by Seneca
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she let Phoebus take her. As she moved to the cave,
an inhuman sound burst from her with a crash:
‘Gentle stars will come again to Thebes,
if you, the Stranger, Exile, Guest, depart.
Polluted with a royal murder, Apollo knew you as a baby.
You will have short enjoyment of your wicked murder:
You will bring war with you and leave it to your sons.
You have returned — disgusting! — to your mother’s womb.’
oedipus I will now prepare to do, on heaven’s orders,
what ought to have been done to honour the dead king’s ashes, 240
to ward off treachery against the holy throne.
Kings are the ones who need to care for kings.
Nobody protects a dead man whose life commanded fear.
creon Our care for the dead was set aside by a greater fear.
oedipus Can any fear prevent a man from duty?
creon Yes! The Sphinx, and the threats of her terrible riddle.
oedipus Well now, at heaven’s command, we must make
amends. —
Whichever god looks down on our kingdom and smiles:
you, who regulate the revolutions of the sky,
and you,* O greatest glory of the unclouded sky,
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ruling the Zodiac in your changing chariot’s course,
whose speedy wheel rolls round the dawdling years,
and you, his sister, always ready to meet your brother,
Diana, wanderer of the night; and you, lord of the winds,
driving your dark-blue horses over the depths of the sea;
and you who make new homes in darkness, without light;
come here! May the man who murdered old King Laius
find no quiet home, no household gods’ protection;
may he be exiled and find no sanctuary.
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oedipus
May his marriage shame him and his children shock him.
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May he even kill his father by his own hand,
and do — what could be worse? — the dreadful thing
I ran from. There will be no pardon. I swear it,
by this kingdom that welcomed me Guest-King,
and by the land I left and by the household gods,
and by you, Father Neptune, whose soft waves
wash against the Isthmus of my native land;
and you come now as witness to my words,
Apollo, inspiration to the truthful oracle;
so may my father live to comfortable old age,
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ending his days by natural means on his high throne;
and may Merope know no bed but that of Polybus;
so, I swear, the guilty one will not escape my hands.
But tell me, where was the awful crime committed?
Was it in public on the battlefield? Or was he ambushed?
creon He was going to the leafy groves of holy Castalia.
The road he trod was overgrown with thorns,
till he came to a three-fork crossroad, branching to the plain.
One path cuts through Phocis, country loved by Bacchus,
where Mount Parnassus rises high, abandoning the fields
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to seek the sky, in a gentle slope up to twin peaks.
Another path leads off to Sisyphus’ double seas;*
the third, a curving road, winds round to the Olenian fields,
touching the wandering waters till it crosses
the icy waters of the river Elis.
As he approached, believing himself safe,
a band of robbers pounced with swords, in secret.
But right on time, here comes Tiresias,
roused up by Phoebus’ oracle. He staggers on slow legs,
and Manto comes with him, leading the blind man.
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oedipus Holy man, the nearest human to Apollo,
explain the oracle! Tell us what fate wants.
tiresias Great-hearted Oedipus, you should not wonder
that my tongue hesitates to speak, wants to delay.
Much of the truth lies hidden to the blind.
But I will follow where my country calls, and god.
Let us dig out the fates; if my old blood
were fresh and hot, I would let the god possess me.*
* * *
oedipus
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Instead, cut open a snow-white bull on the altars,
and a heifer whose neck has never borne a yoke.
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Daughter, guide your blind and lightless father,
tell me what the prophetic rite reveals.
manto A perfect victim stands at the holy altars.
tiresias Call upon the gods with reverent voices,
heap the altars with incense, gift of the East.
manto Now I have heaped up incense on the holy hearth of the
gods.
tiresias What about the flame? Is it feasting yet?
manto It suddenly flashed with light but then died down.
tiresias Was the flame bright and shiny, did it stand
raising itself clear and pure up tall to the sky,
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unfolding its very tip up into the air?
Or did it creep out sideways, unsure where to go,
and sink down in confusion, drowned in smoke?
manto The flame kept changing, it was not just one way.
As when Iris* brings the rain and twines
multiple colours into herself: she curves right over
the arch of the sky and her colourful bow foretells the storm.
So you could hardly tell the colour of the flame:
it hovered, mixing dark blue with yellow spots,
then turned blood-red again, and finally to black.
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But look, the fire fights back, divides in two,
the embers of the holy rite are arguing and split.
Father, I shudder as I look at it! The gift
of wine we poured there changes now to blood,
and thick smoke circles round the head of the king.
Even denser fog descends upon his face;
the light is dirty, hidden in thick cloud.
Tell us, father: what does it mean?
tiresias
What can I say?
My mind is so astounded, in an uproar.
What can I say? These are mysterious horrors;
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usually the gods reveal their anger plainly.
What is it that they want to have revealed,
but also do not want to show? Why do they hide their rage?
The gods themselves are somehow feeling shame. Quick, here,
scatter the salted meal* on the cattle’s necks.
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oedipus
Do they submit to it with calm expressions?
manto The bull tossed high his head, and shuddering,
he was terrified to face the rising dawn:
trembling he shrank away from the rays of the sun.
tiresias Did they fall down to the earth at a single blow?
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manto The heifer threw herself upon the knife,
and died with just one blow. But the bull, struck twice,
lumbered this way and that, dazed and confused,
until he was worn out, had no resistance left.
tiresias Did the blood spurt out quickly from a narrow cut,
or was it slower, gushing from deep wounds?
manto The heifer’s blood flowed out through the pathway in her
breast,
like a river. But the bull, though badly wounded,
was stained with little blood. It flowed perversely,
out in a rush through his mouth and through his eyes.
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tire
sias Such unlucky signs should make us fear.
But tell me now the sure-fire marks of the entrails.
manto Father, what is this? The entrails do not quiver
just gently, as they usually do; no, my whole hand
is shaken when I touch them. New blood jumps from the veins.
The heart is weak and sick and lies deep down,
the veins are dark. A large part of the entrails is not here,
the rotten liver oozes with black gall,
and — always a bad omen for a monarch —
look, there are two heads, equally bulbous.
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Only a delicate membrane covers both these heads,
there is no hiding-place for these dark secrets.
The bad side* rises up, sturdy and strong,
with seven veins; but a sideways path cuts through,
stopping any of these veins from turning back.
Anatomy is altered, nothing is in its place,
everything is wrong; on the right, the lungs
can hold no air, for they are clogged with blood.
The left side has no heart; the stomach does not stretch
its soft folds out over the winding bowels.
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Nature is perverted. The womb does not follow the rules.
Let us dissect and see why the entrails seem so stiff.
What horror is this? A virgin heifer pregnant!
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oedipus
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But the foetus is in the wrong place, filling its mother
somewhere it ought not to be. It moans and twitches,
shaking its spindly body in stiff spasms.
Dark blood stains the innards of the beast.
The mangled body-parts attempt to move,
the hollow body rises up and lowers its horns
to threaten the priests. My hands cannot hold the spleen.
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You hear that rumbling sound? It is not from the catttle.
No frightened animal is lowing here.
The altar fires are lowing, the hearth is terrified.
oedipus What do all these awful portents mean?
Reveal it! I am not afraid to drink the truth.
The worst disasters make people feel calm.
tiresias You will look back with envy at your present troubles.
oedipus Just tell me what the gods want me to know:
whose hands are tainted by the old king’s murder?
tiresias Neither the birds who plunge in the depths of the sky 390
on their light wings, nor the entrails torn from living bellies
can tell the name. We must try another method.
We must call up the king himself from Erebus,*
the land of eternal night, to point out his own killer.
Earth must be unlocked, we must implore
the pitiless power of Dis, we must drag out
the people of infernal Styx. Who will you send
to go on this quest? As king, you must not see the ghosts.
oedipus Creon, as my second-in-command,
the task is yours.
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tiresias
While we unloose the latches of deep Hell,
let people sing their hymns in praise of Bacchus.
chorus Bind up your flowing hair with nodding ivy,
carry the thyrsis in your soft white arms.
Glory of the shining day,
come receive the prayers we offer,
we raise our hands to greet you;
come to famous Thebes, your city,
Bacchus. Turn your girlish face to bless us,
shake the clouds from the starlight of your eyes,
expel the threatening scowls of Hell
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and greedy fate.
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oedipus
It suits you well to wear spring flowers in your hair,
to bind your head up in a Tyrian turban,
or put a wreath of ivy mixed with olive
on your gentle brow.
Let your hair tumble anyhow,
then tie it back again in a ponytail;
as when you feared the anger of your stepmother,
and grew yourself false limbs,
pretending to be a blonde-haired teenage girl,*
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with a yellow sash around your dress.
Later in life as well, you like soft dresses,
falling in loose folds with a long train.
All the vast territory of the East
saw you sitting on your golden chariot,
wearing a trailing robe, driving your lions,
from the Ganges to the snowy ice
of Araxes.
Old Silenus follows with you on his peasant donkey,
wearing ivy on his bulging head;
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your sexy priests perform the hidden mysteries.
The troop of Bassarids accompany you,
beating the ground in their Edonian dance,
and now they come to Mount Pangaeus, now
the peak of Thracian Pindus. Here comes a Maenad,
a shocking figure among the Theban matrons,
companion to Ogygian Bacchus,
hips tied up with holy fawn-skins,
waving a slender thyrsus in her hand.
Now even the mothers’ hearts are shaken by you,
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they let their hair fall loose; but after mangling Pentheus,*
the Maenads find their bodies freed from madness,
and are surprised to see what they have done.
Ino,* foster-mother of glorious Bacchus,
rules the sea, surrounded by the dancing Nereids.
A stranger boy has come to rule the waves of the deep:
cousin to Bacchus, the well-known god Palaemon.*
Once, dear boy, a group of barbarian pirates*
captured you, and Neptune calmed the swelling seas;
he changed the dark-blue ocean into grass.
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* * *
oedipus
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The plane-tree sprouted green with springtime leaves,
and a whole grove of laurel, dear to Phoebus;
the chattering birds were singing in the trees.
The oars were caught in the tendrils of the ivy,
the masthead got entwined with all the vines.
On the prow a Trojan lion roared,
a tiger from the Ganges crouches at the stern.
Then the frightened pirates swim off in the sea,
and as they plunge, their bodies change their shape;
first the robbers’ arms are falling off,
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their chests nudge up and join on to their bellies,
a little tiny hand hangs from one side,
as with curved backs they sink into the waves,
cutting through the sea with crescent tails;
now they pursue the fleeing sails
as rounded dolphins.
The wealthy stream of Lydian Pactolus
carried you with the gold of its burning banks;
the Massagetan who drinks milk mixed with blood
gave up his conquered bow, abandoned shooting;
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Bacchus is recognized in the lands of Lycurgus with his axe.
The wild country of the Zalaces,
the nomads who suffer the blast of Boreas,
know Bacchus’ power,
and the nations washed by the cold stream
of the Maeotis,
and the Amazons under the Arcadian stars,
the double plough.
He has mastered the scattered Gelonians,
seized the arms of those rough girls,
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the hordes of Thermodontia have bowed their heads before him:
abandoning at last their little arrows
they turn to Maenads.
/> Holy Cithaeron flowed with blood
and Pentheus dead.
The daughters of Proetus* fled to the woods and Argos
worshipped Bacchus, even in front of his stepmother.
Naxos surrounded by the Aegean
handed over the girl,* abandoned
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oedipus
by her husband. She was compensated
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with a better one.
Wine flowed out
from dry pumice rock;
chattering streams cut through the grass,
the earth drank deeply the sweet juice,
white streams of snowy milk
and Lesbian wine mixed with fragrant thyme.
The new bride* is led right up to heaven;
Phoebus sings the hymn, hair pouring over his shoulders,
while twin Cupids shake the torches;
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Jupiter puts down his fiery bolt
and hates the thunder,* when Bacchus is coming.
As long as the bright stars run through the ancient years,
as long as Ocean keeps the world surrounded by his waves,
as long as Moon grows full and gathers her lost fires,
as long as Lucifer predicts the early dawn,
as long as the high Bears stay far from the deep blue sea,
so long we will worship the beautiful face of Bacchus.
ACT THREE
oedipus Although your face looks marked by tears,
tell us whose life must pay to satisfy the gods.
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creon You order me to say what my fear bids me hide.
oedipus If all the ruin of Thebes is not enough,
at least the fall of your royal family should persuade you.
creon You will long not to know what you try too hard to find.
oedipus Ignorance is no cure for suffering.
Would you hide evidence that could help the public?
creon If the cure is bad, better to be sick.
oedipus Tell us what you heard, or I will break you,
and you will learn what violence an angry king can do.
creon Kings hate to hear the things they order spoken.
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oedipus I will send you to Hell! One small life pays for all —
unless you tell the secrets from the holy rites.
creon I wish I could keep quiet. Can one hope
for freedom from a king?
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oedipus
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oedipus
Often silent freedom
hurts kings and kingdoms even more than speech.
creon Where silence is forbidden, what freedom can there be?
oedipus If you are silent when ordered to speak, you are a traitor.
creon You forced me speak, so listen calmly, please.
