Hath she not merited a golden praise?’
Such the dark rumour spreading silently.”[[24]]
With fine delicacy, and holding his emotions well in check, Hæmon hints that his father will do well to listen to the voice of the people. No human creature is infallible; and is it not unwise to cling too tenaciously to one’s own will in the face of so strong a public opinion? The tree that will not yield to the torrent is torn up by the roots; and the sailor who rushes into the teeth of the storm with sheets taut is liable to end his voyaging keel-upward.
Creon interposes an angry exclamation; he will not be taught discretion by a boy. But Hæmon is ready with an answer—Even age must yield to truth and justice. Antigone is no base rebel: all Thebes denies it. “Am I ruled by Thebes?” thunders Creon; and Hæmon, seeing his father lost to reason, begins to feel the onrush of despair that will presently sweep away his self-control. In the wave of emotion that breaks upon him, he answers hotly to Creon’s taunts. It is the one thing needed to complete his father’s wrath; and he turns with a brutal order to the Guards to bring Antigone out, that she may die before her lover’s eyes. But Hæmon will not look upon that sight. Under his quiet manner, a torrent of passion has been gathering force; and a terrible resolution. He has been keeping an iron hand upon himself; but he has known all through his pleading that if Creon will dare to carry out the sentence against Antigone, it will cost him the life of his son. Hæmon will not survive his bride. Now, with an ominous cry that his father shall never see his face again, he rushes from the place.
The Chorus break into an exquisite lyric on the power of love; and a few moments afterward Antigone herself crosses the scene, on her way to the place of death. She is to be buried alive, in a rocky tomb in the hills; and this last horror, with the inevitable reaction that has followed on her splendid daring, have wrought a pathetic change in her. All her audacity has gone: the passion of righteous anger has faded out: even her perception is blunted. The vision of a higher law, and the superb confidence that the gods approve her action, have grown dull and faint before this dreadful thing which is coming to her. Her voice falters: her footsteps lag: and on her lips are pitiful words of regret for all the fair things that she is leaving. The old senators are moved, but are sadly inept in their efforts at consolation. Remembering Antigone as she had faced them in her magnificent heroism, they think to comfort her with the thought that there is glory in her death. But Antigone is not heroic now. She is a lonely human soul, confronting the last grim reality; and the well-turned phrases of these comfortable old men are revolting to her. What glory can really compensate for the monstrous injustice that she suffers; for the loss of youth, and lover, and friends; and for the hideous darkness that will quench the light of the sun for her?
“O mockery of my woe!
I pray you by our fathers’ holy Fear,
Why must I hear
Your insults, while in life on earth I stand,
O ye that flow