I stopped and thought and turned round in my path
And started to go back. My mind had much
To say to me. One time it said ‘You fool!
Why do you go to certain punishment?’
Another time ‘What? Standing still, you wretch?
You’ll smart for it, if Creon comes to hear
From someone else.’ And so I went along
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Debating with myself, not swift nor sure.
This way, a short road soon becomes a long one.
At last this was the verdict: I must come
And tell you. It may be worse than nothing; still,
I’ll tell you. I can suffer nothing more
Than what is in my fate. There is my comfort!
CREON. And what is this that makes you so
despondent?
GUARD. First for myself: I did not see it done,
I do not know who did it. Plainly then,
I cannot rightly come to any harm.
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CREON. You are a cautious fellow, building up
This barricade. You bring unpleasant news?
GUARD. I do, and peril makes a man pause long.
CREON. O, won’t you tell your story and be gone?
GUARD. Then, here it is. The body: someone has
Just buried it, and gone away. He sprinkled
Dry dust on it, with all the sacred rites.
CREON. What? Buried it? What man has so defied me?
GUARD. How can I tell? There was no mark of pickaxe,
No sign of digging; the earth was hard and dry
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And undisturbed; no waggon had been there;
He who had done it left no trace at all.
So, when the first day-watchman showed it to us,
We were appalled. We could not see the body;
It was not buried but was thinly covered
With dust, as if by someone who had sought
To avoid a curse.* Although we looked, we saw
No sign that any dog or bird had come
And torn the body. Angry accusations
Flew up between us; each man blamed another,
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And in the end it would have come to blows,
For there was none to stop it. Each single man
Seemed guilty, yet proclaimed his ignorance
And could not be convicted. We were all
Ready to take hot iron in our hands,
To walk through fire,* to swear by all the gods
We had not done it, nor had secret knowledge
Of any man who did it or contrived it.
We could not find a clue. Then one man spoke:
It made us hang our heads in terror, yet
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No one could answer him, nor could we see
Much profit for ourselves if we should do it.
He said ‘We must report this thing to Creon;
We dare not hide it’;* and his word prevailed.
I am the unlucky man who drew the prize
When we cast lots, and therefore I am come
Unwilling and, for certain, most unwelcome:
Nobody loves the bringer of bad news.
CHORUS. My lord, the thought has risen in my mind:
Do we not see in this the hand of God?
CREON. Silence! or you will anger me. You are
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An old man: must you be a fool as well?
Intolerable, that you suppose the gods
Should have a single thought for this dead body.
What? should they honour him with burial
As one who served them well, when he had come
To burn their pillared temples, to destroy
Their treasuries, to devastate their land
And overturn its laws? Or have you noticed
The gods prefer the vile? No, from the first
There was a muttering against my edict,
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Wagging of heads in secret, restiveness
And discontent with my authority.
I know that some of these perverted others
And bribed them to this act. Of all vile things
Current on earth, none is so vile as money.
For money opens wide the city-gates
To ravishers, it drives the citizens
To exile, it perverts the honest mind
To shamefulness, it teaches men to practise
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All forms of wickedness and impiety.
These criminals who sold themselves for money
Have bought with it their certain punishment;
For, as I reverence the throne of Zeus,
I tell you plainly, and confirm it with
My oath: unless you find, and bring before me,
The very author of this burial-rite
Mere death shall not suffice; you shall be hanged
Alive,* until you have disclosed the crime,
That for the future you may ply your trade
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More cleverly, and learn not every pocket
Is safely to be picked. Ill-gotten gains
More often lead to ruin than to safety.
GUARD. May I reply? Or must I turn and go?
CREON. Now, as before, your very voice offends me.
GUARD. Is it your ears that feel it, or your mind?
CREON. Why must you probe the seat of our
displeasure?
GUARD. The rebel hurts your mind; I but your ears.
CREON. No more of this! You are a babbling fool!
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GUARD. If so, I cannot be the one who did it.
CREON. Yes, but you did—selling your life for money!
GUARD. It’s bad, to judge at random, and judge wrong
CREON. You judge my judgement as you will—but
bring
The man who did it, or you shall proclaim
What punishment is earned by crooked dealings.
GUARD. God grant he may be found! But whether he
Be found or not—for this must lie with chance—
You will not see me coming here again.
Alive beyond my hope and expectation,
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I thank the gods who have delivered me.
[Exeunt severally CREON and GUARD
Strophe 1
Things is Man the most wonderful.
He can sail on the stormy sea
Though the tempest rage, and the loud
Waves roar around, as he makes his
Path amid the towering surge.
Earth inexhaustible, ageless, he wearies, as
Backwards and forwards, from season to season, his
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Ox-team* drives along the ploughshare.
Antistrophe 1
He can entrap the cheerful birds,
Setting a snare, and all the wild
Beasts of the earth he has learned to catch, and
Fish that teem in the deep sea, with
Nets knotted of stout cords; of
Such inventiveness is man.
Through his inventions he becomes lord
Even of the beasts of the mountain: the long-haired
Horse he subdues to the yoke on his neck, and the
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Hill-bred bull, of strength untiring.
Strophe 2
And speech he has learned, and thought
So swift, and the temper of mind
To dwell within cities, and not to lie bare
Amid the keen, biting frosts
Or cower beneath pelting rain;
Full of resource against all that comes to him
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Is Man. Against Death alone
He is left with no defence.
But painful sickness he can cure
By his own skill.
Antistrophe 2
Surpassing belief, the device and
Cunning that Man has attained,
And it bringeth him now to evil, now to good.
If he observe Law,* and tread
The righteous path God ordained,
Honoured is he; dishonoured, the man whose
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reckless heart
Shall make him join hands with sin:
May I not think like him,
Nor may such an impious man
Dwell in my house.
Enter GUARD, with ANTIGONE
CHORUS. What evil spirit is abroad? I know
Her well: Antigone. But how can I
Believe it? Why, O you unlucky daughter
Of an unlucky father,* what is this?
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Can it be you, so mad and so defiant,
So disobedient to a King’s decree?
GUARD. Here is the one who did the deed, this girl;
We caught her burying him.—But where is Creon?
CHORUS. He comes, just as you need him, from the
palace.
Enter CREON, attended
CREON. How? What occasion makes my coming
GUARD. Sir, against nothing should a man take oath,
For second thoughts belie him. Under your threats
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That lashed me like a hailstorm, I’d have said
I would not quickly have come here again;
But joy that comes beyond our dearest hope
Surpasses all in magnitude. So I
Return, though I had sworn I never would,
Bringing this girl detected in the act
Of honouring the body. This time no lot
Was cast; the windfall is my very own.
And so, my lord, do as you please: take her
Yourself, examine her, cross-question her.
I claim the right of free and final quittance.
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CREON. Why do you bring this girl? Where was she
taken?
GUARD. In burying the body. That is all.
CREON. You know what you are saying? Do you mean
it?
GUARD. I saw her giving burial to the corpse
You had forbidden. Is that plain and clear?
CREON. How did you see and take her so red-handed?
GUARD. It was like this. When we had reached the
place,
Those dreadful threats of yours upon our heads,
We swept aside each grain of dust that hid
The clammy body, leaving it quite bare,
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And sat down on a hill, to the windward side
That so we might avoid the smell of it.
We kept sharp look-out; each man roundly cursed
His neighbour, if he should neglect his duty.
So the time passed, until the blazing sun
Reached his mid-course and burned us with his heat.
Then, suddenly, a whirlwind came from heaven
And raised a storm of dust, which blotted out
The earth and sky; the air was filled with sand
And leaves ripped from the trees. We closed our eyes
And bore this visitation* as we could.
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At last it ended; then we saw the girl.
She raised a bitter cry, as will a bird
Returning to its nest and finding it
Despoiled, a cradle empty of its young.
So, when she saw the body bare, she raised
A cry of anguish mixed with imprecations
Laid upon those who did it; then at once
Brought handfuls of dry dust, and raised aloft
A shapely vase of bronze, and three times poured
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The funeral libation for the dead.
We rushed upon her swiftly, seized our prey,
And charged her both with this offence and that.*
She faced us calmly; she did not disown
The double crime. How glad I was!—and yet
How sorry too; it is a painful thing
To bring a friend to ruin. Still, for me,