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.