Chapter 8

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.

* * * * *

_REMORSE_.

Ajax bewails his own fall. Tecmessa tries to comfort him, and turn him from violent courses.

LINES 430-595.

CHORUS.

I know not how, in case so desperate, To bid thee speak, or bid thee to refrain.

AJAX.

Alas! who would have thought my name would prove [Footnote: There is a play upon the name [Greek: Aias], the first syllable of which is an ejaculation of sorrow unreproduceable in English.] So correspondent to the bearer's state? Once and again that syllable of woe, Being with woe o'erwhelmed, I may repeat. My father once, from this Idaean land, Crowned with the prize of valour by the host, And full of glory, to his home returned; While I, his son, coming to this same land Of Troy with prowess no whit less than his, After achievements not less glorious, Meet from the Argives scorn and contumely. And yet of this much am I well assured, That had Achilles living been the judge To whom his arm and valours prize should go, Mine, and mine only, would those arms have been. But now the Atridae to a cunning knave, My exploits misprized, have surrendered them. And had not strong delusion warped my sense, And clouded o'er my vision, never more Would they have an unrighteous sentence given. But that stern-eyed, resistless child of Zeus, Just as I put forth my avenging hand, Brought madness on me, made me miss my aim, And dye my sword with blood of slaughtered kine. They have escaped, and they will mock at me, Through no default of mine. When deity Blasts the strong arm, weakness may strength defy. What now am I to do, since of the gods I am abhorred, of the Hellenic host Hated, to Troy and all this land a foe? Shall I to their own quarrel leave the Kings, Unmoor, and homeward cross the Aegean wave? How can I face my father Telamon? How can he bear to look upon the son Who comes to him disgraced, without the prize, When glory's wreath has circled his own brow? That may not be. Then shall I fling myself Alone upon the Trojan battlements, And having done some deed of valour, fall? That might to the two Kings some joy afford. That, too, is naught. On something I must think Whereby I to my agéd sire may prove That from his loins sprung no unworthy son; For vile it is to crave for longer life, When longer life brings no release from ill. How can addition to the sum of days, When all is but a respite, joy bestow? I would not give a doit for any man Who lets his heart be fired with idle hopes. To live with honour, or with honour die, Alone becomes the noble. I have done.

CHORUS.

None, Ajax, will pretend that these thy words Are not thy own, or come not from thy heart; But now control thyself. Discard these thoughts, And let the counsels of thy friends prevail.

TECMESSA.

Ajax, my lord and master, man knows not Aught sadder than a bondsman's helplessness. I, that a freeman for my father had, First of the Phrygian race in wealth and power, Am now a slave. So have the gods decreed, And thy strong arm determined. Of thy bed Thus made the partner, I am true to thee, And do implore thee by our household Zeus, And by the couch which we together press, Be not so cruel as to leave thy mate In thraldom, and a prey to slanderous tongues. Know, when thou diest, thy protection gone, The Argives will that self-same day drag off Me and thy helpless child to slavery. Then will some slave-master speak bitter words, Voiding his bile on us: 'Behold the mate Of Ajax, once the hero of our host, Fallen from her pride of place to menial toil.' So will they say. For me, where fate may drive I drift; but shame will be on thee and thine. Think of thy father, in his drear old age Bereft of thee; think of thy mother, too, With her grey head, who puts up many a prayer That she may welcome home her son alive. Have pity on thy child, who will be left In infancy, uncherished, and the ward Of unkind guardians; lay to heart the woes Which loss of thee would bring on him and me. For I have nothing left to which to look But thee; thy spear has laid my city low, While, by another doom, my parents both Have gone to dwell in the abodes of death. What country can Tecmessa have but thee? What staff of life? thou art my all in all. Be mindful of thy mate; to taste love's joy Is to owe something to the claim of love. Affection still should be affection's meed; When kindness leaves no trace upon the soul, That soul is void of true nobility.

CHORUS.

Ajax, I would thy heart could beat with mine, For if it could, her words would win thy praise.

AJAX.

Praise in full measure shall she have from me, If she has sense to do what I command.

TECMESSA.

Whatever thou commandest, I will do.

AJAX.

Bring me my boy that I may look on him.

TECMESSA.

The truth to tell, I sent him hence in fear.

AJAX.

In fear of what? Of all this wretchedness?

TECMESSA.

Fear that if thou shouldst meet him, he might die.

AJAX.

That would have well beseemed my destiny.

TECMESSA.

My care prevented that calamity.

AJAX.

I do commend thy foresight heartily.

TECMESSA.

What can I do herein to serve thee more?

AJAX.

Let me behold the boy and speak to him.

TECMESSA.

He is at hand in the attendant's care.

AJAX.

Let him come hither, then, without delay.

TECMESSA.

My child, thy father calls. Whoe'er thou art His infant steps that guidest, bring him here.

AJAX.

Is the child out of hearing or at hand?

TECMESSA.

Behold, the servant leading him is near.

(_Enter Attendant with_ EURYSACES.)

AJAX.