Delphi Complete Poetry and Plays of W. B. Yeats (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series)

by W. B. Yeats

  OEDIPUS. NO! I will never go to my parents’ home.

  MESSENGER. Ah, my son, it is plain enough, you do not know what you do.

  OEDIPUS. HOW, old man? For God’s love, tell me.

  MESSENGER. If for these reasons you shrink from going home.

  OEDIPUS. I am afraid lest Phoebus has spoken true.

  MESSENGER. YOU are afraid of being made guilty through Merope?

  OEDIPUS. That is my constant fear.

  MESSENGER. A vain fear.

  OEDIPUS. HOW so, if I was born of that father and mother?

  MESSENGER. Because they were nothing to you in blood.

  OEDIPUS. What do you say? Was Polybus not my father?

  MESSENGER. NO more nor less than myself.

  OEDIPUS. How can my father be no more to me than you who are nothing to me?

  MESSENGER. He did not beget you any more than I.

  OEDIPUS. No? Then why did he call me his son?

  MESSENGER. He took you as a gift from these hands of mine.

  OEDIPUS. HOW could he love so dearly what came from another’s hands?

  MESSENGER. He had been childless.

  OEDIPUS. If I am not your son, where did you get me?

  MESSENGER. In a wooded valley of Cithaeron.

  OEDIPUS. What brought you wandering there?

  MESSENGER. I was in charge of mountain sheep.

  OEDIPUS. A shepherd — a wandering, hired man.

  MESSENGER. A hired man who came just in time.

  OEDIPUS. Just in time — had it come to that?

  MESSENGER. Have not the cords left their marks upon your ankles?

  OEDIPUS. Yes, that is an old trouble.

  MESSENGER. I took your feet out of the spancel.

  OEDIPUS. I have had those marks from the cradle.

  MESSENGER. They have given you the name you bear.

  OEDIPUS. Tell me, for God’s sake, was that deed my mother’s or my father’s?

  MESSENGER. I do not know — he who gave you to me knows more of that than I.

  OEDIPUS. What? You had me from another? You did not chance on me yourself?

  MESSENGER. NO. Another shepherd gave you to me.

  OEDIPUS. Who was he? Can you tell me who he was?

  MESSENGER. I think that he was said to be of Laius’ household.

  OEDIPUS. The king who ruled this country long ago?

  MESSENGER. The same — the man was herdsman in his service.

  OEDIPUS. IS he alive, that I might speak with him?

  MESSENGER. YOU people of this country should know that.

  OEDIPUS. IS there anyone here present who knows the herd he speaks of? Anyone who has seen him in the town pastures? The hour has come when all must be made clear.

  CHORUS. I think he is the very herd you sent for but now; Jocasta can tell you better than I.

  JOCASTA. Why ask about that man? Why think about him? Why waste a thought on what this man has said? What he has said is of no account.

  OEDIPUS. What, with a clue like that in my hands and fail to find out my birth?

  JOCASTA. For God’s sake, if you set any value upon your life, give up this search — my misery is enough.

  OEDIPUS. Though I be proved the son of a slave, yes, even of three generations of slaves, you cannot be made base-born.

  JOCASTA. Yet, hear me, I implore you. Give up this search.

  OEDIPUS. I will not hear of anything but searching the whole thing out.

  JOCASTA. I am only thinking of your good — I have advised you for the best.

  OEDIPUS. Your advice makes me impatient.

  JOCASTA. May you never come to know who you are, unhappy man!

  OEDIPUS. GO, someone, bring the herdsman here — and let that woman glory in her noble blood.

  JOCASTA. Alas, alas, miserable man! Miserable! That is all that I can call you now or for ever.

  [She goes out.

  CHORUS. Why has the lady gone, Oedipus, in such a transport of despair? Out of this silence will burst a storm of sorrows.

  OEDIPUS. Let come what will. However lowly my origin I will discover it. That woman, with all a woman’s pride, grows red with shame at my base birth. I think myself the child of Good Luck, and that the years are my foster-brothers. Sometimes they have set me up, and sometimes thrown me down, but he that has Good Luck for mother can suffer no dishonour. That is my origin, nothing can change it, so why should I renounce this search into my birth?

  CHORUS. Oedipus’ nurse, mountain of many a hidden glen,

  Be honoured among men;

  A famous man, deep-thoughted, and his body strong;

  Be honoured in dance and song.

  Who met in the hidden glen? Who let his fancy run

  Upon nymph of Helicon?

  Lord Pan or Lord Apollo or the mountain Lord

  By the Bacchantes adored?

  OEDIPUS. If I, who have never met the man, may venture to say so, I think that the herdsman we await approaches; his venerable age matches with this stranger’s, and I recognise as servants of mine those who bring him. But you, if you have seen the man before, will know the man better than I.

  CHORUS. Yes, I know the man who is coming; he was indeed in

  Laius’ service, and is still the most trusted of the herdsmen.

  OEDIPUS. I ask you first, Corinthian stranger, is this the man you mean?

  MESSENGER. He is the very man.

  OEDIPUS. Look at me, old man! Answer my questions. Were you once in Laius’ service?

  HERDSMAN. I was: not a bought slave, but reared up in the house.

  OEDIPUS. What was your work — your manner of life?

  HERDSMAN. For the best part of my life I have tended flocks.

  OEDIPUS. Where, mainly?

  HERDSMAN. Cithaeron or its neighbourhood.

  OEDIPUS. DO you remember meeting with this man there?

  HERDSMAN. What man do you mean?

  OEDIPUS. This man. Did you ever meet him?

  HERDSMAN. I cannot recall him to mind.

  MESSENGER. NO wonder in that, master; but I will bring back his memory. He and I lived side by side upon Cithaeron. I had but one flock and he had two. Three full half-years we lived there, from spring to autumn, and every winter I drove my flock to my own fold, while he drove his to the fold of Laius. Is that right? Was it not so?

  HERDSMAN. True enough; though it was long ago.

  MESSENGER. Come, tell me now — do you remember giving me a boy to rear as my own foster-son?

  HERDSMAN. What are you saying? Why do you ask me that?

  MESSENGER. Look at that man, my friend, he is the child you gave me.

  HERDSMAN. A plague upon you! Cannot you hold your tongue?

  OEDIPUS. DO not blame him, old man; your own words are more blameable.

  HERDSMAN. And how have I offended, master?

  OEDIPUS. In not telling of that boy he asks of.

  HERDSMAN. He speaks from ignorance, and does not know what he is saying.

  OEDIPUS. If you will not speak with a good grace you shall be made to speak.

  HERDSMAN. DO not hurt me for the love of God, I am an old man.

  OEDIPUS. Someone there, tie his hands behind his back.

  HERDSMAN. Alas! Wherefore! What more would you learn?

  OEDIPUS. Did you give this man the child he speaks of?

  HERDSMAN. I did: would I had died that day!

  OEDIPUS. Well, you may come to that unless you speak the truth.

  HERDSMAN. Much more am I lost if I speak it.

  OEDIPUS. What! Would the fellow make more delay?

  HERDSMAN. NO, no. I said before that I gave it to him.

  OEDIPUS. Where did you come by it? Your own child, or another?

  HERDSMAN. It was not my own child — I had it from another.

  OEDIPUS. From any of those here? From what house?

  HERDSMAN. DO not ask any more, master; for the love of God do not ask.

  OEDIPUS. YOU are lost if I have to question you again.
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  HERDSMAN. It was a child from the house of Laius.

  OEDIPUS. A slave? Or one of his own race?

  HERDSMAN. Alas! I am on the edge of dreadful words.

  OEDIPUS. And I of hearing: yet hear I must.

  HERDSMAN. It was said to have been his own child. But your lady within can tell you of these things best.

  OEDIPUS. HOW? It was she who gave it to you?

  HERDSMAN. Yes, King.

  OEDIPUS. TO what end?

  HERDSMAN. That I should make away with it.

  OEDIPUS. Her own child?

  HERDSMAN. Yes: from fear of evil prophecies.

  OEDIPUS. What prophecies?

  HERDSMAN. That he should kill his father.

  OEDIPUS. Why, then, did you give him up to this old man?

  HERDSMAN. Through pity, master, believing that he would carry him to whatever land he had himself come from — but he saved him for dreadful misery; for if you are what this man says, you are the most miserable of all men.

  OEDIPUS. O! O! All brought to pass! All truth! Now, O light, may I look my last upon you, having been found accursed in bloodshed, accursed in marriage, and in my coming into the world accursed!

  [He rushes into the palace.

  CHORUS. What can the shadow-like generations of man attain

  But build up a dazzling mockery of delight that under their touch dissolves again?

  Oedipus seemed blessed, but there is no man blessed amongst men.

  Oedipus overcame the woman-breasted Fate;

  He seemed like a strong tower against Death and first among the fortunate;

  He sat upon the ancient throne of Thebes, and all men called him great.

  But, looking for a marriage-bed, he found the bed of his birth,

  Tilled the field his father had tilled, cast seed into the same abounding earth;

  Entered through the door that had sent him wailing forth.

  Begetter and begot as one! How could that be hid?

  What darkness cover up that marriage-bed? Time watches, he is eagle-eyed,

  And all the works of man are known and every soul is tried.

  Would you had never come to Thebes, nor to this house,

  Nor riddled with the woman-breasted Fate, beaten off Death and succoured us,

  That I had never raised this song, heartbroken Oedipus!

  SECOND MESSENGER [coming from the house}. Friends and kinsmen of this house! What deeds must you look upon, what burden of sorrow bear, if true to race you still love the House of Labdacus.

  For not Ister nor Phasis could wash this house clean, so many misfortunes have been brought upon it, so many has it brought upon itself, and those misfortunes are always the worst that a man brings upon himself.

  CHORUS. Great already are the misfortunes of this house, and you bring us a new tale.

  SECOND MESSENGER. A short tale in the telling: Jocasta, our Queen, is dead.

  CHORUS. Alas, miserable woman, how did she die?

  SECOND MESSENGER. By her own hand. It cannot be as terrible to you as to one that saw it with his eyes, yet so far as words can serve, you shall see it. When she had come into the vestibule, she ran half crazed towards her marriage-bed, clutching at her hair with the fingers of both hands, and once within the chamber dashed the doors together behind her. Then called upon the name of Laius, long since dead, remembering that son who killed the father and upon the mother begot an accursed race. And wailed because of that marriage wherein she had borne a twofold race — husband by husband, children by her child. Then Oedipus with a shriek burst in and rushing here and there asked for a sword, asked where he would find the wife that was no wife but a mother who had borne his children and himself. Nobody answered him, we all stood dumb; but supernatural power helped him, for, with a dreadful shriek, as though beckoned, he sprang at the double doors, drove them in, burst the bolts out of their sockets, and ran into the room. There we saw the woman hanging in a swinging halter, and with a terrible cry he loosened the halter from her neck.

  When that unhappiest woman lay stretched upon the ground, we saw another dreadful sight. He dragged the golden brooches from her dress and lifting them struck them upon his eyeballs, crying out, ‘You have looked enough upon those you ought never to have looked upon, failed long enough to know those that you should have known; henceforth you shall be dark’. He struck his eyes, not once, but many times, lifting his hands and speaking such or like words. The blood poured down and not with a few slow drops, but all at once over his beard in a dark shower as it were hail.

  [The Chorus wails and he steps further on to the stage.]

  Such evils have come forth from the deeds of those two and fallen not on one alone but upon husband and wife. They inherited much happiness, much good fortune; but to-day, ruin, shame, death, and loud crying, all evils that can be counted up, all, all are theirs.

  CHORUS. IS he any quieter?

  SECOND MESSENGER. He cries for someone to unbar the gates and to show to all the men of Thebes his father’s murderer, his mother’s — the unholy word must not be spoken. It is his purpose to cast himself out of the land that he may not bring all this house under his curse. But he has not the strength to do it. He must be supported and led away. The curtain is parting; you are going to look upon a sight which even those who shudder must pity.

  Enter Oedipus

  OEDIPUS. Woe, woe is me! Miserable, miserable that I am! Where am I? Where am I going? Where am I cast away? Who hears my words?

  CHORUS. Cast away indeed, dreadful to the sight of the eye, dreadful to the ear.

  OEDIPUS. Ah, friend, the only friend left to me, friend still faithful to the blind man! I know that you are there; blind though I am, I recognise your voice.

  CHORUS. Where did you get the courage to put out your eyes? What unearthly power drove you to that?

  OEDIPUS. Apollo, friends, Apollo, but it was my own hand alone, wretched that I am, that quenched these eyes.

  CHORUS. YOU were better dead than blind.

  OEDIPUS. NO, it is better to be blind. What sight is there that could give me joy? How could I have looked into the face of my father when I came among the dead, aye, or on my miserable mother, since against them both I sinned such things that no halter can punish? And what to me this spectacle, town, statue, wall, and what to me this people, since I, thrice wretched, I, noblest of Theban men, have doomed myself to banishment, doomed myself when I commanded all to thrust out the unclean thing?

  CHORUS. It had indeed been better if that herdsman had never taken your feet out of the spancel or brought you back to life.

  OEDIPUS. O three roads, O secret glen; O coppice and narrow way where three roads met; you that drank up the blood I spilt, the blood that was my own, my father’s blood: remember what deeds I wrought for you to look upon, and then, when I had come hither, the new deeds that I wrought. O marriage-bed that gave me birth and after that gave children to your child, creating an incestuous kindred of fathers, brothers, sons, wives, and mothers. Yes, all the shame and the uncleanness that I have wrought among men.

  CHORUS. For all my pity I shudder and turn away.

  OEDIPUS. Come near, condescend to lay your hands upon a wretched man; listen, do not fear. My plague can touch no man but me. Hide me somewhere out of this land for God’s sake, or kill me, or throw me into the sea where you shall never look upon me more.

  Enter Creon and attendants

  CHORUS. Here Creon comes at a fit moment; you can ask of him what you will, help or counsel, for he is now in your place. He is King.

  OEDIPUS. What can I say to him? What can I claim, having been altogether unjust to him?

  CREON. I have not come in mockery, Oedipus, nor to reproach you.

  Lead him in to the house as quickly as you can. Do not let him display his misery before strangers.

  OEDIPUS. I must obey, but first, since you have come in so noble a spirit, you will hear me.

  CREON. Say what you will.

  OEDIPUS. I know tha
t you will give her that lies within such a tomb as befits your own blood, but there is something more, Creon. My sons are men and can take care of themselves, but my daughters, my two unhappy daughters, that have ever eaten at my own table and shared my food, watch over my daughters, Creon. If it is lawful, let me touch them with my hands. Grant it, Prince, grant it, noble heart. I would believe, could I touch them, that I still saw them. [Ismene and Antigone are led in by attendants.] But do I hear them sobbing? Has Creon pitied me and sent my children, my darlings? Has he done this?