ACT III

[_It is possible that the following fragments belong to still another play. The presence of_ Antigone _in Thebes, notwithstanding her resolve to remain with her father, would strengthen this view_.]

_Jocasta:_ Oh, fortunate Agave! for she bore, Within the hand which did the deed, the spoil, The horrid spoil of her dismembered son, 365 A raging Maenad. Yea, she did the deed; But naught in all her sinfulness did she Save that one crime.[7] It is my least of sins That I am guilty; this my greater crime, That I have made another sinful too. But even this seems light when I reflect That I have given birth to sinful sons. Till now 'twas wanting to my sum of woe That I should love my country's enemy. 370 Three times has winter put away his snows, And thrice have Ceres' golden harvests fall'n Beneath the sickle, since my hapless son In exile wanders, robbed of fatherland, And craves assistance from the Grecian kings. He has become Adrastus' son-in-law, Whose sway is o'er the waters of the sea Which Isthmus cleaves. Adrastus even now 375 Is leading on his tribes, and with him march Seven other royal hosts. Ah, woe is me, I know not what I ought to wish or say. My exiled son with justice claims his share Of empire, but he seeks it wrongfully. How shall I pray? I count them both my sons, 380 And yet, alas, without impiety, Can I for neither pray. If for one son I call a blessing down, 'tis but a curse Upon the other's head. Yet this I know: Although I love them both with equal love, My heart inclines toward the better cause, 385 The worser fortune, ever favoring him Who suffers more; for this is fortune's way To win the wretched to their own again.

[_Enter_ Messenger _in haste_.]

_Messenger:_ O queen, while thou dost utter these complaints, And spend'st the precious time in useless tears, With weapons drawn the battle lines approach. The trumpet's blare incites to bloody war, And even now the eagles are advanced. 390 The kings in seven-fold battle are arrayed, While the sons of Thebes with equal spirit go To meet the enemy. With hurrying tread, Now here, now there, advance the soldiery. Behold, dark clouds of dust obscure the day, And from the plain dense, smokelike billows rise, 395 Which earth, beneath the tread of countless hoofs, Sends rolling heavenward. And through the dust, If terror-stricken eyes can see aright, The hostile standards shine; with lifted spears The foremost ranks advance; while banners gleam, Bearing the names of famous generals wrought 400 In golden characters. Then haste, O queen: Unto the warring brothers love restore, Give peace to all, and by a mother's hands Prevent the conflict of these impious bands.

_Antigone:_ O mother, haste thee, haste on flying feet; Hold back their weapons, from my brothers' hands Strike down the swords, and 'twixt their deadly points Thy bared breast interpose. Then, mother, haste; 405 Or stop the war, or be thou first to fall.

_Jocasta:_ I go, I go, and 'twixt their swords will stand, And there unto their points expose my life. And he who shall his brother seek to slay Must slay his mother first. At my command The son whose heart is moved by piety Will lay aside his arms; the impious son 410 Must first make war on me. These fiery youths Will I, although a woman, old, restrain. Within my sight shall be no impious deed; Or, if within my sight one impious deed Can be committed--then shall two be done.

[_Exit toward the scene of conflict._]

_Antigone:_ Now gleam the advancing standards, near at hand; And loud the hostile battle-cry resounds. 415 A moment, and the impious deed is done. O mother, speed thee with thy prayers. But see! You would suppose them by my weeping moved, So slowly do the arméd lines advance.

_Messenger:_ The lines move slowly, but the leaders haste.

_Jocasta_ [_hurrying onward_]: What wingéd wind will speed me through the air, 420 Bearing me onward with the storm's mad whirl? What monstrous Sphinx or dark Stymphalian bird, Whose spreading wings blot out the light of day, Will bear me on its space-consuming wings? What Harpy, hovering o'er the royal board Of that stern Thracian king, will catch me up Along the lofty highways of the air, 425 And cast me headlong 'twixt th' opposing lines?

_Messenger_ [_looking after her_]: Like some wild creature reft of sense she goes. Swift as an arrow shot by Parthian hand, Or as a ship which boisterous winds impel, Or as the flight of falling star from heaven, 430 Which in unswerving course athwart the sky Darts on its fiery way: with maddened haste The queen has sped her flight, and even now Has ta'en her stand between th' opposing lines. The battle pauses yet a little while, O'ercome at sight of those maternal tears. And now the hosts, on mutual slaughter bent, 435 Stand with their weapons balanced in their hands: Peace wins the day; the threat'ning points are lowered; The swords are sheathed. But in the brothers' hands They still are poised. The frantic mother now, Her white hair torn with grieving, speaks to them, 440 Beseaches their reluctant, stubborn wills, And wets their knees with tears. Too long they bide: Such halting bodes the mother's prayers denied.

FOOTNOTES:

[7] Reading, _ultra suum scelus hoc cucurrit_.