You are the daughter of a king and a queen, little Antigone. You will always need to show yourself worthy of your rank and responsibilities. How many times has Antigone heard these words? Over a hundred times, perhaps. She heard them every time she scratched her knee on the fence, every time she returned to the palace with mud in her hair and a small injured animal in her arms. She knows her duties by heart and could recite them in her sleep: make your parents proud, smile, be beautiful, give strong sons to Thebes, sons who'll be ready to die for their cities like Polynices and Eteocles.
Antigone knows how to make her father smile and her mother sigh with her childish jokes, and that should count for something, right? It should, because she's too young to give birth, she doesn't know how to smile and she'll never be beautiful. Nobody will want to marry skinny Antigone, dirty Antigone. No man will want her to have their sons, and her mother says her hips are too thin for her to bear children easily. So Antigone bites her lips to keep inside what she thinks. If she's too ugly and too thin to fulfill her duties, why should she act according to her rank? She has a sister and two brothers who will do so much better than she ever will. Sometimes, Antigone would like to be a little mouse. She'd like Thebes to forget her.
But she's not a mouse and every night, when her mother brushes her hair and pulls the twigs stuck in her hair, she reminds her of her rank and responsibilities and she whispers "What are we going to do with you?" when she's finished. What she means is "Who will ever want you for his bride?"
At night, Antigone cries, because she wants to be worthy of her beautiful and wise mother, she really does. She's so beautiful, her mom, with her graying hair, her pretty dresses, and her jewelry. She'd like to be like her, but Antigone can only be Antigone. It is sad, but it is the truth.
Good thing Antigone is not alone.
Ismene is here for her, Ismene who is so beautiful she outshines the sun wherever she goes, Ismene who makes their parents smile when she appears, Ismene who smiles when people expect her to do, who is serious when she needs to be, Ismene with her wide hips, Ismene who listens to people instead of talking back, Ismene who'll have beautiful and wise children. But she's also Ismene who takes Antigone in her arms and says she loves her when no one else does, Ismene who helps Antigone with the lessons she doesn't understand, Ismene who whispers that sometimes it's her, Ismene the beautiful, Ismene the sweet, Ismene the quiet, who'd like to be a little more like Antigone the unworthy, who is not yet Antigone the rebel.
And then there's Polynices and Eteocles, the boys, the big brothers. Antigone needs to raise her head very high to look at them because they're already as tall as their father. One day, Creon will try to harm Antigone by telling her that Polynices and Eteocles are rascals, heartless sons determined to murder their father when they were only boys, ready to kill each other to be Thebes' king a little earlier. Antigone will believe him, because the world is ugly and because she'll know by then that her family is as ugly inside as Antigone is outside. But for now, she sees only two loving big brothers with infinite patience for their ugly little sister.
She likes Polynices better when she does not prefer Eteocles.
Polynices lets her follow him when he goes to see the troops training and he answers all her silly girl questions. When she's sad she's not like Ismene, he says he's not like Eteocles and that's a good thing, then helps her escape the next lesson.
Eteocles takes her on his shoulders and they run in the palace corridors to take her to the same lesson when he finds where she hides. And when she tells him sometimes she's afraid of what will happen to her, he promises he'll choose her husband himself when he's king, to make sure Antigone is happy.
Antigone loves these two big brothers who are grown up and have no time to play with her but patiently listen to her when she talks about her doll. Sometimes they give her cake in secret. When she sees them, Antigone laughs and smiles, because she can be herself with them and Ismene. They are the only three people in the world who get her smiles because she's not someone who can offer an insincere smile.
Quite often, Antigone regrets being born into Thebes' royal family. She hates to have all these responsibilities waiting for her in the future, but never to be born with Ismene, Polynices, and Eteocles as sister and brothers. She knows her mother thinks the same because she heard her say so. Jocasta cannot believe she was lucky enough to get so beautiful and strong children - oh, and Antigone too - after all the years she cried over the children she didn't have with her first husband. She never believed the gods would bless her and let her see children born from her grow before her eyes. Antigone knows she wasn't supposed to hear that part, because Jocasta does not talk about Laius.
Antigone grows. She's not as fast as Ismene, but she grows to find Jocasta had predicted correctly. Antigone's hips did not widen and she didn't get prettier, but Antigone is happy to watch Ismene shine and dance at Oedipus's feasts. In the evening, they get under the same blanket to talk about Ismene's prospects. Antigone repeats often she's happy to be useful to her sister on such occasions. No one sees little Antigone in a corner of the room, listening to conversations and telling Ismene which men she should be wary of.
One day, Polynices and Eteocles notice it, and they ask her to repeat what she hears about some girls, or about what that general said to their father or uncle. Antigone is sixteen. She does not understand their purpose. She's just glad to help them and to see them listening to her opinion.
So many things she doesn't see, so many lies. Jocasta's weariness, Ismene's fears about her future as a king's daughter, Oedipus's distrust of his sons, and her brother's hate of their father.
How could she, when Hemon looks at her, talks with her, and smiles at her, even when Ismene is in the room? Antigone's heart vibrates. She feels alive, like never before, strong enough to take on the entire world, stronger than her brothers the soldiers.
Hemon asks for her hand. Antigone says yes. Creon and Oedipus approve. Polynices and Eteocles are proud to have helped this union happen. They had nothing to do with it, but Antigone is too happy to remind them. Only Hemon matters to her. She can't believe such joy could happen to her. It is strange to think she's going to marry before her sister. He loves you, Antigone, he loves you! Ismene cries, taking her in her arms. My little girl, married, Jocasta says all day long. Oh, what a joy for us! Days are filled with laughter. Nights are joyful too, with dreams where she helps her son take his first steps. Every morning, she shares her dreams with Hemon. He kisses her fingertips and his voice shakes with love when he tells her he has the same hopes. Their wedding day can not come soon enough. Antigone dreams, Antigone laughs, Antigone feels like an adult. But she's only a little child. She does not know what's coming. She doesn't know that her family had only five minutes before the tragedy began, that nothing can hinder fate, that the gods had not blessed Jocasta, and that they're angry to see their warnings ignored and morality scorned. The gods have not forgotten them. They just took their time.
Thebe is struck before her family is. The plague is here. Antigone cannot marry Hemon now that their city is suffering. She must wait and stay away from the miasma. Ismene and her weave burial shrouds for the dead, having nothing else to do. How many of these shrouds will be used for her family?
Oedipus fears for his city and his family. Why did the gods punish them? He seeks answers. The day the truth is revealed, all the family is here. Oedipus sits on his throne, Jocasta standing behind him as his faithful wife. Polynices and Eteocles are two steps behind, like two brothers refusing to give way to each other. Ismene and Antigone are sitting on the steps, curious to know why the messenger asked for the all family to be here. They're happy and united, or Antigone thinks so as she smiles at them.
Then the truth bursts, terrible, deadly. Oedipus killed his father and married his mother.
A cry echoes in the room. It sounds like an injured beast. Was it Oedipus or Jocasta? No one knows. It doesn't matter, anyway. Jocasta put her hands on her stomach, looking sick. If she could tear out the uterus that gave birth to five cursed children, she would. Polynices and Eteocles take three steps back, moving away with horror from this father who's also their brother and whom they wanted to kill for a throne already soiled with blood. Ismene has disappeared already. She doesn't like conflict, Ismene, neither tears nor cries. She flies.
Antigone stays. She's frozen on the spot, long after all the drama protagonists fled the throne room. She cannot flee, she cannot cry, she cannot speak. She thought she was clever and brave, but not brave enough to face the truth. Hours pass before new howls comes from further inside the palace. The rumor, carried by frightened servants, reaches Antigone at last.
The queen killed herself on the very bed where she gave birth to her children. All her children.
After that, the other three children of Oedipus join Antigone on the throne steps. In their sister's immobility, they think they can find the strength they lack. They clutch to each other. They know it is the end for Thebes' royal family, but at that moment, they're more united than they ever were. Ismene cries and Polynices wipes her tears from her cheek. He kisses her forehead. Eteocles puts a hand on his brother's shoulder and hugs Antigone with his other arm. They're all determined to be strong for the other's sake, to defend their family in the face of adversity. They do not know if the blow will come from Thebes's people, from the nobility, or from Creon, but they know it will come.
Together, they hold on and endure each additional news.
Oedipus blinded himself.
Oedipus abdicated.
Oedipus exiles from Thebes. He'll wander and beg in atonement for his faults.
At last, the illusion of their unit shatters. Above the heads of their sisters, Polynices and Eteocles size each other, seeking a weakness they can use to seize the throne for themselves. It will be months before they fight, but in their head, they're already dealing in the fatal blow. If Ismene and Antigone weren't there, one would have seized his dagger, the other his sword. The tragedy is already moving to the second act, just as bloody as the first. There will be no rest for Oedipus' children, only death, until the last surviving one can stand above their graves and tell what happened to the curious and enjoin them to respect gods' laws.
It will not be Antigone. She already died on the throne's steps. Her mother and father had murdered her happiness, unknowingly. There will be no wedding, no children. Antigone hides her face between her legs and under her hair and seeks to disappear. This time, she stays alone with her pain. They are all alone, even as they stand in the same room.
Creon comes at last. His face is grave. He whispers some empty words. Be strong, my children. Together, you will overcome this trial. If I can help, in any way... They do not listen. Oedipus is behind him. There is nothing left of the king he was that morning. Someone took pity on him and covered his dead eyes with a linen bandage, but it's soaking in blood already.
He holds out a trembling hand toward his children, a question on his lips. Who will escort the pariah? Who has enough love in their heart for their father and brother to not let him walk alone on the roads? Polynices turns away and rushes out, pretending someone must make sure the army doesn't panic. Eteocles follows, saying he should speak with Thebes' elders. As he passes so close to Oedipus, he startles their father, but he pretends not to see him. Ismene closes her eyes, pretending to see and hear nothing. The father abandoned by his sons, murderer of his father, curses his sons, in pain or resentment. It is too late to save Polynices and Eteocles now.
So it is Antigone who opens her eyes and raises her head. She looks at her father and sees a man who has done nothing to attract such trouble to his head. She wonders which gods can hold a man responsible for destiny's whims. Oedipus blinded himself to escape his children's glare, and she understands why. She would not be brave enough to look for Hemon. She's not ready. He will reject her in disgust or keep his word out of mercy. She can guess what the future holds for her brothers. She can see their blood on Thebes' ground. She knows she'll be here at the end of the drama, that Thebes will be her grave, and that no one can flee or prevent what is to come. The gods have already decided how it will end. All she can do is to breathe a last time before disappearing into nothingness. Like her sister and her brothers, Antigone flees. But unlike them, she will not forget her duties and forsake her parent's lesson.
"I will come with you," she tells the stranger before her.
He looks like he's going to cry, but she has no tears left for him, for their mother or for their brothers. She can only stand and walk until the tragedy ends, but Antigone's already gone.