Antigone

Antigone and Ismene

Ismene

What is it? Clearly some news has clouded you.

Antigone

It has indeed. Creon will give the one of our two brothers honor in the tomb; the other none. Eteocles, with just observance treated, as law provides he has hidden under earth to have full honor with the dead below. But Polyneices’ corpse who died in pain, they say he has proclaimed to the whole town, that none may bury him and none bewail, but leave him, unwept, untombed, a rich sweet sight for the hungry birds’ beholding and devouring.

Antigone

Be what you want to; but that man shall I bury. For me, the doer, death is best. Loving, I shall lie with him, yes, with my loved one, when I have dared the crime of piety. Longer the time in which to please the dead than the time with those up here. There shall I lie forever. You may see fit to keep from honor what the gods have honored.

The Decree

Creon

In the matter of the sons of Oedipus, citizens, know: Eteocles who died, defending this our town with champion spear, is to be covered in the grave and granted all holy rites we give the noble dead. But his brother Polyneices, whom I name the exile who came back and sought to burn his fatherland, the gods of his own kin, who tried to gorge on blood he shared, and lead the rest of us as slaves — it is announced that no one in this town may give him burial or mourn for him. Leave him unburied, leave his corpse disgraced, a dinner for the birds and for the dogs.

The Comic Guard

Guard

My lord, I cannot claim I’m out of breath from rushing here with light and hasty step, for I had many haltings in my thoughts making me double back upon my road. My mind kept saying many things to me: “Why go where you will surely pay the price?” “Fool, you are halting? And if Creon learns from someone else, how shall you not be hurt?” Turning this over, on I dillydallied. And so a short trip turned itself to long. Finally, though, my coming here won out.

Creon

If you don’t find the very man whose hands buried the corpse and bring him for me to see, not death alone shall be enough for you till living, strung up, you make clear the crime.

Chorus Sings

Chorus

Many the wonders but nothing is stranger than man. This thing crosses the sea in the winter’s storm, making his path through the roaring waves. And she, the greatest of gods, the Earth — ageless she is, and unwearied — he wears her away as the ploughs go up and down from year to year and his mules turn up the soil.

Chorus

Clever beyond all dreams the inventive craft that he has which may drive him one time to good or another to evil. When he honors the laws of the land and the gods’ sworn rights high indeed is his city; but cityless the man who dares to dwell with dishonor.

Antigone and Creon

Antigone

For me it was not Zeus who made that order. Nor did that Justice who lives with the gods below mark out such laws to hold among mankind. Nor did I think your orders were so strong that you, a mortal man, could overrun the gods’ unwritten and unfailing laws. Not now, nor yesterday’s, they always live, and no one knows their origin in time.

Creon

These rigid spirits are the first to fall. The strongest iron, hardened in the fire, most often ends in scraps and shatterings. Small curbs bring raging horses back to terms.

Creon and Haemon

Haemon

Because I am your son I must keep watch on all men’s doing where it touches you, their speech and most of all, their discontents. Your presence frightens any common man from saying things you would not care to hear. But in dark corners I have heard them say how the whole town is grieving for this girl, unjustly doomed if ever woman was, to die in shame for glorious action done.

Haemon

So, do not have one mind, and one alone that only your opinion can be right. Whoever thinks that he alone is wise, his eloquence, his mind, above the rest, come the unfolding, it shows his emptiness. A man, though wise, should never be ashamed of learning more, and must not be too rigid. Have you not seen the trees beside storm torrents — the ones that bend preserve their limbs and leaves, while the resistant perish root and branch? And so the ship that will not slacken sail, the ropes drawn tight, unyielding, overturns. She ends the voyage with her keel on top.

Creon Is the town to tell me how I ought to rule?

Haemon Now there you speak just like a boy yourself.

Creon Am I to rule by other mind than mine?

Haemon No city is property of a single man.

Creon But custom gives possession to the ruler.

Haemon You’d rule a desert beautifully alone.

Creon Am I unjust, when I respect my office?

Haemon You don’t respect it, trampling down the gods’ due.

Creon Your mind is poisoned. Weaker than a woman!

Haemon At least you’ll never see me yield to shame.

Creon Your whole long argument is but for her.

Haemon And you, and me, and for the gods below.

A Cold Tomb

Antigone

I go, without a friend, struck down by fate, living, to the hollow chambers of the dead. What divine justice have I disobeyed? Why, in my misery, look to the gods for help? Can I call any of them my ally? I stand convicted of impiety, the evidence my pious duty done.

Chorus

Danae suffered too. She went from the light to the brass-built room, bedchamber and tomb together. Like you, poor child, she was of great descent, and more, she held and kept the seed of the golden rain which was Zeus. Fate has terrible power. You cannot escape it by wealth or war. No fort will keep it out, no ships outrun it.

Prophet’s Warning

Teiresias

Why has this sickness struck against the state? Through your decision. All the altars of the town are choked with leavings of the dogs and birds; their feast was on that fated, fallen son of Oedipus. So the gods accept no offering from us, not prayer, nor flame of sacrifices. The birds cry out a sound that I cannot distinguish, gorged with the greasy blood of that dead man.

Creon What must I do? Speak, and I shall obey.

Chorus Leader Go free the maiden from that rocky house; and bury the dead who lies in readiness.

A Tragic Report

Messenger

Haemon embraced her as she hung, and mourned his bride’s destruction, dead and gone below, his father’s actions, the unfated marriage. When Creon saw him, he groaned terribly, and went toward him, and called him with lament: “What have you done, what did you have in mind, what happened so as thus to ruin you? Come out, my child, I do beseech you, come!” The boy looked at him with his angry eyes, spat in his face and spoke no further word. He drew his sword, but as his father ran, he missed his aim. Then the unhappy boy, in anger at himself, leant on the blade: it entered, half its length, into his side. While he was conscious he embraced the maiden, holding her gently. Last, he gasped out blood, red blood on her white cheek. Corpse on corpse he lies. He found his marriage, its celebration in the halls of Hades.

Creon’s Collapse

Creon

O crimes of my wicked heart, harshness bringing death. You see the killer, you see the kin he killed. My planning was all unblest. Son, you have died too soon. Oh, you have gone away through my fault, not your own.

Creon

Terrible news to hear, horror the tale you tell. I was dead, and you kill me again. Boy, did I hear you right? Did you say the queen was dead, slaughter on slaughter heaped?

Creon

Take me away at once, the frantic man who killed my son, against my meaning, and you too, my wife. I cannot look at either, I cannot rest. My life is warped past cure. Fate unbearable has leapt down on my head.