you—and no other—gave me what I have.
Please reach your right hand out to me, King,
so I may hold it and then kiss your face, 1240
if that’s allowed.
What am I asking for?
Ill-omened creature that I’ve been since birth—
why should I want you to touch someone
like me—steeped in every evil?
No, I can’t let you do it, not even
if you wished it. Those who have lived through
misery the same as my own, only they
may touch me. Take my salute where you stand.
As for the future, treat me justly.
Just as you’ve done so far. 1250
THESEUS
I’m not surprised you’ve spoken at such length,
elated as you are at your daughters’ return,
or that you wanted to speak first with them.
Nothing like that would ever annoy me.
I want my life to shine through my actions,
not through my words. The proof, old man, is this:
I’ve kept my promises to you—brought back
unharmed both your stolen daughters.
How did we win the skirmish? Why should I
bother with that? Your daughters will tell you. 1260
But something happened just as I returned.
Perhaps you could advise me about it.
A small matter, but a surprising one,
and even small things shouldn’t be ignored.
OEDIPUS
Son of Aigeus, what is this small thing?
Please tell me. I don’t know why you’re asking.
THESEUS
They tell me a man—your kinsman, but not
one from your city—lies on his stomach,
a suppliant at Poseidon’s altar,
where I sacrificed before I set out. 1270
OEDIPUS
What country is he from? What does he want?
THESEUS
They tell me he wishes to speak briefly
with you. Nothing very consequential.
OEDIPUS
Speak of what? No one asks a god’s help lightly.
THESEUS
He prayed, I’m told, for a meeting with you—
from which he’d be allowed to leave unharmed.
OEDIPUS
Who’d make an appeal like that to the god?
THESEUS
Do you recall having a kinsman in Argos—
someone who might ask you for help?
OEDIPUS
Friend, don’t say any more.
THESEUS
What’s wrong with you? 1280
OEDIPUS
Don’t question me.
THESEUS
Not ask you what? Say it!
OEDIPUS
From what you’ve said, I know this suppliant.
THESEUS
But why should he offend me? Who is he?
OEDIPUS
King, he’s my son. I hate him. His voice would
give me more pain than any other man’s.
THESEUS
How so? Can’t you listen, but do nothing
you don’t wish to? Is it harmful to listen?
OEDIPUS
His voice itself is loathsome to me, King.
Don’t compel me to do what you’re asking.
THESEUS
You had better consider this: 1290
aren’t you compelled by his
suppliant status? Haven’t you
a solemn duty to honor the god?
ANTIGONE
Father, please hear me, even though I’m young
to give advice. Respect the king’s conscience—
let him honor his god the way he must!
And for your daughters’ sake, let our brother
come here. No matter how he maligns you,
he can’t force you to change your mind, can he?
Hear what he has to say. What’s wrong with that? 1300
You are his father, and you know that even
if he blames you in the most ungodly
vicious way, to do him wrong can’t be right.
Show him compassion! Other fathers
afflicted with bad children, and just as short-
tempered as you, have softened in response
to the calming influence of their loved ones.
Look at your own past, and remember how
your parents’ misery became your own.
And when you consider how theirs happened, 1310
of any evil you inflict—is more evil.
Please change your mind. It’s not right for someone
pleading a just cause to plead it forever!
Or for a man who has been given help
to hesitate when asked to repay it.
OEDIPUS
Your arguments are winning me over,
daughter. Though what makes you happy
devastates me, I’ll do what you ask.
(turning to THESEUS)
But if you let that man come here, 1320
my friend, no one, at any time,
must be given power over my life.
THESEUS
I wouldn’t want to hear you repeat that,
old man. I never boast, but believe me,
as long as the gods let me live, you’re safe.
Exit THESEUS and his Men.
OLD MEN
Anyone who craves
all the years he can have,
expecting to enjoy
a lifespan longer
than normal, makes, 1330
we promise you,
a foolish choice.
For the days that stretch out ahead
hold more sorrow than joy,
and the body whose limbs
once gave you pleasure
will soon give you none,
when you’ve lived past your prime.
And when the Caregiver comes,
he ends all lives the same way. 1340
Hades is suddenly real—
no lyre, no dancing, no marriage-song.
There is nothing but Death.
By any measure, it is best
never to have been born.
But once a man is born,
the next best thing, by far,
is for him to return,
as soon as he can,
to the place he came from. 1350
For once youth—with its mindless
indulgence—goes by, is there a single
punishing blow that won’t find him?
Any misfortune that doesn’t
attack his life? Envy, feuding,
revolt, battle, and murder!
And finally, old age: despised,
decrepit, lonely, friendless old age
takes him in—there he keeps house
with the worst of all evils. 1360
(looking toward OEDIPUS)
He too has arrived at those years,
that ruin of a man—we’re not alone.
He’s like some headland facing north,
lashed by the huge waves of winter.
He too is battered by the troubles
breaking over him, billows pounding in
from both the rising and the setting sun—
from the south, where it’s noon all day long,
and from the black northern mountains.
ANTIGONE
I think a stranger’s about to arrive. 1370
Just one lone man, Father. And he’s in tears.
OEDIPUS
Who is he?
Enter a distraught, weeping POLYNEIKES.
ANTIGONE
The one we’ve been discussing:
Polyneikes. He’s here.
POLYNEIKES
What should I do? Feel sorry for myself?
Or for the frail father I’m looking at?
&n
bsp; I find him banished to a foreign country—
along with you two—living in rancid
rags for so long they’ve bonded to his flesh
like some disease. And his unruly hair 1380
snarls in the wind over his blinded face.
Just as miserable are the rations
he carries to feed his aching belly.
POLYNEIKES walks over to address OEDIPUS.
It shames me to have learned this so late.
I’ll admit it: in all that touches
your welfare I’ve been wholly
irresponsible. But you’re hearing this
from my mouth, not from anyone else’s.
Father, you know that the goddess Respect
joins every action that Zeus takes. May she 1390
inspire you! I can atone for my sins;
I can’t possibly make them any worse.
POLYNEIKES pauses for a response; OEDIPUS is silent.
You’re quiet, father. Why? Please speak to me.
Don’t turn your back. You won’t respond at all?
Will you deny me with silent contempt?
You’ll give no explanation for your rage?
My sisters! His daughters! Please make him talk.
Break through his sullen, stony silence.
Stop him from disdaining me like this.
I have the god’s protection, yet this man 1400
turns me away without a single word.
ANTIGONE
Then tell him what you came for! You coward!
If you speak freely you might give him pleasure.
Try glowing with anger or affection.
Maybe then this mute man will find a voice.
POLYNEIKES
That was harsh but just. I will speak
plainly. But first I must ask help—of the god
from whose altar the king of this country
pulled me up, so I could come make my case,
hear yours, and be granted safe conduct 1410
to go my way. I hope I can trust you—
Father, Sisters—to honor those assurances.
I want to tell you why I’m here, Father.
I’ve been forced to flee my own country, exiled
after I claimed, as the elder son, my right
to inherit your throne and your power.
Eteokles, although my junior, expelled me.
He hadn’t beaten me in court or tested
his strength against mine in battle, but he
somehow persuaded Thebes to back him. 1420
It’s likely that the Fury who stalks you
strengthened his case. At least, that’s what I’m told
by the omen-readers.
Soon after I arrived
in Argos I married King Adrastos’
daughter. That won me the support,
by a sworn oath, of the most battle-proven
warriors on the Peloponnesus, men
who would help me raise seven companies
of spearmen to fight Thebes, ready to die
for my cause—or drive out the vile rebels 1430
from our land.
Why do I come here now?
I bring prayers, Father, my own, and those
of my allies—seven columns, seven
poised spears surrounding Thebes on all sides.
Quick-thrusting Amphiaraos joins me,
unmatched in battle or in prophecy,
then Oineus’ son, Tydeus,
from Aitolia. The third, Eteoklos,
comes from Argos. Fourth is Hippomedon,
sent by his father, Talaos. The fifth one, 1440
Kapaneus, promises he’ll use fire
to burn down Thebes. Parthenopaios,
named after his mother, the aging virgin
Atalanta, whose late marriage produced him,
hurries to war from Arcadia.
And I, your son—or if I’m not really
your son, but the spawn of an evil fate,
at least I’m yours according to my name—
I lead Argos’ brave army against Thebes.
All of us, father—for your children’s sake, 1450
for the sake of your own life—beg you now
to give up your anger at me,
now that I’m ready to punish the brother
who banished me and robbed me of my country.
If what the oracles predict holds true,
victory will go to the side you join.
Now, in the name of the fountains of home,
in the name of our tribal gods, I ask you
to listen and relent. I’m a beggar,
an exile, but so are you. The kindness 1460
of others supports us both, and we share
a common fate—while he, that arrogant
dictator back in our homeland, mocks us
equally. But if you support me now,
I’ll crush him soon and without much trouble.
When I’ve expelled him by force, I’ll put you
back in your house, and myself back in power.
If you join me, I’ll make good on that boast.
But if you don’t help me, I’m a dead man.
LEADER
(sotto voce)
Respect the person who sent him to us, 1470
Oedipus. Say something expedient
to him—before you send him on his way.
OEDIPUS
No, my friends, you who oversee this grove:
if Theseus hadn’t ordered him here,
believing me obliged to answer him,
he would never have heard me raise my voice.
But now, before he goes, he’ll feel that blessing.
And he will hear from me some things
that won’t make him happy:
(suddenly turning on POLYNEIKES)
There are no worse men than you! 1480
When you held the power your brother now holds
you made me an outcast with no city,
forced to wear the rags that bring tears to your eyes—
now that you’re facing the same ordeal.
I’ve put tears behind me. As long as I live
I’ll bear the burden of knowing that you
would have killed me. You made me swallow filth,
you drove me out, and you made me a foul
tramp who begs his daily bread from strangers!
Had I not begotten caring daughters 1490
I’d be dead—for all the help you gave me.
These two girls keep me alive. They nurse me.
When the work’s hard, they’re men, not women.
You’re not my sons, you’re someone else’s sons,
alien to me.
Right now, Fate watches you,
but not as it soon will, when your soldiers
march on Thebes. You won’t destroy Thebes. You’ll die.
The blood you shed will defile you, just as
your blood defiles your brother as he dies.
I cursed you both from my heart long ago. 1500
I summon those same curses to help me
fight you now, to impress you with the need
to respect your parents and not to treat
your father with contempt—a sightless man
who begot the kind of men you became.
Your sisters never disgraced me!
My curses
will overpower your prayers and your thrones—
if Justice still sits there, alongside Zeus,
enforcing the laws of our ancestors.
As for you now, clear out! I spit on you! 1510
I’m not your father, you despicable
bastard! And don’t forget to take with you
the curses I have called down on your head—
you’ll never win this war on your homeland.
You won’t survive to skulk back to the plains
of Argos. By your brother’s hand you will
die—as you’ll kill the man who threw you out.
That is my curse: and I ask the blackest
paternal darkness of the underworld
to become your new home in Tartaros. 1520
I summon the spirits native to this place.
I summon Ares the Destroyer, who has
inflamed your minds with murderous hatred!
Now that you’ve heard this, go tell Thebes, go
tell all your staunch allies, what a great favor
Oedipus has done for his own two sons.
LEADER
Polyneikes, this account of your life
gives me no pleasure. And now, you should go.
POLYNEIKES
So much for my journey and my wrecked hopes.
So much for my fellow soldiers. What a way 1530
to end our march from Argos! I’m finished!
There is no way I can tell my army
what happened here. Retreat? Out of the question.
I must face my destiny in silence.
My sisters, his daughters, since you’ve heard
my father’s savage curse, promise me this:
if that curse does come true and you manage
to make your way home, don’t dishonor me,
but bury me. Perform the rituals.
You’ve already won praise for the loyal 1540
care you’ve given this man, but you will earn
equal praise for the honor you show me.
ANTIGONE
Polyneikes, I’ve got to change your mind.
POLYNEIKES
About what, dear Sister? Tell me, Antigone.
ANTIGONE
Turn your army around. Go back to Argos.
Do it now. Don’t destroy yourself and Thebes.
POLYNEIKES
That’s something I can’t do. How could I lead
my troops out here again, once I’d shown fear?
ANTIGONE
Why would you renew your anger, Brother?
And what do you gain, razing your homeland? 1550
POLYNEIKES
Because I was disgraced, banished,
ridiculed, by my younger brother.
ANTIGONE
Don’t you see, if you attack you’ll fulfill
your father’s prophecies—that you will both
kill each other?
POLYNEIKES
Isn’t that what he wants?
Why shouldn’t I obey him?
ANTIGONE
Listen to your wretched sister: who will
obey you, once they’ve heard his prophecies?
POLYNEIKES
Why should I tell them bad news? Skillful