this search! My anguish is enough.
Oe. Be of good courage; though I be found the son of servile mother,—aye, a slave by three descents,—thou wilt not be proved base-born.
Io. Yet hear me, I implore thee: do not thus.
Oe. I must not hear of not discovering the whole truth.
Io. Yet I wish thee well—I counsel thee for the best.
Oe. These best counsels, then, vex my patience.
Io. Ill-fated one! Mayst thou never come to know who thou art!
Oe. Go, some one, fetch me the herdsman hither,—and leave yon woman to glory in her princely stock.1070
Io. Alas, alas, miserable!—that word alone can I say unto thee, and no other word henceforth for ever.
[She rushes into the palace.
Ch. Why hath the lady gone, Oedipus, in a transport of wild grief? I misdoubt, a storm of sorrow will break forth from this silence.
Oe. Break forth what will! Be my race never so lowly, I must crave to learn it. Yon woman, perchance,—for she is proud with more than a woman's pride—thinks shame of my base source. But I, who hold myself son of Fortune that gives good,1080 will not be dishonoured. She is the mother from whom I spring; and the months, my kinsmen, have marked me sometimes lowly, sometimes great. Such being my lineage, never more can I prove false to it, or spare to search out the secret of my birth.
str. Ch. If I am a seer or wise of heart, O Cithaeron, thou shalt not fail—by yon heaven, thou shalt1090 not!—to know at tomorrow's full moon that Oedipus honours thee as native to him, as his nurse, and his mother, and that thou art celebrated in our dance and song, because thou art well-pleasing to our prince. O Phoebus to whom we cry, may these things find favour in thy sight!
ant. Who was it, my son, who of the race whose years are many that bore thee in wedlock with Pan,1100 the mountain-roaming father? Or was it a bride of Loxias that bore thee? For dear to him are all the upland pastures. Or perchance 'twas Cyllene's lord, or the Bacchants' god, dweller on the hill-tops, that received thee, a new-born joy, from one of the Nymphs of Helicon, with whom he most doth sport.
Oe. Elders, if 'tis for me to guess, who have never met with him, I think I see the herdsman of whom we have long been in quest; for in his venerable age he tallies with yon stranger's years, and withal I know those who bring him, methinks, as servants of mine own. But perchance thou mayest have the advantage of me in knowledge, if thou hast seen the herdsman before.
Ch. Aye, I know him, be sure; he was in the service of Laïus—trusty as any man, in his shepherd's place.
[The herdsman is brought in.
Oe. I ask thee first, Corinthian stranger, is this he whom thou meanest?1020 Me. This man whom thou beholdest.
Oe. Ho thou, old man—I would have thee look this way, and answer all that I ask thee.—Thou wast once in the service of Laïus?
Herdsman.
I was—a slave not bought, but reared in his house.
Oe. Employed in what labour, or what way of life?
He. For the best part of my life I tended flocks.
Oe. And what the regions that thou didst chiefly haunt?
He. Sometimes it was Cithaeron, sometimes the neighbouring ground.
Oe. Then wottest thou of having noted yon man in these parts—
He. Doing what?…What man dost thou mean?…
Oe. This man here—or of having ever met him before?1130
He. Not so that I could speak at once from memory.
Me. And no wonder, master. But I will bring clear recollection to his ignorance. I am sure that he well wots of the time when we abode in the region of Cithaeron,—he with two flocks, I, his comrade, with one,—three full half-years, from spring to Arcturus; and then for the winter I used to drive my flock to mine own fold, and he took his to the fold of Laïus. Did aught of this happen as I tell, or did it not?1140
He. Thou speakest the truth—though 'tis long ago.
Me. Come, tell me now—wottest thou of having given me a boy in those days, to be reared as mine own foster-son?
He. What now? Why dost thou ask the question?
Me. Yonder man, my friend, is he who then was young.
He. Plague seize thee—be silent once for all!
Oe. Ha! chide him not, old man—thy words need chiding more than his.
He. And wherein, most noble master, do I offend?
Oe. In not telling of the boy concerning whom he asks.1150
He. He speaks without knowledge—he is busy to no purpose.
Oe. Thou wilt not speak with a good grace, but thou shalt on pain.
He. Nay, for the gods' love, misuse not an old man!
Oe. Ho, some one—pinion him this instant!
He. Alas, wherefore? what more wouldst thou learn?
Oe. Didst thou give this man the child of whom he asks?
He. I did,—and would I had perished that day!
Oe. Well, thou wilt come to that, unless thou tell the honest truth.
He. Nay, much more am I lost, if I speak.
Oe. The fellow is bent, methinks, on more delays…1160
He. No, no!—I said before that I gave it to him.
Oe. Whence hadst thou got it? In thine own house, or from another?
He. Mine own it was not—I had received it from a man.
Oe. From whom of the citizens here? from what home?
He. Forbear, for the gods' love, master, forbear to ask more!
Oe. Thou art lost if I have to question thee again.
He. It was a child, then, of the house of Laïus.
Oe. A slave? or one born of his own race?
He. Ah me—I am on the dreaded brink of speech.
Oe. And I of hearing; yet must I hear.1170
He. Thou must know, then, that 'twas said to be his own child—but thy lady within could best say how these things are.
Oe. How? She gave it to thee? He. Yea, O king.
Oe. For what end? He. That I should make away with it.
Oe. Her own child, the wretch? He. Aye, from fear of evil prophecies.
Oe. What were they? He. The tale ran that he must slay his sire.
Oe. Why, then, didst thou give him up to this old man?
He. Through pity, master, as deeming that he would bear him away to another land, whence he himself came;1180 but he saved him for the direst woe. For if thou art what this man saith, know that thou wast born to misery.
Oe. Oh, oh! All brought to pass—all true! Thou light, may I now look my last on thee—I who have been found accursed in birth, accursed in wedlock, accursed in the shedding of blood!
[He rushes into the palace.
str. 1. Ch. Alas, ye generations of men, how mere a shadow do I count your life! Where, where is the mortal who wins more of happiness than just the1190 seeming, and, after the semblance, a falling away? Thine is a fate that warns me,—thine, thine, unhappy Oedipus—to call no earthly creature blest.
ant. 1. For