The Greek Plays

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OEDIPUS: By the gods, stranger, don’t scorn my request,

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  wanderer though I am, but answer my questions.

  STRANGER: Speak up, and you’ll not meet with scorn from me.

  OEDIPUS: What is this place in which we find ourselves?

  STRANGER: Listen, and you’ll know as much as I do.

  This whole region is sacred. It belongs

  to dread Poseidon;*3 the fire-bearing god,

  Titan Prometheus,*4 is also here. The ground

  you walk upon is called the bronze-stepped

  threshold of this land, bulwark of Athens,

  and the local people boast that this horseman (pointing to the statue),

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  Colonus,*5 settled them here, and claim they share

  that name in common with him, and are known by it.

  So it is, stranger—honored not in song

  but in the hearts of those who live here.

  OEDIPUS: There are people living in this place, then?

  STRANGER: Yes, certainly, those named for this god.*6

  OEDIPUS: Does someone rule them, or do they have a voice?

  STRANGER: They’re ruled by the king, from the city.

  OEDIPUS: Who is this king, who rules by word and might?

  STRANGER: Theseus, son of Aegeus, who ruled before him.

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  OEDIPUS: Can a messenger be sent from you to him?

  STRANGER: Why? To say or to ask something for you?

  OEDIPUS: To tell him “Small help may reap a big reward.”

  STRANGER: And what could he gain from one who can’t see?

  OEDIPUS: There will be sight in every word I say.

  STRANGER: Listen, stranger, for your own good.

  I see you are noble, though unlucky. Stay, then,

  right here, till I’ve gone and told all this

  to those who live here—not those in the city,

  for it’s the people here who will decide

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  if you’re to stay, or be on your way again.

  (Exit Stranger, to the right.)

  OEDIPUS: Has he gone, child, and left us to ourselves?

  ANTIGONE: He has, Father. Now you may say anything,

  and rest assured that only I will hear.

  OEDIPUS: (addressing the shrine of the Furies)

  O queens, dreadful to see, as yours

  is the place I’ve come to first in all this land,

  be not without feeling for me and Apollo

  who, when he gave me all those dread oracles,*7

  said this would be my respite in far time to come,

  when I would reach my destination, and find

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  the seat of the Awesome Goddesses,*8 and a haven,

  and bring my life of sorrows to an end.

  He said I’d be a blessing to those who welcomed me,

  a curse on those who drove me off;

  and signs would come, he said, confirming

  all of this—earthquake, or thunder, or Zeus’ lightning.

  I know now that no false omen from you

  brought me along this path, into this grove,

  for never, in my wandering, would I

  have met you first, I who drink no wine

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  and you who shun it;*9 I would not have sat

  upon this holy seat, that no tool has wrought.

  But, goddesses, fulfill Apollo’s words, grant me

  a passage now, an end to life, unless

  I seem beneath your notice, ever a slave

  to the worst labors mortals have to bear.

  Come, sweet daughters of ancient Darkness!

  Come, Athens, most honored of all cities,

  belonging, so they say, to mighty Pallas,*10

  pity this wretched shadow of the man

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  Oedipus—for this is not what I once was!

  ANTIGONE: Silence! Someone’s coming—men, advanced

  in years—to check on where you’ve taken refuge.

  OEDIPUS: I’ll be silent, and you, be sure to hide me

  in the grove, away from the road, until I’ve heard

  what they will say. Once we’ve learned that,

  we’ll have the means to act with caution.

  (Oedipus, led by Antigone, retires into the grove, out of sight. The Chorus enter from the right, chanting the parodos or entry song in lyric meters.)

  strophe 1

  CHORUS: Look! Who was he? Where is he now?

  Where has he run, out of this place, most

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  insolent of men—of all men!

  Go on, look, ask,

  inquire everywhere! A wanderer,

  the old man is a wanderer, not

  one of us, else he’d never

  have barged into this inviolable grove,

  sacred to these fearsome maidens.

  We tremble to name them,

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  we pass them by without a look,

  without a sound, moving our lips

  in silent prayer, without a word—

  but now we’re told someone has come

  who has no reverence at all!

  I’m scanning round about

  the sacred grove, but cannot

  find him: where is he?

  (Oedipus, led by Antigone, emerges from the grove and addresses the Chorus.)*11

  OEDIPUS: Here I am. I am he. I see by sound,

  as the saying goes.

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  CHORUS: iō, iō!—

  dreadful to see, dreadful to hear!

  OEDIPUS: Do not, I beg you, think me a criminal!

  CHORUS: Zeus, Protector, who is this old man?

  OEDIPUS: Not one with the choicest fate, not one

  that you’d call blest, O guardians of this place.

  You may see for yourselves: why else

  would I grope my way, and use

  another’s eyes, a full-grown man

  tied to so slight an anchor!

  antistrophe 1

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  CHORUS: Ah! Were your eyes blind

  even at birth? You’ve had a hard life

  and a long one, I reckon.

  But all the same, you shall not bring

  down these curses*12 on me! For you’re

  trespassing, trespassing!

  But now—before you stumble

  on the hushed, grassy

  grove where water swirls

  with streams of honey*13

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  in its mixing bowl—

  be careful! Step back,

  withdraw, there must be

  a great distance

  between you and there!

  Do you hear me, man of toils, wanderer?

  If you have something to tell me,

  leave that holy ground

  and speak where all are allowed

  to speak—but, till then, refrain!

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  OEDIPUS: Daughter, what should we think of doing?

  ANTIGONE: We must take care, Father, to do

  what they do, and yield and listen to them.

  OEDIPUS: Take my hand, now.

  ANTIG.: Here, I’m holding it.

  OEDIPUS: Strangers, may I not suffer wrong

  for trusting you, and leaving this grove behind.

  strophe 2

  CHORUS: No one will ever lead you, old man,

  against your will, away from this refuge.

  OEDIPUS: Is this far enough, then?

  CHOR.: Farther, come farther toward me.

  OEDIPUS: Farther still?

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  CHOR.: Lead him, girl, farther, toward me. I know you understand.

  ANTIGONE: Follow me, Father, this way,

  with blind steps, where I lead you

  […*14

  …

  …

  …]

  CHORUS: O sorrowful stranger in a strange land,

  have the heart to hate whatever
>
  the city hates, and to revere

  what she reveres.

  OEDIPUS: Bring me now, child, where

  we may step without sacrilege,

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  and speak and listen

  and not battle with necessity.

  antistrophe 2

  CHORUS: There! Turn your step no further

  than that ridge of native rock.

  OEDIPUS: Here?

  CHOR.: That’s enough, as I’ve said.

  OEDIPUS: May I sit?

  CHOR.: Yes, move to the side, on the edge of the stone, crouch down low.

  ANTIGONE: Father, this task is mine. Fit

  step to step—gently.

  OEDIPUS: iō moi moi!

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  ANTIGONE: Lean your aged body

  on my loving arm.

  OEDIPUS: ōmoi, the ruin, the madness!

  (Oedipus sits down.)

  CHORUS: Poor man, now that you’re at ease,

  tell us who you are—who,

  driven, laden with toil? What

  country would you say is yours?*15

  epode

  OEDIPUS: Strangers, I’m an exile. But don’t—

  CHORUS: What don’t you want to say, old man?

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  OEDIPUS: —don’t, don’t ask me who

  I am. Go no further with inquiries!

  CHORUS: But why?

  OED.: It’s terrible, my origin.

  CHORUS: Speak out!

  OEDIPUS: ōmoi, my child, what should I say?

  CHORUS: Of whose seed are you?

  Tell us, stranger: who is your father?

  OEDIPUS: ōmoi, what will become of me now, my child?

  CHORUS: Speak! You’re only a step away from it!

  OEDIPUS: Well, I shall. I have no means of hiding.

  CHORUS: Delaying again! Speak up, and quickly.

  OEDIPUS: Do you know of a son of Laius?

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  CHOR.: ō!

  OEDIPUS: Know of the Labdacid*16 family?

  CHOR.: ō, Zeus!

  OEDIPUS: Of miserable Oedipus?

  CHOR.: What? Are you he?

  OEDIPUS: Don’t take fright at what I say.

  CHORUS: iō! ō, ō!

  OED.: My evil fate!

  CHOR.: ō, ō!

  OEDIPUS: Daughter, what, what will happen now?

  CHORUS: Out of this land, out this moment!

  OEDIPUS: What of your promise? How will you keep it?

  CHORUS: There is no punishment for hurting

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  in return for hurt; deceit

  set against deceit

  repays with pain, not gratitude.

  But you—back, away from this refuge,

  on your way again, leave my land at once,

  lest you bring down on us

  some further calamity!*17

  ANTIGONE: O strangers, men of compassion,

  since you could not accept

  my aged father here, knowing

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  the tale of what he did without willing it,

  have pity on me at least, in my misery—

  I am your suppliant, strangers, I appeal

  to you on my suffering father’s behalf,

  appeal with eyes not blind, eyes

  fixed on yours, like one

  of your own flesh and blood: let the poor man

  meet with compassion! We the suffering

  are in your hands, as in a god’s. Come, say yes

  to a favor beyond our hopes!*18 Please, by all

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  that you hold dear at home—a child, a wife,

  a precious thing, a god.*19 Look everywhere

  but you will not find a mortal man

  who can escape when a god leads him on.

  (The parodos ends, and the meter returns to iambic trimeter.)

  CHORUS LEADER: You should know, child of Oedipus, we pity

  you as much as him, for his misfortune,

  but, since we fear the gods, we wouldn’t dare

  say more to you than we have said just now.

  OEDIPUS: What help, then, is there in glory

  or in a good name, if it’s just a name?

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  Athens, they say, is most reverent

  toward the gods, alone able to save,

  alone to aid the stranger in trouble—but what

  is that to me? Just now you lured me

  from my seat, and now you drive me away,

  afraid of my name, nothing more—not, for sure,

  of my person or my deeds. For you should know

  those deeds were suffered more than done by me.

  My parents (if I must bring them up)—they’re

  the reason you dread me so. That’s clear! And yet,

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  how am I myself evil, if I was repaying

  what was done to me? I wouldn’t be

  judged evil even if I’d acted knowingly!*20

  But I went where I went in ignorance, while those

  who tried to kill me knew what they were doing.*21

  And so, strangers, I beseech you, by the gods:

  as you’ve uprooted me, so must you save me

  and not, even in honoring the gods, act

  as if they’re blind! No; believe that they

  see those who are pious among men

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  and see those who are not, and that no

  impious man has ever yet escaped them.

  Accept their aid;*22 don’t shroud your blessed Athens

  by covering its glory in unholiness!

  Just as you’ve taken the suppliant

  under your pledge, save and protect me. Do not

  look on me with disdain, hard though I am

  to look at. For I come, sacred and reverent

  and as a boon for the people here.

  But when your lord, your leader, has arrived,

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  then will you hear and know all. But between

  now and then, do not do me any harm!

  CHORUS LEADER: We’ve many a reason, old man, to honor

  these arguments of yours. They’ve been put

  in words by no means unimpressive. All the same,

  I’ll let the lords of this land decide this matter.

  OEDIPUS: And where, friends, is the country’s ruler?

  CHORUS LEADER: In the land’s ancestral city. A messenger—

  the one who brought me here—has gone for him.

  OEDIPUS: Do you really think he’ll feel some interest

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  in a blind man, or care enough to come himself?

  CHORUS LEADER: Yes, surely, the moment he hears your name.

  OEDIPUS: And who will bring him word of that?

  CHORUS LEADER: It’s a long way, and the talk of travelers

  tends to circulate. Once he hears, he’ll come,

  you can be sure. Your name, old man, is huge,

  is everywhere, so even if he’s resting, tired,

  when he hears it’s you, he’ll come at once.

  OEDIPUS: Well, may he come with luck, for his city

  and for me. A good man is his own friend.*23

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  ANTIGONE: (looking offstage) Zeus! What shall I say? What does this mean, Father?

  OEDIPUS: What is it, my child?

  ANTIG.: I see a woman coming this way, riding an Aetnean colt*24

  and, on her head, a Thessalian hat*25

  with sun-shading brim circles her face.

  What am I saying?*26

  Is it she, or not? Are my wits still with me?

  I say yes, and no, and don’t know what to say.

  Poor fool,

  it’s no one else! Yes, the brightness in her eyes

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  as she approaches signals that

  she is no other than our dear Ismene!

  OEDIPUS: What do you mean?

  ANTIG.: I see your daughter,

  my sister!
Her voice makes it certain.

  (Ismene enters from the left, accompanied by a servant.)

  ISMENE: Father, sister—two names sweeter to me

  than any! How hard it’s been to find you,

  how hard to see you now, the pain it causes!

  OEDIPUS: Child, you’ve come?

  ISM.: Father, to see you like this!

  OEDIPUS: Child, you’re here?

  ISM.: Yes—exhausted, but here at last!

  OEDIPUS: Come, touch me, my daughter!

  ISM.: You and her together.

  OEDIPUS: Children, sisters!

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  ISM.: Misery, to live like this!

  OEDIPUS: She and I?

  ISM.: And I—the three of us.

  OEDIPUS: Child, why have you come?

  ISM.: For your sake, Father.

  OEDIPUS: Eager to see me?

  ISM.: Yes, and to report the news in person,

  with the one servant I could trust.

  OEDIPUS: Where are your brothers? No help from them?

  ISMENE: They are—where they are. Things are bad between them now.

  OEDIPUS: Those two! How like Egyptians

  they’ve become, down to their bones, the very

  lives they live. For in Egypt the men sit

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  at home, working the loom while the women

  toil for a living outside the house.*27 So they,

  who should be shouldering these burdens,

  are keeping house instead, like girls,

  while you, my daughters, in their place,

  take my sorrows on yourselves. She (gesturing toward Antigone),

  from the time she outgrew a child’s nurture

  and had the strength, has roamed, poor thing,

  ever at my side, guiding me in my old age.

  Wandering the wild woods, hungry, barefoot,

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  struggling, often, in the rain, in the sun’s heat,

  she thought life at home worth less

  than seeing that her father’s needs were met.

  (turning toward Ismene) And you, my child, came to my aid and brought me,

  unknown to the Thebans, all the oracles

  decreed about me, and loyally kept watch

  when I was driven from the land.

  But now, Ismene, what news have you brought

  your father? What mission rouses you from home?

  You’ve come for some purpose—of that

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  I’m sure. It’s not, I hope, some cause of dread?

  ISMENE: I’ll pass over and leave aside the ordeals

  I’ve endured myself, searching for where

  you might be living. Why suffer twice, telling

  over now the pains I went through then?

  I’ve come to tell you of the evils that are

  just now besetting your two sons.

  They had agreed to leave the throne to Creon*28

 

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