Oedipus: Act II

Oedipus: I quake with horror, and I fear to knowThe tendency of fate. My trembling soulStrives 'neath a double load; for joy and griefLie mingled still in dark obscurity.I shrink from knowing what I long to know.Wherefore, O brother of my consort, speak;And if to weary hearts thou bring'st relief,With quickened utterance thy news proclaim.Creon: In dark obscurity the answer lies.

Oedipus: Who gives me doubtful succor grants me none.

Creon: It is the custom of the Delphic godIn dark enigmas to conceal the fates.

Oedipus: Yet speak; however dark the riddle be'Tis given to Oedipus alone to solve.

Creon: Apollo doth ordain that banishmentBe meted out to him who slew our king,And so our murdered Laius be avenged;For only thus shall we again beholdThe day's clear light, and drink safe draughts of air.

Oedipus: Who was the slayer of the noble king?Tell who is designated by the god,That he th' allotted punishment may pay.

Creon: May it be granted me to tell the thingsTo sight and hearing dreadful. At the thought,Numb horror holds my limbs, my blood runs cold.When to Apollo's hallowed shrine I cameWith reverent feet, and pious hands upraised,Parnassus' double-crested, snowy peakGave forth a fearful crash, the laurels shook,And fair Castalia's waters ceased to flow.The priestess of the son of Lato thenBegan to spread her bristling locks abroad,And felt the inspiration of the god.Scarce had she reached the sacred inner shrine,When with a roar, beyond the voice of man,There sounded forth this doubtful oracle:"Kind shall the stars return to the Theban city of Cadmus,If, O fugitive guest, Ismenian Dirce thou leavest,Stained with the blood of a king, from infancy known to Apollo.Brief shall be thy joys, the impious joys of slaughter.With thee war thou bringest, and war to thy children thou leavest,Foul returned once more to the impious arms of thy mother."

Oedipus: What I at heaven's command now meditate,Long since should have been rendered to the king,That none by craft might violate the throne.And most doth it become a sceptered kingTo guard the life of kings; for none lamentThe death of him whose safety breedeth fear.

Creon: Our care for him a greater fear removed.

Oedipus: What fear so great that duty to prevent?

Creon: The Sphinx and her accurséd riddle's threats.

Oedipus: Then now at heaven's command shall be atonedThat impious deed.Whoever of the godsDost look with kindly eye upon our realm;And thou, whose hand doth guide the rolling sphere;And thou, O glory of the smiling sky,Who in thy wandering course dost rule the stars,And with thy flying wheels dost measure outThe slow procession of the centuries;Thou sister of the sun, night-wanderer,Who ever dost reflect thy brother's fires;And thou, great ruler of the boisterous winds,Who o'er the level deep dost drive thy car;And thou, who dost allot the sunless homes:May he, by whose right hand king Laius fell,No peaceful home, no trusty lares find;And may no land in hospitalityReceive his cheerless, exiled wanderings.O'er shameful marriage may he live to grieve,And monstrous progeny. May he his sireBy his own hand destroy; and may he do(What doom more dreadful can I imprecate?)The deed which by my flight I did not do.No room for pardon shall be given him;By this my regal scepter do I swear,Both by the sway which I as stranger hold,And that I left behind; by my household gods,And thee, O Neptune, who with shorter wavesAnd twofold current dost disport thyselfUpon my native Corinth's double shores.And thou thyself be witness to my words,Who dost inspire the fate-revealing lipsOf Cirrha's priestess: so may Polybus,My royal father, spend a quiet age,And end his days in peace upon the throne;And so may Merope, my mother, knowThe marriage of her Polybus alone,As from my grasp no favoring power shall snatchThat guilty one, who basely slew the king.But tell me, where was that foul murder done?In open fight, or was he basely snared?

Creon: In quest of cool Castalia's sacred fountAnd leafy woods, along the way he fared,On either side with tangled thickets hedged.'Twas where the road, three-forked, spreads to the plain.One leads through Phocian land, to Bacchus dear,Where high Parnassus, by a gentle slopeThe lowlands leaving, lifts his double peakInto the heavens; and one leads off to whereTwo oceans bathe the land of Sisyphus;A third path, passing through Olenian fields,Along a hollow valley's winding way,Attains the vagrant waters and dividesThe chilling current of the Elean stream.'Twas here he journeyed, safe 'mid general peace,When on a sudden, lo, a robber bandFell on him with the sword and slew him there.But in the nick of time, by Phoebus roused,Tiresias, agéd and with trembling limbs,Hastes to our presence with what speed he may;And, as his faithful comrade, Manto comes,Her sightless father leading by the hand.

Oedipus: O priest of heaven, thou next to Phoebus' self,Explain the oracle which he hath sent,And tell on whom the penalty is laid.

Tiresias: Because my tongue is slow and seeks delay,Thou shouldst not wonder, great-souled Oedipus;Much truth is hidden when the eye is dimmed.But when my country, when Apollo calls,I will obey. Then let me search the fates.If in my veins still flowed the blood of youth,I would myself sustain the god and speak.Now to the altar drive a pure-white bull,A heifer, too, upon whose tender neckThe curvéd yoke of toil hath never pressed.And thou, my child, who guid'st my darkened steps,Describe the omens which Apollo sends.Manto: A perfect victim at the altar stands.

Tiresias: With prayer invoke the presence of the gods,And heap the altar high with frankincense.

Manto: Lo, on the sacred fire the spice is heaped.

Tiresias: What of the flame? Did it with vigor seizeThe generous feast?

Manto: With sudden gleam it leapedInto the air, and quickly fell again.

Tiresias: And did the sacred fire burn bright and clear,And point its gleaming summit straight to heaven,And, spreading outward, to the breeze unfold;Or crawl, with course uncertain, near the ground,And, flickering, die away in gloomy smoke?

Manto: Not one appearance only had the flame.As when the tempest-bringing Iris spreadsHer varying colors on the vault of heaven,And with her painted bow adorns the sky;So to the sacred fire thou wouldst not tellWhat hue is wanting there and what prevails.Dark blue it flickered first, with yellow spots;Then bloody red, and then it vanished quite.But see! the flame is rent in rival parts,And the glowing embers of one sacred pileAre cleft in double heaps and fall apart!O father, horror fills me as I gaze;For, as I pour the sacred liquid forth,It changes straight to blood--Oh, horrible!And stifling smoke surrounds the royal head.And now in denser gloom it settles downUpon his face, and, with its veiling cloud,It shuts away from him the fading light.Oh, speak, and tell us what it doth portend.

Tiresias: How can I speak, who halting stand amazedAmid conflicting voices of the soul?What shall I say? Dire ills are here, indeed,But hidden yet in deepest mystery.With signs well known the wrath of heaven is wontTo be made manifest: but what is thatWhich now they would disclose, and then, again,With changing and destructive purpose hide?Some deed so vile, it shameth heaven to tell.But quickly set the chosen victims here,And sprinkle salted meal upon their heads.With peaceful face do they endure the rites,And hands outstretched to smite?

Manto: His lofty headThe bull uplifted to the eastern sky,Then shunned the light of day, and quickly turnedIn terror from the newly risen sun.

Tiresias: With one blow, smitten, do they fall to earth?

Manto: The heifer threw herself upon the steel,And with one blow has fallen; but the bull,Though smitten by a double deadly blow,Distracted wanders here and there in pain,And scarce can force his struggling life away.

Tiresias: Driven through a narrow opening spurts the blood,Or, sluggish, does it water deeper wounds?

Manto: The blood of one, through that same welcome thrust,Doth flow in generous streams; but of the bull,Those yawning wounds are stained with scanty drops,While, turning backward, through his eyes and mouthThe plenteous current flows.

Tiresias: These unblest ritesSome dreadful ills portend. But come, describeThe trusty markings of the viscera.

Manto: Oh, what is this? For not, as is their wont,With gentle motion do the entrails quake,But, rather, strongly throb beneath the touch,While from the veins the blood leaps forth anew.The sickly heart is shriveled up and liesDeep hidden in the breast; the veins appearOf livid hue. The entrails suffer lack;And from the wasting liver oozes slowA stream of black corruption. Nay, behold(A sign of dark foreboding to a kingWho holdeth single sway), two swelling pointsOf equal elevation rise to view;But both are lopped and covered with a veil.Refusing lurking-place to things unseen,The hostile side uprears itself with strengthAnd shows seven swelling veins; but these, again,An intersecting line cuts straight across,Preventing their return. The natural lawAnd order of the parts has been reversed,And nothing lies within its proper place.All on the right the blood-filled lungs appear,Incapable of air; the heart no moreIs found upon the left, its 'customed place.The fatty walls, with their soft covering,No longer richly fold the entrails in.The ways of nature are in all things changed;The womb itself is most unnatural.Look close, and see what impious thing is this:Oh, monstrous! 'tis the unborn progenyOf a heifer still unmated! stranger still,It lies not in the wonted place, assignedBy nature's laws, but fills its mother's side.It moves its members with a feeble groan;Its unformed limbs with trembling rigors twitch.Black blood has stained the darkened entrails all;The mangled bodies strive e'en yet to move,Make show to rise, and menace with their hornsThe priestly hands. The entrails shun the touch.Nor is that lowing which has frightened theeThe deep-voiced roar of bulls, nor do the callsOf frightened cattle sound upon our ears:It is the lowing of the altar fires,It is the frightened muttering of the shrine!

Oedipus: What meaning have these monstrous signs? Declare;And with no timid ears will I attend.For he who has the dregs of fortune drainedFears nothing more.

Tiresias: The time will come to thee,When these thy ills, for which thou seekest aid,Will blessings seem.

Oedipus: But tell me then, I pray,The one thing which the gods would have me know:Whose hands are stained with murder of the king?

Tiresias: Neither the birds can summon up the name,Who cleave the depths of heaven on fleeting wing,Nor yet the vitals plucked from living breasts.But we must seek it in another way:The murdered king himself must be recalledFrom realms of everlasting night, that thus,Released from Erebus, he may declareHis murderer. The earth must be unsealed;The pitiless divinity of DisMust be implored, and hither brought the shadesWho live beyond the Styx.Now do thou tellTo whom thou giv'st the sacred embassy;For 'tis not right for thee who hold'st the reinsOf government to seek the gloomy shades.

Oedipus: O Creon, thee this task demands, to whom,As next in power, my kingdom looks for aid.

Tiresias: And while we loose the bars of deepest hell,Do ye the praises of our Bacchus tell.

The Chorus [in dithyrambic strain sings in praise of Bacchus]:Bind ye now your flowing locks with the swaying ivy,Brandish aloft with your languishing arms the Nysaean thyrsus!O glorious light of heaven, attend the prayersWhich noble Thebes, thy Thebes, O beautiful Bacchus,With suppliant hands outstretched here offers thee.Turn hither thy smiling virgin face,Dispel the clouds with thy starry glance,The gloomy threats of Erebus,And ravenous fate.Thee it becomes to crown thy locks with flowers of the springtime,Thee to bind thy head with the Tyrian fillet;Or with the clinging ivy, gleaming with berries,Softly to wreathe thy brow;Now thy hair to unbind and spread in confusion,Now in close-drawn knot to collect and confine it;Just as when thou, fearing the wrath of Juno,Didst conceal thyself in the guise of maidens.Virgin, too, thou seemedst with golden ringlets,Binding up thy robe with a saffron girdle.So the softer graces of living please thee,Robes ungirt and flowing in long profusion.When in thy golden car thou wast drawn by lions,Clad in flowing garments, the East beheld thee,All the vast expanse of the Indian country,They who drink the Ganges and cleave the surfaceOf snowy Araxes.Seated on humble beast the old Silenus attends thee,Binding his throbbing brows with a waving garland of ivy;While the wanton priests lead on the mysterious revels.And then a troop of BassaridsWith dancing step conducted thee,Now ranging o'er Pangaeus' foot,And now on Thracian Pindus' top.Soon, 'mid the noble dames of Thebes,A furious Maenad, the comrade of Bacchus,In garment of fawn-skin, conducted the god.The Theban dames, by Bacchus excited,With streaming locks and thyrsus upliftedIn high-waving hands, now join in the revels,And wild in their madness they rend PentheusLimb from limb.Their fury spent, with weary frame,They look upon their impious deed,And know it not.Into the sea realms holds, the foster-mother of Bacchus;Round her the daughters of Nereus dance, Leucothoë singing;Over the mighty deep, though new to its waves, Palaemon,Brother of Bacchus, rules, a mortal changed to a sea-god.When in childhood a band of robbers assailingBore thee away in their flying vessel a captive,Nereus quickly calmed the billowy ocean;When lo! to rolling meadows the dark sea changes;Here stands in vernal green the flourishing plane-tree,There the groves of laurel dear to Apollo;While resounds the chatter of birds in the branches.Now are the oars enwreathed with the living ivy,While at the masthead hang the clustering grape vines;There on the prow loud roars a lion of Ida,At the stern appears a terrible tiger of Ganges.Filled with terror the pirates leap in the ocean.Straight in their plunging forms new changes appear;For first their arms are seen to shrink and fall,Their bodies' length to shorten; and on their sidesThe hands appear as fins; with curving backThey skim the waves, and, lashing their crescent tails,They dash through the water.Changed to a school of dolphins now, they follow the vessel.Soon did the Lydian stream with its precious waters receive thee,Pouring down its golden waves in a billowy current.Loosed was the vanquished bow and Scythian darts of the savageMassagetan who mingles blood in his milky goblets.The realm of Lycurgus, bearer of axes, submitted to Bacchus;The land of the Dacians untamable felt his dominion,The wandering tribes of the north by Boreas smitten,And whom the Maeotis bathes with its frozen waters.Where the Arcadian star looks down from the zenith,Even there the power of Bacchus extended;Conquered too the scattered Gelonian peoples.From the warlike maidens their arms he wrested;Down to the earth they fell in desperate conflict,The hardy bands of Amazonian maidens.Now, at last, their arrows swift are abandoned,And Maenads have they become.Holy Cithaeron too has streamed with slaughter,Where was spilt the noble blood of Ophion.Proetus' daughters the forests sought; and Argos,Juno at last consenting, paid homage to Bacchus.The island of Naxos, girt by the broad Aegean,Gave to Bacchus the maid whom Theseus abandoned,Compensating her loss by a better husband.Out of the rock there gushed Nyctelian liquor;Babbling streams at his word clove the grassy meadows;Deep the earth drank in the nectarean juices;Streams of snowy milk burst forth from the fountains,Mingled with Lesbian wine all fragrant with spices.Now is the bride to her place in the heavens conducted;Phoebus, with flowing locks, sings a stately anthem;Love, in honor of both, bears the wedding torches;Jove lays down the deadly darts of his lightning,Halting his bolts of flame at the coming of Bacchus.While the gleaming stars in their boundless pasturage wander,While the sea shall gird th' imprisoned earth with its waters,While the full-orb'd moon shall gather her lost refulgence,While the morning star shall herald the coming of Phoebus,While in the north the Bear shall fear the cerulean ocean,Still shall we worship the shining face of the beautiful Bacchus.