_Seneca:_ But she will fill thy house with noble sons, That heaven-born glory of the Claudian stock, Who by the will of fate was wed to thee, As Juno to her brother Jove was given. 535 _Nero:_ A child of hers would stain my noble line, For she herself was of a harlot born; And more--her heart was never linked to me.
_Seneca:_ In tender years is faith not manifest, When love, by shame o'ercome, conceals its fires.
_Nero:_ This I myself long trusted, but in vain, 540 Though she was clearly of unloving heart, And every look betrayed her hate of me.
At length, in angry grief, I sought revenge; And I have now a worthy wife obtained, In race and beauty blessed, before whose charms 545 Minerva, Venus, Juno--all would bow.
_Seneca:_ But honor, wifely faith, and modesty-- These should the husband seek, for these alone, The priceless treasures of the heart and soul, Remain perpetual; but beauty's flower Doth fade and languish with each passing day. 550 _Nero:_ On her has heaven all its charms bestowed, And fate has given her from her birth to me.
_Seneca:_ But love will fail; do not too rashly trust.
_Nero:_ Shall he give way, that tyrant of the skies, Whom Jove, the Thunderer, cannot remove, Who lords it over savage seas, the realms 555 Of gloomy Dis, and draws the gods to earth?
_Seneca:_ 'Tis by our human error that we paint Love as a god, wingéd, implacable, And arm his sacred hands with darts and bow, Assign him blazing torches, count him son Of fostering Venus and of Vulcan. Nay, 560 But love is of the heart's compelling power, A fond and cozening passion of the soul; Of hot youth is it born, and in the lap Of ease and luxury, 'midst fortune's joys, Is fostered. But it sickens straight and dies When you no longer feed and fondle it. 565 _Nero:_ I deem the primal source of life is this, The joy of love; and it can never die, Since by sweet love, which soothes e'en savage breasts, The human race is evermore renewed.
This god shall bear for me the wedding torch, 570 And join me with Poppaea in his bonds.
_Seneca:_ The people's grief could scarce endure to see That marriage, nor would piety permit.
_Nero:_ Shall I alone avoid what all may do?
_Seneca:_ The state from loftiest souls expects the best. 575 _Nero:_ I fain would see if, broken by my power, This rashly cherished favor will not yield.
_Seneca:_ 'Tis better calmly to obey the state.
_Nero:_ Ill fares the state, when commons govern kings.
_Seneca:_ They justly chafe who pray without avail. 580 _Nero:_ When prayers do not avail, should force be sought?
_Seneca:_ Rebuffs are hard.
_Nero:_ 'Tis wrong to force a prince.
_Seneca:_ He should give way.
_Nero:_ Then rumor counts him forced.
_Seneca:_ Rumor's an empty thing.
_Nero:_ But harmful too.
_Seneca:_ She fears the strong. 585 _Nero:_ But none the less maligns.
_Seneca:_ She soon can be o'ercome. But let the youth, The faith and chastity of this thy wife, The merits of her sainted sire prevail To turn thee from thy will.
_Nero:_ Have done at last, For wearisome has thy insistence grown; One still may do what Seneca comdemns.
And I myself have now too long delayed 590 The people's prayers for offspring to the throne.
Tomorrow's morn her wedding day shall prove, Who bears within her womb my pledge of love.
[_Exeunt._] ACT III earth from Tartarus I come, To bring in bloody hands this torch of hell To light these curséd rites; with such dire flames 595 Let this Poppaea wed my son, which soon His mother's grief and vengeful hand shall turn To funeral fires. And ever 'mid the shades My impious murder in my memory dwells, A heavy weight upon my grieving soul Still unavenged; for, Oh, ingratitude He gave me in return for all my gifts, 600 E'en for the gift of empire did he give A murderous ship designed to work my death.
I would have wept my comrades' plight, and more, My son's most cruel deed: no time for tears Was given, but even higher did he heap 605 His sum of crime. Though I escaped the sea, I felt the keen sword's thrust, and, with my blood The very gods defiling, poured my soul In anguish forth. But even yet his hate Was not appeased. Against my very name The tyrant raged; my merits he obscured; 610 My statues, my inscriptions, honors--all, On pain of death he bade to be destroyed Throughout the world--that world my hapless love, To my own direful punishment, had given To be by him, an untried boy, controlled.
And now my murdered husband's angry ghost Shakes vengeful torches in my guilty face, 615 Insistent, threat'ning; blames his death on me, His murdered son, and loud demands that now The guilty cause be given up. Have done: He shall be given, and that right speedily.
Avenging furies for his impious head Are planning even now a worthy fate: 620 Base flight and blows, and fearful sufferings, By which the raging thirst of Tantalus He shall surpass; the cruel, endless toil Of Sisyphus; the pain that Tityus feels, And the dread, racking anguish of the wheel On which Ixion's whirling limbs are stretched.
Let gold and marble deck his palace walls; Let arméd guards protect him; let the world 625 Be beggared that its treasures vast may flow Into his lap; let suppliant Parthians bend To kiss his hands, and bring rich offerings: The day and hour will come when for his crimes His guilty soul shall full atonement make, 630 When to his enemies he shall be given, Deserted and destroyed and stripped of all.
Oh, to what end my labors and my prayers?
Why did thy frenzied madness, O my son, And fate impel thee to such depths of crime That e'en thy mother's wrath, whom thou didst slay, 635 Is all too small to match her sufferings?
Oh, would that, ere I brought thee forth to light, And suckled thee, my vitals had been rent By savage beasts! Then senseless, innocent, And mine wouldst thou have perished; joined to me Wouldst thou forever see the quiet seats 640 Of this abode of souls, thy mighty sire, And grandsires too, those men of glorious name, Whom now perpetual shame and grief await Because of thee, thou monster, and of me.
But why delay in hell to hide my face, Since I have proved a curse to all my race? 645 [_Vanishes._] _Octavia_ [_to the_ Chorus _in deprecation of their grief because of her divorce_]: Restrain your tears; put on a face of joy, As on a festal day, lest this your love And care for me should stir the royal wrath, And I be cause of suffering to you. 650 This wound is not the first my heart has felt; Far worse have I endured; but all shall end, Perchance in death, before this day is done.
No more upon my brutal husband's face Shall I be forced to look; that hateful couch, 655 Long since consigned to slavish uses, base, I shall behold no more.
For now Augustus' sister shall I be, And not his wife. But Oh, be far from me All cruel punishments and fear of death. 660 Poor, foolish girl! and canst thou hope for this?
Bethink thee of his former sins--and hope.
Nay, he has spared thy wretched life till now, That thou mayst at his marriage altars fall.
But why so often turn thy streaming eyes 665 Upon thy home? Now speed thy steps away, And leave this bloody prince's hall for aye.
_Chorus:_ Now dawns at last the day we long have feared And talked of. Lo, our Claudia, driven forth 670 By cruel Nero's threats, leaves that abode Which even now Poppaea calls her own; While we must sit and grieve with sluggish woe, By heavy fear oppressed. 675 Where is that Roman people's manhood now, Which once the pride of mighty leaders crushed, Gave righteous laws to an unconquered land, Gave powers at will to worthy citizens, Made peace and war, fierce nations overcame, 680 And held in dungeons dark their captive kings?
Behold, on every side our eyes are grieved By this Poppaea's gleaming statues joined With Nero's images--a shameful sight. 685 Come, overturn them with indignant hands, Too like in feature to her living face.
And her we'll drag from off that royal couch; And then, with flaming brand and deadly sword, Attack the princely palace of her lord.
ACT IV _Nurse_ [_to_ Poppaea, _who appears, distraught, coming out of her chamber_]: Why dost thou from thy husband's chamber come, 690 Dear child, with hurried step and troubled face?
Why dost thou seek a lonely place to weep?
For surely has the day we long have sought With prayers and promised victims come at last.
Thou hast thy Caesar, firmly joined to thee By ties of marriage, whom thy beauty won, 695 Whom Venus gave to thee in bonds of love, Though Seneca despised and flouted her.
How beautiful, upon the banquet couch Reclining in the palace, didst thou seem!
The senate viewed thy beauty in amaze When thou didst offer incense to the gods, 700 And sprinkle wine upon the sacred shrines, Thy head the while with gauzy purple veiled.
And close beside thee was thy lord himself; Amid the favoring plaudits of the crowd He walked majestic, in his look and mien Proclaiming all his pride and joy in thee. 705 So did the noble Peleus lead his bride Emerging from the ocean's snowy foam, Whose wedding feast the heavenly gods adorned, With equal joy the sea divinities.
What sudden cause has clouded o'er thy face? 710 Tell me, what mean thy pallor and thy tears!
_Poppaea:_ Dear nurse, this night I had a dreadful dream; And even now, as I remember it, My mind is troubled and my senses fail.
For when the joyful day had sunk to rest, And in the darkened sky the stars appeared, 715 I lay asleep within my Nero's arms.
But that sweet sleep I could not long enjoy; For suddenly a grieving crowd appeared To throng my chamber--Roman matrons they, With hair disheveled and loud cries of woe. 720 Then 'midst the oft-repeated, strident blasts Of trumpets, there appeared my husband's mother, And shook before my face with threat'ning mien A bloody torch. Compelled by present fear, I followed her; when suddenly the earth 725 Seemed rent asunder to its lowest depths.
Headlong to these I plunged, and even there In wonder I beheld my wedding couch, Whereon I sank in utter weariness.
Then with a throng of followers I saw My son and former husband drawing near.
Straightway Crispinus hastened to my arms, 730 And on my lips his eager kisses fell: When suddenly within that chamber burst My lord the king with frantic, hurrying steps, And plunged his sword into that other's throat.
A mighty terror siezed me, and at last It roused me from my sleep. I started up With trembling limbs and wildly beating heart. 735 Long was I speechless from that haunting fear, Until thy fond affection gave me tongue.
Why do the ghosts of hades threaten me?
Or why did I behold my husband's blood?
_Nurse:_ All things which occupy the waking[57] mind, 740 Some subtle power, swift working, weaves again Into our web of dreams. Small wonder then, Thy sleeping thoughts were filled with marriage beds And husbands, when thy newly mated lord Held thee in his embrace. Does it seem strange That thou shouldst dream tonight of sounds of woe, 745 Of breasts hard beaten and of streaming hair?
Octavia's departure did they mourn Within her brother's and her father's house.
The torch which thou didst follow, borne aloft By Agrippina's hand, is but a sign That hate shall win for thee a mighty name.
Thy marriage couch, in realms infernal seen, 750 Portends a lasting state of wedded joy.
Since in Crispinus' neck the sword was sheathed, Believe that no more wars thy lord shall wage, But hide his sword within the breast of peace.
Take heart again, recall thy joys, I pray, Throw off thy fears, and to thy couch return. 755 _Poppaea:_ Nay, rather will I seek the sacred shrines, And there make sacrifice unto the gods, That they avert these threats of night and sleep, And turn my terrors all upon my foes.
Do thou pray for me and the gods implore 760 That in this happy state I may endure.
[_Exeunt_ Poppaea _and_ Nurse.]
_Chorus_ [_of Roman women in sympathy with_ Poppaea]: If babbling rumor's tales of Jove, His secret joys in mortal love, Are true, he once, in plumage dressed, Was to the lovely Leda pressed; 765 And as a savage bull he bore Europa from her native shore: But should he once thy form, Poppaea, see, He would leave his shining stars to dwell with thee.
For thou than Leda many fold 770 Art fairer, or that maid of old Whom Jove embraced in showers of gold.
Let Sparta boast her lovely dame, Who, as his prize, to Paris came: Though Helen's beauty drove the world to arms, 775 She still must yield to our Poppaea's charms.
[_Enter_ Messenger.]
But who comes here with hurried step and wild?
What tidings bears he in his heaving breast?
_Messenger:_ Whoever guards our noble prince's house, 780 Let him defend it from the people's rage.
Behold, the prefects lead their men in haste, To save the city from the furious mob Whose reckless passion grows, unchecked by fear.
_Chorus:_ What is the madness that inflames their hearts? 785 _Messenger:_ The people for their loved Octavia Are wild with rage and grief; and now in throngs Are rushing forth in mood for any deed.
_Chorus:_ What are they bent to do, or with what plan?
_Messenger:_ To give Octavia back her father's house, Her brother's bed, and her due share of empire. 790 _Chorus:_ But these Poppaea holds as Nero's wife.
_Messenger:_ 'Tis even she 'gainst whom the people's rage Burns most persistent, and to reckless deeds Is driven headlong on. Whate'er they see, Of noble marble wrought, or gleaming bronze, The hated image of Poppaea's face, 795 They cast it to the earth with wanton hands And crushing bars. The shattered parts they drag Along the streets, and with insulting heel Deep in the filthy mud they trample them.
These savage deeds are mingled with such words As I should fear to utter in your ears. 800 Soon will they hedge the royal house with flames, Unless the prince his new-made wife give up To sate the people's wrath, and then restore To noble Claudia her father's house.
That he himself may know these threatened deeds, I'll haste to tell him as the prefect bade. 805 [_Exit._] _Chorus:_ Why vainly strive against the powers above?
For Cupid's weapons are invincible.
Your puny fires by those fierce flames he'll dim By which he oft has quenched the bolts of Jove, And brought the Thunderer captive from the sky. 810 For this offense you shall dire forfeit pay, E'en with your blood; for hot of wrath is he, And may not be o'ercome. At his command Did fierce Achilles strike the peaceful lyre; He forced the Greeks and Agamemnon proud 815 To do his will. Illustrious cities, too, And Priam's realm he utterly destroyed.
And now my mind in fear awaits to see What Cupid's cruel penalties will be.
FOOTNOTES: ACT V _Nero_ [_seated in a room of his palace_]: Too slow my soldiers' hands, too mild my wrath, 820 When citizens have dared such crimes as these.
Those torches that they kindled 'gainst their prince Their blood shall quench; and Rome, who bore such men, Shall be bespattered with her people's gore.
Yet death is far too light a punishment 825 For such atrocities; this impious mob Shall suffer worse than death. But she, my wife And sister, whom I hate with deadly fear, For whose sole sake the people rage at me, Shall give her life at last to sate my grief, And quench my anger in her flowing blood. 830 Soon shall my flames enwrap the city's walls, And in the ruins of her falling homes The people shall be buried; squalid want, Dire hunger, grief-all these shall they endure.
Too fat upon the blessings of our age Has this vile mob become, and know not how 835 To bear our clemency and relish peace; But, rash and reckless, are they ever borne By shifting tides of passion to their hurt.
They must be held in check by suffering, Be ever pressed beneath the heavy yoke, Lest once again they dare assail the throne, 840 And to the august features of my wife Dare lift again their vulgar eyes. O'erawed By fear of punishment must they be taught To yield obedience to their prince's nod.
But here I see the man whose loyalty Has made him captain of my royal guards. 845 [_Enter_ Prefect.]
_Prefect:_ The people's rage by slaughter of a few, Who most resistance made is overcome.
_Nero:_ Is that enough? Was that my word to thee?
"Is overcome?" Where then is my revenge?
_Prefect:_ The guilty leaders of the mob are dead. 850 _Nero:_ Nay, but the mob itself, which dared to assail My house with flames, to dictate laws to me, To drag my noble wife from off my bed, And with unhallowed hands and angry threats To affront her majesty--are they unscathed? 855 _Prefect:_ Shall angry grief decide their punishment?
_Nero:_ It shall--whose fame no future age shall dim.
_Prefect:_ Which neither wrath nor fear shall moderate?[58] _Nero:_ She first shall feel my wrath who merits it.
_Prefect:_ Tell whom thou mean'st. My hand shall spare her not. 860 _Nero:_ My wrath demands my guilty sister's death.
_Prefect:_ Benumbing horror holds me in its grasp.
_Nero:_ Wilt not obey my word?
_Prefect:_ Why question that?
_Nero:_ Because thou spar'st my foe.
_Prefect:_ A woman, foe?
_Nero:_ If she be criminal. 865 _Prefect:_ But what her crime?
_Nero:_ The people's rage.
_Prefect:_ But who can check their rage?
_Nero:_ The one who fanned its flame.
_Prefect:_ But who that one?
_Nero:_ A woman she, to whom an evil heart Hath nature given, a soul to fraud inclined.
_Prefect:_ But not the power to act. 870 _Nero:_ That she may be Without the power to act, that present fear May break her strength, let punishment at once, Too long delayed, crush out her guilty life.
Have done at once with arguments and prayers, And do my royal bidding: let her sail To some far distant shore and there be slain, 875 That thus at last my fears may be at rest.
[_Exeunt._] _Chorus_ [_attached to_ Octavia]: Oh, dire and deadly has the people's love To many proved, which fills their swelling sails With favoring breeze, and bears them out to sea; But soon its vigor languishes and dies, 880 And leaves them to the mercy of the deep.
The wretched mother of the Gracchi wept Her murdered sons, who, though of noble blood, Far famed for eloquence and piety, 885 Stout-hearted, learnéd in defense of law, Were brought to ruin by the people's love And popular renown. And Livius, thee To equal fate did fickle fortune give, Who found no safety in thy lictors' rods, No refuge in thy home. But grief forbids To tell more instances. This hapless girl, 890 To whom but now the citizens decreed The restoration of her fatherland, Her home, her brother's couch, is dragged away In tears and misery to punishment, With citizens consenting to her death! 895 Oh, blesséd poverty, content to hide Beneath the refuge of a lowly roof!
For lofty homes, to fame and fortune known, By storms are blasted and by fate o'erthrown!
[_Enter_ Octavia _in the custody of the palace guards, who are dragging her roughly out into the street_.]
_Octavia:_ Oh, whither do ye hurry me? What fate Has that vile tyrant or his queen ordained? 900 Does she, subdued and softened by my woes, Grant me to live in exile? Or, if not, If she intends to crown my sufferings With death, why does her savage heart begrudge That I should die at home? But now, alas, 905 I can no longer hope for life; behold, My brother's bark, within whose treacherous hold His mother once was borne; and now for me, Poor wretch, his slighted sister-wife, it waits. 910 No more has right a place upon the earth, Nor heavenly gods. Grim Fury reigns supreme.
Oh, who can fitly weep my evil plight?
What nightingale has tongue to sing my woes? 915 Would that the fates would grant her wings to me!
Then would I speed away on pinions swift, And leave my grievous troubles far behind, Leave these unholy haunts of savage men. 920 There, all alone, within some forest wide, Among the swaying branches would I sit, And let my grieving spirit weep its fill.
_Chorus:_ The race of men is by the fates controlled, And none may hope to make his own secure; 925 And o'er the ever-shifting ways of life The day which most we fear shall come to us.
But comfort now thy heart with thought of those Of thine own house who suffered ill, and ask: 930 In what has fortune been more harsh to thee?
Thee first I name, Agrippa's noble child, The famous mother of so many sons, Great Caesar's wife, whose name throughout the world 935 In flaming glory shone, whose teeming womb Brought forth so many hostages of peace: E'en thee did exile wait, and cruel chains, Blows, bitter anguish, and at last a death 940 Of lingering agony. And Livia, thou, Though fortunate in husband and in sons, Didst walk the way of sin--and punishment.
And Julia, too, endured her mother's fate; For, though no evil deed was charged to her, 945 She fell a victim to the sword at last.
What could not once thy mighty mother do Who ruled supreme the house of Claudius, By him beloved, and in her son secure?
Yet she at last was subject to a slave, 950 And fell beneath a brutal soldier's sword.
For what exalted heights of royalty Might not our Nero's mother once have hoped?
Mishandled first by vulgar sailors' hands, 955 Then slain and mangled by the bungling sword, She lay the victim of her cruel son.
_Octavia:_ Me, too, the tyrant to the world of shades Is sending. Why delay? Then speed my death, 960 For fate hath made me subject to your power.
I pray the heavenly gods--what wouldst thou, fool?
Pray not to gods who show their scorn of thee.
But, O ye gods of hell, ye furies dire, 965 Who work your vengeance on the crimes of men, And thou, my father's restless spirit, come And bring this tyrant fitting punishment.
[_To her guards._] The death you threaten has no terrors now For me. Go, set your ship in readiness, 970 Unfurl your sails, and let your pilot seek The barren shores of Pandataria.
_Chorus:_ Ye gentle breezes and ye zephyrs mild, Which once from savage Dian's altar bore 975 Atrides' daughter in a cloud concealed, This child of ours, Octavia too, we pray, Bear far away from these too cruel woes, And set her in the fane of Trivia.
For Aulis is more merciful than Rome, The savage Taurian land more mild than this: 980 There hapless strangers to their gods they feed, But Rome delights to see her children bleed.
FOOTNOTES: [58] Reading, _quam temperet non ira_, etc.
COMPARATIVE ANALYSES COMPARATIVE ANALYSES OF SENECA'S TRAGEDIES AND THE CORRESPONDING GREEK DRAMAS The _Phoenissae_, if, indeed, these fragments are to be considered as belonging to one play, has no direct correspondent in Greek drama; although, in the general situations and in some details, it is similar to parts of three plays: _The Seven Against Thebes_ of Aeschylus, the _Oedipus at Colonus_ of Sophocles, and the _Phoenician Damsels_ of Euripides. The _Thyestes_ is without a parallel in extant Greek drama; and the _Octavia_, of course, stands alone.
The other seven tragedies attributed by tradition to Seneca, together with their Greek correspondents, are here presented in comparative analyses in order that the reader may be enabled easily to compare, at least so far as subject-matter and dramatic structure are concerned, the Roman tragedies and their Greek originals.
Although the traditional division into acts is followed in the English version of the several plays, it seems wise in these comparisons to give the more minute division into prologue, episodes, and choral interludes.
THE _OEDIPUS_ OF SOPHOCLES, AND THE _OEDIPUS_ OF SENECA _Prologue._--Dialogue between Oedipus and the priest of Zeus, who discloses the present plague-smitten condition of the people, and prays the king for aid since he is so wise. The fatherly regard of Oedipus for his people, in that he has already sent a messenger to ask the aid of the oracle, is portrayed.
The answer of the oracle: first reference to an unexpiated sin. Short question and answer between Oedipus and Creon, the messenger, bringing out the facts of Laïus' death.
The irony of fate: Oedipus proposes, partly in his own interest, to seek out the murderer. As yet there is no foreshadowing of evil in the king's mind. At the end of the prologue Oedipus remains alone upon the stage.
_Prologue._--In the early morning Oedipus is seen lamenting the plague-smitten condition of his people. He narrates how he had fled from Corinth to avoid the fulfilment of a dreadful oracle, that he should kill his father and wed his mother. Even here he cannot feel safe, but still fears some dreadful fate that seems threatening. He describes with minute detail the terrors of the pestilence which has smitten man and beast and even the vegetable world. He prays for death that he may not survive his stricken people. Jocasta remonstrates with him for his despair and reminds him that it is a king's duty to bear reverses with cheerfulness.
_Parode, or chorus entry._--The chorus enlarges upon the distresses of the city, and appeals to the gods for aid.
_Parode, or chorus entry._--The chorus appeals to Bacchus, relating how the descendants of his old Theban comrades are perishing. It enlarges upon the distresses of the city, and deplores the violence of the plague. The sufferings of the people are described in minute detail.
_First episode._--The curse of Oedipus upon the unknown murderer is pronounced, and the charge is made by Tiresias (who long refuses to speak but is forced to do so by Oedipus), "Thou art the man." Oedipus' explanation of Tiresias' charge; it is a plot between the latter and Creon. The facts of Oedipus' birth are hinted at. Tiresias prophesies the after-life of the king, with the name but thinly veiled.
_First episode._--Creon, returned from the consultation of the oracle at Delphi, announces that the plague is caused by the unatoned murder of Laïus, former king of Thebes. Oedipus anxiously inquires who the murderer is, but is told that this is still a mystery. Creon describes the scene at Delphi in the giving of the oracle. Oedipus declares himself eager to hunt out the murderer and inquires why the matter has been left so long uninvestigated. He is told that the terrors of the Sphinx had driven all other thoughts out of the people's mind.
The irony of fate: Oedipus pronounces a dreadful curse upon the murderer of Laïus and vows not to rest until he finds him. He inquires where the murder took place and how. At this moment the blind old Tiresias enters, led by his daughter, Manto. Tiresias tries by the arts of divination (which are described with the greatest elaboration) to ascertain the name of the murderer, but without avail; and says that recourse must be had to necromancy, or the raising of the dead.
_First choral interlude._--The chorus reflects upon the oracle and the certain discovery of the guilty one. Ideal picture of the flight of the murderer. While troubled by the charge of Tiresias, the chorus still refuses to give it credence. After all, the seer is only a man and liable to be mistaken. Oedipus has shown himself a wiser man by solving the riddle of the Sphinx.
_First choral interlude._--The chorus sings a dithyrambic strain in praise of the wonderful works of Bacchus. No reference is made to the tragedy which is in progress.
_Second episode._--Quarrel of Oedipus and Creon based upon the charges of the former. Oedipus' argument: The deed was done long ago, and Tiresias, though then also a seer, made no charge. Now, when forced by the recent oracle, the seer comes forward with Creon. This looks like a conspiracy. Creon pleads for a fair and complete investigation.
Jocasta tries to reconcile the two, but in vain, and Creon is driven out. Jocasta relates the circumstances of Laïus' death, which tally in all details but one with the death of one slain by Oedipus. A terrible conclusion begins to dawn upon the king. He tells his queen the story of his life and the dreadful oracle, the fear of the fulfilment of which drove him from Corinth. At the end of this episode the death of Laïus at the hands of Oedipus is all but proved, but the relation between the two is not yet hinted at.
_Second episode._--Creon returns from the rites of necromancy in which he had accompanied Tiresias, and strives to avoid telling the result of the investigation to the king. Being at last forced to reveal all that he knows, he describes with great vividness of detail how Tiresias has summoned up the spirits of the dead, and among them Laïus. The latter declares that Oedipus himself is the murderer, having slain his father and married his mother. Oedipus, strong in the belief that Polybus and Merope of Corinth are his parents, denies the charge, and after a hot dispute orders Creon to be cast into prison, on suspicion of a conspiracy with Tiresias to deprive Oedipus of the scepter.
_Second choral interlude._--Prayer for a life in accordance with the will of heaven. Under the shadow of impending ill, the chorus seeks the aid of God, meditates upon the doom of the unrighteous, and considers the seeming fallibility of the oracle.
_Second choral interlude._--The chorus refuses to believe the charge against Oedipus, but lays the blame of all these ills upon the evil fate of Thebes which has pursued the Thebans from the first.
_Third episode._--A messenger from Corinth brings the news of Polybus' death, the supposed father of Oedipus. The irony of fate: the king is lifted up with joy that now the oracle cannot be fulfilled that he should kill his own father. Step by step the details of the king's infancy come out, which reveal the awful truth to Jocasta. To Oedipus the only result of the present revelation is that he is probably base-born. Jocasta tries to deter Oedipus from further investigation.
_Third episode._--Oedipus, remembering that he had slain a man on his way to Thebes, questions Jocasta more closely as to the circumstances of Laïus' death, and finding these circumstances to tally with his own experience, is convinced that he was indeed the slayer of Laïus.
At this point a messenger from Corinth, an old man, announces to Oedipus the death of Polybus, the king of Corinth, and the supposed father of Oedipus. The latter is summoned to the empty throne of Corinth. A quick succession of questions and answers brings to light the fact that Oedipus is not the child of Polybus and Merope, but that the messenger himself had given him when an infant to the Corinthian pair. This announcement removes the chief support of Oedipus against the charges of Tiresias, and now he rushes blindly on to know the rest of the fatal truth. The shepherd is summoned who had given the baby to the old Corinthian. He strives to avoid answering, but, driven on by the threats of Oedipus, he at last states that he had received the child from the royal household of Thebes, and that it was in fact the son of Jocasta. At this last and awful disclosure, Oedipus goes off the stage in a fit of raving madness.
_Strophe and antistrophe._--A partial interlude, while they wait for the shepherd who is to furnish the last link in the chain of evidence.
The chorus conjectures as to the wonderful birth of Oedipus; possibly his father is Pan, or Apollo, or Mercury, or Bacchus.
The shepherd, arriving, also seeks to keep the dreadful truth from the king, but a second time the passion of Oedipus forces the truth from an unwilling witness. At last the whole story comes out, and Oedipus realizes that he has slain his father and wed his mother.
_Third choral interlude._--The utter nothingness of human life, judged