Delphi Complete Works of Sophocles

by Sophocles

By double fratricide; and since i’ the night

  Our Argive leaguers fled, no later news

  Has reached me, to inspirit or deject.

  ANTIGONE

  I know ’twas so, and therefore summoned thee

  Beyond the gates to breathe it in thine ear.

  ISMENE

  What is it? Some dark secret stirs thy breast.

  ANTIGONE

  What but the thought of our two brothers dead,

  The one by Creon graced with funeral rites,

  The other disappointed? Eteocles

  He hath consigned to earth (as fame reports)

  With obsequies that use and wont ordain,

  So gracing him among the dead below.

  But Polyneices, a dishonored corse,

  (So by report the royal edict runs)

  No man may bury him or make lament —

  Must leave him tombless and unwept, a feast

  For kites to scent afar and swoop upon.

  Such is the edict (if report speak true)

  Of Creon, our most noble Creon, aimed

  At thee and me, aye me too; and anon

  He will be here to promulgate, for such

  As have not heard, his mandate; ’tis in sooth

  No passing humor, for the edict says

  Whoe’er transgresses shall be stoned to death.

  So stands it with us; now ’tis thine to show

  If thou art worthy of thy blood or base.

  ISMENE

  But how, my rash, fond sister, in such case

  Can I do anything to make or mar?

  ANTIGONE

  Say, wilt thou aid me and abet? Decide.

  ISMENE

  In what bold venture? What is in thy thought?

  ANTIGONE

  Lend me a hand to bear the corpse away.

  ISMENE

  What, bury him despite the interdict?

  ANTIGONE

  My brother, and, though thou deny him, thine

  No man shall say that I betrayed a brother.

  ISMENE

  Wilt thou persist, though Creon has forbid?

  ANTIGONE

  What right has he to keep me from my own?

  ISMENE

  Bethink thee, sister, of our father’s fate,

  Abhorred, dishonored, self-convinced of sin,

  Blinded, himself his executioner.

  Think of his mother-wife (ill sorted names)

  Done by a noose herself had twined to death

  And last, our hapless brethren in one day,

  Both in a mutual destiny involved,

  Self-slaughtered, both the slayer and the slain.

  Bethink thee, sister, we are left alone;

  Shall we not perish wretchedest of all,

  If in defiance of the law we cross

  A monarch’s will? — weak women, think of that,

  Not framed by nature to contend with men.

  Remember this too that the stronger rules;

  We must obey his orders, these or worse.

  Therefore I plead compulsion and entreat

  The dead to pardon. I perforce obey

  The powers that be. ’Tis foolishness, I ween,

  To overstep in aught the golden mean.

  ANTIGONE

  I urge no more; nay, wert thou willing still,

  I would not welcome such a fellowship.

  Go thine own way; myself will bury him.

  How sweet to die in such employ, to rest, —

  Sister and brother linked in love’s embrace —

  A sinless sinner, banned awhile on earth,

  But by the dead commended; and with them

  I shall abide for ever. As for thee,

  Scorn, if thou wilt, the eternal laws of Heaven.

  ISMENE

  I scorn them not, but to defy the State

  Or break her ordinance I have no skill.

  ANTIGONE

  A specious pretext. I will go alone

  To lap my dearest brother in the grave.

  ISMENE

  My poor, fond sister, how I fear for thee!

  ANTIGONE

  O waste no fears on me; look to thyself.

  ISMENE

  At least let no man know of thine intent,

  But keep it close and secret, as will I.

  ANTIGONE

  O tell it, sister; I shall hate thee more

  If thou proclaim it not to all the town.

  ISMENE

  Thou hast a fiery soul for numbing work.

  ANTIGONE

  I pleasure those whom I would liefest please.

  ISMENE

  If thou succeed; but thou art doomed to fail.

  ANTIGONE

  When strength shall fail me, yes, but not before.

  ISMENE

  But, if the venture’s hopeless, why essay?

  ANTIGONE

  Sister, forbear, or I shall hate thee soon,

  And the dead man will hate thee too, with cause.

  Say I am mad and give my madness rein

  To wreck itself; the worst that can befall

  Is but to die an honorable death.

  ISMENE

  Have thine own way then; ’tis a mad endeavor,

  Yet to thy lovers thou art dear as ever.

  [Exeunt]

  CHORUS

  (Str. 1)

  Sunbeam, of all that ever dawn upon

  Our seven-gated Thebes the brightest ray,

  O eye of golden day,

  How fair thy light o’er Dirce’s fountain shone,

  Speeding upon their headlong homeward course,

  Far quicker than they came, the Argive force;

  Putting to flight

  The argent shields, the host with scutcheons white.

  Against our land the proud invader came

  To vindicate fell Polyneices’ claim.

  Like to an eagle swooping low,

  On pinions white as new fall’n snow.

  With clanging scream, a horsetail plume his crest,

  The aspiring lord of Argos onward pressed.

  (Ant. 1)

  Hovering around our city walls he waits,

  His spearmen raven at our seven gates.

  But ere a torch our crown of towers could burn,

  Ere they had tasted of our blood, they turn

  Forced by the Dragon; in their rear

  The din of Ares panic-struck they hear.

  For Zeus who hates the braggart’s boast

  Beheld that gold-bespangled host;

  As at the goal the paean they upraise,

  He struck them with his forked lightning blaze.

  (Str. 2)

  To earthy from earth rebounding, down he crashed;

  The fire-brand from his impious hand was dashed,

  As like a Bacchic reveler on he came,

  Outbreathing hate and flame,

  And tottered. Elsewhere in the field,

  Here, there, great Area like a war-horse wheeled;

  Beneath his car down thrust

  Our foemen bit the dust.

  Seven captains at our seven gates

  Thundered; for each a champion waits,

  Each left behind his armor bright,

  Trophy for Zeus who turns the fight;

  Save two alone, that ill-starred pair

  One mother to one father bare,

  Who lance in rest, one ‘gainst the other

  Drave, and both perished, brother slain by brother.

  (Ant. 2)

  Now Victory to Thebes returns again

  And smiles upon her chariot-circled plain.

  Now let feast and festal should

  Memories of war blot out.

  Let us to the temples throng,

  Dance and sing the live night long.

  God of Thebes, lead thou the round.

  Bacchus, shaker of the ground!

  Let us end our revels here;

  Lo! Creon our new lord draws near,

  Crowned by thi
s strange chance, our king.

  What, I marvel, pondering?

  Why this summons? Wherefore call

  Us, his elders, one and all,

  Bidding us with him debate,

  On some grave concern of State?

  [Enter CREON]

  CREON

  Elders, the gods have righted one again

  Our storm-tossed ship of state, now safe in port.

  But you by special summons I convened

  As my most trusted councilors; first, because

  I knew you loyal to Laius of old;

  Again, when Oedipus restored our State,

  Both while he ruled and when his rule was o’er,

  Ye still were constant to the royal line.

  Now that his two sons perished in one day,

  Brother by brother murderously slain,

  By right of kinship to the Princes dead,

  I claim and hold the throne and sovereignty.

  Yet ’tis no easy matter to discern

  The temper of a man, his mind and will,

  Till he be proved by exercise of power;

  And in my case, if one who reigns supreme

  Swerve from the highest policy, tongue-tied

  By fear of consequence, that man I hold,

  And ever held, the basest of the base.

  And I contemn the man who sets his friend

  Before his country. For myself, I call

  To witness Zeus, whose eyes are everywhere,

  If I perceive some mischievous design

  To sap the State, I will not hold my tongue;

  Nor would I reckon as my private friend

  A public foe, well knowing that the State

  Is the good ship that holds our fortunes all:

  Farewell to friendship, if she suffers wreck.

  Such is the policy by which I seek

  To serve the Commons and conformably

  I have proclaimed an edict as concerns

  The sons of Oedipus; Eteocles

  Who in his country’s battle fought and fell,

  The foremost champion — duly bury him

  With all observances and ceremonies

  That are the guerdon of the heroic dead.

  But for the miscreant exile who returned

  Minded in flames and ashes to blot out

  His father’s city and his father’s gods,

  And glut his vengeance with his kinsmen’s blood,

  Or drag them captive at his chariot wheels —

  For Polyneices ’tis ordained that none

  Shall give him burial or make mourn for him,

  But leave his corpse unburied, to be meat

  For dogs and carrion crows, a ghastly sight.

  So am I purposed; never by my will

  Shall miscreants take precedence of true men,

  But all good patriots, alive or dead,

  Shall be by me preferred and honored.

  CHORUS

  Son of Menoeceus, thus thou will’st to deal

  With him who loathed and him who loved our State.

  Thy word is law; thou canst dispose of us

  The living, as thou will’st, as of the dead.

  CREON

  See then ye execute what I ordain.

  CHORUS

  On younger shoulders lay this grievous charge.

  CREON

  Fear not, I’ve posted guards to watch the corpse.

  CHORUS

  What further duty would’st thou lay on us?

  CREON

  Not to connive at disobedience.

  CHORUS

  No man is mad enough to court his death.

  CREON

  The penalty is death: yet hope of gain

  Hath lured men to their ruin oftentimes.

  [Enter GUARD]

  GUARD

  My lord, I will not make pretense to pant

  And puff as some light-footed messenger.

  In sooth my soul beneath its pack of thought

  Made many a halt and turned and turned again;

  For conscience plied her spur and curb by turns.

  “Why hurry headlong to thy fate, poor fool?”

  She whispered. Then again, “If Creon learn

  This from another, thou wilt rue it worse.”

  Thus leisurely I hastened on my road;

  Much thought extends a furlong to a league.

  But in the end the forward voice prevailed,

  To face thee. I will speak though I say nothing.

  For plucking courage from despair methought,

  ‘Let the worst hap, thou canst but meet thy fate.’

  CREON

  What is thy news? Why this despondency?

  GUARD

  Let me premise a word about myself?

  I neither did the deed nor saw it done,

  Nor were it just that I should come to harm.

  CREON

  Thou art good at parry, and canst fence about

  Some matter of grave import, as is plain.

  GUARD

  The bearer of dread tidings needs must quake.

  CREON

  Then, sirrah, shoot thy bolt and get thee gone.

  GUARD

  Well, it must out; the corpse is buried; someone

  E’en now besprinkled it with thirsty dust,

  Performed the proper ritual — and was gone.

  CREON

  What say’st thou? Who hath dared to do this thing?

  GUARD

  I cannot tell, for there was ne’er a trace

  Of pick or mattock — hard unbroken ground,

  Without a scratch or rut of chariot wheels,

  No sign that human hands had been at work.

  When the first sentry of the morning watch

  Gave the alarm, we all were terror-stricken.

  The corpse had vanished, not interred in earth,

  But strewn with dust, as if by one who sought

  To avert the curse that haunts the unburied dead:

  Of hound or ravening jackal, not a sign.

  Thereat arose an angry war of words;

  Guard railed at guard and blows were like to end it,

  For none was there to part us, each in turn

  Suspected, but the guilt brought home to none,

  From lack of evidence. We challenged each

  The ordeal, or to handle red-hot iron,

  Or pass through fire, affirming on our oath

  Our innocence — we neither did the deed

  Ourselves, nor know who did or compassed it.

  Our quest was at a standstill, when one spake

  And bowed us all to earth like quivering reeds,

  For there was no gainsaying him nor way

  To escape perdition: Yeareboundtotell

  TheKing,yecannothideit; so he spake.

  And he convinced us all; so lots were cast,

  And I, unlucky scapegoat, drew the prize.

  So here I am unwilling and withal

  Unwelcome; no man cares to hear ill news.

  CHORUS

  I had misgivings from the first, my liege,

  Of something more than natural at work.

  CREON

  O cease, you vex me with your babblement;

  I am like to think you dote in your old age.

  Is it not arrant folly to pretend

  That gods would have a thought for this dead man?

  Did they forsooth award him special grace,

  And as some benefactor bury him,

  Who came to fire their hallowed sanctuaries,

  To sack their shrines, to desolate their land,

  And scout their ordinances? Or perchance

  The gods bestow their favors on the bad.

  No! no! I have long noted malcontents

  Who wagged their heads, and kicked against the yoke,

  Misliking these my orders, and my rule.

  ’Tis they, I warrant, who suborned my guards

  By bribes. Of evils current upon
earth

  The worst is money. Money ’tis that sacks

  Cities, and drives men forth from hearth and home;

  Warps and seduces native innocence,

  And breeds a habit of dishonesty.

  But they who sold themselves shall find their greed

  Out-shot the mark, and rue it soon or late.

  Yea, as I still revere the dread of Zeus,

  By Zeus I swear, except ye find and bring

  Before my presence here the very man

  Who carried out this lawless burial,

  Death for your punishment shall not suffice.

  Hanged on a cross, alive ye first shall make

  Confession of this outrage. This will teach you

  What practices are like to serve your turn.

  There are some villainies that bring no gain.

  For by dishonesty the few may thrive,

  The many come to ruin and disgrace.

  GUARD

  May I not speak, or must I turn and go

  Without a word? —

  CREON

  Begone! canst thou not see

  That e’en this question irks me?

  GUARD

  Where, my lord?

  Is it thy ears that suffer, or thy heart?

  CREON

  Why seek to probe and find the seat of pain?

  GUARD

  I gall thine ears — this miscreant thy mind.

  CREON

  What an inveterate babbler! get thee gone!

  GUARD

  Babbler perchance, but innocent of the crime.

  CREON

  Twice guilty, having sold thy soul for gain.

  GUARD

  Alas! how sad when reasoners reason wrong.

  CREON

  Go, quibble with thy reason. If thou fail’st

  To find these malefactors, thou shalt own

  The wages of ill-gotten gains is death.

  [Exit CREON]

  GUARD

  I pray he may be found. But caught or not

  (And fortune must determine that) thou never

  Shalt see me here returning; that is sure.

  For past all hope or thought I have escaped,

  And for my safety owe the gods much thanks.

  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,