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The Oedipus Cycle: Oedipus Rex/Oedipus at Colonus/Antigone

Page 22

by Sophocles


  living in the house of Atreus,

  ruling this kingdom, enjoying

  the company of those living with me now.

  Spare the offspring who don’t hate me.

  Lose those who blame their pain on me.

  Hear me, Wolfkiller Apollo. 750

  Grant me all that I pray for.

  Other matters that concern me,

  must, since you are a god,

  be on your mind, even if I

  don’t mention them at all.

  Surely a son of Zeus

  sees everything there is.

  The ELDER enters from stage left where he has quietly waited.

  ELDER

  Ladies, please help a stranger

  who’d like to know if this palace

  belongs to your ruler, Aegisthus. 760

  KLYTEMNESTRA

  It does, stranger. You’ve guessed right.

  ELDER

  And I imagine this lady is . . .

  his wife? She looks like a queen.

  LEADER

  That she does. You’re in the presence.

  ELDER

  Greetings, my lady. I have sweet news

  for you and Aegisthus. From a friend.

  KLYTEMNESTRA

  I’ll take that as a good omen.

  But first, tell me who sent you.

  ELDER

  Phantíus the Phokaian.

  On a vital matter. 770

  KLYTEMNESTRA

  How vital, sir? Let’s hear it. Since

  it comes from a man we admire

  I’m sure we’ll like his news.

  ELDER

  Orestes is dead. That’s my news.

  ELEKTRA

  I’m devastated. Today I die!

  KLYTEMNESTRA

  What, stranger? What!!

  Don’t listen to that one.

  ELDER

  I’ll repeat what I said. Your son’s dead.

  ELEKTRA

  Then I am. I don’t exist.

  KLYTEMNESTRA

  (to ELEKTRA)

  Then go bury yourself! Stranger, 780

  tell me exactly how he died.

  ELDER

  That’s why I’m here. To tell it all.

  Orestes had just come into the stadium—

  intent on competing in the most high-stakes

  athletic games in Greece, those at Delphi—

  when he heard a man bellowing

  that the sprint was about to start.

  It’s always the games’ first event.

  So Orestes steps to the starting line

  on fire, impressing the onlookers. 790

  He led the pack from start to finish,

  walking off with the laurel crown.

  I’ll skip most of it, there’s so much

  to tell: nobody matched this man

  in what he did and what he won.

  In each event the marshals staged

  he took the laurels every time—

  sprints, middle distances, pentathlon.

  People assumed he had uncanny luck.

  Time after time the herald boomed out: 800

  “Orestes the Argive, born

  to Agamemnon, who marshaled

  once the armed might of Greece!”

  So far, so good. But when a god

  takes you down, not even a great

  strong man escapes. There came the day

  for chariots to race at dawn.

  He joined a crack field of drivers.

  First on the track was an Achaean,

  then a Spartan. Two expert drivers 810

  up from Libya. Next Orestes

  with mares from Thessaly,

  the fifth team to join the parade.

  The sixth entry, an Aetolian,

  drove chestnut colts. A Magnesian

  was seventh, and eighth to appear

  came four white Aenian stallions.

  The ninth team was from the godbuilt

  city, Athens, and one last entry,

  the tenth, was out of Boeotia. 820

  All teams were settled into lanes

  the race stewards had drawn by lot,

  the trumpet blared, and they took off,

  urging their horses on, shaking

  their reins in their fists, the stadium

  resounding with chariot racket,

  each trailing a plume of dust, cutting

  each other off in mass confusion,

  slashing their horses’ backs without

  mercy, each driver determined 830

  to overtake the wheels, the snorting

  horses of his competitors—

  wet gusts of the horses’ foaming breath

  drenching their backs and churning wheels.

  Orestes cut the pillars close

  at both ends of the race course—

  as his wheels grazed by the posts

  he slackened the outside horse’s reins,

  pulling back hard on the inside left-

  hand horse. Till now all chariots 840

  had managed to avoid over-

  turning, but the Aenian’s stiff-

  mouthed three-year-olds bolted sideways,

  swerving into the seventh team’s path,

  butting heads with the Barkarian’s

  stallions. Other sideswipes followed,

  smashup on smashup, crash after

  crash, clotting the entire track

  with tangled wreckage of race cars.

  Reacting quickly, the skittish 850

  Athenian pulled his horses off

  to one side and slowed, allowing

  the surge of chariots to pass him.

  Orestes too laid off the pace,

  in last place, trusting his stretch run.

  But when he saw the Athenian,

  his only rival, still upright, he whistled

  shrilly in the ears of his fast fillies

  to give chase. The teams drew even,

  first one man’s head edging in front, 860

  then the other’s, as they raced on.

  Till now Orestes had gone clean

  through every circuit of the track,

  rock solid in his well-built car,

  but then, as he loosened the right rein

  going into a turn, his left wheel

  caught the post, breaking the axle

  box open, throwing him over

  the chariot rail, snared in the reins,

  smashing the ground as his mares spooked 870

  across the infield of the racetrack.

  When the crowd saw that he’d been thrown

  it gasped in pity for the brave lad

  so suddenly, hideously doomed,

  gouging earth, feet kicking at sky,

  till the other charioteers,

  fighting their runaway horses

  to a standstill, cut him loose, so

  soaked in blood no friend who knew him

  whole would know his disfigured corpse. 880

  They burned him on a pyre right there,

  right then. Picked men from Phokis

  are transporting what’s left of him

  in a small urn—the sorry dust

  and ashes of that mighty

  physique. So that his home country

  can see to his worthy burial.

  CHORUS

  (with emotional murmuring)

  Our ancient rulers are wiped out—

  their roots, their limbs, wiped out.

  KLYTEMNESTRA

  O Zeus! What has happened? 890

  Can I say—it’s good news?

  Or horrible—yet a blessing?

  It’s so harsh—that a calamity

  makes my life safe.

  ELDER

  Why does my news depress you, woman?

  KLYTEMNESTRA

  It is so very strange, birthing a child.

  Even when a child betrays you,

  you can’t make yourself hate him.

  ELDER
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  Then it seems I’ve come here for nothing.

  KLYTEMNESTRA

  Not for nothing. How can you say that 900

  when you’ve brought proof he’s dead—

  the boy who got his life from my

  life, sucked my milk, yet he deserted me,

  went into exile! He’s a stranger now.

  Having left his homeland, he never

  saw me again, but kept on blaming me

  for killing his father. He swore

  he’d do something terrible to me.

  Those threats keep me awake, night

  and day. Sleep never shuts my eyes. 1000

  I’ve been forced to live out my life

  thinking any moment I could die.

  But now it’s gone, my fear of him,

  and of this girl who’s worse—living

  inside my house, leeching my lifeblood.

  Now that her threats are dead, I’m at peace.

  ELEKTRA

  Yes, I’m finished. But free to grieve

  the crash that killed you, Brother,

  while your mother condemns you.

  Orestes—aren’t I better off? 1010

  KLYTEMNESTRA

  No, you’re not. Yet. He’s better off.

  ELEKTRA

  Listen, Nemesis! How she respects the dead!

  KLYTEMNESTRA

  Nemesis heard both of us out!

  She came to the right conclusion.

  ELEKTRA

  Go ahead, sneer. Your great moment.

  KLYTEMNESTRA

  Won’t you and Orestes shut me up?

  ELEKTRA

  We’re the ones shut up! How can we silence you?

  KLYTEMNESTRA

  (turning to ELDER)

  We’d owe you a great deal, my man,

  if you’ve finally put a stop

  to that jarring clamor of hers. 1020

  ELDER

  Then may I leave? If all is well?

  KLYTEMNESTRA

  Certainly not! We haven’t shown

  proper appreciation, to either you

  or to our good friend who sent you.

  Come inside. We’ll leave her out here

  crying for herself and her dear departed.

  KLYTEMNESTRA and the ELDER enter the palace.

  ELEKTRA

  What do you think of that? What a mother!

  Heartbroken, grief-stricken—an

  awesome display of maternal

  feeling for a son’s ghastly death.

  She tosses off a snide slur 1030

  as she takes her leave. Makes me sick.

  Orestes, your death kills me too.

  You’ve stolen my last hope—

  that you’d come back, avenge

  your father and what’s left of me.

  Now I have nobody. I’m alone.

  As bereft of you as of Father.

  I’ll go back to being enslaved

  by people I despise. His murderers.

  Aren’t things fine with me now? 1040

  (stares at the great doors to the palace)

  I won’t cross that threshold ever—

  to live with them. I’ll rough it here

  next to the gate. A dried-up crone,

  I’ll have no friends. I won’t care

  how I look. And if those

  inside don’t like it, they can do me

  a favor and kill me. Life now

  will be torture. I don’t want it.

  LEADER

  Why no lightning from Zeus?

  Where is the Sun, if he can look at this— 1050

  and pretend it’s not happening?

  ELEKTRA

  (whispering, then quietly sobbing)

  Yes! Where are They? Where?

  LEADER

  Daughter? Why the tears?

  ELEKTRA

  (now raises her hands at the heavens and screams)

  Curse you!

  LEADER

  Don’t scream at Them!

  ELEKTRA

  You’ll kill me.

  LEADER

  For doing what?

  ELEKTRA

  If you tell me to keep on

  hoping the dead in Hades

  can still help me, you’ll crush

  me further—when I’m 1060

  already heartbroken.

  LEADER

  I was thinking of Amphiaraos—whose wife,

  bribed with a golden necklace,

  convinced him to start the war

  that got him killed—yet now

  in the world below . . .

  ELEKTRA

  No! Don’t do this.

  LEADER

  . . . he still lords it there,

  his mind robust as ever.

  ELEKTRA

  (lifting her fists and glaring again at the skies)

  Aaagggh! 1070

  LEADER

  (also looking at the sky)

  Aaagggh indeed. For that murderess—at least they killed . . .

  ELEKTRA

  . . . the killer!

  LEADER

  Her. Yes.

  ELEKTRA

  I know! I know that! Those bereaved

  people had an avenger!

  But who will my avenger be?

  The only one I ever had

  is dead, and lost to me.

  LEADER

  You. Your life. Defenseless.

  ELEKTRA

  I know that. Only too well. 1080

  Month after month my life’s

  a raging flood that keeps

  churning up horror after horror.

  LEADER

  We watched while it happened.

  ELEKTRA

  Then stop trying to distract me,

  when I . . .

  LEADER

  When you what?

  ELEKTRA

  . . . no longer have the slightest hope

  my royal brother can save me.

  LEADER

  Everyone alive has a death date. 1090

  ELEKTRA

  To die like my doomed brother? Tangled in leather,

  dragged under the bone-crushing hooves of horses?

  LEADER

  So cruel it’s beyond comprehension.

  ELEKTRA

  Beyond mine. So far from

  my loving hands I couldn’t . . .

  LEADER

  But who could?

  ELEKTRA

  . . . ready his body for the fire,

  bury him, cry over him.

  Enter CHRYSÒTHEMIS, out of breath, from Agamemnon’s tomb.

  CHRYSÒTHEMIS

  I’m so elated, sister—my feet flew— 1100

  it isn’t ladylike, I know,

  to race here so fast. But I’ve got

  great news. Your past troubles,

  your grieving? Over. Done with!

  ELEKTRA

  How could you have found a cure

  for my suffering? I can’t imagine.

  CHRYSÒTHEMIS

  (still speaking in bursts)

  Orestes! Here. He’s alive.

  As I am. Here. Now!

  ELEKTRA

  Are you out of your mind, girl?

  Making fun of my pain? And yours? 1110

  CHRYSÒTHEMIS

  I swear by our father’s hearthstone.

  I’m not joking. I’m telling you he’s here.

  ELEKTRA

  Oh my. You innocent. Where did you

  get such a story? You believed it?

  CHRYSÒTHEMIS

  I believe it because my eyes saw it!

  I didn’t get it from anyone.

  ELEKTRA

  You’re so naïve! Where’s your proof?

  What did you see that has you red-faced,

  as if you’d caught some deadly fever?

  CHRYSÒTHEMIS

  For god’s sake, listen, please. 1120

  Hear me out. Then decide

  how “naïve” I am, or not.

  ELE
KTRA

  Go ahead. Talk. If it makes you happy.

  CHRYSÒTHEMIS

  All right, I’ll tell you everything I saw.

  As I walked toward Father’s ancient

  grave site, on top of the mound I saw

  fresh milk running down it, his urn

  decorated with all kinds of blossoms.

  I was stunned. I looked to see

  if anybody was around anywhere, 1130

  but no. It was very quiet.

  I got closer to the tomb. So help me,

  there, on its edge, was a swatch of hair.

  That instant my breath caught,

  I flashed on the face I most loved—

  I knew it was his hair,

  a signal from Orestes that he’s back!

  I cupped it in my hands, careful

  not to say anything unlucky.

  Right away my joystruck eyes 1140

  teared up. I’m sure now, just as I

  was then: that hair was his hair.

  Who else would have, could have

  left it? Except us. It wasn’t me.

  How could it be you? You can’t leave

  the house, not even for prayers,

  without great risk. As for Mother,

  she wouldn’t do such a thing.

  She couldn’t have done it. We’d’ve known.

  No, the hair left in tribute at the tomb 1150

  could only be Orestes’ doing.

  Look up, sister, show some spirit!

  Nobody’s luck is always rotten.

  Ours was horrific once. Maybe today

  will show us it’s getting better.

  ELEKTRA

  While you spoke, all I could

  feel was pity for you.

  CHRYSÒTHEMIS

  What’s wrong? Why didn’t my news thrill you?

  ELEKTRA

  You’ve wandered clear out of this world.

  CHRYSÒTHEMIS

  How could I mistake what I just saw?

  ELEKTRA

  Our brother’s dead. There’s no chance

  he’ll come save us. Don’t hope he will. 1160

  CHRYSÒTHEMIS

  Ohhh! Whoever told you that?

  ELEKTRA

  The man who saw him die.

  CHRYSÒTHEMIS

  Where is this person? My mind’s reeling.

  ELEKTRA

  Inside. Mother’s giving him a warm welcome.

  CHRYSOTHEMIS

  Then who put all those tributes on the tomb?

  ELEKTRA

  Someone who wanted to honor

  Orestes, now that he’s dead.

  CHRYSÒTHEMIS

 

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