Sophocles’s “Oedipus at Colonus (trans: Grennan)”

[Oedipus responds to Creon's insults and attempt to bring Oedipus back to Thebes by means of threats and violence]



OEDIPUS

Shameless arrogance! Whom do you think you wound

with these words? Me in my old age

or you in yours? You who've spewed out

murders and marriages and misfortunes, which I

in my wretchedness endured against my will. That

was what pleased the gods-from some old

anger, perhaps,

against my family. For if it were a question

of me alone, you couldn't with any justice

reproach me

for any wrongdoing I paid for

by grievously wronging myself and mine.

So teach me, then: if a certain decree of the oracle

was hanging over my father's head, that said

he'd meet his death at the hands of his children,

how in justice blame me for this -- I then

unfathered, unmothered, still unborn? And

beyond that,

if the light I was born to was the light of misery,

and I came to blows with my father and killed him knowing

nothing of whom I fought, of what I did how

could you blame me for an act

done in ignorance? And, wretch that you are,

you feel no shame in forcing me to speak-- as

speak I will -- of this marriage

to my mother, your own blood sister? You lack

all piety and let your tongue run away with you.

So yes, I'll speak now, I won't be silent:

She gave birth to me, and she who bore me-Aahh!

the horror of it: I didn't know, she didn't either.

Her bitter shame conceived children with me.

Yet there's one thing I do know: that you

mouth these things willingly against me, against her,

while I, not willing it, wed her

and must speak of it now, though I've no wish to.

But I'll not hear myself called evil for this: neither

for the marriage nor for the murder-that

bitter reproach

always in your mouth. Just answer me

one question, it will settle everything:

if someone -- anyone standing here this minute tried

to kill you, you the just man, would you

stop to inquire if he was your father

or would you strike back to revenge the blow?

If you love your life, I think you'd quickly

repay in kind the one who struck first

and not look for the justice in it. And, with the gods

guiding me, that was exactly the trouble

that I walked into. So I think even my father's spirit,

were he living, would have no reason

to argue against me. But you -- you who are unjust

and think it right to say anything speakable or

unspeakable -- you

reproach me with such things in front of

these men

and choose to flatter Theseus to his face, and

Athens, too, praising her good order.

But though you're lavish in flattery

you forget this praise: that of all countries

this one knows best how to reverence the gods --

this land here from which you intended to

snatch me away, an old man and a suppliant,

and tried to lay hands on me, and took my daughters.

To answer all this I call on the Goddesses,

and I beseech them and pray they will be my allies

and come to my aid, so you can learn

just what sort of men are guarding this city.



[Creon departs, returning to Thebes without Oedipus. The old man then walks into the sacred grove with his daughters and Theseus, ready to die. A messenger returns, and reports to the chorus the events that took place in the grove.]



Messenger:

Men of the city! The quickest way I could tell

my story

would be to say, “Oedipus is dead!” But no

short speech

could explain what happened, nor even

could the deeds themselves, many as they were.



Chorus Leader:

Then he’s dead, the unfortunate man?



Messenger:

Know this for sure: he’s left this daily life of ours.



Chorus Leader:

Unhappy man! How did it happen?

Was his end painless? Was it god-ordained?



Messenger:

Indeed it was, which makes the wonder of it.

You were here, and you know already

how he went forward from this place

with none of his dear ones guiding him, but he himself

guiding us all. But then, when he neared

the threshold there—steep as a cliff, with its great

bronze steps rooted in the earth—then he stood still

on one path where the path divides, just there

where a stone marks the everlasting pact

between Theseus and Peirithous. And there—

halfway between that and Thoricos Rock, between

the hollow pear tree and the tomb of stone -

he sat down. Then, unwinding his filthy rags, those

clothes he wore, he shouted orders to his children

to bring water from the near stream

for washing and making a libation.

So right away the two of them ran

to Demeter’s stony rise, which stood in full view—

Demeter, mother of all young plants. Then,

with no more delay they brought him back

all he asked for, preparing him, as the custom is,

by bathing him and changing his garments.

Then, when he’d done all he wished to do

and every one of his desires was met,

earth-dwelling Zeus thundered out

and the two young women shuddered at the sound

and fell at their father’s knee in tears

and kept beating their breasts and wouldn’t give up

their loud wailing cries.



But he, when he heard their sudden bitter cries,

folded them both in his arms, and he said:

"Children, on this day you have no father.

All that was my life is destroyed on me now:

you won’t ever again have to labor for me

or look after me as you’ve always done.

I know, children, what a hard life it’s been.

But there’s one thing can dispel it all,

one word is enough to wipe hardship away:

Love, that this man had for you—no man

can love you more. And now the two of you

must go on living the rest of your lives

without him."

So he spoke, and the three of them together

embraced each other, sobbing and crying.

But when they’d shed their last tear at last

and no more loud cries were filling the air,

then there was silence.



Then, all of a sudden, a voice, some voice, someone

was summoning him. And every one of us

felt the hair stand up on our heads with fear.

For again and again a god calls him,

echoing from every direction at once:

"You! You there. Oedipus! Why

do we put off our departure like this? What

a long delay you're making!" Then,

when he heard himself called by the god,

he asked that Theseus, lord of this land, should

draw near.



And when Theseus had approached, he said:

"Friend of my heart, give these children

the pledge of your hand, that time-honored pledge.

And you , children, give your hands to this man.

Promise me you'll never give up these women

willingly to anyone. Promise me

you’ll always do what your heart tells you

is for their good."



Then Theseus, that large-hearted man,

without pity or tears promised under oath

that for the stranger he’d do all he was asked.

And when all this was finished, Oedipus

laid both his blind hands on his two children:

"Children, he said, you must be brave now,

and go away from this place,

and not judge it right to see what's forbidden

or hear men say what must not be heard.

So go now. Go quickly away.

Let Theseus alone, who has authority here, remain

to learn the things that are done in this place."



All of us there, we heard him say this,

and with those two young women—in tears.

with loud moans—we moved away. But soon

we turned, and from far off

we saw that man was nowhere to be seen.

and Theseus was holding his hand up

to shade his eyes, as if there appeared some

awesome terror, and he couldn't bear the sight.

Then, in a little while, we see him, in silence,

making a grave and stately bow

at once to the earth and Olympus of the gods.

But what sort of death took that man’s life

no mortal tongue could tell, except

Theseus himself, that dear lord. No flaming

thunderbolt from god dispatched him,

and he wasn’t snatched by a sudden sea-squall—

but it was either some escort from the gods in heaven

or those below in the land of the dead,

or the dark deep earth itself breaking open

with kindness. For the man was taken

with no groaning, nor the pain of any sickness on him:

his death a wonder, surely, if any man’s death is.

All I’ve spoken may seem mad to you,

but I make no apology nor seek to be excused

by anyone here who thinks me mad indeed.