CREON:
GUARD:
LEADER :
CREON :
GUARD:
CREON:
GUARD:
CREON:
GUARD:
CREON:
GUARD:
CREON:
GUARD :
CREON:
(CREON goes into the palace.)
GUARD:
(The GUARD goes out on the spectators' left.)
CHORUS (singing)
antistrophe 1
strophe 2
antistrophe 2
What sayest thou? What living man hath dared this deed?
I know not; no stroke of pickaxe was seen there, no earth thrown
up by mattock; the ground was hard and dry, unbroken, without track of
wheels; the doer was one who had left no trace. And when the first
day-watchman showed it to us, sore wonder fell on all. The dead man
was veiled from us; not shut within a tomb, but lightly strewn with
dust, as by the hand of one who shunned a curse. And no sign met the
eye as though any beast of prey or any dog had come nigh to him, or
torn him.
Then evil words flew fast and loud among us, guard accusing guard;
und it would e'en have come to blows at last, nor was there any to
hinder. Every man was the culprit, and no one was convicted, but all
disclaimed knowledge of the deed. And we were ready to take red-hot
iron in our hands;-to walk through fire;-to make oath by the gods that
we had not done the deed,-that we were not privy to the planning or
the doing.
At last, when all our searching was fruitless, one spake, who made
us all bend our faces on the earth in fear; for we saw not how we
could gainsay him, or escape mischance if we obeyed. His counsel was
that this deed must be reported to thee, and not hidden. And this
seemed best; and the lot doomed my hapless self to win this prize.
So here I stand,-as unwelcome as unwilling, well I wot; for no man
delights in the bearer of bad news.
O king, my thoughts have long been whispering, can this deed,
perchance, be e'en the work of gods?
Cease, ere thy words fill me utterly with wrath, lest thou be
found at once an old man and foolish. For thou sayest what is not to
be borne, in saying that the gods have care for this corpse. Was it
for high reward of trusty service that they sought to hide his
nakedness, who came to burn their pillared shrines and sacred
treasures, to burn their land, and scatter its laws to the winds? Or
dost thou behold the gods honouring the wicked? It cannot be. No! From
the first there were certain in the town that muttered against me,
chafing at this edict, wagging their heads in secret; and kept not
their necks duly under the yoke, like men contented with my sway.
'Tis by them, well I know, that these have been beguiled and
bribed to do this deed. Nothing so evil as money ever grew to be
current among men. This lays cities low, this drives men from their
homes, this trains and warps honest souls till they set themselves
to works of shame; this still teaches folk to practise villainies, and
to know every godless deed.
But all the men who wrought this thing for hire have made it
sure that, soon or late, they shall pay the price. Now, as Zeus
still hath my reverence, know this-I tell it thee on my oath:-If ye
find not the very author of this burial, and produce him before mine
eyes, death alone shall not be enough for you, till first, hung up
alive, ye have revealed this outrage,-that henceforth ye may thieve
with better knowledge whence lucre should be won, and learn that it is
not well to love gain from every source. For thou wilt find that
ill-gotten pelf brings more men to ruin than to weal.
May I speak? Or shall I just turn and go?
Knowest thou not that even now thy voice offends?
Is thy smart in the ears, or in the soul?
And why wouldst thou define the seat of my pain?
The doer vexes thy mind, but I, thine ears.
Ah, thou art a born babbler, 'tis well seen.
May be, but never the doer of this deed.
Yea, and more,-the seller of thy life for silver.
Alas! 'Tis sad, truly, that he who judges should misjudge.
Let thy fancy play with 'judgment' as it will;-but, if ye show
me not the doers of these things, ye shall avow that dastardly gains
work sorrows.
Well, may he be found! so 'twere best. But, be he caught or be
he not-fortune must settle that-truly thou wilt not see me here again.
Saved, even now, beyond hope and thought, I owe the gods great thanks.
strophe 1
Wonders are many, and none is more wonderful than man; the power
that crosses the white sea, driven by the stormy south-wind, making
a path under surges that threaten to engulf him; and Earth, the eldest
of the gods, the immortal, the unwearied, doth he wear, turning the
soil with the offspring of horses, as the ploughs go to and fro from
year to year.
And the light-hearted race of birds, and the tribes of savage
beasts, and the sea-brood of the deep, he snares in the meshes of
his woven toils, he leads captive, man excellent in wit. And he
masters by his arts the beast whose lair is in the wilds, who roams
the hills; he tames the horse of shaggy mane, he puts the yoke upon
its neck, he tames the tireless mountain bull.
And speech, and wind-swift thought, and all the moods that mould a
state, hath he taught himself; and how to flee the arrows of the
frost, when 'tis hard lodging under the clear sky, and the arrows of
the rushing rain; yea, he hath resource for all; without resource he
meets nothing that must come: only against Death shall he call for aid
in vain; but from baffling maladies he hath devised escapes.
Cunning beyond fancy's dream is the fertile skill which brings
him, now to evil, now to good. When he honours the laws of the land,
and that justice which he hath sworn by the gods to uphold, proudly
stands his city: no city hath he who, for his rashness, dwells with
sin. Never may he share my hearth, never think my thoughts, who doth
these things!