men
Who slew him, if in speech he still adhere
To that same number, then I slew him not,
For one to many cannot equal be.
But if one person journeying alone
He name, the deed comes clearly home to me.
Jo.
—Know that his tale was blazoned forth; know that
He cannot now retract it. 'Twas not I
Alone, but the whole city heard it thus.
Nay, though he swerve from what he said of yore,
He proves not that the death of Laius came
As was foretold; for him the Loxian god
Decreed to perish by a child of mine;
And yet that hapless creature slew him not,
But died himself before; so that for fear
Of prophecies I would not turn my head
A single hair-breadth to the right or left.
Œd.
—In this thou judgest well, and yet send one
To fetch that herdsman here; neglect it not.
Jo.
—I'll send at once, but let us to the house,
I will do nothing not approved by thee.
37
Argument of the third Chorus, l. 915–969.
The Chorus, shocked by the levity and irreligious spirit of Jocasta, pray to heaven to keep them pure and free from sin, l. 915–918. Do homage to those immutable principles of right, which are the moral foundations of the universe, l. 918–925. Enlarge on the danger of self-indulgence and worldly pride, and the dreadful end of presumptuous sinners, l. 925–933. Express their confidence in Divine Providence, and invoke judgment upon all those who trample upon the distinctions between right and wrong, and despise religious sanctions, in order that they may gratify their passions without restraint, l. 934–949. Appeal to the gods to vindicate their insulted majesty, to bring to pass the prophecies which they have uttered, and to arrest the decay of piety everywhere then visible, l. 950–969.
Chorus,
(headed as before by the high-priest.)
Lend me, ye Fates, your strength sublime,
Around each word and act of mine,
To guard that purity divine,
As aids to which, before all time
Stood fixed those laws of lofty tread,
In yon celestial ether bred.
'Twas not the death-doomed seed of man
That called them into life, nor can
38
Unchanged—unending—uncreate—
It is through them that God is great,
Through them, He grows not old.—
The pride of life breeds tyrant will ,
And pride, if gorged beyond its fill
With joys that oft recur in vain,
And suit not with our mortal strain,
When it has scaled the loftiest rock
Comes thundering down with sudden shock,
And limbs that climbed at heaven of late,
Lie palsied in the nets of fate.—
Never, oh never, will I ask
The God to lay aside his task
39
His shield before me as I go.—
But if unscared by justice, and
Unawed by shrines where gods abide,
Men, insolent with word or hand,
Press on in reckless pride;
May black fate seize them as her prey,
And thus ill-chosen joys repay.
For how, unless his gains be just,
Unless he shrink from godless lust,
How, if he grasp in idle mirth
Things sacred from the touch of earth,
Should man from off his spirit keep
The shafts of vengeance rankling deep?
If deeds like theirs can meet with praise,
Why need we hymns of worship raise?
No longer will I take my way
At earth's pure central shrine to pray,
Nor to the great Abantic fane ,
Nor to Olympian halls again,
Unless these words prophetic can
Be fitted to the truth, and shewn,
40
Oh thou, that rulest all alone,
Great Jove, if so we name thee well,
Let not this pass unmarked, unknown
Before thine everlasting throne,
For now those words divine, which tell
Of Laius, these would sweep away,
As old and drooping, to decay.
Nor is there found a place below,
Where Phœbus with due honours given
Shines forth, and all that breathes of heaven
Lies sunk in ruin low.
Enter Jocasta.
Ye nobles of the land, I think it good
Taking this incense, and these wreaths in hand,
To seek the temple of some god, for now
The heart of Œdipus on countless griefs
Rides tossing to and fro, nor like a man
In his right senses, does he test the new
By what has passed of old; but hangs on each
Fresh speaker, if his words but tell of fear.
Since then, my counsels soothe and help him not,
To thee, Lyceian Phœbus, for thou art
The nearest god, this sacrifice I bring:
Come down serene in power to succour us,
For to behold the pilot at the helm
Thus panic-struck, benumbs us all with fear.
41
Perchance, oh strangers, I may learn from you
Where are the halls of Œdipus your king?
Yea more, where he himself, if ye should know?
Cho.
—This house is his, he, stranger, is within,
This woman is the mother of his sons.
Mes.
—May she, his all-accomplish'd wife, live on
The happy parent of a happy race.
Jo.
—Thee too may fortune favour, friend; this well
Thou meritest for that kind speech; but tell me
With what demand or tidings hast thou come?
Mes.
—Good tidings to thy house and husband, lady.
Jo.
—What are they? at whose bidding wert thou sent?
Mes.
—From Corinth; with the words I speak thou may'st
Be pleased! why not? thou may'st be angered too.
Jo.
—How so? what is this double power they have?
Mes.
—The natives of the place would make him lord
Of th'Isthmian land —so ran the rumour there.
Jo.
—How! is not Polybus the Old still king?
Mes.
—Not so, since death has laid him in the tomb.
Jo.
—What say'st thou? Polybus is dead?
Mes.-
Unless
I speak the truth, I am content to die.
Jo.
—Oh maiden, stand'st thou thus? to tell thy lord
Rush with all speed. Ye voices of the gods
How is it with you now? Of old in dread
Lest he should slay this man fled Œdipus,
And now by nature, not by him, he dies.
42
Œd.
—Jocasta, most beloved of women, say
Why hast thou called me from the house within?
Jo.
—Listen to him, and having listened, learn
The end of all these solemn prophecies.
Œd.
—Who can he be? what does he want with me?
Jo.
—From Corinth, to announce that Polybus
Thy father lives no longer, but is dead.
Œd.
—How say'st thou? Stranger, tell the tale thyself.
Mes.
—If I am bound to place beyond all doubt
This first, be thou assured that he is dead.
Œd.
—Through treason, or the action of disease?
Mes.
—A touch can send an aged frame to rest.
Œd.
—Poor man—by sickness then no doubt consumed.
Mes.
—Yes! and long years had measured out his life.
Œd.
—Most strange. Why then, oh woman, should one watch
The Pythian hearth of prophecy, or birds
That shriek on high—these were my teachers, that
I was to slay my father, now in death
Under the earth he rests, whilst I have aimed
No weapon at his life, unless perchance
Through his fond yearning for me he have drooped,
And in that sense indeed was slain by me.—
So Polybus in Hades lies; and with him
Those futile oracles may sleep for ever.
Jo.
—Did I not say all this to thee before?
Œd.
—Thou didst, but I was led astray by fear.
Jo.
—Henceforth then, let no one of them torment thee.
Œd.
—How so, my mother's bed, must I not fear it?
Jo.
—Why should man fear in matters where blind fortune
Has rule, and no clear forethought finds a place;
43
Then fear not thou thy mother's spousal rites,
For many of mankind ere this in dreams
Have shared their mother's bed; but he with whom
Such things weigh not, most easily lives on.
Œd.
—These words sound well, but still my mother lives,
And whilst she lives, it is my doom, in spite
Of these well-sounding words of thine, to tremble.
Jo.
—Yet what a light breaks from thy father's tomb.
Œd.
—True, but the living must be dreaded still.
Mes.
—Who is this woman whom ye fear?
Œd.-
Old man,
'Tis Merope the wife of Polybus.
Mes.
—And what in her can tend to waken terror?
Œd.
—Dark prophecies, oh stranger, sent from God.
Mes.
—May they be spoken? or is it perchance
Unlawful for another man to hear them?
Œd.
—Not so: the Loxian told me long ago
That I must marry with my mother, and
Spill with these hands of mine my father's blood.
Long have my countrymen in Corinth dwelt,
With regions wide between us, from this cause;
Prosperity no doubt was mine, but yet
'Tis sweet to look upon a parent's face.
Mes.
—Was it for fear of this thou fledd'st from home?
Œd.
—And wishing not to slay my sire, old man.
Mes.
—Oh that, my lord, I had at once released thee
(Since as a friend I came) from such alarms.
Œd.
—Thou shouldst have been rewarded for thy pains.
Mes.
—In truth to this especial end I came,
That on thy reaching home, I there might prosper.
Œd.
—Ah to my parents ne'er can I return.
44
—My son, 'tis clear thou know'st not what thou'rt doing.
Œd.
—How so, old man? instruct me, in God's name.
Mes.
—If for their sake thou shun'st to seek thy home—
Œd.
—I fear lest Phœbus may come right at last—
Mes.
—Lest from thy parents some foul guilt be thine.
Œd.
—That, that, old man, fills me with endless dread.
Mes.
—With no just cause thou tremblest then, be sure.
Œd.
—How so? if these be they from whom I sprung—
Mes.
—For Polybus was naught in blood to thee.
Œd.
—How say'st thou, did not Polybus beget me?
Mes.
—No more than I myself, but just the same.
Œd.
—How can a father be the same as none?
Mes.
—Why he was not thy father, nor am I.
Œd.
—Then for what reason did he call me son?
Mes.
—Know, once he took thee from these hands—a gift.
Œd.
—How could he love another's seed so dearly?
Mes.
—His heart was softened by his childless state.
Œd.
—Didst thou, the giver—buy me, or beget?
Mes.
—I found thee in Cithæron's wooded glens.
Œd.
—And how cam'st thou to journey to that spot?
Mes.
—I there was guardian of the mountain flocks.
Œd.
—Wert thou a shepherd, sent to roam for pay?
Mes.
—My son, I saved thee at that time from death.
Œd.
—What pain or danger didst thou find me in?
Mes.
—The joints of both thy feet would witness that.
Œd.
—Ah! why dost thou recal that ancient grief.
Mes.
—I loosed thee with both feet pierced through and through.
Œd.
—With a base brand, as birth-mark, was I reared.
45
—From this mischance then wert thou named, as now.
Œd.
—Ha! by my father or my mother? say.
Mes.
—I know not, he who gave thee may know more.
Œd.
—Thou didst but take me then? not find thyself?
Mes.
—Another shepherd placed thee in my hands.
Œd.
—And who was he? canst thou still point him out?
Mes.
—One of the house of Laius he was called.
Œd.
—Of him who erst was monarch of this land?
Mes.
—The same; he was the shepherd of that man.
Œd.
—And is he living still for me to question?
Mes.
—Ye people of the land should know that best.
Œd.
—Does any one of you now gathered round,
From having seen him in the fields, or here,
Know who this herdsman is, of whom he speaks?
If so, declare it, for the time is come.
Cho.
—I think he is no other than the man,
The countryman, whom thou didst wish to see
Before, but that Jocasta best can tell.
Œd.
—Say, woman, is the man whom we await
The same with him of whom the stranger speaks?
Jo.
—Who? what? whom names he thus? take thou no heed
Nor dwell upon such idle words as his.
Œd.
—Not so; with such a clue I cannot shrink
From seeking to discover who I am.
Jo.
—In God's name, if thou value life, be ruled,
Make no search, let my wretchedness suffice.
Œd.
—Fear nothing; though I prove a triple slave
Through mother-serfs for three whole generations,
Thou wilt not therefore be pronounced low-born.
Jo.
—Be ruled—I do entreat thee—make no search.
Œd.
—I cannot rest until I know the whole.
46
—Yet—as a friend I urge thee for thy good.
Œd.
—My good! no more of that, thou troublest me.
Jo.
—Poor wretch! God grant thee ne'er to know thyself.
Œd.
—Ho! some one bring that shepherd here to me;
Leave her to triumph in her noble blood.
Jo.
—Oh horrible! I can but call thee once
Most miserable man, then speak no more.
Exit Jocasta hurriedly.
Cho.
—Why goes that woman hence, Lord Œdipus,
By frantic passions driven? I fear me lest
Forth from that silence burst a storm of woe.
Œd.
—Let it burst where it lists; however humble,
I must trace home the fountain of my blood;
She perhaps, a very woman filled with pride,
Sees her dishonour in my humble birth,
But I, who deem myself the child and heir
Of favouring Fortune, shall not be disgraced.
She is my rightful mother, and through her
The months coeval with me, in their course
Have raised me from obscurity to greatness.
Since nature made me noble beyond change,
Why should I fear to trace my lineage out?
Argument of the fourth Chorus, l. 1150–1169.
The Chorus, anxious to conceal from Œdipus as long as possible their anticipations of evil, suppose him to be of divine origin, and to have been brought forth on Cithæron by a nymph under the auspices of Bacchus, l. 1150–1169. This chorus is, I think, the feeblest thing in the whole play. Sophocles was probably reserving himself for the next, in which those favourite topics of the Greek dramatists, the instability of all human happiness, and the irresistible march of destiny, are handled with great power and spirit.
47
—If I in aught a prophet be,
Or wise of spirit to foresee,
Oh thou Cithæron wild and bare,
By old Olympus hear me swear,
That ere to-morrow's moon is over,
Thou shalt these joyful truths discover,
Our songs shall honour thee, (compatriot true
Of Œdipus, yea nurse and mother too,)
As one that beareth to our lord delight,
Phœbus, may this find favour in thy sight.—
What daughter of the gods, my son,
The gods who live for ever on,
Approached by mountain-trampling Pan ,
Or by the mighty Loxian,
Who loves each rustic plain on earth,
Somewhere in secret gave thee birth?
Or else Cyllenè's king, or Bacchus bold,
Who haunts the mountain-tops, took thee of old
A foundling of those nymphs , with whom alway
(The nymphs of Helicon) he loves to play.
Enter Œdipus.
If I may judge, old man, who never yet
Have met him, that same herdsman whom we long
Have sought, methinks I see, for his great age
Chimes in, and keeps due measure with thine own;
Those who conduct him too I recognise
48
Beheld him, in such knowledge wilt surpass me.
Cho.
—We know him well, faithful among the first
To Laius, that is, for a shepherd swain.
Œd.
—Thee, oh Corinthian stranger, first I ask
Mean'st thou this man?
Mes.-
Yea, even him thou seest.
Enter the servants of Œdipus leading an aged Shepherd.
Œdipus addresses him.
Œd.
—Look this way, aged man, and answer all
I ask. To Laius didst thou once belong?
Shep.
—I was his slave, not bought but bred at home.
Œd.
—And what thy special task and course of life?
Shep.
—Most of that life I spent among the flocks.
Œd.
—And in what quarters didst thou chiefly dwell?
Shep.
—'Twas in Cithæron, and the country round.
Œd.
—Know'st thou this man from having met him there?
Shep.
—Under what guise? of what man dost thou speak?
Œd.
—Of him here present; have ye ever met?
Shep.
—I could not say at once from memory.
Cor. Mes.
—No wonder, good my lord, but I will clearly
Remind him who forgets, for well I know
He must recal, how in Cithæron's glens
He with two flocks, and I with one, for three
Whole seasons of six months, lived side by side,
From spring-time till the star Arcturus rose,
When winter came, to my own folds I drave
My flocks, he to the stalls of Laius his.
How say I? speak I not what happened there?
Shep.
—Thou speakest truth: though long the years since then.
49
—Say on now, dost thou call to mind the child
Thou gavest me to rear as if mine own?
Shep.
—How say'st thou? wherefore dost thou ask this question?
Mes.
—Here stands the man, friend, who was then a babe.
Shep.
—To hell with thee! canst thou not hold thy peace?
Œd.
—Ha! chide him not, old man, thy words than his
Call rather for the hand of chastisement.
Shep.
—In what, oh best of masters, have I erred?
Œd.
—Not answering what he asks thee of the child.
Shep.
—He knows not what he says, and works at random.
Œd.
—Speak willingly, or thou shalt speak perforce.
Shep.
—Outrage me not, for God's sake, being old.
Œd.
—Ho! some one bind his hands behind his back!
Shep.
—Wretch that I am! for what? what wouldst thou know?
Œd.
—Gav'st thou the child to him, of which he asks?
Shep.
—I did. Would I had perished on that day!
Œd.
—Death waits thee now, unless thou answ'rest fairly.
Shep.
—Ah! still more surely if I do, I die.
Œd.
—This man it seems still seeks to put me off.
Shep.
—Not so: I have already said I gave it.
Œd.
—From whence received? from others, or thyself?
Shep.
—Not from myself, from some one else it came.
Œd.
—From what house taken? from what citizen?
Shep.
—In God's name, good my lord, urge this no more.
Œd.
—Thou diest, if I am forced to ask again.
Shep.
—Of one who dwelt with Laius it was born.
Œd.
—Some slave of his, or sprung from his own blood?
Shep.
—Alas! on danger's edge I stand and speak.
Œd.
—I stand there too and hear; still I will hear it.
50
—The child was called his own, but she within,
Thy wife, can tell thee best how these things were.
Œd.
—Did she then give it thee?
Shep.-
She did, my lord.
Œd.
—And to what end?
Shep.-
That I might take its life.
Œd.
—Unhappy mother!
Shep.-
Scared by evil omens—
Œd.
—What?
Shep.-
It was said that he should slay his sire.
Œd.
—Why then commit him to this aged man?
Shep.
—Through pity, my good lord; I thought that he
Would bear him off to that far land from whence
Himself had come; but he for deepest ills
Has saved thee; for if thou art what he says,
Oh! thou wert born to nameless misery!
Œd.
—Oh! miserable wretch!—all then is true!
Oh light! for the last time I look on thee,
Shewn to be sprung from those, and linked with those
I should not have approached, and to have shed
Blood that in me 'twas horrible to spill!
Rushes out.
Argument of the fifth Chorus, l. 1245–1284.
The instability of human happiness enlarged upon, l. 1245–1250. Proved by the terrible ruin of Œdipus, after his unexampled prosperity, l. 1250–1262. His calamities described and pitied, l. 1262–1276. A wish that they had never known him, l. 1276–1280. Followed by an acknowledgment that gratitude is still due to him, on account of those former services which he alone was able to render, l. 1280–1284.
51
as before.
Man, child of dust, your little life I deem
No better than a baseless dream,
For who of human birth has looked on bliss
More stedfast to the eye than this;
A something that may seem to shine,
And in its seeming straight decline.—
Thy fate, lost Œdipus, is strong to shew
That none are blessèd here below,
Thy arrowy flight, too fortunate in aim,
Soared up, the pride of life to claim,
And that oracular grim thing of prey,
The virgin Sphinx, God gave thee power to slay.—
When on my native land in that dark hour
Death smote, like an imperial tower
For refuge and defence, thou stood'st alone,
So that we placed thee on a throne,
And raised thee up to high renown,
Lord of this mighty Theban town.—
But who, from all we hear, more wretched now,
High heart of Œdipus, than thou?
Who by sad change of lot is forced to dwell
With griefs and agonies more fell?
Father and son, their nuptial gulph the same,
Strike on one rock, and sink in death and shame.—
Poor wretch! how could those limbs that were
One flesh with thy slain father, bear
Thy touch so long in silence? Lo,
Time, that beholdeth all on earth,
Tracked thee unconscious long ago,
And now he sits in judgment on
The spouseless marriage of the son,
52
Child of that ancient Laian race,
Would that I ne'er had seen thy face,
I should not then with piercing cries
Have mourned for thee, lamenting sore.
Yet, Let not truth forgotten be,
Upheld and cheered of old by thee,
'Twas through thy help, I closed these eyes
In peaceful sleep once more.
Enter a Theban Messenger from the Palace.
Mes.
—Ye, who are still most honoured in this land,
What dread things must ye hear, what see, how high
Your sorrows must arise, if with true hearts
Ye yet revere the house of Labdacus,
Not Ister's stream, nor Phasis, as I think,
Could wash yon palace-chambers clean , of all
That they conceal; and now new horrors straight
Will brave the light of day—self-chosen, not
Involuntary these—and of all ills
Those which free choice inflicts sting keenest home.
Cho.
—What erst we knew falls short in nothing of
The depths of woe; what hast thou new to add?
Mes.
—To learn the truth in fewest words, know this,
Jocasta's sacred head lies low in death.
Cho.
—Oh wretched woman! how came that about?
Mes.
—By her own hands; but oh! the horror of
The deed, ye cannot know that saw it not.
53
Hear that poor lady's miserable end.
A pause.
Soon as she, passion-prompted, rushed within
The vestibule, straight at the nuptial bed
She bounded, rending with both hands her hair,
As she passed through the doors, she dashed them to,
Invoking Laius long since dead, recalling
Their old forgotten offspring, by whose hands
He fell, and left the mother to bring forth
A doomèd brood to her own flesh and blood.
Then wept she o'er that couch of love, twice-cursed,
Where she, unhappy, from her husband bred
A husband, and fresh children from her child.
What thence her course towards death I know not, for
With yells Lord Œdipus rushed in, so that
We could not see her sorrows to their close;
But watched him as he roamed infuriate round,
Now clamorous for a sword, now asking where
That wedded woman, that was not a wife,
Though twice a mother, fruitful of himself
And of his children, he might find. While thus
He raved, some god was there to point her out,
For no one stirred of all the men around.
But he with awful cries as if he saw
Some viewless guide before him, leapt at once
Against the double doors, and shattering out
The massive bars from their foundations, straight
He staggered headlong to that inner room;
Then, then, we saw the woman hanging there,
Suspended by a rope that trembled still,
Which when poor wretch he looked on, with fierce groans
54
What then ensued was horrible to see;
For wrenching from the robes each golden brooch
Sharp-pointed, that adorned her dress, he raised them,
And pierced the nerves of both his eyes therewith,
With words like this, “that they should see no more
The things he suffered, and the deeds he did,
But through thick darkness look upon those whom
They never should have seen or known,” and thus
Raising his hand, amid such imprecations,
He tore his eyes again, and yet again,
Whose wounded orbs upon his beard distilled
A sullen dye, and poured incessant forth
Their clammy drops of gore, so that black blood
With oozing humour mingled—fell in showers.
Thus have these ills burst not on one, but two,
Husband and wife are coiled in the same doom.
Their former bliss in the good times of old
Seemed bliss indeed, but now there is not one
Of all the names of anguish, Lamentation,
Woe, ruin, death, or infamy, found absent.
Cho.
—And has he now a breathing time, poor wretch?
Mes.
—“Open the gates,” he shouts, “and shew to all
Of Theban blood, the parricide who with
His mother”—uttering dread words I dare not.—
Out of the land he seeks to cast himself,
Not rest at home beneath the curse which he
Invoked on his own head; but he wants strength,
55
For his fierce plague is more than he can bear;
As thou shalt see, for the gates open, and
A sight thou wilt behold, which would awake
Compassion in the bitterest foe he has.
The scene opens, and discovers Œdipus standing over the dead body of Jocasta.
Cho.
—Oh sight of woe to man most dire,
More terrible than aught by me
Encountered yet, what frenzy-fire
Hath rushed, oh hapless wretch, on thee?
What god comes swooping, fiercer still,
Upon the destiny of ill?
Bent as I am, unhappy one,
On asking, hearing, tracking much,
Thy face I dare not look upon,
The shock thou givest me is such.—
Œd.
—Alas! alas! for my despair!
How bitter is the doom I bear;
Unto what spot of earth am I
Borne on in grief profound?
And whither, does my voice on high
Fly forth and float around?
Say, thou dread God, into what ills unknown
The impulse of thy onset hurls me down?
Cho.
—To horrors past all hearing, and all sight.
Œd.
—Grim cloud of mine, with hateful gloom imbued,
On-rolling in thy blank infinitude,
With what unconquerable force dost thou
Sweep right before the storm, that drives me now.
56
How keen! with bitter memories conjoined!
Cho.
—Yes, 'tis not strange that in such pangs thou shouldst
Grieve doubly, and endure a double ill.
Œd.
—Oh ministering friend,
Alone found faithful now, for still
Thou waitest on me here to tend,
And shield the blind from ill,—
Woe's me! ah, woe is me!
Thou canst not 'scape my notice, for right well
Though darkling, do I recognise thy voice!
Cho.
—Man of dark deeds, how hadst thou heart to quench
These orbs of thine? what demon urged thee on?
Œd.
—Apollo, 'twas Apollo. Oh my friends,
He brought about this woe on woe,
These griefs of mine, to their appointed ends.
But for the hand that struck the blow
Unhappy, it was mine alone,
For where the need of sight, to one
With nothing sweet to look upon?
Cho.
—Alas! thou speakest sooth; 'tis even so.
Œd.
—What had I left for eye to scan?
For spirit to hold dear?
What utterance of a fellow man
With pleasure could I hear?
Lead me at once without delay,
Lead me from hence, my friends, away,
A living death, a thing accurst,
By heaven, of all men hated worst.
Cho.
—Oh, wretched in thy mind as in thy doom,
Oh how I wish that I had never known thee.
57
—Whoe'er that man, death seize on him,
Who chose to set me free again
From that foot-fettering savage chain,
That eat into the limb;
His was no act of kindness, when
He rescued me from thence, and bore me
Safe from the bloody doom before me.
For had I perished then,
Nor I, nor those I love, would e'er
Have known these horrors of despair.
Cho.
—Our wishes echo back thy prayer.
Œd.
—I should not then have trod the earth
As my own father's murderer,
Nor borne a husband's name to her
From whom I drew my birth.
Now by the gods abhorred, and son
To that contaminated one,
My race, begotten on a wife
Who gave me my own wretched life,
And if there be one horror, still
More deadly than each other ill,
That, fixed and noted as mine own,
Comes down on Œdipus alone.
Cho.
—I know not how to call thy judgment wise,
Better to cease to be, than live in blindness.
Œd.
—That these my deeds have not been fitly done
Nor teach, nor counsel me. I know not how
I could have raised these orbs to look upon
My father when I pass to Hades, nor
My wretched mother, against both of whom,
Crimes not the vilest death can expiate
Have been by me committed; then, my children!
58
Upspringing from the root it does. No! No!
Not to these eyes of mine at any rate.
Or else the city with its towers, and all
The solemn statues of the gods, of which
Wretch that I am, (though once the noblest lot
In Thebes was mine,) I stripped myself for ever,
When I myself bade all men hunt from hence
That impious wretch, proclaimed by powers divine
A thing polluted: and of Laian blood.
Having myself denounced against myself
Such a contaminating curse, how could I
Confront it here with an unshrinking eye?
No, were there any power of crushing up
The fountain-head of sound within mine ears,
I would not rest till this afflicted frame
Were clean walled out from nature; so I might
Live without sight, and hearing nothing: for
To keep all senses dead to pain were best.
Cithæron! why accept me? why not straight
Slay me when first received? I should not then
Have e'er exposed my birth to mortal man.
Oh Polybus! Oh Corinth! ye old halls
In name alone paternal; how ye bred me
Fair on the surface, one foul sore within,
Found now to be vile off-shoot of the vile.
O ye three pathways; thou, secluded grove,
Thicket, and pass, where meet those triple roads,
Ye that drank up the blood those hands had shed,
The blood of my own father; have ye kept
A memory of the deeds there done? and how
Again, coming from thence, I acted here?
59
Having produced, to me ye raised up seed
Identical with mine own springs of life,
Exhibiting to men our kindred blood
Confused in strange commixtures! fathers, sons,
And brothers, all in one; one too the bride,
The wife, the mother; and whatever crimes
Earth deems most horrible, by us fulfilled.
But since to speak of what should not be done
Suits not, in God's name, on some distant spot
Conceal me—slay me—to the 'whelming sea
Cast forth, that ye may never see me more.
Come, shrink not back, from touching me, poor wretch,
Obey, and fear not: for such griefs as mine
None but myself is able to endure.
Cho.
—Here, in good time, for these thy wishes comes
Creon, to act and counsel, who is now
Left in thy stead, sole ruler of the land.
Œd.
—Ah me! what words shall I address to him?
How shall my faith be rightly proved, who late
Towards him in all things shewed myself so vile?
Enter Creon.
Cr.
—Not as a scorner, Œdipus, I come,
Nor to reproach thee with my former wrongs,
But if of mortals ye no more regard
The race, at least the all-sustaining fire
Of yonder monarch sun revere, nor shew
Unveiled such foul pollution, which, nor earth,
Nor water's sacred stream, nor light can brook.
60
For it befits those near of kin alone
To see and hear the sorrows of their kin.
Œd.
—In God's name, thou who in thy high estate
Hast deigned to visit me, the dregs of man,
Since thou hast wrenched me from all hope in life,
Grant this; for thee, not for myself, I speak.
Cr.
—What favour art thou begging thus to gain?
Œd.
—From this land cast me forth at once; where I
May never change a word with mortal man.
Cr.
—I would have done so, be assured: but first
I wished to ask the God how I should act.
Œd.
—And yet his oracle in all was clear,
That ye should crush me, parricide abhorred!
Cr.
—So it was said; still in the crisis where
We stand, 'twere well to learn what must be done.
Œd.
—Will ye enquire about a wretch like me?
Cr.
—Why even thou wilt now believe the God!
Œd.
—This then I charge upon thee, this I pray,
Of her—within the house—even as thou wilt
The funeral rites perform, since for thine own
Thou wilt all decent offices fulfil.
But me, my father's city must not look
Longer to keep a living habitant.
Among the mountains suffer me to dwell,
On my Cithæron, as they call it, where
Mother and father marked me out a grave
Whilst I was yet alive, that I may die
Under their hands, even as they wished to kill me.
And yet full well I know, that nor disease ,
61
Thus in the act of death have been preserved
But to live on through dark calamities.
But let my fate where'er it will, move on.
My children, Creon, for the boys care not,
As men, they will not, wheresoe'er they be,
Come short in the necessities of life,
But those young maids of mine, forlorn and sad,
For whom the daily meal was never spread
But at the board with me, so that whate'er
I ate, they had their portion in it all,
Be kind to them; and more than all, permit me
To lay my hands on them, and weep my last:
Come, royal friend, come, noble sir, grant this,
If with these hands I touched them, I might dream
That I possessed them still, as when I saw.
A momentary pause.
What words are these, in God's name ? hear I not
The sobbing of the loved ones somewhere near?
Has Creon in his pity brought to me
The dearest of my offspring? say I well?—
Cr.
—Thou dost, I brought them, knowing the delight
Thou tookest in their presence from of old.
Œd.
—Heaven prosper thee, more happily than me
God shield and guide thee on the road of life.
Where are ye? oh my children! hither, hither,
Come to these hands of mine; a brother's hands
62
The father of your blood, to be quenched thus.
He seeing nought, my children, knowing nought,
Became your father, in the self-same place
Where he was once conceived. I can but weep,
Having no power ever to see you more,
To think how bitter that remaining life
Which ye must spend among the sons of men.
For in what meeting of the citizens
Can ye mix? where are the festivities
From which, in lieu of pleasant sights, ye will not
Come home all bathed in tears? and when ye reach
The fruitful hour of marriage, who is there,
My children, bold enough to undergo
The burden of those obloquies which crush
Your parents, and entail a curse on you?
What horror is not here! your father slew
His father, took to wife his mother, her
Whose seed he was, and called you into light
From his own source of life. Such imputations
Must be your lot; who can espouse you then?
No man!—My children, clearly are ye doomed
To waste in barren loneliness, unwed.
Son of Meneceus, since to these thou'rt left
Sole parent, for we two who bred them, lie
Quenched in one death, I pray thee look not coldly
Upon them, as they rove unmated, poor,
Of thine own blood, nor suffer them to sink
Down to the level of my wretchedness.
Oh pity them! beholding them so young,
So destitute of all save hope in thee.
Grant this, and touch them with thy noble hand.
63
I could say much in counsel, but now pray
That ye may live where it befits you best,
And, than your sire, enjoy a happier lot.
Cr.
—Enough of tears have passed. Go now within.
Œd.
—Though this is hard, I yield.
Cr.-
In their own season
All things are well.
Œd.-
Know'st thou the point I aim at?
Cr.
—Speak, having heard thee I shall know it then.
Œd.
—Send me from hence an exile.
Cr.-
What the gods
Alone can give, thou askest.
Œd.-
To the gods,
Most hateful I.
Cr.-
Thy wish then thou wilt have
Granted no doubt by them.
Œd.-
But what say'st thou?
Cr.
—When ignorant, I love not useless words.
Œd.
—Lead me from hence.
Cr.-
Go: leave thy children here.
Œd.
—Oh part us not!
Cr.-
Nay, think not now to keep
The mastery of each wish; for where of old
Mastery was given, it did not constant prove.
Cho.
—Sons of my native Thebes, the great lord Œdipus behold!
Those riddles he (then first of men), world-famous, did unfold,
Each citizen with envy viewed the glorious life he wore,
Now into gulphs of doom he sinks, dark seas without a shore.
64
And call none happy till he pass unscathed from earth away .
The Thebans are called the brood of Cadmus, because Cadmus, the son of Agenor, and brother of Europa, laid the foundations of their city, and built a citadel there B. C. 1493.
It was the custom for suppliants to carry boughs of olive, wreathed with wool, as a symbol of their condition. Vid. Liddell and Scott's Lexicon, v. κλαδος.
Ismenus, a river of Thebes, which gave name to the temple of the Ismenian Apollo. Mythologically speaking, Ismenus was the son of Apollo and the nymph Melia. Pindar, in his 11th Pythian, speaks of the temple thus—
Haste to the Melian temples stately,Which in their secret places hold
The golden tripods stor'd of old;
A fane the Loxian honoureth greatly,
And calls his own Ismenian shrine,
Prophetic seat of truth divine.
As a river, Ismenus is generally coupled with the fountain Dirce—as in Eurip. Hercules Furens,
Ismenus shall be filled with floating corpses,And Dirce's silver stream run red with blood.
And so in many other passages.
Pausanias describes this temple in the 10th chapter of his Bœotica, and informs us that the statue of the Ismenian Apollo was the work of Canachus, and was similar in all respects to that, executed by the same sculptor, for the temple of the Branchidæ in Asia Minor, except that the Ismenian statue was of cedar, the Asiatic one of brass.
Divination from the ashes of the victims. Pausanias, Bœotica, c. xi., mentions an altar of Apollo Spodius or Spondius which was built of the ashes of the victims, and from which oracles were delivered by the observation of ominous words, (απο κληδονων,) but this was within the walls of Thebes, and distinct from the Ismenian temple.
Ares or Mars, the god of war and destruction, is supposed to have taken upon himself the character of a pestilence, as a new method of satiating his appetite for human slaughter; the same idea is repeated in the chorus, line 205–208.
The Sphinx, a monster with a woman's head and breast, lion's paws, &c., sent by Juno to persecute the Thebans; she proposed enigmas to them, which if they failed to solve, she devoured them at once. Œdipus, by solving one of these riddles, became, according to the decree of the gods, the master of her destiny, and compelled her to destroy herself, thereby rescuing the Thebans from complete extinction at her hands, in return for which he was elected to be their king, receiving at the same time Jocasta, the widow of Laius, in marriage.
The bay was sacred to Apollo, and Creon would not have worn a wreath of it, if the answer had not seemed to him favourable.
Delian Pæan—as honouring Apollo, whose reputed birth-place was the island of Delos, one of the Cyclades.
The temples of Diana Euclea, or The Glorious, of Apollo Bœdromius, or The Succourer, and of Minerva Zosteria, (she who arms for battle,) were near to each other in Thebes. Pausanias mentions a fourth temple, that of Hermes or Mercury Agoræus, (that is, presiding over the forum,) to which Sophocles does not allude.—Pausanias Bœotica, cap. xvii.
The Pæan here and above, l. 5, is a choral chant, addressed to Apollo especially as a thanksgiving for deliverance from evil, and as such is opposed to cries for help, wailing, and the like.—See Liddell and Scott's Lexicon.
Thrace, a wild country to the north of Greece, was supposed to be the chosen abode of Ares or Mars, the god of war. Virgil calls it “the land of Rhesus, dedicate to Mars.” And again, in the 3rd Æneid,
To rustic nymphs I prayed who haunt the place,
And to great Mars, who rules the land of Thrace.
Thrax, from whom the country derived its name, was reputed to be a son
of Mars.
And to great Mars, who rules the land of Thrace.
An epithet of Apollo, either because he was born at Patara, in Lycia, or else meaning the wolf-slayer, an honourable distinction which he may have earned whilst acting as shepherd to Admetus.
Bacchus was the tutelary god of Thebes, which was called Bacchic Thebes from him. The Mœnades, Thyades, or Bacchanals, were the nymphs who celebrated his orgies; they were crowned with ivy, and held in their hands the thyrsus, a wand wreathed with ivy, and vine leaves, with a pine cone at the top; armed with this they danced and sung wildly, giving themselves up to frantic excitement in honour of the god. Cithæron, so often mentioned in this play, is represented as the first place upon which the rites of Bacchus were performed:—
Selected first these orgies to fulfil,
To that wild singing, and those clamours shrill
Of Bacchic nymphs, rang loud Cithæron's hill.
Ovid's Metam.
He was called Evius from the cries of these women, the burden of their
songs being Evoe Bacche.
To that wild singing, and those clamours shrill
Of Bacchic nymphs, rang loud Cithæron's hill.
This is the accredited pedigree:
- Agenor, king of Phœnicia.
- Cadmus, founder of Thebes.
- Polydorus.
- Labdacus.
- Laius.
Tiresias, the celebrated blind soothsayer of Thebes. Juno is supposed to have put out his eyes, and Jupiter to have bestowed upon him the gift of prophecy and length of days, as some compensation for their loss; he is made cotemporary with Cadmus in the Bacchæ of Euripides.
Divination by the flight of birds, was one of the most usual methods practised by the Greeks; but there were other modes, as by dreams, by lots, by ominous words, &c.
An epithet of Apollo, either from λοξος, slanting, oblique, on account of the intricacy and ambiguity of his oracles, or else from λεγω λογος, as interpreting to men the will of his father Jupiter. See Liddell and Scott's Lexicon, sub voce.
Literally the centre or navel of the earth. Delphi was supposed to be exactly in the middle of the earth, which we must remember that the Greeks figured to themselves as a plane surface. Whether (especially since the oracles are represented, as infused into the minds of the priestesses, by the mysterious influence of intoxicating vapours, which streamed up from abysses of unknown depth) the phrase, “prophetic core,” be not an allowable adaptation of the original to our more correct cosmical views, I must leave to others to determine.
Daulis, a city of Phocis, celebrated as the scene of the murder of Itys by Procne and Philomela, to revenge themselves upon Tereus, who had outraged the latter. Some fragments of a tragedy by Sophocles upon the subject (the Tereus) are still extant.
Compare Antigone's address to Creon:—
Think not that these commands of thine with me
Have so much weight, that upon their account
I, a mere mortal, should presume to break
The indestructible unwritten laws
Of the great gods, that were not born to-day,
Nor yesterday, but have eternal life,
And none can tell from whence their day-spring rose.
Have so much weight, that upon their account
I, a mere mortal, should presume to break
The indestructible unwritten laws
Of the great gods, that were not born to-day,
Nor yesterday, but have eternal life,
And none can tell from whence their day-spring rose.
These lines are believed to refer to Alcibiades, to whom all the gifts of nature, fortune, and position, were rendered worse than useless by his ungovernable passions and want of steady principle. There is a striking passage in the Laws of Plato, conceived in a similar spirit, and aimed without doubt at the same person.
The Athenian interlocutor (Plato himself) is speaking:
“He, who in the season of youthful folly is filled with a spirit of pride, and intoxicated with his own greatness, because he is rich, or of high rank, or beautiful in person, by his impious contempt of God and man kindles a fire in his own soul; and pressing onwards, as if he needed no law to govern him, no wisdom to guide him, but, on the contrary, as if he himself were fully competent to guide and govern all others, is soon left alone, a man abandoned of God; and being thus abandoned, straightway he gathers to himself others of a like mind, tramples down all law, and throws every thing into confusion. For a time he may seem to many prosperous and renowned; before long, however, he is sure to suffer some just and memorable punishment, and to plunge himself, his family, and his native country, into irreparable ruin. Now then, since these things are so ordered of Heaven, what are the habits of thought, and action, which one who is truly wise should cultivate? what those which he must avoid?”
Clinias answers, “This at least is clear, that each man should study how he may become one of those, who pass through life in companionship with God.”—Laws, B. iv. ed. Becker, vol. viii. p. 113.
Abæ, a city of Phocis, early celebrated for its oracle of Apollo. The temple was twice burnt, first by Xerxes, and afterwards by the Thebans in the sacred war, so that it was in a perfectly ruinous condition in the time of Pausanias. Phocica, c. xxxv. It was one of the oracles consulted by Crœsus, king of Lydia, before he made war on Cyrus, but does not seem to have succeeded in gaining his confidence so much as either the oracle at Delphi, or the oracle of Amphiaraus, at Oropos, on the frontiers of Attica and Bœotia.
The great temple of the Olympian Jupiter in Elis, where he was represented sitting on a throne of ivory and gold, with a golden wreath of olive round his head; the original oracle there, as at many other places, was sacred to the Earth.
Bacchus is commonly represented as guiding and inspiring a band of subject nymphs. Horace calls him,
Lord of the Naiads thou, and Bacchanals,
With hands made strong tall ash-trees to uproot.
With hands made strong tall ash-trees to uproot.
It can hardly be necessary to quote from Macbeth,
Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand?
Or from Richard II.,
Clean from my hand?
Not all the waters in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm from an anointed king.
Can wash the balm from an anointed king.
Περοναι is generally construed as a single clasp-pin or buckle, but I have retained the plural number in this passage, because I think that Sophocles meant us to understand that Œdipus extinguished the sight of both his eyes at once, which would require a weapon in each hand.
“Ye,” I suppose, is addressed to the Chorus, who are rebuked for not urging Œdipus to retire into the palace the moment he appeared in public.
It appears to me as if Sophocles meant to imply in these lines, that as soon as the first frenzy fit of remorse had spent its force, the instinctive love of life returned to Œdipus, in spite of his anguish and despair. The whole passage gives me the idea, as if he suddenly recollected that the oracle had denounced banishment, or death, against the murderer of Laius, and that he was now getting anxious for the milder alternative.
A favourite sentiment with the Greeks; see Her., lib. i. c. 34, where Solon is introduced telling Crœsus, that no man, till he dies, can be called more than lucky as opposed to happy, because the gods so frequently send down sudden destruction upon those who have long enjoyed uninterrupted prosperity.
| Oedipus, King of Thebes | |