VOLTAIRE: 60+ Works in One Volume - Philosophical Writings, Novels, Historical Works, Poetry, Plays & Letters. Вольтер

      ACT III.

      SCENE I.

       Table of Contents

      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—