Phoenissae, or Thebaïs: Act IV

Jocasta [kneeling between her two hostile sons]:'Gainst me your arms and blazing torches turn;'Gainst me alone let every warrior rush,Who comes from Argos thirsting for the fray,And they who from the citadel of ThebesCome down to battle. Friend and foe, alike,Attack this womb of mine which brothers boreUnto my husband. Rend me limb from limb,And scatter me abroad upon the plain.I bore you both--will you lay down your arms?Or shall I say from whom I bore you, too?Give me your hands while still they are unstained.'Till now 'twas all unwittingly you sinned;'Twas fortune's crime, who ever 'gainst our peaceDelights to plot. But this impietyIs done with fullest knowledge of your sin.Within your power lies whichsoe'er you will:If filial love, then grant your mother peace;If crime, then must you do a greater crime.Your mother stands between you, blocks your way;Have done with war or with the war's delay.To which of you in fond anxietyShall I address my prayers? Whom first embrace?My heart with equal love is drawn to both.This son has wandered far away from me;But if the compact of the brothers holds,This other son must wander too. Alas,And shall I never see you both again,Except in enmity? Do thou come firstInto thy mother's arms, who hast enduredSo many toils, so many miseries,And, worn with weary exile, see'st at lastThy mother's face. Come nearer to me here.Now sheathe thine impious sword; and this thy spear,Which even now is quivering with hateAnd eager to be thrown, thrust in the ground.Put by thy shield as well; it keeps me offFrom folding thee unto my mother-breast.Unbind thy brow, and from thy warlike headThy helm remove and let me see thy face.Why dost thou turn away, and fix thine eyesWith timid gaze upon thy brother's band?I'll throw my arms about thee for a shield,That through my body only may the swordFind passage to thy blood. Why hesitate?Can it be that thou dost fear thy mother's pledge?

Polynices: I fear; for nature's laws no longer hold.Since I have known a brother's faithlessness,I scarce can trust my mother's plighted word.

Jocasta: Then lay thy hand upon the sword again,Bind on thy helmet, take again thy shield;And while thy brother doth his arms remove,Remain thou armed.Do thou lay by thy sword,Who first didst cause the weapon to be drawn.If peace is hateful to thee, if in warThou dost prefer to rage, a moment's truceThy mother begs of thee, that on her sons,Returned but now from exile, she may printA kiss of love, the first--perchance the last.While I seek peace, attend ye both, unarmed.Dost thou fear him, and he fear thee, in turn?But I do fear you both, and for you both.Why dost refuse to sheathe thy naked sword?Rejoice in this delay. You wage a war,Of which the best end is to be o'ercome.And dost thou fear thy hostile brother's wiles?If one must on his brother work deceitOr suffer it himself, 'tis better farTo be the victim of the treacheryThan to perform the crime. But fear thou not;For I will shield thee from all sudden snares.Do I prevail with thee? Or must I grudgeThy father's blindness? Have I hither comeTo check an impious crime, or see it doneBefore my very eyes?He sheathes his sword,And on his peaceful, grounded spear he leans.And now to thee, O son, thy mother turnsWith prayers and tears. At last I see thy faceWhich long have I desired and prayed to see.Thee, as an exile from thy fatherland,The household of a foreign king protects;O'er many seas, by many chances driven,Thou'rt still a wanderer. It was not mineWith stately train to lead thee to thy bride,With my own hand to deck the festal halls,And with sacred fillets wreathe thy wedding torch.The father of thy bride no wedding gifts,No wealth of gold, has given, no fields, no towns;Thy only gift is war. A foeman's sonHast thou become, far from thy native land,An alien household's guest, driven from thine own,Committed to another's interests,A sinless exile. That no elementMight fail thee of thy father's hapless fate,Thou too hast blundered in thy marriage choice.O son, after so many years returned,O son, thy anxious mother's hope and fear,For sight of whom I ever prayed the gods;Though thy return was doomed to take from meAs much as at thy coming it could give:"When shall I cease to fear for thee?" I said;The mocking god replied: "Him shalt thou fear."I should not have thee near me now, indeed,Were there no war; and there would be no war,If thou wert not at hand. Oh, bitter priceAnd hard, that I must pay for sight of thee.But still there's pleasure in't. These hostile hosts--Let them withdraw a little space from here,While yet stern Mars dares no impiety.Yet this as well is great impiety,That they have been so near. I am appalled,And tremble when I see two brothers stand,Each fronting each, upon the brink of crime.My limbs do quake with fear. How near I cameTo seeing greater infamy than thatWhich thy poor father never could have seen!Though I am freed from fear of such a crime,Though I shall not behold such evil now,Still am I most unhappy when I thinkHow nearly I beheld it. O my son,By the womb that bore thee through ten weary months,And by thy noble sister's piety;By thy unhappy father's sightless eyes,Which he, though innocent of any crime,Tore out, his fatal error to avenge:Turn from thy father's walls these impious brands,Send back the standards of this warring host.Though thou shouldst yield, still is the greater partOf thy impiety already done:Thy fatherland has seen its fertile plainsBy hordes of hostile soldiery o'errun,The arméd legions gleaming from afar,The broad Cadmean meadows trampled downBy flying hoofs, the princes, insolent,High in their chariots dashing o'er the plain,The blazing torches threatening our homesWith utter devastation, and, a crimeWhich even Thebes till now has never seen,A brother 'gainst his brother waging war.This crime was seen by all our Theban host;The citizens and both thy sisters saw,And I thy mother; to himself is dueThat Oedipus, thy father, saw it not.Oh, do thou but compare thyself with him,By whose stern judgment fitting penaltyE'en error pays. Do not with impious swordDestroy thy city and thy father's house,Nor overthrow the city thou wouldst rule.What madness holds its sway within thy soul?Wouldst thou, by seeking to obtain the land,Destroy it? That it may become thine own,Dost thou intend to spoil it utterly?To thine own cause thou doest deadly wrong,In harrying this very soil of thineWith hostile arms, in laying low the crops,And spreading fear through all the country round.No one such devastation ever worksUpon his own. What thou dost burn with fire,And reap with sword, 'tis plain that thou dost grantTo be another's. Gain thou then the throne,Whichever of you will; but gain it soThat 'twill not be the kingdom's overthrow.Dost seek these homes with hostile sword and brand?Wilt thou avail to batter down these wallsWhich great Amphion built, these mighty walls,Whose stones no human hand e'er set in place,The huge weights moving by the creaking crane--But, marshaled by the strains of song and harp,The stones, e'en to the topmost turret's round,Moved of their own accord--wouldst shatter these?As victor wilt thou bear away the spoils?And shall rough soldiery lead off in chainsThy father's noble friends and stately damesTorn from their grieving husbands' very arms?And, mingled with the wretched captive band,Shall Theban maidens go as presents meetFor wives of Argos? And shall I myself,My hands (disgraceful!) bound behind my back,The mother, be the booty of the son,In triumph borne? And canst thou bear to seeOn every hand thy fellow-citizensTo dire destruction given? 'Gainst these dear wallsCanst thou lead on the savage enemy,And fill thy native Thebes with blood and flame?Hast thou so wild a heart within thy breast,So hard and savage--and not yet a king?Then what will't be when thou the scepter wield'st?Oh, put aside thy spirit's swelling rage,And give thyself once more to piety.

Polynices: That I may wander still a fugitive?That ever, banished from my native land,Upon a stranger's bounty I may live?What, think'st thou, could I suffer more than this,If I had broken faith or falsely sworn?Shall I be punished for another's sin,While he enjoys the profits of his crime?Thou bid'st me go; and gladly would I yieldUnto my mother's will. But whither, then,Shall I depart? "Let my proud brother dwellWithin my royal halls, and some poor hutBe my abode": let such a boon be givenUnto the exile; give him in exchangeA hovel for a throne. And shall I, then,A pensioner upon my wealthy bride,Be forced to yield to her unbending will,And to her father's domineering waysSubmit like any slave? 'Tis hard, indeed,To fall from royalty to servitude.

Jocasta: If thou art eager for a royal throne,And if, without the scepter in thy hand,Thou canst not live, whatever land thou wiltWill offer many kingdoms to thy hand.On this side Tmolus lifts his ridgy heights,Well known to Bacchus, where wide-spreading plainsStretch out upon the grain-producing earth;And where Pactolus' all-enriching streamO'erflows the country with its sands of gold.And there Maeander through the joyful fieldsDirects his wandering waves; swift Hermus, too,Cleaves meadows rich. And there is Gargara,Beloved of Ceres, and the fertile plainsWhich Xanthus waters, fed by Ida's snows.And here, where ends the long Ionian sea,Across the narrows from Abydos standsThe Thracian Sestos. Farther to the east,With safe and numerous harbors, lies the landOf Lycia. There realms seek with thy sword;Against these peoples let Adrastus fight,And to thy sceptered hand deliver them.Consider that thy father still is kingWithin this realm of Thebes. Far better, then,Than such returns as this will exile seem.Thou liv'st in exile through another's sin;But thy return must be through thine alone.With those brave troops of thine 'twere better farTo seek thee out new realms unstained by crime.Nay, e'en thy brother's self will be thy aid,And fight for thee. Go, wage such warfare, then,That, as thou fight'st, thy mother and thy sireMay pray for thy success. For, be assured,That kingdoms won by crime are heavier farThan any exile.Now consider wellThe woes of war and war's uncertainties:Though thou dost bring with thee the flower of Greece,Though far and near thy arméd soldieryIs spread, still ever in the balance hangsThe fate of war. 'Tis all as Mars decides.Though two may seem to be unmatched in strength,The sword will make them equal; hope and fearAre subject to the blind caprice of fate.Uncertain is the prize of war thou seek'st,But sure the crime. Suppose that all the godsHave heard thy prayers; suppose the citizens,In panic fear, have turned their backs and fled;The soldiers' bloody corpses hide the plain:Though in such victory thou shouldst exaltAnd bear thy murdered brother's spoils away,Thy victory is but a broken thing.What sort of warfare, think'st thou, that would be,In which the victor wins by curséd crime,And glories in it? Nay, thy brother's self,Whom thou, unhappy man, dost seek to slay,When thou hast gained thy wish, thou wilt lament.Oh, then, forego this most unhallowed strife,And free at last thy fatherland from fear,Thy parents from their grief.

Polynices: Shall I do this,That so for all his treachery and crimeMy curséd brother be not recompensed?

Jocasta: Fear not. He shall indeed be recompensed,For he shall reign.

Jocasta: If thou believe me not, believe thy sire,Believe thy grandsire too. This truth to theeWill Cadmus and the house of Cadmus tell.Without disaster has no Theban kingE'er held the scepter, nor will anyoneWho wins the kingly power by broken faithRetain it long. And 'mongst those faithless onesCount now thy brother.

Eteocles: Be it even so:If I must die, I count it worthy death,To die with kings.Thee to the exiled bandI doom.

Eteocles: Who shrinks from hatred does not wish to reign.That great divinity who made the worldMade of one substance royalty and hate.For me, I count it worthy of a kingTo overcome this hate. By love of friendsToo oft is royal power circumscribed.O'er those who hate him is the king more freeTo lord it as he will. Who would be loved,With but a weak and languid scepter reigns.Jocasta: But hated empire never long endures.

Eteocles: 'Tis for the king to speak of empire's rules.Do thou give laws for exiles. For the throne--

Jocasta: Wouldst burn thy native land, thy home and all?

Eteocles: A kingdom is well bought at any price.