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Part II.
Part II.
Enter Creon
Creon. I come, my friends, as having learnt but now
Our ruler, Oedipus, accuses me
With 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 harm
Affects not slightly, but is direst shame,
If through the land my name as villain rings,
By thee and by thy friends a villain called.
Chorus. But this reproach, it may be, came from wrath
All hasty, rather than from judgment calm.
Creon. And who informed him that the seer, seduced
By my false counsel, spoke his lying words?
Chorus. The 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?
Chorus. I cannot say. To what our rulers do
I close my eyes. But here he comes himself.
Enter Oedipus
Oedip. Ho, there! is`t thou? And does thy boldness soar
So 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 seen
Or cowardice or folly in my soul,
That thou hast laid thy plans? Or thoughtest thou
That 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 scorn
Hear like words back, and as thou hearest, judge.
Oedip. Cunning of speech art thou! But I am slow
To learn of thee, whom I have found my foe.
Creon. Hear this, then, first, that thus I have to speak ....
Oedip. 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.
Oedip. 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?
Oedip. Didst thou, or didst thou not, thy counsel give
Some one to send to fetch this reverend seer?
Creon. And even now by that advice I hold!
Oedip. How long a time has passed since Laius
chanced ... [Pauses.
Creon. Chanced to do what? I understand not yet.
Oedip. Since he was smitten with the deadly blow?
Creon. The years would measure out a long, long tale.
Oedip. And was this seer then practising his art?
Creon. Full wise as now, and equal in repute.
Oedip. Did he at that time say a word of me?
Creon. No word, while I, at any rate, was by.
Oedip. And yet ye held your quest upon the dead?
Creon. Of course we held it, but we nothing heard.
Oedip. How was it he, the wise one, spoke not then?
Creon. I know not, and, not knowing, hold my peace.
Oedip. One thing thou know`st, and, meaning well, wouldst speak!
Creon. And what is that? for if I know, I`ll speak.
Oedip. Why, unless thou wert in the secret, then
He spake not of me as the murderer.
Creon. If he says this, thou know`st it. I of thee
Desire to learn, as thou hast learnt of me.
Oedip. Learn then; no guilt of blood shall rest on me.
Creon. Well, then, - my sister? dost thou own her wife?
Oedip. I will not meet this question with denial.
Creon. And sharest thou an equal rule with her?
Oedip. Her every wish by me is brought to act.
Creon. And am not I coequal with you twain?
Oedip. 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 choose
To reign with fears than sleeping calmest sleep,
His power being equal? I, for one, prize less
The 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 charm
Than power and might unchequered by a care?
I am not yet so cheated by myself
As 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 act
The villain`s part. I was not born to love
Such 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 alone
Makes manifest the righteous. Of the vile
Thou mayst detect the vileness in a day.
Chorus. To one who fears to fall, he speaketh well;
O king, swift counsels are not always safe.
Oedip. 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?
Oedip. Not so. I seek not banishment, but death.
Creon. When thou show`st first what grudge I bear to thee?
Oedip. And say`st thou this defying, yielding not?
Creon. I see thy judgment fails.
Oedip. I hold mine own.
Creon. Mine has an equal claim.
Oedip. Thou villain born!
Creon. And if thy mind is darkened . . .?
Oedip. Still obey!
Creon. Not to a tyrant ruler.
Oedip. O my country!
Creon. I, too, can claim that country. `Tis not thine!
Chorus. Cease, O my princes! In good time I see
Jocasta 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 tongues
Raise 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! Oedipus, thy husband, claims
The right to wrong me, giving choice of ills,
Or to be exiled from my home, or die.
Oedip. `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, Oedipus!
Respect his oath, which calls the Gods to hear;
And reverence me, and these who stand by thee.
Chorus. Hearken, my king! be calmer, I implore!
Oedip. What! wilt thou that I yield?
Chorus. Respect is due
To one not weak before, who now is strong
In this his oath.
Oedip. And know`st thou what thou ask`st?
Chorus. I know right well.
Oedip. Say on, then, what thou wilt.
Chorus. Hurl not to shame, on grounds of mere mistrust,
The friend on whom his own curse still must hang.
Oedip. Know, then, that, seeking this, thou seek`st, in truth,
To work my death, or else my banishment.
Chorus. Nay, 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 ills
Still coming, and your strife embittering all.
Oedip. Let him depart, then, even though I die,
Or from my country wander forth in shame:
Thy face, not his, I view wi h pitying eye;
For him, where`er he be, is naught but hate.
Creon. Thou`rt loath to yield, `twould seem, and wilt be vexed
When this thy wrath is over: moods like thine
Are fitly to themselves most hard to bear.
Oedip. Wilt thou not go, and leave me?
Creon. I will go,
By thee misjudged, but known as just by these.
[Exit.
Chorus. Why, lady, art thou slow to lead him in?
Joc. I fain would learn how this sad chance arose.
Chorus. Blind hasty speech there was, and wrong will sting.
Joc. From both of them?
Chorus. Yea, both.
Joc. And what said each?
Chorus. Enough for me, our land laid low in grief,
It seems, to leave the quarrel where it stopped.
Oedip. Seest thou, with all thy purposes of good,
Thy shifting and thy soothing, what thou dost?
Chorus. My 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 debate
Has bred this discord, and provoked thy soul.
Oedip. Thee will I tell, for thee I honour more
Than these. The cause was Creon and his plots.
Joc. Say, then, if clearly thou canst tell the strife.
Oedip. He says that I am Laius` murderer.
Joc. Of his own knowledge, or by some one taught?
Oedip. 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 skill
In 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 Phoebus` self,
But from his servants) that his fate was fixed
By his son`s hand to fall - his own and mine:
And him, so rumour runs, a robber band
Of 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 boy
His father`s murderer; nor did Laius die
By his son`s hand. So fared the oracles;
Therefore regard them not. Whate`er the God
Desires to search he will himself declare.
Oedip. [trembling] O what a fearful boding! thoughts disturbed
Thrill through my soul, my queen, at this thy tale.
Joc. What means this shuddering, this averted glance?
Oedip. 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.
Oedip. Where was the spot in which this matter passed?
Joc. They call the country Phocis, and the roads
From Delphi and from Daulia there converge.
Oedip. And time? what interval has passed since then?
Joc. But just before thou camest to possess
And rule this land the tidings were proclaimed.
Oedip. Great Zeus! what fate hast thou decreed for me?
Joc. What thought is this, my Oedipus, of thine?
Oedip. 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.
Oedip. Woe, woe is me! so seems it I have plunged
All blindly into curses terrible.
Joc. What sayest thou? I shudder as I see thee.
Oedip. Desponding fear comes o`er me, lest the seer
Has seen indeed. But one thing more I`ll ask.
Joc. I fear to speak, yet what thou ask`st I`ll tell.
Oedip. Went he in humble guise, or with a troop
Of spearmen, as becomes a man that rules?
Joc. Five were they altogether, and of them
One was a herald, and one chariot had he.
Oedip. Woe! woe! `tis all too clear. And who was he
That told these tidings to thee, O my queen?
Joc. A servant who alone escaped with life.
Oedip. 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, implored
This boon, to send him to the distant fields
To feed his flocks, where never glance of his
Might Thebes behold. And so I sent him forth;
For though a slave he might have claimed yet more.
Oedip. And could we fetch him quickly back again?
Joc. That may well be. But why dost thou wish this?
Oedip. I fear, O queen, that words best left unsaid
Have 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.
Oedip. Thou shalt not fail to learn it, now that I
Have such forebodings reached. To whom should I
More 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 rest
Who dwelt there, till this accident befel,
Worthy of wonder, of the heat unworthy
It roused within me. Thus it chanced: A man
At supper, in his cups, with wine o`ertaken,
Reviles me as a spurious changeling boy;
And I, sore vexed, hardly for that day
Restrained myself. And when the morrow came
I went and charged my father and my mother
With what I thus had heard. They heaped reproach
On him who stirred the matter, and I soothed
My 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 God
Sent 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 be
Father of children men would loathe to look on,
And murderer of the father that begot me.
And, hearing this, I cast my wistful looks
To where the stars hang over Corinth`s towers,
And fled where nevermore mine eyes might see
The 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 man
Like him thou told`st of, riding on his car,
Drawn by young colts. With rough and hasty words
They drove me from the road, - the driver first,
And that old man himself; and then in rage
I struck the driver, who had turned me back.
And when the old man saw it, watching me
As by the chariot side I stood, he struck
My forehead with a double - pointed goad.
But we were more than quits, for in a trice
With 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 chance
That 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 proclaimed
These curses. And the bed of him that died
I 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 doom
Is nevermore to see the friends I love,
Nor tread my country`s soil; or else to bear
The guilt of incest, and my father slay,
Yea, Polybus, who reared me from the womb.
Would not a man say right who said that here
Some cruel God was pressing hard on me?
Not that, not that, at least, thou Presence, pure
And awful, of the Gods. May I ne`er look
On such a day as that, but far away
Depart unseen from all the haunts of men
Before such great pollution comes on me.
Chorus. Us, too, O king, these things perplex, yet still,
Till thou hast asked the man who then was by,`
Have hope.
Oedip. And this indeed is all my hope,
Waiting until that shepherd - slave appear.
Joc. And when he comes, what meanest thou to ask?
Oedip. I`ll tell thee. Should he now repeat the tale
Thou told`st to me, it frees me from this guilt.
Joc. What special word was that thou heard`st from me?
Oedip. Thou said`st he told that robbers slew his lord,
And should he give their number as the same
Now 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.
Joc. But know, the thing was said, and clearly said,
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 show
The 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.
Oedip. Thou reasonest well. Yet send a messenger
To fetch that peasant. Be not slack in this.
Joc. I will make haste to send. But go thou in;
I would do nothing that displeaseth thee.
[Exeunt.
Strophe I
Chorus. O that my fate were fixed
To live in holy purity of speech,
Pure in all deeds whose laws stand firm and high,
In heaven`s clear aether 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.
Antistrophe I
But pride begets the mood of tyrant power;
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 profiteth
It seeks in vain to take.
I cannot ask the Gods to stop midway
The conflict sore that works our country`s good;
I cannot cease to call on God for aid.
Strophe II
But if there be who walketh haughtily,
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 gains
All 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 pray
To 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?
Antistrophe II
No longer will I go in pilgrim guise,
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 divine
In 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 naught
The oracles, half dead,
That Laius heard of old,
And king Apollo`s wonted worship flags,
And all to wreck is gone
The homage due to God.
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