CHAPTER IX. THE EDIPUS OF SOPHOCLES. Eschylus OUR readers have as yet only been presented with specimens cles compar- of Eschylus, the father of the Greek tragedy. In his bold and Sopho ed. choice of simple and prominent incidents-his love of that which is vast and above nature—and his abrupt and sounding style, we have the true elements of the sublime in poetry, in their first, their birth-form. We now approach a more advanced state of dramatic art; not in point of time so much, as in the character of the Artist's mind. Sophocles and Eschylus were for some years contemporaries on the stage. But while Æschylus was soaring into regions unapproached before, and frequently astonishing his audience by monstrous inventions, and long pompous words, Sophocles was more quietly gaining celebrity by his consummate skill in exhibiting the turns of fate, and the contrasts of human destiny. If Eschylus was the sublimer poet, Sophocles was the more finished artist. In his plays, nothing is wanting, nothing is superfluous. By every entering person, by every speech, the plot is stealthily unfolding; the whole is like an exquisite piece of mosaic, cunningly put together, the distinctive character of each stone visible upon inspection, but all blended beautifully into one general effect. His choral songs also, dropping the wild and abrupt character of those of Æschylus, formed poetic accompaniments to the scenes as they passed; now admonitory to overbearing pride, now consolatory, at another time triumphant hymns of praise, or deep impassioned prayers. His style is in keeping with all this. His choice of words eminently happy, his sentences full of depth, and yielding deeper meaning upon repeated study; his versification without a fault, singularly smooth and pleasing. Yet Sophocles is never weak. His strength is that of a giant, but he does not use it as a giant. When you suspect he is uttering common-places, there is deep wisdom beneath; when his images seem merely those of every-day poets, there is on examination a fitness and happiness in them which you never suspected. It is no wonder then that with ourselves, as in Athens of old, Sophocles should be the favourite. Unblameable symmetry, and perfect polish, are seldom united with the wide grasp of poetic thought, the boundless play of the fancy, the vision and the faculty divine;' but where these good things have been married together in one mind, the effect upon us is that clear delight of soul, that perfect complacency and repose of the intellectual man, than which it is difficult to imagine a higher state of pure enjoyment. There is sublimity in the rare and appalling convulsions of nature; the earthquake, the storm, the conflagration, are full, each of its peculiar grandeur; but where among things sudden or strange, can we find such sublimity, as in the perfect and faultless order of the bright throng above us, each knowing his season, and all rolling, vast beyond thought, beautiful beyond compare, round the throne of the Eternal ? Therefore we love Sophocles, and therefore we mean that our readers should love him also. And we have chosen for the purpose of recommending him, the subject which occupies the greatest number of his remaining plays-the fortunes of the person and family of Edipus, king of Thebes. On this subject we have three plays; EDIPUS THE KING, EDIPUS AT COLONOS, and ANTIGONE. The two former, containing the history of Edipus himself, will furnish us with ample matter for the present chapter. The first of these has universally been esteemed the most perfect drama in existence. The development of the plot is Plays of Sophocles: or the Tale of Edipus. Section 1. Edipus the King, Edipus. that in which the author has especially excelled and that his excellence in that department may be fully perceived, we shall first simply tell the tale of Edipus, and then give an analysis of the play. The Tale of Laïus, king of Thebes in Boeotia, had been warned by an oracle, that if ever he had a son, he should perish by that son's hand. He had a son, Edipus; who, as soon as born, was delivered to a shepherd to be exposed on mount Citharon; his feet being pierced and tied with thongs. The exposure however did not take place. The shepherd gave the infant to a fellow herdsman, feeding his flocks on the mountain, and in the service of Polybus, king of Corinth. Polybus and Merope, his queen, had no child. They saw the infant and adopted him; and he grew up as their son. In the course of a drunken quarrel, some one threw out a hint that Edipus was not the genuine offspring of the blood-royal. This vexed him, and after fruitless enquiry at Corinth respecting his birth, he quitted the country to ask of the oracle at Delphi. There he heard a dreadful announcement: that he should kill his father, and be wedded in incestuous marriage with his mother. To avoid this, (considering those of Corinth as his parents,) he determined not to return, but took the road towards Thebes, a town strange to him. On his way he met, in a place where three roads joined, an old man travelling in a chariot, with a few attendants, He was commanded to give place, and wantonly struck by the old man on his disobedience. His spirit was stirred; and he avenged the insult by the death of the insulter, and all his company, with one exception. This old man was Laïus, king of Thebes, HIS OWN FATHER. He proceeded to the town: found it in dismay and daily losing its citizens under the cruelty of a monster named Sphinx. This Sphinx had proposed a riddle, 'What is that which is two-legged, three-legged, and four-legged?' whoever answered this riddle should vanquish the Sphinx, and deliver the country. A reward was proposed for such a man, the hand of the queen in marriage, and as a consequence the kingdom for himself. Edipus was the solver of the riddle; The animal,' said he, 'is no other than man: as an infant he has four legs, his own and his nurse's; as a man, he has two; as an aged cripple, he has three, going with a stick.' The Sphinx was vanquished, the city delivered; Edipus married the queen Jocasta, (HIS OWN MOTHER) and became king of Thebes. the play. The pesti lence. Now then opens the play of CEDIPUS THE KING. Some Opening of years have elapsed since the above events. There are born to the king two sons, Eteocles and Polynices; and two daughters, Antigone and Ismenè; all grown up to the strength of youth. But the blood of Laïus has cried to heaven-the murder will not rest. Edipus has forgotten it-the country has forgotten it—but heaven has not. A fearful plague rages in the city. The offspring of their women is shed before its time-the flocks cast their young; the fruits wither in the bud; beauty pales her cheek-strength drops her arm. The king and royal family are exempt. They flourish in enviable happiness, feared and admired. Edipus, the saviour of his country, stands pre-eminent in glory, and is called 'illustrious' by all. To him then the attention of the perishing people is turned. They come in procession to his palace, with the priest of Zeus at their head. They sit as supplicants at his gate. They consult the king as to the means of escaping the present evil. His wisdom saved them once; it may again. Could man be on a prouder eminence? He has anticipated them. He is anxious for his people, and has sent the queen's brother, Creon, to inquire of the oracle at Delphi. While The oracle. they are speaking together, Creon returns; and, as he asserts, with good news. The oracular answer is, that the guilt of blood is on the land. 'Murder has been committed, and the murderer is in the territory. Let but the people find and banish him, or requite blood with blood, and the plague shall cease.' The following conversation ensues: Oedipus. To what man's fate do these dark words allude? Creon. We had, O king, before thou rul'dst the land, A sovereign, named Laïus I know his name; I never looked on him. Creon. 'Tis of his death that we are ordered now To find the authors and requite their guilt. Oedipus. And where are they? How may we find again The long-lost footsteps of this ancient crime? Creon. In this our land they are declared to be : Hid, through neglect; but to be found, if sought. Oedipus. Was Laïus in the palace, or the field, Or in some foreign land, when he was murdered? Creon. He left the city on some sacred errand,— He thus gave out-but he returned no more. Oedipus. Did no one see it? Had he with him none, Whom we might find, and take his evidence? Creon. They perished all save one-he fled through fear, And one thing only can depose for certain. Oedipus. What thing? for one thing may draw on the rest, If it afford us but one clue of hope. Creon. He says that robbers met him- that he fell, Not slain by one, but by a company. Oedipus. How could the robbers, if not bribed with gold Oedipus. What urgency of evil was upon you, That you could not investigate the thing? Creon. The riddling Sphinx compelled us to attend To our woes present, and to leave the rest. Oedipus. But I will sift the matter from the first. This care upon the dead: it is but just Thus in avenging him, I save myself. But rise, my sons, take up your suppliant boughs; Let some one summon hither all the people; |