Chapter V: Part 5

But if one be, whose bold disdain I 2 Walks in a round of vapourings vain And violent acts, regarding not The Rule of Right, but with proud thought Scorning the place where Gods have set their seat, --Made captive by an Evil Doom, Shorn of that inauspicious bloom, Let him be shown the path of lawful gain And taught in holier ways to guide his feet, Nor with mad folly strain His passionate arms to clasp things impious to retain. Who in such courses shall defend his soul From storms of thundrous wrath that o'er him roll? If honour to such lives be given, What needs our choir to hymn the power of Heaven?

No more to Delphi, central shrine II 2 Of Earth, I'll seek, for light divine, Nor visit Abae's mystic fane Nor travel o'er the well-trod plain Where thousands throng to famed Olympia's town, Unless, with manifest accord, The event fulfil the oracular word. Zeus, Lord of all! if to eternity Thou would'st confirm thy kingdom's large renown, Let not their vauntings high Evade the sovereign look of the everlasting eye! They make as though the ancient warning slept By Laius erst with fear and trembling kept; Apollo's glory groweth pale, And holiest rites are prone to faint and fail.

_Enter_ JOCASTA.

JO. Princes of Thebes, it came into my thought To stand before some holy altar-place With frankincense and garlands. For the king, Transported by the tempest of his fear, Runs wild in grief, nor like a man of sense Reasons of present things from what hath been. Each tongue o'ermasters him that tells of woe. Then since my counsels are of no avail, To thee, for thou art nearest, Lykian God, I bring my supplication with full hand. O grant us absolution and relief! For seeing him, our pilot, so distraught, Like mariners, we are all amazed with dread.

_Enter the_ CORINTHIAN SHEPHERD.

COR. SH. Are ye the men to tell me where to find The mansion of the sovereign Oedipus? Or better, where he may himself be found?

CH. Here is the roof you seek, and he, our lord, Is there within: and, stranger, thou behold'st The queenly mother of his royal race.

COR. SH. May she and hers be alway fortunate! Still may she crown him with the joys of home!

JO. Be thou, too, blest, kind sir! Thy gracious tongue Deserves no less. But tell me what request Or what intelligence thou bring'st with thee?

COR. SH. Good tidings for thy house and husband, queen.

JO. What are they? Who hath sent thee to our hall?

COR. SH. From Corinth come I, and will quickly tell What sure will please you; though perchance 'twill grieve.

JO. What news can move us thus two ways at once?

COR. SH. 'Twas rumoured that the people of the land Of Corinth would make Oedipus their king.

JO. Is ancient Polybus not still in power?

COR. SH. No. Death confines him in a kingly grave.

JO. Hold there! How say you? Polybus in his grave?

COR. SH. May I die for him if I speak not true!

JO. (_To an attendant_). Run thou, and tell this quickly to my lord! Voices of prophecy, where are ye now? Long time hath Oedipus, a homeless man, Trembled with fear of slaying Polybus. Who now lies slain by Fortune, not by him.

_Enter_ OEDIPUS.

OED. Jocasta, my dear queen, why didst thou send To bring me hither from our palace-hall?

JO. Hear that man's tale, and then consider well The end of yonder dreadful prophecy.

OED. Who is the man, and what his errand here?

JO. He comes from Corinth, to make known to thee That Polybus, thy father, is no more.

OED. How, stranger? Let me learn it from thy mouth.

COR. SH. If my first duty be to make this clear, Know beyond doubt that he is dead and gone.

OED. By illness coming o'er him, or by guile?

COR. SH. Light pressure lays to rest the timeworn frame.

OED. He was subdued by sickness then, poor soul!

COR. SH. By sickness and the burden of his years.

OED. Ah! my Jocasta, who again will heed The Pythian hearth oracular, and birds Screaming in air, blind guides! that would have made My father's death my deed; but he is gone, Hidden underneath the ground, while I stand hero Harmless and weaponless:--unless, perchance, My absence killed him,--so he may have died Through me. But be that as it may, the grave That covers Polybus, hath silenced, too, One voice of prophecy, worth nothing now.

JO. Did I not tell thee so, long since?

OED. Thou didst. But I was drawn to error by my fear.

JO. Now cast it altogether out of mind.

OED. Must I not fear my mother's marriage-bed?

JO. Why should man fear, seeing his course is ruled By fortune, and he nothing can foreknow? 'Tis best to live at ease as best one may. Then fear not thou thy mother's nuptial hour. Many a man ere now in dreams hath lain With her who bare him. He hath least annoy Who with such omens troubleth not his mind.

OED. That word would be well spoken, were not she Alive that gave me birth. But since she lives, Though you speak well, yet have I cause for fear.

JO. Your father's burial might enlighten you.

OED. It doth. But I am darkened by a life.

COR. SH. Whose being overshadows thee with fear?

OED. Queen Merope, the consort of your king.

COR. SH. What in her life should make your heart afraid?

OED. A heaven-sent oracle of dreadful sound.

COR. SH. May it be told, or must no stranger know?

OED. Indeed it may. Word came from Phoebus once That I must know my mother's shame, and shed With these my hands my own true father's blood. Wherefore long since my home hath been removed Far from Corinthos:--not unhappily; But still 'tis sweet to see a parent's face.

COR. SH. Did fear of this make thee so long an exile?

OED. Of this and parricide, my aged friend.

COR. SH. I came with kind intent--and, dear my lord, I fain would rid thee from this haunting dread.

OED. Our gratitude should well reward thy love.

COR. SH. Hope of reward from thee in thy return Was one chief motive of my journey hither.

OED. Return? Not to my parents' dwelling-place!

COR. SH. Son, 'tis too clear, you know not what you do.

OED. Wherefore, kind sir? For Heaven's sake teach me this.

COR. SH. If for these reasons you avoid your home.

OED. The fear torments me, Phoebus may prove true.

COR. SH. Lest from your parents you receive a stain?

OED. That is the life-long torment of my soul.

COR. SH. Will you be certified your fears are groundless?

OED. How groundless, if I am my parents' child?

COR. SH. Because with Polybus thou hast no kin.

OED. Why? Was not he the author of my life?

COR. SH. As much as I am, and no more than I.

OED. How can my father be no more to me Than who is nothing?

COR. SH. In begetting thee Nor I nor he had any part at all.

OED. Why then did he declare me for his son?

COR. SH. Because he took thee once a gift from me.

OED. Was all that love unto a foundling shown?

COR. SH. Heirless affection so inclined his heart.

OED. A gift from you! Your purchase, or your child?[5]

COR. SH. Found in Cithaeron's hollowy wilderness.

OED. What led your travelling footstep to that ground?

COR. SH. The flocks I tended grazed the mountain there.

OED. A shepherd wast thou, and a wandering hind?

COR. SH. Whatever else, my son, thy saviour then.

OED. From what didst thou release me or relieve?

COR. SH. Thine instep bears memorial of the pain.

OED. Ah! what old evil will thy words disclose?

COR. SH. Thy feet were pierced. 'Twas I unfastened them.

OED. So cruel to my tender infancy!

COR. SH. From this thou hast received thy name.

OED. By heaven I pray thee, did my father do this thing, Or was't my mother?

COR. SH. That I dare not say. He should know best who gave thee to my hand.

OED. Another gave me, then? You did not find me?

COR. SH. Another herdsman passed thee on to me.

OED. Can you describe him? Tell us what you know.

COR. SH. Methinks they called him one of Laius' people.

OED. Of Laius once the sovereign of this land?

COR. SH. E'en so. He was a shepherd of his flock.

OED. And is he still alive for me to see?

COR. SH. You Thebans are most likely to know that.

OED. Speak, any one of you in presence here, Can you make known the swain he tells us of, In town or country having met with him? The hour for this discovery is full come.

CH. Methinks it is no other than the peasant Whom thou didst seek before to see: but this Could best be told by queen Jocasta there.

OED. We lately sought that one should come, my queen. Know'st thou, is this of whom he speaks the same?

JO. What matter who? Regard not, nor desire Even vainly to remember aught he saith.

OED. When I have found such tokens of my birth, I must disclose it.

JO. As you love your life, By heaven I beg you, search no further here! The sickness in my bosom is enough.

OED. Nay, never fear! Were I proved thrice a slave And waif of bondwomen, you still are noble.

JO. Yet hearken, I implore you: do not so.

OED. I cannot hear you. I must know this through.

JO. With clear perception I advise the best.

OED. Thy 'best' is still my torment.

JO. Wretched one, Never may'st thou discover who thou art!

OED. Will some one go and bring the herdman hither? Leave her to revel in her lordly line!

JO. O horrible! O lost one! This alone I speak to thee, and no word more for ever. [_Exit_

CH. Oedipus, wherefore is Jocasta gone, Driven madly by wild grief? I needs must fear Lest from this silence she make sorrow spring.

OED. Leave her to raise what storm she will. But I Will persevere to know mine origin, Though from an humble seed. Her woman's pride Is shamed, it may be, by my lowliness. But I, whilst I account myself the son Of prospering Fortune, ne'er will be disgraced. For she is my true mother: and the months, Coheirs with me of the same father, Time, Have marked my lowness and mine exaltation. So born, so nurtured, I can fear no change, That I need shrink to probe this to the root. [OEDIPUS _remains, and gazes towards the country, while the_ CHORUS _sing_

CHORUS.
If I wield a prophet's might, 1
Or have sense to search aright,
Cithaeron, when all night the moon rides high,
Loud thy praise shall be confessed,
How upon thy rugged breast,
Thou, mighty mother, nursed'st tenderly
Great Oedipus, and gav'st his being room
Within thy spacious home.
Yea, we will dance and sing
Thy glory for thy kindness to our king.
Phoebus, unto thee we cry,
Be this pleasing in thine eye!

Who, dear sovereign, gave thee birth, 2
Of the long lived nymphs of earth?
Say, was she clasped by mountain roving Pan?
Or beguiled she one sweet hour
With Apollo in her bower,
Who loves to trace the field untrod by man?
Or was the ruler of Cyllene's height
The author of thy light?
Or did the Bacchic god,
Who makes the top of Helicon to nod,
Take thee for a foundling care
From his playmates that are there?

_The_ THEBAN SHEPHERD _is seen approaching, guarded._

OED. If haply I, who never saw his face, Thebans, may guess, methinks I see the hind Whose coming we have longed for. Both his age, Agreeing with this other's wintry locks, Accords with my conjecture, and the garb Of his conductors is well known to me As that of mine own people. But methinks [_to_ LEADER of CHORUS] Thou hast more perfect knowledge in this case, Having beheld the herdman in the past.

CH. I know him well, believe me. Laius Had no more faithful shepherd than this man.

OED. Corinthian friend, I first appeal to you: Was't he you spake of?

COR. SH. 'Twas the man you see.

OED. Turn thine eyes hither, aged friend, and tell What I shall ask thee. Wast thou Laius' slave?

THEB. SH. I was, not bought, but bred within the house.

OED. What charge or occupation was thy care?

THEB. SH. Most of my time was spent in shepherding.

OED. And where didst thou inhabit with thy flock?

THEB. SH. 'Twas now Cithaeron, now the neighbouring tract.

OED. And hadst thou there acquaintance of this man?

THEB. SH. Following what service? What is he you mean?

OED. The man you see. Hast thou had dealings with him?

THEB. SH. I cannot bring him all at once to mind.

COR. SH. No marvel, good my lord. But I will soon Wake to clear knowledge his oblivious sense. For sure I am he can recall the time, When he with his two flocks, and I with one Beside him, grazed Cithaeron's pasture wide Good six months' space of three successive years, From spring to rising of Arcturus; then For the bleak winter season, I drove mine To their own folds, he his to Laius' stalls. Do I talk idly, or is this the truth?

THEB. SH. The time is far remote. But all is true.

COR. SH. Well, dost remember having given me then A child, that I might nurture him for mine?

THEB. SH. What means thy question? Let me know thy drift.

COR. SH. Friend, yonder stands the infant whom we knew.

THEB. SH. Confusion seize thee, and thy evil tongue!

OED. Check not his speech, I pray thee, for thy words Call more than his for chastisement, old sir.

THEB. SH. O my dread lord, therein do I offend?

OED. Thou wilt not answer him about the child?

THEB. SH. He knows not what he speaks. His end is vain.

OED. So! Thou'lt not tell to please us, but the lash Will make thee tell.

THEB. SH. By all that's merciful, Scourge not this aged frame!

OED. Pinion him straight!

THEB. SH. Unhappy! wherefore? what is't you would know?

OED. Gave you this man the child of whom he asks you?

THEB. SH. I gave it him. Would I had died that hour!

OED. Speak rightly, or your wish will soon come true.

THEB. SH. My ruin comes the sooner, if I speak.

OED. This man will balk us with his baffling prate.

THEB. SH. Not so. I said long since, 'I gave the child.'

OED. Whence? Was't your own, or from another's hand?

THEB. SH. 'Twas not mine own; another gave it me.

OED. What Theban gave it, from what home in Thebes?

THEB. SH. O, I implore thee, master, ask no more!

OED. You perish, if I have to ask again.

THEB. SH. The child was of the stock of Laius.

OED. Slave-born, or rightly of the royal line?

THEB. SH. Ah me! Now comes the horror to my tongue!

OED. And to mine ear. But thou shalt tell it me!

THEB. SH. He was given out for Laius' son: but she, Thy queen, within the palace, best can tell.

OED. How? Did she give it thee?

THEB. SH. My lord, she did.

OED. With what commission?

THEB. SH. I was to destroy him.

OED. And could a mother's heart be steeled to this?

THEB. SH. With fear of evil prophecies.

OED. What were they?

THEB. SH. 'Twas said the child should be his father's death.

OED. What then possessed thee to give up the child To this old man?

THEB. SH. Pity, my sovereign lord! Supposing he would take him far away Unto the land whence he was come. But he Preserved him to great sorrow. For if thou Art he this man hath said, be well assured Thou bear'st a heavy doom.

OED. O horrible! Horrible! All fulfilled, as sunlight clear! Oh may I nevermore behold the day, Since proved accursed in my parentage, In those I live with, and in him I slew! [_Exeunt_

CHORUS. O mortal tribes of men, I 1 How near to nothingness I count you while your lives remain! What man that lives hath more of happiness Than to seem blest, and, seeming, fade in night? O Oedipus, in this thine hour of gloom, Musing on thee and thy relentless doom, I call none happy who beholds the light.

Thou through surpassing skill I 2 Didst rise to wealth and power, When thou the monstrous riddling maid didst kill, And stoodst forth to my country as a tower To guard from myriad deaths this glorious town; Whence thou wert called my king, of faultless fame, In all the world a far-resounded name, Unparagoned in honour and renown.

But now to hear of thee, who more distressed? II 1 Who more acquainted with fierce misery, Assaulted by disasters manifest, Than thou in this thy day of agony? Most noble, most renowned!--Yet one same room Heard thy first cry, and in thy prime of power, Received thee, harbouring both bride and groom, And bore it silently till this dread hour. How could that furrowing of thy father's field Year after year continue unrevealed?

Time hath detected thine unwitting deed, II 2 Time, who discovers all with eyes of fire, Accusing thee of living without heed In hideous wedlock husband, son, and sire. Ah would that we, thou child of Laius born, Ah would that we had never seen thee nigh! E'er since we knew thee who thou art, we mourn Exceedingly with cries that rend the sky. For, to tell truth, thou didst restore our life And gavest our soul sweet respite after strife.

_Enter_ Messenger.

MESS. O ye who in this land have ever held Chief honour, what an object of dire woe Awaits your eyes, your ears! What piercing grief Your hearts must suffer, if as kinsmen should Ye still regard the house of Laius! Not Phasis, nor the Danube's rolling flood, Can ever wash away the stain and purge This mansion of the horror that it hides. --And more it soon shall give to light, not now Unconsciously enacted. Of all ill, Self-chosen sorrows are the worst to bear.

CH. What hast thou new to add? the weight of grief From that we know burdens the heart enough.

MESS. Soon spoken and soon heard is the chief sum. Jocasta's royal head is sunk in death.

CH. The hapless queen! What was the fatal cause?

MESS. Her own determination. You are spared The worst affliction, not being there to see. Yet to the height of my poor memory's power The wretched lady's passion you shall hear. When she had passed in her hot mood within The vestibule, straight to the bridal room She rushes, tearing with both hands her hair. Then having entered, shutting fast the door, She called aloud on Laius, long dead, With anguished memory of that birth of old Whereby the father fell, leaving his queen To breed a dreadful brood for his own son. And loudly o'er the bed she wailed, where she, In twofold wedlock, hapless, had brought forth Husband from husband, children from a child. We could not know the moment of her death, Which followed soon, for Oedipus with cries Broke in, and would not let us see her end, But held our eyes as he careered the hall, Demanding arms, and where to find his wife,-- No, not his wife, but fatal mother-croft, Cropped doubly with himself and his own seed. And in his rage some god directed him To find her:--'twas no man of us at hand. Then with a fearful shout, as following His leader, he assailed the folding-doors; And battering inward from the mortised bolts The bending boards, he burst into the room: Where high suspended we beheld the queen, In twisted cordage resolutely swung. He all at once on seeing her, wretched king! Undid the pendent noose, and on the ground Lay the ill-starred queen. Oh, then 'twas terrible To see what followed--for he tore away The tiring-pins wherewith she was arrayed, And, lifting, smote his eyeballs to the root, Saying, Nevermore should they behold the evil His life inherited from that past time, But all in dark henceforth should look upon Features far better not beheld, and fail To recognize the souls he had longed to know. Thus crying aloud, not once but oftentimes He drave the points into his eyes; and soon The bleeding pupils moistened all his beard, Nor stinted the dark flood, but all at once The ruddy hail poured down in plenteous shower. Thus from two springs, from man and wife together, Rose the joint evil that is now o'erflowing. And the old happiness in that past day Was truly happy, but the present hour Hath pain, crime, ruin:--whatsoe'er of ill Mankind have named, not one is absent here.

CH. And finds the sufferer now some pause of woe?

MESS. He bids make wide the portal and display To all the men of Thebes the man who slew His father, who unto his mother did What I dare not repeat, and fain would fling His body from the land, nor calmly bide The shock of his own curse on his own hall. Meanwhile he needs some comfort and some guide, For such a load of misery who can bear? Thyself shalt judge: for, lo, the palace-gates Unfold, and presently thine eyes will see A hateful sight, yet one thou needs must pity.

_Enter_ OEDIPUS, _blind and unattended._

LEADER OF CH. O horror of the world! Too great for mortal eye! More terrible than all I have known of ill! What fury of wild thought Came o'er thee? Who in heaven Hath leapt against thy hapless life With boundings out of measure fierce and huge? Ah! wretched one, I cannot look on thee: No, though I long to search, to ask, to learn. Thine aspect is too horrible.--I cannot!

OED. Me miserable! Whither am I borne? Into what region are these wavering sounds Wafted on aimless wings? O ruthless Fate! To what a height thy fury hath soared!

CH. Too far For human sense to follow, or human thought To endure the horror.

OED. O dark cloud, descending I 1 Unutterably on me! invincible, Abhorred, borne onward by too sure a wind. Woe, woe! Woe! Yet again I voice it, with such pangs Both from these piercing wounds I am assailed And from within through memory of my grief.

CH. Nay, 'tis no marvel if thy matchless woe Redouble thine affliction and thy moan!

OED. Ah! Friend, thou art still constant! Thou remainest I 2 To tend me and to care for the blind man. Alas! I know thee well, nor fail I to perceive, Dark though I be, thy kind familiar voice.

CH. How dreadful is thy deed! How couldst thou bear Thus to put out thine eyes? What Power impelled thee?

OED. Apollo, dear my friends, Apollo brought to pass II 1 In dreadful wise, this my calamitous woe. But I,--no being else,--I with this hand destroyed them. [_Pointing to his eyes_ For why should I have sight, To whom nought now gave pleasure through the eye?

CH. There speak'st thou truly.

OED. What could I see, whom hear With gladness, whom delight in any more? Lead me away out of the land with speed! Be rid of the destroyer, the accursed, Whom most of all the world the Gods abhor.

CH. O miserable in thy calamity And not less miserable in thy despair, Would thou wert still in ignorance of thy birth!

OED. My curse on him who from the cruel bond II 2 That held my feet in that high pasture-land Freed me, and rescued me from murder there, And saved my life! Vain kindness! Then to have died Had spared this agony to me and mine.

CH. Ay, would it had been so!

OED. Then had I ne'er Been proved a parricide, ne'er borne the shame Of marriage bonds incestuous! But now I am God abandoned, Son of the unholy, Rival of him who gave me being. Ah woe! What sorrow beyond sorrows hath chief place? That sorrow Oedipus must bear!

LEADER OF CH. I know not how to call thee wise in this: Thou wert better dead than to be blind and live.

OED. That this last act hath not been for the best Instruct me not, nor counsel me again. How, if I kept my sight, could I have looked In Hades on my father's countenance, Or mine all hapless mother, when, toward both, I have done deeds no death can e'er atone? Ah! but my children were a sight of joy,-- Offspring of such a marriage! were they so? Never, to eyes of mine! nor town, nor tower, Nor holy shrines o' the gods, which I myself, Dowered with the fairest life of Theban men, Have forfeited, alas, by mine own law, Declaring men should drive from every door One marked by Heaven as impious and impure, Nay worse, of Laius born! And was I then, By mine own edict branded thus, to look On Theban faces with unaltered eye? Nay verily, but had there been a way To stop the hearing fountain through the ear, I had not faltered, but had closed and barred Each gate of this poor body, deaf and blind! So thought might sweetly dwell at rest from ill Cithaeron! Why didst thou receive me? Why Not slay me then and there? So had I not Told to the world the horror of my birth. O foster home of Corinth and her king, How bright the life ye cherished, filming o'er What foulness far beneath! For I am vile, And vile were both my parents. So 'tis proved O cross road in the covert of the glen, O thicket in the gorge where three ways met, Bedewed by these my hands with mine own blood From whence I sprang--have ye forgotten me? Or doth some memory haunt you of the deeds I did before you, and went on to do Worse horrors here? O marriage twice accurst! That gave me being, and then again sent forth Fresh saplings springing from the selfsame seed, To amaze men's eyes and minds with dire confusion Of father, brother, son, bride, mother, wife, Murder of parents, and all shames that are! Silence alone befits such deeds. Then, pray you, Hide me immediately away from men! Kill me outright, or fling me far to sea, Where never ye may look upon me more. Come, lend your hand unto my misery! Comply, and fear not, for my load of woe Is incommunicable to all but me.

CH. With timely presence to fulfil thy need With act and counsel, Creon comes, who now Is regent o'er this people in thy room.

OED. Alas, what shall I say to him? What plea For my defence will hold? My evil part Toward him in all the past is clearly proved.

_Enter_ CREON.

CR. I come not, Oedipus, to mock thy woes, Nor to reproach thee for thine evils past. But ye, (_to_ Chorus) if all respect of mortal eye Be dead, let awe of the universal flame Of life's great nourisher, our lord the Sun, Forbid your holding thus unveiled to view This huge abomination, which nor Earth Nor sacred Element, nor light of Heaven Can once endure. Convey him in with speed. Religion bids that kindred eyes and ears Alone should witness kindred crime and woe.

OED. By Heaven, since thou hast reft away my fear, So nobly meeting my unworthiness, I pray thee, hear me for thine own behoof.

CR. What boon dost thou desire so earnestly?

OED. Fling me with speediest swiftness from the land, Where nevermore I may converse with men.

CR. Doubt not I would have done it, but the God Must be inquired of, ere we act herein.

OED. His sacred utterance was express and clear, The parricide, the unholy, should be slain.

CR. Ay, so 'twas spoken: but, in such a time, We needs must be advised more perfectly.

OED. Will ye then ask him for a wretch like me?

CR. Yea. For even thou methinks wilt now believe.

OED. Not only so. But I will charge thee too, With urgent exhortation, to perform The funeral rite for her who lies within-- She is thy kinswoman--howe'er thou wilt. But never let this city of my sires Claim me for living habitant! There, there Leave me to range the mountain, where my nurse, Cithaeron, echoeth with my name,--Cithaeron, Which both my parents destined for my tomb. So my true murderers will be my death. Yet one thing I can tell. Mine end will come Not by disease nor ordinary chance I had not lived when at the point to die, But for some terrible doom. Then let my fate Run out its full career. But for my children Thou, Creon, shalt provide. As for my sons, I pray thee burden not thyself with them. They ne'er will lack subsistence--they are men. But my poor maidens, hapless and forlorn, Who never had a meal apart from mine, But ever shared my table, yea, for them Take heedful care, and grant me, though but once. Yea, I beseech thee, with these hands to feel, Thou noble heart! the forms I love so well, And weep with them our common misery. Oh, if my arms were round them, I might seem To have them as of old when I could see-- What! Am I fooled once more, or do I hear My dear ones weeping! And hath Creon sent, Pitying my sorrows, mine own children to me Whom most I love? Can this be truth I utter?

CR. Yea, I have done it. For I knew the joy Thou ever hadst in this, thy comfort now.

OED. Fair be thy fortune, and, for this last deed, Heaven guide thee on a better course than mine. Where are ye, O my children? Come, draw near To these my hands of brother blood with you, Hands that have made so piteous to your sight The darkened gaze of his once brilliant eyes, Who all in blindness, with no thought of ill, Became your father at that fount of life, Where he himself took being! Oh! for you I weep, not seeing you, when I but think Of all the bitter passages of fate That must attend you amongst men. For where Can ye find fellowship, what civic throng Shall ye resort unto, what festival, From whence, instead of sight or sound enjoyed, Ye will not come in tears unto your home? And when ye reach the marriageable bloom, My daughters, who will be the man to cast His lot with yours, receiving for his own All those reproaches which have marred the name Of both my parents and your name no less? What evil is not here? Your father slew His father, and then eared the mother field Where he himself was sown, and got you from The source of his own birth. Such taunts will fly. And who will marry you? No man, my daughters; But ye must wither childless and unwed. Son of Menoeceus, who alone art left As father to these maidens, for the pair That gave them birth are utterly undone, Suffer them not, being your kinswomen, To wander desolate and poor, nor make Their lot perforce the counterpart of mine. But look on them with pity, left in youth Forlorn of all protection save from thee. Noble one, seal this promise with thy hand! --For you, my children, were ye of an age To ponder speech, I would have counselled you Full carefully. Now I would have you pray To dwell where 'tis convenient, that your life May find more blessing than your father knew.

CR. Thou hast had enough of weeping. Close thee in thy chamber walls.

OED. I must yield, though sore against me.

CR. Yea, for strong occasion calls.

OED. Know'st thou on what terms I yield it?

CR. Tell me, let us hear and know.

OED. That ye send from the country.

CR. God alone can let thee go.

OED. But the Gods long since abhor me.

CR. Thou wilt sooner gain that boon.

OED. Then consent.

CR. 'Tis not my wont to venture promises too soon.

OED. Lead me now within the palace.

CR. Come, but leave thy children.

OED. Nay! Tear not these from my embraces!

CR. Hope not for perpetual sway: Since the power thou once obtainedst ruling with unquestioned might Ebbing from thy life hath vanished ere the falling of the night.

LEADER OF CHORUS. Dwellers in our native Thebe, fix on Oedipus your eyes. Who resolved the dark enigma, noblest champion and most wise. Like a star his envied fortune mounted beaming[6] far and wide: Now he sinks in seas of anguish, whelmed beneath a raging tide. Therefore, with the old-world sages, waiting for that final day, I will call no mortal happy, while he holds his house of clay, Till without one pang of sorrow, all his hours have passed away.

* * * * *

ELECTRA

THE PERSONS

An Old Man, _formerly one of the retainers of Agamemnon._ ORESTES, _son of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra_. ELECTRA, _sister of Orestes_. CHORUS _of Argive Women_. CHRYSOTHEMIS, _sister of Orestes and Electra_. CLYTEMNESTRA. AEGISTHUS.

PYLADES _appears with_ ORESTES, _but does not speak_.

SCENE. Mycenae: before the palace of the Pelopidae.

Agamemnon on his return from Troy, had been murdered by his wife Clytemnestra and her paramour Aegisthus, who had usurped the Mycenean throne. Orestes, then a child, had been rescued by his sister Electra, and sent into Phocis with the one servant who remained faithful to his old master. The son of Agamemnon now returns, being of a full age, accompanied by this same attendant and his friend Pylades, with whom he has already concerted a plan for taking vengeance on his father's murderers, in obedience to the command of Apollo.

Orestes had been received in Phocis by Strophius, his father's friend. Another Phocian prince, named Phanoteus, was a friend of Aegisthus.

ELECTRA

ORESTES _and the_ Old Man--PYLADES _is present._

OLD MAN. Son of the king who led the Achaean host Erewhile beleaguering Troy, 'tis thine to day To see around thee what through many a year Thy forward spirit hath sighed for. Argolis Lies here before us, hallowed as the scene Of Io's wildering pain: yonder, the mart Named from the wolf slaying God[1], and there, to our left, Hera's famed temple. For we reach the bourn Of far renowned Mycenae, rich in gold And Pelops' fatal roofs before us rise, Haunted with many horrors, whence my hand, Thy murdered sire then lying in his gore, Received thee from thy sister, and removed Where I have kept thee safe and nourished thee To this bright manhood thou dost bear, to be The avenger of thy father's bloody death. Wherefore, Orestes, and thou, Pylades, Dearest of friends, though from a foreign soil, Prepare your enterprise with speed. Dark night Is vanished with her stars, and day's bright orb Hath waked the birds of morn into full song. Now, then, ere foot of man go forth, ye two Knit counsels. 'Tis no time for shy delay: The very moment for your act is come.

OR. Kind faithful friend, how well thou mak'st appear Thy constancy in service to our house! As some good steed, aged, but nobly bred, Slacks not his spirit in the day of war, But points his ears to the fray, even so dost thou Press on and urge thy master in the van. Hear, then, our purpose, and if aught thy mind, Keenly attent, discerns of weak or crude In this I now set forth, admonish me. I, when I visited the Pythian shrine Oracular, that I might learn whereby To punish home the murderers of my sire, Had word from Phoebus which you straight shall hear: 'No shielded host, but thine own craft, O King! The righteous death-blow to thine arm shall bring.' Then, since the will of Heaven is so revealed, Go thou within, when Opportunity Shall marshal thee the way, and gathering all Their business, bring us certain cognizance. Age and long absence are a safe disguise; They never will suspect thee who thou art. And let thy tale be that another land, Phocis, hath sent thee forth, and Phanoteus, Than whom they have no mightier help in war. Then, prefaced with an oath, declare thy news, Orestes' death by dire mischance, down-rolled From wheel-borne chariot in the Pythian course. So let the fable be devised; while we, As Phoebus ordered, with luxuriant locks Shorn from our brows, and fair libations, crown My father's sepulchre, and thence return Bearing aloft the shapely vase of bronze That's hidden hard by in brushwood, as thou knowest, And bring them welcome tidings, that my form Is fallen ere now to ashes in the fire. How should this pain me, in pretence being dead, Really to save myself and win renown? No saying bodes men ill, that brings them gain. Oft have I known the wise, dying in word, Return with glorious salutation home. So lightened by this rumour shall mine eye Blaze yet like bale-star on mine enemies. O native earth! and Gods that hold the land, Accept me here, and prosper this my way! Thou, too, paternal hearth! To thee I come, Justly to cleanse thee by behest from heaven. Send me not bootless, Gods, but let me found A wealthy line of fair posterity! I have spoken. To thy charge! and with good heed Perform it. We go forth. The Occasion calls, Great taskmaster of enterprise to men.

ELECTRA (_within_). Woe for my hapless lot!

OLD M. Hark! from the doors, my son, methought there came A moaning cry, as of some maid within.

OR. Can it be poor Electra? Shall we stay, And list again the lamentable sound?

OLD M. Not so. Before all else begin the attempt To execute Apollo's sovereign will, Pouring libation to thy sire: this makes Victory ours, and our success assured. [_Exeunt_

_Enter_ ELECTRA.

MONODY.

EL. O purest light! And air by earth alone Measured and limitable, how oft have ye Heard many a piercing moan, Many a blow full on my bleeding breast, When gloomy night Hath slackened pace and yielded to the day! And through the hours of rest, Ah! well 'tis known To my sad pillow in yon house of woe, What vigil of scant joyance keeping, Whiles all within are sleeping, For my dear father without stint I groan, Whom not in bloody fray The War-god in the stranger-land Received with hospitable hand, But she that is my mother, and her groom, As woodmen fell the oak, Cleft through the skull with murdering stroke. And o'er this gloom No ray of pity, save from only me, Goes forth on thee, My father, who didst die A cruel death of piteous agony. But ne'er will I Cease from my crying and sad mourning lay, While I behold the sky, Glancing with myriad fires, or this fair day. But, like some brood-bereaved nightingale, With far-heard wail, Here at my father's door my voice shall sound. O home beneath the ground! Hades unseen, and dread Persephone, And darkling Hermes, and the Curse revered, And ye, Erinyes, of mortals feared, Daughters of Heaven, that ever see Who die unjustly, who are wronged i' the bed Of those they wed, Avenge our father's murder on his foe! Aid us, and send my brother to my side; Alone I cannot longer bide The oppressive strain of strength-o'ermastering woe.

CHORUS (_entering_). O sad Electra, child I 1 Of a lost mother, why still flow Unceasingly with lamentation wild For him who through her treachery beguiled, Inveigled by a wife's deceit, Fallen at the foul adulterer's feet, Most impiously was quelled long years ago? Perish the cause! if I may lawfully pray so.

EL. O daughters of a noble line, Ye come to soothe me from my troublous woe. I see, I know: Your love is not unrecognized of mine. But yet I will not seem as I forgot, Or cease to mourn my hapless father's lot. Oh, of all love That ever may you move, This only boon I crave-- Leave me to rave!

CH. Lament, nor praying breath I 2 Will raise thy sire, our honoured chief, From that dim multitudinous gulf of death. Beyond the mark, due grief that measureth, Still pining with excess of pain Thou urgest lamentation vain, That from thy woes can bring thee no relief. Why hast thou set thy heart on unavailing grief?

EL. Senseless were he who lost from thought A noble father, lamentably slain! I love thy strain, Bewildered mourner, bird divinely taught, For 'Itys,' 'Itys,' ever heard to pine. O Niobe, I hold thee all divine, Of sorrows queen, Who with all tearful mien Insepulchred in stone Aye makest moan.

CH. Not unto thee alone hath sorrow come, II 1 Daughter, that thou shouldst carry grief so far Beyond those dwellers in the palace-home Who of thy kindred are And own one source with thee. What life hath she, Chrysothemis, and Iphianassa bright, And he whose light Is hidden afar from taste of horrid doom, Youthful Orestes, who shall come To fair Mycenae's glorious town, Welcomed as worthy of his sire's renown, Sped by great Zeus with kindly thought, And to this land with happiest omen brought?

EL. Awaiting him I endlessly endure; Unwed and childless still I go, With tears in constant flow, Girt round with misery that finds no cure. But he forgets his wrong and all my teaching. What message have I sent beseeching, But baffled flies back idly home? Ever he longs, he saith, but, longing, will not come.

CH. Take heart, dear child! still mighty in the sky II 2 Is Zeus who ruleth all things and surveys. Commit to him thy grief that surgeth high, And walk in safer ways, Let not hate vex thee sore, Nor yet ignore The cause of hate and sorrow in thy breast. Time bringeth rest: All is made easy through his power divine. The heir of Agamemnon's line Who dwells by Crisa's pastoral strand Shall yet return unto his native land; And he shall yet regard his own Who reigns beneath upon his Stygian throne.

EL. Meanwhile my life falls from me in despair Years pass and patience nought avails: My heart within me fails: Orphaned I pine without protecting care; And like a sojourner all unregarded At slave-like labour unrewarded I toil within my father's hall Thus meanly attired, and starved, a table-serving thrall.

CH. Sad was thy greeting when he reached the strand, III 1 Piteous thy crying where thy father lay On that fell day When the bronze edge with dire effect was driven. By craft 'twas planned, By frenzied lust the blow was given: Mother and father of a monstrous birth, Whether a God there wrought or mortal of the Earth.

EL. O day beyond all days that yet have rolled Most hateful in thy course of light! O horror of that night! O hideous feast, abhorr'd, not to be told! How could I bear it, when my father's eye Saw death advancing from the ruthless pair, Conjoint in cruel villany, By whom my life was plunged in black despair? Oh, to the workers of such deeds as these May great Olympus' Lord Return of evil still afford, Nor let them wear the gloss of sovran ease!

CH. Take thought to keep thy crying within bound. III 2 Doth not thy sense enlighten thee to see How recklessly Even now thou winnest undeserved woe? Still art thou found To make thy misery overflow Through self-bred gloomy strife. But not for long Shall one alone prevail who strives against the strong.

EL. 'Twas dire oppression taught me my complaint I know my rage a quenchless fire: But nought, however dire, Shall visit this my frenzy with restraint, Or check my lamentation while I live. Dear friends, kind women of true Argive breed, Say, who can timely counsel give Or word of comfort suited to my need? Beyond all cure shall this my cause be known. No counsels more! Ah leave, Vain comforters, and let me grieve With ceaseless pain, unmeasured in my moan.

CH. With kind intent IV Full tenderly my words are meant; Like a true mother pressing heart to heart, I pray thee, do not aggravate thy smart.

EL. But have my miseries a measure? Tell. Can it be well To pour forgetfulness upon the dead? Hath mortal head Conceived a wickedness so bold? O never may such brightness shine for me, Nor let me peaceful be With aught of good my life may still enfold, If from wide echoing of my father's name The wings of keen lament I must withhold. Sure holy shame And pious care would vanish among men, If he, mere earth and nothingness, must lie In darkness, and his foes shall not again Render him blood for blood in amplest penalty.

LEADER OF CH. Less from our own desires, my child, we came, Than for thy sake. But, if we speak amiss, Take thine own course. We still will side with thee.

EL. Full well I feel that too impatiently I seem to multiply the sounds of woe. Yet suffer me, dear women! Mighty force Compels me. Who that had a noble heart And saw her father's cause, as I have done, By day and night more outraged, could refrain? Are my woes lessening? Are they not in bloom?-- My mother full of hate and hateful proved, Whilst I in my own home must dwell with these, My father's murderers, and by them be ruled, Dependent on their bounty even for bread. And then what days suppose you I must pass, When I behold Aegisthus on the throne That was my father's; when I see him wear Such robes, and pour libations by the hearth Where he destroyed him; lastly, when I see Their crowning insolence,--our regicide Laid in my father's chamber beside her, My mother--if she still must bear the name When resting in those arms? Her shame is dead. She harbours with blood-guiltiness, and fears No vengeance, but, as laughing at the wrong, She watches for the hour wherein with guile She killed our sire, and orders dance and mirth That day o' the month, and joyful sacrifice Of thanksgiving. But I within the house Beholding, weep and pine, and mourn that feast Of infamy, called by my father's name, All to myself; for not even grief may flow As largely as my spirit would desire. That so-called princess of a noble race O'ercrows my wailing with loud obloquy: 'Hilding! are you alone in grief? Are none Mourning for loss of fathers but yourself? 'Fore the blest Gods! ill may you thrive, and ne'er Find cure of sorrow from the powers below!' So she insults: unless she hear one say 'Orestes will arrive': then standing close, She shouts like one possessed into mine ear, 'These are your doings, this your work, I trow. You stole Orestes from my gripe, and placed His life with fosterers; but you shall pay Full penalty.' So harsh is her exclaim. And he at hand, the husband she extols, Hounds on the cry, that prince of cowardice, From head to foot one mass of pestilent harm. Tongue-doughty champion of this women's-war. I, for Orestes ever languishing To end this, am undone. For evermore Intending, still delaying, he wears out All hope, both here and yonder. How, then, friends, Can I be moderate, or feel the touch Of holy resignation? Evil fruit Cannot but follow on a life of ill.

CH. Say, is Aegisthus near while thus you speak? Or hath he left the palace? We would know.

EL. Most surely. Never think, if he were by, I could stray out of door. He is abroad.

CH. Then with less fear I may converse with thee.

EL. Ask what you will, for he is nowhere near.

CH. First of thy brother I beseech thee tell, How deem'st thou? Will he come, or still delay?

EL. His promise comes, but still performance sleeps.

CH. Well may he pause who plans a dreadful deed.

EL. I paused not in his rescue from the sword.

CH. Fear not. He will bestead you. He is true.

EL. But for that faith my life had soon gone by.

CH. No more! I see approaching from the house Thy sister by both parents of thy blood, Chrysothemis; in her hand an offering, Such as old custom yields to those below.

_Enter_ CHRYSOTHEMIS.

CHRYSOTHEMIS. What converse keeps thee now beyond the gates, Dear sister? why this talk in the open day? Wilt thou not learn after so long to cease From vain indulgence of a bootless rage? I know in my own breast that I am pained By what thou griev'st at, and if I had power, My censure of their deeds would soon be known. But in misfortune I have chosen to sail With lowered canvas, rather than provoke With puny strokes invulnerable foes. I would thou didst the like: though I must own The right is on thy side, and not on mine. But if I mean to dwell at liberty, I must obey in all the stronger will.

EL. 'Tis strange and pitiful, thy father's child Can leave him in oblivion and subserve The mother. All thy schooling of me springs From her suggestion, not of thine own wit. Sure, either thou art senseless, or thy sense Deserts thy friends. Treason or dulness then? Choose!--You declared but now, if you had strength, You would display your hatred of this pair. Yet, when I plan full vengeance for my sire, You aid me not, but turn me from the attempt. What's this but adding cowardice to evil? For tell me, or be patient till I show, What should I gain by ceasing this my moan? I live to vex them:--though my life be poor, Yet that suffices, for I honour him, My father,--if affection touch the dead. You say you hate them, but belie your word, Consorting with our father's murderers. I then, were all the gifts in which you glory Laid at my feet, will never more obey This tyrant power. I leave you your rich board And life of luxury. Ne'er be it mine[2] to feed On dainties that would poison my heart's peace! I care not for such honour as thou hast. Nor wouldst thou care if thou wert wise. But now, Having the noblest of all men for sire, Be called thy mother's offspring; so shall most Discern thine infamy and traitorous mind To thy dead father and thy dearest kin.

CH. No anger, we entreat. Both have said well, If each would learn of other, and so do.

CHR. For my part, women, use hath seasoned me To her discourse. Nor had I spoken of this, Had I not heard a horror coming on That will restrain her from her endless moan.

EL. Come speak it forth, this terror! I will yield, If thou canst tell me worse than I endure.

CHR. I'll tell thee all I know. If thou persist In these thy wailings, they will send thee far From thine own land, and close thee from the day, Where in a rock-hewn chamber thou may'st chant Thine evil orisons in darkness drear. Think of it, while there 's leisure to reflect; Or if thou suffer, henceforth blame me not.

EL. And have they so determined on my life?

CHR. 'Tis certain; when Aegisthus comes again.

EL. If that be all, let him return with speed!

CHR. Unhappy! why this curse upon thyself?

EL. If this be their intent, why, let him come!

CHR. To work such harm on thee! What thought is this!

EL. Far from mine eye to banish all your brood.

CHR. Art not more tender of the life thou hast?

EL. Fair, to a marvel, is my life, I trow!

CHR. It would be, couldst thou be advised for good.

EL. Never advise me to forsake my kin.

CHR. I do not: only to give place to power.

EL. Thine be such flattery. 'Tis not my way.

CHR. Sure, to be wrecked by rashness is not well.

EL. Let me be wrecked in 'venging my own sire.

CHR. I trust his pardon for my helplessness.

EL. Such talk hath commendation from the vile.

CHR. Wilt thou not listen? Wilt thou ne'er be ruled?

EL. No; not by thee! Let me not sink so low.

CHR. Then I will hie me on mine errand straight.

EL. Stay; whither art bound? For whom to spend those gifts?

CHR. Sent by my mother to my father's tomb To pour libations to him.

EL. How? To him? Most hostile to her of all souls that are?

CHR. Who perished by her hand--so thou wouldst say.

EL. What friend hath moved her? Who hath cared for this?

CHR. Methinks 'twas some dread vision, seen by night.

EL. Gods of my father, O be with me now!

CHR. What? art thou hopeful from the fear I spake of?

EL. Tell me the dream, and I will answer thee.

CHR. I know but little of it.