SOPHOCLES’
Dramatis Personae
OEDIPUS
(King of Thebes)
ATTENTANDS TO OEDIPUS
(Later to Creon)
JOCASTA
(Queen of Thebes)
VARIOUS ATTENDANTS TO HER
CREON
(Jocasta’s brother)
TEIRESIAS
(A blind prophet)
A YOUNG BOY
(Teiresias’ guide, Silent)
PRIEST
HERALD
SHEPHERD
CHORUS OF THEBAN ELDERS
ANTIGONE
ISMENE
(Antigone and Ismene are daughters and sisters to
Oedipus)
——————–
ACT ONE
In front of King Oedipus’ palace, in Thebes.
The palace stands three or four steps above the
rest of the stage and on either side of it there is a
small but obvious altar. The altar at SL is dedicated
to Apollo (Jocasta will make use of this) and that
on SR to Zeus (used by the Chorus)
While stage is dark, we hear the soft but ominous
sounds of ancient drums and a flute, mingled with
the many loud groans of hunger and pain as well
as calls for Oedipus’ help:
Voices: In supplication
Oedipus! Oedipus our Lord, help us! Help your
people!
The calls overwhelm the drums and for a moment
the drums are heard only faintly.
Small pause before the stage is overwhelmingly lit,
symbolising a land ravaged by drought and heat
and the assertive and brutal presence of the god
Apollo.
Apart from the palace props and the altars at the
back, the stage is empty. The sound of the ancient
drums rises again. No voices.
Small pause.
The lights are switched on again, and again at an
overwhelming intensity.
This group of Thebans comprise all ages and both
sexes. They show suffering and exhaustion under
the intense heat.
Standing in front of them, is the Priest. He is
holding a priest’s staff, which, like the seer’s has a
thick rope of cotton wrapped around its upper end.
Chorus:
Oedipus! Oedipus our Lord, help us! Help your
people!
The centre door of the palace opens and Oedipus
enters. He wears the golden garland and staff of a
king. He is a proud but benevolent, kindly king and
is recognised as such by his subjects.
Oedipus:
What is it, my children? You, my children, are the
youngest generation of the ancient house of
Cadmus. What is causing all these cries of anguish,
all this waving of prayer branches? Their scent has
filled the air of our city! All this lamentation, these
deep sighs of misfortune. What are they about?
Well? Here I am! You have me here in person and I
have come to you so that I can find out what it is
that gives you this pain, directly from you, from
your own mouths, rather than risk any mistakes
that might be made by a third person.
Speak, sons and daughters of old Cadmus, you are
talking to me, Oedipus! You all know me!
To the priest
10
You, old priest, your advanced years well qualify
you to represent this youth. Tell me then, what
has brought you all here? Is there something you
are afraid of? Is there something you need from
me? Tell me and it will certainly be
granted! Otherwise what sort of a man would I be
if I had not enough compassion to help you, you,
my very own folk, with all my heart?
Priest:
King of our Thebes, Oedipus!
Look at us! We are all here, gathered around your
altars, praying. See? All the ages of men are here:
the youth, whose wings have yet to spread wide
enough for flying far and the old men whose head
and back are bent with years – like me, Oedipus,
me, Zeus’ priest!
And look there! Look at our youth! The best stock
of men in the world! We are all gathered here.
Here and in the city, too, around both the temples
of our Goddess Athena, and by the fires inside
1
Apollo’s temple, and by the altars of Ismenos
whose oracles emerge from ashes. There is plenty
of kneeling and lamenting and deep sighing going
on there as well, my lord! There, too, Oedipus, the
laurels are waved in supplication.
But, you, too, Oedipus, with your own eyes, you
can see how the whole of Thebes is in the grips of
a battering sea storm of troubles and how she
cannot raise her head from its murderous waves!
You too, can see that our trees let drop their best
flowers to the ground just before they become
fruit; that our herds drop dead as they graze and
our women have all become barren.
A despicable pestilence, my lord, has taken
our Thebes within its murderous grip!
As if some fire-carrying god has swooped upon our
land, hollowing out our homes while at the same
time, cluttering the house of Black Hades with our
moans and our cries of despair.
We are not saying, Oedipus, that you are equal to
the gods but we have come to you and have
gathered around your altars, because, out of all
the men we know, we think you are the best in
working out the meaning of these hardships that
have been tossed upon us, by life and by the gods.
It was you, Oedipus, who came here, to
our Thebes, to the land of Cadmus and who has
saved us from the grips of that witch, that Sphinx,
who held us all inside here, within the walls of the
city, in dreadful fear.
You did not do this with our help, Oedipus but with
the help of some divine intervention. With your
act, you’ve let us live proper lives again.
40
And now, great Oedipus! We fall before you in
prayer and ask you to find, if you can, some
remedy for our pains, either from some man’s
wisdom or some god’s voice because I can see that
the thoughts of experienced men are always the
wisest.
Come then, our Lord and King! Come, first among
all mortals! Make our Thebes live
again! Remember, my Lord, this city calls you
“saviour” because of your past act of
generosity. Let us not ever in the future think that
“by Oedipus’ generosity we were saved but by
Oedipus lack of action we died.” Let us instead
say, “Oedipus raised us to our feet yet again!”
You were driven here to our aid by a bright omen
many years ago, so let it drive you to us once
again! Because, Oedipus, if you wish to rule this
city, and I know you do, then it is far better to rule
it when it is filled with men rather then when it is
scraped hollow of them. No tower, no ship is
worth anything if it is bereft of men.
58
Oedipus:
My poor children!
I know you well, all of you and I know well your
pain. I know very well that you are all gripped by
despair. Yet no one is in greater pain than I am
because your pain affects only you, each one of
you, alone, whereas I ache for the whole city and
for all of you. So have no fear, I’m not asleep. I
am wade awake to your misfortune. My soul cries
for us all. I have lost many tears and have
travelled many paths of thought to find a way out
of this until, finally, I have decided to put into
action the only possible solution that came to my
mind: I have sent Creon, my wife’s brother,
Menoikeos’ son, to Apollo’s oracle to ask what we
should do to save our city; to find out what deed
or what word should we do or say to save our
country.
In fact, Creon should have returned by now and
I’m beginning to worry. Let him come and tell us
what needs to be done. Then I would indeed be a
terrible man if I did not do all that the god asks!
They all look into the distance and see Creon
approaching.
Priest:
You judge time well, Oedipus. There he is! The
chorus points towards Creon in the distance.
80
Oedipus:
By Apollo! His face looks happy enough! Perhaps
he is carrying good news! News that will save our
city.
Priest:
He certainly looks happy, otherwise he wouldn’t
be wearing such a splendid garland of Laurel!
Oedipus:
We’ll know soon enough. He’s close enough to
hear us now.
Enter Creon wearing a laurel garland with berries.
They shake hands
My royal brother! What news from Apollo?
Creon:
Good news! That is to say, I think that even the
worst events could bring good fortune if fortune
wills it!
90
Oedipus:
You’re not making yourself clear, brother. What
did the oracle say?
2
Creon:
Shall I speak out here, in front of all these people,
or shall we go inside? I don’t mind either way.
Oedipus:
Speak here, in front of them. I mourn for their lives
more than I do for my own.
Creon:
Then I’ll tell you what the god said and it is this:
There’s a wound that eats at the very heart of our
city’s soul. A wound that has been allowed to grow
and fester insideThebes. Apollo commands us to
purge the city of it before it becomes incurable.
Oedipus:
A wound? What sort of wound is this and how can
we purge the city of it?
100
Creon:
By banishing that murderer or by washing away
the blood of that murder with the blood of
another murder. It is this blood that
tortures Thebes.
Oedipus:
And which man is the god talking about?
Who is it who has been murdered?
Creon:
Once we had a king called Laius…
Oedipus:
I know of him though I never saw him.
Creon:
He was murdered and it is those murderers whom
Apollo now demands to have punished.
Oedipus:
And where are these men? How can one find the
clues to such an old crime?
110
Creon:
Here, inside Thebes, Apollo said!
In Thebes one can find whatever one looks for but
that which he neglects, escapes him.
Oedipus:
Where then has Laius fallen? Within the palace
walls? In the fields? Or upon the soil of some
other land? Where was his murder committed?
Creon:
He said he was going to the oracle himself but he
never managed to return.
Oedipus:
Has no one else managed to bring news of his
death or does none of his attendants have any
light to shed upon this dreadful deed?
Creon:
All but one of them fled and he could only say one
thing.
120
Oedipus:
One thing? Such as what? Tell us! From that one
single thing we might be able to learn a great deal.
It might well be the beginning of some hint of
hope! Tell us!
Creon:
Well, that man said Laius was murdered by the
hands of many thieves.
Oedipus:
Thieves? How could thieves be so daring? Unless
they were paid by some traitor from in here?
Creon:
That’s what we were wondering also but since
Laius’ disappearance no one came to help us in
this great misfortune.
Oedipus:
What could have stopped you? What fear stopped
you from finding out how your king was
murdered?
130
Creon:
The Sphinx, Oedipus! She has twisted our minds
with her puzzle songs and made us stop searching.
We could only see the obvious and could never
look for any hidden clues.
Oedipus:
Then I shall start from the beginning again and
bring everything to the light. You’ve done well,
you and Apollo, to take up the cause again. It is
fair then that I should be your partner in this
cause, to help Thebes and Apollo at the same time.
This wound, this wound hurts me as well as my
friends and so I need to heal it. Because the hand
of Laius’ murderer could murder me as well and
so, by avenging his death, I gain also.
Come then, my children! Stand up from these
steps. Gather all the branches and pray no
more. Let someone gather all our folks here and I
will do everything in my power to heal this
murderous wound. With Apollo’s help, either we
win or we die.
Priest:
Come, stand up my children. We’ve got what we
have come for. Apollo, who has sent his oracle will
save us and will heal our city’s awful wound.
3
Exit Oedipus, Creon and the citizens.
Stage becomes dark again, long enough for the
chorus of elders to come and stand around the
altars. They are dressed in black, except for their
leader who is dressed in white.
Light now normal.
Flute more prominent than the drum and more
placatory.
Small pause before the chorus speaks. It is
addressing Zeus at his altar.
Chorus:
No crops on the land, no children follow the
women’s birth-pains.
151
Chorus:
Sweet voice of Zeus that came to us through
Apollo’s golden temple: What are you saying to
the people of our glorious Thebes?
Chorus:
There the children die and left upon the earth
unburied, uncried for, uncleansed, polluting our
city.
Chorus:
Shudders run through my heart with fear and my
mind is unclear.
Chorus:
Apollo, god of healing, god from Delos, I dread the
message you bring to us.
Chorus:
What past deed must we pay for now? What do
we owe to the past?
Chorus:
Tell us, child of Golden Hope, of the love that is as
wide as the sky!
Chorus:
Immortal Athena! Zeus’ daughter! I call on you
first!
Chorus:
And to your sister, who is our protector, the
goddess Artemis, whose throne is the magnificent
earth and in whose temples we Thebans pray.
Chorus:
And you, too, Apollo whose arrows never miss!
Chorus:
Come, all three of you. You’ve come to our aid
before and you have swept aside the flames of our
catastrophe.
Come again now!
Chorus:
Save us, gods!
168
Chorus:
Countless are my sufferings. The whole nation is
suffering from this wound, from this murderous
plague and we see no way to be rid of it.
Chorus:
And our souls, hasten to beat one another, like fast
birds, in their race to get, like a wild fire, to Dark
Hades.
Chorus:
The city is dying from her countless pains, gods!
Chorus:
Women, young and old, fully grey, are spread in
deep prayer upon the steps of altars.
Chorus:
They pray with deep sighs for their bitter
sufferings.
Chorus:
The laments fill the air, the loud cries of pain, full
of loss – against all this, worthy daughter of Zeus,
send us your sweet aid.
190
Chorus:
And Zeus! Make Ares the winged god of war turn
his back and leave this land!
Chorus:
Here he is before us all, no bronze shields but still
he runs wild in the clamour and the hurt! Make
him run away! Make this god of war and all his
destruction leave ourThebes!
Chorus:
Send him away either to the vast watery chambers
of Amphitriti or to the storm-eaten, hostile shores
of Thrace because here, what the night leaves
untouched, the day destroys.
Chorus:
Send your burning bolt to him, Zeus. Burn him,
master of the thunderbolts.
Chorus:
You, too, Apollo! I ask you to give us aid and
protection. Let your untamed arrows leave their
golden bow and you, too Artemis come with your
burning torches. Leave your Lycian hills and come
to us!
Chorus:
And bright-eyed Bacchus, master of the
4
maenads. Let him come also with a burning torch,
to send away the most odious of all gods.
Enter Oedipus.
216
Oedipus:
You’ve asked me to come and help you. So speak
and whatever it is you need you shall have. My
words and your help will give us strength enough
to heal this despicable wound. I speak to you as a
stranger to this place and, as I am told, to the evil
deed. Alone and with divine sign, I’d have no hope
of finding any clues that have to do with this
crime.
Now that I’ve become one of you, though, I shall
talk to you all.
If anyone knows anything about whose hand it was
that had murdered Labdakus’ son, Laius, I order
him to reveal everything. Even if it were his own
hand, let him speak because no harm will come to
him save for exile. Let him not be afraid. He will
leave our land untouched.
230
Also, if someone knows that the murderer is from
another country, let him not be silent also because
not only will I give him a reward but his help will
be remembered.
If, however, either due to fear for a friend or for
himself someone does not disclose the murderer,
hear me! This is what I will do:
No matter who this man is, I forbid everyone here,
in Thebes where I have my throne, to receive him
as a guest to his home, or to talk with him or to
pray with him or conduct any sacrifices with him,
to any god! And I also forbid him to offer him
sacred ablutions.
Let everyone of you send him away from your
house because, as Apollo’s oracle has declared, he
is this wound which is spreading inside the very
soul of our city.
Such an ally I am to Apollo and to Laius.
As for the evil doer, I curse him and whether it was
he alone, or with the help of others that he has
caused our wound, let him live a wretched life.
Even if he were someone in my own household,
among my own folks and even if I happen to know
who it is, then let me suffer all that my curse has
delivered upon the murderer.
252
This then I command you to do for me and for
Apollo and for Thebes.
Unfortunate Thebes! Barren land, godless land, a
land too much wasted.
Thebans, if the god does not make clear who this
murderer is, it’s not proper that you should keep it
hidden in the dark. Find the murderer! He is the
murderer of your glorious King. Search for him
everywhere. Everywhere! I am here with you and
I am sitting upon his throne. I am sharing his bed
and his wife. I have the children he would have
had if he were alive and the father of an heir. I
share his brothers.
His Fate has dealt him a heavy blow, yet I shall try
to do my best for him.
I shall try everything for his sake, as if he were my
own father.
I shall try everything to catch his murderer, the
murderer of Laius, son of Polydorus and of
Labdacus and of ancient Aginorus.
For those who don’t like what I have just said,
curses to you. Let no god make your soil or your
women fertile. Let all your belongings go the way
of disaster. To you, real Cadmian souls, you, real
Thebans, who heeded my words, holy Justice and
the rest of the gods will be your allies.
276
Chorus:
Oedipus, all these curses of yours force me to
speak. I, myself, have neither killed old Laius nor
do I know who did. All this is Apollo’s business and
one day he’ll disclose for us the evil hand.
Oedipus:
Quite right, old man; but no mortal can force a
god’s mouth.
Chorus:
Then I have another thought for you.
Oedipus:
That one and another still, if you have any
more. By all means, speak!
Chorus:
My Lord, I know a mortal who sees as excellently
as Apollo. Teiresias, the seer who would know the
answers to all these things if one were only to ask
him.
Oedipus:
Yes, yes, I know of him and I have not neglected
that action either. By Creon’s suggestion I’ve sent
two men to fetch him. He should well and truly be
here by now!
Chorus:
There are other things to consider also but they
are old and meaningless.
Oedipus:
Other things? What are these other things? Tell
me because I weigh every word!
Chorus:
It is said that Laius was killed by travellers.
5
Oedipus:
I’ve heard that too. Yet no one saw the murderer
with his own eyes.
Teiresias:
Let me go home, Oedipus! For your sake and
mine, let me go home.
Chorus:
Still, once he hears your curses, fear might get the
better of him and come forth.
Oedipus:
Come now, Teiresias! You are being unfair and
unkind to the city that has raised you. Don’t hold
back your vision.
296
Oedipus:
Men who are not afraid of the deed are not afraid
of the word.
Enter the blind seer, Teiresias, holding the staff
which distinguishes him as a seer, ie, it has a thin
rope of cotton wool wrapped around its top
end. He is also guided by the hand of a young boy
and by the two men whom Oedipus has sent to
fetch him.
The two men bow to Oedipus and exit.
Chorus:
Here he is, king. He will point out the murderer to
you. They’ve brought him here for you because
he, alone, knows the truth.
Oedipus:
Blessed seer! You see and judge all things, those
that are known and those that have not been
explained; those of the heavens and those of the
earth. Teiresias, you might not be able to see but
you can certainly sense how ill our land is. You,
holy man, are the only one who, we think, can be
her protector and saviour.
If you have not heard already, Apollo has
commanded us to find Laius’ murderers and either
kill them or send them far from Thebes. That is
the only way this wound in our city will heal.
Yet, if you have some knowledge, from some sign
from the birds or from some other medium of
visions, don’t hold it from us. Save us,
save Thebes, save the Thebans, save me and save
yourself. Rid this shame born by the murdered
king. We are your servants. To help Thebes, by
whichever means one can, is a virtuous effort.
316
Teiresias: Shouts in pain
Oh, how brutal! How hideous it is! How
loathsome is knowledge when it does not help its
possessor! Horrible! I knew this well! I knew the
cause of your invitation, yet I’ve made the mistake
of obeying your order! I should not have come.
Oedipus:
What is it old man? What’s wrong? Why such
hostility?
Teiresias:
And I do so because I can see well where your illtimed words will take you and I do not want to be
your companion in that journey.
Oedipus:
No! No Teiresias! Don’t leave! If you know
something about our pain tell us. With great
respect, we beg you!
Teiresias:
You! All of you! You know nothing! You… you
know nothing!
No, I will not speak. Ever! I will not speak! I do not
want you to know what sufferings you will have to
carry!
330
Oedipus:
What? You know something and yet you remain
silent? Do you want to send us and our country to
absolute destruction?
Teiresias:
Me? I have no need to hurt neither you nor
me. Ask me nothing more. You’ll learn nothing
from me.
Oedipus:
So you won’t speak? Not ever? Wretched man!
You would raise the anger inside a heartless stone,
you would, Teiresias! Is this how you will take
your heart to your grave? A stone without
remorse?
Teiresias:
You scorn and point at my own anger, yet yours –
your anger, King, your anger, which lives in there,
in your own heart, that anger you do not see. So
do not send curses upon me, my lord!
Do not insult me!
Oedipus:
Who would not? Who would not curse you for
saying the things you do against our city?
340
Teiresias:
Those… “things” will emerge of their own will,
even if I stay silent.
6
Oedipus:
So, speak then! Tell us what things will emerge.
Teiresias:
Enough! Enough! No more! Churn up all the wrath
you want. All the wrath you want!
Oedipus:
Well then! Alright! I will leave nothing unsaid in
my wrath. And I say to you then, old man, that in
my mind I have you as one of those who has
helped in Laius’ murder! Yes, old man! You have
worked with them. Perhaps even you, yourself,
have committed the deed! Indeed, if you had eyes
that could see I would have said you did the deed
all alone!
350
Teiresias:
Really! Are these the thoughts inside your wrath?
So! I ask you then to continue with your
proclamation but there is no need for you speak to
me nor to them (indicating the chorus)from now
on, because… because the wound that has ravaged
this city, is you! You are the wound itself! You are
what has polluted this city! You are the wound
and you are the murderer!
Oedipus:
Look with what blunt effrontery he uttered these
words!
Stupid man! Where do you think you will hide
their consequence?
Teiresias:
I have already hidden them. I have hidden them
inside the power of truth! Truth, which I love and
which I nurture.
Oedipus:
And who taught you to utter these words? Surely
you did not learn all this from your practice as a
prophet?
Teiresias:
Who? Why, it was you who taught them to me. It
was you who has forced me to utter them.
Oedipus:
What were the words again? Say them so that I
know them even better.
360
Teiresias:
Did you not understand them before or are you
joking with me?
Oedipus:
No, no! Truly, say them again. I want to
understand them well. Repeat the words!
Teiresias:
Let me tell you then, plainly and with no
equivocation.
The murderer you seek, Oedipus, is you!
Oedipus:
Oh! You will not insult me twice without
punishment!
Teiresias:
Shall I utter yet something else? Something to
raise your ire even more?
365
Oedipus:
Utter all you want. It will be in vain.
Teiresias:
Well then, I utter these words: In your ignorance,
you conduct the vilest acts with those closest to
you. Vile acts of which you are ignorant and which
you cannot see.
Oedipus:
Do you think you will always be happy uttering
words like these?
Teiresias:
Sure, if truth has some power.
370
Oedipus:
Truth does. Truth has a great deal of power but
not for you. Because you are blind not only in the
eyes but in the ears and in your mind as well.
Teiresias:
And you? You curse me, you wretched man but
very soon these men will be cursing you!
Oedipus:
You can hurt no one, old man. You can hurt
neither me nor anyone else who has eyes and can
see. Your food bowl, old man, is the never-ending
darkness!
Teiresias: Making as if to leave
Your Fate does not have you falling by my hand,
Oedipus. No, Apollo will take care of that. He will
take care of your fall.
Oedipus: As if he just discovered something
Hold! Are these, these revelations you have just
uttered – have they come out of your own head or
out of Creon’s?
Teiresias:
The fault is your own, Oedipus, not Creon’s.
380
Oedipus:
7
Oh, yes! It is Creon’s all right!
Wealth! Royalty! To be a king one needs skill! Skill
that surpasses all other skills. To be a king is a
much envied life. How much hatred is hidden
within this work!
I’ve been given all this without my asking it,
yet Indicating the palace Creon, once my first and
trusted friend, now seeks to take it all from me,
sliding and hiding behind this scheming seer, this
charlatan, this deviser of magic traps, who has
eyes for a profit but not for his art.
390
Come then, my seer! Tell us: of what consists your
qualification? Where were you when the Great
Bitch, that Sphinx who sang her deadly puzzles
outside this city and who needed the art of a
genuine seer to answer those puzzles, where were
you then? Why did you not save the city
then? Where were your gods then? Where were
your birds?
It was I! Yes I, Oedipus, who knew nothing of such
things who shut that monster’s mouth; not by
magic or by signs of birds but by my own brain.
400
So! Here you are, now! Intending to send me
away from here, hoping to hang around Creon’s
throne! For this outrage, Teiresias, you shall pay
with tears; you, Teiresias and he, the chief plotter.
And were it not for your advanced years, hard pain
would be your teacher.
Chorus:
I think, King that both of you spoke in anger. This
is no time for such talk. Rather, we shall try and
work out Apollo’s oracle.
Teiresias:
King or not, if I am to answer your questions, I
need to be your equal. In fact it is my right to claim
this equality because I am not your servant but the
servant of Apollo and I have no need for Creon’s
patronage.
You berate me for being blind, yet I tell you that
even though you have eyes, you cannot see in
what evil circumstance you live, nor do you know
where you live or even with whom you live.
Ha! Do you even know whose son you are? Do
you know, Oedipus that you are the enemy of your
people, both, here on Earth as well as below in
Hades? The doubly sharp curse of mother and
father will come one day with an angry foot and
chase you away, outside this city, with your eyes
bereft of light and clogged with darkness.
What place on earth will not have heard your
groans of pain then?
And once you find out to what harbour of misery
your wedding has brought you that fine day, well
then, what spot in the whole of Kitheron will not
hear the echo of your groans?
And with your children! You have no idea the
multitude of troubles that will crash upon you
once you find out about your children!
Go ahead! Insult Creon now if you want, and
insult my mouth also because no one in the world
will be destroyed in a worse way than you!
429
Oedipus: lunges at him angrily
How much more of this can anyone hear?
Leave! Go on, leave! Still here?
Go home! I order you! And stay well away from
me! Well away! Do you hear?
Teiresias:
Had you not called for me, Oedipus I would not be
here in the first place.
Oedipus:
Nor would I have called you here had I known you
would be talking sheer, stupid nonsense!
435
Teiresias:
For you, Oedipus, we are stupid but for those who
gave birth to you, we were wise.
Knowledgeable! Makes to leave
Oedipus:
Gave birth to me? Who are you taking about?
Stay! Tell me this, then, who was it who gave birth
to me? And when?
Teiresias:
It is today! Today will be both, the day of your
birth and of your death.
Oedipus:
How dark and puzzling your words are, old man!
Teiresias:
Did you not say you are great at solving puzzles?
Oedipus:
You insulted me for every one of my qualities.
Teiresias:
It is your very Fate who has declared your
destruction. A Fate that gave you success will now
give you pain.
Oedipus:
If I have saved this city I am content.
Teiresias:
Let me leave then. Come boy, give me your hand.
445
Oedipus:
8
Boy, guide him! You are a hindrance to me here.
Leave so that you won’t cause me any more grief.
Teiresias:
I will leave after I say the things I came to say. I do
not fear your angry face. My Fate has not declared
that I shall die by your hand.
Let me say this to you then: The man whom you
are hunting with curses and threats for Laius’
murder is right here. In here!
He is thought of as a foreigner, an alien but he will
be found to be a true Theban. Born right
here! And this discovery will not make him happy.
Because from someone who now has eyes, he will
soon be wandering blindly, in utter poverty and
studying the ground with a blind man’s stick.
Ah, and his children!
To his children he will discover that he is both
brother and father.
To the woman who gave birth to him he is son and
husband and to his father, both, a sharer of his bed
and his murderer.
Go into your palace then, king Oedipus and think
about these things and if you find me a liar then
you can truly say I know nothing of prophesies.
Exit Oedipus into the palace.
Teiresias with his guide also exit towards the city.
462
Chorus:
I wonder whose murderous hand it is that Delphi’s
prophetic rock said committed this most incredible
of all incredible deeds?
Chorus:
Time for him now to flee this place, flee faster
than flying mares, faster than the wind.
Chorus:
I see Apollo, the son of Zeus, armed with flames
and lightning, hard behind him, pursuing him
fiercely!
Chorus:
Look! He is followed by the awesome, unfailing
Furies!
Chorus:
Only a minute ago the command came from the
snowy tips of Parnassus to hunt down the hiding
murderer. There, the man, deserted, wanders like
a wild bull from cave to cave, from rock to rock, far
from the paths of men, far from earth’s heart,
where the curses, where the Erinyes, will not find
him. But they, fully alive, constantly speed their
wings around him.
483
Chorus:
Yet, the wise seer troubles me! Should I believe
him? Should I not? I have no idea what to think of
this and my brain flies this way and that without
being able to see neither ahead of me or behind.
Chorus:
What conflict I wonder brought Labdakus’
generation against Polybos’
son? Thebes against Corinth! Why? I never knew
the answer to this question before, nor do I know
it now. Who murdered Laius?
Chorus:
Who knows? I know nothing! Nothing with which
I may condemn our current king and thus avenge
Laius’ death.
Chorus:
Men’s deeds are known only by Zeus and by his
son, Apollo! Only the gods are privy to our
deeds! To say a seer knows more than I do is false.
Men are each other’s better in only one thing:
wisdom. As for the murder, myself, I’ll only
believe the proven word and nothing less.
Chorus:
We saw it all! Out there, the winged Sphinx had
asked him all her riddles and his answers proved
him wise and so, justly then, he was proclaimed
our city’s loving friend.
No! My mind will not declare him evil!
Enter Creon
512
Creon:
Men of Thebes! I’ve heard that Oedipus has
besmirched my name with heavy accusations. This
I will not tolerate! If he thinks that all these
troubles our city is suffering right now are caused
by some evil word of mine or some deed, well
then, let me tell you that, no, I’d rather be dead –
cut my life’s string short then do such a
thing. Because such accusations cause enormous
harm to a citizen if the whole city, including his
friends believes them.
Chorus:
Creon, perhaps this condemnation was uttered in
the heat of anger rather than from the thinking
mind.
Creon:
He says the seer uttered false predictions and that
these predictions were advised by me.
Chorus:
Yes, I don’t know why Oedipus said that.
9
Creon:
And did he honestly believe these accusations of
his?
Oedipus:
Was it not you who’s persuaded me to send for
the sarcastically reverend seer?
530
Chorus:
I have no idea. I can never tell what thoughts run
through the minds of leaders.
Enter Oedipus
Ah, here’s the man himself!
Creon:
But why not?
Oedipus: to Creon
You!
The audacity of the man! You dare live in the
chambers of my palace and you dare work plots
against my throne, against my very life, and you do
all this in the bright light of day, obvious to all who
have eyes to see! By Apollo! Tell me, is it because
you thought I was a weakling or a fool that you
have put such ideas into your head? Or did you
think that I would never discover this sinister plot
of yours or that I would be too weak to escape it?
Let me teach you something, my brother-in-law,
Creon:
Such plots, plots to overthrow a king need the
strength of people and purse; Only stupid men
don’t know this!
Creon: Interrupts him
Laius? What has he got to do with anything? I
don’t follow.
Creon:
Give me my turn, Oedipus! Give me my turn to
answer your speech and then you may judge. This
you must do!
Oedipus:
Did he say anything about me at the time?
545
Oedipus:
You have the audacity to speak but I! I’ve not the
stomach for the words of a murderer!
Creon:
Murderer! Well, then let me first speak on the
matter before you judge me one!
Oedipus:
And on this very matter, don’t tell me that you are
innocent!
Oedipus:
Now, tell me also, how long has it been since Laius
–
560
Oedipus: losing patience
When was Laius murdered?
Creon:
Many years ago. Why?
Oedipus:
And was this “reverent” seer plying his trade at the
time?
Creon:
Yes. Just as wisely then and just as much revered
by the people as he is now.
Creon:
No, at least not near my ears.
Oedipus:
Did you not search for your murdered king’s
corpse?
Creon:
But of course we did but we found nothing.
Oedipus:
How is it then that this wise seer of yours did not
make all these revelations about me back then?
Creon:
Oedipus! Oedipus you are wrong to think that this
mindless obstinacy of yours is some sort of virtue!
Creon:
I have no idea about such things, Oedipus and
when it comes to things I know nothing about, I
prefer to keep my mouth shut.
551
Oedipus:
And you are wrong to think that a man can murder
a relative and get away with it!
570
Oedipus:
And yet you do know everything about this
matter! You certainly know enough to confess!
Creon:
On that I agree!
Oedipus, I do agree with you on that! Tell me
then, Oedipus, what is it that I’ve done against
you?
Creon:
Which matter, Oedipus? I will make confessions
about things I know.
10
Oedipus:
This matter: that, had the seer not conspired with
you, he would not be calling me a murderer!
Creon:
I had no idea he did this. Let me then ask you a
question, also.
Oedipus:
Go ahead! Ask all you want. Ask and learn that I
am not a murderer!
Creon:
Tell me then Oedipus. Is not my sister, Jocasta,
your wife?
Oedipus:
She is, indeed!
Creon:
And tell me also, are you two not equal rulers
of Thebes?
Oedipus:
I begrudge Jocasta nothing. What is mine is hers.
Creon:
And I? Am I not your equal also?
Oedipus:
Aha! This! This is the very point upon which my
anger rests! You have failed to be a faithful
relative!
Creon:
No, Oedipus, not if you think through all this the
way I do.
Look: Which do you think is preferable? To rule in
fear or to sleep in peace, having, in any case, equal
access to power as his king and his sister? I know
of no one who would chose the former and nor
do I.
Me? I want neither the throne nor the chores that
accompany it.
Because of you, Oedipus, I have everything I need
without the fear. Were I to be a king the chores
would choke me. Throne and tears on one side,
everything I need without the tears on the
other. Believe me I’m not so foolish as to chose
things which bear no benefit.
596
All the folks respect me now. They greet me with
a smile, they come to me whenever they need
something from you because they know they can
depend on me. Why then should I give all this up
for the sake of your throne? Would it not be
thoroughly unwise of me? In any case, Oedipus,
believe me: murder is not in my nature – alone or
with others!
Go ahead, go to Delphi, Oedipus! Check me
out. Ask the oracle if I am not telling the truth;
and if you find out that Teiresias and I have
conspired against you, then kill me. In that I will
give you a hand but judge me with certain, with
positive proof. Judging a good friend as evil
without reason is bad work because sending away
a good friend is like losing your own life and your
own life is the most loved life of all.
Time, Oedipus, Time will show you the truth in this
matter. Innocence takes time to be revealed; guilt
can be announced far too quickly.
616
Chorus:
He spoke well, my king. Those who hurry to judge,
judge badly.
Oedipus:
If the schemer rushes with his scheme I, too must
rush with my decisions, otherwise his schemes win
over my decisions.
Creon:
So what is it you want, Oedipus? To send me away
from here?
Oedipus:
Send you away? Absolutely not! I want you dead!
Dead here, before me rather than alive elsewhere.
Creon:
Tell me first. What exactly are you afraid that I will
do to you?
Oedipus:
Are you disobeying me?
Creon:
No, Oedipus. I can see that your reasoning is bad,
Oedipus!
Oedipus:
My reasoning is perfect.
Creon:
But your reasoning should be made perfect in my
mind also.
Oedipus:
Firstly, you cannot be trusted.
Creon:
But what if you are wrong?
Oedipus:
You are still obliged to obey!
Creon:
Obey? An unjust command? Why should I?
11
Oedipus: Exasperated
O, Thebes, Thebes!
Oedipus:
Then tell me!
630
Creon:
Thebes is mine just much as she is yours!
656
Chorus:
I am saying that you should never condemn a
friend without absolute proof.
Enter Jocasta
Jocasta:
What is all this? What is all this silly
squabbling? Are you not ashamed? The whole
country is suffering the pains of a horrendous
pestilence and you two –here you are, in front of
the palace for all the people to see, arguing about
your petty little affairs. Get back inside both of
you, before you turn these little affairs into a
something major.
These petty squabbles of yours can bring about
large and bitter consequences.
Creon:
Darling sister!
Your husband here is threatening, most seriously,
to either send me away from the land of my birth
or to have me executed!
Oedipus:
But of course I do. I caught him plotting against
me, Jocasta. An evil mind, working evil webs.
Creon:
Ah! If this is true then let me not enjoy a moment
more of my life!
Let me wander around the world, a cursed soul
wherever I go!
646
Jocasta:
By all the gods, Oedipus! Have some faith in him!
At least have some faith in the gods by whom he
swears; and then in me and in all these folk who
stand before you!
Chorus:
I beg you king, listen and think! Think well!
Oedipus:
And compromise upon what?
Chorus:
Trust Creon. He has never been untrustworthy
before and now, you see, your faith in him is made
all the more secure by his oaths.
Oedipus:
Are you aware of what it is you are saying?
Chorus:
I do, my king!
Oedipus:
Know this well, old man: that if this is what you
really want then you must also want my
destruction or my exile from this land.
Chorus:
By Helios, the Sun, the first of all the gods! May I
be cast asunder without gods or friends by my side
if I desire such a thing! My poor, unfortunate
heart, though, is hurt with these new sufferings
of Thebes and all the more if upon them are added
your own sufferings, my king.
Oedipus:
Well, then, all right! Let him be exiled and not
killed – even though, I know, it means my own
death or my own exile in disgrace. It is your mouth
that has gained my sympathy, not his. I shall hate
him wherever he might be.
Creon:
So much hatred in your compromise! Yet, when
your anger subsides a little how you will suffer!
Souls like yours are their own worst enemy! Quite
rightly, too!
676
Oedipus:
Leave! Get out!
Creon:
I shall. A foreigner to you, a friend to them.
Exit Creon
Chorus:
Queen, why don’t you take your husband inside?
Jocasta:
First I need to know what is going on.
Chorus:
Hollow suspicions from words, my Lady.
Chorus:
Still, even the unjust word has a strong bite.
Jocasta:
Hollow words from both?
Chorus:
Yes, madam.
12
Jocasta:
But why?
panic has overtaken me, wife! Something from
what you have just said…
Chorus:
Enough, my Lady, enough! Thebes is suffering
enough. Let them end it where they have just
stopped.
Jocasta:
What fear, my king? Tell me!
Oedipus: To the Chorus
You see? An intelligent man like you, yet you see
what you have done with my part of justice! You
spat upon it with cold and uncaring heart!
Chorus:
But, my king, I have told you many times before: I
would be mad to disobey you. You, Oedipus who,
when this land was tortured by misfortune, you
came and healed her well.
Oedipus:
I think… I think I have heard you say that Laius was
killed at a tree-way crossing.
Jocasta:
That is what they said then and that is what they
are still saying now.
Oedipus:
And where is this cross road exactly?
Chorus:
Heal her again, my king, Heal her!
Jocasta:
The city is called Phokis. A divided road which
splits all the way to the Delphi on one side and to
Daulia on the other.
Jocasta:
By the gods, Oedipus! Tell me, as well, what raised
your anger so much?
735
Oedipus:
How long ago did the murder happen?
700
Oedipus:
Your brother says I am Laius’ murderer!
Jocasta:
It was announced just a little before you arrived
here and became king.
Jocasta:
Who told him that? Or was it his own thinking?
Oedipus:
Oh, Zeus! Zeus! What do you have in store for me
next?
Oedipus:
He has sent that evil seer to me to tell me while he
kept his own mouth free of such utterances.
Jocasta:
Well, then! Oedipus, my king! Forget everything
and listen to me. No mortal knows the will of the
gods. Let me show you proof of this. Once, an
oracle came to Laius –I am not saying from Apollo,
directly, but from his servants- that it was his Fate,
Laius’ Fate, to die by the hand of his son – his and
my son! However, word has it that Laius was killed
by strangers, thieves, at a three-way cross road.
As for the boy, three days after he was born, the
king has his ankles pinned and then handed him to
someone to take him to some forest where no
human ever went. And so, neither the child was
allowed by Apollo to kill his father, nor did Laius
suffer murder in the hands of his own son.
That was god’s real intention, not what some seer
said would happen. If the god wants something
done he will tell us himself.
726
Oedipus: highly disturbed by some new thought
Ah, what a fear! What a trembling, what a cold
Jocasta:
What is it, Oedipus? What memory disturbs your
mind?
Oedipus:
Ask me no more, wife, just tell me: What height
what age was Laius then?
Jocasta:
Tall… his hair was just turning grey… looked quite
like you do now.
Oedipus:
O, what a wretched man I am! I think I have cast
hateful curses upon myself without my knowing!
Jocasta:
My king! What are you saying? What fear floods
your face?
Oedipus:
A dire fear, wife! I fear that that blind priest, that
seer, is truly Apollo’s eye! You will show me proof
of this if you can tell me one more thing.
Jocasta:
Ask, Oedipus! How frightened I am. Ask and I shall
tell you.
13
750
Oedipus:
When Laius went away, was he accompanied by a
few or by many armed men?
Jocasta:
Five, including a herald. Laius was in a carriage.
Oedipus:
Ah! So many clear signs, wife. Wife, who told you
all this?
Jocasta:
A servant. He was the only survivor. He came and
told me.
Oedipus:
Does he still live with us?
Jocasta:
No. As soon as he came and saw you upon Laius’
throne he disappeared. He begged me at the time
to send him to the grazing lands, to be as far away
from the city as possible. So I sent him. He was a
good man and worthy of even greater reward so I
granted him his wish.
Oedipus:
Could we bring him here in a hurry?
Jocasta:
Of course, but why?
Oedipus:
I am afraid for myself, wife. I am afraid that I have
said too much against myself and I want to see
him.
770
Jocasta:
Of course he will come but I think I have the right
to know what is going on.
Oedipus:
Since I have come so far into the depths of fear,
Jocasta, I won’t keep you in the dark. I will tell you
everything. To who else could I possibly disclose
such a Fate?
My father was the Corinthian Polybus, my mother,
the Dorian Meropi. There, in Corinth, I was loved
by all, until one day when something odd
happened. Odd and not worthy of the attention I
gave it at the time.
A drunk, during a banquet said that I was not my
father’s son, that I was a false son, an adopted son.
I held my temper that day but the next day I asked
my parents and they, too, were highly insulted by
what that drunk had said.
I loved those two. Still, some thought at the back
of my head was eating at me, at my very soul. One
day then, I went secretly to Apollo’s shrine and
asked him about it but the god gave me no answer
to any of the questions I had ask him but… he did
tell me all sorts of other horrible, dreadful
prophesies, prophesies like, one day I would
become my mother’s husband, or that I would give
birth to a generation hated by all mankind, or that
I would murder my father! At that I let the stars
guide my path and leftCorinth behind me. I walked
away from there so that I wouldn’t give the
slightest chance for these awful prophesies to
come true.
I walked and walked until I came upon that forked
road where you said Laius was murdered.
800
Let me tell you the truth, wife. As I got to that
spot, I came across a herald and a man on a horsedrawn carriage. Both, man and herald came and
tried to push me out of the way. In a very rough
manner. I got so angry that, in the fight, I hit the
driver of the carriage. The old man saw this and as
I walked past the carriage he picked up the double
goad and hit me over the head with it. Let me tell
you, wife, for that little act, he paid a double
price. I lifted my own staff and hit him back. He
rolled to the ground from the carriage, flat on his
back. Then, as I fought on, I killed all the rest of
them.
But if this stranger now has some light to shine
upon that incident Oh, wife! Who would be more unfortunate than
me? More hated? By man and by gods?
Neither a stranger nor a citizen could ever let me
into his home nor even speak with me but he
would send me on my cursed way. And it was I
who announced this curse upon me, no one else.
820
These hands! With these very hands I had gripped
at the man whose wife I hold now. Am I not then
an evil man? Am I not a vile sacrilege? If I must
leave, I will neither be able to see my family nor go
back to my own country, Corinth. Or else, the
prophesy says, if I go back to Corinth, I shall marry
my mother and kill Polybus, my father, the man
loved me and gave me life and raised me. Would
it not be true if someone said of me that a cruel
god is pursuing me?
Gods! Pure gods! Revered Gods! Never, never let
me see such a terrible day! I would rather be lost
from the eyes of men than see myself branded by
such malignant shame!
Chorus:
All this, my king, is dreadful for all of us. But have
courage.
14
Chorus:
Let’s see what the witness has to tell us first.
Oedipus:
True. There is this slender hope. Let me wait for
the shepherd.
Jocasta:
And what then? What will you make of his words?
840
Oedipus:
If his words agree with yours then I am doomed.
Jocasta:
What do you mean? What words have I told you?
Oedipus:
You said that this shepherd told you that a group
of thieves killed Laius. If he still says that it was a
“group” then I’m clearly not the murderer. A
group is not a single man. But if he says it was only
one traveller, then it would be all too clear: the
deed falls on me!
Chorus:
If by unjust deeds he seeks to make his profits, or
if he does not hold back the madness of his hand
from touching the untouchable shrines, who could
help him?
Chorus:
Who could remove the arrows sent into his heart
by the angry gods? For if such things are thought
of as honourable, what purpose would my prayers
to the gods have?
Chorus:
Why dance the holy dances?
How could I ever again go in reverence to pray at
Apollo’s shrine – Earth’s sacred heart – or to the
shrine of Abas or to Olympia, if all these things do
not clear up for all the mortals to see and feel?
Chorus:Turning to Zeus’ altar
Zeus! If you are truly worthy of being called
“Almighty” then let not all this injustice escape you
or your eternal power!
Jocasta:
I shall do whatever pleases you, Oedipus. I shall
send for the shepherd now. In the meantime, let’s
go inside.
Chorus:
Gone are the oracles addressed to Laius –no one
believes them any more and nowhere the people
believe in Apollo!
Exit Oedipus and Jocasta into the palace.
Chorus:
Gone is the love for the gods!
Chorus:
If only! If only I was lucky enough to be able to
fully understand the wise and pure words, the laws
of the heavenly gods, laws that were fathered
by Olympus, and not merely those of some mortal
whose memory can fail!
Enter Jocasta with her attendant, holding garlands
and burning incense.
Chorus:
Turning to the altar of Apollo
I pray to you, Apollo!
Do not stop the good fight for the city. Be my
protector always.
911
Jocasta:
Elders of Thebes, I thought I should come to the
shrines with these wreaths of supplication and
incense because Oedipus’ mind has taken wings
due to all sorts of sorrows. He cannot think like
other men of logic do, men who can separate the
old prophesies from the new but prefers to pay
heed only to those men whose prophesies are the
more dreadful.
Turning to Apollo’s altar
Since I do nothing without first being advised by
you Apollo, you, our closest ally, I come to you in
prayer with these offerings.
Heal all our wounds, Apollo. We all tremble in fear
when we see the captain of our ship so shaken
with dread.
883
Chorus:
If by his tongue or by his hands a man becomes
too proud, if he neglects his duty to Justice or to
the altars of the gods, let that man’s Fate be harsh,
as harsh as is his unearned pride.
She places the wreaths and the incense on the
altar. The incense will stay smouldering for the
duration of the play.
Pause
Enter the Herald. He is holding a rough, shepherd’s
crook.
Chorus:
Great and ageless are the Gods within those laws.
Chorus:
Arrogance overfed with vanity and bloated with
unearned riches, will turn a man into a tyrant. Yet
even from the highest peak he will fall into the
deepest abyss from where there is no escape.
15
Herald:
Strangers, can you please tell me where Oedipus’
palace is?
Chorus:
That there is his palace, stranger and this here is
the mother of his children.
Herald:
Abundant happiness to you and to your husband,
good Lady!
931
Jocasta:
And to you, too, stranger. Tell me what brings you
here. What news do you have for us?
Herald:
Good news, madam – for you and for your
husband.
Jocasta:
Yes? What is it? Who has sent you?
Herald:
I have come from Corinth, my Lady and my
message will definitely give you joy… but then
again sadness, too… I think.
Enter Oedipus with two of his own attendants and
with Jocasta’s attendant
950
Oedipus:
You called for me dear wife. What is it?
Jocasta:
Oedipus, listen to this man here first and then see
how well god’s solemn prophesies are
accomplished.
Oedipus:
Yes? Who is this man and what does he have to
say to me?
Jocasta:
He has just arrived from Corinth to tell us that your
father, Polybus is dead.
Oedipus:
Stranger is this true? Tell me yourself.
Herald:
If this is what you want me to announce first, then
let me tell you truly that Polybus is dead.
Oedipus:
By murder or by sickness?
Jocasta:
What is this message? How can it have such
double strength?
Herald:
Old bodies need no great cause to fall, my Lord.
Herald:
The Corinthians have invited Oedipus to be their
king.
Oedipus:
And so, it seems, the poor old man has fallen by
illness.
Jocasta:
But why? Is not old Polybus still alive?
Herald:
And of his lengthy years, of course.
Herald:
No, madam. Death has him in his grave grip.
Oedipus:
What do you think now, wife? How can one give
credence to Delphi’s oracle, or to the birds that
sing above us when all these have prophesied that
I would be my father’s murderer? There he is
now, beneath the earth and here I am, no sword in
my hand!
Still, perhaps I am a murderer nonetheless, if I
have caused him unbearable grief and if grief was
the cause of his death. But that would be my only
contribution to his death. And he took with him
down to Hades all these useless oracles, worthless
for anything at all!
Jocasta:
What? Have I heard right? Is Oedipus’ father
dead?
Herald:
I swear it,my Lady. By my own life! He is indeed
dead.
Jocasta: To her attendant
Girl, go quickly and tell your master the news!
Exit the attendant into the palace
Well now, what of all the prophesies of the gods?
Oedipus left his beloved home in trembling fear
lest he kills this man, his father, yet this man,
Polybus died a natural death! Oedipus’ hand has
committed no murder!
What then of the prophesies?
Jocasta:
Had I not often told you as much?
Oedipus:
Yes, wife, you did but still, dread overtook me.
16
975
Jocasta:
Forget all this nonsense then. Cast it out of your
mind.
Oedipus:
But how can I forget the marriage to my
mother? She is still alive.
Jocasta:
But of course you would be afraid if, instead of
thinking, you leave everything to Fate and
oracles! Come now, best for you to live as much
as you can while you can. As for your mother,
many have gone to bed with their mothers –in
their dreams!
Give no further thought to such things and live an
easier life.
Oedipus:
These would be good words if my mother were
not alive but alive she is and so it is natural for me
to be afraid.
Jocasta:
But surely, your father’s tomb is undeniable truth
– a shining light – that the oracles are all wrong!
Oedipus:
I know. A shining light. Yet the woman is alive and
so the dread is still real.
Herald:
Excuse me, sir, which woman frightens you so
much?
Oedipus:
Meropi, old man. The woman with whom old
Polybus lived.
Herald:
Why are you afraid of her?
Oedipus:
Because of a dreadful oracle from Apollo, stranger.
Herald:
Can you speak of it or is it one of those that must
stay unspoken?
Oedipus:
Yes, I can speak of it. Apollo told me once that I
would be my mother’s husband and my father’s
murderer, so I left Corinth a long time ago. I am
happy here, of course, but it is a sweet thing to be
able to see your parents’ eyes.
1000
Herald:
Goodness! Is this true? Is THAT what you were
afraid of? Is that what sent you away from us?
Oedipus:
I had no wish to be my father’s murderer, old man.
Herald:
But have I not eased your fear, my Lord with what I
have just told you?
Oedipus:
Of course you have, old man and for that you will
be rewarded handsomely.
Herald:
But of course. That is exactly why I have come, sir,
so that I will have something of yours when you
return back to your home.
Oedipus:
I will never go back to live with my parents.
Herald:
My child. It is most obvious you don’t know what
you are doing.
Oedipus:
What do you mean, old man? For God’s sake
explain what you mean!
Herald:
Well, if this is the only reason that you are afraid
to come back to your own palaces –
Oedipus:
I fear the accomplishment of Apollo’s oracles.
Herald:
Afraid you might commit sacrilege with your
parents?
Oedipus:
Exactly that, old man. Always that!
Herald:
So you don’t know that you have no reason at all
to be afraid of that?
Oedipus:
What do you mean? They gave me my life.
Herald:
Polybus is not of your family. No relation at all!
Oedipus:
What? Was Polybus not my father?
Herald:
He was as much your father as I was.
Oedipus:
But how can a stranger be equal to a parent?
1020
Herald:
17
Because neither he nor I had anything to do with
your birth.
Oedipus:
Why then did he always call me his “child?”
Herald:
Learn this, my king. Old Polybus received you as a
gift from my hands.
Oedipus:
Why then, having received me from a stranger’s
hand, did he love me so much?
Herald:
Not having a child of his own taught him to do
that, my Lord.
Oedipus:
And you, old man. Did you buy me from someone
or found me somewhere?
Herald:
I found you in the crags of Kitheron.
Oedipus:
What were you doing there?
Herald:
I took highland herds to graze up there.
Oedipus:
So you were a hired shepherd then.
Herald:
And, at the same time, your saviour, my boy!
Oedipus:
What state was I in then, when you found me?
Herald:
Look at your ankles. There lies the evidence of
your state.
Oedipus:
Ah! What an old and evil piece of memory you
threw into my mind!
Herald:
I undid your feet, let loose the chains from the
holes in your ankles, my Lord.
1035
Oedipus:
A great shame that I have carried from my cradle
days.
Herald:
It’s that shame that gave you your name.
Oedipus:
By Apollo! Tell me old shepherd who gave me this
shame? My mother or my father?
Herald:
I don’t know. Only he who gave it to you would
know that.
Oedipus:
So, did someone else hand me to you or did you
find me yourself?
Herald:
Another shepherd like me handed you to me.
Oedipus:
Who is it? Can you tell me who it is?
Herald:
He said he was one of Laius’ servants.
Oedipus:
Laius, the man who was once the king of this
country?
Herald:
That’s right. That shepherd was that king’s
servant.
1045
Oedipus:
Is he still alive, this shepherd? Can I see him?
Herald:
The locals here would know better about that.
Oedipus:To the chorus
Is there anyone among you who knows this
shepherd? Could he be in the fields or somewhere
around here? Speak! It is time for all things to be
revealed!
Chorus:
I think it is the same man you were asking to see
earlier. Your kind wife, Jocasta, would know better
though.
Oedipus:
Wife, do you remember the man we were earlier
asking to come here? Is this the man this herald is
talking about?
Jocasta: Anxious. Dismissive
Who cares what man he is talking about? Forget
him and forget all that has been said. You’re
worried for nothing!
Oedipus:
Forget it? How can it be possible for one to carry
such marks as these indicating the wounds on his
ankles and not try to find his parents.
1060
Jocasta:
For God’s sake, Oedipus! If you love your life,
18
search no further! I have suffered enough for both
of us.
Oedipus:
Courage, my dear wife. Courage!
Even if by this search I discover that I was a third
generation slave, it will not affect your standing in
our city.
Jocasta:
Oedipus, I beg you, stop! Search no further! Stop!
1086
Chorus:
If I were a seer myself and if my brain would be at
all wise, Kitheron, I would bet by Olympus, that by
tomorrow’s full moon, we will make you our great
friend!
Chorus:
Kitheron, who lived upon the same land as
Oedipus, his father and his mother.
Oedipus:
No! Not until I discover the whole truth!
Chorus:
We will dance to your honour, Kitheron because
you bring such joy to our kings.
Jocasta:
Oedipus! It is for your own good I am giving you
this advice!
Chorus:
Apollo, our saviour, may our prayers suffice!
Oedipus:
It is this “good” of mine which gives me so much
pain for so long.
Jocasta:
Poor, unfortunate man! I hope you never live to
learn who you are.
1070
Oedipus:
Will no one bring me this shepherd! Let this
wealthy woman enjoy her high birth. Bring me the
shepherd!
Jocasta: Despondent-she has now discovered the
truth herself
You are a poor, poor man, Oedipus! A wretched
man! That is all I can say to you! I have no more
words for you.
Jocasta leaves in anger
ACT TWO
Chorus:
Such a harsh sadness took her inside, Oedipus. I
wonder if, perhaps, some new disaster will emerge
from that silence of hers.
Oedipus:
Let emerge what will!
I need to know the womb that carried me, even if
it is that of a slave. Perhaps Jocasta’s pride is
touched by shame because of my lowly birth.
She would be wrong, for I consider myself the son
of wide-armed Fate, so why should I feel any
shame? I am Fate’s son and Fate has given me
both, the pains of being poor and the comfort of
being rich. So, I will have no other birth, no other
unknown birth-womb.
1098
Chorus:
Who gave birth to you, Oedipus, my son? Which
of the eternal nymphs had coupled with Pan of the
mountains? Or was it some daughter of Apollo, the
god who loves the widely spread grazing lands?
Chorus:
Perhaps it was Kyllini’s protector, Bacchus, who is
often seen on the mountain peaks?
Chorus:
Or, perhaps you were given to him as a gift by
some nymph from Elikon. He loved to play with
them.
1110
Oedipus: Looking into the distance
Ah! I have never seen him before but if I am right, I
think I can see the shepherd we are after! His age
is similar to this man here… yes, my servants are
with him also. You would know better than me,
though. You have seen him before.
Chorus:
Yes, I know him well. He is the one. He was one of
Laius’ most trustworthy shepherds.
Herald:
Ah, yes, he’s the one all right!
Enter Shepherd with two of Oedipus’ servants. He
too has a rough shepherd’s crook, just like his
friend. As soon as he sees everyone, particularly
the other shepherd and Oedipus, he snarls and
tries to withdraw but the king’s servants stop
him. The other shepherd greets him with a smile.
This is the only scene possible in the play where
some humour might be injected. This should be
done via the two shepherds who, at least at one
point, they may come to stick-blows.
This new shepherd answers all the questions
19
reluctantly and thoughtfully, trying to escape the
deadly revelation.
Oedipus: To the Shepherd
Come old man, come here and tell us. Were you
ever Laius’ servant?
Shepherd:
Yes, born and bred in the palace, not bought into
it.
Oedipus:
And you were doing what exactly? How did you
earn your living in this palace?
Shepherd: Angrily
What is going on here? Why are you asking me
such crazy things?
1145
Herald: Indicating Oedipus
Because, old man, this is that boy! This man here,
my old friend, is that little boy! Look closely. It’s
king Oedipus!
Shepherd: Waves his crook angrily at the herald
Get out of it, you… you stupid man! And shut your
mouth!
Shepherd:
I usually guided the palace’s herds.
Oedipus: To the Shepherd, angrily
Don’t get angry with him, old man. It is he who
has that right, not you!
Oedipus:
Taking them to which fields?
Shepherd:
What have I done, my great Lord?
Shepherd:
Around Mount Kitheron and all the grazing spots
around it.
Oedipus:
Answer him! Tell him about the child.
Oedipus: Indicating the Herald
Look at this man here. Have you ever seen him
before? Met him anywhere around there?
Shepherd: Feigning ignorance
What? Which man?
1130
Oedipus:
This one here. Have you ever seen this man
before?
Shepherd:
He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, my
Lord. It’s all hot air! Hot head, hot air!
Oedipus: Angrily
Shepherd, I have been polite with you so far and
you have still not answered any of my
questions. Not even one! Perhaps your own tears
will make you talk, ey?
Shepherd:
No, no! By the Gods, my Lord, don’t hurt me!
Shepherd:
No. At least… no… I can’t remember him… not
right now, I can’t!
Oedipus:
Someone please tie his hands behind his back!
Herald: enthusiastically
Nothing odd about that, my Lord.
Wait, I’ll remind him of some past events. I know
full well that he’ll remember that he and I would
get together for three six monthly periods, from
Spring till the star Arctouros would appear, in
Autumn. He, with two herds and I with one. Then,
in Winter, I’d return to my Winter stables and he
to Laius’. To the shepherd Am I right or am I not?
Oedipus’ servants move threateningly towards the
Shepherd.
From now on the lighting will intensify slowly until
line 1181 so that when Oedipus speaks in line 1182
his “O light…” his speech carries greater
poignancy.
The light relief is henceforth progressively
receding, as Oedipus’ culpability descents upon
him and as he becomes more and more aware of
the dimensions of his offence.
Shepherd:
Yes, you’re right!
But, my Lord, all this happened a very, very long
time ago!
1155
Shepherd:
Damn my luck! What is it, my Lord? What is it you
wish to know?
Herald:
Well, then, tell me. Can you remember handing a
baby to me, to raise as if it were my own baby?
Oedipus:
Did you give the child to this man?
Shepherd:
Yes. I wish I had died that day!
20
Oedipus:
You will certainly die today if you don’t tell the
truth!
Shepherd:
It’ll be even worse for me if I do tell the truth!
Oedipus: To the Chorus
Looks to me as if this old shepherd wants to
escape us with lies.
Shepherd:
No, really, my Lord, I did say it. I gave that child to
him. But it was a very long time ago.
Oedipus:
Where did you get the child from? Was it yours or
was it someone else’s?
Shepherd:
Mine? O, no! No, no, no. I mean, no, my
Lord. Not mine. Someone else gave it to me.
Oedipus:
Who gave it to you? From whose house did it
come?
1165
Shepherd:
No, my Lord! By the gods, no more! Ask me no
more, please!
Oedipus:
Don’t let me ask you again, old man!
Shepherd: Indicating the palace
It was from in there, my Lord. From within Laius’
palace.
Oedipus:
Was he the son of a slave or one of his own
children?
Shepherd:
Damn this luck of mine! Here comes the worst of
it!
Oedipus:
For me, too, old man but I need to hear it!
Shepherd:
They said it was his own child but… your own wife
would be able to tell you better about this.
Oedipus:
So, was it she then who gave you the child?
Shepherd:
Yes, my king.
Oedipus:
And why did she do that?
Shepherd:
To make it disappear.
Oedipus:
Its very own mother asked you to do this?
Shepherd:
Yes, from fear of some bad oracle or other.
Oedipus:
Oracle? Which oracle?
Shepherd:
One which said he’d kill his parents.
Oedipus:
So, why did you leave the child with this man?
Shepherd:
I felt pity for the little boy, my Lord. I thought,
well, he’d be taken to another land, one far away
from his father’s and so he’d be free of that
oracle. No problems that I could see.
Unfortunately though, my Lord, it looks like that
was a bad decision, saving the child, I mean,
because, well, because if that child is you, then, by
Zeus, I fear gravely for you, too, my Lord.
Oedipus:
O, how gruesomely clearly it has all unravelled! O
light! Let me enjoy you for one last time. One last
time from the time I was born, for I was born from
the wrong parents, I was bonded with the wrong
people and I have killed those I should have never
killed!
Exit Oedipus into the palace
Exit Shepherd and Herald.
Light now dims considerably
1186
Chorus:
Wretched mortals! Your lives are of no
consequence. What man can ever feel that his joy
is any more than a dream, since all it does is to
appear and then disappear almost straight away?
Chorus:
I look at your life, luckless Oedipus, and take it as
an example.
Chorus:
How can I look at your Fate and praise the Fate of
any other human?
Oedipus: From within, shouts of despair.
Ohhhhhhhh!
Chorus: Responding to Oedipus’ voice
This man, Zeus! This man has aimed high and
highly he has achieved.
21
Chorus:
He has escaped Apollo’s sharp-taloned oracle and
has gained great joy.
Chorus:
We suffer enough from what we know already.
What more is there for you to tell us?
Chorus:
He stood like a great tower, protecting our city
from the many deaths.
Attendant:
I’ll use the quickest possible manner of speech:
Jocasta is dead!
Chorus:
Since then, my Lord I can think of no other man
more honourable than you in our great Thebes.
Chorus:
Gentle Jocasta is dead? So poor in
fortune? How? What happened?
Chorus:
Yet now! Who can be called more unfortunate
than you, Oedipus?
Attendant:
She died by her own hand –but there’s more to
tell. I’ll tell you all that I can manage.
When she crossed this threshold here, leaving you
with that anger in her soul, she rushed to her
bridal bed and began immediately to tear at her
own hair. Behind shut doors she cried the loss of
old Laius, her true husband, wailing and calling the
memories of their wedding, lamenting his death
that had left her to deal with his son and bring up
a new generation.
1250
She mourned the bed upon which from one
husband another husband and from one son
another son were born…
After that, I have no idea what happened because
just then Oedipus rushed in. He was groaning
dreadfully with pain, so no one could look at
Jocasta’s pain any more but they were forced to
turn to him. He kept calling out for a sword and
for his wife – alternating between the words
“wife” and “mother,” a double seed, as well as for
his children; and someone, surely a god, for no
mortal would have dared speak to him when he
was in the grips of such an anger, showed him the
double doors of Jocasta’s room. He screamed
wildly and banged hard at the doors till the latches
broke asunder. Then he rushed into the room.
That’s when we all saw the poor woman hanging
by a thick, platted rope.
1265
Oedipus, thoroughly overwhelmed by sadness
now, cuts the rope and lets the woman down onto
the floor.
Dreadful! The things we saw just then were
dreadful!
He took out the golden brooches that held her
dress and plunged them deep into the sockets of
his own eyes so that they’ll never again see what
evil things he’s done nor any of those deeds he
might do in the future. In darkness they’d always
be and therein they’d receive those things he’d
want to receive and not receive those he wouldn’t
want to receive.
1275
Again and again he hit hard at his eyes, plunging
Chorus:
One twist of Fate, Oedipus and now no one can be
called more wretched. A twist that brought you
into the midst of wild sadness and dreadful pain.
Chorus:
Both of you, Oedipus -father and son- how did the
same awful harbour manage to receive you both?
Chorus:
How did your father’s bed manage to keep you
there, in such silence and for so long?
Chorus:
Then the years came and found you, my King and
now they condemn this unholy marriage from
which you were born and in which you gave birth.
Oedipus: within
Oh!
Oh!
Oh!
Chorus:
Poor child of Laius! I wish I had never met you
because my heart cries bitter tears for you.
Chorus:
Yet, the fact is Oedipus, it is you who has given me
some comfort when you came to Thebes, enough
comfort for me to be able to sleep at night.
Enter a very distressed, male attendant.
1223
Attendant:
O, dear elders! What horrible things you’ll hear
and see, what grief you’ll suffer if you still care at
all for this here palace. Neither of the huge rivers,
Istros or Phasis could wash away the evil things
going on under its roofs, nor what will be revealed
soon under the light. Evil things done both,
willingly and not.
The bitterest suffering, elders, comes by the aid of
our very own hand!
22
the brooches until the blood began to flow like
black rain and like black hail and the clods and the
gore rolled all over his great beard.
This evil sprouted from both of them –man and
woman equally- and upon both, this evil broke.
Equal and similar to both.
The happiness they’ve enjoyed earlier was true
happiness but now, this day, we see only deep
sadness, curses, death and shame.
Name what evil word you want and it won’t be
missing from this scene.
Chorus:
Poor man!
Chorus:
How is he now, the poor, unfortunate man?
Attendant:
He groans with anger, calling us to open the doors
so he can show all the Cadmians the real father
killer, the real murderer of his father and of his
mother – O, how hard it is for these words to be
told! He says he’ll throw himself out of his land,
that he’ll be an exile; and that he won’t remain
here while he’s fallen in the grips of his own
curses.
But he needs someone to guide him, someone
who’ll help him. Suffering like this is just too hard
for anyone to endure alone.
From within we hear Oedipus’ loud groans of pain
and anger.
He bangs at the door from within with his staff
until the door opens.
See for yourselves. He’s coming out now. A sight
even an enemy will feel sorrow for.
Chorus:
Poor Man! How insufferable must be your pain. I
have so many questions to ask you, so much I need
to know, yet I just can’t look at you.
Oedipus: In agony
Oh!
Oh! What pain! What loathsome Fate! What
appalling Fate! Into what land will my madness
cast me now? Where are my feet taking
me? Where is my voice being cast? Black
Fate! Black Fate, Black Fate, in what dark abyss
have you thrown me now?
Chorus:
In dreadful misery, Oedipus. Dreadful, unheard of,
never-seen-before, misery.
Oedipus:
Ah! What an unbearable pall of darkness! How
secretly, how wildly you fell upon me! How swiftly
the wind carried you about me! How this wound
of memory hurts both the mind and the flesh! Ah!
Chorus:
Such circumstances bring about double suffering,
double pain and double burdens!
1321
Oedipus: softly
You! You! You are still my trusted friend! The only
one! You still stand by me, me, a blind man, and
still you try to help me. Even in darkness, my
friend, I can still recognise your voice!
ACT THREE
Chorus:
What brutal courage you must have, Oedipus, to
erase the light from your own eyes! What God has
made you do it?
Enter Oedipus. Blood is still dripping from his eyes
and beard. His eyes are gouged out. He is bare
footed, his hair is long, sparse and almost white
and he is holding an old, shepherd’s crook instead
of his golden staff. His clothes are no more than
tattered hessian rags.
Oedipus:
Apollo did this my friends! Apollo! He is the one
who is sending me these foul pains. As for my
eyes, no one else has struck them. No one else
but me. What is the good of them now when I saw
no good with them before?
1297
Chorus:
Ah!
Ah!
Ah!
What a hideous sight! More frightening then all
the sights I’ve ever seen before.
Chorus:
True, my Lord. Things are as you say they are.
Chorus:
What frenzy took hold of you poor, luckless man?
What evil creature jumped so gruesomely upon
your sad Fate? Ahhhh! Poor man!
Oedipus:
What is there left for me to see, to love, to speak
with and to listen to, with joy? Come friends, take
me out of here, as quickly as possible. Take me,
the utter wretch, the worst cursed, the most hated
of all mortals.
1347
Chorus:
23
Ill-Fated man! Ill-Fated in mind and in flesh. How I
wish I had never met you!
Oedipus:
Curses to the man whoever it was, that man who
had saved me from the wild hooks on my feet,
who had saved me from the wilderness, from
those grazing lands, from death, only to give me
this detestable end. Had I died then, I would be no
burden of melancholy, now, neither to me nor to
my friends.
Chorus:
Yes, that would have been far better.
Oedipus:
I would not be my father’s killer then, nor would
those who gave birth to me would call me their
son.
So! Here I am, without a god, a son of sacrilege,
sharing the nuptial bed of my very own parents.
If there existed anything else, even more evil than
this, it, too, would strike Oedipus!
Chorus:
Yet, I can’t say what you did was wise,
Oedipus. Better to be dead, I should think, than to
be alive and blind.
1370
Oedipus:
No, old man! Do not preach me all that. Do not tell
me that what I did was wrong!
If I still had my eyes, old man, how could I face
Hades in the underworld? How could I face my
parents after what I had done to them both? For
such atrocious acts, suicide is too small a price to
pay.
And my children. Could I still have the yearning to
see my children, born as they have, in such an
unholy marriage?
No, such things are not for my eyes, old
man. No! I cannot face the city nor its high
towers, the sacred shrines of our gods –not even
them did I leave out of my curse, I the glorious
king, the king of Thebes, most repugnant of all
mortals!
Let the gods send this arrogant man away. They
have discovered him, this foul son of Laius’
generation.
1385
After all this, after all this vile discovery which I,
myself brought out to the brutal light of truth, how
can I stand before them and look at them with
clear eyes?
I cannot!
Even my ears! If there were some way by which I
could stop my ears, stop the wound which sounds
loud in my ears, I would not hesitate to do it.
Stop the ears! Stop the eyes! How sweet it would
be to shut them both from thoughts of disaster.
Sweet mountain, Kitheron! Why did you accept
me? Why not kill me at once? Why make me show
the world the womb from which I came?
Polybus! Corinth! Ancient palaces that would be
mine –what brilliant beauty!
Brilliant beauty but scarred by hidden wounds
beneath them. You raised me only to show me in
the end what a monstrous being I am!
That three-way crossing, where I spilled my
father’s blood –my blood, with my own hands;
young trees, you, whose thirst I quenched with
that blood, do you still remember what vile act I
had done back then? Do you also remember what
other vile acts I have done when I arrived here?
1405
One marriage after another! What marriage gives
forth a birth and out of that birth and inside the
same womb you sow another seed that brings out
into the light, fathers, brothers, children, mixed
blood, brides –wives and mothers all at once, all
the repulsive, shameful acts that shameful humans
can commit. One marriage, one bed brings out all
these odious deeds.
Still, one must not talk of things too foul for the
ear or for the hand.
Shouts and waves his hands about, hoping to touch
one of the men in the chorus. The Chorus moves
back in horror.
Come, then! For gods’ sake, take me out of this
city, take me, kill me, drown me, so you won’t ever
see me again.
Come!
Again he shouts and waves his hands about but the
chorus moves back.
Come, I ask you! Take my hand. Let this miserable
man hold onto one of you! Listen to me! Don’t be
afraid to touch me! No other man on earth can
carry the burdens I have carried.
Enter Creon. He is dressed in the same manner as
was Oedipus when he had first appeared on the
stage. Golden crown, golden staff and regal
manner.
1416
Chorus:
Here comes Creon. He is the only guard of our city
now and he’ll advise you on all your wishes.
Oedipus:
Creon? What words should I utter to him? How
could I justly demand his trust? I have done
nothing but act abominably towards him.
24
Creon:
I am not here to either condemn you, Oedipus, nor
search into your past errors.
To the chorus
You, men, even if you feel no shame for things that
humans do, respect the flame of the Sun God who
gives life to all things! Such pollution cannot
remain uncovered because neither the earth nor
the holy rain, nor the light will tolerate it. Quickly,
take him inside the palace. Let his relatives and
the relatives of them, see and hear his
suffering. That is their burden.
Oedipus:
By the gods, Creon, now that you have lessened
my fear and behaved so kindly towards me, me, a
most detestable man, please listen to me. I shall
speak for your own good, not mine.
1435
Creon:
Speak, Oedipus. Tell me your wish.
Oedipus:
Throw me out of this land quickly so that the eyes
of no other Theban will fall on me.
Creon:
I would have done so, let me tell you but I find it
necessary to seek the God’s advice on this matter.
Oedipus:
But his oracle is very clear, Creon. He said, “get rid
of the wound!” Get rid of me! Me, the fatherkiller! Me, the pestilence. Me the polluter!
Creon:
That is true but the need is now for me to find out
what I should do.
Oedipus:
So you will go to the god even for the sake of such
a miserable man?
Creon:
Surely you, too, must trust him now!
1446
Oedipus:
And I need to trust you to do one more thing for
me.
You take charge of the burial of the body
inside. She is your sister and it is proper that you
should do so in the manner you wish. As for me,
let me not stay in my father’s land now or ever
while I am still alive. Let me, instead, go and live on
the hills of Mount Kitheron, my own, true burial
ground where my parents left me where my
parents wanted me to die.
I know this well: I won’t be dying from some
illness or any other such thing. No, Fate wishes me
to die a horrible death somewhere.
Well then, let it be so. Let the Fate of my
generation take me where it will.
1460
And my boys, Creon. There is no need for you to
be concerned about them. They are men now and
they will be able to look after themselves. My
daughters, though! My little virgins. Poor little
things, they have never sat at the table without my
being there. My plate was always theirs. My
mouthful was theirs. They are truly worthy of
compassion. Show that compassion to them,
Creon. Bring them to me now that I may hold
them and cry!
Come, Creon, please bring them to me!
Creon waves at an attendant to open the side door
from which, very soon, two young girls come out,
guided by a female attendant. They are Antigone
and Ismene and they are sobbing softly.
Come now, kind Lord! I know that if my hands
touch them it will feel as if I can see them – as if I
still had eyes!
Ah! What is this I hear? Creon, are these my
darlings I hear sobbing? My Antigone and my
Ismene? Did you feel sorry for me, Creon? Sweet
children, is this true?
1476
Creon:
It is they. I knew they would bring you joy, just as
they always did.
Oedipus:
May Apollo reward you for this good deed,
Creon! May he look after you, guard you, better
than he did me.
Where are you my darlings? Come, come, my
dears! Come into these hands –your brother’s
hands now. The brother who tore your father’s
eyes out. Your father who knew nothing of what
he was doing, nothing about his own birth or
about his marriage or about your birth.
The children approach Oedipus and hold onto his
clothes.
I can’t see you and I mourn for you because I know
the bitter treatment the world will give you. I
know what sort of public gatherings, what sort of
celebrations you will attend, only to return home
with tears rather than joy! And then, when you
are at the right age for marriage, what man will be
brave enough to take upon himself the dangers
that come with such a shame and such a curse as
that of my generation?
What is missing in all this shame? Nothing! Your
father killed his father, married the woman who
gave birth to him and from that same woman he
25
brought about your birth! All this will be in the
mouths of all the people. Who then will marry
you? No one, my darlings and so, you will stay
unmarried and without children.
Creon, I beg you, their true parents are lost and
you are their only relative. Don’t let them suffer
the agony of the lost. Poor and unmarried,
wandering the world. Don’t let them suffer
because of me. Feel pity for them! Apart from you
they have no one.
Come, kind sir, accept them. Give me your hand
on it.
Creon shakes hands with Oedipus.
To you, my children, if you were a little older I
would have a great many more words of
explanation for you but as it is, I can only give you
my blessings.
Let Fate determine your life but let your life be
better than your father’s.
1515
Creon:
Enough tears now, come! Go back into the palace,
Oedipus!
Oedipus:
I obey, though with great sadness.
Creon:
What needs to be done must be done at the right
time.
Oedipus:
But I will agree on this, on one condition only
and… do you know what that is?
Creon:
Tell me and I will know.
Creon:
Walk ahead.
Oedipus moves and guides the girls with him but
Creon stops him
No, no! Leave the children here!
Oedipus:
No, don’t take them from me! Not for a moment!
Creon:
Enough now. Don’t ask for anything more. What
you’ve been given so far has been a big enough
burden to you.
Exit all except the chorus.
Chorus:
Citizens of my beloved Thebes! See now your
great Oedipus!
That famous man who knew the answers of great
riddles. That man whose good fortune every man
in Thebes envied! See now in what monstrous
storm of misfortune he has fallen.
Chorus:Indicating the stage and the play that was
just run
What says all this, then?
Chorus:
Let’s not praise a man for his good Fate unless he
has arrived at his final day having escaped bad
Fate.
Exit all
END OF SOPHOCLES’
“OEDIPUS REX”
Note: Readers might wish to also read Seneca’s
“Oedipus” Translated by F.J. Miller.
Oedipus:
You must send me out of the city!
Creon:
Your wishes can only be granted by Apollo.
Oedipus:
But the gods hate me!
Creon:
In that case, your wish will soon be granted.
Oedipus:
Is this true?
Creon:
I never speak idle words.
1520
Oedipus:
Take me away from here then.
26












Oedipus emerges from his palace at
Thebes. Outside are a priest and a crowd of
children. Oedipus is the King, in case you
didn’t get that from the title. Everyone else
is, in short, "suppliant."
Oedipus has heard rumors that a curse is
afflicting Thebes. After briefly congratulating
his own greatness, he asks the priest what’s
up.
The priest responds that basically everything
that could be wrong in the city is wrong:
crops are dying, cattle are dying, people are
dying, and there's generally low morale.
Because Oedipus is the boss man, the
priest asks him to please take care of this
mess.
We learn that Oedipus has saved the city
once before by lifting a curse put on it by the
Sphinx.
Oedipus reveals he already knew that the
city was in a bad state, so he sent his
brother-in-law, Creon, to Apollo (or at least
to Apollo’s oracle) to get more information.
In the midst of this conversation, Creon
returns with news from Apollo.
Creon tells Oedipus that Apollo told him that
in order to lift the curse on the city, the men
that murdered the city’s former king, Laius,
must be banished or killed.
Well, where was the criminal investigation
unit when the murder went down? Turns out
the Sphinx had previously warned against
inquiring into the murder. Talk about mixed
signals. So thus far, no one’s busted out the
cavalry to hunt the murderers down.
Oedipus repeatedly congratulates himself
and promises to deal with the murderers and
save the city.
Everyone exits except the Chorus, an everpresent group of wise and gossip-prone
observers. They, unfortunately, do not sing.
The Chorus then recounts the multiple
problems the city faces including infertility,
plague, famine and no one’s Xboxes are
working. The lamentation is split into two
voices, the "Strophe" and the "Antistrophe."













This is a Greek tool where the Chorus is
made up of two halves so it can sort of
converse with itself. Like a duet made of lots
of people. Anyway, the Chorus begs for
help.
Oedipus reenters and demands that anyone
with information about the former king's
murder speak up. He curses the murderer.
The Chorus responds that they know
nothing and suggest Oedipus ask the blind
prophet, Teiresias (which we think is a major
case of irony) for his knowledge.
Oedipus, ever-prepared, informs the Chorus
that, quite conveniently, Teiresias is already
on his way.
Teiresias shows up immediately.
Oedipus briefly explains to him the city’s
situation and Apollo’s advice. Then Oedipus
asks for help.
Teiresias says with great foreboding (and
foreshadowing), "You do NOT want to hear
what I have to say." Roughly speaking,
anyway. Teiresias continues to insist that it
is better for him to leave rather than speak.
Oedipus, however, demands that Teiresias
tell him what he knows.
Oedipus works himself into an angry rage
and then busts out an insult we think you
should add to your personal repertoire: "You
would provoke a stone!." Oh, diss.
Teiresias grumbles "fine" and reveals that
Oedipus himself was the one who killed the
former king.
Then Oedipus says, "What? I didn’t hear
you."
Teiresias tells him for the second time.
Most mysterious of all, according to
Teiresias, Oedipus is committing "the worst
of sins" with the people "he loves the most."
More foreshadowing. Teiresias tells Oedipus
that he is a threat to himself, in the "stop
asking questions" kind of way.
Oedipus responds that he thinks Teiresias
and Creon are simply framing him in order to
seize the throne. He then taunts Teiresias
about his blindness, which is not only
27









politically incorrect but makes him out to be
a total jerk.
The Chorus freaks out and tells the men
they aren’t solving anything by arguing. Let’s
just call them "reality-check Chorus."
Teiresias tells Oedipus he’s majorly, grossly
cursed and will end up blinded, poor, and
alone. This is the worst psychic reading
ever. He then casually mentions Oedipus’s
parents and informs Oedipus that he "shall
learn the secret" of his marriage.
Then, right before he leaves, he says (in
cryptic language) that Oedipus is married to
his mother. Well, he says that Oedipus is "a
son and husband both," which maybe isn’t
so cryptic after all, unless you’re Oedipus.
The Chorus talks about the fight between
Oedipus and Creon. The Strophe says
whoever he is, the murderer needs to get
out of Thebes, and fast. The Antistrophe
which, don’t forget, is made up of the city’s
citizens, declares that it can’t believe
Oedipus is at fault until they see the glove
on his hand, so to speak. Both halves of the
Chorus agree that they have no idea
whether or not to believe Teiresias.
Creon arrives, having overheard that
Oedipus accused him of conspiring to steal
the throne. Rumor, apparently, travels
almost as fast in Thebes as in high school.
Oedipus enters again and accuses Creon to
his face. Creon wants the opportunity to
respond, but Oedipus won’t shut up.
Finally, Creon gets a word in. He explains
that, as Oedipus’s brother-in-law, he has
everything he could want without any of the
stress of being in charge. Basically, no one
wants to shoot the Vice President. In ancient
Greece.
Oedipus continues to make accusations and
says he’ll have Creon killed.
Jocasta, Oedipus’s wife and Creon’s sister,
comes in. She is horrified at her husband
and brother’s fighting, and also at the death
threat.











Jocasta and the Chorus urge Oedipus to
listen to Creon’s honest appeals and spare
his life.
Creon storms off.
Jocasta asks Oedipus what’s going on. He
explains he’s been accused of killing Laius.
He leaves out the "you might be my Mom"
part.
Jocasta responds that such prophecies are
ridiculous. As an example, Jocasta says that
her son by Laius was prophesized to kill his
father, but that they killed the child as a baby
to prevent it. Plus, Laius was killed by
foreign highway robbers, none of which
could possibly have been his son.
Oedipus, hearing the story, flips out.
Suddenly, he worries that he might be the
murderer after all. He asks Jocasta lots of
questions about the murder’s whereabouts
and other details.
Confused, Jocasta reveals that one of
Laius’s servants survived the incident at the
crossroads.
Oedipus insists that the servant be
summoned for questioning.
Oedipus tells Jocasta that as a child, a man
once told him that his mother and father
were not his real parents. It was also
prophesized that he would kill his father and
sleep with his mother.
The plot is thickening considerably.
Oedipus also reveals that he killed several
men in a small incident at a crossroads.
Oops. He hopes to find out from the servant
whether the King’s murderers were many or
just one man. Oedipus utters the incredibly
wise statement, "One man can not be
many." Well, now we know why this guy is
king. In other words, he’s saying if it was a
sole murderer, that will confirm his guilt.
(You know, in case the repeated prophecies,
overwhelming evidence, and sinking
stomach feeling were not enough).
Jocasta reminds Oedipus that even if he did
kill Laius, he is not Laius’s son, since their
only child was killed.
28












The Chorus pleads with the gods for mercy.
Jocasta, completely frazzled, makes an
offering to the gods and prays for Oedipus to
keep his temper and wits.
The Chorus asks a lot of questions, mostly
revolving around the one big question of
"what is going on?"
Conveniently, a messenger shows up from
Corinth and informs Jocasta and Oedipus
that Oedipus’s father, the King of Corinth,
has died of natural causes. Jocasta
interprets the King’s natural death as proof
that the prophecy about Oedipus killing his
father was false. Phew.
Jocasta pulls an, "I was right and you were
wrong," and Oedipus is all, "Yeah, yeah, I
know."
Oedipus, however, is still worried about the
sleeping with his mother part of the
prophecy. Jocasta tells Oedipus that if he
just stops thinking about it, it will go away.
We wish this still worked today.
The messenger questions Oedipus about
the prophecy and his fears. The messenger
tells Oedipus that the King of Corinth
(Polybus) and his wife, Merope, were not
Oedipus’s real parents. Unable to have a
child themselves, they adopted Oedipus. Yet
another "uh-oh" moment.
Turns out, Oedipus (as an infant) was given
to the messenger with his feet pierced and
tied. This is apparently why he is named
"Oedipus," which means "screwed-up foot"
in Greek (roughly speaking).
The messenger got the infant Oedipus from
a shepherd who, conveniently, is still alive
and within bellowing distance of the rest of
our cast.
Jocasta urges quite energetically that
Oedipus drop the issue before he discovers
more than he bargained for.
Oedipus says, "No," and insists on his
talking to the shepherd.
Jocasta makes reference to seeing Oedipus
for the last time and runs off wailing.













Oedipus assumes she’s ashamed of his low
birth (since as an infant he was found in
some rather raggedy swaddling clothes) and
vows to set things right.
The old shepherd shows up.
Oedipus questions the old shepherd. Like
Teiresias, this guy refuses to speak.
Oedipus has his servants twist the old man’s
arms to try to force him to talk.
The man folds like a bad poker hand,
revealing that Jocasta was the mother of the
child that he discovered and gave to the
messenger. Jocasta wanted the child taken
away because it had been prophesized that
the boy would kill his father and sleep with
his mother.
FINALLY, Oedipus pieces things together
and realizes that Jocasta is his mother. As
predicted by the prophecy, he has slept with
his mother and killed his father.
Oedipus runs out, saying, quite eloquently,
"O, O, O."
The Chorus, expectedly, laments the
tragedy.
Another messenger arrives and announces
that Jocasta, disgusted with herself for
sleeping with her own son, has hung herself.
She’s dead.
Oedipus finds that he has lost both his wife
and mother. He very dramatically rushes to
her dead body, tears the broaches from her
dress (which have sharp, phallic pins on
them) and gouges out his eyes.
Oedipus staggers outside all bloody and
gross.
The Chorus is startled (understatement of
the year) and feels bad for him
(understatement of the century).
Oedipus explains that he gouged his eyes
out because there was no longer anything
pleasant for him to see. We’re just amazed
that the man can manage to stand around
and explain things at this point.
Oedipus asks the Chorus to help send him
out of Thebes or kill him. He wishes he had
died as a child.
29



Creon enters and Oedipus asks to be sent
away. Oedipus feels it is his fate to stay
alive so that he can suffer.
Oedipus asks Creon to take care of his
daughters, but not his sons because they
can take care of themselves.
Creon leads Oedipus out of the room while
Oedipus continues to beg for his exile.
30
Greek Theater
Greek theater was very different from what
we call theater today. It was, first of all, part
of a religious festival. To attend a
performance of one of these plays was an act
of worship, not entertainment or intellectual
pastime. But it is difficult for us to even begin
to understand this aspect of the Greek
theater, because the religion in question was
very different from modern religions. The god
celebrated by the performances of these plays
was Dionysus, a deity who lived in the wild
and was known for his subversive revelry. The
worship of Dionysus was associated with an
ecstasy that bordered on madness. Dionysus,
whose cult was that of drunkenness and
sexuality, little resembles modern images of
God.
A second way in which Greek theater was
different from modern theater is in its cultural
centrality: every citizen attended these plays.
Greek plays were put on at annual festivals (at
the beginning of spring, the season of
Dionysus), often for as many as 15,000
spectators at once. They dazzled viewers with
their special effects, singing, and dancing, as
well as with their beautiful language. At the
end of each year’s festivals, judges would vote
to decide which playwright’s play was the
best.
In these competitions, Sophocles was king. It
is thought that he won the first prize at the
Athenian festival eighteen times. Far from
being a tortured artist working at the fringes
of society, Sophocles was among the most
popular and well-respected men of his day.
Like most good Athenians, Sophocles was
involved with the political and military affairs
of Athenian democracy. He did stints as a city
treasurer and as a naval officer, and
throughout his life he was a close friend of the
foremost statesman of the day, Pericles. At
the same time, Sophocles wrote prolifically.
He is believed to have authored 123 plays,
only seven of which have survived.
Sophocles lived a long life, but not long
enough to witness the downfall of his Athens.
Toward the end of his life, Athens became
entangled in a war with other city-states
jealous of its prosperity and power, a war that
would end the glorious century during which
Sophocles lived. This political fall also marked
an artistic fall, for the unique art of Greek
theater began to fade and eventually died.
Since then, we have had nothing like it.
Nonetheless, we still try to read it, and we
often misunderstand it by thinking of it in
terms of the categories and assumptions of
our own arts. Greek theater still needs to be
read, but we must not forget that, because it
is so alien to us, reading these plays calls not
only for analysis, but also for imagination.
Oedipus the King
The story of Oedipus was well known to
Sophocles’ audience. Oedipus arrives at
Thebes a stranger and finds the town under
the curse of the Sphinx, who will not free the
city unless her riddle is answered. Oedipus
solves the riddle and, since the king has
recently been murdered, becomes the king
and marries the queen. In time, he comes to
learn that he is actually a Theban, the king’s
son, cast out of Thebes as a baby. He has
killed his father and married his mother.
Horrified, he blinds himself and leaves Thebes
forever.
The story was not invented by Sophocles.
Quite the opposite: the play’s most powerful
effects often depend on the fact that the
audience already knows the story. Since the
first performance of Oedipus Rex, the story
has fascinated critics just as it fascinated
Sophocles. Aristotle used this play and its plot
as the supreme example of tragedy. Sigmund
Freud famously based his theory of the
“Oedipal Complex” on this story, claiming that
every boy has a latent desire to kill his father
and sleep with his mother. The story of
Oedipus has given birth to innumerable
fascinating variations, but we should not
forget that this play is one of the variations,
31
not the original story itselfOedipus the King
Plot overview
A plague has stricken Thebes. The citizens
gather outside the palace of their king,
Oedipus, asking him to take action. Oedipus
replies that he already sent his brother-in-law,
Creon, to the oracle at Delphi to learn how to
help the city. Creon returns with a message
from the oracle: the plague will end when the
murderer of Laius, former king of Thebes, is
caught and expelled; the murderer is within
the city. Oedipus questions Creon about the
murder of Laius, who was killed by thieves on
his way to consult an oracle. Only one of his
fellow travelers escaped alive. Oedipus
promises to solve the mystery of Laius’s
death, vowing to curse and drive out the
murderer.
Oedipus sends for Tiresias, the blind prophet,
and asks him what he knows about the
murder. Tiresias responds cryptically,
lamenting his ability to see the truth when the
truth brings nothing but pain. At first he
refuses to tell Oedipus what he knows.
Oedipus curses and insults the old man, going
so far as to accuse him of the murder. These
taunts provoke Tiresias into revealing that
Oedipus himself is the murderer. Oedipus
naturally refuses to believe Tiresias’s
accusation. He accuses Creon and Tiresias of
conspiring against his life, and charges Tiresias
with insanity. He asks why Tiresias did nothing
when Thebes suffered under a plague once
before. At that time, a Sphinx held the city
captive and refused to leave until someone
answered her riddle. Oedipus brags that he
alone was able to solve the puzzle. Tiresias
defends his skills as a prophet, noting that
Oedipus’s parents found him trustworthy. At
this mention of his parents, Oedipus, who
grew up in the distant city of Corinth, asks
how Tiresias knew his parents. But Tiresias
answers enigmatically. Then, before leaving
the stage, Tiresias puts forth one last riddle,
saying that the murderer of Laius will turn out
to be both father and brother to his own
children, and the son of his own wife.
After Tiresias leaves, Oedipus threatens Creon
with death or exile for conspiring with the
prophet. Oedipus’s wife, Jocasta (also the
widow of King Laius), enters and asks why the
men shout at one another. Oedipus explains
to Jocasta that the prophet has charged him
with Laius’s murder, and Jocasta replies that
all prophecies are false. As proof, she notes
that the Delphic oracle once told Laius he
would be murdered by his son, when in fact
his son was cast out of Thebes as a baby, and
Laius was murdered by a band of thieves. Her
description of Laius’s murder, however,
sounds familiar to Oedipus, and he asks
further questions. Jocasta tells him that Laius
was killed at a three-way crossroads, just
before Oedipus arrived in Thebes. Oedipus,
stunned, tells his wife that he may be the one
who murdered Laius. He tells Jocasta that,
long ago, when he was the prince of Corinth,
he overheard someone mention at a banquet
that he was not really the son of the king and
queen. He therefore traveled to the oracle of
Delphi, who did not answer him but did tell
him he would murder his father and sleep
with his mother. Hearing this, Oedipus fled his
home, never to return. It was then, on the
journey that would take him to Thebes, that
Oedipus was confronted and harassed by a
group of travelers, whom he killed in selfdefense. This skirmish occurred at the very
crossroads where Laius was killed.
Oedipus sends for the man who survived the
attack, a shepherd, in the hope that he will
not be identified as the murderer. Outside the
palace, a messenger approaches Jocasta and
tells her that he has come from Corinth to
inform Oedipus that his father, Polybus, is
dead, and that Corinth has asked Oedipus to
come and rule there in his place. Jocasta
rejoices, convinced that Polybus’s death from
natural causes has disproved the prophecy
that Oedipus would murder his father. At
Jocasta’s summons, Oedipus comes outside,
hears the news, and rejoices with her. He now
feels much more inclined to agree with the
queen in deeming prophecies worthless and
32
viewing chance as the principle governing the
world. But while Oedipus finds great comfort
in the fact that one-half of the prophecy has
been disproved, he still fears the other half—
the half that claimed he would sleep with his
mother.
The messenger remarks that Oedipus need
not worry, because Polybus and his wife,
Merope, are not Oedipus’s biological parents.
The messenger, a shepherd by profession,
knows firsthand that Oedipus came to Corinth
as an orphan. One day long ago, he was
tending his sheep when another shepherd
approached him carrying a baby, its ankles
pinned together. The messenger took the
baby to the royal family of Corinth, and they
raised him as their own. That baby was
Oedipus. Oedipus asks who the other
shepherd was, and the messenger answers
that he was a servant of Laius.
Oedipus asks that this shepherd be brought
forth to testify, but Jocasta, beginning to
suspect the truth, begs her husband not to
seek more information. She runs back into the
palace. The shepherd then enters. Oedipus
interrogates him, asking who gave him the
baby. The shepherd refuses to disclose
anything, and Oedipus threatens him with
torture. Finally, he answers that the child
came from the house of Laius. Questioned
further, he answers that the baby was in fact
the child of Laius himself, and that it was
Jocasta who gave him the infant, ordering him
to kill it, as it had been prophesied that the
child would kill his parents. But the shepherd
pitied the child, and decided that the
prophecy could be avoided just as well if the
child were to grow up in a foreign city, far
from his true parents. The shepherd therefore
passed the boy on to the shepherd in Corinth.
Realizing who he is and who his parents are,
Oedipus screams that he sees the truth and
flees back into the palace. The shepherd and
the messenger slowly exit the stage. A second
messenger enters and describes scenes of
suffering. Jocasta has hanged herself, and
Oedipus, finding her dead, has pulled the pins
from her robe and stabbed out his own eyes.
Oedipus now emerges from the palace,
bleeding and begging to be exiled. He asks
Creon to send him away from Thebes and to
look after his daughters, Antigone and
Ismene. Creon, covetous of royal power, is all
too happy to oblige.
Oedipus
Oedipus is a man of swift action and great
insight. At the opening of Oedipus the King,
we see that these qualities make him an
excellent ruler who anticipates his subjects’
needs. When the citizens of Thebes beg him
to do something about the plague, for
example, Oedipus is one step ahead of
them—he has already sent Creon to the
oracle at Delphi for advice. But later, we see
that Oedipus’s habit of acting swiftly has a
dangerous side. When he tells the story of
killing the band of travelers who attempted to
shove him off the three-way crossroads,
Oedipus shows that he has the capacity to
behave rashly.
At the beginning of Oedipus the King, Oedipus
is hugely confident, and with good reason. He
has saved Thebes from the curse of the Sphinx
and become king virtually overnight. He
proclaims his name proudly as though it were
itself a healing charm: “Here I am myself— /
you all know me, the world knows my fame: /
I am Oedipus” (7–9). By the end of this
tragedy, however, Oedipus’s name will have
become a curse, so much so that, in Oedipus
at Colonus, the Leader of the Chorus is
terrified even to hear it and cries: “You, you’re
that man?” (238).
Oedipus’s swiftness and confidence continue
to the very end of Oedipus the King. We see
him interrogate Creon, call for Tiresias,
threaten to banish Tiresias and Creon, call for
the servant who escaped the attack on Laius,
call for the shepherd who brought him to
Corinth, rush into the palace to stab out his
own eyes, and then demand to be exiled. He
is constantly in motion, seemingly trying to
33
keep pace with his fate, even as it goes well
beyond his reach.
Creon
Creon spends more time onstage in these
three plays than any other character except
the Chorus. His presence is so constant and
his words so crucial to many parts of the plays
that he cannot be dismissed as simply the
bureaucratic fool he sometimes seems to be.
Rather, he represents the very real power of
human law and of the human need for an
orderly, stable society. When we first see
Creon in Oedipus the King, Creon is shown to
be separate from the citizens of Thebes. He
tells Oedipus that he has brought news from
the oracle and suggests that Oedipus hear it
inside. Creon has the secretive, businesslike
air of a politician, which stands in sharp
contrast to Oedipus, who tells him to speak
out in front of everybody. While Oedipus
insists on hearing Creon’s news in public and
builds his power as a political leader by
espousing a rhetoric of openness, Creon is a
master of manipulation. While Oedipus is
intent on saying what he means and on
hearing the truth—even when Jocasta begs
and pleads with him not to—Creon is happy
to dissemble and equivocate.
At lines 651–690, Creon argues that he has no
desire to usurp Oedipus as king because he,
Jocasta, and Oedipus rule the kingdom with
equal power—Oedipus is merely the king in
name. This argument may seem convincing,
partly because at this moment in the play we
are disposed to be sympathetic toward Creon,
since Oedipus has just ordered Creon’s
banishment. In response to Oedipus’s
hotheaded foolishness, Creon sounds like the
voice of reason. Only in the final scene of
Oedipus the King, when Creon’s short lines
demonstrate his eagerness to exile Oedipus
and separate him from his children, do we see
that the title of king is what Creon desires
above all.
The Chorus
The Chorus reacts to events as they happen,
generally in a predictable, though not
consistent, way. It generally expresses a
longing for calm and stability. For example, in
Oedipus the King, it asks Oedipus not to
banish Creon (725–733); fearing a curse, it
attempts to send Oedipus out of Colonus in
Oedipus at Colonus (242–251); and it
questions the wisdom of Antigone’s actions in
Antigone (909–962). In moments like these,
the Chorus seeks to maintain the status quo,
which is generally seen to be the wrong thing.
The Chorus is not cowardly so much as
nervous and complacent—above all, it hopes
to prevent upheaval.
The Chorus is given the last word in each of
the three Theban plays, and perhaps the best
way of understanding the different ways in
which the Chorus can work is to look at each
of these three speeches briefly. At the end of
Oedipus the King, the Chorus conflates the
people of “Thebes” with the audience in the
theater. The message of the play, delivered
directly to that audience, is one of complete
despair: “count no man happy till he dies, free
of pain at last” (1684). Because the Chorus,
and not one of the individual characters,
delivers this message, the play ends by giving
the audience a false sense of closure. That is,
the Chorus makes it sound like Oedipus is
dead, and their final line suggests there might
be some relief. But the audience must
immediately realize, of course, that Oedipus is
not dead. He wanders, blind and miserable,
somewhere outside of Thebes. The audience,
like Oedipus, does not know what the future
holds in store. The play’s ability to
universalize, to make the audience feel
implicated in the emotions of the Chorus as
well as those of the protagonist, is what
makes it a particularly harrowing tragedy, an
archetypal story in Western culture.
Themes
Themes are the fundamental and often
universal ideas explored in a literary work.
The Power of Unwritten Law
34
After defeating Polynices and taking the
throne of Thebes, Creon commands that
Polynices be left to rot unburied, his flesh
eaten by dogs and birds, creating an
“obscenity” for everyone to see (Antigone,
231). Creon thinks that he is justified in his
treatment of Polynices because the latter was
a traitor, an enemy of the state, and the
security of the state makes all of human life—
including family life and religion—possible.
Therefore, to Creon’s way of thinking, the
good of the state comes before all other
duties and values. However, the subsequent
events of the play demonstrate that some
duties are more fundamental than the state
and its laws. The duty to bury the dead is part
of what it means to be human, not part of
what it means to be a citizen. That is why
Polynices’ rotting body is an “obscenity”
rather than a crime. Moral duties—such as
the duties owed to the dead—make up the
body of unwritten law and tradition, the law
to which Antigone appeals.
The Willingness to Ignore the Truth
When Oedipus and Jocasta begin to get close
to the truth about Laius’s murder, in Oedipus
the King, Oedipus fastens onto a detail in the
hope of exonerating himself. Jocasta says that
she was told that Laius was killed by
“strangers,” whereas Oedipus knows that he
acted alone when he killed a man in similar
circumstances. This is an extraordinary
moment because it calls into question the
entire truth-seeking process Oedipus believes
himself to be undertaking. Both Oedipus and
Jocasta act as though the servant’s story, once
spoken, is irrefutable history. Neither can face
the possibility of what it would mean if the
servant were wrong. This is perhaps why
Jocasta feels she can tell Oedipus of the
prophecy that her son would kill his father,
and Oedipus can tell her about the similar
prophecy given him by an oracle (867–875),
and neither feels compelled to remark on the
coincidence; or why Oedipus can hear the
story of Jocasta binding her child’s ankles
(780–781) and not think of his own swollen
feet. While the information in these speeches
is largely intended to make the audience
painfully aware of the tragic irony, it also
emphasizes just how desperately Oedipus and
Jocasta do not want to speak the obvious
truth: they look at the circumstances and
details of everyday life and pretend not to see
them.
The Limits of Free Will
Prophecy is a central part of Oedipus the King.
The play begins with Creon’s return from the
oracle at Delphi, where he has learned that
the plague will be lifted if Thebes banishes the
man who killed Laius. Tiresias prophesies the
capture of one who is both father and brother
to his own children. Oedipus tells Jocasta of a
prophecy he heard as a youth, that he would
kill his father and sleep with his mother, and
Jocasta tells Oedipus of a similar prophecy
given to Laius, that her son would grow up to
kill his father. Oedipus and Jocasta debate the
extent to which prophecies should be trusted
at all, and when all of the prophecies come
true, it appears that one of Sophocles’ aims is
to justify the powers of the gods and
prophets, which had recently come under
attack in fifth-century b.c. Athens.
Sophocles’ audience would, of course, have
known the story of Oedipus, which only
increases the sense of complete inevitability
about how the play would end. It is difficult to
say how justly one can accuse Oedipus of
being “blind” or foolish when he seems to
have no choice about fulfilling the prophecy:
he is sent away from Thebes as a baby and by
a remarkable coincidence saved and raised as
a prince in Corinth. Hearing that he is fated to
kill his father, he flees Corinth and, by a still
more remarkable coincidence, ends up back in
Thebes, now king and husband in his actual
father’s place. Oedipus seems only to desire
to flee his fate, but his fate continually
catches up with him. Many people have tried
to argue that Oedipus brings about his
35
catastrophe because of a “tragic flaw,” but
nobody has managed to create a consensus
about what Oedipus’s flaw actually is. Perhaps
his story is meant to show that error and
disaster can happen to anyone, that human
beings are relatively powerless before fate or
the gods, and that a cautious humility is the
best attitude toward life.
Sight and Blindness
References to eyesight and vision, both literal
and metaphorical, are very frequent in all
three of the Theban plays. Quite often, the
image of clear vision is used as a metaphor for
knowledge and insight. In fact, this metaphor
is so much a part of the Greek way of thinking
that it is almost not a metaphor at all, just as
in modern English: to say “I see the truth” or
“I see the way things are” is a perfectly
ordinary use of language. However, the
references to eyesight and insight in these
plays form a meaningful pattern in
combination with the references to literal and
metaphorical blindness. Oedipus is famed for
his clear-sightedness and quick
comprehension, but he discovers that he has
been blind to the truth for many years, and
then he blinds himself so as not to have to
look on his own children/siblings. Creon is
prone to a similar blindness to the truth in
Antigone. Though blind, the aging Oedipus
finally acquires a limited prophetic vision.
Tiresias is blind, yet he sees farther than
others. Overall, the plays seem to say that
human beings can demonstrate remarkable
powers of intellectual penetration and insight,
and that they have a great capacity for
knowledge, but that even the smartest human
being is liable to error, that the human
capability for knowledge is ultimately quite
limited and unreliable.
contents
sparThemes, Motifs & Sy
Themes are the fundamental and often
universal ideas explored in a literary work.
The Power of Unwritten Law
After defeating Polynices and taking the
throne of Thebes, Creon commands that
Polynices be left to rot unburied, his flesh
eaten by dogs and birds, creating an
“obscenity” for everyone to see (Antigone,
231). Creon thinks that he is justified in his
treatment of Polynices because the latter was
a traitor, an enemy of the state, and the
security of the state makes all of human life—
including family life and religion—possible.
Therefore, to Creon’s way of thinking, the
good of the state comes before all other
duties and values. However, the subsequent
events of the play demonstrate that some
duties are more fundamental than the state
and its laws. The duty to bury the dead is part
of what it means to be human, not part of
what it means to be a citizen. That is why
Polynices’ rotting body is an “obscenity”
rather than a crime. Moral duties—such as
the duties owed to the dead—make up the
body of unwritten law and tradition, the law
to which Antigone appeals.
The Willingness to Ignore the Truth
When Oedipus and Jocasta begin to get close
to the truth about Laius’s murder, in Oedipus
the King, Oedipus fastens onto a detail in the
hope of exonerating himself. Jocasta says that
she was told that Laius was killed by
“strangers,” whereas Oedipus knows that he
acted alone when he killed a man in similar
circumstances. This is an extraordinary
moment because it calls into question the
entire truth-seeking process Oedipus believes
himself to be undertaking. Both Oedipus and
Jocasta act as though the servant’s story, once
spoken, is irrefutable history. Neither can face
the possibility of what it would mean if the
servant were wrong. This is perhaps why
Jocasta feels she can tell Oedipus of the
prophecy that her son would kill his father,
and Oedipus can tell her about the similar
prophecy given him by an oracle (867–875),
36
and neither feels compelled to remark on the
coincidence; or why Oedipus can hear the
story of Jocasta binding her child’s ankles
(780–781) and not think of his own swollen
feet. While the information in these speeches
is largely intended to make the audience
painfully aware of the tragic irony, it also
emphasizes just how desperately Oedipus and
Jocasta do not want to speak the obvious
truth: they look at the circumstances and
details of everyday life and pretend not to see
them.
The Limits of Free Will
Prophecy is a central part of Oedipus the King.
The play begins with Creon’s return from the
oracle at Delphi, where he has learned that
the plague will be lifted if Thebes banishes the
man who killed Laius. Tiresias prophesies the
capture of one who is both father and brother
to his own children. Oedipus tells Jocasta of a
prophecy he heard as a youth, that he would
kill his father and sleep with his mother, and
Jocasta tells Oedipus of a similar prophecy
given to Laius, that her son would grow up to
kill his father. Oedipus and Jocasta debate the
extent to which prophecies should be trusted
at all, and when all of the prophecies come
true, it appears that one of Sophocles’ aims is
to justify the powers of the gods and
prophets, which had recently come under
attack in fifth-century b.c. Athens.
Sophocles’ audience would, of course, have
known the story of Oedipus, which only
increases the sense of complete inevitability
about how the play would end. It is difficult to
say how justly one can accuse Oedipus of
being “blind” or foolish when he seems to
have no choice about fulfilling the prophecy:
he is sent away from Thebes as a baby and by
a remarkable coincidence saved and raised as
a prince in Corinth. Hearing that he is fated to
kill his father, he flees Corinth and, by a still
more remarkable coincidence, ends up back in
Thebes, now king and husband in his actual
father’s place. Oedipus seems only to desire
to flee his fate, but his fate continually
catches up with him. Many people have tried
to argue that Oedipus brings about his
catastrophe because of a “tragic flaw,” but
nobody has managed to create a consensus
about what Oedipus’s flaw actually is. Perhaps
his story is meant to show that error and
disaster can happen to anyone, that human
beings are relatively powerless before fate or
the gods, and that a cautious humility is the
best attitude toward life.
Motifs
Motifs are recurring structures, contrasts, and
literary devices that can help to develop and
inform the text’s major themes.
Suicide
Almost every character who dies in the three
Theban plays does so at his or her own hand
(or own will, as is the case in Oedipus at
Colonus). Jocasta hangs herself in Oedipus the
King and Antigone hangs herself in Antigone.
Eurydice and Haemon stab themselves at the
end of Antigone. Oedipus inflicts horrible
violence on himself at the end of his first play,
and willingly goes to his own mysterious
death at the end of his second. Polynices and
Eteocles die in battle with one another, and it
could be argued that Polynices’ death at least
is self-inflicted in that he has heard his
father’s curse and knows that his cause is
doomed. Incest motivates or indirectly brings
about all of the deaths in these plays.
Sight and Blindness
References to eyesight and vision, both literal
and metaphorical, are very frequent in all
three of the Theban plays. Quite often, the
image of clear vision is used as a metaphor for
knowledge and insight. In fact, this metaphor
is so much a part of the Greek way of thinking
that it is almost not a metaphor at all, just as
in modern English: to say “I see the truth” or
“I see the way things are” is a perfectly
ordinary use of language. However, the
references to eyesight and insight in these
plays form a meaningful pattern in
37
combination with the references to literal and
metaphorical blindness. Oedipus is famed for
his clear-sightedness and quick
comprehension, but he discovers that he has
been blind to the truth for many years, and
then he blinds himself so as not to have to
look on his own children/siblings. Creon is
prone to a similar blindness to the truth in
Antigone. Though blind, the aging Oedipus
finally acquires a limited prophetic vision.
Tiresias is blind, yet he sees farther than
others. Overall, the plays seem to say that
human beings can demonstrate remarkable
powers of intellectual penetration and insight,
and that they have a great capacity for
knowledge, but that even the smartest human
being is liable to error, that the human
capability for knowledge is ultimately quite
limited and unreliable.
Graves and
The plots of Antigone and Oedipus at Colonus
both revolve around burials, and beliefs about
burial are important in Oedipus the King as
well. Polynices is kept above ground after his
death, denied a grave, and his rotting body
offends the gods, his relatives, and ancient
traditions. Antigone is entombed alive, to the
horror of everyone who watches. At the end
of Oedipus the King, Oedipus cannot remain in
Thebes or be buried within its territory,
because his very person is polluted and
offensive to the sight of gods and men.
Nevertheless, his choice, in Oedipus at
Colonus, to be buried at Colonus confers a
great and mystical gift on all of Athens,
promising that nation victory over future
attackers. In Ancient Greece, traitors and
people who murder their own relatives could
not be buried within their city’s territory, but
their relatives still had an obligation to bury
them. As one of the basic, inescapable duties
that people owe their relatives, burials
represent the obligations that come from
kinship, as well as the conflicts that can arise
between one’s duty to family and to the citystate.
Symbols
Symbols are objects, characters, figures, and
colors used to represent abstract ideas or
concepts.
Oedipus’s Swollen Foot
Oedipus gets his name, as the Corinthian
messenger tells us in Oedipus the King, from
the fact that he was left in the mountains with
his ankles pinned together. Jocasta explains
that Laius abandoned him in this state on a
barren mountain shortly after he was born.
The injury leaves Oedipus with a vivid scar for
the rest of his life. Oedipus’s injury symbolizes
the way in which fate has marked him and set
him apart. It also symbolizes the way his
movements have been confined and
constrained since birth, by Apollo’s prophecy
to Laius.
The Three-way Crossroads
In Oedipus the King, Jocasta says that Laius
was slain at a place where three roads meet.
This crossroads is referred to a number of
times during the play, and it symbolizes the
crucial moment, long before the events of the
play, when Oedipus began to fulfill the
dreadful prophecy that he would murder his
father and marry his mother. A crossroads is a
place where a choice has to be made, so
crossroads usually symbolize moments where
decisions will have important consequences
but where different choices are still possible.
In Oedipus the King, the crossroads is part of
the distant past, dimly remembered, and
Oedipus was not aware at the time that he
was making a fateful decision. In this play, the
crossroads symbolizes fate and the awesome
power of prophecy rather than freedom and
choice.
38
39
How It All Goes Down
Welcome to Elsinore, Denmark, land of the
recently deceased King who likes to chill out
in ghost form at night on the castle
battlements. This has put the castle guards a
little on edge so, they call in Horatio, a
college pal of Prince Hamlet (son of the
deceased King), who confirms that, yep,
there's a ghost on the battlements alright,
and it looks a lot like the dead king. This can't
be a good thing, especially since Denmark's
about to go to war with Norway. (Norway's
Prince Fortinbras Junior wants to reclaim the
lands his deceased father lost in a bet to Old
Hamlet, Denmark's now deceased King.)
Back at the palace, we meet the new King
Claudius, brother to the dead King and new
husband of Queen Gertrude. (Yes, that's
right, she’s now married to her ex-brotherin-law, which makes Claudius Hamlet's
uncle/stepfather.) Claudius takes pains to
avoid war with Norway, and then deals with
his new stepson. Lately, Hamlet's been
wearing this all black get-up and he's been
acting moody, mostly because his mother
(Gertrude) waited about two seconds to get
married after his father died. In fact, Hamlet
complains that the cookies and punch left
over from his father's funeral were served at
his mother's wedding. The King and Queen
tell him to cool it with the moping –
everybody has to die someday. After the
family get-together, Hamlet says he wishes
his flesh would "melt" and then Horatio
shows up and tells him about the ghost,
which Hamlet wants to see ASAP.
We also learn that Ophelia's got a romantic
thing going on with Hamlet. Her brother,
Laertes, tells her to drop Hamlet like a bad
habit because Hamlet's only trying to sleep
with her. Besides, Hamlet's a prince and so
out of her league. Ophelia reminds her big
brother that he's got no room to talk and
then Polonius shows up and wants to know
what his kids are talking about. Dad concurs
with Laertes's remarks and tells Ophelia to
let things cool off with Hamlet. Being an
obedient daughter, Ophelia agrees
Meanwhile, on the battlements, Hamlet
confers with the ghost, who claims to be his
father's spirit. At first, Hamlet's not sure
what to think. Is it a friendly ghost or, is it a
demon from hell? After the ghost tells
Hamlet that Claudius is the man who
murdered his father by pouring poison in his
ear while he (Old Hamlet) was snoozing in his
garden, young Hamlet thinks the ghost is
probably telling the truth. The ghost of the
King orders Hamlet to "remember" him by
seeking revenge. Alright. Game on. Hamlet
tells his pals not to worry if he starts to act a
little crazy – he's got a master plan that
involves him putting on an "antic
disposition" (acting like a madman or, a
clown). Note: It's not exactly clear why
Hamlet decides to put on an "antic
disposition." To avoid murdering Claudius?
To buy some time so he can figure out if the
ghost is telling the truth? What do you think?
The next time we hear about Hamlet,
Ophelia declares that Hamlet is crazy.
Apparently, he showed up in her room
looking disheveled and out of it. Polonius
brings the news to the King, and they decide
to spy on the youngsters to figure out if
Ophelia is the source of Hamlet's "madness."
Meanwhile, some Danish ambassadors
return from Norway with the good news that
there will be no war after all – young
Fortinbras has been put in check by his uncle,
the new King of Norway.
We then witness a humorous interlude with
Hamlet and Polonius, during which the
Prince plays the part of an "antic" and mocks
the courtier for being old and foolish.
Polonius, of course, believes Hamlet has lost
his mind.
Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, two
childhood pals of Hamlet and Horatio. The
40
King and Queen have called them to Elsinore
to spy on Hamlet and find out why he's gone
mad. While the duo fails to do this, some
players (actors) come into town. Hamlet asks
them to give a speech about Hecuba and
then Hamlet berates himself for being unable
to kill Claudius and avenge his father's death.
Hamlet decides to set up a play, The Murder
of Gonzago (also called The Mousetrap) in
which a king is murdered in the same way
Claudius murdered Hamlet's father (by
pouring poison in the ear). This way, when
the royal court watches it, Hamlet can gauge
Claudius's reaction and discern whether or
not his father's ghost was telling the truth.
Claudius confers with Rosencrantz and
Guildenstern and finds out that they haven't
discovered the source of Hamlet's odd
behavior. Gertrude says she hopes Ophelia's
beauty is the source of his madness.
Everyone leaves while Hamlet delivers the
big "to be or not to be" speech in which he
thinks about the pros and cons of suicide and
decides that most people don't commit
suicide because they don't know what death
will be like –it's an "undiscovered country."
Then Hamlet meets up with Ophelia, where
he acts crazy and cruel, possibly because he
knows Polonius is spying on them the whole
time. Hamlet accuses all women of being
dishonest and says to Ophelia "get thee to a
nunnery," which is Elizabethan slang for "go
back to your brothel."
Hamlet asks Horatio to help him watch
Claudius during his play's performance.
When the murder scene plays, Claudius does
all but stand up and shout that he's guilty.
That takes care of that, and Hamlet is
convinced that his stepfather/uncle is guilty
of the crime. Hamlet is livid and later tries to
kill Claudius. Unfortunately, Hamlet finds
Claudius praying. Hamlet, sneaking up
behind him, decides killing a man while he's
praying is not only dishonorable, but will get
Claudius a ticket to Heaven, which the guy
doesn't deserve.
In Gertrude's room, Polonius tells her she
should have a conversation with Hamlet and
try to figure out what's up, since no one else
has been able to do so. He'll hide behind a
curtain and listen in. Hamlet enters and
berates his mother for so quickly marrying
Claudius after her first husband's death.
Gertrude gets scared and calls out for help.
Polonius shouts back and Hamlet, thinking
the man behind the curtain is Claudius
(maybe), stabs Polonius in the guts. Polonius
dies. When Hamlet realizes his mistake, his
reaction is something like this: "Whoops. I
thought that was your husband/brother-inlaw behind the screen. But that's nothing
compared to what you've done, Mom. Incest
is so much worse than murder."
When Gertrude tells Claudius her son has
indeed gone mad (she conveniently leaves
out the part about Hamlet accusing him of
murdering the old king) Claudius has
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern fetch the
Prince and accompany him to England,
where Hamlet will be out of the way. On the
way to England, Hamlet looks ashore from
his ship and sees Prince Fortinbras of Norway
marching across the land to fight for some
lost territories. He thinks Fortinbras's war is
petty but he is inspired to action and decides
he needs to go back to Denmark and finish
what he didn't start, namely, the killing of
Claudius.
Back at the castle, Ophelia has cracked and
gone mad. She wanders around the castle
singing strange and bawdy songs, which
makes everyone uncomfortable. Meanwhile,
Laertes has returned home from France to
avenge father's death and is enraged at the
sight of his sister. Claudius calms him down
by explaining that Hamlet killed Polonius,
and together they can get back at the Prince
by staging a "friendly" duel in which they can
treacherously kill the Prince. The plan:
Laertes will use a sharpened sword (as
opposed to the standard blunted sword used
41
for friendly dueling), the sword will also be
poisoned (just in case), and just to be safe,
Claudius will get Hamlet to drink from a
poisoned goblet of wine.
The next thing we know, Ophelia has
committed suicide or, has drowned by
accident; it's unclear because it happens offstage and we hear about it from Gertrude,
who may or may not have been an
eyewitness. But, since everyone thinks
Ophelia committed suicide, she gets a
shoddy burial, as suicide was considered a
terrible sin. Hamlet, who doesn't know
what's happened, is hanging out in the
graveyard playing with skulls and
contemplating death when Ophelia's funeral
begins. At the funeral, there's more talk
about Ophelia's "purity" and Laertes jumps
into Ophelia's grave to hold her one last
time. Hamlet runs over and seems pretty
distressed – he argues with Laertes over who
loved Ophelia the most.
Just as we are wondering what happened on
the boat to England, how Hamlet got back,
and where Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
have gone, Hamlet gets Horatio up to speed.
On the boat to England, Hamlet opened the
letter that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
were carrying and found that it carried
instructions to have him (Hamlet) killed.
Naturally, Hamlet altered the letter to say
"Please kill Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,
thanks," and escaped on a pirate ship back to
Denmark.
Onto the last scene: put your rain gear on
because it's gonna be a bloodbath. During
the friendly duel between Hamlet and
Laertes, everything goes according to
Claudius's evil plan until, uh oh, Gertrude
drinks the poisoned wine. (Was it an
accident? Or, did she subconsciously do it to
save her son? It's not entirely clear.)
Meanwhile, Laertes cuts Hamlet with the
poisoned sword, and Hamlet, ending up with
Laertes's sword, wounds him back. All three
have fallen to the floor by now. Before the
end of the play, one more person gets killed.
Before he dies, Laertes yells out, "It's all
Claudius's fault!" So, Hamlet stabs Claudius
with the poisoned sword and makes him
drink the poisoned wine. Bloodbath
complete. Horatio's feeling left out and
wants to kill himself too but Hamlet instructs
him that it's his job to tell Hamlet's story.
While most characters are dying and/or
dead, Fortinbras of Norway walks in, steps
over the blood and guts and bodies strewn
out all over the floor, and then helps himself
to the Danish throne. Horatio and Fortinbras
decide to put all the dead bodies up on a
"stage" for people to look at while Horatio
tells Hamlet's story.
Hamlet Theme of Madness
Madness – both real and feigned – is at the
heart of the play. Hamlet's "antic
disposition" has famously sparked a scholarly
debate: Does Hamlet truly go "mad" or is it
all an act? An impossible mystery, it's one of
many unanswered questions raised by the
play. Nevertheless, the complexity and sheer
ambiguity of Hamlet's mental state and
erratic behavior is compelling and seems to
speak to the play's overall atmosphere of
uncertainty and doubt. Ophelia's clear
descent into madness (and subsequent
drowning) is somewhat of a different issue.
Critics tend to agree that Ophelia seemingly
cracks under the strain of Hamlet's abuse
and the weight of patriarchal forces, which
has important implications for the play's
portrayal of "Gender" and "Sex."
Hamlet Theme of Revenge
Hamlet gears up to be a traditional bloody
revenge play – and then it stops. The bulk of
the play deals not with Hamlet's ultimately
successful vengeance on his father's
murderer, but with Hamlet's inner struggle
to take action. The play concludes with a
bloodbath that's typical of revenge tragedy,
but Hamlet's infamous delay sets it apart
from anything that's come before it. Hamlet
42
is also notable for the way it weaves
together three revenge plots, all of which
involve sons seeking vengeance for their
fathers' murders. Ultimately, the play calls
into question the validity and usefulness of
revenge.
Hamlet Theme of Lies and Deceit
Hamlet, more than almost any character in
literature, hates deception and craves
honesty. It is one of the brilliant ironies of
the play that Hamlet, an absolutist in his
quest for truth, is trapped in a seamy
political world where deception is a
necessary part of life and political "spin"
rules the day. This contrast, fascinating to
the audience, is a torment to Hamlet.
Deception is necessary for and used by every
character in Hamlet, for every purpose
ranging from love to parenting to regicide.
Questions About Lies and Deceit
1. What is Hamlet's stance towards
deception or "seeming?" Does he
provide any explanation as to why he
is so disgusted by these things? Are
we supposed to share his opinion?
2. How do characters other than
Hamlet discuss deception?
3. Who in the play engages in some
kind of deception or deceit? Which
characters avoid deception
completely?
4. Does Hamlet himself avoid
deception? Is he a hypocrite?
5. Polonius says, "To thine own self be
true / and it must follow, as the night
the day / Thou canst not then be
false to any man." Is this evaluation
of truth and deception backed up by
the play? Does Polonius follow his
own advice? Does anyone follow it?
Chew on This
Try on an opinion or two, start a debate, or
play the devil’s advocate.
Hamlet is miserable in Denmark not just
because of his father's death, but because he
craves honesty while everyone else around
him is engaged in deception and
manipulation.
There is justice in Hamlet because every
character that practices deception is
ultimately punished for doing so, often by his
own form of treachery.
Hamlet Lies and Deceit Quotes
How we cite the quotes:
Citations follow this format: (Act.Scene.Line).
Line numbers correspond to the Norton
edition.
QUEEN GERTRUDE
Why seems it so particular with thee?
HAMLET
Seems, madam! nay it is; I know not
'seems.'
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage,
Together with all forms, moods, shapes of
grief,
That can denote me truly: these indeed
seem,
For they are actions that a man might
play:
But I have that within which passeth
show;
These but the trappings and the suits of
woe.
(1.2.2)
From his very first scene, Hamlet sets himself
up as someone who hates deception and
values inner truth above all. Here, he insists
that outward appearances (like his "inky"
black clothing, sighs, and tears – all the
common markers of grief) can't possibly
43
"denote" what's truly inside him. In other
words, Hamlet's saying that his anguish and
grief over his father's death are far more
intense that they appear to the outside
world. He's also implying that Gertrude,
Claudius, and the rest of the court are totally
fake and disingenuous because they don't
care about him or his feelings at all and are
far too concerned with keeping up
appearances.
POLONIUS
This above all: to thine ownself be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
(1.3.1)
Polonius likes to dish advice, as when he says
that if you are true to yourself, you cannot
deceive anyone else. Given Polonius's
penchant for spying on his children and
Hamlet in order to curry favor with King
Claudius, he's not in any position to be
talking about truth. We're reminded that
when these kinds of cliché sayings are
carelessly bandied about, they don't seem to
carry any meaning at all.
GHOST
Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast,
With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous
gifts,—
O wicked wit and gifts, that have the
power
So to seduce!—won to his shameful lust
The will of my most seeming-virtuous
queen:
O Hamlet, what a falling-off was there!
From me, whose love was of that dignity
That it went hand in hand even with the
vow
I made to her in marriage, and to decline
Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were
poor
To those of mine!
But virtue, as it never will be moved,
Though lewdness court it in a shape of
heaven,
So lust, though to a radiant angel link'd,
Will sate itself in a celestial bed,
And prey on garbage.
(1.5.9)
Like Hamlet, the ghost dwells on Gertrude's
"seeming" virtue. Critics are a bit divided
over what this means. Is the ghost saying
Gertrude cheated on him when they were
married? Or, does the ghost merely see her
remarriage as a betrayal. The debate comes
down to the meaning of "adulterate," which,
in Elizabethan England could refer to a
cheating spouse or any sexual sin in general
(like incest). Either way, the ghost implies
that his marriage to Gertrude was a sham.
Like young Hamlet, the ghost sees Gertrude
as an unfaithful woman with a serious sexual
appetite.
HAMLET
O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!
My tables,—meet it is I set it down,
That one may smile, and smile, and be a
villain;
At least I'm sure it may be so in Denmark:
(1.5.10)
Now that the ghost (who claims to be the
spirit of Old Hamlet) has revealed that King
Claudius's a murderer, the prince realizes
that his instincts are correct –everything in
Denmark's court, from the King on down, is a
big lie.
Marry, sir, here's my drift;
And I believe, it is a fetch of wit:
You laying these slight sullies on my son,
As 'twere a thing a little soil'd i' the
working, Mark you,
Your party in converse, him you would
sound,
Having ever seen in the prenominate
crimes
The youth you breathe of guilty, be
assured
He closes with you in this consequence;
44
'Good sir,' or so, or 'friend,' or 'gentleman,'
According to the phrase or the addition
Of man and country.
(2.1.8)
Here, Polonius instructs his servant to spread
rumors about his son, Laertes, in the hopes
of finding out about Laertes's true behavior.
(The idea is that Laertes will open up to
Reynoldo about all his dirty little secrets and
Reynoldo can then tattle to Polonius.)
Polonius believes that deception may be the
best route to the truth. Obviously, this way
of thinking has some major flaws. We also
notice that this is pretty much the same
method Hamlet uses to find out whether or
not the ghost is telling the truth about
Claudius. It seems like Hamlet is completely
deceptive when he pretends to be a
madman.
At such a time I'll loose my daughter to
him:
Be you and I behind an arras then;
Mark the encounter:
(2.2.12)
Polonius is in collusion with the King over
deceiving Hamlet. Based on Hamlet's own
personal sense of justice, under which
betrayal and deception deserve death,
perhaps this is why Hamlet doesn't feel guilty
when he accidentally stabs Polonius.
HAMLET
You were sent for; and there is a kind of
confession in your looks
which your modesties have not craft
enough to colour:
I know the good king and queen have sent
for you.
(2.2.25)
Hamlet's old friends try to deceive him, but
Hamlet sees right through it. The force (of
sensing deception) is strong in this guy.
KING CLAUDIUS
[Aside] O, 'tis too true!
How smart a lash that speech doth give
my conscience!
The harlot's cheek, beautied with
plastering art,
Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it
Than is my deed to my most painted word:
O heavy burthen!
(3.1.4)
Claudius is aware of the implications of his
scheming and lies. What's interesting about
this passage is the way his sexist remarks
align his own deception with the use of
cosmetics. The king compares his "painted
word[s]" (every lie he tells) to the way a
"harlot" "plasters" her face with makeup.
This has some serious implications for the
way the play associates women with
deception, which you can read about by
going to "Quotes" for the theme of
"Gender." While you're there, be sure to
check out our discussion of Hamlet's very
similar remarks about women, makeup, and
deception at 3.1.12.
HAMLET
[…] Where's your father?
OPHELIA
At home, my lord.
HAMLET
Let the doors be shut upon him, that he
may play the
fool no where but in's own house.
Farewell.
(3.1.9)
Hamlet seems to know that Polonius is using
Ophelia as bait to spy on him. When he
confronts her, Ophelia lies to him outright.
What's so terrible about all this is that
Ophelia has no choice in the matter – as an
unmarried daughter she must obey her
father's orders (to stop seeing Hamlet and,
here, to participate in Polonius's deception).
45
HAMLET
Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing
you make of
me! You would play upon me; you would
seem to know
my stops; you would pluck out the heart
of my
mystery; you would sound me from my
lowest note to
the top of my compass: and there is much
music,
excellent voice, in this little organ; yet
cannot
you make it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I
am
easier to be played on than a pipe? Call
me what
instrument you will, though you can fret
me, yet you
cannot play upon me.
(3.2.56)
When Rosencrantz and Guildenstern try to
get Hamlet to confide in them (so they can
report back to the king), Hamlet is furious.
Here, he makes an analogy between
deception and playing a musical instrument
to demonstrate why his friends can't "play"
him – they're simply not skilled enough. This,
as we know, is what gets Rosencrantz and
Guildenstern killed.
HAMLET
An earnest conjuration from the king,
As England was his faithful tributary,
As love between them like the palm might
flourish,
As peace should stiff her wheaten garland
wear
And stand a comma 'tween their amities,
And many such-like 'As'es of great charge,
That, on the view and knowing of these
contents,
Without debatement further, more or less,
He should the bearers put to sudden
death,
Not shriving-time allow'd.
HORATIO
How was this seal'd?
HAMLET
Why, even in that was heaven ordinant.
I had my father's signet in my purse,
Which was the model of that Danish seal;
Folded the writ up in form of the other,
Subscribed it, gave't the impression,
placed it safely,
The changeling never known. Now, the
next day
Was our sea-fight; and what to this was
sequent
Thou know'st already.
HORATIO
So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to't.
HAMLET
Why, man, they did make love to this
employment;
They are not near my conscience; their
defeat
Does by their own insinuation grow.
(5.2.6)
Hamlet gleefully describes to Horatio how he
got revenge on Rosencrantz and
Guildenstern by sending them to their
deaths. He says this is fair repayment for the
way they treated him and the deceit they
practiced. Horatio, by the way, is Hamlet's
only loyal friend. He's also the only main
character to survive the bloodbath at the end
of the play.
LAERTES
I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery.
(5.2.12)
It is poison that ultimately brings down
Laertes, Claudius, Gertrude, and Hamlet,
both Laertes and Claudius die as a result of
the poison they prepared for the Prince. The
literally poisonous deception they practiced
turns against them, and Laertes admits that
they are fairly punished by their own dirty
scheme
Hamlet
46
Character Analysis
What's Up with Hamlet?
Prince Hamlet is a moody, smart-alecky
teenager with suicidal tendencies, a
penchant for wearing black mourning
clothes, and a habit of delivering long,
drawn-out speeches on the futility of life. In
his first soliloquy, he tells us he wishes his
"too, too solid flesh would melt / Thaw and
resolve itself into dew" and that the world
seems "weary, stale, flat," like an
"unweeded garden (1.2.5). Pretty intense
stuff. What's this kid's problem anyway? It
turns out his father, Old King Hamlet, died
less than two months ago so Hamlet's feeling
the loss intensely. To make matters worse,
his mother, Gertrude, has already remarried
and is now the wife of Hamlet's uncle,
Claudius, who's also helped himself to the
Danish crown. (Did we mention that
Hamlet's new stepdad also calls him a wimp
for being sad about his father's death?)
To makes matters even worse, a ghost who
claims to be Old King Hamlet's spirit shows
up and tells Hamlet that he was murdered by
Hamlet's uncle/stepfather. Gosh. That's a lot
to take in, wouldn't you say? When Hamlet
learns he must avenge his father's murder,
he responds in an unexpected way – by
promising to take "swift" action against
Claudius and then taking his sweet time
getting the job done. Seriously, this guy takes
for-e-ver to kill the guy who's shaken up his
world. What does Hamlet do instead of
killing his father's murderer? Why, he
pretends to be a madman, runs around
delivering lengthy philosophical speeches,
verbally abuses his girlfriend, stabs his
girlfriend's father in the guts, and terrorizes
his mother.
Identifying with Hamlet
Hmm. Sounds like the basis of an episode of
Days of Our Lives, not the greatest play in the
history of the world. Yet, that's what makes
Shakespeare's character (and the entire play)
so bizarre – and so brilliant. Hamlet's
psychological response and baffling actions
make him one of the most complex dramatic
characters ever created. Watching Hamlet
come to terms with life and death, his
mother's sexuality, and the implications of
avenging his father's murder is like taking a
psychological roller coaster ride.
We come to know Hamlet through his
beautifully wrought speeches (soliloquies)
and though we may often think of him as a
jerk, a sexist, and a madman, Hamlet is a
deeply sympathetic figure (even if he does
seem to be the quintessential moping
teenager). Seriously, how would you feel if
your mother married your uncle about a
month after your father died? And what if
you then found out that your uncle was
responsible for your father's death? Most
people never face these exact issues but
everybody can identify with Hamlet's sense
of being betrayed by those he loves and
looks up to. And, most people can also
identify with Hamlet's overwhelming grief
over the loss of his father.
Hamlet and Sex
If you've read the play (and you should read
the play), you've probably noticed that
Hamlet is seriously angry with his mother.
Not only that, Hamlet's seriously angry that
his mother has a sex life. Here's what Hamlet
says in his first soliloquy after he tells us he
wants his "flesh" to "melt."
That it should come to this!
But two months dead: nay, not so much, not
two:
So excellent a king; that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother
That he might not beteem the winds of
heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Must I remember? why, she would hang on
him,
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on: and yet, within a month–
47
Let me not think on' – Frailty, thy name is
woman!–(1.2.5)
OK, we get that Hamlet's ticked that mom's
moved on so quickly – less than two months
after his old man died. Fine. But here's the
thing, Hamlet says he can hardly stand to
"remember" the way his mother couldn't get
enough of his father when he was alive –
"she would hang on him" with a major sexual
"appetite" that she seems to have simply
transferred over to her new husband. So,
what's the deal? Is he mad that Gertrude is
into her new husband or, that Gertrude is
into any man (including his dead dad)? We
also notice that by the end of this passage,
Hamlet's attitude toward his mom has spilled
over to include all women, who, according to
Hamlet, are "frail" or, morally weak because
they're so lustful. This kind of thinking goes
on throughout the entire play. Seriously, it
seems that not a scene goes by without
Hamlet directing his anger and disgust at
women. This also has major consequences
for Hamlet's relationship with his girlfriend,
which you can read all about by checking out
our "Character Analysis" of "Ophelia." You
can also check out our discussion of "Sex"
and "Gender" if you want to know more
about Hamlet's attitude toward women and
sexuality in general.
Hamlet and The Really Big Question
We know what you're thinking. You want
some answers to the really big question:
Why does Hamlet delay so long in carrying
out his revenge? As most big questions tend
to do, this sucker spawned hundreds of years
of scholars writing hundreds of theories as to
why. Here are some of the big schools of
thought:
Theory #1: Don't talk to strange ghosts
Keep in mind that the Protestant
Reformation happened twenty or so years
before Hamlet was written. Basically, these
new Protestants had different views of
Christianity than the current ruling team, the
Catholics. From what the ghost says, it
sounds like he's coming from Purgatory, a
sort of waiting room where souls chilled out
before they could get to Heaven. If this is
true, then we trust the ghost; nothing wrong
with a resident of Purgatory.
On the other hand, Protestants denied the
existence of Purgatory. This means the ghost
may be a demon from hell, which is why
Hamlet wonders if the spirit is a "goblin
damned" (1.4.5). So what is Hamlet –
Protestant or Catholic? Protestant. Hamlet's
chilling in Denmark, which is definitely
Protestant nation, and he goes to the
University of Wittenberg, which was Martin
Luther's university and also home to the
church door he so famously nailed his theses
to. This means the ghost could possibly be a
devil that has come to tempt him and is,
therefore, not telling the truth about Old
Hamlet's murder. Hamlet takes his time with
this one. The Prince obviously doesn't trust
the ghost; he has to confirm before he acts.
We talk about this more in "Quotes" for
"Religion."
Theory #2: Hamlet has some scruples
Think about the famous Christian sentiment
from Romans, xii, 19: "Avenge not yourselves
[…] vengeance is mine, I will replay, saith the
Lord." Translation: It's not man's place to
take vengeance on anyone, period. That's
God's job. Plus, everyone knows that murder
is a sin. Shakespeare's inclusion of Christian
morality in this play is really fascinating
because it doesn't necessarily square with
the basic tenets of revenge tragedy, which
calls for bloody vengeance. (See "Genre" for
more on this.) At work in Hamlet is also the
notion of the old, Pagan revenge code, that
says when someone kills your father, you
have to get your revenge on which, of
course, means that person's kid will
eventually kill you, and so on and so on ad
infinitum until everybody dies and entire
families are wiped out. So Shakespeare does
a nifty thing in Hamlet: he injects a Pagan
48
revenge code into a Christian setting. Hamlet
is a Christian hero with a Pagan duty. That
would be why Hamlet delays in killing
Claudius.
Theory #3: Hamlet stinks. Shakespeare
stinks.
We're not kidding. Some people say that you
can't answer the question of why Hamlet
delays seeking revenge because there is no
answer. Stop trying to preserve the play's
integrity and/or psychological accuracy,
because there isn't any to be preserved. Who
thought this? Let's start with the famous
author Voltaire. If that's not enough, there's
also the poet T.S. Eliot.
According to this school of thought, Hamlet is
only "mysterious" to us because he's a
poorly drawn dramatic figure. Shakespeare
didn't give him enough of a motive to make
any sense of his behavior. But remember
from your lesson in Historical Context that
there's a Renaissance crisis going on at the
time; nothing is supposed to make sense.
Everyone's confused about religion,
geography, and the state of the universe
around 1600. If a play doesn't make sense…
maybe it's not supposed to. After all, how
can we know anything for sure? Hamlet is
certainly full of contradictions,
inconsistencies, and uncertainties – just like
the rest of the world at the time.
Theory #4: Hamlet suffers from an Oedipus
Complex
Yes, indeed, some people believe Hamlet is,
in some ways, a re-telling of Oedipus the
King by Sophocles. In case you're not
familiar, Oedipus was a king who, pretty
much by accident, or by fate, killed his father
and married his mother. Fast-forward to the
late 19th or early 20th century, and you've
got Sigmund Freud going around talking
about the "Oedipus Complex," which
basically says every man wants to do what
Oedipus did. You're right to point out that
Freud came much later than Hamlet, but
since Oedipus the King was written in the
400s B.C., the notion is an old one.
So, work with us on this for a minute. Let's
say Hamlet does suffer from an Oedipus
Complex. If this is true, then Claudius has
done what Hamlet wants to do: kill King
Hamlet (senior), and sleep with Gertrude.
Hamlet can't kill Claudius, because secretly,
he wants to be Claudius. If you want to add
some weight to this theory, check out all
those scenes where Hamlet displays a
gnawing obsession with his mother's
sexuality, down to the tiny details in his
imaginings of her and Claudius getting it on.
Also, think about it this way: if Claudius is in
a way like Hamlet, then killing Claudius
would be like killing himself. Revenge would
be like suicide, which is why the two get so
mixed-up, and why Hamlet has the same
feelings about both.
Regardless of what school of thought you
subscribe to, there is no question that
Hamlet is one of the most complex,
compelling, and fascinating characters in
literary history. With Hamlet, Shakespeare
broke the mold by creating a hero whose
inner thoughts and quandaries dominate the
audience's experience of him, and literature
has never been the same since.
The Ghost
Character Analysis
Ghosts are a common element in revenge
tragedy (which you can read more about by
going to "Genre") so it's not terribly
surprising that the specter shows up in the
play. What is surprising is the way the ghost
invites so much speculation.
What the Heck Is It?
What is the ghost? What does it want?
Where has it come from? As Hamlet
wonders, is it a "spirit of health or goblin
damned" (1.4.5)? The answers to these
questions are unclear.
49
Here's what the spirit claims: 1) The ghost
says he's Hamlet's father (it sure looks like
the guy); 2) The ghost also says that he was
murdered by his brother, who happens to be
Hamlet's uncle Claudius, the guy who's now
married to Gertrude and sitting on the
throne of Denmark; 3) The ghost also claims
he's "doomed" to suffer in "sulph'rous and
tormenting flames" until the "foul crimes
done in [his] days of nature / Are burnt and
purged away" (1.5.2-5). Sounds a lot like
Purgatory (where sins had to be "purged"
before a soul could make it to heaven).
OK fine, but there are a couple of hitches.
First, purgatorial spirits weren't supposed to
ask people to commit murder and that's
what the ghost wants Hamlet to do.
(Remember, he tells the prince he's doomed
to suffer until Hamlet takes revenge on
Claudius.) Second, Protestants don't believe
in the doctrine of Purgatory and Hamlet is a
Protestant. (He lives in Denmark, a
Protestant nation, and goes to school in
Wittenberg, where the Protestant
Reformation began. Be sure to check out our
discussion of "Religion" for more about this.)
This makes the ghost a pretty suspicious
figure, which is partly why Hamlet isn't so
sure he can believe the ghost's claims.
Hamlet's not about to go on a murdering
spree until he knows the truth. So, while the
ghost's appearance sets the revenge plot into
motion, the uncertainty surrounding the
specter is what delays the play's action.
The Ghost and Hamlet
A lot of literary critics notice that the ghost
has a whole lot in common with young
Hamlet. They talk alike (mostly about
Gertrude's "unnatural" and "incestuous"
relationship with Claudius) and they also
kind of look alike at one point. Remember
when Ophelia describes the way Hamlet
appeared when he showed up in her room
looking all ghostly "pale," almost "as if he
had been loosed out of hell" (2.1.1)? Hell, as
we know, is where the ghost may or may not
have come from.
Some speculate that the ghost could be a
figment of Hamlet's imagination. Even
though other characters see the ghost (the
castle guards and Horatio, for example),
Hamlet's the only one who ever has a
dialogue with it. It's also worth noting that
Hamlet's the only character who sees or
hears the ghost when it shows up in
Gertrude's chamber to remind Hamlet to be
nice to his mom (3.4.18). Has Hamlet been
imagining his conversations with the ghost
the whole time? Does this have anything to
do with the fact that Hamlet says to Horatio
"My father!--methinks I see my father [..] in
my mind's eye" (1.2.12) before he even finds
out that the ghost has been appearing on the
castle walls? What do you think?
Regardless of whether or not we believe the
ghost is "real," it seems pretty clear that the
spirit's presence in the play dramatizes the
way young Hamlet is emotionally haunted,
as it were, by his father's memory. And why
shouldn't he be? The prince has just lost one
of the most important figures in his life, a
man he idolizes and loves. Young Hamlet is
also told by just about everyone he knows
that he needs to move on and forget about
his father – Claudius insists Hamlet's
excessive grief is "unmanly" and Gertrude
tells Hamlet to ditch his mourning clothes
and to quit moping (1.2.2). Perhaps one of
the simplest answers to the questions
surrounding the ghost is that it stands for
Hamlet's lingering memory of a lost but not
forgotten loved one.
Claudius
Character Analysis
Claudius is the current king of Denmark. He's
married to his dead brother's wife, Gertrude,
which makes him Hamlet's uncle and
stepfather. Claudius becomes the object of
Hamlet's quest for revenge when the young
50
prince learns that Claudius murdered his
father.
Claudius and Biblical Allusion
How did Claudius murder his brother? By
pouring poison in Old King Hamlet's ear
while he was sleeping peacefully in his
garden. The story sounds familiar, right?
Claudius is on more than one occasion
aligned with Cain, the biblical figure known
for committing the first murder when he
slew his brother, Abel, in the book of
Genesis. Even Claudius admits his "offence is
rank [and] smells to heaven [because] / It
hath the primal eldest curse upon't, / A
brother's murder (3.3.3). Claudius, then, is a
central figure in the play's concern with the
theme of "Family" relationships.
Claudius's murderous deed in the garden
also recalls the biblical story of the fall. The
Ghost (of Old Hamlet) says "[t]he serpent
that did sting [Hamlet's] father's life / Now
wears his crown. (1.5.8) The Ghost also goes
on to say "that that incestuous, that
adulterate beast, / With witchcraft of his wit,
with traitorous gifts […] won to his shameful
lust / The will of [Old Hamlet's] most
seeming-virtuous queen (1.5.9). Hmm.
Sounds like the Ghost is comparing Claudius
to the infamous serpent who seduced Eve in
the Garden of Eden. (We talk more about
gardens in "Symbols, Imagery, Allegory," so
be sure to check that section out.)
Claudius and Kingship
Claudius is also notable for the way his
character speaks to the play's ideas about
monarchy and power. "A bad man, but a
good king." That's one scholarly assessment
of Claudius's character. There's no question
that Claudius is a bad man: nice guys don't
kill their brothers and steal their wives. At
the same time, Claudius certainly seems like
a competent ruler. The fact that he manages
to assume his brother's crown so smoothly is
a testament to his powers of persuasion. As
he says himself, he had to convince the
nobles of the court to accept his bizarrelytimed and probably sinful marriage to
Gertrude.
Aside from crown-stealing and wife-stealing,
Claudius goes on to diplomatically avoid war
with Norway and keep the members of his
court (minus Hamlet) under control. We
should note that the trouble between
Denmark and Norway began when Old King
Hamlet accepted Old Norway's challenge to a
duel in which the winner would walk away
with some of the other ruler's lands. Of
course, Old Hamlet won the duel, but his
willingness to gamble away part of his
kingdom suggests he wasn't exactly the
terrific king his son remembers. In any case,
Claudius cleans up the mess with Norway
when his negotiations prevent Old Norway's
son (Fortinbras) from attacking Denmark in
order to retrieve Norway's lost territory.
Later in the play, Claudius's handling of
Laertes's rebellion is especially impressive.
Even at sword point, Claudius manages to
calm the kid down and convince him that he
is innocent of Polonius's death. His palace is
invaded by Laertes's followers, and still
Claudius comes out on top – and wearing his
crown.
Claudius as Machiavellian Ruler
It's often noted that Claudius (like so many of
Shakespeare's other kings – think of Richard
III, among others) resembles a Machiavellian
ruler. (Note: Niccolò Machiavelli wrote The
Prince, a "how to" guide for princes on the
maintenance of power.) Machiavelli's ideas
were controversial but his book (published
1532) was popular in Shakespeare's day.
According to Machiavelli's theory, being a
successful ruler has nothing to do with being
a nice person or doing the right thing.
Instead, it's about being inventive,
charismatic, willful, and manipulative.
So it seems that the same characteristics that
make Claudius a bad man are those that
51
make him a successful king. He has no
qualms about manipulating people, and he is
unapologetically selfish. Hypocrisy barely
bothers Claudius: he pretends to be a loving
stepfather to Hamlet even while sending him
off to be killed. Claudius doesn't let his
conscience get in the way of the job that
needs to be done. He also lets Gertrude drink
a goblet of wine he knows is poisoned – the
wine, of course, is intended for the oh so
troublesome Hamlet but he'd rather see his
wife die than risk ruining his plans. He does
manage a "Gertrude, do not drink," but opts
out of the perhaps more effective,
"Gertrude, do not drink, whatever you do, as
the wine is poisoned because I'm secretly
trying to kill your son, and even though I
really would rather have him dead, I'm not
willing to let you go down as a casualty of my
despicable and unlawful scheming."
Polonius
Character Analysis
A Danish lord, Polonius is the father of
Laertes and Ophelia. Audiences tend to
remember him for the way he dies – Polonius
is stabbed in the guts by Hamlet as he hides
behind a screen while eavesdropping on
Hamlet and Gertrude (3.4.2).
Polonius and Comedy
Polonius is a pretty foolish character. There's
no getting around it: he is self-absorbed,
long-winded, and dull. He's also, when
played by the right actor, completely
hilarious. It's all about finding ways to make
Polonius's long speeches as amusing as they
can be. He likes to give the "when I was your
age" speeches, as we see when he tells
Hamlet that he was in love once, too, back in
the day. He also dishes lame advice like it's
going out of style. He's like an over-eager
parent who gives unwanted opinions.
For all these reasons, Polonius can be a
source of comic relief to a weighty play.
Check out the scene where Hamlet's
directing the players (actors). Polonius is
hilarious. When one of the players delivers a
heart-wrenching rendering of Priam's death
and the hullabaloo to follow, Polonius
interrupts to say (and we are not making this
up), "This is too long." We were all thinking
it, but he's the guy that said it. He also cuts in
at their use of the words "mobled queen" to
say "Oh, that's good; 'mobled queen' is
good." Can't you see this going down onSNL?
In many ways, Shakespeare also uses
Polonius to mock his less sophisticated
audience members, whose theatrical tastes
are less developed than the ideal playgoer.
(Be sure to check out "Art and Culture" for
more on this.)
Polonius as a Father
Polonius's relationships with his children are
of particular interest. His decision to spy on
his son while Laertes is off at college is in
keeping with the play's theme of "Lies and
Deceit," as is his use Ophelia to spy on
Hamlet. As comical and ridiculous as
Polonius is, his elaborate attempts to keep
tabs on Laertes and Ophelia remind us that
father's cannot always be trusted to care for
their children. This is especially true when
Polonius pays Reynoldo to spread rumors
about Laertes so that Laertes will confide in
Reynoldo, who can then report back to
Polonius (2.1.4). Yikes!
Polonius's willingness to use his daughter as
a way to curry favor with the king in Act III,
Scene i has disastrous consequences – his
manipulative tactics leave Ophelia open to
Hamlet's abuse and likely contribute to
Ophelia's tragic end. (You can read more
about this by checking out "Quotes" on
"Madness." Polonius isn't the only
Shakespearean father to use his daughter in
order to manage his relationships with other
men. The "Comedy" plays are full of father's
who use their daughters as bartering tools
Hamlet Symbolism, Imagery & Allegory
52
Sometimes, there’s more to Lit than meets
the eye.
Yorick's Skull and the Graveyard
Hamlet's constant brooding about death and
humanity comes to a head (grotesque pun
intended) in the infamous graveyard scene,
where Hamlet holds up the unearthed skull
of Yorick, a court jester Hamlet knew and
loved as a young boy. The skull itself is a
physical reminder of the finality of death. For
all of Hamlet's brooding and philosophical
contemplation of mortality, here, Hamlet
literally looks death directly in the face.
We're also interested in the way this
moment with the skull marks a turning point
for Hamlet. It's here, in the graveyard, where
Hamlet thinks about the commonness of
death and the vanity of life. He not only
remembers Yorick, a mere jester, but also
considers what's become of the body that
belonged to Alexander the Great. Both men,
concludes Hamlet, meet the same end and
"returneth into dust" (5.1.30). This seems
like a new, more mature acceptance of a
common human fate. (Notice that Hamlet is
contemplative but not suicidal or anguished
when he speaks these lines.)
Aside from seeming to "grow up" in the
graveyard, some literary critics also suggest
that Hamlet literally ages in this scene.
Here's how the argument works: when the
play begins, Hamlet is a university student,
which means he's pretty young. By the time
Hamlet makes it to the graveyard in Act V,
Hamlet appears to be thirty years old (much
older than the average university student).
The evidence? The First Clown says he's been
a gravedigger in Elsinore since "the very day
that young Hamlet was born" (5.1.28) and a
few lines later he reveals that he's been a
"sexton" in Denmark for "thirty years"
(5.2.30). If you want to argue that
Shakespeare just messed things up, feel free
(Shakespeare has been known to make a
mistake or two). But it's not so surprising to
us that Hamlet literally ages between Act I
and Act V – perhaps it's a reflection of his
new, more mature outlook on life and death.
Finally, we also want to note the way the
graveyard is different from the royal court
(aside from the dirt and bones and all). Recall
from Act I that the court is a place where
Hamlet's told to stifle his grief, to forget his
dead father, and to move on (1.2.6). The
graveyard is a space, then, where Hamlet is
allowed to remember the dead.
"Alas, poor Yorick," says Hamlet, as he recalls
that Yorick was "a fellow of infinite jest, of
most excellent fancy," one who "hath borne
[Hamlet] on his back a thousand times"
(5.1.26). Hmm. That’s quite a coincidence,
no? Hamlet encounters the skull of a man
who worked for his father and who Hamlet
knew as a child. This causes Hamlet to
remember his childhood as a happy time in
which Old Hamlet was alive and all was well
in the world. All this happiness, of course, is
disrupted when Hamlet realizes Ophelia
(now dead) is being buried a few gravestones
over. We'll let you handle that one on your
own.
The Ghost
We thought you might look here for a little
somethin’ about the ghost. We talk about
the ghost in its own "Character Analysis" and
in the theme of "Religion."
"Rank" Gardens
There's a whole lot of garden imagery in the
play. The thing is, the gardens in Hamlet
aren't necessarily the kind of places where
you'd like to hang out and watch butterflies
while you picnic. According to Hamlet, the
entire world "tis an unweeded garden, / That
grows to seed; things rank and gross in
nature / Possess it merely" (1.2.6). The word
"rank" refers to the fertile overgrowth of
vegetation and also implies the kind of
festering and rot that often accompanies
lush foliage. Yuck.
53
Why does Hamlet see the world this way? As
his speech continues, it becomes clear that
his father's death as well as his mother's
sexual appetite and marriage to Claudius are
the causes of Hamlet's world view. In fact,
the term "rank" turns up over and over again
throughout the play to describe Gertrude's
incestuous relationship. Consider, for
example, Hamlet's description of his
mother's "rank" marriage bed, which offers a
rather repulsive view of sexuality.
Nay, but to live
In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed,
Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making
love
Over the nasty sty,– (3.4.14).
Of course, this allusion to the world as a
ruined garden also recalls Eve's temptation in
the biblical Garden of Eden, which, according
to Christian theology, causes man's Fall. The
allusion to Eden is strengthened later in the
play when the Ghost reveals that Old King
Hamlet was murdered by his brother,
Claudius, while he slept in his orchard:
'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard,
A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of
Denmark
Is by a forged process of my death
Rankly abused: but know, thou noble youth,
The serpent that did sting thy father's life
Now wears his crown. (1.5.8)
Gosh. The Ghost sounds a lot like young
Hamlet. Notice the way the Ghost insists the
murder "rankly abused" the entire kingdom
– as if Claudius poured poison in "the whole
ear" of Denmark. What's more, the Ghost
insists that Claudius's poison caused a scaly
rash and "loathsome crust" to cover his once
"smooth body" (1.5.8). This suggests, in turn,
that the whole country has been infected by
a contagious disease.
Hamlet's Costume Changes
Early on in the play, we learn that Hamlet
wears an all black get-up that seems to be
getting on his mom's nerves. But why? Well,
Hamlet wears an "inky cloak" because he's in
mourning for his dead father, who hasn't
been gone for very long. But, Hamlet's the
only one in the royal court who's still upset.
His mother married Claudius about two
seconds after Old Hamlet died and now that
Claudius is king, the happy couple wants
everyone to forget about Old Hamlet. So,
Hamlet's black attire sets him apart from
everyone else – just like his grief makes him
an outsider in the cheerful court. (When the
play's staged, Hamlet's black clothing really
stands out, especially when the director
positions him off to the side of stage while
the rest of the court is in the center.)
But don't tell Hamlet that his clothes reflect
his grief – he might jump down your throat,
as he does here when his mom asks him why
he "seems" so sad:
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage,
Together with all forms, moods, shapes of
grief,
That can denote me truly (1.2.4)
In other words, Hamlet objects to the idea
that any outward signs (dress, behavior, etc.)
can truly "denote" what he's feeling on the
inside (which is rotten). Hamlet's "suits of
solemn black," he says, can't even begin to
express his grief and anguish.
Later on, however, Hamlet changes his tune
about what it is that clothing or costume can
"denote." After he decides to play the role of
an "antic" or madman, he adjusts his
costume accordingly. Check out Ophelia's
description of Hamlet:
My lord, as I was sewing in my closet,
54
Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbraced;
No hat upon his head; his stockings foul'd,
Ungarter'd, and down-gyved to his ancle;
Pale as his shirt; his knees knocking each
other;
And with a look so piteous in purport
As if he had been loosed out of hell
To speak of horrors,--he comes before me.
(2.1.1)
If we assume that Hamlet makes himself
appear disheveled in order to convince
Ophelia that he's lost his mind, then we can
also assume that Hamlet is banking on the
convention that one's physical attire is a
reflection of one's state of mind. And it
works because Ophelia and Polonius are
convinced that Hamlet is mad. Notice too
that Hamlet's not wearing his favorite black
cloak – Ophelia says his skin's as "pale as his
shirt." Hmm. Ophelia makes Hamlet sound a
lot like the ghost. What's that all about? Be
sure to check out the themes of "Art and
Culture" and "Madness" if you want to think
about this some more.
Flowers
When Ophelia loses her mind in Act IV, Scene
v, she starts handing out flowers to everyone
around her. She talks directly about the
symbolic meaning of those flowers, but
what's also important is to whom she hands
each flower.
Does Ophelia give the rosemary (for
remembrance) to an invisible Hamlet,
praying he hasn't forgotten about her? Does
she give the rue (another word for regret) to
Gertrude, who may be regretting her hasty
marriage to Claudius? Keep these questions
in mind as you read Ophelia's lines. "There's
rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray,
love, remember," she says, "and there is
pansies. That's for thoughts […]. There's
fennel for you, and columbines: there's rue
for you; and here's some for me: we may call
it the herb-grace o' Sundays: O you must
wear your rue with a difference. There's a
daisy: I would give you some violets, but they
withered all when my father died." Fennel
symbolized strength and praiseworthiness,
columbine symbolized folly, daisies
symbolized innocence, and violets
symbolized faithfulness and modesty. So
which flowers belong to which characters?
Hamlet Plot Analysis
Most good stories start with a fundamental
list of ingredients: the initial situation,
conflict, complication, climax, suspense,
denouement, and conclusion. Great writers
sometimes shake up the recipe and add
some spice.
Initial Situation
Mom just married Dad's brother. Also, war
may be on the way.
Only a month after the old King of Denmark
dies, his queen remarries – to his own
brother. Hamlet is not happy to have his
uncle as his new step-father. On the political
front, Prince Fortinbras of Norway plans to
invade Denmark.
Conflict
Dad's ghost says mom's new husband
knocked him off. Revenge!
A ghost shows up on the castle battlements,
looking suspiciously like the recently
deceased King. The ghost has a message for
Hamlet: his father's death was no accident.
Hamlet is supposed to exact revenge, which,
when you're talking about the current King
of Denmark and the husband of your mother,
can be quite the conflict. Meanwhile,
Polonius tells Ophelia, Hamlet's girl friend, to
end whatever it is she's doing with Hamlet.
Complication
For reasons nobody really understands,
months pass with no revenge.
Revenge theoretically shouldn't be too
complicated, if you actually get it done. The
complication comes when Hamlet doesn't
55
get it done. All he does manage to do is go
crazy, which is complicated in its own right,
but more so when you're not sure if he's
faking it or not.
The addition of the treacherous pseudofriends (Rosencrantz and Guildenstern)
complicates matters further, as spies tend to
do. On the Ophelia front, she's no longer
talking to Hamlet. When the former lovers
finally meet, he berates her for having all
those qualities that, according to him, all
women possess (that would be deceit and
treachery). Lastly, there's some strange sort
of lie-detecting play that Hamlet has devised,
which is supposedly going to prove whether
or not King Claudius is guilty of murdering
the former King.
Climax
Confirmed: Mom's new husband totally
guilty! Also, Hamlet argues with his Mom
and kills girlfriend's dad.
Some people consider the play-within-theplay as the climax of Hamlet; others argue
that Hamlet's confrontation with his mother
is more central. One way of thinking about it
is to see Hamlet's interaction with Gertrude
as the play's emotional climax, while the
play-within-the play is the plot's climax.
After all, this is the point when Hamlet
definitively knows that Claudius is guilty; it's
also the first action Hamlet actually takes in
the name of advancing his revenge. And
Hamlet's plan works: the play within the play
– which Hamlet calls "The Mousetrap" –
snaps shut on Claudius. Yet the emotional
boiling point of the play happens in the next
scene, when Hamlet rails on Gertrude and
stabs Polonius.
Suspense
Mom's new husband sends Hamlet away to
be killed. Meanwhile, Ophelia dies and her
brother plots Hamlet's death with Mom's
new husband.
The suspense builds when we wonder if
Hamlet is going to die on or after the trip to
England. We feel more suspense as Claudius
and Laertes plot our prince's death, suspense
that only increases with every added back-up
plan. Will Hamlet die from one of the
umpteen poisoned objects?
Denouement
Everybody whose name you know dies,
except Horatio.
Talk about "casual slaughters" (5.2.366).
After four acts of delay, everybody finally
gets some revenge, all in about five minutes.
In the friendly duel, which quickly becomes
completely un-friendly, Laertes manages to
wound Hamlet with a poisoned sword. Then,
in a truly masterful move, Hamlet grabs the
poisoned sword and wound Laertes back. To
clean up all the lose ends, Gertrude dies from
poisoning and Hamlet kills Claudius.
Conclusion
Horatio survives. Fortinbras arrives and takes
the throne.
Horatio, Hamlet's friend, is basically the only
character left standing. He gets to explain to
Prince Fortinbras of Norway why there are
dead bodies all over the floor. Fortinbras
decides he will probably get to be the next
King of Denmark, since all of the other
contenders are – you guessed it – dead.
Hamlet
Plot Overview
O n a dark winter night, a ghost walks the
ramparts of Elsinore Castle in Denmark.
Discovered first by a pair of watchmen, then
by the scholar Horatio, the ghost resembles
the recently deceased King Hamlet, whose
brother Claudius has inherited the throne and
married the king’s widow, Queen Gertrude.
When Horatio and the watchmen bring Prince
56
Hamlet, the son of Gertrude and the dead
king, to see the ghost, it speaks to him,
declaring ominously that it is indeed his
father’s spirit, and that he was murdered by
none other than Claudius. Ordering Hamlet to
seek revenge on the man who usurped his
throne and married his wife, the ghost
disappears with the dawn.
Prince Hamlet devotes himself to avenging his
father’s death, but, because he is
contemplative and thoughtful by nature, he
delays, entering into a deep melancholy and
even apparent madness. Claudius and
Gertrude worry about the prince’s erratic
behavior and attempt to discover its cause.
They employ a pair of Hamlet’s friends,
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, to watch him.
When Polonius, the pompous Lord
Chamberlain, suggests that Hamlet may be
mad with love for his daughter, Ophelia,
Claudius agrees to spy on Hamlet in
conversation with the girl. But though Hamlet
certainly seems mad, he does not seem to
love Ophelia: he orders her to enter a
nunnery and declares that he wishes to ban
marriages.
A group of traveling actors comes to Elsinore,
and Hamlet seizes upon an idea to test his
uncle’s guilt. He will have the players perform
a scene closely resembling the sequence by
which Hamlet imagines his uncle to have
murdered his father, so that if Claudius is
guilty, he will surely react. When the moment
of the murder arrives in the theater, Claudius
leaps up and leaves the room. Hamlet and
Horatio agree that this proves his guilt.
Hamlet goes to kill Claudius but finds him
praying. Since he believes that killing Claudius
while in prayer would send Claudius’s soul to
heaven, Hamlet considers that it would be an
inadequate revenge and decides to wait.
Claudius, now frightened of Hamlet’s madness
and fearing for his own safety, orders that
Hamlet be sent to England at once.
Hamlet goes to confront his mother, in whose
bedchamber Polonius has hidden behind a
tapestry. Hearing a noise from behind the
tapestry, Hamlet believes the king is hiding
there. He draws his sword and stabs through
the fabric, killing Polonius. For this crime, he is
immediately dispatched to England with
Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. However,
Claudius’s plan for Hamlet includes more than
banishment, as he has given Rosencrantz and
Guildenstern sealed orders for the King of
England demanding that Hamlet be put to
death.
In the aftermath of her father’s death,
Ophelia goes mad with grief and drowns in
the river. Polonius’s son, Laertes, who has
been staying in France, returns to Denmark in
a rage. Claudius convinces him that Hamlet is
to blame for his father’s and sister’s deaths.
When Horatio and the king receive letters
from Hamlet indicating that the prince has
returned to Denmark after pirates attacked
his ship en route to England, Claudius
concocts a plan to use Laertes’ desire for
revenge to secure Hamlet’s death. Laertes will
fence with Hamlet in innocent sport, but
Claudius will poison Laertes’ blade so that if
he draws blood, Hamlet will die. As a backup
plan, the king decides to poison a goblet,
which he will give Hamlet to drink should
Hamlet score the first or second hits of the
match. Hamlet returns to the vicinity of
Elsinore just as Ophelia’s funeral is taking
place. Stricken with grief, he attacks Laertes
and declares that he had in fact always loved
Ophelia. Back at the castle, he tells Horatio
that he believes one must be prepared to die,
since death can come at any moment. A
foolish courtier named Osric arrives on
Claudius’s orders to arrange the fencing
match between Hamlet and Laertes.
The sword-fighting begins. Hamlet scores the
first hit, but declines to drink from the king’s
proffered goblet. Instead, Gertrude takes a
drink from it and is swiftly killed by the
poison. Laertes succeeds in wounding Hamlet,
though Hamlet does not die of the poison
immediately. First, Laertes is cut by his own
sword’s blade, and, after revealing to Hamlet
57
that Claudius is responsible for the queen’s
death, he dies from the blade’s poison.
Hamlet then stabs Claudius through with the
poisoned sword and forces him to drink down
the rest of the poisoned wine. Claudius dies,
and Hamlet dies immediately after achieving
his revenge.
At this moment, a Norwegian prince named
Fortinbras, who has led an army to Denmark
and attacked Poland earlier in the play, enters
with ambassadors from England, who report
that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead.
Fortinbras is stunned by the gruesome sight of
the entire royal family lying sprawled on the
floor dead. He moves to take power of the
kingdom. Horatio, fulfilling Hamlet’s last
request, tells him Hamlet’s tragic story.
Fortinbras orders that Hamlet be carried away
in a manner befitting a fallen soldier.
58
Important Quotations Explained
1. O that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix’d
His canon ’gainst self-slaughter! O God! O
God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on’t! O fie! ’tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in
nature
Possess it merely. That it should come to this!
But two months dead!—nay, not so much, not
two:
So excellent a king; that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother,
That he might not beteem the winds of
heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Must I remember? Why, she would hang on
him
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on: and yet, within a month,—
Let me not think on’t,—Frailty, thy name is
woman!—
A little month; or ere those shoes were old
With which she followed my poor father’s
body
Like Niobe, all tears;—why she, even she,—
O God! a beast that wants discourse of
reason,
Would have mourn’d longer,—married with
mine uncle,
My father’s brother; but no more like my
father
Than I to Hercules: within a month;
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married:— O, most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not, nor it cannot come to good;
But break my heart,—for I must hold my
tongue.
Explanation for Quotation 1 >>
This quotation, Hamlet’s first important
soliloquy, occurs in Act I, scene ii (129–158).
Hamlet speaks these lines after enduring the
unpleasant scene at Claudius and Gertrude’s
court, then being asked by his mother and
stepfather not to return to his studies at
Wittenberg but to remain in Denmark,
presumably against his wishes. Here, Hamlet
thinks for the first time about suicide (desiring
his flesh to “melt,” and wishing that God had
not made “self-slaughter” a sin), saying that
the world is “weary, stale, flat, and
unprofitable.” In other words, suicide seems
like a desirable alternative to life in a painful
world, but Hamlet feels that the option of
suicide is closed to him because it is forbidden
by religion. Hamlet then goes on to describe
the causes of his pain, specifically his intense
disgust at his mother’s marriage to Claudius.
He describes the haste of their marriage,
noting that the shoes his mother wore to his
father’s funeral were not worn out before her
marriage to Claudius. He compares Claudius
to his father (his father was “so excellent a
king” while Claudius is a bestial “satyr”). As he
runs through his description of their marriage,
he touches upon the important motifs of
misogyny, crying, “Frailty, thy name is
woman”; incest, commenting that his mother
moved “[w]ith such dexterity to incestuous
sheets”; and the ominous omen the marriage
represents for Denmark, that “[i]t is not nor it
cannot come to good.” Each of these motifs
recurs throughout the play.
2. Give thy thoughts no tongue,
Nor any unproportion’d thought his act.
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.
Those friends thou hast, and their adoption
tried,
Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of
steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch’d, unfledg’d comrade.
Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,
Bear’t that the opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:
59
Take each man’s censure, but reserve thy
judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,
But not express’d in fancy; rich, not gaudy:
For the apparel oft proclaims the man;
And they in France of the best rank and
station
Are most select and generous chief in that.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be:
For loan oft loses both itself and friend;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all,—to thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Explanation for Quotation 2 >>
This famous bit of fatherly advice is spoken by
Polonius to Laertes shortly before Laertes
leaves for France, in Act I, scene iii (59–80).
Polonius, who is bidding Laertes farewell,
gives him this list of instructions about how to
behave before he sends him on his way. His
advice amounts to a list of clichés. Keep your
thoughts to yourself; do not act rashly; treat
people with familiarity but not excessively so;
hold on to old friends and be slow to trust
new friends; avoid fighting but fight boldly if it
is unavoidable; be a good listener; accept
criticism but do not be judgmental; maintain a
proper appearance; do not borrow or lend
money; and be true to yourself. This long list
of quite normal fatherly advice emphasizes
the regularity of Laertes’ family life compared
to Hamlet’s, as well as contributing a
somewhat stereotypical father-son encounter
in the play’s exploration of family
relationships. It seems to indicate that
Polonius loves his son, though that idea is
complicated later in the play when he sends
Reynaldo to spy on him.
3. Something is rotten in the state of
Denmark.
Explanation for Quotation 3 >>
This line is spoken by Marcellus in Act I, scene
iv (67), as he and Horatio debate whether or
not to follow Hamlet and the ghost into the
dark night. The line refers both to the idea
that the ghost is an ominous omen for
Denmark and to the larger theme of the
connection between the moral legitimacy of a
ruler and the health of the state as a whole.
The ghost is a visible symptom of the
rottenness of Denmark created by Claudius’s
crime.
4. I have of late,—but wherefore I know
not,—lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of
exercises; and indeed, it goes so heavily with
my disposition that this goodly frame, the
earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this
most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this
brave o’erhanging firmament, this majestical
roof fretted with golden fire,—why, it appears
no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent
congregation of vapours. What a piece of
work is man! How noble in reason! how
infinite in faculties! in form and moving, how
express and admirable! in action how like an
angel! in apprehension, how like a god! the
beauty of the world! the paragon of animals!
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of
dust?
Explanation for Quotation 4 >>
In these lines, Hamlet speaks to Rosencrantz
and Guildenstern in Act II, scene ii (287–298),
explaining the melancholy that has afflicted
him since his father’s death. Perhaps moved
by the presence of his former university
companions, Hamlet essentially engages in a
rhetorical exercise, building up an elaborate
and glorified picture of the earth and
humanity before declaring it all merely a
“quintessence of dust.” He examines the
earth, the air, and the sun, and rejects them
as “a sterile promontory” and “a foul and
pestilent congregation of vapors.” He then
describes human beings from several
perspectives, each one adding to his
glorification of them. Human beings’ reason is
noble, their faculties infinite, their forms and
movements fast and admirable, their actions
angelic, and their understanding godlike. But,
to Hamlet, humankind is merely dust. This
60
motif, an expression of his obsession with the
physicality of death, recurs throughout the
play, reaching its height in his speech over
Yorick’s skull. Finally, it is also telling that
Hamlet makes humankind more impressive in
“apprehension” (meaning understanding)
than in “action.” Hamlet himself is more
prone to apprehension than to action, which
is why he delays so long before seeking his
revenge on Claudius.
5. To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?—To die,—to
sleep,—
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural
shocks
That flesh is heir to,—’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die,—to sleep;—
To sleep: perchance to dream:—ay, there’s
the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may
come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of
time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s
contumely,
The pangs of despis’d love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would these fardels
bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after
death,—
The undiscover’d country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns,—puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
This soliloquy, probably the most famous
speech in the English language, is spoken by
Hamlet in Act III, scene i (58–90). His most
logical and powerful examination of the
theme of the moral legitimacy of suicide in an
unbearably painful world, it touches on
several of the other important themes of the
play. Hamlet poses the problem of whether to
commit suicide as a logical question: “To be,
or not to be,” that is, to live or not to live. He
then weighs the moral ramifications of living
and dying. Is it nobler to suffer life, “[t]he
slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,”
passively or to actively seek to end one’s
suffering? He compares death to sleep and
thinks of the end to suffering, pain, and
uncertainty it might bring, “[t]he heartache,
and the thousand natural shocks / That flesh
is heir to.” Based on this metaphor, he
decides that suicide is a desirable course of
action, “a consummation / Devoutly to be
wished.” But, as the religious word “devoutly”
signifies, there is more to the question,
namely, what will happen in the afterlife.
Hamlet immediately realizes as much, and he
reconfigures his metaphor of sleep to include
the possibility of dreaming; he says that the
dreams that may come in the sleep of death
are daunting, that they “must give us pause.”
He then decides that the uncertainty of the
afterlife, which is intimately related to the
theme of the difficulty of attaining truth in a
spiritually ambiguous world, is essentially
what prevents all of humanity from
committing suicide to end the pain of life. He
outlines a long list of the miseries of
experience, ranging from lovesickness to hard
work to political oppression, and asks who
would choose to bear those miseries if he
could bring himself peace with a knife,
“[w]hen he himself might his quietus make /
With a bare bodkin?” He answers himself
61
again, saying no one would choose to live,
except that “the dread of something after
death” makes people submit to the suffering
of their lives rather than go to another state
of existence which might be even more
miserable. The dread of the afterlife, Hamlet
concludes, leads to excessive moral sensitivity
that makes action impossible: “conscience
does make cowards of us all . . . thus the
native hue of resolution / Is sicklied o’er with
the pale cast of thought.”
In this way, this speech connects many of the
play’s main themes, including the idea of
suicide and death, the difficulty of knowing
the truth in a spiritually ambiguous universe,
and the connection between thought and
action. In addition to its crucial thematic
content, this speech is important for what it
reveals about the quality of Hamlet’s mind.
His deeply passionate nature is
complemented by a relentlessly logical
intellect, which works furiously to find a
solution to his misery. He has turned to
religion and found it inadequate to help him
either kill himself or resolve to kill Claudius.
Here, he turns to a logical philosophical
inquiry and finds it equally frustrating.
Suggested Essay Topics
1. Think about Hamlet’s relationship with
Ophelia. Does he love her? Does he stop
loving her? Did he ever love her? What
evidence can you find in the play to support
your opinion?
2. Consider Rosencrantz and Guildenstern’s
role in the play. Why might Shakespeare have
created characters like this? Are they there
for comic relief, or do they serve a more
serious purpose? Why does the news of their
deaths come only after the deaths of the royal
family in Act V, as if this news were not
anticlimactic? Is it acceptable for Hamlet to
treat them as he does? Why or why not?
3. Analyze the use of descriptions and images
in Hamlet. How does Shakespeare use
descriptive language to enhance the visual
possibilities of a stage production? How does
he use imagery to create a mood of tension,
suspense, fear, and despair?
4. Analyze the use of comedy in Hamlet,
paying particular attention to the
gravediggers, Osric, and Polonius. Does
comedy serve merely to relieve the tension of
the tragedy, or do the comic scenes serve a
more serious thematic purpose as well?
5. Suicide is an important theme in Hamlet.
Discuss how the play treats the idea of suicide
morally, religiously, and aesthetically, with
particular attention to Hamlet’s two
important statements about suicide: the “O,
that this too too solid flesh would melt”
soliloquy (I.ii.129–158) and the “To be, or not
to be” soliloquy (III.i.56–88). Why does
Hamlet believe that, although capable of
suicide, most human beings choose to live,
despite the cruelty, pain, and injustice of
the world?
Analysis of Major Characters
Hamlet
Hamlet has fascinated audiences and readers
for centuries, and the first thing to point out
about him is that he is enigmatic. There is
always more to him than the other characters
in the play can figure out; even the most
careful and clever readers come away with
the sense that they don’t know everything
there is to know about this character. Hamlet
actually tells other characters that there is
more to him than meets the eye—notably, his
mother, and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern—
but his fascination involves much more than
this. When he speaks, he sounds as if there’s
something important he’s not saying, maybe
something even he is not aware of. The ability
to write soliloquies and dialogues that create
this effect is one of Shakespeare’s most
impressive achievements.
A university student whose studies are
interrupted by his father’s death, Hamlet is
extremely philosophical and contemplative.
62
He is particularly drawn to difficult questions
or questions that cannot be answered with
any certainty. Faced with evidence that his
uncle murdered his father, evidence that any
other character in a play would believe,
Hamlet becomes obsessed with proving his
uncle’s guilt before trying to act. The standard
of “beyond a reasonable doubt” is simply
unacceptable to him. He is equally plagued
with questions about the afterlife, about the
wisdom of suicide, about what happens to
bodies after they die—the list is extensive.
But even though he is thoughtful to the point
of obsession, Hamlet also behaves rashly and
impulsively. When he does act, it is with
surprising swiftness and little or no
premeditation, as when he stabs Polonius
through a curtain without even checking to
see who he is. He seems to step very easily
into the role of a madman, behaving
erratically and upsetting the other characters
with his wild speech and pointed innuendos.
It is also important to note that Hamlet is
extremely melancholy and discontented with
the state of affairs in Denmark and in his own
family—indeed, in the world at large. He is
extremely disappointed with his mother for
marrying his uncle so quickly, and he
repudiates Ophelia, a woman he once claimed
to love, in the harshest terms. His words often
indicate his disgust with and distrust of
women in general. At a number of points in
the play, he contemplates his own death and
even the option of suicide.
But, despite all of the things with which
Hamlet professes dissatisfaction, it is
remarkable that the prince and heir apparent
of Denmark should think about these
problems only in personal and philosophical
terms. He spends relatively little time thinking
about the threats to Denmark’s national
security from without or the threats to its
stability from within (some of which he helps
to create through his own carelessness).
Claudius
Hamlet’s major antagonist is a shrewd, lustful,
conniving king who contrasts sharply with the
other male characters in the play. Whereas
most of the other important men in Hamlet
are preoccupied with ideas of justice,
revenge, and moral balance, Claudius is bent
upon maintaining his own power. The old King
Hamlet was apparently a stern warrior, but
Claudius is a corrupt politician whose main
weapon is his ability to manipulate others
through his skillful use of language. Claudius’s
speech is compared to poison being poured in
the ear—the method he used to murder
Hamlet’s father. Claudius’s love for Gertrude
may be sincere, but it also seems likely that he
married her as a strategic move, to help him
win the throne away from Hamlet after the
death of the king. As the play progresses,
Claudius’s mounting fear of Hamlet’s insanity
leads him to ever greater self-preoccupation;
when Gertrude tells him that Hamlet has
killed Polonius, Claudius does not remark that
Gertrude might have been in danger, but only
that he would have been in danger had he
been in the room. He tells Laertes the same
thing as he attempts to soothe the young
man’s anger after his father’s death. Claudius
is ultimately too crafty for his own good. In
Act V, scene ii, rather than allowing Laertes
only two methods of killing Hamlet, the
sharpened sword and the poison on the
blade, Claudius insists on a third, the poisoned
goblet. When Gertrude inadvertently drinks
the poison and dies, Hamlet is at last able to
bring himself to kill Claudius, and the king is
felled by his own cowardly machination.
Gertrude
Few Shakespearean characters have caused
as much uncertainty as Gertrude, the
beautiful Queen of Denmark. The play seems
to raise more questions about Gertrude than
it answers, including: Was she involved with
Claudius before the death of her husband?
Did she love her husband? Did she know
about Claudius’s plan to commit the murder?
Did she love Claudius, or did she marry him
simply to keep her high station in Denmark?
63
Does she believe Hamlet when he insists that
he is not mad, or does she pretend to believe
him simply to protect herself? Does she
intentionally betray Hamlet to Claudius, or
does she believe that she is protecting her
son’s secret?These questions can be
answered in numerous ways, depending upon
one’s reading of the play. The Gertrude who
does emerge clearly in Hamlet is a woman
defined by her desire for station and
affection, as well as by her tendency to use
men to fulfill her instinct for selfpreservation—which, of course, makes her
extremely dependent upon the men in her
life. Hamlet’s most famous comment about
Gertrude is his furious condemnation of
women in general: “Frailty, thy name is
woman!” (I.ii.146). This comment is as much
indicative of Hamlet’s agonized state of mind
as of anything else, but to a great extent
Gertrude does seem morally frail. She never
exhibits the ability to think critically about her
situation, but seems merely to move
instinctively toward seemingly safe choices, as
when she immediately runs to Claudius after
her confrontation with Hamlet. She is at her
best in social situations (I.ii and V.ii), when her
natural grace and charm seem to indicate a
rich, rounded personality. At times it seems
that her grace and charm are her only
characteristics, and her reliance on men
appears to be her sole way of capitalizing on
her abilities.
Themes, Motifs & Symbols
Themes
Themes are the fundamental and often
universal ideas explored in a literary work.
The Impossibility of Certainty
What separates Hamlet from other revenge
plays (and maybe from every play written
before it) is that the action we expect to see,
particularly from Hamlet himself, is
continually postponed while Hamlet tries to
obtain more certain knowledge about what he
is doing. This play poses many questions that
other plays would simply take for granted.
Can we have certain knowledge about ghosts?
Is the ghost what it appears to be, or is it
really a misleading fiend? Does the ghost have
reliable knowledge about its own death, or is
the ghost itself deluded? Moving to more
earthly matters: How can we know for certain
the facts about a crime that has no witnesses?
Can Hamlet know the state of Claudius’s soul
by watching his behavior? If so, can he know
the facts of what Claudius did by observing
the state of his soul? Can Claudius (or the
audience) know the state of Hamlet’s mind by
observing his behavior and listening to his
speech? Can we know whether our actions
will have the consequences we want them to
have? Can we know anything about the
afterlife?
Many people have seen Hamlet as a play
about indecisiveness, and thus about Hamlet’s
failure to act appropriately. It might be more
interesting to consider that the play shows us
how many uncertainties our lives are built
upon, how many unknown quantities are
taken for granted when people act or when
they evaluate one another’s actions.
The Complexity of Action
Directly related to the theme of certainty is
the theme of action. How is it possible to take
reasonable, effective, purposeful action? In
Hamlet, the question of how to act is affected
not only by rational considerations, such as
the need for certainty, but also by emotional,
ethical, and psychological factors. Hamlet
himself appears to distrust the idea that it’s
even possible to act in a controlled,
purposeful way. When he does act, he prefers
to do it blindly, recklessly, and violently. The
other characters obviously think much less
about “action” in the abstract than Hamlet
does, and are therefore less troubled about
the possibility of acting effectively. They
simply act as they feel is appropriate. But in
some sense they prove that Hamlet is right,
because all of their actions miscarry. Claudius
64
possesses himself of queen and crown
through bold action, but his conscience
torments him, and he is beset by threats to
his authority (and, of course, he dies). Laertes
resolves that nothing will distract him from
acting out his revenge, but he is easily
influenced and manipulated into serving
Claudius’s ends, and his poisoned rapier is
turned back upon himself.
The Mystery of Death
In the aftermath of his father’s murder,
Hamlet is obsessed with the idea of death,
and over the course of the play he considers
death from a great many perspectives. He
ponders both the spiritual aftermath of death,
embodied in the ghost, and the physical
remainders of the dead, such as by Yorick’s
skull and the decaying corpses in the
cemetery. Throughout, the idea of death is
closely tied to the themes of spirituality, truth,
and uncertainty in that death may bring the
answers to Hamlet’s deepest questions,
ending once and for all the problem of trying
to determine truth in an ambiguous world.
And, since death is both the cause and the
consequence of revenge, it is intimately tied
to the theme of revenge and justice—
Claudius’s murder of King Hamlet initiates
Hamlet’s quest for revenge, and Claudius’s
death is the end of that quest.
The question of his own death plagues Hamlet
as well, as he repeatedly contemplates
whether or not suicide is a morally legitimate
action in an unbearably painful world.
Hamlet’s grief and misery is such that he
frequently longs for death to end his
suffering, but he fears that if he commits
suicide, he will be consigned to eternal
suffering in hell because of the Christian
religion’s prohibition of suicide. In his famous
“To be or not to be” soliloquy (III.i), Hamlet
philosophically concludes that no one would
choose to endure the pain of life if he or she
were not afraid of what will come after death,
and that it is this fear which causes complex
moral considerations to interfere with the
capacity for action.
The Nation as a Diseased Body
Everything is connected in Hamlet, including
the welfare of the royal family and the health
of the state as a whole. The play’s early
scenes explore the sense of anxiety and dread
that surrounds the transfer of power from
one ruler to the next. Throughout the play,
characters draw explicit connections between
the moral legitimacy of a ruler and the health
of the nation. Denmark is frequently
described as a physical body made ill by the
moral corruption of Claudius and Gertrude,
and many observers interpret the presence of
the ghost as a supernatural omen indicating
that “[s]omething is rotten in the state of
Denmark” (I.iv.67). The dead King Hamlet is
portrayed as a strong, forthright ruler under
whose guard the state was in good health,
while Claudius, a wicked politician, has
corrupted and compromised Denmark to
satisfy his own appetites. At the end of the
play, the rise to power of the upright
Fortinbras suggests that Denmark will be
strengthened once again.
Motifs
Motifs are recurring structures, contrasts, and
literary devices that can help to develop and
inform the text’s major themes.
Incest and Incestuous Desire
The motif of incest runs throughout the play
and is frequently alluded to by Hamlet and the
ghost, most obviously in conversations about
Gertrude and Claudius, the former brother-inlaw and sister-in-law who are now married. A
subtle motif of incestuous desire can be found
in the relationship of Laertes and Ophelia, as
Laertes sometimes speaks to his sister in
suggestively sexual terms and, at her funeral,
leaps into her grave to hold her in his arms.
However, the strongest overtones of
incestuous desire arise in the relationship of
65
Hamlet and Gertrude, in Hamlet’s fixation on
Gertrude’s sex life with Claudius and his
preoccupation with her in general.
Symbols are objects, characters, figures, and
colors used to represent abstract ideas or
concepts.
Misogyny
Yorick’s Skull
Shattered by his mother’s decision to marry
Claudius so soon after her husband’s death,
Hamlet becomes cynical about women in
general, showing a particular obsession with
what he perceives to be a connection
between female sexuality and moral
corruption. This motif of misogyny, or hatred
of women, occurs sporadically throughout the
play, but it is an important inhibiting factor in
Hamlet’s relationships with Ophelia and
Gertrude. He urges Ophelia to go to a nunnery
rather than experience the corruptions of
sexuality and exclaims of Gertrude, “Frailty,
thy name is woman” (I.ii.146).
In Hamlet, physical objects are rarely used to
represent thematic ideas. One important
exception is Yorick’s skull, which Hamlet
discovers in the graveyard in the first scene of
Act V. As Hamlet speaks to the skull and about
the skull of the king’s former jester, he fixates
on death’s inevitability and the disintegration
of the body. He urges the skull to “get you to
my lady’s chamber, and tell her, let her paint
an inch thick, to this favor she must come”—
no one can avoid death (V.i.178–179). He
traces the skull’s mouth and says, “Here hung
those lips that I have kissed I know not how
oft,” indicating his fascination with the
physical consequences of death (V.i.174–175).
This latter idea is an important motif
throughout the play, as Hamlet frequently
makes comments referring to every human
body’s eventual decay, noting that Polonius
will be eaten by worms, that even kings are
eaten by worms, and that dust from the
decayed body of Alexander the Great might
be used to stop a hole in a beer barrel.
Ears and Hearing
One facet of Hamlet’s exploration of the
difficulty of attaining true knowledge is
slipperiness of language. Words are used to
communicate ideas, but they can also be used
to distort the truth, manipulate other people,
and serve as tools in corrupt quests for
power. Claudius, the shrewd politician, is the
most obvious example of a man who
manipulates words to enhance his own
power. The sinister uses of words are
represented by images of ears and hearing,
from Claudius’s murder of the king by pouring
poison into his ear to Hamlet’s claim to
Horatio that “I have words to speak in thine
ear will make thee dumb” (IV.vi.21). The
poison poured in the king’s ear by Claudius is
used by the ghost to symbolize the corrosive
effect of Claudius’s dishonesty on the health
of Denmark. Declaring that the story that he
was killed by a snake is a lie, he says that “the
whole ear of Denmark” is “Rankly abused. . .
.” (I.v.36–38).
Symbols
66
Hamlet Essay Topics
1. write an essay on the function of
the soliloquies in hamlet.
2. discuss shakespeare's use of
figures from nature (weeds,
worms, et al.) or of sickness, rot
and contagion.
3. discuss hamlet's "antic
disposition." is his madness
feigned or real?
4. conflict is essential to drama.
show that hamlet presents both
an outward and inward conflict.
5. is hamlet primarily a tragedy of
revenge?
6. discuss hamlet's relationship with
gertrude.
7. why does hamlet delay taking
revenge on claudius?
8. compare laertes with hamlet:
both react to their fathers'
killing/murder. is the reaction of
either right or wrong?
9. how important is the ghost in the
triangular relationship of hamlet,
gertrude, and claudius?
10. although hamlet ultimately
rejects it at the end of the play,
suicide is an ever-present solution
to the problems in the drama.
discuss the play's suggestion of
suicide and imagery of death,
with particular attention to
hamlet's two important
statements about suicide: the "o
that this too, too solid flesh would
melt" soliloquy and the "to be, or
not to be" soliloquy.
11. select one of hamlet soliloquies
and by a detailed attention to the
poetry discuss the nature of
hamlet's feelings as they reveal
themselves in this speech. what
insights might this speech provide
into the prince's elusive
character?
12. select a particular scene in and
discuss its importance in the play.
how does this particular part of
the action contribute significantly
to our response to what is going
on? what might be missing if a
director decided to cut this scene
(e.g., claudius at prayer, the scene
between polonius and reynaldo,
the gravedigger scene)
13. discuss hamlet's treatment of and
ideas about women. how might
these help to clarify some of the
interpretative issues of the play?
you might want to consider
carefully the way he talks about
sexuality.
14. hamlet's flaw is that he fails to act
on instinct - he thinks too much.
discuss.
15. discuss the importance of
appearance and reality in hamlet.
16. think about hamlet's relationship
with ophelia. does he love her?
does he stop loving her? did he
ever love her? what evidence can
you find in the play to support
your opinion?
17. consider rosencrantz and
guildenstern's role in the play.
why might shakespeare have
created characters like this? are
they there for comic relief, or do
they serve a more serious
purpose? why does the news of
their deaths come only after the
deaths of the royal family in act v,
as if this news were not
anticlimactic? is it acceptable for
67
hamlet to treat them as he does?
why or why not?
18. analyze the use of descriptions
and images in hamlet. how does
shakespeare use descriptive
language to enhance the visual
possibilities of a stage
production? how does he use
imagery to create a mood of
tension, suspense, fear, and
despair?
19. analyze the use of comedy in
hamlet, paying particular
attention to the gravediggers,
osric, and polonius. does comedy
serve merely to relieve the
tension of the tragedy, or do the
comic scenes serve a more
serious thematic purpose as well?
68
Imagery/Language
In 'Hamlet', imagery performs three important
functions. Firstly, it helps to individualise the
major characters of the drama. Secondly, it
announces and elaborates major themes. And
thirdly, reiterated images establish the
distinctive atmosphere of the tragedy and
keep the underlying mood of a scene, or of a
succession of scenes, before the audience's
mind.
The crucial dramatic event on which the plot
of 'Hamlet' hinges - the murder of King
Hamlet by his brother Claudius - takes place in
the pre-history of the tragedy, but it is vividly
recalled for Hamlet (and for the audience) by
the ghost in 1.5. The old king describes in vivid
detail how the poison attacked his body as he
slept, and how that healthy organism was
destroyed from within, not having a chance to
defend itself.
The leperous distilment, whose effect
Holds such an emnity with blood of man,
That swift as quicksilver it courses through
The natural gates and alleys of the body,
And with a sudden vigour it doth posset
And curd, like eager droppings into milk,
The thin and wholesome blood; so did it mine,
And a most instant tetter barked about
Most lazar-like with vile and loathsome crust
All my smooth body.
At two further points in the play's action
physical poisoning visually recurs - the
poisoning of Old Hamlet is re-enacted in 3.2
by Lucianus and the Player King; and in the
final scene of the drama all of the major
characters, including the arch-poisoner
Claudius himself, meet their deaths by poison.
Poisoning also becomes a distinctive recurring
pattern in the play's imagery. The individual
occurrence in the palace garden is expanded
into a symbol for the central problem of the
drama. The poisoning of Hamlet's father
functions as a major symbol for the moral
condition of Denmark. Just as the 'leperous
distilment' which Claudius poured into his
sleeping brother's ear spread through the
latter's body and destroyed the healthy
organism from within, in the same way the
'serpent' Claudius morally poisons Gertrude,
seducing her with'witchcraft of his wit, with
traitorous gifts'. Polonius succumbs to the
king's moral poison and is even prepared to
lose his daughter Ophelia to Hamlet in order
to please his evil master. Rosencrantz and
Guildenstern are morally poisoned and
seduced into betraying their friend by the
promise of
such thanks
As fits a king's remembrance.
Fittingly Hamlet describes them to Horatio as
'adders fang'd. The morally unstable Laertes is
unable to resist Claudius' moral poison and
loses his life as a result, ironically by the
very 'unction' with which he had just
treacherously poisoned the unsuspecting
Hamlet. Consequently it is ironic that the king
should diagnose Ophelia's madness as
the 'poison of deep grief'. There is further
irony in Claudius' words to Gertrude
describing how the grieving Laertes does not
lack rumour-mongers to
infect his ear
With pestilent speeches of his father's death
Considering that he himself killed his own
brother by pouring real poison into his ear
and will soon morally poison the ears of the
same Laertes against Hamlet. And there is
supreme irony in the treacherous Claudius'
description to the grieving son of Polonius of
the effect the Frenchman Lamord's 'masterly
report' of Laertes' skill in swordsmanship had
upon Hamlet.
sir, this report of his
Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy, That he
could nothing do but wish and beg Your
immediate coming oe'r to play with him
At that very point the king himself is morally
poisoning the young man's mind against the
69
prince.
Images of sickness & disease are closely
associated with those of poison. The ghastly,
visible effect which the poison had upon his
body is vividly described by the ghost of Old
Hamlet.
And a most instant tetter bark'd about
Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust
All my smooth body.
Significantly Hamlet (speaking to Horatio)
describes his uncle as 'this canker of our
nature'. When he comes upon Claudius at
prayer, the prince decides not to take his
revenge at that point, instead he declares
threateningly
This physic but prolongs these sickly days
And at the end of the emotional closet-scene
with his mother, Hamlet implores her not to
console herself with the belief that the
apparition of her dead husband is due to her
son's mad hallucination, and not to her
own'trespass'. That self-deception, he warns
her, will have a fatal moral effect, will in fact
only
skin and film the ulcerous place,
Whiles rank corruption, mining all within,
Infects unseen
Through these images Hamlet focuses
attention upon the guilt of his uncle and his
mother. Later when he observes Fortinbras
and his army en route to war in Poland, the
Prince declares sadly
This is th'imposthume of much wealth and
peace,
That inward breaks, and shows no cause
without
Why the man dies
For Hamlet this unnecessary war between
Poland and Norway is a form of sickness, a
tumour which grows out of too much
prosperity and which will have fatal
consequences for the body politic of both
countries. Many of the images used by
Claudius are also associated with sickness and
disease, but they have a very different
implication. Ironically, the King equates the
health of his kingdom with his own physical
well-being and with that of his rule. Like
Hamlet, he believes the body politic is
suffering from a disease, but he identifies
Hamlet, not himself as the source of the moral
infection. When Claudius hears of Polonius'
death, he says that he should have had his
mentally unstable nephew locked up earlier;
and in the Queen's presence he hypocritically
maintains
so much was our love
We would not understand what was most fit,
But like the owner of a foul disease,
To keep it from divulging, let it feed
Even on the pith of life.
The King justifies his decision to send his son
to England by means of a medical aphorism
Diseases desperate grown
By desperate appliance are relieved,
Or not at all
When he is apostrophising the English king
and ordering him to execute Hamlet, the
frantic Claudius uses the language of a man
suffering from a fever
Do it England For like the hectic in my blood
he rages,
And thou must cure me.
And he sums up the danger presented to
himself by Hamlet's unexpected return
through yet another sickness image
but to the quick of th'ulcer
Hamlet comes back.
Significantly too, the Queen speaks of her 'sick
soul' and Laertes refers to his grief over his
father's death as'the very sickness in my
heart'.Closely related to images of disease and
sickness is a third group relating to rottenness
and decay. This pattern of images is
introduced by Marcellus when he declares
70
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
In his opening soliloquy Hamlet describes the
moral condition of Denmark under the
degenerate Claudius' rule as like a garden
whose plants have been choked by ugly,
repulsive weeds.
Fie, on't, ah fie, 'tis an unweeded garden
That grows to seed, things rank and gross in
nature
Possess it merely.
This image recurs when the ghost of his dead
father declares approvingly to his son
I find thee apt,
And duller shouldst thou be than the far weed
That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf,
Wouldst thou not stir in this.
And when Hamlet in the closet-scene urges
his mother not to continue her relationship
with Claudius, he uses an image which vividly
reflects his disgust
highlight Hamlet's feeling of revulsion at the
adulterous, incestuous relationship between
his mother and his uncle. The carnal nature of
their relationship is emphasised through a
pattern of animal images. In his opening
soliloquy the grieving Prince declares his
disgust that even an animal lacking reasoning
power would have mourned longer for its
mate than Gertrude did for her dead husband.
O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason
Would have mourn'd longer
And the pair are imaged by him as pigs in their
lovemaking
Nay, but to live
In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed
Stewed in corruption, honeying and making
love
Over the nasty sty
Finally, the bloat king is variously described by
Hamlet as a 'satyr', 'beast', 'paddock', 'bat',
'gib'
do not spread comport on the weeds
To make them ranker.
Claudius is imaged by the prince as a
Mildewed ear, Blasting his wholesome brother
And he cannot understand how his mother
could have left the 'celestial bed' of his father
to 'prey on garbage'. Even Claudius himself
admits when he is attempting to repent his
fratricide/regicide
O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven
These reiterated visual images of rottenness
and decay are powerfully reinforced by visual
symbols. Hamlet unfeelingly drags
the 'guts' of the dead Polonius from his
mother's closet into the lobby. And the skull
of the court-jester Yorick, which the
gravedigger casually tosses up out of the
grave, makes Hamlet's stomach heave when
he holds it in his hands and philosophises on
life and death.
Images of animal lust and sensual appetite
71
Is Hamlet a tragic hero? In many senses,
Hamlet is the quintessential tragic hero. Not
only does he begin with the noblest
motivations (to punish his father’s murderer)
but by the end, his situation is do dire that the
only plausible final act should be his death.
Like the classical tragic hero, Hamlet does not
survive to see the full outcome of his actions
and more importantly, this is because he
possesses a tragic flaw. While there are a
number of flaws inherent to his character, it is
Hamlet’s intense identification with and
understanding of the power of words and
language that ultimately bring about his
requisite tragic ending. Hamlet’s deep
connection with language and words causes
him to base his perceptions of reality on his
interpretation and understanding of words
and he allows himself to become overwrought
with creating meaning. As this thesis
statement for Hamlet suggests, eventually, his
own words and philosophical internal banter
are his end since being a highly verbose and
introspective man, this is both one of his
greatest gifts as well as his tragic flaw.
Hamlet fits several into several of the defining
traits of a tragic hero in literature, particularly
in terms of how he possesses a tragic flaw.
The fact that Hamlet’s best trait is also his
downfall (his tragic flaw, in other words)
makes him a prime candidate for a tragic hero
and in fact, makes him one of the most tragic
figures in the works of Shakespeare in
general. More specifically, what
makes Hamlet even more of a tragic hero is
that his actions and tragic flaw is not his fault.
He is an introspective character and in a
normal situation, this might not be a problem.
However, being part of the royal family makes
him prone to negative and stressful situations
and thus his engagement with words to level
in which he is almost crippled is absolutely
tragic, even if it is not because of anything he
had overtly done.
For Hamlet, the power of language and
words are the key to both the driving action of
the play as well its outcome as all characters
have somehow been affected by poisoned
words. In many senses, each character’s sense
of reality has been created and shaped
because of their relationship to language and
words, often to tragic ends and for this
reason, it becomes clear that his fascination
with language is part of his tragic flaw as a
character. The reader of this play by
Shakespeare is offered some degree of
foreshadowing when the ghost of Hamlet’s
father states, in one of the important quotes
from Hamletthat Claudius has poisoned “the
whole ear of Denmark” with his words.
Although the reader is not aware of it yet,
words will drive the action of the play. For
instance, it is not necessarily Hamlet’s actions
toward Ophelia that are part of what drives
her to suicide, but his words. He, like other
men in the play, scolds her like a child, telling
her she should enter a nunnery instead of
becoming a “breeder of sinners” (III.i.122123). While he may have simply ignored her
or shunned her in a more physical manner,
instead he uses the power of words to act as
daggers.
Unlike many of the other characters in the
play, Hamlet understands fully his skill with
words and language and he uses this, above
all, to achieve his ends. His exchanges with
Ophelia are just one example of his use of
language to lead toward a desired result. For
example, it is not simply his reaction to his
mother that drives that their relationship, but
his skillful use of words and language. At one
point, Hamlet recognizes his power with
words and tells the audience, as if recognizing
this to be his tragic flaw “I will speak daggers
to her, but use none” (III.ii.366). The idea that
words are equal with daggers is a central idea
in this text and it is also noticeable how
Hamlet’s belief in the power of language
makes others believe it as well, especially
those who are full of words, but who speak
only hollow vapid sentences such as Polonius
72
or Claudius, who actually makes the
statement while praying that “my words fly
up, my thoughts remain below” (II.iii.96). The
idea expressed here is that he is always
speaking but is not using language to his
benefit—even when it is in supplication to
God. The characters in Hamlet by Shakespeare
who are not as adept at weaving reality
through language are not as sharp as Hamlet
and as the play continues, one notices that
the power of words is truly equivalent to that
of the dagger.
Unfortunately, Hamlet’s use of language does
not always benefit him in this play by
Shakespeare. Due to his brooding and
introspective nature, he often wrangles with
language to help him understand a reality
where he has little control. Hamlet’s famous
“to be or not to be” soliloquy questions the
righteousness of life over death in moral
terms and discusses the many possible
reasons for either living or dying. Despite this
more concrete meaning to the passage in
Shakespeare’s play Hamlet, it is important to
note that the words themselves hold a great
deal of meaning for Hamlet. Instead of taking
words at face value, he picks apart the
meaning of them and tries to make logical
sense out of both the words alone as well as
their implied meanings. The concept of death
and suicide was not enough within itself to
contend with, but the situation is further
complicated for Hamlet because of the many
possible ways of constructing his feelings
based on language and the interpretation of
words. When Hamlet utters the pained
question in one of the important quotes from
Hamlet, by William Shakespeare, “To be, or
not to be: that is the question: / Whether ‘tis
nobler in the mind to suffer / The slings and
arrows of outrageous fortune / Or to take
arms against a sea of troubles” (III.i.59-61)
(click here for a full analysis of this speech)
there is little doubt that he is thinking of
death. Although he attempts to pose such a
question in a rational and logical way, he is
still left without an answer of whether the
“slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” can
be borne out since life after death is so
uncertain.
In the above important passage from Hamlet
by William Shakespeare, one must note that
Hamlet’s language is poetic, despite a lack of
an audience and he is trying to use his rich
conception of words to help him gain a kind of
divine insight. He wonders about the nature
of his death and thinks for a moment that it
may be like a deep sleep, which seems at first
to be acceptable until he speculates on what
will come in such a deep sleep. Just when his
“sleep” answer begins to appeal him, he stops
short and wonders, “To sleep: perchance to
dream:—ay there’s the rub; / For in that sleep
of death what dreams may come” (III.i.68-69).
The word “sleep” itself is so full of alternate
meanings and various connotations and
instead of choosing one, Hamlet must battle
the words to gain an understanding of his
reality. The “dreams” that he fears are the
pains that the afterlife might bring and since
there is no way to be positive that there will
be a relief from his earthly sufferings through
death, he forced to question death yet
again. Hamlet is stuck because of his feelings
of morality, but of equal importance, he is
stalled because words hold so much power
over him. He is an introspective man and the
character who most recognizes the power of
language as something that can either revive
or destroy, depending on how it is
interpreted. In other words, through his
understanding of words and their associated
meanings, Hamlet’s own sense of reality is
constructed through his interpretation of
words and language.
Overall, the power of language in Hamlet by
William Shakespeare has had a direct impact
on the tragic outcome of the play. The tragic
ending was simply the culmination of the
“poison in the ear” and destructive use of
language and thinking that follows. For
Hamlet, the immense power of language
cannot be ignored. Furthermore, it is
apparent that the reality, both for the reader
73
and the central characters, is mutable and
susceptible to the influence of manipulative
words. Words from different characters could
act as daggers, both on the reader as well as
the characters. For Hamlet, the power of
words was at once his greatest downfall as
well as his most prized weapon. For this
reason, language is Hamlet’s tragic flaw and
he is a tragic character, although not because
of anything he has purposefully done.
2.
Just what is a tragic hero? Obviously someone
who is ‘tragic’ has suffered a great deal and
we feel sorry for them. Someone who is a
‘hero’ is someone we admire and respect. The
definition of the tragic hero in literature is
only slightly more complex. You need to look
for the following three elements.
The tragic hero
1. commands our respect and sympathy
2. possesses some human flaw in
character or judgement which
partially brings about his downfall
3. recognises that he is somewhat to
blame
Two other elements are worth mentioning.
The first is that the consequences far
outweigh the fault – in simple terms, he
suffers far more than he deserves to. The
second is that his suffering provokes an
emotional response in the reader – the
‘tragedy’ is created because we are filled with
grief & sympathy at the unfairness of what he
has to endure.
If we apply this definition to Hamlet you’ll see
that he
1. Immediately commands our respect
& sympathy. He obeys his mother
despite his disgust at her behaviour.
He values honesty “I have that within
which passes show”. He is grieving his
dead father & attempts to come to
terms with his mother’s betrayal
which evokes our sympathy. He is
suicidal but moral “o that the
everlasting had not fixed his cannon
against self-slaughter” and aware of
his duty to obey the King “it is not nor
it cannot come to good but break my
heart for I must hold my tongue”. He
is described by Ophelia as
‘honourable’ and treats Horatio as a
friend rather than as a subject
(proving that he has no sense of being
‘better’ than others despite his royal
blood). You then need to look at how
our sympathy for him ebbs and flows
however. There are moments when
we struggle to accept his behaviour –
for example his reaction to killing
Polonius, his decision to send R&G to
their deaths and his treatment of
Laertes in the graveyard. However, he
regains his nobility somewhat when
he exchanges forgiveness with
Laertes, when he finally kills Claudius,
when he saves Horatio, and in the
tributes paid to him by Horatio &
Fortinbras.
2. Possesses some human flaw in
character or judgement which
partially brings about his downfall.
His ‘flaw’ is his procrastination,
although this is a flaw we can admire.
He is determined to establish
Claudius’ guilt before he kills him,
showing that he is a person who
believes in doing the right thing. The
deaths of many characters – Polonius,
Ophelia, Gertrude, Laertes, even R&G
can be either directly or indirectly
viewed as a consequence of Hamlet’s
‘delay’, his rage at his own inability to
act and then his impulsive ‘rash and
bloody deed’ in killing Polonius,
thinking it was Claudius behind the
arras.
74
3. Recognises that he is somewhat to
blame. Throughout the play Hamlet
makes reference to his tendency to
think rather than act. Almost all of his
seven soliloquies involve deeply selfcritical commentary. He cannot
explain, justify, or even understand
“why yet I live to say this thing’s to
do”. He is filled with shame when he
compares himself to Fortinbras &
Laertes. Thus Hamlet absolutely
recognises his flaw.
The entire play dramatically presents a battle
between rage & despair in Hamlet’s soul as he
struggles to come to terms with the fact that
he must carry out a deed which is anathema
to his personality “the time is out of joint o
cursed spite, that ever I was born to set it
right”. Thus we respect him, feel sympathy for
him, recognise (as he does) his flaws and
experience his death as deeply tragic yet in
some ways inevitable. He ticks all the boxes so
a question asking you to discuss whether or
not Hamlet is a tragic hero could be fairly
straightforward if you just keep these three
things in mind!
You could complicate it further IF YOU
WANTED TO make your answer more original.
Let’s think for a second about the idea of the
anti-hero. This is a character who we ‘admire
and feel sympathy for’ so that box is still
ticked. What makes the antihero different is
their personality – something in their
character is different to our usual definition of
a ‘hero’. In Hamlet’s case he doesn’t behave
the way we expect the hero to behave in a
revenge tragedy – we expect him to carry out
his revenge quickly and unequivocally,
without hesitation. Instead he examines the
morality of what he must do, gets sidetracked
into arguments with the women in his life,
thinks long and hard about killing himself (but
as with everything else he talks about, he
doesn’t do it!), gives a lecture on good acting
to some actors, fails to kill Claudius because
he wants him to burn in hell forever, kills
Polonius by accident, is sent away, makes a
deal with some pirates, comes back and again
gets sidetracked – this time into a fencing
match which will prove fatal for all of the
major characters who aren’t already dead. So
his ‘flaw’ (procrastination) is also the thing
which makes him more antihero than hero. If
you wanted to you could describe him as a
tragic antihero rather than as a typical tragic
hero. Or you can stick with the simpler
definition above.
Now think about this for a second. Do you like
him? I find myself torn between sympathy
(your mom’s a bitch) and frustration (just do it
already!). Psychologists say the traits you
most dislike in others are often the things you
most dislike about yourself. Let’s apply that to
Hamlet for a second – he annoys me because
he talks about doing things instead of just
doing them. Then I think about myself – I
talked about doing this website for well over a
year before I actually did anything about it. I
keep talking about going to NY but I’ve never
been. Right now I should be finalising things
for the short story competition but I’m putting
it off. Now think about yourself for a minute.
Think about all the time you waste talking
about and thinking about studying but not
actually doing it! If Hamlet irritates you maybe
that’s because he is so goddamned HUMAN.
So weak, so flawed and so like all of us.
Maybe we want our ‘heroes’ on telly, in the
movies, in plays, to be more heroic and less
real. Paradoxically however, the fact that he is
so real, so ordinary, so flawed, so weak, so
impulsive and so insecure is what makes him
so fascinating, so compelling and so tragic.
75
Durcan
Eliot
Hopkins
Keats
Plath
Bishop
Bishop's poetic voice is very distinct. She
combines a fine-tuned sense of poetic
formality with an elegant lightness of
phrase and she is never afraid of striking a
conversational tone.
The 'Oh, but it is dirty!' with which 'Filling
Station' begins and the phrasing
throughout 'In the Waiting Room' are
evidence of this. Also, her work is replete
with vivid imagery and striking metaphors,
and the keenness of her perception of the
world about her is remarkable.
Many of her poems concern childhood,
but there is little to suggest nostalgia or
the desire to return to an idyllic life.
Bishop's own childhood was far from
happy, it was filled with uncertainty.
This is reflected in the unnerving images
she so often employs in her poetic
accounts of her youth. 'Sestina', for
example, is dominated by images of rain,
failing light, and tears. And in 'First Death
in Nova Scotia', she captures the
confusion of a child faced with the
inexplicable fact of a young cousin's death
through the use of childish discourse and
through the depiction of the child being
able only to describe the world that
surrounds the physical evidence of death.
When the child at last addresses the
question of what death really means, she
can only form a question: "But how could
Arthur go…?"
Bishop's poetry displays her need
throughout her life to find stability and
order. Or rather, not so much to find
stability and order as to create them. She
could not believe in the existence of God
or of any transcendental source or
guarantee of order, but she regretted not
being able to do so. She wished the world
were a more ordered place, but she knew
that she had to create the order herself,
and it is her poetry that allowed her to do
so. Consider her account in 'The Fish' of
enjoying the thrill of the hunt and feeling
pride when she pulls in an old fish that has
escaped from many fishing lines in the
past.
Two things distinguish this narrative from
other celebrated male narratives: In the
first place, Bishop is enthralled by the
beauty of the fish as it lies at the bottom
of the boat; also by its uniqueness, its
difference, its strangeness. And secondly,
she lets the fish go. She does not wish to
kill it. It is a profoundly different living
creature from herself, and she wants that
emblem of difference to be preserved.
Bishop's poem endows its fish with an
awareness not very different from human
awareness. That this is a poem of "twofold
consciousness," to use Robert Bly's term
for poems that "grant nature an
enormous amount of consciousness" , is
indicated by
Bishop's calling the fish a "he" instead of
an "it." This is not mere personification,
for she treats the fish as a sentient being,
with feelings not unlike those of a human
being.
She admires the fish's "sullen face" as his
eyes tip "toward the light," light which for
us humans would symbolize
consciousness but which for the creature
76
of the water symbolizes the
unconsciousness of death.
The narrative may be summed up quickly,
for what happens happens more quickly
than the time it takes to read the poem.
The speaker, out in a battle-worn, rented
boat, catches the old fish, holds it "half
out of water, with my hook / fast in a
corner of his mouth." After examining the
fish closely and sympathetically, she has,
ironically, a moment of recognition or an
epiphany and tosses the fish back into the
water: "I let the fish go."
Summarized, the poem is ordinary
enough. What makes the poem
extraordinary is the way the experience is
related: the structure is shaped by the
language of the poem . Bishop's images
appeal to all the senses: sound ("He hung
a grunting
weight . . . his gills were breathing in / the
terrible oxygen)"; smell ("shapes like
fullblown roses . . . rags of green weed
hung down"); touch (she holds the fish);
taste ("I thought of the coarse white
flesh"); and of course sight (the "green
weed," among many other examples).
Combining simile and metaphor, Bishop
creates sympathy for the fish. The "five
old pieces of fish-line . . . with all their five
big hooks / grown firmly in his mouth" are
Like medals with their ribbons frayed and
wavering, a five-haired beard of wisdom
trailing from his aching jaw.
The fish's "brown skin hung in strips / like
ancient wall-paper." His "big bones and
the little bones, / the dramatic reds and
blacks of / his shiny entrails, / and the pink
swim-bladder / like a big peony." Here the
alliterated "b's" emphasize the images,
just as the internal rhyme and the
repeated "t's" dramatize the fish's eyes:
"the irises backed and packed / with
tarnished tinfoil / seen through the lenses
/ of old scratched isinglass."
Bishop adroitly uses other poetic devices
to enrich the moment she writes about.
Add to the imagery, simile, metaphor and
other devices characteristic of lyric poetry
such rhetorical devices as the repetition
of "rainbow, rainbow, rainbow!" and you
get a real sense of the experience the
speaker describes. Neither her battered
boat (with its "rusted engine" around
which is an oil-created "rainbow") nor the
"venerable" old fish is beautiful in
conventional terms. Their beauty lies in
having survived, and when the speaker
realizes this, "victory filled up / the little
rented boat" and she understands that
"everything / was rainbow, rainbow,
rainbow!" That is when she lets the fish
return to his home in the water.
The poem obviously was not written by a
professional fisher nor by a person to
whom fishing is a favourite "sport." If it
succeeds, it succeeds because of Elizabeth
Bishop's powerful use of language to
convey a personal experience showing her
special sensibility.
Consider too Bishop's depiction of the
'Filling Station'; it is a grim place,
dedicated to the functioning of machines.
It is, in fact, a masculine place. Yet the
poet notices another, a warmer and more
human, presence there. She is astounded
by the vision of a large plant, "a big
hirsute begonia", and a doily
"embroidered in daisy stitch". The poet's
powers of observation and description, as
well as her remarkable ability toachieve
insight through reflecting on ordinary,
everyday experiences are again evident in
'Filling Station'. The conversational tone
77
draws us into the poem: 'Oh, but it is
dirty!' The image of an 'overall black
translucency' perfectly conveys the sense
of overwhelming filth. The poet closely
observes every aspect of the 'oil-soaked'
station, even noticing how the father's
monkey suit 'cuts him under the arms'.
Herclose observation of the unlikely
domestic world that she encounters here
sets her thinking, 'Why the extraneous
plant? / Why the taboret? / Why, oh why,
the doily?' (her eye for detail is such that
she even notices that the doily is
'embroidered in daisy stitch'). These
questions reflect the poet's admirable
curiosity to understand the reality that lies
behind external appearances. Again we
see how reflection leads to insight. The
poet realises that some unseen person
(probably a woman) has done her best to
create some semblance of domestic order
in a world of grime: 'Somebody waters the
plant, ' or oils it, maybe' (one of several
lovely touches of humour in the poem).
Even the oil cans are neatly arranged so as
to soothe the fraught nerves of stressed
drivers. I enjoyed the poet's clever use of
personification as well as the repetition of
the soothing 'so' sound: 'they softly say: /
ESSO-SO-SO-SO / to high strung
automobiles'. The poet concludes that
there is always someone doing their best
to quietly improve the quality of our lives.
'Somebody loves us all'. As in 'The Fish',
poet and reader are uplifted by a very
positive, reassuring insight into human
life. The human ability to rise above
ugliness of life means that beauty and
love are to be found in the most unlikely
places. I like the way Bishop reflects on a
personal experience to discover an
uplifting universal truth.
'The Armadillo' is also remarkable for its
vivid descriptions, original images and
moments of insight. Bishop is struck by
the delicate beauty of the fire balloons
which the Brazilian people released in
honour of Saint John: 'the paper chambers
flush and fill with light'. A well-chosen
metaphor helps us to picture a
constellation of stars: 'they steer between
/ the kite sticks of the Southern Cross'.
However, for all their beauty and
romance, the fire balloons' passage
possess a terrifying destructive capacity,
which the poet vividly conveys with the
image of an exploding 'egg of fire'. The
armadillo is described with typical
precision: 'a glistening armadillo left the
scene, / rose-flecked, head-down, taildown'. The poet's observant eye takes in
every aspect of the scene, even noticing
that a baby rabbit is 'short-eared, to our
surprise'. The moment of insight occurs in
the concluding stanza as the poet
becomes aware of man's unthinking
destructiveness. The fire balloons remind
her of falling bombs, while the helpless
animals come to symbolise all of the
innocent victims of war and oppression.
The seemingly tough and independent
armadillo is pathetically vulnerable. I was
struck by the closing image of 'a weak
mailed fist / clenched ignorant against the
sky' because it powerfully underscores
humanity's vulnerability to forces of
destruction. Here the poet offers us
another thought-provoking, if grim,
insight into the reality of life.
'First Death in Nova Scotia' describes a
child's attempts to come to terms with
her first experience of death. It is
particularly poignant because we see the
world through the eyes of an innocent,
confused child. Even as a child, Bishop was
78
sharply observant, taking in every aspect
of the cold parlour, including the old
chromographs and the stuffed loon. The
description of the lifeless loon as 'cold and
caressable' effectively conveys the child's
confusion when confronted by death.
Bishop's images are typically imaginative:
the marble topped table becomes the
loon's 'white frozen lake', while Arthur's
coffin is 'a little frosted cake'. The simile
comparing little Arthur to a 'doll that
hadn't been painted yet' is very moving,
highlighting, as it does, the tragedy of a
child's death. Through closely observing
and reflecting on the situationin which she
finds herself, the young Bishop gets a
sense of the terrible finality of death. The
child tries to come up with a happy,
fairytale ending to this tragic happening
by imagining that the royal figures 'invited
Arthur to be / the smallest page at court'.
However, she sadly concludes that her
lifeless cousin, trapped in the embrace of
death and clutching his 'tiny lily' will be
unable to travel 'roads deep in snow'. It is
the child's perspective on death which
make this poem both interesting and
poignant.
'In the Waiting Room' is another poem
rooted in childhood experience. What
makes this poem particularly interesting is
the manner in which it portrays the
dawning of adult awareness in the young
Elizabeth Bishop. Once again, the use of
the first person and the conversational
tone draw us into the poem: 'I went with
AuntConsuelo / to keep her dentist's
appointment'. Again, we see that, even as
a child, the poet was very alert to the
world around her: The waiting room / was
full of grown-up people, / arctics and
overcoats, / lamps and magazines'. The
images in the 'National Geographic'
introduce the child to a wider, frightening
world, with the poet using a memorable
simile to convey the appalling selfmutilation of African women: necks /
wound round and round like wire / like
the necks of light bulbs'. The image of
their 'horrifying' breasts suggests the
suffering involved in bearing and raising
children. This interesting to again observe
how outer description leads to inner
reflection. The poet's identification with
the suffering of other women is suggested
by the strange sense she has of her aunt's
cry of pain coming from her own mouth:
'Without thinking at all / I was my foolish
aunt'. Bishop comes to sense that all
women are united in suffering. It is the
inevitability of this female suffering that
'held us all together / or made us all just
one.' This poem is again both wonderfully
descriptive and strikingly insightful. While
the poet is aware of her own individuality,
it is as if all women fuse into one because
of their shared suffering: 'But I felt: you
are and I, / you are an Elizabeth, / you are
one of them'. Poet and reader alike are
challenged by a dramatic insight which
suggests that individual identity is less
important tan gender in the shaping of a
woman's destiny.
'The Prodigal' also combines detailed,
imaginative description with memorable
insight. The detailed description of the sty
plastered 'with glass-smooth dung'
effectively conveys the degradation of the
prodigal or alcoholic who now lives at the
level of an animal. However, the prodigal's
enduring humanity (he feels a degree of
affection for the cannibalistic sow) as well
as his appreciation of beauty ('the sunrise
glazed the barnyard mud with red')
suggests that we all have the capacity to
rise above the ugliness of life and grow as
79
people. We are reassured by the poem's
positive message that no one is beyond
redemption: 'But it took him a long time /
finally to make his mind up to go home'.
Elizabeth Boland
During the Famine the Irish Board of
Works created employment by making
new roads for the provision of famine
relief. These roads usually led nowhere
and were built on poor, boggy roads – the
type of road you would see leading off a
country lane. Boland refers to these roads
in THE FAMINE ROAD.
The poem begins referencing a letter from
Charles Trevelyan to Colonel Jones, the
letter being read by Jones at a Relief
Committee (Jones was the Chairman of the
Irish Board of Works). Trevelyan wrote
anonymously, in the Edinburgh Review
that the famine was God’s way of dealing
with overpopulation The first Relief
Commission began work in November
1845 and the first and most important plan
was to form committees of local
landowners, their agents, magistrates,
clergy and residents of importance –
before any relief could actually be given.
‘Idle as trout in light Colonel Jones,
these Irish, give them no coins at all: their
bones
need toil, their character no less.’
Boland then jumps into the second poem:
we are introduced to the lines in italics and
from reading these lines it is clear that they
are spoken by a doctor to a woman who
cannot get pregnant:
‘one out of every ten and then
another third of those again
women – in a case like yours.’
As this stanza begins without
capitalisation, it appears that we have
caught the doctor mid-sentence and as we
have cut into the doctor’s speech, the
doctor’s own speech has cut rather
abruptly across the first stanza. It seems as
though the woman is being judged and
evaluated – the first line is a statistic,
which implies a certain coldness from the
doctor towards the patient, the same type
of coldness that Trevelyan would have
harboured for the Irish during the Famine.
Nevertheless, with this cold and almost
matter-of-fact tone we are slightly
confused as to what is happening but at the
same time there is sense of unease about
the situation. ‘- in a case like yours.’ sets
the doctor apart from the patient in the
same way the English set themselves apart
from the Irish
Disease is prevalent here – each death
becomes a fevered outcast and as the man
mentioned here gets closer to death by the
hour, the others will not even pray by his
bedside – for fear that they will catch his
illness? Boland emphasises man’s
inhumanity to man with the image of the
snow not affecting the individual
snowflakes. Boland returns to the doctor’s
surgery and this time the tone has
worsened, it has become even more
negative and hurtful:
‘You never will, never you know
but take it will woman, grow
your garden, keep house, good-bye.’
Just as the Irish were dismissed in the first
stanza, the woman is dismissed here by the
doctor – there are two stories here, one
public and one private but both are
connected. The doctor, very patronisingly
states that the woman will never have
children but to get over it and worry about
growing her garden and keeping her house
tidy. Jones’ letter to Trevelyan is smug in
tone and he is pleased that the famine road
project has worked. Trevelyan’s plan was
to put idle hands to work and Jones reports
that this plan did indeed work; the building
of the roads exhausted the Irish and
prevented them from rebelling
80
The woman sees her life as a famine road
– a long life of hard work that in the end
leads nowhere. Boland uses both voices in
this poem to highlight the poor treatment
of the Irish during their time of need in the
Great Famine and links both ‘poems’ to
highlight the inequality between men and
women and how badly women were
treated (note the published date). What
good is life, the woman suggests, if life
cannot give life to life. Again, by making a
connection between two seemingly
unconnected events, one historical, one
deeply personal, she manages to merge the
public and private successfully.
In THIS MOMENT, Boland is the
onlooker and studies the scene carefully
and slowly; this shows in the short
sentences that are chosen very carefully.
The poem has twelve full-stops and ten
individual lines of the poem end with a
full-stop, most of the sentences are short –
two or three words.
Boland chooses the setting carefully: ‘A
neighbourhood’ – this could be any
neighbourhood as Boland does not
associate herself with the scene by saying
‘My’ or ‘Our’ or ‘Your’ – in this way the
poet does not see the scene alone, she
invites us to view it with her. We must
take into consideration Boland’s home at
the time – she is living in the suburbs of
Dublin and thus would know the ins and
outs of every household in her
‘neighbourhood’.
A neighbourhood.
At dusk.
Boland informs us of the time and place in
two very short sentences. The disregard for
conventional grammar is important here as
it allows the reader to read in a calming
manner thus reproducing the actual feeling
of the moment in time. Dusk seems to be
an important time for Boland (it occurs in
Love and The Pomegranate also) – it
represents a mode of quietness and
symbolically it brings closure to the events
of the day. Boland anticipates:
Things are getting ready
to happen/out of sight.
Boland observes that soon the stars will
come out, bringing the moths and
eventually new growth as the fruit
expands:
Stars and moths.
And rinds slanting around fruit.
We move from looking at the night-sky to
the fluttering of moths to the slanting rinds
around fruit. Boland shows us the things
are going to happen ‘out of sight’ and
perhaps evoking some suspense in the
reader Boland calls a halt to the flow of the
poem by telling us that these things will
happen ‘but not yet’. We are invited to
pause and perhaps dwell on the setting and
then the poet presents us with two images:
One tree is black.
One window is yellow as butter.
Boland gives strong, contrasting colours
bringing to mind a silhouette painting – the
simile ‘yellow as butter’ gives a homely
presence to the rest of the poem. Boland
now focuses more on the neighbourhood
that was introduced in the first stanza and
gives us an image of a mother and a child:
A woman leans down to catch a child
who has run into her arms
this moment.
This is the ‘moment’ that Boland has been
building up to – note the contrast in
language: prior to this scene we were
building up to a moment, the language was
slow-moving and relaxing and then
suddenly there is movement in the child
running to the mother but also note that
this is the longest line in the poem. This is
a loving moment between parent and child
and it seems as though creation (the very
81
things mentioned previously) is
celebrating the moment. The poem builds
quietly to this moment of crescendo before
spilling over into a series of affirmations:
stars do rise, moths do flutter, apples do
sweeten and mothers do love their
children. The moment becomes something
that affects everybody.
The title of this poem is important – it
refers to an object or a gift but also to a
relationship between mother and daughter.
There are many underlying features here,
especially when considering the fan – it
can suggest a woman, elegance, beauty,
the past but it can also symbolize
something romantic and quite erotic.
Boland may also be contemplating the
relationship between man and woman and
in particular how society places women
‘Outside History’. Does the man, by
giving the woman an object purely for
women, try to control the woman and
make her his subordinate? Is he turning her
into an object of sexual desire?
The story behind the poem goes like this:
her father gave the fan to Boland’s mother
during a heatwave in Paris in the 1930s.
Her mother passed down the black lace fan
to her daughter as a symbol of love but
would Boland completely accept the fan if
she suspected that it was given to her
mother for any of the reasons mentioned
above? Nevertheless, throughout the poem
we can see that Boland views the fan as a
reminder of the passing of time and the
complex relationship between genders
Boland knows that the past is the past and
there is no way to change it or to re-live it
if you were not part of the moment,
therefore she must recreate the scene, the
feelings, the emotions. Boland mentioned
that the fan is ‘worn-out’ and ‘faded’ and
this could symbolise how her parent’s
relationship has grown old but Boland
concludes the poem with a fresh outlook:
The blackbird on this first sultry morning,
in summer, finding buds, worms, fruit,
feels the heat. Suddenly she puts out her
wing the whole, full flirtatious span of it.
Boland connects her scene in Ireland with
the snippet from Paris in the 30s as when
her mother gave her the fan it was a
symbol of love and continuity, Boland
wants this same continuity between the
fan, her parents, Ireland and Paris. Boland
was unable to fully experience the
emotions that her mother felt when she
first received the gift but the poet does
catch a glimpse of something similar in the
blackbird’s wing. Boland is concentrating
on the passing of time here – the fan is old,
altered by time and growing old as the
lovers grew old. But the poet is able to see
the fan in a different light by examining
the blackbird’s wing, which to Boland is
an equivalent to the black lace fan. The
bird’s fan is full, unlike the broken shell
and is natural and in its element, once
again in contrast to the shell. The ‘full,
flirtatious span of it.’ is a description of the
bird’s wing but it could also be describing
the very moment when her mother first
opened the fan – ‘Suddenly’ implies
surprise, which may also have been felt by
her mother.
Boland is asking us to examine the
relationship between men and women but
to also dwell on time and memory – we are
to imagine an emotion or a scene that we
were absent from and try to connect
ourselves to the tale. It is then possible to
find a moment, an image or an object that
allows us to experience the feelings of
those that were actually present to the
story.
Boland takes stories that refer to specific
moments, events and people. Be it an
exchange between a mother and child, a
husband and wife or a doctor and patient,
or even a horse and a hedge she manages
to take the specific and make it universal.
82
What is personal to a limited amount of
people becomes relevant to us all.
John Donne
Divine Meditation 14
Summary
The speaker asks the “three-personed God” to
“batter” his heart, for as yet God only knocks
politely, breathes, shines, and seeks to mend.
The speaker says that to rise and stand, he
needs God to overthrow him and bend his
force to break, blow, and burn him, and to
make him new. Like a town that has been
captured by the enemy, which seeks
unsuccessfully to admit the army of its allies
and friends, the speaker works to admit God
into his heart, but Reason, like God’s viceroy,
has been captured by the enemy and proves
“weak or untrue.” Yet the speaker says that
he loves God dearly and wants to be loved in
return, but he is like a maiden who is
betrothed to God’s enemy. The speaker asks
God to “divorce, untie, or break that knot
again,” to take him prisoner; for until he is
God’s prisoner, he says, he will never be free,
and he will never be chaste until God ravishes
him.
the speaker to actually raping him, which, he
says in the final line, is the only way he will
ever be chaste. The poem’s metaphors (the
speaker’s heart as a captured town, the
speaker as a maiden betrothed to God’s
enemy) work with its extraordinary series of
violent and powerful verbs (batter, o’erthrow,
bend, break, blow, burn, divorce, untie, break,
take, imprison, enthrall, ravish) to create the
image of God as an overwhelming, violent
conqueror. The bizarre nature of the
speaker’s plea finds its apotheosis in the
paradoxical final couplet, in which the speaker
claims that only if God takes him prisoner can
he be free, and only if God ravishes him can
he be chaste.
As is amply illustrated by the contrast
between Donne’s religious lyrics and his
metaphysical love poems, Donne is a poet
deeply divided between religious spirituality
and a kind of carnal lust for life. Many of his
best poems, including “Batter my heart,
three-personed God,” mix the discourse of
the spiritual and the physical or of the holy
and the secular. In this case, the speaker
achieves that mix by claiming that he can only
overcome sin and achieve spiritual purity if he
is forced by God in the most physical, violent,
and carnal terms imaginable.
Form
This simple sonnet follows an
ABBAABBACDDCEE rhyme scheme and is
written in a loose iambic pentameter. In its
structural division, it is a Petrarchan sonnet
rather than a Shakespearean one, with an
octet followed by a sestet.
Commentary
This poem is an appeal to God, pleading with
Him not for mercy or clemency or benevolent
aid but for a violent, almost brutal
overmastering; thus, it implores God to
perform actions that would usually be
considered extremely sinful—from battering
“The Flea”
Summary
The speaker tells his beloved to look at the
flea before them and to note “how little” is
that thing that she denies him. For the flea,
he says, has sucked first his blood, then
her blood, so that now, inside the flea, they
are mingled; and that mingling cannot be
called “sin, or shame, or loss of
maidenhead.” The flea has joined them
together in a way that, “alas, is more than
we would do.”
83
As his beloved moves to kill the flea, the
speaker stays her hand, asking her to spare
the three lives in the flea: his life, her life,
and the flea’s own life. In the flea, he says,
where their blood is mingled, they are
almost married—no, more than married—
and the flea is their marriage bed and
marriage temple mixed into one. Though
their parents grudge their romance and
though she will not make love to him, they
are nevertheless united and cloistered in
the living walls of the flea. She is apt to
kill him, he says, but he asks that she not
kill herself by killing the flea that contains
her blood; he says that to kill the flea
would be sacrilege, “three sins in killing
three.”
“Cruel and sudden,” the speaker calls his
lover, who has now killed the flea,
“purpling” her fingernail with the “blood
of innocence.” The speaker asks his lover
what the flea’s sin was, other than having
sucked from each of them a drop of blood.
He says that his lover replies that neither
of them is less noble for having killed the
flea. It is true, he says, and it is this very
fact that proves that her fears are false: If
she were to sleep with him (“yield to me”),
she would lose no more honor than she
lost when she killed the flea.
Form
This poem alternates metrically between
lines in iambic tetrameter and lines in
iambic pentameter, a 4-5 stress pattern
ending with two pentameter lines at the
end of each stanza. Thus, the stress pattern
in each of the nine-line stanzas is
454545455. The rhyme scheme in each
stanza is similarly regular, in couplets,
with the final line rhyming with the final
couplet: AABBCCDDD.
Commentary
This funny little poem again exhibits
Donne’s metaphysical love-poem mode,
his aptitude for turning even the least
likely images into elaborate symbols of
love and romance. This poem uses the
image of a flea that has just bitten the
speaker and his beloved to sketch an
amusing conflict over whether the two will
engage in premarital sex. The speaker
wants to, the beloved does not, and so the
speaker, highly clever but grasping at
straws, uses the flea, in whose body his
blood mingles with his beloved’s, to show
how innocuous such mingling can be—he
reasons that if mingling in the flea is so
innocuous, sexual mingling would be
equally innocuous, for they are really the
same thing. By the second stanza, the
speaker is trying to save the flea’s life,
holding it up as “our marriage bed and
marriage temple.”
But when the beloved kills the flea despite
the speaker’s protestations (and probably
as a deliberate move to squash his
argument, as well), he turns his argument
on its head and claims that despite the
high-minded and sacred ideals he has just
been invoking, killing the flea did not
really impugn his beloved’s honor—and
despite the high-minded and sacred ideals
she has invoked in refusing to sleep with
him, doing so would not impugn her honor
either.
This poem is the cleverest of a long line of
sixteenth-century love poems using the
flea as an erotic image, a genre derived
from an older poem of Ovid. Donne’s
poise of hinting at the erotic without ever
explicitly referring to sex, while at the
same time leaving no doubt as to exactly
what he means, is as much a source of the
poem’s humor as the silly image of the flea
is; the idea that being bitten by a flea
would represent “sin, or shame, or loss of
maidenhead” gets the point across with a
neat conciseness and clarity that Donne’s
later religious lyrics never attained.
The Sun Rising”
Summary
84
Lying in bed with his lover, the speaker
chides the rising sun, calling it a “busy old
fool,” and asking why it must bother them
through windows and curtains. Love is not
subject to season or to time, he says, and
he admonishes the sun—the “Saucy
pedantic wretch”—to go and bother late
schoolboys and sour apprentices, to tell the
court-huntsmen that the King will ride, and
to call the country ants to their harvesting.
Why should the sun think that his beams
are strong? The speaker says that he could
eclipse them simply by closing his eyes,
except that he does not want to lose sight
of his beloved for even an instant. He asks
the sun—if the sun’s eyes have not been
blinded by his lover’s eyes—to tell him by
late tomorrow whether the treasures of
India are in the same place they occupied
yesterday or if they are now in bed with
the speaker. He says that if the sun asks
about the kings he shined on yesterday, he
will learn that they all lie in bed with the
speaker.
The speaker explains this claim by saying
that his beloved is like every country in the
world, and he is like every king; nothing
else is real. Princes simply play at having
countries; compared to what he has, all
honor is mimicry and all wealth is
alchemy. The sun, the speaker says, is half
as happy as he and his lover are, for the
fact that the world is contracted into their
bed makes the sun’s job much easier—in
its old age, it desires ease, and now all it
has to do is shine on their bed and it shines
on the whole world. “This bed thy centre
is,” the speaker tells the sun, “these walls,
thy sphere.”
Form
The three regular stanzas of “The Sun
Rising” are each ten lines long and follow
a line-stress pattern of 4255445555—lines
one, five, and six are metered in iambic
tetrameter, line two is in dimeter, and lines
three, four, and seven through ten are in
pentameter. The rhyme scheme in each
stanza is ABBACDCDEE.
Commentary
One of Donne’s most charming and
successful metaphysical love poems, “The
Sun Rising” is built around a few
hyperbolic assertions—first, that the sun is
conscious and has the watchful personality
of an old busybody; second, that love, as
the speaker puts it, “no season knows, nor
clime, / Nor hours, days, months, which
are the rags of time”; third, that the
speaker’s love affair is so important to the
universe that kings and princes simply
copy it, that the world is literally contained
within their bedroom. Of course, each of
these assertions simply describes
figuratively a state of feeling—to the
wakeful lover, the rising sun does seem
like an intruder, irrelevant to the
operations of love; to the man in love, the
bedroom can seem to enclose all the
matters in the world. The inspiration of
this poem is to pretend that each of these
subjective states of feeling is an objective
truth.
Accordingly, Donne endows his speaker
with language implying that what goes on
in his head is primary over the world
outside it; for instance, in the second
stanza, the speaker tells the sun that it is
not so powerful, since the speaker can
cause an eclipse simply by closing his
eyes. This kind of heedless, joyful
arrogance is perfectly tuned to the
consciousness of a new lover, and the
speaker appropriately claims to have all
the world’s riches in his bed (India, he
says, is not where the sun left it; it is in
bed with him). The speaker captures the
essence of his feeling in the final stanza,
when, after taking pity on the sun and
deciding to ease the burdens of his old age,
he declares “Shine here to us, and thou art
everywhere.”
A Valediction: forbidding Mourning”
85
Summary
Commentary
The speaker explains that he is forced to
spend time apart from his lover, but before
he leaves, he tells her that their farewell
should not be the occasion for mourning
and sorrow. In the same way that virtuous
men die mildly and without complaint, he
says, so they should leave without “tearfloods” and “sigh-tempests,” for to
publicly announce their feelings in such a
way would profane their love. The speaker
says that when the earth moves, it brings
“harms and fears,” but when the spheres
experience “trepidation,” though the
impact is greater, it is also innocent. The
love of “dull sublunary lovers” cannot
survive separation, but it removes that
which constitutes the love itself; but the
love he shares with his beloved is so
refined and “Inter-assured of the mind”
that they need not worry about missing
“eyes, lips, and hands.”
“A Valediction: forbidding Mourning” is
one of Donne’s most famous and simplest
poems and also probably his most direct
statement of his ideal of spiritual love. For
all his erotic carnality in poems, such as
“The Flea,” Donne professed a devotion to
a kind of spiritual love that transcended the
merely physical. Here, anticipating a
physical separation from his beloved, he
invokes the nature of that spiritual love to
ward off the “tear-floods” and “sightempests” that might otherwise attend on
their farewell. The poem is essentially a
sequence of metaphors and comparisons,
each describing a way of looking at their
separation that will help them to avoid the
mourning forbidden by the poem’s title.
Though he must go, their souls are still
one, and, therefore, they are not enduring a
breach, they are experiencing an
“expansion”; in the same way that gold
can be stretched by beating it “to aery
thinness,” the soul they share will simply
stretch to take in all the space between
them. If their souls are separate, he says,
they are like the feet of a compass: His
lover’s soul is the fixed foot in the center,
and his is the foot that moves around it.
The firmness of the center foot makes the
circle that the outer foot draws perfect:
“Thy firmness makes my circle just, / And
makes me end, where I begun.”
Form
The nine stanzas of this Valediction are
quite simple compared to many of Donne’s
poems, which utilize strange metrical
patterns overlaid jarringly on regular
rhyme schemes. Here, each four-line
stanza is quite unadorned, with an ABAB
rhyme scheme and an iambic tetrameter
meter.
First, the speaker says that their farewell
should be as mild as the uncomplaining
deaths of virtuous men, for to weep would
be “profanation of our joys.” Next, the
speaker compares harmful “Moving of th’
earth” to innocent “trepidation of the
spheres,” equating the first with “dull
sublunary lovers’ love” and the second
with their love, “Inter-assured of the
mind.” Like the rumbling earth, the dull
sublunary (sublunary meaning literally
beneath the moon and also subject to the
moon) lovers are all physical, unable to
experience separation without losing the
sensation that comprises and sustains their
love. But the spiritual lovers “Care less,
eyes, lips, and hands to miss,” because,
like the trepidation (vibration) of the
spheres (the concentric globes that
surrounded the earth in ancient
astronomy), their love is not wholly
physical. Also, like the trepidation of the
spheres, their movement will not have the
harmful consequences of an earthquake.
The speaker then declares that, since the
lovers’ two souls are one, his departure
will simply expand the area of their unified
soul, rather than cause a rift between them.
If, however, their souls are “two” instead
86
of “one”, they are as the feet of a drafter’s
compass, connected, with the center foot
fixing the orbit of the outer foot and
helping it to describe a perfect circle. The
compass (the instrument used for drawing
circles) is one of Donne’s most famous
metaphors, and it is the perfect image to
encapsulate the values of Donne’s spiritual
love, which is balanced, symmetrical,
intellectual, serious, and beautiful in its
polished simplicity.
Like many of Donne’s love poems
(including “The Sun Rising” and “The
Canonization”), “A Valediction:
forbidding Mourning” creates a dichotomy
between the common love of the everyday
world and the uncommon love of the
speaker. Here, the speaker claims that to
tell “the laity,” or the common people, of
his love would be to profane its sacred
nature, and he is clearly contemptuous of
the dull sublunary love of other lovers. The
effect of this dichotomy is to create a kind
of emotional aristocracy that is similar in
form to the political aristocracy with which
Donne has had painfully bad luck
throughout his life and which he
commented upon in poems, such as “The
Canonization”: This emotional aristocracy
is similar in form to the political one but
utterly opposed to it in spirit. Few in
number are the emotional aristocrats who
have access to the spiritual love of the
spheres and the compass; throughout all of
Donne’s writing, the membership of this
elite never includes more than the speaker
and his lover—or at the most, the speaker,
his lover, and the reader of the poem, who
is called upon to sympathize with Donne’s
romantic plight.
At the round earth's imagined corners (Holy
Sonnet 7) Summary
Donne tells the heavenly angels to fire up
Judgment Day. Like the conductor of a
symphony, he commands them to blow their
trumpets in all parts of the world. The
trumpets will awaken the souls of all dead
people. The souls will be reunited with their
bodies, like it says in the Bible.
Naturally, the collection of all deceased
people in the world is going to include both
good and bad folks. According to the Christian
tradition, on Judgment Day, the good will be
separated from the bad, which explains why
the speaker wants everyone to wake up.
Then he tells God, essentially, "Wait, I didn't
mean I wanted Judgment Day now. We've got
to let those dead people sleep for a bit." Also,
the speaker wants time to mourn for the dead
and for his own sins. He worries that if he
hasn't repented enough for his sins, he had
better do his repenting on earth, before it's
too late.
He asks God to teach him how to repent so he
can be in the good category on Judgment Day.
If God would only teach him repentance, the
effect would be the same as if God had signed
a pardon with his own blood. But here's the
twist: according to Christian beliefs, God
already signed this pardon (metaphorically
speaking) when he sent Jesus to earth to shed
his blood for humanity's sins
Lines 1-2
At the round earth's imagined corners, blow
Your trumpets, Angels, and arise, arise


The speaker orders the angels to
blow their trumpets throughout all
parts of the world.
Obviously, this is a bold – some
might say "arrogant" – move. You
87









can't just go ordering angels around
to do your bidding whenever you
want. You'd better have a darned
good reason. Our speaker must
think he has some major clout in
Heaven.
The trumpets are supposed to wake
up people – the speaker commands
them to "arise, arise," but we don't
know who these people are yet.
The most curious phrase in this
entire poem is in the first line: "the
round earth's imagined corners."
Let's unpack it.
This isn't 1492, when Columbus
sailed the ocean blue and some
people still thought the earth was
flat.
We're in the early 17th century, and
everybody knows the earth is round.
So where would you "imagine" a flat
earth? How about on a map?
To say that the earth has "corners"
suggests that a person could
theoretically reach the outermost
part of the earth.
Donne wants those angels to be in
the corners because, otherwise, how
will everyone hear the trumpets. If
you treat the earth as flat, then
what's a poet going to do: put a
trumpeter in Madagascar, one in
Brazil, one in England, and so on?
No, no, it's got to be a flat world, and
the trumpeters have to go in the
corners.
We have even more evidence for
our map theory: some English maps
from the Renaissance had
illustrations of angels blowing
trumpets in the four directions:
North, South, East, and West.
In Biblical tradition, these angels
even have names: Michael,
Raphael, Gabriel, and Uriel (source).
The poem seems to be alluding to
two sections of the Biblical Book of
Revelation. Here is the first sentence
of Revelation 7: "After this I saw four
angels standing at the four corners
of the earth, holding back the four
winds of the earth to prevent any
wind from blowing on the land or on
the sea or on any tree." And here is
the second sentence of Revelation
8: "And I saw the seven angels who


stand before God, and to them were
given seven trumpets."
Donne seems to be mixing these
two passages together, and he gives
the "four angels" the "trumpets of
Doom" possessed by the "seven
angels" (source).
Lots of numbers, yes. In the Book of
Revelation, when the angels blow
those trumpets, lots of nasty stuff
happens: trees burn up, the sea
turns to blood, meteors fall to earth,
etc. It's the end of the world.
Lines 3-4
From death, you numberless infinities
Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go,





This poem is not a faithful
description of the Biblical Last
Judgment.
Instead of having a bunch of terrible
things happen when the angels blow
their trumpets, the speaker takes it
as a sign for all dead people to wake
up and go find their bodies.
In Donne's Christian theology, your
soul and body are separated when
you die, but you get reunited with
your body on Judgment Day.
Donne emphasizes that there are a
lot of people who have died
throughout history. So many, in fact,
that he just lumps them all into some
exaggerated, uncountable sum:
"numberless infinities."
To make things worse, all these
souls have to travel to find their
bodies where they died. The bodies
are not all in one place – they are
"scattered."
Lines 5
All whom the flood did, and fire shall
o'erthrow,

The infinite number of dead souls
includes all the sinful people in the
world, the ones who were destroyed
by the Biblical flood that only Noah
and his family survived, and the
88





ones who will be consumed in the
"fires" that end the world.
The angels aren't just waking some
of these bad people, they are waking
"All."
So, this line deals only with sinners.
The word "o'erthrow" (overthrow)
means to defeat or cause the
downfall of someone or something.
If you've read the Book of Genesis in
the Bible, you'll remember the part
about how God drowned the world
after deciding that humanity had
forgotten about Him and His laws.
Well, not quite everyone. The
virtuous Noah was given an
advanced warning and allowed to
save himself by building an arc.
After the flood, God struck a deal
with Noah: no more floods. But sinful
people still have to deal with the
"fire" after Judgment Day.
cool-sounding word for "sickness."
Next time you go to the doctor with a
cold, tell her you have an ague.)
Lines 7-8
[…] and you whose eyes,
Shall behold God, and never taste death's
woe.



Lines 6-7
All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies,
Despair, law, chance, hath slain, […]





Here the speaker takes another
approach to defining "All" souls.
He broadens the category to include
every kind of death – all the people
who were "slain" or killed by various
culprits.
Let's bring out those usual suspects
and take 'em one by one: "war"
refers to people who died in battle;
"dearth" indicates people who died
from hunger; "age" makes
references to those who died from
natural causes; "agues" refers to
people who died from sickness;
"tyrannies" indicates people who
died at the hands of oppressive
rulers; "despair" refers to those who
killed themselves; "law" means
people who were put to death
lawfully, and then there's "chance,"
people who died some accidental
death.
This group would seem to include
both good and bad people. For
example, good people die from
sickness just like the bad.
(We encourage you to tuck "ague"
into your memory storage attic: it's a

There's one last category of people
that Donne covers: the people who
are still alive but will not be
consumed in those end-of-the-world
fires. These are the good people
who are still living when Judgment
Day arrives.
The speaker certainly hopes he will
be in this last group.
These lucky few will never have to
experience mortality or "taste
death's woe." Their "eyes" will look
on God in Heaven, as will the good
people who had died in the past but
have been resurrected.
Now the speaker really has named
everyone. Things could have gotten
ugly if he had decided to keep
naming more groups: "And you
whose lips never tasted the foulness
of prune juice."
Lines 9
But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a
space,



Ah, there's a "but" when it comes to
the end of the world, isn't there? This
is called the "turn" in the sonnet,
when the poem shifts topics (see
"Form and Meter" for more).
We hear the speaker asking God not
to have the angels wake up all these
deceased people just yet.
We want to say: but you're the one
who ordered him to wake them up!
This is like hitting the snooze button
on the Apocalypse. Those poor dead
people: they are very tired and need
their rest. ("Sleep" here is a
metaphor for the time between death
and resurrection.)
89



The real reason for this delay comes
out in the second half of the line: it's
all about "me."
The speaker wants some
unspecified period of time to mourn
for all the dead people.
Count us skeptical on that one. Do
we really think he wants to mourn
some long-dead people he has
never met?
Lines 12-14
[…] here on this lowly ground,
Teach me how to repent; for that's as good
As if thou hadst seal'd my pardon, with thy
blood.

Lines 10-12
For, if above all these, my sins abound,
'Tis late to ask abundance of thy grace,
When we are there; […]








The speaker worries that his own
sins might be greater than those of
all the "sleeping" people.
If his sins are really that bad, it will
be too late for him to be forgiven on
Judgment Day. He needs to start
working toward forgiveness now.
His sins "abound" like sand abounds
in a desert. "Abound" here means
"to have a lot of" or "to be wellstocked with."
It seems like the speaker has a lot of
sins, above and beyond the rest of
sleeping humanity.
In a lot of older Christian poetry and
literature, the way that you show
humility is to say that you are the
biggest sinner of them all; the worst
of the worst. That's what the speaker
is doing here.
Judgment Day is described as a
place, "there."
The speaker is still talking to God at
this point, and he is anticipating the
time when he will have to stand
before God and account for all his
sins.
If he has repented enough, God will
show His "grace" through
forgiveness. In Christian thinking,
God's grace is "abundant" enough
that anyone who asks earnestly for
forgiveness will be granted it.








In the middle of line 12, the poem
shifts topics one more time. The shift
is marked by the contrast between
"there" and "here." The speaker
leaves off with his grand imaginings
of resurrection and returns to the
present moment.
The speaker asks God to teach him
how to "repent" or ask for
forgiveness (line 13). If God teaches
him how to repent, the result would
be the same as if God had sealed an
official document of pardon with his
own blood.
(Back in the day, people used a wax
"seal" to make documents official. It
was kind of like a signature. The
speaker suggests that God's blood is
like his personal seal.)
Remember when your mom told you
there was a right way and a wrong
way to say you're sorry? That seems
to hold true in religious matters, as
the speaker makes it sound like
asking for forgiveness is a difficult
task that requires a great teacher.
Coming back to the present and the
earth seems like "lowly ground"
compared to the standing in front of
God at the Apocalypse.
But wait: like many of Donne's
poems, this one has a twist at the
end.
The speaker compares learning to
repent to having a pardon sealed in
blood. The pardon would absolve
him of his crimes.
But the word blood might remind you
of another story – the crucifixion of
Jesus. According to Christian
thought, Jesus died for the sins of
mankind. We are meant to think of
Jesus' blood as this seal of pardon.
The speaker shows his reverence
for God even as he asks for God's
help, and the poem itself is an act of
repentance.
90
Song: Go
Catch a Falling
Star
The Flea
The Sun Rising
The
Anniversarie
Batter My
Heart
Theme
Infidelity Of
Women
Seduction
The power of
Love
Everlasting
Love
The power
of God.
Tone
Misogynistic,
Cynical
Misogynistic
Happy Playful,
Boastful
Proud,
Hopeful
optimistic
Submissive
Technique
Hyperbole,
Exaggeration
Conceit,
Stretching a
metaphor
Conversational
tone with the
Sun
Using logical
steps to make
his point
Verbs,
Strong
vicious
Quote
Finde/what
winde/ serves
to advance an
honest mind.
She will be
False
Stay, three
lives in one
flea spare
One blood
made of two
These walls Thy
sphere
Let us live
nobly and add
againe years
after years
Only our love
hath no decay
Batter,
knock,
o’erthrow,
bend,
breake,
blowe burn,
divorce me,
imprison,
enthral me,
ravish mee.
Link
Misogynistic
just like The
Flea
Crude unlike
The Sun
Rising
Romantic like
Anniversarie
Far more
joyful and full
of hope than
Batter my
Heart
91
John Donne uses startling imagery and wit in
his exploration of relationships
Give your response to the poetry of John
Donne in the light of this statement.
Define startling: arresting, make you stop and
notice, make you think, surprise you.
Imagery: flea, falling star, extremes, castle,
town, the sun, nature
Wit: not comedy but cleverness, intelligence,
making unexpected connections, using logic
Relationships : JD and women, writing about
sex would have shocked 500 years later,
anonymous, JD and God. Atypical for the time.
When John Donne talks about “things invisible
to see” he could be talking about his own
processes as he devised his poetry. JD’s
lasting gift to poetry seemed to be the ability
to make metaphorical leaps from image to
image. He captured his thoughts in a unique
and original manner: a meaningless insect can
be used to incite his partner to stay and make
love with him; an image that infers rape and
abuse can explain his relationship with God.
JD is a poet who uses extreme logic to
progress his arguments. It is this wit and
ingenuity that makes him still relevant nearly
500 years after his death.
‘The Flea’ is a seemingly ordinary insect. JD
uses it as a metaphor in a most unusual way.
Donne paints a simple initial picture. A flea
“sucked me first, and now sucks thee”. He is
attempting a seduction. JD’s premise is that
blood has been mingled and what’s one bodily
fluid from another? He does two things in the
poem. While ‘The Flea’ may not be a startling
thing, when used as a metaphor for
intercourse then it is arresting and makes us
think: “Is he really trying to make that
connection?”. He does indeed. The second
thing he does in this poem is he uses wit to
extend his argument to his mistress and
present his proposition as a fait accompli.
Metaphysical wit has been defined as that
which may combine word play with
conceptual thinking and Donne does this
here. He takes the image and uses it twice
more. He tells us that the union of their blood
within the flea makes “this/ Our marriage
band and marriage temple.” He also uses his
mistress’s murder of the flea as a way of
saying that his mistress is not as innocent as
she might pretend yet she “Find’st not thy
self, nor me the weaker now”.
This ability to extend a metaphor is surely an
even better definition of John Donne’s wit. His
intellectual delight at using his super-imposed
logic is a unique way in examining his own
relationship with this woman. It may be seen
as sexist, the way in which he tries to convince
his partner to sleep with him, this sexism
certainly comes to the fore in “Song: Go and
Catch a Falling Star”. In this poem, JD sets his
reader a series of challenges. A “falling star”
should be caught, the past should be brought
back, the secret of who “cleft the Devil’s foot”
should be revealed. These are all
impossibilities. They are also quite unique and
startling. Their purpose in the first verse is to
set up for his final challenge. If they are not
true then neither is his final premise: Find “an
Honest Mind”. JD’s assumption is that such a
thing does not exist.
His misogyny comes streaming out in the 2nd
stanza. He sets new impossible challenges
involving mysterious visions and riding “ten
thousand days and nights,/ Till age snow
white hairs on thee,”. Donne says that at the
end you will be unable to find “a woman true,
and fair”. Donne uses his wit to set up an
argument whereby his first points are
impossible and therefore his final and much
more contentious point must also be true. He
repeats the formula in the third verse and
dismisses all womanhood by using his warped
logic, wit and his extreme imagery. As
excessive as his imagery is in this poem, he
goes to new extremes in Batter My Heart.
Batter My Heart is a religious poem with a
difference. JD wants God to overthrow all his
sensibilities and to dominate his spirit
92
completely. His first image is clear. He
compares his soul to a castle that needs a
revolution instigated by God. He wants Him to
“break, blow, burn and make me new.” This is
reasonably conventional. His second
metaphor is anything but, given the theme of
the poem. JD wants God to take him like a
reluctant lover and to “ravish” him
93
94