ACT IV
Scene I
Helen, Hecuba, Andromache, Polyxena.
Helen [soliloquizing]. Whatever sad and joyless marriage bond880
Holds slaughter, lamentations, bloody war,
Is worthy Helen. Even to fallen Troy
I bring misfortune, bidden to declare
The bridal that Achilles' son prepares
For his dead father, and demand the robe 885
And Grecian ornaments. By me betrayed,
And by my fraud, must Paris' sister die.
So be it, this were happier lot for her;
A fearless death must be a longed-for death.
Why shrink to do his bidding? On the head 890
Of him who plots the crime remains the guilt.
[Aloud to Polyxena.
Thou noble daughter of Troy's kingly house,
A milder god on thy misfortune looks,
Prepares for thee a happy marriage day.
Not Priam nor unfallen Troy could give 895
Such bridal, for the brightest ornament
Of the Pelasgian race, the man who holds
The kingdom of the wide Thessalian land,
Would make thee his by lawful marriage bonds.
Great Tethys, and the ocean goddesses, 900
And Thetis, gentle nymph of swelling seas,
Will call thee theirs; when thou art Pyrrhus' bride
Peleus will call thee kin, as Nereus will.
Put off thy robe of mourning, deck thyself
In gay attire; unlearn the captive's mien, 905
And suffer skillful hands to smooth thy hair
Now so unkempt. Perchance fate cast thee down
From thy high place to seat thee higher still;
It may be profit to have been a slave.
Andromache. This one ill only lacked to fallen Troy: 910
Pleasure, while Pergamus still smoking lies!
Fit hour for marriage! Dare one then refuse?
When Helen would persuade, who doubtful weds?
Thou curse! Two nations owe to thee their fall!
Seest thou the royal tomb, these bones that lie 915
Unburied, scattered over all the field?
Thy bridal is the cause. All Asia's blood,
All Europe's flows for thee, whilst thou, unstirred,
Canst see two husbands fighting, nor decide
Which one to wish the victor! Go, prepare 920
The marriage bed; what need of wedding torch
Or nuptial lights, when burning Troy provides
The fires for these new bridals? Celebrate,
O Trojan women, honor worthily
The marriage feast of Pyrrhus. Smite your breasts, 925
And weep aloud.
Helen. Soft comfort is refused
By deep despair, which loses reason, hates
The very sharers of its grief. My cause
I yet may plead before this hostile judge,
Since I have suffered heavier ills than she. 930
Andromache mourns Hector openly,
Hecuba weeps for Priam, I, alone,
In secret, weep for Paris. Is it hard,
Grievous, and hateful to bear servitude?
For ten long years I bore the captive's yoke. 935
Is Ilium laid low, her household gods
Cast down? To lose one's land is hard indeed—
To fear is worse. Your sorrow friendship cheers,
Me conquerors and conquered hate alike.
For thee, there long was doubt whom thou shouldst serve, 940
My master drags me hence without the chance
Of lot. Was I the bringer of the war?
Of so great Teucrian carnage? Think this true
If first a Spartan keel thy waters cut;
But if of Phrygian oars I am the prey, 945
By the victorious goddess as a prize
Given for Paris' judgment, pardon me!
An angry judge awaits me, and my cause
Is left to Menelaus. Weep no more,
Andromache, put by thy grief. Alas, 950
Hardly can I myself restrain my tears.
Andromache. How great the ill that even Helen weeps!
Why does she weep? What trickery or crime
Plots now the Ithacan? From Ida's top,
Or Troy's high tower, will he cast the maid 955
Upon the rocks? Or hurl her to the deep
From the great cliff which, from its riven side,
Out of the shallow bay, Sigeon lifts?
What wouldst thou cover with deceitful face?
No ill were heavier than this: to see 960
Pyrrhus the son of Priam's Hecuba.
Speak, plainly tell the penalty thou bringst.
Take from defeat at least this evil,—fraud.
Thou seest thou dost not find us loth to die.
Helen. Would that Apollo's prophet bade me take 965
The long delay of my so hated life;
Or that, upon Achilles' sepulcher,
I might be slain by Pyrrhus' cruel hand,
The sharer of thy fate, Polyxena,
Whom harsh Achilles bids them give to him— 970
To offer to his manes, as his bride
In the Elysian Fields.
[Polyxena shows great joy, Hecuba sinks fainting to the ground.
Andromache. See with what joy a noble woman meets
Death-sentence, bids them bring the royal robe,
And fitly deck her hair. She deemed it death 975
To be the bride of Pyrrhus, but this death
A bridal seems. The wretched mother faints,
Her sinking spirit fails; unhappy one,
Arise, lift up thy heart, be strong of soul!
Life hangs but by a thread—how slight a thing 980
Glads Hecuba! She breathes, she lives again,
Death flies the wretched.
Hecuba. Lives Achilles still
To vex the Trojans? Still pursues his foes?
Light was the hand of Paris; but the tomb
And ashes of Achilles drink our blood. 985
Once I was circled by a happy throng
Of children, by their kisses weary made,
Parted my mother love amongst them all.
She, now, alone is left; for her I pray,
Companion, solace, healer of my grief, 990
The only child of Hecuba, her voice
Alone may call me mother! Bitter life,
Pass from me, slip away, spare this last blow!
Tears overflow my cheeks—a storm of tears
Falls from her eyes! 995
Andromache. We are the ones should weep,
We, Hecuba, whom, scattered here and there,
The Grecian ships shall carry far away.
The maid will find at least a sepulcher
In the dear soil of her loved native land.
Helen. Thy own lot known, yet more thou'lt envy hers.1000
Andromache. Is any portion of my lot unknown?
Helen. The fatal urn has given thee a lord.
Andromache. Whom call I master? Speak, who bears me hence
A slave?
Helen. Lot gave thee to the Scyrian king.
Andromache. Happy Cassandra, whom Apollo's wrath 1005
Spared from such fate!
Helen. The prince of kings claims her.
Hecuba. Be glad, rejoice, my child; Andromache
Desires thy bridals, and Cassandra, too,
Desires them. Is there any one would choose
Hecuba for his bride? 1010
Helen. Thou fallst a prey
To the unwilling Ithacan.
Hecuba. Alas,
What powerless, cruel, unrelenting god
Gives kings by lot to be the prey of kings?
What god unfriendly thus divides the spoil?
What cruel arbiter forbids us choose 1015
Our masters? With Achilles' arms confounds
Great Hector's mother?
To Ulysses' lot!
Conquered and captive am I now indeed,
Besieged by all misfortunes! 'Tis my lord
Puts me to shame, and not my servitude! 1020
Harsh land and sterile, by rough seas enclosed,
Thou wilt not hold my grave! Lead on, lead on,
Ulysses, I delay not, I will go—
Will follow thee; my fate will follow me.
No tranquil calm will rest upon the sea; 1025
Wind, war, and flame shall rage upon the deep,
My woes and Priam's! When these things shall come,
Respite from punishment shall come to Troy.
Mine is the lot, from thee I snatch the prize!
But see where Pyrrhus comes with hasty steps 1030
And troubled face. Why pause? On, Pyrrhus, on!
Into this troubled bosom drive the sword,
And join to thy Achilles his new kin!
Slayer of aged men, up, here is blood,
Blood worthy of thy sword; drag off thy spoil, 1035
And with thy hideous slaughter stain the gods—
The gods who sit in heaven and those in hell!
What can I pray for thee? I pray for seas
Worthy these rites; I pray the thousand ships,
The fleet of the Pelasgians, may meet 1040
Such fate as that I fain would whelm the ship
That bears me hence a captive.
Scene II
Chorus. Sweet is a nation's grief to one who grieves—
Sweet are the lamentations of a land!
The sting of tears and grief is less when shared 1045
By many; sorrow, cruel in its pain,
Is glad to see its lot by many shared,
To know that not alone it suffers loss.
None shuns the hapless fate that many bear;
None deems himself forlorn, though truly so, 1050
If none are happy near him. Take away
His riches from the wealthy, take away
The hundred cattle that enrich his soil,
The poor will lift again his lowered head;
'Tis only by comparison man's poor. 1055
O'erwhelmed in hopeless ruin, it is sweet
To see none happy. He deplores his fate
Who, shipwrecked, naked, finds the longed-for port
Alone. He bears with calmer mien his fate
Who sees, with his, a thousand vessels wrecked 1060
By the fierce tempest, sees the broken planks
Heaped on the shore, the while the northwest wind
Drives on the coast, nor he alone returns
A shipwrecked beggar. When the radiant ram,
The gold-fleeced leader of the flock, bore forth 1065
Phryxus and Helle, Phryxus mourned the fall
Of Helle dropped into the Hellespont.
Pyrrha, Deucalion's wife, restrained her tears,
As he did, when they saw the sea, naught else,
And they alone of living men remained. 1070
The Grecian fleet shall scatter far and wide
Our grief and lamentations. When shall sound
The trumpet, bidding spread the sails? When dip
The laboring oars, and Troy's shores seem to flee?
When shall the land grow faint and far, the sea 1075
Expand before, Mount Ida fade behind?
Then grows our sorrow; then what way Troy lies
Mother and son shall gaze. The son shall say,
Pointing the while, 'There where the curving line
Of smoke floats, there is Ilium.' By that sign 1080
May Trojans know their country.