University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

JOCASTA, EGINA, ARASPES, CHORUS.
ARASPES.
Yes, all this death-doom'd people speak thro' me,
With general voice accusing Philoctetes.
Urged doubtless by the fates, once more he visits
These haunts of woe, to save us from destruction.

JOCASTA.
What do I hear, great gods!

EGINA.
Amaze o'erwhelms me!

JOCASTA.
Who! Philoctetes!

ARASPES.
He himself. To whom
Should we impute the murther but to him,
Who seem'd before our eyes to meditate
The fatal blow? 'Twas known, he hated Laius;
With difficulty from thy husband's sight
That hatred he conceal'd. Imprudent youth
Unwarily betrays itself. His face,
But ill disguised, shew'd all the latent malice.
I know not what offence inflamed his ire,
But if the king were only named, too warm,
And too unguarded, by a rage enslaved,
Which he could not o'ercome, his insolence
Dared e'en advance to threats. He left the realm.
But soon his wand'ring destiny again
Brought to our coast his ever-veering step.
Nay more, at that ill-omen'd time, by heaven
Distinguish'd by the dreadful parricide,
In Thebes he sojourn'd. Since that fatal hour,
And not without foundation, the mistrust
Of all our injur'd people fell on him.
What have I said? In doubt for many a day,
'Twixt him and Phorbas waver'd their suspicion.
Mean time the mighty name he gain'd in war,
His title so illustrious, earth's avenger,
The veneration which against our wills
We pay to heroes, smother'd in its birth
The voice of Jealousy, and held our blow
Suspended. But the times are not the same
As then they were. In this tremendous day,
Thebes every loitering relict will destroy
Of dangerous respect. In vain his glory
Speaks to these agitated bosoms; blood
The gods demand, and them alone we hear.

FIRST PERSON OF THE CHORUS.
Pity, O queen! a people who with love
Have ever served thee! Imitate the gods
In exemplary justice! To our hands
Deliver up their victim! Let our prayers
From thee ascend! Who can awake their mercy,
If not a heart in goodness like their own!

JOCASTA.
Oh! were my life demanded to assuage
Their vengeance, I the sacrifice would yield
Without repining. Thebans! who believe
This breast of mine not unendow'd with virtue,
I offer you my blood. Exact no more.
Depart.

SCENE II.

JOCASTA, EGINA.
EGINA.
Ah! how I pity thee!

JOCASTA.
Alas!
I envy those who in this fatal place
Have reach'd the goal of life. Oh! what condition,
What torment, for a pure and guiltless mind!

EGINA.
'Tis most undoubted misery. Thy fate
Is full of terror. Their erroneous zeal
Blindly enkindled, soon with clamorous shouts
Th'assembled people will require their victim.
I dare not to accuse him: but for thee,
What matchless horror, should'st thou find in him
Th'assassin of thy husband!

JOCASTA.
Durst they offer
To both an equal insult!—Villainy,
And baseness to reside with him!—Egina,
Forced as he was to break each tender tie,
To hear him thus accused, completes the sum
Of my misfortunes.—No.—At these suspicions
My conscious pride takes fire. He who could touch
This soul with passion, cannot but be virtuous.

EGINA.
A love so constant—

JOCASTA.
Think not that my heart
Hath nursed the ardour of this fatal flame;
I warr'd against it with determined strength.
But, dear Egina, to what height soe'er
The noble soul may climb, by virtue guided,
It will not, cannot, veil its secret movements,
Nature's unconquerable progeny:
Within the bosom's complicated folds
They lurk, thence rush, and seize us by surprise.
Up-springing from their ashes, blaze the fires
We thought extinguish'd. Purity severe
In the unequal conflict strives in vain;
She may resist the passions, not destroy them.

EGINA.
A grief so just, not Virtue can condemn;
And from such thoughts—

JOCASTA.
What miseries do I suffer!
Thou, dear Egina, know'st my inmost heart,
And all its anguish. Twice these eyes have seen
The lighted torch of Hymen; bending twice
Beneath th'oppressive fates, my lot of slavery,
Or rather punishment, have I exchanged.
Whilst he, of all mankind, whose tender impulse
My soul confess'd, was from my aching sight
Torn, torn forever. Pardon, mighty gods!
Memory's fond sad reflection; it explores
The melancholy traces of a fire
Which I have conquer'd. Thou beheldst, Egina,
With what reciprocal delight our souls
Inbibed the tender passion, Thou beheldst
Each tie no sooner fasten'd than dissolved.
My sovereign loved me, and obtain'd my hand,
Spite of myself; my brow, on which sate heavy
Self-loathing Care, then wore a diadem.
By wedlock's laws compell'd, it was but just
That I should strive to banish from my mind
My love and former vows. Bound to my duty,
And that alone, I check'd my secret feelings,
And stifled their revolt; disguised my grief,
Fed on my tears, nor even to myself
Dared own the hidden cause of my distress.

EGINA.
How then couldst thou resolve again to prove
The fatal yoke of Hymen?

JOCASTA.
Ah, Egina!

EGINA.
May I unblamed each private thought disclose?

JOCASTA.
Thy speech is free.

EGINA.
Then may I not affirm
That OEdipus inspired thee with affection?
At least the struggle was not violent;
And as a recompence thy heart was given
To him who saved thy country.

JOCASTA.
Gracious gods!

EGINA.
Was he more bless'd than Laius? Did thy soul
Retain no trace of absent Philoctetes?
Or was it, say, divided in its choice
Between the heroes?

JOCASTA.
A relentless monster
Then desolated Thebes: on its deliverer
My plighted faith I promised to bestow;
He who subdued the Sphinx was worthy of me.

EGINA.
You loved him then?

JOCASTA.
Some partiality
I felt for OEdipus: but, Oh! these feelings
How distant from that amiable defect!
This was not a tumultuous fire, Egina,
The wildly-vivid offspring of my senses
Smit with enchantment; not that burning flame
Did I experience, which within my breast
By Philoctetes only had been kindled,
Which shed delicious poison on my soul,
And seduced reason by its fatal charms.
Friendship sincere I felt for OEdipus,
And, being virtuous, I esteem'd his virtue.
My heart with pleasure saw him mount the throne
Of Thebes, which his protecting power had saved.
But when at last I dragg'd my tardy feet
Behind him to the altar; Oh, Egina!
Struck with amazement dire, my troubled soul
Unusual tumults felt, the cause unknown;
At length, with horror I beheld myself
Devoted to his arms. A dreadful omen
This marriage consummated. I beheld
At dead midnight, near OEdipus and me,
Th'infernal regions; its eternal gulph
Open'd before my feet; the bloody shade
Of my first lord stood in the drear abyss,
With pale and threatening aspect. To my son
Whom erst I bore, his own unhappy offspring,
He pointed stern; that son whom to our gods
My pious zeal, and cruelty unjust,
Offer'd a secret sacrifice. Both seem'd
Commanding me to follow them; both seem'd
To drag me down to Tartarus profound.
Lost in a whirl of thought, my anxious soul
Still to itself presents, and still broods o'er
This horrid vision. Philoctetes holds
E'en now, too firm possession of my heart,
And adds new terror to my fatal woes.

EGINA.
Hark! He approaches. I behold him near.

JOCASTA.
'Tis he—I tremble. Let us shun his presence.

SCENE III.

JOCASTA, PHILOCTETES.
PHILOCTETES.
Do not avoid me; tremble not, Jocasta;
With confidence behold me; hear, and answer.
Think not that I am come with jealous grief
Rudely to interrupt the new delights
Of thy auspicious marriage. Low reproaches,
And abject sighs, unworthy of us both,
From me expect not. Far from us be driven
The vulgar converse, by soft languor taught
To ordinary lovers. No—A heart
Still with thy image warm'd; nay more, a heart
(If yet thy memory owns the broken ties)
For which thine felt some tenderness, hath learn'd
By thy example not to shew its weakness.

JOCASTA.
Thus souls like ours should think. I ought to lead
The glorious way, or follow thee, my guide.
Yet tho' my heart its dearest wish hath lost,
Union with thee, it well becomes Jocasta,
And much imports, to vindicate her conduct.
My love was thine; but some o'er-ruling power,
Spite of myself, hath always sway'd my fate.
The furious Sphinx, the gods' avenging wrath,
Events well-known, no doubt have reach'd thy ear.
Thou know'st what plagues have burst like lightning on us;
That OEdipus—

PHILOCTETES.
I know he is thy husband;
I know him worthy of that envied lot.
And in defiance of his youth, the realm
Of Thebes, which by his wisdom was preserved,
His deeds heroic, and his many virtues,
But above all, thy choice, have lifted high
This happy prince in the exalted rank
Of most illustrious kings. Ah! why did Fate,
Constant in injuries, to foreign lands
My inconsiderate valour urge away?
If 'twas decreed, the conqueror of the Sphinx
Should vanquish thee, why was I doom'd to wander,
And seek to perish at a distance from thee?
I should not with vain toil have strove to pierce
The subtle trifles, and the mystic sense,
Disguised beneath a cloud of words obscure;
This arm, with double vigour nerv'd by thee,
Inured the sword of victory to wield,
Had cast the monster's head before thy feet.
But now Jocasta is another's conquest;
This bright excess of glory is another's.

JOCASTA.
Thou know'st not yet the scope of thy misfortunes.

PHILOCTETES.
Thee and Alcides lost, what need I fear?

JOCASTA.
Thou tread'st a soil which some revengeful god
Abhorrent views. Contagion all-inflamed
With progress dire announces his fell wrath.
The blood of Laius on our heads descends.
Its fury roused, celestial justice thus
Pursues our steps, thus punishes our guilt,
For the neglected ashes of the king.
To immolate th'assassin on our altars
We are commanded. He hath long been sought.
And now thy name is echoed by the people.
Thou art accused.

PHILOCTETES.
I'm lost in silent wonder.
The very thought of such a crime, binds up
My valour in amaze, and chains my tongue.
Me of this deed of horror!—Me of murther!—
And of thy husband!—Thou canst ne'er believe it.

JOCASTA.

SCENE IV.

ŒDIPUS, PHILOCTETES, ARASPES.
OEDIPUS.
Araspes, say, is this the prince we seek?
Eubœan Philoctetes?

PHILOCTETES.
Yes, 'tis he,
Who by blind fortune to these walls impell'd,
And Heaven's relentless ire pursuing still,
Hath suffer'd unaccustom'd wrongs. I know
The crime with which low malice hath assay'd
To blacken my pure fame. But think not thou
That I shall stoop to justify my deeds.
Nor do I deem of OEdipus so lightly,
As to believe his soul can e'er descend
To jealousy so mean. If both our feet
Mark the same track, thy honour is with mine
Strictly united. Theseus, Hercules,
Myself, have pointed out to thee the path
Which thou hast enter'd on, the path to glory.
Oh! do not, by a calumny, obscure
Th'heroic brightness of these names, with which
Thine claims alliance. But with utmost care,
By generous acts, the dignity support
Of thy high-raised proximity to them.

OEDIPUS.
To serve mankind, and from destruction dire
This wretched land to rescue, is the height
Of my ambition. In disastrous times,
This lesson hath been taught me by the heroes
Whom thou with emulation hast pursued,
And I admire. Forbid it, all ye powers,
That I should taint thy glory which a crime!
Had Heaven reserved the fatal choice to me,
I would have yielded up myself the victim.
Whene'er his country bids, to lay down life,
This is a monarch's duty, the bright gem
Of royalty, too rich to give to others.
I would with pleasure have my life resign'd,
And warded off the blow from thine: once more
I would have saved my people. But free-will
Is shackled now; the criminal must bleed;
Thou art accused; prepare for thy defence.
If clear thy innocence; my heart well-pleased
Shall in the court of Thebes delight to grace
A warrior like thyself. Most truly happy
To meet thee there, not as a man to whom
Guilt is imputed, but as Philoctetes.

PHILOCTETES.
Now, by the faith of my illustrious name,
I tell thee, prince, elate with conscious pride,
This bosom thought itself above suspicion.
This hand accused by Thebes, hath in defect
Of Heaven's dread thunder, freed the burthen'd earth
From infamous assassins; Hercules
Strengthen'd my arm, and they have bit the dust.
He who with just avengement punish'd them,
Will never dare to follow their example.

OEDIPUS.
Nor do I think from consecrated deeds
Of great renown, thou wouldst imbrue thy hands
In crimes detested. If beneath thy sword
Laius expired, doubtless he fell with honour;
And as a hero ought, thy arm subdued him.
I do thee ample justice.

PHILOCTETES.
Hah! and where
Had been the wond'rous crime, if this keen sword
Had number'd Laius with the dead? To me
His death had been but one small trophy more.
A king is in his subjects' eyes a god,
Survey'd with awe. To Hercules and me
He is a common man. My guardian care
Hath oft protected kings; judge then if he
Who could avenge them, would retreat, nor meet
The proudest of them all in mortal fight.

OEDIPUS.
Of Philoctetes, and his worth far-famed,
I am not ignorant. Full well I know
That heroes like himself with monarchs hold
Glorious equality.—But doubt not, prince,
That he who conquer'd Laius merits death;
His head will answer for the woes of Thebes.
And thou—

PHILOCTETES.
I slew him not—Let that suffice,
If mine the deed, I would not have conceal'd,
But gloried in it. Hear me, OEdipus,
For thou art bound to hear. Mere common men,
Plain ordinary souls, by vulgar means
May justify their actions: but a prince,
A warrior, such, for instance, as thyself
And Philoctetes, when he speaks the word,
On his integrity and spotless faith,
Deserves, and gains belief. Doth OEdipus
Suspect that murther'd Laius fell by me!
To fix on any name the accusation
I'll becomes him. His sceptre and his wife
To thee have been transmitted; all the fruits
Of his unhappy death by thee were gather'd.
It cannot be affirm'd, that I with bold
And fortunate address have claim'd his spoils,
Or ask'd his vacant throne; an object, that,
Which never tempted me; a station high,
But always by Alcides view'd with scorn.
With him in perfect liberty I dwelt,
No subjects I possess'd, and own'd no master.
I have made sovereigns, but ne'er wish'd to be one.
But why thus stoop to justify my deeds!
Virtue self-vindicated, is debased.

OEDIPUS.
Thy virtue charms me, whilst thy pride offends.
Judgment awaits thee, prince; thy innocence,
If fearing nought from the just laws' decree,
Will with redoubled splendor shine reveal'd.
With us remain.

PHILOCTETES.
Assuredly I will.
My honour on th'event depends. And Heaven,
All-hearing Heaven, forbids me to depart,
Till its avengement hath repaid these wrongs,
Suspicions base, which stain my cheeks with shame.

SCENE V.

ŒDIPUS, ARASPES.
OEDIPUS.
Trust me, Araspes, to believe him guilty,
Shocks ever finer feeling of my mind.
Th'unshaken fortitude of hearts like his
Can ne'er with vile abasement stoop to wear
Dissimulation's garb. Such thoughts sublime
From groveling falsehood never could proceed.
In vain my eyes would mark a single trace
Of infamy in him. Nay, I confess,
When thus reluctantly compell'd t'accuse
Th'heroic man, my very inmost soul
Glow'd with the penetrative blush of shame;
While Conscience, with indignant murmurs, stiled
My rigour too excessive. Cruel lot!
Fatal necessity of empire! Kings
The human bosom cannot read. The weight
Of their resentment oftentimes descends
On the meek head of injured innocence.
And spite of all our vigilance, Araspes,
We are unjust.—How slow the steps of Phorbas
For my impatient ardour! All my hopes
Center in him alone. For heaven's high powers
Incensed, will deign no answer to our prayers,
Their silence manifests the stern denial.

ARASPES.
When by thy own assiduous industry
These mysteries may be pierced, what need to wait
Celestial revelations? These high powers,
Whose aid the priest hath promised, do not always
Reside within their temples, and the arm
So lavish in miraculous effects
Is still unseen. Tripods and cells, from whence
Their oracles proceed, the mouths of brass
Which our creative hands have fashion'd, oft
Are animated by a breath impure.
Recline not then upon the faith of priests
In dangerous repose; e'en at the altar
The traitors stand, usurp a right divine,
And under that commission stamp us slaves.
While at their will th'obsequious destinies
Speak, or are silent.—See, examine strictly
Th'Eubœan prince, Phorbas, and e'en Jocasta.
Trust to thyself; let our own eyes determine.
These are our tripods, oracles, and gods.

OEDIPUS.
Hah! and shall treachery like this be found
Within the temple! No—Let Heaven but give
A final arbitration to our fates,
And the deposit of my country's safety,
This precious trust, shall ne'er again be seen
Polluted by unworthy hands.—I go—
I haste myself their silence to accuse;
And strive by my incessant prayers to bend
Th'obdurate powers. Mean time, if thou wouldst prove
Thy ardour to assist me, fly, urge on
The tardy step of Phorbas. To this state
Of dubious, sad calamity reduced,
I will interrogate both gods and men.