Oedipus: Act III

Oedipus: Although thy face displays the marks of grief,Declare whose death an angry heaven demands.Creon: Thou bid'st me speak where fear would silence keep.

Oedipus: If Thebes, to ruin falling, move thee not,Regard the scepter of thy kindred house.

Creon: Thou wilt repent the knowledge which thou seek'st.

Oedipus: A useless cure for ills is ignorance.And wilt thou still obstruct the public weal?Creon: Where foul the cure, 'tis grievous to be cured.

Oedipus: Thy tidings speak; or, by thy pains subdued,Thou soon shalt know what angered kings can do.

Creon: Kings hate the words whose speech they would compel.

Oedipus: In hades shalt thou pay thy life for all,Unless thou tell the secrets of the fates.

Creon: Nay, let me hold my peace. No smaller boonWas ever sought.

Oedipus: More often than by speech,Have kingdoms by the boon of silence fall'n.

Creon: When silence is denied what can be given?

Oedipus: He sins who silence holds when speech is best.

Creon: Then hear in peace the words which I must speak.

Oedipus: Was ever punishment for speech compelled?

Creon: Afar from Thebes there is a frowning groveNear the well-watered vale of Dirce's fount.And there a cypress lifts its giant headAnd holds within its evergreen embraceThe trees around. Here stands an ancient oakAnd spreads its branches dark with clustering mould.One side is torn by time's destructive hand;The rest, with roots decayed and falling, hangsSupported on a neighbor's trunk. Here standThe bitter laurel, rustling linden trees,The myrtle, and the alder destined soonTo sweep its oarage on the boundless sea.Midway, a mighty pine its smooth trunk liftsAgainst the rays of Phoebus and the winds,And with its heavy shade it overwhelmsThe lesser trees; for, with its spreading boughs,It stands, the giant guardian of the wood.Beneath this pine there springs a gloomy poolThat never saw the sun nor light of day.An oozy swamp surrounds the sluggish pool.Here did the agéd priest direct his steps;Nor was there need to wait; the gloomy spotSupplied the shades of night. A trench is dug,Where brands are kindled, pluck'd from funeral pyres.The priest is shrouded in a mourning pall,And waves the bough; his dark robe sweeps the earth.And now, in squalid garb and wrapped in gloom,The priest advances, with his hoary locksEncircled by the yew-tree's deadly leaves.Black sheep and sable oxen, backward driven,Are sacrificed. The fire devours the food,And the living entrails quiver in the flames.The shades he calls, and him who rules the shades,And him who guards the dark Lethaean stream.A magic rune he mutters o'er and o'erAnd fiercely chants the charm which either luresThe shifting ghosts, or forces them to come.He burns the victims whole, and fills the trenchWith sacrificial blood, and snowy milk,And, with his left hand pouring, mingles wine;Again he chants, and, bending to the earth,With stronger words and frantic, summons upThe manes. Loudly bayed the hounds of hell;And thrice the hollows gave a mournful sound;The whole earth trembled and the solid groundWas rent asunder. Then the priest exclaimed:"I have prevailed, for strong the words I spoke;The deep and gloomy realm of chaos yawns,And for the dwellers in the home of DisA way is opened to the world of light."The whole wood shrank away; its leaves erectIn horror stood, the mighty trunks were split,And all the grove was smitten with amaze.The frightened earth crouched back with hollow groans,As if unwillingly she saw the deepsOf Acheron assailed; or else herself,That back to life the dead might find a way,With crashing sound her close-wrought barriers burst;Or threefold Cerberus in angry rageClanked loud his heavy chains. Then suddenlyThe earth yawned wide, and at our very feetA deep abyss appeared. I saw, myself,The sluggish pools amidst the dusky shades;I saw the shadowy gods, and that black gloomNo earthly night can give. At that dread sightMy blood ran cold and froze within my veins.And then there hurried forth a dreadful band,And stood in armed array, that viper brood,The troop of brothers sprung from dragon's teeth;And that fell pestilence, the curse of Thebes.Then grim Erinys raised her piercing cry,Blind Fury, Dread, and all the ghastly formsWhich spawn and lurk within the endless shades:Grief, in her madness, tearing out her hair;Disease, scarce holding up her weary head;Age, burdened with itself, and brooding Fear.Our spirits died within us at the sight.Even the prophet's daughter stood amazed,Though well she knew her father's mystic arts.But he, undaunted, since he saw them not,Convoked the bloodless throng of gloomy Dis.Like clouds the shadowy forms come trooping up,And snuff the air of unrestricted heaven.Not lofty Eryx in his mountain gladesAs many falling leaves, nor Hybla's slopesAs many flowers produce, in sunny spring,When greedy bees in teeming bunches swarm;As many waves break not upon the shore;As many birds deserting Strymon's streams,Exchange not wintry blasts and Arctic snows,And seek the milder valley of the Nile;As were the shades the prophet summoned forth.In eager haste the shivering spirits seekThe hiding-places of the leafy grove.From out the cave, his right hand by the hornsA raging bull restraining, Zethus came,And next Amphion, with that famous shellWhose magic strains insensate rocks allured.Here haughty Niobe, in safety now,Amongst her children lifts her head in scornAnd proudly counts her shades. And worse than she,That mother, mad Agave, next appears,With all the impious band who rent the king.Then Pentheus' self, all torn and bleeding, comes,In rage pursuing those wild Bacchanals.At length, when often summoned, Laius comesIn shame, and, skulking, flees the shadowy throng,And hides himself away; but still the seer,With unrelenting purpose pressing on,Repeats his strong compelling exorcisms,Until he brings the ghost to open view.I shudder as I tell it. There he stood,A fearful sight, his body drenched with blood,His matted locks o'erspread with horrid filth.And now, with raging tongue, the specter spoke:"O wild and savage house of Cadmus, thouWho ever dost rejoice in brother's blood!The thyrsus wave, in madness rend thy sons.The greatest crime of Thebes is mother's love.O fatherland, 'tis not the wrath of heaven,But sin of man by which thou art undone.No plague-fraught south wind with its deadly blast,Nor yet the parchéd earth with its dry breath,Is harming thee; but 'tis thy bloody king,Who, as the prize of savage murder done,Hath seized his father's scepter and his bed.An impious son (but far more impious,The mother who in most unhallowed wombBore children once again), he forced his wayBack to his source of life, and there begotUpon his mother offspring horrible,Got brothers to himself, a custom base,Whence e'en the very beasts of prey are free.Oh, base entanglement, more monstrous farThan that fell Sphinx which he himself hath slain.Thee, thee, who dost the bloody scepter hold,Thee will thy sire, still unavenged, pursue,With all thy town; and with me will I bringTh' attendant fury of my wedding night--I'll bring her with her loud-resounding lash!Thy house, polluted, will I overthrow,And thy Penates will I trample downIn fratricidal strife! Then quickly driveThy king, O Thebes, from out thy boundaries!For when his baleful step shall leave the land,In vernal green shall it renew itself,The air shall give again pure springs of life,And to the woods their beauty shall return.Destruction, Pestilence and Death, Distress,Disease, Despair--his fitting company--Shall all depart with him. And he, indeed,Will seek with eager haste to flee his realm,But him will I hedge round with barriers,And hold him back. Uncertain of his way,And with his staff to guide his faltering steps,He'll creep along his sad and darkened path.Do ye the land deny him; I, his sire,Will take away from him the light of heaven."

Oedipus: A chilling tremor penetrates my bones;The very thing which I have feared to do,They say that I have done it. But the chargeThat in unholy wedlock I am joined,My mother Merope refutes, for sheTo Polybus, my sire, is wedded still;And my hands from stain of father's blood are clean,Since Polybus in safety lives and reigns.Since both my parents free me from the guiltOf murder and that base, incestuous crime,What room is there for accusation more?And as for Laius, Thebes his death deploredLong 'ere I set my feet upon her soil.What shall we say then? Was the seer deceived,Or does the hand of God afflict the state?No! now we see these two confederatesDeep in a crafty plot: that priest of thineWith lying tongue pretends the will of heaven,And promises my sovereignty to thee.

Creon: Would I expel my sister from the throne?But if that sacred fealty which I oweUnto my kindred house restrained me not,Yet fortune would herself affright me sore,For with care and danger is she ever fraught.But be thyself content to lay aside,While still thou safely mayst, the cares of state,Lest, borne too long, they may o'erwhelm thee quite.In a humbler state more safely shalt thou dwell.

Oedipus: And dost thou bid me, then, of mine own willTo lay aside the heavy cares of state?

Creon: Thus would I counsel those to whom the wayIs open yet to choose the path he will.But the lot that fortune sends thee thou must bear.

Oedipus: When one desires to reign, 'tis ever thus,That humble life he praises, and the joysOf ease and sleep are ever in his mouth.A peaceful face oft hides a restless heart.Creon: Does my long loyalty defend me not?

Oedipus: To traitors, loyalty's a cloak to crime.

Creon: Free from the burdens of a kingly state,I still enjoy the fruits of royalty;My house is honored by our citizens;And day by day thy royal gifts o'erflow,And fill my kindred home with luxury.Rich food and clothing, gifts of every sort,And safety flow to many through my aid.Why should I think aught lacking to my lot?

Oedipus: Because there is a lack. ProsperityNe'er halts at any bounds.

Creon: And shall I fall,Prejudged, and have no right to plead my cause?

Oedipus: Hadst thou consideration for my life?Did old Tiresias listen to my cause?And yet I am condemned. My pattern, thou;I do but follow in the way thou lead'st.Creon: But what if I am guiltless?

Oedipus: Kings are wontTo fear alike the doubtful and the true.

Creon: Who quakes at empty fears, hath true in store.

Oedipus Who in a fault is taken, and forgiven,Is filled with hate. Let all such dubious faithBe far from me.

Oedipus: Nay, he who feareth hatred overmuch,Knows not the art of ruling like a king;For 'tis by fear that kings are guarded most.

Creon: Who holds the scepter with tyrannic sway,Doth live in fear of those who fear his power;For terror ever doth return to himWho doth inspire it.

Oedipus [to attendants]: Hence, away with him;Deep in some rocky dungeon let him stay,While I unto the palace take my way.

Chorus: Not thou the cause of these our ills;And not on thy account hath fateAttacked the house of Labdacus;But 'tis the ancient wrath of heavenThat still pursues our race.Castalia's grove once lent its shadeUnto the Tyrian wanderer,And Dirce gave her cooling waves,What time the great Agenor's son,O'er all the earth the stolen preyOf Jove pursuing, worn and spent,Within these forests knelt him downAnd adored the heavenly ravisher.Then by Apollo's bidding led,A wandering heifer following,Upon whose neck the dragging plow,Nor the plodding wagon's curving yokeHad never rested, he his questAt last gave over, and his raceFrom that ill-omened heifer named.From that time forth, the land of ThebesStrange monsters hath engendered: first,That serpent, sprung from the valley's depths,Hissing, o'ertopped the agéd oaksAnd lofty pines; and higher still,Above Chaonia's woods, he rearedHis gleaming head, though on the groundHis body lay in many coils.And next the teeming earth producedAn impious brood of arméd men.The battle call resounded loudFrom the curving horn, and the piercing notesOf the brazen trumpet shrill were heard.Their new-created, nimble tongues,And voices strange, they first employIn hostile clamor; and the fields,The plains, their kindred soil, they fill.This monster brood, consorting wellWith that dire seed from which they sprung,Their life within a day's brief spanEnjoyed; for after Phoebus roseThey had their birth, but ere he setThey perished. At the dreadful sightGreat terror seized the wanderer;And much he feared to face in warHis new-born foes. Until, at lengthThe savage youth in mutual strifeFell down, and mother earthBeheld her sons, but now produced,Returned again to her embrace.And Oh, that with their fall might endAll impious strife within the state!May Thebes, the land of Hercules,Such fratricidal strife beholdNo more!Why sing Actaeon's fate,Whose brow the new-sprung antlers crownedOf the long-lived stag, and whom his hounds,Though their hapless master still, pursued?In headlong haste through the mountains and woods,He flees in fear, and with nimble feetHe scours the glades and rocky passes,In fear of the wind-tossed feathers hungAmong the trees; but most he shunsThe snares which he himself has set;Until at last in the still, smooth poolHe sees his horns and his features wild,The pool where the goddess, too sternly chaste,Had bathed her virgin limbs.