Phoenissae

Before the royal palace of Thebes. Jocasta: O Sun-god, you who cut your path in heaven’s stars, mounted on a chariot inlaid with gold and whirling out your flame with swift horses, what an unfortunate beam you shed on Thebes, the day that Cadmus left Phoenicia’s realm beside the sea and reached this land! He married at that time Harmonia, the daughter of Cypris, and begot Polydorus from whom they say Labdacus was born, and Laius from him.

I am known as the daughter of Menoeceus, and Creon is my brother by the same mother. They call me Jocasta, for so my father named me, and I am married to Laius. Now when he was still childless after being married to me a long time in the palace, he went and questioned Phoebus, and asked for us both to have sons for the house. But the god said: Lord of Thebes famous for horses, do not sow a furrow of children against the will of the gods; for if you beget a son, that child will kill you, and all your house shall wade through blood. But he, yielding to pleasure in a drunken fit, begot a child on me; and afterwards, conscious of his sin and of the god’s warning, he gave the child to shepherds to expose in Hera’s meadow and the crag of Cithaeron, after piercing his ankles with iron spikes; from which Hellas named him Oedipus. But Polybus’ horsemen found him and took him home and laid him in the arms of their mistress.

So she suckled the child that I had borne and persuaded her husband she was its mother.

When my son had become a man, with tawny beard, either because he had guessed or learned it from another, he set out for the shrine of Phoebus, wanting to know for certain who his parents were;

and so did Laius, my husband, seeking to learn if the child he had exposed was dead. And the two of them met at the branching road of Phocis. And Laius’ charioteer ordered him:

Stranger, make way for the king! But he walked on without a word, in his pride. The horses with their hoofs drew blood from the tendons of his feet. Then—why need I speak of matters outside these evils?—son slew father, and taking his chariot gave it to Polybus, his foster-father. Now when the Sphinx was oppressing and ravaging our city, after my husband’s death, my brother Creon proclaimed my marriage: that he would marry me to anyone who should guess the riddle of the crafty maiden. It happened somehow that my son, Oedipus, guessed the Sphinx’s song; and received the scepter of this land as his prize. He married his mother in ignorance, luckless wretch! nor did his mother know that she was sleeping with her son.

I bore my son two sons, Eteocles and the hero Polyneices, and two daughters; the one her father called Ismene; the other, which was the elder, I named Antigone. Now when Oedipus, who endured so much, learned that he was married to his mother, he inflicted a dreadful slaughter upon his eyes, making the pupils bloody with a golden brooch. But when my sons grew to bearded men, they hid their father behind bars, so that his misfortune, needing as it did much skill to hide it, might be forgotten. He is still living in the house. Afflicted by his fate, he makes the most unholy curses against his sons, praying that they may divide this house with a sharp sword.

So they were afraid that the gods might fulfil his prayers if they dwell together; and they made an agreement, that Polyneices, the younger, should first leave the land in voluntary exile, while Eteocles should stay and hold the scepter, and then change places yearly. But as soon as Eteocles was seated on the bench of power, he did not leave the throne, but drove Polyneices into exile from this land. So Polyneices went to Argos and married into the family of Adrastus, and having collected a numerous force of Argives is leading them here; and he has come against these very walls of seven gates, demanding the scepter of his father and his share of the land. Now I, to end their strife, have persuaded one son to meet the other under truce, before seizing arms; and the messenger I sent tells me that he will come. O Zeus, dwelling in the bright folds of heaven, save us, and reconcile my sons! For you, if you are really wise, must not allow the same mortal to be forever wretched. Exit Jocasta.

Old servant: From the roof. Antigone, famous child in your father’s house, although your mother allowed you at your entreaty to leave your maiden chamber for the topmost story of the house, to see the Argive army, wait, so that I may first investigate the path, whether there be any of the citizens visible on the road, and reproach, a slight matter to a slave like me, should come to you, my royal mistress; and when I have examined everything, I will tell you what I saw and heard from the Argives, when I carried the terms of the truce from here to Polyneices and back from him again. After a slight pause. No, there is no citizen near the house, so mount the ancient cedar steps, and view the plains; beside Ismenus’ streams and the fountain of Dirce see the great army of the enemy.

Antigone: Stretch out your hand to me from the stairs now, stretch it out, the hand of age to youth, helping me to rise.

Old servant: There! clasp it, maiden; you have come at the right time; for Pelasgia’s army is just upon the move, and they are separating the companies.

Antigone: O Lady Hecate, child of Leto! The plain is one lightning-flash of bronze.

Old servant: Ah! this is no ordinary home-coming of Polyneices, with the clash of many horses, many arms.

Antigone: Are the gates barred, and the brazen bolts fitted into Amphion’s walls of stone?

Old servant: Never fear! All is safe within the town. But see the first one, if you want to know him.

Antigone: Who is that one with the white crest, who marches before the army, lightly bearing on his arm a shield all of bronze?

Old servant: A captain, mistress.

Antigone: Who is he? Who is his family? Tell me his name, old man.

Old servant: He claims to be Mycenaean; by Lerna’s streams he dwells, the lord Hippomedon.

Antigone: Ah, ah! How proud, how fearful to see, like an earth-born giant, with stars engraved on his shield, not resembling mortal race.

Old servant: Do you see the one crossing Dirce’s stream?

Antigone: His armor is quite different. Who is that?

Old servant: Tydeus, the son of Oeneus, Aetolian battle-spirit in his breast.

Antigone: Is this the one, old man, who married a sister of Polyneices’ wife? What a foreign look his armor has, half-barbarian!

Old servant: Yes, my child; all Aetolians carry shields, and are most unerring marksmen with their darts.

Antigone: Who is that youth passing by the tomb of Zethus, with long flowing hair, fierce to see? Is he a captain? For an armed crowd follows at his heels.

Old servant: That is Parthenopaeus, Atalanta’s son.

Antigone: May Artemis, who rushes over the hills with his mother, lay him low with an arrow, for coming against my city to sack it!

Old servant: May it be so, my child; but they have come here with justice, and my fear is that the gods will take the rightful view.

Antigone: Where is the one who was born of the same mother as I was, by a painful destiny? Oh! tell me, old friend, where Polyneices is.

Old servant: He is standing by Adrastus, near the tomb of Niobe’s seven unwed daughters. Do you see him?

Antigone: I see him, yes! but not clearly; I see the outline of his form, the likeness of his breast. Would I could speed through the sky, swift as a cloud before the wind, towards my own dear brother, and throw my arms about my darling’s neck, so long, poor boy! an exile. How distinguished he is with his golden weapons, old man, flashing like the morning rays!

Old servant: He will come to this house, under truce, to fill your heart with joy.

Antigone: Who is that, old man, on his chariot, driving white horses?

Old servant: That, lady, is the prophet Amphiaraus; with him are the victims, earth’s bloodthirsty streams.

Antigone: Daughter of the sun with dazzling zone, O moon, you circle of golden light, how quietly, with what restraint he drives, goading first one horse, then the other! But where is the one who utters those dreadful insults against this city?

Old servant: Capaneus? There he is, calculating how he may scale the towers, taking the measure of our walls up and down.

Antigone: O Nemesis, and roaring thunder-peals of Zeus and blazing lightning-bolts, oh! put to sleep his presumptuous boasting!

This is the man who says he will give the Theban girls as captives of his spear to the women of Mycenae, to Lerna’s trident, and the waters of Amymone, dear to Poseidon, when he has them enslaved.

Never, never, Lady Artemis, golden-haired child of Zeus, may I endure that slavery.

Old servant: My child, go inside, and stay beneath the shelter of your maiden chamber, now that you have had your wish and seen all that you wanted; for a crowd of women is coming toward the royal palace, as confusion enters the city. Now women by nature love scandal; and if they get some slight handle for their gossip they exaggerate it, for women seem to have pleasure in saying nothing wholesome about each other. Exeunt Antigone and the old servant.

Chorus: From the Tyrian swell of the sea I came, a choice offering for Loxias from the island of Phoenicia, to be a slave to Phoebus in his halls, where he dwells under the snow-swept peaks of Parnassus; through the Ionian sea I sailed in the waves, over the unharvested plains, in the gusts of Zephyrus that ride from Sicily, sweetest music in the sky.

Chorus: Chosen from my city as beauty’s gift for Loxias, to the land of Cadmus I came, sent here to the towers of Laius, the home of my kin, the famous sons of Agenor.

And I became the handmaid of Phoebus, dedicated like his statues of wrought gold. But the water of Castalia is still waiting for me to drench the maiden glory of my hair for the service of Phoebus.

Chorus: Hail, rock that lights up a double-crested flash of fire above the frenzied heights of Dionysus; and the vine, that every day lets fall the lush cluster of grapes; and the holy cavern of the serpent and the gods’ watchtower on the hills, and the sacred snow-swept mountain!

Would I were free of fear and circling in the dance of the deathless god, having left Dirce for the valleys of Phoebus at the center of the world.

Chorus: But now I find the impetuous god of war has come to battle before the walls, and is kindling a murderous blaze—may he not succeed!—for this city. For a friend’s pain is shared, and if this land with its seven towers suffers any mischance, Phoenicia’s realm will share it. Ah me! our blood is one; we are all children of Io, the horned maid; these sorrows I claim as mine.

Chorus: Around the city a thick cloud of shields is kindling a shape of bloody battle, which Ares will soon learn, if he brings upon the sons of Oedipus the curse of the Furies. O Argos, city of Pelasgia! I dread your might, and also what comes from the gods; for the one who approaches his home in armor is setting out to a contest that is not without justice.

Polyneices: The doorkeeper’s bolts admitted me readily within the walls, and so I fear that now they have caught me in their nets, they will not let me out unscathed;

so I must turn my eye in every direction, here and there, to guard against treachery. Armed with this sword, I shall inspire myself with the confidence that is born of boldness. Starting. Oh! Who is that? Or is it a sound I fear?

Everything seems a danger to the daring, when their feet begin to tread an enemy’s country. Still I trust my mother, and at the same time mistrust her, the one who persuaded me to come here under truce. Well, there is help at hand, for the altar’s hearth is close and the house is not deserted. Come, let me sheath my sword in its dark scabbard and ask these women standing near the house, who they are.

Ladies of another land, tell me from what country do you come to the halls of Hellas?

Chorus Leader: Phoenicia is my native land where I was born and bred; and the grandsons of Agenor sent me here as first-fruits of the spoil of war for Phoebus. But when the noble son of Oedipus was about to send me to the hallowed oracle and the altars of Loxias, the Argive army came against his city. Now tell me in return who you are, who have come to this fortress of the Theban land with its seven gates.

Polyneices: My father was Oedipus, the son of Laius; my mother Jocasta, daughter of Menoeceus;

and I am called Polyneices by the people of Thebes.

Chorus: O kinsman of Agenor’s race, my royal masters who sent me here!

I fall to my knees before you, lord, honoring the custom of my home.

At last you have come to your native land. Hail to you! all hail! Lady, come from the house, open wide the gates! Do you hear, you who gave birth to this man? Why do you delay to leave the sheltered hall and hold your son in your embrace?

Jocasta: Maidens, I hear your Phoenician voice, and my old feet drag their tottering steps. O my son, at last after countless days I see your face; throw your arms about your mother’s breast, stretch out to me your cheeks and the dark, curly locks of your hair, overshadowing my neck.

Hail to you! all hail! scarcely here in your mother’s arms, beyond hope and expectation. What can I say to you? How in every way, by hands, by words, in the mazy delight of the dance, shall I find the pleasure of my former joy? Ah! my son, you left your father’s house desolate, when your brother’s outrage drove you away in exile.

Truly you were missed alike by your friends and Thebes. And so I cut my white hair and let it fall for grief, in tears, not clad in robes of white, my son, but taking instead these dark rags.

While in the house the old blind man, always possessed by his tearful longing for the pair of brothers estranged from the home, rushed to kill himself with the sword or by the noose suspended over his chamber-roof, moaning his curses on his sons;

and now he hides himself in darkness, always weeping and lamenting. And you, my child, I hear you have married and are begetting children to your joy in a foreign home, and are courting a foreign alliance, a ceaseless regret to me your mother and to Laius your ancestor, ruin brought by your marriage. I was not the one who lit for you the marriage-torch, the custom in marriage for a happy mother; Ismenus had no part at your wedding in supplying the luxurious bath, and there was silence through the streets of Thebes, at the entrance of your bride.

Curses on them! whether the sword or strife or your father that is to blame, or heaven’s visitation that has burst riotously upon the house of Oedipus; for on me has come all the anguish of these evils.

Chorus Leader: Their offspring are a wonderful thing to women; all of them have some love for their children.

Polyneices: Mother, I have come among enemies wisely or foolishly; but all men must love their native land; whoever says otherwise is pleased to say so, but his thoughts are turned elsewhere. I was so fearful and in such terror, lest my brother should kill me by treachery, that I came through the city sword in hand, looking all round. I had one advantage, the truce and your word, which brought me to to the paternal walls; and I arrived here weeping, to see after a long time my home and the altars of the gods, the training ground, scene of my childhood, and the water of Dirce, from which I was unjustly driven to live in a foreign city, a stream of tears flowing from my eyes. Now, grief upon grief, I see you, alas for my sorrows!

What a terrible thing, mother, is hatred between dear friends.

What is my old father doing within the house, looking on darkness? What of my two sisters? Surely the unhappy ones lament my exile?

Jocasta: Some god with evil intent is destroying the race of Oedipus.

So it began, my childbearing was unholy, and in an evil hour I married your father and you were born. But why repeat these horrors? What the gods send we have to bear. I am afraid to ask you what I would, for fear of stinging your heart; yet I long to.

Polyneices: No, question me, leave out nothing; for your will, mother, is my pleasure too.

Jocasta: Well then, first I ask you what I long to have answered. What is it, to be deprived of one’s country? Is it a great evil?

Polyneices: The greatest; harder to bear than tell.

Jocasta: What is it like? What annoys the exile?

Polyneices: One thing most of all; he cannot speak his mind.

Jocasta: This is a slave’s lot you speak of, not to say what one thinks.

Polyneices: The follies of the rulers must be borne.

Jocasta: That too is painful, to join in the folly of fools.

Polyneices: Yet to gain our ends we must serve against our nature.

Jocasta: Hope, they say, is the exile’s food.

Polyneices: Yes, hope that looks so fair; but always in the future.

Jocasta: But doesn’t time expose its emptiness?

Polyneices: It has a certain winsome charm in misfortune.

Jocasta: Where did you get your living, before your marriage found it for you?

Polyneices: Sometimes I would have enough for the day, and sometimes not.

Jocasta: Didn’t your father’s friends and guests assist you?

Polyneices: Seek to be prosperous; friends are nothing in misfortune.

Jocasta: Didn’t your noble breeding lead you to the heights?

Polyneices: Poverty is a curse; breeding did not find me food.

Jocasta: Man’s dearest treasure, it seems, is his country.

Polyneices: You could not name how dear it is!

Jocasta: How did you come to Argos? What was your scheme?

Polyneices: Loxias gave Adrastus an oracle.

Jocasta: What was it? What are you saying? I cannot guess.

Polyneices: That he should marry his daughters to a boar and a lion.

Jocasta: What did you, my son, have to do with the name of beasts?

Polyneices: I don’t know; the deity summoned me there to my destiny.

Jocasta: Yes, for the god is wise; but how did you win your wife?

Polyneices: It was night when I reached the porch of Adrastus.

Jocasta: In search of a resting-place, because you were in exile?

Polyneices: Yes; and then another exile came there.

Jocasta: Who was he? He too was in trouble, surely.

Polyneices: Tydeus; they say that Oineus is his father.

Jocasta: But why did Adrastus compare you to wild beasts?

Polyneices: Because we came to blows about our bed.

Jocasta: Was it then that the son of Talaus understood the oracle?

Polyneices: Yes, and he gave the two of us his two daughters.

Jocasta: Are you blessed or cursed in your marriage?

Polyneices: As yet I have no fault to find with it.

Jocasta: How did you persuade an army to follow you here?

Polyneices: Adrastus swore an oath to his two sons-in-law, that he would restore us both to our country, me first.

So many Danaan and Mycenaean chiefs have joined me, doing me a bitter though needful service, for it is against my own city I am marching. Now I call the gods to witness, that it is not willingly I have raised the spear against my willing friends.

But it belongs to you, mother, to dissolve this unhappy feud, and, by reconciling loving brothers, to end the trouble for me and you and the whole city. It has been said for a long time, but I will say it anyway: wealth is most valued by men, and of all things in the world it has the greatest power. This I have come to secure at the head of my great army; for a man well-born but poor is worth nothing.

Chorus Leader: And see, Eteocles comes here to discuss the truce. It is your task, mother Jocasta, to speak such words as may reconcile your sons.

Eteocles: Mother, I am here; I have come to do you a favor. What am I to do? Let some one begin the conference; for I stopped marshalling the citizens in pairs of companies around the walls, so that I might hear your arbitration between us, by which you persuaded me to admit this man under truce within the walls.

Jocasta: Wait; haste does not carry justice with it; but slow deliberation often attains a wise result. Restrain the fierceness of your look and panting rage;

for this is not the Gorgon’s severed head but your own brother whom you see has come. You too, Polyneices, turn and face your brother; for if you look at him, you will speak and listen to him the better.

I want to give you both one piece of good counsel; when a man that is angry with his friend confronts him face to face, he ought only to keep in view the object of his coming, forgetting all previous quarrels.

My son Polyneices, speak first, for you have come at the head of a Danaid army, alleging wrongful treatment; may some god be the judge and reconciler of the troubles.

Polyneices: The words of truth are naturally simple, and justice needs no subtle interpretations, for it has a fitness in itself; but the words of injustice, being sick in themselves, require clever treatment. I provided for his interests and mine in our father’s house, being anxious to escape the curse which Oedipus once uttered against us; of my own free-will I left this land, allowing him to rule the country for one full year, on condition that I should then take up the rule in turn, instead of plunging into deadly enmity with this man, doing others harm and suffering it myself, as is now the case. But he, after consenting to this and calling the gods to witness his oath, has performed none of his promises, but is still keeping the sovereignty in his own hands together with my share of our heritage.

And now I am ready to take my own and dismiss the army from this land, receiving my house in turn to dwell in, and once more restore it to him for an equal period, instead of ravaging our country and bringing scaling-ladders against the towers, as I shall attempt to do if I do not get my rights. I call the gods to witness that spite of my just dealing in everything I am being unjustly robbed of my country, a most unholy act. I have made my points, mother, without stringing together words to entangle you, but urging a fair case, I think, in the judgment of the wise and the simple.

Chorus Leader: To me, although I was not born and bred in Hellas, your words seem full of sense.

Eteocles: If all were unanimous in their ideas of honor and wisdom, there would be no strife to make men disagree; but, as it is, fairness and equality have no existence in this world beyond the name; there is really no such thing. I will tell you this, mother, without any concealment: I would go to the rising of the stars and the sun, or beneath the earth, if I were able so to do, to win Tyranny, the greatest of the gods. Therefore, mother, I will not yield this blessing to another rather than keep it for myself; for it is cowardly to lose the greater and to win the less. Besides, I am ashamed to think that he should gain his object by coming with arms and ravaging the land; for this would be a disgrace to Thebes, if I should yield my scepter up to him for fear of Mycenaean might.

He ought not to have attempted reconcilement by armed force, mother, for words accomplish everything that even the sword of an enemy might effect. Still, if on any other terms he cares to dwell here, he may; but that I shall never willingly let go.

Shall I become his slave, when I can rule? Therefore come fire, come sword! Harness your horses, fill the plains with chariots, for I will not give up my tyranny to him. For if we must do wrong, to do so for tyranny is the fairest cause, but in all else piety should be our aim.

Chorus Leader: One should not speak well on deeds that are not good; for that is not good, but bitter to justice.

Jocasta: Eteocles, my child, it is not all evil that attends old age; but experience has something to say wiser than youth. Why, my son, do you so long for Ambition, that worst of deities? Oh, do not; the goddess is unjust; many are the homes and cities once prosperous that she has entered and left, to the ruin of her worshippers;

and she is the one you are mad for. It is better, my son, to honor Equality, who always joins friend to friend, city to city, allies to allies; for Equality is naturally lasting among men; but the less is always in opposition to the greater, and begins the dawn of hatred. For it is Equality that has set up for man measures and divisions of weights, and has determined numbers; night’s sightless eye, and radiant sun proceed upon their yearly course on equal terms, and neither of them is envious when it has to yield. Though both sun and night are servants for mortals, you will not be content with your fair share of your heritage and give the same to him? Then where is justice?

Why do you honor to excess tyranny, a prosperous injustice, why do you think so much of it? Admiring glances are to be prized? No, that is an empty pleasure. Or do you want to have many troubles from the many riches in your house? What advantage is it? The name only; for the wise find what suffices to be enough.

Mortals indeed have no possessions of their own; we hold the management of the gods’ property; and when they will, they take it back again.

Come, suppose I put before you two alternatives, and ask you whether you wish to rule or save your city? Will you say you wish to rule?

Again, if this man conquers you you will see this city of Thebes conquered, and you will see many captured maidens brutally dishonored by men of the enemy. Then that wealth you seek to have will become grievous to Thebes; but still ambition fills you.

That I say to you; and this to you, Polyneices; Adrastus has conferred a foolish favor on you;

and you too have shown little sense in coming to lay your city waste. Suppose you conquer this land—may it not happen!—tell me, by the gods, how will you set up a trophy to Zeus? How will you begin the sacrifice after your country’s conquest or inscribe the spoils at the streams of Inachus:

Polyneices after giving Thebes to the flames dedicated these shields to the gods? O my son, may you never win such fame from Hellas! If, on the other hand, you are beaten and your brother’s cause prevails, how will you return to Argos, leaving countless dead behind?

Some one will be sure to say: Adrastus, you made an evil betrothal; we are ruined by the marriage of one bride.

You are eager for two evils, my son, the loss of those there and ruin in the midst of your efforts here.

Lay aside your violence, my sons, lay it aside; two men’s follies, once they meet, result in very deadly mischief.

Chorus Leader: O gods, avert these troubles and reconcile the sons of Oedipus!

Eteocles: Mother, it is no longer a contest of words; the time we still delay is idle waste; your good wishes accomplish nothing;

for we can never be reconciled except upon the terms already named, that I should keep the scepter and be king of this land. Cease these tedious warnings and let me be. Turning to Polyneices And as for you, get outside the walls, or die!

Polyneices: Who will kill me? Who is so invulnerable as to plunge a murderous sword in my body without getting for himself the same fate?

Eteocles: He is near, not far away. Do you see my hands?

Polyneices: I see them; but wealth is cowardly, a craven too fond of life.

Eteocles: Then did you come to battle with so many against a man worth nothing?

Polyneices: Yes, for a steadfast general is better than a bold one.

Eteocles: Relying on the truce, which saves your life, you turn boaster.

Polyneices: And so do you; once more I demand back my scepter and share of the land.

Eteocles: I admit no demand; I will live in my own house.

Polyneices: And keep more than your share?

Eteocles: Yes. Leave the country!

Polyneices: O altars of my fathers’ gods—

Eteocles: Which you are here to destroy.

Polyneices: Hear me—

Eteocles: Who would hear you after you have marched against your fatherland?

Polyneices: And temples of the gods who ride on white horses—

Eteocles: And who hate you.

Polyneices: I am being driven from my country—

Eteocles: Yes, for you came to destroy it.

Polyneices: Unjustly, O gods!

Eteocles: Call on the gods at Mycenae, not here.

Polyneices: You have become unholy—

Eteocles: But I have not, like you, become my country’s enemy.

Polyneices: By driving me out without my portion.

Eteocles: I will kill you in addition.

Polyneices: O father, do you you hear what I am suffering?

Eteocles: Yes, and he hears what you are doing.

Polyneices: And you, mother?

Eteocles: It is not lawful for you to mention your mother.

Polyneices: O my city!

Eteocles: Go to Argos, and invoke the waters of Lerna.

Polyneices: I will; do not be troubled; but I thank you, mother.

Eteocles: Go forth from the land!

Polyneices: I will go; but let me see my father.

Eteocles: You will not have your wish.

Polyneices: At least then my maiden sisters.

Eteocles: You will not ever see them either.

Polyneices: Ah, my sisters!

Eteocles: Why do you, their bitterest enemy, call on them?

Polyneices: To you at least farewell, mother!

Jocasta: Indeed I am faring well, my son!

Polyneices: I am no longer your son.

Jocasta: I was born to great sorrow.

Polyneices: Because my brother treats me outrageously.

Eteocles: I am treated just the same.

Polyneices: Where will you be stationed before the towers?

Eteocles: Why do you ask me this?

Polyneices: I will set myself against you for your death.

Eteocles: I too have the same desire.

Jocasta: Woe is me! what will you do, my sons?

Polyneices: The event will show.

Jocasta: Oh, try to escape your father’s curse! Exit Jocasta.

Eteocles: May destruction seize our whole house!

Polyneices: Soon my sword will be busy, plunged in gore. But I call my native land and the gods to witness, with what dishonor and bitter treatment I am being driven forth, as though I were a slave, not a son of Oedipus as much as he. If anything happens to you, my city, blame him, not me;

for I did not come willingly, and unwillingly I am driven from the land. And you, Phoebus, lord of highways, and my home, farewell, and my comrades, and statues of the gods, where sheep are sacrificed. For I do not know if I can ever again address you; though hope is not yet asleep, which makes me confident that with the gods’ help

I shall slay him and rule this land of Thebes. Exit Polyneices.

Eteocles: Get out of the country! It was a true name our father gave you, when, prompted by some god, he called you Polyneices, man of many quarrels. Exit Eteocles.

Chorus: Cadmus of Tyre came to this land, and at his feet a four-footed, untamed heifer threw itself down, fulfilling an oracle, where the god’s prophecy told him to make his home in the plains rich with wheat, and where the lovely waters of Dirce pour over the fields, the green and deep-seeded fields; here Bromius’ mother gave birth from her union with Zeus; Bromius, round whom the ivy twined its wreaths while he was still a baby, covering him and blessing him in the shades of its green foliage, a Bacchic dance for the maids and wives inspired in Thebes.

Chorus: There was Ares’ murderous dragon, a savage guard, watching with wandering eye the watery rivers and fresh streams. Cadmus destroyed it with a jagged stone, when he came there to draw lustral water; smiting the deadly head with a blow of his beast-slaying arm; and by the counsel of the motherless goddess, he cast the teeth upon the deep fields to fall to the earth, from which the earth brought forth a sight fully-armed, above the surface of the soil; but grim slaughter once again united them to the earth they loved, bedewing with blood the ground that had shown them to the sunlit breath of heaven.

Chorus: And you, Epaphus, born from Io, our first mother, and child of Zeus: you I summon in foreign cry, oh! in foreign prayers: come, come to this land; your descendants settled here; and the goddesses of twofold name, Persephone and the kindly goddess Demeter the queen of all, Earth the nurse of all, won it for themselves; send to the help of this land those torch-bearing goddesses; for to gods all things are easy.

Eteocles: to an attendant Go, bring Creon, son of Menoeceus, the brother of Jocasta my mother; tell him I want to consult with him on matters public and private, before we set out to battle and the arrangement of the army.

But he is here, saving you the trouble; I see him on his way to my house.

Creon: I have been everywhere, lord Eteocles, in my desire to see you, and have gone all round the gates and sentinels of Thebes hunting for you.

Eteocles: And I wanted to see you, Creon; for I found the terms of peace far from satisfactory, when I came to confer with Polyneices.

Creon: I hear that he has wider aims than Thebes, relying on his alliance with Adrastus and his army. But we must leave this dependent on the gods;

I have come to tell you our chief obstacle.

Eteocles: What is that? I do not understand what you say.

Creon: Someone has come who was captured from the Argives.

Eteocles: What news does he bring from there?

Creon: He says the Argive army intend at once to wind about

Eteocles: In that case the city of Cadmus must lead out its army.

Creon: Where? Are you so young that your eyes do not see what they should?

Eteocles: Across those trenches, to fight at once.

Creon: Our forces are small, while theirs are plentiful.

Eteocles: I know well they are brave in argument.

Creon: Argos has some weight among the Hellenes.

Eteocles: Never fear! I will soon fill the plain with their dead.

Creon: I could wish it so; but I see great difficulties in this.

Eteocles: I will not keep my army within the walls.

Creon: And yet victory is entirely a matter of good counsel.

Eteocles: Do you then want me to turn to some other way?

Creon: Yes, to every one, before running the risk once for all.

Eteocles: Suppose we fall on them by night from ambush?

Creon: Yes, if in the event of defeat you can return safely here.

Eteocles: Night equalizes risks, though it rather favors daring.

Creon: The darkness of night is a terrible time to suffer disaster.

Eteocles: Well, shall I attack them as they sit at dinner?

Creon: That might cause them fright, but victory is what we need.

Eteocles: Dirce’s ford is certainly deep enough to prevent their retreat.

Creon: No plan so good as to keep well guarded.

Eteocles: What if we ride out against the army of Argos?

Creon: Their troops too are fenced all round with chariots.

Eteocles: What shall I do, then? Am I to surrender the city to the enemy?

Creon: No indeed! But out of your wisdom form some plan.

Eteocles: What forethought is wiser than mine?

Creon: They have seven men, I hear—

Eteocles: What is their appointed task? their might is small.

Creon: ... To attack the seven gates.

Eteocles: What are we to do then? I will not wait till every chance is gone.

Creon: You also choose seven men to set against them at the gates.

Eteocles: To lead our companies, or to fight single-handed?

Creon: To lead; choose the very bravest ones.

Eteocles: I understand; to repel attempts at scaling our walls.

Creon: With others to share the command, for one man doesn’t see everything.

Eteocles: Selecting them for courage or thoughtful prudence?

Creon: Both; for one is nothing without the other.

Eteocles: It shall be done; I will go to our seven towers and post captains at the gates, as you say, pitting them man for man against the enemy. To tell each one’s name is a great waste of time, when the enemy are camped beneath our very walls. But I will go, that my hands may no longer hang idle. And may I find my brother face to face, meet him in battle and kill him with my spear But if I suffer any misfortune, you must see to the marriage between Antigone, my sister and Haemon, your son; and now, as I take my leave,

I ratify their previous betrothal. You are my mother’s brother, no need to speak at length. Take care of her as she deserves, both for your own sake and mine. As for my father, he has been guilty of folly against himself in putting out his eyes; I have small praise for him;

by his curses it may be that he will slay us too.

One thing we still have to do: ask Teiresias, the seer, if he has anything to say of heaven’s will. I will send your son Menoeceus, who bears your father’s name, to fetch Teiresias here, Creon; for he will readily converse with you, but I have before now so scorned his prophetic art to his face, that he has reasons to reproach me. This commandment, Creon, I lay upon the city and you:

if my cause should prevail, never give Polyneices’ corpse a grave in Theban soil, and let the one who buries him die, even if it is a friend. Bring out my weapons and armor, so that I may start at once for the appointed combat, with justice to lead to victory. We will pray to Caution, the most useful goddess, to save our city. Exit Eteocles.

Chorus: O Ares, god of much suffering! Why, why are you possessed by a love of blood and death, out of harmony with the festivals of Bromius? Not for young girls crowned in the lovely dance do you toss your curls, singing to the flute’s breath a song to charm the dancers’ feet; no, with warriors clad in armor you inspire the Argive army with a lust for Theban blood, leading your revels that are held without music. Nor do you rush with wild waving of the thyrsus, clad in fawnskin, but with chariots and horses you go to the waters of Ismenus, inspiring the Argives with hatred for the Spartans, arraying in bronze armor against these stone-built walls a band of warriors and their shields.

Truly Strife is a goddess to fear, who devised these troubles for the princes of this land, for the much-suffering sons of Labdacus.

Chorus: O snow-capped Cithaeron, dear to Artemis, holy vale of leaves, crowded with wild animals, would that you had never reared the one exposed to die, Oedipus, Jocasta’s child, when as a baby he was cast forth from his home, marked with a golden brooch; and would that the Sphinx, that winged maid, monster from the hills, had never come as a grief to our land with her inharmonious songs, she that once drew near our walls and snatched the sons of Cadmus away in her taloned feet to the untrodden light of heaven, sent by Hades from hell to plague the men of Thebes; once more unhappy strife is coming into bloom between the sons of Oedipus in home and city. For never can wrong be right, nor can there be good in unlawful children, their mother’s birth pangs, their father’s pollution; she came to the bed of her son....

Chorus: O Earth, you once bore—as I heard, I heard the story told by foreigners once in my own home—you bore a race which sprang of the teeth of a snake with blood-red crest, that fed on beasts, to be the glory and reproach of Thebes.

In days gone by the sons of heaven came to the wedding of Harmonia, and the walls and towers of Thebes rose to the sound of Amphion’s lyre, in the midst between the double streams where Dirce waters the grass-green field before Ismenus; and Io, our horned ancestress, was mother of the kings of Thebes;

thus our city, through an endless succession of various blessings, has set herself upon the heights, crowned with the glory of war.

Teiresias: led in by his daughter. Lead on, my daughter; for you are an eye to my blind feet, as a star is to sailors; lead my steps on to level ground; then go before, so that I do not stumble, for your father has no strength; keep safe for me in your maiden hand the auguries I took when I observed omens from birds, seated in my holy prophet’s chair. Tell me, Menoeceus, son of Creon, how much further toward the city is it, to your father? For my knees grow weary, I have come a long way and can scarcely go on.

Creon: Take heart, Teiresias, for you have reached your harbor and are near your friends; take him by the hand, my child; for just as every chariot has to wait for outside help to lighten it, so does the step of old age.

Teiresias: Enough; I have arrived; why, Creon, do you summon me so urgently?

Creon: I have not forgotten that; but first collect your strength and regain your breath, shaking off the fatigue of your journey.

Teiresias: I am indeed worn out, for I arrived here only yesterday from the court of the Erechtheidae; they too were at war, fighting with Eumolpus.

I gave the victory to Cecrops’ sons, and I received this golden crown, as you see, the first-fruits of the enemy’s spoils.

Creon: I take your crown of victory as an omen. We, as you know, are exposed to the waves of war with the Danaids, and great is the struggle for Thebes. Eteocles, our king, is already gone in full armor to meet Mycenae’s champions; and he has bidden me inquire of you our best course to save the city.

Teiresias: For Eteocles I would have closed my lips and refrained from all response, but to you I will speak, since it is your wish to learn. This country, Creon, has been long afflicted, ever since Laius became a father against the will of the gods, begetting hapless Oedipus to be his own mother’s husband.

That bloody destruction of his eyes was planned by the gods as an example to Hellas; and the sons of Oedipus went foolishly astray in wishing to throw over it the veil of time—as if they could outrun the gods! For by robbing their father of his due honor and allowing him no freedom, they exasperated the poor sufferer; so he, suffering and disgraced as well, breathed dreadful curses against them. And I, because I left nothing undone or unsaid, incurred the hatred of the sons of Oedipus.

But death inflicted by each other’s hands awaits them, Creon; and the many heaps of the slain, some from Argive, some from Theban spears, shall cause bitter lamentation in the land of Thebes. Alas for you, poor city, you are being involved in their ruin, unless I can persuade one man. The best course was to prevent any child of Oedipus becoming either citizen or king in this land, on the ground that they were under a ban and would overthrow the city. But since evil has the mastery of good, there is one other means of safety; but—for it is unsafe for me to tell, and painful too for those whose fortune it is to supply their city with the saving cure—I will go away. Farewell; among the rest

I will endure what is to come, if I must; for what else can I do?

Creon: Stay here, old man.

Teiresias: Do not catch hold of me.

Creon: Wait; why do you try to escape?

Teiresias: It is your fortune that tries to escape you, not I.

Creon: Tell me what can save Thebes and her citizens.

Teiresias: Though you want this now, you will not want it soon.

Creon: Not wish to save my country? how can that be?

Teiresias: Do you really wish to hear it, eagerly?

Creon: Yes; for where should I show greater zeal?

Teiresias: Then you will presently hear my prophetic words. But first I would know for certain where Menoeceus is, who led me here.

Creon: Here, not far away, but at your side.

Teiresias: Let him go far from my prophecies.

Creon: He is my own son and will be silent as he ought.

Teiresias: Do you want me to tell you in his presence?

Creon: Yes, for he will rejoice to hear the means of safety.

Teiresias: Then hear the intent of my oracle; you must sacrifice Menoeceus, your son here, for your country, since you yourself are calling on fate.

Creon: What do you mean? What is this you have said, old man?

Teiresias: I have said what is, and you must do it.

Creon: O great evil, spoken so briefly!

Teiresias: Evil to you, but to your country great salvation.

Creon: I did not hear; I never listened; I renounce my city!

Teiresias: The man is no longer himself; he is drawing back.

Creon: Go in peace; it is not your prophecy I need.

Teiresias: Is truth dead, because you are unfortunate?

Creon: By your knees and gray hair—

Teiresias: Why implore me? You are demanding evils that are hard to prevent.

Creon: Be silent; do not tell the city your news.

Teiresias: You bid me to act unjustly; I cannot be silent.

Creon: What will you do to me? Kill my child?

Teiresias: That is for others to decide; it is for me to speak.

Creon: How did this curse come on me and my son?

Teiresias: You do right to ask me and to test what I have said. In the chamber where the earth-born dragon kept watch over Dirce’s springs, he must be offered as a sacrifice and shed his blood on the ground, a libation of Cadmus, because of the ancient wrath of Ares, who now avenges the slaughter of his earth-born snake. If you do this, you shall win Ares as an ally. If the earth receives fruit for fruit and human blood for blood, you shall find her kind to you again, who once sent up to us a crop of Sown-men with golden helmets; for one of those born from the dragon’s teeth must die.

Now you are our only survivor of the Sown race, pure-blooded both on your mother’s and your father’s side, you and your sons. Haemon’s marriage holds him back from the slaughter, for he is no longer single; even if he has not consummated his marriage, yet he is betrothed. But this tender youth, consecrated to his city, might by dying rescue his country; and bitter will he make the return of Adrastus and his Argives, flinging over their eyes a black spirit of death, and he will glorify Thebes. Choose one of these two destinies: either save the city or your son.

Now you have all that I had to say. Daughter, lead me home. The man who practices the prophet’s art is a fool; for if he happens to give an adverse answer, he makes himself disliked by those for whom he takes the omens; while if he pities and deceives those who are consulting him, he wrongs the gods. Phoebus should have been man’s only prophet, for he fears no one. Exit Teiresias.

Chorus Leader: Creon, why are you so silent, without a word? I too am no less amazed.

Creon: What can one say? It is clear what my words must be. For I will never come to such misfortune as to devote my son to death for the city;

for all men love their children, and no one would give his own son to die. Let no man praise me, and kill my child at the same time. I myself, for I am in the prime of life, am ready to die to save my country.

But come, my son, before the whole city learns this, fly with all haste away from this land, regardless of these prophets’ reckless warnings; for he will tell all this to our rulers and generals;

now if we can forestall him, you are saved, but if you are too late, we are ruined and you will die.

Menoeceus: Where can I escape? To what city? To which of our guest-friends?

Creon: Where you will be furthest removed from this land.

Menoeceus: It is for you to name a place, for me to carry out your bidding.

Creon: After passing Delphi —

Menoeceus: Where must I go, father?

Creon: To Aetolia.

Menoeceus: And where must I go from there?

Creon: To the land of Thesprotia.

Menoeceus: To Dodona’s holy threshold?

Creon: You understand.

Menoeceus: What protection will I find there?

Creon: The god will send you on your way.

Menoeceus: How shall I find the means?

Creon: I will supply you with money.

Menoeceus: A good plan of yours, father. Go now; for I will come to your sister, Jocasta, at whose breast I was suckled when bereft of my mother, a lonely orphan,.

Come, come! be going; it isn’t your part to hinder me. Exit Creon.

How cleverly, ladies, I banished my father’s fears by crafty words to gain my end; for he is trying to get me away, depriving the city of its chance and surrendering me to cowardice. Though an old man may be pardoned, yet in my case there is no pardon for betraying the country that gave me birth. Know this, I will go and save the city, and give my life up for this land. For it is shameful: those whom no oracles bind and who have not come under divine necessity, stand there, shoulder to shoulder, with no fear of death, and fight for their country before her towers; while I leave the land like a coward, a traitor to my father and brother and city;

wherever I live, I shall seem base.

No, by Zeus and all his stars, by Ares, god of blood, who established the Sown-men that sprung one day from earth as lords of this land! I will go, and standing on the topmost battlements, will sacrifice myself over the dragon’s deep, dark den, the spot the seer described, and will set my country free. I have spoken. Now I go to make the city a present of my life, no mean offering, to rid this kingdom of its affliction.

For if each were to take and expend all the good within his power, contributing it to the common good of his country, our states would experience fewer troubles and would prosper for the future. Exit Menoeceus.

Chorus: You came, you came, O winged creature, born of earth and hellish viper, to prey upon the sons of Cadmus, full of death, full of sorrow, half a maiden, a murderous monster, with roving wings and ravening claws; you once caught up youths from the haunts of Dirce, with discordant song, and you brought, you brought a murderous grief, a deadly curse to our native land. A deadly god he was who brought all this to pass. Mourning of mothers, mourning of maidens, filled the houses with groans; a lamenting cry, a lamenting song, one after another wailed out, in turn throughout the city. The roar of the groaning was like thunder, whenever the winged maiden bore a man out of sight from the city.

Chorus: At last came Oedipus, the man of sorrow, sent from Delphi to this land of Thebes, a joy to us then, but afterwards a cause of grief; for, when he guessed the riddle triumphantly, he formed with his mother an unhallowed union, woe to him!

polluting the city; and striking down his sons by his curses, he handed them over to loathsome strife, through blood, the wretched man.

We admire him, we admire him, who has gone to his death in his country’s cause, leaving tears to Creon, but bringing a crown of victory to our seven fenced towers.

May we be mothers in this way, may we have such fair children, dear PalIas, you who with well-aimed stone spilled the serpent’s blood, rousing Cadmus to brood upon the task, from which a demon’s curse swooped upon this land and ravaged it.

Messenger: Ho there! Who is at the palace-gates? Open the door, summon Jocasta forth. Ho there! once again I call; in spite of this long delay, come forth; listen, noble wife of Oedipus, cease your lamentation and your tears of woe.

Jocasta: Surely you have not come, dear friend, with the sad news of Eteocles’ death, beside whose shield you have always marched, warding off from him the enemy’s darts?

Is my son alive or dead? Tell me.

Messenger: He is alive, do not fear that, so that I may rid you of your terror.

Jocasta: Well? How is it with the seven towers that wall us in?

Messenger: They stand unshattered; the city is not plundered.

Jocasta: Have they been in jeopardy of the Argive spear?

Messenger: Yes, on the very brink; but our Theban warriors proved stronger than Mycenae’s might.

Jocasta: One thing tell me, by the gods, if you know anything of Polyneices; for this too is my concern, if he is alive.

Messenger: As yet your sons are living, the pair of them.

Jocasta: God bless you! How did you succeed in beating off from our gates the Argive army, when beleaguered? Tell me, so that I may go within and cheer the old blind man, since our city is still safe.

Messenger: After Creon’s son, who gave up his life for his country, had taken his stand on the turret’s top and plunged a dark-hilted sword through his throat to save this land, your son told off seven companies with their captains to the seven gates to keep watch on the Argive warriors, and stationed cavalry to cover cavalry, and infantry to support infantry, so that assistance might be close at hand for any weak point in the walls. Then from our lofty towers we saw the Argive army with their white shields leaving

Teumesus, and, when near the trench, they charged up to our Theban city at a run. In one loud burst from their ranks and from our walls rang out the battle-cry and trumpet-call.

First to the Neitian gate, Parthenopaeus, son of the huntress, led a company bristling with thick rows of shields, and he had his own device in the centre of his shield: Atalanta slaying the Aetolian boar with an arrow shot from far. To the gates of Proetus came the prophet Amphiaraus, bringing the victims on a chariot; he had no boastful sign, but weapons chastely plain.

Next lord Hippomedon came marching to the Ogygian gates with this device in the middle of his shield:

Argus the all-seeing dappled with eyes on the watch, some open with the rising stars, others hiding when they set, as could be seen after he was slain.

At the Homoloian gates Tydeus had his post, a lion’s skin with shaggy mane upon his shield, while the Titan Prometheus bore a torch in his right hand, to fire the town.

Your own Polyneices led the battle against the Fountain gate; upon his shield for a device were the colts of Potniae galloping at frantic speed, revolving by some clever contrivance on pivots by the handle, so as to appear distraught.

At Electra’s gate Capaneus brought up his company, bold as Ares for the battle;

this device his shield bore upon its iron back: an earth-born giant carrying on his shoulders a whole city which he had wrenched from its base, a hint to us of the fate in store for Thebes.

Adrastus was at the seventh gate;

a hundred vipers engraved on his shield, the boast of Argos, and serpents were carrying off in their jaws the sons of Thebes from within our very walls. Now I was able to see each of them, as I carried the watch-word along to the leaders of our companies.

To begin with, we fought with bows and thonged javelins, with slings that shoot from far and crashing stones; and as we were conquering, Tydeus and your son suddenly cried aloud:

You sons of Danaus, before you are torn to pieces by their attack, why delay to fall upon the gates with all your might, light-armed and cavalry and charioteers? No loitering then, soon as they heard that call; and many fell with bloody head, and many of us you could have seen thrown to the earth like tumblers before the walls, breathing their last, bedewing the dry ground with streams of blood.

Then Atalanta’s son, who was not an Argive but an Arcadian, hurling himself like a hurricane at the gates, called for fire and picks to raze the town; but Periclymenus, son of the ocean-god, stayed his wild career, heaving on his head a wagon-load of stone, the coping from the battlements; and it shattered his head with yellow hair and crashed through the seams of the skull, dabbling with blood his fresh cheek; and he will never go back alive to his mother with her lovely bow, the maid of Maenalus.

Your son then, seeing these gates secure, went on to the next, and I followed him.

I saw Tydeus and his thick rows of targeteers hurling their Aetolian spears into the opening at the top of the turrets, so that our men fled and left the battlements; but your son rallied them once more, as a huntsman cheers his hounds, and stationed them at the towers again. And then we hastened to other gates, after stopping the affliction there. As for the madness of Capaneus, how can I describe it? He was going about with a long scaling-ladder, and boasting that even the holy fire of Zeus would not hold him back from giving the city to utter destruction. And even as he spoke, he climbed up beneath the hail of stones, crouched under the shelter of his shield, rung by smooth rung going up the ladder.

But, just as he was scaling the parapet of the wall, Zeus smote him with a thunderbolt; the earth re-echoed, and fear seized everyone; for from the ladder he was hurled, spinnning; his burning corpse fell to the ground.

But when Adrastus saw that Zeus was hostile to his army, he drew the Argive troops outside the trench. Meanwhile our armed cavalry, seeing the lucky omen of Zeus before us, were driving forth their chariots, and the armed men charged with spears into the middle of the Argives, and all troubles happened at once: men were dying, hurled headlong from chariots, wheels flew off, axles crashed together, while the dead were heaped up on the dead. So for to-day we have prevented destruction of the towers of our land; but if this land will be fortunate for the future, that rests with the gods; for even now it owes its safety to some deity.

Chorus Leader: Victory is fair; and if the gods are growing kinder, it would be well with me.

Jocasta: The gods and fortune have treated us well; for my sons are alive and my land has escaped ruin. But Creon seems to have had bitter enjoyment from my marriage with Oedipus, by losing his son to his sorrow, a public success, a private grief. But please, come back to your tale again and say what my two sons intend to do next.

Messenger: Let the rest be; all is well with you so far.

Jocasta: Your words rouse my suspicions; I cannot let it be.

Messenger: Have you any further wish than your sons’ safety?

Jocasta: Yes, to hear if I shall fare well in the future.

Messenger: Let me go; your son is left without his squire.

Jocasta: There is some evil you are hiding, veiling it in darkness.

Messenger: I would not add ill news to the good you have heard.

Jocasta: You must, unless you take wings and fly away.

Messenger: Ah! Why did you not let me go after my good news, instead of forcing me to disclose evil? Those two sons of yours are resolved on deeds of shameful recklessness, a single combat apart from the army; they addressed to Argives and Thebans alike words I would they had never uttered. Eteocles, taking his stand on a lofty tower, after ordering silence to be proclaimed to the army, began:

chieftains of Argos here assembled, and you people of Cadmus, do not barter your lives for Polyneices or for me! For I myself excuse you from this risk, and will engage my brother in single combat; and if I slay him, I will possess my house alone, but if I am conquered I will hand down the city to him alone. You men of Argos, give up the struggle and return to your land, do not lose your lives here;

there are enough of the Sown-men who lie dead.

So he spoke; then your son Polyneices rushed from the battle-line and assented to his proposal. And all the Argives and the people of Cadmus shouted their approval, as though they thought it just.

On these terms the armies made a truce, and in the space between them the generals took an oath to abide by.

At once, the two sons of the old Oedipus were hiding themselves in bronze armor; and lords of Thebes with friendly care equipped the captain of this land, while Argive chieftains armed the other. There they stood dazzling, nor were they pale, all eagerness to hurl their lances at each other. Then their friends came to their sides first one, then another, with words of encouragement, saying:

Polyneices, it rests with you to set up an image of Zeus as a trophy and crown Argos with fair renown.

Others to Eteocles: Now you are fighting for your city; now, if victorious, you have the scepter in your power.

So they spoke, cheering them to the battle.

The seers were sacrificing sheep and noting the tongues and forks of fire, the damp reek which is a bad omen, and the tapering flame which gives decisions on two points, being both a sign of victory and defeat.

But, if you have any power or subtle speech or charmed spell, go, restrain your children from this terrible combat, for great is the risk they run. The prize of the contest will be grievous sorrow for you, if to-day you are deprived of both your sons. Exit Messenger.

Jocasta: Antigone, my daughter, come out of the house;

this heaven-sent crisis is no time for dances or girlish pursuits. But you and your mother must prevent two brave men, your own brothers, from plunging into death and falling by each other’s hand.

Antigone: Mother, what new terror are you proclaiming to your friends before the palace?

Jocasta: Daughter, your brothers’ lives are going to ruin.

Antigone: What do you mean?

Jocasta: They have resolved on single combat.

Antigone: Oh no! what do you have to say, mother?

Jocasta: No welcome news; follow me.

Antigone: Where, away from my maiden’s chamber?

Jocasta: To the army.

Antigone: I cannot face the crowd.

Jocasta: Coyness is not for you now.

Antigone: But what shall I do?

Jocasta: You will put an end to your brothers’ strife.

Antigone: How so, mother?

Jocasta: By falling at their knees with me.

Antigone: Lead on till we are between the armies; we must not delay.

Jocasta: Haste, my daughter, haste! For, if I can forestall the onset of my sons, I may yet live; but if they are dead, I will lie down in death with them. Exeunt Jocasta and Antigone.

Chorus: Alas, alas! My mind is trembling with fear, trembling; and through my flesh goes a throb of pity, of pity for the hapless mother. Which of her two sons will stain the other with blood— ah, for the suffering! O Zeus, O earth, alas!—a brother’s throat, a brother’s life, through his shield, through his blood? Ah me! ah me! which of them will I lament as dead?

Chorus: Ah, the earth! Ah, the earth! Twin savage beasts, two murderous souls with brandished spears will soon be draining the fallen, fallen enemy’s blood. Unhappy, that they ever thought of single combat! In foreign voice I will chant a dirge of tears and wailing, in mourning for the dead. Close to murder stands their fortune;

the coming day will decide it. Fatal this slaughter, fatal, because of the Furies.

Chorus Leader: But hark! I see Creon on his way here to the house with clouded brow, and so I will cease my present lamentations.

Creon: Ah me! what shall I do? Am I to mourn with tears myself or my city, which has a cloud around it? My son has died for his country, bringing glory to his name, but grievous woe to me.

His body I have just now taken from the dragon’s rocky lair and sadly carried the self-slain victim here in my arms; and the house is filled with weeping; but now I have come for my sister Jocasta, age seeking age, that she may bathe my child’s corpse and lay it out.

For those who are not dead must reverence the god below by paying honor to the dead.

Chorus Leader: Your sister, Creon, has gone out, and her daughter Antigone went with her.

Creon: Where did she go? What happened? Tell me.

Chorus Leader: She heard that her sons were about to engage in single combat for the royal house.

Creon: What do you mean? In my tenderness to my dead son, I was not able to learn this.

Chorus Leader: It is some time, Creon, since your sister’s departure, and I expect the struggle for life and death is already decided by the sons of Oedipus.

Creon: Alas! I see a sign there, the gloomy look and face of the messenger coming to tell us the whole matter.

Messenger: Ah, woe is me! What story can I tell, what lament can I make?

Creon: We are lost; your opening words have no fair appearance.

Messenger: Ah, woe is me! I say again; for I am bringing great horrors.

Creon: In addition to the other sorrowful deeds. What is your tale?

Messenger: Your sister’s sons are now no more, Creon.

Creon: sung Alas! you have a great tale of woe for me and the city.

spoken O house of Oedipus, have you heard these tidings of sons slain by the same fate?

Chorus Leader: A tale to make it weep, if it were endowed with sense.

Creon: sung Oh! most grievous stroke of fate!

Messenger: If you only know the sorrows other than those!

Creon: How can they be more hard to bear than these?

Messenger: Your sister has died, with her two sons.

Chorus: sung Loudly, loudly raise the wail, and with white hands strike upon your heads!

Creon: Oh, wretched Jocasta! what an end to life and marriage you have found the riddling of the Sphinx! Tell me how her two sons accomplished the bloody deed, the struggle caused by the curse of Oedipus.

Messenger: Of our successes before the towers you know, for the walls are not far away. Now when they, the young sons of the old Oedipus, had adorned themselves in their bronze armor, they went and took their stand between the armies, for the contest and the single combat. Then Polyneices, turning his eyes towards Argos, lifted up a prayer:

O Lady Hera, for I am yours, since I have married the daughter of Adrastus and dwell in your land, grant that I may slay my brother, and give my right hand, which is set against him, the victory, stained with his blood.

But Eteocles, looking towards the temple of Pallas with the golden shield, prayed: Daughter of Zeus, grant that this arm may launch the spear of victory against my brother’s breast and slay him who has come to sack my country.

When the Tuscan trumpet, like a torch, blew the signal for the bloody battle, they darted wildly against one another;

like boars whetting their savage tusks, they joined battle, their beards wet with foam. They kept shooting out their spears, but crouched beneath their shields to let the steel glance off in vain; but if either saw the other’s eye above the rim, he would aim his lance there, eager to outwit him with the point.

But both kept such careful outlook through the spy-holes in their shields, that their weapons found nothing to do; while from the onlookers far more than the combatants trickled the sweat caused by terror for their friends.

Eteocles, in kicking aside a stone that rolled beneath his tread, exposed a limb outside his shield, and Polyneices, seeing a chance of dealing him a blow, aimed at it, and the Argive shaft passed through his leg;

the Danaid army, one and all, cried out for joy. And the wounded man, seeing Polyneices’ shoulder bare in this effort, plunged his spear with all his might into his breast, restoring gladness to the citizens of Thebes, though he broke off the spear-head.

And so, at a loss for a weapon, he retreated step by step, till catching up a splintered rock he let it fly and broke the other’s spear in the middle; and now the combat was equal, for each had lost his lance.

Then clutching their sword-hilts they closed, and round and round, with shields clashing, they fought a wild battle. And Eteocles introduced the crafty Thessalian trick, having some knowledge of it from his association with that country. Disengaging himself from the immediate contest, he drew back his left foot but kept his eye closely on the pit of the other’s stomach from a distance; then advancing his right foot he plunged the weapon through his navel and fixed it in his spine. Down fell Polyneices, dripping with blood, ribs and belly contracting in his agony. But the other, thinking his victory now complete, threw down his sword and began to despoil him, wholly intent on that, without a thought for himself. And this indeed tripped him up; for Polyneices, who had fallen first, was still faintly breathing, and having in his grievous fall kept his sword, he made a last effort and drove it through the heart of Eteocles. They both lie there, fallen side by side, biting the dust with their teeth, and they have not decided the mastery.

Chorus Leader: Ah, ah, how I mourn for your sorrows, Oedipus! The god, it seems, has fulfilled those curses of yours.

Messenger: Now hear what further woes succeeded. Just as her two sons had fallen and lay dying, their wretched mother came on the scene, her daughter with her, in great haste. When she saw their mortal wounds, she wailed: O my sons, the help I bring is too late. And throwing herself on each in turn she wept and mourned, sorrowing over all her toil in nursing them, and their sister, by her side, mourned also:

Supporters of your mother’ s age, dearest brothers, leaving me forlorn, unwed! Then lord Eteocles with one deep dying gasp, hearing his mother, laid on her his clammy hand, and though he could not say a word, his moistened eye was eloquent to prove his love. And Polyneices was still breathing, and seeing his sister and his old mother he said: Mother, our end has come; I pity you and my sister Antigone and my dead brother. For I loved him though he became my enemy, I loved him in spite of all. Bury me, mother, and you, my sister, in my native land; pacify the city’s wrath that l may get at least that much of my own fatherland, although I lost my home. With your hand, mother, close my eyes—he himself places her fingers on the lids—and farewell; for already the darkness wraps me round.

So both at once breathed out their life of sorrow.

But when their mother saw this sad event, in her overmastering grief she snatched a sword from the dead, and did a fearful deed; for she drove the steel right through her throat, and there she lies, dead with those she loved so well, her arms thrown round them both.

The army sprang to their feet and fell to wrangling, we maintaining that victory rested with my master, they with theirs; and there was strife among the generals, some holding that Polyneices gave the first wound with his spear, others that, as both were dead, victory rested with neither.

Meanwhile Antigone crept away from the army. They rushed to their weapons, but by some lucky forethought the people of Cadmus had sat down under arms; and by a sudden attack we surprised the Argive army before it was fully equipped.

Not one withstood our onset, and they filled the plain with fugitives, while blood was streaming from the countless dead our spears had slain. When victory had crowned our warfare, some set up an image of Zeus as a trophy, others were stripping the Argive dead of their shields and sending their spoils inside the battlements; and others with Antigone are bringing the dead here for their friends to mourn. So for the city, the result of this struggle hovers between the two extremes of good and evil fortune. Exit Messenger.

Chorus: No longer do the misfortunes of this house extend to hearsay only; three corpses of the slain lie here at the palace for all to see; by one common death they have drawn their lot, a life of darkness.

Antigone: I do not veil my tender cheek shaded with curls, nor do I feel shame, from maiden modesty, at the dark red beneath my eyes, the blush upon my face, as I hurry on, in bacchic revelry for the dead, casting from my hair its mantle and letting my delicate saffron robe fly loose, a tearful escort to the dead. Ah me!

Oh, Polyneices! you were rightly named, after all; woe to you, Thebes!

Your strife—not strife, but murder on murder— has brought the house of Oedipus to ruin with dire and grim bloodshed. What harmonious or tuneful wailing can I summon, for my tears, my tears, oh, my home! oh, my home! as I bear these three kindred bodies, my mother and her sons, a welcome sight to the Fury? She destroyed the house of Oedipus, root and branch, when his shrewdness solved the Sphinx’s unsolvable song and killed that savage singer. Alas for you, father! What other Hellene or barbarian, what mortal from a noble line ever endured the anguish of such visible afflictions?

Ah! poor girl, how piteous is your cry!

What bird, perched on the high-leaved branches of oak or pine, will come to mourn with me, left motherless? With cries of woe,

I lament before it comes the piteous lonely life, that I shall live for the rest of time, in streaming tears. On which of these shall I throw my offerings first, plucking the hair from my head? on the breast of the mother that suckled me, or beside the ghastly death-wounds of my brothers’ corpses?

Oh, oh! Oedipus, my old father with sightless eyes, leave your house, reveal the misery of your life, you who have cast a mist of darkness over your eyes and draw out a weary existence within the house. Do you hear, you who are wandering with old step across the court, or sleeping on your wretched pallet couch?

Oedipus: Why, daughter, have you dragged me to the light by your piteous tears, supporting my blind footsteps, from the gloom of my bed-chamber, gray-haired, invisible as a phantom of the air, or as a spirit from the world below, or as a dream that flies?

Antigone: Father, there are tidings of sorrow for you to bear; no longer do your sons see the light, or your wife, who would always labor to tend your blind footsteps as with a staff.

Alas for you, my father!

Oedipus: Alas for my sorrows! I may well groan and cry. Three lives! Tell me, child, by what fate they left the light.

Antigone: I do not say this to reproach or mock you, but in sadness: your own avenging curse, with all its load of swords and fire and ruthless war, came on your sons. Alas for you, my father!

Oedipus: Ah me!

Antigone: Why that groan?

Oedipus: My sons!

Antigone: You are in pain; but if you could look towards the sun-god’s four-horse chariot and turn the light of your eyes on these corpses—

Oedipus: The evil fate of my sons is clear; but she, my poor wife, tell me, daughter, by what fate did she die?

Antigone: All saw her weep and heard her moan, as she rushed forth to carry to her sons her last appeal, a mother’s breast.

But the mother found her sons at the Electran gate, in a meadow where the lotus blooms, fighting out their duel with spears, like lions in their lair, eager to wound each other, a murderous libation of blood already cold, owed to Hades, poured out by Ares. Then, taking from the dead a sword of hammered bronze, she plunged it in her flesh, and in sorrow for her sons fell with her arms around them. So the god who fulfills these sorrows has brought them all together on this day, father, for our house.

Chorus Leader: Today is the beginning of many troubles to the house of Oedipus; may he live to be more fortunate!

Creon: Cease now your lamentations; it is time we thought of their burial. Hear what I have to say, Oedipus. Eteocles, your son, left me to rule this land, by giving it as a dowry to Haemon with his marriage to your daughter Antigone. Therefore I will no longer allow you to dwell in this land;

for Teiresias clearly said that the city would never prosper as long as you made your home here. So begone! And I say this not in insult, nor because I am your enemy, but from fear that some calamity will come upon the land, through those avenging fiends of yours.

Oedipus: O destiny! From the beginning, how you have created me wretched and unhappy, if any mortal ever was; for before I had left my mother’s womb and seen the light, Apollo foretold to Laius that I, then unborn, should become my father’s murderer; alas for me!

So, as soon as I was born, the father who begot me tried to kill me, thinking me his enemy, for it was fated he should die at my hand; so he sent me unweaned to make a pitiful meal for beasts; I escaped from that— would that Cithaeron had sunk into hell’s yawning abyss, because it did not destroy me, but... Fate made me a slave in the service of Polybus. And I, poor wretch, after slaying my own father came to my mother’s bed, to her sorrow, and begot sons that were my brothers, whom I have destroyed, by bequeathing to them the legacy of curses I received from Laius. For I was not born so foolish, that I should have contrived these things against my own eyes and my children’s life, without some god.

Let that pass. What am I, poor wretch, to do? Who now will be my guide and tend the blind man’s step? The one who is dead? If she were alive, I know well that she would. My pair of noble sons? But they are gone from me. But am I still so young myself that I can find a livelihood?

Where? O Creon, why do you seek in this way to kill me utterly? For you will kill me, if you banish me from the land. Yet I will never twine my arms about your knees and seem a coward, for I would not betray my former nobility, no! not for all my ills.

Creon: You have spoken well, in refusing to touch my knees, but I could not allow you to dwell in the land. Of these dead, bear one at once to the palace; but the other, who came with strangers to sack his native town, the dead Polyneices, cast forth unburied beyond the borders of this land. To all the race of Cadmus shall this be proclaimed: Whoever is caught decking his corpse with wreaths or giving it burial, shall be requited with death.

As for you, Antigone, leave your mourning for these lifeless three and go indoors, to lead your maiden life until to-morrow, when Haemon waits to marry you.

Antigone: O father, in what cruel misery are we plunged!

For you I mourn more than for the dead; for in your woes you do not have something that is grievous and something not; but you were born wholly unfortunate, father. As for you, new-made king, I ask you, who do you insult my father with banishment?

Why do you make laws over a helpless corpse?

Creon: This was Eteocles’ purpose, not mine.

Antigone: It is senseless, and you are a fool to obey it!

Creon: How so? Isn’t it right to carry out his commands?

Antigone: No; not if they are wrong and ill-advised.

Creon: What? Isn’t it right for that other to be given to the dogs?

Antigone: No, for the vengeance you are exacting is not a lawful one.

Creon: Yes, if he was his country’s enemy, when not born an enemy.

Antigone: Well, he rendered up his destiny to fate.

Creon: Let him now pay the penalty in his burial too.

Antigone: What crime did he commit, in coming to claim his portion of the land?

Creon: Be very sure of this, he shall have no burial.

Antigone: I will bury him, although the state forbids.

Creon: Do so, and you will be making your own grave by his.

Antigone: A noble end, for two so near and dear to lie side by side!

Creon: Seize and take her inside.

Antigone: Oh, no! For I will not let go of this corpse.

Creon: These are the god’s decrees, my girl, not what seems good to you.

Antigone: And this has been decreed, not to insult the dead.

Creon: Be sure that no one will sprinkle over the corpse the moistened dust.

Antigone: O Creon, by my mother Jocasta, I implore you!

Creon: Your labor is in vain; you will not gain your prayer.

Antigone: Let me only bathe the dead body.

Creon: That would be part of what is forbidden by the city.

Antigone: At least let me bandage the cruel wounds.

Creon: No; you will never pay honor to this corpse.

Antigone: O my dearest! At least I will kiss your mouth.

Creon: Do not let this mourning bring disaster on your marriage.

Antigone: Marriage! Do you think I will marry your son while I am alive?

Creon: Indeed you must; how will you escape the match?

Antigone: Then that night will find in me another Danaid bride!

Creon: turning to Oedipus Do you see how boldly she reproaches me?

Antigone: Let the steel know, the sword be my witness!

Creon: Why are you so eager to be released from this marriage?

Antigone: I mean to share my hapless father’s exile.

Creon: A noble spirit yours but there is some folly in it.

Antigone: And I will share his death, I tell you further.

Creon: Go, leave the land; you will not murder my son. Exit Creon.

Oedipus: Daughter, for this loyal spirit I thank you.

Antigone: How could I marry, while you went into exile alone, father?

Oedipus: Stay here and be happy; I will bear my own load of sorrow.

Antigone: And who will tend you in your blindness, father?

Oedipus: Where fate appoints, there I will fall and lie down upon the ground.

Antigone: Where is Oedipus, and that famous riddle?

Oedipus: Lost! One day blessed me, one destroyed me.

Antigone: May I not also share your sorrows?

Oedipus: To wander with her blinded father would be shameful for his daughter.

Antigone: Not so, father, but glory, if she is discreet.

Oedipus: Lead me near, so that I may touch your mother’s corpse.

Antigone: There, embrace the aged form so dear to you.

Oedipus: O mother, o most wretched wife!

Antigone: Pitiably she lies, who suffered every evil at once.

Oedipus: Where are the corpses of Eteocles, and of Polyneices?

Antigone: Here they both lie, stretched out side by side.

Oedipus: Lay my blind hand upon their poor faces.

Antigone: There, touch the dead, your children.

Oedipus: O dear fallen sons, sad offspring of a sad father!

Antigone: O my brother Polyneices, name most dear to me!

Oedipus: Now the oracle of Loxias is being fulfilled, my child.

Antigone: What oracle? Do you have further woes to tell?

Oedipus: That I should die in Athens after a life of wandering.

Antigone: Where? What fenced town in Attica will take you in?

Oedipus: Hallowed Colonus, home of the god of horses. Come then, attend on your blind father, since you are eager to share his exile.

Antigone: Go to unhappy exile; stretch forth your dear hand, my old father, taking me to guide you, like a breeze that guides the ships.

Oedipus: See, I am advancing; be my guide, my poor child.

Antigone: I am, I am! The saddest maiden of all in Thebes.

Oedipus: Where am I placing my aged step? Bring my staff, child.

Antigone: This way, this way, come to me, place your steps here, like a dream in your strength.

Oedipus: Oh, oh, driving the old man in most wretched flight from the country!

Oh, oh! the terrible sorrows I have endured!

Antigone: Why do you speak of enduring? Justice does not see the wicked, and does not requite follies.

Oedipus: I am the one who came into high songs of victory, because I guessed the baffling riddle of the girl, half-maiden.

Antigone: You are bringing up again the reproach of the Sphinx. Talk no more of past success. This misery was in store for you all the while, to become an exile from your country and die anywhere.

Leaving to my girlhood friends sad tears, I go forth from my native land, to roam as no maiden should.

Ah! This dutiful resolve towards my father’s suffering will make me famous. Alas for the insults heaped on you and on my brother, whose dead body goes from the house unburied, poor boy! I will bury him secretly, though I have to die for it, father.

Oedipus: Show yourself to your companions.

Antigone: My own laments suffice.

Oedipus: Go pray at the altars.

Antigone: They have enough of my piteous tale.

Oedipus: At least go seek the Bromian god in his untrodden sanctuary among the Maenads’ hills.

Antigone: Bromius, for whom I once dressed in the Theban fawn-skin and danced upon the hills in the holy choir of Semele—shall I now offer the gods homage that is not homage?

Oedipus: O citizens of a famous country, look at me; I am Oedipus, who solved the famous riddle, and was the greatest of men,

I, who alone controlled the murderous Sphinx’s power, am now myself driven from the land in dishonor and misery. But why do I make this moan and useless lamentation? As a mortal, I must bear the constraint that the gods decree.

Chorus: Greatly revered Victory, may you occupy my life and never cease to crown me!