University of Virginia Library

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE THE FIRST.

Creon, Hæmon.
Cre.
I am prepared to give thee audience.
Thou saidst, oh son, that I from thee should hear
Matters of import high: at the same time
Thou may'st, perchance, from my lips hear the same.

Hæm.
A suppliant I approach thee: to confront
The first and fierce emotions of thy rage
I deem'd unwise: now that it somewhat yields
To reason's influence, I come, though alone,
The organ of the Theban multitude,
Thee, to conjure, oh father, to use pity.
Wilt thou refuse me this indulgence, father?
Two pious ladies have infringed thy law;
But who would not have broken such an edict?

Cre.
Who, but thyself, would dare to intercede
For those who have defied it?

Hæm.
Nor dost thou
Deem in thy heart their sacred enterprise
Worthy of death; ah no! I think thee not,
Nor art thou, so unnatural and unjust.

Cre.
Thebes and my son may call me at their will
Cruel, I am contented to be just.
T'obey all laws, whate'er those laws may be,
All are alike required. To Heaven alone
Are kings accountable for what they do:
And there is neither age, nor rank, nor sex,
That palliates th'audacious turpitude
Of incomplete obedience. To permit
A few delinquents to remain unpunished
Gives license to the many.

Hæm.
Didst thou deem,
When thou didst frame thy law, that two such ladies
Should be the first its penance to defy?
A wife, a sister, emulously both
Rising above their sex? ...

Cre.
Hear me, oh son;
From thee I ought not any thing to hide.
Or thou know'st not, or thou will'st not to know,
Or thou pretendest not to fathom them;
I therefore wish to explain my schemes to thee.
I thought, I hoped, ... what do I say? ... by force
I would constrain Antigone alone
To be the first in Thebes to break my law;
At last I have obtain'd my heart's desire;
Antigone has fallen in the snare;
The useless law may now be abrogated ...

Hæm.
Oh earth! oh heavens! and do I call thee father?

Cre.
Ungrateful son; ... or dull of apprehension,
For such my love would fain account thee yet:
I am thy father: if thou hold me guilty,
I am so for thy sake.

Hæm.
I clearly see
The execrable means by which thou hopest
My fortunes to advance. Disastrous throne!
Thou never shalt be mine, if, by such means,
Thou art to be obtain'd.

Cre.
I fill that throne,
That throne is mine which thou rejectest thus.
If to a father, as becomes a son,
Thou canst not speak, speak to him as thy king.

Hæm.
Unhappy son! ... my father; ... pardon; ... hear; ...
Thou wilt not reap the fruit of such a scheme,
And wilt degrade thy name. Absolute power,
E'en in the king most absolute, avails not
To drown the cry of universal nature.
All feel compassion for the pious virgin:
Thy scheme will be discover'd by the Thebans;
Discover'd and abhorr'd, perhaps not suffer'd.

Cre.
And darest thou welcome first the impious doubt,
The doubt by all men hitherto unspoken,
Whether or not my will should be obeyed?
Save from my will, my arbitrary power
Disdains to hear of limit or controul.
Thou hast not taught me how to wield the sceptre.
I soon shall make in every Theban heart
All passions dumb, except the one of fear.

Hæm.
My intercessions, then, are unavailing?
My fond reliance that thou wouldst relent?

Cre.
Utterly vain.

Hæm.
The progeny of kings,
Two ladies, then, to opprobrious death are doom'd,
Since, at their hands, due rites of sepulture
A brother, and a husband, has received?

Cre.
One is thus doom'd.—Little the other's fate
Imports; as yet I know it not.

Hæm.
Me then,
Me then with her shalt thou consign to death.
Hear, father, hear; I love Antigone;
Long have I loved her; loved her more than life:
And ere thou tear'st Antigone from me,
Thou wilt be forced to take away my life.

Cre.
Ungrateful son! Thus dost thou love thy father?

Hæm.
I swear I love thee, e'en as I love her.

Cre.
Vexatious hindrance! In thy father's heart
Thou hast infix'd an unexpected wound,
A mortal wound. Fatal will be thy love
To my repose, to thine, and to the fame
And glory of us both! The world holds not
Aught precious in my sight compared to thee ...
Too much I love thee, herein lies my crime ...
Is this thy recompense for such affection?
Thou lovest her, entreatest for her safety,
Who mocks my power, who holds me in contempt,
And dares to tell me so; and in her breast
Conceals ambitious wishes for the throne?
This throne, the source of my solicitude,
Because thou may'st one day inherit it.

Hæm.
Thou art mistaken: in her pious breast,
I swear, there lives not one ambitious thought:
No other thoughts are rooted in thy nature.
Hence thou know'st not, nor canst thou ever know,
The mighty power of love, before whose throne
All projects of advancement prostrate fall.
Thou didst not always deem Antigone
Thy enemy, yet have I always loved her:
To change, with change of circumstance, my love,
Was more than human nature could perform.
I could be silent, and I held my peace.
Nor, hadst thou not constrain'd me, should I now,
Oh father, have reveal'd my secret fondness.
Oh, heavens! must she her virgin neck lay down
To the impious axe? ... and must I suffer it?
Must I behold it? Couldst thou contemplate
With a less haughty and less clouded eye,
Her noble heart, her elevated thoughts,
Her qualities, as rare as they are sublime,
Thou, even as thy son, yea, more than he,
At once wouldst reverence and admire her virtues.
Who dared, beneath the cruel government
Of fierce Eteocles, appear the friend
Of Polinices? She alone dared do it.
In whom, except in her, did her blind father,
By all deserted, find a pitying friend?
Lastly, Jocasta, then held dear by thee,
By birth thy sister, to her grief immense,
Afflicted mother, say, what other source
Of comfort had she left? In all her tears
What solace, what companion, did she find?
What daughter had she but Antigone?
Thou say'st she is the child of Œdipus;
But for a crime, in which she bore no part,
Her virtues make a plenary atonement.
Again I say, the throne is not her object:
Never, oh never, hope to see me happy
At her expense: gods, were she so at mine!
I would not only give the throne of Thebes,
But that of all the world to make her so.

Cre.
Does she return thy love with equal love?

Hæm.
There is no love that can compare with mine.
She loves me not; nor can she ever love me:
If she detest me not, it is enough
To satisfy my heart; I hope no more:
T'expect more from her heart, who ought to hate me,
Would be unreasonable.

Cre.
But tell me further,
Would she consent to give to thee her hand?

Hæm.
A royal virgin, from whom has been torn,
And torn by impious violence, her brothers,
Her mother, and her father, shall she give
Her hand in marriage? give it too to me,
Sprung from a blood that's fatal to her race?
Could I be so presumptuous? Creon's son,
Could I dare offer her my hand? ...

Cre.
Thou may'st,
That hand at once restores her life and throne.

Hæm.
Too well I know her, and too much I love her:
Foster'd in weeping, more than ever now
She spends her life in tears. Perhaps hereafter
She may see days less tragical than these,
And may be less averse to listen to me;
Thou mayest then ...

Cre.
Thou vainly dost expect
That I should put our destiny in wardship
To time, and its precarious events.—
Guards, quickly be Antigone brought forth
Into my presence.—She deserves to die;
I may, with justice, sentence her to death;
And, perhaps, 'twould be in me a proof of wisdom,
With summary rigour, to inflict that sentence.
But yet, my son, thou art so dear to me,
That, for thy sake alone, I will consent
To grant her life, to accept her as my daughter,
If she consent to yield to thee her hand.
And can she hesitate to make a choice
Betwixt a scaffold and a monarch's son?

Hæm.
Hesitate? no! She will chuse instant death.

Cre.
She hates thee then.

Hæm.
She loves the dead too well.

Cre.
I understand thee. Thou desirest, son,
That I should life preserve in her, who would,
If she had power, take life from me and mine.
Canst thou presume to expect, or ask, so much
Of a fond father who so much loves thee?

SCENE THE SECOND.

Antigone, Creon, Hæmon, Guards.
Cre.
Approach: thou findest me, Antigone,
Much more disposed to indulgence than before.
Not that I deem thy enterprise less guilty,
Or the annexed infliction less thy due.
Paternal love, more than the love of justice,
Hath wrought this change. My son, most fervently,
Hath asked for thee my pardon, and obtain'd it,
Provided that thou pledge thyself ...

Ant.
To what?

Cre.
To give him, in my sight, without delay,
A recompense he well deserves ... thy hand.

Hæm.
Pardon, Antigone, I never asked
So great a blessing: he would give thee to me:
I wish alone to rescue thee from death.

Cre.
On this condition thou obtain'st my pardon.

Ant.
Does Creon offer kindness? Ah! to me
What kindness can he shew so great as death?
Death can alone eternally remove me
From thy detested sight: thou makest happy
Those whom thou thus dost banish from thy presence.
Hæmon, obtain my death; 'twill be a pledge,
The only one I can accept, of love.
Ah! recollect, oh Hæmon, that it is
The richest gift a tyrant can bestow;
Which often he denies to those whose hearts
Possess a real, ardent wish for it.

Cre.
Wilt thou not alter thy deportment towards me?
Thou art always proud, always implacable,
Whether thou art condemned, or art absolved.

Ant.
Change my deportment? ... 'twere more possible
For thee to change thy heart.

Hæm.
This is my father:
If thou, Antigone, wilt thus address him,
Thou piercest my sad heart.

Ant.
He is thy father;
Hence all the worth he has; nor do I find
Any defect, oh Hæmon, in thy nature,
But that thou art his son.

Cre.
Peace;—Clemency
In me was transient as the lightning's flash;
Already thou art superfluously guilty;
Nor is it now, or needful, or expedient,
The guilt of thy vituperative tongue.

Ant.
The throne, incontrovertibly my right,
Which thou usurpest, makes me too, too guilty.
That throne I do not ask of thee, nor life.
The day on which thou took'st my father from me
I should have asked of thee the gift of death,
Or, with my own hands, on myself bestow'd it,
But there remain'd a duty to perform,
To give due sepulture to my dead brother.
Now that I have that holy task accomplished,
Nothing remains for me to do in Thebes:
If thou dost wish my life, restore my father.

Cre.
I offer thee the throne; and, with that throne,
A spouse thou hatest not; who loves thee more,
Antigone, than thou abhorrest me;
Who loves thee more, far more, than his own father.

Ant.
Hæmon, and he alone, if not more dear,
Perchance might make my life more bearable.
But what a life 'twould be? a life dragg'd on
Where thou wert present? while I still must hear,
Hear from Avernus, th'unavenged shades
Of my dead brothers, whom thou didst betray,
And goad to murder, cry to me for vengeance?
Can I, a wife, hear this, and tranquilly
Repose in the embraces of the son
Of the destroyer of my family?

Cre.
I comprehend thy meaning. The alliance
Would doubtless be too chaste: if there had been
Another son of Œdipus, 'twere he
Thou wouldst deem worthy thy illustrious hand.

Ant.
Daughter of Œdipus, ah, horrid name!
Daughter of Creon only still more horrid!

Hæm.
My hope, I see, is too presumptuous!
Blood can alone appease your bitter hate:
Chuse then my blood: spill mine. Antigone,
Thy stern refusal does become thee well:
Father, in thee, anger is also just:
I love you both, both equally I love;
Myself alone I hate.
Wouldst thou, oh Creon, sentence her to death,
Permit that she deserve it at thy hands,
By murdering thy son. Antigone,
Thou wishest on my sire to wreak thy vengeance?
Strike; in this breast thou wilt obtain it fully:
In me, his only, his beloved son,
Thou takest from him: childless thou wilt make him,
Than Œdipus more wretched. Why delay?
Strike; by insulting thus my father, thou
Dost much more wound than if thou stabb'd my breast.

Cre.
Do not yet utterly despair; her words
Bespeak less grief than anger. Lady, yield
To reason: in thy hands alone is placed
Thy destiny; on thee alone depends
Argia, whom thou lov'st so much, for whom,
Far more than for thyself, thou art afflicted:
Of Hæmon, whom thou dost not hate, thou art
The arbitress; ... of me thou also art;
Whom, if thou dost abhor beyond all duty,
No less thou oughtest to confess, that I,
Beyond all duty, am to thee indulgent.
This day, that now is ushering in its light,
I yield to thee for thy mature reflection:
At sun-set, death or Hæmon thou must chuse.

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 ...

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Antigone, Guards.
Ant.
Heavens! he hears me not.—Now quickly, guards,
Again conduct me into Creon's presence.