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From Project Gutenberg's Ebook Specimens Of Greek Tragedy By Golwin Smith

Antigone

OEDIPUS.

I do conjure thee, and enjoin on thee, Her that within there lies, as seems thee fit, Lay in the ground. To thee that care belongs. But me, let never this my fatherland Be so dishonoured as to hold alive. Upon the mountains let my dwelling be, Upon my own Cithaeron, which my sire And mother chose as my appointed tomb, And so let those who sought it take my life. And yet past doubt it is that I was proof 'Gainst death in all its forms; if I were saved, It must have been for some fell destiny.

But be my own lot what it may, my care Is for my children, Creon. For the boys I'd have thee take no thought; as they are men, Where'er they be they'll find a livelihood. But for my girls now lorn and desolate, My girls, apart from whom was never set Their father's table, who still had their share Of everything on which his hand was laid, I crave thy care. And first let me embrace My darlings and unite my tears to theirs. Pray, good my lord, Consent, kind heart. To hold them in my arms Would be to feel them mine as when I saw-- What shall I say?

(ANTIGONE and ISMENE, OEDIPUS' daughters, are brought upon the scene .)

Is it my darlings' weeping that I hear? Do my ears tell me true? Has Creon sent My best beloved in mercy to their sire? Say I aright?

CREON.

Thou say'st aright. 'Tis I that, knowing well Thy heart's desire, have granted thee this boon.

OEDIPUS.

Fortune befriend thee for their presence here, Heaven guard thee better than it guarded me. Daughters, where are ye? Come unto these arms, These arms that issued from one womb with you, Which on the father that begot you brought This darkness for the light he had before.

Blindly, my children, and unwittingly, Offspring I got in an incestuous bed. See you I cannot, but I weep for you, When I bethink me of the bitter life That ye must live, marks for the scorn of men. To what assembly, to what festival, Will ye e'er go and not be driven home In tears, excluded from the spectacle? And when your marriageable hour has come, Where will be found the man so venturesome To take upon him the reproach that falls Upon my parents and from them on you? What stain is lacking when your father slew His father, her that bore him took to wife 'Gainst nature's law, and had you born to him From the same womb from which himself was born? In face of such reproaches who will wed? No one will dare.

Daughters, to waste away Lonely and childless is your certain doom. Son of Menoeceus, thou alone art left As father to these children, in one day Bereft of both their parents; let them not Go forth to roam famished and desolate, Nor let them be confounded with my crimes. Have pity on them, seeing them so young, Deprived of all saving thy charity. Reach forth thy hand in token of assent. Children, were ye of age to understand, I had much counsel giv'n ye; but now pray That you may dwell where it is best to dwell, And yours may be a happier lot than mine.

OEDIPUS AT COLONUS.

After the day of horrors the blind Oedipus is cast forth from Thebes, and becomes a wanderer over the face of the earth, guided and tended by his faithful daughter, Antigone. He comes at last to Colonus, a rural district near Athens, and one of the holy places of Attica. Here he is destined to end his life, to be buried, and by the presence of his remains to confer a blessing on the country which has given him a last resting-place and a tomb. The dark cloud of involuntary guilt, which has hitherto overshadowed him, lifts at the end, and is succeeded by a calm evening light.

* * * * *

OEDIPUS AND ANTIGONE ARRIVE AT COLONUS AND ENTER THE CONSECRATED GROUND .

LINES 1-110

OEDIPUS.

Child of a blind old man, Antigone, Unto what land, whose city, have we come? Who is there for this day to entertain With scanty fare the wanderer, Oedipus, Who asks but little and still less receives, Yet with his dole is fain to be content-- For time and suffering and a noble heart Have taught me how to bear adversity. But, daughter, if thou seest a resting-place, Either in common ground or hallowed grove, There guide me to a seat, that we may ask What place is this: strangers, we come to learn Of citizens and what they bid us do.

ANTIGONE.

Oedipus, my unhappy sire, the towers That fence the city round far off appear. This seems a holy place; 'tis full of pine, Of laurel, and of vine under whose leaves Trills her sweet notes full many a nightingale. Here rest thee on this unhewn seat of rock; The journey for thy aged feet was long.

OEDIPUS.

Guide thy old father safely to the seat.

ANTIGONE.

It is a lesson taught me long ago.

OEDIPUS.

Where is it we have halted? canst thou tell?

ANTIGONE.

Athens I know; this spot is strange to me.

OEDIPUS.

That it was Athens every traveller said.

ANTIGONE.

Wouldst thou that I go ask what place it is?

OEDIPUS.

Yea, daughter, if it is inhabited.

ANTIGONE.

Inhabited it is; but I may spare My pains, for close at hand I see a man.

OEDIPUS.

Bends he his steps in our direction, child?

ANTIGONE.

Yes, and is now at hand.

( Enter STRANGER.)

Whate'er is meet For thee to say, speak; he is at thy side.

OEDIPUS.

O stranger, listen to this maid who sees Both for herself and me, since our good luck Hath sent thee to inform our ignorance.

STRANGER.

Ere thou dost question further, leave that place; 'Tis holy ground whereon thou mayest not tread.

OEDIPUS.

What, then, is the indwelling deity?

STRANGER.

I tell thee it is hallowed; it belongs To the dread Daughters of the Earth and Night.

OEDIPUS.

What is their name? With reverence I would ask.

STRANGER.

With us, the Eumenides, of sleepless eye; But different names seem good in different lands.

OEDIPUS.

May they receive the suppliant to their grace, For I intend no more to leave this ground.

STRANGER.

What means this?

OEDIPUS.

'Tis the token of my doom.

STRANGER.

Myself I dare not thrust thee out until On my report the State my act approves.

OEDIPUS.

To a poor wanderer, friend, be not unkind, But what I humbly ask thee deign to tell.

STRANGER.

Speak on, and no unkind refusal fear.

OEDIPUS.

What is the place, then, upon which we stand?

STRANGER.

Thou shalt know all that I can tell. The place Around is holy, dread Posidon here Is present, present here the lord of fire, Titan Prometheus. What thou standest on Is of this region hight the Brazen Way, The prop of Athens, while these neighbouring fields Boast of Colonus, that famed charioteer, As their first settler; and their denizens Are proud to bear their founder's sainted name. Such claims to pious reverence hath this place, Stranger, which they who dwell here feel the more.

OEDIPUS.

There are then people who inhabit it?

STRANGER.

Yes, people named after their patron god.

OEDIPUS.

Has it a king or do the commons rule?

STRANGER.

The King of yonder city is its lord.

OEDIPUS.

And who now fills the seat of royalty?

STRANGER.

Theseus, the son of Aegeus, is his name.

OEDIPUS.

Would one of you my envoy be to him?

STRANGER.

To tell him aught, or bid him come to thee?

OEDIPUS.

To show him how small cost may bring great gain.

STRANGER.

And wherein can the blind advantage him?

OEDIPUS.

My eyes are blind, but when I speak I see.

STRANGER.

Attend my words if thou'rt an honest man, And honest though ill-starred thou seemst to me. Stir not from off this spot where thou dost stand, Till to this township's rural denizens I have recounted all. They will decide Whether thou may'st remain or must depart.

( Exit STRANGER.)

OEDIPUS.

My daughter, has the stranger gone from us?

ANTIGONE.

He has, my father; all is still around. Thou mayst speak freely for I only hear.

OEDIPUS.

Dread goddesses, of awful countenance, Since in your holy precincts first I rest, Be merciful to Phoebus and to me; For Phoebus, when he all my woes foretold, Promised me peace at last, then to be mine When at my wandering's limit I should find A shrine and hostel of the powers of awe. Here of my misery was to be the goal, And I was to bring blessings to my hosts, And curses upon them that drove me out. Tokens of this he pledged his word to send, An earthquake, lightning, or a thunder peal. Sure then I am that auguries from you, Who cannot lie, my wandering feet have led Unto this grove. How should the wayfarer Else have on you first lighted, like himself, Untasting of the wine-cup, and have found This sacred seat unhewn? O goddesses, Fulfil Apollo's oracles, and grant Some termination of this weary life, Unless my sum of pain seems incomplete, When long unbroken sufferings I have borne. O daughters dear of immemorial night, Athens, of cities most illustrious, That art to the great Pallas dedicate, Take pity on this ghost of Oedipus; Once I was not the thing that now I am.

* * * * *

THE PRAISES OF COLONUS AND ATHENS .

LINES 668-719.

CHORUS.

Of this land of chivalry Thou the garden here dost see, White Colonus, in whose glade, Underneath the greenwood shade, Her loved haunt, the nightingale Poureth oft her luscious wail. Glossy-dark the ivy creeps; Flourishes along the steeps With berries store, scorched by no ray, Rent by no storm, the sacred bay. Here loves the jolly god to rove With merry nymphs that round him move. Here many a flower, heaven-watered, blows, Worthy to bind immortal brows. Narcissus waves its clusters gay, And crocus gleams with golden ray. Nor do the springs that feed thy flow, Cephisus, intermission know: Day after day their crystal stream Makes the rich loam with plenty teem. Nor do the muses keep afar, Nor Aphrodite's golden car. Here grows, what neither Asia's coast Nor Pelops' Dorian Isle can boast, The tree that Nature's bounty rears, The tree that mocks the foeman's spears, That nowhere blooms so fair and free And rich--our own grey olive tree, Of which no chieftain, old or young, Shall rob the land from which it sprung. Blue-eyed Athene is its guard, And Morian Zeus its sleepless ward. And loftier still the note of praise That by the grace of heaven we raise To this our motherland, for she Is Queen of steeds, Queen of the sea. Poseidon, son of Saturn, thou Didst set this crown upon her brow, When first upon Athenian course Thou taughtst to curb the fiery horse. The dashing oar our seamen ply, Light o'er the wave our galleys fly, Keeping the sea-nymphs company.

* * * * *

LENGTH OF DAYS .

LINES 1211-1238.

CHORUS.

Little wisdom hath the man That would over-live his span. Length of days brings many a moan When life's prime is past and gone; But of pleasures, never a one. Then all alike from dole to save, Comes the dark and cheerless grave.

Not to be is happiest; Next with speed to part is best. Bloodshed, battle, hatred, strife, Youth with all these ills is rife. Then comes the last, the dreariest stage, Sour, companionless old age.

* * * * *

THE END OF OEDIPUS .

LINES 1579-1667.

MESSENGER. ( To the CHORUS.)

Brief is the speech, my fellow-citizens, Needed to tell that Oedipus is dead; But a brief speech will not suffice to give A full account of all that there befell.

CHORUS.

His life of sorrow then has found its end.

MESSENGER.

He is where he will never sorrow more.

CHORUS.

Died he by act of heaven and painlessly?

MESSENGER.

Herein consists the wonder of my tale. When from this place he went, as thou didst see, No longer guided by a friendly hand, But himself acting as the guide of all, Having arrived at the descending stair, With brazen steps fast rooted in the earth, He halted upon one of many paths, Hard by the basin wherein treasured lie Pledges of Theseus and Pirithous. Midway from this to the Thorician rock, The hollow pear-tree and the marble tomb, He took his seat and disarrayed himself Of his soiled weeds; then to his daughters called Water to bring that he might cleanse himself. They to a knoll that rose above the fane Of boon Demeter, hastening, did with speed That which their sire commanded,--bathed his limbs, And in new garments seemly him arrayed. When thus his heart's desire had been fulfilled, And none of his behests remained undone, Thunder beneath the earth was heard, whereat The maidens quaked, and on their father's knees They laid them down and wept, nor ceased to beat Their breasts and to pour forth the long-drawn wail. He, hearing all at once their bitter cry, Folded his hands over their heads, and said, "Daughters, this day your father is no more, For now my course is ended and your life Of travel sore in tending me is done. Hard was that life, my daughters, well I know, And yet a single word makes up for all. Love did ye never meet at any hand Greater than his, of whom henceforth bereft, Ye must drag out whate'er remains of life." Thus folded each in other's last embrace, They sobbed and wailed. When they at last had done Their weeping and their cry arose no more, A silence followed; all at once a voice Called him, and made the hair of each of us That heard it stand on end with sudden fear. Repeatedly it called, that mystic voice, "Oedipus, linger thou no more," it said, "Thine hour is come; too long is thy delay." He, hearing the celestial summons, called For our King Theseus to draw near to him; And when the King drew near, he said, "Dear Prince, Pledge to my daughters troth by your right hand, As they will pledge their troth to thee, and swear That thou wilt not desert them, but whate'er Thou mayst do thou wilt do it for their good." Theseus, with noble soul, calm and unmoved, Swore to fulfil his stranger friend's request. Which being ended, straightway Oedipus, With his blind hands touching his daughters, said, "Children, ye now must bear up gallantly And from this spot depart, nor seek to see Or hear that which may not be seen or heard. Tarry no longer; what is now to come Theseus alone may lawfully behold." These words of his all that were present heard. So we departed, and with streaming eyes Walked by the maidens. Having gone some way We turned, looked back, and saw that Oedipus Had vanished, nor did trace of him appear, While the King stood alone, holding his hand Before his eyes as though some awful form, Some overpowering vision had appeared. And no long time had passed, when he was seen Falling upon his knees and worshipping At once the Earth and all the Olympian gods. But in what way Oedipus left this life Theseus alone of human kind can tell. There flashed from heaven no lightning in that hour To strike him dead; there came not from the sea A tempest with its blast to sweep him off. Some envoy from the gods was sent to him, Or opening earth engulfed him painlessly. The old man died without disease or pang To make us grieve for him; by miracle, If ever man so died. Thinkst thou I dream? I know not how to show thee that I wake.

ANTIGONE.

Eteocles and Polynices, the unnatural brothers, having fallen by each other's hands, Creon is King of Thebes. To Eteocles, who had died in defence of the city, he awards honourable burial; Polynices, who had fallen in attacking the city, he dooms to lie unburied, a great dishonour and calamity in Hellenic opinion. Antigone resolves to disregard the ordinance, and pay the funeral rites to her brother Polynices. The conflict between the law of the State and the divine law which Antigone obeys is the moral key-note of the play. Ismene is Antigone's weaker sister and serves as a foil to her. Antigone is betrothed to Haemon, a son of Creon.

* * * * *

THE TWO SISTERS .

LINES 1-99.

ANTIGONE.

Ismene, sister mine in blood and heart, All woes that had their source in Oedipus Zeus will bring on us yet before we die. Nothing there is disastrous or accursed, No blot of shame, no brand of infamy, Which in our list of ills I reckon not. What is this proclamation that I hear The general has put forth to all the host? Say, canst thou tell, or art thou ignorant That those we hate are threat'ning those we love?

ISMENE.

To me, Antigone, no word has come Either of joyful tidings or of bad Since we of our two brothers were bereft, Slain in one day, each by the other's hand. Last night the Argive army marched away; This much I know, and I know nothing more To add to or abate our misery.

ANTIGONE.

Of that I was assured, and called thee forth Before the gate to speak to thee apart.

ISMENE.

What is it? Something ferments in thy soul.

ANTIGONE.

Creon to one of our two brothers grants, But to the other he denies, a grave. Eteocles, as they tell me, he has laid With all due form and reverence in the tomb, There to be ranked among the honoured dead. But Polynices' miserable corpse, It seems, by strict injunction he forbids All citizens to bury or to mourn; Ordering that it be left without a grave, Unwailed, a welcome prey to ravening birds. This proclamation Creon, worthy man-- Look thou, look both of us alike--puts forth. 'Tis said he hither comes to publish it, To all who know it not, nor deems the thing Of small concern; for whoso disobeys His penalty is to be stoned to death. So stands the matter; it will now be seen Whether thy soul is worthy of thy race.

ISMENE.

How, daring maid, can I in such a case, Whether to loose or bind, assistance lend?

ANTIGONE.

Wilt thou take part and aid me? Ponder well.

ISMENE.

In what adventure? What is in thy mind?

ANTIGONE.

Will thy arm help me to uplift the corpse?

ISMENE.

How! Wouldst thou brave the law and bury him?

ANTIGONE.

Bury thy brother and mine own I would. Do as thou wilt, my duty shall not fail.

ISMENE.

In face of Creon's edict? Art thou mad?

ANTIGONE.

Has he the right to part me from mine own?

ISMENE.

Sister, alack! think how our father fell, O'erwhelmed with hatred and with infamy Through sins which his own act had brought to light, His eyes bereft of sight by his own hand; How she that was his wife and mother too Perished, self-strangled with a twisted cord, And lastly our two brothers in one day With fratricidal hands most ruefully Upon each other brought a common doom. Now only we are left, and worst of all Our fate will be, if, in contempt of law, Our ruler's will and order we defy. Think first that we are women, and too weak Battle to do against the strength of men; And next, that we are subject unto power, And must in harder things than this obey. For my share then, I will entreat the dead To pardon what I do unwillingly, And bow to the command of those in power. High vaulting virtue overleaps itself.

ANTIGONE.

I urge thee not; nay, didst thou wish to aid, My heart would not accept thy partnership. Hold to thy own opinion; him I mean To bury; death were honour in that cause. I in the tomb shall lie with those I love, A glorious criminal. Longer will last The praise of those below than those above. There I shall ever dwell. Then, if thou wilt, Treat as of no account the claim of heaven.

ISMENE.

I lack not piety, but lack the force To fly in face of public ordinance.

ANTIGONE.

Cling to thy specious pretext while I go To heap the earth upon a brother's grave.

ISMENE.

Too daring sister, how I quake for thee.

ANTIGONE.

Quake not for me, steer thine own course aright.

ISMENE.

At least disclose to none this thy design; I too will keep it locked within my breast.

ANTIGONE.

Avaunt! reveal it! I shall hate thee more If thou dost not proclaim it to the world.

ISMENE.

Hot is thy blood, but chill thy enterprise.

ANTIGONE.

I shall please those whom I am bound to please.

ISMENE.

Hadst thou the power, but desperate is thy aim.

ANTIGONE.

When my power fails I have but to desist.

ISMENE.

Where we must fail, not to attempt is wise.

ANTIGONE.

Such talk will make thee hateful unto me, And by the dead man righteously abhorred. Then leave me with my folly to endure This dreadful penalty. Come what come may, Nothing will rob me of a noble death.

ISMENE.

Art thou resolved? Go, then, and be assured That though misguided thou art well beloved.

* * * * *

SISTERLY LOVE DEFIES THE LAW .

Antigone is caught by the guard paying funeral rites to the corpse of Polynices, and is brought before Creon.

LINES 384-581.

GUARD.

Behold the guilty one, caught in the act Of burial. Where is Creon to be found?

CHORUS.

Hither he comes returning from the house.

CREON ( entering ).

What makes my presence here so opportune?

GUARD.

My prince, let mortal man nothing forswear, For resolution yields to afterthought. Little I looked hither to come again, So pelted with the hailstorm of thy threats. But the good fortune that surpasses hope Is of all pleasant things the pleasantest; And so I come in spite of all my oaths, And bring with me this maiden, who was caught Decking the grave. This time no lot was cast; The prize is mine of right, and mine alone. And now, my prince, take and examine her Thyself, as seems thee good. I claim my due, From all these troubles to be let go free.

CREON.

Where, in what manner, was your prisoner found?

GUARD.

'Twas she that gave him burial; all is told.

CREON.

Art thou assured of that thou dost report?

GUARD. I saw this maiden burying the corpse Which thou forbad'st to bury. Is that plain?

CREON.

By whom was she espied, and how entrapped?

GUARD.

Thus did it happen: When we reached our post, Confounded by thy dreadful menaces, We swept away with care each particle Of dust, and having laid the carcase bare, Then sat us down beneath the sheltering slope Of a hillside, where we escaped the stench, Each stirring up his fellow to the task, And cursing him who should be slack in it. So went we on until the sun's bright orb Had reached the mid-arch of the firmament, And its full heat was felt, when suddenly A whirlwind, raising swirls of dust heaven-high, Swept o'er the plain, stripping the wood of leaves, Wherewith it filled the air. We with closed eyes And lips sat bowing to the wrath of heaven. When this had passed away, after some time, Appeared this maiden, uttering piercing wails; Like to the plaintive notes of a lorn bird, That finds her nest robbed of its callow brood, Her wailings were, when she beheld the corpse Once more uncovered; and right bitterly Cursed she the man whose hand had done the deed. Straightway a handful of dry dust she brings, Then thrice uplifting high a brazen urn, Pours a three-fold libation on the corpse. We at the sight, start up and quickly seize The maiden, who was not a whit dismayed. We charged her with what she before had done, And what was doing. Nor denied she aught, But made me feel sorrow and joy at once. Oneself to have escaped calamity Is cause for joy; to bring a friend to harm Fills one with sorrow. But in my account Of all things mine own safety is the first.

CREON.

( To ANTIGONE.)

Thou, that dost stand with eyes bent on the ground, Dost thou plead guilty or deny the fact?

ANTIGONE.

Deny I do not, but avow my deed.

CREON.

( To the GUARD.)

Thou standst acquitted of a heinous charge, And mayest betake thee hence whither thou wilt.

( To ANTIGONE.)

But thou, answer, and briefly, didst thou know The proclamation made against this act?

ANTIGONE.

I did; how should I not? The words were plain.

CREON.

Yet didst thou dare to violate the law?

ANTIGONE.

The proclamation went not forth from Zeus, Or Justice, partner of the gods below, Who had ordained these canons for mankind; Nor deemed I proclamations had such power That thereby mortal man could contravene Heaven's law unwritten and unchangeable. That law was not the child of yesterday, Nor knoweth man the source from which it came. I was not minded for what men might say To break that law and brave the wrath divine. That death would come I know, as come it must Without thy proclamation, and to die Before my hour I count it so much gain. For when a life is full of wretchedness As mine has been, is it not gain to die? Little I care if I such doom must meet; But I care much not uninterred to leave His corpse that was of the same mother born. One pains me sore, the other pains me not; And if to thee I seem to play the fool To me it seems that to a fool I play it.

CHORUS.

She shows the savage spirit of her sire, And to misfortune is untaught to bend.

CREON.

Know that the most self-willed most often fall. Iron that hath been tempered by the fire To a surpassing hardness, when it breaks, We often see shattered most thoroughly; And a small bit suffices to subdue The fiery steed. High thoughts beseem not those Who owe subjection to another's will. This maid before displayed her insolence In overstepping what the laws ordained; And now again displays it, glorying And laughing in our face over her crime. It is not I that am the man, but she If she can thus usurp and go unscathed. Be she my sister's child or child of one Nearer in blood than all around our hearth, She shall not the last penalty escape, Nor shall her sister. For she, too, I hold, Conspired to bring about this burial. Summon her hither. Just now in the house I saw her raving like a maid possessed. When wickedness is gendered in the dark The heart is apt its secret to betray. But not less hateful is the shamelessness Which, of foul acts convicted, calls them fair.

ANTIGONE.

To lead me to my death, is that enough?

CREON.

It is enough. This done, I ask no more.

ANTIGONE.

Then why delay, when of thy words to me Not one gives pleasure or will ever give? Nor are mine less displeasing unto thee. And yet what greater glory could be mine, Than, burying my own brother, I have won? Well know I, all here present would applaud But that their tongues by fear of thee are tied. Sovereigns in many things are fortunate, And they alone are free in act and speech.

CREON.

So thinkest thou; of other Thebans, none.

ANTIGONE.

So think they too, but they must cringe to thee.

CREON.

Art not ashamed to brave the public voice?

ANTIGONE.

It is no shame to pay our kin their due.

CREON.

Was not he kin that fell upon our side?

ANTIGONE.

His father and his mother both were mine.

CREON.

How then do service which offends his shade?

ANTIGONE.

The dead man will not second thy complaint.

CREON.

He will if he is levell'd with the vile.

ANTIGONE.

It was a brother, not a slave, that fell.

CREON.

Assailing what the other died to save.

ANTIGONE.

The powers below ask these observances.

CREON.

The good ask not like treatment with the bad.

ANTIGONE.

Who knows but this may be deemed right below?

CREON.

Hatred expires not when the hated dies.

ANTIGONE.

Not hate but love to share my nature is.

CREON.

Go, then, below and love, if love thou wilt, But while I live no woman shall reign here.

CHORUS.

(ISMENE entering )

Ismene, lo! before the gate appears, A sister's grief o'erflowing in her tears; The cloud of sorrow gathered on her face Bedews her roseate cheek and mars its grace.

CREON.

( To ISMENE.)

And thou, too, in my home a lurking snake? Didst drain my heart's blood, while I little thought That I was cherishing two traitress fiends? Wast thou a party to this burial, Or wilt thou swear that thou art innocent?

ISMENE.

I did take part, if she will say I did, And am content to bear my share of blame.

ANTIGONE.

That equity forbids; neither wert thou Willing to act, nor I to act with thee.

ISMENE.

Yet would I not refuse mid thy distress, Sister, to sail in the same barque with thee.

ANTIGONE.

Whose was the deed, the dead and Hades know. I love not one whose friendship ends in words.

ISMENE.

Sister, deny me not the privilege Of sharing both thy piety and death.

ANTIGONE.

Share not my death, nor claim the work in which Thou hadst no hand; that I die is enough.

ISMENE.

What can life be to me, bereft of thee?

ANTIGONE.

Ask Creon, he is nearest thee in love.

ISMENE.

Why dost thou gird at me thus fruitlessly?

ANTIGONE.

My laugh is bitter when I laugh at thee.

ISMENE.

What can I do to aid thee even now?

ANTIGONE.

What, save thyself! I grudge not thy escape.

ISMENE.

Alack! and must I let thee die alone?

ANTIGONE.

Yes; for thy choice was life, and mine was death.

ISMENE.

But not unspoken was my mind to thee.

ANTIGONE.

Thy course was here approved, but mine below.

ISMENE.

Yet was the fault of both of us the same.

ANTIGONE.

Be of good cheer, thou livest; but my soul Is with the dead, to whom my care is due.

CREON.

Of these two sisters, one, it seems to me, Has lost her wits, and one was witless born.

ISMENE.

O Prince, the reason that is born in us Abides not in the wretched, but departs.

CREON.

From thee it fled when thou didst share her crime.

ISMENE.

Without this maiden what can life be worth?

CREON.

Say not "this maiden," for she is no more.

ISMENE.

Wilt thou slay her that is thy son's betrothed?

CREON.

We shall find other fields enough to plough,

ISMENE.

Thou wilt not find such unison of hearts.

CREON.

I do not want a bad wife for my son.

ANTIGONE.

Dear Haemon, how thy father slights thy love.

CREON.

Thou and thy marriage are a weariness.

ISMENE.

Wilt thou bereave thy child of his betrothed?

CREON.

Hades it is that shall these nuptials bar.

ISMENE.

It is resolved, it seems, that she shall die.

CREON.

There I agree with thee. No more delay. Slaves, take her in, and henceforth let these maids Be women, and no more be left at large. The stoutest hearts are apt to think of flight, When they perceive that death is drawing near.

* * * * *

THE CONTEST BETWEEN LOVE AND FILIAL DUTY.

LINES 631-780.

CREON.

Soon shall we know, my son, past prophecy Whether, apprised of that our fixed decree, Thou com'st in wrath upon thy bride's account Or all we do is pleasing unto thee.

HAEMON.

My father, I am thine; thy wisdom guides My steps aright and I will follow it; No marriage can be dearer to my heart Than is the blessing of thy governance.

CREON.

Be this, my son, implanted in thy breast, Still to thy father's judgment to defer. This is the reason for which men desire To rear obedient offspring in their homes, Who may confront their father's enemy, And with him render service to his friends. The father of unprofitable sons-- What does he else but for himself beget Trouble and exultation for his foes? Never, my Haemon, for a woman's love Let go thy better judgment. Thou must know That cold and comfortless is the embrace Of a bad partner in the marriage bed. What sore is worse than ill-requited love? Then cast away this maiden from thy heart, And let her nuptial bower in Hades be, Since I have openly convicted her Of breaking law, by all beside obeyed. My public act I will not falsify,

The maid shall die; howe'er she may descant On sacred kinship. If at home I give Disorder license, where will order reign? Whoever governs his own house aright Will be a worthy member of the State. The bold transgressor that defies the law, Or thinks to override authority, Need look for no encouragement from me The lawful ruler's word must be obeyed, Just or unjust, in great things and in small. Who does this, I will warrant him a man Fit to command alike and to obey, And one who in the battle's storm will stand Bravely and staunchly at his comrade's side. There is no greater curse than anarchy; It works the overthrow of commonwealths, Lays homes in ruin, in the battle-field Puts armies to the rout, while victory And safety are the meed of discipline. So must we stand by that which is decreed, And not to an usurping woman yield. Fall if we must, a man shall deal the blow: 'Twere shame to think a woman vanquished us.

CHORUS.

If age our judgment dims not, thou hast dealt Rightly with all things which thy speech concerns.

HAEMON.

Father, the favour of the gods bestows Wisdom, most precious of all precious gifts. That thou hast not the right upon thy side I cannot, if I could I would not, show. Yet may another's argument be fair. Nature hath set me to keep watch for thee Over the words, acts, censures of the world. The common man, awed by thy presence, shrinks From uttering what he knows will please thee not. I hear beneath the cloud of secrecy How the whole city for this maiden mourns. She, who the least deserves it, dies, they say, A cruel death for a most noble deed, The rescue of her brother's mangled corpse From being left unburied on the field, A prey to ravening dogs and carrion birds. Has she not merited a crown of gold? Such murmurs darkling spread among the crowd. Father, I hold no treasure half so dear As thy well-being; greater joy or pride Is none than sons have in an honoured sire, Or than a sire has in an honoured son. Keep not one changeless temper in thy breast, Nor fancy that thou art infallible. Whoever dreams that he alone is wise, Or is in speech or spirit singular, Will, when unmasked, betray his emptiness. Wise though a man may be, it is no shame To have an open mind and flexible. Thou seest by the winter torrent's side The trees that bend go with their limbs unscathed, While those that bend not perish root and branch. And so the sailor who keeps taut the sheet, And stiffly battles with the tempest's force, Is apt thenceforth to float keel uppermost. Bend, then, and give thy spirit room to change. If from the lips of a young counsellor Wisdom can come, I say it were far best If we could all be born omniscient, But as omniscience is not given to man, 'Tis well to good advisers to give ear.

CHORUS.

Prince, it beseems ye both, if either says Aught apt, to listen; both have argued well.

CREON.

And shall our hoary hairs be put to school, And shall we take instruction from this boy?

HAEMON.

In naught that is not right. Young as I am, Thou shouldst my reasons weigh, not count my years.

CREON.

Does reason bid thee second anarchy?

HAEMON.

I would not ask e'en justice for the bad.

CREON.

Is not yon maiden sick of that disease?

HAEMON.

Not so avers the common voice of Thebes.

CREON.

Shall I my duty from the commons learn?

HAEMON.

Seest thou how youthful is that sentiment?

CREON.

Am I to govern by another's will?

HAEMON.

That is no state which owns one man for lord.

CREON.

Is not the state the ruler's property?

HAEMON.

Thou wouldst reign well over a desert land.

CREON.

The boy, it seems, will fight for yonder maid.

HAEMON.

If thou'rt the maid; it is for thee I care.

CREON.

Villain, why art thou wrangling with thy sire?

HAEMON.

Because thou errest from the path of right.

CREON.

Err I in claiming reverence for my state?

HAEMON

Reverence upon religion tramples not.

CREON.

O caitiff soul, thrall of a woman's face!

HAEMON

Thou wilt not see me by aught base enthralled.

CREON.

Yet is thy whole discourse a plea for her.

HAEMON.

For thee and me, and for the gods below.

CREON.

This maid shall never be thy living bride.

HAEMON.

Then will she die, and will not die alone.

CREON.

Hast thou the effrontery thus to threaten me?

HAEMON.

To gainsay folly, call'st thou that a threat?

CREON.

Thou'lt rue thy preaching, void thyself of sense.

HAEMON.

I'd say thou dotest, wert thou not my sire.

CREON.

Slave of a woman, do not gird at me!

HAEMON.

Wouldst thou have all the talking to thyself?

CREON.

Indeed! By heaven above, thou shalt repent! Thus censuring first and then reviling me. Bring out that hateful thing that she may die Forthwith, and here before her lover's eyes.

HAEMON.

Never before my eyes, believe it not; A witness of her death I will not be, Nor shalt thou look upon my face again. Rave at the friends who will thy raving brook.

( Exit HAEMON.)

CHORUS.

O Prince, the youth has rushed away in wrath, And at his years anguish is violent.

CREON.

Let him go vent his overweening pride; These maidens twain shall not escape from death.

CHORUS.

What? Is it thy resolve that both shall die?

CREON.

Not she that took no part. Thou hast well said.

CHORUS.

What is to be the manner of her death?

CREON.

I will convey her to a lonely place, And shut her in a rock-hewn prison-house, With food sufficient, for religion's sake, Whereby we from pollution save the State. There unto Hades, her sole deity, Pattering her prayers, she will drive death away, Or at the last be taught how vain it is To spend devotion on the shades below.

* * * * *

THE POWER OF LOVE.

LINES 781-800.

CHORUS.

Unconquered love, against whose might Wealth's golden mansion hath no ward, That in the maiden's dimpled cheek by night Keepest thy guard; The ocean wave to bear thy tread is taught; The rural homestead, gods, and men are brought Alike thy power to own; who feels it is distraught. 'Tis thou that upright hearts and pure dost lead From virtue's ways to ways of sin. 'Tis thou whose influence in our Thebes does breed Strife among kin. O'er all prevails the charm of beauty's eyes, Charm that with Law Supreme in empire vies, For Aphrodite's power all rebel force defies.

* * * * *

ANTIGONE IS SENT TO HER DEATH.

LINES 882-928.

CREON.

Be sure, of wails and dirges before death, If leave were given, we ne'er should have an end. Lead her away and in the rocky vault Forthwith immure her, as my order was. There leave her by herself, either to die, Or linger on in that sepulchral cell. We of this maiden's blood are clear, and yet She will no longer dwell with those above.

ANTIGONE.

O tomb, my bridal bower, O rock-hewn cell, My home that art to be, whither I go To meet my kin, of whom Persephone In her dark mansion holds a multitude. Last of the train and most unfortunate, I now must die before my destined hour. And yet my hope is sure that by my sire, By thee, beloved mother, and by thee, Dearest of brothers, welcomed I shall be. This hand washed every corpse and decked it out For sepulture; this hand upon each grave Libations poured; and, Polynices, now In tending thy remains I meet this doom. Yet wisdom will approve my honouring thee: Had I a mother been and lost a child, Had I been wed and had my husband died, I would not thus have braved the public ire. What is my principle, perchance you ask? My husband lost, I might have wed again, I might in time have borne a second child; But, with both sire and mother in the grave, Hope of a second brother there is none. Upon this principle I honoured thee, Dearest of brothers; but to Creon seemed A sinner and the worst of criminals. And now he hales me to the place of death. From marriage and of bridal hymn cut off, Cut off from joys of love and motherhood, And reft of friends, poor maiden as I am, I must go down into a living grave. And yet what law divine have I transgressed? How could I look for succour to the gods? Whither for comfort go, when piety Is thus requited with the pains of sin? If this is righteous in the eye of heaven, I'll own the justice of my chastisement; But if the sin be on the other side, May they but bear that which they lay on me.

* * * * *

THE CATASTROPHE.

Creon, having been brought to repentance by the denunciations of the prophet Tiresias, sets out to bury the corpse of Polynices, and release Antigone from the cave of death. The issue is recounted by a messenger to the Queen Eurydice.

LINES 1155-1243.

MESSENGER.

Ye, that by Cadmus and Amphion's shrine Do dwell, no mortal's life before its end Will be by me pronounced blessed or unblessed. Fortune is ever casting down the high, Fortune is ever lifting up the low; And none can prophesy what change may come. Creon I deemed an enviable man: He from our enemy had saved our state, And, vested with a monarch's power supreme, Ruled happy in the promise of his heir. Now all is gone, for when a man has lost The things that make life sweet, he lives in truth No more, but is an animated corpse. Have in your house what store of wealth you will, Dwell in the state of sumptuous royalty, Where joy is absent, I account the rest Less than a shadow of a wreath of smoke.

CHORUS.

What evil has befallen our royal house?

MESSENGER.

Dead are some, others guilty of their death.

CHORUS.

Who is the murdered, who the murderer, say.

MESSENGER.

Haemon is dead, unnaturally slain.

CHORUS.

Slain by whose hand, his father's or his own?

MESSENGER.

His own, stung by his sire's cruel deed.

CHORUS.

O seer, thy prophesy has come too true.

MESSENGER.

So stands the case, whereon deliberate.

( Enter EURYDICE.)

CHORUS.

Yonder is the ill-starred Eurydice, The Queen of Creon; from the house she comes By chance, or brought by tidings of her son.

EURYDICE.

Citizens all, I overheard your words, As from our portal I was setting forth To pay my vows to Pallas at her fane. Just as I drew the bolts that hold the door, Sounds of disaster to our family Smote on my ear. Affrighted, I fell back In my attendants' arms and swooned away. Repeat what then ye said; I am well schooled In misery, and can bear to hear the worst.

MESSENGER.

Good lady, I was witness of the scene, And nothing will suppress in my report. Why tell a flattering tale, when soon the lie Must be exposed? Plain truth is ever best. I went as an attendant with the King To yon high level where, a prey to dogs, The uncared-for corpse of Polynices lay. The corpse, with prayers put up to Hecate And Pluto to look kindly on the dead, We reverently washed, wrapped the remains In fresh-plucked boughs, and burned them on a pyre. Then on the dead we heaped his native earth. Next to the maiden's bridal bower of death, Within the hollowed rock, we took our way. One of us hears afar a wailing shrill Come from the spot where lay the unhallowed cell. And running, tells to Creon what he heard. To Creon's ear, as he drew nigh, was borne A sound confused of weeping, and he cried In bitterness, "Unhappy that I am, Will my heart prove a prophet? Have I come The most disastrous journey of my life? Sure it is my son's voice that greets my ear. Attendants, hasten to the cave of death, Tear up the stones, creep to the chamber's mouth, Tell me if Haemon's voice indeed I hear, Or is it some illusion of my sense?" We as our master in his anguish bade, Looked in, and in the inmost cell we saw The maiden hanging from the roof and dead, A noose of shredded linen round her neck; The youth, his arms folded around her waist, Bewailing his lost bride, his marriage hour Turned to despair, his father's cruelty. Seeing him, Creon, with a bitter cry, Moved towards him, and in anguish shrieked to him, "My son, what hast thou done? what frantic thought Possessed thy mind, how wast thou thus distraught? Come forth, I do entreat thee, son, come forth." Haemon, for answer, with eyes flashing rage, Looked mute abhorrence, drew his two-edged sword, And would have struck his father; but the King Fled and escaped. Then on himself he turned His wrath, and without more, into his breast Drove to the hilt his sword, and conscious still, Clung round the maiden with his failing arms, While, swiftly welling from his wound, the blood Spread over her pale cheek its crimson shower. There lies he dead, with arms around the dead, His marriage feast held in the world below, Teaching by sad example that the worst Of human evils is a mind distraught.

AJAX

Ajax and Ulysses were competitors for the arms of Achilles. The prize was awarded to Ulysses. Ajax, deeming himself wronged, sallies forth from his tent one night to take vengeance on those who had wronged him, especially Ulysses and the two sons of Atreus. Athene, ever watchful for her favourite Hellenes, smites Ajax with mental blindness, so that instead of falling on his enemies, he falls on the flocks and herds of the camp. Restored to his right mind, and finding how he has dishonoured himself, he falls upon his sword.

* * * * *

THE HERO'S MADNESS.

Tecmessa, a captive with whom Ajax lives as his wife, tells the Chorus of Salaminian mariners what has befallen their chieftain.

LINES 284-330.

TECMESSA.

Thou shalt hear all as one that shares our lot. It was the dead of night, and now no more The camp fires shone, when Ajax took his sword, Uncalled, and was in act to leave the tent, And I reproved him. "Ajax," I exclaimed, "What errand is it upon which you go Unbidden, summoned by no messenger, No trumpet call; the host is all asleep?" Brief was his answer in a well-known strain: "Peace, woman; silence best beseems thy sex." I said no more. He sallied forth alone. What may have there befallen I cannot say. Back to the tent he came, leading along As captives bulls and herdsmen's dogs and sheep, Of which a part he strangled, others felled And cleft in twain; others again he lashed, Treating those beasts like human prisoners. Then rushing out, he with some phantom talked, Launching against the sons of Atreus now, Now 'gainst Ulysses, ravings void of sense, Boasting how he had paid their insults home. Then once more rushing back into the tent, By slow degrees to his right mind he came. But when he saw the tent with carnage heaped, Crying aloud, he smote his head, and then Flung himself down amid the gory wreck, And with clenched fingers grasped and tore his hair. So a long time he sat and spoke no word. At last, with imprecations terrible If I refused, he bade me tell him all, What had befallen and how it came about. And I, my friends, o'erwhelmed with terror, told All that I knew of that which he had done. Thereat he uttered piercing cries of grief, Such as had never come from him before, For in loud lamentations to indulge He ever held a craven weakling's part, And, stifling outcries, moaned not loud but deep, Like the deep roaring of a wounded bull. But in this plight, prostrate and desperate, Refusing food and drink, my hero lies Amidst the mangled bodies, motionless. That he is brooding on some fell design, His wails and exclamations plainly show. But, O kind friends, 'twas to this end I came, Enter the tent and aid me if ye can; The words of friends are desperate sorrow's cure.

* * * * *