University of Virginia Library

SCENE THE THIRD.

Antigone, Hæmon, Guards.
Ant.
Ah! why wert thou the son of Creon born?
Or why, at least, didst not resemble him?

Hæm.
Ah, hear me.—On this instant, which I feel
To be the last of real life to me,
I fain would speak to thee my inmost thoughts.
Erewhile this confidence was interdicted
By the importunate aspect of my father.
Then know, for my excuse, that I'm the first
To praise, and to appreciate, and admire,
Thy stern refusal, and thy sterner anger.
Rather than dare to offer it to thee,
By a slow fire I would consume this hand;
This hand, which seems to me unworthy of thee,
More than it seems to thee. Thou knowest well
That I do love thee; and thou shalt know well
That I esteem thee. But meanwhile, (ah, state
Of anguish inexpressible!) my life
Suffices not to place thy life in safety! ...
Oh, that, at least, an inopprobrious death
I could obtain for thee! ...

Ant.
A death in Thebes,
Far more opprobrious than mine can be,
Fell to my mother's and my brothers' lot.
The axe to me seems almost like a triumph.

Hæm.
What dost thou speak of? ... ah, atrocious sight!
I will not see it: will not live to see it.
But hear me, oh Antigone! Perhaps yet
The king might be deluded ... I speak not,
Thou wouldst not suffer me, nor would I do it,
To recommend aught of thy fame unworthy.

Ant.
I brave, but I delude not, e'en a tyrant:
And this thou knowest, Hæmon. Piety,
Fraternal piety, to artifice
Alone could urge me. Shall I now deceive
To save my life? rather would I deceive
To accelerate my death.

Hæm.
At least awhile,
Awhile suspend it, though it be so fixed,
Thy lofty and inexorable will.
I ask for nothing that's of thee unworthy:
But yet, if thou canst, only by delay
Give comfort to another; if thou canst
Live without infamy, why shouldst thou be
So cruel to thyself, to me so cruel?

Ant.
Hæmon, I cannot do it ... To myself
I am not cruel: Of Œdipus I'm daughter.
I grieve for thee; but yet ...

Hæm.
I know it well:
Motive to thee of life I ne'er can be;
Yet thy companion certainly in death.
But yet beyond the dreary waves of Styx
All the dear objects of thy lofty heart
Are not translated yet, Antigone:
In a sad life, yet nevertheless in life,
Œdipus and Argia still remain,
And her poor little one, who now grows up
The living image of thy Polinices;
For whom, perchance, thou wouldst one day desire
The passage to this throne, useless to thee,
To be preserved. Ah! yield a little while.
Thou ought'st to feign thou listenest to my prayers,
And that thou wilt be mine, in case that Creon
Allow an interval for time to lay
On thy most reasonable and lingering grief,
His slowly-working, yet emollient hand.
I too will feign to be appeased with this;
And will, at all events, obtain consent
For some delay of Creon. We may hope,
Meanwhile, for much, from the effects of time:
I never can believe the Argive monarch
Will, to the thrall of ignominious fetters,
Abandon his own daughter. Oftentimes,
Whence least he is looked for, the defender springs.
Ah live; once more I do asseverate
That for myself I ask it not: ah live! ...
I am resolved to follow thee; and yet
I feel no pity for my own allotment,
Nor shouldst thou feel it for me: for thy blind
And wandering father, for Argia, here
An exile, I bespeak, conjure, thy pity.
Thou may'st from chains release her, to behold
Once more her father, and rejoice his heart.
Ah! be constrain'd, what for thyself thou feel'st not,
To feel for them, compassion! At thy feet
Prostrate, and overwhelm'd with bitter tears,
Hæmon invokes thy pity ... he conjures it!

Ant.
And I conjure thee, now that I have need,
More than I ever had, of constancy,
Do not, in soft tears of effeminate love,
Do not dissolve my heart ... if potent thus
O'er my fond breast thou be'est, (and that thou art
These rending conflicts but too well convince me;)
... Help me to save my fame; help me to die;
If thou, in verity, dost love Antigone.

Hæm.
... Alas! ... yet I have not deluded thee ...
'Tis possible ... all that I've pictured to thee.

Ant.
I never can be thine; why should I live?
Oh, Heaven! that I at least had never known
The real cause of my despairing grief.
And if I should, as spouse, unite myself
To thee but in appearance, what would Greece,
In hearing of it, say? My wretched father,
He who alone for my protracted life
Would be a worthy cause, if ever he
Of such an union heard! ... In case that grief,
Torment, and shame, have not destroy'd him yet,
To his paternal heart the horrid news
Would be a mortal stab. Ah, wretched father!
I know too well I ne'er shall see thee more;
No, never more; ... but lonely, and the last
Of all thy children, I will die unspotted.

Hæm.
My heart thou rendest; ... yet I feel constrain'd
Such a resolve to venerate: for I,
E'en I, to virtue am not quite a stranger ...
But shall I let thee perish? ... Deign to hear,
If thou detest me not, my latest prayer:
At thy side will I plant myself; the blow,
The mortal blow, my bosom shall transfix,
Before it reaches thine: on cruel Creon,
Thou, thus, in part at least, may'st be avenged.

Ant.
Live, Hæmon, I command thee ... Love in us
Is such a crime, that I, by death, atone for't;
Do thou by life.

Hæm.
One, one more, last attempt.
Inhuman father! sanguinary king,
Thou of a frantic and despairing son
Shalt be constrain'd to hear the latest accents.

Ant.
Alas! what is it that thou now contrivest?
A rebel to thy father? ... Ah, avoid
So horrible a stain, or do not hope
That I can love thee.

Hæm.
From thy fierce resolve
Can nothing make thee swerve?

Ant.
Nothing; if thou
Canst not.

Hæm.
Thou, then, preparest thyself? ...

Ant.
Ah, never, ...
Never to see thee more.

Hæm.
In a short time
Thou shalt, I swear, again behold my face.

Ant.
Ah stop. Alas! ... dost thou not hear me, Hæmon?
What wouldst thou do?

Hæm.
Spite of thyself, preserve thee.

Ant.
Stop ...