ANTIGONE

*

CHARACTERS

Creon, King of Thebes

Haemon, son of Creon

Teiresias, a blind prophet

A Sentry

A Messenger

Eurydice, wife of Creon

Chorus of Theban elders

King’s attendants

Queen’s attendants

A boy leading Teiresias

Soldiers

*

Scene: Before the Palace at Thebes

Enter ISMENE from the central door of the Palace. ANTIGONE follows, anxious and urgent; she closes the door carefully, and comes to join her sister.

ANTIGONE: O sister! Ismene dear, dear sister Ismene!

You know how heavy the hand of God is upon us;

How we who are left must suffer for our father, Oedipus.

There is no pain, no sorrow, no suffering, no dishonour

We have not shared together, you and I.

And now there is something more. Have you heard this order,

This latest order that the King has proclaimed to the city?

Have you heard how our dearest are being treated like enemies?

ISMENE: I have heard nothing about any of those we love,

Neither good nor evil – not, I mean, since the death

Of our two brothers, both fallen in a day.

The Argive army, I hear, was withdrawn last night.

I know no more to make me sad or glad.

ANTIGONE:

I thought you did not. That’s why I brought you out here,

Where we shan’t be heard, to tell you something alone.

ISMENE:

What is it, Antigone? Black news, I can see already.

ANTIGONE:

O Ismene, what do you think? Our two dear brothers…

Creon has given funeral honours to one,

And not to the other; nothing but shame and ignominy.

Eteocles has been buried, they tell me, in state,

With all honourable observances due to the dead.

But Polynices, just as unhappily fallen – the order

Says he is not to be buried, not to be mourned;

To be left unburied, unwept, a feast of flesh

For keen-eyed carrion birds. The noble Creon!

It is against you and me he has made this order.

Yes, against me. And soon he will be here himself

To make it plain to those that have not heard it,

And to enforce it. This is no idle threat;

The punishment for disobedience is death by stoning.

So now you know. And now is the time to show

Whether or not you are worthy of your high blood.

ISMENE: My poor Antigone, if this is really true,

What more can I do, or undo, to help you?

ANTIGONE:

Will you help me? Will you do something with me? Will you?

ISMENE: Help you do what, Antigone? What do you mean?

ANTIGONE:

Would you help me lift the body… you and me?

ISMENE:

You cannot mean… to bury him? Against the order?

ANTIGONE:

Is he not my brother, and yours, whether you like it

Or not? I shall never desert him, never.

ISMENE:

How could you dare, when Creon has expressly forbidden it?

ANTIGONE: He has no right to keep me from my own.

ISMENE: O sister, sister, do you forget how our father

Perished in shame and misery, his awful sin

Self-proved, blinded by his own self-mutilation?

And then his mother, his wife – for she was both –

Destroyed herself in a noose of her own making.

And now our brothers, both in a single day

Fallen in an awful exaction of death for death,

Blood for blood, each slain by the other’s hand.

Now we two left; and what will be the end of us,

If we transgress the law and defy our king?

O think, Antigone; we are women; it is not for us

To fight against men; our rulers are stronger than we,

And we must obey in this, or in worse than this.

May the dead forgive me, I can do no other

But as I am commanded; to do more is madness.

ANTIGONE: No; then I will not ask you for your help.

Nor would I thank you for it, if you gave it.

Go your own way; I will bury my brother;

And if I die for it, what happiness!

Convicted of reverence – I shall be content

To lie beside a brother whom I love.

We have only a little time to please the living,

But all eternity to love the dead.

There I shall lie for ever. Live, if you will;

Live, and defy the holiest laws of heaven.

ISMENE: I do not defy them; but I cannot act

Against the State. I am not strong enough.

ANTIGONE: Let that be your excuse, then. I will go

And heap a mound of earth over my brother.

ISMENE: I fear for you, Antigone; I fear –

ANTIGONE: You need not fear for me. Fear for yourself.

ISMENE: At least be secret. Do not breathe a word.

I’ll not betray your secret.

ANTIGONE: Publish it

To all the world! Else I shall hate you more.

ISMENE: Your heart burns! Mine is frozen at the thought.

ANTIGONE: I know my duty, where true duty lies.

ISMENE: If you can do it; but you’re bound to fail.

ANTIGONE: When I have tried and failed, I shall have failed.

ISMENE: No sense in starting on a hopeless task.

ANTIGONE: Oh, I shall hate you if you talk like that!

And he will hate you, rightly. Leave me alone

With my own madness. There is no punishment

Can rob me of my honourable death.

ISMENE: Go then, if you are determined, to your folly.

But remember that those who love you… love you still.

ISMENE goes into the Palace.

ANTIGONE leaves the stage by a side exit.

Enter the CHORUS of Theban elders.

CHORUS:

Hail the sun! the brightest of all that ever

Dawned on the City of Seven Gates, City of Thebes!

Hail the golden dawn over Dirce’s river

Rising to speed the flight of the white invaders

Homeward in full retreat!

The army of Polynices was gathered against us,

In angry dispute his voice was lifted against us,

Like a ravening bird of prey he swooped around us

With white wings flashing, with flying plumes,

With armed hosts ranked in thousands.

At the threshold of seven gates in a circle of blood

His swords stood round us, his jaws were opened against us;

But before he could taste our blood, or consume us with fire,

He fled, fled with the roar of the dragon behind him

And thunder of war in his ears.

The Father of Heaven abhors the proud tongue’s boasting;

He marked the oncoming torrent, the flashing stream

Of their golden harness, the clash of their battle gear;

He heard the invader cry Victory over our ramparts,

And smote him with fire to the ground.

Down to the ground from the crest of his hurricane onslaught

He swung, with the fiery brands of his hate brought low:

Each and all to their doom of destruction appointed

By the god that fighteth for us.

Seven invaders at seven gates seven defenders

Spoiled of their bronze for a tribute to Zeus; save two

Luckless brothers in one fight matched together

And in one death laid low.

Great is the victory, great be the joy

In the city of Thebes, the city of chariots.

Now is the time to fill the temples

With glad thanksgiving for warfare ended;

Shake the ground with the night-long dances,

Bacchus afoot and delight abounding.

But see, the King comes here,

Creon, the son of Menoeceus,

Whom the gods have appointed for us

In our recent change of fortune.

What matter is it, I wonder,

That has led him to call us together

By his special proclamation?

The central door is opened, and CREON enters.

CREON:

My councillors: now that the gods have brought our city

Safe through a storm of trouble to tranquillity,

I have called you especially out of all my people

To conference together, knowing that you

Were loyal subjects when King Laius reigned,

And when King Oedipus so wisely ruled us,

And again, upon his death, faithfully served

His sons, till they in turn fell – both slayers, both slain,

Both stained with brother-blood, dead in a day –

And I, their next of kin, inherited

The throne and kingdom which I now possess.

No other touchstone can test the heart of a man,

The temper of his mind and spirit, till he be tried

In the practice of authority and rule.

For my part, I have always held the view,

And hold it still, that a king whose lips are sealed

By fear, unwilling to seek advice, is damned.

And no less damned is he who puts a friend

Above his country; I have no good word for him.

As God above is my witness, who sees all,

When I see any danger threatening my people,

Whatever it may be, I shall declare it.

No man who is his country’s enemy

Shall call himself my friend. Of this I am sure –

Our country is our life; only when she

Rides safely, have we any friends at all.

Such is my policy for our common weal.

In pursuance of this, I have made a proclamation

Concerning the sons of Oedipus, as follows:

Eteocles, who fell fighting in defence of the city,

Fighting gallantly, is to be honoured with burial

And with all the rites due to the noble dead.

The other – you know whom I mean – his brother Polynices,

Who came back from exile intending to burn and destroy

His fatherland and the gods of his fatherland,

To drink the blood of his kin, to make them slaves –

He is to have no grave, no burial,

No mourning from anyone; it is forbidden.

He is to be left unburied, left to be eaten

By dogs and vultures, a horror for all to see.

I am determined that never, if I can help it,

Shall evil triumph over good. Alive

Or dead, the faithful servant of his country

Shall be rewarded.

CHORUS: Creon, son of Menoeceus,

You have given your judgment for the friend and for the enemy.

As for those that are dead, so for us who remain,

Your will is law.

CREON: See then that it be kept.

CHORUS: My lord, some younger would be fitter for that task.

CREON: Watchers are already set over the corpse.

CHORUS: What other duty then remains for us?

CREON: Not to connive at any disobedience.

CHORUS: If there were any so mad as to ask for death –

CREON: Ay, that is the penalty. There is always someone

Ready to be lured to ruin by hope of gain.

He turns to go. A SENTRY enters from the side of the stage.

CREON pauses at the Palace door.

SENTRY:

My lord: if I am out of breath, it is not from haste.

I have not been running. On the contrary, many a time

I stopped to think and loitered on the way,

Saying to myself.’ Why hurry to your doom,

Poor fool?’ and then I said ‘Hurry, you fool.

If Creon hears this from another man,

Your head’s as good as off.’ So here I am,

As quick as my unwilling haste could bring me;

In no great hurry, in fact. So now I am here…

But I’ll tell my story… though it may be nothing after all.

And whatever I have to suffer, it can’t be more

Than what God wills, so I cling to that for my comfort.

CREON: Good heavens, man, whatever is the matter?

SENTRY: To speak of myself first – I never did it, sir;

Nor saw who did; no one can punish me for that.

CREON: You tell your story with a deal of artful precaution.

It’s evidently something strange.

SENTRY: It is.

So strange, it’s very difficult to tell.

CREON: Well, out with it, and let’s be done with you.

SENTRY: It’s this, sir. The corpse… someone has just

Buried it and gone. Dry dust over the body

They scattered, in the manner of holy burial.

CREON: What! Who dared to do it?

SENTRY: I don’t know, sir.

There was no sign of a pick, no scratch of a shovel;

The ground was hard and dry – no trace of a wheel;

Whoever it was has left no clues behind him.

When the sentry on the first watch showed it us,

We were amazed. The corpse was covered from sight –

Not with a proper grave – just a layer of earth –

As it might be, the act of some pious passer-by.

There were no tracks of an animal either, a dog

Or anything that might have come and mauled the body.

Of course we all started pitching in to each other,

Accusing each other, and might have come to blows,

With no one to stop us; for anyone might have done it,

But it couldn’t be proved against him, and all denied it.

We were all ready to take hot iron in hand

And go through fire and swear by God and heaven

We hadn’t done it, nor knew of anyone

That could have thought of doing it, much less done it.

Well, we could make nothing of it. Then one of our men

Said something that made all our blood run cold –

Something we could neither refuse to do, nor do,

But at our own risk. What he said was ‘This

Must be reported to the King; we can’t conceal it.’

So it was agreed. We drew lots for it, and I,

Such is my luck, was chosen. So here I am,

As much against my will as yours, I’m sure;

A bringer of bad news expects no welcome.

CHORUS: My lord, I fear – I feared it from the first –

That this may prove to be an act of the gods.

CREON: Enough of that! Or I shall lose my patience

Don’t talk like an old fool, old though you be.

Blasphemy, to say the gods could give a thought

To carrion flesh! Held him in high esteem,

I suppose, and buried him like a benefactor –

A man who came to burn their temples down,

Ransack their holy shrines, their land, their laws?

Is that the sort of man you think gods love?

Not they. No. There’s a party of malcontents

In the city, rebels against my word and law,

Shakers of heads in secret, impatient of rule;

They are the people, I see it well enough,

Who have bribed their instruments to do this thing.

Money! Money’s the curse of man, none greater.

That’s what wrecks cities, banishes men from home,

Tempts and deludes the most well-meaning soul,

Pointing out the way to infamy and shame.

Well, they shall pay for their success.

(To the SENTRY)

See to it!

See to it, you! Upon my oath, I swear,

As Zeus is my god above: either you find

The perpetrator of this burial

And bring him here into my sight, or death –

No, not your mere death shall pay the reckoning,

But, for a living lesson against such infamy,

You shall be racked and tortured till you tell

The whole truth of this outrage; so you may learn

To seek your gain where gain is yours to get,

Not try to grasp it everywhere. In wickedness

You’ll find more loss than profit.

SENTRY: May I say more?

CREON: No more; each word you say but stings me more.

SENTRY: Stings in your ears, sir, or in your deeper feelings?

CREON: Don’t bandy words, fellow, about my feelings.

SENTRY: Though I offend your ears, sir, it is not I

But he that’s guilty that offends your soul.

CREON: Oh, born to argue, were you?

SENTRY: Maybe so;

But still not guilty in this business.

CREON: Doubly so, if you have sold your soul for money.

SENTRY:

To think that thinking men should think so wrongly!

CREON: Think what you will. But if you fail to find

The doer of this deed, you’ll learn one thing:

Ill-gotten gain brings no one any good.

He goes into the Palace.

SENTRY: Well, heaven send they find him. But whether or no,

They’ll not find me again, that’s sure. Once free,

Who never thought to see another day,

I’ll thank my lucky stars, and keep away.

Exit.

CHORUS:

Wonders are many on earth, and the greatest of these

Is man, who rides the ocean and takes his way

Through the deeps, through wind-swept valleys of perilous seas

That surge and sway.

He is master of ageless Earth, to his own will bending

The immortal mother of gods by the sweat of his brow,

As year succeeds to year, with toil unending

Of mule and plough.

He is lord of all things living; birds of the air,

Beasts of the field, all creatures of sea and land

He taketh, cunning to capture and ensnare

With sleight of hand;

Hunting the savage beast from the upland rocks,

Taming the mountain monarch in his lair,

Teaching the wild horse and the roaming ox

His yoke to bear.

The use of language, the wind-swift motion of brain

He learnt; found out the laws of living together

In cities, building him shelter against the rain

And wintry weather.

There is nothing beyond his power. His subtlety

Meeteth all chance, all danger conquereth.

For every ill he hath found its remedy,

Save only death.

O wondrous subtlety of man, that draws

To good or evil ways! Great honour is given

And power to him who upholdeth his country’s laws

And the justice of heaven.

But he that, too rashly daring, walks in sin

In solitary pride to his life’s end.

At door of mine shall never enter in

To call me friend.

(Severally, seeing some persons approach from a distance)

O gods! A wonder to see!

Surely it cannot be –

It is no other –

Antigone!

Unhappy maid –

Unhappy Oedipus’ daughter; it is she they bring.

Can she have rashly disobeyed

The order of our King?

Enter the SENTRY, bringing ANTIGONE guarded by two more soldiers.

SENTRY: We’ve got her. Here’s the woman that did the deed.

We found her in the act of burying him. Where’s the King?

CHORUS: He is just coming out of the palace now.

Enter CREON.

CREON: What’s this? What am I just in time to see?

SENTRY: My lord, an oath’s a very dangerous thing.

Second thoughts may prove us liars. Not long since

I swore I wouldn’t trust myself again

To face your threats; you gave me a drubbing the first time.

But there’s no pleasure like an unexpected pleasure,

Not by a long way. And so I’ve come again,

Though against my solemn oath. And I’ve brought this lady,

Who’s been caught in the act of setting that grave in order.

And no casting lots for it this time – the prize is mine

And no one else’s. So take her; judge and convict her.

I’m free, I hope, and quit of the horrible business.

CREON:

How did you find her? Where have you brought her from?

SENTRY:

She was burying the man with her own hands, and that’s the truth.

CREON: Are you in your senses? Do you know what you are saying?

SENTRY: I saw her myself, burying the body of the man

Whom you said not to bury. Don’t I speak plain?

CREON: How did she come to be seen and taken in the act?

SENTRY: It was this way.

After I got back to the place,

With all your threats and curses ringing in my ears,

We swept off all the earth that covered the body,

And left it a sodden naked corpse again;

Then sat up on the hill, on the windward side,

Keeping clear of the stench of him, as far as we could;

All of us keeping each other up to the mark,

With pretty sharp speaking, not to be caught napping this time.

So this went on some hours, till the flaming sun

Was high in the top of the sky, and the heat was blazing.

Suddenly a storm of dust, like a plague from heaven,

Swept over the ground, stripping the trees stark bare,

Filling the sky; you had to shut your eyes

To stand against it. When at last it stopped,

There was the girl, screaming like an angry bird,

When it finds its nest left empty and little ones gone.

Just like that she screamed, seeing the body

Naked, crying and cursing the ones that had done it.

Then she picks up the dry earth in her hands,

And pouring out of a fine bronze urn she’s brought

She makes her offering three times to the dead.

Soon as we saw it, down we came and caught her.

She wasn’t at all frightened. And so we charged her

With what she’d done before, and this. She admitted it,

I’m glad to say – though sorry too, in a way.

It’s good to save your own skin, but a pity

To have to see another get into trouble,

Whom you’ve no grudge against. However, I can’t say

I’ve ever valued anyone else’s life

More than my own, and that’s the honest truth.

CREON (to ANTIGONE): Well, what do you say – you, hiding your head there:

Do you admit, or do you deny the deed?

ANTIGONE: I do admit it. I do not deny it.

CREON (to the SENTRY):

You – you may go. You are discharged from blame.

Exit SENTRY.

Now tell me, in as few words as you can,

Did you know the order forbidding such an act?

ANTIGONE: I knew it, naturally. It was plain enough.

CREON: And yet you dared to contravene it?

ANTIGONE: Yes.

That order did not come from God. Justice,

That dwells with the gods below, knows no such law.

I did not think your edicts strong enough

To overrule the unwritten unalterable laws

Of God and heaven, you being only a man.

They are not of yesterday or to-day, but everlasting,

Though where they came from, none of us can tell.

Guilty of their transgression before God

I cannot be, for any man on earth.

I knew that I should have to die, of course,

With or without your order. If it be soon,

So much the better. Living in daily torment

As I do, who would not be glad to die?

This punishment will not be any pain.

Only if I had let my mother’s son

Lie there unburied, then I could not have borne it.

This I can bear. Does that seem foolish to you?

Or is it you that are foolish to judge me so?

CHORUS: She shows her father’s stubborn spirit: foolish

Not to give way when everything’s against her.

CREON: Ah, but you’ll see. The over-obstinate spirit

Is soonest broken; as the strongest iron will snap

If over-tempered in the fire to brittleness.

A little halter is enough to break

The wildest horse. Proud thoughts do not sit well

Upon subordinates. This girl’s proud spirit

Was first in evidence when she broke the law;

And now, to add insult to her injury,

She gloats over her deed. But, as I live,

She shall not flout my orders with impunity.

My sister’s child – ay, were she even nearer,

Nearest and dearest, she should not escape

Full punishment – she, and her sister too,

Her partner, doubtless, in this burying.

Let her be fetched! She was in the house just now;

I saw her, hardly in her right mind either.

Often the thoughts of those who plan dark deeds

Betray themselves before the deed is done.

The criminal who being caught still tries

To make a fair excuse, is damned indeed.

ANTIGONE:

Now you have caught, will you do more than kill me?

CREON: No, nothing more; that is all I could wish.

ANTIGONE:

Why then delay? There is nothing that you can say

That I should wish to hear, as nothing I say

Can weigh with you. I have given my brother burial.

What greater honour could I wish? All these

Would say that what I did was honourable,

But fear locks up their lips. To speak and act

Just as he likes is a king’s prerogative.

CREON:

You are wrong. None of my subjects thinks as you do.

ANTIGONE: Yes, sir, they do; but dare not tell you so.

CREON: And you are not only alone, but unashamed.

ANTIGONE: There is no shame in honouring my brother.

CREON:

Was not his enemy, who died with him, your brother?

ANTIGONE:

Yes, both were brothers, both of the same parents.

CREON: You honour one, and so insult the other.

ANTIGONE: He that is dead will not accuse me of that.

CREON: He will, if you honour him no more than the traitor.

ANTIGONE:

It was not a slave, but his brother, that died with him.

CREON: Attacking his country, while the other defended it.

ANTIGONE: Even so, we have a duty to the dead.

CREON: Not to give equal honour to good and bad.

ANTIGONE: Who knows? In the country of the dead that may be the law.

CREON: An enemy can’t be a friend, even when dead.

ANTIGONE: My way is to share my love, not share my hate.

CREON: Go then, and share your love among the dead.

We’ll have no woman’s law here, while I live.

Enter ISMENE from the Palace.

CHORUS: Here comes Ismene, weeping

In sisterly sorrow; a darkened brow,

Flushed face, and the fair cheek marred

With flooding rain.

CREON: You crawling viper! Lurking in my house

To suck my blood! Two traitors unbeknown

Plotting against my throne. Do you admit

To a share in this burying, or deny all knowledge?

ISMENE: I did it – yes – if she will let me say so.

I am as much to blame as she is.

ANTIGONE: No.

That is not just. You would not lend a hand

And I refused your help in what I did.

ISMENE: But I am not ashamed to stand beside you

Now in your hour of trial, Antigone.

ANTIGONE:

Whose was the deed, Death and the dead are witness.

I love no friend whose love is only words.

ISMENE: O sister, sister, let me share your death,

Share in the tribute of honour to him that is dead.

ANTIGONE: You shall not die with me. You shall not claim

That which you would not touch. One death is enough.

ISMENE: How can I bear to live, if you must die?

ANTIGONE: Ask Creon. Is not he the one you care for?

ISMENE: You do yourself no good to taunt me so.

ANTIGONE: Indeed no: even my jests are bitter pains.

ISMENE: But how, O tell me, how can I still help you?

ANTIGONE: Help yourself. I shall not stand in your way.

ISMENE: For pity, Antigone – can I not die with you?

ANTIGONE:

You chose; life was your choice, when mine was death.

ISMENE: Although I warned you that it would be so.

ANTIGONE: Your way seemed right to some, to others mine.

ISMENE: But now both in the wrong, and both condemned.

ANTIGONE: No, no. You live. My heart was long since dead,

So it was right for me to help the dead.

CREON: I do believe the creatures both are mad;

One lately crazed, the other from her birth.

ISMENE: Is it not likely, sir? The strongest mind

Cannot but break under misfortune’s blows.

CREON: Yours did, when you threw in your lot with hers.

ISMENE: How could I wish to live without my sister?

CREON: You have no sister. Count her dead already.

ISMENE: You could not take her – kill your own son’s bride?

CREON: Oh, there are other fields for him to plough.

ISMENE: No truer troth was ever made than theirs.

CREON: No son of mine shall wed so vile a creature.

ANTIGONE: O Haemon, can your father spite you so?

CREON: You and your paramour, I hate you both.

CHORUS:

Sir, would you take her from your own son’s arms?

CREON: Not I, but death shall take her.

CHORUS: Be it so.

Her death, it seems, is certain.

CREON: Certain it is.

No more delay. Take them, and keep them within –

The proper place for women. None so brave

As not to look for some way of escape

When they see life stand face to face with death.

The women are taken away.

CHORUS:

Happy are they who know not the taste of evil.

From a house that heaven hath shaken

The curse departs not

But falls upon all of the blood,

Like the restless surge of the sea when the dark storm drives

The black sand hurled from the deeps

And the Thracian gales boom down

On the echoing shore.

In life and in death is the house of Labdacus stricken.

Generation to generation,

With no atonement,

It is scourged by the wrath of a god.

And now for the dead dust’s sake is the light of promise,

The tree’s last root, crushed out

By pride of heart and the sin

Of presumptuous tongue.

For what presumption of man can match thy power,

O Zeus, that art not subject to sleep or time

Or age, living for ever in bright Olympus?

To-morrow and for all time to come,

As in the past,

This law is immutable:

For mortals greatly to live is greatly to suffer.

Roving ambition helps many a man to good,

And many it falsely lures to light desires,

Till failure trips them unawares, and they fall

On the fire that consumes them. Well was it said,

Evil seems good

To him who is doomed to suffer;

And short is the time before that suffering comes.

But here comes Haemon,

Your youngest son.

Does he come to speak his sorrow

For the doom of his promised bride,

The loss of his marriage hopes?

CREON:

We shall know it soon, and need no prophet to tell us.

Enter HAEMON.

Son, you have heard, I think, our final judgment

On your late betrothed. No angry words, I hope?

Still friends, in spite of everything, my son?

HAEMON: I am your son, sir; by your wise decisions

My life is ruled, and them I shall always obey.

I cannot value any marriage-tie

Above your own good guidance.

CREON: Rightly said.

Your father’s will should have your heart’s first place.

Only for this do fathers pray for sons

Obedient, loyal, ready to strike down

Their fathers’ foes, and love their fathers’ friends.

To be the father of unprofitable sons

Is to be the father of sorrows, a laughing-stock

To all one’s enemies. Do not be fooled, my son,

By lust and the wiles of a woman. You’ll have bought

Cold comfort if your wife’s a worthless one.

No wound strikes deeper than love that is turned to hate.

This girl’s an enemy; away with her,

And let her go and find a mate in Hades.

Once having caught her in a flagrant act –

The one and only traitor in our State –

I cannot make myself a traitor too;

So she must die. Well may she pray to Zeus,

The God of Family Love. How, if I tolerate

A traitor at home, shall I rule those abroad?

He that is a righteous master of his house

Will be a righteous statesman. To trangress

Or twist the law to one’s own pleasure, presume

To order where one should obey, is sinful,

And I will have none of it.

He whom the State appoints must be obeyed

To the smallest matter, be it right – or wrong.

And he that rules his household, without a doubt,

Will make the wisest king, or, for that matter,

The staunchest subject. He will be the man

You can depend on in the storm of war,

The faithfullest comrade in the day of battle

There is no more deadly peril than disobedience;

States are devoured by it, homes laid in ruins,

Armies defeated, victory turned to rout.

While simple obedience saves the lives of hundreds

Of honest folk. Therefore, I hold to the law,

And will never betray it – least of all for a woman

Better be beaten, if need be, by a man,

Than let a woman get the better of us.

CHORUS: To me, as far as an old man can tell,

It seems your Majesty has spoken well.

HAEMON: Father, man’s wisdom is the gift of heaven,

The greatest gift of all. I neither am

Nor wish to be clever enough to prove you wrong,

Though all men might not think the same as you do.

Nevertheless, I have to be your watchdog,

To know what others say and what they do,

And what they find to praise and what to blame.

Your frown is a sufficient silencer

Of any word that is not for your ears.

But I hear whispers spoken in the dark;

On every side I hear voices of pity

For this poor girl, doomed to the cruellest death,

And most unjust, that ever woman suffered

For an honourable action – burying a brother

Who was killed in battle, rather than leave him naked

For dogs to maul and carrion birds to peck at.

Has she not rather earned a crown of gold? –

Such is the secret talk about the town.

Father, there is nothing I can prize above

Your happiness and well-being. What greater good

Can any son desire? Can any father

Desire more from his son? Therefore I say,

Let not your first thought be your only thought.

Think if there cannot be some other way.

Surely, to think your own the only wisdom,

And yours the only word, the only will,

Betrays a shallow spirit, an empty heart.

It is no weakness for the wisest man

To learn when he is wrong, know when to yield.

So, on the margin of a flooded river

Trees bending to the torrent live unbroken,

While those that strain against it are snapped off.

A sailor has to tack and slacken sheets

Before the gale, or find himself capsized.

So, father, pause, and put aside your anger.

I think, for what my young opinion’s worth,

That, good as it is to have infallible wisdom,

Since this is rarely found, the next best thing

Is to be willing to listen to wise advice.

CHORUS:

There is something to be said, my lord, for his point of view,

And for yours as well; there is much to be said on both sides.

CREON: Indeed! Am I to take lessons at my time of life

From a fellow of his age?

HAEMON: No lesson you need be ashamed of.

It isn’t a question of age, but of right and wrong.

CREON:

Would you call it right to admire an act of disobedience?

HAEMON: Not if the act were also dishonourable.

CREON: And was not this woman’s action dishonourable?

HAEMON: The people of Thebes think not.

CREON: The people of Thebes!

Since when do I take my orders from the people of Thebes?

HAEMON: Isn’t that rather a childish thing to say?

CREON: No. I am king, and responsible only to myself.

HAEMON: A one-man state? What sort of a state is that?

CREON: Why, does not every state belong to its ruler?

HAEMON: You’d be an excellent king – on a desert island.

CREON: Of course, if you’re on the woman’s side –

HAEMON: No, no –

Unless you’re the woman. It’s you I’m fighting for.

CREON:

What, villain, when every word you speak is against me?

HAEMON: Only because I know you are wrong, wrong.

CREON: Wrong? To respect my own authority?

HAEMON: What sort of respect tramples on all that is holy?

CREON: Despicable coward! No more will than a woman!

HAEMON: I have nothing to be ashamed of.

CREON: Yet you plead her cause.

HAEMON:

No, yours, and mine, and that of the gods of the dead.

CREON: You’ll never marry her this side of death.

HAEMON: Then, if she dies, she does not die alone.

CREON: Is that a threat, you impudent –

HAEMON: Is it a threat

To try to argue against wrong-headedness?

CREON: You’ll learn what wrong-headedness is, my friend, to your cost.

HAEMON:

O father, I could call you mad, were you not my father.

CREON: Don’t toady me, boy; keep that for your lady-love.

HAEMON: You mean to have the last word, then?

CREON: I do.

And what is more, by all the gods in heaven,

I’ll make you sorry for your impudence.

(Calling to those within)

Bring out that she-devil, and let her die

Now, with her bridegroom by to see it done!

HAEMON: That sight I’ll never see. Nor from this hour

Shall you see me again. Let those that will

Be witness of your wickedness and folly.

Exit.

CHORUS: He is gone, my lord, in very passionate haste.

And who shall say what a young man’s wrath may do?

CREON: Let him go! Let him do! Let him rage as never man raged,

He shall not save those women from their doom.

CHORUS: You mean, then, sire, to put them both to death?

CREON: No, not the one whose hand was innocent.

CHORUS: And to what death do you condemn the other?

CREON: I’ll have her taken to a desert place

Where no man ever walked, and there walled up

Inside a cave, alive, with food enough

To acquit ourselves of the blood-guiltiness

That else would lie upon our commonwealth.

There she may pray to Death, the god she loves,

And ask release from death; or learn at last

What hope there is for those who worship death.

Exit.

CHORUS:

Where is the equal of Love?

Where is the battle he cannot win,

The power he cannot outmatch?

In the farthest corners of earth, in the midst of the sea,

He is there; he is here

In the bloom of a fair face

Lying in wait;

And the grip of his madness

Spares not god or man,

Marring the righteous man,

Driving his soul into mazes of sin

And strife, dividing a house.

For the light that burns in the eyes of a bride of desire

Is a fire that consumes.

At the side of the great gods

Aphrodite immortal

Works her will upon all.

The doors are opened and ANTIGONE enters, guarded.

But here is a sight beyond all bearing,

At which my eyes cannot but weep;

Antigone forth faring

To her bridal-bower of endless sleep.

ANTIGONE: You see me, countrymen, on my last journey,

Taking my last leave of the light of day;

Going to my rest, where death shall take me

Alive across the silent river.

No wedding-day; no marriage-music;

Death will be all my bridal dower.

CHORUS: But glory and praise go with you, lady,

To your resting-place. You go with your beauty

Unmarred by the hand of consuming sickness,

Untouched by the sword, living and free,

As none other that ever died before you.

ANTIGONE: The daughter of Tantalus, a Phrygian maid,

Was doomed to a piteous death on the rock

Of Sipylus, which embraced and imprisoned her,

Merciless as the ivy; rain and snow

Beat down upon her, mingled with her tears,

As she wasted and died. Such was her story,

And such is the sleep that I shall go to.

CHORUS: She was a goddess of immortal birth,

And we are mortals; the greater the glory,

To share the fate of a god-born maiden,

A living death, but a name undying.

ANTIGONE: Mockery, mockery! By the gods of our fathers,

Must you make me a laughing-stock while I yet live?

O lordly sons of my city! O Thebes!

Your valleys of rivers, your chariots and horses!

No friend to weep at my banishment

To a rock-hewn chamber of endless durance,

In a strange cold tomb alone to linger

Lost between life and death for ever.

CHORUS: My child, you have gone your way

To the outermost limit of daring

And have stumbled against Law enthroned.

This is the expiation

You must make for the sin of your father.

ANTIGONE: My father – the thought that sears my soul –

The unending burden of the house of Labdacus.

Monstrous marriage of mother and son…

My father… my parents… O hideous shame!

Whom now I follow, unwed, curse-ridden,

Doomed to this death by the ill-starred marriage

That marred my brother’s life.

CHORUS: An act of homage is good in itself, my daughter;

But authority cannot afford to connive at disobedience.

You are the victim of your own self-will.

ANTIGONE: And must go the way that lies before me.

No funeral hymn; no marriage-music;

No sun from this day forth, no light,

No friend to weep at my departing.

Enter CREON.

CREON: Weeping and wailing at the door of death!

There’d be no end of it, if it had force

To buy death off. Away with her at once,

And close her up in her rock-vaulted tomb.

Leave her and let her die, if die she must,

Or live within her dungeon. Though on earth

Her life is ended from this day, her blood

Will not be on our hands.

ANTIGONE: So to my grave,

My bridal-bower, my everlasting prison,

I go, to join those many of my kinsmen

Who dwell in the mansions of Persephone,

Last and unhappiest, before my time.

Yet I believe my father will be there

To welcome me, my mother greet me gladly,

And you, my brother, gladly see me come.

Each one of you my hands have laid to rest,

Pouring the due libations on your graves.

It was by this service to your dear body, Polynices,

I earned the punishment which now I suffer,

Though all good people know it was for your honour.

O but I would not have done the forbidden thing

For any husband or for any son.

For why? I could have had another husband

And by him other sons, if one were lost;

But, father and mother lost, where would I get

Another brother? For thus preferring you,

My brother, Creon condemns me and hales me away,

Never a bride, never a mother, unfriended,

Condemned alive to solitary death.

What law of heaven have I transgressed? What god

Can save me now? What help or hope have I,

In whom devotion is deemed sacrilege?

If this is God’s will, I shall learn my lesson

In death; but if my enemies are wrong,

I wish them no worse punishment than mine.

CHORUS: Still the same tempest in the heart

Torments her soul with angry gusts.

CREON: The more cause then have they that guard her

To hasten their work; or they too suffer.

CHORUS: Alas, that word had the sound of death.

CREON: Indeed there is no more to hope for.

ANTIGONE: Gods of our fathers, my city, my home,

Rulers of Thebes! Time stays no longer.

Last daughter of your royal house

Go I, his prisoner, because I honoured

Those things to which honour truly belongs.

ANTIGONE is led away.

CHORUS*:

Such was the fate, my child, of Danae

Locked in a brazen bower,

A prison secret as a tomb,

Where was no day.

Daughter of kings, her royal womb

Garnered the golden shower

Of life from Zeus. So strong is Destiny,

No wealth, no armoury, no tower,

No ship that rides the angry sea

Her mastering hand can stay.

And Dryas’ son, the proud Edonian king,

Pined in a stony cell

At Dionysus’ bidding pent

To cool his fire

Till, all his full-blown passion spent,

He came to know right well

What god his ribald tongue was challenging

When he would break the fiery spell

Of the wild Maenads’ revelling

And vex the Muses’ choir.

It was upon the side

Of Bosporus, where the Black Rocks stand

By Thracian Salmydessus over the twin tide,

That Thracian Ares laughed to see

How Phineus’ angry wife most bloodily

Blinded his two sons’ eyes that mutely cried

For vengeance; crazed with jealousy

The woman smote them with the weaving-needle in her hand.

Forlorn they wept away

Their sad step-childhood’s misery

Predestined from their mother’s ill-starred marriage-day.

She was of old Erechtheid blood,

Cave-dwelling daughter of the North-wind God;

On rocky steeps, as mountain ponies play,

The wild winds nursed her maidenhood.

On her, my child, the grey Fates laid hard hands, as upon thee.

Enter TEIRESIAS, the blind prophet, led by a boy.

TEIRESIAS:

Gentlemen of Thebes, we greet you, my companion and I,

Who share one pair of eyes on our journeys together –

For the blind man goes where his leader tells him to.

CREON:

You are welcome, father Teiresias. What’s your news?

TEIRESIAS: Ay, news you shall have; and advice, if you can heed it.

CREON:

There was never a time when I failed to heed it, father.

TEIRESIAS: And thereby have so far steered a steady course.

CREON: And gladly acknowledge the debt we owe to you.

TEIRESIAS:

Then mark me now; for you stand on a razor’s edge.

CREON: Indeed? Grave words from your lips, good priest.

Say on.

TEIRESIAS: I will; and show you all that my skill reveals.

At my seat of divination, where I sit

These many years to read the signs of heaven,

An unfamiliar sound came to my ears

Of birds in vicious combat, savage cries

In strange outlandish language, and the whirr

Of flapping wings; from which I well could picture

The gruesome warfare of their deadly talons.

Full of foreboding then I made the test

Of sacrifice upon the altar fire.

There was no answering flame; only rank juice

Oozed from the flesh and dripped among the ashes,

Smouldering and sputtering; the gall vanished in a puff.

And the fat ran down and left the haunches bare.

Thus (through the eyes of my young acolyte,

Who sees for me, that I may see for others)

I read the signs of failure in my quest.

And why? The blight upon us is your doing.

The blood that stains our altars and our shrines,

The blood that dogs and vultures have licked up,

It is none other than the blood of Oedipus

Spilled from the veins of his ill-fated son.

Our fires, our sacrifices, and our prayers

The gods abominate. How should the birds

Give any other than ill-omened voices,

Gorged with the dregs of blood that man has shed?

Mark this, my son: all men fall into sin.

But sinning, he is not for ever lost

Hapless and helpless, who can make amends

And has not set his face against repentance.

Only a fool is governed by self-will.

Pay to the dead his due. Wound not the fallen.

It is no glory to kill and kill again.

My words are for your good, as is my will,

And should be acceptable, being for your good.

CREON: You take me for your target, reverend sir,

Like all the rest. I know your art of old,

And how you make me your commodity

To trade and traffic in for your advancement.

Trade as you will; but all the silver of Sardis

And all the gold of India will not buy

A tomb for yonder traitor. No. Let the eagles

Carry his carcase up to the throne of Zeus;

Even that would not be sacrilege enough

To frighten me from my determination

Not to allow this burial. No man’s act

Has power enough to pollute the goodness of God.

But great and terrible is the fall, Teiresias,

Of mortal men who seek their own advantage

By uttering evil in the guise of good.

TEIRESIAS: Ah, is there any wisdom in the world?

CREON: Why, what is the meaning of that wide-flung taunt?

TEIRESIAS:

What prize outweighs the priceless worth of prudence?

CREON:

Ay, what indeed? What mischief matches the lack of it?

TEIRESIAS: And there you speak of your own symptom, sir.

CREON: I am loth to pick a quarrel with you, priest.

TEIRESIAS: You do so, calling my divination false.

CREON: I say all prophets seek their own advantage.

TEIRESIAS: All kings, say I, seek gain unrighteously.

CREON: Do you forget to whom you say it?

TEIRESIAS: No.

Our king and benefactor, by my guidance.

CREON: Clever you may be, but not therefore honest.

TEIRESIAS: Must I reveal my yet unspoken mind?

CREON: Reveal all; but expect no gain from it.

TEIRESIAS: Does that still seem to you my motive, then?

CREON: Nor is my will for sale, sir, in your market.

TEIRESIAS: Then hear this. Ere the chariot of the sun

Has rounded once or twice his wheeling way,

You shall have given a son of your own loins

To death, in payment for death – two debts to pay:

One for the life that you have sent to death,

The life you have abominably entombed;

One for the dead still lying above ground

Unburied, unhonoured, unblest by the gods below.

You cannot alter this. The gods themselves

Cannot undo it. It follows of necessity

From what you have done. Even now the avenging Furies,

The hunters of Hell that follow and destroy,

Are lying in wait for you, and will have their prey,

When the evil you have worked for others falls on you.

Do I speak this for my gain? The time shall come,

And soon, when your house will be filled with the lamentation

Of men and of women; and every neighbouring city

Will be goaded to fury against you, for upon them

Too the pollution falls when the dogs and vultures

Bring the defilement of blood to their hearths and altars.

I have done. You pricked me, and these shafts of wrath

Will find their mark in your heart. You cannot escape

The sting of their sharpness.

Lead me home, my boy.

Let us leave him to vent his anger on younger ears,

Or school his mind and tongue to a milder mood

Than that which now possesses him.

Lead on.

Exit.

CHORUS:

He has gone, my lord. He has prophesied terrible things.

And for my part, I that was young and now am old

Have never known his prophecies proved false.

CREON: It is true enough; and my heart is torn in two.

It is hard to give way, and hard to stand and abide

The coming of the curse. Both ways are hard.

CHORUS: If you would be advised, my good lord Creon –

CREON: What must I do? Tell me, and I will do it.

CHORUS: Release the woman from her rocky prison.

Set up a tomb for him that lies unburied.

CREON: Is it your wish that I consent to this?

CHORUS: It is, and quickly. The gods do not delay

The stroke of their swift vengeance on the sinner.

CREON: It is hard, but I must do it. Well I know

There is no armour against necessity.

CHORUS: Go. Let your own hand do it, and no other.

CREON: I will go this instant.

Slaves there! One and all.

Bring spades and mattocks out on the hill!

My mind is made; ’twas I imprisoned her,

And I will set her free. Now I believe

It is by the laws of heaven that man must live.

Exit.

CHORUS:

O Thou whose name is many,

Son of the Thunderer, dear child of his Cadmean bride,

Whose hand is mighty

In Italia,

In the hospitable valley

Of Eleusis,

And in Thebes,

The mother-city of thy worshippers,

Where sweet Ismenus gently watereth

The soil whence sprang the harvest of the dragon’s teeth;

Where torches on the crested mountains gleam,

And by Castalia’s stream

The nymph-train in thy dance rejoices,

When from the ivy-tangled glens

Of Nysa and from vine-clad plains

Thou comest to Thebes where the immortal voices

Sing thy glad strains.

Thebes, where thou lovest most to be,

With her, thy mother, the fire-stricken one,

Sickens for need of thee.

Healer of all her ills;

Come swiftly o’er the high Parnassian hills,

Come o’er the sighing sea.

The stars, whose breath is fire, delight

To dance for thee; the echoing night

Shall with thy praises ring.

Zeus-born, appear! With Thyiads revelling

Come, bountiful

Iacchus, King!

Enter a MESSENGER, from the side of the stage.

MESSENGER: Hear, men of Cadmus’ city, hear and attend,

Men of the house of Amphion, people of Thebes!

What is the life of man? A thing not fixed

For good or evil, fashioned for praise or blame.

Chance raises a man to the heights, chance casts him down,

And none can foretell what will be from what is.

Creon was once an enviable man;

He saved his country from her enemies,

Assumed the sovereign power, and bore it well,

The honoured father of a royal house.

Now all is lost; for life without life’s joys

Is living death; and such a life is his.

Riches and rank and show of majesty

And state, where no joy is, are empty, vain

And unsubstantial shadows, of no weight

To be compared with happiness of heart.

CHORUS: What is your news? Disaster in the royal house?

MESSENGER: Death; and the guilt of it on living heads.

CHORUS: Who dead? And by what hand?

MESSENGER: Haemon is dead,

Slain by his own –

CHORUS: His father?

MESSENGER: His own hand.

His father’s act it was that drove him to it.

CHORUS: Then all has happened as the prophet said.

MESSENGER: What’s next to do, your worships will decide.

The Palace door opens.

CHORUS: Here comes the Queen, Eurydice. Poor soul,

It may be she has heard about her son.

Enter EURYDICE, attended by women.

EURYDICE:

My friends, I heard something of what you were saying

As I came to the door. I was on my way to prayer

At the temple of Pallas, and had barely turned the latch

When I caught your talk of some near calamity.

I was sick with fear and reeled in the arms of my women.

But tell me what is the matter; what have you heard?

I am not unacquainted with grief, and I can bear it.

MESSENGER:

Madam, it was I that saw it, and will tell you all.

To try to make it any lighter now

Would be to prove myself a liar. Truth

Is always best.

It was thus. I attended your husband,

The King, to the edge of the field where lay the body

Of Polynices, in pitiable state, mauled by the dogs.

We prayed for him to the Goddess of the Roads, and to Pluto,

That they might have mercy upon him. We washed the remains

In holy water, and on a fire of fresh-cut branches

We burned all that was left of him, and raised

Over his ashes a mound of his native earth.

That done, we turned towards the deep rock-chamber

Of the maid that was married with death.

Before we reached it,

One that stood near the accursed place had heard

Loud cries of anguish, and came to tell King Creon.

As he approached, came strange uncertain sounds

Of lamentation, and he cried aloud:

‘Unhappy wretch! Is my foreboding true?

Is this the most sorrowful journey that ever I went?

My son’s voice greets me. Go, some of you, quickly

Through the passage where the stones are thrown apart,

Into the mouth of the cave, and see if it be

My son, my own son Haemon that I hear.

If not, I am the sport of gods.’

We went

And looked, as bidden by our anxious master.

There in the furthest corner of the cave

We saw her hanging by the neck. The rope

Was of the woven linen of her dress.

And, with his arms about her, there stood he

Lamenting his lost bride, his luckless love,

His father’s cruelty.

When Creon saw them,

Into the cave he went, moaning piteously.

‘O my unhappy boy,’ he cried again,

‘What have you done? What madness brings you here

To your destruction? Come away, my son,

My son, I do beseech you, come away!’

His son looked at him with one angry stare,

Spat in his face, and then without a word

Drew sword and struck out. But his father fled

Unscathed. Whereon the poor demented boy

Leaned on his sword and thrust it deeply home

In his own side, and while his life ebbed out

Embraced the maid in loose-enfolding arms,

His spurting blood staining her pale cheeks red.

EURYDICE goes quickly back into the Palace.

Two bodies lie together, wedded in death,

Their bridal sleep a witness to the world

How great calamity can come to man

Through man’s perversity.

CHORUS: But what is this?

The Queen has turned and gone without a word.

MESSENGER: Yes. It is strange. The best that I can hope

Is that she would not sorrow for her son

Before us all, but vents her grief in private

Among her women. She is too wise, I think,

To take a false step rashly.

CHORUS: It may be.

Yet there is danger in unnatural silence

No less than in excess of lamentation.

MESSENGER: I will go in and see, whether in truth

There is some fatal purpose in her grief.

Such silence, as you say, may well be dangerous.

He goes in.

Enter Attendants preceding the King.

CHORUS: The King comes here.

What the tongue scarce dares to tell

Must now be known

By the burden that proves too well

The guilt, no other man’s

But his alone.

Enter CREON with the body of HAEMON.

CREON: The sin, the sin of the erring soul

Drives hard unto death.

Behold the slayer, the slain,

The father, the son.

O the curse of my stubborn will!

Son, newly cut off in the newness of youth,

Dead for my fault, not yours.

CHORUS: Alas, too late you have seen the truth.

CREON: I learn in sorrow. Upon my head

God has delivered this heavy punishment,

Has struck me down in the ways of wickedness,

And trod my gladness under foot.

Such is the bitter affliction of mortal man.

Enter the MESSENGER from the Palace.

MESSENGER: Sir, you have this and more than this to bear.

Within there’s more to know, more to your pain.

CREON: What more? What pain can overtop this pain?

MESSENGER:

She is dead – your wife, the mother of him that is dead –

The death-wound fresh in her heart. Alas, poor lady!

CREON: Insatiable Death, wilt thou destroy me yet?

What say you, teller of evil?

I am already dead,

And is there more?

Blood upon blood?

More death? My wife?

The central doors open, revealing the body of EURYDICE.

CHORUS: Look then, and see; nothing is hidden now.

CREON: O second horror!

What fate awaits me now?

My child here in my arms… and there, the other…

The son… the mother…

MESSENGER: There at the altar with the whetted knife

She stood, and as the darkness dimmed her eyes

Called on the dead, her elder son and this,

And with her dying breath cursed you, their slayer

CREON: O horrible…

Is there no sword for me,

To end this misery?

MESSENGER: Indeed you bear the burden of two deaths

It was her dying word.

CREON: And her last act?

MESSENGER: Hearing her son was dead, with her own hand

She drove the sharp sword home into her heart.

CREON: There is no man can bear this guilt but I.

It is true, I killed him.

Lead me away, away. I live no longer.

CHORUS: ‘Twere best, if anything is best in evil times.

What’s soonest done, is best, when all is ill.

CREON: Come, my last hour and fairest,

My only happiness… come soon.

Let me not see another day.

Away… away…

CHORUS: The future is not to be known; our present care

Is with the present; the rest is in other hands.

CREON: I ask no more than I have asked.

CHORUS: Ask nothing.

What is to be, no mortal can escape.

CREON: I am nothing. I have no life.

Lead me away…

That have killed unwittingly

My son, my wife.

I know not where I should turn,

Where look for help.

My hands have done amiss, my head is bowed

With fate too heavy for me.

Exit.

CHORUS: Of happiness the crown

And chiefest part

Is wisdom, and to hold

The gods in awe.

This is the law

That, seeing the stricken heart

Of pride brought down,

We learn when we are old.

EXEUNT