infected.
CREON. I will not bandy words with any prophet.
TEIRESIAS. And yet you say my prophecies are
dishonest!
CREON. Prophets have always been too fond of gold.
TEIRESIAS. And tyrants, of the shameful use of power.
CREON. You know it is your King of whom you speak?
TEIRESIAS. King of the land I saved from mortal
danger.*
CREON. A clever prophet—but an evil one.
TEIRESIAS. You’ll rouse me to awaken my dark secret.
1060
CREON. Awaken it, but do not speak for money.
TEIRESIAS. And do you think that I am come to that?
CREON. You shall not buy and sell my policy.
TEIRESIAS. Then I will tell you this: you will not live
Through many circuits of the racing sun
Before you give a child of your own body
To make amends for murder, death for death;
Because you have thrust down within the earth
One who should walk upon it,* and have lodged
A living soul dishonourably in a tomb;
And impiously have kept upon the earth
1070
Unburied and unblest one who belongs
Neither to you nor to the upper gods
But to the gods below, who are despoiled
By you. Therefore the gods arouse against you
Their sure avengers;* they lie in your path
Even now to trap you and to make you pay
Their price.—Now think: do I say this for money?
Not many hours will pass before your house
Rings loud with lamentation, men and women.
Hatred for you is moving in those cities
1080
Whose mangled sons* had funeral-rites from dogs
Or from some bird of prey, whose wings have
carried
The taint of dead men’s flesh to their own homes,
Polluting hearth and altar.
These are the arrows that I launch at you,
Because you anger me. I shall not miss
My aim, and you shall not escape their smart.
Boy, lead me home again, that he may vent
His rage upon some younger man, and learn
To moderate his violent tongue, and find
More understanding than he has today,
1090
[Exit TEIRESIAS and boy
CHORUS. And so, my lord, he leaves us, with a threat
Of doom. I have lived long,* but I am sure
Of this: no single prophecy that he
Has made to Thebes has gone without fulfilment.
CREON. I know it too, and I am terrified.
To yield is very hard, but to resist
And meet disaster, that is harder still.
CHORUS. Creon, this is no time for wrong decision.
CREON. What shall I do? Advise me; I will listen.
CHORUS. Release Antigone from her rock-hewn
dungeon,
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And lay the unburied body in a tomb.
CREON. Is this your counsel? You would have me yield?
CHORUS. I would, and quickly. The destroying hand
Of Heaven is quick to punish human error.
CREON. How hard it is! And yet one cannot fight
Against Necessity.*—I will give way.
CHORUS. Go then and do it; leave it not to others.
CREON. Just as I am I go.—You men-at-arms,
You here, and those within: away at once
Up to the hill, and take your implements.
1110
Now that my resolution is reversed
I who imprisoned her will set her free.—
I fear it may be wisest to observe
Throughout one’s life the laws that are established.
[Exit CREON and guards
Strophe 1
CHORUS [sings]. Thou Spirit whose names are many,*
Dionysus,
Born to Zeus the loud-thunderer,
Joy of thy Theban mother-nymph,*
Lover of famous Italy:*
King art thou in the crowded shrine
1120
Where Demeter has her abode,* O
Bacchus! Here is thy mother’s home,
Here is thine, by the smooth Is-
menus’ flood,* here where the savage
Dragon’s teeth had offspring.*
Antistrophe 1
Thou art seen by the nymphs amid the smoky
torchlight,
Where, upon Parnassus’ height,*
They hold revels to honour Thee
Close to the spring of Castaly.*
1130
Thou art come from the ivy-clad
Slopes of Asian hills,* and vineyards
Hanging thick with clustering grapes.
Mystic voices chant: ‘O
Bacchus! O Bacchus!’ in
The roads and ways of Thebe.
Strophe 2
Here is thy chosen home,
In Thebes above all lands,
With thy mother, bride of Zeus.
Wherefore, since a pollution holds
1140
All our people fast in its grip,
O come with swift healing* across the wall of high
Parnassus,
Or over the rough Euripus.*
Antistrophe 2
Stars that move, breathing flame,
Honour Thee as they dance;
Voices cry to Thee in the night.
Son begotten of Zeus, appear!
Come, Lord, with thy company,
1150
Thy own nymphs, who with wild, nightlong dances
praise Thee,
Bountiful Dionysus!
Enter a MESSENGER
MESSENGER. You noblemen of Thebes, how insecure
Is human fortune! Chance will overthrow
The great, and raise the lowly; nothing’s firm,
Either for confidence or for despair;
No one can prophesy what lies in store.
1160
An hour ago, how much I envied Creon!
He had saved Thebes, we had accorded him
The sovereign power; he ruled our land
Supported by a noble prince, his son.
Now all is lost, and he who forfeits joy
Forfeits his life; he is a breathing corpse.
Heap treasures in your palace, if you will,
And wear the pomp of royalty; but if
You have no happiness, I would not give
1170
A straw for all of it, compared with joy.
CHORUS. What is this weight of heavy news you bring?
MESSENGER. Death!—and the blood-guilt rests upon
the living.
CHORUS. Death? Who is dead? And who has killed
him? Tell me.
MESSENGER. Haemon is dead, and by no stranger’s
hand.
CHORUS. But by his father’s? Or was it his own?
MESSENGER. His own—inflamed with anger at his
father.
CHORUS. Yours was no idle prophecy, Teiresias!
MESSENGER. That is my news. What next, remains with
you.
CHORUS. But look! There is his wife, Eurydice;
1180
She is coming from the palace. Has she heard
About her son, or is she here by chance?
Enter EURYDICE
EURYDICE. You citizens of Thebes, I overheard
When I was standing at the gates, for I
Had come to make an offering at the shrine
Of Pallas,* and my hand was on the bar
That holds the gate, to draw it; then there fell
Upon my ears a voice that spoke of death.
My terror took away my strength; I fell
Into my servants’ arms and swooned away.
But tel
l it me once more; I can endure
1190
To listen; I am no stranger to bad news.*
MESSENGER. Dear lady, I was there, and I will tell
The truth; I will not keep it back from you.
Why should I gloze it over? You would hear
From someone else, and I should seem a liar.
The truth is always best.
I went with Creon
Up to the hill where Polyneices’ body
Still lay, unpitied, torn by animals.
We gave it holy washing, and we prayed
To Hecate and Pluto* that they would
Restrain their anger and be merciful.
1200
And then we cut some branches, and we burned
What little had been left, and built a mound
Over his ashes of his native soil.
Then, to the cavern, to the home of death,
The bridal-chamber with its bed of stone.
One of us heard a cry of lamentation
From that unhallowed place; he went to Creon
And told him. On the wind, as he came near,
Cries of despair were borne. He groaned aloud
1210
In anguish: ‘O, and are my fears come true?
Of all the journeys I have made, am I
To find this one the most calamitous?
It is my son’s voice greets me. Hurry, men;
Run to the place, and when you reach the tomb
Creep in between the gaping stones and see
If it be Haemon there, or if the gods
Are cheating me.’ Upon this desperate order
We ran and looked. Within the furthest chamber
1220
We saw her hanging, dead; strips from her dress
Had served her for a rope. Haemon we saw
Embracing her dead body and lamenting
His loss, his father’s deed, and her destruction.
When Creon saw him he cried out in anguish,
Went in, and called to him: ‘My son! my son!
O why? What have you done? What brought you
here?
What is this madness? O come out, my son,
Come, I implore you!’ Haemon glared at him
1230
With anger in his eyes, spat in his face,
Said nothing, drew his double-hilted sword,
But missed his aim as Creon leapt aside.
Then in remorse he leaned upon the blade
And drove it half its length into his body.
While yet the life was in him he embraced
The girl with failing arms, and breathing hard
Poured out his life-blood on to her white face.
So side by side they lie, and both are dead.
1240
Not in this world but in the world below
He wins his bride, and shows to all mankind
That folly is the worst of human evils.
[Exit EURYDICE
CHORUS. What can we think of this? The Queen is
gone
Without one word of good or evil omen.
MESSENGER. What can it mean? But yet we may sustain
The hope that she would not display her grief
In public, but will rouse the sad lament
For Haemon’s death among her serving-women
Inside the palace. * She has true discretion,
And she would never do what is unseemly.
1250
CHORUS. I cannot say, but wild lament would be
Less ominous than this unnatural silence.
MESSENGER. It is unnatural; there may be danger.
I’ll follow her; it may be she is hiding
Some secret purpose in her passionate heart.
[Exit MESSENGER, into the palace
CHORUS [chants]. Look, Creon draws near, and the
burden he bears
Gives witness to his misdeeds; the cause
Lies only in his blind error.