In m y hands I hold m y child, bereaved, A nd I see before m e one m ore corpse. I W oe, w oe, thou sorry m other, and w oe, child!
Is there no one now , to drive the double blade into m y breast? I am reduced to m isery, O h! C onfound ed w ith the dross o f w retched m isery!
It w as I, I, a useless m an! A nd I speak the truth! M y servants, com e! F or greatest brevity is greatest strength W hen troubles heap our feet. C om e, and spare m e looking on tom orrow! For w hat w ill be Is their concern, w ho m ust tend such things. F or there is no escape F or m ortals, from their fated circum stances. O useless m an! I know not w here to turn; A ll in m y hands lies utterly askew , A nd an unbearable Fate H as driven dow n into m y pow er.
T u ra n no s is not used of hereditary sovereignty acqu ired in the norm al succession, the kind to w hich O edipus w as unw ittingly entitled. T o call him turannos, as Sophocles does in the course o f the play, is to specify that he cam e to the T heban throne from outside T hebes by answ ering the riddle of the Sphinx , and not by the hereditary succession w hich he nevertheless fulfilled. N o r do I hear these secon d hand, F rom som e m essenger — I m yself have com e, C hildren, to hear these things aright, W hom all m en call the fam ous O edipus.
I am a priest of Zeus, A nd here are chosen boys yet unw edded — A nd another crowd w ith w reaths sits 2 In the m arketplace, before the tw o tem ples O f Pallas A thena, w here Ism enus Plies his prophecies w ith ashes.
For the city, as you yourself perceive, A lready pitches and heaves its head from the depths, A nd cannot stop the m urderous rocking. The land w anes, w ith fruit in calyx all unripe; The herds are barren, the w om en childless; A nd the fire-bearing G od W ith hateful plague drives diving through the city 3: B y w hom the house of C adm us is m ade em pty, W hile dark hell grow s w ealthy w ith groans and w eeping.
A lone you did it, and knew no m ore than w e, U ntutored, unprepared — and as is know n and said 4- Y ou fixed it, and repaired our life. B ut justify in steadfastness this city.
F or then in augured birds you brought good om ens T o us, and w e are but the sam e nation now — So if you w ill rule this land, as rule you shall, B etter reign over living m en than em pty ground, W ithout a ship, a house, a tow er, but desolate A nd vain. O E D IPU S O piteous children, I know full w ell Y our yearning: I know you suffer, being ill — 60 A nd none am ong you therefore suffers so m uch A s m yself: for the pain o f all com es into one, A lone, unto him self, and none beside.
M y soul groans for the city, and for m yself, A nd for you, so that I rise sleepless — A nd be aw are, I have w ept m uch, and m any A w andering road of thought have I gone dow n. A nd already, counting the days, I w orry: w hat keeps him?
F or he is gone beyond T he term o f such a journey — but w hen he com es, I should be vile if I perform ed O ne jo t less than w hat the G od reveals. O prince, M y cousin son o f M enoeceus, carrying w hat w ord H ave you com e from the G od to speak to us?
A nd if our w oes are straightly overbom e, T hey all w ill settle to the good. W hat sort of w ords? F or the m isery I carry Is for them , m ore than for m y soul. M anifestly, the L ord A pollo rages at us O ver a pollution o f the country, w hich w e harbour In this land. H e rages, that w e drive it. W hat sort o f pollution? I never saw the m an. W here w ill the faded trace O f this old guilt be found?
A nd being abroad, he w as com ing back hom e: B ut he never arrived. For w ith one clue W e could discover m any, and out of slow beginnings, Take hope. N ot for som e far-off friends, but for m yself W ill I scatter this pollution from us. For w hoever K illed that king m ight soon attack ourself. B ut rise, children of C adm us, from these steps, Praying w ith your w reaths of tw isted w ool and laurel, A nd som e attendant sum m on up the w hole people, A dvised that I w ill try everything.
For w e w ill be seen — or w axing w ith the G od, O r shining in our ruin. A nd m ay Saviour A pollo, sending this oracle. A rrive and arrest our disease. Speak to m e, O voice im m ortal, child of golden H ope. A las. M easureless sorrow s I carry. T he w hole people sickens, A nd can find no sw ord of thought for its defence. U pon the altar-steps, Y oung w ives and m others gray B ewail in prayer the grievous chore before them. So sighing as one voice, their paean shines; For w hose sakes, O golden daughter of Zeus, Send clear-eyed strength.
G rant that A res the destroyer, w ho bum s m e now , A ttacking w ithout shield am id the scream ing crowd, M ay turn H is back and run H is course, far from our country, Into the vast A tlantic, or the harbourless Thracian w aves.
O Zeus, Father, dealing fire and lightning, W ith thunderbolts stop H im. A nd w hat you pray for — if you are w illing to receive, A nd hearing m y w ords to tend your illness, Y ou m ight take courage and relief from sorrow s. O r if som eone know s a foreigner w ith guilty hands, L et him not keep silent.
F or I w ill pay R ew ard, and m y thanks shall he lay in store. B ut if you keep your silence, and fearing for som e friend P ut from you m y w ord and m y requiring, W hat I shall do then, you m ust hear from m e now : I do forbid that m an — w hosoever he is, T o be received by any person o f this land, O f w hich I am the sovereign and enthroned king; T o be spoken to w ith voice, pray in tem ples, Sacrifice in com pany w ith us, or pass T he w ater-vessel at the rites.
F rom every house I banish him , as he is our scourge; So has the P ythian seer o f A pollo told us at the first. T herefore I am the ally o f the G od, and o f the slain m an too.
I do condem n m yself — if ever in m y house I know ingly m ake him m y guest — T o suffer all the sentence I have just decreed. For even if the G od did not thus drive the case upon us, W e should be base not to investigate W hen such a m an, high-bom and a king, Is m urdered thus.
A nd now I do confirm it, Since I have and keep the rule he held before m e; I have his bed, I have the w ife w ho shared his seed. B ut as it is, Fate drove dow n into his pow er.
I pray that those w ho fail to do these things B e ruined by the G ods — no harvest in the field, N o children from the w om en; but let them , B y their new condition, or a w orse one yet, B e thus destroyed. B ut you others of C adm us, W ho see these things through, m ay justice fight for you A lw ays, and alw ays the G ods be graciously w ith you.
B ut as for w hom w e seek, It w as for sign-sending A pollo to declare W hosoever it w as that did the w ork. I m ust exam ine everything. F or these already lead the godlike seer In w hom alone the truth o f m ankind inw ard bloom s. A nd you alone, G reat L ord, have w e found to be our saviour A nd defence against the plague. M ost easily shall you bear Y our burden to the end, and I m ine, if you consent. B ut let m e never speak out M y m iseries — lest I call them yours.
Though you know , you w ill not tell, B ut think to betray us and destroy the city? For you w ill not persuade m e. W ill you never speak out, but only stand, relentless? R age at it if you w ish, T o the m ost savage fury o f your heart.
I tell you by that self com m and Y ou bid us all obey: from this m om ent N ever speak to these nor to m yself: F or o f this land thou art the w retched scourge. Pray, how do you expect to escape? N ot from your art. Say it again, that I m ay learn it straight.
O r are you baiting m e to speak? O E D IPU S O w ealth, and pow er, and skill surpassing skill In ceaseless com petition, how great the jealousy Y ou sum m on in your train — if for this crow n, T he gift the city gave m e all unasked-for, Placing it in trust w ithin m y hands — for this T he faithful C reon, dear from the beginning, Should lust in underm ining darkness to depose m e In secret league w ith a conniving, m agical fraud — A charlatan, w hose eyes are keen to profit, B lind to prophecy.
O r if not, com e, explain W herein you are this great divining genius. H ow is it, that w hen that m urderous riddling dog w as here, Y ou said nothing that could liberate this tow n? T hat enigm a w as not for som e bystander to resolve; 'Jo, a w izard w as required. Y ou w ere exposed 39» s having nothing know n from birds, or from the G ods; ut w hen I cam e, the ignorant O edipus, I stopped her:.
I think you and your accom plice Shall lam ent this schem e o f driving out the scapegoat. I think if you w ere not so old, T hat you m ight learn from pain the final m erit o f your thoughts. I need n o t C reon for m y patron, but in m ine ow n defence D eclare, that you have reviled m e, that I am blind.
N or do you know that of your parents, Living and dead, you are the ruin. O ne day in lam e but terrible speed The double w hip of their com pounded curse — M other and father, shall drive you from this country: N ow you see aright, but then.
W hat safe haven w ill not know your cries, W hat reaches of the m ainland shall be spared their speeding echo, W hen at last you com e to understand The w edding on w hich you em barked w ith such a fair w ind, Though your hom e is no harbour.
B ut a crow d of other griefs you cannot guess W ill m ake you the peer of your ow n children; So drag the nam e of C reon, and m y m essage, through the m uc For never m ortal m an shall be so w retchedly destroyed as thoi O E D IPU S C an it be borne, to hear these things from him?
G o to ruin! G o, quickly! G et aw ay from this house, A nd never com e back. F or by no m eans could you kill m e. I say to you: this m an, the one you searched for to arrest, Proclaim ing your m anhunt for the slayer o f L aius — T hat m an is here; a guest, a resident foreigner B y reputation, w ho soon shall be revealed A true-bom T heban, though he did not expect that happy hour, F or from his vision, blindness; and beyond his w ealth H om eless shall he trail his exile, feeling w ith a stick H is w ay along the foreign ground.
H e shall be show n, T hat o f those children o f his house he is the brother A nd the father, and o f her w ho bore him , H e is the husband and the son; A nd o f his father both the rival and the m urderer. B ereaved, he ranges m ad am id the w ild caves, A nd up the forest am ong stones H e w ends his m iserable footsteps Like a bull, Y earning to avoid The prophecy that dogs him From the centre of the w orld.
B ut his sentence is aHve, A nd it hovers on him , endless. W ithal how gravely hath the w ise interpreter of birdsong m oved m e; W hose w ord I cannot doubt nor yet beU eve; so shall I say it: I am at a loss.
I fly at hopes, but cannot see the future, nor today. B ut m ay I never, till I see the w ord is straight, agree W hen blam e is cast. If he believes that in our present crisis H e has suffered from m y bringing him to injury B y w ord or deed, then I have no desire for a long life U nder such a reputation. F or in no single care 5io T he dam age of this charge has brought m e pain, B ut in the general scope, if I should soon be called A villain in the city, and an enem y o f you and of m y kin.
F or the doings o f the great I do not see — B ut he him self em erges from his hom e. O r have you such a brazen face, T o com e beneath m y ro o f w hen you are know n F or m y assassin, and the proven thief o f all m y throne?
C om e, tell m e by the G ods, W as it stupidity or fear you thought you found in m e, T hat you w ould plan to do such things? T hat I w ould fail to note your w ork o f stealthy treason, O r that learning o f it I w ould let it he? A gainst w hat has been said H ear m e in turn, and then judge, having learned m y m ind.
For I find your w ill tow ard m e is cruel and heavy. CREO N I agree, that is quite justly said — B ut w hat these sufferings are, that you are said To suffer at m y hands — that you m ust teach m e. CRE O N. H e w as just as w ise, and just as honoured. B ut I expect T o learn as m uch from you as you now learn from m e. For m y part I had rather exercise T he royal privilege, than be a king; A nd so w ould anyone w ho reasons prudently.
For now I benefit in everything from you W ithout a care; but if I w ere king m yself T here w ould be m uch to do against m y w ill. N ow I delight in everyon e and all m en bid m e w elcom e; N ow those w ho need you seek m y intercession, For on it, all the fortunes of their enterprise depend. W hy should I ever change m y station for the crow n? For it is not just, idly to suppose T hat evil m en are honest, and honest m en evil.
B ut if I w ait in silence till his purpose be perform ed, M ine ow n w ill all m iscarry. T o banish m e from T hebes? I see that none too soon, Jocasta com es to you out o f the palace door W ith w hom you m ust p u t right your present quarrel.
A re you not asham ed, dragging out your private grievance W hile the country languishes in sickness? Be held in your respect, by this, his late sw orn testim ony. B ut the w asting country w ithers up m y soul, T he w orse if you should join T he evils of your discord to our older sorrow s. For your m outh m oves m e to pity, though his cannot. B ut w hile he is here, he shall be hated. A nd it is just, that natures like your ow n A re m ost difficult for their bearers to w ithstand.
JO C AST A N ow put by you all the cares you speak of, A nd hear from m e, and learn H ow no one am ong m ortals truly has the art of prophecy; A nd let m e briefly show you all the proof of it: T he answ er o f an oracle once cam e to Laius — I w ill not say it w as from A pollo H im self, B ut from the ones through w hom H e speaks — T hat to L aius the fate w ould com e, T hat he be killed by his ow n child, W hoever should be bom from m e and that king.
B y som e foreigners, robbers at the crossroads W here three trails com e together. A nd w hen our child w as barely three days old, T hrough the ankles o f its feet he drove a little stake, A nd in the hands of other m en he sent it to the w ilderness. So here A pollo did not bear it out, T hat the child should becom e the killer o f his father, N or w hat so sorely frightened Laius, T hat he be slaughtered by his son.
T hus did the prophecies scribble out their circles — So do not vex yourself w ith turning through them. For w hatever needful thing the G od seeks, H e H im self w ill effortlessly show it. B ut tell m e, T o w hat age of his life had Laius com e? H is face w as not m uch different from your ow n. I think that just now I have throw n m yself under a grievous curse A nd did not know w hat I w as doing. M y lord, I trem ble looking on you. B ut show m e better, and explain one thing m ore.
B ut Laius travelled in a single w agon. W ho w as it, w om an, w ho told you these things? For I thought him such a w orthy slave - That he deserved at least that grace.
A nd I hope I m ay be w orthy, O m y L ord, to leam w hat thoughts you bear so heavily. Polybus of C orinth w as m y father, A nd m y m other M erope the D orian. A s for their explanation, I w as so far satisfied.
B ut the thing still gnaw ed at m e, F or the rum our o f it spread. So all in secret from m y m other and m y father I m ade a journey into D elphi; A nd A pollo, not honouring the questions I had com e to ask, 8oo R evealed to m e the abject m isery and terror o f H is w ord: T hat I m ust be coupled w ith m y m other A nd show to m ankind children that they find U nbearable to look upon, A nd becom e the killer o f m y father w ho begat m e. A nd travelling I cam e to those same regions W here you say this king w as killed.
A nd to you, w om an, I w ill explain the truth: 1 w as w alking near the triple-crossroads, and there cam e A herald, and a m an in a w agon draw n by colts, O f the sort you spoke of, com ing tow ard m e From the opposite direction; the driver A nd the old m an him self w ere bent O n throw ing m e from the road by force; A nd the one w ho sw ore at m e - that I m ust stand aside - The driver — I struck him in a rage.
I paid him back In m ore than equal m easure: W ith a quick jab of m y staff, from this hand H e w as pitched dow n from the m iddle of the car O nto his back, in a m om ent. A nd I killed them all. A m I not utterly unclean? D o not, do not, Y ou sovereign holy G ods, Let m e see this day; B ut let m e vanish from the m ortal w orld 8f B efore a stain like this pollutes m y life! For one and m any cannot be m ade equal. B ut all the same, D o not delay, but send a m an to fetch the shepherd.
B ut let us go inside the house. For I w ill do nothing but w hat pleases you. H ubris breeds a tyrant; H ubris, if it gorges on abundance A nd in vain, against the m om ent and the circum stance It m ounts up to the highest, Stepping from the precipice I To ruin, w here the footsteps cannot help.
I w ill never stop m y reverence of G od as our protector. W hat m an in such straits w ill boast That he can shield his soul from the arrow s of the G ods? For if such acts are respected, W hy should I join in the dance and w orship?
N o longer w ill I go into the centre of all land Praying at its sanctity, N or into the A baian tem ple, N or O lym pus, if these prophecies do not take hold A nd teach by their exam ple all the m ortal race.
For the heart of O edipus rises to the height O f every kind of pain; nor like a sane m an W ill he com pare new om ens T o older ones that failed; B ut the talker has his ear, If he speaks of horrors. A nd since m y counsel can do nothing, I have com e to Y ou, O Lycean A pollo, N earest G od, as a suppliant w ith prayers, T hat Y ou m ight show us som e solution U ndefiled by stigm a. O r better, tell m e w here he is him self, if you know.
From w hom have you com e here? A nd the speech I m ake w ill please you, A s how could it not? A nd how can it have such double pow ers? D oes not the elder Polybus yet rule there? H as Polybus died, old m an? G o and quickly tell your m aster all o f this. O edipus long ago fled from this m an, A fraid lest he kill him — and now that sam e m an Perishes not by O edipus, but by gentle fortune.
T ell m e again. U nless he w ithered longing for m y com pany. B ut the prophecies, at least the ones w e heard, Polybus has taken dow n to H ades, W here they w orthless lie. The greatest strength is but to live at ease, As far as one is able.
B ut life is easy For the one w ho sets such things at naught. B ut as it is, since she lives still, I still m ust fear, even if you speak w ell. O r is it not for other m en to know? B ecause of that I long ago left m y hom e of C orinth far behind. A nd w ith fortunate result. B ut all the sam e, It w ould be sw eetest to m y eyes To look upon m y parents. Teach m e, by the G ods. D id not Polybus father m e? Tell me!
B ut the one w ho gave you to m e K now s this better than I. D o you know him , to point him out W ith som e description? A nd this m an w as his shepherd. B ut Jocasta m ight tell this m atter best. Is that the m an he speaks of? D o not linger on it; A nd for the rest o f w hat w as said, Y ou need not deign but to rem em ber it in idleness. I fear that evils w ill burst upon this silence. A nd perhaps m ilady, w ho lords it like a queen, Is asham ed that I am ill-derived.
B ut I hold m yself to be the child of Fortune, W ho has som etim e blessed m e, A nd I shall not be dishonored. For I am bom from such a m other; A nd the m onths, that are m y brothers, H ave m ade m e both a sm all m an and a great one. A nd A pollo, to w hom w e cry, m ay these things please Y ou. For H e adores all the w ild highlands. B ut you w ill quickly overtake m e In that know ledge, having seen the m an before. E n ter the old s h e p h e r d o e d ip u s [addressing the M essenger a n d indicating the Shepherd] I ask you first, m y guest of C orinth, Is this the m an you m ean?
D id ever you belong to Laius? B ut not as a slave he bought, F or I w as bom in his house. W hat kind of life? H ave you ever had any dealings w ith him? D id any o f these things happen as I say they did, or no? W hy do you ask that question? W ill you not be quiet, at last? Y our w ords need punishing M ore than his. W hat else do you w ant to know?
A nd I w ish I had died that day. B ut I told you before, I gave the child aw ay! I am close to uttering the horror. B ut I m ust hear it still. B ut the w om an inside, your lady, m ight tell it best — For she is able. B ut he saved him — A nd brought him thus into the w orst o f m isery.
I2J F or if you are the one he saved, K now that you have been bom to disaster. A nd having you for m ine exam ple, Y our fate, yours, w retched O edipus — I call no m ortal life a happy one. W hose lot is now m ore piteous to hear? W ho lives am ong m ore savage hardship In the throes of m isery, his life undone?
O w orld-renow ned Lord O edipus, H ow one great bed contained you I That upon it you should fall i As father, son, and bridegroom! A nd how did that place w here thy father sired thee,! T im e that sees all H as exposed you — in spite o f you — It passed sentence U pon your m arriage that is no m arriage, W herein the getter o f children I 2V H as so long been the child. T o say it plain: from thee I drew a new breath o f life once, T hat now m ust close m ine eyes again.
A nd those griefs hurt the m ost Ijoc W hich w e discover w e have brought upon ourselves. PAG E She slew herself. B ut the bitterest of these deeds Is lacking yet - for you w ere spared the sight of it. A nd she m ourned for all her love, w herein D oubly undon e, she had a husband by her husband, A nd children by her child.
A nd how she died thereafter I know not. F or O edipus rushed in shouting T hat her grief w as not for us to stare at; A nd so w e stared at him pacing frantically, A nd he flew upon us crying for a sw ord D em anding o f us w here he m ight find H is w ife that w as no w ife, T he m other of him self and of his children. A nd then som e dem on show ed her to him , For of all o f us no m an w as near him then. B ut w ith a sudden scream , as if som eone w ere guiding him H e drove apart the double-doors, B reaking from their hollow pits the dead-bolt locks, A nd he fell into the bedroom.
W herein w e saw his w ife hanging by the neck, E ntangled in the tw isted noose. A nd chanting such things M any tim es, and not just once, he struck and hit his eyes. T he holes w ere red, and his face w as w et; N or did he bleed som e few drops, B ut like a dark rain, like hail, H e w ept his blood.
O h, the old prosperity T hey joyed in for so long before this m om ent — It w as a just and proper happiness. B ut now , on this day, M oaning, rage, death, sham e: Such are the nam es of all their w oes, A nd there is none they lack. Just as he once com m anded. B ut he lacks strength A nd needs som eone for a guide; F or the pain is unbearable. A nd he w ill show him self to you, F or he opens the locks o f the palace doors — A nd now behold a sight T hat you w ill hate.
W oe, w oe, cursed one! B ut I cannot look upon you, E ager though I am , so m uch to ask of you, So m uch to learn from you, So m uch to see you — Y ou m ake m e trem ble so. I am so sad; W here on earth am I brought in m y m isery? O m y dem on, w here have you gone? Such piercing stabs A nd such a stinging m em ory of evils C om e into m e all at once. A pollo, O m y friends — T hat brought m y w icked sufferings to pass; B ut no one struck m y eyes B ut I m yself in desperation.
B ut w hat need I see, c T o w hom the sight o f nothing is a pleasure? G et m e out o f here, quickly. L ead m e aw ay, m y dear ones; I am the great pollution, T he m ost vile m an; I am still am ong all m ortals T he one the G ods despise the m ost. F or had I died then, T here w ould not be so m uch agony F or m e n o r for the ones I love.
B ut I am godless now , A nd an abom ination as a son, Sharing a w ife w ith the m an W ho begat m e to m y sham e. For even if I yet could see I do not know how I should look upon m y father A s I cam e into H ades, N or upon m y w retched m other, T o w hom I have done things m ore vile T han suicide could punish.
A nd m y children — bom as they w ere, W as the sight o f them dear to m e? N ever to m y eyes, never again, N or this tow n, nor its tow ers, N or its sacred statues o f the G ods —. A nd I, exposed w ith such a filthy stain as m ine, Is it for m e to look upon those things W ith lucid eyesight? O C ithaeron, w hy did you protect m e? W hy did you not take m e and kill m e straight, So that I never show ed m yself to hum ankind N or w hence I cam e?
O Polybus and C orinth, A nd the country I have so long called m y hom e, H ow beautiful I w as, as you raised m e, W ith such revolting sores corrupt beneath the skin! For now I find m yself a crim inal bom from crim es. O w eddings, m arriages, you m ake us; A nd having m ade us you raise up again T he sam e seeds — and you have exposed Fathers, brothers, children in a kinship of the blood, B rides and w ives and m others In the m ost sham eful actions ever undertaken B y any m ortal.
B ut to speak is not the sam e A s never having done the ugly things; Therefore cover m e and hide m e som ew here Far aw ay, as fast as you can go, or m urder m e, O r secret m e away under the O cean W here you m ay never look on m e again. G o on, and deem a w retched m an W orthy to be handled — heed m e, D o not be afraid — for all m y evils C ould not be borne by any other m ortal than m yself.
W hat good claim can I m ake upon his trust? For before now I denounced him as all base. B ut w ith all haste G et him inside the house. B ut all the sam e, Seeing in w hat great need w e stand, It is better to find out w hat m ust be done.
B ut let our fate com e on, w hatever it be. For m y m ale children, C reon, do not m ind them ; T hey are m en now , and they shall not starve W herever they m ay go, w hile their fives last. B ut first — L et m e em brace them , and w eep our fill. C om e, highborn noblem an; If I could touch them w ith m y hands It w ould seem to m e as though I had them still, A s I did w hen I could see. W hat have I said? O r can it be that som ehow by the G ods I hear m y daughters w eeping, and C reon, O ut o f pity, sends m e m y darlings?
H ave I spoken truly? For I arranged it, K now ing their presence w ould delight you A s it alw ays has. O children, w here are you? O m y children, I becam e your father A ll unseeing, and unquestioning, W here I m yself w as fathered. A nd I w eep for you. B ut I have not the pow er to see you. A nd w hen the tim e has com e W hen you are ripe for m arriage, W ho w ill be the m an?
W hat evil is lacking? A nd then w ho w ill m arry you? T here is no one, O m y children, and it is certain: B arren and unm arried you shall pine away to nothing. Therefore, do not look on w hile these your kinsw om en D rift about as beggars, w ithout husbands, N or reduce them to the level of m y crimes; B ut have pity on them , seeing how young they are, A nd w ithal how destitute, Except for w hat your care m ay tender. In the background, the sacred grove of the Eum enides.
A rock is just w ithin the boundary of the grove. The tim e is som e tw enty years after the closing events of O edipus the Tyrant.
O r to the city of w hich m en? W ho w ill receive the w andering O edipus W ith m eagre gifts this day? Those w ho beg for little, carry off still less; A nd this suffices m e.
M y sufferings, A nd the long tim e I have lived w ith them , H ave taught m e to be satisfied: these, and third, M y ow n nobility. For w e have com e As strangers to the tow n, and w e m ust do As w e are told.
H as he set out tow ards us? B ut elsew here T hey bear other m ighty nam es. A ll o f this place is holy. It is held by great Poseidon, A nd the fire-bearing T itan, Prom etheus, is w ithin it.
T he spot on w hich you stand is called the brazen threshold, 52 1 W hich guards A thens. A nd all the households o f the place Pray to him , the m ounted horsem an C olonus T heir founder, w hose nam e they bear in com m on. N ot w ith w ords, O stranger, do w e honour Such places as these are, but by our life am ong them.
St r a n g e r D o you know then, stranger, H ow you m ight do w ell? If indeed Y ou are noble, as you seem to be — Stay here, w here I found you U ntil I speak o f this w ith m en W ho dw ell here, not the m en in tow n. F or they w ill judge concerning you, W hether you m ust here rem ain O r m ust go back again. A nd H e prom ised it, that signs of these events should com e to m e, A n earthquake, or som e thunder stroke, O r else the lightning bolt of Zeus.
N ow I know that from your M ajesties Som e faithful om en surely led m e off the road no Into this grove. For otherw ise I w ould not have m et Y ou first — I, a sober traveller, and Y ou w ho take no w ine 53 — N or sat m e dow n upon this uncarved, sacred chair.
H ear, O Sw eet O nes, children of the ancient D arkness, H ear, thou city of the m ightiest A thene, That all m en call m ost honoured A thens, Take pity on this shadow of the w retched m an, This O edipus; for this is not the m an he w as before. Som e aged m en are com e, Inspectors of your holy resting place. For in that learning Lies the caution of our labour. W here has he put him self? T he m ost insatiable o f all, w here has he fled?
Search for him , seeking him everyw here! T he old m an is som e w anderer, A nd not o f our ow n country, O r he never w ould have entered T he untrodden orchard of those G irls divine, invincible, W hom w e trem ble nam ing A s w e pass it w ith averted eyes, N ot speaking, as w e m ove the m outh O f voiceless, thoughtful prayer. B ut it is rum oured now , T hat one has com e w ho has no reverence for T hem ; A s I search throughou t the sacred precinct I cannot discern w here he is hidden.
For I see b y voices, as they say. T errible to see, and terrible to hear! W ho ever is this old m an? A nd I do show it. W ere you b o m blind then? Luckless foreigner, Lest you deeper stum ble, in the verdant, Sacred grove w here none m ay speak, W here the pouring w ater-bow l M eets w ith honeyed stream s of sw eet libation, Stand aside! Step out from it! D o you hear m e, long-suffering pilgrim? W ill you bring us out som e issue to discuss?
Step out from the untrodden place T o w here custom suffers everyone to speak. B ut first, keep silent! O e d ip u s [m oving out] Is this enough? A nd m ay I learn from w hat fatherland you com e? G et you hence and quit the country. H ow w ill you fulfil it? Lies are traded for deceptions, So that he gains not gratitude but painful labour. B ut you, back from these ancient seats, M ove off, from out m y country now A vaunt, lest you hang heavy needful business O n m y city.
W e are in your pow er; As upon the G ods do w e w retchedly depend upon you. B ut com e, incline towards unexpected grace. I ask you by w hatever is dear to you of your ow n, Either child, or bed, or debt, or G od.
For you cannot find that m ortal for the looking, W ho can escape, if G od should lead him on. Trem bling before the G od, I lack the heart To speak, beyond w hat I have said ere now. O ED IPU S W hat good com es of it, to have acclaim A nd reputation spread abroad in vain, Since the A thenians, said to be the m ost religious people, Possess the greatest pow er to protect and save A suffering stranger, but w hat is this to m e? Since you expelled m e from m y seat, A nd now you drive m e out, afraid at m y m ere nam e?
For m y deeds w ere things I suffered, m ore than things I did - If I m ust speak to you of m y m other and father, O n w hose account you fear m e — I know this w ell. For how w as I w icked, in m y nature, w ho suffered A nd retaliated? So that had I acted know ingly, Even then I still should not be w icked. N or did I know ingly go w here I w ent, W hile they know ingly sought to destroy m e, A t w hose hands I suffered. A nd thus, O strangers, I now approach you by the G ods: Since you m ade m e stand apart, protect m e.
A nd since you honour the G ods, D o not slight T heir portion. C onsider that They see The pious am ong m ankind, and the im pious They see, A nd no escape has ever com e, for an unholy m ortal. Joo N or dishonour m e seeing m y horrible face.
F or I com e a pious and a holy m an B earing blessing for this tow n; and w hen the m aster com es, W hoever is your leader, then w ill he hear it A nd know all. B ut until then let no evil com e. B ut the lord o f this our land Suffices us to reckon these affairs. A nd that scout W ho sent m e here, has gone to bring him. B ut m yriad w ords L ove to w ander up the w ay; take h eart,.
H e w ill be here soon. F or your nam e, O elder, everyw here about Is scattered far. E ven if he rests now A t his leisure, w hen he hears o f you H e w ill com e quickly.
W hat noble m an is n o t a friend to him self? W hat shall I say? Is it she, or is it not? It is no other! A t least She greets m e brightly w ith her eyes. Soon w e w ill be able to listen and learn. O r som ething else? O E D IPU S O h, how m y sons m ake o f their life and nature A ll a perfect likeness o f the w ays o f E gypt; F or there, m en sit beneath the roof and w ork the loom , W friile their partner w om en offer them alw ays T he sustenance they w in outside the hom e.
A nd now you com e again, Ism ene, B earing a m essage to your father? W hat errand is it Calls you out from hom e? I w ell know you have not com e W ith em pty hands, but you bring som e terror for m e. A bout those evils w hich now befall Y our pair of dism al-fortuned sons — A bout these I have com e to tell you. A t first, it w as their desire that the throne Be left to C reon, in deliberation Looking to the past of m urder In our fam ily, lest it touch our city, H aving clung onto our house of pain.
B ut now , sinning in their hearts against the G ods, They both have entered on a bitter strife, threefold: T o seize the rule and pow er of the tyranny.
The younger, being bom but a little tim e behind him , H ath robbed this elder Polyneices O f his natural throne, and from his country D riven him. T o A rgos valley he w alked in exile, A nd found new friends, allies w ho w ould bear his shield Through alliance by new m arriage, believing That A rgos should hold Thebes in reverence A nd exalt its nam e to heaven. These things are no handful of w ords, O m y father, but terrible deeds.
A nd I cannot learn precisely w here the G ods Shall have pity on your labours. W hat has been divined? T he G ods have corrected you, having destroyed you. Interpret this for m e! ISM EN E For the sake of this service, they are w illing T o m ake you an ally, near to the country, Lest you dw ell som ew here under your ow n pow er.
H ow evident? O E D IPU S M ay the G ods not provide T he quenching o f this strife, B ut let it com e dow n to m y judgm ent, T he fight betw een the tw o o f them W herein they now take up the spear: T hat neither him w ho now controls T he sceptre and the throne should keep them , N or should the exiled one be taken back, T hough he dearly w ish it.
For they, T hough begot by m e, thus dishonored m e, W hen I w as driven from m y fatherland, W ho neither harboured m e nor intervened, B ut I w as m ade to stand aside, announced A n exile. Y ou m ight retort T hat exile w as m y w ish, in those days, A gift the city properly granted m e.
N o indeed: at that tim e, just after M y undoing, in m y seething anger Sw eetest to m e w as to die, by stoning. N o one appeared, to help m e in that w ish. B ut in tim e, all m y hardship ripened A nd m ade m ild, I learned how m y heart H ad run beyond all boundaries, ignorant; T oo harsh a judge o f m y ow n past M istakes. B ut at that tim e, by force the city D rove m e from the land, and m y sons, T hough they had pow er to help their father, W ere w illing to do nothing, and for lack O f som e few w ords in m y defence, I w as driven out, to beg in exile forever.
B ut from these tw o girls, yet young virgins, I derive m y nourishm ent and life, So m uch as nature gives it them. A bit o f ground w ith no fear, the shelter o f kinship. B ut they w ill not gain this ally, nor ever A ny blessing of their rule at T hebes.
I know it, w hen I bring to m ind the oracles T his girl has heard, and those fulfilled B y A pollo from the past, reposed in m e. So let them send C reon to bring m e, A nd w hoever else has pow er in the city. A nd if, m y hosts, you should be w illing T o support m e, strengthened by those G oddesses, D ivine protectors of the people: then Y ou w ill raise up for this city a great saviour, A nd for m y enem ies a painful labour.
Y ou have been treading on their ground. CH ORU S T here are krater-bow ls, w orks o f skilled m en; Y ou m ust crow n them w ith w reaths o f w ool U pon the handles run around their m ouths.
O r how braided? A nd after that, how do I end the rite? T he ones you spoke of? P our the last bow l em pty. T each m e that, too. T hey are the m ost im portant. Y ou m ust pray thus, or thus m ust som e other pray for you; Q uiet your voice so that you are not heard, and shout not. T hen step back again, and do not turn about. B ut if you do aught otherw ise, then I should fear for you terribly, stranger.
A nd he w ho does these things M ust do w hatever is com m anded in them. O ne of you tw o, go and perform all this. For I believe that in these rites, one soul W ill be sufficient, capable to pay T he debt ow ed by a m yriad, if she goes M indfully to the shrine. D o it, m y daughters, Set to it quickly, but do not leave m e behind A lone. For m y body is not strong enough T o follow after, and I have no second guide.
B ut I m ust find the place, and w ant to leam it. A resident is there. If you lack for anything; he w ill direct you. F or to the children, If som e labour falls, they m ust not count it labour. A nd yet I yearn to ask you. I need to hear it straight. Even as I w as of use to you. B ut those tw o girls, w ho cam e from m e —. M yriad, teem ing, returning evils! W hat else then? W ere you accustom ed to bloodshed? E ven if I did, T hose w hom I killed w ould otherw ise H ave destroyed m e.
A nd I am pure in law : I entered that fight in total ignorance. Y ou show us B y your dress and sorry face of scars T hat you are he; and in pity for thee I w ould ask, ill-fortuned O edipus, W hat it is for w hich you do present yourself T o m e and to our city, you and your unfortunate C om panion. Teach m e. It w ould be som e prodigious tale O f deeds, that you could tell: such as I shrink from. I have contended at great risk To m y person, so that there is no stranger such as you are now W hom I w ould turn aw ay, if I m ight bring salvation.
For I w ell know , that being but a m an, m y portion In the future is no greater than your ow n. For you have rightly nam ed 65a W ho I am , and of w hat father sprung, A nd w hat country I cam e from ; T here is little needful left for m e to say B efore our talk is done. For w ithout your view I should not speak. A nd it is not m ine ever to return, For this: I have killed m y father, long ago. It w ithers the pow er of the earth; It w ithers the body; and w hereas it kills faith, It brings the lack of faith to bloom , and the spirit Is never the sam e that obtains betw een dear friends, O r city and city.
For som e already, and others in the future, T he sw eet joys turn to bitterness, then back again to love. A nd though it be not sw eet to hear these w ords, T hat should be still, allow m e to leave off W here I began: and you on your part, O nly keep faith w ith m e, and you shall never say Y ou w elcom ed O edipus to this place and did not benefit: U nless the G ods are lying to m e.
A nd since this godly suppliant First arrived upon our grounds, he has given m e N o trivial portion of honour. F or w hich, B eing pious, I shall expel him never, B ut establish him , a dw eller in our country A nd a citizen. A nd if it should be sw eet to our guest T o rem ain here, I charge you w ith guarding him. B ut if you prefer to w alk w ith m e, O edipus, 1 grant the choice to your ow n discretion. F or in this m atter, I w ill take your part.
B e good to such a m an as this! I shall not oppose you. B ut w hen the m ind M asters itself again, threats com e to nothing. N ow w ould I have you take courage: Even w ithout m y protection you w ould yet be safe, If Phoebus has sent you here. A nd thus I know , T hat even if I w ere not here, m y nam e alone W ould guard you from grievously suffering. H ere grow s the abundant, lovely clustering narcissus B edewed each day by heaven, perpetual; A ncient crow ning garland of the great tw o G oddesses 72 A nd the gold shim m ering crocus.
B ut I com e Sent here, aged as I am , to persuade this m an T o follow m e back to the plain of Thebes; Sent not by one m an, but under the com m and O f all the population of the tow n: it fell to m e Because of kinship, to lam ent his sorrows m ore Than any other citizen. Still, poor O edipus, H ear m e: com e hom e. The w hole Theban peoplile Justly calls upon you, and 1 m ost of all, as I - U nless I am bom the m ost evil of hum an beings - I suffer your evils, old m an, beholding you as you are, A w retched exile, ever the w andering vagrant, D ependent on your only guide, travelling w ith nothing T o sustain your life.
I for m y part had not thought T hat this poor w retch w ould fall so deep into m isfortune A nd indignity, as it w ould seem she has,74 T he w retched girl; tending alw ays to your sorry head, A beggar at her age, w ith no livelihood, A nd no experience of m arriage, but she m ay belong T o the first one w ho finds her!
This is a horrible reproach, Is it not? I have degraded m yself, and you and all our household, H ave I not? B ut there is no one to hide this m anifest sham e, So you, now , by the G ods of our fathers, O edipus, B e persuaded by m e to hide it: com e w illingly H om e to the tow n of your fathers, having addressed This dear city. A nd yet full justly M ust the T heban hom eland hold your reverent fear, B eing the place of your grow th, from long ago.
W hy do you try m e a second tim e, Seeking to ensnare m e w ith those sam e affairs By w hich m y capture w ould afflict m e m ost? A nd now again, as you perceive the harm ony o f m ind B etw een m yself, this city, all its people, and its king, Y ou try and drag m e back, speaking hard things softly. Such as you tender to m e now , In these noble w ords, these deeds o f garbage.
N ot for you, such things, but th is is yours, instead: 89a M y aveng ing curse, dw elling in the land forever: A nd this is for m y sons: to gain only So m uch o f m y land as they m ay die on. B y far, and by so far A s the sources w here I listen are m ore w ise: P hoebus, and even Z eus, w ho is H is father.
E ven so, I know I have n o t persuaded you o f these things. A nd let us live here: for that is no m isfortune, T hough w e live but as w e are now , if only W e accept it. C RB O N O poor unfortunate, shall it be show n That even tim e has not provided you w ith w isdom , B ut you survived to put a stain upon old age? B ut I know no m an W ho speaks w ell everyw here, on any and all occasions, A nd yet is just.
A nd I w ill say it for these m en as w ell: See that you m ake no m ove to frail or shadow m e H ere w here I m ust m ake m y dw elling. W hat w ill ye do? O r w ill you betray m e, and not expel x T his unholy m an from out your country? H ow shall I escape? W hat help can I expect from G ods or m ortals? W ill you let her go? W e w ill quickly com e to blow s. A dvance, ye dw ellers at C olonus; advance! The city is attacked, our city, attacked by force! A dvance W ith m e, thus! O m y hosts!
M y strangers! C RE O N T hese tw o crutches shall never m ore sustain your steps: B ut since you yearn for victory over your fatherland A nd friends, under w hose orders I have done these things, T hough a prince of the royal house, prevail then. F or I know this, as in tim e you shall know it too: Y ou acted nobly neither now nor in the past, A nd did yourself no good, w hen in despite o f friends Y ou gave your favour to your furious heart, w hich has U ndone you alw ays.
W ill you light upon m e still? Therefore to thee and thy fam ily m ay the G od A ll-seeing-H elios grant an old age just like m ine. In w hat fear have you halted M y sacrifice of bulls upon the altar O f the O cean G od, that in C olonus stands?
Tell m e, so that I m ay know all, For w hich I hurried here m ore in haste Than in the pleasure of m y feet. I have suffered, grievously, and by this very m an! W hat w as the injury? G o, A s I com m anded; w ith speed! Y ou w ill never leave this land, until Y ou lead those girls to stand here m anifest B efore m e.
W hat you have done is disgraceful T o m e, to those from w hom you w ere bom , A nd to your hom eland. Y ou have entered a city T hat thinks on justice, not w ithout fulfilm ent O f the law : w hat though you dism iss this sovereign place O f E arth; though you traduce us here, A nd lead off w hom you w ill, and use com pulsion, T hinking m y city to be em pty of m en, or like Som e city of slaves, and I like som e nonen tity.
Y et surely T hebes did not teach you evil. For they love not m en in w hom injustice springs, N or w ould they approve, if they learned T hat you seize w hat belongs to m e and to the G ods, L eading off helpless suppliant m en by force.
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