Thou must know, then, that 'twas said to be his own child—but thy lady within could best say how these things are.
Oe. How? She gave it to thee? He. Yea, O king.
Oe. For what end? He. That I should make away with it.
Oe. Her own child, the wretch? He. Aye, from fear of evil prophecies.
Oe. What were they? He. The tale ran that he must slay his sire.
Oe. Why, then, didst thou give him up to this old man?
He. Through pity, master, as deeming that he would bear him away to another land, whence he himself came;1180 but he saved him for the direst woe. For if thou art what this man saith, know that thou wast born to misery.
Oe. Oh, oh! All brought to pass—all true! Thou light, may I now look my last on thee—I who have been found accursed in birth, accursed in wedlock, accursed in the shedding of blood!
[He rushes into the palace.
str. 1. Ch. Alas, ye generations of men, how mere a shadow do I count your life! Where, where is the mortal who wins more of happiness than just the1190 seeming, and, after the semblance, a falling away? Thine is a fate that warns me,—thine, thine, unhappy Oedipus—to call no earthly creature blest.
ant. 1. For he, O Zeus, sped his shaft with peerless skill, and won the prize of an all-prosperous fortune; he slew the maiden with crooked talons who sang darkly; he arose for our land as a tower against death.1200 And from that time, Oedipus, thou hast been called our king, and hast been honoured supremely, bearing sway in great Thebes.
str. 2. But now whose story is more grievous in men's ears? Who is a more wretched captive to fierce plagues and troubles, with all his life reversed?
Alas, renowned Oedipus! The same bounteous place of rest sufficed thee, as child and as sire also, that thou shouldst make thereon thy nuptial couch.1210 Oh, how can the soil wherein thy father sowed, unhappy one, have suffered thee in silence so long?
ant. 2. Time the all-seeing hath found thee out in thy despite: he judgeth the monstrous marriage wherein begetter and begotten have long been one.
Alas, thou child of Laïus, would, would that I had never seen thee! I wail as one who pours a dirge from his lips;1220 sooth to speak, 'twas thou that gavest me new life, and through thee darkness hath fallen upon mine eyes.
Second Messenger (from the house).
2 Me. Ye who are ever most honoured in this land, what deeds shall ye hear, what deeds behold, what burden of sorrow shall be yours, if, true to your race, ye still care for the house of Labdacus! For I ween that not Ister nor Phasis could wash this house clean, so many are the ills that it shrouds, or will soon bring to light,—ills wrought not unwittingly, but of purpose.1230 And those griefs smart most which are seen to be of our own choice.
Ch. Indeed those which we knew before fall not short of claiming sore lamentation: besides them, what dost thou announce?
2 Me. This is the shortest tale to tell and to hear: our royal lady Iocasta is dead.
Ch. Alas, hapless one! From what cause?
2 Me. By her own hand. The worst pain in what hath chanced is not for you, for yours it is not to behold. Nevertheless, so far as mine own memory serves, ye shall learn that unhappy woman's fate.1240
When, frantic, she had passed within the vestibule, she rushed straight towards her nuptial couch, clutching her hair with the fingers of both hands; once within the chamber, she dashed the doors together at her back; then called on the name of Laïus, long since a corpse, mindful of that son, begotten long ago, by whom the sire was slain, leaving the mother to breed accursed offspring with his own.
And she bewailed the wedlock wherein, wretched, she had borne a twofold brood, husband by husband, children by her child. And how thereafter she perished,1250 is more than I know. For with a shriek Oedipus burst in, and suffered us not to watch her woe unto the end; on him, as he rushed around, our eyes were set. To and fro he went, asking us to give him a sword,—asking where he should find the wife who was no wife, but a mother whose womb had borne alike himself and his children. And, in his frenzy, a power above man was his guide; for 'twas none of us mortals who were nigh. And with a dread shriek, as though some one beckoned1260 him on, he sprang at the double doors, and from their sockets forced the bending bolts, and rushed into the room.
There beheld we the woman hanging by the neck in a twisted noose of swinging cords. But he, when he saw her, with a dread, deep cry of misery, loosed the halter whereby she hung. And when the hapless woman was stretched upon the ground, then was the sequel dread to see. For he tore from her raiment the golden brooches wherewith she was decked, and lifted them, and smote full on his own eye-balls,1270 uttering words like these: 'No more shall ye behold such horrors as I was suffering and working! long enough have ye looked on those whom ye ought never to have seen, failed in knowledge of those whom I yearned to know—henceforth ye shall be dark!'
To such dire refrain, not once alone but oft struck he his eyes with lifted hand; and at each blow the ensanguined eye-balls bedewed his beard, nor sent forth sluggish drops of gore, but all at once a dark shower of blood came down like hail.
From the deeds of twain such ills have broken forth,1280 not on one alone, but with mingled woe for man and wife. The old happiness of their ancestral fortune was aforetime happiness indeed; but to-day—lamentation, ruin, death, shame, all earthly ills that can be named—all, all are theirs.
Ch. And hath the sufferer now any respite from pain?
2 Me. He cries for some one to unbar the gates and show to all the Cadmeans his father's slayer, his mother's—the unholy word must not pass my lips,—as1290 purposing to cast himself out of the land, and abide no more, to make the house accursed under his own curse. Howbeit he lacks strength, and one to guide his steps; for the anguish is more than man may bear. And he will show this to thee also; for lo, the bars of the gates are withdrawn, and soon thou shalt behold a sight which even he who abhors it must pity.
Enter Oedipus.
Ch. O dread fate for men to see, O most dreadful of all that have met mine eyes! Unhappy one, what madness hath come on thee?1300 Who is the unearthly foe that, with a bound of more than mortal range, hath made thine ill-starred life his prey?
Alas, alas, thou hapless one! Nay, I cannot e'en look on thee, though there is much that I would fain ask, fain learn, much that draws my wistful gaze,—with such a shuddering dost thou fill me!
Oe. Woe is me! Alas, alas, wretched that I am! Whither, whither am I borne in my misery? How is my voice swept abroad on the wings of the air?1310 Oh my Fate, how far hast thou sprung!
Ch. To a dread place, dire in men's ears, dire in their sight.
str. 1. Oe. O thou horror of darkness that enfoldest me, visitant unspeakable, resistless, sped by a wind too fair!
Ay me! and once again, ay me!
How is my soul pierced by the stab of these goads, and withal by the memory of sorrows!
Ch. Yea, amid woes so many a twofold pain may well be thine to mourn and to bear.1320
ant.
