Epeisodion 1
Creon
My fellow citizens! First, the
gods, after tossing the fate of our city on wild waves, have once more
righted it. Second, I have ordered you through my messengers to come
here
apart from all the rest,
because I knew, first of all, how constant was your reverence for the
power of the throne of Laius; how, again, you were reverent, when
Oedipus was guiding our city; and lastly, how, when he was dead, you
still maintained loyal thoughts towards his children.
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Since, then, these latter have fallen in one day by a
twofold doom—each striking, each struck, both with the stain of a
brother’s murder—I now possess all the power and the throne according to
my kinship with the dead.
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Now, it is impossible to know fully any man’s character,
will, or judgment, until he has been proved by the test of rule and
law-giving. For if anyone who directs the entire city does not cling to
the best and wisest plans,
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but because of some
fear keeps his lips locked, then, in my judgment, he is and has long
been the most cowardly traitor. And if any man thinks a friend more
important than his fatherland, that man, I say, is of no account. Zeus,
god who sees all things always, be my witness—
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I would not be silent if I saw ruin, instead of safety,
marching upon the citizens. Nor would I ever make a man who is hostile
to my country a friend to myself, because I know this, that our country
is the ship that bears us safe, and that only when
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we sail her on a straight course can we make
true friends. Such are the rules by which I strengthen this city. Akin
to these is the edict which I have now published to the citizenry
concerning the sons of Oedipus: Eteocles, who fell fighting
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in behalf of our city and who excelled
all in battle, they shall entomb and heap up every sacred offering that
descends to the noblest of the dead below. But as for his brother,
Polyneices, I mean, who on his return from exile wanted to burn to the
ground
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the city of his fathers and his race’s gods, and wanted
to feed on kindred blood and lead the remnant into slavery—it has been
proclaimed to the city that no one shall give him funeral honors or
lamentation,
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but all must leave him unburied and a sight of shame,
with his body there for birds and dogs to eat. This is my will, and
never will I allow the traitor to stand in honor before the just. But
whoever has good will to Thebes,
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he shall
be honored by me in death as in life.
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Chorus
That is your will, Creon, towards this city’s enemy and
its friend. And the power is yours, I believe, to make use of every law
whatsoever, both concerning the dead and all us who live.
Creon
See, then, that you be guardians
of my commands.
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Chorus
Lay the weight of this task on some younger man.
Creon
That is not what I meant—the guards for the corpse are already in
place.
Chorus
Then what is this other command that you would give?
Creon
That you not give way to the breakers of my commands.
Chorus
There is no one so foolish as to
crave death.
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Creon
I assure you, that is the wage for disobedience. Yet by just the hope of
it, money has many times corrupted men.
Guard
My king, I will not say that I arrive breathless because of speed, or
from the action of a swift foot.
For often I brought myself to a stop because of my thoughts, and
wheeled round in my path to return. My mind was telling me many things:
Fool, why do you go to where your arrival will mean your punishment?
Idiot, are you dallying again? If Creon learns it from another, must
you not suffer for it?
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So
debating, I made my way unhurriedly, slow, and thus a short road was
made long. At last, however, the view prevailed that I should come
here—to you. Even if my report brings no good, still will I tell
you,
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since I come with a good
grip on one hope, that I can suffer nothing except what is my fate.
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Creon
And what is it that so disheartens you?
Guard
I want to tell you first about myself—I did not do the deed, nor did I
see the doer,
so it would be wrong
that I should come to any harm.
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Creon
Like a bowman you aim well at your target from a distance, and all around
you hedge yourself off well from the deed. It is clear that you have
some unheard-of thing to tell.
Guard
That I do, for terrible news imposes great hesitation.
Creon
Then tell it, will you, and so unburdened go away?
Guard
Well, here it is. The corpse—some
one has just given it burial and disappeared after sprinkling thirsty
dust on the flesh and performing the other rites that piety demands.
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