Enter Antigone from the side, accompanied by the Sentry.
Chorus:
Here is a dark sign from the gods–
what to make of this? I know her,
how can I deny it? That young girl’s Antigone!
Wretched, child of a wretched father,
Oedipus. Look, is it possible?
They bring you in like a prisoner–
why? did you break the king’s laws?
Did they take you in some act of mad defiance?
Sentry:
She’s the one, she did it single-handed–
we caught her burying the body. Where’s Creon?
Enter Creon from the palace.
Leader:
Back again, just in time when you need him.
Creon:
In time for what? What is it?
Sentry:
My king,
there’s nothing you can swear you’ll never do–
second thought make liars of us all.
I could have sworn I wouldn’t hurry back
(what with your threats, the buffeting I just took),
but a stroke of luck beyond our wildest hopes,
what a joy, there’s nothing like it. So,
back I’ve come, breaking my oath, who cares?
I’m bringing in our prisoner–this young girl–
we took her giving the dead the last rites.
But no casting lots this time; this is my luck,
my prize, no one else’s.
Now, my lord,
here she is. Take her, question her,
cross-examine her to your heart’s content.
But set me free, it’s only right–
I’m rid of this dreadful business once for all.
Creon:
Prisoner! Her? You took her–where, doing what?
Sentry:
Burying the man. That’s the whole story.
Creon:
What?
You mean what you say, you’re telling me the truth?
Sentry:
She’s the one. With my own eyes I saw her
bury the body, just what you’ve forbidden.
There. Is that plain and clear?
Creon:
What did you see? Did you catch her in the act?
Sentry:
Here’s what happened. We went back to our post,
those threats of your breathing down our necks–
we brushed the corpse clean of dust that covered it,
stripped it bare…it was slimy, going soft,
and we took to high ground, backs to the wind
so the stink of him couldn’t hit us;
jostling, baiting each other to keep awake,
shouting back and forth–no napping on the job,
not this time. And so the hours dragged by
until the sun stood dead above our heads,
a huge white ball in the noon sky, beating,
blazing down, and then it happened–
suddenly, a whirlwind!
Twisting a great dust-storm up from the earth,
a black plague of the heavens, filling the plain,
ripping the leaves off every tree in sight,
choking the air and sky. We squinted hard
and took our whipping from the gods.
And after the storm passed–it seemed endless–
there, we saw the girl!
And she cried out a sharp, piercing cry,
like a bird come back to an empty nest,
peering into its bed, and all the babies gone…
Just so, when she sees the corpse bare
she bursts into a long, shattering wail
and calls down withering curses on the heads
of all who did the work. And she scoops up dry dust,
handfuls, quickly, and lifting a fine bronze urn,
lifting it high and pouring, she crowns the dead
with three full libations.
Soon as we saw
we rushed her, closed on the kill like hunters,
and she, she didn’t flinch. We interrogated her,
charging her with offenses past and present–
she stood up to it all, denied nothing. I tell you,
it made me ache and laugh in the same breath.
It’s pure joy to escape the worst yourself,
it hurts a man to bring down his friends.
But all that, I’m afraid, means less to me
than my own skin. That’s the way I’m made.
Creon (wheeling on Antigone):
You,
with your eyes fixed on the ground–speak up.
Do you deny you did this, yes or no?
Antigone:
I did it. I don’t deny a thing.
Creon (to the sentry):
You, get out, wherever you please–
you’re clear of a very heavy charge.
He leaves; Creon turns back to Antigone
You, tell me briefly, no long speeches–
were you aware a decree had forbidden this?
Antigone:
Well aware. How could I avoid it? It was public.
Creon:
And still you had the gall to break the law?
Antigone:
Of course I did. It wasn’t Zeus, not in the least,
who made this proclamation–not to me.
Nor did that Justice, dwelling with the gods
beneath the earth, ordain such laws for men.
Nor did I think your edict had such force
that you, a mere mortal, could override the gods,
the great unwritten, unshakable traditions.
They are alive, not just today or yesterday:
they live forever, from the first of time,
and no one knows when they first saw the light.
These laws–I was not about the break them,
not out of fear of some man’s wounded pride,
and face the retribution of the gods.
Die I must, I’ve known it all my life–
how could I keep from knowing?–even without
your death-sentence ringing in my ears.
And if I am to die before my time
I consider that a gain. Who on earth,
alive in the midst of so much grief as I,
could fail to find his death a rich reward?
So for me, at least, to meet this doom of yours
is precious little pain. But if I had allowed
my own mother’s son to rot, an unburied corpse–
that would have been an agony! This is nothing.
And if my present actions strike you as foolish,
let’s just say I’ve been accused of folly
by a fool.
Leader:
Like father like daughter,
passionate, wild…
she hasn’t learned to bend before adversity.
Creon:
No? Believe me, the stiffest stubborn wills
fall the hardest; the toughest iron,
tempered strong in the white-hot fire,
you’ll see it crack and shatter first of all.
And I’ve known spirited horses you can break
with a light bit–proud, rebellious horses.
There’s no room for pride, not in a slave,
not with the lord and master standing by.
This girl was an old hand at insolence
when she overrode the edicts we made public.
But once she had done it–the insolence,
twice over–to glory in it, laughing,
mocking us to our face with what she’d done.
I am not the man, not now: she is the man
if this victory goes to her and she goes free.
Never! Sister’s child or closer in blood
than all my family clustered at my altar
worshiping Guardian Zeus–she’ll never escape,
she and her blood sister, the most barbaric death.
Yes, I accuse her sister of an equal part
in scheming this, this burial.
To his attendants: Bring her here!
I just saw her inside, hysterical, gone to pieces.
It never fails: the mind convicts itself
in advance, when scoundrels are up to no good,
plotting in the dark. Oh but I hate it more
when a traitor, caught red-handed,
tries to glorify his crimes.
Antigone:
Creon, what more do you want
than my arrest and execution?
Creon:
Nothing. Then I have it all.
Antigone:
Then why delay? Your moralizing repels me,
every word you say–pray god it always will.
So naturally all I say repels you too.
Enough.
Give me glory! What greater glory could I win
than to give my own brother decent burial?
These citizens here would all agree,
(to the Chorus🙂 they would praise me too
if their lips weren’t locked in fear.
(pointing to Creon🙂 Lucky tyrants–the perquisites of power!
Ruthless power to do and say whatever pleases them.
Creon:
You alone, of all the people in Thebes,
see things that way.
Antigone:
They see it just that way
but defer to you and keep their tongues in leash.
Creon:
And you, aren’t you ashamed to differ so from them?
So disloyal!
Antigone:
Not ashamed for a moment,
not to honor my brother, my own flesh and blood.
Creon:
Wasn’t Eteocles a brother too–cut down, facing him?
Antigone:
Brother, yes, by the same mother, the same father.
Creon:
Then how can you render his enemy such honors,
such impieties in his eyes?
Antigone:
He will never testify to that,
Eteocles dead and buried.
Creon:
He will–
if you honor the traitor just as much as him.
Antigone:
But it was his brother, not some slave that died–
Creon:
Ravaging our country!–
but Eteocles died fighting in our behalf.
Antigone:
No matter–Death longs for the same rites for all.
Creon:
Never the same for the patriot and the traitor.
Antigone:
Who, Creon, who on earth can say the ones below
don’t find this pure and uncorrupt?
Creon:
Never. Once an enemy, never a friend,
not even after death.
Antigone:
I was born to join in love, not hate–
that is my nature.
Creon:
Go down below and love,
if love you must–love the dead! While I’m alive,
no woman is going to lord it over me.
Enter Ismene from the palace, under guard.
Chorus:
Look,
Ismene’s coming, weeping a sister’s tears,
loving sister, under a cloud…
her face is flushed, her cheeks streaming.
Sorrow puts her lovely radiance in the dark.
Creon:
You–
in my own house, you viper, slinking undetected,
sucking my life-blood! I never knew
I was breeding twin disasters, the two of you
rising up against my throne. Come, tell me,
will you confess your part in the crime or not?
Answer me. Swear to me.
Ismene:
I did it, yes–
if only she consents–I share the guilt,
the consequences too.
Antigone:
No,
Justice will never suffer that–not you,
you were unwilling. I never brought you in.
Ismene:
But now you face such dangers… I’m not ashamed
to sail through trouble with you,
make your troubles mine.
Antigone:
Who did the work?
Let the dead and the god of death bear witness!
I have no love for a friend who loves in words alone.
Ismene:
Oh no, my sister, don’t reject me, please,
let me die beside you, consecrating
the dead together.
Antigone:
Never share my dying,
don’t lay claim to what you never touched.
My death will be enough.
Ismene:
What do I care for life, cut off from you?
Antigone:
Ask Creon. Your concern is all for him.
Ismene:
Why abuse me so? It doesn’t help you now.
Antigone:
You’re right–
if I mock you, I get no pleasure from it,
only pain.
Ismene:
Tell me, dear one,
what can I do to help you, even now?
Antigone:
Save yourself. I don’t grudge you your survival.
Ismene:
Oh no, no, denied my portion in your death?
Antigone:
You chose to live. I chose to die.
Ismene:
Not, at least,
without every kind of caution I could voice.
Antigone:
Your wisdom appealed to one world–mine, another.
Ismene:
But look, we’re both guilty, both condemned to death.
Antigone:
Courage! Live your life. I gave myself to death,
long ago, so I might serve the dead.
Creon:
They’re both mad, I tell you, the two of them.
One’s just shown it, the other’s been that way
since she was born.
Ismene:
True, my king,
the sense we were born with cannot last forever…
commit cruelty on a person long enough
and the mind begins to go.
Creon:
Yours did,
when you chose to commit your crimes with her.
Ismene:
How can I live alone, without her?
Creon:
Her?
Don’t even mention her–she no longer exists.
Ismene:
What? You’d kill your own son’s bride?
Creon:
Absolutely:
there are other fields for him to plow.
Ismene:
Perhaps,
but never as true, as close a bond as theirs.
Creon:
A worthless woman for my son? It repels me.
Ismene:
Dearest Haemon, your father wrongs you so!
Creon:
Enough, enough–you and your talk of marriage!
Ismene:
Creon–you’re really going to rob your son of Antigone?
Creon:
Death will do it for me–break their marriage off.
Leader:
So, it’s settled then? Antigone must die?
Creon:
Settled, yes–we both know that.
To the guards:
Stop wasting time. Take them in.
From now on they’ll act like women.
Tie them up, no more running loose;
even the bravest will cut and run,
once they see Death coming for their lives.
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