Classic Audiobook Collection - Antigone by Sophocles ~ Full Audiobook [tragedy]

Episode Date: July 2, 2026

Antigone by Sophocles audiobook. Genre: tragedy In Sophocles' Antigone, the royal house of Thebes is left shattered after a brutal civil war in which Antigone's two brothers die fighting on opposite sides. Their uncle, King Creon, takes the throne and issues a harsh decree: one brother will be honored with burial, while the other is to be left unburied as a traitor. Antigone, driven by loyalty to her family and obedience to divine law, cannot accept this command. Her quiet but determined sister Ismene fears the consequences, while Creon becomes increasingly rigid in defending the authority of the state. As Antigone acts on her convictions, the conflict grows beyond a private act of mourning into a fierce struggle over justice, power, duty, and conscience. Haemon, Creon's son and Antigone's betrothed, is caught between love and obedience, and the people of Thebes watch as pride hardens every position. With stark emotional power, Antigone explores the cost of moral defiance and the danger of inflexible rule, creating a tense and deeply human drama about what happens when personal honor collides with political law. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 1 (00:42:31) Chapter 2 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Part 1 of Antigone, by Sophocles, translated by Francis Storr. Part 1. Antigone and Ismany before the palace gates. Ismany, sister of my blood and heart, Seest thou how Zeus would in our lives fulfill the weird of Oedipus, A world of woes? For what of pain, affliction, outrage, shame, is lacking in our fortunes, thine and mine? And now, this proclamation of fernation of fowls, today made by our captain-general to the state, what can its purport be? Didst tear and heed,

or art thou deaf when friends are banned as foes? To me, Antigone, no word of friends has come, or glad or grievous, since we twain were reft of our two brethren in one day by double fratricide, and since it a night our argive leaguers fled, no later news has reached me, to in spirit or deject. I know twas so, and therefore summoned thee beyond the gates to breathe it in thine ear. What is it? Some dark secret stirs thy breast. What but the thought of our two brothers dead? The one by Creon graced with funeral rights, the other disappointed. Hateocles he hath consigned to earth, as fame reports, with obsequies that use and won't ordain, so gracing him among the dead below.

But Polyneses, a dishonoured course. So by report the royal edict runs, No man may bury him or may lament, Must leave him tombless and unwept, A feast for kites to scent afar and swoop upon. Such is the edict, if report speak true, of Creon, Our most noble creon, Ained at thee and me,

I, me too, And anon he will be here to promulgate, For such as have not heard his mandate, Tis in sooth no passing humour, For the edict says whoe'er transgresses Shall be stoned to death. So stands it with us. Now, tis thine to show if thou art worthy of thy blood, or base.

But how, my rash, fond sister? In such case can I do anything to make or mar? Say, wilt thou aid me and abet? Decide. In what bold venture? What is in thy thought? Lend me a hand to bear the corpse away. What?

bury him despite the interdict. My brother! And, though thou deny him thine, No man shall say that I betrayed a brother. Wilt thou persist, though Creon has forbid? What right has he to keep me from mine own? Bethink thee, sister, of our father's fate, abhorred, dishonored, self-convinced of sin,

Blinded himself his executioner. Think of his mother-wife, ill-sorted names, done by a noose herself had twined to death. And last, our hapless brethren in one day, both in a mutual destiny involved, self-slaughtered, both the slayer and the slain. Bethink thee, sister! We are left alone!

Shall we not perish wretchedest of all, if in defiance of the law we cross a monarch's will? Weak women, think of that, not framed by nature to contend with men. Remember this too that the stronger rules, We must obey his orders, these or worse. Therefore I plead compulsion and entreat the dead to pardon. I perforce obey the powers that be.

Tis foolishness I wean to overstep in aught the golden mean. I urge no more. Nay, wert thou willing still I would not welcome such a fellowship. Go thine own way. Myself will bury him. How sweet to die in such employ, to rest, sister and brother linked in love's embrace, A sinless sinner banned a while on earth

But by the dead commended, And with them I shall abide forever. As for thee, scorn if thou wilt The eternal laws of heaven. I scorn them not, But to defy the state or break her ordinance, I have no skill. A specious pretext.

I will go alone to lap my dearest brother in the grave. My poor fond sister, how I feel! fear for thee. O waste no fears on me. Look to thyself. At least let no man know of thine intent, but keep it close and secret, as will I. Oh, tell it, sister, I shall hate thee more if thou proclaim it not to all the town. Thou hast a fiery soul for numbing work. I pleasure those whom I would leafest, please. If thou succeed, but thou art doomed to fail. When strength shall fail me, yes, but not before. But if the venture is hopeless, why you say?

Sister, forbear, or I shall hate thee soon, and the dead man will hate thee too, with cause. Say I am mad, and give my madness reign to wreck itself. The worst that can befall is but to die in honourable death. Have thine own way, then. Tis a mad endeavour, yet to thy lovers thou art dear as ever. Exeunt. Some beam of all that ever dawn upon,

Our seven-gated Thebes, the brightest ray. O eye of golden day! How fair thy light o'er Dirkus fountain shone! Speeding upon their headlong homeward course! Far quicker than they came, the Argyde force, Putting to flight the Argent shields, the hose with scutcheon's white. Against our land the proud invader came, To vindicate fell Polyniac's claim,

claim, like to an eagle swooping low, on pinions white as new-fallen snow, with clanging scream a horse they plume his crest, the aspiring lord of Argos's onward pressed. Hovering around our city walls he waits, his spearman raven at our seven gates, but ere torch our crown of towers could burn, ere they had tasted of our blood they Turn, forced by the dragon in their rear, The din of Ares' panic struck they hear. For Seves, so hates the raggards boast, beheld that gold-spangled host, As at the gold The pen they upraised, He struck them with his fault lightning blaze. To earthy from earth rebounding, Down he crashed, The firebrand from his impious hand,

was dashed, as like a bacchic reveller on he came, out-breathing hate and flame, and tottered elsewhere in the field. Here there great area like a war-horse wheel, beneath his car down-thrust, our foemen bit the dust. Seven captains at our seven gates, thundered for each a champion waits, each left behind his armor bright. Trophy for Sevs who turns the fight, save to alone that ill-starred pair, one mother to one father bear, Who lans in rest, one gains the other, Drave and both perished, brother slain by brother. Now victory to Thebus returns again, And smiles upon her chariot's circled plain. Now let feast and festers.

Should memories of war blot out, Let us to the temple's throne, Dance and sing the live night long. God of Thieves, lead thou the round, Bakus shaker of the ground. Let us end our revels here. Lo, Creon, our new lord draws near, crowned by this strange chance our king. What I marveled, pondering, Why this summons, Wherefore call us his elders one and all, bidding us with him debate on some grave concern of state. Enter Creon. Elders, the gods have righted once again our storm-tossed ship of state, now safe in port. But you, by special summons, I convened, as my most trusted counsellors.

First, because I knew you loyal to Laos of old, again when Oedipus restored our state, state, both while he ruled and when his rule was o'er, ye still were constant to the royal line. Now that his two sons perished in one day, brother by brother murderously slain, by right of kinship to the prince's dead, I claim and hold the throne and sovereignty. Yet tis no easy matter to discern the temper of a man, his mind and will, till he be proved by exercise of power. And in my case, if one who reigns supreme swerve from the highest policy, tongue-tied by fear of consequence, that man I hold and ever held the basest of the base, and I condemn the man who sets his friend before his country. For myself, I call to witness Zeus,

whose eyes are everywhere, if I perceive some mischievous design to sap the state, I will not hold my tongue, nor would I reckon as my private friend, a public foe, well-knowing that the state is the good ship that holds our fortunes all. Farewell to friendship if she suffers wreck. Such is the policy by which I seek to serve the commons, and conformably I have proclaimed an edict as concerns the sons of Oedipus. Etyocles, who in his country's battle fought and fell, the foremost champion, duly bury him with all observances and ceremonies that are the gurdon of the heroic dead.

But for the miscreant exile who returned, minded in flames and ashes, to blot out his father's city and his father's city and his father's, gods, and glut his vengeance with his kinsman's blood or drag them captive at his chariot wheels. For Polyneses, tis ordained that none shall give him burial, or make mourn for him, but leave his corpse unburied, to be meat for dogs and carrion crows, a ghastly sight. So am I purposed. Never by my will shall miscreants take precedence of true men, but all good patriots, alive or dead, shall be by me preferred and honored. Son of menorsesves, thus thou wilt to deal, with him who loath and him who loved our state.

Thy word is law, thou canst dispose of us, the living as thou wilt as of the dead. See then ye execute what I ordain. On younger shoulders lay this grievous charge. Fear not, I've put. hosted guards to watch the corpse. What further duty wouldst thou lay on us? Not to connive at disobedience. No man is mad enough to court his death.

The penalty is death, yet hope of gain hath lured men to their ruin oftentimes. Enter guard. My lord, I will not make pretence to pant and puff as some light-footed messenger. sooth my soul beneath its pack of thought made many a halt and turned and turned again for conscience plied her spur and curb thy turns why hurry headlong to thy fate poor fool she whispered then again if creon learn this from another thou wilt rue it worse thus leisurely i hastened on my road much thought extends a furlong to a league but it the end the forward voice prevailed to face thee i will speak though i say nothing for plucking courage from despair methought let the worst hap thou canst but meet thy fate what is thy news why this despondency let me premise a word about myself i neither did the deed nor saw it done nor were it just that i should come to harm thou art good at parry and canst fence about some matter of grave import, as is plain. The bearer of dread tidings needs must quake.

Then, sirrah, shoot thy bolt and get thee gone. Well, it must out. The corpse is buried. Someone e'en now besprinkled it with thirsty dust, performed the proper ritual, and was gone. What, sayest thou? Who hath dared to do this thing? I cannot tell, for there was ne'er a trace of piqued

or mattoe, hard unbroken ground, without a scratch or rut of chariot wheels, no sign that human hands had been at work. When the first century of the morning watch gave the alarm, we all were terror-stricken.

The corpse had vanished, not interred in earth, but strewn with dust, as if by one who sought to avert the course that haunts the unburied dead, of hound or ravening jackal, not a sign. Thereat rose an angry war of words, guard railed at guard, and blows were like to end it, for none was there to part us, each in turn suspected, but the guilt brought home to none from lack of evidence. We challenged each the ordeal, or to handle red-hot iron, or pass through fire, affirming on our oath, our innocence. We neither did the deed ourselves, nor know who did, or comforted, or come,

our quest was at a stand still when once spake and bowed us all to earth by quivering reeds for there is no gainsaying him or wade to escape perdition ye are bound to tell the king ye cannot hide it so he spake and he convinced us all so lots were cast and i unlucky scapegoat drew the prize so here i am unwilling and with all unwel No man cares to hear ill news. I had misgivings from the first, my leech, of something more than natural at work. O cease, you vexed me with your babbleman. I am like to think you dote in your old age. Is it not arrant folly to pretend that gods would have a thought for this dead man? Did they forsooth award him special grace, and as some benefactor bury him, who came to fire there hallowed sanctuaries,

to sack their shrines, to desolate their land and scout their ordinances? Or perchance the gods bestow their favors on the bad? No, no. I have long-noted malcontents who wagged their heads and kicked against the yoke, misliking these my orders and my rule. Tis they, I warrant, who suborned my guards by bribes. Of evil's current upon earth, the worst is money. Money tis that sacks cities, and drives men forth from hearth and home,

warps and seduces native innocence, and breeds a habit of dishonesty. But they who sold themselves shall find their greed outshot the mark, and rue it soon or late. Yea, as I still revere the dread of Zeus, by Zeus I swear, except ye find and bring before my presence here the very man who carried out this lawless burial, death for your punishment shall not suffice. Hanged on a cross, alive ye first shall make confession of this outrage. This will teach you what practices are like to serve your turn.

There are some villainies that bring no gain, for by dishonesty the few may thrive, the many come to ruin and disgrace. May I not speak, or must I turn and go without a word? Be gone, canst thou not see that e'en this question irks me? Where, my lord, is it thy ears that suffer, or thy heart? Why seek to probe and find the seat of pain? I gall thine ears, this miscreant thy mind. What an inveterate babbler, get thee gone.

Babler, perchance, but innocent of the crime? Twice guilty, having sold thy soul for gain. Alas! How sad when reason is reason wrong! Go quibble with thy reason. If thou fail'st to find these malefactors, thou shalt own the wages of ill-got and gains is death. Exit Creon. I pray he may be found, but caught or not, and fortune must determine that. Thou never shall see me here returning, that is sure.

For pastoral hope or thought I have escaped, And for my safety are the gods much thanks. Exit Gerd Many wonders there be, But not more wonders than man, Over the surging sea, With a whitening south wind wan. Through the foam of the Firth,

Man makes his perilous way, And the eldest of deity's earth That knows not toil nor decay, Ever he furrows and scores, As his team year in, year out, With breed of the yoked horse, The ploughshire turneth about. The light-witted birds of the air, The beasts of the wealth and the wood, He traps with his woven snare, And the broad of the briny flood. Master of cunning he, The savage bull and the heart,

Who roams the mountain free, Are tained by a-earned by a-earned, infinite art, and the shaggy rough main steed is broken to bear the bit. Speech and the wind-swift speed of counsel and civic wit, he hath learned for himself all these and the arrowy rain to fly, and the nipping airs that freeze neath the open winter sky. He hath provision for all, fell plague he hath learned to endure, save what ever may be fall, yet for death he hath found no cure. Passing the wildest flight thought are the cunning and skill, that guide man now to the

light, but now to counsels of ill. If he honors the laws of the land, and reveres the gods of the state, proudly his city shall stand, but a cityless outcast irate, who so bold in his pride from the path of right doth depart. Never may I sit by his side or share the thoughts of his heart. What strange vision meets my eyes, feels me with a wild surprise. Sure I know her, sure tis she, the maid Antigone. Hapless child of hapless sire, Didst thou recklessly conspire? Madly brave the king'st decree, therefore are they hailing thee?

Enter guard, bringing Antigone. Here it is the culprit taken in the act of giving him burial. But where's the king? There from the palace he returns in time. Enter Creon. Why is my presence timely? What has chanced? No man, my lord, should make a vow, for if he ever swears he will not do a thing,

his afterthoughts belie his first resolve. When from the hailstorm of thy threats I fled, I swear thou wouldst not see me here again. But the wild rapture of a glad surprise intoxicates, and so I'm herefore sworn. And here's my prisoner, caught in the very act, decking the grave. No lottery this time. This prize is mine by right of treasure-trove. So take her, judge her, rack her, if thou wilt. She's thine, my liege. but i may rightly claim hence to depart well quit of all these ills say how didst thou arrest the maid and where burying the man there's nothing more to tell hast thou thy wits or knowest thou what thou sayest i saw this woman burying the corpse against thy orders

is that clear and plain but how was she surprised and caught in the act it happened thus no sooner had we come driven from thy presence by those awful threats, then straight we swept away all trace of dust, and bared the clammy body. Then we sat high on the ridge to windward of the stench, while each man kept his fellow alert and rated roundly the sluggard if he chanced to nap. So, all night long we watched until the sun stood high in heaven, and his blazing beams smote us. A sudden whirlwind then upraised a cloud of dust that blotted out the skin. sky and swept the plain and stripped the woodlands bare and shook the firmament. We closed our eyes and waited till a heaven-sent plague should pass. At last it ceased and lo!

There stood this maid. A piercing cry she uttered, sad and shrill, as when the mother bird beholds her nest robbed of its nestings. Even so the maid wailed as she saw the body stripped and bare, and cursed the ruffians who had done this deed. Anon, she gathered handfuls of dry dust, then, holding high a well-wrought, brazen urn, thrice on the dead she poured a lustral stream.

We at the sight swooped down on her and seized our quarry. Undismayed she stood, and when we taxed her with the former crime, and this, she disowned nothing. I was glad and grieved. for tis most sweet to escape oneself scot free and yet to bring disaster to a friend is grievous take it all in all i deem the man's first duty is to serve himself speak girl with head bent low and downcast eyes dost thou plead guilty or deny the deed guilty i did it i deny it not to guard sirrah begone whither thou wilt and thank thy luck that thou hast scaped a heavy charge to Antigone.

Now answer this plain question, yes or no. Wasst thou acquainted with the interdict? I knew. All knew. How should I fail to know? And yet wert bold enough to break the law? Yea, for these laws were not ordained of Zeus, and she who sits enthroned with gods below,

justice enacted not these human laws. Nor did I deem that thou a mortal man, couldst by a breath annull and override the immutable unwritten laws of heaven they were not born to-day nor yesterday they die not and none knoweth whence they sprang i was not like who feared no mortal's frown to disobey these laws and so provoke the wrath of heaven i knew that i must die e'en hath's thou not proclaimed it and if death is thereby hastened i shall count it gain for death is gain to him whose life like mine is full of misery thus my lot appears not sad but blissful for had i endured to leave my mother's son unburied there i should have grieved with reason But not now. And if in this thou judgest me a fool methinks the judge of folly's not acquit. A stubborn daughter of a stubborn sire, this ill-stud maiden kicks against the pricks. Well, let her know the stubbornest of wills are soonest bended,

as the hardest iron or heated in the fire to brittleness flies soonest into fragments, shivered through. A snaffle curbs the fieriest steed, and he, who in subjection lives must needs be meek, but this proud girl, in insolence well-schooled, first overstepped the established law, and then a second and worse act of insolence, she boasts and glories in her wickedness. Now, if she thus can float authority unpunished, I am woman she the man. But though she be my sister's child, or nearer of kin than all who worship at my hearth, nor she, nor yet her sister, shall escape the utmost penalty for both I hold

as arch-conspirators of equal guilt. Bring forth the older. Even now I saw her within the palace, frenzied and distraught. The workings of the mind discover oft dark deeds in darkness schemed before the act. More hateful still the miscreant who seeks when caught to make a virtue of a crime. Would thou do more than slay thy prisoner? Not I, thy life is mine, and that's enough. Why, dally, then. To me no word of thine is pleasant. God forbid it e'er should please, nor am I more acceptable to thee. And yet how otherwise had I achieved a name so glorious

as by burying a brother, so my townsmen all would say were they not gagged by terror, manifold a king's prerogative, and not the least that all his acts and all his words are law. Of all these Thebans none so deems but thou. These think as I, but bait their breath to thee. Hast thou no shame to differ from all these? To reverence, kiff and kin can bring no shame. Was his dead foeman not thy kinsman too? One mother bear them, and the self-same sire.

Why cast a slur on one by honoring one? The dead man will not bear the out in this. Surely if good and evil fare alive. The slain man was no villain, but a brother. The patriot perished by the outlaws' brand. Nathless the realms below these rights require. Not that the base should fare as do the brave. Who knows if this world's crimes are virtues there?

Not even death can make a foe a friend. My nature is for mutual love, not hate. Die then. and love the dead if thou must. No woman shall be the master while I live. Enter, Mismaynie. Lo, from out the palace gate, weeping over her sister's fate, Come, Sysmina, see her brow.

One serene, beclouded now. See her beauteous face overspread with a flash of angry red. Woman, who like a viperceived, didst harbor in my house, and drain my blood, two plagues I nurtured blindly, so it proved, to sap my throne. Say, didst thou too abet this crime, or dost abjure all privity? I did the deed if she will have it so, and with my sister claim to share the guilt. That were unjust. Thou wouldst not act with me at first, and I refused thy partnership.

But now thy bark is stranded. I am bold to claim my share as partner in the loss. Who did the deed the underworld knows well? A friend in word is never friend of mine. O sister, scorn me not, but let me share thy work of piety and with thee die. Claim not a work in which thou hadst no hand. One death sufficeeth. Wherefore shouldst thou die?

What would life profit me bereft of thee? Ask Creon, he's thy kinsman and best friend. Why taunt me? Fints thou pleasure in these gibes? Tis a sad mockery. If indeed I mock. O say if I can help thee even now! No, save thyself.

I grudge not thy escape. Is e'en this boon denied to share thy lot? Yea, for thou chose's life, and I to die. Thou canst not say that I did not protest. Well, some approved thy wisdom, others mine. But now we stand convicted, both alike. Fear not, thou livest. I died long ago.

then when I gave my life to save the dead. Both maids methinks are crazed. One suddenly has lost her wits, the other was born mad. Yea, so it falls, sire. When misfortune comes, the wisest even lose their mother wit. If ath thy wit forsook thee when thou maids'st thy choice with evil-doers to do ill. What life for me without my sister here? Say not thy sister here, thy sister's dead.

What, wilt thou slay thy own son's plighted bride? Aye, let him raise seed from other fields. No new espousal can be like the old. A plague on trolls who court and woo our sons. O Haman, how thy sire dishonors thee. A plague on thee and thy accursed bride. What wilt thou rob thine own son of his bride? Tis death that bars this marriage, not his sire.

So her death warrant, it would seem, is sealed. By you, as first by me, off with them guards and keep them close. Henceforward, let them learn to live as women use, not Rome at large, for e'en the bravest spirit run away when they perceive death pressing on life's heels. Thrice blessed are they who never tasted pain, if once the curse of heaven attained the race. The infection lingers on and speeds apace, Age after age, and each the cup must drain. So when Itisian blasts from Thrake down-tour, sweep over the blackening mane and world to land,

From oceans cavernous depth, his ose and sand, Billow on billow thunders on the shore. On the Labaside I see descending, woe upon woe, from days of old-sum god, laid on the race of Malison and his rod, scourgious each age with sorrows never-ending. The light that dawned upon its last-born sun is vanished and the bloody axe of fate has felled the goodly tree that blossomed late, O Oedipus, by reckless pride undone. Thy might Oceves what mortal power can quell, Not sleep that lays All else beneath its spell,

Nor moons that never tire, Untouched by time, Throwned in the dazzling light, That crowns Olympus height, Thou reignest king, omnipotent, sublime, Past present and to be, all bow to thy decree, All that exceeds the mean by fate is punished love or hate. Hope flits about never wearing wings, profit to some to some light loves she brings. But no man knoweth how her gifts may turn, till neath his feet the treacher's ashes burn. Sure twas a sage inspired that spake this word.

If evil good appear, To any fate is near, And brief the respite from her flaming sword. Hither comes in angry mood, Haman latest of thy brood. Is it for his bride he screed, or her marriage-bed deceived, Doth he make his mourn for thee, made forlorn Antigone? Enter Haman. Soon shall we know, better than seer can tell. Learning my fixed decree anant thy bride,

thou meanest not, son, to rave against thy sire? Knowest not whate'er we do is done in love? O father, I am thine, and I will take thy wisdom as the helm to steer withal. Therefore no wedlock shall by me be held more precious than thy loving governance. Well spoken, so right-minded sons should feel, in all deferring. to a father's will. For tis the hope of parents they may rear a brood of sons submissive, keen to avenge their father's wrongs, and count his friends their own. But who begets unprofitable sons, he verily breeds trouble for himself, and for his foes much laughter.

Son be warned, and let no woman fool away thy wits. Ill fares the husband mated with a shrew, and her embraces very soon wax cold, for what can wound so surely to the quick as a false friend? So spew and cast her off, bid her go find a husband with the dead, for since I caught her openly rebelling, of all my subjects the one malcontent, I will not prove a traitor to the state. She surely dies.

Go, let her if she will, to Zeus the God of Kindred, for if thus I nurse rebellion in my house, shall not I foster mutiny without. For whoso rules his household worthily will prove in civic matters no less wise, but he who overbears the laws and thinks to overrule his rulers, such a one I never will allow. Whomever the state appoints must be obeyed in everything, but small and great, just and unjust alike. I warrant such a one in either case would shine as king or subject. Such a man would in the storm of battle stand his ground, a comrade, leal, and true. But anarchy! What evils are not wrought by anarchy! She ruins states and overthrows the home.

She dissipates and routs the embattled host, while discipline preserves the ordered ranks. therefore we must maintain authority and yield no title to a woman's will better if needs be men should cast us out than hear it said a woman proved his match to me unless old age have dulled wits thy words appear both reasonable and wise father the gods implanting mortal men reason the choicest gift bestowed by heaven "'Tis not for me to say thou hearest, nor would I arraign thy wisdom if I could, And yet, wise thoughts may come to other men, and, as thy son, it falls to me to mark the act, the words, the comments of the crowd. The comments stand in terror of thy frown, and dare not utter aught that might offend, But I can overhear their muttered plaints.

Know how the people mourn this maiden doomed for noblest deeds to die, the worst of deaths. When her own brother slain in battle lay unsepulchred, she suffered not his corpse to lie for carrion birds and dogs to mall. Should not her name, they cry, be writ in gold?

Such the low murmurings that reach my ear. O Father, nothing is by me more prized than thy well-being, for what higher good can children covet than their sire's fair fame, as fathers too take pride in glorious sons. Therefore my father cling not to one mood and deemed not thou art right all others wrong, for whoso thinks that wisdom dwells with him that he alone can speak or think aright, such oracles are empty breath when tried.

The wisest man will let himself be swayed by others' wisdom and relax in time. See how the trees beside a stream in flood save if they yield to fruit, force, each spray unharmed, but by resisting, perish, root and branch. The mariner who keeps his main-sheet taut, and will not slacken in the gale is like to sail with thwarts reversed, keel uppermost. Relent, then, and repent thee of thy wrath, for if one young in years may claim some sense, I'll say tis best of all to be endowed with absolute wisdom. But if that's denied, and nature takes not readily that plight, next wise is he who lists to sage advice.

If he says aught in season, heed him king. To Haman. Heed thou thy sire too. Both have spoken well. What, would you have us at our age be schooled, lessened in prudence by a beardless boy? I plead for justice, father, nothing more. Weigh me upon my merit, not my years. Strange merit, this, to sanction law. lawlessness. For evil-doers I would urge no plea. Is not this made an arrant law-breaker? The Theb in commons with one voice say no. What shall the mob dictate my policy?

Tis thou, methinks, who speakest like a boy. Am I to rule for others or myself? A state for one man is no state at all. The state is his who rules it, so tis held. As monarch of a desert thou wouldst shine. This boy, methinks, maintains the woman's cause. If thou beest woman, yes, my thoughts for thee. O reprobate, wouldst wrangle with thy sire? Because I see thee wrongfully perverse. And am I wrong if I maintain my rights?

Talk not of rights, thou spurns the dew of heaven. O heart corrupt, a woman's minion thou. to dishonour thou wilt never find me. Thy speech at least was all a plea for her. And thee and me and for the gods below. Living, the maid shall never be thy bride. So she shall die, but one will die with her. Hast come to such a pass as threaten me?

What threat is this vain counsels to reprove? Vain fool, to instruct thy betters, thou shalt rue it. Wirt not. not my father, I had said thou hearest. Play not the spaniel, thou a woman's slave. When thou dost speak, must no man make reply. This passes bounds. By heaven thou shalt not rate and jeer and float me with impunity, off with the hateful thing that she may die at once, beside her bridegroom, in his sight.

Think not that in my sight the maid shall die or by my side. never shalt thou again behold my face hereafter go consort with friends who like a madman for their mate exit haman end of part one part two of antigone by sophocles translated by francis store part two thy son has gone my liege in angry haste fell is the wrath of youth beneath a smart let him go vent his fury like a fiend these sisters twain he shall not save from death. Surely thou means not to slay them both. I stand corrected, only her who touched the body. And what death is she to die? She shall be taken to some desert place by man untrod,

and in a rock-hewn cave, with food no more than to avoid the taint that homicide might bring on all the state, buried alive. There, let her call in aid the king of death, the one God she reveres, or, learn too late, a lesson learnt at last, tis labour lost to reverence the dead. Love resistless in fight, all yield at the glance of thine eye.

Love who pillowed all night on a maiden's sheik dost lie over the upland holes, shall mortals not yield to thee. Mad are thy subjects all, and even the wisest heart, straight to fall. will fall at a touch of thy poisoned dart. Thou didst kindle the strife, this feud of kinsman with kin, by the eyes of a winsome wife and the yearning her heart to win. For as her consort still enthroned with justice above, thou bendest man to thy will, O all invincible love, I myself am born aside, From justice as I view this bride, O sight and eye in tears to drown, Antigone, So young, so fair, Thus hurry down, Death's bower, With the dead to share.

Friends, Countryman, My last farewell I make, My journey's done, One last, longing, longing, look I take at the bright sun. For death, who puts to sleep both young and old, hails my young life, and beckons me to Acheron's dark fold, an unwed wife. No youths have sung the marriage-song for me, my bridal-bred, no maids have strewn with flowers from the lee. Tis death I wed. But bethink thee thou art sped, great and glorious to the dead. Thou the sword's edge hast not tasted, No decease thy frame hath wasted. Freely thou alone shalt go, living to the dead below.

Nay, but the piteous tale I've heard men tell of tantalus doomed child, Chained upon syphilis high rocky fell, that clung like ivy wild, Drenched by the pelting rain and whirling snow, left there to pine, while on her frozen breast the tears I flow. Her fate is mine. She was sprung of gods divine, Mortals we of mortal line, Like renown with gods to gain,

Recompenses all thy pain. Take this alas to thy tomb, Hers in life and death thy doom. Alack! Alack! Ye mock me. Is it meat thus to insult me living, to my face? Cease by our country's altars I entreat, ye lordly rulers of a lordly race. O fount of Dersy, wood-embowoured plain where Theban chariots to victory speed, Mark ye the cruel laws that now have wrought my bane, the friends who show no pity in my need.

Was ever fate like mine? O monstrous doom! Within a rock-built prison sepulchered, to fade and wither in a living, tomb, and alien midst the living and the dead. In thy boldness overrash, madly thou thy foot did stash, Gainsst high justice altars stare. Thou a father's guild dost bear. At this thou touchest my most poignant pain, my ill-starred father's piteous disgrace, the taint of blood, the hereditary stain that clings to all of Labdicus' famed race. Woe worth the monstrous marriage-bed where lay a mother with the son her womb had borne!

Therein I was conceived. Woe worth the day, fruit of incestuous sheets, a maid forlorn! And now I pass, accursed and unwed, to meet them as an alien there below. And thee, O brother, in marriage ill bestead, twas thy dead hand that dealt me this death blow. Religion has her change, it is true. Let right be paid when rights are due. Yet is it ill to disobey, the power so hold by might the sway. Thou hast withstood authority, a self-willed rebel, thou must die. Unwept, unwed, unfriended, hence I go. No longer may I see the day's bright eye, not one friend left to share my bitterly. woe, and o'er my ashes heave one passing sigh. If wail and lamentation ought availed to stave off death, I trow they'd never end. Away with her, and having walled her up in a rock-vaulted tomb as I ordained, leave her alone,

at liberty to die, or if she choose to live in solitude, the tomb her dwelling. We, in either case, are guiltless, as concerns this maiden's blood, only on earth no Lodging shall she find. O grave, O bridal bower, O prison-house hewn from the rock, My everlasting home, Whither I go to join the mighty host of Kinsfolk, Persephus' guests long dead,

The last of all, of all more miserable, I pass, my destined span of years cut short. And yet, good hope is mine That I shall find a welcome from my sire, A welcome, too, from thee, my mother and my brother, dear. From with these hands I laved and debted your limbs in death, And poured libations on your grave. And last, my polonices unto thee I paid due rights, and this my recompense.

Yet am I justified in wisdom's eyes. For even had it been some child of mine or husband mouldering in death's decay, I had not wrought this deed despite the state. what is the law i call an aid tis thus i argue had it been a husband dead i might have wed another and have borne another child to take the dead child's place but now my sire and mother both are dead no second brother can be born for me thus by the law of conscience i was led to honour thee dear brother and was judged by creon guilty of an heinous crime and now he drags me like a criminal a A bride unwed, immersed of marriage-song and marriage-bed and joys of motherhood, by friends deserted to a living grave! What ordinance of heaven have I transgressed?

Hereafter can I look to any God for succour, call on any man for help? Alas, my piety is impious deemed. Well, if such justice is approved of heaven, I shall be taught by suffering my sin. But if the sin is theirs, O may they suffer no worse is ill. than the wrongs they do to me the same ungovernable will drives like gale the maiden still therefore my guards who let her stay shall smart full sore for their delay ah woe is me this word i hear brings death most near i have no comfort what he saith what tends no other thing than death my fatherland city of thebes divine ye gods of thebes went spread my line look puissant lords of thebes on me the last of all your royal house ye see martyred by men of sin undone such meed my piety hath won

Exit Antigone. Like to thee that maiden bright, Danai, in her brass-bound tower, once exchanged the glad sunlight, for a cell her bridal-bower. And yet she sprang of royal line, My child like thine, And nursed the seed by her conceiv Of Zeb's descending in a golden shower. Strange are the ways of fate her power, Nor wealth nor arms with stand nor tower, nor brass proud ships that rest the sea from fate can flee. Thus Trias child the Rashidonian king, for words of high disdain, did Bacchus to a rocky

dungeon bring, to call the madness of a fevered brain, his frenzy past, he learnt at last, madness dives against a god to fling, for once he feign had quenched the Menad's fire, and of the tuneful nine provoked the ire. By the iron rocks that guard the double main, on Bosporus lone strand, where stretcheth Salmidesov's plain, in the wild Thracian land, there on his borders are as witnessed, The vengeance by a jealous step maintained, the gall that trickled from a spindle red, the sightless orbits of her stepson's twain. Wasting away they mourned their pictures' doom, the blasted issue of their mother's womb,

but she her lineage could trace to great erective's race, daughter of Borias in her sire's vast caves reared where the tempest raves swift as his horses over the hills she sped a child of gods yet she my child like thee by destiny that knows no death nor age she too was vanquished enter tyresius and boy princes of thebes two wayfarers as one having betwixt us eyes for one we are here The blind man cannot move without a guide. What tidings, old Tyresius. I will tell thee, and when thou hearest thou must heed the seer. Thus far I ne'er have disobeyed thy reed. So hast thou steer to the ship of state aright.

I know it, and I gladly own my debt. Bethink thee that thou treadest once again the razor edge of peril. What is this? Thy words inspire a dread presentiment. The divination of my arts shall tell. Sitting upon my throne of augury, as is my wont, where every fowl of heaven find harbourage, upon mine ears was born a jargon strange,

of twitterings, hoots, and screams. So knew I that each bird at the other tear with bloody talons, for the whirr of wings could signify nor del's. Perturbed in soul, I straight essayed the sacrifice by fire on blazing altars. But the god of fire came not in flame, and from the thigh bones dripped and sputtered in the ashes a foul ooze. Gull bladders cracked and spurted up,

the fat melted and fell and left the thigh bones. bear. Such are the signs taught by this lad I read as I guide others, so the boy guides me. The frustrate signs of oracles grown dumb. O king, thy willful temper ails the state, for all our shrines and altars are profaned by what has filled the more of dogs and crows, the flesh of Oedipus unburied sun. Therefore the angry gods abominate our litanies and our burnt offerings. Therefore no birds trill out a happy note, gorged with the carnival of human gore.

Oh, ponder this, my son, to err is. common to all men, but the man who having erred hugs not his errors, but repents and seeks the cure, is not a wasteral nor unwise. No fool the sore goes like the obstinate fool. Let death disarm thy vengeance, O forbear to vex the dead! What glory wilt thou win by slaying twice the slain. I mean thee well, Countsell's most welcome, if I promise gain.

Old man, ye all let fly at me your shafts, like archers at a target. Yea, ye set your soothsayer on me. Pedlars are ye all, and I the merchandise ye buy and sell. Go to and make your profit where ye will, silver of Sardis change for gold of end. He will not purchase this man's burial,

not though the winged ministers of Zeus should bear him in their talons to his throne. Not Ian in awe of prodigy so dire would I permit his burial, for I know no human soldier can assail the gods. This too I know, Tyresius, dires the fall of craft and cunning when it tries to gloss foul treachery with fair words for filthy gain. Alas! Doth any know and lay to heart! Is this the prelude to some hackneyed-saw? How far good counsel is the best of goods! True as unwisdom is the worst of ills.

Thou art infected with that ill thyself. I will not ban the insults with thee, seer. And yet thou sayest my waltzies, my lord. My prophecies are frauds. Prophets are all a money-getting tribe. And kings are all a lucre-loving race. Dost know at whom thou glancest, me, thy lord? Lord of the state and saviour, thanks to me.

Skilled prophet art thou but too wrong, inclined. Take heed. Thou wilt provoke me to reveal the mystery, deep hidden in my breast. Say on, but see it be not said for gain. Such thou, methinks, till now hast judged my words. Be sure thou wilt not traffic on my wits. No, then for sure. The coursers of the sun not many times shall run their race, before thou shalt have given the fruit of thine own loins,

inquittance of thy murder, life for life. For that thou hast entombed a living soul. and sent below a denizen of earth, and wronged the nether gods, by leaving here a corpse unlaved, unwept, unsepulgurred. Herein thou hast no part, nor in the gods in heaven, and thou usurps the power not thine, For this the avenging spirits of heaven and hell Who dogg the steps of sin are on thy trail What these have suffered, thou shalt suffer too. And now, consider whether bought by gold, I prophesy.

For yet a little while, and sound of lamentation shall be heard of men and women through thy desolate halls. And all thy neighbour states are leagues to avenge their mangled warriors who have found a grave, either more of wolf or hound, or winged bird that flying homewards taints their city's air. These are the shafts that, like a bowman, I, provoked to anger, Loosen at thy breast, unearling, and they're smart, thou shalt not shun. Oh, boy, lead me home, that he may vent his spleen on younger men,

and learn to curb his tongue with gentler manners than his present mood. Exit Tyresius. my leech, that man hath gone for telling woe, and, oh, believe me, since these chrysad locks, were like the raven never have I known, the prophet's warning to the state to fail. I know it, too, and it perplexes me. To yield is grievous, but the obstinate soul that fights with fate is smitten grievously. Son of many oaths, list to good advice. What should I do? advise me, I will heed.

Go free the maiden from a rocky cell, and for the unburied outlaw, build a tomb. Is that your counsel, you would have me yield? Yeah, king, this instant, vengeance of the gods is swift to overtake the impenitent. Oh, what a wrench it is to sacrifice my heart's resolve, but fate is ill to fight. Go, trust not others, do it quick myself. I go hot foot. Be stir ye one and all, my henchmen, get ye axes, speed away to yonder eminence,

I too will go for all my resolution this way sways. T'was I that bound, I too, will set her free. Almost I am persuaded it is best to keep through life the law ordained of old. Exit Crian. Thou by many names adored, child of Sevs the god of thunder, of a Theban bride the wonder, Fair Italia's guardian lord, In the deep and bosombed glades of the Elysinean queen, Haunt of revelers men and maids, Dionysus thou art seen. Where Ismenus rolls his waters, Where the dragon's teeth were sown, Where the Bacanals thy daughters round thee roam, There thy home,

Thebes, O Bacus, is thine own. Thie on the two-crested rock lurid flaming torches sea, where Corisian maiden's flock, thee the springs of Castile. Thy nieces bastion ivy clad, by shores with clustered vineyards glad, there to thee the hymn rings out, and through our streets we Theban's shout, All hall to thee, ebby, ebby! O, as thou loves this city best of all, To thee and to thy mother living-stricken, In our dire need we call. Thou seest with what the plague our townsfolk sicken, Thy ready help we crave, Whether adown Parnassian heights descending, Or over the roaring straits thy swift was wending, Save us, O save! Brightest of all the awe, the awe, that breathe forth light authentic son of sev's immortal king leader of all the voices of the night come and thy train of theads with thee bring thy maddened rout who dance before thee all night long and shout thy handmaids we evi e v

enter messenger attend all ye who dwell beside the halls of cadmus and amphion no man's life as of one ten would I praise or blame. For fortune with a constant ebb and rise, casts down and raises, high and low alike, and none can read a mortal's horoscope. Take Crian. He me thought, if any man, was enviable. He had saved this land of Cadmus from our enemies, and attained a monarch's powers and ruled the state supreme, while a right noble issue crowned his bliss. Now all is gone and wasted, for a life without life's joys I can't. count a living death. You'll tell me he has ample store of wealth, the pomp and circumstance of kings, but if these give no pleasure, all the rest I count the shadow of a shade, nor would

I weigh his wealth and power against a dram of joy. What fresh woes brings thou to the royal house? Both dead, and they who live deserve to die. Who is the slayer, who the victim speak? Heyman, his blood shed by no stranger hand. What mean he by his father's or his own? His own, in anger for his father's crime. O prophet, what thou speakest comes to pass.

So stands the case, now tis for you to act. Lo, from the palace gates I see approaching, Crayon's unhappy wife, every ditcher. Comes she by chance, or learning her son's fate? Enter Eurydice. Ye men of Thebes, I overheard your talk, As I passed out to offer up my prayer to palace, And was drawing back the bar to open wide the door.

Upon my ears there broke a wail that told of household woe. Stricken with terror, in my handmaid's arms I fell and fainted. But repeat your tale, to one not unacquaint with misery. Dear mistress, I was there, and will relate the perfect truth, omitting not one word. Why should we glows and flatter, to be proved liars hereafter? Truth is ever best. Well, in attendance on my liege, your lord, I crossed the plain to its utmost margin, where the course of Polyneses, gnawn, and mauled, was lying yet.

We offered first a prayer to Pluto and the goddess of crossways, with contrite hearts, to deprecate their ire, then laved with lustral waves the mangled course, Laided on fresh-lopped branches, lit a pyre, And to his memory piled a mighty mound of Mother Earth. Then to the caverned rock, The bridal chamber of the maid and death, We sped about to enter.

But a guard, heard from that godless shrine, A far shrill wail, And ran back to our lord to tell the news. But as he nearer drew, A hollow sound of lamentation to the king was born, He groaned and uttered then this bitter plaint. Am I a prophet? Miserable me.

Is this the saddest path I ever trod? Tis my son's voice that calls me. On, press on, my henchman, Haste with double speed to the tomb, Where rocks down torn have made a gap, Look in, and tell me if in truth I recognize the voice of Haman, Or am heaven deceived. So at the bidding of our distraught lord, we looked,

And in the cavern's vaulted gloom, I saw the maiden lying strangled there, A noose of linen twined about her neck, and hard beside her, clasping her cold form, Her lover lay bewailing his dead bride, death-wetted, and his father's cruelty. When the king saw him, with a terrible groan he moved towards him crying, "'Oh, my son, what hast thou done? What ailed thee? What mischance has reft thee of thy reason? Oh, come forth, come forth, my son, thy father supplicates!' But the son glared at him with tiger eyes.

Spat in his face, and then, without a word, drew his two-hilted sword and smote, but missed his father flying backwards. Then the boy, wroth with himself, poor wretch, Incontinent fell on his sword, and drove it through his side home, but yet breathing, clasped in his lax arms the maid, her pallid cheek incarnadined with his expiring gasps. So there they lay, two corpses, one in death, his marriage rites are consummated in the halls of death, A witness that, of ill's whate'er befall, Mortals' unwisdom is the worst of all. Exit, Eurydice. What makest thou or this?

The queen has gone, without a word importing good or ill? I marvel too, but entertain good hope. Tis that she shrinks in public to lament her son's sad ending, and in privacy would with her maidens mourn a private loss. Trust me, she is discreet and will not err. I know not, but strained silence, so I deem. It's no less ominous than excessive grief. Well, let us to the house, and solve our doubts,

whether the tumult of her heart conceals some fell design. It may be thou art right, unnatural silence signifies no good. Lo, the king himself appears, evidence he will him bears, Against himself, ah me, I quake, gains the king such charge to make. but all must own the guilt is his and his alone. Woe for sin of minds perverse, deadly fraught with mortal curse, Behold us slain and slayers all akin.

Woe for my counsel dire conceived in sin! Alas, my son, life scarce begun, thou wast undone. The fault was mine, mine only, oh, my son. Too late thou seemest to perceive the truth. By sorrow schooled. Heavy the hand of God, thorny and rough the paths my feet have trod. Humbolded my pride. My pleasure turned to pain.

Poor mortals how we labor all in vain. Enter second messenger. Sorrows are thine, my lord. and more to come one lying at thy feet another yet more grievous waits thee when thou com'st home what woe is lacking to my tale of woes thy wife the mother of thy dead son here lies stricken by a fresh inflicted blow how bottomless the pit does claim me too o death what is this word he saith this woeful messenger say is it is it fit to slay anew a man already slain? Is death at work again, stroke upon stroke, first son, then mother slain? Look for thyself. She lies for all to view. Alas! Another added woe, I see. What more remains to crown my agony? A minute past I clasped a lifeless son,

and now another victim death has won. Unhappy mother, most unhappy son. Beside the altar on a keen-aged sword, she fell and closed her eyes in night but erst. She mourned for Megarev's who nobly died. Long since, then for her son with her last breath, she cursed thee, the slayer of her child. I shudder with a fright, oh for a two-edged sword to slur,

to slay outright a wretch like me, made one with misery. Tis true that thou were charged by the dead queen, as author of both deaths, hers and her sons. In what wise was her self-destruction rot? Hearing the loud lament above her son, with her own hand she stabbed herself to the heart. I am the guilty cause, I did the deed, thy murderer.

Yea, I guilty plead. My henchmen, lead me hence. Away, away, away, a cipher, less than nothing. No delay. Well said, if in disaster ought as well, His past endure demand the speed is cure. Come, fate, a friend at need. Come with all speed,

Come, my best friend, and speed my end. Away, away, let me not look upon another day. This for the morrow to us our present needs, that they whom it concerns must take in hand. I join your prayer that echoes my desire. O pray not, prayers are idle from the doom. A fate for mortus refuge is there none. Away with me.

a worthless wretch who slew unwitting thee my son thy mother too whither to turn i know not every way leads but astray and on my head i feel the heavy weight of crushing fate of happiness the chiefest part is a wise heart and to defraud the gods in aught with perrude's fraud swelling words of high-flown might mightily the gods to smite chast is meant for errors past wisdom brings to age at last end of part two end of antigone by sophocles translated by francis store