Andromache.
PERSONS OF THE DRAMA.
Andromache.
Attendant.
Chorus of Phthian Women.
Hermione.
Menelaus.
Molossus.
Peleus.
Nurse of Hermione.
Orestes.
Messenger.
Thetis.
SCENE.—The Vestibule of Thetis’ Temple between Phthia and Pharsalia in Thessaly.
Andromache. O Thebes, thou pride of Asia, from whose gate I came resplendent with a plenteous dower, To Priam’s regal house, the fruitful wife Of Hector: his Andromache was erst An envied name: but now am I more wretched Than any woman, or already born, Or to be born hereafter; for I saw My husband Hector by Achilles slain, And that unhappy son whom to my lord I bore, Astyanax, from Troy’s high towers Thrown headlong; when our foes had sacked the city, Myself descended from a noble line Of freeborn warriors, reached the Grecian coast, On Neoptolemus that island prince For the reward of his victorious arms Bestowed: selected from the Phrygian spoils. ’Twixt Phthia and Pharsalia, in these fields, I dwell, where Thetis from the haunts of men Retreating, with her Peleus erst abode. By Thessaly’s inhabitants, this spot Is from th’ auspicious nuptials of that goddess Called Thetidæum: here Achilles’ son Residing, suffers Peleus still to rule Pharsalia’s land, nor will assume the sceptre While lives his aged grandsire. In these walls A son, who to th’ embraces of my lord Achilles’ offspring, owes his birth, I bore, And though I had been wretched, a fond hope Still cherished, that while yet the boy was safe I some protection and relief might find In my calamities; but since my lord (Spurning my servile couch) that Spartan dame Hermione espoused, with ruthless hate By her am I pursued; for she pretends That I, by drugs endued with magic power, Administered in secret, make her barren And odious to her lord, because I wish To occupy this mansion in her stead, And forcibly to drive her from his couch, To which, at first I with reluctance came, But now have left it: mighty Jove can witness That I became the partner of his bed Against my own consent. But she remains Deaf to conviction, and attempts to slay me: In this design her father Menelaus Assists his daughter, he is now within, And on such errand left the Spartan realm: Fearing his rage, I near the palace take My seat, in Thetis’ temple, that the goddess From death may save me; for both Peleus’ self, And the descendants of that monarch, hold This structure reared in memory of his wedlock With the fair Nereid, in religious awe. But hence, in secret, trembling for his life, My only child have I conveyed away, Because his noble father is not present To aid me, and avails not now to guard His son, while absent in the Delphic land, To expiate there the rage with which he sought The Pythian tripod, and from Phœbus claimed A reparation for his father’s death. If haply he can deprecate the curses Attendant on his past misdeeds, and make The god propitious to his future days. Female Attendant, Andromache. Att. My queen, for still I scruple not to use The same respectful title which I gave you When we in Ilion dwelt; you and your lord While he was living, shared my duteous love, And now I with important tidings fraught To you am come, trembling indeed lest one Of our new rulers overhear the tale, Yet greatly pitying your disastrous fate: For Menelaus and his daughter form Dire plots against you; of these foes beware. And. O my dear fellow-servant (for thou shar’st Her bondage who was erst thy queen, but now Is wretched), ah! what mean they? what fresh schemes Have they devised to take away my life, Who am by woes encompassed? Att. They intend, O miserable dame, to kill your son, Whom privately you from this house conveyed. And. Are they informed I sent the child away? Ah me! who told them? in what utter ruin Am I involved! Att. I know not; but thus much Of their designs I heard; in quest of him Is Menelaus from these doors gone forth. And. Then am I lost indeed: for, O my child, These two relentless vultures mean to seize thee, And take away thy life, while he who bears A father’s name, at Delphi still remains. Att. You had not fared so ill, I am convinced, If he were present, but now every friend Deserts you. And. Is there not a rumour spread Of Peleus’ coming? Att. He, though he were here, Is grown too old to aid you. And. More than once I sent to him. Att. Suppose you that he heeds None of your messengers? And. What means this question? Wilt thou accept such office? Att. What pretext To colour my long absence from this house Shall I allege? And. Full many are the schemes Which thou, who art a woman, can devise. Att. ’Twere dangerous; for Hermione is watchful. And. Dost thou perceive the danger, and renounce Thy friends in their distress? Att. Not thus: forbear To brand me with so infamous a charge: I go; for of small value is the life (Whate’er befall me) of a female slave. [Exit Attendant. And. Proceed: meanwhile I to the conscious air Those plaints and bitter wailings will repeat, On which I ever dwell. Unhappy women Find comfort in perpetually talking Of what they suffer. But my groans arise Not from one ill, but many ills: the walls Of my loved country razed, my Hector slain, And that hard fortune, in whose yoke bound fast, Thus am I fallen into th’ unseemly state Of servitude. We never ought to call Frail mortals happy, at their latest hour Till we behold them to the shades descend. Elegy. In Helen sure, to Troy’s imperial towers Young Paris wafted no engaging bride, But when he led her to those nuptial bowers, Some fiend infernal crossed the billowy tide. With brandished javelin and devouring flame, For her the Grecian warriors to thy shore, O Ilion, in a thousand vessels came, And drenched thy smould’ring battlements with gore. Around the walls, my Hector, once thy boast, Fixed to his car, was by Achilles borne, And from my chamber hurried to the coast I veiled my head in servitude forlorn. Much wept these streaming eyes, when in the dust My city, palace, husband, prostrate lay. Subject to fierce Hermione’s disgust, Why should I still behold the hated day? Harassed with insults from that haughty dame, Round Thetis’ bust my suppliant arms I fling, And here with gushing tears bewail my shame, As from the rock bursts forth the living spring. Chorus, Andromache.
Chorus.
ODE.
I. 1. O thou, who seated in this holy space, Hast Thetis’ temple thy asylum made, Though Phthia gave me birth, to aid Thee, hapless dame of Asiatic race, I hither come; would I from direful harms Could guard, could heal the strife ’Twixt thee and that indignant wife Hermione, whom ruthless discord arms To punish thee the rival of her charms, A captive, to the genial bed, Who by Achilles’ son wert led. I. 2. Aware of fate, th’ impending evil weigh, A helpless Phrygian nymph, thou striv’st in vain ’Gainst her of Sparta’s proud domain: Cease, to this sea-born goddess, cease to pray, And at her blazing shrine no longer stay: For how can it avail To thee with hopeless sorrow pale To suffer all thy beauties to decay, Because thy rulers with oppression sway? Thou to superior might must bend. Why, feeble as thou art, contend? II. 1. Yet hasten from the Nereid’s lofty seat, Consider that thou tread’st a foreign plain, And that these hostile walls detain In strictest bondage thy reluctant feet, Here none of all those friends, that numerous band, Who shared thy greatness, is at hand, To cheer thee in these days of shame, O wretched, wretched dame. II. 2. A miserable matron thou art come From Troy to our abodes, unwilling guest; Though mine the sympathizing breast, Yet I through reverence to our lords am dumb, Lest she, who springs from Helen, child of Jove, Should be a witness of that love Which I to thee whose griefs I share, Impelled by pity bear. Hermione, Andromache, Chorus. Her. The gorgeous ornaments of gold, these brows Encircling, and the tissued robes I wear, I from Achilles’, or from Peleus’ stores, As chosen presents when I hither came, Received not, but from Sparta’s realm, these gifts My father Menelaus hath bestowed With a large dower, that I might freely speak Such is the answer which to you I make, O Phthian dames. But thou, who art a slave And captive, wouldst in these abodes usurp Dominion, and expel me; to my lord Thy drugs have made me odious, hence ensues My barrenness: the Asiatic dames, For these abhorred devices are renowned; But thee will I subdue, nor shall this dome Of the immortal Nereid, nor her altar Or temple save thee from impending death; If either man or god should be disposed To rescue thee, ’twere fit, that to atone For the proud thoughts thou in thy happier days Didst nourish, thou shouldst tremble, at my knees Fall low, and sweep the pavement of my house, Sprinkling the waters from a golden urn. Know where thou art: no Hector governs here, No Phrygian Priam doth this sceptre wield; This is no Chrysa, but a Grecian city. Yet thou, O wretched woman, art arrived At such a pitch of madness, that thou dar’st To sleep e’en with the son of him who slew Thy husband, and a brood of children bear To him whose hands yet reek with Phrygian gore, Such is the whole abhorred barbarian race; The father with his daughter, the vile son With his own mother, with her brother too The sister, sins, friends by their dearest friends Are murdered; deeds like these no wholesome law Prohibits: introduce not among us Such crimes, for ’tis unseemly that one man Possess two women; the fond youth who seeks Domestic harmony, confines his love To one fair partner of the genial bed. Chor. The female sex are envious, and pursue With an incessant hatred those who share Their nuptial joys. And. Alas! impetuous youth Proves baleful to mankind, and there are none Who act with justice in their blooming years. But what I dread is this, lest slavery curb My tongue, though I have many truths to utter: In this dispute with you, if I prevail, That very triumph may become my bane: For those of haughty spirits ill endure The most prevailing arguments when urged By their inferiors. Yet my better cause I will not thus betray. Say, youthful princess, What reasons of irrefragable force Enable me to drive you from the couch Of your own lawful husband? to the Phrygians Is Sparta grown inferior, and hath fortune On us conferred the palm? Do you behold me Still free? elate with youth, a vigorous frame, The wide extent of empire I possess, And number of my friends, am I desirous To occupy these mansions in your stead, That in your stead I might bring forth a race Of slaves, th’ appendages of my distress? Will any one endure (if you produce No children) that my sons should be the kings Of Phthia?—the Greeks love me for the sake Of Hector, I too was forsooth obscure, And not a queen, in Troy. Your husband’s hate, Not from my drugs, but from your soul, unsuited For social converse, springs: there is a philtre To gain his love. Not beauty, but the virtues, O woman, to the partners of our bed Afford delight. But if it sting your pride That Sparta’s a vast city, while you treat Scyros with scorn, amidst the poor, display Your riches, and of Menelaus speak As greater than Achilles; hence your lord Abhors you. For a woman, though bestowed On a vile mate, should learn to yield, nor strive For the pre-eminence. In Thrace o’erspread With snow, if you were wedded to a king, Who to his bed takes many various dames, Would you have slain them? you would cast disgrace On your whole sex by such unsated lust; Base were the deed: for though our souls are warmed With more intense desires than those of men We modestly conceal them. For thy sake I, O my dearest Hector, loved the objects Of thy affections, whene’er Venus’ wiles Caused thee to err, and at my breast full oft Nourished thy spurious children, that in nought Thy joys I might embitter: acting thus I won him by my virtues. But you tremble E’en if the drops of Heaven’s transparent dew Rest on your husband. Strive not to transcend Your mother in a wild excess of love, O woman. For the children, if endued With reason, such examples should avoid Of those who bore them, as corrupt the soul. Chor. As far as possible, O queen, comply With my advice, and in mild terms accost her. Her. What mean’st thou by this arrogance of speech, This vain debate, as if thou still wert chaste, And I had strayed from virtue’s path? And. The words You have been using, now at least are void Of modesty. Her. O woman, may this breast Harbour no soul like thine. And. Though bashful youth Glow on your cheek, indecent is your language. Her. Thou by thy actions more than by thy words Hast proved the malice which to me thou bear’st. And. Why will you not conceal th’ inglorious pangs Of jealous love? Her. What woman but resents Such wrongs, and deems them great? And. The use some make Of these misfortunes adds to their renown: But shame waits those who are devoid of wisdom. Her. We dwell not in a city where prevail Barbarian laws. And. In Phrygia or in Greece Base actions are with infamy attended. Her. Though most expert in every subtle art, Yet die thou must. And. Behold you Thetis’ image Turning its eyes on you? Her. She loathes thy country Where her Achilles treacherously was slain. And. Your mother Helen caused his death, not I. Her. Wouldst thou retrace still farther the sad tale Of our misfortunes? And. I restrain my tongue. Her. Speak to me now on that affair which caused My coming hither. And. All I say is this: You have not so much wisdom as you need. Her. From this pure temple of the sea-born goddess Wilt thou depart? And. Not while I live: you first Must slay, then drag me hence. Her. I am resolved How to proceed, and wait my lord’s return No longer. And. Nor will I before he come Surrender up myself. Her. With flaming brands Hence will I drive thee, and no deference pay To thy entreaties. And. Kindle them; the gods Will view the deed. Her. The scourge too is prepared. And. Transpierce this bosom, deluge with my gore The altar of the goddess, you by her Shall be at length o’ertaken. Her. From thy cradle, Trained up and hardened in barbarian pride, Canst thou endure to die? from this asylum Soon will I rouse thee by thy own consent, I with such baits am furnished, but conceal My purpose, which th’ event itself ere long Will make conspicuous. Keep a steady seat, For though by molten lead thou wert enclosed Hence would I rouse thee, ere Achilles’ son, Whom thou confid’st in, to this land return. [Exit Hermione. And. In him I place my still unshaken trust. Yet is it strange that the celestial powers, To heal the serpent’s venom, have assigned Expedients, but no remedy devised Against an evil woman who surpasses Or vipers’ stings or the consuming flame: Thus baleful is our influence on mankind. Chorus.
ODE.
I. 1. The winged son of Maia and of Jove To many sorrowful events gave birth, And scattered discord o’er the bleeding earth, When he through sacred Ida’s piny grove Guided the car of three immortal dames, (The golden prize of beauty to obtain, In hateful strife engaged, who urged their claims); To where in his mean hut abode a lonely swain. I. 2. No sooner had they reached the destined bower, Than in the limpid spring her snowy frame Each goddess laved; to Priam’s son then came With artful speeches of such winning power As might beguile the rash and amorous boy: Venus prevailed; her words, though sweet their sound, Proved of destructive consequence to Troy, Whose stately bulwarks hence lie levelled with the ground. II. 1. When new-born Paris first beheld the light, Would that his mother, o’er her head, this brand Ordained by Heaven to fire his native land, Had cast, before he dwelt on Ida’s height. Unheeded from the bay’s prophetic shade Exclaimed Cassandra: “Let the child be slain; Kill him, or Priam’s empire is betrayed.” Frantic she raved and sued to every prince in vain. II. 2. Deaf was each prince, or Ilion ne’er had felt The servile yoke, nor hadst thou, hapless fair, Beneath these roofs, encompassed by despair, And subject to a rigid master, dwelt. O had he died, the fated toil of Greece, That stubborn war through ten revolving years, Had roused no heroes from the lap of peace, Nor caused the widow’s shrieks, the hoary father’s tears. Menelaus, Molossus, Andromache, Chorus. Men. Your son I hither bring, whom from this fane With secrecy, you to another house, Without my daughter’s knowledge, had removed. You boasted that this image of the goddess To you, and those who hid him, would afford A sure asylum: but your deep-laid craft, O woman, cannot baffle Menelaus. If you depart not hence, he in your stead Shall be the victim; therefore well revolve Th’ important question; had you rather die, Or, with his streaming gore, let him atone The foul offence ’gainst me and ’gainst my daughter By you committed? And. Thou, O vain opinion, Hast with renown puffed up full many men Who were of no account. I deem those blest On whom with truth such honour is bestowed: But them who by fallacious means obtain it I hold unworthy of possessing fame. When all their seeming wisdom but arises From Fortune’s gifts. Thou with the bravest chiefs Of Greece, from Priam erst didst wrest his Troy; E’en thou who art so mean as to inspire Thy daughter with resentment ’gainst a child, And strive with me a miserable captive: Unworthy of thy conquest over Troy Thee do I hold, and Troy yet more disgraced By such a victor. Some indeed there are To all appearance upright, who awhile Outwardly glitter, though they in their hearts Are on a level with the worthless bulk Of mortals, and superior but in wealth Whose power is great. This conference let us end, O Menelaus, be it now supposed I by thy daughter am already slain: ’Twill be impossible for her to ’scape From the pollution ruthless murder brings; Thou too by many tongues wilt be accused Of this vile deed, with her will they confound Thee the abettor. But if I preserve My life, are ye resolved to slay my son? How will the father tamely bear the death Of his loved offspring? he was not esteemed At Troy so void of courage. He is gone Whither his duty calls. Soon will the chief Act worthy of the race from which he springs, The hoary Peleus, and his dauntless sire Achilles, he from these abodes will cast Thy daughter forth, and when thou to another In marriage giv’st her, what hast thou to say On her behalf? “That from a worthless lord Her wisdom drove her?” This would be a falsehood Too gross. But who would wed her? till grown grey In widowhood, shall she beneath thy roofs Fix her loathed residence? O wretched man, The rising conflux of unnumbered woes Behold’st thou not? hadst thou not rather find Thy daughter wronged by concubines, than suffering Th’ indignities I speak of? we from trifles Such grievous mischiefs ought not to create; Nor if we women are a deadly bane, To the degenerate nature of our sex Should men conform. If I pernicious drugs Have to thy daughter ministered, and been, As she pretends, the cause of her abortion, Immediately will I without reluctance, And without grovelling at this altar’s base, To any rigid punishment submit Inflicted by thy son-in-law, from whom I surely merit as severe revenge For having made him childless. Such am I: But in thy temper I perceive one cause Of just alarm, since in that luckless strife About a woman, and a vile one too, Thou the famed Phrygian city didst destroy. Chor. Too freely hast thou spoken, in a tone Which ill becomes thy sex, and that high soul The bounds of wisdom hath o’erleaped. Men. O woman, So small an object, as you rightly judge, Deserves not the attention of my realm, Nor that of Greece. But learn this obvious truth: To any man whate’er he greatly needs, Is of more worth by far than taking Troy. My daughter I assist, because I deem it A wrong of great importance should she lose Her bridal rights: for every woman looks On all beside as secondary ills: But if she from her husband’s arms be torn, Seems reft of life itself. That Phthia’s prince Direct my servants, and that his obey Me and my race, is fitting: for true friends Have no distinct possessions, but hold all In common. While I wait for the return Of her long absent lord, should I neglect My daughter’s interests, I were weak, not wise. But leave this shrine of Thetis: for the child Shall if you bleed escape th’ impending doom: Him, if you die not, will I slay, since fate Of you or him the forfeit life demands. And. Ah me! a bitter and unwelcome choice Of life on terms like these hast thou proposed; Wretch that I am! for whether I decline Or make such option, I am wretched still. O thou, who by a trifling wrong provoked, Committ’st great crimes, attend: for what offence Wouldst thou bereave me of my life? what city Have I betrayed? what child of thine destroyed? What mansion fired? I to my master’s bed By force was dragged: yet me alone, not him The author of that crime, thou mean’st to slay. Thou, the first cause o’erlooking, on th’ effect Which it produces, vent’st thy rage. What woes Encompass wretched me! alas! my country! How dreadful are the wrongs which I endure! But wherefore was I doomed to bear a child, And to the burden under which I groan Add a new burden? what delight can life To me afford? or on what fortunes past Or present should I turn these eyes which saw The corse of Hector by the victor’s car Whirled round the walls, and wretched Troy a heap Of blazing ruins? I meantime a slave By my dishevelled hair was dragged aboard The Argive navy; when I reached the coast Of Phthia, and cohabited with those Who slew my Hector; (but why lavish plaints On past calamities, without deploring Or taking a due estimate of those Which now impend?) I had this only son My life’s last comfort left, and they who take Delight in deeds of cruelty, would slay him; Yet to preserve my miserable life He shall not perish; for auspicious hopes, Could he be saved, his future days attend: But if I died not for my son, reproach Would be my portion. Lo! I leave the altar And now am in thy hands, stab, slay me, bind, Strain hard the deadly noose. My son, thy mother, To rescue thee from an untimely grave, Descends the shades beneath; if thou escape The ruthless grasp of fate, remember me How miserably I suffered; and with kisses, At his return, when thou goest forth to meet Thy father, when a flood of tears thou shedd’st, And cling’st around him with those pliant arms, Inform him how I acted. All men hold Their children dear as life; but he who scorns them Because he ne’er experienced what it is To be a father, though with fewer griefs Attended, but enjoys imperfect bliss.
[Rises, and advances from the altar. Chor. I with compassion to this moving tale Have listened; for distress, to all mankind, Though strangers, must seem piteous: but on thee, O Menelaus, ’tis incumbent now To reconcile thy daughter, and this captive, That she may from her sorrows be released. Men. Seize her, and bind her hands; for she shall hear No pleasing language: I proposed to slay Your son, that you might leave that hallowed altar Of Thetis, and thus craftily induced you To fall into my hands, and meet your death; Be well assured, such is the present state Of your affairs: as for that boy, on him My daughter shall pass judgment, or to kill, Or spare him: but now enter these abodes, That you may learn, slave as you are, to treat Those who are free no longer with disdain. And. Thou hast o’erreached me by thy treacherous arts; Alas! I am betrayed. Men. Proclaim these tidings To all men; for I shall not contradict them. And. By those who dwell beside Eurotas’ stream Are such base frauds called wisdom? Men. Both at Troy And there, ’tis just the injured should retaliate. And. Believ’st thou that the gods are gods no longer, Nor wield the bolt of vengeance? Men. We must look To that: but you shall die. And. And wilt thou seize This unfledged bird, to slay him? Men. No, I will not, But give him to my daughter, who must act As she thinks fit. And. Then how, alas, my son! Can I sufficiently bewail thy fate? Men. “Him,” ’twas but now with arrogance you said, “Auspicious hopes attend.” And. Ye worst of foes To all mankind, inhabitants of Sparta! Expert in treacherous counsels, still devising New falsehoods, curst artificers of mischief, Your paths are crooked, yet though void of worth, Through Greece by circumspection ye uphold An undeserved pre-eminence. What crimes, What murders, what a thirst for abject gain Characterize your realm! with specious tongue Uttering a language foreign to your heart, Are ye not ever caught? Perdition seize you! Death is less grievous than thou deem’st to me Who date my utter ruin from that hour When Ilion’s wretched city was involved In the same fate with my illustrious lord, Whose spear oft drove thee trembling from the field Into thy ships: but now against his wife A formidable warrior art thou come To murder me: strike, for this coward tongue Shall never leave thine and thy daughter’s shame Unpublished. If in Sparta thou art great, So was I erst in Ilion; but exult not In my disasters, for on thee ere long The same reverse of fortune may attend. Chorus.
ODE.
I. 1. Two rival consorts ne’er can I approve, Or sons, the source of strife, their birth who owe To different mothers; hence connubial love Is banished, and the mansion teems with woe. One blooming nymph let cautious husbands wed, And share with her alone an unpolluted bed. I. 2. No prudent city, no well-governed state, More than a single potentate will own; Their subjects droop beneath the grievous weight When two bear rule, and discord shakes the throne; And if two bards awake their sounding lyres E’en the harmonious Muse a cruel strife inspires, II. 1. To aid the bark, when prosperous gales arise, Two jarring pilots shall misguide the helm: Weak is a multitude when all are wise, One simpler monarch could have saved the realm. Let a sole chief the house or empire sway, And all who hope for bliss their lord’s behests obey. II. 2. This truth hath Menelaus’ daughter shown, Furious she comes the victim to destroy; And, that their blood may nuptial wrongs atone, The Phrygian captive, and that hapless boy, With impious rage unjust would cause to bleed; May pity, awful queen, thy lifted arm impede! But I before these doors behold the pair On whom the fatal sentence now is passed. Thou wretched dame, and wretched child who diest Because thy mother to a foreign bed By force was dragged, in her imputed guilt Thou wert not an accomplice, thou thy lords Hast not offended. And. To the realms beneath, Lo, I am hurried, with these bloody hands Fast bound in galling chains. Mol. I too, O mother, Under thy wing, to those loathed shades descend A victim. O ye lords of Phthia’s land, And thou, my father, succour those thou lov’st. And. Cling to thy mother’s bosom, O my child, Together let us die. Mol. Ah me! how grievous My sufferings are! too clearly I perceive That I, and thou my mother, both are wretched. Men. Go both together to th’ infernal realm: For ye from hostile turrets hither came. Although the cause why you and he must bleed Is not the same, my sentence takes away Your life, and my Hermione’s your son’s. The highest folly were it to permit A foe to live and vex us, whom with ease We might despatch, and from our house remove Such danger. And. O my husband, would to Heaven I had thy arm to aid me; and thy spear, Thou son of Priam. Mol. Wretched me! what charm Can I devise t’ avert impending fate? And. My son, implore the mercy of our lord Clasping his knees. Mol. Dear monarch, spare my life. And. Tears from these eyes burst forth like trickling drops By the sun’s heat forced from a solid rock, Wretch that I am! Mol. What remedy, alas! For these dire evils can my soul devise? Men. Why dost thou idly grovel at my feet With fruitless supplications, while I stand Firm as a rock, or as th’ unpitying wave? Such conduct serves my interests: no affection To thee I bear, because my morn of life Was wasted in the conflict, ere I took Troy and thy mother, whose society Thou in the realms of Pluto shalt enjoy. Peleus, Menelaus, Andromache, Molossus, Chorus. Chor. Peleus, I see, draws near, his aged feet With eager haste advancing. Pel. You, and him Who stands presiding o’er a murderous deed, What means this uproar that disturbs the house, I question, and what practices are these Ye carry on unauthorized by law? O Menelaus, stay thy furious hand, And let not execution thus outstrip All righteous judgment. O my friends, lead on; For such a dread emergency appears T’ admit of no delay. Could I regain That youthful vigour which I erst enjoyed As prosperous breezes aid the floating sails, This captive would I favour. Say, what right Have they to bind your hands, and drag along You and your son? for like the bleating mother, Led forth to slaughter with her lamb, you perish, While I and your unwitting lord are absent. And. They, as thou seest, O venerable man, Me and my son thus bear to instant death. What shall I say to thee, whom I with speed Not by one single messenger but thousands Have sent for? sure thou, of the fatal strife In these divided mansions, with his daughter, To which I owe my ruin, must have heard: And from the violated shrine of Thetis, Who bore to thee a noble son, the goddess Whom thou rever’st e’en now with brutal force Me have they torn, nor judged my cause, nor wait For absent Neoptolemus, but, knowing That I and that this child who hath committed No fault, are left alone and unprotected, Would slay us both. But, O thou aged man, Thus prostrate on my knees, to thee I sue, And, though this hand must not presume to touch Thy honoured beard, conjure thee by the gods, Rescue us, or to thy eternal shame Both he and I must miserably bleed. Pel. My orders are that you those galling chains Unbind and loose her hands, else will I make The disobedient weep. Men. But I, your equal, Who have much more authority o’er her, Forbid them. Pel. Com’st thou hither to direct My household? is it not enough for thee To rule thy Spartans? Men. Her I took at Troy. Pel. She, to reward his valour, was bestowed Upon my grandson. Men. Doth not all he owns, To me, and what is mine, to him belong? Pel. For honest purposes, but not for crimes And murderous violence. Men. You ne’er shall take her Out of my hands. Pel. Thy head I with this sceptre Will smite. Men. Draw near; if you presume to touch me, Soon shall you rue such outrage. Pel. O thou villain, Sprung from a race of impious sires, what right To be accounted an illustrious man, And numbered with the truly brave, hast thou, Who by a Phrygian wanderer wert deprived Of thy fair consort, after thou hadst left Thy house unbarred and destitute of guards, As if thou in thy mansions hadst possessed A virtuous dame, though she of all her sex Was the most dissolute? nor if she would Can any Spartan nymph be chaste? for wandering From their own homes, distinguished by bare legs, And zoneless vest, they with young men contend In swiftness and in wrestling; I such customs Hold in abhorrence. Is there any room For wonder if the women prove unchaste Whom thus you educate? thy Helen ought To have proposed these questions, ere she left Her native realm, regardless of thy love, And by that youthful paramour seduced, Wantonly fled into a foreign land. Yet for her sake didst thou that numerous host Of Greeks collect, and lead them to assail The Phrygian ramparts. Thou that beauteous dame Shouldst rather have despised, nor in her cause Wielded the javelin, when thou found’st her worthless, But suffered her in Ilion to remain, And sent rich gifts to Paris on these terms, That to thy house she never should return. But thou, instead of suffering these just motives To make their due impression on thy soul, Full many valiant warriors hast destroyed, Made th’ aged matron childless, and deprived Of his illustrious sons the hoary sire. Numbered with those who owe to thee thy ruin Am wretched I: for like some evil genius In thee do these indignant eyes behold The murderer of Achilles: thou alone, Save by the missile shaft, unwounded cam’st From Ilion’s hostile shores; in burnished chests Didst thou bear thither the same glittering arms Which thou bear’st back again. Before he wedded, I warned my grandson to form no connection With thee, nor into these abodes admit The brood of that adult’ress; for the daughters Their mother emulate in deeds of shame. Look well to this, ye suitors, and select The damsel with maternal worth endued. Then with what scorn didst thou thy brother treat, Commanding him ’gainst reason to transgress, And sacrifice his daughter. Thou such fears, Lest thou that execrable wife shouldst lose, Didst entertain. When thou hadst taken Troy, This too I urge against thee, though thou hadst Thy consort in thy power, thou didst not slay her, But when her throbbing bosom thou beheld’st Didst cast away thy sword, receive her kisses, And soothe the fears of her who had betrayed thee. O worthless miscreant, whom the Cyprian Queen Hath thus debased! thou after this intrud’st Into my grandson’s palace, in his absence Committ’st these outrages, and basely slay’st A miserable woman, and her child, Thee and thy daughter who shall cause to weep Though trebly illegitimate his birth. Oft the parched heath, when duly tilled, exceeds The richest soil, and greater instances Of virtue are in many a bastard found Than in the lawfully begotten race. But take thy daughter hence. Far better is it To form affinity and strictest friendship With a poor man of worth, than him who joins Iniquity with wealth: but as for thee, Thou art a thing of nought. Chor. Among mankind, Oft from a small beginning doth the tongue Great strife occasion: but the wise beware Of entering on a contest with their friend. Men. Why do we speak in such exalted terms Of aged men, as if they were endued With wisdom, though in former days supposed By the whole Grecian race to judge aright? When you, O Peleus, who derive your birth From an illustrious sire, and with my house So nearly are connected, hold a language Disgraceful to yourself, and slander me, For a barbarian dame, whom from this land You ought to banish far beyond the Nile, Beyond the Phasis, and applaud my vengeance; Because she comes from Asiatic shores, Where many valiant Grecian chiefs lie slain. And hath in part been guilty of the blood Of your famed son; for Paris, by whose shaft, Transpierced, Achilles perished, was the brother, And she the wife of Hector: yet you enter The same abode with her, the genial board With her partake, allow her to bring forth Under your roofs an execrable brood. These mischiefs both to you and me, old man, Foreseeing, have I snatched her from your hands With a design to kill her. But, O say, (For there is nought of meanness in our holding This conference), if my daughter bear no child, And she have sons, will you appoint them lords Of this your Phthian land? shall they who spring From a barbarian race, o’er Greeks bear rule? Am I, because I hate injustice, void Of understanding, and are you discreet? Reflect on this; had you bestowed your daughter On any citizen, were she thus treated, Would you sit down and bear her wrongs in silence? I deem you would not. Why then with such harshness Speak you in favour of a foreign dame Against your nearest friends? as great a right To vengeance as her husband, hath the wife Whom her lord injures: for while he whose doors An unchaste consort enters, in his hands Hath power to right himself, a woman’s strength Lies only in her parents and her friends. My daughter, therefore, am I bound to aid: You show the marks of age: for while you talk Of that famed war I waged, you more befriend me Than if you had been silent. Deep in woe Was Helen plunged, not by her own consent But by the gods: and this event hath proved To Greece most advantageous, for its sons Who knew not how till then to wield the spear, Grew valiant. From experience, best of tutors, Men gather all the knowledge they possess. But when I saw my consort, in forbearing To take away her life, I acted wisely: And would that you had done like me, nor slain Your brother Phocus; this to you I speak Through mere benevolence, and not in wrath: But if resentment o’er your soul usurp An empire, such intemperance of the tongue Will be in you more shameful, while my wishes I by a prudent forethought shall attain. Chor. Now both desist (for this were better far) From such unprofitable strife of words, O ye will both offend. Pel. Ah me! through Greece What mischievous opinions have prevailed! When with the spoils of vanquished foes, the host A trophy rear, they think not how ’twas gained By those brave soldiers who endure the toil Of battle, while their general bears away All the renown: though he was only one Who stood ’midst thousands brandishing his spear, Nor any single combatant surpassed, He gains a larger portion of applause. The venerable rulers of a city, Placed in exalted stations, yet devoid Of any real merit, overlook The populace, though many in the crowd Of their inferiors are more wise than they, If haply courage and an honest zeal Unite to place them in the public view. Thou and thy brother thus are swollen with pride, From having led those troops to conquer Troy, And triumph in the sufferings of your friends. But henceforth will I teach thee not to look On Paris, Ida’s shepherd, as a foe, More terrible than Peleus. If with speed Thou quit not these abodes, and take away Thy childless daughter, my indignant grandson, By her dishevelled hair around the palace Will drag this barren dame, who stung with envy, Cannot endure the fruitful mother’s joys. But, if she prove so luckless as to bare No issue, ought she therefore to deprive us Of our posterity? Begone, ye slaves, That I may see who dares obstruct my loosing Her hands. Rise up: though trembling with old age, Your chains can I unbind. O worthless man, Hast thou thus galled her hands? didst thou suppose Thou held’st a bull or lion in the snare? Or didst thou shudder lest she should snatch up A sword, and wreak just vengeance on thy head? Come hither to these sheltering arms, my child, Unbind thy mother’s chains; in Phthia, thee I’ll educate, to them a bitter foe. Should Sparta’s sons by the protended spear Obtain no fame, nor in th’ embattled field Their prowess signalize, be well assured Ye have no other merit. Chor. Old men talk With freedom, and their vehemence of soul Is hard to be restrained. Men. Extremely prone Are you to slander; much against my will I came to Phthia, and am here resolved That I will neither do nor suffer aught Disgraceful: but to my own home with speed Am I returning, and have little time In vain debates to lavish: for a city Not far from Sparta’s gates and erst a friend Is waging war against us: I would lead My hardy squadrons forth t’ assail the foe, And utterly subdue them. To my wish Soon as this great affair I shall have settled, Hither will I return, and face to face, When I my reasons to my son-in-law Have in the clearest terms proposed, will hear What he can urge; and if he punish her, And for the future courteously to me Demean himself, from me he in return Shall meet with courtesy; but if he rage, He of my rage the dire effects shall feel: For still such treatment as his deeds deserve Shall he experience. But I am not hurt By these injurious words of yours; for like Some disembodied ghost, you have a voice, Although you are not able to do aught But merely speak. [Exit Menelaus. Pel. Lead on, my boy; here take Thy station under these protecting arms; And thou too, O thou miserable dame, Driven hither by the furious storm; at length Into a quiet haven are ye come. And. On thee and thy descendants may the gods Shower every blessing, venerable man, For having saved this child, and wretched me; Yet O beware, lest in some lonely spot They suddenly assail us, and by force Drag me away, perceiving thou art old, That I am a weak woman, and my son Is but an infant: all precautions use, Else we, who have escaped them, may again Be caught. Pel. Forbear to utter, in such language As this, the dictates of a woman’s fear. Advance, who dares to touch you? he shall weep. For with the blessing of th’ immortal gods, And by unnumbered troops of valiant horse, And infantry supported, I bear rule Over the Phthian land. I am robust, Nor, as you deem, impaired by palsied age. Were I, opposed in battle, but to look On such a man as this, old as I am, An easy conquest soon should I obtain. Superior is the veteran, if with courage Inspired, to many youths: for what avails A vigorous body with a coward’s heart? [Exeunt Peleus, Andromache, and Molossus. Chorus.
ODE.
I. My wish were this; or never to be born, Or to descend from generous sires, and share The blessings which attend a wealthy heir. If heaviest woes assail, ne’er left forlorn Without a friend are they of nobler race, Hereditary trophies deck their head: The records of the brave with joy we trace, No distant age their memory can efface, For virtue’s torch unquenched pours radiance o’er the dead. II. Better is conquest, when we gain our right By no reproachful means, no deeds of shame, Than if to envy we expose our fame, And trample on the laws with impious might. Such laurels which at first too sweetly bloom, Ere long are withered by the frost of time, And scorn pursues their wearers to the tomb. I in my household or the state presume To seek that power alone which rules without a crime. III. O veteran, sprung from Æacus, thy spear Chilled the Lapithæ with fear, And from their hills the Centaurs drove. When glory called, and prosperous gales Swelled the Argo’s daring sails, Intrepid didst thou pass that strait Where ruin oft the crashing bark attends, And ocean’s foam descends From the Symplegades’ obstructing height. Next didst thou land on perjured Ilion’s shore, With Hercules illustrious son of Jove, Then first its bulwarks streamed with gore: Till crowned with fame a partner of his toil, Europe again thou sought’st and Phthia’s frozen soil. The Nurse of Hermione, Chorus. Nur. How doth a rapid series of events The most disastrous, O my dearest friends, This day invade us! for within these doors Hermione my mistress, by her sire Forsaken, and grown conscious of the guilt She hath incurred, by that attempt to murder Andromache and her unhappy son, Resolves to die, because she dreads, lest fired With indignation at her guilt, her lord Should cast her forth with scorn, or take away Her life, because she purposed to have slain The innocent. The servants who attend Can hardly by their vigilance prevent her From fixing round her neck the deadly noose, Or snatch the dagger from her hand, so great Is her affliction, and she now confesses That she has done amiss. My strength’s exhausted In striving to withhold my royal mistress From perishing by an ignoble death. But enter ye these mansions, and attempt To save her life, for strangers can persuade Far better than old friends. Chor. We hear the voice Of her attendants from within confirm Th’ intelligence thou hither cam’st to bring: That hapless woman seems just on the point Of showing with what rage she by her guilt Is hurried on: for lo, she rushes forth From yon abodes, already hath she ’scaped Her servants’ hands, and is resolved to die. Hermione, Nurse, Chorus. Her. Ah me! these ringlets how will I tear off, How rend my cheeks! Nur. What mean’st thou, O my daughter? Wilt thou thus injure that fair frame? Her. Away, O thou slight veil, I pluck thee from my head, And toss thy scattered fragments in the air. Nur. Cover thy bosom with the decent robe. Her. Why with a robe my bosom should I hide? The crimes I have committed ’gainst my lord Are clear, well known, and cannot be concealed. Nur. Griev’st thou because thou hast formed schemes to slay Thy rival? Her. I with many groans bewail Those hostile darings, execrable wretch, Wretch that I am, an object of just hate To all mankind.
Nur. Thy husband such offence Will pardon. Her. From my hand why didst thou snatch The sword? Restore, restore it, O my friends, That I this bosom may transpierce. Why force me To quit yon pendant noose? Nur. In thy distraction Shall I forsake and leave thee thus to die? Her. Where shall I find (inform me, O ye Fates) The blazing pyre, ascend the craggy rock, Plunge in the billows, or amidst the woods On a steep mountain waste the life I loathe, That after death the gods beneath may take me To their protection? Chor. Why wouldst thou make efforts So violent? some mischiefs sent by Heaven Sooner or later visit all mankind. Her. Me like a stranded bark, thou, O my sire, Hast left forsaken and without an oar. To thee I owe my ruin. I no longer In these my bridal mansions can reside. To the propitious statues of what God With suppliant haste shall I repair, or fall At a slave’s knees, myself an abject slave? I from the land of Phthia, like a bird Upborne on azure wings, would speed my flight, Or imitate that ship whose dashing oars ’Twixt the Cyanean straits first urged their way. Nur. As little, O my daughter, can I praise That vehemence which caused thee to transgress Against the Trojan dame, as these thy fears Which are immoderate. For such slight offence Thy lord, misled by the pernicious tongue Of a barbarian woman, from his couch Will not expel thee: for thou art not his By right of conquest, borne from vanquished Troy; But thee, the daughter of a mighty king, He with abundant dower, and from a city Most flourishing, received: nor will thy sire, His child forsaking, as thou dread’st, permit thee To be cast forth: but enter these abodes, Nor show thyself without, lest some affront Thou shouldst receive if haply thou art seen Before these doors. [Exit Nurse. Chor. Behold a man, whose dress Is of such different fashion that it speaks The foreigner, comes swiftly from the gate. Orestes, Hermione, Chorus. Ore. Is this th’ abode of great Achilles’ son, The regal mansion, O ye foreign dames? Chor. It is as thou hast said. But who art thou That ask’st this question? Ore. Agamemnon’s son, And Clytemnestra’s; but my name’s Orestes: I to Dodona, th’ oracle of Jove, Am on my road; but since I now have reached The land of Phthia, first would I inquire How fares Hermione, the Spartan dame, My kinswoman; doth she yet live and prosper? For though from me far distant be the land In which she now resides, she still is dear. Her. O son of Agamemnon, who thus make Your seasonable appearance, like the haven To mariners amidst a furious storm, Take pity, I implore you by those knees, On me a wretch whose inauspicious fortunes You witness. Hence around your knees I fling These arms, which ought to prove of equal force With hallowed branches by the suppliant borne. Ore. What’s this? am I deceived? or do my eyes Indeed behold the queen of these abodes, And Menelaus’ daughter? Her. Th’ only child Whom to the Spartan monarch Helen bore. Mistake me not. Ore. O Phœbus, healing power, Protect us! But what dire mischance hath happened? Or from the gods, or human foes, proceed The evils thou endur’st? Her. Some from myself, But others from the husband whom I wedded The rest from one of the immortal gods. I utterly am ruined. Ore. What afflictions Can any woman who’s yet childless feel But those which from her nuptial union spring? Her. Hence these distempers of the soul arise, And well do you anticipate my words. Ore. Enamoured with another, is thy lord False to thy bed? Her. He loves a captive dame, The wife of Hector. Ore. This of which thou speak’st Is a great evil, when one man possesses Two wives. Her. ’Twas thus, till I avenged the wrong. Ore. Didst thou with arts familiar to thy sex Plot ’gainst thy rival’s life? Her. I would have killed Her and her spurious son. Ore. Hast thou despatched them? Or were they screened from their impending fate? Her. Old Peleus to these worthless objects showed Too great a reverence. Ore. Was there any friend Ready to aid thee in the purposed slaughter? Her. My sire, who for this cause from Sparta came. Ore. Yet by that aged man was he subdued? Her. Abashed he fled, and left me here alone. Ore. I understand thee well: thy husband’s wrath Thou fear’st for what thou’st done. Her. The fact you know: Hence justly will he take away my life. What can be said? yet by immortal Jove, Our grandsire, I conjure you, send me far From these domains, or to my father’s house. Had but these walls a voice, they would proclaim The sentence of my exile, for the land Of Phthia hates me. If my lord return From Phœbus’ oracle, for the misdeeds I have committed, he will strike me dead, Or force me to become that harlot’s slave Whom erst I ruled. Ore. By some will it be asked Whence then into such errors didst thou fall? Her. My ruin I derive from the admission Of these vile women, who inflamed my pride By uttering these rash words: “Wilt thou endure Beneath thy roof that odious slave who shares Thy bridal couch? by Juno, awful queen, I would not suffer such a wretch to breathe In my polluted chamber.” When I heard The language uttered by these crafty sirens, Artificers of mischief, who, to suit Their purpose, in persuasive strains displayed The power of eloquence, I was puffed up With folly: for what need had I to hold My lord in reverence while possessed of all That I could wish? abundant wealth was mine, O’er these abodes I reigned, and any children I to my husband might hereafter bare Would be legitimate; but hers, by mine In strict subjection held, a spurious race. But never, never (I this truth repeat) Should wedded men, who have the gift of reason, Let women have a free access, and visit Their consort. For they teach her evil lessons: Urged by the hopes of lucre, one corrupts Her chastity; a second hath already Transgressed herself, and wishes that her friend May be as vicious: many by their lust Are led astray: hence to their husband’s house A train of mischief rises. Guard the doors Of your abodes with locks and massive bars; Since from the intrusion of these female guests, No good, but mischiefs numberless ensue. Chor. Thou to thy tongue hast given too free a scope In thus aspersing the whole female race: Thy present woes indeed our pardon claim; Yet every woman is in duty bound To gloss o’er the misconduct of her sex. Ore. Wisdom pertained to him who taught mankind To hear the reasons by both parties urged In a debate. Aware of the confusion In these abodes, and of the strife ’twixt thee And Hector’s wife, I stayed not to observe Whether thou in this house wouldst still remain, Or through a fear of yonder captive dame Abandon it: I therefore hither came, Nor waited for intelligence from thee. And if a satisfactory account Of thy proceedings thou to me canst give, I will convey thee hence. For thou, who erst Wert mine, with this thy present husband liv’st, Through the perfidious conduct of thy sire, Who ere he entered the domains of Troy Affianced thee to me, and then to him Who now possesses thee, again engaged, If he the Phrygian city should subdue. But I forgive thy father for this wrong, When hither great Achilles’ son returned, And to the bridegroom sued that he would loose Thy plighted hand; of all my various fortunes Informing him, and of my present woes; How feasible it were for me to wed Among my friends, but that for such an exile As I am, driven from my paternal throne, ’Twould not be easy to obtain a consort In any foreign land: on this he grew More arrogant, and bitterly reproached me Both with my mother’s murder, and those Furies Whose blood-stained visages inspire dismay. By the misfortunes of my house bowed down To earth, I grieved indeed, but grieving bore The weight of these calamities, and reft Of thee my bride, reluctantly departed. But since thy fortunes now have undergone A change so unexpected, and involved In woe, thou stand’st aghast; from these abodes Thee will I take and to thy sire convey. For wondrous is the force of kindred ties; And in misfortunes nought exceeds the friend Who from the self-same house derives his birth. Her. My father will take care how to dispose Of me in marriage, nor is it my province Such question to decide. But, O convey me From these loathed mansions with the utmost speed, Lest when my husband at his first return Enters the doors, he intercept my flight; Or, hearing that I leave his grandson’s house, Peleus pursue me with his rapid steeds. Ore. Be of good cheer against that aged man, And from thy furious lord, Achilles’ son, Who treated me with scorn, fear nought; this hand Hath with such cautious artifice prepared For him th’ inevitable snares of death, Of which no previous mention will I make: But when it is accomplished, this exploit Shall on the rock of Delphi be proclaimed. I who my mother slew, if th’ armed friends Whom I have stationed in the Pythian realm Observe their oaths, will teach him that he ought To have abstained from wedding any dame Betrothed to me. He in an evil hour Shall claim atonement for his father’s death Of Phœbus mighty king; nor shall repentance For these audacious blasphemies avail To save the miscreant on whose impious head Apollo wreaks just vengeance; by his wrath O’ertaken, and entangled in my snares, He wretchedly shall perish. For the gods Subvert the prosperous fortunes of their foes Nor suffer pride to rear her towering crest. [Exeunt Orestes and Hermione. Chorus.
ODE.
I. 1. Phœbus, thou god who with a mound Of stately towers didst Ilion’s rock surround; And thou, O Neptune, ruler of the main, Borne swiftly by thy azure steeds In a light car, who cleav’st the watery plain; After exerting with unwearied toil Such skill as human works exceeds, ’Gainst wretched Troy when Mars his javelin bore, Why, faithless to that chosen soil, Left ye your city drenched in gore? I. 2. The steeds ye yoked on Simois’ banks Whirled many a chariot through the broken ranks; No hero gathered in that stubborn fray One laurel to adorn his head: Phrygia’s illustrious rulers swept away, Took their last voyage to a distant shore, And mingled with the vulgar dead, While the polluted altars ceased to gleam Upwafting to the skies no more Their frankincense in odorous steam. II. 1. Slain by his wife Atrides fell; His furious son sent to the shades of Hell The murderess, and returned th’ unnatural deed, That fatal stroke the god approved, His oracles ordained that she should bleed, When young Orestes at the inmost shrine Was by a heavenly impulse moved, His hands in gore maternal to imbrue. O Phœbus, O thou power divine, How shall I think th’ assertion true? II. 2. In Greece doth many a dame complain Chaunting rude dirges for her children slain; Others their native land reluctant leave, And to a foreign lord are brought. Nor yet hast thou alone just cause to grieve, Nor to thy friends hath Heaven’s peculiar hate These signal miseries wrought: Victorious Greece still feels as deep a wound, From whence the thunderbolt of fate Through Phrygia scattered deaths around. Peleus, Chorus. Pel. Answer my questions, O ye Phthian dames, For doubtful is the rumour I have heard, That Menelaus’ daughter, when she left This house departed from the realm. I come Anxious to learn if this account be true. For ’tis their duty who remain at home To guard the fortunes of their absent friends. Chor. What thou hast heard, O Peleus, is the truth, And ill would it become me to conceal The woes in which I deeply am involved: Our royal mistress from these walls is fled. Pel. What feared she? say. Chor. The anger of her lord, Lest he from these abodes should cast her forth. Pel. Because she plotted to have slain the boy? Chor. E’en so it was. Yon captive too she dreaded. Pel. But from these mansions did she go, attended, Or by her father or by whom? Chor. The son Of Agamemnon from this land conveyed her. Pel. What are his views? to take her for his bride? Chor. Thy grandson too he meditates to slay. Pel. Stationed in secret ambush, or resolved To meet the dauntless warrior face to face? Chor. Beneath Apollo’s unpolluted fane With Delphi’s citizens. Pel. Atrocious crime! Ah me! will no one with his utmost speed Go to the altar of the Pythian god, And to our friends disclose what passes here, Ere by his foes Achilles’ son is slain? Messenger, Peleus, Chorus. Mes. What evil tidings do I bring to you, O aged man, and all my master’s friends! Pel. By a sad presage which affects my soul I of th’ impending evil am forewarned. Mes. Know then, O Peleus, that your wretched grandson Is now no more, with such unnumbered wounds He by the Delphic citizens transpierced, And by that stranger from Mycene died. Chor. Alas! alas! but what resource is left For thee, thou hoary veteran? do not fall; Raise thyself up. Pel. To very nothing now Am I reduced, I utterly am ruined: The power of speech deserts me, and these limbs Forget their office. Mes. Hear me, and from earth Arise, if, with th’ assistance of your friends, You for this murder wish to be revenged. Pel. How hast thou compassed wretched me, who stand On the last verge of spiritless old age, O cruel fate! say how the only son Of my deceased, my only son, was slain. These tidings though unwelcome would I hear. Mes. After we reached Apollo’s sacred realm, While thrice the chariot of the sun performed Its bright career, we satiated our eyes With viewing all around. The circumstance Which raised suspicion first, was this: the people Who dwell within the temple of the god Held frequent meetings, and in crowds assembled. Meanwhile the son of Agamemnon went Through the whole city, and in every ear Whispered malignant words like these: “Behold Him who is visiting the hallowed shrine Of Phœbus piled with gold, the treasures given By all mankind; the miscreant comes again On the same purpose which first drew him hither, To overthrow the temple of the god.” Through the whole city hence an evil rumour Went forth, and all the magistrates, to whom The holy treasures were consigned, assembled, In secret councils held, and placed a guard Behind the massive columns in the fane. We, unapprized of this, meantime had caught Some sheep, that fed amid Parnassus’ grove, And with our Delphic friends and Pythian seers Approached the altar: some one said: “Young man, What vows on thy behalf shall we address To Phœbus? for what purpose art thou come?” He answered: “To the god I wish to make A due atonement for my past offence, Because I erst from him with impious tongue Claimed satisfaction for my father’s blood.” Hence did Orestes’ calumnies appear To have great weight, suggesting that my lord Spoke an untruth, and that he hither came With vile designs. Beneath the holy roof, That to Apollo he might offer up His prayers in that oracular abode, He now advanced, and as they blazed, observed The victims: here a troop with falchions armed Screened by the branching laurels stood; the son Of Clytemnestra was the sole contriver Of all these stratagems. Our lord stood forth, And, in the sight of this insidious band, Adored the god: while they with their keen swords, Ere he discerned them, pierced Achilles’ son Unsheathed in mail. He instantly retreated; For he as yet had by no deadly wound Been smitten; but snatched up in his retreat Those glittering arms which near the portals hung, And stood a champion terrible to view, Close to the blazing altar: with loud voice He questioned the inhabitants of Delphi: “Me who a pious votary hither come, Why, or for what offences, would ye slay!” Although the number of his foes was great, None of them answered, but all hands hurled stones: On every side assaulted by a storm Thick as the falling snows, he warded off, Extending the broad margin of his shield, Each missile weapon: but of no avail Was this resistance: for the spear, the shaft, The dart, were thrown at once, and at his feet Mixed instruments of sacrifice lay scattered. Th’ agility with which your grandson shunned The blows they aimed, was wondrous to behold: They in a circle gathering round, closed in, Nor gave him space to breathe, till from the altar Descending with a leap like that which bore The hapless Grecian chief to Phrygia’s coast, He rushed among them: like a flock of doves Who see the hawk appear, they turned and fled: In heaps on heaps promiscuous, many fell, Some in the narrow passage wounded lay, While others o’er them trampled, and their groans Unholy echoed through the hallowed dome. But, tranquil as the waters in a calm, In golden arms my lord resplendent stood, Till from the inmost sanctuary burst forth A deep-toned voice of horror, which impelled The recreant warriors to renew the fight: Achilles’ son then smitten through the flank With a keen sword, by one of Delphi fell, Who slew him, yet ignobly, with the aid Of multitudes. But after he to earth Was fallen, what sword transpierced him not, what hand Threw not a stone to smite him? his whole frame, So graceful erst, was with unnumbered wounds Disfigured: till at length his mangled corse, Which stained the altar’s basis, from the fane Drenched with the blood of victims they cast forth. But gathering up with speed, his loved remains To you we bear, O venerable man, That o’er them you may shed the plenteous tear, And grace them with sepulchral rites. Thus Phœbus, Who prophesies to others, mighty king, And deals out justice to th’ admiring world, Hath on Achilles’ son revenged himself, And, like some worthless human foe, revived An ancient grudge: how then can he be wise? [Exit Messenger. Chor. But lo! our royal master, from the land Of Delphi borne, approaches these abodes! Wretched was he, by such untimely doom O’ertaken: nor art thou, O aged man, Less wretched than the slaughtered youth: for thou Into thy doors receiv’st Achilles’ son, But not as thou couldst wish; thou too art fallen Into affliction’s snare. Pel. What piteous object, Ah me! do I behold, and with these hands Receive into my house! we are undone, We are undone, O thou Thessalian city; I have no children, no descendants left, To occupy these mansions. On what friend Shall I a wretched sufferer turn my eyes, And hope to find relief? O thou dear face, Ye cheeks, ye hands! thee would to Heaven that fate In those embattled fields of Troy had slain Beside the waves of Simois! Chor. He in death Hence would have found renown; thou too, old man, Wouldst have been happier. Pel. Thou, O wedlock, wedlock, These mansions and my city hast o’erthrown. My grandson, through the inauspicious nuptials By thee contracted, would to heaven my gates Had ne’er received that execrable fiend Hermione, thy bane! O had she first With thunderbolts been smitten! nor hadst thou, Presumptuous mortal, charged the Delphic god With having aimed the shaft which slew thy sire! Chor. I will awake the sad funereal dirge, And wailing pay to my departed lord Such customary tribute as attends The shades of mighty chiefs. Pel. Ah me! at once With misery and old age bowed down to earth, I shed th’ incessant tear. Chor. Thus hath the god Ordained, the god’s vindictive arm hath wrought All these calamities. Pel. O most beloved, This house, ah me! a desert hast thou left, And me a miserable old man made childless. Chor. Before thy children, O thou aged man, Thou shouldst have died. Pel. Shall I not rend my hair, And beat with desperate hands this hoary head? O city! Phœbus hath of both my sons Deprived me. Chor. O thou miserable old man, What evils hast thou witnessed and endured! How wilt thou pass the remnant of thy life? Pel. Childless, forlorn, no period to my woes Can I discover, but till death must drink The bitter potion. Chor. Sure the gods in vain Showered blessings on thy nuptials. Pel. Fled and withered Is all our ancient pomp. Chor. Alone thou mov’st Around thy lonely house. Pel. I have no city. Thee, O my sceptre, to the ground I cast, And from yon dreary caverns of the main, Daughter of Nereus, me wilt thou behold Utterly ruined, grovelling in the dust. Chor. Ha! who was it that moved? what form divine Do I perceive? look there! ye nymphs, attend, With rapid passage through the fleecy clouds Borne onward, some divinity arrives At Phthia’s pastures, famed for generous steeds. Thetis, Peleus, Chorus. The. O Peleus, mindful of the ties which bound Our plighted love, I hither from the house Of Nereus come, and with these wholesome counsels Begin; despair not, though thy present woes Are grievous: for e’en I who should have borne A race of children such as ne’er might cause My tears to stream, have lost the son who crowned Our hopes, Achilles, swift of foot, the first Of Grecian heroes. But to thee, the motives Which brought me hither, will I now relate; O listen to my voice. Back to that altar Devoted to the Pythian god, convey This body of Achilles’ slaughtered son, And bury it; so shall his tomb declare The murderous violence Orestes’ band Committed: but yon captive dame, I mean Andromache, on Helenus bestowed In marriage, in Molossia’s land must dwell, And her young son, the only royal branch Which of the stem of Æacus remains; From him in long succession shall a race Of happy kings Molossia’s sceptre wield: Nor will our progeny, O aged man, Be utterly extinct, when blended thus With Ilion, still protected by the gods, Though by Minerva’s stratagems it fell. But, as for thee, that thou mayst know the blessing Of having wedded me, who am by birth A goddess and the daughter of a god, From all the ills which wait on human life Releasing, thee immortal will I make And incorruptible; with me a goddess In Nereus’ watery mansions thou a god Hereafter shalt reside, and from the waves Emerging with dry feet, behold our son Achilles, to his parents justly dear, Inhabiting that isle whose chalky coasts Are laved by the surrounding Euxine deep. But go to Delphi’s city by the gods Erected, thither bear this weltering corse, And when thou hast interred it, to this land Return, and in that cave which through the rock Of Sepia time hath worn, thy station keep Till from the waves I with my sister choir The fifty Nereids come, to bear thee hence. Thou must endure the woe’s imposed by fate, For thus hath Jove ordained. But cease to grieve For the deceased: for by the righteous gods The same impartial sentence is awarded To the whole human race, and death’s a debt Which all must pay.
Pel. Hail, venerable dame, Daughter of Nereus, my illustrious wife: For what thou dost is worthy of thyself, And of thy progeny. I cease to grieve At thy command, O goddess, and will go, Soon as my grandson’s corse I have interred, To Pelion’s cave, where first thy beauteous form I in these arms received. The man whose choice Is by discretion guided, should select A consort nobly born, and give his daughters To those of virtuous families, nor wish To wed a damsel sprung from worthless sires, Though to his house a plenteous dower she bring: So shall he ne’er incur the wrath of Heaven. Chor. A thousand shapes our varying fates assume, The gods perform what we could least expect, And oft the things for which we fondly hoped Come not to pass: but Heaven still finds a clue To guide our steps through life’s perplexing maze. And thus does this important business end.