Antigone / Oedipus the King / Electra by Sophocles
Because your bride must die? Or are you still
My loyal son, whatever I may do?
HAEMON. Father, I am your son; may your wise
judgement
Rule me, and may I always follow it.
No marriage shall be thought a greater prize
For me to win than your good government.
CREON. So may you ever be resolved, my son,
In all things to be guided by your father.
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It is for this men pray that they may have
Obedient children, that they may requite
Their father’s enemy with enmity
And honour whom their father loves to honour.
One who begets unprofitable children
Makes trouble for himself, and gives his foes
Nothing but laughter. Therefore do not let
Your pleasure in a woman overcome
Your judgement, knowing this, that if you have
An evil wife to share your house, you’ll find
Cold comfort in your bed. What other wound
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Can cut so deep as treachery at home?
So, think this girl your enemy; spit on her,
And let her find her husband down in Hell!
She is the only one that I have found
In all the city disobedient.
I will not make myself a liar. I
Have caught her; I will kill her. Let her sing
Her hymns to Sacred Kinship!* If I breed
Rebellion in the house, then it is certain
There’ll be no lack of rebels out of doors.
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No man can rule a city uprightly
Who is not just in ruling his own household.
Never will I approve of one who breaks
And violates the law, or would dictate
To those who rule. Lawful authority
Must be obeyed in all things, great or small,
Just and unjust alike; and such a man
Would win my confidence both in command
And as a subject; standing at my side
In the storm of battle he would hold his ground,
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Not leave me unprotected. But there is
No greater curse than disobedience.
This brings destruction on a city, this
Drives men from hearth and home, this brings about
A sudden panic in the battle-front.
Where all goes well, obedience is the cause.
So we must vindicate the law; we must not be
Defeated by a woman. Better far
Be overthrown, if need be, by a man
Than to be called the victim of a woman.
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CHORUS. Unless the years have stolen away our wits,
All you say is said most prudently.
HAEMON. Father, it is the gods who give us wisdom;
No gift of theirs more precious. I cannot say
That you are wrong, nor would I ever learn
That impudence, although perhaps another
Might fairly say it. But it falls to me,
Being your son, to note what others say,
Or do, or censure in you, for your glance
Intimidates the common citizen;
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He will not say, before your face, what might
Displease you; I can listen freely, how
The city mourns this girl. ‘No other woman’,
So they are saying, ‘so undeservedly
Has been condemned for such a glorious deed.
When her own brother had been slain in battle
She would not let his body lie unburied
To be devoured by dogs or birds of prey.
Is not this worthy of a crown of gold?’—
Such is the muttering that spreads everywhere.
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Father, no greater treasure can I have
Than your prosperity; no son can find
A greater prize than his own father’s fame,
No father than his son’s. Therefore let not
This single thought possess you: only what
You say is right, and nothing else. The man
Who thinks that he alone is wise, that he
Is best in speech or counsel, such a man
Brought to the proof is found but emptiness.
There’s no disgrace, even if one is wise,
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In learning more, and knowing when to yield.
See how the trees that grow beside a torrent
Preserve their branches, if they bend; the others,
Those that resist, are torn out, root and branch.
So too the captain of a ship; let him
Refuse to shorten sail, despite the storm—
He’ll end his voyage bottom uppermost.
No, let your anger cool, and be persuaded.
If one who is still young can speak with sense,
Then I would say that he does best who has
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Most understanding; second best, the man
Who profits from the wisdom of another.
CHORUS. My lord, he has not spoken foolishly;
You each can learn some wisdom from the other.
CREON. What? men of our age go to school again
And take a lesson from a very boy?
HAEMON. If it is worth the taking. I am young,
But think what should be done, not of my age.
CREON. What should be done! To honour
disobedience!
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HAEMON. I would not have you honour criminals.
CREON. And is this girl then not a criminal?
HAEMON. The city with a single voice denies it.
CREON. Must I give orders then by their permission?
HAEMON. If youth is folly, this is childishness.
CREON. Am I to rule for them, not for myself?
HAEMON. That is not government, but tyranny.
CREON. The king is lord and master of his city.
HAEMON. Then you had better rule a desert island!
CREON. This man, it seems, is the ally of the woman.
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HAEMON. If you’re the woman, yes! I fight for you.
CREON. Villain! Do you oppose your father’s will?
HAEMON. Only because you are opposing Justice.
CREON. When I regard my own prerogative?
HAEMON. Opposing God’s, you disregard your own.
CREON. Scoundrel, so to surrender to a woman!
HAEMON. But not to anything that brings me shame.
CREON. Your every word is in defence of her.
HAEMON. And me, and you—and of the gods below.
CREON. You shall not marry her this side the grave!
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HAEMON. So, she must die—and will not die alone.
CREON. What? Threaten me? Are you so insolent?
HAEMON. It is no threat, if I reply to folly.
CREON. The fool would teach me sense! You’ll pay for
it.
HAEMON. I’d call you mad, if you were not my father.
CREON. I’ll hear no chatter from a woman’s plaything.
HAEMON. Would you have all the talk, and hear no
answer?
CREON. So?
I swear to God, you shall not bandy words
With me and not repent it! Bring her out,
That loathsome creature! I will have her killed
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At once, before her bridegroom’s very eyes.
HAEMON. How can you think it? I will not see that,
Nor shall you ever see my face again.
Those friends of yours who can must tolerate
Your raging madness; I will not endure it.
[Exit HAEMON
CHORUS. How angrily he went, my lord! The young,
When they are greatly hurt, grow desperate.
CREON. Then let his pride and foll
He shall not save these women from their doom.
CHORUS. Is it your purpose then to kill them both?
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CREON. Not her who had no part in it.—I thank you.
CHORUS. And for the other: how is she to die?
CREON. I’ll find a cave in some deserted spot,
And there I will imprison her alive
With so much food—no more—as will avert
Pollution and a curse upon the city.*
There let her pray to Death, the only god
Whom she reveres, to rescue her from death,
Or learn at last, though it be late, that it
Is wanton folly to respect the dead.
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[CREON remains on the stage
Strophe
CHORUS [sings]. Invincible, implacable Love,* O
Love, that makes havoc of all wealth;
That peacefully keeps his night-watch
On tender cheek of a maiden:
The Sea is no barrier, nor
Mountainous waste to Love’s flight; for
No one can escape Love’s domination,
Man, no, nor immortal god. Love’s
Prey is possessed by madness.
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Antistrophe
By Love, the mind even of the just
Is bent awry; he becomes unjust.
So here: it is Love that stirred up
This quarrel of son with father.
The kindling light of Love in the soft
Eye of a bride conquers, for
Love sits on his throne, one of the great Powers;
Nought else can prevail against
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Invincible Aphrodite.*
Enter ANTIGONE, under guard. [From this point up to line
987 everything is sung, except lines 883–928.]
CHORUS. I too, when I see this sight, cannot stay
Within bounds; I cannot keep back my tears
Which rise like a flood. For behold, they bring
Antigone here, on the journey that all
Must make, to the silence of Hades.*
Strophe 1
ANTIGONE. Behold me, O lords of my native city!
Now do I make my last journey;
Now do I see the last
Sun that ever I shall behold.
Never another! Death, that lulls
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All to sleep, takes me while I live
Down to the grim shore of Acheron.*
No wedding day can be
Mine, no hymn will be raised to honour
Marriage of mine; for I
Go to espouse the bridegroom, Death.
CHORUS. Yet a glorious death, and rich in fame
Is yours; you go to the silent tomb
Not smitten with wasting sickness, nor
Repaying a debt to the sharp-edged sword;
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But alone among mortals* you go to the home
Of the dead while yet you are living.
Antistrophe 1
ANTIGONE. They tell of how cruelly she did perish,
Niobe, Queen in Thebes;*
For, as ivy grows on a tree,
Strangling it, so she slowly turned to
Stone on a Phrygian mountain-top.
Now the rain-storms wear her away—
So does the story run—and
Snow clings to her always:
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Tears fall from her weeping eyes for
Ever and ever. Like to hers, the
Cruel death that now awaits me.
CHORUS. But she was a goddess, and born of the
gods;*
We are but mortals, of mortals born.
For a mortal to share in the doom of a god,
That brings her renown while yet she lives,
And a glory that long will outlive her.
Strophe 2
ANTIGONE. Alas, they laugh! O by the gods of Thebes,
my native city,
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Mock me, if you must, when I am gone, not to my