The Antigone of Sophocles (1911)/Antigone
ANTIGONE
Who dares
To self-selected good
Prefer obedience to the primal law,
Which consecrates the ties of blood.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
| Antigone | Hæmon | |
| Ismene | Teiresias | |
| Chorus of Theban Elders | Messenger | |
| Creon | Eurydice | |
| Watchman | Second Messenger |
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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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