Ecco come apparirà la lettura.
Hecuba
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Ballantyne Press
BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO.
LONDON AND EDINBURGH
HECUBA
AND OTHER PLAYS
BY
EURIPIDES
TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE BY
MICHAEL WODHULL
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY HENRY MORLEY
LL.D., PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE AT
UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, LONDON
LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL
GLASGOW AND NEW YORK
1888
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO.
LONDON AND EDINBURGH
MORLEY’S UNIVERSAL LIBRARY.
- 1. Sheridan’s Plays.
- 2. Plays from Molière. By English Dramatists.
- 3. Marlowe’s Faustus and Goethe’s Faust.
- 4. Chronicle of the Cid.
- 5. Rabelais’ Gargantua and the Heroic Deeds of Pantagruel.
- 6. Machiavelli’s Prince.
- 7. Bacon’s Essays.
- 8. Defoe’s Journal of the Plague Year.
- 9. Locke on Civil Government and Filmer’s “Patriarcha.”
- 10. Butler’s Analogy of Religion.
- 11. Dryden’s Virgil.
- 12. Scott’s Demonology and Witchcraft.
- 13. Herrick’s Hesperides.
- 14. Coleridge’s Table-Talk.
- 15. Boccaccio’s Decameron.
- 16. Sterne’s Tristram Shandy.
- 17. Chapman’s Homer’s Iliad.
- 18. Mediæval Tales.
- 19. Voltaire’s Candide, and Johnson’s Rasselas.
- 20. Jonson’s Plays and Poems.
- 21. Hobbes’s Leviathan.
- 22. Samuel Butler’s Hudibras.
- 23. Ideal Commonwealths.
- 24. Cavendish’s Life of Wolsey.
- 25 & 26. Don Quixote.
- 27. Burlesque Plays and Poems.
- 28. Dante’s Divine Comedy. Longfellow’s Translation.
- 29. Goldsmith’s Vicar of Wakefield, Plays, and Poems.
- 30. Fables and Proverbs from the Sanskrit. (Hitopadesa.)
- 31. Lamb’s Essays of Elia.
- 32. The History of Thomas Ellwood.
- 33. Emerson’s Essays, &c.
- 34. Southey’s Life of Nelson.
- 35. De Quincey’s Confessions of an Opium-Eater, &c.
- 36. Stories of Ireland. By Miss Edgeworth.
- 37. Frere’s Aristophanes: Acharnians, Knights, Birds.
- 38. Burke’s Speeches and Letters.
- 39. Thomas à Kempis.
- 40. Popular Songs of Ireland.
- 41. Potter’s Æschylus.
- 42. Goethe’s Faust: Part II. Anster’s Translation.
- 43. Famous Pamphlets.
- 44. Francklin’s Sophocles.
- 45. M. G. Lewis’s Tales of Terror and Wonder.
- 46. Vestiges of the Natural History of Creation.
- 47. Drayton’s Barons’ Wars, Nymphidia, &c.
- 48. Cobbett’s Advice to Young Men.
- 49. The Banquet of Dante.
- 50. Walker’s Original.
- 51. Schiller’s Poems and Ballads.
- 52. Peele’s Plays and Poems.
- 53. Harrington’s Oceana.
- 54. Euripides: Alcestis and other Plays.
- 55. Praed’s Essays.
- 56. Traditional Tales. Allan Cunningham.
- 57. Hooker’s Ecclesiastical Polity. Books I.-IV.
- 58. Euripides: The Bacchanals and other Plays.
- 59. Izaak Walton’s Lives.
- 60. Aristotle’s Politics.
- 61. Euripides: Hecuba and other Plays.
“Marvels of clear type and general neatness.”—Daily Telegraph.
INTRODUCTION.
We left the history of the House of Tantalus with a reference to Helen, as we find her in the translated play which is among those which here complete the collection of the extant works of Euripides.
Menelaus sent ambassadors to Troy to demand back Helen, his wife, whom Paris had carried off. The counsels of Antenor were set aside at Troy, by the persuasions of Paris that gave occasion to the Siege of Troy. Agamemnon, on the throne of the deposed Thyestes, had extended his dominion. Homer gave him command over a hundred ships in the expedition against Troy. Some were from Mycene, which although but six or seven miles from Argos had been capital of a separate kingdom until it was reunited to Argos after the defeat and death of Eurystheus; and when Agamemnon succeeded his father Atreus, he enlarged and beautified Mycene. Twenty-eight unsuccessful suitors of Helen were summoned by Menelaus to contribute aid, and under command of the strongest of the confederates, Agamemnon—who was the brother of Menelaus, and who then had by his wife Clytemnestra three daughters, Iphigenia, Chrysothemis, and Electra, also one son, Orestes, then an infant—the expedition sailed for Troy.
But first, when the confederate fleets met as agreed, in the haven of Aulis they were stayed by a dead calm. Guidance was sought from the Oracle, and the soothsayer Calchas reminded Agamemnon of a vow made in the year of Iphigenia’s birth that he would sacrifice to Diana the most beautiful production of the year. That was his daughter, Iphigenia, whom now Diana claimed. The fleet would remain bound in Aulis until the sacrifice of Iphigenia. The story of the sacrifice, of the anger of the maiden’s mother Clytemnestra, and her lover Achilles, is told by Euripides in his “Iphigenia in Aulis.” The Goddess in the act of sacrifice miraculously substituted a hind for the daughter, whom she wafted in a cloud to her temple among the Scythians at Tauris, where she became a Priestess, and where it was the custom of the barbarous people to sacrifice every Greek who landed on their shores.
In the siege of Troy, Paris was slain by the arrows of Philoctetes. Helen then married his brother Deiphobus, whom she betrayed to the Greeks. When she came again into the hands of Menelaus, he was soon reconciled to her. In returning from the ten years’ siege of Troy, many of the companions of Agamemnon were lost by wreck on the coast of Eubœa, where the father of Palamedes, to avenge the unjust killing of his son in the camp of the Greeks, had set up false lights. Agamemnon came safely to Argos with the captive prophetess Cassandra, whom he intended for himself. This was a new affront to Clytemnestra; who remembered the murder of her first husband Tantalus and her first infant, who remembered also the sacrifice of Iphigenia, and who had found a paramour in Ægisthus, son of Thyestes. Clytemnestra murdered Agamemnon with an axe as he was coming out of the bath, and then married Ægisthus, who took Agamemnon’s throne.
The young Orestes was saved from his stepfather by a faithful servant, who carried him to Phocis, and there put him under the protection of Strophius. Electra remained at Argos and was married to a peasant, lest a husband powerful in the State should help to restore to their birthrights the children of Agamemnon.
When Orestes had passed out of childhood, he went for guidance to the Oracle of Apollo at Delphi, and was directed to avenge the murder of his father. He went then, with his inseparable friend Pylades, in disguise to Argos, and was received in a cottage on the boundary of Argos, by Electra and her peasant husband. He learnt that the peasant, strongly attached to the family of Agamemnon, had cancelled the wrong intended by Ægisthus, and had never claimed rights of a husband. Electra was still a maiden princess. Brother and sister then devised and carried out a plan for the killing of their mother Clytemnestra and Ægisthus.
But when the hands of Orestes were stained with his mother’s blood, the Furies rose from Hell, and drove him to distraction. Six days after the murder of Clytemnestra, the citizens of Argos met to pass sentence on Orestes and Electra. Menelaus after a voyage from Troy of seven years’ long delays, then landed at Nauplia near Argos, and would have helped his nephew Orestes; but he gave up Orestes and Electra to the people of Argos upon being told by Tyndarus that if he interfered he should never return to Sparta. The Council of Argos gave leave to Orestes and Electra to carry out upon themselves its sentence of death. After consulting with Pylades they resolved to kill Helen and seize their uncle’s one daughter, Hermione, as hostage. Helen had vanished; Menelaus breathed revenge; Apollo descended to save Orestes from his uncle, and from the people, by declaring that Orestes had done what the gods required. But Apollo bade him cleanse away pollution of his mother’s blood by a year’s banishment, after which he was to submit himself to the judgment of the Areopagus at Athens.
Before the Areopagus one of the Furies was his accuser, Apollo witnessed in his favour. The votes of the Court were equal, and Athené gave the casting vote for his acquittal. But still the Furies were implacable, and Orestes, again appealing to Apollo’s Oracle, was ordered to bring the statue of Diana from Tauris to Athens. Orestes sailed upon this mission with Pylades, whom he had affianced to his sister Electra. When the friends landed on the coast of Tauris, the barbarous people seized them and they were carried to Iphigenia to be sacrificed according to the custom of the land. When on the point of being sacrificed, discovery was made, and, with help of Minerva, not only the image of the goddess Diana, but also Iphigenia her priestess, was conveyed to Athens, in whose territories, at Brauronia, Iphigenia remained priestess until her death.
Meanwhile Menelaus had married his only daughter, Hermione, to Neoptolemus, the son of Achilles. Neoptolemus, who had offended Apollo by making the god answerable for the death of Achilles, went to Delphi to appease his wrath. Orestes, who sought Hermione for wife, went also to Delphi and persuaded the people there that Neoptolemus sought plunder of the temple. Neoptolemus was, therefore, murdered by the people of Delphi, as he was going unarmed to the temple to propitiate the god. Then Orestes carried off Hermione, and married her, at the same time when his sister Electra was married to Pylades. The plays of Euripides here leave Orestes; ruler on the throne of Agamemnon, reconciled to Menelaus, and married to Hermione, through whom, by right of her mother Helen and her father Menelaus, he may hope to bring also under his rule the dominions of Sparta.
Here ends an abstract of an abstract of the History of the House of Tantalus, as given by Michael Wodhull, Esq., to show the relations to each other of the stories upon which Euripides based many of his plays.
This volume completes our set of English versions of all extant plays of Euripides.
H. M.
April 1888
TO THE READERS OF THE UNIVERSAL LIBRARY.
The next volume of this Library, published in May 1888, will complete our household edition of Rabelais with the Sequel to Pantagruel. This will be followed in June by “A Miscellany” of short works of special interest taken from different periods of English life. The sixty-three volumes of the Universal Library, re-arranged in historical order, will then form a completed series, and the supply of standard literature in shilling monthly volumes will be left to other editors whose good work in this direction has been called into existence by the success of the Universal Library, which on its first appearance broke new ground.
The work done in these volumes will be continued, without change of aim, in a new series that has been planned to permit issue of large books without the crowding of type which, in this series, has been now and then found necessary. In the New Series, there will be a complete change of form. Substantial and handsome volumes of the best literature will be published in alternate months at a price that will add not more than three shillings to the present annual cost of “The Universal Library.” The name of the new Library will change from the Universal to the Particular. Its books may be named from their habitat, and they will usually be edited where the eye raised from the paper and ink rests upon Carisbrooke Castle.
THE FIRST VOLUME OF
Morley’s Carisbrooke Library
Will be published on the First of October, 1888.
H. M.
EURIPIDES.
Hecuba.
PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.
- Polydore’s Ghost.
- Hecuba.
- Chorus of Captive Trojan Dames.
- Polyxena.
- Ulysses.
- Female Attendant of Hecuba.
- Agamemnon.
- Polymestor.
- Talthybius.
SCENE.—The Thracian Chersonesus.
The Ghost of Polydore.
Leaving the cavern of the dead, and gates
Of darkness, where from all the gods apart
Dwells Pluto, come I Polydore, the son
Of Hecuba from royal Cisseus sprung,
And Priam, who, when danger threatened Troy,
Fearing his city by the Grecian arms
Would be laid low in dust, from Phrygia’s realm
In privacy conveyed me to the house
Of Polymestor, of his Thracian friend,
Who tills the Chersonesus’ fruitful soil,
Ruling a nation famed for generous steeds;
But secretly, with me, abundant gold
My father sent, that his surviving children
Might lack no sustenance, if Ilion’s walls
Should by the foe be levelled with the ground.
I was the youngest of all Priam’s sons,
By stealth he therefore sent me from the realm;
Nor could my feeble arm sustain the shield,
Or launch the javelin; but while yet entire
Each ancient landmark on our frontiers stood,
The turrets of the Phrygian state remained
Unshaken, and my brother Hector’s spear
Prospered in battle; nurtured by the man
Of Thrace, my father’s friend, I, wretched youth,
Grew like a vigorous scion. But when Troy,
When Hector failed, when my paternal dome
Was from its basis rent, and Priam’s self,
My aged father, at the altar bled
Which to the gods his pious hands had reared,
Butchered by curst Achilles’ ruthless son;
Me, his unhappy guest, my father’s friend
Slew for the sake of gold, and having slain,
Plunged me into the sea, that he might keep
Those treasures in his house. My breathless corse,
In various eddies by the rising waves
Of ocean tost, lies on the craggy shore,
Unwept, unburied. But by filial love
For Hecuba now prompted, I ascend
A disembodied ghost, and thrice have seen
The morning dawn, to Chersonesus land,
Since my unhappy mother came from Troy.
But all the Grecian army, in their ships,
Here anchoring on this coast of Thrace remain
Inactive; for appearing on his tomb
Achilles, Peleus’ son, restrained the troops,
Who homeward else had steered their barks, and claims
Polyxena my sister, as a victim
Most precious at his sepulchre to bleed;
And her will he obtain, nor will his friends
Withhold the gift; for fate this day decrees
That she shall die: my mother must behold
Two of her slaughtered children’s corses, mine,
And this unhappy maid’s—that in a tomb
I may be lodged, where the firm beach resists
The waves, I to her servant will appear,
Since from the powers of hell I have obtained
The privilege of honourable interment,
And that a mother’s hand these rites perform:
I shall accomplish what my soul desired.
But on the aged Hecuba’s approach,
Far hence must I retreat; for from the tent
Of Agamemnon she comes forth, alarmed
By my pale spectre. O my wretched mother,
How art thou torn from princely roofs to view
This hour of servitude! what sad reverse
Of fortune! some malignant god hath balanced
Thy present misery ’gainst thy former bliss.
[Exit.
Hecuba, attended by Trojan Damsels.
Hec. Forth from these doors, ye gentle virgins, lead me,
A weak old woman: O ye nymphs of Troy,
Support your fellow-servant, once your queen
Bear me along, uphold my tottering frame,
And take me by this aged hand; your arm
Shall be my staff to lean on, while I strive
My tardy pace to quicken. O ye lightnings
Of Jove, O Night in tenfold darkness wrapt,
By such terrific phantoms from my couch
Why am I scared? Thou venerable earth,
Parent of dreams that flit on raven wing;
The vision I abhor, which I in sleep
This night have seen, relating to my son,
Who here is fostered in the Thracian realm,
And to Polyxena my dearest daughter;
For I too clearly saw and understood
The meaning of that dreadful apparition;
Ye tutelary gods of this domain,
Preserve the only anchor of our house,
My son, who dwells in Thracian fields, o’erspread
With snow, protected by his father’s friend.
Some fresh event awaits us, and ere long
By accents most unwelcome shall the ear
Of wretchedness be wounded: till this hour,
By such incessant horrors, such alarms,
My soul was never seized. Where shall I view
The soul of Helenus, on whom the god
Bestowed prophetic gifts, ye Phrygian maids?
Where my Cassandra to unfold the dream?
With bloody fangs I saw a wolf, who slew
A dappled hind, which forcibly he tore
From these reluctant arms, and what increased
My fears, was this—Achilles’ spectre stalked
Upon the summit of his tomb, and claimed
A gift, some miserable Trojan captive.
You therefore I implore, ye gods, avert
Such doom from my loved daughter.
Chorus, Hecuba.
Chor. I to thee,
To thee, O Hecuba, with breathless speed,
Fly from the tents of our imperious lords,
Where I by lot have been assigned, and doomed
To be a slave, driven by the pointed spear
From Troy; by their victorious arms the Greeks
Have made me captive: nothing can I bring,
Thy sorrows to alleviate; but to thee
Laden with heaviest tidings am I come
The herald of affliction. For ’tis said,
Greece in full council hath resolved thy daughter
A victim to Achilles shall be given.
The warrior mounting on his tomb, thou know’st,
Appeared in golden armour, and restrained
The fleet just ready to unfurl its sails,
Exclaiming, “Whither would ye steer your course,
Ye Greeks, and leave no offering on my grave?”
A storm of violent contention rose,
And two opinions in the martial synod
Of Greece went forth; the victim, some maintained,
Ought on the sepulchre to bleed, and some
Such offering disapproved. But Agamemnon,
Who shares the bed of the Prophetic Dame,
Espoused thy interest; while the sons of Theseus,
Branches from the Athenian root, discussed
The question largely in each point of view,
But in the same opinion both concurred,
And said that never should Cassandra’s love
To great Achilles’ valour be preferred:
Equally balanced the debate still hung,
When he, that crafty orator, endued
With sweetest voice, the favourite of the crowd,
Laertes’ son, persuaded all the host,
Not to reject the first of Grecian chiefs,
And yield the preference to a victim slave:
Lest some vindictive ghost, before the throne
Of Proserpine arising, might relate
How Greece, unmindful of her generous sons,
Who nobly perished for their native land,
From Ilion’s fields departed. In a moment
Ulysses will come hither, from thy breast,
And aged arms to drag the tender maid.
But to the temples, to the altars, go,
In suppliant posture clasp Atrides’ knees,
Invoke the gods of heaven and hell beneath,
For either thou wilt by thy prayers avert
Thy daughter’s fate, else must thou at the tomb
Behold the virgin fall distained with gore,
And gushing from her neck a crimson stream.
Hec. Wretch that I am! ah me! what clamorous sounds,
What words, what plaints, what dirges shall I find,
Expressive of the anguish which I feel?
Opprest by miserable old age, bowed down
Under a load of servitude too heavy
To be endured: what sanctuary remains,
What valiant race, what city will protect me?
The hoary Priam is no more, my sons
Are now no more. Or to this path, or that,
Shall I direct my steps? or whither go?
Where shall I find some tutelary god?
Ye Phrygian captives, messengers of ill,
O ye who with unwelcome tidings fraught,
Come hither, ye have ruined me. The orb
Of day shall never rise to fill this breast
With any comfort more. Ye luckless feet,
Bear an infirm old woman to the tent
Of our captivity. Come forth, my daughter,
Come forth and listen to thy mother’voice,
That thou may’st know the rumour I have heard,
In which thy life is interested.
Polyxena, Hecuba, Chorus.
Polyx. O mother,
What mean you by those shrieks? what fresh event
Proclaiming, from my chamber, like a bird,
Have you constrained me, urged by fear, to speed
My flight?
Hec. Ah, daughter!
Polyx. With foreboding voice,
Why do you call me? these are evil omens.
Hec. Alas! thy life, Polyxena.
Polyx. Speak out,
Nor aggravate the horrors yet untold
By long suspense. I fear, O mother, much
I fear. What mean those oft repeated groans?
Hec. Thou child of a most miserable mother!
Polyx. Why speak you thus?
Hec. The Greeks, with one consent,
Resolve that on the tomb of Peleus’ son
Thou shalt be sacrificed.
Polyx. What boundless woes
Are these which to your daughter you announce!
Yet, O my mother, with the tale proceed.
Hec. Of a most horrible report I speak,
Which says, that, by the suffrage of the Greeks,
It is resolved to take away thy life.
Polyx. O, my unhappy mother, doomed to suffer
Wrongs the most dreadful, doomed to lead a life
Of utter wretchedness: what grievous curse,
Such as no language can express, on you
Hath some malignant demon hurled! no more
Can I, your daughter, share the galling yoke
Of servitude with your forlorn old age;
For like some lion’s whelp, or heifer bred
Upon the mountains, hurried from your arms
Shall you behold me, and with severed head
Consigned to Pluto’s subterraneous realms
Of darkness, there among the silent dead,
Wretch that I am, shall I be laid. These tears
Of bitter lamentation I for you,
For you, O mother, shed; but my own life
I heed not, nor the shame, nor fatal stroke,
For I in death a happier lot obtain.
Chor. To thee, O Hecuba, with hasty step
Behold Ulysses some new message brings.
Ulysses, Hecuba, Polyxena, Chorus.
Uly. Though I presume the counsels of our troops
And their decision are already known
To thee, O woman, yet must I repeat
Th’ unwelcome tidings; at Achilles’ tomb,
Polyxena, thy daughter, have the Greeks
Resolved to slay; me to attend the virgin
Have they commanded: but Achilles’ son
Is at the altar destined to preside,
And be the priest. Know’st thou thy duty then?
Constrain us not to drag her from those arms
With violence, nor strive with me; but learn
The force of thy inevitable woes:
For there is wisdom, e’en when we are wretched,
In following reason’s dictates.
Hec. Now, alas!
It seems a dreadful struggle is at hand,
With groans abounding and unnumbered tears.
I died not at the time I ought to die,
Neither did Jove destroy me; he still spares
My life, that I may view fresh woes, yet greater,
Wretch that I am, than all my former woes.
But if a slave, who not with bitter taunt,
Or keen reproach, her questions doth propose,
Might speak to freemen, now ’tis time for you
To cease, and give me audience while I ask——
Uly. Allowed, proceed; for I without reluctance
Will grant thee time.
Hec. Remember you when erst
You came to Troy a spy, in tattered garb
Disguised, and from your eyes upon your beard
Fell tears extorted by the dread of death?
Uly. I well remember: for by that event
My inmost heart was touched.
Hec. But Helen knew you,
And told me only.
Uly. I can ne’er forget
Into what danger I was fallen.
Hec. My knees
You in a lowly posture did embrace.
Uly. And to thy garment clung with faltering hand.
Hec. At length I saved and from our land dismissed you.
Uly. Hence I the solar beams yet view.
Hec. What language
Did you then hold, when subject to my power?
Uly. Full many were the words which I devised
To save my life.
Hec. Doth not your guilt appear
From your own counsels? Though your tongue avows
The generous treatment you from me received
No benefit on me do you confer,
But strive to harm me. O ungrateful race
Of men, who aim at popular applause
By your smooth speeches; would to Heaven I ne’er
Had known you, for ye heed not how ye wound
Your friends, whene’er ye can say ought to win
The crowd. But what pretence could they devise
For sentencing this virgin to be slain?
Are they constrained by fate, with human victims,
To drench the tomb on which they rather ought
To sacrifice the steer? or doth Achilles
Demand her life with justice, to retaliate
Slaughter on them who slaughtered? But to him
Hath she done nought injurious. He should claim
Helen as victim at his tomb, for she
His ruin caused by leading him to Troy.
If it was needful that some chosen captive
Distinguished by transcendent charms should die,
We were not meant; for the perfidious daughter
Of Tyndarus is most beauteous, and her crimes
To ours at least are equal. Justice only
In this debate supports me: hear how large
The debt which ’tis your duty to repay
On my petition: you confess you touched
My hand, and these my aged cheeks, in dust
Grovelling a suppliant; yours I now embrace,
From you the kindness which I erst bestowed
Again implore, and sue to you: O tear not
My daughter from these arms, nor slay the maid:
Sufficient is the number of the slain.
In her I yet rejoice, in her forget
My woes; she, for the loss of many children,
Consoles me, I in her a country find,
A nurse, a staff, a guide. The mighty ought not
To issue lawless mandates, nor should they,
On whom propitious fortunes now attend,
Think that their triumphs will for ever last:
For I was happy once, but am no more,
My bliss all vanished in a single day.
Yet, O my friend, revere and pity me,
Go to the Grecian host, admonish them
How horrible an action ’twere to slay
These captive women whom at first ye spared,
And pitied when ye dragged them from the altars.
For by your laws ’tis equally forbidden
To spill the blood of freemen, or of slave.
Although you weakly argue, will your rank
Convince them: for the self-same speech, when uttered
By the ignoble, and men well esteemed,
Comes not with equal force.
Chor. The human soul
Is not so flinty as to hear the woes
And plaintive strains thou lengthen’st out, nor shed
The sympathizing tear.
Uly. To me attend,
O Hecuba, nor through resentment deem
That from a foe such counsels can proceed:
I am disposed to save thee, and now hold
No other language: but will not deny
What I to all have said; since Troy is taken,
On the first warrior of the host who asks
A victim, should thy daughter be bestowed.
The cause why many cities are diseased
Is this: the brave and generous man obtains
No honourable distinction to exalt him
Above the coward. But from us, O woman,
Achilles claims such homage, who for Greece
Died nobly. Is not this a foul reproach,
If, while our friends yet live, we seek their aid,
But after death ungratefully forget
Past services? Should armed bands once more
Assemble, and renew the bloody strife,
Will not some hardy veteran thus exclaim:
“Shall we go forth to battle, or indulge
The love of life, now we have seen the dead
Obtain no honours?” While from day to day
I live, though I have little, yet that little
For every needful purpose will suffice.
But may conspicuous trophies o’er my grave
Be planted, for such tribute to my name
Will last to after-ages. If thou call
Thy sufferings piteous, hear what in reply
We have to urge; amidst the Grecian camp
Are many aged dames, as miserable
As thou art, with full many a hoary sire,
And weeping bride, torn from her valiant lord,
O’er whose remains hath Ida’s dust been strewn.
Support thy woes: if with mistaken zeal
We have resolved to honour the deceased,
Our crime is ignorance: but ye barbarians
Pay no distinction to your friends, no homage
To the illustrious dead; hence Greece prevails;
But ye from your pernicious counsels reap
The bitter fruits they merit.
Chor. Ah, what ills
Ever attend the captive state, subdued
By brutal violence, and forced t’ endure
Unseemly wrongs.
Hec. Those words I vainly spoke
Thy slaughter to avert, in air were lavished;
But, O my daughter, if thy power exceed
Thy mother’s, like the nightingale send forth
Each warbled note, to save thy life, excite,
By falling at his knees, Ulysses’ pity,
And on this ground, because he too hath children,
Entreat him to compassionate thy doom.
Polyx. I see thee, O Ulysses, thy right hand
Beneath thy robe concealing, see thee turn
Thy face away, lest I should touch thy beard.
Be of good cheer; I’ll not call down the wrath
Of Jove who guards the suppliant, but will follow
Thy steps, because necessity ordains
And ’tis my wish to die; if I were loth,
I should appear to be an abject woman,
And fond of life: but what could lengthened life
Avail to me, whose father erst was lord
Of the whole Phrygian realm? Thus first I drew
My breath beneath the roofs of regal domes;
Then was I nurtured with the flattering hope
That I should wed a monarch, and arrive
At the proud mansion of some happy youth.
Ill-fated princess, thus I stood conspicuous
Amid the dames and brightest nymphs of Troy,
In all but immortality a goddess;
But now am I a slave, and the first cause
Which makes me wish to die, is that abhorred
Unwonted name; else some inhuman lord
With gold perchance might purchase me, the sister
Of Hector, and full many a valiant chief,
Might make me knead the bread, and sweep the floor,
And ply the loom, and pass my abject days
In bitterness of woe: some servile mate
Might bring dishonour to my bed, though erst
I was deemed worthy of a sceptred king:
Not thus. These eyes shall to the last behold
The light of freedom. O ye shades receive
A princess. Lead me on then, O Ulysses,
And as thou lead’st despatch me, for no hope,
No ground for thinking, I shall e’er be happy,
Can I discern: yet hinder not by word
Or deed the steadfast purpose I have formed;
But, O my mother, in this wish concur
With me, that I may die ere I endure
Such wrongs as suit not my exalted rank.
For whosoe’er hath not been used to taste
Of sorrow, bears indeed the galling yoke,
Yet is he grieved, when he to such constraint
Submits his neck: but they who die may find
A bliss beyond the living; for to live
Ignobly were the utmost pitch of shame.
Chor. A great distinction, and among mankind
The most conspicuous, is to spring from sires
Renowned for virtue; generous souls hence raise
To heights sublimer an ennobled name.
Hec. Thou, O my daughter, well indeed hast spoken;
Yet these exalted sentiments of thine
To me will cause fresh grief; but, if the son
Of Peleus must be gratified, and Greece
Avoid reproach, Ulysses, slay not her,
But me, conducting to Achilles’ tomb,
Transpierce with unrelenting hand. I bore
Paris, whose shafts the son of Thetis slew.
Uly. Not thee for victim, O thou aged dame,
But her, Achilles’ spectre hath demanded.
Hec. Yet slay me with my daughter; so shall earth,
And the deceased who claims these hateful rites,
A twofold portion drink of human gore.
Uly. Enough in her of victims; let no more
Be added: would to Heaven we were not bound
To offer up this one!
Hec. The dread behests
Of absolute necessity require,
That with my daughter I should die.
Uly. What mean’st thou?
I know no lord to counteract my will.
Hec. Her, as the ivy clings around the oak,
Will I embrace.
Uly. Not if to wiser counsels
Thou yield just deference.
Hec. I will ne’er consent
My daughter to release.
Uly. Nor will I go,
And leave her here.
Polyx. Attend to me, my mother,
And, O thou offspring of Laertes, treat
The just emotions of parental wrath
With greater mildness. But, O hapless woman,
Contend not with our conquerors. Would you fall
Upon the earth and wound your aged limbs,
Thrust from me forcibly, by youthful arms
Torn with disgrace away? Provoke not wrongs
Unseemly; O, my dearest mother, give
That much-loved hand, and let me join my cheek
To yours; for I no longer shall behold
The radiant orb of yonder sun. Now take
A last farewell, O you who gave me birth;
I to the shades descend.
Hec. But I the light
Am doomed to view, and still remain a slave.
Polyx. Unwedded, reft of promised bridal joys.
Hec. Thou, O my daughter, claim’st the pitying tear:
But I am a most miserable woman.
Polyx. There shall I sleep among the realms beneath,
From you secluded.
Hec. What resource, alas!
For me, the wretched Hecuba is left?
Where shall I finish this detested life?
Polyx. Born free, I die a slave.
Hec. I too, bereft
Of all my children.
Polyx. What commands to Hector,
Or to your aged husband, shall I bear?
Hec. Tell them I of all women am most wretched.
Polyx. Ye paps which sweetly nourished me——
Hec. Alas!
My child’s untimely miserable fate.
Polyx. Farewell, my mother, and my dear Cassandra.
Hec. To others in that language speak; be theirs
The happiness thy mother cannot taste.
Polyx. And thou, my brother Polydore, who dwell’st
Among the Thracians, famed for generous steeds——
Hec. If yet he live; but this I greatly doubt,
Because I am in all respects so wretched.
Polyx. He lives, and when the hour of death is come,
Will close your eyes.
Hec. I’m prematurely dead
While yet alive, bowed down to earth by woe.
Polyx. Now bear me hence, Ulysses, o’er my face
Casting a veil: for ere I at the altar
Am slain, this heart is melted by the plaints
Of my dear mother, and my tears augment
Her sorrows. O thou radiant light; for still
Am I permitted to invoke thy name,
But can enjoy thee only till I meet
The lifted sword, and reach Achilles’ tomb.
[Exeunt Ulysses and Polyxena.
Hec. I faint, my limbs are all unnerved; return,
My daughter, let me touch that hand once more,
Leave me not childless. O, my friends, I perish;
Ah, would to Heaven I could see Spartan Helen,
In the same state, that sister to the sons
Of Jove, for by her beauteous eyes was Troy,
That prosperous city, with disgrace o’erthrown.
Chorus.
ODE.
I. 1.
Ye breezes, who the ships convey,
That long becalmed at anchor lay,
Nor dared to quit the strand;
As the swift keel divides the wave,
Say whither am I borne a slave,
Ordained to tread the Doric land,
Or Phthia, where beset with reeds,
Apidanus, the sire of limpid rills,
Winding a-down the channelled hills,
Waters the fruitful meads?
I. 2.
Or to that isle, with dashing oar
Impelled, shall I my woes deplore,
And on the sacred earth,
Where first the palm and laurel rose,
Memorials of Latona’s throes,
Which to the twins divine gave birth,
Teach the harmonious strain to flow;
With Delos’ nymphs Diana’s praise resound,
Her hair with golden fillet bound,
And never-erring bow?
II. 1.
Or, pent in some Athenian tower,
Devoted to Minerva’s power,
On the robe’s tissued ground
While, shadowed by my needle, spread
Expressive forms, in vivid thread,
Picture the goddess whirling round
Her chariot with unrivalled speed;
Or represent the Titan’s impious crew,
Whom Jove’s red lightnings overthrew,
Those monsters doomed to bleed?
II. 2.
Alas! my sons, a valiant band,
My fathers, and my native land,
Ye shared the general fate.
Sacked by the Greeks, Troy’s bulwarks smoke,
But I, constrained to bear the yoke,
Shall soon behold some foreign state,
To ignominious bondage led;
And leaving vanquished Asia Europe’s slave,
Debarred an honourable grave,
Ascend the victor’s bed.
Talthybius, Hecuba, Chorus.
Tal. Where, O ye Phrygian damsels, shall I find
The wretched Hecuba, who erst was queen
Of Ilion?
Chor. Prostrate near you on the ground,
Wrapt in her mantle, there she lies.
Tal. Great Jove!
What shall I say? that thou from Heaven look’st down
Upon mankind, or have they rashly formed
A vain opinion, deeming that the race
Of gods exist, though fortune governs all?
Ha! was not this the queen of wealthy Phrygia,
And was not she the happy Priam’s wife?
But her whole city by the hostile spear
Is now destroyed, while she a slave, bowed down
By age, and childless, stretched upon the ground,
Defiles with dust her miserable head.
Old as I am, yet gladly would I die
Rather than sink into abhorred disgrace.
Arise, unhappy woman, O lift up
That feeble body, and that hoary head.
Hec. Away! O suffer this decrepit frame
To rest. Why move me! Whosoe’er thou art,
What mean’st thou? why dost thou molest th’ afflicted?
Tal. Talthybius: me, the herald of the Greeks,
O woman, Agamemnon hath despatched
To fetch you.
Hec. Com’st thou, by the Greeks ordained,
My friend, to slay me also at the tomb?
How welcome were such tidings; let us go,
With speed conduct me thither.
Tal. To inter
Your daughter, I invite you; both the sons
Of Atreus, and the assembled Grecian host,
Have sent me for that purpose.
Hec. Ah! what say’st thou?
Thou com’st not to inform me I must die,
But to unfold the most disastrous tidings.
Then art thou lost, my daughter, from the arms
Of thy fond mother torn; of thee, my child
Am I bereft. But how did ye destroy her,
Respectfully, or with the ruthless hand
Of hostile rage? Speak, though it wound my soul.
Tal. A second time, in pity to your daughter,
You make me weep; for now while I relate
Her sufferings, tears bedew these swimming eyes,
Such as I shed when at the tomb she perished.
To view the sacrifice the Grecian host
Were all assembled: taking by the hand
Polyxena, on the sepulchral hillock
Achilles’ son then placed her: I drew near,
Attended by the chosen youths of Greece,
To hold the tender victim, and prevent
Her struggles. But Achilles’ son, uplifting
With both his hands a cup of massive gold,
Poured forth libations to his breathless sire;
And gave a sign to me, through the whole camp
Strict silence to proclaim. I in the midst
Stood up and cried: “Be mute, ye Greeks, let none
Presume to speak, observe a general silence.”
The troops obeyed, and through their crowded ranks
Not e’en a breath was heard, while in these words
The chief expressed his purpose: “Son of Peleus,
My father, the propitiatory drops
Of these libations which invite the dead
Accept; O come and quaff the crimson blood
Of this pure virgin, whom to thee all Greece
And I devote; be thou benign, O grant us
Securely to weigh anchor, to unbind
Our halsers, and on all of us bestow
A happy voyage to our native land
From vanquished Troy.” He ceased, and in his prayer
Joined the whole army, when the chief unsheathed
His golden-hilted sword, and gave a sign
To chosen youths of Greece to hold the virgin,
Which she perceived, and in these words addressed
The warriors: “O ye Argives, who laid waste
My city, willingly I die, let no man
Confine these arms, I with undaunted breast
Will meet the stroke. I by the gods conjure you
Release, and slay me as my rank demands
Like one born free; for I from mighty kings
Descend, and in the shades beneath should blush
To be accounted an ignoble slave.”
Through all the host ran murmurs of assent,
And royal Agamemnon bade the youths
Release the virgin; they their monarch’s voice,
Soon as they heard, obeyed; our lord’s behests
The princess too revering, from her shoulder
Down to her waist rent off the purple robe,
Displayed her bosom like some statue formed
In exquisite proportion, and to earth
Bending her knee, in these affecting words
Expressed herself: “If at my breast thou aim
The wound, strike here; if at my neck, that neck
Is ready bared.” Half willing, and half loth,
Through pity for the maid, he with keen steel
Severed the arteries; streams of blood gushed forth:
Yet even thus, though at her latest gasp,
She showed a strong solicitude to fall
With decency, while stood the gazing host
Around her: soon as through the ghastly wound
Her soul had issued, every Greek was busied
In various labours; o’er the corse some strewed
The verdant foliage, others reared a pyre
With trunks of fir: but he who nothing brought,
From him who with funereal ornament
Was laden, heard these taunts: “O slothful wretch,
Bear’st thou no robe, no garland, hast thou nought
To give in honour of this generous maid?”
Such their encomiums on thy breathless daughter.
You, of all women, who in such a child
Were happiest, now most wretched I behold.
Chor. Fate, the behests of the immortal gods
Accomplishing, with tenfold weight hath caused
This dreadful curse to fall on Priam’s house,
And on our city.
Hec. ’Midst unnumbered ills
I know not, O my daughter, whither first
To turn my eyes, for if on one I touch,
Another hinders me, and I again,
By a long train of woes succeeding woes,
To some fresh object am from thence called off;
Nor can I from my tortured soul efface
The grief thy fate occasions; yet the tale
Of thy exalted courage checks my groans,
Which else had been immoderate. No just cause
Have we for wonder, if the barren land
Cheered by Heaven’s influence, with benignant suns
Yields plenteous harvests, while a richer soil
Deprived of every necessary aid
Bears weeds alone. But ’midst the human race
The wicked man is uniformly wicked,
The good still virtuous, nor doth evil fortune
Corrupt his soul; the same unsullied worth
He still retains. Is this great difference owing
To birth, or education? We are taught
What virtue is, by being nurtured well,
And he who thoroughly hath learnt this lesson,
Guided by the unerring rule of right,
Can thence discern what’s base.—My soul in vain
Hath hazarded these incoherent thoughts.
But, O Talthybius, to the Greeks repair,
And strict injunctions give, that no man touch
My daughter’s corse, but let the gazing crowd
Be driven away. For in a numerous host
Its multitudes break loose from all restraints,
The outrages of mariners exceed
Devouring flame, and whosoe’er abstains
From mischief, by his comrades is despised.
But, O my aged servant, take and dip
That urn in ocean’s waves, and hither bring,
Filled with its water, that the last sad rites
To my departed daughter I may pay,
And lave the corse of that unwedded bride,
Of that affianced virgin: but alas!
Whence with such costly gifts as she deserves,
Her tomb can I adorn? My present state
Affords them not, but what it doth afford
Will I bestow, and from the captive dames
Appointed to attend me, who reside
Within these tents, some ornaments collect.
If, unobserved by their new masters, aught
They have secreted. O ye splendid domes,
Ye palaces once happy, which contained
All that was rich and fair; O Priam thou
The sire, and I who was the aged mother
Of an illustrious race, how are we dwindled
To nothing, stripped of all our ancient pride!
Yet do we glory, some in mansions stored
With gold abundant, others when distinguished
Among the citizens by sounding titles.
Vain are the schemes which with incessant care
We frame, and all our boastful words are vain.
The happiest man is he who, by no ill
O’ertaken, passes through life’s fleeting day.
[Exit Hecuba.
Chorus.
ODE.
I.
By Heaven was my devoted head
Menaced with impending ill,
What time the pines, whose branches spread
Their tutelary shade o’er Ida’s hill,
Were laid by Phrygian Paris low,
That his adventurous bark might stem the tide,
From Sparta’s coast to waft the fairest bride
On whom the solar beams their golden radiance throw.
II.
Surrounding labours were at hand
Leagued with the behests of fate;
Then did such madness seize the land,
As called down vengeance from a foreign state.
The royal swain with dazzled eyes
Gave that decree, the source of all our woes,
When from three rival goddesses he chose
Bright Venus, and pronounced that she deserved the prize.
III.
The spear and death hence raged around,
Hence were my mansions levelled with the ground;
Staining with tears Eurotas’ tide,
Too deeply grieved to share the victor’s pride,
The Spartan virgin too in vain
Bewails her favoured youth untimely slain,
While, sprinkling ashes o’er their vest
And hoary head, the matrons bend
O’er their sons’ urns; their groans to Heaven ascend,
They tear their cheeks, and beat their miserable breast.
Attendant, Chorus.
Att. Where is the wretched Hecuba, my friends,
Who in her woes surpasses all, or male,
Or of the female race? her none can rob
Of her just claim, pre-eminence in grief.
Chor. With the harsh sounds of that ill-boding tongue,
O wretch, what mean’st thou? wilt thou never cease
To be th’ unwelcome herald of affliction?
Att. Most grievous are the tidings which I bring
To Hecuba, nor easy were the task
In words auspicious to make known to mortals
Such dire calamities.
Chor. From her apartment
She seasonably comes forth to give thee audience.
Hecuba, Attendant, Chorus.
Att. O most unfortunate, whose woes exceed
All that the power of language can express,
My queen, you perish, doomed no more to view
The blessed light; of children, husband, city,
Bereft and ruined.
Hec. Nothing hast thou told
But what I knew, thou only com’st t’ insult me:
Yet wherefore dost thou bring to me this corse
Of my Polyxena, o’er whom ’twas said
The Grecian host with pious zeal all vied
To heap a tomb?
Att. She knows not, but laments
For the deceased Polyxena alone,
And to her recent woes is yet a stranger.
Hec. Ah, bring’st thou the inspired prophetic head,
And the dishevelled tresses of Cassandra?
Att. You speak of one yet living, but bewail not
This the deceased: survey the naked corse
Of him whose death to you will seem most strange
And most unlocked for.
Hec. Ha, I see my son,
My dearest Polydore, whom he of Thrace
Beneath his roof protected. I am ruined;
Now utterly I perish. O my son,
For thee, for thee I wake the frantic dirge,
By that malignant demon which assumed
Thy voice, thy semblance, recently apprized
Of this calamity.
Att. O wretched mother,
Know you then what was your son’s fate?
Hec. A sight
Incredible and new to me is that
Which I behold: for from my former woes
Spring woes in long succession, and the day
When I shall cease to weep, shall cease to groan,
Will never come.
Chor. The woes which we endure
Alas! are dreadful.
Hec. O my son, thou son
Of an ill fated mother, by what death
Didst thou expire? through what disastrous cause
Here liest thou prostrate? ah, what bloody hand——
Att. I know not; on the shore his corse I found.
Hec. Cast up by the impetuous waves, or pierced
With murderous spear?
Att. The surges of the deep
Had thrown it on the sand.
Hec. Alas! too well
I comprehend the meaning of the dream
Which to these eyes appeared: the spectre borne
On sable pinions no illusion proved,
When, O my son, thee, thee it represented
No longer dwelling in the realms of light.
Chor. Instructed by that vision, canst thou name
The murderer?
Hec. ’Twas my friend, the Thracian king,
With whom in secrecy his aged sire
Had placed him.
Chor. Ha! what mean’st thou? to possess
That gold by slaying him?
Hec. O, ’twas a deed
Unutterable, a deed without a name,
Surpassing all astonishment, unholy,
And not to be endured. Where now the laws
Of hospitality? Accursed man,
How cruelly hast thou with reeking sword
Transpierced this unresisting boy, nor heard
The gentle voice of pity!
Chor. Hapless queen,
How hath some demon, thy malignant foe,
Rendered thee of all mortals the most wretched:
But I behold great Agamemnon come,
And therefore, O my friends, let us be silent.
Agamemnon, Hecuba, Chorus.
Aga. Whence this delay? why go you not t’ inter,
O Hecuba, your daughter, whom Talthybius
Directed that no Greek might be allowed
To touch? We therefore have with your request
Complied, nor moved the corse. But you remain
Inactive, which I wonder at, and come
To fetch you, for each previous solemn rite
That best might please, if aught such rites can please,
Have we performed. But ah, what Trojan youth
Do I behold lie breathless in the tent?
For that he was no Greek, the garb informs me
In which he’s clad.
Hec. Thou wretch, for of myself
I speak, when thee, O Hecuba, I name;
What shall I do, at Agamemnon’s knees
Fall prostrate, or in silence bear my woes?
Aga. Why weep, with face averted, yet refuse
T’ inform me what hath happened? who is he?
Hec. But from his knees, if, deeming me a slave
And enemy, the monarch should repel me,
This would but make my sorrows yet more poignant.
Aga. I am no seer, nor can I uninformed
Trace out the secret purpose of your soul.
Hec. Am I mistaken then, while I suppose
A foe in him who doth not mean me ill?
Aga. If ’tis your wish I should not be apprized,
We both are of one mind; you will not speak,
And I as little am disposed to hear.
Hec. Without his aid no vengeance for my child
Can I obtain: yet why deliberate thus?
Prosper or fail I must take courage now.
O royal Agamemnon, by those knees
A suppliant I conjure you, by that beard,
And that right hand, victorious o’er your foes.
Aga. What do you wish for? To obtain your freedom?
This were not difficult.
Hec. No, give me vengeance
On yonder guilty wretch, and I am willing
To linger out the remnant of my life
In servitude.
Aga. Then why implore our aid?
Hec. For reasons you suspect not. Do you see
That breathless corse o’er which my tears I shed?
Aga. The corse I see; but cannot comprehend
What follows next.
Hec. Him erst I bore and nurtured.
Aga. Is the deceased, O miserable dame,
One of your children?
Hec. Not of those who fell
Beneath Troy’s walls.
Aga. What! had you other sons?
Hec. Yes, him you see, born in an evil hour.
Aga. But where was he when Ilion was destroyed?
Hec. His father, apprehensive of his death,
Conveyed him thence.
Aga. From all the other children
Which then he had, where placed he this apart?
Hec. In this same region where his corse was found.
Aga. With Polymestor, sovereign of the land?
Hec. He, to preserve that execrable gold,
Was hither sent.
Aga. But, by what ruthless hand,
And how, was he despatched?
Hec. By whom beside?
The murderer was his friend, the Thracian king.
Aga. Was he thus eager? O abandoned wretch,
To seize the gold!
Hec. E’en thus; soon as he knew
Troy was o’erthrown.
Aga. But where did you discover
The body, or who brought it?
Hec. On the shore
This servant found it.
Aga. Or in quest of him
Or other task then busied?
Hec. To fetch water
To lave Polyxena’s remains she went.
Aga. When he had slain him, it appears, his friend
Did cast him forth.
Hec. He to the waves consigned
The stripling’s mangled corse.
Aga. O wretched woman,
Surrounded by immeasurable woes.
Hec. I am undone; no farther ill remains
For me t’ experience.
Aga. Ah! what woman e’er
Was born to such calamities?
Hec. Not one
Exists, whose sorrows equal mine, unless
You of Calamity herself would speak.
Yet hear the motive why I clasp your knees.
If I appear to merit what I suffer,
I must be patient; but if not, avenge
My wrongs upon the man who ’gainst his guest
Such treachery could commit, who, nor the gods
Of Erebus beneath, nor those who rule
In Heaven above regarding, this vile deed,
Did perpetrate, e’en he with whom I oft
Partook the feast, on whom I showered each bounty,
Esteeming him the first of all my friends;
Yet, when at Ilion’s palace with respect
He had been treated, a deliberate scheme
Of murder forming, he destroyed my son,
On whom he deigned not to bestow a tomb,
But threw his corse into the briny deep.
Though I indeed am feeble, and a slave,
Yet mighty are the gods, and by their law
The world is ruled: for by that law we learn
That there are gods, and can mark out the bounds
Of justice and injustice; if such law
To you transmitted, be infringed, if they
Who kill their guests, or dare with impious hand
To violate the altars of the gods,
Unpunished ’scape, no equity is left
Among mankind. Deeming such base connivance
Unworthy of yourself, revere my woes,
Have pity on me, like a painter take
Your stand to view me, and observe the number
Of my afflictions; once was I a queen,
But now am I a slave; in many a son
I once was rich, but now am I both old
And of my children reft, without a city,
Forlorn, and of all mortals the most wretched.
But whither would you go? With you I seem
To have no interest. Miserable me!
Why do we mortals by assiduous toil,
And such a painful search as their importance
Makes requisite, all other arts attain,
Yet not enough intent on the due knowledge
Of that sole empress of the human soul
Persuasion, no rewards bestow on those
Who teach us by insinuating words
How to procure our wishes? who can trust
Hereafter in prosperity? That band
Of my heroic sons is now no more,
Myself a captive, am led forth to tasks
Unseemly, and e’en now these eyes behold
The air obscured by Ilion’s rising smoke.
It might be vain perhaps, were I to found
A claim to your assistance on your love:
Yet must I speak: my daughter, who in Troy
Was called Cassandra, the prophetic dame,
Partakes your bed; and how those rapturous nights
Will you acknowledge, or to her how show
Your gratitude for all the fond embraces
Which she bestows, O king, or in her stead
To me her mother? In the soul of man
Th’ endearments of the night, by darkness veiled,
Create the strongest interest. To my tale
Now listen: do you see that breathless corse?
Each act of kindness which to him is shown,
Upon a kinsman of the dame you love
Will be conferred. But, in one point my speech
Is yet deficient. By the wondrous arts
Of Dædalus, or some benignant god,
Could I give voice to each arm, hand, and hair,
And each extremest joint, they round your knees
Should cling together, and together weep,
At once combining with a thousand tongues.
O monarch, O thou light of Greece, comply,
And stretch forth that avenging arm to aid
An aged woman, though she be a thing
Of nought, O succour: for the good man’s duty
Is to obey the dread behests of justice,
And ever punish those who act amiss.
Chor. ’Tis wonderful, indeed, how all events
Happen to mortals, and the dread behests
Of fate, uncircumscribed by human laws,
Constrain us to form amities with those
To whom the most inveterate hate we bore,
And into foes convert our former friends.
Aga. To you, O Hecuba, your son, your fortunes,
And your entreaties, is my pity due.
I in obedience to the gods and justice
Wish to avenge you on this impious friend,
Could I appear your interests to espouse,
Without the troops suspecting that I slay
The Thracian monarch for Cassandra’s sake:
My terrors hence arise; the host esteem
Him our ally, and the deceased a foe:
What though you held him dear, his fate, the loss
Of you alone, affects not the whole camp.
Reflect too, that you find me well disposed
To share your toils, and in your cause exert
My utmost vigour; but, what makes me slow,
Is a well-grounded fear of blame from Greece.
Hec. Alas! there’s no man free: for some are slaves
To gold, to fortune others, and the rest,
The multitude or written laws restrain
From acting as their better judgment dictates.
But since you are alarmed, and to the rabble
Yield an implicit deference, from that fear
I will release you; only to my schemes
Be privy, if some mischief I contrive
Against the murderer of my son: but take
No active part. If, when the Thracian suffers,
As he shall suffer, ’mongst the Greeks a tumult
Break forth, or they attempt to succour him,
Restrain them, without seeming to befriend
My interests. As for what remains, rely
On me, and I will manage all things well.
Aga. How then? what mean you? With that aged hand
To wield a sword, and take away the life
Of that barbarian, or by drugs endued
With magic power? the help you need, what arts
Can furnish? what strong arm have you to fight
Your battles? whence will you procure allies?
Hec. These tents conceal a group of Trojan dames.
Aga. Mean you those captives whom the Greeks have seized.
Hec. With them I on the murderer will inflict
Due punishment.
Aga. How can the female sex
O’er men obtain a conquest?
Hec. Numbers strike
A foe with terror, and the wiles of women
Are hard to be withstood.
Aga. They may strike terror,
But in their courage I no trust can place.
Hec. What? did not women slay Ægyptus’ sons,
And in their rage exterminate each male
From Lemnos? But leave me to find out means
How to effect my purpose. Through the camp
In safety this my faithful servant send;
And thou, when to my Thracian friend thou com’st,
Say, “Hecuba, erst Queen of Troy, invites
Thee and thy children, on thy own account,
No less than hers, because she to thy sons
And thee the self-same message must deliver.”
The newly slain Polyxena’s interment
Defer, O Agamemnon; in one flame
That when their kindred corses are consumed;
The brother with the sister, who demand
A twofold portion of their mother’s grief
Together may be buried in one grave.
Aga. These rites shall be performed, which could the troops
Set sail, I needs must have denied: but now,
Since Neptune sends not an auspicious breeze,
Expecting a more seasonable voyage,
Here must we wait. But may success attend you;
For ’tis the common interest of mankind,
Of every individual, every state,
That he who hath transgressed should suffer ill.
And fortune crown the efforts of the virtuous.
[Exit Agamemnon.
Chorus.
I. 1.
No more, O Troy, thy dreaded name
Conspicuous in the lists of fame,
’Midst fortresses impregnable shall stand,
In such thick clouds an armed host
Pours terrors from the Grecian coast.
And wastes thy vanquished land:
Shorn from thy rampired brow the crown
Of turrets fell; thy palaces o’erspread
With smoke lie waste, no more I tread
Thy wonted streets, my native town.
I. 2.
I perished at the midnight hour,
When, aided by the banquet’s power,
Sleep o’er my eyes his earliest influence shed;
Retiring from the choral song,
The sacrifice and festive throng,
Stretched on the downy bed
The bridegroom indolently lay,
His massive spear suspended on the beam,
No more he saw the helmets gleam.
Or nautic troops in dread array.
II. 1.
While me the golden mirror’s aid,
My flowing tresses taught to braid
In graceful ringlets with a fillet bound,
Just as I cast my robe aside,
And sought the couch; extending wide
Through every street this sound
Was heard; “O when, ye sons of Greece,
This nest of robbers levelled with the plain,
Will ye behold your homes again?
When shall these tedious labours cease?”
II. 2.
Then from my couch up starting, drest
Like Spartan nymph in zoneless vest,
At Dian’s shrine an ineffectual prayer
Did I address; for hither led,
First having viewed my husband dead,
Full oft I in despair,
As the proud vessel sailed from land,
Looked back, and saw my native walls laid low,
Then fainting with excess of woe
At length lost sight of Ilion’s strand.
III.
Helen that sister to the sons of Jove,
And Paris Ida’s swain,
With my curses still pursuing,
For to them I owe my ruin,
Me they from my country drove,
Never to return again,
By that detested spousal rite
On which Hymen never smiled,
No, ’twas some demon who with lewd delight
Their frantic souls beguiled:
Her may ocean’s waves no more
Waft to her paternal shore.
Polymestor, Hecuba, Chorus.
Polym. For thee, O Priam, my unhappy friend,
And you, my dearest Hecuba, I weep,
Beholding your distress, your city taken,
Your daughter newly slain: alas! there’s nought
To be relied on; fame is insecure,
Nor can the prosperous their enjoyments guard
Against a change of Fortune, for the gods
Backward and forward turn her wavering wheel,
And introduce confusion in the world,
That we, because we know not will happen,
May worship them. But of what use are plaints
Which have no virtue to remove our woes?
If you my absence censure, be appeased,
For in the midst of Thracia’s wide domains
I from these coasts was distant at the time
Of your arrival: soon as I returned,
When from the palace I was issuing forth,
This your attendant met me, and delivered
The message, hearing which, I hither came.
Hec. O Polymestor, wretched as I am,
I blush to see thy face; because thou erst
In happier days didst know me, I with shame
Appear before thee in my present fortunes.
Nor can I look at thee with steadfast eyes:
But this thou wilt not deem to be a mark
Of enmity: the cause of such behaviour
Is only custom, which forbids our sex
To gaze on men.
Polym. No wonder you thus act
Under such circumstances. But what need
Have you of me, and wherefore did you send
To fetch me from the palace?
Hec. I in private
A secret of importance would disclose
To thee and to thy children. From these tents
Give orders for thy followers to depart.
Polym. [to his attendants, who retire.]
Withdraw; this solitary spot is safe.
For you and the confederate Grecian host
Are all attached to me. But ’tis incumbent
On you t’ inform me what my prosperous fortunes
Can yield to succour my unhappy friends!
For this is what I wish to do.
Hec. Say first,
If he, my son, whom this maternal hand
And his fond father in thy mansions placed,
My Polydore, yet live. I’ll then pursue
My questions.
Polym. Yes, in him you still are blest.
Hec. How kind, how worthy of thyself that speech,
My dearest friend!
Polym. What farther would you know?
Hec. If haply yet the youth remember aught
Of me his mother.
Polym. Much he wished to come
And visit you in private.
Hec. Is the gold
He brought from Troy preserved?
Polym. I keep it safe
In my own palace.
Hec. Keep it if thou wilt:
But covet not the treasures of thy friends.
Polym. I do not covet them; my utmost wish
Is to enjoy, O woman, what I have.
Hec. Know’st thou then, what to thee and to thy sons
I want to say?
Polym. I know not; till in words
Your thoughts are signified.
Hec. Bestow such love
On Polydore as thou receiv’st from me.
Polym. What is it that to me and to my children
You would disclose?
Hec. The spot, where deep in earth,
The ancient treasures of all Priam’s house
Lie buried.
Polym. Is this secret what you wish
Should to your son be mentioned?
Hec. Yes, by thee,
Because thou art a virtuous man!
Polym. But wherefore
Did you require these children should be present?
Hec. For them to know the secret, if thou die,
Will be of great advantage.
Polym. You have spoken
Well and discreetly.
Hec. Know’st thou where at Troy
Minerva’s temple stands?
Polym. Is the gold there?
But by what mark shall I the spot distinguish?
Hec. Above the surface rises a black stone.
Polym. Will you describe the place yet more minutely?
Hec. The gold I in thy custody would place,
Which I from Ilion hither bring.
Polym. Where is it?
Concealed beneath your garment?
Hec. ’Midst a heap
Of spoils laid up within yon tents.
Polym. Where mean you?
These are the Grecian mariners’ abode.
Hec. In separate dwellings have they placed the captives?
Polym. But how can we rely upon the faith
Of those within? doth no man thither come?
Hec. There’s not a Greek within; we are alone:
But enter thou these doors: for now the host,
Impatient to weigh anchor, would return
From Ilion to their homes. Thou with thy children
T’ accomplish all the dread behests of fate,
Shalt thither go where thou hast lodged my son.
[Exeunt Hecuba and Polymestor.
Chor. Thou hast not yet received the blow,
But justice sure will lay thee low.
Like him who headlong from on high
Falls where no friendly haven’s nigh,
Into the ocean’s stormy wave,
Here shalt thou find a certain grave:
For twofold ruin doth impend
O’er him who human laws pursue,
And righteous gods indignant view:
Thee shall the hope of gain mislead,
Which prompts thee to advance with speed,
And Pluto’s loathed abode descend:
Soon shalt thou press th’ ensanguined strand,
Slain by a woman’s feeble hand.
Polym. [within.] Ah me, the light that visited these eyes
is darkened.
Semichor. Heard ye, O my friends, the shriek
Of yonder Thracian?
Polym. [within.] Yet again, alas,
My children’s foul and execrable murder!
Semichor. My friends, some recent mischief hath within
Been perpetrated.
Polym. [within.] Though your feet are swift,
Ye shall not ’scape, for through the walls I’ll burst
My passage.
Semichor. With a forceful hand, behold
He brandishes the javelin. Shall we rush
To seize him? This important crisis bids us
Assist our queen and Phrygia’s valiant dames.
Hec. Now do thy worst, and from their hinges rend
Yon massive gates; no more canst thou impart
To those lost eyes their visual orbs, nor see
Thy sons, whom I have slain, to life restored.
Hecuba, Chorus.
Chor. Hast thou, my honoured mistress, caught the Thracian,
Over this treacherous friend hast thou prevailed,
And all thy threats accomplished?
Hec. Ye shall see him
Before the tent, without delay, deprived
Of sight, advancing with unsteady foot,
And the two breathless corses of his sons,
Whom I, assisted by the noblest matrons
Of Troy, have slain. Th’ atonement he hath paid
To my revenge, is just. But now behold
He issues forth: I will retire and shun
The Thracian chief’s unconquerable rage.
Polymestor, Hecuba, Chorus.
Polym. Ah, whither am I going? wretched me!
Where am I? what supports me? With these hands
Groping my way like some four-footed beast,
How shall I turn me, to the right or left,
That I those murderous Phrygian dames may seize
Who have destroyed me? Impious and accurst
Daughters of Ilion, in what dark recess
Do they escape me? Would to heaven, O Sun,
Thou to these bleeding eyeballs could’st afford
A cure, that thou my blindness could’st remove.
But hush, I hear those women’s cautious tread.
How shall I leap upon them? with their flesh
How shall I glut my rage, and for a feast
To hungry tigers cast their mangled bones,
In just requital of the horrid wrongs,
Which I from them, ah wretched me, have suffered?
But whither, by what impulse am I borne,
Leaving the corses of my sons exposed
To hellish Bacchanalians, as they lie
Torn by the dogs, and on the mountain’s ridge
Cast forth unburied! Where shall I stand still?
Or whither shall I go? Like some proud bark
Towed into harbour, which contracts its sails;
I to that fatal chamber which contains
The corses of my murdered sons rush onward
With speed involuntary.
Chor. Hapless man,
How art thou visited by woes too grievous
To be endured! but by dread Jove thy foe,
On him whose deeds are base, it is ordained
That the severest punishments await.
Polym. Rouse, O ye Thracians, armed with ponderous spears,
Arrayed in mail, for generous steeds renowned,
A hardy race, whom Mars himself inspires.
To you, O Grecian troops, and both the sons
Of Atreus, I with clamorous voice appeal:
Come hither, I implore you by the gods.
Do any of you hear me? Is there none
Who will assist? Why loiter ye? Those women,
Those captives have destroyed me. Horrid wrongs
Have I endured; ah me, the foul reproach!
But whither shall I turn, or whither go?
Through the aërial regions shall I wing
My swift career to that sublime abode
Where Sirius or Orion from his eyes
Darts radiant flames? or, to perdition doomed,
Shall I descend to Pluto’s sable flood?
Chor. He merits pardon, whosoe’er assailed
By ills too grievous to be borne, shakes off
The loathed encumbrance of a wretched life.
Agamemnon, Polymestor, Hecuba, Chorus.
Aga. Hearing thy shrieks I came. For Echo, child
Of craggy mountains, in no gentle note
Wafted those sounds tumultuous through the host.
Had we not known that by the Grecian spear
The towers of vanquished Phrygia are o’erthrown,
Such uproar would have caused no small alarm.
Polym. My dearest friend, soon as I heard your voice,
I instantly perceived ’twas Agamemnon.
See you my sufferings?
Aga. Wretched Polymestor!
Who hath destroyed thee? who bereaved of sight
Thy bleeding orbs, and those thy children slew?
Whoe’er the author of such deeds, his rage
Was dreadful sure ’gainst thee and ’gainst thy sons.
Polym. With the assistance of those captive dames,
Me Hecuba hath murdered, more than murdered.
Aga. What mean’st thou? Are you guilty of the crime
With which he charges you? and have you dared
To perpetrate an action thus audacious?
Polym. Ah me! what said you? Is she near at hand?
Inform me where to find, that I may seize her,
And scatter wide to all the fowls of heaven
Her mangled corse.
Aga. Ha! what is thy design?
Polym. Allow me, I conjure you by the gods,
To grasp her with this frantic arm.
Aga. Desist,
And casting forth all rancour from thy heart,
Now plead thy cause; that, hearing both apart,
I with unbiassed justice may decide,
If thou these sufferings merit’st.
Polym. I will speak.
There was one Polydore, the youngest son
Of those whom Hecuba to Priam bore;
Him erst removing from the Phrygian realm,
His sire to me consigned, that in my palace
He might be nurtured, when that hoary king
The fall of Troy suspected: him I slew:
But hear my motives for the deed, to prove
How justly and how prudently I acted.
Your enemy, that boy, if he survived
The ruin of his country, might, I feared,
Collect the scattered citizens of Troy,
And there again reside. I also feared,
That when the Greeks knew one of Priam’s line
Was living, with a second fleet invading
The shores of Phrygia, they again might drain
Of their inhabitants our Thracian fields,
Involving us, their neighbours, in the vengeance
They on their foes at Ilion wreak. To us
Already hath such neighbourhood, O king,
Proved baneful. But, apprized of her son’s fate,
Hecuba drew me hither, on pretence
She would inform me where in massive gold
The hidden treasures of old Priam’s race
Beneath Troy’s ruins were secured. Alone,
She with my children brought me to this tent,
That none beside might know. With bended knee,
While on a couch I sat, some on my left,
And others on my right, as with a friend,
Full many of the Trojan damsels took
Their places, holding up against the sun
My robe, the woof of an Edonian loom:
Some feigned t’ admire it, others viewed my spear,
And stripped me of them both. From hand to hand
The matrons, seeming to caress my children,
Removed them far from their unhappy sire:
And after their fond speeches, in an instant,
(Could you believe it?) snatching up the swords,
Which they beneath their garments had concealed,
They stabbed my sons, whom while I strove to aid,
In hostile guise their comrades held my arms
And feet: if I looked up, they by the hair
Confined me; if I moved my hands, my struggles
Proved ineffectual, through the numerous band
Of women who assailed me, and to close
The scene of my calamity, accomplished
A deed with more than common horror fraught,
For they tore out my bleeding eyes, and fled.
But, like a tiger starting up, I chased
These ruthless fiends, and with a hunter’s speed
Each wall examined, dashing to the ground,
And breaking what I seized. These cruel wrongs,
While I your interests study to maintain,
O Agamemnon, and despatch your foe,
Have I endured. To spare a long harangue,
The whole of what ’gainst woman hath been said
By those of ancient times, is saying now,
Or shall be said hereafter, in few words
Will I comprise; nor ocean’s waves, nor earth,
Nurture so vile a race, as he who most
Hath with the sex conversed, but knows too well.
Chor. Curb that audacious virulence of speech,
Nor, by thy woes embittered, thus revile
All womankind; the number of our sex
Is great, and some there are, whom as a mark
To envy, their distinguished worth holds forth,
Though some are justly numbered with the wicked.
Hec. O Agamemnon, never ought the tongue
To have a greater influence o’er mankind
Than actions; but whoever hath done well,
Ought to speak well; and he, whose deeds are base,
To use unseemly language, nor find means
By specious words to colour o’er injustice.
Full wise indeed are they to whom such art
Is most familiar: but to stand the test
Of time not wise enough; for they all perish,
Not one of them e’er ’scapes. These previous thoughts
To you, O mighty king, have I addressed.
But now to him I turn, and will refute
The fallacies he uttered. What pretence
Hast thou for saying, that to free the Greeks
From such a second war, and for the sake
Of Agamemnon, thou didst slay my son?
For first, O villain, the barbarian race
With Greece, nor will, nor ever can be friends.
What interest roused thy zeal? Didst thou expect
To form a nuptial union? Wert thou moved
By kindred ties, or any secret cause?
Greece with a fleet forsooth would have returned
To lay thy country waste. Who, canst thou think,
Will credit such assertions? If the truth
Thou wilt confess, gold and thy thirst of gain
Were my son’s murderers. Why, when Troy yet flourished,
Why, when the city was on every side
Fenced by strong bulwarks, why, when Priam lived,
And Hector wielded a victorious spear,
Didst thou not, if thou hadst designed to act
In Agamemnon’s favour, at the time
When thou didst nurture my unhappy son,
And in thy palace shelter, either slay,
Or to the Greeks surrender up the youth
A living prisoner? But when Ilion’s light
Was utterly extinguished, when the smoke
Declared the city subject to our foes,
The stranger thou didst murder, at thy hearth
Who sought protection. To confirm thy guilt,
Now hear this farther charge: if thou to Greece
Hadst been a friend indeed, thou should’st have given
The gold thou say’st thou keep’st, not for thine own,
But Agamemnon’s sake, among the troops
Who suffer want, and from their native land
Have for a tedious season been detained.
But thou from those rapacious hands e’en now
Canst not endure to part with it, but hoard’st it
Still buried in thy coffers: as became thee,
Hadst thou trained up my son, hadst thou to him
Been a protector, great is the renown
Thou would’st have gained; for in distress the good
Are steadfast; but our prosperous fortunes swarm
With friends unbidden. Hadst thou been in want,
And Polydore abounded, a sure treasure
To thee would he have proved: but now no longer
In him hast thou a friend; thou of thy gold
Hast lost th’ enjoyment, thou thy sons hast lost,
And art thyself thus wretched. But to you,
O Agamemnon, now again I speak:
If you assist him, you will seem corrupt;
For you will benefit a man devoid
Of honour, justice, piety, or truth;
It might be said that you delight in evil;
But, I presume not to reproach my lords.
Chor. How doth a virtuous cause inspire the tongue
With virtuous language!
Aga. On a stranger’s woes
Reluctant I pronounce, but am constrained;
For shame attends the man who takes in hand
Some great affair, and leaves it undecided.
Know then, to me thou seem’st not to have slain
Thy guest through an attachment to my cause,
Nor yet to that of Greece, but that his gold
Thou might’st retain: though in this wretched state
Thou speak to serve thy interests. Among you
Perhaps the murder of your guests seems light;
We Greeks esteem it base. If I acquit thee
How shall I ’scape reproach? Indeed I cannot:
Since thou hast dared to perpetrate the crime,
Endure the consequence.
Polym. Too plain it seems,
Ah me! that, vanquished by a female slave,
Here shall I perish by ignoble hands.
Hec. Is not this just for the atrocious deed
Which thou hast wrought?
Polym. My children, wretched me!
And these quenched orbs.
Hec. Griev’st thou, yet think’st thou not
That I lament my son?
Polym. Malignant woman,
Do you rejoice in taunting my distress?
Hec. In such revenge have not I cause for joy?
Polym. Yet not so hastily, when ocean’s wave——
Hec. Shall in a bark convey me to the shores
Of Greece?
Polym. Shall whelm you in its vast abyss
Fall’n from the shrouds.
Hec. Raised thither by what impulse?
Polym. Up the tall mast you with swift foot shall climb.
Hec. On feathered pinions borne, or how?
Polym. With form
Canine endued, and eyeballs glaring fire.
Hec. Whence didst thou learn that I such wondrous change
Shall undergo?
Polym. Bacchus, the Thracian seer,
Gave this response.
Hec. To thee did he unfold
Nought of the grievous sufferings thou endur’st?
Polym. Then could you ne’er have caught me by your wiles.
Hec. But on this change of being, after death,
Or while I yet am living, shall I enter?
Polym. After your death, and men shall call your tomb——
Hec. By my new form, or what is it thou mean’st?
Polym. The sepulchre of that vile brute, an object
Conspicuous to the mariner.
Hec. I care not;
My vengeance is complete.
Polym. Cassandra too,
Your daughter, must inevitably bleed.
Hec. Abomination! On thy guilty head
These curses I retort.
Polym. Her shall the wife
Of Agamemnon slay, who sternly guards
His royal mansion.
Hec. Such a frantic deed
As this may Tyndarus’ daughter ne’er commit!
Polym. She next uplifting the remorseless axe
Shall smite her lord.
Aga. Ha! madman, dost thou court
Thy ruin?
Polym. Slay me; for the murderous bath
Awaits you, when to Argos you return.
Aga. Will ye not drag him from my sight by force?
Polym. Hear you with grief what I announce?
Aga. My followers,
Why stop ye not the miscreant’s boding mouth?
Polym. This mouth be closed for ever: I have spoken.
Aga. Will ye not cast him with the utmost speed
Upon some desert island, since he dares
To speak with such licentiousness? Depart,
O wretched Hecuba, and both those corses
Deposit in the grave. But, as for you,
Ye to your lord’s pavilions must repair,
O Phrygian dames: for I perceive the gales
Rising to waft us homeward; may success
Attend the voyage to our native land!
And in our mansions may we find all well,
Freed from these dangers!
Chor. To the haven go,
And to the tents, my friends, t’ endure the toils
Our lords impose: for thus harsh fate enjoins.
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