ACT III.SCENE I.
JOCASTE, ÆGINA.
JOCASTE.
Yes, my Ægina, I expect him here;
'Tis the last time these eyes shall e'er behold
The wretched Philoctetes.
ÆGINA.
Thou hast heard,
My royal mistress, to what desperate height
The clamorous people carry their resentment;
Our dying Thebans from his punishment
Expect their safety. Old men, women, children,
United by misfortunes, breathe forth vengeance;
Pronounce him guilty, and cry out that heaven
Demands his blood: canst thou resist the torrent,
Defend, or save him?
JOCASTE.
Yes: I will defend him;
Even though Thebes should lift the murderous hand
Against her queen, beneath her smoking walls
To crush Jocaste, ne'er would I betray
Such injured innocence; but still I fear
The tongue of slander: well thou knowest my heart
Once sighed for Philoctetes; now, Ægina,
Will they not say I sacrifice to him
My fame, my gods, my country, and my husband?
Will they not say Jocaste loves him still?
ÆGINA.
Calm thy vain fears; thy passion had no witness
But me, and never
JOCASTE.
Thinkest thou that a princess
Can e'er conceal her hatred or her love?
O no! on every side the eager eyes
Of courtiers look upon us: through the veil
Of feigned respect, with subtle treachery
They search our hearts, and trace out every weakness.
Naught can escape their sharp malignant sight;
A little word, a sigh, or glance betrays us;
Our very silence shall be made to speak
Our thoughts; and when their busy artifice,
Spite of ourselves, hath drawn the secret from us,
Then their loud censures cast invidious light
O'er all our actions, and the instructed world
Is quickly taught to echo every weakness.
ÆGINA.
But what hast thou to fear from calumny?
What piercing eye can wound Jocaste's fame?
Who knows thy love, will know thy conquest o'er it;
Will know thy virtue still supported thee.
JOCASTE.
It is that virtue which distresses me;
I look, perhaps, with too severe an eye
On my own weakness, and accuse myself
Unjustly; but the image still remains
Of Philoctetes, engraved within my heart
Too deep for time or virtue to efface it;
And much I doubt, if when I strive to save him,
I act not less from justice than from love:
My pity hath too much of tenderness;
I tremble oft, and oft reproach myself
For my fond care; I could be more his friend,
If he had been less dear to me.
ÆGINA.
But say,
Is it your will that he depart?
JOCASTE.
It is:
And O! if he would listen to Jocaste,
Never return, never behold me more;
Fly from this fatal, this distressful scene,
And save my life and fame. But what detains him?
Why hastes he not? Ægina, fly—
SCENE II.
PHILOCTETES, ÆGINA, JOCASTE.
JOCASTE.
He's here.
O prince, my soul is on the rack; I blush
To see the man whom duty bids me shun,
Which says I should forget and not betray thee.
Doubtless thou knowest the dreadful fate that hangs
O'er thy devoted head.
PHILOCTETES.
The clamorous people
Demand my life; but they have suffered much,
And therefore, though unjust, I pity them.
JOCASTE.
Yield not thyself a victim to their rage:
Away, begone; as yet thou art thyself
The master of thy fate; but this perhaps
Is the last minute that can give me power
To save thee: far, O fly far from Jocaste;
And, in return for added life, I beg thee
But to forget 'twas I who thus preserved it.
PHILOCTETES.
I could have wished, Jocaste, thou hadst shown
More strength of mind, and less compassion for me;
Preferred with me my honor to my life,
And rather bade me die than meanly quit
My station here: I yet am innocent,
But in obeying thee I should be guilty.
Of all the blessings heaven bestowed upon me,
My honor and my fame alone remain
Untouched. O! do not rob me of a treasure
So precious to me; do not make me thus
Unworthy of Jocaste. I have lived,
Lived to fulfil the fate allotted to me;
Have passed my sacred word to Œdipus,
And whatsoever suspicions he may cherish,
I am a stranger to the breach of honor.
JOCASTE.
O Philoctetes, let me here entreat thee,
By the just gods, by that ill-fated passion,
Which once inspired thy breast, if aught remains
Of tender friendship, if thou still rememberest
How much my happiness on thine depended,
Deign to prolong a glorious life, and days
That should have been united with Jocaste.
PHILOCTETES.
To thee devoted I would have them still
In equal tenor flow, and worthy of thee;
I've lived far from thee, and shall die content,
If thy regard attends me to the tomb.
Who knows but heaven may yet refuse to see
This bloody sacrifice; perhaps, in mercy
It guided me to Thebes to save Jocaste;
Shortened my days, perhaps, to lengthen thine.
Happy event! the blood of innocence
May be accepted; mine is not unworthy.
SCENE III.
ŒDIPUS, JOCASTE, PHILOCTETES, ÆGINA, ARASPES, with Attendants.
ŒDIPUS.
Fear not the clamors of an idle crowd,
That rage tumultuous, and demand thy death:
Know, Philoctetes, I have calmed their rage
And will myself, if needful, be thy guard.
I judge not with the hasty multitude,
But wish to see thy innocence appear:
My doubtful mind, uncertain where to fix,
Nor dares or to condemn, or to acquit thee:
Heaven can alone determine all, which hears
My ardent prayer; at length it seems appeased,
And by its priest shall soon point out the victim.
The gods shall soon decide 'twixt Thebes and thee.
PHILOCTETES.
Great is thy love of truth, O king, but know
Justice extreme is height of injury;
We must not always hearken to the voice
Of rigor: honor is the first of laws,
Let us observe it. But thou seest me sunk
Beneath myself, answering the slandrous tongues
Of base defamers, whom I should despise.
O let not Œdipus unite with such
To ruin my fair fame! it is enough
That I deny it; 'tis enough to call
My life before thee. Let Alcides come,
And bring with him the monsters I destroyed,
The tyrants I subdued; let these stand forth
My witnesses, and let my enemies confute them.
But ask your priest whether his gods condemn me;
I'll wait their sentence; not because I fear it,
But to preserve thy persecuted people.
SCENE IV.
ŒDIPUS, JOCASTE, HIGH PRIEST, ARASPES, PHILOCTETES, ÆGINA, Attendants, CHORUS.
ŒDIPUS.
Will heaven at last indulgent to our prayers
Withdraw its vengeance? By what murderous hand
Was it offended?
PHILOCTETES.
Speak, whose blood must flow
For expiation?
HIGH PRIEST.
Fatal gift of heaven!
Unhappy knowledge! to what dangers oft
Dost thou betray the heart of curious man!
O would that fate, thus open to my view,
Had o'er its secrets drawn the eternal veil
To hide them from my sight!
PHILOCTETES.
What evil bringest thou?
ŒDIPUS.
Comest thou the minister of wrath divine?
PHILOCTETES.
Fear nothing.
ŒDIPUS.
Do the gods demand my life?
HIGH PRIEST.
If thou givest credit to me, ask me not.
ŒDIPUS.
Whatever be the fate which heaven decrees,
The safety of my country is concerned,
And I will know it.
PHILOCTETES.
Speak.
ŒDIPUS.
Have pity on us,
Pity the afflicted, pity
HIGH PRIEST.
Œdipus
Deserves more, much more, pity than his people.
LEADER OF THE CHORUS.
Œdipus loves them with paternal fondness;
To his we join our prayers. O! hear us thou
Interpreter of heaven; now hear, and save!
SECOND PERSON OF THE CHORUS.
We die, O save us! turn aside the wrath
Of the angry gods; name the perfidious monster!
LEADER OF THE CHORUS.
Name him, and soon the parricide shall die,,
HIGH PRIEST.
Unhappy men! why will ye press me thus?
LEADER OF THE CHORUS.
Speak but the word, he dies, and we are saved.
HIGH PRIEST.
O! ye will tremble but to hear his name,
When ye shall know what pangs he must endure.
The God, who speaks by me, in pity dooms him
To banishment alone; but dreadful ills
Await the murderer: driven to fell despair
His own rash hand shall to the wrath of heaven
Add woes more deep and heavier punishment:
Even you shall shudder at his fate, and own
Your safety purchased at a rate too dear.
ŒDIPUS.
Obey then.
PHILOCTETES.
Speak.
ŒDIPUS.
Still obstinate!
HIGH PRIEST.
Remember,
If I must speak, that thou didst force me to it.
ŒDIPUS.
Insufferable delay! I'll bear no more.
HIGH PRIEST.
Since thou wilt hear it then, 'tis—
ŒDIPUS.
Ha! speak, who?
HIGH PRIEST.
'Tis—Œdipus.
ŒDIPUS.
I?
HIGH PRIEST.
Thou, unhappy Prince,
Thou art the man.
SECOND PERSON OF THE CHORUS.
Alas! what do I hear!
JOCASTE.
Say, can it be, interpreter of heaven? [To Œdipus.
Thou, Œdipus, the murderer of my husband!
To whom Jocaste yielded with herself
The throne of Thebes: the oracle is false;
I know it is; thy virtues must confute it.
LEADER OF THE CHORUS.
O! heaven, whose power decrees the fate of mortals,
O! name another, or to death devote us!
PHILOCTETES.
[Turning to Œdipus.
Think not I mean to render ill for ill;
Or from this strange reverse of fortune take
A mean advantage, to return the wrongs
I suffered from thy people and from thee:
No, Œdipus, I'll do thee noble justice,
That justice thou deniest to Philoctetes.
Spite of the gods, I think thee innocent,
And here I offer thee my willing hand
Against thy foes: I cannot hesitate
Which I should serve, a pontiff or a king.
'Tis a priest's business, whosoever he be,
By whatsoever deity inspired,
To pray for, not to curse, his royal master.
ŒDIPUS.
Transcendent virtue! execrable traitor!
Here I behold a demi-god, and there
A base impostor: see the glorious privilege
Of altars; thanks to their protecting veil,
With lips profane thou hast abused the power
Given thee by heaven, to arraign thy king;
And yet thou thinkest the sacred ministry
Thou hast disgraced shall withhold my wrath:
Traitor, thou shouldst have perished at the altar
Before those gods whose voice thou hast usurped.
HIGH PRIEST.
My life is in thy hands, and thou art now
The master of my fate: seize then the time
Whilst yet thou art so, for to-day thy doom
Will be pronounced. Tremble, unhappy Prince,
Thy reign is past; a hand unseen suspends
The fatal sword that glitters o'er thy head:
Soon shall thy conscious soul with horror feel
The weight of guilt; soon shalt thou quit the throne,
Where now thou sittest secure, to wander forth
A wretched exile in a distant land;
Of wholesome water and of sacred fire
Deprived, shalt take thy solitary way,
And to the caves and hollow rocks complain.
Where'er thou goest, a vengeful God shall still
Pursue thy steps; still shalt thou call on death,
But call in vain: heaven, that beholds thy fate,
Shall hide itself in darkness from thy sight;
To guilt and sorrow doomed, thou shall regret
Thy life, and wish that thou hadst ne'er been born.
ŒDIPUS.
Thus far I have constrained my wrath, and heard thee.
Priest, if thy blood were worthy of my sword,
Thy life should answer for this insolence:
But hence, begone, nor urge my temper further,
Thou author of abominable falsehood.
HIGH PRIEST.
Thou callest me hypocrite, and base impostor;
Thy father thought not so.
ŒDIPUS.
Who? Polybus?
My father, saidst thou?
HIGH PRIEST.
Thou wilt know too soon
Thy wretched fate: to-day shall give thee birth;
To-day shall give thee death: unhappy man,
Tell me who gave thee birth, or say with whom
Thou livest, beset with sorrows and with crimes
For thee alone reserved. O Corinth! Phocis!
Detested nuptials! impious wretched race,
Too like its parent stem! whose deadly rage
Shall fill the world with horror and amaze.
Farewell.
SCENE V.
ŒDIPUS, PHILOCTETES, JOCASTE.
ŒDIPUS.
His last words fix me to the earth
Immovable; my passion is subsided;
I know not where I am: methinks some god
Descended from above to calm my rage;
Who to his priest imparted power divine,
And by his sacred voice pronounced my ruin.
PHILOCTETES.
If thou hadst naught to oppose but king to king,
I would have fought for Œdipus; but know
That Priests are here more formidable foes,
Because respected, feared and honored more.
Supported by his oracles, the priest
Shall often make his sovereign crouch beneath him;
Whilst his weak people, dragged in holy chains,
Embrace the idol, tread on sacred laws
With pious zeal, and think they honor heaven
When they betray their master and their king,
But above all, when interest, fruitful parent
Of riot and licentiousness, increase
Their impious rage, and back their insolence.
ŒDIPUS.
Alas! thy virtue doubles all my woes,
For great as my misfortunes is thy soul;
Beneath the weight of care that hangs upon me;
Who strives to comfort can but more oppress.
What voice is this which from my inmost soul
Pours forth complaints? What crime have I committed?
Say, vengeful gods, is Œdipus so guilty?
JOCASTE.
Talk not of guilt, my lord, your dying people
Demand a victim; we must save our country;
Delay it not: I was the wife of Laius,
And I alone should perish: let me seek
The wandering spirit of my murdered lord
On the infernal shore, and calm his rage:
Yes, I will go: may the kind gods accept
My life and ask no other sacrifice!
May thy Jocaste save her Œdipus!
ŒDIPUS.
And wouldest thou die! are there not woes enough
Heaped on this head? O cease, my loved Jocaste,
This mournful language, I am sunk already
Too deep in grief without new miseries,
Without thy death to fill my cup of sorrow.
Let us go in: I must clear up a doubt
Too justly formed, I fear: but follow me.
JOCASTE.
How couldst thou ever, my lord
ŒDIPUS.
No more: come in,
And there confirm my terrors, or remove them.
The End of the Third Act.