If thou'rt the maid; it is for thee I care.
CREON.
Villain, why art thou wrangling with thy sire?
HAEMON.
Because thou errest from the path of right.
CREON.
Err I in claiming reverence for my state?
HAEMON
Reverence upon religion tramples not.
CREON.
O caitiff soul, thrall of a woman's face!
HAEMON
Thou wilt not see me by aught base enthralled.
CREON.
Yet is thy whole discourse a plea for her.
HAEMON.
For thee and me, and for the gods below.
CREON.
This maid shall never be thy living bride.
HAEMON.
Then will she die, and will not die alone.
CREON.
Hast thou the effrontery thus to threaten me?
HAEMON.
To gainsay folly, call'st thou that a threat?
CREON.
Thou'lt rue thy preaching, void thyself of sense.
HAEMON.
I'd say thou dotest, wert thou not my sire.
CREON.
Slave of a woman, do not gird at me!
HAEMON.
Wouldst thou have all the talking to thyself?
CREON.
Indeed! By heaven above, thou shalt repent!
Thus censuring first and then reviling me.
Bring out that hateful thing that she may die
Forthwith, and here before her lover's eyes.
HAEMON.
Never before my eyes, believe it not;
A witness of her death I will not be,
Nor shalt thou look upon my face again.
Rave at the friends who will thy raving brook.
(_Exit_ HAEMON.)
CHORUS.
O Prince, the youth has rushed away in wrath,
And at his years anguish is violent.
CREON.
Let him go vent his overweening pride;
These maidens twain shall not escape from death.
CHORUS.
What? Is it thy resolve that both shall die?
CREON.
Not she that took no part. Thou hast well said.
CHORUS.
What is to be the manner of her death?
CREON.
I will convey her to a lonely place,
And shut her in a rock-hewn prison-house,
With food sufficient, for religion's sake,
Whereby we from pollution save the State.
There unto Hades, her sole deity,
Pattering her prayers, she will drive death away,
Or at the last be taught how vain it is
To spend devotion on the shades below.
* * * * *
_THE POWER OF LOVE._
LINES 781-800.
CHORUS.
Unconquered love, against whose might
Wealth's golden mansion hath no ward,
That in the maiden's dimpled cheek by night
Keepest thy guard;
The ocean wave to bear thy tread is taught;
The rural homestead, gods, and men are brought
Alike thy power to own; who feels it is distraught.
'Tis thou that upright hearts and pure dost lead
From virtue's ways to ways of sin.
'Tis thou whose influence in our Thebes does breed
Strife among kin.
O'er all prevails the charm of beauty's eyes,
Charm that with Law Supreme in empire vies,
For Aphrodite's power all rebel force defies.
* * * * *
_ANTIGONE IS SENT TO HER DEATH._
LINES 882-928.
CREON.
Be sure, of wails and dirges before death,
If leave were given, we ne'er should have an end.
Lead her away and in the rocky vault
Forthwith immure her, as my order was.
There leave her by herself, either to die,
Or linger on in that sepulchral cell.
We of this maiden's blood are clear, and yet
She will no longer dwell with those above.
ANTIGONE.
O tomb, my bridal bower, O rock-hewn cell,
My home that art to be, whither I go
To meet my kin, of whom Persephone
In her dark mansion holds a multitude.
Last of the train and most unfortunate,
I now must die before my destined hour.
And yet my hope is sure that by my sire,
By thee, beloved mother, and by thee,
Dearest of brothers, welcomed I shall be.
This hand washed every corpse and decked it out
For sepulture; this hand upon each grave
Libations poured; and, Polynices, now
In tending thy remains I meet this doom.
Yet wisdom will approve my honouring thee:
Had I a mother been and lost a child,
Had I been wed and had my husband died,
I would not thus have braved the public ire.
What is my principle, perchance you ask?
My husband lost, I might have wed again,
I might in time have borne a second child;
But, with both sire and mother in the grave,
Hope of a second brother there is none.
Upon this principle I honoured thee,
Dearest of brothers; but to Creon seemed
A sinner and the worst of criminals.
And now he hales me to the place of death.
From marriage and of bridal hymn cut off,
Cut off from joys of love and motherhood,
And reft of friends, poor maiden as I am,
I must go down into a living grave.
And yet what law divine have I transgressed?
How could I look for succour to the gods?
Whither for comfort go, when piety
Is thus requited with the pains of sin?
If this is righteous in the eye of heaven,
I'll own the justice of my chastisement;
But if the sin be on the other side,
May they but bear that which they lay on me.
* * * * *
_THE CATASTROPHE._
Creon, having been brought to repentance by the denunciations
of the prophet Tiresias, sets out to bury the corpse of
Polynices, and release Antigone from the cave of death. The
issue is recounted by a messenger to the Queen Eurydice.
LINES 1155-1243.
MESSENGER.
Ye, that by Cadmus and Amphion's shrine
Do dwell, no mortal's life before its end
Will be by me pronounced blessed or unblessed.
Fortune is ever casting down the high,
Fortune is ever lifting up the low;
And none can prophesy what change may come.
Creon I deemed an enviable man:
He from our enemy had saved our state,
And, vested with a monarch's power supreme,
Ruled happy in the promise of his heir.
Now all is gone, for when a man has lost
The things that make life sweet, he lives in truth
No more, but is an animated corpse.
Have in your house what store of wealth you will,
Dwell in the state of sumptuous royalty,
Where joy is absent, I account the rest
Less than a shadow of a wreath of smoke.
CHORUS.
What evil has befallen our royal house?
MESSENGER.
Dead are some, others guilty of their death.
CHORUS.
Who is the murdered, who the murderer, say.
MESSENGER.
Haemon is dead, unnaturally slain.
CHORUS.
Slain by whose hand, his father's or his own?
MESSENGER.
His own, stung by his sire's cruel deed.
CHORUS.
O seer, thy prophesy has come too true.
MESSENGER.
So stands the case, whereon deliberate.
(_Enter_ EURYDICE.)
CHORUS.
Yonder is the ill-starred Eurydice,
The Queen of Creon; from the house she comes
By chance, or brought by tidings of her son.
EURYDICE.
Citizens all, I overheard your words,
As from our portal I was setting forth
To pay my vows to Pallas at her fane.
Just as I drew the bolts that hold the door,
Sounds of disaster to our family
Smote on my ear. Affrighted, I fell back
In my attendants' arms and swooned away.
Repeat what then ye said; I am well schooled
In misery, and can bear to hear the worst.
MESSENGER.
Good lady, I was witness of the scene,
And nothing will suppress in my report.
Why tell a flattering tale, when soon the lie
Must be exposed? Plain truth is ever best.
I went as an attendant with the King
To yon high level where, a prey to dogs,
The uncared-for corpse of Polynices lay.
The corpse, with prayers put up to Hecate
And Pluto to look kindly on the dead,
We reverently washed, wrapped the remains
In fresh-plucked boughs, and burned them on a pyre.
Then on the dead we heaped his native earth.
Next to the maiden's bridal bower of death,
Within the hollowed rock, we took our way.
One of us hears afar a wailing shrill
Come from the spot where lay the unhallowed cell.
And running, tells to Creon what he heard.
To Creon's ear, as he drew nigh, was borne
A sound confused of weeping, and he cried
In bitterness, "Unhappy that I am,
Will my heart prove a prophet? Have I come
The most disastrous journey of my life?
Sure it is my son's voice that greets my ear.
Attendants, hasten to the cave of death,
Tear up the stones, creep to the chamber's mouth,
Tell me if Haemon's voice indeed I hear,
Or is it some illusion of my sense?"
We as our master in his anguish bade,
Looked in, and in the inmost cell we saw
The maiden hanging from the roof and dead,
A noose of shredded linen round her neck;
The youth, his arms folded around her waist,
Bewailing his lost bride, his marriage hour
Turned to despair, his father's cruelty.
Seeing him, Creon, with a bitter cry,
Moved towards him, and in anguish shrieked to him,
"My son, what hast thou done? what frantic thought
Possessed thy mind, how wast thou thus distraught?
Come forth, I do entreat thee, son, come forth."
Haemon, for answer, with eyes flashing rage,
Looked mute abhorrence, drew his two-edged sword,
And would have struck his father; but the King
Fled and escaped. Then on himself he turned
His wrath, and without more, into his breast
Drove to the hilt his sword, and conscious still,
Clung round the maiden with his failing arms,
While, swiftly welling from his wound, the blood
Spread over her pale cheek its crimson shower.
There lies he dead, with arms around the dead,
His marriage feast held in the world below,
Teaching by sad example that the worst
Of human evils is a mind distraught.
AJAX
Ajax and Ulysses were competitors for the arms of Achilles. The prize
was awarded to Ulysses. Ajax, deeming himself wronged, sallies forth
from his tent one night to take vengeance on those who had wronged
him, especially Ulysses and the two sons of Atreus. Athene, ever
watchful for her favourite Hellenes, smites Ajax with mental
blindness, so that instead of falling on his enemies, he falls on the
flocks and herds of the camp. Restored to his right mind, and finding
how he has dishonoured himself, he falls upon his sword.
* * * * *
_THE HERO'S MADNESS._
Tecmessa, a captive with whom Ajax lives as his wife, tells the Chorus
of Salaminian mariners what has befallen their chieftain.
LINES 284-330.
TECMESSA.
Thou shalt hear all as one that shares our lot.
It was the dead of night, and now no more
The camp fires shone, when Ajax took his sword,
Uncalled, and was in act to leave the tent,
And I reproved him. "Ajax," I exclaimed,
"What errand is it upon which you go
Unbidden, summoned by no messenger,
No trumpet call; the host is all asleep?"
Brief was his answer in a well-known strain:
"Peace, woman; silence best beseems thy sex."
I said no more. He sallied forth alone.
What may have there befallen I cannot say.
Back to the tent he came, leading along
As captives bulls and herdsmen's dogs and sheep,
Of which a part he strangled, others felled
And cleft in twain; others again he lashed,
Treating those beasts like human prisoners.
Then rushing out, he with some phantom talked,
Launching against the sons of Atreus now,
Now 'gainst Ulysses, ravings void of sense,
Boasting how he had paid their insults home.
Then once more rushing back into the tent,
By slow degrees to his right mind he came.
But when he saw the tent with carnage heaped,
Crying aloud, he smote his head, and then
Flung himself down amid the gory wreck,
And with clenched fingers grasped and tore his hair.
So a long time he sat and spoke no word.
At last, with imprecations terrible
If I refused, he bade me tell him all,
What had befallen and how it came about.
And I, my friends, o'erwhelmed with terror, told
All that I knew of that which he had done.
Thereat he uttered piercing cries of grief,
Such as had never come from him before,
For in loud lamentations to indulge
He ever held a craven weakling's part,
And, stifling outcries, moaned not loud but deep,
Like the deep roaring of a wounded bull.
But in this plight, prostrate and desperate,
Refusing food and drink, my hero lies
Amidst the mangled bodies, motionless.
That he is brooding on some fell design,
His wails and exclamations plainly show.
But, O kind friends, 'twas to this end I came,
Enter the tent and aid me if ye can;
The words of friends are desperate sorrow's cure.
* * * * *
_REMORSE_.
Ajax bewails his own fall. Tecmessa tries to comfort him,
and turn him from violent courses.
LINES 430-595.
CHORUS.
I know not how, in case so desperate,
To bid thee speak, or bid thee to refrain.
AJAX.
Alas! who would have thought my name would prove
[Footnote: There is a play upon the name [Greek: Aias], the first
syllable of which is an ejaculation of sorrow unreproduceable in
English.]
So correspondent to the bearer's state?
Once and again that syllable of woe,
Being with woe o'erwhelmed, I may repeat.
My father once, from this Idaean land,
Crowned with the prize of valour by the host,
And full of glory, to his home returned;
While I, his son, coming to this same land
Of Troy with prowess no whit less than his,
After achievements not less glorious,
Meet from the Argives scorn and contumely.
And yet of this much am I well assured,
That had Achilles living been the judge
To whom his arm and valours prize should go,
Mine, and mine only, would those arms have been.
But now the Atridae to a cunning knave,
My exploits misprized, have surrendered them.
And had not strong delusion warped my sense,
And clouded o'er my vision, never more
Would they have an unrighteous sentence given.
But that stern-eyed, resistless child of Zeus,
Just as I put forth my avenging hand,
Brought madness on me, made me miss my aim,
And dye my sword with blood of slaughtered kine.
They have escaped, and they will mock at me,
Through no default of mine. When deity
Blasts the strong arm, weakness may strength defy.
What now am I to do, since of the gods
I am abhorred, of the Hellenic host
Hated, to Troy and all this land a foe?
Shall I to their own quarrel leave the Kings,
Unmoor, and homeward cross the Aegean wave?
How can I face my father Telamon?
How can he bear to look upon the son
Who comes to him disgraced, without the prize,
When glory's wreath has circled his own brow?
That may not be. Then shall I fling myself
Alone upon the Trojan battlements,
And having done some deed of valour, fall?
That might to the two Kings some joy afford.
That, too, is naught. On something I must think
Whereby I to my agéd sire may prove
That from his loins sprung no unworthy son;
For vile it is to crave for longer life,
When longer life brings no release from ill.
How can addition to the sum of days,
When all is but a respite, joy bestow?
I would not give a doit for any man
Who lets his heart be fired with idle hopes.
To live with honour, or with honour die,
Alone becomes the noble. I have done.
CHORUS.
None, Ajax, will pretend that these thy words
Are not thy own, or come not from thy heart;
But now control thyself. Discard these thoughts,
And let the counsels of thy friends prevail.
TECMESSA.
Ajax, my lord and master, man knows not
Aught sadder than a bondsman's helplessness.
I, that a freeman for my father had,
First of the Phrygian race in wealth and power,
Am now a slave. So have the gods decreed,
And thy strong arm determined. Of thy bed
Thus made the partner, I am true to thee,
And do implore thee by our household Zeus,
And by the couch which we together press,
Be not so cruel as to leave thy mate
In thraldom, and a prey to slanderous tongues.
Know, when thou diest, thy protection gone,
The Argives will that self-same day drag off
Me and thy helpless child to slavery.
Then will some slave-master speak bitter words,
Voiding his bile on us: 'Behold the mate
Of Ajax, once the hero of our host,
Fallen from her pride of place to menial toil.'
So will they say. For me, where fate may drive
I drift; but shame will be on thee and thine.
Think of thy father, in his drear old age
Bereft of thee; think of thy mother, too,
With her grey head, who puts up many a prayer
That she may welcome home her son alive.
Have pity on thy child, who will be left
In infancy, uncherished, and the ward
Of unkind guardians; lay to heart the woes
Which loss of thee would bring on him and me.
For I have nothing left to which to look
But thee; thy spear has laid my city low,
While, by another doom, my parents both
Have gone to dwell in the abodes of death.
What country can Tecmessa have but thee?
What staff of life? thou art my all in all.
Be mindful of thy mate; to taste love's joy
Is to owe something to the claim of love.
Affection still should be affection's meed;
When kindness leaves no trace upon the soul,
That soul is void of true nobility.
CHORUS.
Ajax, I would thy heart could beat with mine,
For if it could, her words would win thy praise.
AJAX.
Praise in full measure shall she have from me,
If she has sense to do what I command.
TECMESSA.
Whatever thou commandest, I will do.
AJAX.
Bring me my boy that I may look on him.
TECMESSA.
The truth to tell, I sent him hence in fear.
AJAX.
In fear of what? Of all this wretchedness?
TECMESSA.
Fear that if thou shouldst meet him, he might die.
AJAX.
That would have well beseemed my destiny.
TECMESSA.
My care prevented that calamity.
AJAX.
I do commend thy foresight heartily.
TECMESSA.
What can I do herein to serve thee more?
AJAX.
Let me behold the boy and speak to him.
TECMESSA.
He is at hand in the attendant's care.
AJAX.
Let him come hither, then, without delay.
TECMESSA.
My child, thy father calls. Whoe'er thou art
His infant steps that guidest, bring him here.
AJAX.
Is the child out of hearing or at hand?
TECMESSA.
Behold, the servant leading him is near.
(_Enter Attendant with_ EURYSACES.)
AJAX.
Give me the boy; he will not be afraid
To look upon this bloody slaughter-house,
If verily he is his father's son.
At once we must in his sire's rugged ways
Train the young colt and mould him like to me.
Boy, mayst thou be more lucky than thy sire,
Else his true son, and thou'lt be not amiss.
Already have I cause to envy thee,
In that thou knowest nothing of these woes;
For blessed are the days of ignorance,
When joy and grief are both untasted still.
But when the time is come, see that thou show
My enemies what blood is in thy veins.
Till then, sweet airs breathe on thine infancy.
Be happy, boy, and cheer thy mother's heart.
I ween the Achaean lives not that on thee
Will dare to trample, e'en when I am gone,
So good a warden shall I leave for thee
In Teucer, who shall tend thee well, though now
He is far off, upon the foeman's trail.
And now, my warriors, that have sailed with me,
I crave one service at your loving hands,
And pray ye will of Teucer crave the same:
Bear to my home the boy, that Telamon
And Eriboea may their grandson see,
And he may be the prop of their old age.
My arms, no judges, nor my honour's foe
Shall ere set up as prizes for the host.
My shield, Eurysaces, my son, take thou,
[Footnote: Signifying "him of the broad shield."]
Thy namesake, by its well-knit handles wield
The impenetrable orb of seven-fold hide.
My other arms shall share their master's grave.
And now, Tecmessa, take the boy again;
Shut up the tent, and let us have no wails
Here at the door; women are made of tears.
Shut up the tent, I say; never wise leech
Did patter spells when steel was the sole cure.
CHORUS.
I tremble as I hear thy heated words,
The sharpness of thy speech disquiets me.
TECMESSA.
Ajax, my lord, what dost thou meditate?
AJAX.
Question me not. 'Tis good to be discreet.
TECMESSA.
Fear overwhelms my soul. Oh, by the gods,
And by thy child, I pray desert us not.
AJAX.
Thou art importunate. Dost thou not know
That I no more am debtor to the gods?
TECMESSA.
Hush! Be not impious.
AJAX.
Speak not to the deaf.
TECMESSA.
Wilt thou not yield?
AJAX.
Thou pratest overmuch.
TECMESSA.
My lord, I quake.
AJAX.
Shut up the tent at once.
TECMESSA.
I do conjure thee.
AJAX.
Small must be thy sense,
If thou dost think to put this heart to school.
* * * * *
_THE RESOLVE_.
Ajax pretends to be softened, and to be going forth only for the
harmless purpose of purification in a running stream, though he is
really going to his death.
LINES 646-692.
AJAX.
Time in its long, immeasurable course,
Turns ever dark to light, and light to dark,
And nothing is past hope; the solemn oath
Is broken, and the stubborn heart gives way.
I, that was hard as tempered steel erewhile,
Am softened now by yonder woman's plaint.
I cannot bear to leave her desolate,
Or my boy fatherless among his foes.
I'll go to the fresh baths which lie beside
Yon cliff, that, having washed pollution off,
I may the goddess' heavy wrath avert.
I'll seek me out a solitary spot,
And there I'll hide this sword, this hateful sword,
Burying it where it shall be seen no more;
Let night and Hades be its armoury,
For ever since I took it as a gift
From Hector, our most mortal enemy,
Our Argive hearts have ne'er been kind to me.
True is the word, the gifts of enemies
Are no gifts, and they bring more loss than gain.
So for the future we shall learn to bow
To heaven's good will, and reverence the Kings;
Theirs is the power, submission is our part.
Whatever is most dread and masterful
Yields to authority: the winter's snow
In time makes way for summer crowned with fruits;
In time the weary round of night gives place
To the white steeds that bring returning day;
In time the blustering tempest leaves at rest
The roaring sea; in time profoundest sleep
Loosens its bond, and lets the sleeper wake;
Why should not time bring wisdom to us too?
By all means shall it. I have lately learned
That we should hate our enemy as one
Who yet may be a friend, and so far serve
Our friend as one that may to-morrow be
A friend no more, since, to the general,
Friendship is but a doubtful anchorage.
But for these matters all is ordered well.
Go in, Tecmessa, duly offer up
Thy prayers that my desire may be fulfilled.
And you, my comrades, honour equally
My wishes, and bid Teucer, when he comes,
Be a good friend to you and think of me.
Now go I forth upon my destined way.
Do ye my bidding, and ye soon may hear
That I have shuffled off this coil of ills.
* * * * *
_THE LAST SPEECH OF AJAX_.
LINES 815-865.
AJAX.
The sword is set where it may best strike home,
If leisure were to dally with such thoughts,
The sword that Hector gave, the bitterest foe
And worst that I did ever treat withal;
And it is planted in the soil of Troy,
That hostile soil, fresh whetted for its work.
Carefully have I fixed it where it stands,
That quickly I may die, and painlessly.
So far all's well; in what comes now, O Zeus,
On thee for aid, and with good right, I call.
'Tis no great favour that I crave of thee:
Let some one bear to Teucer the ill news,
That he may be the first to lift my corpse
From off the sword, fresh streaming with my blood.
Let me not, by some foeman first espied,
Be cast a prey to carrion fowl and dogs.
This, Zeus, I ask of thee, and I invoke
Hermes, who leads the dead, that at one bound
Pierced through, and with no lingering agony
I may be laid in my eternal sleep.
Last on the dread Erinnyes I call,
That ever-virgin sisterhood, who see
All that is done among mankind, to mark
How the Atridae have my ruin wrought.
Come, ye swift powers of retribution, come,
And flesh you on the whole Achaean host.
Thou sun, whose chariot traverses the sky,
When on my native land thou lookest down,
Draw for a while thy glittering rein, and tell
The story of my madness and my doom
To my grey-headed father, and to her
That bare me, and that when she hears this news
Will make the city echo with her wail.
But to no purpose are these weak laments;
The thing must now be done, and done with speed.
O death, O death, come and thy office do;
Long, where I go, our fellowship will be.
O thou glad daylight, which I now behold,
O sun, that ridest in the firmament,
I greet you, and shall greet you never more.
O light, O sacred soil of my own land,
O my ancestral home, my Salamis,
Famed Athens and my old Athenian mates,
Rivers and springs and plains of Troy, farewell;
Farewell all things in which I lived my life;
'Tis the last word of Ajax to you all,
When next I speak 'twill be to those below.
ELECTRA.
The subject of the "Electra" of Sophocles is the same as that of the
"Choëphoroe" (the Libation-bearers) of Aeschylus. It is the return of
Orestes from exile to take vengeance on Aegisthus and Clytaemnestra,
for their murder of his father, Agamemnon. Electra plays the same part
which she plays in the "Choëphoroe," while her sister, Chrysothemis,
plays that of gentleness and comparative weakness. Orestes, in this
play, returns with a fictitious story of his death which throws
Aegisthus and Clytaemnestra off their guard.
* * * * *
_THE SNARE_.
The Paedagogos (tutor or governor) of Orestes, to circumvent
Clytaemnestra, tells her a fictitious story of her son's death by a
fall in a chariot-race. Electra is on the scene.
LINES 660-822.
PAEDAGOGOS.
Good ladies, tell a stranger in your land,
Does King Aegisthus in this mansion dwell?
CHORUS.
He does, my friend; thou hast conjectured right.
PAEDAGOGOS.
Shall I conjecture right if I take this
To be his Queen? She has a queenly look.
CHORUS.
Thou'rt right again; the Queen indeed she is.
PAEDAGOGOS.
Hail, royal lady. From a friend I bring
News good for thee and for Aegisthus too.
CLYTAEMNESTRA.
Thy words are pleasing to mine ear; but first
I must inquire of thee, who sent thee here?
PAEDAGOGOS.