Four Tragedies and Octavia

by Seneca

  To face the real ones.

  OEDIPUS: He that once accused

  Escapes conviction, harbours hate thereafter.

  Better be rid of doubts.

  CREON: Thus hate is bred.

  OEDIPUS: No king can rule who is afraid of hatred.

  Fear is the sovereign’s shield.

  CREON: But when men fear,

  Then must imperious sovereignty fear them.

  Fear must recoil upon its author’s head.

  OEDIPUS: Arrest this guilty man, and in a dungeon

  Keep him confined! I shall return within.

  CHORUS

  Not yours, not yours the fault that brought such peril to us.

  Not for that do the Fates bear hard on the house of Labdacus.

  We are assailed by the ancient anger of the gods.

  Castalia’s woods gave shelter, long ago, to the wanderer1

  Who came from Sidon; travellers from Tyre refreshed themselves

  In Dirce’s waters; when Agenor’s son paused in these forests

  After his weary search across the world for her2 whom Jove

  Had carried off; he rested here, to worship, while he feared,

  The ravisher whom he sought. Phoebus commanded him to follow

  A straying heifer, one whose neck had never felt the yoke

  Of plough or heavy waggon; so he ceased from wandering

  And gave our people a new name,3 from that ill-omened heifer.

  Since then, strange monsters many a time

  Have risen from our soil. The serpent

  Creeps from the glens to raise its head

  Hissing above the ancient oaks,

  Above the pines; his body’s bulk

  Sprawls on the ground, his azure head

  Tops the Chaonian trees.

  Earth has conceived a monstrous brood

  Of men in arms; the bent horn shrieked

  Its battle-call; the curved bronze trumpet

  Sang its shrill song; the tongues of men

  That had not learnt the art of speech,

  Voices that none had ever heard,

  Broke out with cries of battle.

  The fields were filled with brother armies;

  As was the seed that gave them birth,

  Their life was measured in a day;

  Born with the Morning Star,

  Before the rise of Hesperus they were dead.

  Such prodigies appalled the wanderer;

  He could not but await in fear

  The onslaught of the newborn race.

  At last the breed of terror was destroyed,

  Their mother Earth received into her lap

  Her newborn sons.

  So may all civil strife be ended;

  So may that fratricidal war

  Remain a memory for the land of Thebes,

  The land of Hercules.

  And still remains to tell the fate of Cadmus’ grandson –

  The strange growth sprouting from his brow, the wild stag’s horns,

  The hounds that hunted their own master.

  Down from the woods and hills Actaeon fled,

  Outstripped the pack through glades and stony places,

  Shied like a stag at the string of wind-blown feathers,

  Drew away from the nets which he himself had set,

  Looked in the depth of a still lake, and saw

  Horns on his head and his face the face of a beast:

  In that same lake the goddess of stern chastity

  Had bathed her virgin limbs.

  ACT FOUR

  Oedipus, Jocasta, Old Man, Phorbas

  OEDIPUS: My mind is troubled; all my fears return.

  The blood of Laius is upon my hands –

  The gods of heaven and hell allege. And yet

  My conscience knows no sin; it knows itself

  More surely than the gods above can know it,

  And it denies the charge. There was a man…

  As I remember dimly… whom I met

  Upon a road, and struck down with my staff

  And killed. But he began it; I was young

  And he was old and arrogant; he leaned

  Out of his carriage and commanded me

  To stand aside. The place was far from Thebes,

  In Phocian land, a place where three roads meet.…

  O wife, my love, help me resolve my doubts.

  Tell me, how old was Laius at his death?

  Young, lusty, on the day he died – or ageing?

  JOCASTA: Not old, not young; nearer to age than youth.

  OEDIPUS: Would he be guarded by a numerous escort?

  JOCASTA: The greater part of them had gone astray

  Confused by the dividing roads; a few

  Still followed faithfully the royal carriage.

  OEDIPUS: Did any fall beside their royal master?

  JOCASTA: One brave and loyal henchman shared his fate.

  OEDIPUS: I know the guilty man. Numbers and place

  Confirm it. And the time?

  JOCASTA: Ten summers since.…

  OLD MAN: Sir, you are summoned by the men of Corinth

  To take your father’s throne. King Polybus

  Has entered into everlasting rest.

  OEDIPUS: Fortune strikes blows at me from every side.

  Well, tell me how my father met his end.

  OLD MAN: In peaceful sleep the old man passed away.

  OEDIPUS: So, my progenitor is in his grave,

  And no one killed him. Now, behold, these hands

  Are clean and fear no sin; in innocence

  I lift them to the sky. Yet still a fate

  There is to fear, a fate more terrible.

  OLD MAN: No fear will touch you in your father’s kingdom.

  OEDIPUS: Back to my father’s kingdom I would go,

  But for one fear – I dare not face my mother.

  OLD MAN: Why? Fear your mother? She expects your coming

  And anxiously awaits it.

  OEDIPUS: As I love her,

  I must avoid her.

  OLD MAN: In her widowhood?

  OEDIPUS: You say the very word I fear.

  OLD MAN: What is it

  That weighs upon your soul? This buried fear?

  You may confide in me; I am a man

  To keep kings’ secrets under loyal silence.

  OEDIPUS: Delphi has warned me; marriage with my mother

  Fills me with dread.

  OLD MAN: Forget that idle fear;

  A monstrous fear – have none of it. Our queen

  Was not in truth your mother.

  OEDIPUS: Not my mother?

  What should she want with an adopted child?

  OLD MAN: Heirs shield a king in time of disaffection.1

  OEDIPUS: What gave you access to the chamber secrets?

  OLD MAN: These hands gave you, a baby, to your mother.

  OEDIPUS: You gave me to her? Who gave me to you?

  OLD MAN: A shepherd, on Cithaeron’s snowy slopes.

  OEDIPUS: And what chance took you wandering in that forest?

  OLD MAN: ’Twas on those hills I used to tend my sheep.

  OEDIPUS: Did you see any marks upon my body?

  OLD MAN: Your feet were pierced with iron pins; those ankles,

  Maimed and deformed, gave you the name you bear.

  OEDIPUS: Who was the man who made a gift to you

  Of my poor body? Tell me who he was.

  OLD MAN: He was the keeper of the royal flocks,

  The chief, with others under his command.

  OEDIPUS: Tell me his name.

  OLD MAN: An old man’s memory

  Is not so clear; it rusts with long disuse.

  OEDIPUS: You’d know him if you saw him?

  OLD MAN: Ay, maybe.

  Sometimes a little sign can jog to life

  A distant memory long lost and buried.

  OEDIPUS: I will have all the shepherds and their flocks

  Assembled at the
sacred altars. [To attendants] Go,

  Summon at once all that have charge of them.

  OLD MAN: No! Let a secret that has long lain hidden

  Whether by chance or by design, remain

  Hidden for ever. He that uncovers truth,

  Uncovers it, too often, to his harm.

  OEDIPUS: What harm, worse than the present, can be feared?

  OLD MAN: A thing so hard to seek, you may be sure,

  Will prove no simple thing when found. Here meet

  Two rights, the king’s advantage and the state’s,

  Neither above the other; leave them both

  Untouched. Touch nothing; Fate will show her hand.

  OEDIPUS: Where all is well, let well alone; no harm

  Can come of probing what is desperate.

  OLD MAN: Would you seek greater notability

  Than royal heritage confers? Beware

  Lest you be sorry to have found your father.

  OEDIPUS: Yet I must find the truth, though it be shameful,

  About my parentage – and search I will.…

  An aged man approaches; it is Phorbas,

  He that was master of the royal shepherds.

  Do you recall his name or know his face?

  OLD MAN: His looks awake a memory; that face

  Is one I know, yet do not know for certain.…

  When Laius was king, were you a shepherd1

  Tending his prime flock on Cithaeron’s slopes?

  PHORBAS: Ay, there was always fine fresh pasturage

  In summer on Cithaeron, where I worked.

  OLD MAN: Have you seen me before?

  PHORBAS: Not to remember –

  OEDIPUS: Do you remember giving him a child,

  A boy? Speak out. Why does your face turn pale?

  You are not sure? You need not choose your words.

  Truth won’t be hidden by procrastination.

  PHORBAS: You delve into the long forgotten past.

  OEDIPUS: Speak, or else torture must fetch out the truth.

  PHORBAS: ’Tis true, I gave an infant to this man –

  A useless gift, it never could have grown

  To enjoy the light of day.

  OLD MAN: Say no such thing!

  He is alive, and may his life be long.

  OEDIPUS: Why do you think the infant must have died?

  PHORBAS: An iron bolt was driven through the feet

  To pin the legs together; swelling sores

  Had festered and inflamed the whole small body.

  OEDIPUS: Need you ask more! Fate stands beside you now1…

  Tell me what child it was.

  PHORBAS: Duty forbids –

  OEDIPUS: Let fire be brought! Hot coals will burn out duty!

  PHORBAS: Must truth be sought by such inhuman means? Have pity!

  OEDIPUS: If you think me harsh and ruthless,

  Yours is the power to punish that offence,

  By telling me the truth. Who was the child?

  What father’s and what mother’s son was he?

  PHORBAS: Your wife was that child’s mother.

  OEDIPUS: Earth, be opened!

  Ruler of darkness, hide in deepest hell

  This monstrous travesty of procreation!

  The bans, heap stones upon this cursed head,

  Strike me to death with weapons! Let all sons,

  All fathers, draw their swords upon me; husbands,

  Brothers take arms against me; let my people,

  Stricken by pestilence, seize brands from pyres

  To hurl at me! Here walks this age’s sin,

  Here walks the abomination of the gods,

  The death of sacred law – from his first day

  Of innocent life deserving only death.…

  Now be your courage keen; now dare a deed

  To match your sins! Into the palace, go,

  Go quickly, give your mother joyful greeting,

  Blest in the increase of her happy home!…

  CHORUS

  Had I the choice, to shape my fate

  To my desire, then I would trim my sail

  To gentler winds, not fight against the gale

  Till timbers trembled at its weight.

  Not buffeted from side to side,

  But borne by the light breezes’ gentle force

  On a safe middle course

  My ship of life would ride.

  There was a youth in Crete, who feared the king

  And madly tried to fly towards the stars,

  Trusting his life to an untried device,

  Hoping to match his skill against the birds

  Whom nature made to fly; but those false wings

  Betrayed him, and a portion of the sea

  Got a new name from him. While Daedalus,

  Older and wiser, chose a middle course,

  And hovered in the lower air, awaiting

  His fledgling son –

  Scared like a bird that sees a hawk

  And gathers in her frightened young

  From every side –

  But now, alas, the boy was in the sea,

  His hands encumbered with the instruments

  Of his too daring flight.

  Wherever man exceeds the mean,

  He stands upon the brink of danger.

  ACT FIVE

  Messenger, Oedipus, Jocasta, Chorus

  CHORUS: But what is this? The doors are opening…

  One of the king’s attendants comes, distraught;

  See how he shakes his head. What is your news?

  MESSENGER: When Oedipus had understood the fate

  Foretold for him and the undoubted truth

  Of his disastrous birth; when he had laid

  Upon himself the guilt of all the sin

  Of which he stood convicted; with swift strides

  Into the palace, to the fatal room,

  He hurried with grim purpose. Like a lion

  Prowling in Libyan fields, with angry face

  And tawny tossing mane, so looked the king.

  Black rage was in his brow and glaring eyes,

  His groaning deep and wild, the cold sweat pouring

  From every limb; with foaming lips he cursed

  As the great torrent of his passion broke

  From deep within his bosom. Who could say

  What awful deed, matched to his destiny,

  He planned within his own dark soul. ‘How long,’

  He cried, ‘should I delay my punishment?

  Where is the sword to strike this guilty breast?

  Who will bring fire to burn or stones to crush me?

  When will some bird of prey, some hungry tiger

  Feed on my flesh? Thou cursed seat of sin,

  Cithaeron, send the beasts out of thy forests,

  Send thy wild dogs to tear me; send Agave

  To do her work again! Dost thou fear death,

  My soul? Fear not to die; ‘tis death alone

  Can steal the innocent from fortune’s grasp.’

  With that he laid his hand, his sinning hand

  Upon his sword’s hilt, and drew out the blade –

  But spoke again: ‘Stay! Can so great a crime

  Be paid for with so brief a penalty?

  Will one stroke settle all your debts? To die –

  Your father would require no more of you;

  What of your mother? And the children born

  Of sinful marriage? What will pay your debt

  To them, and what, above all else, to her

  Whose utter ruin is her chastisement

  For your offence, your suffering motherland?

  You owe them more than you can ever pay.

  Let Nature change – if once she could defy

  For one man, Oedipus, her own fixed laws,

  When she devised new ways of generation –

  Let her be changed again to punish me!

  Let there be found a way for me to live

  A second lif
e and die a second death,

  And live and die again, for every life

  To pay with a repeated punishment.…

  Use all your wits, doomed wretch; devise a way;

  Let what can only once be done be done

  Slowly; a long slow death. Think of a way,

  A way which you must take alone, permitted

  Neither to join the number of the dead

  Nor dwell among the living. Die, yet die not!

  Art thou prepared, my soul?’ A flood of tears

  Broke forth and poured a torrent down his cheeks.

  ‘What, only tears?’ he cried. ‘Are drops of water

  All that these eyes can spill? Let them be torn

  Out of their sockets! O ye marriage-gods,

  Will that content you? Let me dig them out!’

  Fury was in his voice and soul, his face

  Blazed with a fire of passion, and those eyes

  Seemed starting from their sockets of themselves.

  Mingled in his wild looks were wrath and madness,

  Rage and determination. With a groan,

  A terrifying roar, he thrust his fingers

  Into his eyes; and those wild orbs stared out

  And seemed to rush to meet the hands they knew

  And to obey their summons, offering

  Themselves to their own fate. The fingers bent

  And groped in haste to find the seeing eyes,

  Then wrenched them from their roots and tore them out.

  And still the fingers probed the open holes,

  The nails scratched in the empty cavities

  Which now gaped hollow where the eyes had been.

  Still in his impotent despair the man

  Raged on and on, and would not be content.

  He tests his vision, holding up his head

  Against the light, scanning the breadth of sky

  With eyeless holes, to see if all is dark,

  Then tears away the last remaining shreds

  Left of the raggedly uprooted eyes.

  His victory was won; he cried aloud

  To all the gods: ‘Now spare my country, gods!

  Now justice has been done; my debt is paid.

  Here is the darkness that should fitly fall

  Upon my marriage-bed.’ Once more his face

  And wounded brow were bathed, this time with blood

  That poured in torrents from the broken veins.

  CHORUS: Fate guides us; let Fate have her way.1

  No anxious thought of ours can change

  The pattern of the web of destiny.

  All that we do, all that is done to us,