Three Theban Plays, The

OEDIPUS AT COLONUS

OEDIPUS
formerly king of Thebes

ANTIGONE
his daughter

A CITIZEN
of Colonus

A CHORUS
of old citizens of Colonus and their LEADER

ISMENE
daughter of Oedipus, sister of Antigone

THESEUS
king of Athens

CREON
king of Thebes, brother-in-law of Oedipus

P0LYNICES
son of Oedipus, brother of Antigone and Ismene

Guards and attendants of Theseus and bodyguard of Creon

TIME AND SCENE: The grove of the Furies at Colonus looms in the background, while Athens lies in the distance to the right. Immediately to the right rises an heroic statue of a horseman; to the left, a rocky ledge overshadowed by the woods. A larger outcropping of rock stands in the foreground, with a stone altar at the center of the stage.

Several years have passed since OEDIPUS was expelled from Thebes. He enters from the left—the direction of that city—a broken, blind old man in filthy rags, led by a young woman, his daughter ANTIGONE.

My child, child of the blind old man—Antigone,
where are we now? What land, what city of men?
Who will receive the wandering Oedipus today?
Not with gifts but a pittance ... it’s little I ask
and get still less, but quite enough for me.
Acceptance—that is the great lesson suffering teaches,
suffering and the long years, my close companions,
yes, and nobility too, my royal birthright.

Child, look, do you see some place to rest?
Public grounds or groves reserved for the gods?
Give me your arm and sit me down—
we must find out where we are. We have come
to learn from the citizens, strangers from citizens,
and carry out their wishes to the end.

Father, old and broken Oedipus, the towers
crowning the city, so far as I can see,
are still a good way off, but this is holy ground,
you can sense it clearly. Why, it’s bursting
with laurel, olives, grapes, and deep in its heart,
listen ... nightingales, the rustle of wings—
they’re breaking into song.

Here, bend a knee and sit.
It’s a rough rock, father, but then for an old man
you have come a long hard way from home.

Then sit me down, watch over the blind man.

No need to teach me that, not after all these years.

Helping him to sit on the rocky ledge just beside the grove.

Now, dear, can you tell me where we are?

The city is Athens, that I know, but not this place.

Of course it’s Athens—
the roads are crowded with people telling us of Athens.

Very well, you want me to leave you here alone
and go and find its name?

Please, child,
if anyone really lives here.

Oh there’s life, all right.
No need to leave you—there’s a man, near us—
I can see him.

A CITIZEN of Colonus approaches from the right,

Where?
Coming toward us, already on his way?

No, he’s here. Whatever you think is best,
say it now, the man’s right here.

Friend, my daughter sees for the both of us ...
she says you’ve come to find out who we are,
and lucky for us too: you can explain some things,
give us some light—

Stop!
No more questions, not till you leave that seat!
Get up—it’s holy ground, you mustn’t walk on it.

What is this ground? What god is worshiped here?

It’s untouchable, forbidden—no one lives here.
The Terrible Goddesses hold it for themselves,
the Daughters of Earth, Daughters of the Darkness.

Who?
Tell me their awesome names so I can pray to them.

The Ones who watch the world, the Kindly Ones,
the Eumenides—that’s what people call them here.
In other places other names are proper.

Oh—
then let them receive their suppliant with kindness!
I shall never leave my place in this new land,
this is my refuge!

What do you mean?

This is the sign, the pact that seals my fate.

Well I, for one, I’d never roust you from your seat.
I wouldn’t dare, not without orders from the city,
not till I report what I am doing.

Turns to leave.

For the love of god,
stranger, don’t refuse me, vagabond that I am—
I beg you, tell me what I need to know.

Speak up. I won’t refuse you, you’ll see.

Tell me,
what is this place where we have set our feet?

Whatever I know, you’ll learn it all from me.
All that lies before you is hallowed ground.
The dread lord Poseidon holds it in his hands,
and another power lifts his torch nearby, the Titan,
Prometheus, and the spot you’re standing on
is called the Brazen Threshold of this earth,
the holy bulwark of Athens.
And the rich, bordering plowlands claim Colonus,
that horseman there,

Pointing to the heroic statue.

their founding father.
His name lives on in us—it is our heritage:
all his people carry on his name.
So that,
you see, is the spirit of the place, old stranger,
not much honored in legends, more in the hearts
of us who live here, love it well.

So,
there are people really living on these lands?

Yes indeed, all of us named for that hero there.

Do you have a king or a common public voice?

A king in the city governs all these parts.

And who is he? Who holds the reins of power and speech?

Theseus—we call him Theseus, the son of Aegeus,
the king who came before him.

Please,
could a messenger, one of your people go to him?

Why? To give him news or bring him here?

Simply tell him this:
with a small service he may gain a great deal.

And what’s there to gain from a man who cannot see?

Whatever I say, there will be great vision
in every word I say.

Listen, friend,
you keep out of danger now, you hear me?
You’ve noble blood, I can see that,
your hard luck aside.
You stay here, just where you appeared,
till I go and tell our people what you say—
our neighbors, not in the town but here.
They’ll do the deciding for you, whether
you’re going to stay or you’ll be moving on.

Dear, is the stranger gone?

Gone.
Say what you want to say, father,
all’s quiet—only I am here.

Reaching out his hands in prayer.

You queens of terror, faces filled with dread!
Since yours is the first holy ground
where I’ve sat down to rest in this new land,
I beg you, don’t be harsh to Apollo, harsh to me.
When the god cried out those lifelong prophecies of doom
he spoke of this as well, my promised rest
after hard years weathered—
I will reach my goal, he said, my haven
where I find the grounds of the Awesome Goddesses
and make their home my home. There I will round
the last turn in the torment of my life:
a blessing to the hosts I live among,
disaster to those who sent me, drove me out!
And he warned me signs of all these things will come
in earthquake, thunder perhaps, or the flashing bolt of Zeus.

And now I know it, now some omen from you, my queens,
some bird on the wing that fills my heart with faith
has led my slow steps home to your green grove.
Yes, how else could you be the first I’ve met
in all the roads I’ve traveled?—you and I,
ascetic and sober, we who drink no wine—
or found this solemn seat, this raw unhewn rock?

Now, goddesses, just as Apollo’s voice foretold,
grant my life at last some final passage,
some great consummation at the end.
Unless—who knows?—I am beneath your dignity,
slave as I am to the worst relentless pains
that ever plagued a man. Come, hear my prayer,
you sweet daughters born of primeval Darkness!
Hear me, city named for mighty Athena—Athens,
honored above all cities on the earth!
Pity this harried ghost of a man,
this Oedipus ... Oedipus is no more
the flesh and blood of old.

Quiet.
Here come some men, bent with age,
coming to search out your resting place.

I’ll be quiet, but hurry, move me away,
hide me in the woods till I can hear
what they have to say and know their mood—
knowledge will safeguard everything we do.

ANTIGONE helps OEDIPUS withdraw into the grove. Enter a CHORUS of old men from the right, the citizens of Colonus. Some chant singly, others chant in groups.

Look for the man! Who is he? where’s he hiding?—
where’s he gone, rushed away, where now?
That man, of all men on earth
the most shameless, desperate man alive!
Look for him, press the search now
scour every inch of the ground!
A wanderer, wandering fugitive
that old man—no native, a stranger
else he’d never set foot where none may walk,
this grove of the Furies, irresistible, overwhelming—
Oh we tremble to say their names, filing by,
not a look, not a sound, not a word
moving our lips in silence
silent reverence, oh pass by, pass by ...
but now one’s come, the rumors say
who fears the Furies not at all—
the man we look for, scanning
round and round this holy precinct,
cannot find him
cannot find his hiding

Emerging from the grove with ANTIGONE, as the CHORUS draws back from him in horror.

Here—
I am the man you want! I see by sound alone,
as people say of the blind.

Oh dreadful—
dreadful to see him, dreadful to hear—

Don’t,
I beg you, don’t look on me as an outlaw.

God save us! You, old man, who are you?

One not quite in the first ranks of fortune,
you guardians of the land.
Obviously, or I’d never grope along
with another’s eyes to point the way,
leaning my old hulk on weaker shoulders.

Oh blind, blind, poor man ... no eyes, no sight—
tell me, were you blind from birth?
Your life a life of pain
and the years long, it’s all too clear
but at least if I can help it, if I have any power
you won’t bring down new curses on your head!
You’ve gone too far, too far—
but before you stumble one step more
invading the sacred glade, rapt in silence
the deep green lawns where the bowl brims libations
running with holy water swirling honey—
Stop—
sufferer, stranger, you must not trespass!
Move, come down among us now—
closer, a good safe way from the grove,
you hear, old traveler, man of grief?
Do you have an appeal to make before our session?
Move!—move off forbidden ground, come down
where the law permits us all to speak,
till then hold back
be silent—not a word!

Antigone, what now?—what do you think?

Father,
it’s best to obey the customs of the people:
give in if we must, and listen closely too.

Reach out your hand to me ...

There, you feel it?

Oh strangers, let me suffer no injustice—
now I’ve trusted you, now I’ve left my shelter.

Never!
No one will ever drag you from this place of rest—
never, old man, not against your will.

Leaning on ANTIGONE, OEDIPUS begins to move forward, groping, slowly.

Come forward, a little more.

Help him along, young one,
you can see the way.

Come, father, follow me
with your frail, blind steps, follow me, father,
I will lead you on.

Patience, stranger—
here in a strange land, poor man,
hate with a will
whatever the city holds in rooted hatred,
honor what the city holds in love.

Then come, my child, lead me on
to the sacred, lawful ground
where we may speak and we may listen—
and no more fighting with necessity.

Reaching the large outcropping of rock at the center of the stage.

Here—no farther. This base of native rock,
never lift a foot from this firm threshold.

So, far enough?

Just enough, you hear me?

Now may I sit down?

Move to the side a little,
you’re right at the rock’s edge—now crouch down.

Father, I’ll help you; calm now, easy ...

Oh dear gods—

... step by step, our steps together,
lean your aged body on my loving arm.

Helping him down, gently.

Oh so ruined, doomed.

So helpless ...
there now, rest at ease, and tell us,
who were your parents?—who are you, old man,
led by the hand in hardship? Tell us,
what’s your fatherland?

Fatherland, friends?
I am an exile! Oh but don’t—

Don’t what, old man?
What are you holding back?

No no! Don’t ask who I am—
no more probing, testing—stop—no more!

My birth, so dreadful ...

More, speak up!

My child, oh, oh, what can I say?

What is your lineage, stranger?
Tell us—who was your father?

God help me!
Dear girl, what must I suffer now?

Say it. You’re driven right to the edge.

Then speak I will—no way to hide it now.

You’re wasting time, the two of you.
Out with it, quickly.

Do you know a son of Laius? Oh ...

Born of the royal blood of Thebes?

... and the wretched, suffering Oedipus?

You, you’re that man—?

Please, don’t be afraid, whatever I say—

My destiny, very hard ...

Drawing back, the CHORUS all but drowns his words with cries of horror.

Antigone, what will they do to us now?

Out with you! Out of our country—far away!

But your promise—
won’t you make good on your promise?

Fate will never punish a man
for returning harm first done to him.
Deceit matched by deceit, the tables turned:
treachery pays you back in pain, not kindness.
You—out of this place of rest, away, faster!
Off and gone from the land—before you fix
some greater penalty on our city.

Oh strangers,
you, with all the compassion in your hearts—
since you cannot endure my father, old as he is,
hearing the dreadful things he did against his will,
pity me at least, good strangers, my despair,
I beg you!—beg you for my father, beg you
with eyes that still can look into your eyes.
I implore you, look—
like a daughter sprung of your own blood,
I beg that my shattered father find compassion.
We throw ourselves on your mercy as on a god,
in all our misery. Hear us! Oh say Yes—
grant us the help we never dreamed to see!
I beg you now by all that you hold dear, by child,
by wife, by earthly possessions, by your gods!
Look through all humanity: you’ll never find
a man on earth, if a god leads him on,
who can escape his fate.

You must know,
child of Oedipus, we pity you both,
we’re moved by your misfortunes.
But we dread what the gods may do ...
we’ve no authority, we cannot go beyond
our first commands—you must leave.

Then what’s the good of glory, magnificent renown,
if in its flow it streams away to nothing?
If Athens, Athens
is that rock of reverence all men say it is,
the only city on earth to save the ruined stranger,
the only one to protect him, give him shelter—
where are such kindnesses for me? First
you raise me up from my seat in the grove,
then you drive me off the land, terrified
by my name alone, surely not my physique
nor what I’ve done.
Since my acts, at least,
were acts of suffering more than actions outright—
but I cannot bear to tell you the whole story
of mother and father ...
that’s what makes you fear me, well I know.
But no, no—
how could you call me guilty, how by nature?
I was attacked—I struck in self-defense.
Why even if I had known what I was doing,
how could that make me guilty? But in fact,
knowing nothing, no, I went ... the way I went—
but the ones who made me suffer, they knew full well,
they wanted to destroy me.
So, strangers,
I beg you by the gods, with the same kindness
that raised me up before, save me now!
Never honor the gods in one breath
and take the gods for fools the next.
Remember, they are watching over us always,
eyes trained on the mortals who respect them,
eyes trained on the worst transgressors.
There is no escape, ever,
not for a single godless man in all the world.
Now with the gods’ help, don’t cloud the fame,
the radiance of Athens,
don’t descend to naked acts of outrage.
But just as you have taken up the suppliant,
pledged yourselves—rescue, guard me to the end!
Don’t reject me as you look into the horror
of my face, these sockets raked and blind.
I come as someone sacred, someone filled
with piety and power, bearing a great gift
for all your people. And when your ruler comes,
whoever is your leader, you will hear it all
and know it all, and meanwhile
as we wait together, do not be unjust.

You fill me with awe, you must, old man—
you express your arguments with such force.
But I’ll be more at ease
if the lords of the realm decide these matters for me.

Where is he now, strangers, the ruler of your land?

In the city where his father ruled the country,
and the man who brought us here has gone to get him.

What? You think he’ll have such regard, such care
for a blind man, he’ll come to us in person?

Without a doubt, soon as he hears your name.

My name ... and who’s to tell him that?

It’s a long way to Athens. Crowded too,
and travelers’ rumors spread like wildfire—
soon as he learns, don’t worry, he’ll be here.
Your name, old stranger, echoes through the world.
Even at rest or indisposed to move,
when Theseus hears it’s you, he’ll come at once.

Then let him come with a blessing for his city,
for Oedipus too. The good man helps himself.

Scanning the distance eagerly.

Dear god, what to say? to think?—father!

Now what, child? Antigone!

I can see
a woman coming toward us, riding a sleek colt,
and the broad brim of her hat’s low on her face,
shading her from the sun. What can I say?
Is it or isn’t it?—am I losing my mind?
Yes—no—I can’t say ... poor girl, it’s she,
it must be—
Look, her eyes glistening—
smiling at me, she’s coming closer, waving,
oh it’s clear, it’s no one else—
dear sister, dear Ismene!

What are you saying, child?

I see your daughter, my own sister—
you’ll know her at once, by her voice.

Enter ISMENE from the left.

Father—
sister—the two words I love the most,
I love to say the most! So hard to find you,
now I can hardly see you through my tears.

Child, you’ve come?

Oh father! Your fate so cruel,
I can barely look—

Ismene, you’re really here?

Yes, and what a journey I had.

Touch me, dear one.

Let me hold you both!

Oh my children—sisters!

Such wretched straits.

And mine too, my pain the third.

Little one, why have you come?

For you, father,
concern for you.

Longing for me, you mean?

That,
and to bring you the news myself, in my own words,
with the only servant left that I can trust.

And the boys, your brothers, where are they?
Can’t they do their part?

They are—
where they are ... now’s their darkest hour.

So,
just like Egyptians, aren’t they? Heart and soul!
The same habits, same way they live their lives.
There it’s the men who loll about indoors,
doing the work of women at the loom,
but the wives are out and working,
winning the daily bread, day in, day out.
Look at yourselves, children. Your brothers,
who should perform this labor, tend the hearth
like girls, but you, you take their place,
shouldering all your father’s grinding sorrows.

Antigone, from the time she left her childhood behind
and came into full strength, has volunteered for grief,
wandering with me, leading the old misery, hungry,
feet cut through the bristling woods ...
an eternity—worn down by the drenching rains,
the scorching suns at noon. Hard labor,
but you endured it all, never a second thought
for home, a decent life, so long as your father
had some care and comfort.

Turning to ISMENE.

And you, child,
in the early days, all unknown to Thebes
you left the city, brought your father the oracles,
any prophecy said to touch his life.
You were my faithful guard, you took that part
when I was an exile from the land. Now again,
Ismene, what news do you bring your father?
What mission brings you far from home?
You haven’t come empty-handed, well I know,
not without some word to rouse my fears.

Whatever I suffered on the way, father,
trying to find your resting place and shelter,
let’s pass over that ... I haven’t the heart
to rake up all that pain again, twice over.
But the dark clouds just closing in around
your two doomed sons—I’ve come to tell you that.

At first they were eager to leave the throne to Creon,
not to pollute the city any longer:
they saw how the blight on the race,
ages old, clung to your long-suffering house.
But now some god, some sinister twist of mind
has gripped them both, some fatal, murderous rivalry—
they grab for power, the scepter and the crown.
Now the younger, like some hot-blooded boy,
strips his elder brother Polynices,
seizes the throne and drives him from his homeland.
But the exile—a flood of rumors fills our ears—
the exile’s fled to Argos ringed in hills,
he embraces new kinsmen, bound by marriage,
and a whole massed army of new friends.
Soon, he tells them, Argos in arms
will drag the plain of Thebes from glory
or lift its name in praises to the stars.

This is no mere flurry of words, father, it’s action, terrible action! And when the gods will shower pity on you and your ordeals, I simply cannot tell.

What? You’d begun to hope the gods
would look on me, deliver me at last?

Yes, father, just now, with the latest oracles ...

What are they? What are the prophecies, my child?

Soon, soon the men of Thebes will want you greatly,
once you are dead, and even while you’re alive—
they need you for their welfare, their survival.

What good could anyone get from the like of me?

They are in your hands, the oracle says,
their power rests in you.

So,
when I am nothing—then am I a man?

Yes!
The gods are about to raise you to your feet—
till now they were bent on your destruction.

It costs them little to raise an old man!
Someone crushed in younger days.

That may be,
but Creon, at any rate—make no mistake,
he’s coming for you, for just this reason.
Soon, not late, I warn you.

To do what, my child? Be clearer—tell me.

To settle you near the fatherland of Thebes,
to have you in their power,
but you may not set foot within the borders.

What earthly use am I to them, deposited
beyond the gates?

Your tomb will curse them
if it lacks the proper rites.

Of course,
it takes no god from the blue to teach us that.

That’s why they want to keep you close at hand,
a good strong ally,
not in a land where you can be your own master.

But surely they will shroud my corpse with Theban dust?

No, not with your father’s blood on your hands,
that’s forbidden, father!

Then they will never get me in their clutches—never!

Then some day this will be a heavy curse on Thebes ...

How, child?—when, what fatal rendezvous?

That day, by the force of your great rage,
that day they take their stand upon your tomb.

All you say, child, who told you this?

The men,
the envoys sent to Apollo’s hearth at Delphi.

Those were the very words the god spoke—
about my future?

So they reported,
coming back to Thebes.

Tell me—my sons,
has either of them heard any word of this?

Oh they both have, they know it all too well.

And still—those ingrates! they heard it all and still
they love the crown more than their own father—
the chance to bring me back.

It hurts me to hear it ...
I must bear it just the same.

No, no, may the great gods
never quench their blazing, fated strife!
May it rest in my hands alone—
now their spears are lifting tip to tip—
to bring their fighting to its bitter end.
I’d see that the one who holds the scepter now
would not last long, nor would the outcast
ever return again! When I, their own father
was drummed off native ground, disgraced.
they didn’t lift a finger, didn’t defend me, no,
they just looked on, they watched me driven from home,
they heard the heralds cry my sentence—exile!

Say it ... that was exactly what I wanted then,
the city granted me my heart’s desire. Not at all!
That first day, true, when all my rage was seething,
my dearest wish was death,
stoning to death in public—I couldn’t find a soul
to satisfy my passion. But then, as time wore on
and the smoldering fever broke and died at last,
and I began to feel my rage had far outrun my wrongs,
I’d lashed myself too much for what I’d done,
once, long ago—then, when it suited them,
the city wheeled and marched me off the land,
brutally, after all that time—
and my own sons who could have swept to the rescue,
sons to their father, they did nothing, they refused!
For want of one small word from those two princes
I was rooted out, a beggar, an outcast,
fugitive forever.

Oh thank god for you!
My two girls, dear sisters, young as you are,
as far as the life within you lends you power
I have my daily bread, safe-conduct through the land
and all the lovely kindnesses of kinship.
But your two brothers turn their backs
on their own father, for throne, for scepter,
the tyrant’s iron grip upon the realm. Never,
they will never win this Oedipus for their champion!
And precious little good will ever come to them
from lording over Thebes. That much I know,
now that I hear the oracles my dear one brings
and brood on the old prophecies, stored
in the depths of all my being,
that Apollo has fulfilled for me at last.

So,
let them send Creon himself to hunt me down,
and whoever else is high and mighty in the city.
If you, my friends, you and your champions,
the Awesome Goddesses who guard your people—
if you are willing to rise to my defense,
you will win a great deliverer for your state
and mortal punishment for my mortal enemies.

Oedipus, you deserve all the pity in our hearts,
you and your children here. First your appeal,
and now you add your power to save our land.
Let me advise you, for your own good.

Oh friend,
I will do anything. Guide me now, my friend.

Come, you must appease those Spirits now.
When you arrived, you trespassed on their ground.

How, with what rites? Teach me, friend.

First, there is a spring that runs forever:
gather libations from it, holy water.
See that your hands are clean before you touch it.

And when I collect the water, pure and clear?

There are bowls waiting, work of a master-craftsman.
Cover the rim and handles at the mouth.

With what—sprays of leaves, strips of weaving?

Take tufts of wool, just cut from a young lamb.

Good,
and then, what is the last rite I must perform?

Pour out the holy water, stand and face the east.

Do I pour the offerings from the bowls you mentioned?

Yes. Pour from all three, but empty out the last.

And what do I fill the third with? Tell me that.

Water. Honey. But no wine, add no wine.

And there in the shadows underneath the leaves,
once the earth has drunk its fill, what then?

Take up sprays of olive, three times nine,
and with both hands, hand following hand,
lay them there and crown them with this prayer.

The prayer—
I must learn the prayer, the greatest thing by far.

Simply this: “As we call you Powers of Kindness,
so from the springs of kindness in your heart
receive your suppliant now and save his life.”
That is the prayer,
your own, or someone praying for you.
But pray in silence, do not raise your voice,
then withdraw and never look behind.
If you will do all this, I’d stand beside you,
fearing nothing—otherwise, my friend,
I would be terrified for you.

Children,
you hear what the strangers say,
the people of these parts?

I’ve heard it all. Tell us what to do.

I cannot go myself, not in this condition,
strength gone, sight gone, a double share of pain.
One of you go and carry out these rites.
One soul is enough,
I know, to pay the debt for thousands,
if one will go to the gods in all good faith.
Quickly—do it now. Just don’t leave me alone.
I’m too weak to move these old bones ... abandoned,
cut off from any guide to lead the way.

Then I’ll go, I’ll perform the rites.
Where do I find the place? I have to know.

The other side of the grove, child.
If there’s anything you need, there’s a guardian
at the spot and he’ll instruct you.

I’m on my way.
Antigone, you stay here, watch over father.
If there’s any work for a parent’s sake,
we must take the work in stride.

ISMENE exits left. The CHORUS gathers around OEDIPUS and begins to chant.

A terrible thing, my friend,
to wake an old grief, laid to rest so long ...
nevertheless I long to learn—

That dreadful agony you faced—no recovery,
no way out—that agony you lived through.

No!
For the sake of kindness toward a guest,
don’t lay bare the cruelty I suffered!

But the rumor spreads throughout the world,
it will not die—I want to hear it, friend,
hear the truth from you.

Bear up, I beg you.

Grant me my wish,
just as I grant you yours.

I have suffered, friends,
the worst horrors on earth, suffered against my will,
I swear to god, not a single thing self-willed—

Thebes married me to disaster! Thebes bound me fast,
so blind, to a bride who was my curse, my ruin, my—

I’ve heard it, I can’t believe—you filled that bed
with infamy ... with your own mother?

Misery—it’s death to hear those words!
Oh strangers, and these two girls,
born of my blood—

Daughters, both so cursed—

—sprang from the same womb,
the same mother brought us all to birth!

So they,
why they’re your children, then in the same breath—

My sisters, yes, their father’s sisters!

Horrible, countless horrors
sweeping over me, over and over!

What you’ve suffered—

Suffered unforgivable, unforgettable ...

What you’ve done!

No, not done—

Received,
received as a gift, a prize to break the heart—
Oh would to god I’d never served my city,
never won the prize they handed up to me!

So wretched,
doomed—but then too, you spilled the blood?—

Why that? what more do you need to know?

You killed your father?

Oh no no,
the second stab—wound on wound!

You, you murdered—

Murdered, but not without some justice—

What in the world?

By all rights, I—

I’ll tell you:
the man I murdered—he’d have murdered me!
I am innocent! Pure in the eyes of the law,
blind, unknowing, I, I came to this!

Enter THESEUS, with his royal guard, from the right.

Look, our king, Theseus, son of Aegeus—
your message brought him here.

In the old days I often heard your legend,
the bloody mutilation of your eyes ...
I know all about you, son of Laius.
And now, seeing you at this crossroads,
beyond all doubt I know you in the flesh.
Your rags, your ravaged face—
it’s all too clear, they show me who you are,
and in all compassion I would ask you, Oedipus,
doomstruck Oedipus, why are you here?
What appeal do you bring to Athens and to me?
You and the young girl, helpless at your side.

Tell me all. Your story, your fortunes
would have to be grim indeed to make me turn
my back on you. I too, I remember well,
was reared in exile just like you,
and in strange lands, like no man else on earth,
I grappled dangers pressing for my life.
Never, I tell you, I will never shrink
from a stranger, lost as you are now,
or fail to lend a hand and save a life.
I am only a man, well I know,
and I have no more power over tomorrow,
Oedipus, than you.

Oh Theseus,
so magnanimous, so noble! Your few words
spare me the need to draw things out at length.
Who I am, and the father who gave me life,
and my native land—you name them all exactly.
So now there is nothing left for me to tell
but my desire, and then the story’s finished.

Yes, tell me that. I want to know.

I come with a gift for you,
my own shattered body ... no feast for the eyes,
but the gains it holds are greater than great beauty.

Gains? What do you claim to carry with you?

Soon you will learn it all, not quite yet, I think.

And when will the gifts you offer come to light?

When I am dead, and you have put my body in the grave.

You ask for the final things of life, but all between
you wipe from memory, or count as nothing.

True.
There, in that last kindness, I harvest all the rest.

Then the gift you ask of me is very little.

Oh beware—there is nothing slight about it,
not the struggle it will breed.

You mean ...
something between your offspring and myself?

My sons will force you to send me back to Thebes.

Why? If you want to go, it’s wrong to remain an exile.

Oh no—when I was willing, they refused!

You fool!
Anger is not what your misfortunes call for.

Wait till you hear me out, then criticize me—
spare me now.

Tell me more ...
I must not judge you, not without more to go on.

I have suffered terribly, Theseus,
wrongs on wrongs, no end.

You mean the ancient troubles of your house?

No, no—all Greece rings with talk of that.

What then? How do your griefs exceed
the griefs of all mankind?

Here, look at me,
rooted out of my country by my sons,
my own flesh and blood. My doom is never
to return again—I killed my father!

Then how could they call you home—
to settle you outside?

A god, the voice of a god is forcing them on.

What do they fear, what dreadful prophecies?

Thebes is doomed to be struck down in this land.

And how on earth could conflict ever come
between your city and mine?

Oh Theseus,
dear friend, only the gods can never age,
the gods can never die. All else in the world
almighty Time obliterates, crushes all
to nothing. The earth’s strength wastes away.
the strength of a man’s body wastes and dies—
faith dies, and bad faith comes to life,
and the same wind of friendship cannot blow forever,
holding steady and strong between two friends,
much less between two cities.
For some of us soon, for others later,
joy turns to hate and back again to love.
And even if all is summer sunshine now
between yourself and Thebes,
infinite Time, sweeping through its rounds
gives birth to infinite nights and days ...
and a day will come when the treaties of an hour,
the pacts firmed with a handclasp will snap—
at the slightest word a spear will hurl them to the winds—
some far-off day when my dead body, slumbering, buried
cold in death, will drain their hot blood down,
if Zeus is still Zeus and Apollo the son of god
speaks clear and true.

Enough. It’s no pleasure
to break the silence of these mysteries.
Let me end where I began.
Just defend your word to the last, and you
will never say you welcomed Oedipus for nothing,
a useless citizen in this land of yours,
unless the gods defeat my dearest hopes.

My king,
for some time this man has seemed determined
to carry out such promises for our country.

Such kindness—who could reject such a man?
First, in any case, Oedipus is our ally:
by mutual rights we owe him hospitality
What’s more, he has come to beg our gods for help
and render no small benefit to our country
in return, to me as well.
So I respect his claims, I’ll never reject
the gifts he offers, no, I will settle him
in our land, a fellow-citizen with full rights.

And if it pleases our friend to remain here,
I command you, old men, guard him well.
But if he’d rather come along with me—
what is your pleasure, Oedipus?
The choice is yours. Whatever you decide,
I will stand behind you all the way.

Oh god bless such men!

What would you like?
Will you come home with me?

Gladly,
if the gods were willing. But this is the place where ...

What will you do here? Not that I’d oppose you.

-Where I will triumph over those who drove me out.

Your very presence here, from all you say,
will be a mighty blessing.

So it will,
if only you keep your guarantees to me
and act them out to the end.

Have no fear.
Trust me, Oedipus, I will never betray you.

And I will never bind you with an oath,
never impugn your honor.

My word is my bond.
You have nothing more to gain than that.

And what will you do when ...

What do you fear?

Men will come—

These men will attend to them.

Take care!
Since you are leaving me—

Don’t teach me what to do.

I’m forced, I’m so afraid.

Not I, I have no fear.

But you don’t know the threats—

I do know this:
no one can take you away from here against my will.
Men have threatened for ages, blustered their threats
to nothing in their rage. But once a man
regains his self-control, all threats are gone.
As for these men of Thebes, something tells me ...
though they thunder with talk of taking you off,
they’ll find some heavy seas to block their way,
rough sailing in the end.
Take heart,
I urge you, even without my firm resolve—
didn’t Apollo send you here himself?
Rest assured, no matter if I’m away,
I know my name will shield you well,
you’ll never come to grief.

Exit THESEUS with his guard to the left. The CHORUS gathers around OEDIPUS.

Here, stranger,
here in the land where horses are a glory
you have reached the noblest home on earth
Colonus glistening, brilliant in the sun—
where the nightingale sings on,
her dying music rising clear,
hovering always, never leaving,
down the shadows deepening green
she haunts the glades, the wine-dark ivy,
dense and dark the untrodden, sacred wood of god
rich with laurel and olives never touched by the sun
untouched by storms that blast from every quarter—
where the Reveler Dionysus strides the earth forever
where the wild nymphs are dancing round him
nymphs who nursed his life.

And here it blooms, fed by the dews of heaven
lovely, clustering, morning-fresh forever,
narcissus, crown of the Great Goddesses
Mother and Daughter dying
into life from the dawn of time,
and the gold crocus bursts like break of day
and the springs will never sleep, will never fail,
the fountainhead of Cephisus flowing nomad
quickening life forever, fresh each day—
life rising up with the river’s pure tide
flowing over the plains, the swelling breast of earth—
nor can the dancing Muses bear to leave this land
or the Goddess Aphrodite, the charioteer
with the golden reins of love.

And there is a marvel here, I have not heard its equal
nothing famed in the vast expanse of Asia, nothing
like it in Pelops’ broad Dorian island
ever sprang to light—
a creation self-creating, never conquered,
a terror to our enemies and their spears,
it flourishes to greatness in our soil,
the gray-leafed olive, mother, nurse of children,
perennial generations growing in her arms—
neither young nor old can tear her from her roots,
the eternal eyes of Guardian Zeus
look down upon her always,
great Athena too
her eyes gray-green and gleaming as the sea.

And I have another praise to sound in song
a mighty gift bestowed our mother-city
the splendor of a majestic, ancient god
the pride and power of our earth—
the glory of horses, glory of young horses
the glorious rippling sinews of the sea!
O Poseidon, you have throned her in this power,
lord god of the sea-lanes, you were first
to forge the bit and bridle, first to curb
the fiery rage of stallions in these roads—
and your ship flies like a marvel past the land
your long flashing oars whipping the sea
mounting the white manes of the sea
racing the sea-nymphs dancing past the prow!

015

Looking left, alarmed.

Oh Athens, praised above any land on earth,
now turn your glowing praises into action!

What now, child?

Creon—he’s closing on us,
not without an escort, father.

Dear old men, some action—please—
defend me to the end!

Nothing to fear,
you have our promise. I may be old
but the power of my country never ages.

Enter CREON, left, with his bodyguard.

Noble old men, the pride of your land,
I seem to catch a glint of fear in your eyes,
a sudden shudder at my arrival. Don’t be afraid,
and don’t greet me with anything uncivil.
I haven’t come here with any thought of force,
I am too old for that,
and I know the city I have reached is strong,
if any in Greece is strong—a great power.
No, I have been sent, despite my age,
to persuade this old man here
to return with me to the land of his fathers.
I haven’t come on my own initiative either:
I bear the mandate of my entire people
since it fell to me, by ties of blood,
to mourn his pains as no one else in Thebes.

So,
poor pitiful Oedipus, hear me now, come home!
Your whole people summon you, rightly so,
and I first among them, just as I—
unless I am the most callous man alive—
grieve for your sorrows most of all, old man,
now that I see you ground down in misery,
a derelict, beggar, stumbling on forever,
stripped of the bare essentials,
only a frail girl to lean your weight on ...
Dear god, I never dreamed she’d sink so low—
degraded, helpless thing. Always tending you,
crushed by the gloom and poverty of your life.
And at her ripe age unmarried, look, a prize
for the first rough hand.

There, heaven help me,
is that painful enough—the shame I heap on you?
Well, it mortifies me too, and all our people.
But who can hide the appalling facts with you
out here on the roads? You can, Oedipus.
Now, by our fathers’ gods, listen to me,
hide your own disgrace, consent—
return to Thebes, the house of your fathers!
Take friendly leave of Athens, she deserves it,
but Thebes has first claim. Respect her well,
justly so—years ago your city gave you birth.

What brazen gall! You’d stop at nothing!
From any appeal at all you’d wring
some twisted, ingenious justice of your own!
Why must you attack me so, twice over,
catching me in the traps where I would suffer most?

First, in the old days, when I was sick to death
with the horror of my life,
when I lusted to be driven into exile,
you refused that favor—for all my prayers.
But then, when I’d had my fill of rage at last
and living on in the old ancestral house seemed sweet ..
then you were all for cutting, casting me away—
these ties of blood you maunder on about
meant nothing to you then. And now,
again, when you see me welcomed well,
embraced by this great city and all her sons,
again you’d attack me, drag me off and away,
your oily language smoothing your brutality.

What’s the joy of it? Who wants your kindness now?
Just imagine, Creon, someone giving you nothing,
refusing every help, and you craving it so—
but then, when your heart’s desire was sated,
then he gave you all, when the favor
was no favor any more. Look at me, Creon:
wouldn’t you find that pleasure empty—ashes?
That’s precisely how your offers strike me now:
your words like honey—your actions, drawn swords.

I’ll say it to these men too, I’ll show how false you are.
You, you’ve come to take me, not to take me home
but plant me just outside your borders, just
to keep your city free of harm from Athens.
Well that is not your destiny, no, this is—
my curse, my fury of vengeance
rooted deep in your soil for all time to come!
And for my sons, this legacy: a kingdom in my realm,
room enough to die in—six feet of earth.

Now then, don’t I see the fate of Thebes
more vividly than you? Oh so much more,
the sources of all I know are so much stronger:
Apollo and Zeus himself, Apollo’s father.
But here you are, you fraud, lies on your lips,
your tongue whetted, double-edged. Well plead away—
you’ll reap your own destruction, nothing can save you.
Enough. I can’t convince you, I know that—get out!
Suffer us to live here ... even in these straits
our life is not as pitiful as you’d think,
so long as we find joy in every hour.

Tell me,
which of us suffers more from this tirade?
Whom are you hurting more, me or you?

Nothing could please me more, Creon,
than if you fail to convince my friends here—
as fully as you fail with me.

Burnt-out husk of a man—look, you see?
Not even the years can bring you to your senses.
Must you disgrace old age?

You and your wicked way with words, Creon—
I’ve never known an honest man
who can plead so well for any plea whatever.

Ah, but it’s one thing to run off at the mouth,
quite another to hit the mark head-on.

As if you were brief but to the point.

Not to you, a mind as crude as yours.

Away—
I shout it out in the name of these men too!
Stop harassing me here, blockading
the haven where I am destined to live on.

I call these men—not you—to witness this,
the abuse you fling in the teeth of loved ones!—
and if I ever get my hands on you—

And who
could tear me away from these allies by force?

I warn you,
even without that, we have ways to make you suffer.

By doing what?—
what have you got behind your threats, your bluster?

Your two children. One I’ve seized just now
and sent her off—now I’ll take the other.

You’ll have more to groan about in a moment.

... you’ve taken my child?

This one too—it won’t be long, I promise you!

Oh friends, friends! What will you do?—forsake me now?
Won’t you drive this infidel off your land?

Move, stranger—out with you, faster!
You’re bent on a new crime now,
what you’ve done is criminal.

You there—time to escort her off.
By force, if she won’t go freely.

Lost, lost!
Where to run? where do I go for help?—
what gods, what men?

CREON moves toward ANTIGONE.

What are you doing, stranger?

I won’t touch the old man, but the girl’s mine.

Lords of the land!

It’s criminal, stranger, wrong!

I only take what’s mine.

Laying his hands on ANTIGONE, as the CHORUS comes forward.

What are you doing, stranger? Let her go!
We’ll come to blows in a moment, test our strength.

Moving toward CREON.

Not from you—hellbent on this!

I warn you, it’s war with Thebes if you lay a hand on me.

See? Didn’t I tell you?

Take your hands off her,
give her up at once.

No commands—you have no power.

Release her now, I tell you!

To the guards with ANTIGONE in hand.

And I tell you—move out.

Come to the rescue! come, my countrymen—
Athens, our Athens is laid low by force—
come, come to the rescue!

They tear me away—help me, strangers, friends!

Where are you, child? I need you!

Groping for her.

-Overwhelming me, dragging me off!

Your hands, dear—touch me.

I can‘t, I’m helpless...

Wheeling on the guards, as they drag away ANTIGONE to the left.

Oh god, dear god—

These two sticks—
at least they’ll never prop your steps again.
But since you’re bent on defeating your own country,
your own kin—who commissioned me to do their will,
royal blood that I am—defeat us if you must.
Given time, you’ll see this well, I know:
you do yourself no good, not now, not years ago,
indulging your rage despite the pleas of loved ones—
blind rage has always been your ruin.

Turning to go, but the CHORUS blocks his way.

Stop where you are, stranger.

I’ll never let you go—
Surrender those young girls.

By heaven,
you’ll give my city a greater hostage in a moment—
I’ll seize more than his two daughters!

What are you going—?

That old man—I’ll seize him too!

Actions too, now—unless, perhaps,
the king of the country blocks my way!

Shameless words! Would you lay hands on me?

No more from you—quiet.

No!—
let the Powers of this place permit me,
let me break their sacred silence, one more curse.
You, you swine—with my eyes gone, you ripped away
the helpless darling of my eyes, my light in darkness!
So may the great god of the sun, the eye of the day
that sees all things, grant you and all your race
a life like mine—blind old age at last!

Men of Athens, look, do you see this?

They see you and me: they know my pain’s a fact,
my revenge is empty breath.

No holding back,
not now—alone as I am, old and slow,
I’ll take that man by force.

Turning for OEDIPUS:

You’re filled with arrogance, stranger,
brazen if you think you’ll bring this off!

Then it’s the end of Athens, Athens is no more!

The weak can defeat the strong in a case as just as mine.

You hear what he is saying?

Words for the wind—
god knows, he’ll never act them out.

God knows, not you!

Laying hold of OEDIPUS.

What outrage—

Outrage you will grin and bear.

O my people, all of you, lords of the land,
come quickly, come with a vengeance, quick,
before they cross our borders!

Enter THESEUS; left, with full armed guard.

Why this shouting?
What’s the trouble, what could alarm you so?—
interrupting me at the altar, my sacrifice
to Poseidon, guardian of Colonus. Tell me,
I have to know it all. It’s brought me
here on the run, a hard forced march.

Dear friend! I know your voice—
I have suffered terrible things, just now,
at the hands of that man there.

What’s wrong?
Who’s tormenting you? Tell me.

Creon there,
you’re looking at him—he’s making off
with my children, tearing them away,
the pair of them, my last, best support!

What are you saying?

All I suffered,
now you’ve heard it all.

Quickly, one of you, to the altars!
Force our people to break off the rites,
make a dash for it, all of them,
foot soldiers, cavalry, full gallop—
go where the two highways meet, hurry!—
before the girls are past that point
and I’m a mockery to my enemy here,
easy game for the first brutal hand.
Go, I tell you, quickly.

A soldier rushes out, left. THESEUS turns to CREON.

As for this ...
if my anger went as far as he deserves,
he’d never slip through my fingers unscathed.
But now the barbaric law he imports himself,
that, no other, will bring its man to heel.

You, you’ll never leave this land until you return
those young girls, produce them before my eyes.
What you’ve done humiliates me
and your own country, the race that gave you life.
You have come to a city that practices justice,
that sanctions nothing without law, but you,
you flout our authorities, make your inroads,
seize your prizes, commandeer at will!
Tell me, did you imagine Athens stripped of men,
peopled by slaves? Myself worth nothing?

No,
it wasn’t Thebes that trained you in your treachery:
Thebes makes no habit of rearing lawless sons.
Nor would she ever praise you if she learned
you’re plundering me, plundering our gods,
dragging away their helpless suppliants by force.
Never, I tell you, if I’d set foot on your soil,
even if I’d the most just claims on earth—
never without the sanction of your king,
whoever he might be, I’d never drag and plunder.
I would know how a stranger should conduct himself
in the midst of citizens. But you disgrace a city
that deserves the opposite—your native city, too.
And the fullness of your years that brings you
ripe old age has emptied out your senses.

I’ve said it once, I’ll say it one last time:
someone had better bring those children back at once,
unless you’d like to remain here in our country,
a resident alien here for all time to come,
and not by your own free will—by force.
And I tell you this, believe me,
from my lips and from the bottom of my heart.

LEADER:
You see what trouble you’re in now, stranger?
You seem to come from a righteous people,
but your actions show you up for what you are.

Not at all,
I never thought your city unmanly, son of Aegeus,
not injudicious either, as you suggest,
not when I did what I have done.
I simply judged that none of your people
could ever be so infatuated with kin of mine
as to shelter them against my will. And I knew
they’d never harbor a father-killer ... worse,
a creature so corrupt, exposed as the mate,
the unholy husband of his own mother.

Far better judgment—knew as well as you—
resides on the Mount of Ares,
in the great court that regulates your land.
Surely you could never suffer a fugitive
like him to live with you, within your walls.
Clinging to that belief I tried to take my prize.
Nor would I have bothered, but there he was,
calling down his withering curses on myself
and all my sons. In the face of such attacks
I thought it only right to strike in self-defense.

So oppose me any way you like. My isolation
leaves me weak, however just my cause.
But opposing you, old as I am,
I’ll stop at nothing, match you blow for blow.
A man’s anger can never age and fade away,
not until he dies. The dead alone feel no pain.

Unctuous, shameless—where do you think your insults
do more damage, my old age or yours? Bloodshed,
incest, misery, all your mouth lets fly at me,
I have suffered it all, and all against my will!
Such was the pleasure of the gods, raging,
perhaps, against our race from ages past..
But as for me alone—
say my unwilling crimes against myself
and against my own were payment from the gods
for something criminal deep inside me ... no, look hard,
you’ll find no guilt to accuse me of—I am innocent!

Come, tell me: if, by an oracle of the gods,
some doom were hanging over my father’s head
that he should die at the hands of his own son,
how, with any justice, could you blame me?
I wasn’t born yet, no father implanted me,
no mother carried me in her womb—
I didn’t even exist, not then! And if,
once I’d come to the world of pain, as come I did,
I fell to blows with my father, cut him down in blood—
blind to what I was doing, blind to whom I killed—
how could you condemn that involuntary act
with any sense of justice?

And my mother . . .
wretched man, have you no shame? Your own sister!
Her marriage—forcing me to talk of that marriage!
Oh I’ll tell it all, I won’t be silent, not now,
you and your blasphemous mouth have gone so far.
She was my mother, yes, she bore me—
oh the horror—I knew nothing, she knew nothing!—
and once she’d borne me then she bore me children,
her disgrace. But at least I know one thing:
you slander her and me of your own free will,
but I made her my bride against my will,
I repeat this to the world against my will. No,
I’ll not be branded guilty, not in that marriage,
not in the murder of my father, all those crimes
you heap on me relentlessly, harrowing my heart.

One thing, answer me just one thing. If,
here and now, a man strode up to kill you,
you, you self-righteous—what would you do?
Investigate whether the murderer were your father
or deal with him straight off? Well I know,
as you love your life, you’d pay the killer back,
not hunt around for justification. Well that,
that was the murderous pass I came to,
and the gods led me on,
and my father would only bear me out, I know,
if he came back to life and met me face-to-face!

But you, you lack all justice, counting it well and good
to spew out anything at all—no line drawn between
what a man may say and things too dark to tell—
you lash me with these charges, here, before these men.
And you flatter the fine, noble name of Theseus,
you exclaim how firmly Athens has been governed,
but piling on your praises you forget this:
if any land knows how to respect the gods
with solemn rites, Athens excels them all.
And you were scheming to steal me out of Athens,
seize an old man, a suppliant—
you’d already carried off my daughters!

So now I cry to those Great Goddesses,
I beg them, I storm them with my prayers—
Come to the rescue, fight for me, my champions!
So you can learn your lesson, Creon, learn
what breed of men stands guard around this city.

Our friend is a good man, my king.
His fate has practically destroyed him;
he deserves our help.

Enough words!
The criminals are escaping,
we the victims, we stand still.

What would you have me do? I’m helpless.

Lead the way there, I’ll escort you.
If you are holding the children close by
point them out co us. If the men who took them
are on the loose now, we can save our breath—
others will ride them down. They’ll never escape
and cross our borders, never thank their gods for victory.
Come, move out! The spoiler’s spoiled, I tell you,
Fate has got the hunter in her traps—
whatever’s won by treachery won’t last long.

And you’ll have no one to back you in your scheme.
I know you weren’t alone, without accomplices
when you hit this pitch of daring, this outrage
that inspires you now. You trusted to someone
when you set about your work.
I must look to that, and never render the city
weaker than one man. You catch my meaning?
Or does all this strike you now as nonsense,
just as when you were plotting out your scheme?

Talk your fill, on your own native soil—
I can’t quarrel here.
Once at home, I’ll know what to do.

Threaten away, but march, now! Oedipus,
you stay here in peace, you trust to this:
unless I die first, I’ll never stop
until I’ve placed your children in your hands.

Bless you, Theseus, for your noble spirit,
bless you for all the loyal pains you take for us.

Exit THESEUS, CREON, and the guard, left; the CHORUS groups and scans the distance, chanting.

O god, to be there!—
where the warring armies wheel and charge—
soon, soon fighting hand-to-hand
in the brazen cries of battle!
There where Apollo guards the pass
or down that torchlit shore
where the Great Goddesses tend the awesome rites
offering life to mortals after death, their lips
sealed by the golden key of silence
pressed upon them by the priests—
there, I think, Theseus spurs the fighting!
He and the two young captives, virgin sisters
soon will join in the battle cries inside our borders
victory ringing in their hearts!

Yes or soon they’ll clash
swinging round the snowy crag
driving west on the pastures,
borne on racing horses
chariots racing down the wind—
the enemy will be crushed!
Terrible, the armored might of Colonus
terrible the sons of Theseus in their power!
Look, their bridle irons flashing,
the cavalry of Athens thundering headlong on!
They honor Athena, reigning queen of horsemen—
honor the Sea-lord, guardian of our earth
the Mother’s loving son.

Speaking out in separate voices.

-Now for the fight, or is it still to come?

-I’m filled with hope, with longing—
soon I’ll see them face-to-face!

-Terrible what they have suffered—
terrible pain inflicted by their kinsman.

—Today is the day that Zeus brings some great work to birth!

—Like a seer I sense the glory in these struggles—
Rush me, wing me into the whirlwind, 0 dear god,
like a dove at the thunderheads of heaven I’d look down
I’d scan these struggles, I would see their glory!

Regrouping as a chorus.

Hear me, marshal of all the gods,
Zeus, all-seeing Zeus!
Grant our defenders triumph
power to carry out the attack
power to carry home their prizes!
Hear me, daughter of Zeus, mighty Athena!
Apollo, lord of the hunt—your sister Artemis
racing the flights of dappled streaking deer!
Come down, you gods, I beg you, come like armies joined—
unite to save our land and all our people!

The LEADER suddenly turns to OEDIPUS.

My wandering friend, you won’t call me
a false prophet now, your lookout hasn’t lied—
I can see your daughters, there, coming closer,
and an escort brings them on!

Where?
How—what are you saying?

Enter ANTIGONE and ISMENE from the left, escorted by attendants with THESEUS in the lead.

Father, father!
If only a god would give you back your eyes,
then you could see this prince of men
who’s brought us back to you!

Child!
You’re here, both of you in the flesh?

Yes! His strong arms have saved us—
Theseus, and his loyal comrades.

Closer, children, come to your father!
Let me embrace you—I never thought I’d feel you,
hold you again.

All you want, all will be done—
I long for it, father, just as much as you.

Where, where are you?

Here, both together.

Dearest, sweet young girls!

Dear to their father, all his children.

My supports,
props of an old man . . .

And we share your pain,
your fate is ours.

I’ve got my dear ones now. Now,
even if I should die, I’m not destroyed, not utterly,
not with the two of you beside me. Come, little ones,
here, press hard! I’ll wrap my arms around you,
closer, tighter—father together with his children!
And give me rest from the journey I’ve been through,
so lonely, cruel... and tell me what’s happened,
briefly as you can. For girls so young
speeches should be short.

Here he is—
Turning to THESEUS.
he saved us. Hear it from him, father,
he did it all. That’s how brief I’ll be.

Dear friend, don’t wonder at this, if I go on and on ...
my heart is bursting—finding my children back,
beyond my dreams! The joy they bring me,
well I know, I owe it all to you,
you saved them, yes, no other man alive.
May the gods reward you just as I desire,
you and your great country. Here among you,
you alone of all mankind—
I have discovered reverence, humanity
and lips that never lie. I know from experience,
know these things I repay with words of thanks.
Whatever I have, I have through you alone,
no other man on earth.

Groping toward THESEUS.

Give me your right hand,
my king, let me touch it, if it’s permitted,
kiss your face... wait—

He stops.
What am I saying?
You touch me? How could I ask? So wretched,
a man stained to the core of his existence!
I ask you? Never! I wouldn’t let you,
even if you were willing. No, the only ones
who can share my pain are those who’ve borne it with me.
Theseus, stay where you are and take my thanks!
And give me your loyal care in time to come,
just as you have until this very hour.

No wonder you draw things out a little
with your children, delighting in them so,
or that you’d prefer to have words with them
before you turn to me. That doesn’t offend me,
I assure you. It’s not through words but actions
that I want to set the luster on my life.
And you have proof: I haven’t failed in a thing
I swore to do for you, old man. Here I am,
and I’ve brought your daughters back alive,
untouched, for all the threats against them.
And how the fight was won—
why fill the air with empty boasting?
You’ll learn it from them, embracing your two children.

But there was some talk that struck me, just now,
as I was coming here. Give me your advice.
It’s little to tell, but strange, worth our wonder,
and a mere man should never neglect a thing
that comes his way.

What is it, Theseus?
Tell me. I know nothing of what you’re asking.

A man, they say, not of your own city
but still a kinsman—out of the blue he’s come
and flung himself on Poseidon’s altar, a suppliant,
where I was sacrificing just before I came.

What’s his country? What does he want,
sitting, waiting there?

I just know this:
they say he asks for a brief word with you,
it shouldn’t be much trouble.

What does he want?
Clinging to the altar—it’s no small matter.

He simply wants to confer with you, they say,
then go back the way he came, unharmed.

Who on earth can he be?
This suppliant of the god . . .

See if you have a relative in Argos,
someone who might beg this favor of you.

Friend—stop right there!

What’s the matter?

About what? Tell me.

Well I know, I can hear it in your words—
I know who that suppliant is.

Who in the world?
And why should I have any objection to him?

My son, king—that son I hate! His words alone
would cause me the greatest pain of any words,
any man alive.

But why? Can’t you listen?
He cannot make you act against your will.
Why should it hurt you just to hear him out?

016

Just that voice, my king,
the sound is loathsome to his father.
Don’t drive me, don’t force me to yield in this!

But don’t his prayers exert some force too?
Look to it, what if the god has powers
you should respect?

Father, listen to me,
young as I am to offer you advice.
Permit the king to satisfy himself,
his sense of conscience, and serve the god
as he thinks best—and for us, for our sake,
yield, let our brother come! Have no fear,
he’ll never wrench you away from your resolve,
not with an argument against your interests.
What’s the harm then, just to hear him out?
The worst crimes, you know, are exposed
in the very telling. Yes, and you’re his father—
so even if he’d inflict on you the worst wrong,
the worst outrage, father, it isn’t right
for you to strike back in kind.

Oh let him come!
Many other men have rebellious children,
quick tempers too . . . but they listen to reason,
they relent, the worst rage in their natures
charmed away by the soothing spells of loved ones.
Look to the past, not the present, consider all
you suffered through your father and mother—
look hard at that. You will see, I think,
what a dreadful outcome waits on dreadful anger.
You’ve good reason to remember, deprived of your eyes—
eyes that can never see the light again.
Yield to us!
It isn’t good for men with a decent cause
to beg too long, or a man to receive help,
then fail to treat a fellow-victim kindly.

Child,
it’s hard for me, this pleasure you win from me
with all your pleading. But if your heart is set,
so be it.

Turning to THESEUS

Just one thing, my friend,
if that man is coming here, never
let him get me in his clutches—never!

Once is enough for that, old man,
I don’t need to hear that twice.
I’m not about to boast, but trust to this:
your life is safe, so long as a god saves mine.

Exit right, with the royal guard, while the CHORUS gathers around OEDIPUS.

Show me a man who longs to live a day beyond his time
who turns his back on a decent length of life,
I’ll show the world a man who clings to folly.
For the long, looming days lay up a thousand things
closer to pain than pleasure, and the pleasures disappear,
you look and know not where
when a man’s outlived his limit, plunged in age
and the good comrade comes who comes at last to all,
not with a wedding-song, no lyre, no singers dancing—
the doom of the Deathgod comes like lightning
always death at the last.

Not to be born is best
when all is reckoned in, but once a man has seen the light
the next best thing, by far, is to go back
back where he came from, quickly as he can.
For once his youth slips by, light on the wing
lightheaded ... what mortal blows can he escape
what griefs won’t stalk his days?
Envy and enemies, rage and battles, bloodshed
and last of all despised old age overtakes him,
stripped of power, companions, stripped of love—
the worst this life of pain can offer,
old age our mate at last.

This is the grief he faces—I am not alone—
like some great headland fronting the north
hit by the winter breakers beating down
from every quarter—so he suffers,
terrible blows crashing over him
head to foot, over and over
down from every quarter—
now from the west, the dying sun
now from the first light rising
now from the blazing beams of noon
now from the north engulfed in endless night.

Look there-I think it’s the stranger coming toward us,
but at least the man’s without an escort, father,
and his eyes are streaming tears,
he’s struggling on his way.

Enter POLYNICES, left.

The one we’ve had in mind from the start—
it’s Polynices, here.

Oh, what will I do?
Cry for my own miseries first, my sisters?
Or the miseries of my old father,
look, before my eyes. I find him here,
an outcast, here in a strange land with you,
two weak girls. And wrapped in such rags—appalling—
the filth of years clings to his old withered body,
wasting away the skin, the flesh on his ribs...
and his face, the blind sockets of his eyes,
and the white hair wild, flying in the wind!
And all of a piece with this, I’m afraid, the scraps
he packs to fill his shriveled belly. So late,
to my everlasting shame I learn all this so late.

Turning to OEDIPUS.

I am the worst man alive, I swear it,
in all that touches you, the care you need.
Hear it from me, no one else. But think...
even Zeus himself, in all his works,
keeps Mercy beside him, poised beside his throne—
so let her stand beside you now, my father!
There are cures for all the past wrongs done,
no way to make them worse, not now.
What, silence?
Father, say something, anything—don’t turn away from me!
Nothing in answer to me? You’d reject me,
send me away, cursed with silence?
Nothing to tell me why you’re raging so?

To ANTIGONE and ISMENE.

You, you’re the man’s children, my own sisters!
Try, at least, to rouse our father from this,
this rock-bound, impenetrable silence.
So he won’t reject me-a suppliant of the god—
won’t cut me off, humiliated so,
not a word in answer.

Poor brother,
tell him yourself, exactly why you’ve come.
As the words flow on, they just may touch some joy
or hit some raw nerve, or tenderness and pity,
and somehow lend a voice to stony silence.

Then I’ll speak out—you’re right, good advice—
first I call to the god himself as my defender.
From the god’s altar the king of the country
raised me up and sent me here to you, empowered
to speak and listen, and go my way unharmed.
These are the pledges I was given, strangers.
Keep them, please,
you and my sisters here, and my old father.

Now, father, I must tell you why I’ve come.
I am an outcast, driven from our fatherland.
As your eldest-born, you see, I claimed the right
to sit upon your throne with all your powers.
For that, Eteocles, my younger brother,
up and thrust me from the land—
and he won out, not by force of argument,
not by coming to grips in a test of strength,
no, he bribed the people to his side. And this,
I’m certain, must be the work of a Fury, your Fury,
the curse upon your house—all I’ve heard
from the seers has borne me out.

Well then,
when I made my way to Argos, the old Doric city,
I took Adrastus’ daughter for my wife
and bound to me by oath that country’s best—
all the lords who had won their fame in combat—
so I might raise a great army, seven spears
forged together, trained on Thebes,
and die for the justice of my cause
or drive out those who drove me from the land.

Yes, but why do I come before you now?
To kneel at your feet, my father! Bearing prayers,
my own, and the prayers of all my comrades:
seven columns, seven spearheads closing
an iron ring around the plain of Thebes.
Who are the captains? That man of the whirling lance,
Amphiaraus, master of battle, master prophet,
lord of the birds that help us see the future.
Second, Oeneus’ son, Tydeus of Aetolia.
Third, Eteoclus, born in Argos. Fourth,
Hippomedon, sent to the wars by his father,
Talaus. The fifth, Capaneus, boasts to the skies
he’ll raze the walls of Thebes, blast them down with fire!
And sixth, riding out of Arcadia, Parthenopeus,
named for the virgin girl those years ago,
who married once and brought him into life—
Atalanta’s trusty son. And last, myself,
your son ... or if not your son, surely the child
of a hard fate, and yours at least in name—
I lead the undaunted troops of Argos against Thebes.
We beg you now—by these, your children here,
by your own life, father, we all implore you!
Relent, relent in your crushing rage against me,
as I march on to discipline my brother
who drove me out, robbed me of my fatherland.
If there is any truth at all in the oracles,
the side you join, they said, that side will triumph.

So now by the springs, by all the gods of our race,
I beg you, listen to me, yield! Look at me now,
beggar and exile, an exile just like you:
we both fawn on the world for shelter,
you and I, we share the same fate. But he,
he tyrannizes our house—it mortifies me so—
he lords it now, he mocks us both at once.
But if you stand side-by-side with me
and my resolve, father, with little effort,
little time, I’ll fling him to the winds.
And then I’ll take you home and reestablish you
in your own house, establish myself as well,
once I’ve thrown the traitor out by force!

Stand by me and that can be my boast.
Without you I am powerless—I can’t survive.

For the sake of Theseus who sent him, Oedipus,
say something, whatever seems right to you,
before you send the man away.

Believe me,
my friends, guardians of this country,
if Theseus hadn’t sent the man my way,
insisting that he hear some words from me,
he’d never have caught the ring of my response.
But now his wish will be granted before he goes.
Oh yes, he’ll hear such words from me ...
hey’ll bring his life no joy,
tell you, never.

Wheeling on POLYNICES.

You, degenerate—
you when you held the throne and scepter
your blood brother now holds in Thebes,
you drove me into exile, your own father!
You stripped me of my city, you put on my back
these rags you weep to see, now, only now
you’ve sunk to the same depths of pain as I.
Well, you can keep your tears—but I,
I must suffer this so long as I’m alive:
you are the one I must remember—
you destroyed my life! you made me brother
to this, this misery—you rooted me out—
thanks to you I wander, a vagabond, abandoned,
begging my daily bread from strangers through the world.
And if these two girls had not been bom to nurse me,
I’d be good as dead—for all you cared! But now,
look, they save my life, they feed me, tend me,
why, they’re men, not women, look, when it comes
to shouldering my burdens. But you, my brace of boys,
you’re bom of a stranger, you’re no sons of mine!

And so the eyes of fate look down upon you now,
but not yet with the lightning that will strike
if those armies are really marching hard on Thebes.
Impossible—you’ll never tear that city down. No,
you’ll fall first, red with your brother’s blood
and he stained with yours—equals, twins in blood.
Such were the curses I hurled against you long ago
and now, again, I call them up to fight beside me!
You will learn, at last, to respect your parents—
I’ll teach you to heap contempt upon your father
because he’s blind and bore such ruthless sons.
These daughters never did such things, but you,
you and your pious supplications and your throne—
my curses have you in their power now,
if that Justice, declared from the first of time,
still shares the throne of Zeus with the everlasting laws.

Die and be damned!
I spit on you! Out!—
your father cuts you off! Corruption—scum of the earth!—
out!—and pack these curses I call down upon your head:
lever to win your mother-country with your spear,
never return to Argos ringed with hills—
Die!
Die by your own blood brother’s hand—die!—
killing the very man who drove you out!
So I curse your life out!
I call on the dark depths of Tartarus brimming hate,
where all our fathers lie, to hale you home!
I cry to the great goddesses of this grove!
I cry to the great god War
who planted that terrible hatred in your hearts!
Go!—with all my curses thundering in your ears—
go and herald them out to every man in Thebes
and all your loyal comrades under arms! Cry out
that Oedipus has bequeathed these last rights,
these royal rights of birth to both his sons!

I take no joy in your journeys, Polynices,
whatever brought you here.
Now go back, as quickly as you can.

Oh the long road, the labor come to nothing,
oh my captains! Look how the marches end,
the road our armies trampled out of Argos ...
there’s so much death at journey’s end, dear god,
I cannot breathe a word of it to my comrades,
nor can I turn them back—I must go to meet
this doom in silence.
My sisters, you, his daughters!
Now that you’ve heard our father’s iron curses,
I implore you in the name of the gods,
if father’s curses all come true at last,
and if some way back to Thebes is found for you,
don’t neglect me, please, give me burial,
the honored rites of death.
And the care that wins you praises now,
for helping this old man, will win you more
for the loving service you perform for me.

Polynices, listen to me, I beg you, just one thing.

Dearest, what? Antigone, tell me.

Turn back the armies, back to Argos, quickly!
Don’t destroy yourself and Thebes.

Unthinkable—
how could I ever raise the same force again,
once I flinched in the crisis?

Again? Oh dear boy,
why should your anger ever rise again?
What do you stand to gain,
razing your father-city to the roots?

Exile is humiliating, and I am the elder
and being mocked so brutally by my brother—

Don’t you see?

You carry out father’s prophecies to the finish!
Didn’t he cry aloud you’d kill each other,
fighting hand-to-hand?

True,
that’s his wish—but I, I can’t give up.

Oh no ... but who would dare follow you now,
hearing the oracles the man’s delivered?

I simply won’t report them, not a word.
The good leader repeats the good news,
keeps the worst to himself.

So, my brother, your heart is set on this?

Yes—
ANTIGONE embraces him.
don’t hold me back. The road is waiting-
I must travel down that road, doomed by fate
and the curses of my father, all his swarming Furies.
But the two of you, god bless you on your way
if you carry out my wishes once I’m dead...
you cannot help me any more in life.
Now, let me go.

Gently slipping free of ANTIGONE.

Goodbye, dear ones.
You’ll never look on me again, alive.

No mourning for me now.

Who wouldn’t mourn you, Polynices?
Rushing to death with open eyes!

Death—if that’s my fate.

Please, dear brother, listen!

Don’t try to dissuade me:
it’s my duty.

It’s unbearable...
robbed of you I might as well be dead.

No,
that’s in the hands of a dark power, destiny—
whether we live or die, who knows?
But the two of you, at least,
I pray to god you never meet with harm.
The world can see you don’t deserve to suffer.

Exit, to the left.

Look, new agonies now, I see them come
from the blind stranger now,
such heavy doom for his son
unless, perhaps, it is actually destiny at work.
It is not for me to call the commands of heaven empty, futile—
Time is watching, watching over us always,
bringing down the lives of some,
raising others the next day
into the light again—

Thunder sounds in the distance.

Listen,
thunder, the sky—Oh god...

Children, children,
can someone, anyone go for Theseus?
Bring the great man here!

Why so urgent, father, such commands?

This winged thunder of Zeus will take me down
to Death at any moment—send for him, quickly!

Thunder again, louder. The elders cry out singly.

—Tremendous! Listen, over and over, the skies are crashing—

-Immense, a marvel, flung by the hand of god!

-The terror’s bristling through my hair,
my heart’s racing—the lightning blazing the heavens—again!

-Where will it end? what birth will it let loose?

—Oh it terrifies me-the lightning
never bursts for nothing, never
without some dread, some awesome—

A huge peal of thunder, lightning.

—0 great sky—O god!

Dear children,
the destined end has come upon your father.
I can turn my face from it no more.

How do you know? Are you sure this is the sign?

I know it all too well. Quickly, I beg you—
go, someone, bring the lord of the land.

Thunder and lightning crashing on the spot.

—There—look, blast on blast, it’s all around us, shattering, thunderheads exploding!

-Mercy, O great power, mercy!—if you are bringing down some strange darkness, down on the earth, our mother—

—Give me mercy, I beg you, kindness, not disaster for setting eyes on him, a man accurst!

-Don’t curse me too, I cry to you, Zeus, Zeus, my king!

Theseus—is he near?
Will he find me still alive, children,
and master of my mind?

What do you want?
What do you have in mind? what debt, what pledge?

For all his kindness, all he did for me,
now I would give that gift I promised him.

The CHORUS closes ranks around OEDIPUS.

Come, Theseus, come if you’re close at hand
or come from the green depths,
the grove of the Ocean Lord Poseidon, come
from sacrificing the oxen at his altar, oh come now!
In the stranger’s eyes you earn his kindness, rightful kindness,
you and your city Athens and your people—blessings,
he will bless you for your kindness.
Theseus, king, come quickly!

Enter THESEUS, right, with his attendants.

What’s this?
Another outcry, ringing from all of you,
as clearly from my people as my guest. Why,
the lightning of Zeus?—the hail, the cloudburst
breaking on our heads? When the gods send such a storm
the wildest dark forebodings are in order—
anything can happen.

My king, I longed for you
and you stand before my eyes! There must be a god
who grants you this, the fortune of your coming.

017

What is it, son of Laius, what now?

My life hangs in the balance.
I must not die in bad faith, failing
the pledge I made to you and Athens.

What proves your time has come, what signs?

The gods!
They are their own heralds—they bring me the word,
never failing the signs decreed so long ago.

You mean, old man, what makes this clear is—

Thunder, yes! crash on crash, incessant—
the lightning, bolt on bolt, hurled by the hand
that never knows defeat.

Oh believe you.
Time and again I’ve seen your prophecies come right,
you never lie. Now tell me what to do.

I will reveal it all to you, son of Aegeus,
the power that age cannot destroy,
the heritage stored up for you and Athens.
Soon, soon I will lead you on myself, no hand
to lead my way, to the place where I must die.
Never reveal the spot to mortal man,
not even the region, not where it lies hidden.
Then it will always form a defense for you,
a bulwark stronger than many shields,
stronger than the spear of massed allies.

But these are great mysteries...
words must never rouse them from their depths.
You will learn them all for yourself, once
you come to our destination, you alone.
I cannot utter them to your people here,
nor to my own children, love them as I do.
No, you alone must keep them safe forever,
and when you reach the end of your own life,
reveal them only to your eldest, dearest son,
and then let him reveal them to his heir
and so through the generations, on forever.

Then you will keep your city safe from Thebes,
the fighters sprung from the Dragon’s teeth.
So many cities ride roughshod over their neighbors—
reckless, even if that neighbor lives in peace—
for the gods are strong but slow to see and strike
when a man has flung all fear of god to the winds
and turned to frenzy. Never risk defeat, Theseus,
never divulge what you will learn.
Well,
you know these things, no need to preach to you.
On now, on to our destination... I can feel
the god within me urge me on—onward,
we must hesitate no more.

Suddenly possessed of new strength, OEDIPUS rises to his feet; the children attempt to help him, but he begins to move with slow, majestic steps, beckoning all to follow his path.

Follow me, O my children,
come this way. I stand revealed at last, look,
a strange new role for me—I am your guide
as you were once your father’s. On, onward!
No, don’t touch me, let me find that sacred grave myself
where the Fates will bury Oedipus in this land.
This way, come, walk on! This is the way
they lead me on, Hermes the Escort of the Dead,
Persephone, Queen of the Dead.

Moving firmly to the right.

0 light of the sun,
no light to me! Once you were mine, I think...
now for the last time I feel you warm my flesh,
now I go to hide the last breath of life
in the long house of Death.

Dearest friend,
you and your country and your loyal followers,
may you be blessed with greatness,
and in your great day remember me, the dead,
the root of all your greatness, everlasting, ever-new.

Passing from sight, he leads forth his daughters, THESEUS and attendants to the right. The CHORUS gathers at the altar, praying.

Now if it’s not forbidden
now let me adore you with my prayers—
invisible, proud Persephone and you,
king of the dead engulfed in night
iron king of the dead, I pray to you!

Not in pain, not by a doom
that breaks the heart with mourning,
let our friend go down to the world below
the all-enshrouding infinite fields of the dead
the dark house of Death. Numberless agonies
blind and senseless, came his way in life—
now let some power
some justice grant him glory!

Goddesses of the Earth—and you,
the huge beast unconquered, lodged
at the gates that take in all the world—
snarling from the cavern’s jaws
untameable Watchman of the Dead,
the dread of the oldest legends! Death,
I beg you, son of Earth and the Black Depths,
let Cerberus leave the pathway clear for him, our friend
passing down to the endless meadows of the dead.
God of eternal sleep, I call to you,
let Oedipus rest forever.

Enter a MESSENGER, from the right.

My countrymen,
the quickest way to tell you is this:
Oedipus is gone.
But what took place--it’s not short in the telling,
not short in all that really happened there.

He’s dead, poor man?

Make no mistake,
he’s gone, he’s left the world forever.

How?
Some stroke of the gods and free from pain?

Yes—there we come to the marvel of it all.
You know how he left this spot, of course,
you saw him go. No friend to lead the way,
he led us all himself.

Now, when he reached
the steep descent, the threshold rooted deep
in the earth by the great brazen steps, he stopped . . .
pausing at one of the many branching paths there,
near the bowl scooped out in the smooth stone
where the pact sealed by Theseus and Perithous
is cut in stone forever. He took his stand midway
between that bowl and the Rock of Thoricus,
the hollow wild-pear and the marble tomb,
and sat him down and loosed his filthy rags.
Then he called for his daughters, commanded them
to bring water from some running spring, water
to bathe himself and pour the last libations.
And they climbed the gentle rise, just in sight,
the Hill of Demeter, goddess of new green life,
and soon returned with what their father ordered,
bathed him in holy water, decked his body out
in shining linen, the custom for the dead.

But when he was content that all was done,
and of all he wanted, nothing more was needed,
nothing left to do—all at once
Zeus of the Underworld thundered from the depths,
and the young girls shuddered in horror at the sound,
they fell at their father’s knees, choked with tears,
they couldn’t stop, beating their breasts, wailing,
endless... but when he heard their sharp piercing cry,
he flung his arms around them both and said, “My children,
this is the day that ends your father’s life.
All that I was on earth is gone:
no longer will you bear the heavy burden
of caring for your father. It was hard, I know,
my children, but one word alone repays you
for the labor of your lives—love, my children.
You had love from me as from no other man alive,
and now you must live without me all your days to come.”

It was unbearable. Locked in each other’s arms
they heaved and sobbed, all three as one.
But when they’d made an end of grief
and the long wail rose up no more,
a deep silence fell . . . and suddenly,
a voice, someone crying out to him, startling,
terrifying, the hair on our heads bristled—
it was calling for him, over and over,
echoing all around us now—it was some god!
“You, you there, Oedipus—what are we waiting for?
You hold us back too long! We must move on, move on!”

Then, knowing it was the god that called him on,
he asked for Theseus, and when our king came up
beside him, Oedipus spoke out, “Oh dear friend,
give my children the binding pledge of your right hand,
and children, give him yours. And swear that you
will never forsake them, not if you can help it—
you will do all within your power, your kindness,
all that is best for them—now and always.”

And Theseus, noble man, not giving way to grief,
swore to carry out the wishes of his friend.
And soon as he made that pledge, Oedipus
reached out at once with his blind hands,
feeling for his children, saying, “Oh my children,
now you must be brave, noble in spirit,
you must leave this place behind,
and never ask to see what law forbids
or hear the secret voices none may hear.
Now go—quickly. Only the appointed one,
Theseus, let him stand beside me:
he must see this mystery,
he must witness what will happen now.”

That was the last we heard him say, all of us
clustering there, and as we followed the daughters
sobbing, streaming tears . . . moving away we turned
in a moment, looked back, and Oedipus—
we couldn’t see the man—he was gone—nowhere!
And the king, alone, shielding his eyes,
both hands spread out against his face as if—
some terrible wonder flashed before his eyes and he,
he could not bear to look. And then, quickly,
we see him bow and kiss the ground and stretch
his arms to the skies, salute the gods of Olympus
and the powers of the Earth in one great prayer,
binding both together.

But by what doom
Oedipus died, not a man alive can say,
only Theseus, our king.
No blazing bolt of the god took him off,
no whirlwind sweeping inland off the seas,
not in his last hour. No, it was some escort
sent by the gods or the dark world of the dead,
the lightless depths of Earth bursting open in kindness
to receive him. That man went on his way,
I tell you, not with trains of mourners,
not with suffering or with sickness, no,
if the death of any mortal ever was one,
his departure was a marvel!

Consider my story madness if you will.
I don’t want your belief, not if you think I’m mad.

And where are the children, Theseus and his friends?

Not far. Listen. You hear the sounds of weeping?
It’s clear, they’re coming right this way.

Enter a solemn cortege, right, with ANTIGONE and ISMENE in the lead, chanting a dirge as the CHORUS gathers around them.

O the misery,
now it is ours, all ours, and not for the moment now
but all our lives, we wail the death
the curse on the blood our blood
our doom born in us by our father ...
0 for his sake, as long as he lived
we bore his agony, day after day, and now
at the last a grief beyond imagining, baffling-
all we have seen and suffered, all is ours to tell.

We can only guess, my friends.

He’s really gone?

And just as you would have wanted,
wanted most—how else?—when neither war
nor the crashing waves struck him down
but he was snatched away by the fields unseen
swept away by a strange, swift doom ...
and O what pain for us!
A deadly night has fallen on our eyes.
Where, I ask you, where do we wander now?—
what alien land, what heaving salt seas—
where will we find the bitter bread of life?

Where on earth? Oh god, let murderous Death
join me to my old father in the grave ... such anguish—
how can I face the life that I must live?

Best of children, sisters arm-in-arm,
we must bear what the gods give us to bear—
don’t fire up your hearts with so much grief.
No reason to blame the pass you’ve come to now.

SO,
you can really yearn for sorrows past to come again!
What wrenched my heart was love, love after all
as long as I held my father in my arms!
Father, O dear father
now you shroud yourself
in the dark world of the dead forever
yes but not even there, there below the earth—
you’ll never lack our love, my sister’s love and mine.

His work is done?

And done as he wanted most.

How, what do you mean?

He has died on foreign soil
the soil of his choice . . . he has his bed forever
covered deep in the shadows of the dead and
left behind him mourning warm with tears.
My eyes are streaming for you, father,
you see? I grieve, I mourn you—
cannot quench my grief, can’t wipe from sight
the blinding tears of sorrow. O you wanted to die
on foreign soil, but so alone, so desolate—
why not in my arms?

It breaks my heart!
What awaits us now, dear sister, what new fate?
We’re destitute, robbed of father.

But look,
he’s free, he’s ended his life with blessings—
children, end your grief. No one alive
is free and clear of pain.

Back, dear,
let’s hurry back!

Why, to do what?

I’m mad with longing—

To see that last home in the earth—

Father‘s! Oh god help me—

How can we? It’s forbidden,
can’t you see—?

Why rail against me so?

And don’t you remember too—?

What else, what more?

He’s gone without a tomb, and no one saw him go.

Take me there, take me, kill me too!

So desperate ...
what’s left for me? So deserted, lost-
how can I go on living?

Children,
dear ones have no fear.

But where to go, to escape?

You escaped before.

Ruin, disaster—both of you.

Oh yes,
well I know—

Then what do you have in mind?

How can we travel home to Thebes?
I see no way.

Don’t go home, don’t even try!

But we’re in such straits.

You were before!

Bad enough then, but now it’s so much worse!

True, true, a terrible sea of troubles
overwhelms you both.

Oh god, where do we turn?
What last hope? Where will the great power,
destiny, drive us now?

Enter THESEUS and his guard from the right.

Stop, my children, weep no more. Here
where the dark forces store up kindness
both for living and the dead,
there is no room for grieving here—
it might bring down the anger of the gods.

Oh Theseus, we beg you on our knees.

What do you want, children? Why so urgent?

We long to see our father’s tomb with our own eyes!

Impossible. It’s forbidden: you must not go.

Why not? Majesty, king of Athens!

Your father
forbade it, children. He commanded me
that no one may go near that place,
not a living voice invade that grave:
it’s sacred, it’s his everlasting rest.
And he said that if I kept my pledge
I’d keep my country free of harm forever.
I swore it, and the powers heard my vows,
and Zeus’s son above all,
the guardian of our oaths who sees all things.

So be it. If this is father’s will,
we will be content—we must.
But send us back to Thebes, I beg you,
home to our old ancestral house.
Somehow we must stop the slaughter
marching against our brothers!

That I will do, and whatever else I can
to benefit your lives and please the dead,
the great dead, swept from sight just now.
That is my part—I must never fail.

Come, my children, weep no more,
raise the dirge no longer. All rests
in the hands of a mighty power.

Exit ANTIGONE and ISMENE, accampanied by escorts, to the left, the direction of Thebes; THESEUS and the CHORUS to the right, toward Athens.