{"collection":"Classics","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/cla/eurip/hecuba.htm","path":"cla/eurip/hecuba.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/cla/eurip/hecuba.htm","text":"Hecuba\nBy Euripides\nTranslated by E. P. Coleridge\n----------------------------------------------------------------------\nDramatis Personae\nTHE GHOST OF POLYDORUS, son of HECUBA and Priam, King of\nTroy\nHECUBA, wife of Priam\nCHORUS OF CAPTIVE TROJAN WOMEN\nPOLYXENA, daughter of HECUBA and Priam\nODYSSEUS\nTALTHYBIUS, herald of AGAMEMNON\nMAID OF HECUBA\nAGAMEMNON\nPOLYMESTOR, King of the Thracian Chersonese\n----------------------------------------------------------------------\nBefore AGAMEMNON'S tent in the Greek camp upon the shore of the Thracian\nChersonese. The GHOST OF POLYDORUS appears.\n----------------------------------------------------------------------\nGHOST Lo! I am come from out the charnel-house and gates of gloom,\nwhere Hades dwells apart from gods, I Polydorus, a son of Hecuba the\ndaughter of Cisseus and of Priam. Now my father, when Phrygia's capital\nwas threatened with destruction by the spear of Hellas, took alarm\nand conveyed me secretly from the land of Troy unto Polymestor's house,\nhis friend in Thrace, who sows these fruitful plains of Chersonese,\ncurbing by his might a nation delighting in horses. And with me my\nfather sent great store of gold by stealth, that, if ever Ilium's\nwalls should fall, his children that survived might not want for means\nto live. I was the youngest of Priam's sons; and this it was that\ncaused my stealthy removal from the land; for my childish arm availed\nnot to carry weapons or to wield the spear. So long then as the bulwarks\nof our land stood firm, and Troy's battlements abode unshaken, and\nmy brother Hector prospered in his warring, I, poor child, grew up\nand flourished, like some vigorous shoot, at the court of the Thracian,\nmy father's friend. But when Troy fell and Hector lost his life and\nmy father's hearth was rooted up, and himself fell butchered at the\ngod-built altar by the hands of Achilles' murderous son; then did\nmy father's friend slay me his helpless guest for the sake of the\ngold, and thereafter cast me into the swell of the sea, to keep the\ngold for himself in his house. And there I lie one time upon the strand,\nanother in the salt sea's surge, drifting ever up and down upon the\nbillows, unwept, unburied; but now am I hovering o'er the head of\nmy dear mother Hecuba, a disembodied spirit, keeping my airy station\nthese three days, ever since my poor mother came from Troy to linger\nhere in Chersonese. Meantime all the Achaeans sit idly here in their\nships at the shores of Thrace; for the son of Peleus, even Achilles,\nappeared above his tomb and stayed the whole host of Hellas, as they\nwere making straight for home across the sea, demanding to have my\nsister Polyxena offered at his tomb, and to receive his guerdon. And\nhe will obtain this prize, nor will they that are his friends refuse\nthe gift; and on this very day is fate leading my sister to her doom.\nSo will my mother see two children dead at once, me and that ill-fated\nmaid. For I, to win a grave, ah me! will appear amid the rippling\nwaves before her bond-maid's feet. Yes! I have won this boon from\nthe powers below, that I should find tomb and fall into my mother's\nhands; so shall I get my heart's desire; wherefore I will go and waylay\naged Hecuba, for yonder she passeth on her way from the shelter of\nAgamemnon's tent, terrified at my spectre. Woe is thee! ah, mother\nmine! from a palace dragged to face a life of slavery! how sad thy\nlot, as sad as once 'twas blest! Some god is now destroying thee,\nsetting this in the balance to outweigh thy former bliss. (The GHOST\nvanishes. HECUBA enters from the tent of AGAMEMNON, supported by her\nattendants, captive Trojan women.)\nHECUBA (chanting) Guide these aged steps, my servants, forth before\nthe house; support your fellow-slave, your queen of yore, ye maids\nof Troy. Take hold upon my aged hand, support me, guide me, lift me\nup; and I will lean upon your bended arm as on a staff and quicken\nmy halting footsteps onwards. O dazzling light of Zeus! O gloom of\nnight! why am I thus scared by fearful visions of the night? O earth,\ndread queen, mother of dreams that flit on sable wings! I am seeking\nto avert the vision of the night, the sight of horror which I saw\nso clearly in my dreams touching my son, who is safe in Thrace, and\nPolyxena my daughter dear. Ye gods of this land! preserve my son,\nthe last and only anchor of my house, now settled in Thrace, the land\nof snow, safe in the keeping of his father's friend. Some fresh disaster\nis in store, a new strain of sorrow will be added to our woe. Such\nceaseless thrills of terror never wrung my heart before. Oh! where,\nye Trojan maidens, can I find inspired Helenus or Cassandra, that\nthey may read me my dream? For I saw a dappled hind mangled by a wolf's\nbloody fangs, torn from my knees by force in piteous wise. And this\ntoo filled me with affright; o'er the summit of his tomb appeared\nAchilles' phantom, and for his guerdon he would have one of the luckless\nmaids of Troy. Wherefore, I implore you, powers divine, avert this\nhorror from my daughter, from my child. (The CHORUS OF CAPTIVE TROJAN\nWOMEN enters.)\nCHORUS (singing) Hecuba, I have hastened away to thee, leaving my\nmaster's tent, where the lot assigned me as his appointed slave, in\nthe day that was driven from the city of Ilium, hunted by Achaeans\nthence at the point of the spear; no alleviation bring I for thy sufferings;\nnay have laden myself with heavy news, and am a herald of sorrow to\nthee, lady. 'Tis said the Achaeans have determined in full assembly\nto offer thy daughter in sacrifice to Achilles; for thou knowest how\none day he appeared standing on his tomb in golden harness, and stayed\nthe sea-borne barques, though they had their sails already hoisted,\nwith this pealing cry, \"Whither away so fast, ye Danai, leaving my\ntomb without its prize?\" Thereon arose a violent dispute with stormy\naltercation, and opinion was divided in the warrior host of Hellas,\nsome being in favour of offering the sacrifice at the tomb, others\ndissenting. There was Agamemnon, all eagerness in thy interest, because\nof his love for the frenzied prophetess; but the two sons of Theseus,\nscions of Athens, though supporting different proposals, yet agreed\non the same decision, which was to crown Achilles' tomb with fresh-spilt\nblood; for they said they never would set Cassandra's love before\nAchilles' valour. Now the zeal of the rival disputants was almost\nequal, until that shifty, smooth-mouthed varlet, the son of Laertes,\nwhose tongue is ever at the service of the mob, persuaded the army\nnot to put aside the best of all the Danai for want of a bond-maid's\nsacrifice, nor have it said by any of the dead that stand beside Persephone,\n\"The Danai have left the plains of Troy without one thought of gratitude\nfor their brethren who died for Hellas.\" Odysseus will be here in\nan instant, to drag the tender maiden from thy breast and tear her\nfrom thy aged arms. To the temples, to the altars with thee! at Agamemnon's\nknees throw thyself as a suppliant! Invoke alike the gods in heaven\nand those beneath the earth. For either shall thy prayers avail to\nspare thee the loss of thy unhappy child, or thou must live to see\nthy daughter fall before the tomb, her crimson blood spurting in deep\ndark jets from her neck with gold encircled. (THE following lines\nbetween HECUBA and POLYXENA are chanted responsively.)\nHECUBA Woe, woe is me! What words, or cries, or lamentations can\nI utter? Ah me! for the sorrows of my closing years! for slavery too\ncruel to brook or bear! Woe, woe is me! What champion have I? Sons,\nand city-where are they? Aged Priam is no more; no more my children\nnow. Which way am I to go, or this or that? Whither shall I turn my\nsteps? Where is any god or power divine to succour me? Ah, Trojan\nmaids! bringers of evil tidings! messengers of woe! ye have made an\nend, an utter end of me; life on earth has no more charm for me. Ah!\nluckless steps, lead on, guide your aged mistress to yon tent. (calling)\nMy child, come forth; come forth, thou daughter of the queen of sorrows;\nlisten to thy mother's voice, my child, that thou mayst know the hideous\nrumour I now hear about thy life. (POLYXENA enters from the tent.)\nPOLYXENA O mother, mother mine! why dost thou call so loud? what\nnews is it thou hast proclaimed, scaring me, like a cowering bird,\nfrom my chamber by this alarm?\nHECUBA Alas, my daughter!\nPOLYXENA Why this ominous address? it bodeth sorrow for me.\nHECUBA Woe for thy life!\nPOLYXENA Tell all, hide it no longer. Ah mother! how I dread, ay\ndread the import of thy loud laments.\nHECUBA Ah my daughter! a luckless mother's child!\nPOLYXENA Why dost thou tell me this?\nHECUBA The Argives with one consent are eager for thy sacrifice to\nthe son of Peleus at his tomb.\nPOLYXENA Ah! mother mine! how canst thou speak of such a horror?\nYet tell me all, yes all, O mother dear!\nHECUBA 'Tis a rumour ill-boding I tell, my child; they bring me word\nthat sentence is passed upon thy life by the Argives' vote.\nPOLYXENA Alas, for thy cruel sufferings! my persecuted mother! woe\nfor thy life of grief! What grievous outrage some fiend hath sent\non thee, hateful, horrible! No more shall I thy daughter share thy\nbondage, hapless youth on hapless age attending. For thou, alas! wilt\nsee thy hapless child torn from thy arms, as a calf of the hills is\ntorn from its mother, and sent beneath the darkness of the earth with\nsevered throat for Hades, where with the dead shall I be laid, ah\nme! For thee I weep with plaintive wail, mother doomed to a life of\nsorrow! for my own life, its ruin and its outrage, never a tear I\nshed; nay, death is become to me a happier lot than life.\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS See where Odysseus comes in haste, to announce\nsome fresh command to thee, Hecuba. (ODYSSEUS enters, with his attendants.)\nODYSSEUS Lady, methinks thou knowest already the intention of the\nhost, and the vote that has been passed; still will I declare it.\nIt is the Achaeans' will to sacrifice thy daughter Polyxena at the\nmound heaped o'er Achilles' grave; and they appoint me to take the\nmaid and bring her thither, while the son of Achilles is chosen to\npreside o'er the sacrifice and act as priest. Dost know then what\nto do? Be not forcibly torn from her, nor match thy might 'gainst\nmine; recognize the limits of thy strength, and the presence of thy\ntroubles. Even in adversity 'tis wise to yield to reason's dictates.\nHECUBA Ah me! an awful trial is nigh, it seems, fraught with mourning,\nrich in tears. Yes, I too escaped death where death had been my due,\nand Zeus destroyed me not but is still preserving my life, that I\nmay witness in my misery fresh sorrows surpassing all before. Still\nif the bond may ask the free of things that grieve them not nor wrench\ntheir heart-strings, 'tis well that thou shouldst make an end and\nhearken to my questioning.\nODYSSEUS Granted; put thy questions; that short delay I grudge thee\nnot.\nHECUBA Dost remember the day thou camest to spy on Ilium, disguised\nin rags and tatters, while down thy cheek ran drops of blood?\nODYSSEUS Remember it! yes; 'twas no slight impression it made upon\nmy heart.\nHECUBA Did Helen recognize thee and tell me only?\nODYSSEUS I well remember the awful risk I ran.\nHECUBA Didst thou embrace my knees in all humility?\nODYSSEUS Yea, so that my hand grew dead and cold upon thy robe.\nHECUBA What saidst thou then, when in my power?\nODYSSEUS Doubtless I found plenty to say, to save my life.\nHECUBA Was it I that saved and sent thee forth again?\nODYSSEUS Thou didst, and so I still behold the light of day.\nHECUBA Art not thou then playing a sorry part to plot against me\nthus, after the kind treatment thou didst by thy own confession receive\nfrom me, showing me no gratitude but all the ill thou canst? A thankless\nrace! all ye who covet honour from the mob for your oratory. Oh that\nye were unknown to me ye who harm your friends and think no more of\nit, if ye can but say a word to win the mob. But tell me, what kind\nof cleverness did they think it, when against this child they passed\ntheir bloody vote? Was it duty led them to slay a human victim at\nthe tomb, where sacrifice of oxen more befits? or does Achilles, if\nclaiming the lives of those who slew him as his recompense, show his\njustice by marking her out for death? No! she at least ne'er injured\nhim. He should have demanded Helen as a victim at his tomb, for she\nit was that proved his ruin, bringing him to Troy; or if some captive\nof surpassing beauty was to be singled out for doom, this pointed\nnot to us; for the daughter of Tyndareus was fairer than all womankind,\nand her injury to him was proved no les than ours. Against the justice\nof his plea I pit this argument. Now hear the recompense due from\nthee to me at my request. On thy own confession, thou didst fall at\nmy feet and embrace my hand and aged cheek; I in my turn now do the\nsame to thee, and claim the favour then bestowed; and I implore thee,\ntear not my child from my arms, nor slay her. There be dead enough;\nshe is my only joy, in her I forget my sorrows; My one comfort she\nin place of many a loss, my city and my nurse, my staff and journey's\nguide. 'Tis never right that those in power should use it out of season,\nor when prosperous suppose they will be always so. For I like them\nwas prosperous once, but now my life is lived, and one day robbed\nme of all my bliss. Friend, by thy beard, have some regard and pity\nfor me; go to Achaea's host, and talk them over, saying how hateful\na thing it is to slay women whom at first ye spared out of pity, after\ndragging them from the altars. For amongst you the self-same law holds\ngood for bond and free alike respecting bloodshed; such influence\nas thine will persuade them even though thy words are weak; for the\nsame argument, when proceeding from those of no account, has not the\nsame force as when it is uttered by men of mark.\nLEADER Human nature is not so stony-hearted as to hear thy plaintive\ntale and catalogue of sorrows, without shedding a tear.\nODYSSEUS O Hecuba! be schooled by me, nor in thy passion count him\na foe who speaketh wisely. Thy life I am prepared to save, for the\nservice I received; I say no otherwise. But what I said to all, I\nwill not now deny, that after Troy's capture I would give thy daughter\nto the chiefest of our host because he asked a victim. For herein\nis a source of weakness to most states, whene'er a man of brave and\ngenerous soul receives no greater honour than his inferiors. Now Achilles,\nlady, deserves honour at our hands, since for Hellas he died as nobly\nas a mortal can. Is not this a foul reproach to treat a man as a friend\nin life, but, when he is gone from us, to treat him so no more? How\nnow? what will they say, if once more there comes gathering of the\nhost and a contest with the foe? \"Shall we fight or nurse our lives,\nseeing the dead have no honours?\" For myself, indeed, though in life\nmy daily store were scant, yet would it be all-sufficient, but as\ntouching a tomb I should wish mine to be an object of respect, for\nthis gratitude has long to run. Thou speakest of cruel sufferings;\nhear my answer. Amongst us are aged dames and grey old men no less\nmiserable than thou, and brides of gallant husbands reft, o'er whom\nthis Trojan dust has closed. Endure these sorrows; for us, if we are\nwrong in resolving to honour the brave, we shall bring upon ourselves\na charge of ignorance; but as for you barbarians, regard not your\nfriends as such and pay no homage to your gallant dead, that Hellas\nmay prosper and ye may reap the fruits of such policy.\nLEADER Alas! how cursed is slavery alway in its nature, forced by\nthe might of the stronger to endure unseemly treatment.\nHECUBA Daughter, my pleading to avert thy bloody death was wasted\nidly on the air; do thou, if in aught endowed with greater power to\nmove than thy mother, make haste to use it, uttering every pleading\nnote like the tuneful nightingale, to save thy soul from death. Throw\nthyself at Odysseus' knees to move his pity, and try to move him.\nHere is thy plea: he to hath children, so that he can feel for thy\nsad fate.\nPOLYXENA Odysseus, I see thee hiding thy right hand beneath thy robe\nand turning away thy face, that I may not touch thy beard. Take heart;\nthou art safe from the suppliant's god in my case, for I will follow\nthee, alike because I must and because it is my wish to die; for were\nI loth, a coward should I show myself, a woman faint of heart. Why\nshould I prolong my days? I whose sire was king of all the Phrygians?-my\nchiefest pride in life, Then was I nursed on fair fond hopes to be\na bride for kings, the centre of keen jealousy amongst suitors, to\nsee whose home I would make my own; and o'er each dame of Ida I was\nqueen; ah me! a maiden marked amid her fellows, equal to a goddess,\nsave for death alone, but now slave! That name first makes me long\nfor death, so strange it sounds; and then maybe my lot might give\nme to some savage master, one that would buy me for money,-me the\nsister of Hector and many another chief,-who would make me knead him\nbread within his halls, or sweep his house or set me working at the\nloom, leading a life of misery; while some slave, bought I know not\nwhence, will taint my maiden charms, once deemed worthy of royalty.\nNo, never! Here I close my eyes upon the light, free as yet, and dedicate\nmyself to Hades. Lead me hence, Odysseus, and do thy worst, for I\nsee naught within my reach to make me hope or expect with any confidence\nthat I am ever again to be happy. Mother mine! seek not to hinder\nme by word or deed, but join in my wish for death ere I meet with\nshameful treatment undeserved. For whoso is not used to taste of sorrow's\ncup, though he bears it, yet it galls him when he puts his neck within\nthe yoke; far happier would he be dead than alive, for life of honour\nreft is toil and trouble.\nLEADER A wondrous mark, most clearly stamped, doth noble birth imprint\non men, and the name goeth still further where it is deserved.\nHECUBA A noble speech, my daughter! but there is sorrow linked with\nits noble sentiments.\nOdysseus, if ye must pleasure the son of Peleus, and avoid reproach,\nslay not this maid, but lead me to Achilles' pyre and torture me unsparingly:\n'twas I that bore Paris, whose fatal shaft laid low the son of Thetis.\nODYSSEUS 'Tis not thy death, old dame, Achilles' wraith hath demanded\nof the Achaeans, but hers.\nHECUBA At least then slaughter me with my child; so shall there be\na double draught of blood for the earth and the dead that claims this\nsacrifice.\nODYSSEUS The maiden's death suffices; no need to add a second to\nthe first; would we needed not e'en this!\nHECUBA Die with my daughter I must and will.\nODYSSEUS How so? I did not know I had a master.\nHECUBA I will cling to her like ivy to an oak.\nODYSSEUS Not if thou wilt hearken to those who are wiser than thyself.\nHECUBA Be sure I will never willingly relinquish my child.\nODYSSEUS Well, be equally sure I will never go away and leave her\nhere.\nPOLYXENA Mother, hearken to me; and thou, son of Laertes, make allowance\nfor a parent's natural wrath. My poor mother, fight not with our masters.\nWilt thou be thrown down, be roughly thrust aside and wound thy aged\nskin, and in unseemly wise be torn from me by youthful arms? This\nwilt thou suffer; do not so, for 'tis not right for thee. Nay, dear\nmother mine give me thy hand beloved, and let me press thy cheek to\nmine; for never, nevermore, but now for the last time shall I behold\nthe dazzling sun-god's orb. My last farewells now take! O mother,\nmother mine! beneath the earth I pass.\nHECUBA O my daughter, I am still to live and be a slave.\nPOLYXENA Unwedded I depart, never having tasted the married joys\nthat were my due!\nHECUBA Thine, my daughter, is a piteous lot, and sad is mine also.\nPOLYXENA There in Hades' courts shall I be laid apart from thee.\nHECUBA Ah me, what shall I do? where shall I end my life?\nPOLYXENA Daughter of a free-born sire, a slave I am to die.\nHECUBA Not one of all my fifty children left!\nPOLYXENA What message can I take for thee to Hector or thy aged lord?\nHECUBA Tell them that of all women I am the most miserable.\nPOLYXENA Ah! bosom and breasts that fed me with sweet food!\nHECUBA Woe is thee, my child, for this untimely fate!\nPOLYXENA Farewell, my mother! farewell, Cassandra!\nHECUBA \"Fare well!\" others do, but not thy mother, no!\nPOLYXENA Thou too, my brother Polydorus, who art in Thrace, the home\nof steeds!\nHECUBA Aye, if he lives, which much I doubt; so luckless am I every\nway.\nPOLYXENA Oh yes, he lives; and, when thou diest, he will close thine\neyes.\nHECUBA I am dead; sorrow has forestalled death here.\nPOLYXENA Come veil my head, Odysseus, and take me hence; for now,\nere falls the fatal blow, my heart is melted by my mother's wailing,\nand hers no less by mine. O light of day! for still may I call thee\nby thy name, though now my share in thee is but the time I take to\ngo 'twixt this and the sword at Achilles' tomb. (ODYSSEUS and his\nattendants lead POLYXENA away.)\nHECUBA Woe is me! I faint; my limbs sink under me. O my daughter,\nembrace thy mother, stretch out thy hand, give it me again; leave\nme not childless! Ah, friends! 'tis my death-blow. Oh! to see that\nSpartan woman, Helen, sister of the sons of Zeus, in such a plight;\nfor her bright eyes have caused the shameful fall of Troy's once prosperous\ntown. (HECUBA sinks fainting to the ground.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe 1)\nO breeze from out the deep arising, that waftest swift galleys, ocean's\ncoursers, across the surging main! whither wilt thou bear me the child\nof sorrow? To whose house shall I be brought, to be his slave and\nchattel? to some haven in the Dorian land, or in Phthia, where men\nsay Apidanus, father of fairest streams, makes fat and rich the tilth?\n(antistrophe 1)\nor to an island home, sent on a voyage of misery by oars that sweep\nthe brine, leading a wretched existence in halls where the first-created\npalm and the bay-tree put forth their sacred shoots for dear Latona,\nmemorial fair of her divine travail? and there with the maids of Delos\nshall I hymn the golden snood and bow of Artemis their goddess?\n(strophe 2)\nOr in the city of Pallas, the home of Athena of the beauteous chariot,\nshall I upon her saffron robe yoke horses to the car, embroidering\nthem on my web in brilliant varied shades, or the race of Titans,\nwhom Zeus the son of Cronos lays to their unending sleep with bolt\nof flashing flame?\n(antistrophe 2)\nWoe is me for my children! woe for my ancestors, and my country which\nis falling in smouldering ruin 'mid the smoke, sacked by the Argive\nspear! while I upon a foreign shore am called a slave for-sooth, leaving\nAsia, Europe's handmaid, and receiving in its place deadly marriage-bower.\n(The herald, TALTHYBIUS, enters.)\nTALTHYBIUS Where can I find Hecuba, who once was queen of Ilium,\nye Trojan maidens?\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS There she lies near thee, Talthybius, stretched\nfull length upon the ground, wrapt in her robe.\nTALTHYBIUS Great Zeus! what can I say? that thine eye is over man?\nor that we hold this false opinion all to no purpose, thinking there\nis any race of gods, when it is chance that rules the mortal sphere?\nWas not this the queen of wealthy Phrygia, the wife of Priam highly\nblest? And now her city is utterly o'erthrown by the foe, and she,\na slave in her old age, her children dead, lies stretched upon the\nground, soiling her hair, poor lady in the dust. Well, well; old as\nI am, may death be my lot before I am caught in any foul mischance.\nArise, poor queen! lift up thyself and raise that hoary head.\nHECUBA (stirring) Ah! who art thou that wilt not let my body rest?\nwhy disturb me in my anguish, whosoe'er thou art?\nTALTHYBIUS 'Tis I, Talthybius, who am here, the minister of the Danai;\nAgamemnon has sent me for thee, lady.\nHECUBA (rising) Good friend, art come because the Achaeans are resolved\nto slay me to at the grave? How welcome would thy tidings be! Let\nus hasten and lose no time; prithee, lead the way, old sir.\nTALTHYBIUS I am come to fetch thee to bury thy daughter's corpse,\nlady; and those that send me are the two sons of Atreus and the Achaean\nhost.\nHECUBA Ah! what wilt thou say? Art thou not come, as I had thought,\nto fetch me to my doom, but to announce ill news? Lost, lost, my child!\nsnatched from thy mother's arms! and I am childless now, at least\nas touches thee; ah, woe is me!\nHow did ye end her life? was any mercy shown? or did ye deal ruthlessly\nwith her as though your victim were a foe, old man? Speak, though\nthy words must be pain to me.\nTALTHYBIUS Lady, thou art bent on making mine a double meed of tears\nin pity for thy child; for now too as I tell the sad tale a tear will\nwet my eye, as it did at the tomb when she was dying.\nAll Achaea's host was gathered there in full array before the tomb\nto see thy daughter offered; and the son of Achilles took Polyxena\nby the hand and set her on the top of the mound, while I stood near;\nand a chosen band of young Achaeans followed to hold thy child and\nprevent her struggling. Then did Achilles' son take in his hands a\nbrimming cup of gold and poured an offering to his dead sire, making\na sign to me to proclaim silence throughout the Achaean host. So I\nstood at his side and in their midst proclaimed, \"Silence, ye Achaeans!\nhushed be the people all! peace! be still! \"Therewith I hushed the\nhost. Then spake he, \"Son of Peleus, father mine, accept the offering\nI pour thee to appease thy spirit, strong to raise the dead; and come\nto drink the black blood of a virgin pure, which I and the host are\noffering thee; oh! be propitious to us; grant that we may loose our\nprows and the cables of our ships, and, meeting with prosperous voyage\nfrom Ilium, all to our country come.\" So he; and all the army echoed\nhis prayer. Then seizing his golden sword by the hilt he drew it from\nits scabbard, signing the while to the picked young Argive warriors\nto hold the maid. But she, when she was ware thereof, uttered her\nvoice and said: \"O Argives, who have sacked my city! of my free will\nI die; let none lay hand on me; for bravely will I yield my neck.\nLeave me free, I do beseech; so slay me, that death may find me free;\nfor to be called a slave amongst the dead fills my royal heart with\nshame.\" Thereat the people shouted their applause, and king Agamemnon\nbade the young men loose the maid. So they set her free, as soon as\nthey heard this last command from him whose might was over all. And\nshe, hearing her captors' words took her robe and tore it open from\nthe shoulder to the waist, displaying a breast and bosom fair as a\nstatue's; then sinking on her knee, one word she spake more piteous\nthan all the rest, \"Young prince, if 'tis my breast thou'dst strike,\nlo! here it is, strike home! or if at my neck thy sword thou'lt aim,\nbehold! that neck is bared.\"\nThen he, half glad, half sorry in his pity for the maid, cleft with\nthe steel the channels of her breath, and streams of blood gushed\nforth; but she, e'en in death's agony, took good heed to fall with\nmaiden grace, hiding from gaze of man what modest maiden must. Soon\nas she had breathed her last through the fatal gash, each Argive set\nhis hand to different tasks, some strewing leaves o'er the corpse\nin handfuls, others bringing pine-logs and heaping up a pyre; and\nhe, who brought nothing, would hear from him who did such taunts as\nthese, \"Stand'st thou still, ignoble wretch, with never a robe or\nornament to bring for the maiden? Wilt thou give naught to her that\nshowed such peerless bravery and spirit?\"\nSuch is the tale I tell about thy daughter's death, and I regard thee\nas blest beyond all mothers in thy noble child, yet crossed in fortune\nmore than all.\nLEADER Upon the race of Priam and my city some fearful curse hath\nburst; 'tis sent by God, and we must bear it.\nHECUBA O my daughter! 'mid this crowd of sorrows I know not where\nto turn my gaze; for if I set myself to one, another will not give\nme pause; while from this again a fresh grief summons me, finding\na successor to sorrow's throne. No longer now can I efface from my\nmind the memory of thy sufferings sufficiently to stay my tears; yet\nhath the story of thy noble death taken from the keenness of my grief.\nIs it not then strange that poor land, when blessed by heaven with\na lucky year, yields a good crop, while that which is good, if robbed\nof needful care, bears but little increase; yet 'mongst men the knave\nis never other than a knave, the good man aught but good, never changing\nfor the worse because of misfortune, but ever the same? Is then the\ndifference due to birth or bringing up? Good training doubtless gives\nlessons in good conduct, and if a man have mastered this, he knows\nwhat is base by the standard of good. Random shafts of my soul's shooting\nthese, I know. (To TALTHYBIUS) Go thou and proclaim to the Argives\nthat they touch not my daughter's body but keep the crowd away. For\nwhen countless host is gathered, the mob knows no restraint, and the\nunruliness of sailors exceeds that of fire, all abstinence from evil\nbeing counted evil. (TALTHYBIUS goes out., Addressing a servant)\nMy aged handmaid, take a pitcher and dip it in the salt sea and bring\nhither thereof, that I for the last time may wash my child, a virgin\nwife, a widowed maid, and lay her out,-as she deserves, ah! whence\ncan I? impossible! but as best I can; and what will that be? I will\ncollect adornment from the captives, my companions in these tents,\nif haply any of them escaping her master's eye have some secret store\nfrom her old home. (The MAID departs.) O towering halls, O home\nso happy once, O Priam, rich in store of fairest wealth, most blest\nof sires, and I no less, the grey-haired mother of thy race, how are\nwe brought to naught, stripped of our former pride! And spite of all\nwe vaunt ourselves, one on the riches of his house, another be, cause\nhe has an honoured name amongst his fellow-citizens! But these things\nare naught; in vain are all our thoughtful schemes, in vain our vaunting\nwords. He is happiest who meets no sorrow in his daily walk. (HECUBA\nenters the tent.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe)\nWoe and tribulation were made my lot in life, soon as ever Paris\nfelled his beams of pine in Ida's woods, to sail across the heaving\nmain in quest of Helen's hand, fairest bride on whom the sun-god turns\nhis golden eye.\n(antistrophe)\nFor here beginneth trouble's cycle, and, worse than that, relentless\nfate; and from one man's folly came a universal curse, bringing death\nto the land of Simois, with trouble from an alien shore. The strife\nthe shepherd decided on Ida 'twixt three daughters of the blessed\ngods,\n(epode)\nbrought as its result war and bloodshed and the ruin of my home;\nand many a Spartan maiden too is weeping bitter tears in her halls\non the banks of fair Eurotas, and many a mother whose sons are slain,\nis smiting her hoary head and tearing her cheeks, making her nails\nred in the furrowed gash.\nMAID (entering excitedly, attended by bearers bringing in a covered\ncorpse) Oh! where, ladies, is Hecuba, our queen of sorrow, who far\nsurpasses all in tribulation, men and women both alike? None shall\nwrest the crown from her.\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS What now, thou wretched bird of boding note?\nThy evil tidings never seem to rest.\nMAID 'Tis to Hecuba I bring my bitter news; no easy task is it for\nmortal lips to speak smooth words in sorrow's hour.\nLEADER Lo! she is coming even now from the shelter of the tent appearing\njust in time to hear thee speak. (HECUBA comes out of the tent.)\nMAID Alas for thee! most hapless queen, ruined beyond all words of\nmine to tell; robbed of the light of life; of children, husband, city\nreft; hopelessly undone!\nHECUBA This is no news but insult; I have heard it all before. But\nwhy art thou come, bringing hither to me the corpse of Polyxena, on\nwhose burial Achaea's host was reported to be busily engaged?\nMAID (aside) She little knows what I have to tell, but mourns Polyxena,\nnot grasping her new sorrows.\nHECUBA Ah! woe is me! thou art not surely bringing hither mad Cassandra,\nthe prophetic maid?\nMAID She lives, of whom thou speakest; but the dead thou dost not\nweep is here. (Uncovering the corpse) Mark well the body now laid\nbare; is not this a sight to fill thee with wonder, and upset thy\nhopes?\nHECUBA Ah me! 'tis the corpse of my son Polydorus I behold, whom\nhe of Thrace was keeping safe for me in his halls. Alas! this is the\nend of all; my life is o'er. (Chanting) O my son, my son, alas for\nthee! a frantic strain I now begin; thy fate I learnt, a moment gone,\nfrom some foul fiend.\nMAID What! so thou knewest thy son's fate, poor lady.\nHECUBA (chanting) I cannot, cannot credit this fresh sight I see.\nWoe succeeds to woe; time will never cease henceforth to bring me\ngroans and tears.\nLEADER Alas poor lady, our sufferings are cruel indeed.\nHECUBA (chanting) O my son, child of a luckless mother, what was\nthe manner of thy death? what lays thee dead at my feet? Who did the\ndeed?\nMAID I know not. On the sea-shore I found him.\nHECUBA (chanting) Cast up on the smooth sand, or thrown there after\nthe murderous blow?\nMAID The waves had washed him ashore.\nHECUBA (chanting) Alas! alas! I read aright the vision I saw in\nmy sleep, nor did the phantom dusky-winged escape my ken, even the\nvision I saw concerning my son, who is now no more within the bright\nsunshine.\nLEADER Who slew him then? Can thy dream-lore tell us that?\nHECUBA (chanting) 'Twas my own, own friend, the knight of Thrace,\nwith whom his aged sire had placed the boy in hiding.\nLEADER O horror! what wilt thou say? did he slay him to get the gold?\nHECUBA (chanting) O awful crime! O deed without a name! beggaring\nwonder! impious! intolerable! Where are now the laws 'twixt guest\nand host? Accursed monster! how hast thou mangled his flesh, slashing\nthe poor child's limbs with ruthless sword, lost to all sense of pity!\nLEADER Alas for thee! how some deity, whose hand is heavy on thee,\nhath sent thee troubles beyond all other mortals! But yonder I see\nour lord and master Agamemnon coming; so let us be still henceforth,\nmy friends. (AGAMEMNON enters.)\nAGAMEMNON Hecuba, why art thou delaying to come and bury thy daughter?\nfor it was for this that Talthybius brought me thy message begging\nthat none of the Argives should touch thy child. And so I granted\nthis, and none is touching her, but this long delay of thine fills\nme with wonder. Wherefore am I come to send thee hence; for our part\nthere is well performed; if herein there be any place for \"well.\"\n(He sees the body.) Ha! what man is this I see near the tents, some\nTrojan's corpse? 'tis not an Argive's body; that the garments it is\nclad in tell me.\nHECUBA (aside) Unhappy one! in naming thee I name myself; O Hecuba,\nwhat shall do? throw myself here at Agamemnon's knees, or bear my\nsorrows in silence?\nAGAMEMNON Why dost thou turn thy back towards me and weep, refusing\nto say, what has happened, or who this is?\nHECUBA (aside) But should he count me as a slave and foe and spurn\nme from his knees, I should but add to my anguish.\nAGAMEMNON I am no prophet born; wherefore, if I be not told, I cannot\nlearn the current of thy thoughts.\nHECUBA (aside) Can it be that in estimating this man's feelings\nI make him out too ill-disposed, when he is not really so?\nAGAMEMNON If thy wish really is that I should remain in ignorance,\nwe are of one mind; for I have no wish myself to listen.\nHECUBA (aside) Without his aid I shall not be able to avenge my\nchildren. Why do still ponder the matter? I must do and dare whether\nI win or lose. (Turning to AGAMEMNON) O Agamemnon! by thy knees,\nby thy beard and conquering hand I implore thee.\nAGAMEMNON What is thy desire? to be set free? that is easily done.\nHECUBA Not that; give me vengeance on the wicked, and evermore am\nI willing to lead a life of slavery.\nAGAMEMNON Well, but why dost thou call me to thy aid?\nHECUBA 'Tis a matter thou little reckest of, O king. Dost see this\ncorpse, for whom my tears now flow?\nAGAMEMNON I do; but what is to follow, I cannot guess.\nHECUBA He was my child in days gone by; I bore him in my womb.\nAGAMEMNON Which of thy sons is he, poor sufferer?\nHECUBA Not one of Priam's race who fell 'neath Ilium's walls.\nAGAMEMNON Hadst thou any son besides those, lady?\nHECUBA Yes, him thou seest here, of whom, methinks, I have small\ngain.\nAGAMEMNON Where then was he, when his city was being destroyed?\nHECUBA His father, fearful of his death, conveyed him out of Troy.\nAGAMEMNON Where did he place him apart from all the sons he then\nhad?\nHECUBA Here in this very land, where his corpse was found.\nAGAMEMNON With Polymestor, the king of this country?\nHECUBA Hither was he sent in charge of gold, most bitter trust!\nAGAMEMNON By whom was he slain? what death o'ertook him?\nHECUBA By whom but by this man? His Thracian host slew him.\nAGAMEMNON The wretch! could he have been so eager for the treasure?\nHECUBA Even so; soon as ever he heard of the Phrygians' disaster.\nAGAMEMNON Where didst find him? or did some one bring his corpse?\nHECUBA This maid, who chanced upon it on the sea-shore.\nAGAMEMNON Was she seeking it, or bent on other tasks?\nHECUBA She had gone to fetch water from the sea to wash Polyxena.\nAGAMEMNON It seems then his host slew him and cast his body out to\nsea.\nHECUBA Aye, for the waves to toss, after mangling him thus.\nAGAMEMNON Woe is thee for thy measureless troubles!\nHECUBA I am ruined; no evil now is left, O Agamemnon.\nAGAMEMNON Look you! what woman was ever born to such misfortune?\nHECUBA There is none, unless thou wouldst name misfortune herself.\nBut hear my reason for throwing myself at thy knees. If my treatment\nseems to thee deserved, I will be content; but, if otherwise, help\nme to punish this most godless host, that hath wrought a deed most\ndamned, fearless alike of gods in heaven or hell; who, though full\noft he had shared my board and been counted first of all my guest-friends\nand after meeting with every kindness he could claim and receiving\nmy consideration, slew my son, and bent though he was on murder, deigned\nnot to bury him but cast his body forth to sea.\nI may be a slave and weak as well, but the gods are strong, and custom\ntoo which prevails o'er them, for by custom it is that we believe\nin them and set up bounds of right and wrong for our lives. Now if\nthis principle, when referred to thee, is to be set at naught, and\nthey are to escape punishment who murder guests or dare to plunder\nthe temples of gods, then is all fairness in things human at an end.\nDeem this then a disgrace and show regard for me, have pity on me,\nand, like an artist standing back from his picture, look on me and\nclosely scan my piteous state. I was once queen, but now I am thy\nslave; a happy mother once, but now childless and old alike, reft\nof city, utterly forlorn, the most wretched woman living. Ah! woe\nis me! whither wouldst thou withdraw thy steps from me? (as AGAMEMNON\nis turning away) My efforts then will be in vain, ah me! ah me! Why,\noh! why do we mortals toil, as needs we must, and seek out all other\nsciences, but persuasion, the only real mistress of mankind, we take\nno furthur pains to master completely by offering to pay for the knowledge,\nso that any man might upon occasion convince his fellows as he pleased\nand gain his point as well? How shall anyone hereafter hope for prosperity?\nAll those my sons are gone from me, and I, their mother, am led away\ninto captivity to suffer shame, while yonder I see the smoke leaping\nup o'er my city. Further-though perhaps this were idly urged, to plead\nthy love, still will I put the case:-at thy side lies my daughter,\nCassandra, the maid inspired, as the Phrygians call her. How then,\nking, wilt thou acknowledge those nights of rapture, or what return\nshall she my daughter or I her mother have for all the love she has\nlavished on her lord? For from darkness and the endearments of the\nnight mortals reap by far their keenest joys. Hearken then; dost see\nthis corpse? By doing him a service thou wilt do it to a kinsman of\nthy bride's. One thing only have I yet to urge. Oh! would I had a\nvoice in arms, in hands, in hair and feet, placed there by the arts\nof Daedalus or some god, that all together they might with tears embrace\nthy knees, bringing a thousand pleas to bear on thee! O my lord and\nmaster, most glorious light of Hellas, listen, stretch forth a helping\nhand to this aged woman, for all she is a thing of naught; still do\nso. For 'tis ever a good man's duty to succour the right, and to punish\nevil-doers wherever found.\nLEADER 'Tis strange how each extreme doth meet in human life! Custom\ndetermines even our natural ties, making the most bitter foes friends,\nand regarding as foes those who formerly were friends.\nAGAMEMNON Hecuba, I feel compassion for thee and thy son and thy\nill-fortune, as well as for thy suppliant gesture, and I would gladly\nsee yon impious host pay thee this forfeit for the sake of heaven\nand justice, could I but find some way to help thee without appearing\nto the army to have plotted the death of the Thracian king for Cassandra's\nsake. For on one point I am assailed by perplexity; the army count\nthis man their friend, the dead their foe; that he is dear to thee\nis a matter apart, wherein the army has no share. Reflect on this;\nfor though thou find'st me ready to share thy toil and quick to lend\nmy aid, yet the risk of being reproached by the Achaeans makes me\nhesitate.\nHECUBA Ah! there is not in the world a single man free; for he is\neither a slave to money or to fortune, or else the people in their\nthousands or the fear of public prosecution prevents him from following\nthe dictates of his heart.\nBut since thou art afraid, deferring too much to the rabble, I will\nrid thee of that fear. Thus; be privy to my plot if I devise mischief\nagainst this murderer, but refrain from any share in it. And if there\nbreak out among the Achaeans any uproar or attempt at rescue, when\nthe Thracian is suffering his doom, check it, though without seeming\nto do so for my sake. For what remains, take heart; I will arrange\neverything well.\nAGAMEMNON How? what wilt thou do? wilt take a sword in thy old hand\nand slay the barbarian, or hast thou drugs or what to help thee? Who\nwill take thy part? whence wilt thou procure friends?\nHECUBA Sheltered beneath these tents is a host of Trojan women.\nAGAMEMNON Dost mean the captives, the booty of the Hellenes?\nHECUBA With their help will I punish my murderous foe.\nAGAMEMNON How are women to master men?\nHECUBA Numbers are a fearful thing, and joined to craft a desperate\nfoe.\nAGAMEMNON True; still I have a mean opinion of the female race.\nHECUBA What? did not women slay the sons of Aegyptus, and utterly\nclear Lemnos of men? But let it be even thus; put an end to our conference,\nand send this woman for me safely through the host. And do thou (To\nservant) draw near my Thracian friend and say, \"Hecuba, once queen\nof Ilium, summons thee, on thy own business no less than hers, thy\nchildren too, for they also must hear what she has to say.\" (The\nservant goes out.) Defer awhile, Agamemnon, the burial of Polyxena\nlately slain, that brother and sister may be laid on the same pyre\nand buried side by side, a double cause of sorrow to their mother.\nAGAMEMNON So shall it be; yet had the host been able to sail, I could\nnot have granted thee this boon; but, as it is, since the god sends\nforth no favouring breeze, we needs must abide, seeing, as we do,\nthat sailing cannot be. Good luck to thee! for this is the interest\nalike of citizen and state, that the wrong-doer be punished and the\ngood man prosper. (AGAMEMNON departs as HECUBA withdraws into the\ntent.)\nCHORUS (singing, strophe 1)\nNo more, my native Ilium, shalt thou be counted among the towns ne'er\nsacked; so thick a cloud of Hellene troops is settling all around,\nwasting thee with the spear; shorn art thou of thy coronal of towers,\nand fouled most piteously with filthy soot; no more, ah me! shall\ntread thy streets.\n(antistrophe 1)\n'Twas in the middle of the night my ruin came, in the hour when sleep\nsteals sweetly o'er the eyes after the feast is done. My husband,\nthe music o'er, and the sacrifice that sets the dance afoot now ended,\nwas lying in our bridal-chamber, his spear hung on a peg; with never\na thought of the sailor-throng encamped upon the Trojan shores;\n(strophe 2)\nand I was braiding my tresses 'neath a tight-drawn snood before my\ngolden mirror's countless rays, that I might lay me down to rest;\nwhen lo! through the city rose a din, and a cry went ringing down\nthe streets of Troy, \"Ye sons of Hellas, when, oh! when will ye sack\nthe citadel of Ilium, and seek your homes?\"\n(antistrophe 2)\nUp sprang I from my bed, with only a mantle about me, like Dorian\nmaid, and sought in vain, ah me! to station myself at the holy hearth\nof Artemis; for, after seeing my husband slain, I was hurried away\no'er the broad sea; with many a backward look at my city, when the\nship began her homeward voyage and parted me from Ilium's strand;\ntill alas! for very grief I fainted,\n(epode)\ncursing Helen the sister of the Dioscuri, and Paris the baleful shepherd\nof Ida; for 'twas their marriage, which was no marriage but a curse\nby some demon sent, that robbed me of my country and drove me from\nmy home. Oh! may the sea's salt flood neer carry her home again; and\nmay she never set foot in her father's halls! (HECUBA comes out of\nthe tent as POLYMESTOR, his children and guards enter.)\nPOLYMESTOR My dear friend Priam, and thou no less, Hecuba, I weep\nto see thee and thy city thus, and thy daughter lately slain. Alas!\nthere is naught to be relied on; fair fame is insecure, nor is there\nany guarantee that weal will not be turned to woe. For the gods confound\nour fortunes, tossing them to and fro, and introduce confusion, that\nour perplexity may make us worship them. But what boots it to bemoan\nthese things, when it brings one no nearer to heading the trouble?\nIf thou art blaming me at all for my absence, stay a moment; I was\naway in the very heart of Thrace when thou wast brought hither; but\non my return, just as I was starting from my home for the same purpose,\nthy maid fell in with me, and gave me thy message, which brought me\nhere at once.\nHECUBA Polymestor, I am holden in such wretched plight that I blush\nto meet thine eye; for my present evil case makes me ashamed to face\nthee who didst see me in happier days, and I cannot look on thee with\nunfaltering gaze. Do not then think it ill-will on my part, Polymestor;\nthere is another cause as well, I mean the custom which forbids women\nto meet men's gaze.\nPOLYMESTOR No wonder, surely. But what need hast thou of me? Why\ndidst send for me to come hither from my house?\nHECUBA I wish to tell thee and thy children a private matter of my\nown; prithee, bid thy attendants withdraw from the tent.\nPOLYMESTOR (to his Attendants) Retire; this desert spot is safe\nenough. (The guards go out; to HECUBA) Thou art my friend, and this\nAchaean host is well-disposed to me. But thou must tell me how prosperity\nis to succour its unlucky friends; for ready am I to do so.\nHECUBA First tell me of the child Polydorus, whom thou art keeping\nin thy halls, received from me and his father; is he yet alive? The\nrest will I ask thee after that.\nPOLYMESTOR Yes, thou still hast a share in fortune there.\nHECUBA Well said, dear friend! how worthy of thee!\nPOLYMESTOR What next wouldst learn of me?\nHECUBA Hath he any recollection of me his mother?\nPOLYMESTOR Aye, he was longing to steal away hither to thee.\nHECUBA Is the gold safe, which he brought with him from Troy?\nPOLYMESTOR Safe under lock and key in my halls.\nHECUBA There keep it, but covet not thy neighbour's goods.\nPOLYMESTOR Not I; God grant me luck of what I have, lady!\nHECUBA Dost know what I wish to say to thee and thy children?\nPOLYMESTOR Not yet; thy words maybe will declare it.\nHECUBA May it grow as dear to thee as thou now art to me!\nPOLYMESTOR What is it that I and my children are to learn?\nHECUBA There be ancient vaults filled full of gold by Priam's line.\nPOLYMESTOR Is it this thou wouldst tell thy son?\nHECUBA Yes, by thy lips, for thou art a righteous man.\nPOLYMESTOR What need then of these children's presence?\nHECUBA 'Tis better they should know it, in case of thy death.\nPOLYMESTOR True; 'tis also the wiser way.\nHECUBA Well, dost thou know where stands the shrine of Trojan Athena?\nPOLYMESTOR Is the gold there? what is there to mark it?\nHECUBA A black rock rising above the ground.\nPOLYMESTOR Is there aught else thou wouldst tell me about the place?\nHECUBA I wish to keep safe the treasure I brought from Troy.\nPOLYMESTOR Where can it be? inside thy dress, or hast thou it hidden?\nHECUBA 'Tis safe amid a heap of spoils within these tents.\nPOLYMESTOR Where? This is the station built by the Achaeans to surround\ntheir fleet.\nHECUBA The captive women have huts of their own.\nPOLYMESTOR It is safe to enter? are there no men about?\nHECUBA There are no Achaeans within; we are alone. Enter then the\ntent, for the Argives are eager to set sail from Troy for home; and,\nwhen thou hast accomplished all that is appointed thee, thou shalt\nreturn with thy children to that bourn where thou hast lodged my son.\n(HECUBA leads POLYMESTOR and his children into the tent.)\nCHORUS (chanting) Not yet hast thou paid the penalty, but maybe\nthou yet wilt; like one who slips and falls into the surge with no\nhaven near, so shalt thou lose thy own life for the life thou hast\ntaken. For where the rights of justice and the law of heaven are one,\nthere is ruin fraught with death and doom. Thy hopes of this journey\nshall cheat thee, for it hath led thee, unhappy wretch! to the halls\nof death; and to no warrior's hand shalt thou resign thy life.\nPOLYMESTOR (within the tent) O horror! I am blinded of the light\nof my eyes, ah me!\nLEADER OF THE CHORUS Heard ye, friends, that Thracian's cry of woe?\nPOLYMESTOR (within) O horror! horror! my children! O the cruel blow.\nLEADER Friends, new ills are brought to pass in yonder tent.\nPOLYMESTOR (within) Nay, ye shall never escape for all your hurried\nflight; for with my fist will I burst open the inmost recesses of\nthis hall.\nLEADER Hark! how he launches ponderous blows! Shall we force an entry?\nThe crisis calls on us to aid Hecuba and the Trojan women. (HECUBA\nenters, calling back into the tent.)\nHECUBA Strike on, spare not, burst the doors! thou shalt ne'er replace\nbright vision in thy eyes nor ever see thy children, whom I have slain,\nalive again.\nLEADER What! hast thou foiled the Thracian, and is the stranger in\nthy power, mistress mine? is all thy threat now brought to pass?\nHECUBA A moment, and thou shalt see him before the tent, his eyes\nput out, with random step advancing as a blind man must; yea, and\nthe bodies of his two children whom I with my brave daughters of Troy\ndid slay; he hath paid me his forfeit; look where he cometh from the\ntent. I will withdraw out of his path and stand aloof from the hot\nfury of this Thracian, my deadly foe. (POLYMESTOR rushes out. Blood\nis streaming from his eyes.)\nPOLYMESTOR (chanting) Woe is me! whither can I go, where halt, or\nwhither turn? shall crawl upon my hands like a wild four-footed beast\non their track? Which path shall I take first, this or that, eager\nas I am to clutch those Trojan murderesses that have destroyed me?\nOut upon ye, cursed daughters of Phrygia! to what corner have ye fled\ncowering before me? O sun-god, would thou couldst heal my bleeding\norbs, ridding me of my blindness!\nHa! hush! I catch their stealthy footsteps here. Where can I dart\non them and gorge me on their flesh and bones, making for myself wild\nbeasts' meal, exacting vengeance in requital of their outrage on me?\nAh, woe is me! whither am I rushing, leaving my babes unguarded for\nhell-hounds to mangle, to be murdered and ruthlessly cast forth upon\nthe hills, a feast of blood for dogs? Where shall I stay or turn my\nsteps? where rest? like a ship that lies anchored at sea, so gathering\nclose my linen robe I rush to that chamber of death, to guard my babes.\nLEADER Woe is thee! what grievous outrage hath been wreaked on thee!\nfearful penalty for thy foul deed hath the deity imposed, whoe'er\nhe is whose hand is heavy upon thee.\nPOLYMESTOR (chanting) Woe is me! Ho! my Thracian spearmen, clad\nin mail, a race of knights whom Ares doth inspire! Ho! Achaeans! sons\nof Atreus ho! to you I loudly call; come hither, in God's name come!\nDoth any hearken, or will no man help me? Why do ye delay? Women,\ncaptive women have destroyed me. A fearful fate is mine; ah me my\nhideous outrage! Whither can I turn or go? Shall I take wings and\nsoar aloft to the mansions of the sky, where Orion and Sirius dart\nfrom their eyes a flash as of fire, or shall I, in my misery, plunge\nto Hades' murky flood?\nLEADER 'Tis a venial sin, when a man, suffering from evils too heavy\nto bear, rids himself of a wretched existence. (AGAMEMNON and his\nretinue enter.)\nAGAMEMNON Hearing a cry I am come hither; for Echo, child of the\nmountain-rock, hath sent her voice loud-ringing through the host,\ncausing a tumult. Had I not known that Troy's towers were levelled\nby the might of Hellas, this uproar had caused no slight terror.\nPOLYMESTOR Best of friends! for by thy voice I know thee, Agamemnon,\ndost see my piteous state?\nAGAMEMNON What! hapless Polymestor, who hath stricken thee? who hath\nreft thine eves of sight, staining the pupils with blood? who hath\nslain these children? whoe'er he was, fierce must have been his wrath\nagainst thee and thy children.\nPOLYMESTOR Hecuba, helped by the captive women, hath destroyed me;\nno! not destroyed, far worse than that.\nAGAMEMNON (addressing HECUBA) What hast thou to say? Was it thou\nthat didst this deed, as he avers? thou, Hecuba, that hast ventured\non this inconceivable daring?\nPOLYMESTOR Ha! what is that? is she somewhere near? show me, tell\nme where, that I may grip her in my hands and rend her limb from limb,\nbespattering her with gore.\nAGAMEMNON Ho! madman, what wouldst thou?\nPOLYMESTOR By heaven I entreat thee, let me vent on her the fury\nof my arm.\nAGAMEMNON Hold! banish that savage spirit from thy heart and plead\nthy cause, that after hearing thee and her in turn I may fairly decide\nwhat reason there is for thy present sufferings.\nPOLYMESTOR I will tell my tale. There was a son of Priam, Polydorus,\nthe youngest, a child by Hecuba, whom his father Priam sent to me\nfrom Troy to bring up in my halls, suspecting no doubt the fall of\nTroy. Him I slew; but hear my reason for so doing, to show how cleverly\nand wisely I had planned. My fear was that if that child were left\nto be thy enemy, he would re-people Troy and settle it afresh; and\nthe Achaeans, knowing that a son of Priam survived, might bring another\nexpedition against the Phrygian land and harry and lay waste these\nplains of Thrace hereafter, for the neighbours of Troy to experience\nthe very troubles we were lately suffering, O king. Now Hecuba, having\ndiscovered the death of her son, brought me hither on this pretext,\nsaying she would tell me of hidden treasure stored up in Ilium by\nthe race of Priam; and she led me apart with my children into the\ntent, that none but I might hear her news. So I sat me down on a couch\nin their midst to rest; for there were many of the Trojan maidens\nseated there, some on my right hand, some on my left, as it had been\nbeside a friend; and they were praising the weaving of our Thracian\nhandiwork, looking at this robe as they held it up to the light; meantime\nothers examined my Thracian spear and so stripped me of the protection\nof both. And those that were young mothers were dandling my children\nin their arms, with loud admiration, as they passed them on from hand\nto hand to remove them far from their father; and then after their\nsmooth speeches (wouldst thou believe it?) in an instant snatching\ndaggers from some secret place in their dress they stab my children;\nwhilst others, like foes, seized me hand and foot; and if I tried\nto raise my head, anxious to help my babes, they would clutch me by\nthe hair; while if I stirred my hands, I could do nothing, poor wretch!\nfor the numbers of the women. At last they wrought a fearful deed,\nworse than what had gone before; for they took their brooches and\nstabbed the pupils of my hapless eyes, making them gush with blood,\nand then fled through the chambers; up I sprang like a wild beast\nin pursuit of the shameless murderesses, searching along each wall\nwith hunter's care, dealing buffets, spreading ruin. This then is\nwhat I have suffered because of my zeal for thee, O Agamemnon, for\nslaying an enemy of thine. But to spare thee a lengthy speech; if\nany of the men of former times have spoken ill of women, if any doth\nso now, or shall do so hereafter, all this in one short sentence will\nsay; for neither land or sea produces a race so pestilent, as whosoever\nhath had to do with them knows full well.\nLEADER Curb thy bold tongue, and do not, because of thy own woes,\nthus embrace the whole race of women in one reproach; for though some\nof us, and those a numerous class, deserve to be disliked, there are\nothers amongst us who rank naturally amongst the good.\nHECUBA Never ought words to have outweighed deeds in this world,\nAgamemnon. No! if a man's deeds had been good, so should his words\nhave been; if, on the other hand, evil, his words should have betrayed\ntheir unsoundness, instead of its being possible at times to give\na fair complexion to injustice. There are, 'tis true, clever persons,\nwho have made a science of this, but their cleverness cannot last\nfor ever; a miserable end awaits them; none ever yet escaped. This\nis a warning I give thee at the outset. Now will I turn to this fellow,\nand will give thee thy answer, thou who sayest it was to save Achaea\ndouble toil and for Agamemnon's sake that thou didst slay my son.\nNay, villain, in the first place how could the barbarian race ever\nbe friends with Hellas? Impossible, ever. Again, what interest hadst\nthou to further by thy zeal? was it to form some marriage, or on the\nscore of kin, or, prithee, why? or was it likely that they would sail\nhither again and destroy thy country's crops? Whom dost thou expect\nto persuade into believing that? Wouldst thou but speak the truth,\nit was the gold that slew my son, and thy greedy spirit. Now tell\nme this; why, when Troy was victorious, when her ramparts still stood\nround her, when Priam was alive, and Hector's warring prospered, why\ndidst thou not, if thou wert really minded to do Agamemnon a service,\nthen slay the child, for thou hadst him in thy palace 'neath thy care,\nor bring him with thee alive to the Argives? Instead of this, when\nour sun was set and the smoke of our city showed it was in the enemy's\npower, thou didst murder the guest who had come to thy hearth. Furthermore,\nto prove thy villainly, hear this; if thou wert really a friend to\nthose Achaeans, thou shouldst have brought the gold, which thou sayst\nthou art keeping not for thyself but for Agamemnon, and given it to\nthem, for they were in need and had endured a long exile from their\nnative land. Whereas not even now canst thou bring thyself to part\nwith it, but persistest in keeping it in thy palace. Again, hadst\nthou kept my son safe and sound, as thy duty was, a fair renown would\nhave been thy reward, for it is in trouble's hour that the good most\nclearly show their friendship; though prosperity of itself in every\ncase finds friends. Wert thou in need of money and he prosperous,\nthat son of mine would have been as a mighty treasure for thee to\ndraw upon; but now thou hast him no longer to be thy friend, and the\nbenefit of the gold is gone from thee, thy children too are dead,\nand thyself art in this sorry plight.\nTo thee, Agamemnon, I say, if thou help this man, thou wilt show thy\nworthlessness; for thou wilt be serving one devoid of honour or piety,\na stranger to the claims of good faith, a wicked host; while I shall\nsay thou delightest in evil-doers, being such an one thyself; but\nI rail not at my masters.\nLEADER Look you! how a good cause ever affords men an opening for\na good speech.\nAGAMEMNON To be judge in a stranger's troubles goes much against\nmy grain, but still I must; yea, for to take this matter in hand and\nthen put it from me is a shameful course. My opinion, that thou mayst\nknow it, is that it was not for the sake of the Achaeans or me that\nthou didst slay thy guest, but to keep that gold in thy own house.\nIn thy trouble thou makest a case in thy own interests. Maybe amongst\nyou 'tis a light thing to murder guests, but with us in Hellas 'tis\na disgrace. How can I escape reproach if I judge the not guilty? I\ncannot do it. Nay, since thou didst dare thy horrid crime, endure\nas well its painful consequence.\nPOLYMESTOR Woe is me! worsted by a woman and a slave, I am, it seems,\nto suffer by unworthy hands.\nHECUBA Is it not just for thy atrocious crime?\nPOLYMESTOR Ah, my children! ah, my blinded eyes! woe is me!\nHECUBA Dost thou grieve? what of me? thinkst thou I grieve not for\nmy son?\nPOLYMESTOR Thou wicked wretch! thy delight is in mocking me.\nHECUBA I am avenged on thee; have I not cause for joy?\nPOLYMESTOR The joy will soon cease, in the day when ocean's flood-\nHECUBA Shall convey me to the shores of Hellas?\nPOLYMESTOR Nay, but close o'er thee when thou fallest from the masthead.\nHECUBA Who will force me to take the leap?\nPOLYMESTOR Of thy own accord wilt thou climb the ship's mast.\nHECUBA With wings upon my back, or by what means?\nPOLYMESTOR Thou wilt become a dog with bloodshot eyes.\nHECUBA How knowest thou of my transformation?\nPOLYMESTOR Dionysus, our Thracian prophet, told me so.\nHECUBA And did he tell thee nothing of thy present trouble?\nPOLYMESTOR No; else hadst thou never caught me thus by guile.\nHECUBA Shall I die or live, and so complete my life on earth?\nPOLYMESTOR Die shalt thou; and to thy tomb shall be given a name-\nHECUBA Recalling my form, or what wilt thou tell me?\nPOLYMESTOR \"The hapless hound's grave,\" a mark for mariners.\"\nHECUBA 'Tis naught to me, now that thou hast paid me forfeit.\nPOLYMESTOR Further, thy daughter Cassandra must die.\nHECUBA I scorn the prophecy! I give it to thee to keep for thyself.\nPOLYMESTOR Her shall the wife of Agamemnon, grim keeper of his palace,\nslay.\nHECUBA Never may the daughter of Tyndareus do such a frantic deed!\nPOLYMESTOR And she shall slay this king as well, lifting high the\naxe.\nAGAMEMNON Ha! sirrah, art thou mad? art so eager to find sorrow?\nPOLYMESTOR Kill me, for in Argos there awaits thee a murderous bath.\nAGAMEMNON Ho! servants, hale him from my sight\nPOLYMESTOR Ha! my words gall thee?\nAGAMEMNON Stop his mouth!\nPOLYMESTOR Close it now; for I have spoken.\nAGAMEMNON Haste and cast him upon some desert island, since his mouth\nis full of such exceeding presumption. Go thou, unhappy Hecuba, and\nbury thy two corpses; and you, Trojan women, to your masters' tents\nrepair, for lo! I perceive a breeze just rising to waft us home. God\ngrant we reach our country and find all well at home, released from\ntroubles here! (POLYMESTOR is dragged away by AGAMEMNON'S guards.)\nCHORUS (chanting) Away to the harbour and the tents, my friends,\nto prove the toils of slavery! for such is fate's relentless hest.\nTHE END","title":"Hecuba, By Euripides","type":"page"}