ŒDIPUS.

The dreadful subject of this piece has been celebrated by several ancient and modern dramatists. Of seven tragedies of Sophocles which have reached our times, two are founded on the history of Œdipus. The first of these, called "Œdipus Tyrannus," has been extolled by every critic since the days of Aristotle, for the unparalleled art with which the story is managed. The dreadful secret, the existence of which is announced by the pestilence, and by the wrath of the offended deities, seems each moment on the verge of being explained, yet, till the last act, the reader is still held in horrible suspense. Every circumstance, resorted to for the purpose of evincing the falsehood of the oracle, tends gradually to confirm the guilt of Œdipus, and to accelerate the catastrophe; while his own supposed consciousness of innocence, at once interests us in his favour, and precipitates the horrible discovery. Dryden, who arranged the whole plan of the following tragedy, although assisted by Lee in the execution, was fully aware of the merit of the "Œdipus Tyrannus;" and, with the addition of the under-plot of Adrastus and Eurydice, has traced out the events of the drama, in close imitation of Sophocles. The Grecian bard, however, in concurrence with the history or tradition of Greece, has made Œdipus survive the discovery of his unintentional guilt, and reserved him, in blindness and banishment, for the subject of his second tragedy of "Œdipus Coloneus." This may have been well judged, considering that the audience were intimately acquainted with the important scenes which were to follow among the descendants of Œdipus, with the first and second wars against Thebes, and her final conquest by the ancestors of those Athenians, before whom the play was rehearsed, led on by their demi-god Theseus. They were also prepared to receive, with reverence and faith, the belief on which the whole interest turns, that if Œdipus should be restored to Thebes, the vengeance of the gods against the devoted city might be averted; and to applaud his determination to remain on Athenian ground, that the predestined curse might descend on his unnatural sons and ungrateful country. But while the modern reader admires the lofty tone of poetry and high strain of morality which pervades "Œdipus Coloneus," it must appear more natural to his feelings, that the life of 118 the hero, stained with unintentional incest and parricide, should be terminated, as in Dryden's play, upon the discovery of his complicated guilt and wretchedness. Yet there is something awful in the idea of the monarch, blind and exiled, innocent in intention, though so horribly criminal in fact, devoted, as it were, to the infernal deities, and sacred from human power and violence by the very excess of his guilt and misery. The account of the death of Œdipus Coloneus reaches the highest tone of sublimity. While the lightning flashes around him, he expresses the feeling, that his hour is come; and the reader anticipates, that, like Malefort in the "Unnatural Combat," he is to perish by a thunder-bolt. Yet, for the awful catastrophe, which we are artfully led to expect, is substituted a mysterious termination, still more awful. Œdipus arrays himself in splendid apparel, and dismisses his daughters and the attending Athenians. Theseus alone remains with him. The storm subsides, and the attendants return to the place, but Œdipus is there no longer—he had not perished by water, by sword, nor by fire—no one but Theseus knew the manner of his death. With an impressive hint, that it was as strange and wonderful as his life had been dismally eventful, the poet drops a curtain over the fate of his hero. This last sublime scene Dryden has not ventured to imitate; and the rants of Lee are a poor substitute for the calm and determined despair of the "Œdipus Coloneus."

Seneca, perhaps to check the seeds of vice in Nero, his pupil, to whom incest and blood were afterwards so familiar[1], composed the Latin tragedy on the subject of Œdipus, which is alluded to by Dryden in the following preface. The cold declamatory rhetorical stile of that philosopher was adapted precisely to counteract the effect, which a tale of terror produces on the feelings and imagination. His taste exerted itself in filling up and garnishing the more trifling passages, which Sophocles had passed over as unworthy of notice, and in adjusting incidents laid in the heroic age of Grecian simplicity, according to the taste and customs of the court of Nero[2]. Yet though devoid of dramatic effect, of fancy, and of genius, the Œdipus of Seneca displays the masculine eloquence and high moral sentiment of its author; and if it does not interest us in the scene of fiction, it often compels us to turn our thoughts inward, and to study our own hearts.

119 The Œdipe of Corneille is in all respects unworthy of its great author. The poet considering, as he states in his introduction, that the subject of Œdipus tearing out his eyes was too horrible to be presented before ladies, qualifies its terrors by the introduction of a love intrigue betwixt Theseus and Dirce. The unhappy propensity of the French poets to introduce long discussions upon la belle passion, addressed merely to the understanding, without respect to feeling or propriety, is nowhere more ridiculously displayed than in "Œdipe." The play opens with the following polite speech of Theseus to Dirce:

N'ecoutez plus, madame, une pitie cruelle,

Qui d'un fidel amant vous ferait un rebelle:

La gloire d'obeir n'a rien que me soit doux,

Lorsque vous m'ordonnez de m'eloigner de vous.

Quelque ravage affreux qu'etale ici la peste,

L'absence aux vrais amans est encore plus funeste;

Et d'un si grand peril l'image s'offre en vain,

Quand ce peril douteux epargne un mal certain.

Act premiere, Scene premiere.

It is hardly possible more prettily to jingle upon the peril douteux, and the mal certain; but this is rather an awkward way of introducing the account of the pestilence, with which all the other dramatists have opened their scene. Œdipus, however, is at once sensible of the cause which detained Theseus at his melancholy court, amidst the horrors of the plague:

Je l'avais bien juge qu' un interet d'amour

Fermait ici vos yeux aux perils de ma cour.

Œdipo conjectere opus est—it would have been difficult for any other person to have divined such a motive. The conduct of the drama is exactly suitable to its commencement; the fate of Œdipus and of Thebes, the ravages of the pestilence, and the avenging of the death of Laius, are all secondary and subordinate considerations to the loves of Theseus and Dirce, as flat and uninteresting a pair as ever spoke platitudes in French hexameters. So much is this the engrossing subject of the drama, that Œdipus, at the very moment when Tiresias is supposed to be engaged in raising the ghost of Laius, occupies himself in a long scene of scolding about love and duty with Dirce; and it is not till he is almost bullied by her off the stage, that he suddenly recollects, as an apology for his retreat,

Mais il faut aller voir ce qu'a fait Tiresias.

Considering, however, the declamatory nature of the French dialogue, and the peremptory rule of their drama, that love, or rather gallantry, must be the moving principle of every performance, 120 it is more astonishing that Corneille should have chosen so masculine and agitating a subject, than that he should have failed in treating it with propriety or success.

In the following tragedy, Dryden has avowedly adopted the Greek model; qualified, however, by the under plot of Adrastus and Eurydice, which contributes little either to the effect or merit of the play. Creon, in his ambition and his deformity, is a poor copy of Richard III., without his abilities; his plots and treasons are baffled by the single appearance of Œdipus; and as for the loves and woes of Eurydice, and the prince of Argos, they are lost in the horrors of the principal story, like the moonlight amid the glare of a conflagration. In other respects, the conduct of the piece closely follows the "Œdipus Tyrannus," and, in some respects, even improves on that excellent model. The Tiresias of Sophocles, for example, upon his first introduction, denounces Œdipus as the slayer of Laius, braves his resentment, and prophesies his miserable catastrophe. In Dryden's play, the first anathema of the prophet is levelled only against the unknown murderer; and it is not till the powers of hell have been invoked, that even the eye of the prophet can penetrate the horrible veil, and fix the guilt decisively upon Œdipus. By this means, the striking quarrel betwixt the monarch and Tiresias is, with great art, postponed to the third act; and the interest, of course, is more gradually heightened than in the Grecian tragedy.

The first and third acts, which were wholly written by Dryden, maintain a decided superiority over the rest of the piece. Yet there are many excellent passages scattered through Lee's scenes; and as the whole was probably corrected by Dryden, the tragedy has the appearance of general consistence and uniformity. There are several scenes, in which Dryden seems to have indulged his newly adopted desire of imitating the stile of Shakespeare. Such are, in particular, the scene of Œdipus walking in his sleep, which bears marks of Dryden's pen; and such, also, is the incantation in the third act. Seneca and Corneille have thrown this last scene into narrative. Yet, by the present large size of our stages, and the complete management of light and shade, the incantation might be represented with striking effect; an advantage which, I fear, has been gained by the sacrifice of others, much more essential to the drama, considered as a dignified and rational amusement. The incantation itself is nobly written, and the ghost of Laius can only be paralleled in Shakespeare.

The language of Œdipus is, in general, nervous, pure, and elegant; and the dialogue, though in so high a tone of passion, is natural and affecting. Some of Lee's extravagancies are lamentable exceptions to this observation. This may be instanced in the passage, where Jocasta threatens to fire Olympus, destroy the heavenly 121 furniture, and smoke the deities like bees out of their ambrosial hives; and such is the still more noted wish of Œdipus;

Through all the inmost chambers of the sky,

May there not be a glimpse, one starry spark,

But gods meet gods, and jostle in the dark!

These blemishes, however, are entitled to some indulgence from the reader, when they occur in a work of real genius. Those, who do not strive at excellence, will seldom fall into absurdity; as he, who is contented to walk, is little liable to stumble.

Notwithstanding the admirable disposition of the parts of this play, the gradual increase of the interest, and the strong impassioned language of the dialogue, the disagreeable nature of the plot forms an objection to its success upon a British stage. Distress, which turns upon the involutions of unnatural or incestuous passion, carries with it something too disgusting for the sympathy of a refined age; whereas, in a simple state of society, the feelings require a more powerful stimulus; as we see the vulgar crowd round an object of real horror, with the same pleasure we reap from seeing it represented on a theatre. Besides, in ancient times, in those of the Roman empire at least, such abominations really occurred, as sanctioned the story of Œdipus. But the change of manners has introduced not only greater purity of moral feeling, but a sensibility, which retreats with abhorrence even from a fiction turning upon such circumstances. Hence, Garrick, who well knew the taste of an English audience, renounced his intention of reviving the excellent old play of "King and no King;" and hence Massinger's still more awful tragedy of "The Unnatural Combat," has been justly deemed unfit for a modern stage. Independent of this disgusting circumstance, it may be questioned Whether the horror of this tragedy is not too powerful for furnishing mere amusement? It is said in the "Companion to the Playhouse," that when the piece was performing at Dublin, a musician, in the orchestra, was so powerfully affected by the madness of Œdipus, as to become himself actually delirious: and though this may be exaggerated, it is certain, that, when the play was revived about thirty years ago, the audience were unable to support it to an end; the boxes being all emptied before the third act was concluded. Among all our English plays, there is none more determinedly bloody than "Œdipus," in its progress and conclusion. The entrance of the unfortunate king, with his eyes torn from their sockets, is too disgusting for representation[3]. Of all the 122 persons of the drama, scarce one survives the fifth act. Œdipus dashes out his brains, Jocasta stabs herself, their children are strangled, Creon kills Eurydice, Adrastus kills Creon, and the insurgents kill Adrastus; when we add to this, that the conspirators are hanged, the reader will perceive, that the play, which began with a pestilence, concludes with a massacre,

And darkness is the burier of the dead.

Another objection to Œdipus has been derived from the doctrine of fatalism, inculcated by the story. There is something of cant in talking much upon the influence of a theatre on public morals; yet, I fear, though the most moral plays are incapable of doing much good, the turn of others may make a mischievous impression, by embodying in verse, and rendering apt for the memory, maxims of an impious or profligate tendency. In this point of view, there is, at least, no edification in beholding the horrible crimes unto which Œdipus is unwillingly plunged, and in witnessing the dreadful punishment he sustains, though innocent of all moral or intentional guilt, Corneille has endeavoured to counterbalance the obvious conclusion, by a long tirade upon free-will, which I have subjoined, as it contains some striking ideas.[4] But the doctrine, which it expresses, is contradictory of the whole 123 tenor of the story; and the correct deduction is much more justly summed up by Seneca, in the stoical maxim of necessity:

Fatis agimur, cedite Fatis;

Non solicitæ possunt curæ,

Mutare rati stamina fusi;

Quicquid patimur mortale genus,

Quicquid facimus venit ex alto;

Servatque sua decreta colus,

Lachesis dura revoluta manu.

Some degree of poetical justice might have been preserved, and a valuable moral inculcated, had the conduct of Œdipus, in his combat with Laius, been represented as atrocious, or, at least, unwarrantable; as the sequel would then have been a warning, how impossible it is to calculate the consequences or extent of a single act of guilt. But, after all, Dryden perhaps extracts the true moral, while stating our insufficiency to estimate the distribution of good and evil in human life, in a passage, which, in excellent poetry, expresses more sound truth, than a whole shelf of philosophers:

The Gods are just—

But how can finite measure infinite?

Reason! alas, it does not know itself!

Yet man, vain man, would, with this, short-lined plummet,

Fathom the vast abyss of heavenly justice.

Whatever is, is in its causes just,

Since all things are by fate. But purblind man

Sees but a part o'the chain; the nearest links;

His eyes not carrying to that equal beam,

That poises all above.—

The prologue states, that the play, if damned, may be recorded as the "first buried since the Woollen Act." This enables us to fix the date of the performance. By the 30th Charles II. cap. 3. all persons were appointed to be buried in woollen after 1st August, 1678. The play must therefore have been represented early in the season 1678-9. It was not printed until 1679.

Footnotes:

Nero is said to have represented the character of Œdipus, amongst others of the same horrible cast.—Suetonius, Lib. VI. Cap. 21.
Thus Seneca is justly ridiculed by Dacier, for sending Laius forth with a numerous party of guards, to avoid the indecorum of a king going abroad too slenderly attended. The guards lose their way within a league of their master's capital; and, by this awkward contrivance, their absence is accounted for, when he is met by Œdipus.
Voltaire, however, held a different opinion. He thought a powerful effect might be produced by the exhibition of the blind king, indistinctly seen in the back ground, amid the shrieks of Jocasta, and the exclamations of the Thebans; provided the actor was capable of powerful gesture, and of expressing much passion, with little declamation.
Quoi! la necessite des vertus et des vices
D'un astre imperieux doit suivre les caprices?
Et Delphes malgré nous conduit nos actions
Au plus bizarre effet de ses predictions?
L'ame est donc toute esclave; une loi soveraine
Vers le bien ou le mal incessamment l'entraine;
Et nous recevons ni crainte ni desir,
De cette liberté qui n'a rien a choisir;
Attachés sans relache á cet ordre sublime,
Vertueux sans merite, et vicieux sans crime;
Qu'on massare les rois, qu'on brise les autels,
C'est la faute des dieux, et non pas des mortels;
De toute la vertu sur la terre epandue
Tout le prix ces dieux, toute la gloire est due;
Ils agissent en nous, quand nous pensons agir,
Alons qu'on delibere, on ne fait qu'obeir;
Et notre volonté n'aime, hait, cherche, evite,
Que suivant que d'en haut leur bras la precipite!
D'un tel aveuglement daignez me dispenser
Le ciel juste a punir, juste a recompenser,
Pour rendre aux actions leur peine ou leur salaire,
Doit nous offrir son aide et puis nous laisser faire.

124