by Stephen Fry
Aside from the encounter with the Sphinx, there is little in Oedipus to connect him to the common run of Greek heroic figures. He strikes us today as a modern tragic hero and political animal; it is hard to picture him shaking hands with Heracles or joining the crew of the Argo. Many scholars and thinkers, most notably Friedrich Nietzsche in his book The Birth of Tragedy, have seen in Oedipus a character who works out on stage the tension in Athenians (and all of us) between the reasoning, mathematically literate citizen and the transgressive blood criminal; between the thinking and the instinctual being; between the superego and the id; between the Apollonian and the Dionysian impulses that contend within us. Oedipus is a detective who employs all the fields of enquiry of which the Athenians were so proud – logic, numbers, rhetoric, order and discovery – only to reveal a truth that is disordered, shameful, transgressive and bestial.
THESEUS
* * *
THE CHOSEN ONE
It’s the archetype of fiction for children, young adults and – let’s be honest – pretend grown-ups like us too. A mysterious absent father. A doting mother who encourages you to believe that you are special. The Chosen One. ‘You’re a wizard, Harry!’ that kind of thing.
It goes like this.
You grow up in the city state of Troezen in the backwaters of the northeastern Peloponnese. Your mother is Aethra, daughter of the local king, Pittheus.fn1 You are a member of a royal house, yet you are treated differently because you have no father.
Who is – or was – he?
Your mother is exasperatingly playful on the subject. ‘Perhaps he is a great king.’
‘Greater than grandfather Pittheus?’
‘Maybe. But perhaps he is a god.’
‘My father a god?’
‘You never know.’
‘Well, I am faster and stronger than any of the other boys. Cleverer too. Handsomer.’
‘You’re not good at everything, Theseus.’
‘I am! What aren’t I good at?’
‘Modesty.’
‘Poo! Honesty is more important.’
‘Let’s just say immodesty is rather unattractive. Your father really wouldn’t approve.’
‘Which father? The king or the god?’
And so the teasing and the gentle bickering would go on as you grow from boisterous toddler to proud child.
One great and happy day your cousin Heracles comes to stay at the palace. He is related to your mother through an important ancestor called Pelops.fn2 You have worshipped him from the first moment you heard stories of his extraordinary adventures. The monsters he has slain, the tasks he has performed. His strength. His courage. When he arrives he slings a lion skin down in front of the fire. The pelt of the Thespian Lion, the first of his great conquests.fn3 All the other palace children scream and run away. You are only six but you run up and seize the lion by its mane. You roll round and round on the floor with it, roaring and roaring. You try to strangle it. A laughing Heracles plucks you up.
‘Here’s a young fellow after my own heart. What’s your name, copper-top?’
‘Theseus please.’
‘Well, Theseus Please. Plan to grow up a hero?’
‘Oh yes, cousin, yes indeed.’
And he laughs and puts you down on the lion skin and from that moment on you know that it is your destiny, even though you are not entirely sure what the word means, to be a hero.
On your twelfth birthday your mother takes your hand and leads you out of Troezen and up a path that leads to a promontory with a view over the whole city and surrounding countryside. She indicates a great rock.
‘Theseus, if you can roll that rock away I will tell you all about your father.’
You leap at the rock. You push it with arms stretched out, you turn round and strain against it with your back. You heave, you yell, you swarm all over the rock, but at last you fall exhausted to the ground. The great boulder has not budged by so much as the breadth of your little finger.
‘Come on, little Sisyphus, we’ll try again next year,’ says your mother.
And each birthday from then on you go together to the rock.
‘I do believe,’ your mother says some years later, ‘that you are growing the outlines of something approaching a beard, Theseus.’
‘It will give me strength,’ you say. ‘This is the year.’
But it is not the year. Nor is the next. You grow impatient. No one can match you in a foot race, even if you give them a half stadion start. No one can throw a javelin or discus further. Troezen seems too small for your ambitions. You are not quite sure what they are, but you know that somehow you will shake the world.
You are almost weary as you trudge up the hill with your mother this particular birthday. The rock is a fake test. It will never move.
But you are wrong.
UNDER THE ROCK
Theseus did not feel that he was stronger this birthday than last. The palace guards joked with him that he was now tall enough to be one of their number if he chose. His beard sometimes needed trimming. It was darker than his hair, which was an unusual russety kind of red. He had hated that when he was young, but he was used to it by now. A girl he liked had told him it was attractive.
Otherwise he was the same old Theseus.
But this time the rock shifted! It really moved. Theseus could have sworn it was not the same rock, but that was nonsense. Perhaps he was not the same Theseus. He braced, dug in his feet and pushed further. With almost comical ease the rock turned one whole revolution towards the edge of the path, then another.
‘Shall I let it roll down the hill?’
‘No, you can leave it just where it is.’ His mother was smiling. ‘It’s now exactly where it was before your father rolled it to the place it has stood for the last eighteen years.’
‘But what does it all mean?’
‘Have a dig in the ground and see if you can find anything.’
The grass was white where the boulder had rested on it all those years. Theseus scrabbled at the earth until his fingers found something and he came up with a pair of sandals, one of which was a little perished or had perhaps been chewed by beetles.
‘Great,’ he said. ‘Just what I wanted for my birthday. Some old leather sandals.’
‘Keep digging,’ his mother said, smiling.
He dug deeper and his fingers closed around something cold and metallic. He pulled up a sword, which gleamed like silver.
‘Whose is this?’
‘It was your father’s, but now it’s yours.’
‘Who was he?’
‘Sit down on the bank and I will tell you.’ Aethra patted the grass. ‘Your father was and is King AEGEUS of Athens.’
‘Athens!’
‘He married twice, but neither union was blessed with children. He wanted a son and so he visited the oracle at Delphi. You know how strange her pronouncements can be. This was one of the strangest of all.
Aegeus must not loosen the bulging mouth of the wineskin until he has reached the heights of Athens, or he will die of grief.
‘What does that mean?’
‘Exactly. Now Aegeus happened to be a close friend of my father, good King Pittheus.’
‘Grandfather?’
‘Your grandpapa, exactly. So Aegeus went out of his way to stop by here in Troezen while travelling back from Delphi to see if perhaps Pittheus might be able to interpret the words of the oracle for him.’
‘And could he?’
‘Well now, Theseus, here you have to admire your grandfather’s cunning. He did understand the prophecy. He understood it perfectly. “The bulging mouth of the wineskin” meant, so far as he could see, Aegeus’s … manhood, let us say. So the prophecy was saying to Aegeus, “Don’t … er … conjoin with any woman until you return to Athens.” ’ ‘Conjoin? That’s a new one.’
‘Shush. Now, Pittheus thought it might be rather wonderful for me, his daughter, to carry a child by a king of such a great city as Athens. It would allow
the baby – you as it turned out – to be king of a united Athens and Troezen. So grandfather pretended he thought the prophecy meant that Aegeus should abstain from drinking wine until he got home to Athens. He then called for me and told me to show Aegeus round the palace and gardens. One thing led to another. We found ourselves in my bedchambers and …’
‘… I was conceived,’ said a stunned Theseus.
‘Yes, but there’s more,’ sad Aethra, crimson with embarrassment. She had always known this day would come and had rehearsed her telling Theseus the story of his birth many times, but now that the day had come the words seemed to stick in her throat.
‘More?’
‘That night, after Aegeus, your father, had … had …’
‘… had loosened his bulging wineskin?’
‘Yes, that. He rolled off and fell asleep. I couldn’t sleep, though. I went to the spring, the one down there dedicated to Poseidon, to cleanse myself and think. My father had sent me to sleep with a stranger so that he could play at politics. I was angry, but I had found to my surprise I liked Aegeus. He was kindly, manly and … exciting.’
‘Mother, please …’
‘But when I washed myself in the waters of the spring, who do you think arose from the pool?’
‘Who?’
‘The god Poseidon.’
‘What?’
‘And he … he took me too.’
‘He … he … he …?’
‘It’s not funny, Theseus …’
‘I’m not laughing, mother. Believe me, I am not laughing. I’m just trying to understand. Don’t tell me Poseidon loosened his bulging wineskin?’
‘I swear to you, it’s all true. The very same night that I slept with Aegeus, Poseidon took me too.’
‘So which one is my father?’
‘Both, I am quite sure of it. I returned to Aegeus’s bed, and when he awoke in the morning he embraced me and apologised. He was married, you see, so he could hardly take me back to Athens with him. We left the bedchamber before anyone else was awake and he brought me up to this place. He buried his sword and his sandals just there, and rolled the rock over the place. “If our union of last night bears fruit and a boy child is born to you, let him move the rock when he is man enough and tell him who he is. Then he may come to Athens and claim his birthright.” ’
As you can easily imagine, Theseus was thunderstruck by the news. His mother’s teasing over the years had convinced him that the idea that his mysterious father was a king or god was nothing but childish fantasy.
‘So grandpapa knew the prophecy meant that Aegeus, my father, would have a son the next time he … he had sex? And he decided you should be the mother?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But the prophecy said Aegeus should not loosen his bulging wineskin – where do these oracles get their metaphors from? – before he got to Athens, or he would die of grief.’
‘Well, yes …’
‘But he did loosen it before he got to Athens. Has he since died of grief?’
‘Well, no, he hasn’t,’ Aethra conceded.
‘Oracles!’
They talked and talked until the evening star had risen.
Mother and son wound their way home, Theseus swishing the sword at the long grass. When they arrived at the palace, Aethra sought for them an immediate interview with King Pittheus.
‘So, my boy. Now you know your history. A son of Troezen and a son of Athens. Think what this will mean for the Peloponnese! We can unite our fleets and rule Attica. Corinth will be furious. And Sparta! Ha, won’t they spit with envy! Now, what to do first? We’ll equip a ship for you as soon as possible to sail over to Piraeus – tomorrow! why not? – and you can get yourself up to the Athenian court and make yourself known to old Aegeus. He’ll be so tickled! You know he married Jason’s widow, don’t you – Medea of Colchis? Terrifying woman by all accounts fn4. A sorceress and murderer of her own close kin. I’ll hunt out a present for you, a little treasure of some kind you can give them both with my regards. Oh, that was a good night’s work. What a good night’s work that was.’
Pittheus embraced his daughter and punched his grandson playfully on the arm.
Theseus had other ideas. He went to his room and wrapped his few possessions in a handkerchief. A Prince of Troezen arriving by ship, holding some jewelled trinket and waving a silver sword with a ‘Hello, daddy, it’s me!’ – how heroic was that? Not heroic at all. Would Heracles have presented himself like that, like an spoiled princeling? Never. Theseus knew that when he entered Athens he should enter as a hero – and he thought he had an idea how that could be achieved.
There were only two ways to get to Athens from Troezen. By sea, across the waters of the Saronic Gulf, or by foot, walking around its coastline. The latter was a long and arduous journey, but more than that, it was notoriously dangerous. Some of the most brutal and merciless outlaws, robbers and murderers in all of Greece lay in wait there. Naturally it was the route any self-respecting hero would take. If Theseus arrived in Athens having rid the highway of its legendary brigands, now that would be something …
Theseus put on his father’s old sandals, buckled the sword to his belt, wrapped his few other possessions and slipped out.
A few moments later he was back. He scribbled a note to his mother and grandfather and left it on the bed.
‘Didn’t like the idea of a sea voyage. Thought I’d go on foot. Love, Theseus.’
THE LABOURS OF THESEUS
1. PERIPHETES
Theseus had hardly been travelling more than an hour before he found his path blocked by a lumbering, shuffling one-eyed giant wielding an enormous club. Theseus knew exactly who this must be: PERIPHETES, a.k.a. CORYNETES, the ‘club man’.
‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ wheezed the Cyclops. ‘A nice soft head for Crusher, my club. He’s made of bronze, you know. My father is a smith. The smith of smiths my father is.’
‘Yes, we all know you claim to be a son of Hephaestus,’ said Theseus, affecting boredom. ‘People have fallen for your story because you are ugly and lame. But I cannot believe that an Olympian god would ever have so stupid a child.’
‘Oh, stupid am I?’
‘Incredibly so. Claiming that your club is bronze. Who sold it to you? Anyone can see that it’s oak.’
‘I made him myself!’ hooted Periphetes in outrage. ‘He is not oak! Would an oaken club be so heavy?’
‘You say it’s heavy, but I can see you swinging it from one hand to the other as easily as if it were made of feathers.’
‘That’s because I’m strong, cretin! You try. I bet you can’t even hold it.’
‘Oh my, yes, it is heavy,’ said Theseus, taking it. His hand dropped down almost to the ground, as if unable to take the weight. ‘And I can feel the cold hardness of the bronze.’
‘See!’
‘Nice … balance … to it!’ said Theseus suddenly lifting it high and sweeping it round. On the word ‘balance’ it met Periphetes’ thigh-bone with a satisfying crunch. The giant fell with a howl of pain.
‘I … think … I … like … this … club!’ said Theseus, crashing it down on Periphetes’ skull with six splintering blows.
In the rocks to the side of the road Theseus found the robber’s hideout. A hoard of gold, silver and stolen valuables had been laid neatly and carefully on the ground in a perfect semicircle around a towering shrine of crushed skulls. Theseus unearthed a leather bag and filled it with the treasure. He felt he had to keep the club too. Heracles always carried a club, so should he.
2. SINIS
Further north, the road swung east along the Isthmus of Corinth. As Theseus walked, enjoying the sun on his face and the sea glittering to his right, he encountered plenty of friendly travellers. To those in need he gave coins and precious objects from his satchel.
Perhaps the talk of terrifying brigands on this road is exaggerated, he thought to himself. And just as he had decided that this must be the case, he came to a rise in
the ground where he saw a man standing between two trees.
‘What’s in that bag, boy?’
‘That is my affair,’ said Theseus.
‘Oh! Oh, it’s “your affair”, is it? Well, well. I have a special way of dealing with snotty little runts of the litter like you. See these two trees?’
Theseus knew at once this must be SINIS PITYOCAMPTES, Sinis the Pine Bender. Stories of this strange and terrible man were told all around the Peloponnese. He would tie travellers between two pine trees that, with his great strength, he could bend down. After tormenting his victims for a while, Sinis would release his hold on the trees which would would straighten up, pulling the poor travellers apart. A cruel, horrible death. A cruel horrible man.
‘I’ll put down my club,’ said Theseus. ‘I’ll put down my sword and I’ll put down my satchel. Because I want to kneel before your greatness.’
‘How’s that?’
‘I’ve been travelling four days on this road and I hear nothing but tales of the marvellous Sinis Pityocamptes.’
‘Yes, well, that’s fine, but don’t go weird on me.’
‘Oh gods, I am not worthy to meet so fine a man, so pure a hero.’ Theseus prostrated himself on the grass.
‘Look, just come here, will you!’
‘I cannot move, I am awestruck. Sinis the Great. Sinis the Marvellous. Sinis the Magnificent. Bender of Pines. Mender of Men.’
‘You’re soft in the head, you are,’ said Sinis, advancing. ‘Come on, get up.’
But somehow, in the ensuing confusion Theseus and Sinis managed to swap positions. Now Sinis was spread-eagled out on the ground, with Theseus above him, pinning him down.
‘Come, great Sinis. It is not fair that you have given so much pleasure to so many, but received none yourself.’
