University of Virginia Library

SCENE THE THIRD.

Jocasta, Antigone, Polinices.
Joc.
My son, I hope in thee, in thee alone!
Thy mother, Thebes, thy sister, whom thou lovest,
And who so much loves thee, with real peace
Wilt thou make all these happy? Is it true?
Speak, I entreat thee. Art thou not of sons,
Of brothers, and of citizens, the best?
Say, has Adrastes on return resolved?

Pol.
Does, then, Eteocles from Thebes depart?

Joc.
What do I hear? to our confusion then,
And to thy shame, must I for ever hear thee
Deny us peace? or not the first consent to it?
Alas! thy brother will too surely go!
Too surely, as thou wentest, go to exile:
By Heaven I am condemned, and by my sons,
To everlasting tears! they ne'er will cease!
Feed'st thou, my son, on my maternal tears?
Ah say, were not thy words erewhile all peace?

Pol.
Alas! they're farther now from peace than ever!
Thou must not ask of me the cause: but yet
There does exist for this a cause so horrid
That I can never tell it thee. Thou wilt,
Ere long, discover it thyself; a chill,
A mortal chill, through all thy bones will rush
When thou dost hear it. More I cannot say,
Than that Adrastes does not leave these walls;
No, he departs not. Soon, in spite of me,
The lofty walls of perjured Thebes laid low,
May yield him entrance mid their broken fragments:
But let the evil come to him who courts it.
Perhaps, in the sanguinary contest, I
May also find a tomb; nor shall it grieve me,
Provided that I fall not unavenged.

Joc.
Alas! on whom dost thou thus thirst for vengeance?

Pol.
Upon a traitor.

Joc.
He the traitor is,
Who, thus, flagitiously, with fabled plots,
Cherish'd in thee this impious doubt and rage:
Believe me only ...

Ant.
Mother, brother, hear! ...
Trust only my alarm.

Joc.
Say'st thou alarm?
Speak; what alarm hast thou?

Ant.
Eteocles
Has Creon for his counsellor; and thence
A reasonable terror ...

Joc.
Creon?

Pol.
Creon?
Ah, were it only he that counsels him! ...
I am too well versed to be duped by this ...
Creon ... had it not been for him ... ah, perhaps
To impious revenge ...

Joc.
What do I hear?
What broken sentences! what bursts of anger!
What secret weighs upon thy bosom? Speak ...

Pol.
I cannot speak. As I can now be speechless,
Oh that I could forget, or ne'er have known,
The abominable secret! 'Twould have been
More fortunate for all; a single crime
Had then sufficed; 'twere better to have died
Betrayed, than thus revenged. And yet to know it,
And to be passive, is impossible.
Oh, what a deluge I behold of blood!
What slaughter! Of his friendship what a proof!
What fatal proof to me has Creon given!

Ant.
Yes, brother! now indeed I pity thee.
What didst thou say? The harbinger of death
Is the dire friendship of the impious Creon!

Joc.
'Tis true, till now, of Polinices' claims
He never seemed the advocate. But what
Must I infer from this? Daughter, dar'st thou? ...

Pol.
E'en more than others are, of my just cause,
And of myself, is Creon advocate.

Ant.
Creon betrays you all; I swear he does:
Of all of ye he makes a sport, and he
But tampers with you to complete your ruin.

Joc.
Where learn'd'st thou such harsh judgments? whence so bold?
Creon's my brother! these his nephews! would he ...

Ant.
Too long have I been silent; and e'en now
I do not speak at random. Of that Creon,
Who is thy brother, Emon is the son.
He knows his father; he himself inform'd me;
Why should I waste more words? I swear again
He hates you both: to the contested throne
Creon aspires; and what atrocity
Is there, that clears a passage to the throne,
That is not learned in Thebes?

Joc.
I scarce believe it ...
And yet who knows? This, this alone was wanting
To all our other horrors!

Pol.
Where have I
Entered incautiously? What labyrinth
Of unexampled perfidy! My foes,
My most atrocious foes, I here am doomed
Among my kindred to enumerate!
But you, to whom I listen, you, that now
I see in friendly semblance round me stand,
How can I know if in your breasts there dwell
Or faith or treachery? How can I know
If you are not in thought my enemies?
Thou art my mother, and my sister thou;
What avails this? Such names, 'tis true, are sacred;
But in this Thebes such names are too portentous.
Do not I call th'usurper brother? call
Creon my uncle? Inauspicious palace,
Where to the hated light my eyes I opened!
The vile confederates thy walls contain
Are all, all of my blood! and I, perchance,
The laughing stock of all! Exiled so long,
I find myself a stranger in my palace:
Where'er I turn my apprehensive look
I see a traitor. All life's charities
Are banished hence! What do I seek in Thebes?
What do I hope? or why remain I here?
What death is there more horrible than life
Dragg'd on with you in comfortless suspicion?
Yes, yes, I feel it, at my birth, ye furies,
Ye only did preside; over my life
Ye, ye, preside alone: to what distress,
To what foul stain, do you reserve my life? ...
Perhaps from Avernus ye alone repel me,
Ye dire Eumenides, since I am yet
Not quite so impious as Œdipus!

Joc.
Oh, thou, of Œdipus the worthy son,
Dost thou accuse of treachery thy mother?
Dar'st thou invoke the furies of thy birth?

Pol.
What other gods should be invoked in Thebes?

Joc.
Son ...

Ant.
Brother ...

Pol.
Argos is my fittest home.
Faith still is kept in Argos: there I live
Secure from foes, and never hear the names
Of brother and of son.

Joc.
Return to Argos;
Fly; return quickly; or in Thebes confide
Alone in those who flatter to betray thee.

Pol.
With equal safety I confide in Thebes
On those who love, and those who hate my person.
Oh, cruel doubt, whence I in terror live,
And scarcely trust myself! I have no throne,
Yet all a monarch's perturbations feel;
Guilty suspicion; and degrading terror;
And all the insane impotence of rage!
Oh, horrid movements, of my heart unworthy,
Which I, till now, ne'er knew! why do I feel
Your sway omnipotent, and omnipresent?
In Thebes there is a more consummate tyrant:
For you his bosom is a fitter dwelling;
Tear him to pieces: let him not taste peace
Amid his many crimes; that peace, of which
I'm so unjustly robbed.

Ant.
Ah, calm thyself;
Listen to me: thy wretched mother's heart
Thou piercest with thy words. We both love thee,
As son and brother ne'er were loved before.

Joc.
Compose thyself; thy most unjust suspicions
Fain would I not remember. Thou shouldst hide
Nothing from me; speak, my beloved son!
Ah, be constrained by pity for thy mother!
The horrible secret, pent up in thy breast,
Tell it, and perhaps ...

Pol.
Oh, mother! ... I have sworn
To keep it, and my faith's inviolate;
Before I forfeit that, ah, let me perish!
It may appear in Thebes excess of virtue,
Such it seems not to me; my own applause
Is dear to me, and not the applause of Thebes.

Joc.
Keep then thy oath, since it involves my death!
Fulfil thy vows! Give me a thousand deaths,
And leave in doubt the palpitating heart
Of a most wretched mother! She knows not
Which son in danger, which in safety, lives;
Keep'st thou from her the means of saving both?

Ant.
More than thy oath, inviolably sacred,
And far more ancient, are the ties of nature.

Pol.
Who first infringed them?

Joc.
If, by breach of oath,
Thou canst save blood, and frustrate treacherous deeds,
The heavens absolve the compact.

Pol.
Why should I
Seek to protect the life-blood of a traitor?
Let it be shed, but in the field. Deceit
Let the deceiver use, it well becomes him.
But a short time remains to weave new frauds.

Ant.
Oh, brother, thou didst love me once; but if
That love no longer second my entreaties,
I do conjure thee by thy wife, beloved
Far more than we are; by thy little child,
Whom thou with tears didst name; ah, cast from thee,
I do conjure thee, every thought of vengeance!
Say, wouldst thou thy hereditary throne
With foulest crimes and blood contaminate?
Blood, which is not thy own, thou canst not shed
In Thebes.

Joc.
Accumulated vengeance falls
Upon thy head in Thebes; thy footsteps turn
From the dread precipice which yawns before thee.
Thou yet hast time to do it: if thou be
(Which I believe not) by Eteocles
Ensnared, each plot which thou to me revealest,
Thou, by that deed, dost frustrate; dost forestall
All the necessity for fell revenge.
Beloved son, whate'er the crime may be,
It cannot, by a brother's death, be cancell'd.

Pol.
Why didst thou make me brother to this traitor?

Joc.
And why wilt thou in wickedness surpass him?

Pol.
Thou tearest my heart asunder ... wouldst thou hear?
Perhaps 'tis a lie ... perhaps a double treachery ...
Perhaps ... what can one here believe? ... farewell.

Joc.
Stay, stay!

Ant.
See, Creon comes.