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Автор: Вольтер
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Will shine with double splendor: dwell with us,

       And wait the event.

      philoctetes.

       My honor is concerned,

       And therefore I shall stay; nor hence depart

       Till I have ample vengeance for the wrongs

       Thy base suspicions cast on Philoctetes.

      SCENE V.

       Table of Contents

      œdipus, araspes.

      œdipus.

       Araspes, I can never think him guilty:

       A heart like his, intrepid, brave, and fearless,

       Could never stoop to mean disguise; nor thoughts

       So noble e’er inspire the timid breast

       Of falsehood: no! such baseness is far from him:

       I even blushed to accuse him, and condemned

       My own injustice: hard and cruel fate

       Of royalty! alas! kings cannot read

       The hearts of men, and oft on innocence,

       Spite of ourselves unjust, inflict the pains

       Due to the guilty. How this Phorbas lingers!

       In him alone are all my hopes: the gods

       Refuse to hear or answer to our vows;

       Their silence shows how much they are offended.

      araspes.

       Rely then on thyself: the gods, whose aid

       This priest hath promised, do not always dwell

       Within their temples; tripods, caves, and cells,

       The brazen mouths that pour forth oracles,

       Which men had framed, by men may be inspired;

       We must not rest our faith on priests alone;

       Even in the sanctuary traitors oft

       May lurk unseen, exert their pious arts

       To enslave mankind, and bid the destinies

       Speak or be silent just as they command them.

       Search then, and find the truth, examine all;

       Phorbas, and Philoctetes, and Jocaste.

       Trust to yourself; let our own eyes determine;

       Be they our tripods, oracles, and gods.

      œdipus.

       Within the temple, thinkest thou, perfidy

       Like this can dwell: but if just heaven at last

       Should fix our fate, and Œdipus be called

       To execute its will, he will receive

       The precious trust, the safety of his country,

       Nor act unworthy of it. To the gods

       Once more I go, and with incessant prayer

       Will try to soothe their anger: thou, meantime,

       If thou wouldst wish to serve me, hasten onward

       The lingering Phorbas; in our hapless state,

       I must enquire the truth of gods and men.

      The End of the Second Act.

      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.