University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

JOCASTA, EGINA.
JOCASTA.
Yes, his approach I wait, and on this spot
Have fix'd, for the last time, that Philoctetes
Before these eyes appear.

EGINA.
Full well thou know'st
To what a height of daring insolence
The people with tumultuous shouts have borne
Their wild licentious fury. Death-besieged,
The Thebans, in his punishment alone
Have placed their hopes of safety. Old men, women,
Children, by their calamities o'erwhelm'd,
Are interested all to find him guilty.
Thou rather wait'st here, their seditious cries.
His blood they seek, and on the gods' behalf
Demand that it should flow. Canst thou oppose
The torrent of their violence? Assist him?
Or dare to take upon thee his defence?

JOCASTA.
I! Can I dare?—Should all the Thebans list
E'en against me their parricidal hands;
Should I be crush'd beneath these smoaking walls,
I would not injured innocence betray.
But still my spirits feel a just alarm;
This hero once possess'd my heart. They know it.
They will proclaim, I sacrifice to him
My fame; my gods, my husband and my country;
That still my bosom glows—

EGINA.
Oh! calm these fears.
This luckless love no eye but mine beheld.
And never—

JOCASTA.
Hah! And dost thou think a princess
Can e'er her hatred or her love conceal?
On us the courtiers with avidity
From every side their ceaseless glances cast.
Across the path of their respect, steal in
Their treacherous cringings, penetrate our hearts,
And search out all their weakness. Nought escapes
Their malice; by a word, a sigh, a look,
We are detected. All things speak against us,
Ev'n our silence. And when thus employ'd,
Their persevering artifice, at length,
Spite of ourselves, hath drawn each secret forth.
With indiscreet discourses out they rush,
Our lives emblazon with a guilty light,
And publish all our passions to the world.

EGINA.
Ah! from their efforts what hast thou to dread?
What piercing looks are dangerous to thee?
What penetrated secret can eclipse
Jocasta's glory? If they know thy love,
They know thy victory; and know that virtue
Was always thy support.

JOCASTA.
Alas! that virtue
E'en now distresses me. Severely apt
T'accuse myself, perhaps I scrutinize
Each action with too much austerity;
Perhaps I judge myself with too much rigour.
Yet must I own that Philoctetes once
Reign'd o'er my heart with absolute controul.
Fix'd is his image in that hapless seat,
Still uneffaced by virtue or by time.
Alas! I doubt, when striving thus to save him,
If justice only prompts me to his aid.
Too sensible, too feelingly-alive,
This pity seems. My arm up-raised to ward
The fatal blow, trembles through every nerve.
This tenderness and soft excess of care
I cannot but condemn, for, ah! I feel
If less my love, I could have served him more.

EGINA.
And will'st thou then his absence?

JOCASTA.
Canst thou doubt it?
It is my only hope, and if he still
Regards my voice, if aught my prayers avail,
Never again must he behold Jocasta;
But fly an exile from these dreary walls,
And far, far distant, my unsullied fame
And his own life preserve.—But who detains him?
The time requires his presence. Dear Egina,
Go, and with utmost speed—

SCENE II.

JOCASTA, PHILOCTETES, EGINA.
JOCASTA.
Behold! he comes.
Oh, prince, that I have wish'd once more to see thee
Needs no excuse, whilst agonizing fears
Thus harrow up my soul. The voice of duty
Bids me avoid thy presence; to forget,
And not betray thee. Know'st thou the dire fate,
Which aim'd against thee, unrelenting rage
E'en now prepares?

PHILOCTETES.
I know the giddy people,
In rash tumultuous violence combined,
Demand my life. But great have been their suff'rings,
And tho' unjust, I cannot but forgive them.

JOCASTA.
Trust not to their intemperate wrath! Beware!
Fly, whilst thou still art master of thy fate.
This moment is, perhaps, the last allow'd
By Heaven to snatch thee from a shameful death.
Fly—far from me precipitate thy steps.
And as a recompence for life preserved,
Forget that she who saved it was Jocasta.

PHILOCTETES.
Oh, cease for this afflicted heart to shew
So much of pity! Call up all thy firmness!
With me prefer my honour to my life;
Command my death, and interdict my flight.
Compel me not, when innocent, to form
A league with abject guilt, by my obedience.
By Heaven's avenging anger dispossess'd
Of every other good, it still hath left
My glory and my honour; take not from me
These, which with sacred jealousy I guard,
These jewels of inestimable price.
Make me not thus unworthy of thy care.
No—I have lived; the sum of my sad fate
Is now, perhaps, complete. To OEdipus
My word is past. And whatsoe'er suspicion
May in his breast intrude, this soul of mine
Ne'er knew the stain of violated faith.

JOCASTA.
Oh, by the gods above! By that pure flame
Which sad Jocasta kindled in thy breast!
If for so tender and so true a friendship
Thou still retain'st some small remains of pity;
If, foster'd in thy memory, still survive
Our mutual vows; if thou hast not forgotten
That all my happiness on thine depended,
Deign to preserve that life encompass'd round
With glory's radiant beams, a life with which
I feel the thread of mine inwoven firm.

PHILOCTETES.
To thee I will devote it, and shall strive
That all its course may be entirely worthy
Of thee and of thy virtues. I have lived
Far distant, but most happy is my lot,
If thy esteem pursues me to the tomb.
Yet, who can say, whether all-gracious Heaven
Will e'er this bloody sacrifice survey?
Who knows, if in its clemency divine,
It urged not on my wand'ring steps to Thebes,
That I might fall for thee? Haply the gods
This matchless favour owed to Philoctetes,
To save thy life by yielding up his own.
Perhaps, by spotless blood to be appéased,
They deem mine worthy, and vouchsafe t'accept it.

SCENE III.

ŒDIPUS, JOCASTA, PHILOCTETES, EGINA, ARASPES, and Attendants.
OEDIPUS.
Fear not the wild capricious multitude,
Whose voice, Oh, prince! thy punishment demands.
Their tumults I have calm'd, and come prepared
Against their rage, if needful, to support thee.
They all suspect the guilty deed was thine,
For rash suspicion is the people's birth-right.
But I, who judge not with the giddy vulgar,
Behold, methinks, thy innocence dispersing
This envious cloud, and dazzling e'en their eyes
With its clear lustre. Yet I must confess,
Still undetermined, my uncertain mind
Cannot acquit, nor dares it to condemn.
To heaven I bend, the gods alone must judge.
At length propitious they will seal our pardon,
And soon withdrawing their oppressive arm,
Will, by their priest's decree, announce the victim.

PHILOCTETES.
Unbias'd is thy equity and pure:
But justice in extreme, becomes th'excess
Of injury. We should not always, prince,
Obey the voice of rigour. The prime law
Which ought to sway mankind, is that of honour.
But I am seen to the mean task reduced
Of answering vile defamers, whom I well
Know to confound. Ah! why shouldst thou descend
To this unworthy care! To stand alone,
My own impartial witness, would suffice;
To set my life before them: Hercules,
Conqueror of Asia, firm support of heaven,
The monsters, the fierce tyrants, whom he taught
This arm to quell, these are the witnesses
With which they should confront me. But I now
Await your gods; consult their oracle,
And learn if they condemn me; not that I
Need their assistance, and expect their judgment,
Not feeling for myself, but for thy people.

SCENE IV.

ŒDIPUS, JOCASTA, HIGH PRIEST, ARASPES, PHILOCTETES, EGINA, ATTENDANTS, CHORUS.
OEDIPUS.
Doth heaven at length, moved by our humble prayers,
Relax its vengeance? Say, whose murtherous hand
Hath thus provoked its anger?

PHILOCTETES.
Say, whose blood
Doth it command ill-destined Thebes to shed?

HIGH PRIEST.
Pernicious gift of heaven! Unhappy knowledge!
To th'ever-restless prying mind of man
Pregnant with danger! Ye relentless fates,
Who now stand open to my view! Oh, cast
Henceforth a veil eternal o'er my sight!

PHILOCTETES.
What dire event com'st thou prepar'd t'unfold?

OEDIPUS.
Art thou the stern prophetic minister
Of inextinguishable hate?

PHILOCTETES.
Disclose
Thy thoughts with fearless mind.

OEDIPUS.
Do the just gods
Demand my death?

HIGH PRIEST.
Oh! if thy confidence
On me reposes, ask me not a word.

OEDIPUS.
Whate'er of terror prompts the voice of Heaven,
Upon its answer hangs the fate of Thebes.

PHILOCTETES.
Speak.

OEDIPUS.
Look with pity on this wretched race!
Oh! think that OEdipus—

HIGH PRIEST.
Alas! he merits
Superior pity.

FIRST PERSON OF THE CHORUS.
With paternal zeal
He loves his people; to his voice we join
Our ceaseless prayers. Thou whom high heaven inspires,
Hear, hear our cries!

SECOND PERSON.
We sink; we perish all—
Oh, save us! turn its fury from our heads!
The murtherer name—the monster—the perfidious—

FIRST PERSON.
Our eager hands shall in his guilty blood
The criminal imbrue.

HIGH PRIEST.
Unhappy men!
What do you seek from me?

FIRST PERSON.
Speak but the word,
He dies, and we are saved.

HIGH PRIEST.
When I remove
Fate's dark o'erwhelming cloud, horror will freeze
Your souls to hear the murtherer only named.
The god who at this awful period prompts
My tongue to speak, commands that banishment
Be the sole penalty exacted from him.
But soon to desperate deeds of frenzy urged,
His own avenging hand shall join to aid
The wrath severe of heaven. While terror-struck,
Your eyes his horrid punishment shall view,
And your afflicted hearts confess that life
Was purchased at too dear a price.

OEDIPUS.
Submit.

PHILOCTETES.
Declare.

OEDIPUS.
Why thus inflexible?

HIGH PRIEST.
Compell'd by thee I speak.

OEDIPUS.
Why thus inflame
My anger by delay?

HIGH PRIEST.
Thou wilt then know
The whole—Alas! it is—

OEDIPUS.
Who is it?

HIGH PRIEST.
Thou.

OEDIPUS.
I!—

HIGH PRIEST.
Thou; unhappy prince.

SECOND PERSON OF THE CHORUS.
Alas! what sounds
Struck my astonish'd ear!

JOCASTA.
What hast thou dared
To utter, sage interpreter of heaven!—
Hah! thou, the murtherer of my husband! Thou,
[To OEdipus.
To whom his crown, to whom myself I yielded!
No, OEdipus, the gods, the oracle,
Sport with our weak credulity. Thy virtues
On their accusing voice retort the falsehood.

FIRST PERSON OF THE CHORUS.
Ye powers, who o'er the fate of man preside,
Name, name another! or again bring back
Averted death!

PHILOCTETES.
Think not I bear a soul
Which injury for injury returns.
Or from this marvelous and sudden change
Of fortune, which my wond'ring eyes behold,
That I shall basely triumph o'er affliction.
Spite of this voice of heaven, I think thee guiltless.
That justice thou and partial Thebes denied
To me, receive; that justice is thy due.
Against thy foes accept my shielding arm.
Between a pontiff and a prince, no need
Of hesitation. Whosoe'er he be,
Whatever god his voice inspires, a priest
Should always pray for, and not curse his king.

OEDIPUS.
Excess of virtue!—Vile impiety!
From which my soul shrinks back with horror!—Here
A demi-god addresses me, and there
A fraudful priest.
[To the High Priest.
Behold the privilege
Of altars! Thanks to their benignant power
Protecting guilt, thy sacrilegious tongue
Hath not refused the commerce of the gods,
With matchless insolence to prostitute,
And fix a crime detested on thy prince.
And dost thou think that my awaken'd wrath
Shall longer venerate the sacred office
Thy hands defile? No, traitor, thou shalt die,
Die at the altar, and before thy gods;
The gods thy crafty voice hath taught to speak.

HIGH PRIEST.
My life is in thy power; its master thou.
Make then the utmost of the present time,
While thou canst call that power thy own. To-day
Thy doom will be pronounced. Unhappy king!
Tremble, thy reign is past. A hand unseen
Over thy head suspends the threatening sword
Sharpen'd by vengeance. Soon thy soul appall'd
Shall view its crimes with horror. Thou shalt fly
Far from the throne thy youthful valour gain'd,
And gloriously ascended. Soon deprived
Of wholesome water, and of sacred fire,
Thy loud laments shall fill the desart caves.
Where'er thou tread'st, with an avenging scourge
Some god shall mark thee still. To end thy pangs
Oft shalt thou invocate the stroke of Death,
But Death shall not attend thy call. While heaven,
That heaven, which views such complicated scenes
Of sad distress, shall to thy eyes expand
One dreary waste of darkness horrible.
Spite of thyself, to crimes thou wert fore-doom'd,
Fore-doom'd to punishment; and thou shalt think
Transcendent happiness had been thy lot,
If thou hadst ne'er been born.

OEDIPUS.
Thus far I have restrain'd my glowing rage,
That I might hear thee, priest. If I could stoop
Such worthless blood to spill; at least with pleasure
I should behold thy justly-purchased death
Precede th'accomplish'd prophecy. But hence!
Tempt not impetuous passion. Dread the flame
Thy presence animates to fury. Hence,
Vile author of detested forgeries!

HIGH PRIEST.
Thou scorn'st me as a traitor and impostor;
Alas! thy father thought me more sincere.

OEDIPUS.
Return! What dost thou say? Who? Polybus?
My father?

HIGH PRIEST.
Ah! too soon thy evil fate
Shall stand reveal'd; this day will give thee birth,
And give thee death; thy sum of destiny
Is now fulfill'd, and thou shalt know thyself.
Unhappy! Art thou conscious from what blood
Thy being is derived? With crimes encompass'd
Peculiarly thy own, dost thou e'en know
With whom thou livest? Oh, Corinth! Phocis! Dire
And execrable nuptials! Lo! a race
Impious, yet most unfortunate, is born;
Worthy their parent line, whose desperate deeds
Shall fill th'astonish'd universe with horror.
Let us away.

SCENE V.

ŒDIPUS, PHILOCTETES, JOCASTA.
OEDIPUS.
His last words petrify
My torpid limbs. I know not where I am.
My passion is becalm'd. As if some god
Descending from on high, with absolute
And strong controul, each transport had suppress'd,
Enchain'd my wrath; and giving to his priest
A power divine, had by his dreadful voice
Foretold my ruin.

PHILOCTETES.
If some king alone
Had menaced thee with danger, Philoctetes,
Copartner in the war, had fought beside thee
Under thy standard: but the priestly train
Here breathe still more of terror, as they dare
Stab you in open day, and claim respect
For the malignant blow. Supported firm
By his vain oracles, a pontiff oft
Keeps the crown'd head in awe; while with blind zeal
The superstitious multitude, enthrall'd
In holy bonds, idolatrous and weak,
Tread the most sacred institutes beneath
Their feet, through piety; and think they honour
Th'immortal gods when they betray their king.
Chiefly when interest, parent of excess,
And barbarous licence, their fanatic crimes
Impels, and courage gives to insolence.

OEDIPUS.
Alas! thy virtues double my affliction.
The greatness of thy soul in equal rank
With my misfortunes stands. Oppress'd by grief
And heart-consuming care, who strives to pour
The balm of comfort, adds but to the load
Which weighs me down. What deep complaining voice
Forth issues from my inmost soul? What crime
Have I committed? Oh, avenging Power!
Can this be true?

JOCASTA.
Enough—no more—the crime
Is not the present theme. This dying people
Require a victim—Thebes must be preserved.
Th'important hour admits not of delay.
The wife of Laius, be it mine to die,
To seek the wand'ring melancholy shade
Of my first hapless lord upon the shore
Of gloomy Styx, I will appease the cries
His bloody manes utter. Yes, I go.
May this the gods propitiate! May they ask
No other death, content with mine alone!
And take my flowing blood in lieu of thine!

OEDIPUS.
Thou yield thy life!—And is not then the number
Of horrid woes sufficient, thus at once
Descending on my head? Cease, cease, Jocasta,
This dreadful language. Oh! thy husband's lot
Already is too desperate, nor requires
That new supplies of torments should assail
And tear his heart by violence asunder,
Adding the bitter anguish of thy death
To close the dire account. But let us hence.
Retire with me, Jocasta; I must clear
A dark suspicion, which my soul hath form'd
Perhaps too justly. Let us hence.

JOCASTA.
My Lord
How canst thou—

OEDIPUS.
Follow me. In thee it lies
At once to banish, or complete my terrors.