Delphi Complete Poetry and Plays of W. B. Yeats (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series)

by W. B. Yeats

  CHORUS. King, he is a good man though under a curse, and worthy of our help.

  THESEUS. Enough of words; the doers of the wrong are in flight and we do nothing.

  CREON. Well, what would you have me do? I am in your power.

  THESEUS. Bring me to the girls if near at hand, put me upon their track if your men have carried them away. They will never cross the border. Come, set out, for the robber has been robbed and the hunter taken in the net. I will see to it that no accomplice helps you. I am very certain that you would never have dared to commit this outrage without some treachery among my people. If you have any wits you will pay more attention to my words than you paid to the warnings these others spoke a while back.

  CREON. You are in your own country, say what you will, but when I get home to mine I shall know how to act.

  THESEUS. Threaten if you have a fancy for it, but set out. Oedipus, stay here in peace, be satisfied with this pledge: I shall bring those children or die attempting it.

  OEDIPUS. May Heaven reward you, Theseus, for you are a noble and faithful man.

  [Theseus, Creon, and attendants go out.

  CHORUS.

  Would I were there when they turn and Theban robbers face,

  Amid the brazen roar of shields, Colonus in chase;

  Whether by the Pythian strand, or further away to the west

  Where immortal spirits reveal the life of the blessed

  To the living man that has sworn to let none living know;

  Or it may be north and west amid Oea’s desolate snow.

  No matter how steep the climb Colonus follows the track;

  No matter how loose the rein Theseus rides at their back;

  And the captives turn in the saddle, turn their heads at his call.

  Swords upon brazen shields and brazen helmets fall.

  Creon is captured or slain, many are captured or slain.

  Terrible the men of Colonus, terrible Theseus’ men.

  O glitter of bridle and bit; O lads in company

  To the son of Rhea that rides upon the horses of the sea

  Vowed, and to the Goddess Pallas Athena vowed!

  O that I had seen it all mounted upon a cloud!

  0 — O — that I had run thither, a bird upon the wind!

  1 — I have but imagined it all, seen it in the eye of the mind,

  And cannot know what happened for all the words I say,

  And therefore to God’s daughter Pallas Athena pray

  To bring the lads and the horses and the luckless ladies home,

  And when that prayer is finished that a double blessing come

  From the running ground of the deer, from the mountain land to this,

  Pray to the brother and sister, Apollo and Artemis.

  CHORUS. I have not raised false hopes. The men return with your daughters in the midst of them.

  OEDIPUS. Where? Where? What is that you say?

  Enter Antigone, Ismene, Theseus, and attendants

  ANTIGONE. O father, father! that God would restore your sight that you might see how noble a man stands there!

  OEDIPUS. My child, so you have come back to me.

  ANTIGONE. Yes, thanks to the strong arms of Theseus and his men.

  OEDIPUS. Come to me, children; let me embrace you. I never thought to have touched you with my hands again.

  ANTIGONE. We come, for we too long to embrace you.

  OEDIPUS. Where are you?

  ANTIGONE. Here, approaching you together.

  OEDIPUS. My darlings — props of my old age.

  ANTIGONE. We three are under the same curse.

  OEDIPUS. I draw my darlings to me, and now should I die I shall not be altogether wretched since you have come to me again. Come closer on either side, children; cling to your father; rest, for you are tired out after all that has happened. Tell me of it all; but no, you are young girls and so afraid to speak before such a crowd as this.

  ANTIGONE. There is nothing we need say, for our deliverer is there, and he can tell you all.

  OEDIPUS. DO not wonder, sir, that I have so much to say to these children lost and found when hope itself seemed lost. I have not forgotten that by you and you alone were they rescued. May the

  Gods give you all the good that I wish, give it to you and to this land, for through you and through you alone, and here alone, here in this one place out of the whole world, have I found truth and piety and justice, and I have nothing to give you in return but words. Stretch out your hand towards me that I may take it in mine and kiss you upon the cheek. But what am I saying? I am miserable and sinful and polluted. I would not have you touch me; no, no, I dare not permit it even if you would. No one may touch me but those that lie under the same curse. Take my greeting there where you stand, and be as favourable in the future as in this hour.

  THESEUS. What more natural than to dwell upon your joy and speak of it to these children; what more natural than to think of these before you thought of me? My fame comes from what I do and not from the words of any man. Your daughters are there; I have carried out my promise, old man, and all those threats came to nothing; they will tell you all in good time, for I will tell no tale and make no boast. But as I returned here something happened that I must speak of and get your advice about, for though no great matter in itself I do not know what it may mean.

  OEDIPUS. What is it, son of Aegeus? For I have heard nothing of it.

  THESEUS. When the noise of the quarrel with Creon reached me I was sacrificing at the altar of Poseidon, and as I brought your daughters hither I passed that altar and there I found a man who was, they told me, a kinsman of yours, though not your countryman.

  OEDIPUS. Of what country? What does he want?

  THESEUS. I know nothing but this one thing: he wants to speak with you, but as he promises to be brief it will not trouble you much.

  OEDIPUS. What brings him? A man does not go to the altar of Poseidon about nothing.

  THESEUS. All that he has asked of the God is that he may speak with you and return home uninjured.

  OEDIPUS. But who can this man be?

  THESEUS. He is of Argos. Have you a kinsman there?

  OEDIPUS. DO not plead for that man, King.

  THESEUS. What ails you?

  OEDIPUS. DO not ask me.

  THESEUS. Ask what?

  OEDIPUS. I know that suppliant.

  THESEUS. But what has he done that I should not plead for him?

  OEDIPUS. My son, the hateful son whose voice would vex me more than that of any living man.

  THESEUS. Are you afraid that he will persuade you to something against your will? It can do you no harm to hear what he has to say.

  OEDIPUS. The voice of that son is hateful to his father; do not compel me to give way.

  THESEUS. Remember that he is a suppliant to the God and that you have a duty to the God.

  ANTIGONE. Father, let me speak, though I am too young to advise anyone. Do what the King asks, seeing that he asks it for his own sake and that of the God, and let my brother come. He cannot force you to anything against your will, nor will he be able to deceive you. It is far more likely that he will betray his own foolish plan. What harm, therefore, can come of hearing what he has to say? You are his father, and no matter what wrongs he may do against you, you must not wrong him in return. Let him come. Other men have been driven to anger by evil children and have been none the worse when friends have talked away their anger. Turn your eyes from the present moment; think of all the evils that have come upon you through your own father and mother; think what you did in your anger against your own father and against your own sight. What good ever came of intemperate anger? Give way because we all ask it of you. It is not right to receive a favour and give nothing in return, nor to keep a suppliant waiting.

  OEDIPUS. What you have asked goes bitterly against the grain, my child, but let it be as you will. But promise me this, my friend, that if this man comes hither neither he nor any other shall be put over me as a m
aster.

  THESEUS. NO need to ask that, old man. I will not boast, but you may be certain that while God keeps me in the world no man shall be put over you as a master.

  [Theseus goes out.

  CHORUS.

  Endure what life God gives and ask no longer span;

  Cease to remember the delights of youth, travel-wearied aged man;

  Delight becomes death-longing if all longing else be vain.

  Even from that delight memory treasures so,

  Death, despair, division of families, all entanglements of mankind grow,

  As that old wandering beggar and these God-hated children know.

  In the long echoing street the laughing dancers throng,

  The bride is carried to the bridegroom’s chamber through torchlight and tumultuous song;

  I celebrate the silent kiss that ends short life or long.

  Never to have lived is best, ancient writers say;

  Never to have drawn the breath of life, never to have looked into the eye of day;

  The second best’s a gay goodnight and quickly turn away.

  ANTIGONE. Father, I can see the suppliant coming, a man without attendants, the tears pouring from his eyes.

  OEDIPUS. Who is he?

  ANTIGONE. The man who was in your thoughts from the first — Polyneices.

  Polyneices enters

  POLYNEICES. What shall I do or say? Must I mourn first for my own sorrow or first for my father, for that man there, that man lost among strangers, you two his only friends, his eyeballs blind, his clothing in squalid rags, his hair tossed by the wind, and his food — Heaven knows what scraps — in that old wallet. That is how I find him. I know now — now that it is too late — that I have proved myself, father, by neglect of you, the basest of living men. I proclaim it aloud, admit all that I am. And yet Mercy is the Queen of Heaven, and wherever God goes Mercy goes at His side, and that emboldens me to pray that she may stand at your side also. I have committed a great wrong, and yet all may be set right again. [A pause.] Why do you keep silent? Speak, father: do not turn away; will you not even answer? Will you drive me away with a contempt so great that you will not even explain why you are angry? Do what you can, sisters, to make our father speak to me; persuade him not to drive me away without even an answer.

  Remind him that I have come from the altar of the God.

  ANTIGONE. Say why you come, my unhappy brother, for words full of emotion, joy, anger, tenderness, whatever it is, can move a dumb man and make him speak.

  POLYNEICES. I will tell everything — you have given me good advice; but first put myself under the God’s protection. The King of this country brought me from the altar and promised that I should say whatever I had to say and suffer no wrong thereby, and I appeal to those here, to those who are strangers, and to my father and to my sisters, not to dishonour the King’s word. And now, father, I will say what brings me here. I have been driven into exile, driven out of my own country, because being your eldest son I had claimed the throne. Eteocles, though younger than I, drove me into exile, though he neither worsted me in battle nor won the people from me by any sound argument. His cajolery and intrigue prevailed against me because of the curse that is upon your house; so at least do I think, and so I have been told by the oracle. And I am the more certain because when I reached Argos all went well.

  I married the daughter of Adrastus, lately King there, gathered about me seven companies of spearmen, and all the men most famous in war, and all sworn to die or drive out my enemies. But why have I come? I come to entreat you, father, in my own name and in that of my allies. Seven leaders, each with his troop of spearmen, gathering against Thebes. Amphiaraus, incomparable in war and divination alike; Tydeus the Aetolian; Eteoclus of Argos; Hippomedon, sent by Talaos his father; Capaneus, who boasts that he will burn Thebes to the ground; Parthenopaeus of

  Arcadia, son of Atalanta; and last of the seven, I, the son of Oedipus, but no, not his, but son of an accursed destiny. We seven who beleaguer Thebes and lead the men of Argos implore, pray, and beseech you. Remember your own children, remember your own exile, and turn away your anger. Do not let your anger follow when I march against the brother who has driven me out and stolen my inheritance. For victory, if truth be in the oracles, shall be with that party that you favour, and upon whatever side you claim to be your own. So by the Gods and by the founders of our race, I ask that you favour our party and our side. I too am a beggar and an exile — you and I eat the bread of strangers, and share a common doom, while he reigns as King, and strutting in our house mocks us both alike. With you to help, I shall conquer without toil or delay, and thereupon, my brother driven out, establish myself upon the throne and you in your own house once more. Favour our party, all shall be accomplished, but if you do not I shall not even return alive.

  CHORUS. Remember the man that brought him hither, Oedipus; say something, speak, speak to your son before you send him away.

  OEDIPUS. If I did not remember that Theseus brought him and begged me to speak, I would not speak a word. But now he shall hear words that shall bring no comfort to his heart, and after that let him be gone. Villain, when you had the throne that your brother has taken, when you had the sceptre in your own hand, you drove me into exile, you made me a nationless man, aye, clapped these rags upon my back. And now that you are driven out in your turn you cannot look upon these rags without tears, but the time for tears is past. I bear my burden while I live, and while I live think you my murderer, for it was you that sent me wandering and begging for my bread. And but for these, these daughters, my nurses and preservers, these girls that have the strength of a man, I had been dead by now. But you and your brother are strangers and no sons of mine. Therefore the eye of God has seen you; punishment has begun, but it shall not ruin you utterly until your army marches upon Thebes. You shall not overthrow that city. No, but you shall fall and your brother fall, each drowned in the other’s blood. I have called down that curse upon you, and now I call upon God that you may learn before your death what it is to mock a blind father. These are good, they are different, altogether different. But you, throne and supplication alike, are in the power of my curse, if indeed God’s justice exists and his eternal law. Begone with my abhorrence, son that I have made no son, vilest of the vile, begone, orphan, begone, carry my curses away — all that I have called down upon your head. Never shall you vanquish your own country, your own kin, never shall you return to Argos among its hills, but find your death at the hand of kin and kill the man that gives that death, aye, kill the brother that drove you out of Thebes. And I call on the ancestral

  Night, I, the blind man, to gather you into itself, I call upon the spirits of this place and I call upon that power that has put such fearful hatred between brother and brother, I call upon the destroying God himself. Go, carry away these words in your ears; publish them abroad that the men of Thebes and your faithful allies may know that Oedipus pays as much honour to the one son as to the other.

  CHORUS. Get you gone: as I do not approve of your plottings I cannot wish you good luck.

  POLYNEICES. I mourn for my lost hope and for my useless journey, and I mourn for my comrades. What an end to all our plans; little did we think it when we marched from Argos. Misery, misery; such an end that I dare not speak of it to any, but must go in silence to this doom. Promise, you who are my sisters though his daughters, that if our father’s curses be fulfilled, and if you be recalled to Thebes, you will give me fitting burial. Promise that my body suffer no dishonour; be praised among men for a double service — that done to a father, that done to a brother.

  ANTIGONE. One thing I entreat of you, Polyneices.

  POLYNEICES. What is it, dear Antigone?

  ANTIGONE. Order your army back to Argos. Do not destroy yourself and Thebes.

  POLYNEICES. NO, it is impossible; I never could lead that army again once it were known that I had blenched.

  ANTIGONE. SO you would lead it again — why rage against Thebe
s? If you destroy your native city at last, how will you be the better?

  POLYNEICES. It is shameful to be an exile, an elder brother mocked at by a younger.

  ANTIGONE. Then it is you that make all certain, you that bring about the fulfilment of his prophecies, the killing of a brother by a brother.

  POLYNEICES. Yes, that is what he wants, but I must not yield.

  ANTIGONE. Alas! Alas! But who dare follow you when he has heard the prophecy?

  POLYNEICES. He will never hear it; no good leader brings bad news.

  ANTIGONE. SO, then, my brother, your decision is taken?

  POLYNEICES. Yes, taken. Do not delay me further. Henceforth I run my race followed by demons and my father’s curse; but I call down God’s blessing upon you, my sister, if after my death you do my will, for while I live I am beyond your help. Take away your arms. Good-bye, sisters, for never will you look again upon my living body.

  ANTIGONE. Alas!

  POLYNEICES. DO not mourn for me.

  ANTIGONE. Who would not mourn you, brother, hurrying away to a foreknown death?

  POLYNEICES. How can I help it if I am fated to die?