Fourth Stasimon

The herdsman is led on stage by Oedipus's men. He is old, frightened, reluctant. The Corinthian recognizes him at once and is delighted — here, he says, is the very man who handed me the child. The herdsman denies it; the Corinthian insists; Oedipus presses the herdsman for the truth, and when the herdsman keeps stalling, threatens him with torture. The herdsman breaks. He confesses that years ago he was given an infant by Jocasta herself, with orders to expose it on Mount Cithaeron. The child was the son of Laius. He could not bring himself to kill it. He gave it to the Corinthian shepherd.

Oedipus understands the rest. The pieces have been on the table since Tiresias spoke; now they fit. He cries out that he is revealed as accursed — born of those he should not have been born of, married to those he should not have married, the killer of those he should not have killed. He runs into the palace. The herdsman is led off. The Corinthian, who came with what he thought was good news, has caused a catastrophe.

The chorus is alone. The Fourth Stasimon is the play's great lament. The elders begin with the line that will outlast the play itself: races of mortal men, whose life is but a span — I count you but the shadow of a shade. They name Oedipus directly and admit they were wrong to defend him. He outshot the best of marksmen, they say; he beat down the vulture-maid; he was hailed as our savior and the land's strong tower. And now — uncrowned, his cradle his marriage-bed. The ode does what no character on stage can do: it absorbs the catastrophe on behalf of the city.