ANT. _I heard it not from Heaven, nor came it forth From Justice, where she reigns with Gods below. They too have published to mankind a law. Nor thought I thy commandment of such might That one who is mortal thus could overbear The infallible, unwritten laws of Heaven. Not now or yesterday they have their being, But everlastingly, and none can tell The hour that saw their birth. I would not, I, For any terrors of a man’s resolve, Incur the God-inflicted penalty Of doing them wrong. That death would come—I knew Without thine edict:—if before the time, I count it gain. Who does not gain by death, That lives, as I do, amid boundless woe? Slight is the sorrow of such doom to me. But had I suffered my own mother’s child, Fallen in blood, to be without a grave, That were indeed a sorrow. This is none._[24] Up to this point her ardent vision and courage have carried her on, soaring high into the light of eternal truth, or tenderly stooping to the sanction of dear human ties. The austerity of the stern faces by which she is surrounded has had no power to quell her fervent spirit; and it is only when she catches Creon’s look of contempt that a bitter reality forces itself upon her. This passion of self-sacrifice, this duty which comes to her as a mandate from the gods themselves, is stark nonsense in the eyes of the man who confronts her. The thought gives a sudden pause to her ardour, and there is a quick revulsion to anger. O these blind eyes that will not see! And this stupidity that refuses to be enlightened! She drops to a lower range, and ends abruptly on a taunt at Creon’s dullness of perception: “_And if thou deem’st me foolish for my deed, I am foolish in the judgment of a fool._“[24] The Chorus has relapsed into submission to Creon. No spark of fire from Antigone’s burning words can warm their coldness. Yet their frigid comment is significant. How like she is, in her strong will, to Œdipus, her sire. Creon takes up their words. Yes, she is stubborn, but the hardest metal will soonest break. Not content with disobedience, she must glory in her deed. But she shall surely die for it; and Ismene, too, if she has been an accomplice. Antigone had expected no less than the death penalty for herself; but she will by no means allow Ismene to be included in it. For, first, Ismene had refused her help; and then, she is too slight and weak a creature for such a terrible ordeal. Antigone sees that there is a sharp struggle coming. Some attendants have brought her sister from the palace, and she comes weeping for Antigone’s fate. Creon turns upon her in a fury. Without a sign of proof, he roundly accuses her of complicity in the deed.