Collected Plays, Volume 4 (Bertolt Brecht: Plays, Poetry & Prose) 8 Page 6

  Though he was not your serf he is still my brother.

  CREON:

  True if you count all one, godless and godly.

  ANTIGONE:

  Nor is death one and the same for the country or for you.

  CREON:

  So there’s no war?

  ANTIGONE:

  Yes, yours.

  CREON:

  Not for the country?

  ANTIGONE:

  A foreign country. It did not content you

  Ruling over my brothers in Thebes

  A city of our own and sweet

  Not living in fear, the life beneath its trees. You

  Had to drag them to distant Argos to rule

  Over them there too. And the one you made into a butcher

  Of peaceful Argos and the terrified other

  Him you lay out now, quartered, a terror to his own.

  CREON:

  I advise you, you’ll say nothing, to her there

  Speak nothing, if you know what’s good for you.

  ANTIGONE:

  But I appeal to you to help me in my trouble

  And help yourselves, so doing. Who seeks power

  Drinks of a salty water, he cannot desist but must

  Drink it and drink it. My brother yesterday, today it’s me.

  CREON:

  And I am waiting

  To see who sides with her.

  ANTIGONE when the Elders remain silent:

  So then you let it be and keep your mouths shut for him.

  Let that not be forgotten.

  CREON:

  She notes it against you.

  At odds she wants us under the roof of Thebes.

  ANTIGONE:

  Screaming for unity you live on discord.

  CREON:

  So first in discord here and then in the field against Argos!

  ANTIGONE:

  Of course. Exactly. When you have need of violence abroad

  Then you’ll have need of violence at home.

  CREON:

  And me, so it seems to me, in her goodness she’ll give to the

  vultures

  And never mind then if Thebes, so at odds

  Falls as a feast to foreign rule?

  ANTIGONE:

  You, the rulers, threaten and threaten the city will fall

  At odds, will founder and feast on it others and foreigners

  And we bow our necks and fetch you the sacrifices and thus

  Weakened our city founders and foreigners feast on it.

  CREON:

  Do you tell me I am throwing the city to foreigners to feast

  on?

  ANTIGONE:

  She throws herself to them, bowing her neck to you

  For bowing the neck nobody sees what’s coming

  But only the earth and, alas, the earth will have him.

  CREON:

  Slander the earth in your wickedness, slander the homeland!

  ANTIGONE:

  Wrong there. The earth is travail. The homeland is not just

  Earth, nor the house. Not where a man poured his sweat

  Not the house that helplessly watches the coming of fire

  Not where he bowed his neck, he does not call that the

  homeland.

  CREON:

  You however the homeland no longer calls her own

  But you are cast out like a biting filth that pollutes.

  ANTIGONE:

  Who casts me out? There are fewer in the city now

  That you rule and fewer will be still.

  Why do you come here alone? You went out with many.

  CREON:

  You dare say that?

  ANTIGONE:

  Where are the youths, the men? Are they not coming back?

  CREON:

  How she lies! When everyone knows they are out still

  Only to cleanse the battlefield wholly of the axes left.

  ANTIGONE:

  And to do your last misdeeds

  And to be a terror until their fathers

  No longer recognise them when at the end

  Like animals run amok they are slaughtered finally.

  CREON:

  She defiles the dead!

  ANTIGONE:

  Fool of a man, I’ve no desire

  To be proved right.

  ELDERS:

  She is unhappy. Don’t hold her words against her.

  But you, do not forget in your folly and because

  Of your own grief Thebes’ splendid triumph in battle.

  CREON:

  But she does not want

  The people of Thebes to be seated in the houses of Argos.

  She

  Would rather see Thebes broken and beaten.

  ANTIGONE:

  Better we’d be sitting in the ruins of our own city

  And safer too than with you

  In the enemy’s houses.

  CREON:

  Now she has said it. And you heard it.

  Going beyond the measure she breaks every statute, she is

  Like a guest not staying much longer, not wished to be seen

  again

  Who packing his bags in his insolence cuts through the

  guy-ropes.

  ANTIGONE:

  But all that I took was mine and I had to steal it.

  CREON:

  Always all you see is the nose in front of you. The state’s

  Order, that is from God, you do not see.

  ANTIGONE:

  From God it may be but I’d rather have it

  Human and humane, Creon, Menoeceus’ son.

  CREON:

  Away now! You were our enemy and will be it still below

  Like him I hacked, and forgotten. There he is shunned as

  well.

  ANTIGONE:

  Who knows? Perhaps down there the custom’s different.

  CREON:

  An enemy, even dead, will never be friend.

  ANTIGONE:

  One thing is sure: I live for love not hatred.

  CREON:

  Go down below then if you want to love

  And love down there. I’ll not have ones like you

  Living for long up here.

  Enter Ismene.

  ELDERS:

  But Ismene is coming from indoors

  Sweet girl, who is for peace.

  But tears are washing

  Washing a face bloodshot with suffering.

  CREON:

  Yes, you, squatting in there at home. I’ve brought

  Two torments up, snake sisters.

  Tell us forthwith

  You shared the deed at the grave

  Or are you thick with innocence?

  ISMENE:

  I did it, if my sister will agree.

  I took my part, I take the blame on me.

  ANTIGONE:

  Her sister will not let that be however.

  She would not do it. I did not take her with me.

  CREON:

  You settle it. I won’t be petty in a petty matter.

  ISMENE:

  I’m not ashamed to share my sister’s trouble

  And beg her now to have me for a comrade.

  ANTIGONE:

  By those who have gone through with it

  And talk with one another down below

  I don’t like anyone who loves with words.

  ISMENE:

  Sister, revolt not everyone is good for

  But one like her it may fall to to die.

  ANTIGONE:

  Don’t die in common. What’s no concern of yours

  Don’t make it yours. My death will be enough.

  ISMENE:

  My sister is too severe, I love you.

  Have I, if she is gone, a love left in my life?

  ANTIGONE:

  Creon, love him. Stay his, I leave you both.

  ISMENE:

  Perhaps it is my sister’s pleasure to mock me.

  ANTIGONE:<
br />
  Perhaps her grief as well, and I desire my cup of suffering

  full.

  ISMENE:

  But what I said to you is also part still.

  ANTIGONE:

  And that was good. But so I have decided.

  ISMENE:

  Is it because I failed I’m no loss to you now?

  ANTIGONE:

  Be of good cheer, and live. My soul has died

  And now I’m servant only to the dead, sister.

  CREON:

  These women, I tell you, one is losing

  Her wits right now, the other did long ago.

  ISMENE:

  I cannot live without her.

  CREON:

  The talk is not of her now. She is done with.

  ISMENE:

  You are killing your own son’s bride-to-be as well.

  CREON:

  A man has more than one field he can plough in.

  Get ready to die. But so that you will know

  When it will be: it will be when for Bacchus she,

  My drunken Thebes, joins me dancing. Now take

  The women away.

  Exit the guard into the palace with Antigone and Ismene.

  Creon orders his bodyguard to give up his sword.

  AN ELDER taking the sword:

  Dolling yourself for the victory revels don’t stamp

  On the ground too hard and not where it’s greening.

  But strong as you are, whoever has angered you

  Now let him praise you.

  AN ELDER handing Creon the staff of Bacchus:

  Don’t fling him too deep

  Where you lose sight of him.

  Down there and when no falling further is possible

  A man stripped naked has no more to fear. He sheds

  All his shame. Terrified, terrible

  The man flung down rises up. Made less than human

  He remembers a shape his life had once and arises, new.

  ELDERS:

  In their charred house the sons of Lachmeus sat and

  suffered it

  Mouldering, feeding on lichens, forever the winters

  Tipped ice on them and their women

  Were absent at nights and sat in the day

  In secret crimsons. And over their heads

  Always the threatening rockface tilted.

  But not before Pelias

  Entered among them, dividing them with his staff and only

  Touching them lightly, did they arise and

  Slaughter all their tormentors.

  This was the worst to them but often the least thing

  Rounds up the sum of misery. The unseeing

  Sleep of the wretched, as though in exhaustion

  They lay in an ageless time, has an end.

  The moons wax, slowly, swiftly, unevenly

  Dwindle and all the time long

  The evil is growing and already

  Upon the last root left the light is trained

  In Oedipus’ houses.

  And greatness does not fall in on itself

  But on much besides. As when down there

  When the Thracian winds

  Blow evilly on the sea

  The night under the salt

  Befalls a little dwelling

  And turns the dark sand inside out and upside down

  Dishevelling it

  And all the thrashed coast groans.

  Haemon is coming, of your sons

  The lastborn, troubled

  That the young Antigone should perish

  The wedding woman

  Sick that their bed will evade him.

  Enter Haemon.

  CREON:

  Son, there was talk you might be coming to me

  For that young woman’s sake, not to the ruler

  Rather to the father and if that were so

  You’d come in vain, wholly. Returning from the battle

  Which went our way by the bloody self-sacrifice of many

  I found her alone undutiful, begrudging

  Our house its victory, and bothering only with her own

  affairs

  And worse besides.

  HAEMON:

  It is in this affair nevertheless

  That I have come and hoping to the father

  The familiar voice of him he got

  Will not sound ill when to the ruler

  It brings ill rumours.

  CREON:

  True, if a man got insolent children

  Of him what could be said but that he got

  Trouble for himself and made his enemies gleeful? Sour

  things

  Sear the palate. So they are necessary.

  HAEMON:

  Much is under your governance. If what you like

  Is only listening to what you like to hear

  Then take things easy: slacken

  Your sails like a man who has given up steering and drift.

  The people quail at your name. So if great things

  Flare up, the most they will ever report to you is small

  things.

  But one advantage of the family is

  Not everything goes by deserts. Many a debt

  Is never called in and so sometimes

  We may hear truth from family because

  Though angry we curb ourselves for them.

  Now clearly it cannot be Megareus, my brother

  Who fought at Argos and is not back yet

  And knows no fear, who tells you. So I must.

  Be told: the city is full of inner disaffection.

  CREON:

  And you be told: when family goes bad

  It is my enemies I feed. Who are not definite

  Who are unknown to one another, never meet, and even

  In their grievances are not united, being sick of taxes these

  And those of serving in the war

  And all held under me and held apart

  By the power of my spear. But when

  There are gaps there and government itself appears

  At odds and wavers and is not definite then

  The pebbles gather and become a slide and press

  Against the house that let itself go. Speak

  But I hear the one I fathered and the one

  I set before the storms of spears, the son.

  HAEMON:

  Amid it all is truth. Do we not say

  Steel your tongue on the unlying anvil? She

  Who did not want her brother left to be eaten

  By merciless dogs, the city

  Is with her in that although condemning

  The misdeed of the dead man.

  CREON:

  Isn’t enough. I call that spinelessness.

  Isn’t enough that I hack off what’s rotten –

  It must be in the marketplace, to other rottenness

  Quite unforgettable that I hack off what’s rotten.

  And my hand demonstrate that it never misses.

  But you, knowing nothing of the situation

  So knowing nothing, counsel: look around uncertainly

  Adopt the thoughts of others, speak their language

  As if authority could engage

  The many bodies on a difficult commission

  If all it is is a little ear and a cowardly.

  ELDERS:

  But it eats much strength up pondering cruel punishments.

  CREON:

  Pressing the plough to earth so that it ploughs takes

  strength.

  ELDERS:

  Mild government works wonders and with ease.

  CREON:

  Governments are many. But: who does the governing?

  HAEMON:

  Even if not your son I’d answer: you.

  CREON:

  If it were laid on me I’d have to do it my way.

  HAEMON:

  Your way, but let that be the right way.

  CREON:

  Not knowing what I know yo
u couldn’t know it.

  Are you my friend however I choose to act?

  HAEMON:

  I wish you’d act so that I were your friend

  But don’t say you are right and no one else.

  For anyone who thinks alone he has

  No thoughts and speech and soul like any other

  If such a man were ever opened up

  He would appear empty. It is no shame

  If someone there is someone wise, to learn

  A lot and not push anything too far.

  See by the stream in spate that’s hurtling past

  The trees give way, and all of those

  Leaf up warmly but the strugglers against

  Are gone at once. Likewise a prosperous ship

  That throws its weight around and will give way to nothing

  All falling backwards from the banks of rowers

  Its certain course is wreck.

  ELDERS:

  Give way where your mind is, allow us change

  And have from us a creaturely hesitation.

  Hesitate with us.

  CREON:

  And have the horses

  Steer the charioteer. That’s what you want?

  HAEMON:

  And the horses

  When they get a whiff of cadavers

  From the knacker’s yard might rear up wondering

  Where they are being driven, being driven so hard

  And fling themselves in the abyss with wheels and driver.

  Be told: the city at war is maddened already worrying

  What peace may bring.

  CREON:

  There is no war now. Thanks for the advice.

  HAEMON:

  Then this, that you, parading for victory

  Intend a bloody cleaning out of everyone

  At home who ever crossed you

  Often the suspicion has been voiced to me.

  CREON:

  Who by? You might do some good there. Much more

  Than only being the mouth of them

  There so suspiciously gabbing about suspicion.

  HAEMON:

  Forget them.

  ELDERS:

  Of all a ruler’s virtues

  The healthiest, they say, is: know how to forget.

  What’s old, let it stay old.

  CREON:

  Since I’m so old

  I find forgetting hard. But you

  Could you not, if I asked you to

  Forget her for whose sake you have gone so far out

  That all who wish me ill mutter

  He, so it seems, fights on the woman’s side?

  HAEMON:

  On the side of right, wherever it shows itself.

  CREON:

  And has a hole.

  HAEMON:

  Even insulted my concern

  For you will not be silent.

  CREON:

  Your bed would still be empty.

  HAEMON:

  Did that not come from the father I’d call it stupid.

  CREON:

  I’d call that brash if not from a woman’s lackey.

  HAEMON:

  Who’s happier hers than being your lackey.

  CREON:

  Now it is out and won’t be got back in.