{"collection":"Classics","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/cla/soph/antigone.htm","path":"cla/soph/antigone.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/cla/soph/antigone.htm","text":"Dramatis Personae\ndaughters of Oedipus:\nANTIGONE\nISMENE\nCREON, King of Thebes\nEURYDICE, his wife\nHAEMON, his son\nTEIRESIAS, the blind prophet\nGUARD, set to watch the corpse of Polyneices\nFIRST MESSENGER\nSECOND MESSENGER, from the house\nCHORUS OF THEBAN ELDERS\nThe same as in Oedipus the King, an open space before the royal palace,\nonce that of Oedipus, at Thebes. The backscene represents the front\nof the palace, with three doors, of which the central and largest\nis the principal entrance into the house. The time is at daybreak\non the morning after the fall of the two brothers, Eteocles and Polyneices,\nand the flight of the defeated Argives. ANTIGONE calls ISMENE forth\nfrom the palace, in order to speak to her alone.\nANTIGONE Ismene, sister, mine own dear sister, knowest thou what\nill there is, of all bequeathed by Oedipus, that Zeus fulfils not\nfor us twain while we live? Nothing painful is there, nothing fraught\nwith ruin, no shame, no dishonour, that I have not seen in thy woes\nand mine.\nAnd now what new edict is this of which they tell, that our Captain\nhath just published to all Thebes? Knowest thou aught? Hast thou heard?\nOr is it hidden from thee that our friends are threatened with the\ndoom of our foes?\nISMENE No word of friends, Antigone, gladsome or painful, hath come\nto me, since we two sisters were bereft of brothers twain, killed\nin one day by twofold blow; and since in this last night the Argive\nhost hath fled, know no more, whether my fortune be brighter, or more\ngrievous.\nANTIGONE I knew it well, and therefore sought to bring thee beyond\nthe gates of the court, that thou mightest hear alone.\nISMENE What is it? 'Tis plain that thou art brooding on some dark\ntidings.\nANTIGONE What, hath not Creon destined our brothers, the one to honoured\nburial, the other to unburied shame? Eteocles, they say, with due\nobservance of right and custom, he hath laid in the earth, for his\nhonour among the dead below. But the hapless corpse of Polyneices-as\nrumour saith, it hath been published to the town that none shall entomb\nhim or mourn, but leave unwept, unsepulchred, a welcome store for\nthe birds, as they espy him, to feast on at will.\nSuch, 'tis said, is the edict that the good Creon hath set forth for\nthee and for me,-yes, for me,-and is coming hither to proclaim it\nclearly to those who know it not; nor counts the matter light, but,\nwhoso disobeys in aught, his doom is death by stoning before all the\nfolk. Thou knowest it now; and thou wilt soon show whether thou art\nnobly bred, or the base daughter of a noble line.\nISMENE Poor sister,-and if things stand thus, what could I help to\ndo or undo?\nANTIGONE Consider if thou wilt share the toil and the deed.\nISMENE In what venture? What can be thy meaning?\nANTIGONE Wilt thou aid this hand to lift the dead?\nISMENE Thou wouldst bury him,-when 'tis forbidden to Thebes?\nANTIGONE I will do my part,-and thine, if thou wilt not,-to a brother.\nFalse to him will I never be found.\nISMENE Ah, over-bold! when Creon hath forbidden?\nANTIGONE Nay, he hath no right to keep me from mine own.\nISMENE Ah me! think, sister, how our father perished, amid hate and\nscorn, when sins bared by his own search had moved him to strike both\neyes with self-blinding hand; then the mother wife, two names in one,\nwith twisted noose did despite unto her life; and last, our two brothers\nin one day,-each shedding, hapless one, a kinsman's blood,-wrought\nout with mutual hands their common doom. And now we in turn-we two\nleft all alone think how we shall perish, more miserably than all\nthe rest, if, in defiance of the law, we brave a king's decree or\nhis powers. Nay, we must remember, first, that we were born women,\nas who should not strive with men; next, that we are ruled of the\nstronger, so that we must obey in these things, and in things yet\nsorer. I, therefore, asking the Spirits Infernal to pardon, seeing\nthat force is put on me herein, will hearken to our rulers. for 'tis\nwitless to be over busy.\nANTIGONE I will not urge thee,-no nor, if thou yet shouldst have\nthe mind, wouldst thou be welcome as a worker with me. Nay, be what\nthou wilt; but I will bury him: well for me to die in doing that.\nI shall rest, a loved one with him whom I have loved, sinless in my\ncrime; for I owe a longer allegiance to the dead than to the living:\nin that world I shall abide for ever. But if thou wilt, be guilty\nof dishonouring laws which the gods have stablished in honour.\nISMENE I do them no dishonour; but to defy the State,-I have no strength\nfor that.\nANTIGONE Such be thy plea:-I, then, will go to heap the earth above\nthe brother whom I love.\nISMENE Alas, unhappy one! How I fear for thee!\nANTIGONE Fear not for me: guide thine own fate aright.\nISMENE: At least, then, disclose this plan to none, but hide it closely,-and\nso, too, will I.\nANTIGONE Oh, denounce it! Thou wilt be far more hateful for thy silence,\nif thou proclaim not these things to all.\nISMENE Thou hast a hot heart for chilling deeds.\nANTIGONE I know that I please where I am most bound to please.\nISMENE Aye, if thou canst; but thou wouldst what thou canst not.\nANTIGONE Why, then, when my strength fails, I shall have done.\nISMENE A hopeless quest should not be made at all.\nANTIGONE If thus thou speakest, thou wilt have hatred from me, and\nwill justly be subject to the lasting hatred of the dead. But leave\nme, and the folly that is mine alone, to suffer this dread thing;\nfor I shall not suffer aught so dreadful as an ignoble death.\nISMENE Go, then, if thou must; and of this be sure,-that though thine\nerrand is foolish, to thy dear ones thou art truly dear. (Exit ANTIGONE\non the spectators' left. ISMENE retires into the palace by one of\nthe two side-doors. When they have departed, the CHORUS OF THEBAN\nELDERS enters.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe 1)\nBeam of the sun, fairest light that ever dawned on Thebe of the seven\ngates, thou hast shone forth at last, eye of golden day, arisen above\nDirce's streams! The warrior of the white shield, who came from Argos\nin his panoply, hath been stirred by thee to headlong flight, in swifter\ncareer;\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS (systema 1)\nwho set forth against our land by reason of the vexed claims of Polyneices;\nand, like shrill-screaming eagle, he flew over into our land, in snow-white\npinion sheathed, with an armed throng, and with plumage of helms.\nCHORUS (antistrophe 1)\nHe paused above our dwellings; he ravened around our sevenfold portals\nwith spears athirst for blood; but he went hence, or ever his jaws\nwere glutted with our gore, or the Fire-god's pine-fed flame had seized\nour crown of towers. So fierce was the noise of battle raised behind\nhim, a thing too hard for him to conquer, as he wrestled with his\ndragon foe.\nLEADER (systema 2)\nFor Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue; and when he\nbeheld them coming on in a great stream, in the haughty pride of clanging\ngold, he smote with brandished fire one who was now hasting to shout\nvictory at his goal upon our ramparts.\nCHORUS (strophe 2)\nSwung down, he fell on the earth with a crash, torch in hand, he\nwho so lately, in the frenzy of the mad onset, was raging against\nus with the blasts of his tempestuous hate. But those threats fared\nnot as he hoped; and to other foes the mighty War-god dispensed their\nseveral dooms, dealing havoc around, a mighty helper at our need.\nLEADER (systema 3)\nFor seven captains at seven gates, matched against seven, left the\ntribute of their panoplies to Zeus who turns the battle; save those\ntwo of cruel fate, who, born of one sire and one mother, set against\neach other their twain conquering spears, and are sharers in a common\ndeath.\nCHORUS (antistrophe 2)\nBut since Victory of glorious name hath come to us, with joy responsive\nto the joy of Thebe whose chariots are many, let us enjoy forgetfulness\nafter the late wars, and visit all the temples of the gods with night-long\ndance and song; and may Bacchus be our leader, whose dancing shakes\nthe land of Thebe.\nLEADER (systema 4)\nBut lo, the king of the land comes yonder, Creon, son of Menoeceus,\nour new ruler by the new fortunes that the gods have given; what counsel\nis he pondering, that he hath proposed this special conference of\nelders, summoned by his general mandate? (Enter CREON, from the central\ndoors of the palace, in the garb of king, with two attendants.)\nCREON Sirs, the vessel of our State, after being tossed on wild waves,\nhath once more been safely steadied by the gods: and ye, out of all\nthe folk, have been called apart by my summons, because I knew, first\nof all, how true and constant was your reverence for the royal power\nof Laius; how, again, when Oedipus was ruler of our land, and when\nhe had perished, your steadfast loyalty still upheld their children.\nSince, then, his sons have fallen in one day by a twofold doom,-each\nsmitten by the other, each stained with a brother's blood,-I now possess\nthe throne and all its powers, by nearness of kinship to the dead.\nNo man can be fully known, in soul and spirit and mind, until he hath\nbeen seen versed in rule and law-giving. For if any, being supreme\nguide of the State, cleaves not to the best counsels, but, through\nsome fear, keeps his lips locked, I hold, and have ever held, him\nmost base; and if any makes a friend of more account than his fatherland,\nthat man hath no place in my regard. For I-be Zeus my witness, who\nsees all things always-would not be silent if I saw ruin, instead\nof safety, coming to the citizens; nor would I ever deem the country's\nfoe a friend to myself; remembering this, that our country is the\nship that bears us safe, and that only while she prospers in our voyage\ncan we make true friends.\nSuch are the rules by which I guard this city's greatness. And in\naccord with them is the edict which I have now published to the folk\ntouching the sons of Oedipus;-that Eteocles, who hath fallen fighting\nfor our city, in all renown of arms, shall be entombed, and crowned\nwith every rite that follows the noblest dead to their rest. But for\nhis brother, Polyneices,-who came back from exile, and sought to consume\nutterly with fire the city of his fathers and the shrines of his fathers'\ngods,-sought to taste of kindred blood, and to lead the remnant into\nslavery;-touching this man, it hath been proclaimed to our people\nthat none shall grace him with sepulture or lament, but leave him\nunburied, a corpse for birds and dogs to eat, a ghastly sight of shame.\nSuch the spirit of my dealing; and never, by deed of mine, shall the\nwicked stand in honour before the just; but whoso hath good will to\nThebes, he shall be honoured of me, in his life and in his death.\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS Such is thy pleasure, Creon, son of Menoeceus,\ntouching this city's foe, and its friend; and thou hast power, I ween,\nto take what order thou wilt, both for the dead, and for all us who\nlive.\nCREON See, then, that ye be guardians of the mandate.\nLEADER Lay the burden of this task on some younger man.\nCREON Nay, watchers of the corpse have been found.\nLEADER What, then, is this further charge that thou wouldst give?\nCREON That ye side not with the breakers of these commands.\nLEADER No man is so foolish that he is enamoured of death.\nCREON In sooth, that is the meed; yet lucre hath oft ruined men through\ntheir hopes. (A GUARD enters from the spectators' left.)\nGUARD My liege, I will not say that I come breathless from speed,\nor that have plied a nimble foot; for often did my thoughts make me\npause, and wheel round in my path, to return. My mind was holding\nlarge discourse with me; 'Fool, why goest thou to thy certain doom?'\n'Wretch, tarrying again? And if Creon hears this from another, must\nnot thou smart for it?' So debating, I went on my way with lagging\nsteps, and thus a short road was made long. At last, however, it carried\nthe day that I should come hither-to thee; and, though my tale be\nnought, yet will I tell it; for I come with a good grip on one hope,-that\nI can suffer nothing but what is my fate.\nCREON And what is it that disquiets thee thus?\nGUARD I wish to tell thee first about myself-I did not do the deed-I\ndid not see the doer-it were not right that I should come to any harm.\nCREON Thou hast a shrewd eye for thy mark; well dost thou fence thyself\nround against the blame; clearly thou hast some strange thing to tell.\nGUARD Aye, truly; dread news makes one pause long.\nCREON Then tell it, wilt thou, and so get thee gone?\nGUARD Well, this is it.-The corpse-some one hath just given it burial,\nand gone away,-after sprinkling thirsty dust on the flesh, with such\nother rites as piety enjoins.\nCREON What sayest thou? What living man hath dared this deed?\nGUARD I know not; no stroke of pickaxe was seen there, no earth thrown\nup by mattock; the ground was hard and dry, unbroken, without track\nof wheels; the doer was one who had left no trace. And when the first\nday-watchman showed it to us, sore wonder fell on all. The dead man\nwas veiled from us; not shut within a tomb, but lightly strewn with\ndust, as by the hand of one who shunned a curse. And no sign met the\neye as though any beast of prey or any dog had come nigh to him, or\ntorn him.\nThen evil words flew fast and loud among us, guard accusing guard;\nund it would e'en have come to blows at last, nor was there any to\nhinder. Every man was the culprit, and no one was convicted, but all\ndisclaimed knowledge of the deed. And we were ready to take red-hot\niron in our hands;-to walk through fire;-to make oath by the gods\nthat we had not done the deed,-that we were not privy to the planning\nor the doing.\nAt last, when all our searching was fruitless, one spake, who made\nus all bend our faces on the earth in fear; for we saw not how we\ncould gainsay him, or escape mischance if we obeyed. His counsel was\nthat this deed must be reported to thee, and not hidden. And this\nseemed best; and the lot doomed my hapless self to win this prize.\nSo here I stand,-as unwelcome as unwilling, well I wot; for no man\ndelights in the bearer of bad news.\nLEADER O king, my thoughts have long been whispering, can this deed,\nperchance, be e'en the work of gods?\nCREON Cease, ere thy words fill me utterly with wrath, lest thou\nbe found at once an old man and foolish. For thou sayest what is not\nto be borne, in saying that the gods have care for this corpse. Was\nit for high reward of trusty service that they sought to hide his\nnakedness, who came to burn their pillared shrines and sacred treasures,\nto burn their land, and scatter its laws to the winds? Or dost thou\nbehold the gods honouring the wicked? It cannot be. No! From the first\nthere were certain in the town that muttered against me, chafing at\nthis edict, wagging their heads in secret; and kept not their necks\nduly under the yoke, like men contented with my sway.\n'Tis by them, well I know, that these have been beguiled and bribed\nto do this deed. Nothing so evil as money ever grew to be current\namong men. This lays cities low, this drives men from their homes,\nthis trains and warps honest souls till they set themselves to works\nof shame; this still teaches folk to practise villainies, and to know\nevery godless deed.\nBut all the men who wrought this thing for hire have made it sure\nthat, soon or late, they shall pay the price. Now, as Zeus still hath\nmy reverence, know this-I tell it thee on my oath:-If ye find not\nthe very author of this burial, and produce him before mine eyes,\ndeath alone shall not be enough for you, till first, hung up alive,\nye have revealed this outrage,-that henceforth ye may thieve with\nbetter knowledge whence lucre should be won, and learn that it is\nnot well to love gain from every source. For thou wilt find that ill-gotten\npelf brings more men to ruin than to weal.\nGUARD May I speak? Or shall I just turn and go?\nCREON Knowest thou not that even now thy voice offends?\nGUARD Is thy smart in the ears, or in the soul?\nCREON And why wouldst thou define the seat of my pain?\nGUARD The doer vexes thy mind, but I, thine ears.\nCREON Ah, thou art a born babbler, 'tis well seen.\nGUARD May be, but never the doer of this deed.\nCREON Yea, and more,-the seller of thy life for silver.\nGUARD Alas! 'Tis sad, truly, that he who judges should misjudge.\nCREON Let thy fancy play with 'judgment' as it will;-but, if ye show\nme not the doers of these things, ye shall avow that dastardly gains\nwork sorrows. (CREON goes into the palace.)\nGUARD Well, may he be found! so 'twere best. But, be he caught or\nbe he not-fortune must settle that-truly thou wilt not see me here\nagain. Saved, even now, beyond hope and thought, I owe the gods great\nthanks. (The GUARD goes out on the spectators' left.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe 1)\nWonders are many, and none is more wonderful than man; the power\nthat crosses the white sea, driven by the stormy south-wind, making\na path under surges that threaten to engulf him; and Earth, the eldest\nof the gods, the immortal, the unwearied, doth he wear, turning the\nsoil with the offspring of horses, as the ploughs go to and fro from\nyear to year.\n(antistrophe 1)\nAnd the light-hearted race of birds, and the tribes of savage beasts,\nand the sea-brood of the deep, he snares in the meshes of his woven\ntoils, he leads captive, man excellent in wit. And he masters by his\narts the beast whose lair is in the wilds, who roams the hills; he\ntames the horse of shaggy mane, he puts the yoke upon its neck, he\ntames the tireless mountain bull.\n(strophe 2)\nAnd speech, and wind-swift thought, and all the moods that mould\na state, hath he taught himself; and how to flee the arrows of the\nfrost, when 'tis hard lodging under the clear sky, and the arrows\nof the rushing rain; yea, he hath resource for all; without resource\nhe meets nothing that must come: only against Death shall he call\nfor aid in vain; but from baffling maladies he hath devised escapes.\n(antistrophe 2)\nCunning beyond fancy's dream is the fertile skill which brings him,\nnow to evil, now to good. When he honours the laws of the land, and\nthat justice which he hath sworn by the gods to uphold, proudly stands\nhis city: no city hath he who, for his rashness, dwells with sin.\nNever may he share my hearth, never think my thoughts, who doth these\nthings! (Enter the GUARD on the spectators' left, leading in ANTIGONE.)\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS What portent from the gods is this?-my soul\nis amazed. I know her-how can I deny that yon maiden is Antigone?\nO hapless, and child of hapless sire,-Of Oedipus! What means this?\nThou brought a prisoner?-thou, disloyal to the king's laws, and taken\nin folly?\nGUARD Here she is, the doer of the deed:-caught this girl burying\nhim:-but where is Creon? (CREON enters hurriedly from the palace.)\nLEADER Lo, he comes forth again from the house, at our need.\nCREON What is it? What hath chanced, that makes my coming timely?\nGUARD O king, against nothing should men pledge their word; for the\nafter-thought belies the first intent. I could have vowed that I should\nnot soon be here again,-scared by thy threats, with which I had just\nbeen lashed: but,-since the joy that surprises and transcends our\nhopes is like in fulness to no other pleasure,-I have come, though\n'tis in breach of my sworn oath, bringing this maid; who was taken\nshowing grace to the dead. This time there was no casting of lots;\nno, this luck hath fallen to me, and to none else. And now, sire,\ntake her thyself, question her, examine her, as thou wilt; but I have\na right to free and final quittance of this trouble.\nCREON And thy prisoner here-how and whence hast thou taken her?\nGUARD She was burying the man; thou knowest all.\nCREON Dost thou mean what thou sayest? Dost thou speak aright?\nGUARD I saw her burying the corpse that thou hadst forbidden to bury.\nIs that plain and clear?\nCREON And how was she seen? how taken in the act?\nGUARD It befell on this wise. When we had come to the place,-with\nthose dread menaces of thine upon us,-we swept away all the dust that\ncovered the corpse, and bared the dank body well; and then sat us\ndown on the brow of the hill, to windward, heedful that the smell\nfrom him should not strike us; every man was wide awake, and kept\nhis neighbour alert with torrents of threats, if anyone should be\ncareless of this task.\nSo went it, until the sun's bright orb stood in mid heaven, and the\nheat began to burn: and then suddenly a whirlwind lifted from the\nearth storm of dust, a trouble in the sky the plain, marring all the\nleafage of its woods; and the wide air was choked therewith: we closed\nour eyes, and bore the plague from the gods.\nAnd when, after a long while, this storm had passed, the maid was\nseen; and she cried aloud with the sharp cry of a bird in its bitterness,-even\nas when, within the empty nest, it sees the bed stripped of its nestlings.\nSo she also, when she saw the corpse bare, lifted up a voice of wailing,\nand called down curses on the doers of that deed. And straightway\nshe brought thirsty dust in her hands; and from a shapely ewer of\nbronze, held high, with thrice-poured drink-offering she crowned the\ndead.\nWe rushed forward when we saw it, and at once dosed upon our quarry,\nwho was in no wise dismayed. Then we taxed her with her past and present\ndoings; and she stood not on denial of aught,-at once to my joy and\nto my pain. To have escaped from ills one's self is a great joy; but\n'tis painful to bring friends to ill. Howbeit, all such things are\nof less account to me than mine own safety.\nCREON Thou-thou whose face is bent to earth-dost thou avow, or disavow,\nthis deed?\nANTIGONE I avow it; I make no denial.\nCREON (to GUARD) Thou canst betake thee whither thou wilt, free\nand clear of a grave charge. (Exit GUARD, To ANTIGONE) Now, tell\nme thou-not in many words, but briefly-knewest thou that an edict\nhad forbidden this?\nANTIGONE I knew it: could I help it? It was public.\nCREON And thou didst indeed dare to transgress that law?\nANTIGONE Yes; for it was not Zeus that had published me that edict;\nnot such are the laws set among men by the justice who dwells with\nthe gods below; nor deemed I that thy decrees were of such force,\nthat a mortal could override the unwritten and unfailing statutes\nof heaven. For their life is not of to-day or yesterday, but from\nall time, and no man knows when they were first put forth.\nNot through dread of any human pride could I answer to the gods for\nbreaking these. Die I must,-I knew that well (how should I not?)-even\nwithout thy edicts. But if I am to die before my time, I count that\na gain: for when any one lives, as I do, compassed about with evils,\ncan such an one find aught but gain in death?\nSo for me to meet this doom is trifling grief; but if I had suffered\nmy mother's son to lie in death an unburied corpse, that would have\ngrieved me; for this, I am not grieved. And if my present deeds are\nfoolish in thy sight, it may be that a foolish judge arraigns my folly.\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS The maid shows herself passionate child of passionate\nsire, and knows not how to bend before troubles.\nCREON Yet I would have thee know that o'er-stubborn spirits are most\noften humbled; 'tis the stiffest iron, baked to hardness in the fire,\nthat thou shalt oftenest see snapped and shivered; and I have known\nhorses that show temper brought to order by a little curb; there is\nno room for pride when thou art thy neighbour's slave.-This girl was\nalready versed in insolence when she transgressed the laws that had\nbeen set forth; and, that done, lo, a second insult,-to vaunt of this,\nand exult in her deed.\nNow verily I am no man, she is the man, if this victory shall rest\nwith her, and bring no penalty. No! be she sister's child, or nearer\nto me in blood than any that worships Zeus at the altar of our house,-she\nand her kinsfolk shall not avoid a doom most dire; for indeed I charge\nthat other with a like share in the plotting of this burial.\nAnd summon her-for I saw her e'en now within,-raving, and not mistress\nof her wits. So oft, before the deed, the mind stands self-convicted\nin its treason, when folks are plotting mischief in the dark. But\nverily this, too, is hateful,-when one who hath been caught in wickednes\nthen seeks to make the crime a glory.\nANTIGONE Wouldst thou do more than take and slay me?\nCREON No more, indeed; having that, I have all.\nANTIGONE Why then dost thou delay? In thy discourse there is nought\nthat pleases me,-never may there be!-and so my words must needs be\nunpleasing to thee. And yet, for glory-whence could I have won a nobler,\nthan by giving burial to mine own brother? All here would own that\nthey thought it well, were not their lips sealed by fear. But royalty,\nblest in so much besides, hath the power to do and say what it will.\nCREON Thou differest from all these Thebans in that view.\nANTIGONE These also share it; but they curb their tongues for thee.\nCREON And art thou not ashamed to act apart from them?\nANTIGONE No; there is nothing shameful in piety to a brother.\nCREON Was it not a brother, too, that died in the opposite cause?\nANTIGONE Brother by the same mother and the same sire.\nCREON Why, then, dost thou render a grace that is impious in his\nsight?\nANTIGONE The dead man will not say that he so deems it.\nCREON Yea, if thou makest him but equal in honour with the wicked.\nANTIGONE It was his brother, not his slave, that perished.\nCREON Wasting this land; while he fell as its champion.\nANTIGONE Nevertheless, Hades desires these rites.\nCREON But the good desires not a like portion with the evil.\nANTIGONE Who knows but this seems blameless in the world below?\nCREON A foe is never a friend-not even in death.\nANTIGONE Tis not my nature to join in hating, but in loving.\nCREON Pass, then, to the world of the dead, and, it thou must needs\nlove, love them. While I live, no woman shall rule me. (Enter ISMENE\nfrom the house, led in by two attendants.)\nCHORUS (chanting) Lo, yonder Ismene comes forth, shedding such tears\nas fond sisters weep; a cloud upon her brow casts its shadow over\nher darkly-flushing face, and breaks in rain on her fair cheek.\nCREON And thou, who, lurking like a viper in my house, wast secretly\ndraining my life-blood, while I knew not that I was nurturing two\npests, to rise against my throne-come, tell me now, wilt thou also\nconfess thy part in this burial, or wilt thou forswear all knowledge\nof it?\nISMENE I have done the deed,-if she allows my claim,-and share the\nburden of the charge.\nANTIGONE Nay, justice will not suffer thee to do that: thou didst\nnot consent to the deed, nor did I give thee part in it.\nISMENE But, now that ills beset thee, I am not ashamed to sail the\nsea of trouble at thy side.\nANTIGONE Whose was the deed, Hades and the dead are witnesses: a\nfriend in words is not the friend that I love.\nISMENE Nay, sister, reject me not, but let me die with thee, and\nduly honour the dead.\nANTIGONE Share not thou my death, nor claim deeds to which thou hast\nnot put thy hand: my death will suffice.\nISMENE And what life is dear to me, bereft of thee?\nANTIGONE Ask Creon; all thy care is for him.\nISMENE Why vex me thus, when it avails thee nought?\nANTIGONE Indeed, if I mock, 'tis with pain that I mock thee.\nISMENE Tell me,-how can I serve thee, even now?\nANTIGONE Save thyself: I grudge not thy escape.\nISMENE Ah, woe is me! And shall I have no share in thy fate?\nANTIGONE Thy choice was to live; mine, to die.\nISMENE At least thy choice was not made without my protest.\nANTIGONE One world approved thy wisdom; another, mine.\nISMENE Howbeit, the offence is the same for both of us.\nANTIGONE Be of good cheer; thou livest; but my life hath long been\ngiven to death, that so I might serve the dead.\nCREON Lo, one of these maidens hath newly shown herself foolish,\nas the other hath been since her life began.\nISMENE Yea, O king, such reason as nature may have given abides not\nwith the unfortunate, but goes astray.\nCREON Thine did, when thou chosest vile deeds with the vile.\nISMENE What life could I endure, without her presence?\nCREON Nay, speak not of her 'presence'; she lives no more.\nISMENE But wilt thou slay the betrothed of thine own son?\nCREON Nay, there are other fields for him to plough.\nISMENE But there can never be such love as bound him to her.\nCREON I like not an evil wife for my son.\nANTIGONE Haemon, beloved! How thy father wrongs thee!\nCREON Enough, enough of thee and of thy marriage!\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS Wilt thou indeed rob thy son of this maiden?\nCREON 'Tis Death that shall stay these bridals for me.\nLEADER 'Tis determined, it seems, that she shall die.\nCREON Determined, yes, for thee and for me.- (To the two attendants)\nNo more delay-servants, take them within! Henceforth they must be\nwomen, and not range at large; for verily even the bold seek to fly,\nwhen they see Death now closing on their life. (Exeunt attendants,\nguarding ANTIGONE and ISMENE.-CREON remains.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe 1)\nBlest are they whose days have not tasted of evil. For when a house\nhath once been shaken from heaven, there the curse fails nevermore,\npassing from life to life of the race; even as, when the surge is\ndriven over the darkness of the deep by the fierce breath of Thracian\nsea-winds, it rolls up the black sand from the depths, and there is\nsullen roar from wind-vexed headlands that front the blows of the\nstorm.\n(antistrophe 1)\nI see that from olden time the sorrows in the house of the Labdacidae\nare heaped upon the sorrows of the dead; and generation is not freed\nby generation, but some god strikes them down, and the race hath no\ndeliverance.\nFor now that hope of which the light had been spread above the last\nroot of the house of Oedipus-that hope, in turn, is brought low--by\nthe blood-stained dust due to the gods infernal, and by folly in speech,\nand frenzy at the heart.\n(strophe 2)\nThy power, O Zeus, what human trespass can limit? That power which\nneither Sleep, the all-ensnaring, nor the untiring months of the gods\ncan master; but thou, a ruler to whom time brings not old age, dwellest\nin the dazzling splendour of Olympus.\nAnd through the future, near and far, as through the past, shall this\nlaw hold good: Nothing that is vast enters into the life of mortals\nwithout a curse.\n(antistrophe 2)\nFor that hope whose wanderings are so wide is to many men a comfort,\nbut to many a false lure of giddy desires; and the disappointment\ncomes on one who knoweth nought till he burn his foot against the\nhot fire.\nFor with wisdom hath some one given forth the famous saying, that\nevil seems good, soon or late, to him whose mind the god draws to\nmischief; and but for the briefest space doth he fare free of woe.\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS But lo, Haemon, the last of thy sons;-Comes\nhe grieving for the doom of his promised bride, Antigone, and bitter\nfor the baffled hope of his marriage? (Enter HAEMON)\nCREON We shall know soon, better than seers could tell us.-My son,\nhearing the fixed doom of thy betrothed, art thou come in rage against\nthy father? Or have I thy good will, act how I may?\nHAEMON Father, I am thine; and thou, in thy wisdom, tracest for me\nrules which I shall follow. No marriage shall be deemed by me a greater\ngain than thy good guidance.\nCREON Yea, this, my son, should be thy heart's fixed law,-in all\nthings to obey thy father's will. 'Tis for this that men pray to see\ndutiful children grow up around them in their homes,-that such may\nrequite their father's foe with evil, and honour, as their father\ndoth, his friend. But he who begets unprofitable children-what shall\nwe say that he hath sown, but troubles for himself, and much triumph\nfor his foes? Then do not thou, my son, at pleasure's beck, dethrone\nthy reason for a woman's sake; knowing that this is a joy that soon\ngrows cold in clasping arms,-an evil woman to share thy bed and thy\nhome. For what wound could strike deeper than a false friend? Nay,\nwith loathing, and as if she were thine enemy, let this girl go to\nfind a husband in the house of Hades. For since I have taken her,\nalone of all the city, in open disobedience, I will not make myself\na liar to my people-I will slay her.\nSo let her appeal as she will to the majesty of kindred blood. If\nI am to nurture mine own kindred in naughtiness, needs must I bear\nwith it in aliens. He who does his duty in his own household will\nbe found righteous in the State also. But if any one transgresses,\nand does violence to the laws, or thinks to dictate to his rulers,\nsuch an one can win no praise from me. No, whomsoever the city may\nappoint, that man must be obeyed, in little things and great, in just\nthings and unjust; and I should feel sure that one who thus obeys\nwould be a good ruler no less than a good subject, and in the storm\nof spears would stand his ground where he was set, loyal and dauntless\nat his comrade's side.\nBut disobedience is the worst of evils. This it is that ruins cities;\nthis makes homes desolate; by this, the ranks of allies are broken\ninto head-long rout; but, of the lives whose course is fair, the greater\npart owes safety to obedience. Therefore we must support the cause\nof order, and in no wise suffer a woman to worst us. Better to fall\nfrom power, if we must, by a man's hand; then we should not be called\nweaker than a woman.\nLEADER To us, unless our years have stolen our wit, thou seemest\nto say wisely what thou sayest.\nHAEMON Father, the gods implant reason in men, the highest of all\nthings that we call our own. Not mine the skill-far from me be the\nquest!-to say wherein thou speakest not aright; and yet another man,\ntoo, might have some useful thought. At least, it is my natural office\nto watch, on thy behalf, all that men say, or do, or find to blame.\nFor the dread of thy frown forbids the citizen to speak such words\nas would offend thine ear; but can hear these murmurs in the dark,\nthese moanings of the city for this maiden; 'no woman,' they say,\n'ever merited her doom less,-none ever was to die so shamefully for\ndeeds so glorious as hers; who, when her own brother had fallen in\nbloody strife, would not leave him unburied, to be devoured by carrion\ndogs, or by any bird:-deserves not she the meed of golden honour?'\nSuch is the darkling rumour that spreads in secret. For me, my father,\nno treasure is so precious as thy welfare. What, indeed, is a nobler\nornament for children than a prospering sire's fair fame, or for sire\nthan son's? Wear not, then, one mood only in thyself; think not that\nthy word, and thine alone, must be right. For if any man thinks that\nhe alone is wise,-that in speech, or in mind, he hath no peer,-such\na soul, when laid open, is ever found empty.\nNo, though a man be wise, 'tis no shame for him to learn many things,\nand to bend in season. Seest thou, beside the wintry torrent's course,\nhow the trees that yield to it save every twig, while the stiff-necked\nperish root and branch? And even thus he who keeps the sheet of his\nsail taut, and never slackens it, upsets his boat, and finishes his\nvoyage with keel uppermost.\nNay, forego thy wrath; permit thyself to change. For if I, a younger\nman, may offer my thought, it were far best, I ween, that men should\nbe all-wise by nature; but, otherwise-and oft the scale inclines not\nso-'tis good also to learn from those who speak aright.\nLEADER Sire, 'tis meet that thou shouldest profit by his words, if\nhe speaks aught in season, and thou, Haemon, by thy father's; for\non both parts there hath been wise speech.\nCREON Men of my age are we indeed to be schooled, then, by men of\nhis?\nHAEMON In nothing that is not right; but if I am young, thou shouldest\nlook to my merits, not to my years.\nCREON Is it a merit to honour the unruly?\nHAEMON I could wish no one to show respect for evil-doers.\nCREON Then is not she tainted with that malady?\nHAEMON Our Theban folk, with one voice, denies it.\nCREON Shall Thebes prescribe to me how I must rule?\nHAEMON See, there thou hast spoken like a youth indeed.\nCREON Am I to rule this land by other judgment than mine own?\nHAEMON That is no city which belongs to one man.\nCREON Is not the city held to be the ruler's?\nHAEMON Thou wouldst make a good monarch of a desert.\nCREON This boy, it seems, is the woman's champion.\nHAEMON If thou art a woman; indeed, my care is for thee.\nCREON Shameless, at open feud with thy father!\nHAEMON Nay, I see thee offending against justice.\nCREON Do I offend, when I respect mine own prerogatives?\nHAEMON Thou dost not respect them, when thou tramplest on the gods'\nhonours,\nCREON O dastard nature, yielding place to woman!\nHAEMON Thou wilt never find me yield to baseness.\nCREON All thy words, at least, plead for that girl.\nHAEMON And for thee, and for me, and for the gods below.\nCREON Thou canst never marry her, on this side the grave.\nHAEMON Then she must die, and in death destroy another.\nCREON How! doth thy boldness run to open threats?\nHAEMON What threat is it, to combat vain resolves?\nCREON Thou shalt rue thy witless teaching of wisdom.\nHAEMON Wert thou not my father, I would have called thee unwise.\nCREON Thou woman's slave, use not wheedling speech with me.\nHAEMON Thou wouldest speak, and then hear no reply?\nCREON Sayest thou so? Now, by the heaven above us-be sure of it-thou\nshalt smart for taunting me in this opprobrious strain. Bring forth\nthat hated thing, that she may die forthwith in his presence-before\nhis eyes-at her bridegroom's side!\nHAEMON No, not at my side-never think it-shall she perish; nor shalt\nthou ever set eyes more upon my face:-rave, then, with such friends\nas can endure thee. (Exit HAEMON)\nLEADER The man is gone, O king, in angry haste; a youthful mind,\nwhen stung, is fierce.\nCREON Let him do, or dream, more than man-good speed to him!-But\nhe shall not save these two girls from their doom.\nLEADER Dost thou indeed purpose to slay both?\nCREON Not her whose hands are pure: thou sayest well.\nLEADER And by what doom mean'st thou to slay the other?\nCREON I will take her where the path is loneliest, and hide her,\nliving, in rocky vault, with so much food set forth as piety prescribes,\nthat the city may avoid a public stain. And there, praying to Hades,\nthe only god whom she worships, perchance she will obtain release\nfrom death; or else will learn, at last, though late, that it is lost\nlabour to revere the dead. (CREON goes into the palace.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe)\nLove, unconquered in the fight, Love, who makest havoc of wealth,\nwho keepest thy vigil on the soft cheek of a maiden; thou roamest\nover the sea, and among the homes of dwellers in the wilds; no immortal\ncan escape thee, nor any among men whose life is for a day; and he\nto whom thou hast come is mad.\n(antistrophe)\nThe just themselves have their minds warped by thee to wrong, for\ntheir ruin: 'tis thou that hast stirred up this present strife of\nkinsmen; victorious is the love-kindling light from the eyes of the\nfair bride; it is a power enthroned in sway beside the eternal laws;\nfor there the goddess Aphrodite is working her unconquerable will.\n(ANTIGONE is led out of the palace by two Of CREON'S attendants who\nare about to conduct her to her doom.) But now I also am carried\nbeyond the bounds of loyalty, and can no more keep back the streaming\ntears, when I see Antigone thus passing to the bridal chamber where\nall are laid to rest. (The following lines between ANTIGONE and the\nCHORUS are chanted responsively.)\nANTIGONE (strophe 1)\nSee me, citizens of my fatherland, setting forth on my last way,\nlooking my last on the sunlight that is for me no more; no, Hades\nwho gives sleep to all leads me living to Acheron's shore; who have\nhad no portion in the chant that brings the bride, nor hath any song\nbeen mine for the crowning of bridals; whom the lord of the Dark Lake\nshall wed.\nCHORUS (systema 1)\nGlorious, therefore, and with praise, thou departest to that deep\nplace of the dead: wasting sickness hath not smitten thee; thou hast\nnot found the wages of the sword; no, mistress of thine own fate,\nand still alive, thou shalt pass to Hades, as no other of mortal kind\nhath passed.\nANTIGONE (antistrophe 1)\nI have heard in other days how dread a doom befell our Phrygian guest,\nthe daughter of Tantalus, on the Sipylian heights; I how, like clinging\nivy, the growth of stone subdued her; and the rains fail not, as men\ntell, from her wasting form, nor fails the snow, while beneath her\nweeping lids the tears bedew her bosom; and most like to hers is the\nfate that brings me to my rest.\nCHORUS (systema 2)\nYet she was a goddess, thou knowest, and born of gods; we are mortals,\nand of mortal race. But 'tis great renown for a woman who hath perished\nthat she should have shared the doom of the godlike, in her life,\nand afterward in death.\nANTIGONE (strophe 2)\nAh, I am mocked! In the name of our fathers' gods, can ye not wait\ntill I am gone,-must ye taunt me to my face, O my city, and ye, her\nwealthy sons? Ah, fount of Dirce, and thou holy ground of Thebe whose\nchariots are many; ye, at least, will bear me witness, in what sort,\nunwept of friends, and by what laws I pass to the rock-closed prison\nof my strange tomb, ah me unhappy! who have no home on the earth or\nin the shades, no home with the living or with the dead.\nCHORUS (strophe 3)\nThou hast rushed forward to the utmost verge of daring; and against\nthat throne where justice sits on high thou hast fallen, my daughter,\nwith a grievous fall. But in this ordeal thou art paying, haply, for\nthy father's sin.\nANTIGONE (antistrophe 2)\nThou hast touched on my bitterest thought,-awaking the ever-new lament\nfor my sire and for all the doom given to us, the famed house of Labdacus.\nAlas for the horrors of the mother's bed! alas for the wretched mother's\nslumber at the side of her own son,-and my sire! From what manner\nof parents did I take my miserable being! And to them I go thus, accursed,\nunwed, to share their home. Alas, my brother, ill-starred in thy marriage,\nin thy death thou hast undone my life!\nCHORUS (antistrophe 3)\nReverent action claims a certain praise for reverence; but an offence\nagainst power cannot be brooked by him who hath power in his keeping.\nThy self-willed temper hath wrought thy ruin.\nANTIGONE (epode)\nUnwept, unfriended, without marriage-song, I am led forth in my sorrow\non this journey that can be delayed no more. No longer, hapless one,\nmay I behold yon day-star's sacred eye; but for my fate no tear is\nshed, no friend makes moan. (CREON enters from the palace.)\nCREON Know ye not that songs and wailings before death would never\ncease, if it profited to utter them? Away with her-away! And when\nye have enclosed her, according to my word, in her vaulted grave,\nleave her alone, forlorn-whether she wishes to die, or to live a buried\nlife in such a home. Our hands are clean as touching this maiden.\nBut this is certain-she shall be deprived of her sojourn in the light.\nANTIGONE Tomb, bridal-chamber, eternal prison in the caverned rock,\nwhither go to find mine own, those many who have perished, and whom\nPersephone hath received among the dead! Last of all shall I pass\nthither, and far most miserably of all, before the term of my life\nis spent. But I cherish good hope that my coming will be welcome to\nmy father, and pleasant to thee, my mother, and welcome, brother,\nto thee; for, when ye died, with mine own hands I washed and dressed\nyou, and poured drink-offerings at your graves; and now, Polyneices,\n'tis for tending thy corpse that I win such recompense as this.\nAnd yet I honoured thee, as the wise will deem, rightly. Never, had\nbeen a mother of children, or if a husband had been mouldering in\ndeath, would I have taken this task upon me in the city's despite.\nWhat law, ye ask, is my warrant for that word? The husband lost, another\nmight have been found, and child from another, to replace the first-born:\nbut, father and mother hidden with Hades, no brother's life could\never bloom for me again. Such was the law whereby I held thee first\nin honour; but Creon deemed me guilty of error therein, and of outrage,\nah brother mine! And now he leads me thus, a captive in his hands;\nno bridal bed, no bridal song hath been mine, no joy of marriage,\nno portion in the nurture of children; but thus, forlorn of friends,\nunhappy one, I go living to the vaults of death.\nAnd what law of heaven have I transgressed? Why, hapless one, should\nI look to the gods any more,-what ally should I invoke,-when by piety\nI have earned the name of impious? Nay, then, if these things are\npleasing to the gods, when I have suffered my doom, I shall come to\nknow my sin; but if the sin is with my judges, I could wish them no\nfuller measure of evil than they, on their part, mete wrongfully to\nme.\nCHORUS Still the same tempest of the soul vexes this maiden with\nthe same fierce gusts.\nCREON Then for this shall her guards have cause to rue their slowness.\nANTIGONE Ah me! that word hath come very near to death.\nCREON I can cheer thee with no hope that this doom is not thus to\nbe fulfilled.\nANTIGONE O city of my fathers in the land of Thebe! O ye gods, eldest\nof our race!-they lead me henc--now, now-they tarry not! Behold me,\nprinces of Thebes, the last daughter of the house of your kings,-see\nwhat I suffer, and from whom, because I feared to cast away the fear\nof Heaven! (ANTIGONE is led away by the guards.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe 1)\nEven thus endured Danae in her beauty to change the light of day\nfor brass-bound walls; and in that chamber, secret as the grave, she\nwas held close prisoner; yet was she of a proud lineage, O my daughter,\nand charged with the keeping of the seed of Zeus, that fell in the\ngolden rain.\nBut dreadful is the mysterious power of fate: there is no deliverance\nfrom it by wealth or by war, by fenced city, or dark, sea-beaten ships.\n(antistrophe 1)\nAnd bonds tamed the son of Dryas, swift to wrath, that king of the\nEdonians; so paid he for his frenzied taunts, when, by the will of\nDionysus, he was pent in a rocky prison. There the fierce exuberance\nof his madness slowly passed away. That man learned to know the god,\nwhom in his frenzy he had provoked with mockeries; for he had sought\nto quell the god-possessed women, and the Bacchanalian fire; and he\nangered the Muses that love the flute.\n(strophe 2)\nAnd by the waters of the Dark Rocks, the waters of the twofold sea,\nare the shores of Bosporus, and Thracian Salmydessus; where Ares,\nneighbour to the city, saw the accurst, blinding wound dealt to the\ntwo sons of Phineus by his fierce wife,-the wound that brought darkness\nto those vengeance-craving orbs, smitten with her bloody hands, smitten\nwith her shuttle for a dagger.\n(antistrophe 2)\nPining in their misery, they bewailed their cruel doom, those sons\nof a mother hapless in her marriage; but she traced her descent from\nthe ancient line of the Erechtheidae; and in far-distant caves she\nwas nursed amid her father's storms, that child of Boreas, swift as\na steed over the steep hills, a daughter of gods; yet upon her also\nthe gray Fates bore hard, my daughter. (Enter TEIRESIAS, led by a\nBoy, on the spectators' right.)\nTEIRESIAS Princes of Thebes, we have come with linked steps, both\nserved by the eyes of one; for thus, by a guide's help, the blind\nmust walk.\nCREON And what, aged Teiresias, are thy tidings?\nTEIRESIAS I will tell thee; and do thou hearken to the seer.\nCREON Indeed, it has not been my wont to slight thy counsel.\nTEIRESIAS Therefore didst thou steer our city's course aright.\nCREON I have felt, and can attest, thy benefits.\nTEIRESIAS Mark that now, once more, thou standest on fate's fine\nedge.\nCREON What means this? How I shudder at thy message!\nTEIRESIAS Thou wilt learn, when thou hearest the warnings of mine\nart. As I took my place on mine old seat of augury, where all birds\nhave been wont to gather within my ken, I heard a strange voice among\nthem; they were screaming with dire, feverish rage, that drowned their\nlanguage in jargon; and I knew that they were rending each other with\ntheir talons, murderously; the whirr of wings told no doubtful tale.\nForthwith, in fear, I essayed burnt-sacrifice on a duly kindled altar:\nbut from my offerings the Fire-god showed no flame; a dank moisture,\noozing from the thigh-flesh, trickled forth upon the embers, and smoked,\nand sputtered; the gall was scattered to the air; and the streaming\nthighs lay bared of the fat that had been wrapped round them.\nSuch was the failure of the rites by which I vainly asked a sign,\nas from this boy I learned; for he is my guide, as I am guide to others.\nAnd 'tis thy counsel that hath brought this sickness on our State.\nFor the altars of our city and of our hearths have been tainted, one\nand all, by birds and dogs, with carrion from the hapless corpse,\nthe son of Oedipus: and therefore the gods no more accept prayer and\nsacrifice at our hands, or the flame of meat-offering; nor doth any\nbird give a clear sign by its shrill cry, for they have tasted the\nfatness of a slain man's blood.\nThink, then, on these things, my son. All men are liable to err; but\nwhen an error hath been made, that man is no longer witless or unblest\nwho heals the ill into which he hath fallen, and remains not stubborn.\nSelf-will, we know, incurs the charge of folly. Nay, allow the claim\nof the dead; stab not the fallen; what prowess is it to slay the slain\nanew? I have sought thy good, and for thy good I speak: and never\nis it sweeter to learn from a good counsellor than when he counsels\nfor thine own gain.\nCREON Old man, ye all shoot your shafts at me, as archers at the\nbutts;-Ye must needs practise on me with seer-craft also;-aye, the\nseer-tribe hath long trafficked in me, and made me their merchandise.\nGain your gains, drive your trade, if ye list, in the silver-gold\nof Sardis and the gold of India; but ye shall not hide that man in\nthe grave,-no, though the eagles of Zeus should bear the carrion morsels\nto their Master's throne-no, not for dread of that defilement will\nI suffer his burial:-for well I know that no mortal can defile the\ngods.-But, aged Teiresias, the wisest fall with shameful fall, when\nthey clothe shameful thoughts in fair words, for lucre's sake.\nTEIRESIAS Alas! Doth any man know, doth any consider...\nCREON Whereof? What general truth dost thou announce?\nTEIRESIAS How precious, above all wealth, is good counsel.\nCREON As folly, I think, is the worst mischief.\nTEIRESIAS Yet thou art tainted with that distemper.\nCREON I would not answer the seer with a taunt.\nTEIRESIAS But thou dost, in saying that I prophesy falsely.\nCREON Well, the prophet-tribe was ever fond of money.\nTEIRESIAS And the race bred of tyrants loves base gain.\nCREON Knowest thou that thy speech is spoken of thy king?\nTEIRESIAS I know it; for through me thou hast saved Thebes.\nCREON Thou art a wise seer; but thou lovest evil deeds.\nTEIRESIAS Thou wilt rouse me to utter the dread secret in my soul.\nCREON Out with it!-Only speak it not for gain.\nTEIRESIAS Indeed, methinks, I shall not,-as touching thee.\nCREON Know that thou shalt not trade on my resolve.\nTEIRESIAS Then know thou-aye, know it well-that thou shalt not live\nthrough many more courses of the sun's swift chariot, ere one begotten\nof thine own loins shall have been given by thee, a corpse for corpses;\nbecause thou hast thrust children of the sunlight to the shades, and\nruthlessly lodged a living soul in the grave; but keepest in this\nworld one who belongs to the gods infernal, a corpse unburied, unhonoured,\nall unhallowed. In such thou hast no part, nor have the gods above,\nbut this is a violence done to them by thee. Therefore the avenging\ndestroyers lie in wait for thee, the Furies of Hades and of the gods,\nthat thou mayest be taken in these same ills.\nAnd mark well if I speak these things as a hireling. A time not long\nto be delayed shall awaken the wailing of men and of women in thy\nhouse. And a tumult of hatred against thee stirs all the cities whose\nmangled sons had the burial-rite from dogs, or from wild beasts, or\nfrom some winged bird that bore a polluting breath to each city that\ncontains the hearths of the dead.\nSuch arrows for thy heart-since thou provokest me-have I launched\nat thee, archer-like, in my anger,-sure arrows, of which thou shalt\nnot escape the smart.-Boy, lead me home, that he may spend his rage\non younger men, and learn to keep a tongue more temperate, and to\nbear within his breast a better mind than now he bears. (The Boy\nleads TEIRESIAS Out.)\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS The man hath gone, O King, with dread prophecies.\nAnd, since the hair on this head, once dark, hath been white, I know\nthat he hath never been a false prophet to our city.\nCREON I, too, know it well, and am troubled in soul. 'Tis dire to\nyield; but, by resistance, to smite my pride with ruin-this, too,\nis a dire choice.\nLEADER Son of Menoeceus, it behoves thee to take wise counsel.\nCREON What should I do then? Speak and I will obey.\nLEADER Go thou, and free the maiden from her rocky chamber, and make\na tomb for the unburied dead.\nCREON And this is thy counsel? Thou wouldst have me yield?\nLEADER Yea, King, and with all speed; for swift harms from the gods\ncut short the folly of men.\nCREON Ah me, 'tis hard, but I resign my cherished resolve,-I obey.\nWe must not wage a vain war with destiny.\nLEADER Go, thou, and do these things; leave them not to others.\nCREON Even as I am I'll go:-on, on, my servants, each and all of\nyou,-take axes in your hands, and hasten to the ground that ye see\nyonder! Since our judgment hath taken this turn, I will be present\nto unloose her, as myself bound her. My heart misgives me, 'tis best\nto keep the established laws, even to life's end. (CREON and his\nservants hasten out on the spectators' left.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe 1)\nO thou of many names, glory of the Cadmeian bride, offspring of loud-thundering\nZeus! thou who watchest over famed Italia, and reignest, where all\nguests are welcomed, in the sheltered plain of Eleusinian Deo! O Bacchus,\ndweller in Thebe, mother-city of Bacchants, by the softly-gliding\nstream of Ismenus, on the soil where the fierce dragon's teeth were\nsown!\n(antistrophe 1)\nThou hast been seen where torch-flames glare through smoke, above\nthe crests of the twin peaks, where move the Corycian nymphs, thy\nvotaries, hard by Castalia's stream.\nThou comest from the ivy-mantled slopes of Nysa's hills, and from\nthe shore green with many-clustered vines, while thy name is lifted\nup on strains of more than mortal power, as thou visitest the ways\nof Thebe:\n(strophe 2)\nThebe, of all cities, thou holdest first in honour, thou and thy\nmother whom the lightning smote; and now, when all our people is captive\nto a violent plague, come thou with healing feet over the Parnassian\nheight, or over the moaning strait!\n(antistrophe 2)\nO thou with whom the stars rejoice as they move, the stars whose\nbreath is fire; O master of the voices of the night; son begotten\nof Zeus; appear, O king, with thine attendant Thyiads, who in night-long\nfrenzy dance before thee, the giver of good gifts, Iacchus! (Enter\nMESSENGER, on the spectators' left.)\nMESSENGER Dwellers by the house of Cadmus and of Amphion, there is\nno estate of mortal life that I would ever praise or blame as settled.\nFortune raises and Fortune humbles the lucky or unlucky from day to\nday, and no one can prophesy to men concerning those things which\nare established. For\nCREON was blest once, as I count bliss; he had saved this land of\nCadmus from its foes; he was clothed with sole dominion in the land;\nhe reigned, the glorious sire of princely children. And now all hath\nbeen lost. For when a man hath forfeited his pleasures, I count him\nnot as living,-I hold him but a breathing corpse. Heap up riches in\nthy house, if thou wilt; live in kingly state; yet, if there be no\ngladness therewith, I would not give the shadow of a vapour for all\nthe rest, compared with joy.\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS And what is this new grief that thou hast to\ntell for our princes?\nMESSENGER Death; and the living are guilty for the dead.\nLEADER And who is the slayer? Who the stricken? Speak.\nMESSENGER Haemon hath perished; his blood hath been shed by no stranger.\nLEADER By his father's hand, or by his own?\nMESSENGER By his own, in wrath with his sire for the murder.\nLEADER O prophet, how true, then, hast thou proved thy word!\nMESSENGER These things stand thus; ye must consider of the rest.\nLEADER Lo, I see the hapless Eurydice, Creon's wife, approaching;\nshe comes from the house by chance, haply,-or because she knows the\ntidings of her son. (Enter EURYDICE from the palace.)\nEURYDICE People of Thebes, I heard your words as I was going forth,\nto salute the goddess Pallas with my prayers. Even as I was loosing\nthe fastenings of the gate, to open it, the message of a household\nwoe smote on mine ear: I sank back, terror-stricken, into the arms\nof my handmaids, and my senses fled. But say again what the tidings\nwere; I shall hear them as one who is no stranger to sorrow.\nMESSENGER Dear lady, I will witness of what I saw, and will leave\nno word of the truth untold. Why, indeed, should I soothe thee with\nwords in which must presently be found false? Truth is ever best.-I\nattended thy lord as his guide to the furthest part of the plain,\nwhere the body of Polyneices, torn by dogs, still lay unpitied. We\nprayed the goddess of the roads, and Pluto, in mercy to restrain their\nwrath; we washed the dead with holy washing; and with freshly-plucked\nboughs we solemnly burned such relics as there were. We raised a high\nmound of his native earth; and then we turned away to enter the maiden's\nnuptial chamber with rocky couch, the caverned mansion of the bride\nof Death. And, from afar off, one of us heard a voice of loud wailing\nat that bride's unhallowed bower; and came to tell our master Creon.\nAnd as the king drew nearer, doubtful sounds of a bitter cry floated\naround him; he groaned, and said in accents of anguish, 'Wretched\nthat I am, can my foreboding be true? Am I going on the wofullest\nway that ever I went? My son's voice greets me.-Go, my servants,-haste\nye nearer, and when ye have reached the tomb, pass through the gap,\nwhere the stones have been wrenched away, to the cell's very mouth,-and\nlook. and see if 'tis Haemon's voice that I know, or if mine ear is\ncheated by the gods.'\nThis search, at our despairing master's word, we went to make; and\nin the furthest part of the tomb we descried her hanging by the neck,\nslung by a thread-wrought halter of fine linen: while he was embracing\nher with arms thrown around her waist, bewailing the loss of his bride\nwho is with the dead, and his father's deeds, and his own ill-starred\nlove.\nBut his father, when he saw him, cried aloud with a dread cry and\nwent in, and called to him with a voice of wailing:-'Unhappy, what\ndeed hast thou done! What thought hath come to thee? What manner of\nmischance hath marred thy reason? Come forth, my child! I pray thee-I\nimplore!' But the boy glared at him with fierce eyes, spat in his\nface, and, without a word of answer, drew his cross-hilted sword:-as\nhis father rushed forth in flight, he missed his aim;-then, hapless\none, wroth with himself, he straightway leaned with all his weight\nagainst his sword, and drove it, half its length, into his side; and,\nwhile sense lingered, he clasped the maiden to his faint embrace,\nand, as he gasped, sent forth on her pale cheek the swift stream of\nthe oozing blood.\nCorpse enfolding corpse he lies; he hath won his nuptial rites, poor\nyouth, not here, yet in the halls of Death; and he hath witnessed\nto mankind that, of all curses which cleave to man, ill counsel is\nthe sovereign curse. (EURYDICE retires into the house.)\nLEADER What wouldst thou augur from this? The lady hath turned back,\nand is gone, without a word, good or evil.\nMESSENGER I, too, am startled; yet I nourish the hope that, at these\nsore tidings of her son, she cannot deign to give her sorrow public\nvent, but in the privacy of the house will set her handmaids to mourn\nthe household grief. For she is not untaught of discretion, that she\nshould err.\nLEADER I know not; but to me, at least, a strained silence seems\nto portend peril, no less than vain abundance of lament.\nMESSENGER Well, I will enter the house, and learn whether indeed\nshe is not hiding some repressed purpose in the depths of a passionate\nheart. Yea, thou sayest well: excess of silence, too, may have a perilous\nmeaning. (The MESSENGER goes into the palace. Enter CREON, on the\nspectators' left, with attendants, carrying the shrouded body of HAEMON\non bier. The following lines between CREON and the CHORUS are chanted\nresponsively.)\nCHORUS Lo, yonder the king himself draws near, bearing that which\ntells too clear a tale,-the work of no stranger's madness,-if we may\nsay it,-but of his own misdeeds.\nCREON (strophe 1)\nWoe for the sins of a darkened soul, stubborn sins, fraught with\ndeath! Ah, ye behold us, the sire who hath slain, the son who hath\nperished! Woe is me, for the wretched blindness of my counsels! Alas,\nmy son, thou hast died in thy youth, by a timeless doom, woe is me!-thy\nspirit hath fled,-not by thy folly, but by mine own!\nCHORUS (strophe 2)\nAh me, how all too late thou seemest to see the right!\nCREON Ah me, I have learned the bitter lesson! But then, methinks,\noh then, some god smote me from above with crushing weight, and hurled\nme into ways of cruelty, woe is me,-overthrowing and trampling on\nmy joy! Woe, woe, for the troublous toils of men! (Enter MESSENGER\nfrom the house.)\nMESSENGER Sire, thou hast come, methinks, as one whose hands are\nnot empty, but who hath store laid up besides; thou bearest yonder\nburden with thee-and thou art soon to look upon the woes within thy\nhouse.\nCREON And what worse ill is yet to follow upon ills?\nMESSENGER Thy queen hath died, true mother of yon corpse-ah, hapless\nlady by blows newly dealt.\nCREON (antistrophe 1)\nOh Hades, all-receiving whom no sacrifice can appease! Hast thou,\nthen, no mercy for me? O thou herald of evil, bitter tidings, what\nword dost thou utter? Alas, I was already as dead, and thou hast smitten\nme anew! What sayest thou, my son? What is this new message that thou\nbringest-woe, woe is me!-Of a wife's doom-of slaughter headed on slaughter?\nCHORUS Thou canst behold: 'tis no longer hidden within. (The doors\nof the palace are opened, and the corpse of EURYDICE is disclosed.)\nCREON (antistrophe 2)\nAh me,-yonder I behold a new, a second woe! What destiny, ah what,\ncan yet await me? I have but now raised my son in my arms,-and there,\nagain, I see a corpse before me! Alas, alas, unhappy mother! Alas,\nmy child!\nMESSENGER There, at the altar, self-stabbed with a keen knife, she\nsuffered her darkening eyes to close, when she had wailed for the\nnoble fate of Megareus who died before, and then for his fate who\nlies there,-and when, with her last breath, she had invoked evil fortunes\nupon thee, the slayer of thy sons.\nCREON (strophe 3)\nWoe, woe! I thrill with dread. Is there none to strike me to the\nheart with two-edged sword?-O miserable that I am, and steeped in\nmiserable anguish!\nMESSENGER Yea, both this son's doom, and that other's, were laid\nto thy charge by her whose corpse thou seest.\nCREON And what was the manner of the violent deed by which she passed\naway?\nMESSENGER Her own hand struck her to the heart, when she had learned\nher son's sorely lamented fate.\nCREON (strophe 4)\nAh me, this guilt can never be fixed on any other of mortal kind,\nfor my acquittal! I, even I, was thy slayer, wretched that I am-I\nown the truth. Lead me away, O my servants, lead me hence with all\nspeed, whose life is but as death!\nCHORUS Thy counsels are good, if there can be good with ills; briefest\nis best, when trouble is in our path.\nCREON (antistrophe 3)\nOh, let it come, let it appear, that fairest of fates for me, that\nbrings my last day,-aye, best fate of all! Oh, let it come, that I\nmay never look upon to-morrow's light.\nCHORUS These things are in the future; present tasks claim our care:\nthe ordering of the future rests where it should rest.\nCREON All my desires, at least, were summed in that prayer.\nCHORUS Pray thou no more; for mortals have no escape from destined\nwoe.\nCREON (antistrophe 4)\nLead me away, I pray you; a rash, foolish man; who have slain thee,\nah my son, unwittingly, and thee, too, my wife-unhappy that I am!\nI know not which way I should bend my gaze, or where I should seek\nsupport; for all is amiss with that which is in my hands,-and yonder,\nagain, a crushing fate hath leapt upon my head. (As CREON is being\nconducted into the palace, the LEADER OF THE CHORUS speaks the closing\nverses.)\nLEADER Wisdom is the supreme part of happiness; and reverence towards\nthe gods must be inviolate. Great words of prideful men are ever punished\nwith great blows, and, in old age, teach the chastened to be wise.\nTHE END","title":"Antigone","type":"page"}