The Greek Plays
Page 38
and to you, my brother, for it was I
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who bathed you when you’d died, it was I
who dressed you for burial, who poured libations
at your graves. But now, Polynices, this is what
I earn for tending to your body. And yet,
on reflection, I did well to honor you.*69
For if I’d been a mother, or if it were my spouse
who lay there rotting, I would not for that reason
have acted in defiance of the citizens.
What law have I in mind in saying this?
My husband dead, another could take his place,
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and a child by another man, if I lost
the one I had, but with both parents buried
in Hades, no brother could ever come to light.
This is the law I acted on, selecting you
to honor so, but Creon thought what I did
a crime, an act of awful daring, my brother.
And now he has me dragged away like this—
no bridal bed, no wedding song for me,
no share in marriage or in rearing children.
I go instead, stripped, as you see, of friends,
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accursed, alive, into the pit of the dead.
Which of the laws of heaven have I broken?
Why still look, in sorrow, to the gods?
Which of them can I summon to my side—
I, whose piety has made me impious?
If, then, the gods approve all this, I’ll learn
from experience that I’ve been wrong; but if
these men are the ones who’re wrong, may they suffer
no worse than what they’ve done to me, unjustly!
(Creon’s attendants begin to escort Antigone offstage.)*70
CHORUS LEADER: She’s in the grip of them still—
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the same storm-winds raging in her soul.
CREON: All the more reason why those who lead
her away will regret their reluctance!
ANTIGONE: oimoi! The meaning of that must be
death is very close.
CREON: I wouldn’t advise confidence
that it’s not so, and won’t happen as decreed.
ANTIGONE: Ancestral city of the land of Thebes,
gods who guard my race,
now at last I’m led away, and will be no more.
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Behold, masters of Thebes, the last
of the royal line, all that’s left of it—
see what I suffer, and at whose hands,
because I revered reverence!
(Exit Antigone, led by attendants. Creon evidently remains onstage while the Chorus sing their fourth ode, addressed to Antigone in her absence.)
strophe 1
CHORUS: Danaë*71 in all her beauty also bore the loss
of heaven’s light—in a cell bolted
with bronze, hidden in her bridal
chamber, she was constrained, as in a tomb
and yet she, too, was nobly born, child, my child,
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and Zeus’ seed, the showered gold, was in her care.
But the power of fate is an awesome thing.
Neither wealth nor war
nor walls can ward it off, nor will
black ships churning the sea escape it.
antistrophe 1
And the sharp-tempered son of Dryas,*72 king
of the Edonians,*73 was brought to his senses,
clapped in a prison of stone
by Dionysus for his anger and his taunts.
So the dread, frothing might
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of madness*74 drains away. He came to know
the god he’d grappled with
in madness and in taunting speech.
For he tried to suppress the women*75
swept by the god, the Bacchic fire,*76 and he stung
to wrath the Muses who love the pipes.*77
strophe 2
And hard by the strand
of the Bosporus,*78 between
the dark depths
of the doubled sea,*79 is a place,
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Salmydessus of the Thracians, where Ares,
not far from the city, saw the cursed
blinding of Phineus’ two sons
by his savage wife,*80 the wounding
of eyeballs robbed of sight, calling
on vengeance for the blow
of bloody hands
and the stab of the shuttle’s point.*81
antistrophe 2
They wasted away in misery,
in misery bemoaning their pain, their birth
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to a mother unhappily married.*82
She was a princess, seed
of the Erechtheidae*83 born of old
and grew up in faraway caverns, amid her father’s
storm-blasts, a Boread*84 running
wind-swift over the steep hills, a daughter
of gods. But even against her, my child,
the long-lived Fates launched their attack.
(Enter the blind prophet Tiresias, accompanied by a young boy, his guide.)
TIRESIAS: Lords of Thebes, we’ve come together, two of us
seeing with the eyes of one—that is the path
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the blind travel, led by their guide.
CREON: What is it, aged Tiresias? What news?
TIRESIAS: I will explain, and you—obey the prophet!
CREON: Well, in the past, I’ve followed your advice.
TIRESIAS: Yes, so you’ve steered the city straight.
CREON: You were helpful. I can testify to that.
TIRESIAS: Now think! Once more you’re on the razor’s edge.
CREON: What is it? How I shudder, when I hear you!
TIRESIAS: You’ll know, when you hear the signs my art reveals.
For when I’d sat upon the ancient seat
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of augury, where birds of every kind
come and go, I heard a sound they’d never
made before—evil, incoherent, frenzied.
I knew they were tearing one another
with bloody claws, for the whirring of their wings
was not without its sign. Straight away, in terror,
I turned to sacrifice, kindling the fire all
around the victim, but it wouldn’t burn—instead
an oozing juice slid down the flesh into the ash
and smoked and sputtered, the gall sac burst, spewing
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its contents into the air, and the dripping
thigh-bones shed their envelope of fat.
So my consultation came to nothing—the rites
yielded no sign, as I learned from this boy.
For he is guide to me, and I to others.
And it’s your thinking that’s made the city sick.
Our altars and hearths are all glutted
with carrion ripped by birds and dogs
from the ill-fated, fallen son of Oedipus.
The gods no longer welcome prayers of sacrifice
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from us, nor the blaze of thigh-bones;
no bird shrieks out an omen good to hear,
once gorged on the fat blood of manslaughter.
Give some thought to this, my son. For to go astray
is common to all men, but if you go astray,
you won’t stay senseless or helpless
if you seek a remedy, and if you fall
into evil, you do not persist in it.
It’s being stubborn that looks foolish.
Yield to the dead, and don’t keep stabbing
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one who’s down. Is it brave, to kill the dead again?
I’m giving you good advice. It’s best to learn
from one who speaks well and brings you profit.
CREON: Old man, all of you
are taking shots at me
like archers at a target! Even your mantic skills
are deployed against me. I’ve been bought
and sold away long since by the tribe of seers.
Go on reaping profits, bargain for electrum*85
from Sardis, if you like, or gold from India.
You won’t hide that man in a tomb, not even
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if Zeus’ own eagles rip the meat from him
and wing their way with it to Zeus’ throne!
Not even then will I, scared of “pollution,”
let someone bury him. For well I know
no mere man has power to pollute the gods.*86
Many people, old Tiresias, even the shrewdest,
go down in shame when they make shameful
arguments sound good for the sake of gain.
TIRESIAS: pheu!
Does any man know, can he say, by how much—
CREON: What is it, what cliché will you utter now?
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TIRESIAS: —good sense is the best thing one can have?
CREON: Just as much, I think, as folly is the worst.
TIRESIAS: And yet that’s the sickness you’ve come down with.
CREON: I’m in no mood for trading insults with a seer.
TIRESIAS: You do that when you call my prophecies false.
CREON: I do, for the whole tribe of seers is corrupt.
TIRESIAS: The tribe of tyrants also shames itself for gain.
CREON: Surely you know you’re taunting those in power?
TIRESIAS: I know, it’s through me you saved this city.
CREON: You’re a clever seer, with a liking for crime.
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TIRESIAS: You’ll soon make me say what I’d rather not.
CREON: Out with it, then—but don’t speak for hire!
TIRESIAS: Is that what you suppose I’m doing now?
CREON: Yes, but it won’t work. Be sure of that!
TIRESIAS: And you be sure of this: that you won’t live
through many racing circuits of the sun, before
you’ve paid up one corpse, born of your own loins,
in return for these, for you have cast
below one who belongs above—yes, buried
in dishonor a living soul; and you keep up here
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a corpse belonging to the gods down there,
robbed of its due, its offerings, its rites.
In none of that have you or the gods on high
a share*87—but you bring them into it by force!
And so the destroyers, the late-avenging Furies
of Hades and the gods lie in wait for you,
to trap you in evils you’ve unleashed yourself!
And think again, whether I’ve been bribed
to say all this. It won’t be long before you’ll see
men and women wailing in your house.
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Meanwhile all the cities*88 are seething with hostility
have consecrated,*90 or wild beasts, or winged birds
wafting unholy stench on city and hearth.
Such are the shafts I’ve launched at you
for provoking me!—and I’ve aimed them like an archer
straight at your heart. You won’t dodge their sting!
Lead me away, boy—take me home, so he
may hurl his rage at younger men
and learn to cultivate a milder tongue
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and better thoughts than those he’s thinking now.
(Exit Tiresias and boy.)
CHORUS LEADER: He’s left us, my lord, with dreadful prophecies.
To my knowledge, ever since the time I draped
this white hair about my head in place of black,
he’s never uttered falsehood to the city.
CREON: I realize that, too, and my mind is shaken.
To back down is hard, harder still the thought
that standing firm will steep me in delusion.*91
CHORUS LEADER: You must take good advice, son of Menoeceus.
CREON: Well, what should I do? Speak, and I will listen.
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CHORUS LEADER: Go, free the girl from her house underground,
then build a tomb for the one who lies unburied.
CREON: Is this your advice, and is it best to yield?
CHORUS LEADER: Yes, lord, and quickly, for the gods’ Harms*92
move swiftly and cut off those whose minds delay.
CREON: oimoi! It’s hard, but I give up, I won’t press on.
One must not fight in vain against necessity.
CHORUS LEADER: Go! Do it now, don’t leave it to others.
CREON: I will go just as I am. Come, come, my men,
all of you, wherever you are! Take up
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axes in your hands and hurry there with me.
It was I who bound her, and I myself
will free her—so my judgment’s been reversed.
For I’m afraid it may be best to live
to the end observing the established laws.
(Exit Creon, with attendants. The Chorus sing their fifth ode.)
strophe 1
CHORUS: God*93 of many names, the Cadmean
bride’s*94 glory
and son of deep-thundering
Zeus; you who guard glorious
Italy and hold sway in Eleusinian
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Demeter’s folds, open
to all*95—Bacchus,
who haunt the mother-city
of the Bacchae,*96 Thebes beside
the running waters of Ismenus*97 and near
the savage dragon’s sowing!*98
antistrophe 1
The black glare of torchlight
above the twin cliffs
towering where Corycian nymphs
roam in ecstasy, and Castalia’s
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stream have caught sight of you.*99
You leave behind
the ivy slopes of Nysaean*100 mountains
and the green cluster-laden cliffs
to gaze upon the streets
of Thebes, immortal cries
of joy attending your footsteps—
strophe 2
her, of all cities, you and your mother,
bride of the lightning, *101
honor the most. But now,
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when she and all her people
are in the grip of a violent plague,
come with purifying foot over
Parnassian peak or booming strait.*102
antistrophe 2
iō, leader of the dance
of fire-breathing stars, lord
of the night’s voices,*103
born of Zeus! Appear,
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master, with your Thyiads*104
crowding about you, frenzied, dancing
all through the night
Iacchus giver of blessings!*105
(Enter a Messenger, from the direction Antigone had been taken.)
MESSENGER: Neighbors of the house of Cadmus and Amphion,*106
the life of man is not the sort of thing
I’d ever praise or criticize: it’s always changing.
Moment by moment, chance lifts up the lucky
and chance throws down the unlucky, and there’s no
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predicting what’s ordained for men.
For Creon, I would say, was enviable, once—
he saved this land of Cadmus from her foes,
and when he’d gained sole sovereignty over it,
he ruled, blest in the sowing of noble children;
now all is lost. Yes, all: for when a man’s
pleasures give out, I don’t consider him
alive, but see him as a breathing corpse.
Go on, make yourself hugely rich at home,
if that’s your wish; live a king’s life—but when
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the joy runs out, I wouldn’t give a shadow,
a wisp of smoke for what’s left, shorn of its pleasure!
CHORUS LEADER: What sorrow have you brought now, for our king?
MESSENGER: They’re dead; the living are guilty of their death.
CHORUS LEADER: And who is the killer, who the killed? Speak!
MESSENGER: Haemon has fallen, bloodied*107 by no stranger’s hand.
CHORUS LEADER: Whose hand? His father’s, or his own?
MESSENGER: His own, driven by the death his father caused.
CHORUS LEADER: O seer, how truly you’ve spoken, after all!
MESSENGER: Such are the facts; now we must deal with them.
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CHORUS LEADER: Look, now, I see poor Eurydice, Creon’s wife
on her way here, out from the palace; has she
heard about her son, or has she come by chance?
(Enter Eurydice, from the palace.)
EURYDICE: Citizens, I overheard what you were saying
on my way out of the house, to go address
my prayers to Pallas Athena, the goddess.
I was just opening the door, drawing
the bolt back, when it struck my ears, the sound
of evil tidings for my house. I fell back
into my maids’ arms, and fainted.
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Whatever you were saying, say it again.
I’ll listen. Sorrow is no stranger to me.*108
MESSENGER: I will speak, dear mistress, since I was there,
and leave out nothing. For why should I say
what will soothe you now, only to be caught lying
later on? Truth is always what is right.
I went with your husband, guiding the way
to the high part of the plain, where Polynices’
body still sprawled, unpitied, ripped by dogs.
We beseeched the goddess of the crossroads
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and Pluto*109 to be kind, restrain their anger,
then washed him in pure water, and burned
what was left of him, on branches newly torn;
we heaped up a mound of his native earth,
then started back to the girl’s bridal room,
Death’s nook padded with stone, and made our way in.
Someone, hearing a shrill sound, a wail
from deep inside that unhallowed chamber,
ran to tell our master Creon, who hurried
in now, closer and closer, a babble
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of sad shouts pelting him about. He cried aloud,
a groan terrible to hear: “O no, no!
Am I a prophet, then? Am I on the most