Chapter 22

OED. Child, your dear pleading to your hard request Hath won me. Let this be as ye desire. Only, my lord, if he is to come near, Let no man's power molest my liberty.

THE. I need no repetition, aged friend, Of that request. Vaunt will I not, but thou Be sure, if Heaven protect me, thou art free.

CHORUS. Who, loving life, hath sought I 1 To outlive the appointed span, Shall be arraigned before my thought For an infatuate man. Since the added years entail Much that is bitter,--joy Flies out of ken, desire doth fail, The longed-for moments cloy. But when the troublous life, Be it less or more, is past, With power to end the strife Comes rescuing Death at last. Lo! the dark bridegroom waits! No festal choir Shall grace his destined hour, no dance, no lyre!

Far best were ne'er to be, I 2 But, having seen the day, Next best by far for each to flee As swiftly as each may, Yonder from whence he came: For once let Youth be there With her light fooleries, who shall name The unnumbered brood of Care? No trial spared, no fall! Feuds, battles, murders, rage, Envy, and last of all, Despised, dim, friendless age! Ay, there all evils, crowded in one room, Each at his worst of ill, augment the gloom.

Such lot is mine, and round this man of woe, II --As some grey headland of a northward shore Bears buffets of all-wintry winds that blow,-- New storms of Fate are bursting evermore In thundrous billows, borne Some from the waning light, Some through mid-noon, some from the rising morn, Some from the realm of Night.

ANT. Ah! Who comes here? Sure 'tis the Argive man Approaching hitherward, weeping amain. And, father, it is he!

OED. Whom dost thou mean?

ANT. The same our thoughts have dwelt on all this while, Polynices. He is here.

POLYNICES. What shall I do? I stand in doubt which first I should lament, My own misfortune or my father's woe, Whom here I find an outcast in his age With you, my sisters, in the stranger land, Clothed in such raiment, whose inveterate filth Horridly clings, wasting his reverend form, While the grey locks over the eye-reft brow Wave all unkempt upon the ruffling breeze. And likewise miserable appears the store He bears to nourish that time-wasted frame. Wretch that I am! Too late I learn the truth, And here give witness to mine own disgrace, Which is as deep as thy distress. Myself Declare it. Ask not others of my guilt. But seeing that Zeus on his almighty throne Keeps Mercy in all he doth to counsel him, Thou, too, my father, let her plead with thee! The evil that is done may yet be healed; It cannot be augmented. Art thou silent? O turn not from me, father! Speak but once! Wilt thou not answer, but with shame dismiss me Voiceless, nor make known wherefore thou art wroth? O ye his daughters, one with me in blood, Say, will not ye endeavour to unlock The stern lips of our unrelenting sire? Let him not thus reject in silent scorn Without response the suppliant of Heaven!

ANT. Thyself, unhappy one, say why thou camest. Speech ofttimes, as it flows, touching some root Of pity or joy, or even of hate, hath stirred The dumb to utterance.

POL. I will tell my need:-- First claiming for protector the dread God From whose high altar he who rules this land Hath brought me under safe-guard of his power, Scatheless to speak and hear and go my way. His word, I am well assured, will be made good, Strangers, by you, and by my sisters twain, And by our sire.--Now let me name mine errand. I am banished, father, from our native land, Because, being elder-born, I claimed to sit Upon thy sovereign throne. For this offence Eteocles, thy younger son, exiled me, Not having won the advantage in debate Or trial of manhood, but through guileful art Gaining the people's will. Whereof I deem Thy Fury the chief author; and thereto Prophetic voices also testify. For when I had come to Dorian Argolis, I raised, through marriage with Adrastus' child, An army bound in friendly league with me, Led by the men who in the Apian land Hold first pre-eminence and honour in war, With whose aid levying all that mighty host Of seven battalions, I have deeply sworn Either to die, or drive from Theban ground Those who such wrongs have wrought. So far, so well. But why come hither? Father, to crave thine aid With earnest supplication for myself And for my firm allies, who at this hour, Seven leaders of seven bands embattled there, Encompass Thebe's plain. Amphiaraus, Foremost in augury, foremost in war, First wields his warlike spear. Next, Oeneus' son, Aetolian Tydeus; then Eteoclus Of Argive lineage; fourth, Hippomedon, Sent by his father Talaues, and the fifth Is Capancus, who brags he will destroy Thebe with desolating fire. The sixth, Parthonopaeus, from the Arcadian glen Comes bravely down, swift Atalanta's child, Named from his mother's lingering maidenhood Ere she conceived him. And the seventh am I, Thy son, or if not thine, but the dire birth Of evil Destiny, yet named thy son, Who lead this dauntless host from Argolis Against the Theban land. Now one and all We pray thee on our knees, conjuring thee As thou dost love these maids and thine own life, My father, to forgive me, ere I go To be revenged upon my brother there Who drave me forth and robbed me of my throne. If aught in prophecy deserves belief, 'Tis certain, whom thou favourest, those shall win. Now by the wells whereof our fathers drank And by the Gods they worshipped, hear our prayer, Grant this petition: since alike in woe, Alike in poverty and banishment, Partakers of one destiny, thou and I Cringe to the stranger for a dwelling place. Whilst he at home, the tyrant, woe is me, Laughs at us both in soft luxurious pride. Whose might, so thou wilt favour my design, I will lightly scatter in one little hour; And plant thee in thy Theban palace home Near to myself, hurling the usurper forth. All this with thy consent I shall achieve, But without thee, I forfeit life and all.

CH. For his sake who hath brought him, Oedipus, Say what is meet, and let him go in peace.

OED. Ay, were it not the lord of all this land Theseus, that brought him to me and desired He might hear words from me,--never again Had these tones fallen upon his ear. But now That boon is granted him: he shall obtain, Ere he depart, such utterance of my tongue, As ne'er shall give him joy,--ne'er comfort thee, Villain, who when possessed of the chief power Which now thy brother holds o'er Theban land, Didst banish me, thy father, who stand here, To live in exile, clothed with such attire, That moves thy tears now that thine own estate Is fallen into like depth of struggling woe. But tears are bootless. Howsoe'er I live, I must endure, and hold thee still my murderer. 'Tis thou hast girt me round with misery, 'Tis thou didst drive me forth, and driven by thee I beg my bread, a wandering sojourner. Yea, had these daughters not been born to me To tend me, I were dead, for all thou hast done. They have rescued, they have nursed me. They are men, Not women, in the strength of ministry. Ye are another's, not my sons--For this The eye of Destiny pursues thee still Eager to light on thee with instant doom If once that army move toward the town Of ancient Thebes,--the _town_, no dearer name, 'City' or 'Country' shall beseem thy lip Till ye both fall, stained with fraternal gore Long since I launched that curse against you twain Which here again I summon to mine aid, That ye may learn what duty children owe To a parent, nor account it a light thing That ye were cruel sons to your blind sire. These maidens did not so. Wherefore my curse Prevails against thy prayer for Thebe's throne, If ancient Zeus, the eternal lawgiver, Have primal Justice for his counsellor. Begone, renounced and fatherless for me, And take with thee, vilest of villanous men, This imprecation:--Vain be thine attempt In levying war against thy father's race, Frustrate be thy return to Argos' vale: Die foully by a fratricidal hand And foully slay him who hath banished thee! Further, I bid the horror breathing gloom Tartarean, of the vault that holds my sire, To banish thee from that last home: I invoke The Spirits who haunt this ground, and the fierce God Who hath filled you both with this unnatural hate.-- Go now with all this in thine ears, and tell The people of Cadmus and thy firm allies In whom thou trustest, what inheritance Oedipus hath divided to his sons.

CH. 'Tis pity for thee, prince, to have come at all; And now we bid thee go the way thou camest.

POL. Alas! Vain enterprise, and hope undone! Oh, my poor comrades! To what fatal end I led you forth from Argos, woe is me! I may not tell it you,--no, nor return. In silence I must go to meet my doom. Daughters of this inexorable sire, Since now ye have heard his cruel curse on me, Ah! in Heaven's name, my sisters, do not you Treat me despitefully, but if, one day, Our father's execration is fulfilled And ye shall be restored to Theban ground, Grace me with funeral honours and a tomb! So shall this ample praise which ye receive For filial ministration, in that day Be more than doubled through your care for me.

ANT. Brother, I beg thee, listen to my prayer!

POL. Dearest Antigone, speak what thou wilt.

ANT. Turn back thy host to Argos with all speed, And ruin not thyself and Thebe too.

POL. Impossible. If once I shrink for fear, No longer may I lead them to the war.

ANT. But why renew thy rage? What benefit Comes to thee from o'erturning thine own land?

POL. 'Tis shameful to remain in banishment, And let my brother mock my right of birth.

ANT. Then seest thou not how true unto their aim Our father's prophecies of mutual death Against you both are sped?

POL. He speaks his wish. 'Tis not for me to yield.

ANT. O me, unhappy! But who that hears the deep oracular sound Of his dark words, will dare to follow thee?

POL. They will not hear of danger from my mouth. Wise generals tell of vantage, not of bale.

ANT. Art thou then so resolved, O brother mine?

POL. I am. Retard me not! I must attend To my dark enterprise, blasted and foiled Beforehand by my father's angry curse. But as for you, Heaven prosper all your way, If ye will show this kindness in my death, For nevermore in life shall ye befriend me! Nay, cling to me no longer. Fare ye well. Ye will behold my living form no more.

ANT. O misery!

POL. Bewail me not.

ANT. And who That saw thee hurrying forth to certain death Would not bewail thee, brother?

POL. If Fate wills, Why, I must die.

ANT. Nay, but be ruled by me.

POL. Give me not craven counsel.

ANT. Woe is me, To lose thee!

POL. Heaven hath power to guide the event Or thus or otherwise. Howe'er it prove, I pray that ye may ne'er encounter ill. All men may know, ye merit nought but good. [_Exit. The sky is overcast--a storm is threatened_

CHORUS. New trouble, strange trouble, deep laden with doom, I 1 From the sight-bereft stranger seems dimly to loom! Or peers Fate through the gloom? She will move toward her mark or through shining or shade; Since no purpose of Gods ever idly was made. Time sees the fulfilment, who lifteth to-day What was lowly, and trampleth the lofty to clay. Thunder! Heavens! what a sound!

OED. My children! Would but some one in the place Haste hither Theseus, noblest among men!

ANT. Wherefore, my father? What is thy desire?

OED. These winged thunders of the Highest will soon Bear me away to the Unseen. Send quickly!

CHORUS. Again, yonder crash through the fire-startled air I 2 Wing'd from Zeus, rushes down, till my thin locks of hair, Stiff with fear, upward stare. My soul shrinks and cowers, for yon gleam from on high Darts again! Ne'er in vain hath it leapt from the sky, But flies forth amain to what task Zeus hath given. I fear the unknown fatal edict of Heaven! Lightning glares all around!

OED. My daughters, the divinely promised end Here unavoidably descends on me.

ANT. How dost thou know it? By what certain sign?

OED. I know it perfectly. Let some one go With speed to bring the lord of Athens hither.

CHORUS. Great Heaven, how above me, beside me, around, II 1 Peals redoubled the soul-thrilling sound! O our God, to this land, to our mother, if aught Thou wouldst send with some darkness of destiny fraught, Smile gently once more! With the good let me bear What of fortune soe'er,-- Taste no cup, touch no food, the doomed sinner may share. Zeus, to thee, Lord, I cry!

OED. Is the King coming? Will he find me alive, My daughters, and with reason undisturbed?

ANT. Say wherefore dost thou crave with such desire The clearness of an undistracted mind?

OED. I would fully render from a grateful soul The boon I promised, when I gained my suit.

CHORUS (_looking towards Athens_). Come, my chief! come with speed! Or, if haply at hand, II 2 On the height where the curved altars stand, Thou art hallowing with oxen in sacrifice slain Yonder shrine of Poseidon, dread lord of the main, Hie thee hither! Be swift! The blind stranger intends To thee, to thy friends, To thy city, for burdens imposed, just amends. Haste thee, King! Hear our cry!

_Enter_ THESEUS.

THE. Why sounds again from hence your joint appeal, Wherein the stranger's voice is loudly heard? Is it some lightning-bolt new-fallen from Zeus, Or cloud-born hail that is come rattling down? From Heavens so black with storm nought can surprise.

OED. Prince, thou art come to my desire. Some God Hath happily directed this thy way.

THE. What is befallen? Son of Laius, tell!

OED. My path slopes downward, and before my death I would confirm to Athens and to thee My promised boon.

THE. What sign dost thou perceive That proves thine end so near?

OED. The Gods themselves With herald voices are proclaiming it, Nought failing of the fore-appointed signs.

THE. What are these tokens, aged monarch, say?

OED. The loud continual thunder, and the darts That flash in volleys from the unconquered hand.

THE. I may not doubt thee; for thy speech, I feel, Hath ample witness of prophetic power. What must I do?

OED. I will instruct thee now, Aegeus' great son! in rites that shall remain An ageless treasure to thy countrymen. I will presently, with no man guiding me, Conduct thee to the spot, where I must die. This is thy secret, not to be revealed To any one of men, or where 'tis hid Or whereabout it lies. So through all time This neighbouring[3] mound shall yield thee mightier aid Than many a shield and help of alien spears. More shalt thou learn, too sacred to divulge, When yonder thou art come thyself alone. Since to none other of these citizens Nor even unto the children of my love May I disclose it. 'Tis for thee to keep Inviolate while thou livest, and when thy days Have ending, breathe it to the foremost man Alone, and he in turn unto the next Successively. So shalt thou ever hold Athens unravaged by the dragon brood[4]. Cities are numberless, and any one May lightly insult even those who dwell secure. For the eye of Heaven though late yet surely sees When, casting off respect, men turn to crime. Erechtheus' heir! let that be far from thee! A warning needless to a man so wise! Now go we--for this leading of the God Is urgent--to the place, nor loiter more. This way, my children! follow me! For I Am now your guide, as ye were mine. Come on! Nay, touch me not, but leave me of myself To find the holy sepulchre, wherein This form must rest beneath Athenian soil. Come this way! Come! This way are leading me Guide Hermes and the Queen of realms below. O Light, all dark to me! In former time Bright seemed thy shining! Now thy latest ray Sheds vital influence o'er this frame. I go To hide the close of my disastrous life With Hades. Kind Athenian friend, farewell! May'st thou, thy followers, and this glorious land Be happy, and in your endless happiness Remember him who blessed you in his death. [_Exeunt_

CHORUS. Prince of the Powers Unseen, 1 Durst we with prayers adore Thee and thy viewless Queen, Your aid, Aidoneus, would our lips implore! By no harsh-sounding doom Let him we love descend, With calm and cloudless end, In deep Plutonian dwelling evermore To abide among the people of the tomb! Long worn with many an undeserved woe, Just Gods will give thee glory there below.

Dread Forms, who haunt this floor, 2 And thou, the Unconquered Beast, That hugely liest at rest By the dim shining adamantine door, --Still from thy cavernous lair Gnarling, so legends tell, A tameless guard of Hell,-- Mayest thou this once thy vigilance forbear, And leave large room for him now entering there. Hear us, great Son of Darkness and the Deep; On thee we call, God of the dreamless sleep!

_Enter_ Messenger.

MESS. Athenian citizens, my briefest tale Were to say singly, Oedipus is gone; But to describe the scene enacted yonder Craves no brief speech, nor was the action brief.

CH. Then he is gone! Poor man!

MESS. Know it once for all, He hath left eternally the light of day.

CH. Poor soul! What? Ended he with peace divine?

MESS. Ay, there is the main marvel. How he moved From hence, thou knowest, for thou too wert here, And saw'st that of his friends none guided him, But he they loved was leader to them all. Now, when he came to the steep pavement, rooted With adamant foundation deep in Earth, On one of many paths he took his stand Near the stone basin, where Peirithoues And Theseus graved their everlasting league. There, opposite the mass of Laurian ore, Turned from the hollow pear-tree and the tomb Of marble, he sate down, and straight undid His travel-soiled attire, then called aloud On both his children, and bade some one fetch Pure water from a running stream. And they, Hasting together to the neighbouring hill Of green Demeter, goddess of the Spring, Brought back their sire's commission speedily, And bathed, and clothed him with the sacred robe. When he was satisfied, and nothing now Remained undone of all he bade them do, The God of darkness thundered, and the maids Stood horror-stricken on hearing; then together Fell at their father's knees and wept and wailed Loudly and long with beating of the breast. He, when that sound of sorrow pierced his ear, Caressed them in his arms and said:--'My daughters, From this day forth you have no more a father. All that was mine is ended, and no longer Shall ye continue your hard ministry Of labour for my life.--And yet, though hard, Not unendurable, since all the toil Was rendered light through love, which ye can never Receive on earth so richly, as from him Bereaved of whom ye now shall live forlorn.' Such was the talk, mingled with sobs and crying, As each clung fast to each. But when they came To an end of weeping and those sounds were stilled, First all was silent; then a sudden voice Hurried him onward, making each man's hair Bristle on end with force of instant fear. Now here, now there, not once but oftentimes, A God called loudly, 'Oedipus, Oedipus! Why thus delay our going? This long while We are stayed for and thou tarriest. Come away!' He, when he knew the summons of the God, Gave word for royal Theseus to go near; And when he came, said: 'Friend for ever kind, Reach thy right hand, I pray thee (that first pledge) To these my children:--daughters, yours to him!-- And give thy sacred word that thou wilt never Betray these willingly: but still perform All that thou mayest with true thought for their good.' He, with grand calmness like his noble self, Promised on oath to keep this friendly bond. And when he had done so, Oedipus forthwith Stroking his children with his helpless hands Spake thus:--'My daughters, you must steel your hearts To noble firmness, and depart from hence, Nor ask to see or hear forbidden things. Go, go at once! Theseus alone must stay Sole rightful witness of these mysteries.' Those accents were the last we all might hear. Then, following the two maids, with checkless tears And groans we took our way. But by and by, At distance looking round, we saw,--not him, Who was not there,--but Theseus all alone Holding his hand before his eyes, as if Some apparition unendurable Had dazed his vision. In a little while, We marked him making reverence in one prayer To the Earth, and to the home of Gods on high. But by what fate He perished, mortal man, Save Theseus, none can say. No lightning-flash From heaven, no tempest rising from the deep, Caused his departure in that hour, but either Some messenger from heaven, or, from beneath, The lower part of Earth, where comes no pain, Opening kindly to receive him in. Not to be mourned, nor with a tearful end Of sickness was he taken from the Earth, But wondrously, beyond recorded fate. If any deem my words unwise, I care not In that man's judgement to be counted wise.

CH. Where are those maidens and their escort? Say.

MESS. They are not far off, but here. The voice of weeping Betokens all too plainly their approach.

ANT. Alas! How manifold, the inheritance of woe Drawn from the troubled fountain of our birth! Indelible, ineradicable grief! For him erewhile We had labour infinite and unrelieved, And now in his last hour we have to tell Of sights and sorrows beyond thought.

CH. How then?

ANT. Friends, ye might understand.

CH. Speak. Is he gone?

ANT. Gone! Even as heart could wish, had wishes power. How else, when neither war, nor the wide sea Encountered him, but viewless realms enwrapt him, Wafted away to some mysterious doom? Whence on our hearts a horror of night is fallen. Woe 's me! For whither wandering shall we find Hard livelihood, by land or over sea?

ISM. I know not. Let dark Hades take me off To lie in death with mine age honoured sire! Death were far better than my life to be.

CH. Noblest of maidens, ye must learn to bear Meekly the sending of the Gods. Be not On fire with grief. Your state is well assured.

ANT. If to be thus is well, then may one long For evil to return. Things nowise dear Were dear to me, whiles I had him to embrace. O father! loved one! that art wearing now The eternal robe of darkness underground, Old as thou wert, think not this maid and I Will cease from loving thee!

CH. He met his doom.

ANT. He met the doom he longed for.

CH. How was that?

ANT. In the strange land where he desired to die He died. He rests in shadow undisturbed; Nor hath he left a tearless funeral. For these mine eyes, father, unceasingly Mourn thee with weeping, nor can I subdue This ever-mounting sorrow for thy loss. Ah me! Would thou hadst not desired to die Here among strangers, but alone with thee There, in the desert, I had seen thee die!

ISM. Unhappy me! What destiny, dear girl, Awaits us both, bereaved and fatherless?

CH. His end was fortunate. He rests in peace. Dear maidens, then desist from your complaint. Sorrow is swift to overtake us all.

ANT. Thither again, dear girl, let us go speedily!

ISM. Say, for what end?

ANT. Desire possesses me--

ISM. Whereof?

ANT. To see the darksome dwelling-place--

ISM. Of whom?

ANT. Woe is me! Of him, our sire!

ISM. But how Can this be lawful? Seest thou not?