antigones.
Your virtue cannot still decline a choice:
Her will Statira at her death explained:
This day of terror filled my soul with awe,
And I the dead respected; else this arm,
This vengeful arm had plunged the shrine in blood:
And, in obedience to your orders, now
I come as to my rival’s judge and mine:
From apprehensions free, pronounce our doom.
I hope you will a just distinction make
Between the man by whom your mother bled,
And him who strove her murder to avenge.
Nature has sacred rites; Statira, placed
By Alexander, looks on you from heaven.
Within this darksome shrine you’re buried now,
But heaven and earth attentive mark your deeds:
Between us two Olympia must decide.
olympia.
I shall, but you must treat me with respect.
You see these preparations and these gifts,
Which to the infernal gods I must present;
And you, like furious rivals, choose this time,
Midst tombs, to talk of marriage and of love!
You soldiers of the potent king, my sire,
Who, by his death, are kings become yourselves,
If I am dear to you, I charge you swear
You’ll not oppose my duties or my choice.
cassander.
I swear it solemnly, and you shall find
That I respect you as I scorn that traitor.
antigones.
I swear it too, for sure I am, your heart
Must from my barbarous rival shocked recoil.
Declare yourself.—
olympia.
Think then what e’er befalls,
That Alexander’s present, that he hears us.
antigones.
Decide before him.—
cassander.
—I your pleasure wait.
olympia.
Then know the heart which thus you persecute,
And judge what resolution I should take.
Whatever choice I make, must fatal prove;
The grief that racks my soul too well you know,
Know likewise that I have deserved it all.
My parents I betrayed, who might have known
I caused the death of her who gave me birth:
I found a mother in this dire abode,
I quickly lost her, in these arms she died.
To her sad daughter, dying thus she spoke,
“Marry Antigones, I die content.”
Then she was seized with agonies, and I
Her death to hasten, her desire opposed.
antigones.
Thus do you brave me and insult my love,
Your mother injure, nature’s laws betray.
olympia.
Her shade I injure not, nor injure you;
I justice do to all and to myself. . . . .
Cassander, first to you my faith I gave:
Think you the gods our union could approve?
Decide this point yourself: you know your crimes,
I will not now reproach you with your guilt.
Repair it when you can.—
cassander.
—I can’t appease you!
I can’t assuage the horror I inspire,
My heart you soon shall know: your promise keep.
[The temple opens, and the pile is seen in flames.
SCENE the Last.1
olympia, cassander, antigones, the hierophants, priests, priestesses.
the inferior priestess.
Princess, ’tis time.—
olympia.
[To Cassander.
Behold you flaming pile.
Now mourn, Cassander, your unhappy fate.
Those royal ashes and that pile remark;
Remember Alexander and my chains!
Behold his widow! Tell me how to act.
cassander.
Exterminate me.—
olympia.
—You pronounce your doom. . . . .
To mine bear witness. Oh thou sacred shade,
[She mounts the steps before the altar, which is near the funeral pile. The priestesses present her the offerings.]
Shade of my mother! I this duty pay
To thee, who justly may be still incensed;
Perhaps these gifts your manes may appease,
They may prove worthy of my sire and you.
[To Cassander.
Thou husband of Olympia, who by fate
Wert ne’er intended for her; who preserved
My life, by whom I both my parents lost;
Thou who so loved me, and for whom my soul
Felt all the weakness of a tender love;
Thou thinkest my guilty passion from my breast
Is banished; know that I adore thee still,
And will upon myself that guilt revenge.
Oh ever-honored ashes of Statira,
The body of Olympia now receive!
[She stabs herself, and throws herself into the pile.
All present cry out,
Oh heavens!
cassander.
[Running to the pile.
Olympia!
priests.
Heavens!
antigones.
[Running also to the pile.
Oh, frenzy strange!
cassander.
She’s now no more, our efforts all are vain.
[Returning to the porch.
Gods, are you satisfied? My hands accursed,
A royal pair have of their lives deprived.
Still dost thou envy me, Antigones?
Canst thou, unmoved, this shocking death behold,