The Trojan women of Euripides Part 8

O Mother, having ears, hear thou this word Fear-conquering, till thy heart as mine be stirred With joy. To die is only not to be; And better to be dead than grievously Living. They have no pain, they ponder not Their own wrong. But the living that is brought From joy to heaviness, his soul doth roam, As in a desert, lost, from its old home.

Thy daughter lieth now as one unborn, Dead, and naught knowing of the l.u.s.t and scorn That slew her. And I ... long since I drew my bow Straight at the heart of good fame; and I know My shaft hit; and for that am I the more Fallen from peace. All that men praise us for, I loved for Hector's sake, and sought to win.

I knew that alway, be there hurt therein Or utter innocence, to roam abroad Hath ill report for women; so I trod Down the desire thereof, and walked my way In mine own garden. And light words and gay Parley of women never pa.s.sed my door.

The thoughts of mine own heart ... I craved no more....

Spoke with me, and I was happy. Constantly I brought fair silence and a tranquil eye For Hector's greeting, and watched well the way Of living, where to guide and where obey.

And, lo! some rumour of this peace, being gone Forth to the Greek, hath cursed me. Achilles' son, So soon as I was taken, for his thrall Chose me. I shall do service in the hall Of them that slew.... How? Shall I thrust aside Hector's beloved face, and open wide My heart to this new lord? Oh, I should stand A traitor to the dead! And if my hand And flesh shrink from him ... lo, wrath and despite O'er all the house, and I a slave!

One night, One night ... aye, men have said it ... maketh tame A woman in a man's arms.... O shame, shame!

What woman's lips can so forswear her dead, And give strange kisses in another's bed?

Why, not a dumb beast, not a colt will run In the yoke untroubled, when her mate is gone-- A thing not in G.o.d's image, dull, unmoved Of reason. O my Hector! best beloved, That, being mine, wast all in all to me, My prince, my wise one, O my majesty Of valiance! No man's touch had ever come Near me, when thou from out my father's home Didst lead me and make me thine.... And thou art dead, And I war-flung to slavery and the bread Of shame in h.e.l.las, over bitter seas!

What knoweth she of evils like to these, That dead Polyxena, thou weepest for?

There liveth not in my life any more The hope that others have. Nor will I tell The lie to mine own heart, that aught is well Or shall be well.... Yet, O, to dream were sweet!

LEADER.

Thy feet have trod the pathway of my feet, And thy clear sorrow teacheth me mine own.

HECUBA.

Lo, yonder s.h.i.+ps: I ne'er set foot on one, But tales and pictures tell, when over them Breaketh a storm not all too strong to stem, Each man strives hard, the tiller gripped, the mast Manned, the hull baled, to face it: till at last Too strong breaks the o'erwhelming sea: lo, then They cease, and yield them up as broken men To fate and the wild waters. Even so I in my many sorrows bear me low, Nor curse, nor strive that other things may be.

The great wave rolled from G.o.d hath conquered me.

But, O, let Hector and the fates that fell On Hector, sleep. Weep for him ne'er so well, Thy weeping shall not wake him. Honour thou The new lord that is set above thee now, And make of thine own gentle piety A prize to lure his heart. So shalt thou be A strength to them that love us, and--G.o.d knows, It may be--rear this babe among his foes, My Hector's child, to manhood and great aid For Ilion. So her stones may yet be laid One on another, if G.o.d will, and wrought Again to a city! Ah, how thought to thought Still beckons!... But what minion of the Greek Is this that cometh, with new words to speak?

[_Enter_ TALTHYBIUS _with a band of Soldiers. He comes forward slowly and with evident disquiet._

TALTHYBIUS.

Spouse of the n.o.blest heart that beat in Troy, Andromache, hate me not! 'Tis not in joy I tell thee. But the people and the Kings Have with one voice....

ANDROMACHE.

What is it? Evil things Are on thy lips!

TALTHYBIUS.

Tis ordered, this child.... Oh, How can I tell her of it?

ANDROMACHE.

Doth he not go With me, to the same master?

TALTHYBIUS.

There is none In Greece, shall e'er be master of thy son.

ANDROMACHE.

How? Will they leave him here to build again The wreck?...

TALTHYBIUS.

I know not how to tell thee plain!

ANDROMACHE.

Thou hast a gentle heart ... if it be ill, And not good, news thou hidest!

TALTHYBIUS.

'Tis their will Thy son shall die.... The whole vile thing is said Now!

ANDROMACHE.

Oh, I could have borne mine enemy's bed!

TALTHYBIUS.

And speaking in the council of the host Odysseus hath prevailed--

ANDROMACHE.

O lost! lost! lost!...

Forgive me! It is not easy....

TALTHYBIUS.

... That the son Of one so perilous be not fostered on To manhood--

ANDROMACHE.

G.o.d; may his own counsel fall On his own sons!

TALTHYBIUS.

... But from this crested wall Of Troy be dashed, and die.... Nay, let the thing Be done. Thou shalt be wiser so. Nor cling So fiercely to him. Suffer as a brave Woman in bitter pain; nor think to have Strength which thou hast not. Look about thee here!

Canst thou see help, or refuge anywhere?

Thy land is fallen and thy lord, and thou A prisoner and alone, one woman; how Canst battle against us? For thine own good I would not have thee strive, nor make ill blood And shame about thee.... Ah, nor move thy lips In silence there, to cast upon the s.h.i.+ps Thy curse! One word of evil to the host, This babe shall have no burial, but be tossed Naked.... Ah, peace! And bear as best thou may, War's fortune. So thou shalt not go thy way Leaving this child unburied; nor the Greek Be stern against thee, if thy heart be meek!

ANDROMACHE (_to the child_).

Go, die, my best-beloved, my cherished one, In fierce men's hands, leaving me here alone.

Thy father was too valiant; that is why They slay thee! Other children, like to die, Might have been spared for that. But on thy head His good is turned to evil.

O thou bed And bridal; O the joining of the hand, That led me long ago to Hector's land To bear, O not a lamb for Grecian swords To slaughter, but a Prince o'er all the hordes Enthroned of wide-flung Asia.... Weepest thou?

Nay, why, my little one? Thou canst not know.

And Father will not come; he will not come; Not once, the great spear flas.h.i.+ng, and the tomb Riven to set thee free! Not one of all His brethren, nor the might of Ilion's wall.

How shall it be? One horrible spring ... deep, deep Down. And thy neck.... Ah G.o.d, so cometh sleep!...

And none to pity thee!... Thou little thing That curlest in my arms, what sweet scents cling All round thy neck! Beloved; can it be All nothing, that this bosom cradled thee And fostered; all the weary nights, wherethrough I watched upon thy sickness, till I grew Wasted with watching? Kiss me. This one time; Not ever again. Put up thine arms, and climb About my neck: now, kiss me, lips to lips....

O, ye have found an anguish that outstrips All tortures of the East, ye gentle Greeks!

Why will ye slay this innocent, that seeks No wrong?... O Helen, Helen, thou ill tree That Tyndareus planted, who shall deem of thee As child of Zeus? O, thou hast drawn thy breath From many fathers, Madness, Hate, red Death, And every rotting poison of the sky!

Zeus knows thee not, thou vampire, draining dry.