Antigone

CHORUS. (Str. 1) Many wonders there be, but naught more wondrous than man; Over the surging sea, with a whitening south wind wan, Through the foam of the firth, man makes his perilous way; And the eldest of deities Earth that knows not toil nor decay Ever he furrows and scores, as his team, year in year out, With breed of the yoked horse, the ploughshare turneth about.

(Ant. 1) The light-witted birds of the air, the beasts of the weald and the wood He traps with his woven snare, and the brood of the briny flood. Master of cunning he: the savage bull, and the hart Who roams the mountain free, are tamed by his infinite art; And the shaggy rough-maned steed is broken to bear the bit.

(Str. 2) Speech and the wind-swift speed of counsel and civic wit, He hath learnt for himself all these; and the arrowy rain to fly And the nipping airs that freeze, ’neath the open winter sky. He hath provision for all: fell plague he hath learnt to endure; Safe whate’er may befall: yet for death he hath found no cure.

(Ant. 2) Passing the wildest flight thought are the cunning and skill, That guide man now to the light, but now to counsels of ill. If he honors the laws of the land, and reveres the Gods of the State Proudly his city shall stand; but a cityless outcast I rate Whoso bold in his pride from the path of right doth depart; Ne’er may I sit by his side, or share the thoughts of his heart.

What strange vision meets my eyes, Fills me with a wild surprise? Sure I know her, sure ’tis she, The maid Antigone. Hapless child of hapless sire, Didst thou recklessly conspire, Madly brave the King’s decree? Therefore are they haling thee? [Enter GUARD bringing ANTIGONE]

GUARD. Here is the culprit taken in the act Of giving burial. But where’s the King?

CHORUS. There from the palace he returns in time. [Enter CREON]

CREON. Why is my presence timely? What has chanced?

GUARD. No man, my lord, should make a vow, for if He ever swears he will not do a thing, His afterthoughts belie his first resolve. When from the hail-storm of thy threats I fled I sware thou wouldst not see me here again; But the wild rapture of a glad surprise Intoxicates, and so I’m here forsworn. And here’s my prisoner, caught in the very act, Decking the grave. No lottery this time; This prize is mine by right of treasure-trove. So take her, judge her, rack her, if thou wilt. She’s thine, my liege; but I may rightly claim Hence to depart well quit of all these ills.

CREON. Say, how didst thou arrest the maid, and where?

GUARD. Burying the man. There’s nothing more to tell.

CREON. Hast thou thy wits? Or know’st thou what thou say’st?

GUARD. I saw this woman burying the corpse Against thy orders. Is that clear and plain?

CREON. But how was she surprised and caught in the act?

GUARD. It happened thus. No sooner had we come, Driven from thy presence by those awful threats, Than straight we swept away all trace of dust, And bared the clammy body. Then we sat High on the ridge to windward of the stench, While each man kept he fellow alert and rated Roundly the sluggard if he chanced to nap. So all night long we watched, until the sun Stood high in heaven, and his blazing beams Smote us. A sudden whirlwind then upraised A cloud of dust that blotted out the sky, And swept the plain, and stripped the woodlands bare, And shook the firmament. We closed our eyes And waited till the heaven-sent plague should pass. At last it ceased, and lo! there stood this maid. A piercing cry she uttered, sad and shrill, As when the mother bird beholds her nest Robbed of its nestlings; even so the maid Wailed as she saw the body stripped and bare, And cursed the ruffians who had done this deed. Anon she gathered handfuls of dry dust, Then, holding high a well-wrought brazen urn, Thrice on the dead she poured a lustral stream. We at the sight swooped down on her and seized Our quarry. Undismayed she stood, and when We taxed her with the former crime and this, She disowned nothing. I was glad—and grieved; For ’tis most sweet to ’scape oneself scot-free, And yet to bring disaster to a friend Is grievous. Take it all in all, I deem A man’s first duty is to serve himself.

CREON. Speak, girl, with head bent low and downcast eyes, Does thou plead guilty or deny the deed?

ANTIGONE. Guilty. I did it, I deny it not.

CREON (to GUARD) Sirrah, begone whither thou wilt, and thank Thy luck that thou hast ’scaped a heavy charge. (To ANTIGONE) Now answer this plain question, yes or no, Wast thou acquainted with the interdict?

ANTIGONE. I knew, all knew; how should I fail to know?

CREON. And yet wert bold enough to break the law?

ANTIGONE. Yea, for these laws were not ordained of Zeus, And she who sits enthroned with gods below, Justice, enacted not these human laws. Nor did I deem that thou, a mortal man, Could’st by a breath annul and override The immutable unwritten laws of Heaven. They were not born today nor yesterday; They die not; and none knoweth whence they sprang. I was not like, who feared no mortal’s frown, To disobey these laws and so provoke The wrath of Heaven. I knew that I must die, E’en hadst thou not proclaimed it; and if death Is thereby hastened, I shall count it gain. For death is gain to him whose life, like mine, Is full of misery. Thus my lot appears Not sad, but blissful; for had I endured To leave my mother’s son unburied there, I should have grieved with reason, but not now. And if in this thou judgest me a fool, Methinks the judge of folly’s not acquit.

CHORUS. A stubborn daughter of a stubborn sire, This ill-starred maiden kicks against the pricks.

CREON. Well, let her know the stubbornest of wills Are soonest bended, as the hardest iron, O’er-heated in the fire to brittleness, Flies soonest into fragments, shivered through. A snaffle curbs the fieriest steed, and he Who in subjection lives must needs be meek. But this proud girl, in insolence well-schooled, First overstepped the established law, and then— A second and worse act of insolence— She boasts and glories in her wickedness. Now if she thus can flout authority Unpunished, I am woman, she the man. But though she be my sister’s child or nearer Of kin than all who worship at my hearth, Nor she nor yet her sister shall escape The utmost penalty, for both I hold, As arch-conspirators, of equal guilt. Bring forth the older; even now I saw her Within the palace, frenzied and distraught. The workings of the mind discover oft Dark deeds in darkness schemed, before the act. More hateful still the miscreant who seeks When caught, to make a virtue of a crime.

ANTIGONE. Would’st thou do more than slay thy prisoner?

CREON. Not I, thy life is mine, and that’s enough.

ANTIGONE. Why dally then? To me no word of thine Is pleasant: God forbid it e’er should please; Nor am I more acceptable to thee. And yet how otherwise had I achieved A name so glorious as by burying A brother? so my townsmen all would say, Where they not gagged by terror, Manifold A king’s prerogatives, and not the least That all his acts and all his words are law.

CREON. Of all these Thebans none so deems but thou.

ANTIGONE. These think as I, but bate their breath to thee.

CREON. Hast thou no shame to differ from all these?

ANTIGONE. To reverence kith and kin can bring no shame.

CREON. Was his dead foeman not thy kinsman too?

ANTIGONE. One mother bare them and the self-same sire.

CREON. Why cast a slur on one by honoring one?

ANTIGONE. The dead man will not bear thee out in this.

CREON. Surely, if good and evil fare alive.

ANTIGONE. The slain man was no villain but a brother.

CREON. The patriot perished by the outlaw’s brand.

ANTIGONE. Nathless the realms below these rites require.

CREON. Not that the base should fare as do the brave.

ANTIGONE. Who knows if this world’s crimes are virtues there?

CREON. Not even death can make a foe a friend.

ANTIGONE. My nature is for mutual love, not hate.

CREON. Die then, and love the dead if thou must; No woman shall be the master while I live. [Enter ISMENE]

CHORUS. Lo from out the palace gate, Weeping o’er her sister’s fate, Comes Ismene; see her brow, Once serene, beclouded now, See her beauteous face o’erspread With a flush of angry red.

CREON. Woman, who like a viper unperceived Didst harbor in my house and drain my blood, Two plagues I nurtured blindly, so it proved, To sap my throne. Say, didst thou too abet This crime, or dost abjure all privity?

ISMENE. I did the deed, if she will have it so, And with my sister claim to share the guilt.

ANTIGONE. That were unjust. Thou would’st not act with me At first, and I refused thy partnership.

ISMENE. But now thy bark is stranded, I am bold To claim my share as partner in the loss.

ANTIGONE. Who did the deed the under-world knows well: A friend in word is never friend of mine.

ISMENE. O sister, scorn me not, let me but share Thy work of piety, and with thee die.

ANTIGONE. Claim not a work in which thou hadst no hand; One death sufficeth. Wherefore should’st thou die?

ISMENE. What would life profit me bereft of thee?

ANTIGONE. Ask Creon, he’s thy kinsman and best friend.

ISMENE. Why taunt me? Find’st thou pleasure in these gibes?

ANTIGONE. ’Tis a sad mockery, if indeed I mock.

ISMENE. O say if I can help thee even now.

ANTIGONE. No, save thyself; I grudge not thy escape.

ISMENE. Is e’en this boon denied, to share thy lot?

ANTIGONE. Yea, for thou chosed’st life, and I to die.

ISMENE. Thou canst not say that I did not protest.

ANTIGONE. Well, some approved thy wisdom, others mine.

ISMENE. But now we stand convicted, both alike.

ANTIGONE. Fear not; thou livest, I died long ago Then when I gave my life to save the dead.

CREON. Both maids, methinks, are crazed. One suddenly Has lost her wits, the other was born mad.

ISMENE. Yea, so it falls, sire, when misfortune comes, The wisest even lose their mother wit.

CREON. I’ faith thy wit forsook thee when thou mad’st Thy choice with evil-doers to do ill.

ISMENE. What life for me without my sister here?

CREON. Say not thy sister here: thy sister’s dead.

ISMENE. What, wilt thou slay thy own son’s plighted bride?

CREON. Aye, let him raise him seed from other fields.

ISMENE. No new espousal can be like the old.

CREON. A plague on trulls who court and woo our sons.

ANTIGONE. O Haemon, how thy sire dishonors thee!

CREON. A plague on thee and thy accursed bride!

CHORUS. What, wilt thou rob thine own son of his bride?

CREON. ’Tis death that bars this marriage, not his sire.

CHORUS. So her death-warrant, it would seem, is sealed.

CREON. By you, as first by me; off with them, guards, And keep them close. Henceforward let them learn To live as women use, not roam at large. For e’en the bravest spirits run away When they perceive death pressing on life’s heels.