University of Virginia Library

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.