dots-menu
×

Home  »  Oedipus the King  »  Lines 500–999


Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Sophocles (c.496 B.C.–406 B.C.). Oedipus the King.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.

Lines 500–999

ANTISTROPH. I


For from Parnassus’ heights, enwreathed with snow,Gleaming, but now there shoneThe oracle that bade us, one and all,Track the unnamed, unknown one.For, lo! he wanders through the forest wild,In caves and over rocks,As strays the mountain bull,In dreary loneliness with dreary tread,Seeking in vain to shunThe words prophetic of the central shrine;Yet they around him hover, full of life.
STROPH. II


Dread things, yea, dread, the augur skilled has stirredThat leave the question open, aye or no!And which to say I know not,But hover still in hopes, and fail to scanThings present or to come.For neither now nor in the former yearsLearnt I what cause of strifeSet the Labdacid raceAt variance with the house of Polybus.Nor can I test the tale,And take my stand against the well-earned fameOf Œdipus, my lord,As champion of the house of Labdacus,For deaths that none may trace!
ANTISTROPH. II


For Zeus and King Apollo, they are wise,And know the hearts of men:But that a prophet passeth me in skill,This is no judgment true;And one man may another’s wisdom pass,By wisdom higher still.I, for my part, before the word is clear,Will ne’er assent to those that speak in blame.’Tis clear, the Maiden-monster with her wingsCame on him, and he proved by sharpest testThat he was wise, by all the land beloved,And, from my heart at least,The charge of baseness comes not.
Enter CREON


CREON.I come, my friends, as having learnt but nowOur ruler, Œdipus, accuses meWith dreadful words I cannot bear to hear.For if, in these calamities of ours,He thinks he suffers wrongly at my hands,In word or deed, aught tending to his hurt,I set no value on a life prolonged,If this reproach hangs on me; for its harmAffects not slightly, but is direst shame,If through the land my name as villain rings,By thee and by thy friends a villain called.CHORUSBut this reproach, it may be, came from wrathAll hasty, rather than from judgment calm.CREON.And who informed him that the seer, seducedBy my false counsel, spoke his lying words?CHORUSThe words were said, but on what grounds I know not.CREON.And was it with calm eyes and judgment clear,The charge was brought against my name and fame?CHORUSI cannot say. To what our rulers doI close my eyes. But here he comes himself.
Enter ŒDIPUS


ŒDIP.Ho, there! is’t thou? And does thy boldness soarSo shameless as to come beneath my roof,When thou, ’tis clear, hast done the deed of blood,And now wilt rob me of my sovereignty?Is it, by all the Gods, that thou hast seenOr cowardice or folly in my soul,That thou hast laid thy plans? Or thoughtest thouThat I should neither see thy sinuous wiles,Nor, knowing, ward them off? This scheme of thine,Is it not wild, backed nor by force nor friends,To seek the power which calls for force or wealth?CREON.Do as thou pleasest. But for words of scornHear like words back, and as thou hearest, judge.ŒDIP.Cunning of speech art thou! But I am slowTo learn of thee, whom I have found my foe.CREON.Hear this, then, first, that thus I have to speak.…ŒDIP.But this, then, say not, that thou art not vile.CREON.If that thou thinkest self-willed pride avails,Apart from judgment, know thou art not wise.ŒDIP.If that thou thinkest, injuring thy friend,To do it unchastised, thou art not wise.CREON.In this, I grant, thou speakest right; but tell,What form of suffering hast thou to endure?ŒDIP.Didst thou, or didst thou not, thy counsel giveSome one to send to fetch this reverend seer?CREON.And even now by that advice I hold!ŒDIP.How long a time has passed since Laiuschanced…[Pauses.CREON.Chanced to do what? I understand not yet.ŒDIP.Since he was smitten with the deadly blow?CREON.The years would measure out a long, long tale.ŒDIP.And was this seer then practising his art?CREON.Full wise as now, and equal in repute.ŒDIP.Did he at that time say a word of me?CREON.No word, while I, at any rate, was by.ŒDIP.And yet ye held your quest upon the dead?CREON.Of course we held it, but we nothing heard.ŒDIP.How was it he, the wise one, spoke not then?CREON.I know not, and, not knowing, hold my peace.ŒDIP.One thing thou know’st, and, meaning well, wouldst speak!CREON.And what is that? for if I know, I’ll speak.ŒDIP.Why, unless thou wert in the secret, thenHe spake not of me as the murderer.CREON.If he says this, thou know’st it. I of theeDesire to learn, as thou hast learnt of me.ŒDIP.Learn then; no guilt of blood shall rest on me.CREON.Well, then,—my sister? dost thou own her wife?ŒDIP.I will not meet this question with denial.CREON.And sharest thou an equal rule with her?ŒDIP.Her every wish by me is brought to act.CREON.And am not I co-equal with you twain?ŒDIP.Yes; and just here thou show’st thyself false friend.CREON.Not so, if thou wouldst reason with thyself,As I must reason. First reflect on this:Supposest thou that one would rather chooseTo reign with fears than sleeping calmest sleep,His power being equal? I, for one, prize lessThe name of king than deeds of kingly power;And so would all who learn in wisdom’s school.Now without fear I have what I desire,At thy hand given. Did I rule, myself,I might do much unwillingly. Why, then,Should sovereignty exert a softer charmThan power and might unchequered by a care?I am not yet so cheated by myselfAs to desire aught else but honest gain.Now all goes well, now every one salutes,Now they who seek thy favour court my smiles,For on this hinge does all their fortune turn.Why, then, should I leave this to hunt for that?My mind, retaining reason, ne’er could actThe villain’s part. I was not born to loveSuch thoughts myself, nor bear with those that do.And as a proof of this, go thou thyself,And ask at Pytho whether I brought back,In very deed, the oracles I heard.And if thou find me plotting with the seer,In common concert, not by one decree,But two, thine own and mine, proclaim my death.But charge me not with crime on shadowy proof;For neither is it just, in random thought,The bad to count as good, nor good as bad;For to thrust out a friend of noble heart,Is like the parting with the life we love.And this in time thou’lt know, for time aloneMakes manifest the righteous. Of the vileThou mayst detect the vileness in a day.CHORUSTo one who fears to fall, he speaketh well;O king, swift counsels are not always safe.ŒDIP.But when a man is swift in wily schemes,Swift must I be to baffle plot with plot;And if I stand and wait, he wins the day,And all my life is found one great mistake.CREON.What seek’st thou, then? to drive me from the land?ŒDIP.Not so. I seek not banishment, but death.CREON.When thou show’st first what grudge I bear to thee?ŒDIP.And say’st thou this defying, yielding not?CREON.I see thy judgment fails.ŒDIP.I hold mine own.CREON.Mine has an equal claim.ŒDIP.Thou villain born!CREON.And if thy mind is darkened…?ŒDIP.Still obey!CREON.Not to a tyrant ruler.ŒDIP.O my country!CREON.I, too, can claim that country. ’Tis not thine!CHORUSCease, O my princes! In good time I seeJocasta coming hither from the house;And it were well with her to hush this strife.
Enter JOCASTA


JOC.Why, O ye wretched ones, this strife of tonguesRaise ye in your unwisdom, nor are shamed,Our country suffering, private griefs to stir?Come thou within. And thou, O Creon, go,Nor bring a trifling sore to mischief great!CREON.My sister! Œdipus, thy husband, claimsThe right to wrong me, giving choice of ills,Or to be exiled from my home, or die.ŒDIP.’Tis even so, for I have found him, wife,Against my life his evil wiles devising.CREON.May I ne’er prosper, but accursed die,If I have done the things he says I did!JOC.Oh, by the Gods, believe him, Œdipus!Respect his oath, which calls the Gods to hear;And reverence me, and these who stand by thee.CHORUSHearken, my king! be calmer, I implore!ŒDIP.What! wilt thou that I yield?CHORUSRespect is dueTo one not weak before, who now is strongIn this his oath.ŒDIP.And know’st thou what thou ask’st?CHORUSI know right well.ŒDIP.Say on, then, what thou wilt.CHORUSHurl not to shame, on grounds of mere mistrust,The friend on whom his own curse still must hang.ŒDIP.Know, then, that, seeking this, thou seek’st, in truth,To work my death, or else my banishment.CHORUSNay, by the sun, chief God of all the Gods!May I, too, die, of God and man accursed,If I wish aught like this! But on my soul,Our wasting land dwells heavily; ills on illsStill coming, and your strife embittering all.ŒDIP.Let him depart, then, even though I die,Or from my country wander forth in shame:Thy face, not his, I view with pitying eye;For him, where’er he be, is naught but hate.CREON.Thou’rt loath to yield, ’twould seem, and wilt be vexedWhen this thy wrath is over: moods like thineAre fitly to themselves most hard to bear.ŒDIP.Wilt thou not go, and leave me?CREON.I will go,By thee misjudged, but known as just by these.[Exit.CHORUSWhy, lady, art thou slow to lead him in?JOC.I fain would learn how this sad chance arose.CHORUSBlind hasty speech there was, and wrong will sting.JOC.From both of them?CHORUSYea, both.JOC.And what said each?CHORUSEnough for me, our land laid low in grief,It seems, to leave the quarrel where it stopped.ŒDIP.Seest thou, with all thy purposes of good,Thy shifting and thy soothing, what thou dost?CHORUSMy chief, not once alone I spoke,And wild and erring should I be,Were I to turn from thee aside,Who, when my country rocked in storm,Righted her course, and, if thou couldst,Wouldst send her speeding now.JOC.Tell me, my king, what cause of fell debateHas bred this discord, and provoked thy soul.ŒDIP.Thee will I tell, for thee I honour moreThan these. The cause was Creon and his plots.JOC.Say, then, if clearly thou canst tell the strife.ŒDIP.He says that I am Laius’ murderer.JOC.Of his own knowledge, or by some one taught?ŒDIP.Yon scoundrel seer suborning. For himself,He takes good care to free his lips from blame.JOC.Leave now thyself, and all thy thoughts of this,And list to me, and learn how little skillIn arts prophetic mortal man may claim;And of this truth I’ll give thee proof full clear.There came to Laius once an oracle(I say not that it came from Phœbus’ self,But from his servants) that his fate was fixedBy his son’s hand to fall—his own and mine:And him, so rumour runs, a robber bandOf aliens slew, where meet the three great roads.Nor did three days succeed the infant’s birth,Before, by other hands, he cast him forth,Maiming his ankles, on a lonely hill.Here, then, Apollo failed to make the boyHis father’s murderer; nor did Laius dieBy his son’s hand. So fared the oracles;Therefore regard them not. Whate’er the GodDesires to search he will himself declare.ŒDIP.[trembling] O what a fearful boding! thoughts disturbedThrill through my soul, my queen, at this thy tale.JOC.What means this shuddering, this averted glance?ŒDIP.I thought I heard thee say that Laius died,Slain in a skirmish where the three roads meet?JOC.So was it said, and still the rumours hold.ŒDIP.Where was the spot in which this matter passed?JOC.They call the country Phocis, and the roadsFrom Delphi and from Daulia there converge.ŒDIP.And time? what interval has passed since then?JOC.But just before thou camest to possessAnd rule this land the tidings were proclaimed.ŒDIP.Great Zeus! what fate hast thou decreed for me?JOC.What thought is this, my Œdipus, of thine?ŒDIP.Ask me not yet, but tell of Laius’ frame,His build, his features, and his years of life.JOC.Tall was he, and the white hairs snowed his head,And in his face not much unlike to thee.ŒDIP.Woe, woe is me! so seems it I have plungedAll blindly into curses terrible.JOC.What sayest thou? I shudder as I see thee.ŒDIP.Desponding fear comes o’er me, lest the seerHas seen indeed. But one thing more I’ll ask.JOC.I fear to speak, yet what thou ask’st I’ll tell.ŒDIP.Went he in humble guise, or with a troopOf spearmen, as becomes a man that rules?JOC.Five were they altogether, and of themOne was a herald, and one chariot had he.ŒDIP.Woe! woe! ’tis all too clear. And who was heThat told these tidings to thee, O my queen?JOC.A servant who alone escaped with life.ŒDIP.And does he chance to dwell among us now?JOC.Not so; for from the time when he returned,And found thee bearing sway, and Laius dead,He, at my hand, a suppliant, imploredThis boon, to send him to the distant fieldsTo feed his flocks, where never glance of hisMight Thebes behold. And so I sent him forth;For though a slave he might have claimed yet more.ŒDIP.And could we fetch him quickly back again?JOC.That may well be. But why dost thou wish this?ŒDIP.I fear, O queen, that words best left unsaidHave passed these lips, and therefore wish to see him.JOC.Well, he shall come. But some small claim have I,O king, to learn what touches thee with woe.ŒDIP.Thou shalt not fail to learn it, now that IHave such forebodings reached. To whom should IMore than to thee tell all the passing chance?I had a father, Polybus of Corinth,And Merope of Doris was my mother,And I was held in honour by the restWho dwelt there, till this accident befel,Worthy of wonder, of the heat unworthyIt roused within me. Thus it chanced: A manAt supper, in his cups, with wine o’ertaken,Reviles me as a spurious changeling boy;And I, sore vexed, hardly for that dayRestrained myself. And when the morrow cameI went and charged my father and my motherWith what I thus had heard. They heaped reproachOn him who stirred the matter, and I soothedMy soul with what they told me; yet it teased,Still vexing more and more; and so I went,Unknown to them, to Pytho, and the GodSent me forth shamed, unanswered in my quest;And more he added, dread and dire and dark,How that the doom of incest lay on me,Most foul, unnatural; and that I should beFather of children men would loathe to look on,And murderer of the father that begot me.And, hearing this, I cast my wistful looksTo where the stars hang over Corinth’s towers,And fled where nevermore mine eyes might seeThe shame of those dire oracles fulfilled;And as I went I reached the spot where he,The king, thou tell’st me, met the fatal blow.And now, O lady, I will tell thee all.Wending my steps that way where three roads meet,There met me first a herald, and a manLike him thou told’st of, riding on his car,Drawn by young colts. With rough and hasty wordsThey drove me from the road,—the driver first,And that old man himself; and then in rageI struck the driver, who had turned me back.And when the old man saw it, watching meAs by the chariot side I stood, he struckMy forehead with a double-pointed goad.But we were more than quits, for in a triceWith this right hand I struck him with my staff,And he rolled backward from his chariot’s seat.And then I slew them all. And if it chanceThat Laius and this stranger are akin,What man more wretched than this man who speaks,What man more harassed by the vexing Gods?He whom none now, or alien, or of Thebes,May welcome to their house, or speak to him,But thrust him forth an exile. And ’twas I,None other, who against myself proclaimedThese curses. And the bed of him that diedI with my hands, by which he fell, defile.Am I not vile by nature, all unclean?If I must flee, yet still in flight my doomIs nevermore to see the friends I love,Nor tread my country’s soil; or else to bearThe guilt of incest, and my father slay,Yea, Polybus, who reared me from the womb.Would not a man say right who said that hereSome cruel God was pressing hard on me?Not that, not that, at least, thou Presence, pureAnd awful, of the Gods. May I ne’er lookOn such a day as that, but far awayDepart unseen from all the haunts of menBefore such great pollution comes on me.CHORUSUs, too, O king, these things perplex, yet still,Till thou hast asked the man who then was by,’Have hope.ŒDIP.And this indeed is all my hope,Waiting until that shepherd-slave appear.And when he comes, what meanest thou to ask?JOC.I’ll tell thee. Should he now repeat the taleŒDIP.Thou told’st to me, it frees me from this guilt.What special word was that thou heard’st from me?JOC.Thou said’st he told that robbers slew his lord,ŒDIP.And should he give their number as the sameNow as before, it was not I who slew him,For one man could not be the same as many.But if he speak of one man, all alone,Then, all too plain, the deed cleaves fast to me.But know, the thing was said, and clearly said,JOC.And now he cannot from his word draw back.Not I alone, but the whole city, heard it;And should he now retract his former tale,Not then, my husband, will he rightly showThe death of Laius, who, as Loxias told,By my son’s hand should die; and yet, poor boy,He killed him not, but perished long ago.So I for one, both now and evermore,Will count all oracles as things of naught.Thou reasonest well. Yet send a messengerŒDIP.To fetch that peasant. Be not slack in this.I will make haste to send. But go thou in;JOC.I would do nothing that displeaseth thee.[Exeunt.O that my fate were fixed
I
STROPH.

CHORUSTo live in holy purity of speech,Pure in all deeds whose laws stand firm and high,In heaven’s clear æther born,Of whom Olympus only is the sire,Whom man’s frail flesh begat not,Nor ever shall forgetfulness o’erwhelm;In them our God is great and grows not old.But pride begets the mood of tyrant power;
I
ANTISTROPH.

Pride filled with many thoughts, yet filled in vain,Untimely, ill-advised,Scaling the topmost height,Falls down the steep abyss,Down to the pit, where step that profitethIt seeks in vain to take.I cannot ask the Gods to stop midwayThe conflict sore that works our country’s good;I cannot cease to call on God for aid.But if there be who walketh haughtily,
II
STROPH.

In action or in speech,Whom righteousness herself has ceased to awe,Who counts the temples of the Gods profane,An evil fate be his,Fit meed for all his boastfulness of heart;Unless in time to come he gain his gainsAll justly, and draws back from godless deeds,Nor lays rash hand upon the holy things,By man inviolable.If such deeds prosper who will henceforth prayTo guard his soul from passion’s fiery darts?If such as these are held in high repute,What profit is there of my choral strain?No longer will I go in pilgrim guise,
II
ANTISTROPH.

To yon all holy place, Earth’s central shrine,Nor unto Abae’s temple,Nor to far-famed Olympia,Unless these pointings of a hand divineIn sight of all men stand out clear and true.But, O thou sovereign ruler! if that name,O Zeus, belongs to thee, who reign’st o’er all,Let not this trespass hide itself from thee,Or thine undying sway;For now they set at naughtThe oracles, half dead,That Laius heard of old,And king Apollo’s wonted worship flags,And all to wreck is goneThe homage due to God.Princes of this our land, across my soul
J Attendant
EnterOCASTA,followed by an

JOC.There comes the thought to go from shrine to shrineOf all the Gods, these garlands in my hand,And waving incense; for our ŒdipusVexes his soul too wildly with his woes,And speaks not as a man should speak who scansThe present by the experience of the past,But hangs on every breath that tells of fear.And since I find that my advice avails not,To thee, Lyceian King, Apollo, firstI come,—for thou art nearest,—suppliantWith these devotions, trusting thou wilt workSome way of healing for us, free from guilt;For now we shudder, all of us, seeing him,The good ship’s pilot, panic-struck and lost.May I inquire of you, O strangers, where
M
EnterESSENGER

MESS.To find the house of Œdipus the king,And, above all, where he is, if ye know?This is the house, and he, good sir, within,CHORUSAnd this his wife, and mother of his children.Good fortune be with her and all her kin,MESS.Being, as she is, his true and honoured wife.Like fortune be with thee, my friend. Thy speech,JOC.So kind, deserves no less. But tell me whyThou comest, what thou hast to ask or tell.Good news to thee, and to thy husband, lady.MESS.What is it, then? and who has sent thee here?JOC.I come from Corinth, and the news I’ll tellMESS.May give thee joy. Why not? Yet thou mayst grieve.What is the news that has this twofold power?JOC.The citizens that on these Isthmus dwellMESS.Will make him sovereign. So the rumour ran.What then? Is aged Polybus no more?JOC.E’en so. Death holds him in the stately tomb.MESS.What say’st thou? Polybus, thy king, is dead?JOC.If I speak false, I have no wish to live!MESS.Go, maiden, at thy topmost speed, and tellJOC.Thy master this. Now, oracles of Gods,Where are ye now? Long since my ŒdipusFled, fearing lest his hand should slay the man;And now he dies by fate, and not by him.Mine own Jocasta, why, O dearest one,
Œ
EnterDIPUS

ŒDIP.Why hast thou sent to fetch me from the house?List this man’s tale, and when thou hearest, seeJOC.The woeful plight of those dread oracles.Who, then, is this, and what has he to tell?ŒDIP.He comes from Corinth, and he brings thee wordJOC.That Polybus, thy father, lives no more.What say’st thou, friend? Tell me thy tale thyself.ŒDIP.If I must needs report the story clear,MESS.Know well that he has gone the way of death.Was it by plot, or chance of natural death?ŒDIP.An old man’s frame a little stroke lays low!MESS.He suffered, then, it seems, from some disease?ŒDIP.E’en so, and many a weary month he passed.MESS.Ha! ha! Why now, my queen, should we regardŒDIP.The Pythian hearth oracular, or birdsIn mid-air crying? By their auguries,

-


ContentsBIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD