(3)

[CREON interrupts impatiently:]

CREON: If dirges and planned lamentations could put off death, Men would be singing for ever.

[to the SERVANTS:]

Take her, go!

You know your orders: take her to the vault
And leave her alone there. And if she lives or dies,
That's her affair, not ours: our hands are clean.

ANTIGONE: O tomb, vaulted bride-bed in eternal rock,
I am coming! Soon I shall be with my own again
Where Persephone welcomes the thin ghosts underground:
And I shall see my father again, and you, mother,
And dearest Polyneicês --

dearest indeed

To me, since it was my hand
That washed him clean and poured the ritual wine:
And my reward is death before my time!

And yet, as men's hearts know, I have done no wrong,
I have not sinned before God. Or if I have,
I shall know the truth in death. But if the guilt
Lies upon Creon who judged me, then, I pray,
May his punishment equal my own.

CHORAGOS: O passionate heart,
Unyielding, tormented still by the same winds!

CREON: Her guards shall have ample cause to regret their delaying.

ANTIGONE: Ah, that voice has come very close to death!

CREON: I will not deceive you by suggesting that you are mistaken.

(2)

ANTIGONE: Thebes, and you my fathers' gods,
And rulers of Thebes, you see me now, the last
Unhappy daughter of a line of kings,
Your kings, led away to death. You will remember
What things I suffer, and at what men's hands,
Because I would not transgress the laws of Heaven.

Come: let us wait no longer.

*to the GUARDS, simply*

[exit ANTIGONE, L., guarded]

CHORUS:

Thus all Danaë's beauty was locked away

In a brazen cell where the sunlight could not come:
A small room, still as any grave, enclosed her.
Yet she was a princess too,
And Zeus in a rain of gold poured love upon her.
O child, child,
No power in wealth or war
Or tough sea-blackened ships
prevail untiring
Can against prevailing Destiny!

And Dryas' son also, that furious king,
Bore the god's prisoning anger for his pride:
Sealed up by Dionysos in a stone,
His madness died among echoes.
But in the end he learned what dreadful power
His tongue had mocked:
For he had profaned the revels,
And fired the wrath of the nine
Implacable Sisters that love the sound of the flute.

And old men tell a half-remembered tale
Of horror done where a dark ledge splits the sea
And a double surf beats on the gréy shóres:
How a king's new woman, sick
With hatred for the queen he had imprisoned,
Ripped out his two sons' eyes with her bloody hands
While grinning Arês watched the shuttle plunge
Four times, four blind wounds crying for revenge,
Crying, tears and blood mingled. Piteously born,

| strophe 1 | 
| :--- | 
| Lydie -<br>follow the<br>original<br>melody | 

| strophe 2 | 
| :--- | 
| Crying, tears and blood mingled. Piteously born, |

(1)

[enter blind TEIRESIAS, led by a boy, masked. The opening speeches of TEIRESIAS should be in a singsong contrast to the realistic lines of CREON.

TEIRESIAS: This is the way the blind man comes, Princes, Princes,

2 places Lock-step, two heads lit by the eyes of one.

CREON: What new thing have you to tell us, old Teiresias?

TEIRESIAS: I have much to tell you: listen to the prophet, Creon.

CREON: I am not aware that I have ever failed to listen.

TEIRESIAS: Then you have done wisely, King, and ruled well.

CREON: I admit my debt to you. But what have you to say?

TEIRESIAS: This, Creon: you stand once more on the edge of fate.

CREON: What do you mean? Your words are a kind of dread.

TEIRESIAS: Listen, Creon:

I was sitting in my chair of augury, at the place
Where the birds gather about me. They were all a-chatter,
As is their habit, when suddenly I heard
A strange note in their jangling, a scream, a
Whirring fury; I knew that they were fighting,
Tearing each other, dying

In a whirlwind of wings clashing. And I was afraid.
I began the rites of burnt-offering at the altar,
But Hephaistos failed me: instead of bright flame,
There was only the sputtering slime of the fat thigh-flesh
Melting: the entrails dissolved in grey smoke,
The bare bone burst from the welter. And no blaze!
This was a sign from Heaven. My boy described it,
Seeing for me as I see for others.

I tell you, Creon, you yourself have brought

(2)

This new calamity upon us. Our hearths and altars
Are stained with the corruption of dogs and carrion birds
That glut themselves on the corpse of Oldipus' son.
The gods are deaf when we pray to them, their fire
Recoils from our offering, their birds of omen
Have no cry of comfort, for they are gorged
With the thick blood of the dead.

O my son,
These are no trifles! Think: all men make mistakes,
But a good man yields when he knows his course is wrong,
And repairs the evil.

The only crime is pride.
Give in to the dead man, then: do not fight with a corpse --
What glory is it to kill a man who is dead?
Think, I beg you:
It is for your own good that I speak as I do.
You should be able to yield for your own good.

CREON:

It seems that prophets have made me their especial province.
All my life long
I have been a kind of butt for the dull arrows
Of doddering fortune-tellers!

No, Teiresias:
If your birds -- if the great eagles of God himself
Should carry him stinking bit by bit to Heaven,
I would not yield. I am not afraid of pollution:
No man can defile the gods.

Do what you will,
Go into business, make money, speculate
In India gold or that synthetic gold from Sardis,

(3)

Get rich -- you will not buy my consent to bury him.
Teiresias, it is a sorry thing when a wise man
Sells his wisdom, lets out his words for hire!

TEIRESIAS: Ah Creon! Is there no man left in the world --

CREON: To do what? -- Come, let's have the aphorism!

TEIRESIAS: No man who knows that wisdom outweighs any wealth?

CREON: As surely as bribes are baser than any baseness.

TEIRESIAS: You are sick, Creon! You are deathly sick!

CREON: As you say: it is not my place to challenge a prophet.

TEIRESIAS: Yet you have said my prophecy is for sale.

CREON: The generation of prophets has always loved gold.

TEIRESIAS: The generation of kings has always loved brass.

CREON: You forget yourself! You are speaking to your King.

TEIRESIAS: I know it. You are a king because of me.

CREON: You have a certain skill; but you have sold out.

TEIRESIAS: King, you will drive me to words that --

CREON: Say them, say them!

Only remember: I will not pay you for them.

TEIRESIAS: No, you will find them too costly.

CREON: No doubt. Speak:

Whatever you say, you will not change my will.

TEIRESIAS: Then take this, and take it to heart!

The day is not far off when you shall pay back
corpse for corpse, flesh of your own flesh.

You have thrust the child of this world into living night,
You have kept from the gods below the child that is theirs:
The one in a grave before her death, the other,
Dead, denied the grave. This is your crime:

(4)

And the Furies and the dark gods of Hell
Are swift with terrible punishment for you.

Do you want to buy me now, Creon?

Not many days,

And your house will be full of men and women weeping,

And curses will jostle you on every hand

For sons you have kept from burial in far cities

Sick with the stench of your insolence.

These are my arrows, Creon: they are all for you.

But come, child: lead me home.

Let him waste his fine anger upon younger men.

Maybe he will learn at last

To control a wiser tongue in a better head.

[exit TEIRESIAS]

CHORAGOS: The old man has gone, King, but his words
Remain to plague us. I am old, too,
But I can not remember that he was ever false.

CREON: That is true. . . It troubles me.
Oh it is hard to give in! but it is worse
To risk everything for stubborn pride.

CHORAGOS: Creon: take my advice.

CREON: What shall I do?

CHORAGOS: Go quickly: free Antigonê from her tomb
And build a tomb for the body of Polyneicês.

CREON: You would have me do this?

CHORAGOS: Creon, yes!
And it must be done at once: God moves

(5)

Swiftly to cancel the folly of stubborn men.

CREON: It is hard to deny the heart! But I
Will do it: I will not fight with destiny.

CHORAGOS: You must go yourself, you can not leave it to others.

CREON: I will go.

-- Bring axes, servants:

Come with me to the tomb. I buried her, I
Will set her free.

Oh quickly!

My mind misgives --

The laws of the gods are mighty, and a man must serve them
To the last day of his life!

[exit CREON]

(1)

enter MESSENGER, from the left

MESSENGER: Men of the line of Cadmos, you who live
Near Amphion's citadel:

I can not say
Of any condition of human life 'This is fixed,
This is clearly good, or bad'. Fate raises up,
And Fate casts down the happy and unhappy alike:
No man can foretell his Fate.

Take the case of Creon:

Creon was happy once, as I count happiness:
Victorious in battle, sole governor of the land,
Fortunate father of children nobly born.
And now it has all gone from him! Who can say
That a man is still alive when his life's joy fails?
He is a walking dead man. Grant him rich,
Let him live like a king in his great house:
If his pleasure is gone, I would not give
So much as the shadow of smoke for all he owns.

CHORAGOS: Your words hint at sorrow: what is your news for us?

MESSENGER: They are dead. The living are guilty of their death.

CHORAGOS: Who is guilty? Who is dead? Speak up!

MESSENGER:
Haimon.
Haimon is dead; and the hand that killed him
Is his own hand.

CHORAGOS: His father's? or his own?

MESSENGER: His own, driven mad by the murder his father had done.

CHORAGOS: Teiresias, Teiresias, how clearly you saw it all!

MESSENGER: This is my news: you must draw what conclusions you can from it.

(2)

CHORAGOS: But look: Eurydice, our Queen:
Has she overheard us?

[enter EURYDICE from the Palace, C.

EURYDICE: I have heard something, friends:

As I was unlocking the gate of Pallas' shrine,
For I needed her help today, I heard a voice
Telling of some new sorrow. And I fainted
There at the temple with all my maidens about me.
But speak again: whatever it is, I can bear it:
Grief and I are no strangers.

MESSENGER:

Dearest Lady,

I will tell you plainly all that I have seen.

I shall not try to comfort you: what is the use,
Since comfort could lie only in what is not true?
The truth is always best.

I went with Creon

To the outer plain where Polyneicê was lying,
No friend to pity him, his body shredded by dogs.

We made our prayers in that place to Hecate

And Pluto, that they would be merciful. And we bathed
The corpse with holy water, and we brought
Fresh-broken branches to burn what was left of it,
And upon the urn we heaped up a towering barrow
Of the earth of his own land.

When we were done, we ran

To the vault where Antigonê lay on her couch of stone.
One of the servants had gone ahead,

And while he was yet far off he heard a voice
Grieving within the chamber, and he came back

(3)

And told Creon. And as the King went closer,
The air was full of wailing, the words lost,
And he begged us to make all haste. 'Am I a prophet?'
He said, weeping, 'And must I walk this road,
'The saddest of all that I have gone before?
'My son's voice calls me on. Oh quickly, quickly!
'Look through the crevice there, and tell me
'If it is Haimon, or some deception of the gods!'

We obeyed; and in the cavern's farthest corner
We said her lying:

She had made a noose of her fine linen veil
And hanged herself. Haimon lay beside her,
His arms about her waist, lamenting her,
His love lost under ground, crying out
That his father had stolen her away from him.

When Creon saw him the tears rushed to his eyes
And he called to him: 'What have you done, child? Speak to me.
'What are you thinking that makes your eyes so strange?
'O my son, my son, I come to you on my knees!'
But Haimon spat in his face. He said not a word;
But his eyes --

And suddenly he drew his sword
And lunged. Creon shrank back, the blade missed; and the boy,
Desperate against himself, drove it half its length
Into his own side, and fell. And as he died
He gathered Antigonê close in his arms again,
Choking, his blood bright red on her white cheek.
And now he lies dead with the dead, and she is his

(4)

At last, his bride in the houses of the dead.

[exit EURYDICE into the house.]

CHORAGOS: She has left us without a word. What can this mean?

MESSENGER: It troubles me, too; yet she knows what is best, Her grief is too great for public lamentation, And doubtless she has gone to her chamber to weep For her dead son, leading her maidens in his dirge.

CHORAGOS: It may be so; but I fear this deep silence.

[pause]

MESSENGER: I will see what she is doing. I will go in. Then I will go in.

[exit MESSENGER]
[Into the Palace.]

[Enter CREON with attendants, bearing HAIMON's body]

CHORAGOS: But here is the King himself: oh look at him,
Bearing his own damnation in his arms.

CREON: Nothing you say can touch me any more.

[Exterior 1]

My own blind heart has brought me
From darkness to final darkness. Here you see
The father murdering, the murdered son --
And all my civic wisdom!

Haimon my son, so young, so young to die,
I was the fool, not you; and you died for me.

CHORAGOS: That is the truth; but you were late in learning it.

CREON: This truth is hard to bear. Surely a god

[Exterior 2]

Has crushed me beneath the hugest weight of heaven,
And driven me headlong a barbaric way
To trample out the thing I held most dear.

The pains that men will take to come to pain!

MESSENGER: The burden you carry in your hands is heavy,

[Enter MESSENGER from the house]

But it is not all: you will find more in your house.

CREON: What burden worse than this shall I find there?

MESSENGER: The Queen is dead, poor lady!

CREON: O port of death, deaf world,

[Exterior 1]

Is there no pity for me? And you, Angel of evil,
I was dead, and your words are death again.

Is it true, boy, is it true?

Is my wife dead, death breeding death?

CREON: Lead me away. I have been rash and foolish.
I have killed my son and my wife.
I look for comfort; my comfort lies here dead.
Whatever my hands have touched has come to nothing.
Fate has brought all my pride to a thought of: dust.

[As CREON is being led into the house,
the CHORAGOS advances and speaks directly
to the audience;

CHORAGOS: There is no happiness where there is no wisdom;
No wisdom but in submission to the gods.
Big words are always punished,
And proud men in old age learn to be wise.

PRESERVATION PHOTOCOPY: ORIGINAL MATERIAL RESTRICTED

of E. O'Neill's *Great God Brown*, a lifelike, closely fitting the contours of the face, and valuable only as they give the effect of immobility to character. On no account should there be any attempt to reproduce the Greek mask, which was larger than life-size and served a function nonexistent on the modern stage: amplifying *the* application of mood voice and character for projection to the distant seats of the outdoor theatre. If masks are used at all, they might well be allotted to only to those characters whose essential nature is hidden by official position or discipline: Creon, Teiresias, the Chorus and Choragus, certainly the Messenger. Antigone has no mask; neither has Ismenê, Haimon, nor Eurydice. If Creon is masked, we see no objection, in art or feeling, to the symbolic removal of his mask before he returns with the dead body of his son.