Power shows the man.“[[24]]

It was a true word, and curiously verified in his own life. For he who had shown so fair a front in Thebes, when the reins of government lay in the hands of Œdipus and Jocasta, proved himself a tyrant when authority fell on him. Creon, young and ardent, could dare the wrath of Œdipus, and tell him to his face that even a king might not be unjust. But the same man clothed in power, with youthful ideals fled and all the texture of his mind hardened by age and convention, could only meet the supreme idealism of Antigone with a decree of death.

It is not suggested that Sophocles has developed Creon’s character in an unbroken sequence through the three dramas in which he appears. The chronology of the plays forbids this. For the Antigone, which presents the last phase of the story, was written years before Œdipus the King and the Œdipus at Colonus, which give us both Antigone and Creon in earlier days. But that is an external fact which does not much disturb the unity of the poet’s conception. The Creon of the three plays is essentially the same man. He is not consistent always, since no human creature is. But under that accusing contrast between the theories of his youth and the practice of his age there is an abiding law of human nature which only the few fine souls escape. And we are clearly shown that Creon was not born to be the rare exception. Always prudent, law-abiding and careful of authority, these qualities would strengthen with the years; and lighted by no higher truth, but carried to excess in moments of passion, would inevitably make him what he became.

In the same way there is an underlying unity in the character of Antigone. In Œdipus the King we know her only by name, a child of thirteen into whose sunny life a storm has suddenly crashed. In the Œdipus at Colonus, the strong young spirit has awakened, and is giving clear promise of the heights to which it will soar before its short day is done. While the Antigone, the drama which bears her name, does but fulfil and make perfect what is fair promise in the other plays.

We are entitled therefore, in coming to the Attic dramatists for Antigone’s story, to read the three Sophoclean plays as if they were a trilogy; although each of the three is distinct and complete in itself. And we shall find too, that in the Seven against Thebes of Æschylus, in which Antigone first appears, there is sounded once for all the high heroic note to which her story moved in the versions of the later poets. There is indeed a wealth of testimony for Antigone, and fine unanimity in it. We can trace her short life almost throughout. There was the happy early time in Thebes, when royalty sat lightly on the merry boys and girls in the palace; and when the great king and queen were simply their dear and loving parents. That was a time of sweetest memories. Ambition had not yet taught the two spirited brothers to hate each other; and Ismene was still the gentle little sister who would follow with unquestioning devotion wherever Antigone might lead.

But in one black day, and with no warning given, every ray of happiness had been blotted out. Of all the sights and sounds huddled into the memory of that hideous day, Antigone could only recall two things clearly—the stately queen her mother lying dead by her own hand; and Œdipus the king, self-blinded, pleading in strange remorse outside the palace to be banished from the city. But one impression, filtering almost unconsciously through her terror, remained and grew. It was the look of horror, almost of loathing, on every face that surrounded the unhappy king. Antigone herself could hardly bear to see him; but she vaguely felt that in these shrinking figures there was something more than physical revulsion at the sight. Why did the crowding people, the senators, even Prince Creon himself, draw away from her father as though he were some unclean thing whose touch would pollute them? That they did so stung her; and although their terrified recoil was only dimly realized at the time, it brought a flood of pity and indignation with it. In the wave of protecting love that filled her heart, making her long to fling herself between the dear maimed father and all those cruel glances, Antigone the woman sprang to a noble life. She did not grow to full stature immediately. Years passed, and Creon, assuming rule in Thebes as regent for her brothers, prevailed on Œdipus to seclude himself within the city. Time brought sad knowledge to Antigone. She learned the causes of the tragedy that had fallen on them, as it seemed, out of a blue sky. She found, too, the meaning of that frantic abhorrence of her father; though she never learned to share it. Neither intellect nor heart would consent to hold him guilty: not by one iota was he responsible for the evils that had smitten him. So, as his own brain cleared from the shock of the calamity, Œdipus found a champion in his daughter whose splendid logic and whose love were alike invincible.

Later he had need of all Antigone’s courage. For faction sprang to life in the city and grew fast. Superstition fed it eagerly, and soon there was but one thought in all the darkened mind of Thebes, from Creon downward. Their town, in sheltering Œdipus, was harbouring pollution; and he must be cast out. The people clamoured fanatically; but Creon and the princes Polynices and Eteocles made no stand against them. To them, the presence of Œdipus was a political embarrassment, as well as an alleged cause of displeasure to the gods. Thus ambition united with fear to drive them on; and presently, his unnatural sons consenting, Œdipus was ruthlessly cast out of Thebes.

There was only one voice uplifted in his defence; but a woman’s word, though it might be the soul of right, had no value in the counsels of the State. Œdipus went into exile alone: poor, blind and dogged by the curse which his cruel destiny had invoked upon him. But he did not wander long unfriended.

Antigone,

E’er since her childhood ended, and her frame