AntigoneOf SophoclesDramatis Person.*
¶CREON, King of Thebes Second MessengerHiEMON, son of CREON EURYDICE, wife of CREONTEIRESIAS, a seerGuard | daughters of CEDIPUSFirst Messenger Chorus of Thehan Elders
¶SCENE—Thebes, in front of the Palace.
¶Enter ANTIGONE and ISMENEAntigoneISMENE , mine own sister, dearest one;Is there, of all the ills of GEdipus,One left that Zeus will fail to bring on us,While still we live? for nothing is there sadOr full of woe, or base, or fraught with shame,But I have seen it in thy woes and mine.And now, what new decree is this they tell,Our ruler has enjoined on all the state?Know'st thou ? hast heard ? or is it hid from thee,The doom of foes that comes upon thy friends?Ism. No tidings of our friends, Antigone,Painful or pleasant since that hour have comeWhen we, two sisters, lost our brothers twain,In one day dying by each other's hand.And since in this last night the Argive hostHas left the field, I nothing further know,Nor brightening fortune, nor increasing gloom.Antig. That knew I well, and therefore sent for theeBeyond the gates, that thou mayst hear alone.Ism. What meanest thou? It is but all too clearThou broodest darkly o'er some tale of woe.[256]Antig. And does not Creon treat our brothers twainOne with the rites of burial, one with shame ?Eteocles, so say they, he interredFidy, with wonted rites, as one held meetTo pass with honour to the gloom below.But for the corpse of Polynices, slainSo piteously, they say, he has proclaimedTo all the citizens, that none should giveHis body burial, or bewail his fate,But leave it still unsepulchred, unwept,A prize full rich for birds that scent afarTheir sweet repast. So Creon bids, they say,Creon the good, commanding thee and me,Yes, me, I say, and now is coming here,To make it clear to those who knew it not,And counts the matter not a trivial thing;But whoso does the things that he forbids,For him, there waits within the city's wallsThe death of stoning. Thus, then, stands thy case;And quickly thou wilt show, if thou art bornOf noble nature, or degenerate liv'st,Base child of honoured parents.Ism. How could I,O daring in thy mood, in this our plight,Or doing or undoing, aught avail?Antig. Wilt thou with me share risk and toil? Look to it.Ism. What risk is this? What purpose fills thy mind?Antig. Wilt thou with me go forth to help the dead?Ism. And dost thou mean to give him sepulture,When all have been forbidden ?Antig. He is stillMy brother; yes, and thine, though thou, it seems,Wouldst fain he were not. I desert him not.Ism. O daring one, when Creon bids thee not!Antig. What right has he to keep me from mine own ?Ism. Ah me! remember, sister, how our sirePerished, with hate o'erwhelmed and infamy,[257]From evils that he brought upon himself,And with his own hand robbed himself of sight,And how his wife and mother, both in one,With twist and cordage, cast away her life;And thirdly, how our brothers in one dayIn suicidal conflict wrought the doom,Each of the other. And we twain are left;And think, how much more wretchedly than allWe twain shall perish, if, against the law,We brave our sovereign's edict and his power.For this we need remember, we were bornWomen; as such, not made to strive with men.And next, that they who reign surpass in strength,And we must bow to this, and worse than thic.I, then, entreating those that dwell below,To judge me leniently, as forced to yield,Will hearken to our rulers. OverzealIn act or word but little wisdom shows.Antig. I would not ask thee. No ! if thou shouldst wishTo do it, and wouldst gladly join with me.Do what thou wilt, I go to bury him;And good it were, this having done, to die.Loved I shall be with him whom I have loved,Guilty of holiest crime. More time have IIn which to win the favour of the dead,Than that of those who live; for I shall restFor ever there. But thou, if thus thou please,Count as dishonoured what the Gods approve.Ism. I do them no dishonour, but I findMyself too weak to war against the state.Antig. Make what excuse thou wilt, I go to rearA grave above the brother whom I love.Ism. Ah , wretched me! how much I fear for thee.Antig. Fear not for me. Thine own fate guide aright.Ism. At any rate, disclose this deed to none;Keep it close hidden. I will hide it too.Antig. Speak out! I bid thee. Silent, thou wilt be[258]More hateful to me than if thou shouldst tellMy deed to all men.Ism. Fiery is thy mood,Although thy deeds might chill the very blood.Antig. I know I please the souls I seek to please.Ism. If thou canst do it; but thy passion cravesFor things impossible.Antig. I'll cease to striveWhen strength shall fail me.Ism. Even from the first,It is not meet to seek what may not be.Antig. If thou speak thus, niy hatred wilt thou gain,And rightly wilt be hated of the dead.Leave me and my ill counsel to endureThis dreadful doom. I shall not suffer aughtSo evil as a death dishonourable.Ism. Go, then, if so thou wilt. Of this be sure,Wild as thou art, thy friends must love thee still. [Exeunt.Enter Chorus
Strophe I
¶Chor. Ray of the glorious sun,Brightest of all that ever shone on Thebes,Thebes with her seven high gates,Thou didst appear that day,Eye of the golden dawn,O'er Dirke's streams advancing,Driving with quickened curb,In haste of headlong flight,The warrior who, in panoply of proof,From Argos came, with shield as white as snow;Who came to this our land,Roused by the strife of tonguesThat Polynices stirred;Shrieking his shrill sharp cry,The eagle hovered round,[259]With snow-white wing bedecked,Begirt with myriad arms,And flowing horsehair crests.
Antistrophe I
¶He stood above our towers,Circling, with blood-stained spears,The portals of our gates;He went, before he filledHis jaws with blood of men,Before Hephaestus with his pitchy flameHad seized our crown of towers.So loud the battle din that Ares loves,Was raised around his rear,A conflict hard and stiff,E'en for his dragon foe.For breath of haughty speechZeus hateth evermore exceedingly;And seeing them advance,Exulting in the clang of golden arms,With brandished fire he hurls them headlong down,In act, upon the topmost battlementRushing, with eager step,To shout out, "Victory!"
Strophe II
¶Crashing to earth he fell,Who came, with madman's haste,Drunken, but not with wine,And swept o'er us with blasts,The whirlwind blasts of hate.Thus on one side they fare,And mighty Ares, bounding in his strength,Dashing now here, now there,Elsewhere brought other fate.For seven chief warriors at the seven gates met,Equals with equals matched,[260]To Zeus, the Lord of War,Left tribute, arms of bronze;All but the hateful onesWho, from one father and one mother sprung,Stood wielding, hand to hand,Their doubly pointed spears;They had their doom of death,In common, shared by both.
Antistrophe II
¶But now, since Victory, of mightiest name,Hath come to Thebes, of many chariots proud,Joying and giving joy,After these wars just past,Learn ye forgetfulness,And all night long, with dance and voice of hymns,Let us go round to all the shrines of Gods,While Bacchus, making Thebes resound with shouts,Begins the strain of joy;But, lo! the sovereign of this land of ours,Creon, Menoekeus' son,He, whom strange change and chances from the GodHave nobly raised to power,Comes to us, steering on some new device;For, lo! he hath convened,By herald's loud command,This council of the elders of our land.
¶Enter CREONCreon. My friends, for what concerns our commonwealth,The Gods who vexed it with the billowing stormsHave righted it again; but I have sent,By special summons, calling you to comeApart from all the others. This, in part,As knowing ye did all along upholdThe might of Laius' throne, in part again,Because when CEdipus our country ruled,[261]And, when he perished, then towards his sonsYe still were faithful in your steadfast mind.And since they fell, as by a double death,Both on the selfsame day with murderous blow,Smiting and being smitten, now I holdTheir thrones and all their power of sov'reigntyBy nearness of my kindred to the dead.And hard it is to learn what each man is,In heart and mind and judgment, till one gainsExperience in the exercise of power.For me, whoe'er is called to guide a state,And does not catch at counsels wise and good,But holds his peace through any fear of man,I deem him basest of all men that are,Of all that ever have been; and whoe'erAs worthier than his country counts his friend,I utterly despise him. I myself,Zeus be my witness, who beholdeth all,Will not keep silence, seeing danger come,Instead of safety, to my subjects true.Nor could I take as friend my country's foe;For this I know, that there our safety lies,And sailing in her while she holds her course,We gather friends around us. By these rulesAnd such as these will I maintain the state.And now I come, with edicts close alliedTo these in spirit, for my subjects all,Concerning those two sons of CEdipus.Eteocles, who died in deeds of mightIllustrious, fighting for our fatherland,To honour him with sepulture, all ritesDuly performed that to the noblest deadOf right belong. Not so his brother; himI speak of, Polynices, who, returnedFrom exile, sought with fire and sword to wasteHis father's city and the shrines of Gods,Yea, sought to glut his rage with blood of men,[262]And lead them captives to the bondslave's doom;Him I decree that none should dare entomb,That none should utter wail or loud lament,But leave his corpse unburied, by the dogsAnd vultures mangled, foul to look upon.Such is my purpose. Ne'er, if I can help,Shall the vile share the honours of the just;But whoso shows himself my country's friend,Living or dead, from me shall honour gain.Chor. This is thy pleasure, O Menoekeus' son,For him who hated, him who loved our state;And thou hast power to make what laws thou wilt,Both for the dead and all of us who live.Creon. Be ye, then, guardians of the things I speak.Chor. Commit this task to one of younger years.Creon. The watchmen are appointed for the corpse.Chor. What duty, then, enjoin'st thou on another ?Creon. Not to consent with those that disobey.Chor. None are so foolish as to seek for death.Creon. And that shall be his doom; but love of gainHath oft with false hopes lured men to their death.Enter GuardGuard. I will not say, O king, that I am comePanting with speed and plying nimble feet,For I had many halting-points of thought,Backwards and forwards turning, round and round;For now my mind would give me sage advice:"Poor wretch, and wilt thou go and bear the blame?"Or—"Dost thou tarry now? Shall Creon knowThese things from others? How wilt thou escape?"Resolving thus, I came in haste, yet slow,And thus a short way finds itself prolonged,But, last of all, to come to thee prevailed.And though I tell of naught, thou shalt hear all;For this one hope I cling to steadfastly,That I shall suffer nothing but my fate.[263]Creon. What is it, then, that causes such dismay?Guard. First, for mine own share in it, this I say,I did not do it, do not know who did,Nor should I rightly come to ill for it.Creon. Thou tak'st good aim and fencest up thy taleAll round and round. 'Twould seem thou hast some news.Guard. Yea, news of fear engenders long delay.Creon. Tell thou thy tale, and then depart in peace.Guard. And speak I will. The corpse . . . Some onehas beenBut now and buried it, a little dustO'er the skin scattering, with the wonted rites.Creon. What say'st thou? Who has dared this deed ofguilt?Guard. I know not. Neither was there stroke of spade,Nor earth cast up by mattock. All the soilWas dry and hard, no track of chariot wheel;But he who did it went and left no sign.But when the first day's watchman showed it us,The sight caused wonder and sore grief to all,For he had disappeared. No tomb, indeed,Was over him, but dust all lightly strown,As by some hand that shunned defiling guilt;And no work was there of a beast of preyOr dog devouring. Evil words aroseAmong us, guard to guard imputing blame,Which might have come to blows, for none was thereTo check its course, and each to each appearedThe man whose hand had done it. As for proof,That there was none, and so he 'scaped our ken.And we were ready in our hands to takeBars of hot iron, and to walk through fire,And call the Gods to witness none of usHad done the deed, nor knew who counselled it,Nor who had wrought it. Then at last, when naughtWas gained by all our searching, some one saysWhat made us bend our gaze upon the ground[264]In fear and trembling; for we neither sawHow to oppose it, nor, accepting it,How we might prosper in it. And his speechWas this, that all our tale should go to thee,Not hushed up anywise. This gained the day;And me, ill-starred, the lot condemns to winThis precious prize. So here I come to theeAgainst my will; and surely do I trowThou dost not wish to see me. Still 'tis trueThat no man loves the messenger of ill.Chor. For me, my prince, my mind some time has thoughtThat this perchance has some divine intent.Creon. Cease thou, before thou fillest me with wrath,Lest thou be found a dastard and a fool.For what thou say'st is most intolerable,That for this corpse the providence of GodsHas any care. What! have they buried him,As to their patron paying honours high,Who came to waste their columned shrines with fire,To desecrate their offerings and their lands,And all their wonted customs? Dost thou seeThe Gods approving men of evil deeds?It is not so; but men of rebel mood,Lifting their head in secret long ago,Have stirred this thing against me. Never yetHad they their neck beneath the yoke, contentTo own me as their ruler. They, I know,Have bribed these men to let the deed be done.No thing in use by man, for power of ill,Can equal money. This lays cities low,This drives men forth from quiet dwelling-place,This warps and changes minds of worthiest stamp,To turn to deeds of baseness, teaching menAll shifts of cunning, and to know the guiltOf every impious deed. But they who, hired,Have wrought this crime, have laboured to their cost,Or soon or late to pay the penalty.[265]But if Zeus still claims any awe from me,Know this, and with an oath I tell it thee,Unless ye find the very man whose handHas wrought this burial, and before mine eyesPresent him captive, death shall not suffice,Till first, impaled still living, ye shall showThe story of this outrage, that henceforth,Knowing what gain is lawful, ye may graspAt that, and learn it is not meet to loveGain from all quarters. By base profit won,You will see more destroyed than prospering.Guard. May I, then, speak? Or shall I turn and go?Creon. Dost thou not see how vexing are thy words?Guard. Is it thine ears they trouble, or thy soul?Creon. Why dost thou gauge my trouble where it is?Guard. The doer grieves thy heart, but I thine ears.Creon. Pshaw! what a babbler, born to prate, art thou.Guard. And therefore not the man to do this deed.Creon. Yes, that too; selling e'en thy soul for pay.
Guard. Ah me!
¶How fearful 'tis, in thinking, false to think.Creon. Prate about thinking; but unless ye showTo me the doers, ye shall say ere longThat evil gains still work their punishment. [Exit.Guard, God send we find him! Should we find him not,As well may be, for this must chance decide,You will not see me coming here again;For now, being safe beyond all hope of mine,Beyond all thought, I owe the Gods much thanks. [Exit.
Strophe I
¶Chor. Many the forms of life,Fearful and strange to see,But man supreme stands out,For strangeness and for fear.He, with the wintry gales,O'er the foam-crested sea,[266]Mid billows surging round,Tracketh his way across:Earth, of all Gods, from ancient days, the first,Mightiest and undecayed,He, with his circling plough,Wears ever year by year.
Antistrophe I
¶The thoughtless tribe of birds,The beasts that roam the fields,The finny brood of ocean's depths,He takes them all in nets of knotted mesh,Man, wonderful in skill.And by his arts he holds in swayThe wild beasts on the mountain's height;And brings the neck-encircling yokeOn horse with shaggy mane,Or bull that walks untamed upon the hills.
Strophe II
¶And speech, and thought as swift as wind,And tempered mood for higher life of states,These he has learnt, and how to fleeThe stormy sleet of frost unkind,The tempest thunderbolts of Zeus.So all-preparing, unpreparedHe meeteth naught the coming days may bring;Only from Hades, stillHe fails to find a refuge at the last,Though skill of art may teach him to escapeFrom depths of fell disease incurable.
Antistrophe II
¶So, gifted with a wondrous might,Above all fancy's dreams, with skill to plan,Now unto evil, now to good,[267]He wends his way. Now holding fast the laws,His country's sacred rights,That rest upon the oath of Gods on high,High in the state he stands.An oudaw and an exile he who lovesThe thing that is not good,In wilful pride of soul:Ne'er may he sit beside my hearth,Ne'er may my thoughts be like to his,Who worketh deeds like this.
¶Enter Guards, bringing in ANTIGONEAs to this portent which the Gods have sent,I stand in doubt. Can 1, who know her, sayThat this is not the maid Antigone?0 wretched one of wretched father born,What means this ? Surely 'tis not that they bringThee as a rebel 'gainst the king's decree,And taken in the folly of thine act?Guard. Yes! She it was by whom the deed was done.We found her burying. Where is Creon, pray ?Chor. Forth from his palace comes he just in time.
¶Enter CREONCreon. What chance is this with which my coming fits?Guard. Men, O my king, should pledge themselves tonaught;For cool reflection makes their purpose void.I hardly thought to venture here again,Cowed by thy threats, which then fell thick on me;But since no joy is like the sweet delightWhich comes beyond, above, against our hopes,I come, although I swore the contrary,Bringing this maiden, whom in act we foundDecking the grave. No need for lots was now;The prize was mine, no other claimed a share.And now, O king, take her, and as thou wilt,[268]Judge and convict her. I can claim a rightTo wash my hands of all this troublous coil.Creon. How and where was it that ye seized and broughther?Guard. She was in act of burying. Now thou knowestAll that I have to tell.Creon. And dost thou knowAnd rightly weigh the tale thou tellest me?Guard. I saw her burying that selfsame corpseThou bad'st us not to bury. Speak I clear?Creon. How was she seen, detected, prisoner made?Guard. The matter passed as follows: When we came,With all those dreadful threats of thine upon us,Sweeping away the dust which, lightly spread,Covered the corpse, and laying stript and bareThe tainted carcase, on the hill we satTo windward, shunning the infected air,Each stirring up his fellow with strong words,If any shirked his duty. This went onSome time, until the glowing orb of dayStood in mid-heaven, and the scorching heatFell on us. Then a sudden whirlwind rose,A scourge from heaven, raising squalls on earth,And filled the plain, the leafage stripping bareOf all the forest, and the air's vast spaceWas thick and troubled, and we closed our eyesUntil the plague the Gods had sent was past;And when it ceased, a weary time being gone,The girl was seen, and with a bitter cry,Shrill as a bird's, she wails, when it beholdsIts nest all emptied of its infant brood;So she, when she beholds the corpse all stript,Groaned loud with many moanings. And she calledFierce curses down on those who did the deed,And in her hand she brings some sandlike dust,And from a well-chased ewer, all of bronze,She pours the three libations o'er the dead.[269]And we, beholding, started up forthwith,And ran her down, in nothing terrified.And then we charged her with the former deed,As well as this. And nothing she denied.But this to me both bitter is and sweet,For to escape one's self from ill is sweet,But to bring friends to trouble, this is hardAnd bitter. Yet my nature bids me countAbove all these things safety for myself.Creon [to ANTIGONE]. And thou, then, bending to theground thy head,Confessest thou, or dost deny the deed ?Antig. I own I did it. I will not deny.Creon [to Guard]. Go thou thy way, where'er thy will maychoose,Freed from a weighty charge. [Exit Guard.[To ANTIGONE] And now for thee,Say in few words, not lengthening out thy speech,Didst thou not know the edicts which forbadeThe things thou ownest?Antig. Right well I knew them all.How could I not? Full clear and plain were they.Creon. Didst thou, then, dare to disobey these laws?Antig. Yes, for it was not Zeus who gave them forth,Nor Justice, dwelling with the Gods below,Who traced these laws for all the sons of men;Nor did I deem thy edicts strong enough,Coming from mortal man, to set at naughtThe unwritten laws of God that know not change.They are not of to-day nor yesterday,But live for ever, nor can man assignWhen first they sprang to being. Not through fearOf any man's resolve was I preparedBefore the Gods to bear the penaltyOf sinning against these. That I should dieI knew (how should I not?), though thy decreeHad never spoken. And, before my time[270]If I should die, I reckon this a gain;For whoso lives, as I, in many woes,How can it be but death shall bring him gain?And so for me to bear this doom of thineHas nothing painful. But, if I had leftMy mother's son unburied on his death,I should have given them pain. But as things ;Pain I feel none. And should I seem to theeTo have done a foolish deed, 'tis simply this,—I bear the charge of folly from a fool.Chor. The maiden's stubborn will, of stubbornThe offspring shows itself. She knows not yetTo yield to evils.Creon. Know, then, minds too stiffMost often stumble, and the rigid steelBaked in the furnace, made exceeding hard,Thou seest most often split and broken lie;And I have known the steeds of fiery moodWith a small curb subdued. It is not meetThat one who lives in bondage to his neighboursShould boast too loudly. Wanton outrage thenShe learnt when first these laws of mine she crosBut, having done it, this is yet againA second outrage over it to boast,And laugh at having done it. Surely, then,She is the man, not I, if all unscathedSuch deeds of might are hers. But be she childOf mine own sister, nearest kin of allThat Zeus o'erlooks within our palace court,She and her sister shall not 'scape their doomMost foul and shameful; for I charge her, too,With having planned this deed of sepulture.Go ye and call her. 'Twas but now withinI saw her raving, losing self-command.And still the mind of those who in the darkPlan deeds of evil is the first to fail,And so convicts itself of secret guilt.[271]But most I hate when one found out in guiltWill seek to gloze and brave it to the end.Antig. And dost thou seek aught else beyond my death?Creon. Naught else for me. That gaining, I gain all.Antig. Wilt thou delay? Of all thy words not onePleases me now, nor aye is like to please,And so all mine must grate upon thine ears.And yet how could I higher glory gainThan giving my true brother all the ritesOf solemn burial? These who hear would sayIt pleases them, did not their fear of theeClose up their lips. This power has sovereignty,That it can do and say whate'er it will.Creon. Of all the race of Cadmus thou aloneLook'st thus upon the deed.Antig. They see it tooAs I do, but in fear of thee they keepTheir tongue between their teeth.Creon. And dost thou feelNo shame to plan thy schemes apart from these?Antig. There is no baseness in the act which showsOur reverence for our kindred.Creon. Was he notThy brother also, who against him fought?Antig. He was my brother, of one mother born,And of the selfsame father.Creon. Why, then, payThine impious honours to the carcase there?Antig. The dead below will not accept thy words.Creon. Yes, if thou equal honours pay to him,And that most impious monster.Antig. 'Twas no slaveThat perished, but my brother.Creon. Yes, in actTo waste this land, while he in its defenceStood fighting bravely.Antig. Not the less does death[272]Crave equal rites for all.Creon. But not that goodAnd evil share alike?Antig. i And yet who knowsIf in that world these things are counted good?Creon. Our foe, I tell thee, ne'er becomes our friend,Not even when he dies.Antig. My bent is fixed,I tell thee, not for hatred, but for love.Creon. Go, then, below. And if thou must have love,Love those thou find'st there. While I live, at least,A woman shall not rule.
¶Enter ISMENEChor. And, lo! Ismene at the gateComes shedding tears of sisterly regard,And o'er her brow a gathering cloudMars the deep roseate blush,Bedewing her fair cheek.Creon [to ISMENE]. And thou who, creeping as a vipercreeps,Didst drain my life in secret, and I knew notThat I was rearing two accursed ones,Subverters of my throne: come, tell me, then,Dost thou confess thou took'st thy part in it ?Or wilt thou swear thou didst not know of it?Ism. I did the deed. Since she will have it so,I share the guilt; I bear an equal blame.Antig. This, Justice will not suffer, since, in truth,Thou wouldst have none of it. And I , for one,Shared it not with thee.Ism. I am not ashamedTo count myself companion in thy woes.Antig. Whose was the deed, Death knows, and those below.I do not love a friend who loves in words.Ism. Do not, my sister, put me to such shame[273]As not to let me share thy death with thee,And with thee pay due reverence to the dead.Antig. Share not my death, nor make thine own thisdeedThou hadst no hand in. Let my death suffice.Ism. And what to me is life, bereaved of thee?Antig. Ask Creon there. To him thy tender careIs given so largely.Ism. Why wilt thou torture me,In nothing bettered by it ?Antig. Yes—at thee,E'en while I laugh, I laugh with pain of heart.Ism. But now, at least, how may I profit thee?Antig. Save thou thyself. I grudge not thy escape.Ism. Ah , woe is me! and must I miss thy fate?Antig. Thou mad'st thy choice to live, and I to die.Ism. 'Tis not through want of any words of mine.Antig. To these thou seemest, doubtless, to be wise;I to those others.Ism. Yet our fault is one.Antig. Take courage. Thou wilt live. My soul long sinceHas given itself to Death, that to the deadI might bring help.Creon. Of these two maidens here,The one, I say, hath lost her mind but now,The other ever since her life began.Ism. Yea, O my king. No mind that ever livedStands firm in evil days, but still it goes,Beside itself, astray.Creon. So then did thineWhen thou didst choose thy evil deeds to do,With those already evil.Ism. How could I,Alone, apart from her, endure to live?Creon. Speak not of her. She stands no longer here.Ism. And wilt thou slay thy son's betrothed bride?[274]Creon. Full many a field there is which he may plough.Ism. But none like that prepared for him and her.Creon. Wives that are vile, I love not for my son.Antig. Ah , dearest Harmon, how thy father shames thee!Creon. Thou art too vexing, thou, and these thy words,On marriage ever harping.Ism. Wilt thou robThine own dear son of her whom he has loved?Creon. 'Tis Death who breaks the marriage contract off.Ism. Her doom is fixed, it seems, then. She must die.Creon. So thou dost think, and I . No more delay,Ye slaves. Our women henceforth must be keptAs women—suffered not to roam abroad;For even boldest natures shrink in fearWhen they behold the end of life draw nigh.[Exeunt Guards with ANTIGONE and ISMENE.
Strophe I
¶Chor. Blessed are those whose life has known no woe!For unto those whose houseThe Gods have shaken, nothing fails of curseOr woe, that creepeth on,To generations far,As when a wave, where Thracian blasts blow strongOn that tempestuous shore,Up surges from the depths beneath the sea,And from the deep abyssRolls the black wind-vexed sand,And every jutting peak that drives it backRe-echoes with the roar.
Antistrophe I
¶I see the ancient doomThat fell upon the seed of Labdacus,Who perished long ago,Still falling, woes on woes;That generation cannot rescue this;[275]Some God still urges on,And will not be appeased.So now there rose a gleamOver the last weak shootsThat sprang from out the race of GEdipus;And thus the blood-stained swordOf those that reign belowCuts off relentlesslyMadness of speech, and fury of the soul.
Strophe II
¶Thy power, O Zeus, what haughtiness of manCould ever hold in check?Which neither sleep, that maketh all things old,Nor the long months of Gods that wax not faint,Can for a moment seize.But still as Lord supreme,Through time that grows not old,Thou dwellest in thy sheen of radiancyOn far Olympus' height.Through all the future and the coming years,As through all time that's past,One law holds ever good,That nothing comes to life of man on earth,Unscathed throughout by woe.
Antistrophe II
¶To many, hope may come, in wanderings wild,A solace and a joy;To many, shows of fickle-hearted love;But still it creepeth on,On him who knows it not,Until he brings his footWithin the scorching flame.Wisely from one of oldThe far-famed saying cameThat evil ever seems to be as good[276]To those whose thoughts of heartGod leadeth unto woe,And without woe, but shortest time he spends.And here comes Harmon, youngest of thy sons.Comes he bewailing soreThe fate of her who should have been his wife,His bride Antigone,Sore grieving at the failure of his joys?
¶Enter H^EMONCreon. Soon we shall know much more than seers canSurely thou dost not come, my son, to rageAgainst thy father, hearing his decree,Fixing her doom who should have been thy bride;Or are we still, whate'er we do, beloved?Ham. My father, I am thine. Do thou directWith thy wise counsels, I will follow them.No marriage weighs one moment in the scalesWith me, while thou art prospering in thy reign.Creon. This thought, my son, should dwell withinbreast,That all things stand below a father's will:For this men pray that they may rear and keepObedient offspring by their hearths and homes,That they may both requite their father's foes,And pay with him like honours to his friend.But he who reareth sons that profit not,What could one say of him but this, that heBreeds his own sorrow, laughter to his foes?Lose not thy reason, then, my son, o'ercomeBy pleasure, for a woman's sake, but know,A cold embrace is that to have at homeA worthless wife, the partner of thy bed.What ulcerous sore is worse than one we loveWho proves all worthless? No ! with loathing scorn,As hateful to thee, let her go and wedA spouse in Hades. Taken in the act[277]I found her, her alone of all the state,Rebellious. And I will not make myselfFalse to the state. She dies. So let her callOn Zeus, the lord of kindred. If I rearOf mine own stock things foul and orderless,I shall have work enough with those without.For he who in the life of home is goodWill still be seen as just in things of state;While he who breaks or goes beyond the laws,Or thinks to bid the powers that be obey,He must not hope to gather praise from me.No! we must follow whom the state appointsIn things or just and lowly, or, may be,The opposite of these. Of such a manI should be sure that he would govern well,And know well to be governed, and would stand,In war's wild storm, on his appointed post,A just and good defender. AnarchyIs our worst evil, brings our commonwealthTo utter ruin, lays whole houses low,In battle strife hurls men in shameful flight;But they who walk uprightly, these shall findObedience saves most men. Sure help should comeTo what our rulers order; least of allOught we to bow before a woman's sway.Far better, if it must be so, to fallBy a man's hand, than thus to bear reproach,By woman conquered.Chor. Unto us, O king,Unless our years have robbed us of our wit,Thou seemest to say wisely what thou say'st.Hcem. The Gods, my father, have bestowed on manHis reason, noblest of all earthly gifts;Nor dare I say nor prove that what thou speak'stIs aught but right. And yet another's thoughtsMay have some reason. I am wont to watchWhat each man says or does, or blames in thee[278](For dread thy face to one of low estate),In words thou wouldst not much rejoice to hear.But I can hear the things in darkness said,How the whole city wails this maiden's fate,As one "who of all women worthiest praise,For noblest deed must die the foulest death.She who, her brother fallen in the fray,Would neither leave unburied, nor exposeTo carrion dogs, or any bird of prey,May she not claim the meed of golden crown?"Such is the whisper that in secret runsAll darkling. And for me, my father, naughtIs dearer than thy welfare. What can beA nobler form of honour for the sonThan a sire's glory, or for sire than son's?I pray thee, then, wear not one mood alone,That what thou say'st is right, and naught but that;For he who thinks that he alone is wise,His mind and speech above what others boast,Such men when searched are mostly empty found.But for a man to learn, though he be wise,Yea, to learn much, and know the time to yield,Brings no disgrace. When winter floods the streams,Thou seest the trees that bend before the storm,Save their last twigs, while those that will not yieldPerish with root and branch. And when one haulsToo tight the mainsail sheet, and will not slack,He has to end his voyage with deck o'erturned.Do thou, then, yield. Permit thyself to change.Young though I be, if any prudent thoughtBe with me, I at least will dare assertThe higher worth of one who, come what will,Is full of knowledge. If that may not be(For nature is not wont to take that bent),'Tis good to learn from those who counsel well.Chor. My king! 'tis fit that thou shouldst learn from hiiIf he speaks words in season; and, in turn,[279]That thou [to FLEMON] shouldst learn of him, for both speakwell.Creon. Shall we at our age stoop to learn from him,Such as he is, our lesson?Harm. T were not wrong.And if I be but young, not age but deedsThou shouldst regard.Creon. Fine deeds, I trow, to paySuch honour to the lawless.Harm. 'Tis not IWould bid you waste your honour on the base.Creon. And has she not been seized with that disease ?Harm. The men of Thebes with one accord say, No .Creon. And will my subjects tell me how to rule?Ham. Dost thou not see that these words fall from theeAs from some beardless boy ?Creon. And who, then, elseBut me should rule this land?Harm. That is no stateWhich hangs on one man's will.Creon. The state, I pray,Is it not reckoned his who governs it?Harm. Brave rule! Alone, and o'er an empty land!Creon. Here, as it seems, is one who still will fight,A woman's friend.Harm. If thou a woman be,For all my care I lavish upon thee.Creon. Basest of base, who with thy father stillWilt hold debate!Harm. For, lo! I see thee stillGuilty of wrong.Creon. And am I guilty, then,Claiming due reverence for my sovereignty?Harm. Thou show'st no reverence, trampling on the lawsThe Gods hold sacred.Creon. O thou sin-stained soul,A woman's victim.[280]Ham. Yet thou wilt not findIn me the slave of baseness.Creon. All thy speechStill hangs on her.Ham. Yes, and on thee, myself,And the great Gods below.Creon. Of this be sure,Thou shalt not wed her in the land of life.Ham. She, then, must die, and in her death will slayAnother than herself.Creon. And dost thou dareTo come thus threatening?Ham. Is it, then, a threatTo speak to erring judgment?Creon. To thy costThou shalt learn wisdom, having none thyself.Ham. If thou wert not my father, I would sayThou wert not wise.Creon. Thou woman's slave, I say,Prate on no longer.Ham. Dost thou wish to speak,And, speaking, wilt not listen? Is it so?Creon. No , by Olympus! Thou shalt not go freeTo flout me with reproaches. Lead her outWhom my soul hates, that she may die forthwithBefore mine eyes, and near her bridegroom here.Ham. No ! Think it not! Near me she shall not die,And thou shalt never see my face alive,So mad art thou with all that would be friends. [Exit.Chor. The man has gone, O king, in hasty mood.A mind distressed in youth is hard to bear.Creon. Let him do what he will, and bear himselfToo high for mortal state, he shall not freeThose maidens from their doom!Chor. And dost thou meanTo slay them both?Creon. Not her who touched it not.[281]Chor. There thou say'st well: and with what kind of deathMean'st thou to kill her?Creon. Where the desert pathIs loneliest, there, alive, in rocky caveWill I immure her, just so much of foodBefore her set as may appease the Gods,And save the city from the guilt of blood;And there, invoking Hades, whom aloneOf all the Gods she worships, she, perchance,Shall gain escape from death, or else shall knowThat all her worship is but labour lost. [Exit.
Strophe
¶Chor. O Love, in every battle victor owned;Love, now assailing wealth and lordly state,Now on a girl's soft cheek,Slumbering the livelong night;Now wandering o'er the sea,And now in shepherd's folds;The Undying Ones have no escape from thee,Nor men whose lives are measured as a day;And who has thee is mad.
Antistrophe
¶Thou makest vile the purpose of the just,To his own fatal harm;Thou stirrest up this fierce and deadly strife,Of men of nearest kin;The glowing eyes of bride beloved and fairReign, crowned with victory,And dwell on high among the powers that rule,Equal with holiest laws;For Aphrodite, she whom none subdues,Sports in her might divine.I, even I, am borneBeyond the bounds of right;[282]I look on this, and cannot stayThe fountain of my tears.For, lo! I see her, see AntigoneWind her sad, lonely wayTo that dread chamber where is room for all.Antig. Yes! O ye men of this my fatherland,Ye see me on my way,Life's last long journey, gazing on the sun,His last rays watching, now and nevermore;Alone he leads me, who has room for all,Hades, the Lord of Death,To Acheron's dark shore,With neither part nor lot in marriage rites,No marriage hymn resounding in my ears,But Acheron shall claim me as his bride.Chor. And hast thou not all honour, worthiestWho goest to the home that hides the dead,Not smitten by the sickness that decays,Nor by the sword's sharp edge,But of thine own free will, in fullest life,To Hades tak'st thy way ?Antig. I heard of old her pitiable end,Where Sipylus rears high its lofty crag,The Phrygian daughter of a stranger land,Whom Tantalus begot;Whom growth of rugged rock,Clinging as ivy clings,Subdued, and made its own:And now, so runs the tale,There, as she melts in shower,The snow abideth aye,And still bedews yon cliffs that lie belowThose brows that ever weep.With fate like hers doth Fortune bring me low.Chor. Godlike in nature, godlike, too, in birth,Was she of whom thou tell'st,And we are mortals, born of mortal seed.[283]And, lo! for one who liveth but to die,To gain like doom with those of heavenly raceIs great and strange to hear.Antig. Ye mock me, then. Alas! Why wait ye not?By all our fathers' Gods, I ask of you,Why wait ye not till I have passed away,But flout me while I live?O city that I love, O men that dwell,That city's wealthiest lords,O Dirke, fairest fount,0 grove of Thebes, that boasts her chariot host,I take you all to witness, look and see,How, with no friends to weep,By what stern laws condemned,I go to that strong dungeon of the tomb,For burial new and strange.Oh, miserable me!Whom neither mortal men nor spirits own,Nor those that live, nor those that fall asleep.Chor. Forward and forward still to farthest vergeOf daring hast thou gone,And now, O child, thou fallest heavilyWhere Right erects her throne;Surely thou payest to the uttermostThy father's debt of guilt.Antig. Ah ! thou hast touched the quick of all my griThe thrice-told tale of all my father's woe,The fate which dogs us all,The race of Labdacus of ancient fame.Woe for the curses direOf that defiled bed,With foulest incest stained,Whence I myself have sprung, most miserable.And now, I go to them,To sojourn in the grave,Bound by a curse, unwed;Ah, brother, thou didst find[284]Thy marriage fraught with ill,And in thy death hast smitten down my life.Chor. Acts reverent and devoutMay claim devotion's name,But power, in one who cares to keep his power,May never be defied;And thee thy stubborn mood,Self-chosen, layeth low.Antig. Unwept, without a friend,Unwed, and whelmed in woe,I journey on the road that open lies.No more shall it be mine ( O misery!)To look upon the holy eye of day,And yet, of all my friends,Not one bewails my fate,No kindly tear is shed.
¶Enter CREONCreon. And know ye not, if men can vantage gainBy songs and wailings at the hour of death,That they will never stop? Lead, lead her on,And, as I said, without delay immureIn yon cavernous tomb, and then depart.Leave her, or lone and desolate to die,Or, living, in the tomb to find her home.Our hands are clean in all that touches her;But she no more shall sojourn here with us.Antig. [turning towards the cavern] O tomb, my bridalchamber, vaulted home,Guarded right well for ever, where I goTo join mine own, of whom, of all that die,As most in number Persephassa owns;And I, of all the last and lowest, wendMy way below, life's little span unfilled.And yet I go, and feed myself with hopesThat I shall meet them, by my father loved.Dear to my mother, well-beloved of thee,[285]Thou dearest brother: I, with these my hands,Washed each dear corpse, arrayed you, poured the streIn rites of burial. And in care for thee,Thy body, Polynices, honouring,I gain this recompense. And yet 'twas well;I had not done it had I come to beA mother with her children,—had not dared,Though 'twere a husband dead that mouldered there,Against my country's will to bear this toil.And dost thou ask what law constrained me thus?I answer, had I lost a husband dear,I might have had another; other sonsBy other spouse, if one were lost to me;But when my father and my mother sleepIn Hades, then no brother more can come.And therefore, giving thee the foremost place,I seemed in Creon's eyes, O brother dear,To sin in boldest daring. So himself,He leads me, having taken me by force,Cut off from marriage bed and marriage feast,Untasting wife's true joy, or mother's bliss,With infant at her breast, but all forlorn,Bereaved of friends, in utter misery,Alive, I tread the chambers of the dead.What law of Heaven have I transgressed against?What use for me, ill-starred one, still to lookTo any God for succour, or to callOn any friend for aid? For holiest deedI bear this charge of rank unholiness.If acts like these the Gods on high approve,We, taught by suffering, own that we have sinned;But if they sin [looking at CREON], I pray they sufferWorse evils than the wrongs they do to me.Chor. Still do the same wild blastsVex her poor storm-tossed soul.Creon. Therefore shall these her guardsWeep sore for this delay.[286]Antig. Ah me! this word of thineTells of death drawing nigh.Creon. I cannot bid thee hopeThat other fate is thine.Antig. O citadel of Thebes, my native land,Ye Gods of old renown,I go, and linger not.Behold me, O ye senators of Thebes,The last, lone scion of the kingly race,What things I suffer, and from whom they come,Revering still where reverence most is due.[Guards lead ANTIGONE
Strophe I
¶Chor. So Danae's form endured of old,In brazen palace hid,To lose the light of heaven,And in her tomblike chamber was enclosed,And yet high honour came to her, O child,And on her flowed the golden shower of Zeus.But great and dread the might of Destiny:Nor tempest-storm, nor war,Nor tower, nor dark-hulled shipsThat sweep the sea, escape.
Antistrophe I
¶Bitter and sharp in mood,The son of Dryas, kingOf yon Edonian tribes,By Dionysus' hands,Was shut in prison cave,And so his frenzy wild and soul o'erboldWaste slowly evermore.And he was taught that he, with ribald tongueIn that wild frenzy, had attacked the Gods.For fain had he the Maenad throng brought low,[287]And that bright flashing fire,And roused the wrath of Muses sweet in song.
Strophe II
¶And by Kyanean waters' double seaAre shores of Bosphorus, and Thracian isle,As Salmydessus known, inhospitable,Where Ares, God of all the region round,Saw the accursed woundThat smote with blindness Phineus' twin-born sonsBy a fierce stepdame's hand,—Dark wound, upon the dark-doomed eyeballs struck,Not with the stroke of sword,But blood-stained hands, on point of spindle sharp.
Antistrophe II
¶And they in misery, miserable fateLamenting, waste away,Born of a mother wedded to a curse.And she who claimed descentFrom men of ancient fame,The old Erechtheid race,Daughter of Boreas, in far distant cavesAmid her father's woods,Was reared, a child of Gods,Swift moving as the steed, o'er lofty crag,And yet, my child, on herBore down the Destinies,Whose years are infinite.
¶Enter TEIRESIAS, guided by a boyTeir. Princes of Thebes, we come as travellers joined,One seeing for both, for still the blind must useA guide's assistance to direct his steps.Creon. And what new thing, Teiresias, brings thee here?Teir. That I will tell thee, and do thou obey[288]The seer who speaks.Creon. Of old I was not wontTo differ from thy judgment.Teir. Therefore, wellAnd safely dost thou steer our good ship's course.Creon. I, from experience, bear my witness stillOf good derived from thee.Teir. Bethink thee, then,Thou walkest now upon a razor's edge.Creon. What means this? Lo! I shudder at thy speech.Teir. Soon shalt thou know, as I unfold the signsOf my dread art. For sitting, as of old,Upon my ancient seat of augury,Where every bird has access, lo! I hearStrange cry of winged creatures, shouting shrill,In clamour sharp and savage, and I knewThat they were tearing each the other's breastWith bloody talons, for their whirring wingsMade that quite clear; and straightway I, in fear,Made trial of the sacrifice that layOn fiery altar. But the living flameShone not from out the offering; then there oozedUpon the ashes, trickling from the bones,A moisture, and it bubbled, and it spat,And, lo! the gall was scattered to the air,And forth from out the fat that wrapped them round,The thigh joints fell. Such omens of decayFrom strange mysterious rites I learnt from him,This boy, who now stands here, for he is stillA guide to me, as I to others am.And all this evil falls upon the state,From out thy counsels; for our altars all,Our sacred hearths, are full of food for dogsAnd birds unclean, the flesh of that poor wretchWho fell, the son of CEdipus. And soThe Gods no longer hear our solemn prayers,Nor own the flame that burns the sacrifice;[289]Nor do the birds give cry of omen good,But feed on carrion of a human corpse.Think thou on this, my son: to err, indeed,Is common unto all, but having erred,He is no longer reckless or unblest,Who, having fallen into evil, seeksFor healing, nor continues still unmoved.Self-will must bear the guilt of stubbornness:Yield to the dead, and outrage not a corpse.What gain is it a fallen foe to slay ?Good counsel give I, planning good for thee;And of all joys the sweetest is to learnFrom one who speaketh well, should that bring gain.Creon. Old man, as archers aiming at their mark,So ye shoot forth your venomed darts at me;I know your augur's skill, and by your artsLong since am tricked and sold. Yes, gain your gains,Get precious bronze from Sardis, Indian gold,That corpse ye shall not hide in any tomb.Not though the eagles, birds of Zeus, should bearTheir carrion morsels to their master's throne,Not even fearing this pollution dire,Will I consent to burial. Well I knowThat man is powerless to pollute the Gods.But many fall, Teiresias, dotard old,A shameful fall, who gloze their shameful words,For lucre's sake, with surface show of good.Teir. Ah, me! Does no man know, does none consider . . .Creon. Consider what? What trite poor saw is this?Teir. How far good counsel heaped-up wealth excels ?Creon. By just so far methinks the greatest hurtIs sheer unwisdom.Teir. Thou, at least, hast grownFrom head to foot all full of that disease.Creon. Loath am I with a prophet evil wordsTo bandy to and fro.[290]Teir. And yet thou dost so,Saying that I utter speech that is not true.Creon. The race of seers is ever fond of gold.Teir. And that of tyrants loves the gain that comesOf filthy lucre.Creon. Art thou ignorant, then,That what thou say'st, thou speak'st of those that rule?Teir. I know it. 'Twas from me thou hadst the state,By me preserved.Creon. Wise art thou as a seer,But too much given to wrong and injury.Teir. Thou wilt provoke me in my wrath to speakOf things best left unspoken.Creon. Speak them out!Only take heed thou speak them not for gain.Teir. And dost thou, then, already judge me thus?Creon. Know that my judgment is not bought and sold.Teir. Know, then, and know it well, that thou shalt seeNot many winding circuits of the sun,Before thou giv'st a quittance for the dead,A corpse by thee begotten; for that thouHast trampled to the ground what stood on high,And foully placed within a charnel-houseA living soul. And now thou keep'st from them,The Gods below, the corpse of one unblest,Unwept, unhallowed. Neither part nor lotHast thou in them, nor have the Gods who ruleThe worlds above, but at thy hands they meetThis outrage. And for this they wait for thee,The sure though slow avengers of the grave,The dread Erinyes of the Gods above,In these same evils to be snared and caught.Search well if I say this as one who sellsHis soul for money. Yet a little while,And in thy house men's wailing, women's cry,Shall make it plain. And every city stirsItself in arms against thee, owning those[291]Whose limbs the dogs have buried, or fierce wolves,Or winged birds have brought the accursed taintTo city's altar-hearth. Doom like to this,Sure darting as an arrow to its mark,I launch at thee (for thou dost grieve me sore),An archer aiming at the very heart,And thou shalt not escape its fiery sting.And now, O boy, lead thou me home again,And let him vent his spleen on younger men,And learn to keep his tongue more orderly,With better thoughts than this his present mood.[Exit.Chor. The man has gone, O king, predicting woe,And well we know, since first our raven hairWas mixed with gray, that never yet his wordsWere uttered to our state and failed of truth.Creon. I know it too, 'tis that that troubles me.To yield is hard, but, holding out, to smiteOne's soul with sorrow, this is harder still.Chor. Much need is there, O Creon, at this hour,Of wisest counsel.Creon. What, then, should I do?Tell me and I will hearken.Chor. Go thou first,Release the maiden from her cavern tomb,And give a grave to him who lies exposed.Creon. Is this thy counsel? Dost thou bid me yield?Chor. Without delay, O king, for, lo! they come,The God's swift-footed ministers of ill,And in an instant lay the wicked low.Creon. Ah , me! 'tis hard; and yet I bend my willTo do thy bidding. With necessityWe must not fight at such o'erwhelming odds.Chor. Go, then, and act! Commit it not to others.Creon. E'en as I am I'll go. Come, come, my men,Present or absent, come, and in your handsBring axes. Come to yonder eminence,[292]And I, since now my judgment leans that way,Who myself bound her, now myself will loose.Too much I fear lest it should wisest proveTo end my life, maintaining ancient laws. [Exit.
Strophe I
¶Chor. O thou of many names,Of that Cadmeian maidThe glory and the joy,Child of loud-thundering Zeus,Who watchest over fair Italia,And reign'st o'er all the bays that open wide,Which Deo claims on fair Eleusis' coast:Bacchus, who dwell'st in Thebes,The mother city of thy Bacchant train,Among Ismenus' stream that glideth on,And with the dragon's brood;
Antistrophe I
¶Thee, o'er the double peak of yonder height,The flashing blaze beholds,Where nymphs of CorycusGo forth in Bacchic dance,And by Castalia's stream;And thee the ivied slopes of Nysa's hills,And vine-clad promontory,While words of more than mortal melodyShout out the well-known name,Send forth, the guardian lordOf all the streets of Thebes.
Strophe II
¶Above all cities thou,With her, thy mother, whom the thunder slew,Dost look on it with love;And now, since all the city bendeth low[293]Beneath the sullen plague,Come thou with cleansing treadO'er the Parnassian slopes,Or o'er the moaning straits.
Antistrophe II
¶O thou, who lead'st the bandOf stars still breathing fire,Lord of the hymns that echo in the night,Offspring of highest Zeus,Appear, we pray thee, with thy Naxian train,Of Thyian maidens, frenzied, passionate,Who all night long, in maddening chorus, singThy praise, their lord, Iacchus.
¶Enter MessengerMess. Ye men of Cadmus and Amphion's house,I know no life of mortal man which IWould either praise or blame. It is but chanceThat raiseth up, and chance that bringeth low,The man who lives in good or evil plight,And none foretells a man's appointed lot.For Creon, in my judgment, men might watchWith envy and with wonder, having savedThis land of Cadmus from the bands of foes;And, having ruled with fullest sovereignty,He lived and prospered, joyous in a raceOf goodly offspring. Now, all this is gone;For when men lose the joys that sweeten life,I cannot count this living, rather deemAs of a breathing corpse. His heaped-up storesOf wealth are large; so be it, and he livesWith all a sovereign's state, and yet, if joyBe absent, all the rest I count as naught,And would not weigh them against pleasure's charm,More than a vapour's shadow.[294]Chor. What is this?What new disaster tell'st thou of our chiefs?Mess. Dead are they, and the living cause their death.Chor. Who slays, and who is slaughtered? Tell thy tale.Mess. Harmon is dead. His own hand sheds his blood.Chor. Was it a father's hand that struck the blow,Or his own arm?Mess. He by himself alone,Yet in his wrath he charged his father with it.Chor. O prophet! true, most true, those words of thine.Mess. Since thus it stands, we may as well debateOf other things in council.Chor. Lo! there comesThe wife of Creon, sad Eurydice.She from the house is come, or hearing speechAbout her son, or else by chance.
¶Enter EURYDICEEuryd. My friends,I on my way without, as suppliant boundTo pay my vows at Pallas' shrine, have heardYour words, and so I chanced to slip the boltOf the half-opened door, when, lo! a soundFalls on my ears of evil near at hand,And terror-struck I fell in deadly swoonBack in my handmaids' arms; yet tell it me,Tell the tale once again, for I shall hear,By long experience disciplined to grief.Mess. Dear lady, I will tell thee: I was by,And will not leave one word of truth untold.Why should we smooth and gloze, when all too soonWe should be found as liars? Truth is stillThe best and wisest. Lo! I went with him,Thy husband, in attendance, to the heightOf yonder plain, where still all ruthlesslyThe corpse of Polynices tombless lay,[295]Mangled by dogs. And, having prayed to her,The Goddess of all pathways, and to Pluto,To look with favour on them, him they washedWith holy water; and what yet was leftWe burnt in branches freshly cut, and heapedA high raised grave from out the soil around,And then we entered on the stone-paved home,Death's marriage chamber for the ill-starred maid.And some one hears, while standing yet afar,Shrill voice of wailing near the bridal bower,By funeral rites unhallowed, and he comesAnd tells my master, Creon. On his ears,Advancing nearer, falls a shriek confusedOf bitter sorrow, and with grieving loud,He utters one sad cry: "Me miserable!And am I, then, a prophet ? Do I wendThis day the dreariest way of all my life ?My son's voice greets me. Go, my servants, go,Quickly draw near, and standing by the tomb,Search ye and see; and where the joined stonesStill leave an opening, look ye in, and sayIf I hear Ha?mon's voice, or if my soulIs cheated by the Gods." And then we searched,As he, our master, in his frenzy, bade us;And, in the furthest corner of the vault,We saw her hanging by a twisted cordOf linen threads entwined, and him we foundClasping her form in passionate embrace,And mourning o'er the doom that robbed him of her,His father's deed, and that his marriage bed,So full of sorrow. When he saw him there,Groaning again in bitterness of heart,He goes to him, and calls in wailing voice," Ah ! wretched me! what dost thou! Hast thou lostThy reason? In what evil sinkest thou?Come forth, my child, on bended knee I ask thee."[296]And then the boy, with fierce, wild gleaming eyes,Glared at him, spat upon his face, and draws,Still answering naught, the sharp two-edged sword.Missing his aim (his father from the blowTurning aside), in anger with himself,The poor ill-doomed one, even as he was,Fell on his sword, and drove it through his breast,Full half its length, and clasping, yet alive,The maiden's arm, still soft, he there breathes outIn broken gasps, upon her fair white cheek,A rain of blood. And so at last they lie,Dead bridegroom with dead bride, and he has gainedHis marriage rites in Hades' darksome home,And left to all men witness terrible,That man's worst ill is stubbornness of heart.
[Exit EURYDICE.
¶Chor. What dost thou make of this? She turns again,And not one word, or good or ill, will speak.Mess. I, too, am full of wonder. Yet with hopesI feed myself, she will not think it meet,Hearing her son's woes, openly to wailBefore her subjects, but beneath her roofWill think it best to bear her private griefs.Too trained a judgment has she so to err.Chor. I know not. To my mind, or silence hard,Or vain wild cries, are signs of bitter woe.Mess. Soon we shall know, within the house advancing,If, in the passion of her heart, she hidesA secret purpose. Truly dost thou speak;There is a terror in that silence hard.Chor. [seeing CREON approaching with the corpse ofH J E M ON in his arms]And, lo! the king himself comes on,And in his hands he bears a record clear,No woe (if I may speak) by others caused,Himself the great offender.[297]Enter CREON, bearing FLEMON'S bodyCreon. Woe! for the sins of souls of evil mood,Strong, mighty to destroy;0 ye who look on those of kindred race,The slayers and the slain,Woe for mine own rash plans that prosper not;Woe for thee, son; but new in life's career,And by a new fate dying.Woe! woe!Thou diest, thou art gone,Not by thine evil counsel, but by mine.Chor. Ah me! Too late thou seem'st to see the right.Creon. Ah me!I learn the grievous lesson. On my head,God, pressing sore, hath smitten me and vexed,In ways most rough and terrible (ah me!),Shattering the joy, and trampling underfoot.Woe! woe! We toil for that which profits not.
¶Enter Second MessengerSec. Mess. My master! thou, as one who hast full store,One source of sorrow bearest in thine arms,And others in thy house, too soon, it seems,Thou need'st must come and see.Creon. And what remainsWorse evil than the evils that we bear ?Sec. Mess. Thy wife is dead. Thy dead son's mother true,Ill-starred one, smitten with a deadly blow,But some few moments since.Creon. O agony!Thou house of Death, that none may purify,Why dost thou thus destroy me?O thou who comest, bringing in thy trainWoes horrible to tell,Thou tramplest on a man already slain.What say'st thou? What new tidings bring'st to me?[298]Ah me! ah me!Is it that over all the slaughter wroughtMy own wife's death has come to crown it all?Chor. It is but all too clear! No longer nowDoes yon recess conceal her.[The gates open and show the dead body of
Eurydice.
¶Creon. Woe is me!This second stroke I gaze on, miserable,What fate, yea, what still lies in wait for me?Here in my arms I bear what was my son;And there, O misery! look upon the dead.Ah, wretched mother! ah, my son! my son!Sec. Mess. Sore wounded, she around the altar clung,And closed her darkening eyelids, and bewailedThe honoured bed of Megareus, who diedLong since, and then again that corpse thou hast;And last of all she cried a bitter cryAgainst thy deeds, the murderer of thy son.Creon. Woe! woe! alas!I shudder in my fear: Will no one strikeA deadly blow with sharp two-edged sword?Fearful my fate, alas!And with a fearful woe full sore beset.Sec. Mess. She in her death charged thee with being thecauseOf all their sorrows, his and hers alike.Creon. And in what way struck she the murderous blow?Sec. Mess. With her own hand below her heart she stabbed,Hearing her son's most pitiable fate.Creon. Ah me! The fault is mine. On no one else,Of all that live, the fearful guilt can come;I, even I, did slay thee, wretched one,I; yes, I say it clearly. Come, ye guards,Lead me forth quickly; lead me out of sight,More crushed to nothing than the dead unborn.[299]Chor. Thou counsellest gain, if gain there be in ills,For present evils then are easiest borneWhen shortest lived.Creon. Oh, come thou, then, come thou,Last of my sorrows, that shall bring to meBest boon, my life's last day. Come, then, oh, come,That nevermore I look upon the light.Chor. These things are in the future. What is near,That we must do. O'er what is yet to comeThey watch, to whom that work of right belongs.Creon. I did but pray for what I most desire.Chor. Pray thou for nothing more. For mortal manThere is no issue from a doom decreed.Creon [looking at the two corpses] Lead me, then, forth,vain shadow that I am,Who slew thee, O my son, unwittingly,And thee, too—(O my sorrow)—and I know notWhich way to look. All near at hand is turnedAside to evil; and upon my headThere falls a doom far worse than I can bear.Chor. Man's highest blessednessIn wisdom chiefly stands;And in the things that touch upon the Gods,'Tis best in word or deedTo shun unholy pride;Great words of boasting bring great punishments;And so to gray-haired ageComes wisdom at the last.