# The Antigone of Sophocles (1911)/Antigone

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ANTIGONE
Who dares To self-selected good Prefer obedience to the primal law, Which consecrates the ties of blood.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
The scene is before the palace in Thebes.
ANTIGONE.
Antigone. Ismene, sister mine, my own dear sister, Dost know, of all the woes of Œdipus Bequeathed to thee and me; there ’s none that Zeus Doth not fulfil for us while yet we live? Nothing fraught with pain and misery, With shame, disgrace and sorrow, not included In thy afflictions and in mine? And now This recent proclamation which they say The Chieftain ’s made to all in Thebes? Hast heard? Or hast thou not observed how that fell doom Decreed to foes doth threaten those we love?
Ismene. No word of joy, or pain, Antigone, Concerning those we love has come to me Since we two sisters, robbed of brothers twain, Felled by a mutual blow, were left alone. And since the Argive host’s evanishment Within the night just fled, I scarcely know If happier. now I should account myself Or plunged in deeper woe and misery.
Antigone. I knew it well; wherefore I brought thee hence, Outside the gates, that thou mightst hear alone.
Ismene. What? In thy countenance I see ill news.
Antigone. True; for consigned to honored burial By Creon is the one of our two brothers, While reft of burial site the other lies, Eteocles, they say, he has interred
With due observance, rite and ceremony, That he be honored of the dead below, Whereas our Polyneices’ hapless corpse, I hear the King has publicly proclaimed That none shall lay him in a grave, that none
Shall mourn; unwept, unburied he shall lie To glut the maw of vultures, when they pause ​In flight and see the welcome feast below. Such is the edict which Creon the Good Hath published both for thee and me—for I Too am included—and he’s coming here Forthwith, this clearly to proclaim to those Who know it not; nor trivial matter deems, But whoso fails to heed his will, a doom Most dire awaits him, stoned to death by all. Thou hast my news, and soon wilt show thyself, If of a noble strain, or basely bred, Unworthy daughter of a noble sire.
Ismene. But what can I do, sister, my touch, To loose, or yet to tighten such a knot?
Antigone. Consider. Wilt join to do and dare?
Ismene. In what emprise? What meanest thou to do?
Antigone. Wilt aid this hand of mine to lift the corpse?
Ismene. Surely thou dost not mean to bury him When Creon’s edict doth forbid?
Antigone. My brother—and thine, if thou wilt not—I shall enshrine: Disloyal I shall ne’er be found to him.
Ismene. Foolhardy girl! When Creon hath said nay?
Antigone. To bar me from mine own he has no right.
Ismene. Oh, sister, be advised! Remember first Our father, how he fell defamed and scorned, And prompted by the sins which his own search Lard bare, smote both his eyes with self-raised hand; Then how the mother-wife, ah, two-fold name, With twisted cord did violence to her life. And last our brothers, shedding brother’s blood, In one sad day have wrought each other’s doom. And now we two, the only two still left, O think what worser fate is yet in store Fro us, if we defy the law and brave The high decree that speaks the sovereign will. Nay, let_us not forget that we are women, Whom nature fashioned not to fight with men: ​And next, that we must needs be patient, Submitting to the stronger, and obey, However harsh, all mandates of the King. For my part, then, entreating those below To pardon, forasmuch as I am forced, I shall obey the ruler; for, to be Unduly active, sister, is not wise.
Antigone. I shall not urge thee. Nay, more—e’en if thou Shouldst seek to render active aid to me, Unwelcome now as my ally thou ’lt come. Do thou, be thou, as seemeth good; but I Shall bury him: thus glorious shall I die. Belovéd, I shall lie with him beloved, My crime against the State a pious deed. For longer those in Hades must I please Below than those in life, since yonder world Will always be my home. But if thou wilt, Do thou the laws that gods in honor hold, Dishonor.
Ismene. Dishonor them I do not. But brave the State—I have no strength for that.
Antigone. Have this for thy excuse!—I, then; shall go And make a tomb for my belovéd brother.
Ismene. Unhappy. sister! Oh, how I fear for thee!
Antigone. Fear not for me, Direct thy course aright.
Ismene. Well, then, divulge, at least, thy plan to none; Keep it securely hid, and so shall I.
Antigone. For shame! Nay, tell it loud to all the world! Far greater foe thou ’lt be, if thou dost not.
Ismene. A fiery heart for chilling deeds hast thou.
Antigone. I know that I but please whom I should please.
Ismene. Thou hast the will, but not the strength, perchance.
Antigone. Well, when my strength gives way, the end will come.
Ismene. One should not e’en pursue a hopeless quest.
​Antigone. Speak thus, and hated wilt thou be by me, And hated justly too by him that ’s gone. Leave me and this unwisdom that is mine To suffer this thou fear’st. To suffer? Naught There is that I shall suffer in this world That equals suffering an ignoble death; And nothing shall I suffer by this act That will deprive me of a glorious death.
Ismene. Go, if thou wilt; in folly truly, though, Yet truly dear to dear ones dost thou go.
CHORUS.
FIRST STROPHE.
O beam of sun, the fairest That ever dawned on Thebes, And ray of light the rarest That ever shone on all Within the Seven Gates! Day’s open eye and golden gleam, Thou ’rt come at last o’er Dirce’s stream, And from our casamates In mad career to headlong flight The warriors that in bucklers white From Argos sallied forth with bristling spears Thou hast repulsed and freed us from our fears.
FIRST SYSTEMA.
Against our land the savage warrior came, In Polyneices’ quarrel, by his claim To the throne aroused; For the cause he espoused A shrill-screaming eagle in flight, With an army strong, Crest and helmets along, He sped to our land on a pinion of white.
FIRST ANTISTROPHE.
And o’er our dwellings hovered Around the Seven Ports, With outspread wings he covered, Athirst for blood, our town And girdling battlements. But hungry back he flew before He had glutted his maw with gore Or the beetling crown-defence Of towers had been seized with pine-fed fame. Lo! loud the clang of battle came Behind him, routed by the dragon foe Which wrestled and was found tog hard to throw.
SECOND SYSTEMA.
For Zeus abominates the loud-mouthed vaunt, And when he saw those warriors come and flaunt, With arrogant pride, Clanking gold beside, Their spears in the face of their foes, With the thunderbolt To the earth he smote From the rampart their chief as he rose.
SECOND STROPHE.
Hurled back came crashing down upon the ground That warrior rushing on with furious bound, Who now but late Was breathing hate With the flaming torch in hand; But naught availed those frenzied threats, For mighty Ares helped and in Ruin’s nets Caught the chiefs of that Argive band.
THIRD SYSTEMA.
For seven captains stationed at the gates With seven matched, save two of cruel fates, Left the tribute of arms To the God who alarms ​To the rout,—but the twain, who were born Of one sire, of one mother, Drave their spears in each other, At one stroke of the sovereignty shorn.
SECOND ANTISTROPHE.
Since Victory hath come, the glorious, With joy responsive, O Thebes victorious, Now all the toil And all the moil Of the recent wars forget; Now visit all the sacred shrines with song And dance, and Bacchus leading, all night long The measures in motion set.
Chorus Leader.
But look where cometh the king of the land, The son of Menœcus, Creon, whose hand Holds the sceptre of empire but recently given To him by the changes and fortunes of heaven. What counsel in mind is he now revolving? What problem for us to help him in solving, That to this convocation He by a proclamation Hath summoned this council of elders?
Creon enters through the central door of the palace, with two attendants.
Sirs, safely have the gods our ship of state, That labored hard in troubled seas, again Made steady: and by special summons you Of all the people chosen I have called Apart; for, first, I knew how you revered With constant loyalty the royal power Of Laius; and then, when Œdipus Our vessel steered, and after his downfall Still faithful to the children, staunch in heart. Since now yon sons of his are slain, struck down In mutual slaughter by a double doom, Each brother’s hand stained by a brother’s blood, ​The throne and all its powers now fall to me, As nearest living relative to them. ’T is not in human power to gauge the heart And soul and mind of any man, before He show himself in law and government And in authority is tested well. For whosoever grasps the helm of state And clings not to the best of counsel, fear Engaoling ’tween his teeth and lips his tongue, Doth seem to me, hath always seemed, most base; But whoso cares for country less than friend Lives not in my regard. For I,—let Zeus Who always sees all things, my witness be— Could never hold my peace, if I should see Misfortune coming to my people, woe Instead of safety; nor could make that man My friend, who is my country’s foe; for she It is that bears us safe, and only while She sails an even keel can we gain friends. Such are the precepts guiding me to make This city prosperous; and now in strict Accord with these, an edict I have published Touching the sons of Œdipus: the one, Eteocles, who lost his life for Thebes In gallant fight and winning high renown, Shall be enshrined in earth with every rite That comes to heroes in the world below And crowned with all the honors due the dead: Whereas his brother Polyneices, who Returned, though banished, and essayed to burn With fire and sack the city. of his sires, And wreck the temples of his father’s gods, Essayed to satiate his thirst with blood Of kindred, and to put upon the rest The yoke of slavery,—for him no dirge, No rite, his carcass shall be left for dogs And vultures foul to feed upon and make A ghastly sight for human eyes to see.— This is my royal will and high command. For never while I rule shall wicked men Exceed the just in honor, but whoso ​Doth bear good will to Thebes, in life and death Alike from me high honor shall receive.
Chorus. Such is thy pleasure, son of Menoeceus, Towards Thebes’s enemy and toward her friend. Full jurisdiction hast thou o’er the dead, And over all us Thebans who still live.
Creon. See to it then that no one breaks this law.
Chorus. Impose this task upon some younger men.
Creon. To watch the corpse? Already they are there.
Chorus. What further mandate, then, hast thou to give?
Creon. Range not yourselves with those who disobey.
Chorus. No man ’s so foolish that he yearns to die.
Creon. Death is the wages, of a truth. Yet hope Of gain hath oft brought men to doom.
Watchman enters R. from Antigone’s exit.
Watchman. My lord, I will not say that I have plied A nimble foot and come all out of breath, So fleet was I; for often did I halt In anxious thought, and wheel about to take The back road in my coming; for I heard A voice within me saying many things: Fool! Do n’t you know you ’ll catch it, if you go? You wretch! Stopping again? If Creon learns This from another, do n’t you know you ’ll smart?” Debating “yea” and “nay” I came with slow Reluctant steps, and though the road was short, It turned out long. The “yea,” at last, However, won the day—to come to thee; It may be nothing, what I have to tell; Yet I will tell it; for I have a grip On this one faith: whatever will be, will be, I ’ll suffer naught save what ’s foredoomed for me.
Creon. Well, then, what is ’t that troubles you so sore?
Watchman. I ’ll tell my own case first, my whole connection With the affair—I did not do the deed, ​Nor did I see who did, and it would be Unfair for harm to come to me for this.
Creon. Your aim is shrewdly good to keep yourself Out of harm’s reach! You must have startling news.
Watchman. I have indeed—and hesitate to tell.
Creon. Out with it—stop this nonsense—and be off.
Watchman. Well, here it is—the corpse—somebody ’s strewn Dry dust—just now—upon the flesh, with rites And offerings to the dead—and gone.
Creon. What ’s that? What man could dare to brave my will?
Watchman. I know not; for there was no dint of pick, No earth thrown up by mattock, but the ground Was hard, unbroken, dry, untracked by wheels,— Whoe’er the doer was, he left no trace. And when the first day-watchman pointed out The thing, dismay and wonder fell on all. The corpse had disappeared from view, not shut Within a pile of earth, but sprinkled light With dust, as cast by one who feared a curse. It had been quickly done, for neither dog Nor beast of prey had had the time to come And rend the body, since no track was there. Recriminations followed thick and fast And loud among us, guard accusing guard, And from high words it might have come to blows, With none to quell the strife,—for every man Was guilty, though it could be proved on none. Prepared we were to take up red-hot iron, To walk through fire, and swear by all the gods That we had neither done the deed, nor knew What man had planned, or thus accomplished it, And finally, when we had searched in vain, One spake, who moved us all to bend our heads To earth in fear; since we could not gainsay His words, nor did we see how, if we failed To heed his counsel, we could ‘scape mischance. ​For he insisted that the deed must be Reported to the King and not concealed. And this prevailed, and me, most luckless wight, The lot condemned to win the prize. So here I am, unwilling and unwelcome, I am sure, For no man loves a bearer of bad news.
Chorus. My lord, a voice within me long hath been A-whispering, haply gods’ hands here are seen.
Creon. Stay!—ere you fill me full of wrath, and prove A dotard by your talk, not merely old. Prate not about the gods to me, and say They have regard for this dead man. Did they Prize him so high for faithful services That they would seek to hide the corpse of him Who came to burn their colonnaded shrines, Their votive offerings, to devastate Their land, and break to fragments all the laws? Gods honor wicked men? Impossible!— No! When my edict first was spread abroad, I heard some mutterings from malcontents That tossed their heads in secret, and refused To bear the yoke in loyalty to me, Intolerant of rule and restive. Now I ’m thoroughly convinced the watchmen here Were bribed by these and brought to do this deed. For true it is, no evil ever grew In current use among mankind, like money, This sacks and ruins cities, this drives men From home, makes nature fall into revolt, And by its base corrupting influence Trains erstwhile honest souls to set themselves To dirty practices, plants in the hearts Of men the seed of every wickedness And teaches them to know all godless deeds. But those who wrought this thing, seduced by gold, Will all be caught, or soon or late, and find That disobedience brings its punishment. And now, as Zeus has still my reverence, Mark this—upon my oath I say it—Find The very man that made this grave and bring ​Him here in person, here before my eyes, Or death shall be too light a purishment, But first, hung up alive, you shall disclose The truth about this outrage, that next time With better knowledge you may go To get your lucre, and may learn that gold Is not to be obtained from every source, How much so e’er you love the touch of gold. You'll learn that more are brought to woe and pain, Than happiness by their ill-gotten gain.
Watchman. I ’ve leave to speak? Or must I turn and go?
Creon. Do you not see your speech offends. me much?
Watchman. Pierced in the heart, or only in the ear?
Creon. Why should you mark where my displeasure lies?
Watchman. The doer pains your heart, and I your ears.
Creon. Pah! What a natural spendthrift of his tongue.
Watchman. Perhaps, but I did not the deed you charge.
Creon. You did, I know, and sold yourself for gold.
Watchman. To think so good a judge should judge amiss!
Creon. Deliver judgments on my judgment, glib Of tongue,—but if the culprits in this deed You do not soon produce, you ’ll soon affirm That treacherous gains bring punishment to rogues.
Watchman. May he be found!—None hopes it more than I. But found or not—for chance will settle that— One thing is sure: you ’ll never catch me here. For I, e’en now escaped beyond all hope And expectation, deeply thank the gods.
[Watchman exit R.
CHORUS.
FIRST STROPHE.
Wonders are manifold; Nothing so wondrous as Man! He it is that is bold Mid the surges high to sail, Blown by the stormy gale, White crests of Ocean to span. ​Earth, the unwearied, too, Highest of gods, supreme, Man wears away as through All the years plowing the ground, He follows round and round The slowly furrowing team.
FIRST ANTISTROPHE.
Light-minded tribes of birds He snares in meshes fine, Savage beasts in their herds And the brood of the deepest sea, Leads to captivity, Man with his crafty mind. Beasts from the mountain lair, Roaming the hills, he takes; Lays the yoke on their shaggy hair, On the necks of horses proud; Mountain-bulls bellowing loud Yoked to the plow he breaks.
SECOND STROPHE.
And speech has he taught him, and wind-swift thought, And order and law for government; And shelter from missiles of frost and sleet he hath wrought, Resourceful in all—his resources are spent, When he seeks to escape from Death; Man so wise Vicissitudes numberless conquers at will, And cures for baffling diseases he well can devise, Save for Death—Death alone e’er bates his skill.
SECOND ANTISTROPHE.
Inventive and skilful, with subtlety passing belief, Moves he now to the good and now to the ill. Upholding the justice of heaven he comes not to grief, And the vows to the gods he hath sworn to fulfil; For whoso upholds the laws of the land, Incorruptible, sinless, an outcast never shall roam; A city hath he, and proudly his city doth stand— May the wicked ne’er share my city, my home!
Enter the Watchman, with Antigone under arrest.
Amazing sight! What is this I see? I know her well—Antigone! O, ill-starred child of ill-starred sire, I cannot credit news so dire. A prisoner? Oh, surely thou Hast not been caught in folly? How Couldst thou be guilty of this deed, And fail the king’s command to heed?
Watchman. The culprit ’s caught at last and here she is. We found her burying him. But where’s the king?
Creon re-enters from C. palace door, through which he has gone before the second choral ode.
Chorus. Look where he opportune comes forth again.
Creon. My coming opportune? Why, what has chanced?
Watchman. My lord, a man should never take an oath He will or will not, for his first intent Is falsified by after-thought. A vow I could have taken that you would not find Me in a hurry to come back, o’erwhelmed By those dire threats of yours, but no delight Can be compared in fulness with the joy That unexpected doth outrun our hopes; So I am here—though under solemn oath Not to return—and bring with me this maid, Who in the act of paying burial rites Unto the dead was seized. This time no lots Were cast; but this good bit of luck was mine And not another’s. Now, Sir, here she is: Take, try, and as you will, examine her. But I should have full quittance of all blame.
Creon. Her? Taken prisoner? In what way and where?
Watchman. Burying the dead. There’s nothing more to tell.
Creon. Is ’t true? D’ ye speak aright and mean it too?
Watchman. I saw this maiden bury him whom you Forbade—the corpse. Is that distinct and clear?
Creon. How was she seen, how taken in the act?
​Watchman. Here ’s how it tame about. When we arrived, Upon all those dire threats of yours Weighing most heavily, we swept away The dust that covered still the corpse, and left The dark form thus exposed. Then we sat down To windward by a hill-top, that the smell From the dead body might not reach us, man Still urging man to vigilance with loud And frequent interchange of threats, if one Should shirk his duty. Thus it was, so long As to the middle. of the sky the orb Resplendent of the sun was climbing high To scorch us. Suddenly a whirlwind rose, That set the sky all in confusion, raised A cloud of dust that filled the plain, and rent The foliage of the wooded plain, until The spacious sky was choked withal. With eyes Tight shut we bore the god-sent plague. ’T was long Before it passed. We looked, and lo! the maid Was wailing there, the sharp cry of a bird In bitterness, when it beholds the nest All empty, and the nestlings gone. So she, When she beheld the body bare, screamed loud, Wailing, and on the doers of the deed Dire curses imprecating. In her hands She quickly brought some thirsty dust, held high A shapely hammered jug of bronze, and poured Libations three to crown the dead. Straightway We dashed down on our quarry, closing in; But she was naught dismayed, and when we charged Her with the former acts and these as well, She made no movement to deny the charge,— Joy to my heart indeed, but sorrow, too, For greater joy there ’s none can be than this, To get one’s self well out of trouble, pain No greater than to get a friend well in. Nevertheless, the safety of my friend I value not so highly as my own.
​Creon. You—you, I say, that stand with drooping head, Do you avow the deed, or do you disavow?
Antigone. I did the deed, the charge do not deny.
To the Watchman.
Creon. You may retire and go where’er you list, From heavy imputation quite exempt.
[The Watchman exit R.
To Antigone.
But you,—speak not at length, yet briefly say, You knew my edict had forbidden this?
Antigone. I knew. How could I not? ’T was known to all.
Creon. And you cared not, but dared to break the law?
Antigone. I did; for well I knew that he who made that Proclamation was not Zeus—I knew That Justice, dwelling with the gods below, Such laws for men to keep had ne’er laid down; Nor did I think your proclamation had Such force that laws unwritten of the gods, Unchanging, mortal man could overpass. For not to-day, nor yesterday, they live, But evermore, so long that no man knows The time they ’ve been in force. ’T was not for me, In fear of man, or king, to violate These institutions and the penalty Then due the gods to pay. That I must die I knew full well (and, pray, why should I not?) Your edict published or still unproclaimed. The penalty you have in mind Impose. I count it gain to die forthwith, For whoso lives in misery worse than death, As I, what else can death but profit be? Tell me what blessings have I here alive That I should fear to die. To me ’t is naught; But if my mother’s son I had endured To see a corpse unburied lie, that would Indeed have caused me grave concern, whereas ​At this I have no sense of pain. And now If haply I do seem to you to play The fool, it seems to me almost that I This charge of folly from a fool incur.
Chorus. In this the child betrays her parentage: To evils dire she knows not how to yield.
Creon. But dispositions overstiff may break And hardest iron, heated by the fire, And highly tempered, oft will crack and snap; And by a trifling curb highmettled steeds Are oft obedient made. No claim for pride Has one, when he is but his neighbor’s slave; This girl knows how to show us insolence,— Her first insult was to transgress the law, And now a second, after this appears, To laugh and boast at having done the deed. In sooth I am no man—the man is she, If she unpunished can defy the law. What boots it if she be my sister’s child? Were she still nearer to me than my own, Nor she nor sister shall escape a doom Most dire,—for both are equally to blame. Go ye and call the other; for but now I saw her reft of reason, raving mad. The mind is oft detected ere its plots Devised in darkness can be carried out. Whoso convicted glorifies his crime I hate no less than one who hides his sin.
Antigone. Seek you a greater penalty than death?
Creon. Not I. When I have that, no more I seek.
Antigone. Then why delay? You see your words by me Are not approved, and may I ne’er behold the day When words like these with my approval meet. My views shall never be subscribed by you, Nor yours by me. And yet how could I win A nobler glory than by laying him, My dear unburied brother, in the tomb? All here their commendation would bestow, Were not their tongues by fear of you engaoled. ​No part of royalty’s estate exceeds Supreme authority in words and deeds.
Creon. No other Theban sees it so but you.
Antigone. The others too, but they suppress their thoughts.
Creon. And you feel otherwise and unashamed?
Antigone. A filial pious act contains no shame.
Creon. Was he not brother, too, that fell his foe?
Antigone. Aye, true, his parents, they were also mine.
Creon. Why act then with impiety to him?
Antigone. The dead man will not say he deems it so.
Creon. He will; he sees you treat them both alike.
Antigone. It was my brother, not a slave that died.
Creon. But he laid waste the land, the other saved.
Antigone. But partial laws to Hades are unknown.
Creon. Yet equal rites the bad should not obtain.
Antigone. Who knows if that be felt as just below?
Creon. A foe can never be a friend—e’en dead.
Antigone. My heart admits no hate, but love for both.
Creon. To Hades then, and love, if love you must, For while I live no woman masters me.
Ismene enters from the palace door L., under arrest.
Chorus. Lo, yonder at the door appears Ismene shedding silver tears; From clouds of sorrow on her brow That shade and mar her beauty now The rain in drops her cheek bedews, Which crimson drops of blood suffuse.
Creon. And you, you viper lurking in my house, And sucking my life’s blood, though unobserved, I did not know that I was nurturing here Two pests, in insurrection ’gainst my throne— Come, tell me now, will you still further own That you participated in the act Of burial, or maintain you knew it not?
​Ismene. I did the deed; if she concurs,—I share My part and bear the burden of the charge.
Antigone. But justice will not, though I should, consent; Since you would not, no share can I allow.
Ismene. Yet in thy troubles I am not ashamed To make myself the sharer of thy doom.
Antigone. The dead and Hades know who did the deed; I love not her who loves in words alone.
Ismene. Refuse not, sister, my entreaty now To die with thee and consecrate the dead.
Antigone. Nay, share not thou my death, and do not claim The deeds untouched by thee! Suffice my death.
Ismene. What joy in life for me bereft of thee?
Antigone. Ask Creon. He is thy concern and care.
Ismene. When naught is to be gained, why pain me thus?
Antigone. Pain truly do I feel, if I mock thee.
Ismene. O how can I but serve thee even now?
Antigone. By ’scaping death thyself—I grudge it not.
Ismene. Ah! Must I acquiesce, not die with thee?
Antigone. Thy choice was made to live, but mine to die.
Ismene. But not without my protest made that choice.
Antigone. Thy course was praised by these, by those my own.
Ismene. Yet thy offense no greater is than mine.
Antigone. Be brave, and live—my soul hath long been dead That so I might now chiefly serve those gone.
Creon. Of these two maidens one has lost her wits, The other had none from her day of birth.
Ismene. The sense that one is born with ne’er abides, O king, but leaves its seat, when mishap comes.
Creon. Yours did, when you mishapped to do misdeeds.
Ismene. What life is life to me, bereft of her?
​Creon. Say naught of her, for she no longer lives.
Ismene. What! Will you slay your son’s affianced bride?
Creon. Yes. There are other fields for him to plow.
Ismene. But ne’er such love and plighted troth as theirs.
Creon. My son shall never have a wicked wife.
Antigone. O dearest Hæmon! by your father wronged!
Creon. Have done with you and with your ‘plighted troth’!
Ch. Leader. And will you really rob your son of her?
Creon. Nay, ’t is the Grave shall stop their wedding.
Ch. Leader. The sentence, then, is passed that she must die?
Creon. By your vote and by mine! No more delay! Slaves, take them in! From this time on they Within doors must be kept, as women should. For verily the bold will oft essay When they see Death approach, to run away.
CHORUS.
FIRST STROPHE.
Oh! blessed are they whose days are free from trouble and sorrow! On the house once shaken of heaven will fall a curse on the morrow, A curse to abide, e’en unto the next generation, As when the fierce blasts of Thrace, as they form The huge waves, driving on through darkness and storm, From the depths rolling up the black sand, even so tribulation Surges o'er that house—waves pouring Full on the banks and the rocks Wind-swept with sullen roaring And loud resounding shocks.
FIRST ANTISTROPHE.
So I see on the house of the Labdacidæ woe upon woe, On the living fresh billows of sorrow from troubles of eld ever we flow; And release there is none to the home of the child from the home of the father, But some god overthrows the whole line, no soul Obtaineth deliv’rance from dole; For the last light of hope which was spread o’er the root, now another Fell scythe from the gods infernal Mows down by speech unrestrained; For the house destruction eternal The infatuate heart hath gained.
SECOND STROPHE.
Thy power, O Zeus, can the trespass of man control? Even sleep that bends all to its will is unable, And the unwearied months of the gods,—nay, stable Is thy throne in Olympus, while countless ages roll, And high In the dazzling sheen of the sky Thou dwellest forever. This law holds good for the past, It holds for to-day and to-morrow: For a man in store there is sorrow, If he gaineth too much,—nothing vast Can come Without a curse in the sum Of man’s life and endeavor.
SECOND ANTISTROPHE.
For hope that wanders so wide encourageth those, And to these it bringeth but gladness and cheer, While to others disaster and many a tear, Frustrated their foolish desires, which the fates oppose, And they Walk on unaware of the day Till they step in the fire. Some sage hath uttered this word: ​Oft evil seems good to the vain Whom the god leadeth on to bane, Blind and deaf, hath not seen, hath not heard, And lo! Into mischief and woe He plunges entire.
Chorus. But look where Hæmon, of thy sons The last and youngest, yonder comes. Is he lamenting, In anguish resenting The fraud, Antigone’s ’spousal denied, The cruel doom of his promised bride.
[Hæmon enters L.
Creon. We soon shall know more sure than seers can tell. My son, thou ’rt certainly not come in rage Against thy father, hearing our just doom Irrevocable passed on thy betrothed? Or are we dear to thee, do what we may?
Hæmon. Thou art my father; rules that thou dost give For my direction, I obey, for thy Good guidance I esteem a greater gain To me than any marriage I could make.
Creon. Ay, this, my son, should ever be thy thought, To let thy father’s will in all come first. For this men, pray to rear within their homes The children born to them all dutiful, That they pay back in kind their father’s foe, Their father’s friend such equal honer’ show. But he to whom is born a worthless child, What else hath he but trouble for himself Begot and exultation for his foes? Therefore, my son, let not a woman’s charm Allure thee so that mere desire for her Will cast thy reason out, for be assured An evil woman in thy home to share Thy bed affords a chill embrace. What sore More ulcerous and painful far can be Than this—a faithless friend. O cast away The loathsome thing, and let this girl, as though ​She were thine enemy, go down to Hades And find a bridegroom there. For since alone Of all the Thebans I have captured her In flagrant insubordination, death Shall be her punishment—my word I gave— I will_not_break it. Therefore let her call Her Zeus of kindred blood to witness. ’S death! If kith and kindred I o’erlook when they Become unruly, how much more must I Expect rebellion then away from home! For he that in his own household is just Will prove to be an upright citizen; But he that disregards and breaks the law, Or thinks that he can dictate to his rulers, No praise from me will e’er obtain. Whomso The city places in command, that man Must be obeyed in great things and in small, Or right or wrong, and whosoever thus obeys, Would, I feel sure, be competent to rule, And in the storm of battle, when once placed, Will hold his post, and by his comrade’s side Stand dauntless and unflinching. Greater bane There is not than the lack of discipline. This ruins cities, this makes desolate The home, ’t is this that breaks the allies’ ranks And routs them; while it is obedience That in the ranks of the unconquered saves Most lives. Hence we must stand for discipline, Defeat ne’er suffer from a woman’s hand; For if we fall from power, if fall we must, ’T is better far to be o’erthrown by man, And not be taunted “mastered by a woman.”
Ch. Leader. Unless old age has stolen away our mind, What thou dost say is wisely said, I find.
Hæmon. Father, no higher faculty the gods implant In man than reason. That my father errs I could not say and would not if I could. Yet wisdom might be heard from others too, And as thy son, I naturally observe The words and acts of all the Thebans, what ​They find in thee to censure, what to praise. Thy look doth fill with dread the citizen And checks the frankness of his speech in things Unpleasant for the king to hear; but I Can hear them unperceived, how for this maid The pedpte all make moan, “no woman e’er Met death more undeserved, for glorious deeds E’er met so foul a death, who could not leave Her own dear brother uninterted, a prey For carrion dogs and vultures lying there Unheeded where he fell in bloody strife. Should she for this no golden guerdon gain? So speak the people guardedly, and still The rumor spreads. There is no treasure prized So highly as thy welfare, father, none That mortal time affords so dear to me. What greater ornament for children than Their father’s glory and prosperity, Or for the father than his children’s? Wear Not, then, one way of thinking in thy heart, That what thou sayst and nothing else is right. For if a man assume that he alone Is wise, in speech and judgment doth excel All others, when his mind is opened as a book, Naught else but emptiness is seen therein. ’T is no disgrace for e’en the wise to learn, To yield convinced, and not be overstiff In their opinions. By the swollen streams, Thou seest the reeds that yielding bend their heads, How they preserve themselves, whereas the trees, That stiff resist the current, fall and die. So too the sailor, if he tightly draws The sheet, and keeps it taut and never slack, Capsized, completes his voyage upside down. Recede, then, from thy wrath and change thy mood. If I, though younger, (and deemed competent To offer an opinion) be allowed to speak, I hold it best for man to be all-wise, But since omniscience does not tip the scale In human thinking, it is well to learn From those who well can speak and well discern.
​Ch. Leader. Sire, heed his counsel, if he speaks in season, And thou, thy father’s; for in both there ’s reason.
Creon. Am I at my age to be schooled and taught Discretion by a stripling of his years?
Hæmon. No, not in what is wrong; but you should not My youth alone consider, service too.
Creon. To champion rebels?—You call that a service?
Hæmon. Respect for wicked men I would not urge.
Creon. And is she not infect with that disease?
Hæmon. No Theban born to that opinion holds.
Creon. Shall Thebes declare how I must reign in Thebes?
Hæmon. How like a very youth thou speakest now!
Creon. As I think, or another, must I rule?
Hæmon. The city one man owns alone is none.
Creon. Is not the city deemed the monarch’s own?
Hæmon. A desert thou couldst reign in well, indeed.
Creon. This boy, it seems, is fighting for the woman.
Hæmon. If thou ’rt a woman—my forethought is for thee.
Creon. Perverted youth! A plaintiff ’gainst thy sire?
Hæmon. Because I see him doing wrong, I plead.
Creon. Wrong? I? Respecting my authority?
Hæmon. Respecting? No! When trampling on the gods?
Creon. Milk-livered boy! Subservient to a wench!
Hæmon. But not subservient to shameful deeds.
Creon. Yet every word you speak is for that girl.
Hæmon. And thee and me, and all the gods below.
Creon. But marry her you shall not on this earth.
Hæmon. She dies, then, and in dying, slays another.
Creon. Are you so bold to plead and threaten too?
Hæmon. Resisting vain decrees implies no threat.
​Creon. You shall not with impunity impugn My wisdom, puny wit.
Hæmon. If thou wert not My sire, I would have said thou hast no wit.
Creon. Thou woman’s puppet-slave, cajole not me!
Hæmon. Dost wish to speak and hear naught in reply?
Creon. Do you presume?—Now, by Olympus yonder, You shall not taunt and chide and blame me thus And then escape all punishment.—Bring forth That pest, to die at once before the eyes Of her bet betrothed in person, by his side!
Hæmon. Not by my side shall she be put to death— Believe it not—nor shall you ever see Me in your presence here again.—So rave And fret and fume alone, or find some friends To stay with who may care to stay with you.
[Exit L.
Ch. Leader. The man is gone, my lord, in fury’s haste; And hearts so young, when stung, resentment feel.
Creon. Let him go work his will, conceiving thoughts Too great for man, if that be his desire, But these two women he shall never save.
Ch. Leader. The other also? You would slay them both?
Creon. No, not the maid who kept her hands off—Right!
Ch. Leader. And what shall be the manner of her death?
Creon. I ’ll take her where no human foot hath trod, And mew her up alive; there in a vault Of stone I ’ll give her food enough to keep The taint from all the town. And there, perchance, Entreating Hades—whom alone she worships— Release from death she may obtain; or else Will learn this truth, though late and to her cost: To honor those below is labor lost.
[Exit into the palace by C. door.
CHORUS.
STROPHE.
O Love, unconquered in fight, the rich thou dost raid; Thou makest thy couch in the night on the cheeks of a maid; And thou rangest over the sea, in the rural home; And no one escapes thee where’er thou dost roam; Neither god nor mortal man thy will can resist; Thou assailest, inspiring with frenzy, the one thou dost list. E’en the souls of the just to their ruin thou turnest astray: ’T is thou that this feud hast excited ’mong kinsmen to-day; The love-light so clear in the eyes of the bride is victorious, It sits high enthroned by the side of the laws ever glorious, The unwritten laws acknowledged by men.—Aphrodite Is working her will, invincible, mighty.
Chorus. But I myself am carried amain Past the bound of laws, and cannot restrain The gush of the tears as I behold Antigone passing now to the hall Where Death receives and lodges all.
FIRST STROPHE.
Antigone. Ye behold me, citizens of my native land, Setting forth on my last journey, to that strand Where I gaze A farewell to these rays Of the sun, where the light I never again shall see; Dread Hades, who layeth all men to sleep, doth lead Me still living to Acheron’s shore; no marriage my meed, And no song To which bridals belong Hath been mine, for Acheron’s bride I shall be.
FIRST SYSTEMA.
Yea, but with glory and praise Dost thou depart to end thy days, Ne’er smitten with wasting disease, Nor finding the wage of the sword; but to these Who live in the silent home of the dead Thou dost descend of thy own free will, unwed, ​’T is true, but alone shalt thou of all mortals Pass down still alive through the Grave’s dark portals.
FIRST ANTISTROPHE.
Antigone. I have heard of another in days of eld who died A miserable death, the Phrygian foreign bride Of the king, How the stone did cling Like the growth of embracing ivy around her; There high on Sipylus’ crest, they say, The daughter of Tantalus wastes away, And the rain As tears fall amain From her eyelids.—Like mine is the fate that bound her.
SECOND SYSTEMA.
Yet she was immortal, and born divine, While we are of earth, and of mortal line. And surely for thee to have the renown Of sharing the fate of a god, passing down To Hades from life, and praise after death,— This is something at least that comforteth.
SECOND STROPHE.
Antigone. Alas! I am mocked! In the name of the gods of my sires, Why torture the maiden before she expires, O my city, Men of wealth without pity? Dircæan fount, Thebé’s holy domain, My appeal to you will, I know, not be vain; How I go unwept, you at least witness will bear, For what reason I pass to the prison, No home with the dead, no home with the living can share.
THIRD SYSTEMA.
To the limit of rashness thou hast proceeded ’Gainst the throne where Law sits on high dashed unheeded With measureless force—but bequeathed to thee From thy father’s sin this ordeal may be.
SECOND ANTISTROPHE.
Antigone. Thou hast touched on the thought that pains most of all With thy thrice-told tale of my father’s fall, And the doom Long ago in the loom That was woven for all the Labdacidæ. Alas for the curse of the bed where the mother lay With her son, my sire, the bed where I first saw the day. To the dead I go curst and unwed— For thy bridal, dear brother, thy death, I must die.
FOURTH SYSTEMA.
Thy pious deed doth merit full praise; But a king must give heed that his subject obeys, Whenever his will has been once proclaimed— For thy death thy temper alone can be blamed.
EPODE.
Antigone. Unmourned, unbefriended, unwed I am led On the journey forlorn to the grave, alone, Ne’er again may behold the bright light of the sun, No tear for me falls, my race is run. For me, hapless girl, no friend maketh moan.
Creon re-enters from palace door C.
Do you not know that if it aught availed To sing their dirges thus and make their moans Before death, criminals would never cease Their lamentations? Quick! Away with her! And when the vaulted tomb has closed her in, Forsaken and alone, as I have said, Let her remain within the cell,—to die Or live, as she prefers, in such a tomb. She had my warning and my hands are clean, Without the taint of blood,—but she shall be At least deprived of living in the light.
[Exit C.
​Antigone. O grave, my bridal-chamber, prison-home Eternal in the rocky cavern, where I go to meet my own, the many whom In death Persephone among the dead Hath lodged; and last and by the cruellest fate Of all, I now pass down to her, before I reach my term of life. Yet when I come, I entertain the hope that I may win From thee a loving welcome, father, one From thee, my mother, and no less from thee My own dear brother, since this hand it was That washed and dressed you for the tomb and poured The last libations at your grave; and now, Dear Polyneices, this is my reward For tending thus thy corpse—for what transgression? What law of heaven have I broken? Why Should I, unhappy woman, raise my eye To Heaven any more? What god invoke To succor me?—when I have earned the name Of irreligion for my piety. Well, if such acts in Heaven find approval, Then, when I meet my doom, I ’ll recognize The fact that I have sinned; but if they sin Who judge, may they ne’er suffer—hear my prayer— More pain than they unjustly make me bear.
Ch. Leader. The same fierce gusts of passion blow And make this maiden’s soul to glow.
Creon re-enters from palace C.
Creon. Her guards then shall have cause to wail, If they to do my bidding fail.
Antigone. Ah me! That dread command comes near To death! To death!
Creon. With no hope can I give thee cheer, For unto death, indeed, thou ’rt near.
Antigone. O city of my fathers, Thebes, Ancestral gods, ​They lead me hence, they lead me—nay, Ye Theban princes!—Now away They drag me to my doom, behold! The only daughter of your old And glorious house of kings, the last, And in a dungeon to be cast, Alone,—the only princess left Of kindred and of aid bereft. See, what I suffer at their hands For doing what the law of holiness demands!
[Antigone is led off R. by the guards.
CHORUS.
FIRST STROPHE.
E’en thus did the beautiful Danaë Endure to exchange the light of day For a dwelling bound with brass, And a prisoner in that grave-like room, Though of noble birth, was she held, while as groom To the bride did Zeus to her pass, In a shower of golden rain his seed Entrusted to her. Dread and mighty, indeed, Is the baneful force of fate; Neither wealth nor war nor towers strong Nor wave-beaten ships by the winds swept along Can deliver from powers so great.
FIRST ANTISTROPHE.
And immured in a prison of stone, and tamed, The king of Edonians, Quick-temper named, Son or Dryas, the god Dionysus Made atone for the taunt he in madness flung. There the wrath in his heart, for his rashness of tongue, Doth simmer down slow whence it rises. He found too late ’t was a god had appeared That with mocking tongue he rashly had jeered, When the Mænads all frenzied, possessed With the fire Bacchanalian, he began to abuse, And stirred to fierce anger the flute-loving Muse— Thus dearly he paid for his jest.
SECOND STROPHE.
By the double sea and the rocks dark-blue Stand Bosporus’ heights where the waters gush through— Salmydessus of Thrace. There Ares that hard by the city dwelt Saw the wound in savage fury dealt, The accursed blow in the face Of the two sons of Phineus by his cruel wife With her shuttle in bloody hands, like a knife— Full into the orbs of sight The blinding murderous dagger was driven; And those eyes appealed mutely for vengeance to Heaven Out of their darkness of night.
SECOND ANTISTROPHE.
Their pitiful doom, as the hours sped, Did those sons of a mother unhappily wed In misery pining bewail; Yet her ancestors came of a noble race, The Erechtheidæ—in a far distant place That child of the Northern Gale Fleet of foot as a steed o’er the hills, in a cave Mid the Thracian storms of her father that rave Round the mountain, was cradled and nursed— A child of the gods was she, O my daughter, Yet the fates all hoary with age, they sought her,— Be content, thy doom’s not the worst.
On the entrance of Teiresias the Chorus gathers on the R. side of stage. Teiresias, led by a boy, enters L.
My lords of Thebes, joint journey have we made, Directed by the eyes of one,—the blind Must ever walk depending on a guide.
Creon. What tidings, aged Teiresias, dost bring?
Teiresias. I ’ll teach thee—listen to the prophet’s voice.
Creon. Thy counsel I have never disregarded.
Teiresias. And for that reason steered the state aright.
Creon. Thy service my experience attests.
​Teiresias. Take heed! Thou standest on the verge of fate.
Creon. What meanest thou? Thy message makes me quake.
Teiresias. Hear thou the warning tokens of my art And thou wilt know. No sooner had I ta’en My seat in my accustomed place, to hear The birds that flocked around my ancient seat Of divination, when I heard a strange And unfamiliar sound among the screams Of rage ill-omened, cries confused that made Their wonted language clear sound like a jargon. And I perceived that with their talons they Were clawing one another savagely; The whirr of wings proclaimed the carnage there. Alarmed, I tried at once burnt-sacrifice Upon a kindled altar, but no flame Leaped from the offerings—an ooze, instead, Of moisture forth upon the embers dripped, Exuding from the thigh-bones, smoked and spewed, The bursting gall was scattered through the air, While all the fat which had enwrapped the thighs Was melted off, ran down in streams, and left The thigh-bones bare. Such failing oracles Derived from auguries that failed to yield A sign, this boy informed me of; for he Doth act as guide to me, as I to others. And ’t is thy will that brings this malady Upon the state. For all our altars are defiled, Our hearths by dogs and vultures, with the food Torn from the fallen son of Œdipus Ill-starred. And so the gods do not accept Our prayers and sacrifices now, nor flame Of thigh-bones; and no bird shrieks forth its cry Of warning, forasmuch as all have made A slain man’s gore their succulent repast. Think then, my son, on this. A man may err; But erring, if he cure the ill, stiffnecked Remain not in his error quite immovable, No longer he insensate and unblest. For folly still is born of stubbornness: ​The stupid man is deaf to all advice. Yield to the dead man and concede his claim. Stab not the fallen—he is dead: to slay The slain again no valor manifests. ’T is my good will to thee that bids me speak. There ’s nothing sweeter than from him to learn Who gives advice that doth some profit earn.
Creon. Old man, as archers at their targets, all Direct your shafts at me, and in your plots Resort to seer-craft now to gain your ends. Am I to be the traffic of the tribe And bought and sold like merchandise? Heap up Your profits, drive your trade in Sardian silver, And in the gold of India, if you wish; But that man ye shall not entomb, I swear, Not even if the wingéd hounds of Zeus, The eagles, in their talons should desire To snatch him up, and morsels of his flesh Bear skyward to the throne of Zeus,—e’en so, In fear of even that defilement, none Shall bury him, for well I know that man Cannot defile a god. But shamefully The cunning fall, Teiresias, when they Make shameful words seem fair for sake of gain.
Teiresias. Ah! Knoweth any man, considereth—
Creon. Know what? Deliver, pray, the maxim whole.
Teiresias. Of all things prudence is how far the best!
Creon. As far as imprudence, methinks, the worst.
Teiresias. Yet with this very malady thou ’rt sick.
Creon. With taunt I would not meet the prophet’s taunt.
Teiresias. You do, pronouncing false my prophecy.
Creon. The whole seer tribe hath ever itching palms.
Teiresias. No less the tribe of tyrants loves base gain.
Creon. Do you not realize that means your king?
Teiresias. I do; from me you learned to save the state.
Creon. A clever seer, but fond of wickedness.
​Teiresias. You ’ll stir me up to tell my soul’s dread secret.
Creon. Unlock your bosom—only not for gain.
Teiresias. No gain for you in what I ’ll say, methinks.
Creon. In me you shall not traffic for your profit.
Teiresias. (solemnly). And you shall not live through the time marked out By many rapid courses of the sun, Before you will have rendered up a corpse In one of thine own blood, in recompense For corpse, since children of the world above You thrust to Hades’ realm below, and lodged A living soul dishonored in the grave, And keep a man, belonging to the gods Beneath, still lying in the world above, A corpse unburied and unsanctified, Bereft of all the honors due the dead. Nor you, nor e’en the gods in Heaven, can Lay claim to him, since he belongs to none Except the nether gods, whom you offend. For this the fiends of Hades and of Heaven, Destroying and avenging Furies, lie In wait for you, that you may now be caught, Entangled likewise in the net of ruin. Think you my speech is prompted by a bribe? Consider well. A time will come, and soon, When shrieks of men and women’s wailings loud Shall in your house resound,—nay more, the realms Are roused against you in tumultuous hate Whose mangled sons wild beasts of prey and dogs Have consecrated, or some wingéd bird That soared aloft and bore pollution back To hearths at home, from corpses in the field. Such shafts unerring for your heart have I Discharged in anger—for I feel the smart Of your provoking words—and you will feel The pang of every barb the archer sends. Boy, lead me home, and leave him here to vent His rage on younger men, that he may learn Henceforth a tongue more temperate to nourish, A better mind within his breast to cherish.
​Ch. Leader. The man hath uttered dreadful prophecies, My lord, and gone; and since these locks of mine, Once dark, have turned all white with age, I know Of not a single instance where the seer Hath spoken falsely to the town of Thebes.
Creon. I know it too, and in my soul am troubled: ’T is hard to yield, but to resist and strike My spirit with a curse is still more dire.
Ch. Leader. Son of Menœces, wisely shoutdst thou choose.
Creon. What must I do then? Speak and I obey.
Ch. Leader. Go, free the maiden from the prison-vault, And lay th’ unburied body in the grave.
Creon. You really counsel thus, advise to yield?
Ch. Leader. As quickly as you can; for swift of foot Runs Heaven’s vengeance after foolish men.
Creon. Oh, hard it is! But I obey and yield— I cannot wage a war with Destiny.
Ch. Leader. Go then and do—entrust it not to others.
Creon. I ’ll go at once. Come, servants, one and all, Get axes quickly, hasten to yon hill. I mewed her up, and now that my resolve Has changed, I ’ll come myself to give her freedom. I see that justice which the gods uphold, Should ever be the highest aim of life.
[Exit R.
CHORUS.
FIRST STROPHE.
Offspring of Zeus on high That thunders so loud in the sky, Glory, delight, beside, Of the famed Cadmeian bride, God of many a name and fair! Thou that carest for all Who on Bacchus in Italy call And in Deo’s sheltered plain Of Eleusis lord dost reign, Whither worshippers repair! ​O Bacchus that dwellest in Thebes, On whose broad and fertile glebes Fierce warriors from the dragon’s teeth rose Where Ismenus softly flows, The city that Semele bare!
FIRST ANTISTROPHE.
Oft has the torches’ glare That flashes out bright in the air Full of smoke from the pine-wood flame Beheld thee in that place of fame, High o’er the twin-crested mount, Where the nymphs Corycian sport In a joyous worshipful sort Of Bacchanal frenzied dance, And dart to and fro and glance Hard by Castalia’s fount.
And Nysa’s murmuring rills Her ivied slopes and hills And the shore dark-mantled with green Of the clustering vine hath seen Thee in visible presence there. Whence thou comest to visit the ways Of Thebé the holy, while praise Universal of mystic strains And exalted “Evoe” refrains Ring loud on the nocturnal air.
SECOND STROPHE.
The city thou holdest in highest regard, No other such love thou showest toward As the city of Thebes, no other So deeply loved by thy mother, Whom the red levin smote; And now that her people are held By a plague most grievous, unquelled, Bear us aid, no longer wait, Cross thou the groaning strait, Or down from Parnassus float.
SECOND ANTISTROPHE.
O leader of the heavenly chorus Of fire-breathing stars high o’er us Sympathetically moving with thee, O master of night-revelry Of song, thou begotten of Zeus, Come forth with thy votaries now, The Thyiads that unto thee bow, Frenzied in dance the livelong night, O Iacchus, appear to our sight, Dispenser of fortunes to us.
Messenger enters from R.
Ye neighbors to old Cadmus’ citadel And Amphion’s, no mortal man’s estate, As firm and stable could I praise or blame. For Chance lifts up and Chance casts down to earth The prosperous man and him who prospers not, And no man knows how long established things Will last. For Creon once was blest: he saved This land of Cadmus from its enemies, And when supreme dominion in his hands Was placed, he ruled the country, flourishing And blest with princely sons,—and now all gone! For when a man his joys hath forfeited, I count him not among the living,—nay, In my esteem he’s but a breathing corpse. Accumulate great wealth, and, if you will, Live like a king with pomp and ceremony; But if with these there be no joy, I would Not give a vapor’s shadow for the rest.
Ch. Leader. What new affliction ’s come upon our princes?
Messenger. Death! And the living guilty of that death.
Ch. Leader. And who ’s the slayer? Who the fallen? Speak!
Messenger. The prince is is dead, slain by no stranger’s hand.
Ch. Leader. Dead? Hæmon? By his father’s hand destroyed, Or by his own?
​Messenger. His own. Enraged because His sire condemned to death the maid he loved.
Ch. Leader. Oh prophet, how hast thou thy word fulfilled!
Messenger. ’T is even as I say—decide what ’s best.
Ch. Leader. But look! Eurydice, the hapless wife Of Creon comes here from the house—by chance, Or has she heard the tidings of her son?
Eurydice enters from palace door C.
Ye Thebans all, I overheard your words, As I was coming forth to make my way To Pallas’ shrine and offer up my prayers. And I had just removed the bar, prepared To open wide the door, when words of woe Affecting me and mine fell on my ear; Shocked, my affrighted senses fled, and back I fell into my waiting-women’s arms. Repeat thy tale. What tidings dost thou bring? ’T will be no new experience for me: Not ignorant of sorrow I shall listen.
Messenger. Dear lady, I was there, and what I saw I ’ll tell without reserve and in detail. For why should I attempt to soothe thy heart And afterwards be proved a liar. Truth Is always best.—As guide I led thy lord Unto the summit of the plain, where still Unpitied lay the corpse of Polyneices, By dogs all mangled. To Persephone, The goddess of the Cross-ways, and to Pluto, We prayed to show us mercy and restrain Their wrath; then washing pure and clean the corpse With boughs fresh plucked we set to burning all The dogs had left of his poor body; then Of native earth heaped up a mound, and turned To enter that rockvaulted chamber, where The bridegroom, Death, awaited on a couch Of stone. And long before we reached it, one Of my companions heard a voice of wailing, ​Which seemed to come from that unhallowed room, Where funeral nuptial rites had not been paid. Returning quick, he told our master, Creon, Who, coming nearer, low unmeaning cries Perceived, which soon became distinct and clear, The bitter wailings of a human voice. And groaning with a cry of anguish, he Exclaimed: “O my prophetic heart! Alas! Is this to prove of all the journeys made By me the most disastrous? Listen! Still! My son’s voice greets me. Quick! My servants! On With speed, pass through the entrance of the tomb— The stones that blocked the passage up are torn Away. Peer in and learn if Hæmon’s voice Is that which greets my ear, or if my ear Be cheated by the gods.” At the behest Of our despairing lord we went and peered; And in the farthest corner of the tomb We saw her hanging by the neck in noose Of fine-wrought linen, while. around her waist In fond embrace had Hæmon thrown his arms,— Still clinging there, bewailing his lost love, His father’s deeds, his bride that was to be, Now numbered with the dead. The father, though, When he his son descried, rushed in with loud And bitter cry, and wailing, called to him: “Unhappy youth! What hast thou done? What prompts This deed? What stroke deprived thee of thy reason? Come out, my child! I beg thee—I implore!” But glaring at his father savagely, The boy made no reply, spat in his face, And drawing suddenly his hilted sword, An effort made to strike, but missed his aim; His father, rushing forth, escaped. Insane With anger at himself the wretched boy ​Then leaned against his sword with all his weight And drove full half the blade into his side; Then conscious still he in his faint Embrace the maiden folded, gasping, while A perfect stream of blood on her white cheek Shot forth and dyed it to a crimson hue. A corpse enclosing corpse he lies, his bride And he united—in the halls of Death; And he has shown to all the world, no ill That man is heir to transcends thoughtlessness.
[Eurydice exit through palace door C.
Ch. Leader. What can this mean? The lady has gone back Into the house without a single word.
Messenger. I, too, am all amaze; yet cherish I The hope that, hearing of her son’s sad fate, She deems it quite unseemly to parade Her grief before the people, but retired Within the house, will make loud lamentation, With handmaids following in mournful strain. By judgment taught, she’s too discreet to err.
Ch. Leader. Perhaps; excessive silence though to me Seems perilous, as well as loud lament.
Messenger. Well, we shall soon discover whether we Are justified in fearing that concealed In her afflicted heart she aught restrains, For I shall go and see—yes, you are right— Excessive silence, too, is perilous.
[Exit through side door L. into palace.
Chorus. Lo, yonder the monarch himself draws near, A memorial bearing all too clear Of the sin of his own infatuate mind: His own, not another’s misdeed, here I find.
FIRST STROPHE.
Creon. Woe is me! Woe! Oh, the sins of my misguided mind, Stubborn, teeming with death and pain! ​Oh, the son, and the sire, rash, blind, Behold! The slayer and slain! Woe! Woe is me! What have I won By my stern decree? O, my dear son! Here in thy youth Thou hast died, And now of a truth, Since life is denied, Thee to death I consign. Alas, Alas! Now thou art gone, Thou art dead! Thy spirit has fled, And slain, O my son, By my folly, not thine!
Chorus. Ah me, how all too late thou seest the right!
SECOND STROPHE.
Creon. Ah me! I have the bitter lesson fully learned. Yet a god, methinks, fair boy Downsmote me then, smote me full on the head With crushing force— Oh, the remorse!— And thrust me in paths that to cruelty led, O’erturning, downtrampling my joy. Woe! Woe for mortals who pain for their actions have earned.
Messenger. (from the house). My lord, in hand, in store, abundant woes Hast thou—this burden thou dost bear with thee, And more within the house thou ’rt soon to see.
Creon. What worser ill is now to follow this?
Messenger. The queen is dead, true mother of the dead, Death dealt the blow but now—her soul has fled.
FIRST ANTISTROPHE.
Creon. Oh, Woe! Oh, haven of Hades insatiate, Art thou merciless, merciless still? No means to atone, to ingratiate— Thou must kill, and kill, and kill? Can this be so, As thou hast said? Such a tale of woe! My wife is dead? Bitter the news, Bitter the woe! No mercy wilt choose Me ever to show, But wilt slay once more? What sayest my son? Still more to repent? O, my heart is rent! Wife, also gone? My wife now, my son before!
SECOND ANTISTROPHE.
Creon. Alas! Alas, what stroke of fate awaits me yet? Another, a new woe is here. Is there aught left of ill? I had scarcely upraised My poor dead child, Frantic and wild As I was with grief, when again I am dazed By the sight of another bier. Alas, poor mother, poor. child, what a fate have you met!
Messenger. There at the altar she with whetted knife Relaxing eyes to darkness, closed her life; First loud bewailed Megareus’ fate, Then Hæmon’s here, and last on thee breathed hate And curses, still invoking evils dire For her slain children on their murderous sire.
THIRD STROPHE.
Creon. Woe! Woe! I am thrilled with fright, O, the horrible sight! Is there none To lay me low— Alas! Undone! To give a blow Full in the breast With a two-edged glaive? Ill-starred, no rest, None, but the grave For the miserable wretch to share, Now plunged in the depths of despair!
Messenger. Ay, at thy door the death of both was laid By her thou seest here in death arrayed.
Creon. And what the manner of her violent taking off?
Messenger. Her own hand struck the blow, full in the heart, When for her son she felt of grief the smart.
FOURTH STROPHE.
Creon. Woe is me! Oh! the fault is mine! No other of mortal kind Can bear the guilt For the cruel blow! Thy blood I spilt, Laid thee low! I own it again! Now, servants, convey— O the pain!— The miserable wretch away! Take me away with all speed, I am nothing, nothing indeed!
​Chorus. Thy counsel ’s good, if good in ill can be; For “best” means “briefest” in calamity.
THIRD ANTISTROPHE.
Creon. Oh, let it come! Oh, now appear, Of all days most dear, The brightest for me, Day supreme! Oh, that I could see But the gleam! Let it come, Fairest, best, Day of doom, When I rest! That never again these eyes May behold another sunrise.
Chorus. The future will decide. The present need Claims our attention,—ours naught else to heed.
Creon. My heart’s desires were summed up in that prayer.
Chorus. Pray then no more; for fate, in any shape, Hath mortal man no power to escape.
FOURTH ANTISTROPHE.
Creon. Away, lead away The rash fool, I pray, Who unwittingly slew His child, O my son, What am I now to do? See what I have done! Slain thee, my child; And thee, too, my wife! Woe myriad-piled Crushes out my life! Where shall I turn my gaze or my mind, Where support, where solace now find?
Chorus. The chiefest element of happiness Is wisdom. No impious words address To the gods, commit no impious deed. Big words from men presumptuous only breed Tribulation and trouble and sorrow intense: They are punished with blows, And the fool never knows Till, chastened, he ’s taught in old age good sense,
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