Oedipus: Act IV

Oedipus: My soul is filled with dark, foreboding fear;For the gods in heaven and hades join the chargeThat by my guilty hand King Laius fell.And yet my soul, in conscious innocence,And knowing better than the gods themselvesIts secret deeds, denies the charge.But now,Along the shadowy vistas of the past,My memory beholds an agéd man who fellBeneath the heavy stroke of my stout staff.But first the elder strove with haughty wordsTo drive the younger traveler from the path.But that was far from Thebes, in Phocis' realm,Where the forkéd road in three directions leads.But thou, my faithful wife, dispel my care:What span of life had Laius at his death?Fell he in manhood's bloom, or spent with age?Jocasta: Midway 'twixt youth and age, but nearer age.

Oedipus: Did courtiers, thronging round, protect his course?

Jocasta: The many lost him on the winding way;A few by faithful toil kept near his side.Oedipus: Did any fall as comrade of his fate?

Jocasta: One comrade in his death did valor give.

Oedipus: Alas, I stand convicted, for the placeAnd number tally. Tell me now the time.

Jocasta: Since Laius fell, ten harvests have been reaped.

Old Man [to Oedipus]: The state of Corinth calls thee tothe throne,For Polybus has gained his lasting rest.

Oedipus: See how a heartless fate doth compass me!But tell me how my father met his end.Old Man: In gentle sleep he breathed his life away.

Oedipus: My sire is dead, and not by violence!I call the gods to witness that to heavenI now in piety may lift my hands,And fear no stain of impious slaughter more.And yet a still more fearful fate remains.Old Man: Thy father's kingdom will dispel thy fears.

Oedipus: My father's kingdom would I seek, but stillI fear my mother.

Old Man: Fear'st thou her who waits.With anxious heart, imploring thy return?

Oedipus: 'Tis piety itself that bids me flee.

Old Man: And wouldst thou leave her in her widowhood?

Oedipus: Thou speak'st the very essence of my fears.

Old Man: Speak out the fear that doth oppress thy soul;For 'tis my wont in trusty confidenceTo counsel kings.

Oedipus: By Phoebus' word forewarned,From wedlock with my mother do I flee.

Old Man: Then cease thy empty fears, and lay asideThy base forebodings; for I tell thee hereThat thou art not the son of Merope.Oedipus: Why did she wish to rear a spurious son?

Old Man: Because the proud security of kingsIs by a son established.

Oedipus: Tell me now.How thou dost know the secrets of the court.

Old Man: With my own hands I gave thee to the king.

Oedipus: Thou gavest me? But who gave me to thee?

Old Man: A shepherd on Cithaeron's snowy slopes.

Oedipus: How camest thou within that sacred wood?

Old Man: My sheep upon that mountain did I seek.

Oedipus: Now on my body name some well-known mark.

Old Man: Behold, thy feet in infancy were pierced,And from thy swollen ankles art thou named.

Oedipus: Who was the man who gave me as a giftInto thy hands?

Old Man: He fed the royal flocks,And under him the hireling shepherds served.Oedipus: But tell his name.

Old Man: An old man's memoryGrows faint and weakly falters with disuse.

Oedipus: But wouldst thou know the features of the man?

Old Man: I might recall him, for a slender clueOfttimes awakens memory of thingsLong buried and forgot.

Oedipus: Then hasten, slaves,Let all the master-shepherds drive their flocksBefore the altar here, yea, summon allOn whom depends the guidance of the flocks.

Old Man: Or chance or providence has kept thy fateIn darkness hid. What long hath lain concealed,I bid thee suffer to remain in doubt.For often truth, when brought into the light,Becomes the bane of him who seeks for her.Oedipus: Can any ills be worse than those I fear?

Old Man: Oh, be thou sure the truth is big with fate,Whose meaning must be sought with toil and pain.The public weal calls there, and here thine own,And both with equal voice. Direct thy stepsAlong a middle course! provoke not fate;Permit thy fortune to unfold itself.It profits naught to change a happy state.

Oedipus: A change is well when all is at the worst.

Old Man: What better canst thou ask than royal birth?No further seek, lest thou thy sire repent.

Oedipus: Though I should prove to be of shameful blood,My purpose still is fixed to know the truth.But see, the agéd man, old Phorbas, comes,'Neath whose control the royal flocks are kept.Dost thou remember still his face or name?

Old Man: His form eludes my mind; not fully known,And yet again not all unknown his face.Old man, while Laius still was king, didst thou,His shepherd, ever drive the royal flocksTo pasture here upon Cithaeron's slopes?

Phorbas: On fair Cithaeron's sunny slopes my flocksHave ever found the greenest pasturage.Old Man: Dost thou know me?

Phorbas: But dim and indistinctMy memory.

Oedipus: Didst thou at any timeAn infant boy deliver to this man?Come then, speak out! why dost thou hesitate?And why does pallor overspread thy cheeks?Why seek for words? The truth no respite needs.Phorbas: Thou speak'st of things long buried and forgot.

Oedipus: But speak, or pain shall drive thee to confess.

Phorbas: I gave a boy to him, a useless gift;He never could have lived or known the light.

Old Man: The gods forbid! The child is living still;And may his life be long on earth, I pray.

Oedipus: Why dost thou think the child did not survive?

Phorbas: A slender rod of iron his ankles pierced,And bound his limbs. This wound produced a sore,Which by contagion spread o'er all his frame.

Old Man: Why question more? The fatal truth draws near.Who was that infant boy?Oedipus: Bring hither fire! Its flames shall loose thy speech.

Phorbas: Must truth be sought along such cruel paths?I pray thy grace.

Oedipus: If I seem harsh to thee,Or headstrong, thy revenge is in thy hand--The truth revealed. Then speak: who was the child?Of what sire gotten? Of what mother born?

Phorbas: He was the son of her who is thy--wife.

Oedipus: Then yawn, O earth! and thou, O king of shades,Into the lowest depths of hades hurlThis vile confounder of the son and sire!Ye citizens, on my incestuous headHeap crushing rocks! with weapons slaughter me!Let husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers--allWhose name I have defiled, against me arm!And let the poor, plague-smitten populaceHurl blazing brands from off their funeral pyres!The plague spot of the age, I wander here,Heaven-cursed pollutor of all sacred ties;Who, in the day when first I breathed the air,Was doomed to death.Call up thy courage now,And dare some deed befitting these thy crimes.Haste to thy palace and congratulateThy mother's house increased by children's sons.

Chorus: If it were mine to choose my fateAnd fashion as I would,I'd trim my sails to the gentle breeze,Lest, by the raging blasts o'erwhelmed,My spars should broken be.May soft and gently blowing windsMy dauntless bark lead on;And ever on the middle course,Where safely runs the path of life,May I be traveling.Fearing the Cretan king, 'tis said,And trusting in strange arts,Young Icarus essayed the stars,And strove to conquer birds in flight,On false wings balancing.He fell into the raging seaAnd his name alone survived.But, wiser far, old DaedalusA safer course midst the clouds pursued,Awaiting his wingéd son.As the timid bird flees the threat'ning hawk,And collects her scattered young;So the father watched till he saw his sonPlying his hands in the gulfing sea,Enmeshed in his useless wings.So does he stand in treacherous ways,Whoever goes beyond the boundsOrdained by nature's law.But what is this? The palace gates resound;Behold, it is the royal messenger.With wild and woeful mien he seems to come.Speak out, and tell us what the news thou bring'st.