 Act 5 of The Tebeid or The Brothers at War by Jean Racine Translated by Robert Bruce Boswell This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Act 5 Scene 1 Antigony What wilt thou do, unfortunate princess? Now that these arms have clasped a mother dead, Canst thou not follow where her feet have led And end with life this burden of distress? Wilt thou reserve thyself for future woe? Full soon the fatal issue shall, thou know, Of those fell arms thy brothers wield in fight, Their fierce example wets the knife for thee, While thou art shedding tears in piteous plight, They shed each other's blood with savage glee. What limit is there to my woes but death? All wither else can a grief like mine repair. Life for the grave! A mother calls me there. A lover here would keep my vital breath. In the dark underworld for me she waits. Love interdicts what reason best dictates. For death I cease to long. What motives bid me die this very hour? It ties to life how strong when love exerts his power. Yes, love forbids my soul to wing her flight. The victor's voice is one I know full well. Though hope is dead, no more with me to dwell, Thou livest, and would have me to share this light. Thou sayest that I shall draw thee to my grave. That if I love thee still, I ought to save life's torture light for thee. And then thou seeest how thou my heart canst move. Though death seems sweet to me, I live for thee and love. If ere thou doubtest of my faithful flame, But faithful tidings low Olympia brings. Seen to, Antigone, Olympia. Well, dear Olympia, have you seen this crime? Hastening in vain I came when all was o'er. Down from our ramparts saw the people run, Some weeping, others calling out to arms, And in a word to tell what caused their fear. The king is dead, his brother's sword has won. Of Hemen too, they tell, how with stout heart, Long he endeavored to hold back their rage, But all his efforts failed to win success. Such was the drift of many a vague report. Yes, I am sure that Hemen's generous heart ever reports such signal wickedness. Oft I implored him to prevent this crime, And know he would have done if he could. But, ah, their fury would not broke control, Eager to quench its fire in streams of blood. Now, savage princes, you're satisfied, For death alone could peace between you bring. You thought the throne too straight to hold you both, No distance that could part you seemed enough, And wished that heaven to make your quarrel cease Might leave one living and the other dead. Worthy of pity, both a hapless pair, Yet you are less unhappy than myself, As being all unconscious of those ills that fell upon you, While I feel them all. But your misfortunes were more hard to bear, Had Palanese's been the prey of death. He was the object that engrossed your care. The welfare of the king touched you far less. It is true, I loved him with a love sincere, More fondly than his brother. Why was this? What gave him the warm wishes of my heart? He was both blameless and unfortunate. But, ah, that generous spirit lives no more. To his crime that sets the crown upon his head, His brother now commands more sympathy, Grown dearer since the fates have proved unkind. See, crayon comes. Downcast as well may be. The king being dead, he fears the victor's wrath, His evil counsel has bred all these woes. Scene three, Antigone, Crayon, Olympia, Atalus, Guards. What heard I, madam, as I entered here? True is it that the queen? Yes, she is dead. Great gods! In what strange fashion was the torch at last extinguished Of a life so sad? Her grave she opened for herself, my lord. She seized a dagger, and one moment more, Saw her days ended, and her woes as well. Nor stayed to know that she had lost a son. Ah, madam, tis too true, the angry gods? Charge with my brother's death yourself alone, Nor for your deeds accuse the wrath of heaven. It was you who brought this fatal conflict on. He trusted your advice, and so he died. Thus kings become victims of flatterers, Who lead them to destruction, while they fan their passions. Ye it is that hurl them down, But in their fall they drag their flatterers behind them, As is now the case with you. His ruin brings a sorrow you disgrace. The wrath of heaven has linked your faith with his. And you, perchance, must weep as well as we. Too true, alas, for cruel destiny Makes you lament two brothers, me, two sons. Two brothers and two sons? What mean your words? Did Atiocles then perish not alone? What, have you yet to hear this tale of blood? I know of Polyneses' victory, How heaven's efforts made depart them failed. That duel had result more terrible. My losses and your own you know not yet. But now shall learn them both. Whoa, worth the day! Stern destiny accomplished thy revenge. Oh, surely this must be thy final stroke. Madam, you saw with what impetuous rage The princes went to take each other's life. How forth they rushed with equal ardour fired And hearts that ne'er agreed so well before Each thirsting panting for the other's blood. Their hatred bound them closer than their birth And seemed to reconcile their enmity. When eager most to slay appearing friends First did they choose their ground whereon to fight Near either camp and underneath the wall It was there, recovering their fatal wrath The horrid conflict they at last began. With threatening gestures and an eye of flame They sought a passage through each other's breast. Then quicker's lightning fell their furious strokes Till both seemed feigned to outstrip the feet of death. My son who sighed with sorrow in his soul Bearing in mind your orders, fair princess Between them ran despising for your sake Their strict commands that kept us all aloof. He pushed them back and praying held their arms Exposing to their frenzy his own life So he might part them, but he strove in vain. Forever they renewed their close attack But still with heart undaunted he persists And turns aside a thousand rattling blows Till the king's weapon with two cruel thrusts If aimed at him or not I cannot tell Stretch is my son expiring at his feet. I mean my sorrow leaves En yet alive. I ran to raise and take him in my arms. He knew his father's voice and whispered low For my dear mistress I meet death with joy Your anxious love haste to my help in vain Please madman, more than I your suck and heed Part them, my father, and leave me to die. Thus speaking he expired. A piteous sight checked not the darkening tempest Of their wrath, and only Polly Nicese Seemed to feel compassion's touch. Wait, Heman, he exclaimed, and you shall be avenged. Grief gave his rage new strength, And soon to his advantage turned the tide a battle. Wounded in the side the king fell vanquished, Weltering in his blood, transported with their feelings. Either host resigned itself to sorrow or to joy. And Thebes alarmed at her disastrous loss, Gazed from her ramparts with expectant fears. Then Polly Nicese felt triumphant pride, Viewing his dying victim with delight. And seemed, as to her, to drink his brother's blood. The grave, quote he, is yours, and mine the throne. See in my hands the scepter and the palm, Go to the world below, their blush with shame at my success. To vex your dying hour, yet more, Think traitor, that you die my slave. He spake, and with a gesture of disdain, Approaching where the king lay in the dust, Stretched forth his arm to take the other's sword. The king, though seeming dead, His steps had watched, biding his time, And his indignant soul was, as it were, Arrested in its flight by that grand passion for revenge, Which still flattered his hopes, and his last sigh delayed. The struggling spark of life, too well concealed, Insnared his conqueror to a fatal doom. For at the instant when that savage brother Is said to rest his weapon from his hand, He pierced his rival's heart. And his glad soul with this, its final effort, Left the world from stricken Polynesis, Rose a cry of anguish, and his angry soul Fourth fled to Hades. But dark wrath upon his brow was branded, Though it wore death's pallid hue, As threatening one would say, His brother still, more grim than ever, and more terrible. Fatal ambition blinded by the gods, Clear sequel of a cruel oracle, Alone of royal blood we two are left, And wood to heaven that life was only yours, And the despair more speedy than its wrath Had made my mother's death pollute my own. Tis true, the flaming fury of the gods Seems to have spent itself in dealing forth distraction on our house. Their wrath has whelmed my soul, No less than it has tortured you, They've robbed me of my sons. And given a throne, a worthy recompense for Hemen's loss, But prithee let me mourn in solitude, Nor seek the course of sadness to restrain, As well might all my sorrows pass to you. Far sweeter entertainment will you find elsewhere, The throne awaits you, and the voice of Thebes invites. Taste the fresh draught of power farewell. Our feelings are an ill accord, And I feign would weep, and you would reign a king. Creon, stopping Antigone. Ah, madam, be a queen and mount the throne, For this high rank belongs to none but you. Much rather, Creon, what I have you there, The crown is yours. I lay it at your feet. I would refuse it if the gods themselves should offer it, And dare you present the crown to me. Its glory in my eyes grows pale before the honour. I should feel in homage to your beauty. Well, I know myself unworthy, But if I may claim such high distinction, If illustrious deeds may merit it, what must I do? As I shall teach you. What indeed to win such grace would be too much, But issue your commands, and I am ready. Antigone, going away. You shall see. Creon, following her. I wait your bidding here. Antigone, going away. Remain. Seen for, Creon Attalus, gods. Say, is her wrath assuaged? Think you to bend her will? Tis done, dear Attalus. No fortune equals mine. You shall behold me this happy day, Ambition thrown, and love supremely blessed. I asked of heaven, the scepter, and her hand, And graciously the gods have granted both To crown my head, and give my flame success, Hatred no less than love they arm today. Kindling two passions, which, though contrary, Aid me alike in her attenderness, Which overcomes her late severity, And in her brother's wrath implacable, Opening the way to sovereignty for me, As to her heart. All smiles propitiously, and were you not a father, Happiness would be complete. Love and ambition find full scope, But nature needs, must mourn the loss Of two such sons. Yes, it distresses me. I know what from a father's heart is due, And such was mine. But I was born to reign. And lest I lose, then what I think I win, The name of Father Attalus is trite. A gift that heaven bestows on almost all, A happiness so common I can slight. Compared with what will make all envious, A throne is not a boon of which the gods are prodigal. He parts us from the herd of mortals. Few are honoured with a dower so precious. Earth has fewer kings than heaven has gods. Besides, you know how hemen loved the princess, And his passion was returned. His suit, if he had lived, had ruined mine. The gods bereave me of a son, But thus they rid me of a rival. Speak of joy, and not of sorrow. Leave my raptures free from sad remembrance Of the shades of death. Tell me of what I gain, not what I lose. Speak of the throne already mine, Of her whose heart will follow fair Antigon. All that is past is but a dream to me. So later, Father, and a subject, Now a bridegroom and a king. So sweet a change that, but Olympia comes. Ah, and in tears. Scene 5 Creon, Olympia, Attalis, Guards Oh, way too sire. The princess is no more. No more, Olympia? Vain is all regret. She had but reached the chamber next to this, When ere I could perceive her fell design. Boldly she plunged into her beautious breast The self-same dagger which had slain the queen. There with a mortal wound did she inflict. And faint with loss of blood fell suddenly. Judge what my horror must have been to see that sight. Her soul was ready to take wing, But first she murmured, "'Tis for you I die, dear Haman.' And life ended as she spake. Cold in my arms I felt her lovely frame, And thought my soul would quickly follow hers. Far happier had my sorrow brought me down To share with her the darkness of the tomb. Scene 6 Creon, Attalis, Guards Ah, is it thus then that you flee from me, Your hated suitor, and in cruel scorn Could quench those lovely orbs that I adore And seal them close, lest they should look on me. Heman you loved, but lest to follow him Than to escape from me such haste to die. And yet, though thus severe you may remain, Hating my image in amongst the shades, Letting your wroth outlive the breath of life, I am resolved to follow where you lead. There shall my odious presence vex you still. Incessant sighs to you repeat my pain, Which, if they cannot melt you, must torment. No longer hoping for escape by death, Let me then die. Attalis snatching his sword away from him. A cruel wish, my lord. Nay, yours the cruelty who murder me by saving life. Come to my succour, love. Come, rage and fury, end my hateful days. Baffle those cruel friends that keep me here. Fulfill your oracles, ye gods, yourselves. Last relic of ill-fated layus, I must perish or your words be proved untrue. Take back the fatal scepter you have given. Antigon is gone. Take all the rest. I scorn your presence and reject the throne. The lightning stroke is all I ask of you. If death to prayer grant what my crimes demand And add another victim to your heap. Vainly I sue my own iniquities. Bring down upon my head the ills I caused. Jocasta and her sons. Antigon, my children, whom my fierce ambition slew And all the others whom I sacrificed. Already, like dire furies, rend my heart cease. By my death your wrong shall be avenged. The lightning falls. The earth has opened wide. I feel a thousand torments all at once And go to find repose in tutterous. He falls into the arms of the guards. End of Act 5 End of the Tebeid Or the Brothers at War By Jean Racine Translated by Robert Bruce Boswell