Scene I
Andromache, An Old Man.
Andromache. Why tear your hair, my Phrygian followers,
Why beat your breasts and mar your cheeks with tears?
The grief is light that has the power to weep. 420
Troy fell for you but now, for me long since
When fierce Achilles urged at speed his car,
And dragged behind his wheel my very self;
The axle, made of wood from Pelion's groves,
Groaned heavily, and under Hector's weight 425
Trembled. O'erwhelmed and crushed, I bore unmoved
Whate'er befell, for I was stunned with grief.
I would have followed Hector long ago,
And freed me from the Greeks, but this my son
Held me, subdued my heart, forbade my death, 430
Compelled me still to ask the gods a boon,
Added a longer life to misery.
He took away my sorrow's richest fruit—
To know no fear. All chance of better things
Is snatched away, and worse are yet to come; 435
'Tis wretchedness to fear where hope is lost.
Old Man. What sudden fear assails thee, troubled one?
Andromache. From great misfortunes, greater ever spring;
Troy needs must fill the measure of her woes.
Old Man. Though he should wish, what can the god do more?440
Andromache. The entrance of the bottomless abyss
Of gloomy Styx lies open; lest defeat
Should lack enough of fear, the buried foe
Comes forth from Dis. Can Greeks alone return?
Death certainly is equal; Phrygians feel 445
This common fear; a dream of dreadful night
Me only terrified.
Old Man. What dream is this?
Andromache. The sweet night's second watch was hardly passed,
The Seven Stars were turning from the height;
At length there came an unaccustomed calm 450
To me afflicted; on my eyes there stole
Brief sleep, if that dull lethargy be sleep
That comes to grief-worn souls; when, suddenly,
Before my eyes stood Hector, not as when
He bore against the Greeks avenging fire, 455
Seeking the Argive fleet with Trojan torch;
Nor as he raged with slaughter 'gainst the Greeks,
And bore away Achilles' arms—true spoil,
From him who played Achilles' part, nor was
A true Achilles. Not with flame-bright face 460
He came, but marred with tears, dejected, sad,
Like us, and all unkempt his loosened hair;
Yet I rejoiced to see him. Then he said,
Shaking his head: 'O faithful wife, awake!
Bear hence thy son and hide him, this alone 465
Is safety. Weep not! Do you weep for Troy?
Would all were fallen! Hasten, seek a place
Of safety for the child.' Then I awoke,
Cold horror and a trembling broke my sleep.
Fearful, I turned my eyes now here, now there. 470
Me miserable, careless of my son,
I sought for Hector, but the fleeting shade
Slipped from my arms, eluded my embrace.
O child, true son of an illustrious sire;
Troy's only hope; last of a stricken race; 475
Too noble offspring of an ancient house;
Too like thy father! Such my Hector's face,
Such was his gait, his manner, so he held
His mighty hands, and so his shoulders broad,
So threatened with bold brow when shaking back 480
His heavy hair! Oh, born too late for Troy,
Too soon for me, will ever come that time,
That happy day, when thou shalt build again
Troy's walls, and lead from flight her scattered hosts,
Avenging and defending mightily, 485
And give again a name to Troy's fair land?
But, mindful of my fate, I dare not wish;
We live, and life is all that slaves can hope.
Alas, what place of safety can I find,
Where hide thee? That high citadel, god-built, 490
Is dust, her streets are flame, and naught remains
Of all the mighty city, not so much
As where to hide an infant. Oh, what place
Of safety can I find? The mighty tomb,
Reared to my husband—this the foe must fear. 495
His father, Priam, in his sorrow built,
With no ungenerous hand, great Hector's tomb;
I rightly trust a father. Yet I fear
The baleful omen of the place of tombs,
And a cold sweat my trembling members bathes. 500
Old Man. The safe may choose, the wretched seize defense.