Part 9

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.

CHORUS. (Str. 1) Thrice blest are they who never tasted pain! If once the curse of Heaven attaint a race, The infection lingers on and speeds apace, Age after age, and each the cup must drain.

So when Etesian blasts from Thrace downpour Sweep o’er the blackening main and whirl to land From Ocean’s cavernous depths his ooze and sand, Billow on billow thunders on the shore.

(Ant. 1) On the Labdacidae I see descending Woe upon woe; from days of old some god Laid on the race a malison, and his rod Scourges each age with sorrows never ending.

The light that dawned upon its last born son Is vanished, and the bloody axe of Fate Has felled the goodly tree that blossomed late. O Oedipus, by reckless pride undone!

(Str. 2) Thy might, O Zeus, what mortal power can quell? Not sleep that lays all else beneath its spell, Nor moons that never tire: untouched by Time, Throned in the dazzling light That crowns Olympus’ height, Thou reignest King, omnipotent, sublime.

Past, present, and to be, All bow to thy decree, All that exceeds the mean by Fate Is punished, Love or Hate.

(Ant. 2) Hope flits about never-wearying wings; Profit to some, to some light loves she brings, But no man knoweth how her gifts may turn, Till ’neath his feet the treacherous ashes burn. Sure ’twas a sage inspired that spake this word; _If evil good appear_ _To any, Fate is near_; And brief the respite from her flaming sword.

Hither comes in angry mood Haemon, latest of thy brood; Is it for his bride he’s grieved, Or her marriage-bed deceived, Doth he make his mourn for thee, Maid forlorn, Antigone? [Enter HAEMON]

CREON. Soon shall we know, better than seer can tell. Learning may fixed decree anent thy bride, Thou mean’st not, son, to rave against thy sire? Know’st not whate’er we do is done in love?

HAEMON. O father, I am thine, and I will take Thy wisdom as the helm to steer withal. Therefore no wedlock shall by me be held More precious than thy loving goverance.

CREON. Well spoken: so right-minded sons should feel, In all deferring to a father’s will. For ’tis the hope of parents they may rear A brood of sons submissive, keen to avenge Their father’s wrongs, and count his friends their own. But who begets unprofitable sons, He verily breeds trouble for himself, And for his foes much laughter. Son, be warned And let no woman fool away thy wits. Ill fares the husband mated with a shrew, And her embraces very soon wax cold. For what can wound so surely to the quick As a false friend? So spue and cast her off, Bid her go find a husband with the dead. For since I caught her openly rebelling, Of all my subjects the one malcontent, I will not prove a traitor to the State. She surely dies. Go, let her, if she will, Appeal to Zeus the God of Kindred, for If thus I nurse rebellion in my house, Shall not I foster mutiny without? For whoso rules his household worthily, Will prove in civic matters no less wise. But he who overbears the laws, or thinks To overrule his rulers, such as one I never will allow. Whome’er the State Appoints must be obeyed in everything, But small and great, just and unjust alike. I warrant such a one in either case Would shine, as King or subject; such a man Would in the storm of battle stand his ground, A comrade leal and true; but Anarchy— What evils are not wrought by Anarchy! She ruins States, and overthrows the home, She dissipates and routs the embattled host; While discipline preserves the ordered ranks. Therefore we must maintain authority And yield to title to a woman’s will. Better, if needs be, men should cast us out Than hear it said, a woman proved his match.

CHORUS. To me, unless old age have dulled wits, Thy words appear both reasonable and wise.

HAEMON. Father, the gods implant in mortal men Reason, the choicest gift bestowed by heaven. ’Tis not for me to say thou errest, nor Would I arraign thy wisdom, if I could; And yet wise thoughts may come to other men And, as thy son, it falls to me to mark The acts, the words, the comments of the crowd. The commons stand in terror of thy frown, And dare not utter aught that might offend, But I can overhear their muttered plaints, Know how the people mourn this maiden doomed For noblest deeds to die the worst of deaths. When her own brother slain in battle lay Unsepulchered, she suffered not his corse To lie for carrion birds and dogs to maul: Should not her name (they cry) be writ in gold? Such the low murmurings that reach my ear. O father, nothing is by me more prized Than thy well-being, for what higher good Can children covet than their sire’s fair fame, As fathers too take pride in glorious sons? Therefore, my father, cling not to one mood, And deemed not thou art right, all others wrong. For whoso thinks that wisdom dwells with him, That he alone can speak or think aright, Such oracles are empty breath when tried. The wisest man will let himself be swayed By others’ wisdom and relax in time. See how the trees beside a stream in flood Save, if they yield to force, each spray unharmed, But by resisting perish root and branch. The mariner who keeps his mainsheet taut, And will not slacken in the gale, is like To sail with thwarts reversed, keel uppermost. Relent then and repent thee of thy wrath; For, if one young in years may claim some sense, I’ll say ’tis best of all to be endowed With absolute wisdom; but, if that’s denied, (And nature takes not readily that ply) Next wise is he who lists to sage advice.

CHORUS. If he says aught in season, heed him, King. (To HAEMON) Heed thou thy sire too; both have spoken well.

CREON. What, would you have us at our age be schooled, Lessoned in prudence by a beardless boy?

HAEMON. I plead for justice, father, nothing more. Weigh me upon my merit, not my years.

CREON. Strange merit this to sanction lawlessness!

HAEMON. For evil-doers I would urge no plea.

CREON. Is not this maid an arrant law-breaker?

HAEMON. The Theban commons with one voice say, No.

CREON. What, shall the mob dictate my policy?

HAEMON. ’Tis thou, methinks, who speakest like a boy.

CREON. Am I to rule for others, or myself?

HAEMON. A State for one man is no State at all.

CREON. The State is his who rules it, so ’tis held.

HAEMON. As monarch of a desert thou wouldst shine.

CREON. This boy, methinks, maintains the woman’s cause.

HAEMON. If thou be’st woman, yes. My thought’s for thee.

CREON. O reprobate, would’st wrangle with thy sire?

HAEMON. Because I see thee wrongfully perverse.

CREON. And am I wrong, if I maintain my rights?

HAEMON. Talk not of rights; thou spurn’st the due of Heaven

CREON. O heart corrupt, a woman’s minion thou!

HAEMON. Slave to dishonor thou wilt never find me.

CREON. Thy speech at least was all a plea for her.

HAEMON. And thee and me, and for the gods below.

CREON. Living the maid shall never be thy bride.

HAEMON. So she shall die, but one will die with her.

CREON. Hast come to such a pass as threaten me?

HAEMON. What threat is this, vain counsels to reprove?

CREON. Vain fool to instruct thy betters; thou shall rue it.

HAEMON. Wert not my father, I had said thou err’st.

CREON. Play not the spaniel, thou a woman’s slave.

HAEMON. When thou dost speak, must no man make reply?

CREON. This passes bounds. By heaven, thou shalt not rate And jeer and flout me with impunity. Off with the hateful thing that she may die At once, beside her bridegroom, in his sight.

HAEMON. Think not that in my sight the maid shall die, Or by my side; never shalt thou again Behold my face hereafter. Go, consort With friends who like a madman for their mate. [Exit HAEMON]

CHORUS. Thy son has gone, my liege, in angry haste. Fell is the wrath of youth beneath a smart.

CREON. Let him go vent his fury like a fiend: These sisters twain he shall not save from death.

CHORUS. Surely, thou meanest not to slay them both?

CREON. I stand corrected; only her who touched The body.

CHORUS. And what death is she to die?

CREON. She shall be taken to some desert place By man untrod, and in a rock-hewn cave, With food no more than to avoid the taint That homicide might bring on all the State, Buried alive. There let her call in aid The King of Death, the one god she reveres, Or learn too late a lesson learnt at last: ’Tis labor lost, to reverence the dead.

CHORUS. (Str.) Love resistless in fight, all yield at a glance of thine eye, Love who pillowed all night on a maiden’s cheek dost lie, Over the upland holds. Shall mortals not yield to thee?

(Ant). Mad are thy subjects all, and even the wisest heart Straight to folly will fall, at a touch of thy poisoned dart. Thou didst kindle the strife, this feud of kinsman with kin, By the eyes of a winsome wife, and the yearning her heart to win. For as her consort still, enthroned with Justice above, Thou bendest man to thy will, O all invincible Love.

Lo I myself am borne aside, From Justice, as I view this bride. (O sight an eye in tears to drown) Antigone, so young, so fair, Thus hurried down Death’s bower with the dead to share.

ANTIGONE. (Str. 1) Friends, countrymen, my last farewell I make; My journey’s done. One last fond, lingering, longing look I take At the bright sun. For Death who puts to sleep both young and old Hales my young life, And beckons me to Acheron’s dark fold, An unwed wife. No youths have sung the marriage song for me, My bridal bed No maids have strewn with flowers from the lea, ’Tis Death I wed.

CHORUS. But bethink thee, thou art sped, Great and glorious, to the dead. Thou the sword’s edge hast not tasted, No disease thy frame hath wasted. Freely thou alone shalt go Living to the dead below.

ANTIGONE. (Ant. 1) Nay, but the piteous tale I’ve heard men tell Of Tantalus’ doomed child, Chained upon Siphylus’ high rocky fell, That clung like ivy wild, Drenched by the pelting rain and whirling snow, Left there to pine, While on her frozen breast the tears aye flow— Her fate is mine.

CHORUS. She was sprung of gods, divine, Mortals we of mortal line. Like renown with gods to gain Recompenses all thy pain. Take this solace to thy tomb Hers in life and death thy doom.

ANTIGONE. (Str. 2) Alack, alack! Ye mock me. Is it meet Thus to insult me living, to my face? Cease, by our country’s altars I entreat, Ye lordly rulers of a lordly race. O fount of Dirce, wood-embowered plain Where Theban chariots to victory speed, Mark ye the cruel laws that now have wrought my bane, The friends who show no pity in my need! Was ever fate like mine? O monstrous doom, Within a rock-built prison sepulchered, To fade and wither in a living tomb, And alien midst the living and the dead.

CHORUS. (Str. 3) In thy boldness over-rash Madly thou thy foot didst dash ’Gainst high Justice’ altar stair. Thou a father’s guild dost bear.

ANTIGONE. (Ant. 2) At this thou touchest my most poignant pain, My ill-starred father’s piteous disgrace, The taint of blood, the hereditary stain, That clings to all of Labdacus’ famed race. Woe worth the monstrous marriage-bed where lay A mother with the son her womb had borne, Therein I was conceived, woe worth the day, Fruit of incestuous sheets, a maid forlorn, And now I pass, accursed and unwed, To meet them as an alien there below; And thee, O brother, in marriage ill-bestead, ’Twas thy dead hand that dealt me this death-blow.

CHORUS. Religion has her chains, ’tis true, Let rite be paid when rites are due. Yet is it ill to disobey The powers who hold by might the sway. Thou hast withstood authority, A self-willed rebel, thou must die.

ANTIGONE. Unwept, unwed, unfriended, hence I go, No longer may I see the day’s bright eye; Not one friend left to share my bitter woe, And o’er my ashes heave one passing sigh.

CREON. If wail and lamentation aught availed To stave off death, I trow they’d never end. Away with her, and having walled her up In a rock-vaulted tomb, as I ordained, Leave her alone at liberty to die, Or, if she choose, to live in solitude, The tomb her dwelling. We in either case Are guiltless as concerns this maiden’s blood, Only on earth no lodging shall she find.

ANTIGONE. O grave, O bridal bower, O prison house Hewn from the rock, my everlasting home, Whither I go to join the mighty host Of kinsfolk, Persephassa’s guests long dead, The last of all, of all more miserable, I pass, my destined span of years cut short. And yet good hope is mine that I shall find A welcome from my sire, a welcome too, From thee, my mother, and my brother dear; From with these hands, I laved and decked your limbs In death, and poured libations on your grave. And last, my Polyneices, unto thee I paid due rites, and this my recompense! Yet am I justified in wisdom’s eyes. For even had it been some child of mine, Or husband mouldering in death’s decay, I had not wrought this deed despite the State. What is the law I call in aid? ’Tis thus I argue. Had it been a husband dead I might have wed another, and have borne Another child, to take the dead child’s place. But, now my sire and mother both are dead, No second brother can be born for me. Thus by the law of conscience I was led To honor thee, dear brother, and was judged By Creon guilty of a heinous crime. And now he drags me like a criminal, A bride unwed, amerced of marriage-song And marriage-bed and joys of motherhood, By friends deserted to a living grave. What ordinance of heaven have I transgressed? Hereafter can I look to any god For succor, call on any man for help? Alas, my piety is impious deemed. Well, if such justice is approved of heaven, I shall be taught by suffering my sin; But if the sin is theirs, O may they suffer No worse ills than the wrongs they do to me.

CHORUS. The same ungovernable will Drives like a gale the maiden still.

CREON. Therefore, my guards who let her stay Shall smart full sore for their delay.

ANTIGONE. Ah, woe is me! This word I hear Brings death most near.

CHORUS. I have no comfort. What he saith, Portends no other thing than death.

ANTIGONE. My fatherland, city of Thebes divine, Ye gods of Thebes whence sprang my line, Look, puissant lords of Thebes, on me; The last of all your royal house ye see. Martyred by men of sin, undone. Such meed my piety hath won. [Exit ANTIGONE]

CHORUS. (Str. 1) Like to thee that maiden bright, Danae, in her brass-bound tower, Once exchanged the glad sunlight For a cell, her bridal bower. And yet she sprang of royal line, My child, like thine, And nursed the seed By her conceived Of Zeus descending in a golden shower. Strange are the ways of Fate, her power Nor wealth, nor arms withstand, nor tower; Nor brass-prowed ships, that breast the sea From Fate can flee.

(Ant. 1) Thus Dryas’ child, the rash Edonian King, For words of high disdain Did Bacchus to a rocky dungeon bring, To cool the madness of a fevered brain. His frenzy passed, He learnt at last ’Twas madness gibes against a god to fling. For once he fain had quenched the Maenad’s fire; And of the tuneful Nine provoked the ire.

(Str. 2) By the Iron Rocks that guard the double main, On Bosporus’ lone strand, Where stretcheth Salmydessus’ plain In the wild Thracian land, There on his borders Ares witnessed The vengeance by a jealous step-dame ta’en The gore that trickled from a spindle red, The sightless orbits of her step-sons twain.

(Ant. 2) Wasting away they mourned their piteous doom, The blasted issue of their mother’s womb. But she her lineage could trace To great Erecththeus’ race; Daughter of Boreas in her sire’s vast caves Reared, where the tempest raves, Swift as his horses o’er the hills she sped; A child of gods; yet she, my child, like thee, By Destiny That knows not death nor age—she too was vanquished. [Enter TEIRESIAS and BOY]

TEIRESIAS. Princes of Thebes, two wayfarers as one, Having betwixt us eyes for one, we are here. The blind man cannot move without a guide.

CREON. Why tidings, old Teiresias?

TEIRESIAS. I will tell thee; And when thou hearest thou must heed the seer.

CREON. Thus far I ne’er have disobeyed thy rede.

TEIRESIAS. So hast thou steered the ship of State aright.

CREON. I know it, and I gladly own my debt.

TEIRESIAS. Bethink thee that thou treadest once again The razor edge of peril.

CREON. What is this? Thy words inspire a dread presentiment.

TEIRESIAS. The divination of my arts shall tell. Sitting upon my throne of augury, As is my wont, where every fowl of heaven Find harborage, upon mine ears was borne A jargon strange of twitterings, hoots, and screams; So knew I that each bird at the other tare With bloody talons, for the whirr of wings Could signify naught else. Perturbed in soul, I straight essayed the sacrifice by fire On blazing altars, but the God of Fire Came not in flame, and from the thigh bones dripped And sputtered in the ashes a foul ooze; Gall-bladders cracked and spurted up: the fat Melted and fell and left the thigh bones bare. Such are the signs, taught by this lad, I read— As I guide others, so the boy guides me— The frustrate signs of oracles grown dumb. O King, thy willful temper ails the State, For all our shrines and altars are profaned By what has filled the maw of dogs and crows, The flesh of Oedipus’ unburied son. Therefore the angry gods abominate Our litanies and our burnt offerings; Therefore no birds trill out a happy note, Gorged with the carnival of human gore. O ponder this, my son. To err is common To all men, but the man who having erred Hugs not his errors, but repents and seeks The cure, is not a wastrel nor unwise. No fool, the saw goes, like the obstinate fool. Let death disarm thy vengeance. O forbear To vex the dead. What glory wilt thou win By slaying twice the slain? I mean thee well; Counsel’s most welcome if I promise gain.

CREON. Old man, ye all let fly at me your shafts Like anchors at a target; yea, ye set Your soothsayer on me. Peddlers are ye all And I the merchandise ye buy and sell. Go to, and make your profit where ye will, Silver of Sardis change for gold of Ind; Ye will not purchase this man’s burial, Not though the winged ministers of Zeus Should bear him in their talons to his throne; Not e’en in awe of prodigy so dire Would I permit his burial, for I know No human soilure can assail the gods; This too I know, Teiresias, dire’s the fall Of craft and cunning when it tries to gloss Foul treachery with fair words for filthy gain.

TEIRESIAS. Alas! doth any know and lay to heart—

CREON. Is this the prelude to some hackneyed saw?

TEIRESIAS. How far good counsel is the best of goods?

CREON. True, as unwisdom is the worst of ills.

TEIRESIAS. Thou art infected with that ill thyself.

CREON. I will not bandy insults with thee, seer.

TEIRESIAS. And yet thou say’st my prophesies are frauds.

CREON. Prophets are all a money-getting tribe.

TEIRESIAS. And kings are all a lucre-loving race.

CREON. Dost know at whom thou glancest, me thy lord?

TEIRESIAS. Lord of the State and savior, thanks to me.

CREON. Skilled prophet art thou, but to wrong inclined.

TEIRESIAS. Take heed, thou wilt provoke me to reveal The mystery deep hidden in my breast.

CREON. Say on, but see it be not said for gain.

TEIRESIAS. Such thou, methinks, till now hast judged my words.

CREON. Be sure thou wilt not traffic on my wits.