by Jean Cocteau
To Messenger.
Don’t be afraid, tell me, boy, what did Polybus die of? And how did Merope take it?
MESSENGER. King Polybus died of old age, Your Majesty. And Queen Merope is almost too old to understand what happened.
OEDIPUS, cupping his hand to his mouth. Jocasta, Jocasta!
Jocasta parts the curtains and comes on the balcony, wearing her red scarf.
JOCASTA. What is it?
OEDIPUS. How pale you are. Are you ill?
JOCASTA. It’s the plague, the heat, the hospital visits. I was resting on my bed.
OEDIPUS. This messenger brings wonderful news from Corinth, worth disturbing you for.
JOCASTA. Good news?
OEDIPUS. My father is dead.
JOCASTA. Oedipus!
OEDIPUS. Tiresias condemns me for being pleased about it. But the oracle told me that I would kill my father and marry my mother. Poor Merope! She is very old, and my father, Polybus, died a good natural death.
JOCASTA. I never thought the death of a father was something to be happy about.
OEDIPUS. I loathe conventional tears and sentiment. I was very young when I left my father and mother. I have no particular affection for them now.
MESSENGER. Your Majesty, if I may explain …
OEDIPUS. Something else …?
MESSENGER. On his deathbed, the King of Corinth asked me to tell you that you were only his adopted son.
OEDIPUS. What?
MESSENGER. One of Polybus’ shepherds found you on an open hillside, at the mercy of the wild animals. He carried you to the Queen, who longed for a child. The shepherd was my father. That is why I was chosen to bring you this message.
TIRESIAS. This young man must be exhausted after his journey. He had to come through the disease and smells of the city. Perhaps it would be better if he had a meal and some rest before we question him.
OEDIPUS. You want to prolong the torment. You think my universe is about to crumble. But you don’t know me, Tiresias. Don’t laugh yet.
TIRESIAS. I am trying to warn you against your unfortunate habit of asking questions, wanting to know and understand everything.
OEDIPUS. I’m not afraid to find out who my parents were … whether I’m the son of the Muses or of some vagrant. I will know.
JOCASTA. Oedipus, you’re excited. Tiresias is right. You believe everything you’re told, and then —
OEDIPUS. I stand up to the severest blows, and then all of you plot to prevent me from discovering where I come from.
JOCASTA. There’s no plot, my love. But I know you …
OEDIPUS. Nobody knows me, neither you nor I nor anybody else.
He turns to the Messenger.
Now, tell me more. Don’t be afraid.
MESSENGER. That’s all I know, Your Majesty, except that my father found you half-dead and hanging by your wounded feet from a branch.
OEDIPUS. So that’s where these fine scars came from.
JOCASTA. Oedipus, Oedipus, please come up here.
OEDIPUS. So that was my cradle. And the story of the wild boar was false, like all the others. Well, it’s still possible that I’m the son of a god and a nymph of the woods, and that I was reared by wolves. Don’t laugh yet, Tiresias.
TIRESIAS. You are unjust.
OEDIPUS. At any rate, I didn’t kill Polybus … but, now I come to think of it, I did kill a man once.
JOCASTA. You?
OEDIPUS. Yes, I. Oh, don’t worry. It was an accident, pure bad luck. But nothing to do with parricide, I assure you. During a fight, I killed a man in a carriage.
JOCASTA. Where?
OEDIPUS. At the crossroads of Delphi and Daulia.
JOCASTA. At the crossroads of Delphi and Daulia!
She disappears as though drowning.
OEDIPUS. You could make a wonderful catastrophe out of that, Tiresias, if you assumed that the old man was my father. But incest is a little more difficult, don’t you agree, Jocasta? Jocasta?
He looks around.
That’s perfect! After seventeen years of happiness, an unblemished reign, two sons and two daughters, this noble lady has only to learn that I’m an unknown — which is why she loved me in the first place — and she turns away from me. Well, let her sulk! I can face my destiny alone.
CREON. Your wife is ill, Oedipus. The plague has demoralized us all. The gods are punishing the city; they demand a victim. There is a monster among us. They insist that we find him and drive him out. Day after day the police have been searching and the streets are obstructed by dead bodies. And your wife is ill. You don’t see how much you are asking of her. She is an aging woman, while you are a man in your prime. And every mother in Thebes is worried about the plague. Instead of turning on Jocasta, you might have tried to understand her.
OEDIPUS. I know what you’ll be planning next, Creon, my devoted brother-in-law. With the aid of the priests, and your police force, you’ll persuade the people of Thebes that the monster in hiding is none other than myself.
CREON. Don’t be absurd.
OEDIPUS. You’re capable of worse than that, my friend. But Jocasta …
Calling.
Jocasta, Jocasta, where are you?
TIRESIAS. Let her rest, Oedipus, let her rest.
OEDIPUS. Yes, perhaps I should. We must get back to the facts.
MESSENGER. Your Majesty, I’ve told you all I know —
OEDIPUS. My feet were pierced and tied together … I was left on the mountain. And I wondered why Jocasta …
Quietly.
It is hard to give up illusions. I am nothing as illustrious as the descendant of a wood god, but merely the son of a linen maid, one of the people, a local product.
CREON. What are you talking about?
OEDIPUS. Poor, poor Jocasta! I once told her what I thought of that linen maid, without knowing it was my mother. Oh, she must be terrified, desperate. Wait for me. I must question her, I must bring the truth to light, and end this cruel game.
He leaves by the center door. Creon ushers the Messenger out, right.
CREON. We must restrain him, for his own sake.
TIRESIAS. Creon, there is nothing you can do. A storm is coming from the depths of time and its thunderbolt is aimed at this man. Let the thunderbolt follow, its course. You must wait; you must not move or interfere.
Oedipus appears on the balcony, holding on to the wall with one hand.
OEDIPUS. You’ve killed her for me! She is hanging . . hanging by her scarf … dead! She is dead!
Oedipus goes out of sight. Creon starts forward.
TIRESIAS, to Creon. Stay! As a priest I command you. It’s inhuman, but we must stay here and hold silent. The circle is closing.
CREON. I’m her brother. I have the right to …
TIRESIAS. YOU must not interfere.
OEDIPUS, at center door. You’ve killed her for me. She was romantic, weak, ill. You made me say I was a murderer. Whom did I murder? Through a blunder, a pure blunder, an old man on the road — a stranger.
TIRESIAS. Oedipus, your blunder killed the husband of Jocasta, King Laius.
OEDIPUS. The two of you. Now I see the shape of your plot … and it’s worse than I thought. You insinuated to Jocasta that I had murdered Laius … that I had killed the King so that I could marry her.
TIRESIAS. Oedipus, you did kill King Laius, Jocasta’s husband. I have known it for a long time. But I have never spoken about it to you, or her, or Creon, or anyone else.
OEDIPUS. Laius! That’s the answer. I am the son of Laius and a linen maid.
He shouts.
The son of Laius and your linen maid, Jocasta!
TIRESIAS. Creon, if you want to act, speak now. Quickly!
CREON. Oedipus, because of you my sister is dead. I did not speak before because I wanted to save her life. I know the secret of your birth.
OEDIPUS. The secret?
CREON. The most hidden secrets eventually give themselves up. A man sworn to secrecy confides in his
wife; she mentions something to a friend, and so it spreads. Shepherd, come in.
An old Shepherd comes in, trembling.
OEDIPUS. Who is this man?
CREON. The man who carried you, bleeding and tied, up on the mountain, on your mother’s orders. Let him speak.
SHEPHERD. If I speak I bring death on myself. Why couldn’t I have died earlier, so that I never had to live through this moment!
OEDIPUS. Whose son am I? Strike, strike fast!
SHEPHERD. Alas!
OEDIPUS. I am close to something that should not be heard.
SHEPHERD. And I to something that should not be spoken.
OEDIPUS. YOU must speak. I will know.
SHEPHERD. You are the son of Jocasta, your wife, and of Laius, your father, killed by you at the crossing of three roads. Incest and parricide. May the gods forgive you!
OEDIPUS. I have slain my own blood. I have married my own blood. I have begotten my own blood. It is clear — as light.
He goes out.
Creon signals the Shepherd off.
TIRESIAS. A linen maid! Women cannot control their tongues. Jocasta must have blamed her crime on a servant to see how he would be affected.
He takes Creon’s arm and listens, his head on one side. There is a forbidding murmur. Antigone, hair in disarray, appears on the balcony.
ANTIGONE. Uncle Creon! Tiresias! Please come up, please! My mother … she isn’t moving. And my father is stabbing her gold brooch into his eyes. There’s blood. Please come, quickly!
She goes in.
CREON. This time nobody shall stop me.
TIRESIAS. I will. I warn you, Creon. This is the last touch to a masterpiece of horror. Not a movement, not a word, not even our shadow must intrude.
CREON. This is pure madness.
TIRESIAS. This is pure wisdom!
CREON. No. I am in power again, and I shall restore order.
He breaks free. As he pushes forward, Oedipus appears in the doorway, blinded. Antigone is clutching his robe.
Why … why that? Death would have been better.
TIRESIAS. He is still proud. He wanted to be the happiest of men; now he wants to be the unhappiest.
OEDIPUS. Stone me! Strike down the unclean beast. Drive him out of your city!
ANTIGONE. Father!
OEDIPUS. Don’t touch my hands.
TIRESIAS. Antigone. Here is my staff. Offer it to him for me.
ANTIGONE. Tiresias offers you his staff.
She takes the staff and gives it to Oedipus, after kissing Tiresias’ hand.
OEDIPUS. IS he there? Thank you, Tiresias, I accept it. Do you remember how, eighteen years ago, I saw it in your eyes — that I would become blind — and could not understand? It is clear now, Tiresias, but I am in pain. The journey will be hard.
CREON. We cannot let him cross Thebes. It would start a terrible scandal.
TIRESIAS. No, they are used to seeing King Oedipus as he wished to be. They will not see him as he is.
CREON. You think he will be invisible because he is blind!
TIRESIAS. Yes … and no.
CREON. I’ve had enough of your riddles and symbols. My head is on my shoulders and my feet are on the ground. And I am giving the orders.
TIRESIAS. Where this man is going, Creon, he will be beyond the power of your police.
Jocasta’s ghost appears in the doorway, white and beautiful, with the long red scarf wound around her neck and her eyes closed.
OEDIPUS. Jocasta, you’re alive!
JOCASTA. No, Oedipus. I am dead. You see me because you are blind. The others do not see me.
OEDIPUS. Tiresias, too, is blind.
JOCASTA. Perhaps he sees me faintly; but he loves me. He won’t say anything.
OEDIPUS. Do not touch me, wife.
JOCASTA. Your wife is dead, Oedipus … hanged. I am your mother. I have come to help you. How would you ever get down these steps alone, my poor child?
OEDIPUS. Mother!
JOCASTA. Yes, my child. Things that seem monstrous to men are not important in my world. If you only knew how trivial they are.
OEDIPUS. But I am still on earth.
JOCASTA. Only just…
CREON. He’s delirious … speaking to himself. I won’t allow the child to go with him.
TIRESIAS. They are both in good care.
CREON. Antigone, Antigone! Come here!
ANTIGONE. I don’t want to stay with Uncle Creon. I don’t want to stay in this house. Father, don’t go without me. I can lead you; I can guide you.
CREON. Ungrateful child.
OEDIPUS. No , Antigone. You must be good. I can’t take you with me.
ANTIGONE. You can, you can!
OEDIPUS. Are you going to leave your sister, Ismene?
ANTIGONE. She must stay with Eteocles and Polynices. Please take me with you, Father, please! Don’t leave me alone with Uncle Creon … don’t leave me at home and alone.
JOCASTA. Antigone is proud: she wants to be your guide. Let her think she is. Take her with you. I’ll look after you both.
OEDIPUS, putting his hand to his head. Oh!
JOCASTA. Are you in pain?
OEDIPUS. Yes, my neck, my arms, and my eyes.
JOCASTA. I’ll bathe your wounds at the fountain.
OEDIPUS, sobbing. Mother!
JOCASTA. The scarf and the brooch! I knew. I said so, many times.
CREON. I will not let Antigone leave with this madman. It is my duty to …
TIRESIAS. Your duty! They are outside your authority. They do not belong to you now.
CREON. Whom do they belong to then?
TIRESIAS. To the people, to poets, to pure hearts.
JOCASTA. Let us leave. Take hold of my dress. Don’t be afraid.
They go forward.
ANTIGONE. Come along, Father. Come along.
OEDIPUS. Where do the steps begin?
JOCASTA AND ANTIGONE, in unison. We have the platform to cross first…
They disappear. We still hear Jocasta and Antigone speaking in perfect unison.
Carefully … Count the steps. One, two, three, four, five …
CREON. And if they do pass safely through the city, who will be responsible for them, who will give them shelter?
TIRESIAS. Glory.
CREON. More likely, dishonor … shame.
TIRESIAS. Who can say?
CURTAIN
ORPHEUS
translated by
JOHN SAVACOOL
CHARACTERS
ORPHEUS
EURYDICE
THE HORSE
HEURTEBISE
DEATH
AZRAEL, Death’s First Assistant
RAPHAEL, Death’s Second Assistant
POSTMAN’S VOICE
COMMISSIONER
CLERK
The scene is laid in Thrace.
Orpheus was first performed at the Théâtre des Arts in Paris on June 17, 1926, with Georges Pitoeff in the title role
COSTUMES
Costumes for this play should conform with the place and period in which the play is presented.
Orpheus and Eurydice wear simple country clothes, as far as possible in no identifiable style.
Heurtebise wears a blue workman’s jacket, a dark scarf around his neck, a pair of sandals on his feet. He is tanned and hatless; and never removes the glazier’s pack of windowpanes strapped like a mountaineer’s pack onto his back.
The Commissioner and his clerk wear black morning coats. They have panama hats, goatees, and spats.
Death is a beautiful young woman in a bright pink evening gown and fur wrap. Her hair, gown, wrap, shoes, gestures, and manner of walking are in accord with the latest high fashion. She wears a mask on which is painted a pair of big blue eyes. She talks rapidly in a mechanical manner and never quite seems to establish contact with the rest of us. Even her surgeon’s jacket should be of an elegant cut.
Death’s assistants wear the white coats and rubber gloves we associ
ate with the operating room of a hospital.
DÉCOR
A room in Orpheus’ country cottage. It is a curious room, reminiscent of a magician’s parlor. Despite the clear light of an April sky seen through the window, one senses here the presence of occult forces. In this room even the most ordinary objects take on a mysterious glow.
In the center of the rear wall, in a stall which is really no more than a cubbyhole, we see a white horse. This horse has legs which might be human. Stage right of the horse, in another laurel-wreathed cubbyhole, is a pedestal waiting to receive a bust or small statue.
Next to the pedestal, at the extreme right of the upstage wall, is a door which opens onto a garden. When this door opens it swings back and blocks oür view of the pedestal. Stage left of the horse is a porcelain washstand. On the extreme left of this upstage wall is a glass doorway opening onto a balcony.
Downstage right, against the wall, is a large mirror. Upstage of the mirror is a bookcase. Across from the bookcase, on the stage-left wall, is the doorway to Eurydice’s room. A canted ceiling encloses the set like a box.
This room is furnished with two tables and three white chairs. One of the tables is used as a writing desk and, with one of the chairs, is placed stage right near the mirror.
The second table, stage left, is set with fruit, plates, a decanter, glasses (all of which resemble the gadgets on a magician’s worktable). It is covered with a cloth which drops to the floor. Behind the table is a white chair, facing the audience. The third white chair is to the left of the table, offering the audience a profile view of the sitter.
In staging this play the director must neither add nor subtract a chair or change the disposition of doorways and windows. The set, as described by the author, is a part of the text and every element, down to the last detail, plays its part in the action —just as every rope in an acrobat’s paraphernalia lends its bit of tension necessary to the balance of the trapezes as they fly through the air.
There are no colors in this room, except for the blue of the sky and a band of dark red velvet stretched at waist height across the entrance of the horse’s stall; covering the middle of the animal’s body.
This set should remind one of those airplane or ship interiors which side-show photographers offer as painted backdrops for their bargain-priced snapshots.