"1 [ 
 ] I 
 
 ANTITONH 
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF 
 
 THE PRESENTATION OF THE 
 
 ANTIGONE OF SOPHOCLES 
 
 AT THE 
 
 LELAND STANFORD JUNIOR UNIVERSITY 
 
 APRIL SEVENTEENTH AND N1NETEKNTH 
 NINETEEN HUNDRED AND TWO 
 
 PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS, SAN FRANCISCO 
 1903
 
 '"/>)< IX lit , 190} 
 
 Press 
 >an Francisco
 
 WE D E D ! C A T E THIS V O L U M K TO T H K 
 M I ) M O R V OF 
 
 LINDA I)()\VS COOKS EV 
 
 WHOSE SYMPATHY AND 
 
 HELP LIGHTENED CONSTANTLY THE TASK OF THOSE 
 \VHO TOII.KD OVER THE ANTIGONE.
 
 CONTEXTS 
 
 The Antigone at Stanford University, by H. \V. ROLFE i 
 
 Antigone : A Dramatic Study, by A. T. MURRAY 4 
 
 The Choral Side of Antigone, by H. RI/SHTON. FAIRCLOTGH 22 
 
 Programme of the Original Presentations at Stanford University 67
 
 THE ANTIGONE 
 AT STANFORD UNIVERSITY. 
 
 THIS little volume is to commemorate the presentation, 
 at Stanford University, in April, 1902, of the Antigone 
 of Sophocles, in the original Greek, with Mendelssohn's 
 choral music. 
 
 This enterprise was taken in hand in December of 1901. 
 Four months were given to preparation for it. The roles were 
 assumed by members of the Greek department, students and 
 instructors. The chorus was drawn, largely, from the university 
 Glee Club. The university orchestra prepared the instrumental 
 music. Cast, chorus, and orchestra were self-trained, except for 
 help in stage-grouping from a teacher of dramatic art, Mr. Leo 
 Cooper, of San Francisco, and the general musical oversight 
 exercised by Mr. A. L. Scott Brook, the organist of the memorial 
 church. The costumes were made on the ground. 
 
 A translation of the Antigone was prepared and published, 
 for purposes of preliminary study and for use at the perform- 
 ances. Lectures were given, before the university, interpretative 
 of the dramatic action, the function of the chorus, the music. 
 The play was read by many in the Greek. The entire university, 
 from the first, took the deepest interest in the matter, as did 
 groups of persons in San Francisco, Berkeley, and San Jose. 
 
 The initial performances were given in the Assembly Hall, 
 on the evening of Thursday, April ijth, and the morning of 
 Saturday, April i9th. They w r ere successful, so much so that it 
 was decided to take the play to Southern California. This involved 
 further interruption of university work, but it seemed certain that 
 there would be gain to balance that loss. The aim in preparing
 
 2 ANTIGONE 
 
 tin- ])lay had been, from the outset, to strengthen the cause of 
 < in-ek studies on the Pacific Coast. So excellent a result in that 
 direction had been achieved here in Central California that there 
 could be no doubt of the response in the cities of the South. The 
 university, therefore, granted a week's leave of absence. 
 
 The play \vas given in Los Angeles, on April 2^1; in 1' 
 den.i, on April 241)1; and in Santa Barbara, on April 2^th. The 
 expenses of the trip, above receipts, were met from the surplt. 
 the Stanford performances. 
 
 I hiring the week of absence the directors of the play received 
 rdial invitation from the University of California to gi\ e a final 
 performance at Berkeley, in the Harmon (iymnasinm, on May 
 loth. It was accepted. Meanwhile there was a third presentation 
 at Stanford, on May 8th. President \Vheeler placed the matter at 
 Berkeley in the hands of an efficient committee, who made all 
 arrangements and assembled a large and generous audience. 
 This last representation was the best of the series of seven, and 
 the most gratifying. 
 
 The impression made by the play upon the audience seemed 
 to be the same at every performance. The interest was int<-: 
 he emotion deep. No one's attention wandered. Every one 
 
 loo much moved for frequent applause. All, even to the 
 children present, were absorbed by the beauty of the costumes and 
 
 -pictures and acting and music and choral evolutions. At 
 the end, as the chorus man. hed from sight, the audience rose 
 and left the place, it seemed, with much the feeling with which 
 the Greeks must have risen on the slopes of the Acropolis, lifting 
 their eyes to the familiar landscape once more, from the spot 
 where, during the nmniing hours, they had seen only Antigone 
 and Creon and the woes of the house of I.abdacus. 
 
 The final outcome of the play has been a remarkable inten- 
 sification, throughout the university and in many preparatory 
 schools and high schools, of respect for classical studies and
 
 ANTIGONE 3 
 
 interest in them. Through these performances many came to see, 
 lor the first time, the truth of Thoreau's fine words: "Two 
 thousand summers have imparted to the monuments of Grecian 
 literature, as to her marbles, only a maturer golden and autumnal 
 tint, for they have carried their own serene and celestial atmos- 
 phere into all lands, to protect them against the ccirosion of 
 time, works as refined, as solidly done, and as beautiful almost, 
 as the morning itself; for later writers, say what we will of their 
 genius, have rarely, if ever, equaled the elaborate beauty and 
 finish, and the lifelong and heroic literary labors, of the ar.v! -nts." 
 
 H. W. ROLFE.
 
 AN.TIGONE: 
 
 A DRAMATIC STUDY. 
 
 THE Antigone of Sophocles, one of a half-do/en extant 
 < ireek tragedies which deal with tin- fortunes of the 
 royal house of Thebes, was produced in 442 or 440 
 B. C. A bare statement of the story, in so tar a.-^ it 
 des the action of the play, is as follows: 
 
 CEdipus, son of Laius, Kinu of Thebes, and of his wife 
 [ocasta, had all unwittingly fulfilled the awful doom which the 
 oracle had declared should be his : he had slain his own father 
 and become the husband of his own mother. \Vhen the hori 
 
 relationship became known Jocasta handed herself, and (Kdipns. 
 
 snatching the brooch with which her robe was fastened, dashed 
 out his own eyes in horror. 
 
 From this union had sprung two sons, Polynices and 
 Eteocles, and two daughters, Antigone and Ismene. (Kdipus 
 of whose end varying tales are told had cursed his sons, that 
 they should divide his inheritance with the sword. They resolved 
 to rule alternately, and Polynices. the elder (tor so Soph' 
 conceives him . after rei^nin.u a year, yielded the throne to his 
 brother. When, however, the second year had elapsed. Kteocles 
 refused to iMve place, and Polynices, in wrath, withdreu 
 Ar^os, where he allied himself to the royal house, and, in league 
 with six other chieftains, led an army against his native land to 
 win by force the throne that was his due. 
 
 Tlu- attack failed, the Arrive host tied in rout, and the two 
 doomed brothers fell each slain by tin- other's spear. 
 
 It is at this point that the Antigone opens. The kingship 
 has devolved upon Creon, the brother of Jocasta, and hence the 
 
 4
 
 ANTIGONE 7 
 
 uncle of Antigone and Ismene. He has put forth an edict that 
 Eteocles shall be buried with all honor, but that the corpse of 
 Polynices shall be left unburied, for dogs and birds to rend. It 
 must be remembered that this, to the Greek, was the most 
 dreadful fate that could befall a man, for on the burial of the 
 corpse depended the welfare of the spirit in the world below. It 
 was therefore a sacred duty to perform due rites over the dead 
 if it were only the symbolic sprinkling of a few handfuls of 
 dust and this duty rested with especial weight upon the next 
 of kin. 
 
 Hence it is easy for us to understand, in measure at least, 
 the position in which Antigone was placed, and the pott, with 
 great art, has at once emphasized that position and shown how 
 impossible it would have been for the high-minded girl, filled 
 with loyalty to the dead brother, traitor though he was, to have 
 chosen any other course. For the characterization of the person- 
 ages in the play is wholly admirable. With the concentration, 
 the restraint of antique art, they are not analyzed with the 
 subtlety which so engrosses us often on the modern stage ; the 
 soul is not laid bare before us ; but the overpowering emotion or 
 resolve is thought of as already possessing the heart, so that we 
 see it in act, moving resistless to its inevitable end. So the 
 proud girl, nobly loyal to the sacred duty that is laid upon her, 
 recks not of the consequences to herself and can be coldly defiant 
 toward Creon, for whose short-sighted maxims of government 
 and civic duty essentially sound though they are she has but 
 contempt; while, in her exalted mood, to do and to (lit- is a priv- 
 ilege. An Antigone, wavering between a sense of duty to the 
 dead and the fear of the consequences of disobeying the king's 
 edict, would be a figure wholly alien to the spirit of Sophoclean art. 
 
 Beside Antigone stands her sister, Ismene, a character often 
 misunderstood. She is gentle, loving, and lovable, but not cast 
 in the heroic mould. She recogni/es the duty that rests upon
 
 s A X T I G O N E 
 
 her, as upon her sister, hut, under the circumstances, it cannot be 
 fulfilled: the State has forbidden the act, and defy the Stat<- she 
 cannot. She will pray the dead to pardon her, and live as she 
 may in subjection to those stronger than she. She begs her 
 sister to recall the horrible past of their family patricide and 
 incest, though unwitting, a miserable end for both parents, and 
 now again the death in mutual combat ot their two broth' 
 Shall they defy authority and perish most basely of all? Nay, 
 they are powerless; the dead will forgive. 
 
 Here two points subtle enough, perhaps, to be overlooked 
 by the casual reader suggest themselves. To Umene, (Veon 
 represents the State, and so it is their bounden duty to obey; to 
 Antigone his edict is the expression of the will of one who, 
 through circumstances, has come to stand at the head oft 1 
 but who is, alter all, a tyrant in the Greek sense: oii<-, that 
 who arrogates all power to himself and rules justly or unjustly, 
 with mildness or severity, as he will. He may be resi- 1 
 by the good riti/en; and she says to his face that the j>eople of 
 Thebes side with her. In this view, it is to be rememlx-red, the 
 poet himself and the thousands who thronged the theatre on that 
 spring day so long ago, would join. 
 
 The second point is that this difference in nature, in temper- 
 ament, this radically different point of view, serves to isolate 
 Antigone from the only person in the play to whom she could 
 look for sympathy. There is no chorus of \\oinen upon whom 
 >he could lean : the chorus is made up of Theban elders, cold and 
 politic in their submission to Creon ; and ( ireek feeling ; 
 eluded the introduction of scenes which would have brought into 
 
 prominence her relation to her betrothed, H.emon. < -n. 
 
 In this situation, repelled by the very sister who should h.i 
 with her, small wonder if the tension -he i> under makes her 
 harsh cruelly harsh, we feel. Vet all the more effective are the 
 moments when lo\e for that sister finds expression.
 
 ANTIGONE 13 
 
 In a great scene in which Antigone, caught in the act of 
 pouring libations over the dead, is brought before the angry king, 
 she calmly acknowledges her guilt if guilt it be and appeals to 
 the eternal and unwritten statutes of heaven, in the face of which 
 his edict sinks into insignificance. Here is, in a sense, the prob- 
 lem of the play more clearly a conflict of duties than in most of 
 the thirty-three Greek tragedies we possess. Strictly speaking, 
 there can be no conflict of duties, since only one can be para- 
 mount at one time ; but it is part of life's tragedy that obedience 
 to a high principle may bring the individual into collision with 
 law, with convention, with family ties ; and the individual may 
 suffer or be crushed in consequence. This holds true even if 
 questions of " poetic justice " be flung to the winds. Sophocles 
 did not weigh Antigone and Creon nicely in the balance that he 
 might apportion to each the due measure of suffering. Those 
 who find Antigone's character not flawless must not use that fact 
 to account for her suffering. That suffering is the inevitable 
 result of the situation in which she is placed. If she seems cruel 
 to her weaker sister, that cruelty is to be explained, in part at 
 least, by the strain she is under, and, in part, by a desire to sa\v 
 that sister's life. 
 
 For, when Ismene is brought in, she appears in a changed 
 mood. Not strong enough to do and dare with her sister, when 
 the deed was planned, now that it is over and Antigone must die, 
 a great wave of emotion sweeps over her. She can at least die 
 with her. So, when asked, she avows her guilt and takes her 
 stand at her sister's side. She is repelled with words so true, and 
 yet so harsh, that the truth is plain even to Creon. Hut amid the 
 harshness there is seen now and again the love of a sister, too 
 true to brook falsehood, yet the very sadness of whose lot con- 
 sists, in part, in that they two must go their separate ways. 
 Finally Antigone is led away to her dreadful doom to be interred 
 alive. Now the strength that enabled her to act regardless of
 
 H A X T I G ONE 
 
 consequences to herself, the strength that nerved her before 
 Creon, tails her, in a measure, and the inevitab! OM8. 
 
 Lite is so fair, and she must hid it farewell, must leave lovely 
 Thebes with its fountains, leave the light of day and go down 
 into the darkness, with none to pity, none to mourn! I >euied 
 the joys of love, she shall be the bride of I >eath ! O the pity of 
 it, the mystery of it ! 
 
 Creon, the king, is a character broadly but forcibly drawn. 
 He is honest and well-meaning, and brings to his position of 
 authority abundant loyalty, and a good stock of sound, if some- 
 what conventional, views of government ; but his nature 
 narrow one, and his point of view only too apt to be personal. 
 In his first speech he lays down the principles of his rule honor 
 to the loyal and dishonor to the disloyal. Hence his edict con- 
 i-i niin^ Polynices, an edict springing, it is true, from a sound 
 principle, but itself violating a higher law. When the guard 
 brings word that that edict has been defied, Creon be< 
 once furious. Brushing aside the opinions of others and brooking 
 no advice, however well meant, he asserts his own view: th 
 the work of disaffected citizens who have bribed the guards, 
 them produce the doer under penalty of an awful fate for th> 
 selves. And all this coupled with many commonplaces, many 
 generalities--how characteristic of a narrow nature! The State 
 has been defied, but so has Creon, and we feel already that : 
 this last fact that rank! 
 
 So we are prepared in advance for the great scene mentioned 
 above. He has been defied, defied, it now appears, by a n 
 girl, who, instead of breaking down, glories in her act and pr 
 about higher laws than his. Verily she is the man, not he, it 
 perish not miserably, sister's child to him though she be, and 
 betrothed to his own son. 
 
 Then that sou appears, not a frantic lover, but in the \ 
 spirit of filial submission. And the father shows the fitness of
 
 ANTIGONE 17 
 
 this submission, the wisdom of his course more generalities, 
 more good maxims yet when the young man ventures to sug- 
 gest counter-considerations which directly concern the father in 
 his position as ruler, Creon is again furious. Shall a mere boy 
 teach him wisdom? Nay, though all Thebes side with the disaf- 
 fected, is not he king, and shall he not rule as he will ? So at 
 last the despairing youth rushes from the stage with words which, 
 we know, betoken a resolve not to survive his betrothed, and 
 Creon who had just bidden his attendants to bring forth "the 
 hated thing" that she might die before her lover's eyes declares 
 the terrible fate in store for her. So is it that passion clouds the 
 mind ; even as Antigone is led away, he breaks out once more, 
 and a noteworthy touch asserts that he is pure in the matter of 
 her death ; but die she shall, and her guards shall have cause to 
 rue their slowness. 
 
 Now comes the aged seer, Tiresias, with words of warning. 
 Creon is startled with dread, for Tiresias' s words are sooth ; but 
 as the seer declares that it is because of the king's act that the gods 
 have been alienated and bids him rectify the wrong he has done, 
 dread gives place to another feeling not to wrath at first, but, as 
 it were, to bewilderment. Was ever well-meaning man so beset ? 
 Even the seer will send a shaft at him ; and again, in self-defense 
 it may be, he comes back to the same thought : Tiresias has been 
 suborned, hired by malcontents to assail him. Then the seer 
 speaks again, and speaks words of doom, telling of the fate that 
 is in store for the unhappy king, the death of one sprung from 
 his loins in requital for the dead, the shrieks of men and women 
 in his house, the hostility of states whose fallen sons have been 
 rent by dogs and birds. 
 
 Then Creon breaks down ; hurriedly calling his servants he 
 sets out to undo what he has done, but it is too late. From the 
 lips of a messenger we learn that Polynices's corpse was buried, 
 but that when they reached the cave where Antigone was
 
 i8 ANTIGONE 
 
 entombed, they found her hanging in the noose with which she hud 
 hung herself", and H.i-moii, frantic with grief, clinging to her dead 
 body. A maddened rush at the father who had caused this woe, 
 and then the sword plunged into his own side! Such was the 
 tale, told in part before the queen, who in silent anguish goes 
 within to take her life. 
 
 Here attain a question of much interest suggests it>elf. 
 Creon first proceeds to give interment to the corpse of Poly nices ; 
 he then goes to liberate Antigone, but is too late. This has 
 seemed a dramatic blemish, a flaw in structure, even to so sound 
 and so sympathetic a critic as Sir Richard Jebb, who maintains 
 that " we are not given any reason for the burial being taken in 
 hand before the release." and who himself holds that Soph. 
 here disregarded probability and the fitting order of events solely 
 that the following speech of the messenger, narrating the cat 
 trophe, might end with a climax and so satisfy rhetorical canons. 
 
 This seems to me impossible and based upon a wrong inter- 
 pretation of Creon' s character. Rightly understood his attitude 
 from the first is that of one who represents the State. In his 
 
 ches he ever recurs to that idea, and the grounds upon which 
 his cruel edict regarding Poly nices was bused were grounds of 
 State interest. Short-sighted his policy was, but it was sin< 
 Xow through the terrible words of the seer he learns that the 
 wrath of heaven menaces, not him alone, but the State because of 
 the sin he has committed in leaving the corpse of I'olyn 
 unburied, an act as a result of which the very altars of the gods 
 have been polluted. He will therefore seek to make this good 
 by interring the dead. The gods must be propitiated and the 
 safety of the State conserved. !t is only B dary matter 
 
 that Antigone is to be released. Tiresias had not mentioned her 
 in his opening speech, in which he had so clearly pointed to tin- 
 king as the one by whose act the favor of heaven had been alien- 
 ated. It is this that tills Creon's mind; and he turns first to the
 
 ANTIGONE 21 
 
 interment of Polynices as the duty that touches him most nearly 
 as the head of the State. His attitude towards Antigone is not 
 essentially changed ; yet he will release her since the seer has 
 declared that in immuring a living soul in the tomb he has again 
 sinned against the gods, and he will leave nothing undone that 
 might restore his peace. 
 
 After the messenger's speech telling of the fulfilment of the 
 prophet's words the king again appears. Now he is changed 
 indeed all the joy of life and of kingship gone, and through his 
 own folly. There is no more pride, no more self-confidence ; 
 only heartbreaking grief and the wish that death might come to 
 him too a rash, foolish man, who has himself caused the death of 
 those he loved best. 
 
 For the rest, the simplicity of structure, the long speeches, 
 the dearth, some will say, of action, little need be said. To the 
 Greek the theory of dramatic structure was not summed up in 
 the development of a good fifth act, nor was he inclined to hasten 
 to the end. He loved well the stately, statuesque scenes, the 
 rhythmical movements of the chorus and its lyric' song ; but he 
 loved, too, effective narrative and logical statement ; and in these 
 speeches he found much that, while it appealed to his sense of 
 reasonableness, added no little to the deep delight that came from 
 seeing the poet's profound interpretation of the facts of life as 
 seen in the play. A> T> MuRRAV .
 
 THE CHORAL SIDE OF 
 ANTIGONE. 
 
 A GREEK tragedy resembles a modern <>]>-ra to this 
 extent that certain portions have a musical setting and 
 are presented by a chorus. This chorus. houe\-er, is not 
 
 an accidental or external element, hut is, historically, 
 the oldest and most essential characteristic. ( )ri^inally, ind- 
 The Chorm tragedies wen- purely lyrical, BtOl -rth 
 
 *<->itial to wholly in soni; and dance-. With the development 
 mgt'iy. Q j- ( ij a i ()l , lK . < the chorus was gradually subordinated 
 to this more dramatic element, hut not until the decline of ti 
 art had set in, did the Greek chorus serve as a mere ornament. 
 In Sophocles, therefore, representing as he does the hi^li-^ 
 mark of Greek tragedy, the chorus must be regarded as an 
 artistic essential, and in him the lyric and dramatic ek-m<-nt- 
 blended in perfect harmony. 
 
 The Greeks themsehes regarded the chm iranialis 
 
 persona, and this is why, in the Stanford programme of the 
 
 /A I-'nnction ^ nt 'K <l|1( '- tn '' ''horns of Theban 
 
 Dmntati* a pi, ice in the cast. The chorus, then, is an a 
 
 '""' or acting body, and under the din-etion of the 
 coryphaus participat<-s in the action of the piece. Nor is its part 
 unimportant. < >f all the dramatis persons, it is the one most in 
 evidence during the play, making its ap: iiiiinediately 
 
 after the introductory scene i. the f>rolo^it<\ in the ('.reek sense of 
 the word |, and bein^ the last to u-a\ p e the stai^e. Its continuous 
 presence throughout the piece secures for the play a 
 harmony, and an unbroken unity, which the modern dram 
 the Romantic school, with all its merits, can never claim. The
 
 ANTIGONE 27 
 
 chorus are interested spectators of the action from first to last. 
 They receive and impart information, give and accept counsel, 
 interpret the motives of conduct, relieve the monotony incidental 
 to long speeches, and in various ways facilitate a natural outwork- 
 ing of the dramatic situations. 
 
 As elders of the State, the chorus of the Antigone are vitally 
 concerned in the welfare of both princes and people. They 
 receive with due respect the message of the new illustrated 
 king, and though they betray a doubt as to the from the 
 wisdom of his course, yet they express their loyal Antigone. 
 submission to his decree (211-220). On learning the startling 
 news that some one unknown has paid the burial dues to Poly- 
 nices, they hazard the conjecture (278-9) that divine hands have 
 done the deed, whereupon they are sharply rebuked by the king. 
 
 The arrest of Antigone makes a profound impression upon 
 the chorus. That she, a royal maiden, the daughter of CEdipus, 
 should wilfully disobey the king, is past their understanding 
 (376-383). They can attribute her act only to passionate folly 
 
 (470- 
 
 In the angry scene which follows, both Antigone and Creon 
 claim to have the approval of the chorus, who however wisely 
 hold their peace, until the appearance of Ismene elicits the beau- 
 tiful anapaests, which show where their real sympathy lies. Their 
 genuine grief over the threatened punishment of Antigone leads 
 shortly to an actual remonstrance with the king (574), who by 
 his curt and sarcastic replies soon silences all opposition on their 
 part. 
 
 Throughout the scene between Haemon and his father, the 
 chorus adopt a strictly neutral attitude (681-2, 724-5), though on 
 the former's departure they suggest to the king that he should 
 make some allowance for the heat of youth. A moment later, a 
 hint from Creon that Ismene is to share her sister's fate calls forth 
 a veiled protest (770), to which Creon deigns to give heed. As
 
 28 ANTIGONE 
 
 to Antigone, the chorus attempt no more pleading on her 
 behalf, hut simply inquire by what mode he- intends to put her 
 to death. 
 
 In the king's absence, the chorus freely avow that pity for 
 Antigone tempts them to rebel against his sentence (800 
 When the doomed maiden appears they offer words of comfort, 
 which, in her distress, sound like hollow mockery (839), where- 
 upon they confess their conviction that, notwithstanding lu-r 
 nobility of conduct, the punishment was inevitable and is. in a 
 sense, self-imposed i ^72-5 ). Antigone' s last words are addrea 
 to the chorus, as " lords of Thebe," who behold tin- sufferings 
 of this last daughter of their kingly race (94* 
 
 After the stormy scene between Creon and Tiresias, the 
 chorus plainly warn the king that hi- is pursuing a ruinous course, 
 and as he is now disposed to listen to reason, they counsel him to 
 undo the wrong at once by setting Antigoiv llu- king 
 
 yields. It is at this point that the dramatic- function of the chorus, 
 in its capacity as an actor influencing the action of the piece, can 
 be seen most conspicuously. In the rest of the play, the chorus 
 serve mainly as the recipients of the evil tidings brought by the 
 messenger, or as the confidants of the unhappy monarch, who 
 now confesses his terrible error to the very men whose advice he 
 had so hastily and foolishly rejected. 
 
 lint notwithstanding this oft-forgotten importance of the dra- 
 matic side of the chorus, we must emphasi/.e the fact that its 
 
 / -r-'cti/ "lain function is, after all, not dramatic but lyrical. 
 /'uinfion oft/i,- All great tragedies, whether Sophocleanor Sha'.. 
 
 pearian. are poems charged with emotion, but 
 while in a Shakespearian play this emotion finds expression in 
 outbursts of lofty poetry on the lips of the principal characi 
 
 in a Sophodean such imaginative flights an- almost wholly . 
 
 fined to distinctly lyrical j presented by the whole chorus 
 
 in true lyrical fashion with song-and-dancc accompaniment In
 
 ANTIGONE 31 
 
 Shakespeare, such exalted poetry as characterizes certain scenes in 
 the dialogue, e. g., Macbeth' s 
 
 " Methought I heard a voice cry, 'Sleep no more,'" 
 or again, the great soliloquies, such as Hamlet's 
 
 "To be or not to be," 
 or Wolsey's 
 
 " Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! " 
 
 however beautiful as poetry, are essentially undramatic in spirit, 
 and always present peculiar difficulties to actors in the rendition. 
 Only the greatest can prevent such scenes from becoming gro- 
 tesque. 
 
 Now, in a Greek tragedy, these imaginative lyrics which, 
 after all, are essential in some form to every great drama, instead 
 of being diffused throughout the play, appear usually in more 
 concentrated form at the most important stages of the action. 
 The result is that, unlike a modern play, for which stage-managers 
 often feel compelled to provide irrelevant interludes, a Greek 
 tragedy is a continuous, unbroken performance, the purely dra- 
 matic scenes being punctuated, as it were, by lofty choral odes 
 "lyrical interbreathings " which interpret the spiritual mean- 
 ing of the play, and are, therefore, perfectly relevant to the 
 -situation, but which, at the same time, from the manner of their 
 rendition, afford a pleasing relief to the strain on the spectator's 
 attention. 
 
 In the Antigone there are six of these choral odes beauti- 
 ful compositions, which show much variety in lyrical conception. 
 The first (100-154) is a brilliant one, opening choral 
 
 and closing with strains of joyful exultation. The Odes of the 
 Theban elders, assembling in response to the -'<"/.;'</< 
 king's summons, greet the newly risen sun, " loveliest light that 
 ever shone on seven-gated Thebe, ' ' and describe in vivid fashion
 
 32 A N T I (i o X E 
 
 the terrors of the Arrive attack, tin- overtlm.u of Polynices, and 
 the subsequent flight of the besieging host. For so glorious a 
 victory they pour forth their thankfulness to the gods. \\ 1. 
 shrines they will visit under the leadership of Bacchus himself, 
 the tutelar god of Thebes. 
 
 The first c/>isot/f, a term which practically coincides with the 
 modern act, comprises Creon's lengthy address upon a kind's 
 duties and the announcement of his edict. This is followed by 
 the startling tidings that some daring person has already violated 
 the edict. Hence, in their second ode (332-375 >, the choru- 
 led to reflect upon the marvelous ingenuity of man, who makes 
 himself master of sea and land ; who subdues to himself the fowls 
 of the air, the fishes of the sea, and the beasts of the field ; and 
 who has provided himself with all resources, save only against 
 Death. This inventive skill brings him to evil as well as to good. 
 \V hen he upholds law and justice (as does Croon i. he and his 
 State prosper, but when in his audacity he breaks the laws, ruin 
 must be his lot. " Never may he share my hearth, or think my 
 thoughts, who doth such things ! " 
 
 When the sentence of death is passed upon Antigone, tin- 
 chorus (582-625), in saddened tone, ponder on the destiny of the 
 royal house of Thebes, upon which the waxes of trouble n< 
 cease to break. Generation after generation is weighed down 
 with calamity, and now utter extinction threatens the race. What 
 mortal, they cry, can set limits to the power of omnipotent '/.< 
 \\\ divine law, inordinate success or ambition brings to man a 
 rurse, for in his blindness he falls into sin, and then " but for the 
 briefest space fares he free from woe." Thus do the ch 
 unconsciously suggest Creon's subsequent punishment. 
 
 In the third episode. H.rmon vainly intercedes for his 
 betrothed, and then quits the scene in anger. The charming 
 which follo\\ - o) sings the resistless pout-rot" Love, who 
 
 sways mortals and immortals alike, and warps the minds even of
 
 ANTIGONE 37 
 
 the just. It is under his spell that Haemon has been disobedient 
 to his father and disloyal to his king. 
 
 As Antigone passes to her rocky tomb, the chorus, in their 
 fifth ode (944-987), reflect upon the truth that no mortal can 
 escape fate and recall three other royal personages, who have suf- 
 fered the horrors of a cruel punishment. Danae, a princess of 
 Argos, was immured in a brazen chamber ; Lycurgus, king of 
 Thrace, was imprisoned in a rocky cave ; and Cleopatra, of the 
 ancient house of the Erechthidee, and daughter of Boreas, endured 
 in agony the blinding of her sons by the woman who supplanted 
 her as wife of Phineus. 
 
 The last ode (1115-1154) has a distinct dramatic purpose. 
 The seer Tiresias has warned Creon that divine vengeance for his 
 offenses most surely awaits him, and after a short consultation 
 with the chorus the king has hastened forth to undo, if possible, 
 his terrible misdeeds. The chorus are filled with hope that his 
 repentance will avert the horrors foretold by the seer, and, in fervid 
 and exultant strains of joyful anticipation, invoke the saving 
 presence of the god, whom Thebes delights to honor the bright 
 and glorious Dionysus. 
 
 But the lyrical quality, which is so conspicuous in a Greek 
 tragedy, is not necessarily confined to the choral odes, nor indeed 
 to the chorus itself. Thus in the Antigone, two /,,,-/,- y //////< 
 passages in the dialogue are distinctly lyrical, and m'a/o^tu- of the 
 in the original are given in the strophic form, with '" " '"'"" 
 metres characteristic of lyric poetry. 
 
 The fourth episode (806-943) ' s niainly of this character. 
 Antigone is led forth from the palace, to be conducted presently 
 to her rocky tomb. The full significance of her fate seems to be 
 borne in upon her, as she beholds for the last time the light of 
 the sun and the sacred soil of her native land, and in the presence 
 of the elders she pours forth her sad lament in touching strains. 
 It is worth noticing that the measures assigned to the chorus in
 
 38 ANTIGONE 
 
 this pathetic scene are less emphatically lyrical than those given 
 to Antigone. Her emotion is naturally at its height at this 
 point, whereas the chorus, though extremely sympathetic, are 
 the less impassioned witnesses, who do not lose sight of the logic 
 of the situation. 
 
 The second passage occurs near the end of the play. Creon 
 enters (1260) with the body of 1 Lemon, and in accents of remorse 
 and despair bewails his unhappy fate, and prays for a speedy 
 death. The metre, assigned here by the poet to Creon, is mainly 
 the dochmiac, which is expressive of the most intense and tem- 
 pestuous emotion, whereas the chorus employs the metre of 
 ordinary dialogue the iambic trimeter which passes into a 
 marching measure, as the broken-hearted Creon leaves the stage 
 and the chorus follow, chanting a sail strain on the fall that waits 
 upon pride. 
 
 An analysis of this sort shows how intimately blended in 
 Sophocles are the lyric and dramatic elements of tragedy, and this 
 Four Kinds of brings us to the question of their mode of pr< 
 /'<"// 7f.r/>;> \\\- tation. It should always be borne in mind that 
 iousu, Tragedy. tragedy was at first wholly j yrica] 
 
 forth in a dance-song. The musical element, therefore, far from 
 being extraneous to Greek tragedy, was an original feature, and 
 even when the dramatic side was fully developed, we have ample 
 evidence that much of the dialogue was rendered with a musical 
 delivery. Plutarch, for instance, tells us that the tragedians fol- 
 lowed the custom, first set by Archilochus, of having their iambics 
 (the ordinary dialogue) only partially, not wholly (as had been 
 the custom ) sung, and musical rccitntiri\ we know, was alu 
 employed very largely on the Greek stage. ' In fact, the presen- 
 tation of a Greek tragedy in ancient times necessitated four kinds 
 of vocal expression, :/:.. plain speech, and three forms of musical 
 or semi-musical delivery, all of which involved an instrumental 
 
 I Stf Stmtif* in H'!->> <' /.',!.;/ f.,nni,-,in I,:.
 
 ANTIGONE 41 
 
 accompaniment. These were melodramatic declamation, musical 
 recitative, and distinct melody. It is impossible to define with 
 precision the limits assigned to these modes of delivery in regard 
 to any particular Greek play. Probably considerable latitude 
 was allowed in this respect, so that two choregi would follow a 
 different practice for the same play. 
 
 Plain speech, without musical accompaniment, was the rule 
 for the trimeters of ordinary dialogue, though we know from 
 Lucian (as well as from Plutarch), that even these 
 were sometimes sung. Melodies were, of course, Plain Speech. 
 employed in the choral odes, as well as in the 
 impassioned lyrical scenes in which the actors participated, e. g. , 
 the laments, in strophic form, of Antigone and Creon. Inter- 
 mediate between plain dialogue and pure lyrics 
 were the portions of tragedy which were Melody. 
 delivered either in musical recitative or in melodra- 
 matic declamation. z The form adopted depended, no doubt, 
 upon the emotional character of the scene, and the place it 
 occupies in the play. 
 
 Thus melodrama, i. e. , ordinary speech with musical accom- 
 paniment, was the form naturally employed in those anapaestic 
 lines with which the coryphaeus, at the close of a 
 choral ode, calls attention to the appearance of a Melodrama. 
 new character on the stage, as in the case of 
 Creon, Antigone, and Haemon (155-161, 376-383, 626-630). 
 From the musical point of view, melodrama would afford a natural 
 transition from the sung lyrics to the spoken dialogue. In the 
 case of Ismene's entrance (526-530), which is made, not at the 
 end of a choral ode, but in the course of the dialogue between 
 Creon and Antigone, the pathos of the lines uttered would account 
 sufficiently for the introduction of music with the anapaests, while 
 
 i Some writers make the mistake of failing to distinguish these two modes. Thus 
 Haigh, Tlir Attic 7'ln-atis, p. 301.
 
 42 A N T I G O N E 
 
 on the other hand the position of the lines used (1180-2). the 
 iambic metre, and the commonplace character of the statement 
 made, would all indicate that Eurydice's appearance was heralded 
 without music of any sort. Creon's final appearance at the side 
 of Haemon's bier (1257-1260) is announced by anap;ests, the 
 melodramatic delivery of which would be a natural mode of | 
 ing from the dialogue to the lyrics which were undoubtedly sung 
 by Creon. 
 
 On the other hand, recitative, by which is meant a mu- 
 chant delivery, not necessarily confined to a single voice, must 
 have been employed in the anap;estic systems 
 h'fcitatirt'. (110-115, 127-133, 141-147) which separate the 
 strophes of the first choral ode, as well as in the 
 like systems, which are employed by the chorus between the 
 strophes of Antigone's lyrical lament (8I7-S2J 
 Further on in this latter scene, the chorus break into full melody, 
 in response to Antigone's song, employing a short strophe with 
 corresponding antistrophe (853-856=^; The ana] 
 
 (800-5), with which the coryphueus announces the final appearance 
 of Antigone, may well have been sung in recitative. They 
 full of emotion, and do not introduce plain dialogue, but stand 
 between two strophic systems of lyrics. The single iambic 1 
 ( 1270, 1293), with which the chorus give to the actor of Creon's 
 part a moment's breathing-space between the strophes of his song. 
 were also probably sung in recitative, which would be the most 
 natural mode of expression for lines in such a position. Certainly, 
 the scene is too intensely lyrical for the employment of plain 
 speech at such points. The same is true of the choral iambics in 
 the remainder of this scene, including the single iambic line 
 (1336) of Creon's, just before the last strophe of his pite n 
 
 " Yet all I crave is summed up in that pra\ 
 
 The closing anap;ests, which point the moral of the play, . 
 probably sung in recitative by the whole chorus. The lyrical
 
 ANTIGONE 45 
 
 agitation, just preceding, has been too intense to permit a sudden 
 drop to mere melodrama, to say nothing of plain speech, and it 
 is hardly necessary to add that the chant of the whole chorus at 
 the close of the play is extremely impressive. ' 
 
 The combination of these several modes of vocal expression 
 introduced great variety into the presentation of a play, and must 
 have done much toward relieving the monotony y 
 which we are inclined to associate with a Greek ;';/ the 
 
 tragedy, on account of the unchanged scene, the Presentation. 
 non-employment of interludes, and a strict observance of the 
 unities of time and place. 
 
 Let us illustrate this statement by that portion of the play 
 which intervenes between the third and fourth choral odes. After 
 the singing of the hymn to Eros (78 1-799) by IUllstra t ion 
 the whole chorus, the coryphaeus chanted in reci- from the 
 tative the following anapaests (800-805). Then 
 come the lyrics sung by Antigone two strophes, two anti- 
 strophes and an epodc (after-song), intermingled with which are 
 the two anapaestic systems chanted by the chorus in recitative, 
 and the single strophe (853-6), with its corresponding antistrophe 
 (872-5), which were sung in melody. In the sudden change to 
 spoken iambics, Creon administers a harsh rebuke for these ' ' songs 
 and lamentations" (883), and sharply orders the guards to lead 
 their prisoner away. Antigone, however, is allowed to renew 
 her lament (891), which is no longer uttered in lyrical song, but 
 has subsided into plain iambics, delivered, I am inclined to think, 
 with a musical accompaniment. As she turns to leave the stage 
 the chorus speak of the fierce tempest in her soul, in melo- 
 dramatic anapaests, which Creon, in disdainful mockery, also 
 employs, as he launches a threat at the guards for their slowness. 
 Antigone's final aiuipa-sts, as the guards at last carry out Creon 's 
 order, may well, in view of the rising emotion, have been ren- 
 
 i See Haigh, Tin- Attic Th,\iti<\ p. 544.
 
 46 ANTIGONE 
 
 dered in recitative, thus leading up by a natural gradation t<> the 
 long choral ode, which precedes the entrance of Tiresias. 
 
 In the choral odes, we have the complete combination of t he- 
 sister arts of poetry, music, and dance, a combination, whi< h, 
 f n jf, far from being artificial, is but the artistic devel- 
 
 ofthe I.yric opment of an ancient and even primitive con< 
 
 tion of the essential unity of these rhythmic arts. 
 The Greek lyric or dramatic poet was necessarily a musician, and 
 not only wrote the verses to be sung, but gave them their 
 musical setting. Further, he possessed a practical knowledge of 
 orchestic, and originally taught the chorus the various gestures, 
 postures and attitudes, which, under the name dancing, aided in 
 the expre>sion of emotion and the interpretation of his verse. 
 The Greek dancer desired to give visible expression by m 
 of rhythmical movements of the body, to the words of the song. 
 
 Hence gesticulation was the most prominent 
 Creek Dancing, feature of the art, and the hands and arms of the 
 
 dancer were more in evidence than his feet. This 
 dancing was not confined even to the lyrical parts of a drama. 
 \\"e are told, for example, that Telestes, who lived in tin- da\ 
 
 liylus, was such an excellent artist that in dancing the Scrrn 
 against Thebes, he brought the incidents vividly before his 
 audience. This cannot but refer to his art in illustrating the 
 lengthy descriptive speeches of the play. The whole action of a 
 drama was, of course, followed by the chorus with keen inter 
 and the constant by-play in which it indulged ini^ht well come 
 under the head of dancing. There must, in fact, have been 
 infinite varieties of dancing, though we know that the art was to 
 some extent systematized for purposes of instruction and reduced 
 to certain types. Tragic dances naturally differed from comic 01 
 and were usually confined to stately and dignified motions. Their 
 character, however, depended entirely upon the nature of the 
 ode. In the Antigone, the invocation to Bacchus belongs to the
 
 ANTIGONE 51 
 
 class of odes known as hyporchemata, in which the dance-move- 
 ments are unusually lively. This is, of course, in keeping with 
 the situation. The first ode, too, which involves the vivid 
 description of a battle, and the joyous exultation of victors, must 
 have been accompanied by a very spirited dance. In the reflective 
 odes, the dancing was more subdued, but one noticeable artistic 
 feature of a play like the Antigone is the variety of its lyric 
 thought, and the consequent variety of expressive orchestic 
 movements which it involves. 
 
 The music of the ancient Greeks deserves more than the 
 slight notice which the limits of this paper will allow. It is usual 
 to dismiss the subject with the remark that Greek 
 music was utterly different from the modern art, Creek Music. 
 and being in a primitive stage is hardly worthy of 
 our consideration. ' ' We are deaf to its appeal and incredulous 
 of its beauty." 1 One might as well dispose of Greek mathe- 
 matics in the same way. We should remember that with the 
 Greeks music was ' ' an art as living as poetry or sculpture " - - 
 an art which engaged the attention of their noblest intellects, and 
 upon which many scientific treatises were written. Unfortunately, 
 very little of their actual music has survived, and this little belongs 
 to a late period, when all the arts had sadly declined from their 
 earlier greatness. However, the music of the Hymn to Apollo, 
 which was composed in the third century before Christ, and 
 which, engraved on marble in the Greek notation, was discovered 
 by the French archaeologists at Delphi in 1893, has elicited much 
 admiration from cultivated audiences in Europe and America. 
 because of its ample melodiousness, its noble serenity, and its 
 uplifting spirituality. Judging from this late specimen alone, we 
 may well believe that the best Greek music, as Plato has it, could 
 ' ' sink into our inmost soul and take hold of it most powerfully. ' ' ; 
 
 I and i From a review of I'lolVnr Macran's Tin- /faii:ii,> '<* in 
 
 the London TliMM' literary supplement, l>ue., 1901. 
 ? K,-l>nblii\ III, 401' U.
 
 >2 ANTIGONE 
 
 The main difference between the ancient and modern art 
 in the fact that vocal music was pure melody, harmony being 
 ( 'ontra^t confined to instrumental music. All < ireek singing 
 rt'/M Modem \\as therefore in unison, the accompaniment alone 
 being in harmony. This method, as is well known, 
 is frequently employed even today in the sacred music of many 
 great continental churches. In their lyric song, the < in 
 regarded the poetic thought as of prime importance, and the 
 music, aided by the dance, was expected, not to obscure, but to 
 emphasize and illuminate the words employed. Thus the mu>ic 
 of an ode was much less complex than the elaborate harmoni' 
 a modern opera, though, on the other hand, by reason of the 
 intricate rhythmical structure of the ode, it must have been far 
 more complicated than the simple airs, repeated with every stanxa. 
 of our national and popular ballads. At the same time, the 
 rhythm of Greek music was always strongly marked, as we may 
 inter from I'lato and Aristotle. The time, too, was in strict ,n rord 
 with the verse-metre, so that, for example, owing to the frequent 
 use in poetry of eretic (--v-t and pa-onian (-wv) feet, five-fourth 
 time i illustrated by the Hymn to Apollo'}, though quite rare in 
 modern music, was common with the Greek e all, G' 
 
 music, in its various modi's, whatever be the correct theory . 
 their nature, was able to interpret adequately many states of : 
 ing, and could give fitting and satisfying expression to the var 
 mental attitudes reflected in lyrical song. 
 
 Knowing then the>e leading facts about the Greek lyric art, 
 let us consider what kind of mr.sir in view of tb.< tin- 
 
 ancient we should employ in a modern repre- 
 Cation of the AttiigOtU. ' Fat this play, at tin- 
 instance of Frederick William IV of Prussia, 
 Mendelssohn in 1841 composed some of the most beautiful choral 
 music ever written. Those who are thoroughly familiar with both 
 the music and the Greek text know how admirably he has inter-
 
 ANTIGONE 55 
 
 preted the spirit of the original in strains that appeal to the 
 modern ear. The Greek itself, as well as Conner's German 
 translation, was evidently before the musician's eyes while com- 
 posing his work. In adapting the music to the original text, as 
 was done for the Stanford performances, one very seldom finds 
 that the Greek metrical feet and the musical phrasing do not 
 closely correspond. The metrical accent almost invariably coin- 
 cides with the main beat of the musical measure, and it not infre- 
 quently happens that the music is better suited to the Greek than 
 to. the translation, made "in the metres of the original." The 
 result is a set of brilliant choruses for male voices, which have 
 an almost unique musical value. 
 
 No one, of course, pretends to claim that Mendelssohn's 
 music enables us to realize, in any degree, the character of the 
 lost original. It must be judged wholly from a points f 
 modern standpoint. And yet certain of its features Resemblance to 
 remind us of the leading characteristics of the Gri ' cf; -'/<" 
 Greek art. A large portion of it is sung in unison ; the rhythm 
 is strongly marked ; each note corresponds, as a rule, to a sep- 
 arate verse-syllable ; and only occasionally has the composer 
 yielded to the temptation of allowing different words to be sung 
 by different parts of the chorus at the same time. Moreover, the 
 frequent use of recitative and melodrama is, as we have shown, 
 thoroughly in accord with Greek usage, and in this connection it 
 is interesting to observe that Mendelssohn's lyric genius has led 
 him to follow pretty closely the general principles observed by 
 the ancients in distributing the forms of musical expression. 
 Above all, the music never overrides the poetic thought, but 
 assists it with such expressiveness that a hearer, though ignorant 
 of the Greek, can hardly fail to follow the general meaning. 
 
 We have dwelt thus fully upon the main features of Men- 
 delssohn's Antigone, because there are some who maintain that 
 the use of this modern music serves to convey to the spectators a
 
 56 ANTIGONE 
 
 wrong impression as to the character of a Greek play. Such 
 critics would prefer to present the Antigone with a minimum 
 
 amount of colorless music, specially composed by 
 /A- Suitability, some local musician. Such a step may be nc< 
 
 sary in the case of most plays, but when a great 
 genius like Mendelssohn has provided the Antigone with a beau- 
 tiful and adequate musical setting, I see no good reason for putting 
 it aside in favor of a purely pedantic composition, which can never 
 appeal to modern ears and hearts in the way in which the ancient 
 music stirred the emotions of the hearers. For, after all, a modern 
 presentation of a Greek masterpiece should aim at producing the 
 t'nscHili/e effect of the original, and this can never be done if we 
 employ music which means little to us, because, forsooth, we 
 choose to imagine that the ancient music was valueless. Amid 
 all our ignorance of the actual music of the Greeks, one fact, at 
 least, is impressed upon us over and over again by the ancient 
 writers, and that is that the music of their great lyric poets \\ 
 spiritual power, which " sank into the inmost soul," and con- 
 tributed to the upbuilding of a manly, noble, and beautiful char- 
 acter. 
 
 An able critic of the Stanford performances 1 described the 
 genius of Mendelssohn as " half Christian, half Jewish," and 
 yy therefore unsuited for Greek subjects. I must 
 
 ./( rc/A h Out -.\ tion confess that, as applied to music, the ph; 
 
 employed conveys to my mind very little ; 
 ing, and seems to be a mere echo of the outcry once raised in 
 German \Vagnerian circles against things Semitic, but it 
 serve to remind one of the interesting fact that historians of in 
 are still debating the question whether our oldest Christian music 
 the Ambrosian and Gregorian chants lias come to us from 
 Greece or Palestine. If, as is commonly believed, these chants 
 indeed the same as those once used in Solomon's temple, 
 
 I In the Santa I'.
 
 ANTIGONE 59 
 
 there must have been a striking resemblance between them and 
 the music of Greece, when early Christian musicians could apply 
 to them the very names of the Greek modes. In this case, who 
 will dare to say that it is out of place for a Jewish musician to 
 compose music for a Greek play ? 
 
 One word more. The writer has recently witnessed in Rome 
 M. Mounet- Sully 's representation of the GLdipus Tyrannus, as 
 given at the Comedie-Francaise in Paris. It was 
 undoubtedly brilliant in some respects, but I am 
 convinced that the remark made by a cultivated 
 spectator was just, viz., that from such a performance one can 
 learn much better what to avoid than what to imitate in present- 
 ing a Greek play. This is especially true of the lyrical element. 
 In the French version the chorus practically disappears ; tin- 
 grand odes, which express the collective emotion of a dramatic 
 group of elders, are ruined by being delivered in weak melo- 
 drama by a single female voice; recitative and vocal melody are 
 abandoned, and the result is a succession of dramatic scenes, 
 which, with their long speeches, tend to become exceedingly 
 monotonous, being unrelieved by the lyric color, movement, and 
 variety of tone, which the Greeks considered essential to a great 
 tragedy. H. RUSHTON FAIRCLOUGH.
 
 ASSEMBLY HALL, STANFORD UNIVERSITY 
 THURSDAY, APRIL SEVENTEENTH, NINETEEN 
 HUNDRED AND Two, AT EIGHT P . M . , AND 
 SATURDAY, APRIL NINETEENTH, AT ELEVEN A. M. 
 
 TWO PRESENTATIONS OF 
 
 THE ANTIGONE 
 OF SOPHOCLES 
 
 IN THE ORIGINAL GREEK 
 
 WITH MENDELSSOHN'S MUSIC 
 
 BY MEMBERS OF THE FACULTY AND 
 STUDENTS OF LELAND STANFORD 
 JUNIOR UNIVERSITY UNDER THE AUS- 
 PICES OF THE DEPARTMENT OF GREEK
 
 68 ANTIGONE 
 
 THE CAST 
 
 ANTIGOM; Miss E. Cook^. \ 
 
 ISMI.NK, her sister Miss E. Crandall 
 
 CHORUS OF THKIJAN ELDERS, - 
 
 under the Coryplncus - Professor H. R. Fairclough 
 
 CREON, the King - - Professor A. I . Murray 
 
 GUARD Mr. J. K. Bonnt-11 
 
 H.I-.MON, son of Creon - Mr. K. V. Reppy 
 
 TIRESIAS, a seer - Professor S. S. Seward, Jr. 
 
 MI-.SSI-.NC.KR - Mr. K. i 
 
 KI-KVDICK, the Queen - Mix. J. P. Hall 
 
 SECOND MESSENGER - Mr. C. W. Thomas, Jr. 
 
 ( Miss I. Richards 
 
 ATTENDANTS TO THK Qi 
 
 ( Mr. R. Brvan 
 
 ATTENDANTS TO THK KING ( ^ R A Hamilt<)11 
 
 I Mr. H. A. Mnran 
 _ Mr. !. |. Rv.-in 
 
 KXTRA ATmnuim Mr _, ^^^.^ 
 
 Mr. J. S. King 
 BOY, attending Tiresias Robert Lindley Murray 
 
 The Chorus is made up of the Corypha-us and fourtetn of the fol- 
 lowing : Messrs. O. H. Clarke, J. E. Cline, B. R. Cocks, C. K. Kllis. 
 E. C. Eppley, E. I. Frisselle, S. P. Frisstlle, H. (lay, E. O. |a 
 O. Kehrlein, H. R. Mockridge, H. L. Morrison, B. 1'. < >.ikf<>rd, A. Per- 
 rin, H. M. Shipley, \V. J. Stack, E. Talbot, R. E. \Vartk-Id. 
 
 The music has bt-i-n adapted to the Greek by Professor H. R. Fair- 
 clough. 
 
 Prompter, Miss A. F. Weaver. 
 
 Musical Director, Mr. A. L. Scott Brook. 
 
 Stage Manager, Mr. Leo Cooper. 
 
 The scene is laid in Thebes, before the royal palace. 
 
 In nnlrr that ttio timtimiitv of tin- ijlay may not IK: interrupted, it will Jx.- impossible for 
 others than the chorus to remind to encores.
 
 ANTIGONE 69 
 
 THE STORY 
 
 CEdipus, though unwittingly, had fulfilled the doom which the oracle declared should be 
 his : he had slain with his own hand his father, Laius, and had become the husband of his 
 mother, Jocasta. When Ihe horrible truth became known, Jocasta hanged herself and 
 CEdipus dashed out his eyes with the brooch of her robe. 
 
 The two sons of the ill-fated pair fell in deadly combat, the younger, Eteocles, seeking 
 to hold the Theban throne against his brother, Polynices, who had come with an alien host 
 from Argos to claim his rights. 
 
 Creon, the uncle of the two youths, has become king, and has declared that the corpse 
 of Polynices shall be left unburied, to be rent of dogs and birds. To this edict the citizens 
 submit, and with them Ismene, one of the two sisters, upon whom, as next of kin, the duty of 
 paying burial rites to the fallen chiefly rested. The other sister, Antigone, in defiance of the 
 edict, gives burial to her brother, and, sister's child to the king though she is, and betrothed 
 to his son Hsemon, is herself condemned to be buried alive in a rocky vault, where she takes 
 her life. 
 
 Haemon slays himself in anguish by the side of his betrothed, and, learning of this, 
 Eurydice, the wife of Creon, takes her life; so that woe upon woe is heaped on the head of 
 the unhappy king. 
 
 SUMMARY OF T H E D R A M A 
 
 Antigone announces to Ismene her intention to perform the rites of burial over Polynices. 
 
 First choral song The Glorious Victory. 
 
 (a) Creon's speech. 
 
 (6) Guard brings news that the corpse has been buried. 
 
 Second choral song Man's Audacity. 
 
 (a) Antigone led before Creon. 
 
 (b) Guard's story of the arrest. 
 
 Antigone pleads guilty. Her noble defense. 
 (tf) Ismene's devotion. Her appeal to Creon. 
 (e) Creon, in anger, orders both to be kept in restraint. 
 
 Third choral song A House Accursed. Omnipotence of Zeus; Im- 
 potence of Man. 
 
 (a) Haemon pleads vainly with Creon. 
 
 (b) Creon announces Antigone's terrible punishment. 
 
 Fourth choral song Love's Power. 
 
 (<7) Antigone's lament. Chorus is moved to sympathy. 
 (b) Antigone led to her fate. 
 
 Fifth choral song Like Fates of Danae, Lycurgus and Cleopatra. 
 
 (a) Tiresias warns Creon; and, when angered, announces divine vengeance. 
 ib) Creon is moved, and. urged by the chorus, seeks to undo his deeds.
 
 7 o A X T I C, N E 
 
 Sixth Choral song Invocation to Bacchus. 
 
 (a) ; Lemon's suicide. 
 
 (*) Eurydice's entrain c. 
 
 (c) Messenger's talc : Creon has Uvn too late. 
 
 (rf) Kurydice sik-ntly withdi 
 
 (e) Creon enters, with I demon's lifeless l*>dy. 
 
 (/) ('icon's lament. 
 
 (g) Chorus marches Iroin the stride, sin^in^ of the fall that waits ii]ion pride. 
 
 SUPPLEMENTARY CHORUS 
 
 Prof. F. Angell, Dr. G. 1?. Link-. Messrs. I-:. I.. Anderson, H. II. 
 Atkinson, C. H. Baker, 15. M. Breeden, C. E. Burton, II. K. Bush, Geo. 
 H. Clark, (). H. Clarke, T. A. Cutting, ( '.. \V. Dryer, L. C. Hauley. 
 \V. R. Hogan.-T. G. Hosmer, G. B. Jeffers, E. A. J..IH-S, (,. !'. Jo 
 J. Josephson, J. S. Kin-, A. J. Klanit, T. McCaughern, J. T. Mc.Manis, 
 I',. Nnursi-, .M. 0|i|)cnlR-im, R. N. Park, \V. D. I'atterscu, J. <".. IVrkins. 
 R. L. 1'leak, N. C. Powers, E. L. Rra, F. L. Talln-rt, J. C. Taylor, F. B. 
 Tucker, E. Wakeman, H. A. \\Vihe, F. T. \Vliitaker, \V. T. \Vhitaker. 
 
 TH I- OKC H F.STR A 
 
 ruiisly put ;>t the disposal nf the Musical I>irect<>r l'> ' ^- \\ 
 
 N'ouiiK. I 
 
 I-'irst Violin: Messrs. G. A. Scoville, R. II. I'.aron, Miss G. M. 
 Bruckman, Messrs. A. J. Copp, C. E. \Vaite, I-;. V. Kehrlein, \V. H. 
 Shadburne.J. J. Wertheinier. Second Violin : Misses A. l' aison, C. Still- 
 man, K. R. Kipp, Mr. C. C. James, Miss J. Henry, M I'.tackett, 
 V. E. Shirk, E. Williams. Viola: M- ssrs. H. \V. I'ouler, L. G ! 
 Cello: Mr. J. Habile. Bass : Mr. I >. P. Camp!). II. Flute >r B. 
 I-:. Howard. Clarinet: Messrs. R. I'. Fitting, \V. C. Platt. Cornet: 
 Mr. A. E. Lee, Prof. C. B. \Vhittier, Mr. F. Roller. Fn.-n.-h Horn: 
 Messrs. E. A. Martin. G. E. Lucas, C. Ilatton. Troinhoi l'>. 
 C. Bubb, C. A. iMtxgerakl. Tympani : Mr. A. S. Halley. Piano: Miss 
 
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