Ulysses. With fire, scourge, torment, even death itself,
I will compel thy heart's deep-hidden thought;
Necessity is stronger far than death. 595
Andromache. Threat flames, wounds, hunger, thirst, the bitter stings
Of cruel grief, all torments, sword plunged deep
Within this bosom, or the prison dark—
Whatever angry, fearful victors may;
Learn that a loving mother knows no fear. 600
Ulysses. And yet this love, in which thou standst entrenched
So stubbornly, admonishes the Greeks
To think of their own children. Even now,
After these long ten years, this weary war,
I should fear less the danger Calchas threats, 605
If for myself I feared—but thou prepar'st
War for Telemachus.
Andromache. Unwillingly
I give the Grecians joy, but I must give.
Ulysses, anguish must confess its pain;
Rejoice, O son of Atreus, carry back 610
As thou art wont, to the Pelasgian host
The joyous news: great Hector's son is dead.
Ulysses. How prove it to the Greeks?
Andromache. Fall on me else
The greatest ill the victor can inflict:
Fate free me by an easy, timely death, 615
And hide me underneath my native soil!
Lightly on Hector lie his country's earth
As it is true that, hidden from the light,
Deep in the tomb, among the shades he rests.
Ulysses. Accomplished then the fate of Hector's race; 620
A joyous message of established peace
I take the Greeks. [He turns to go, then hesitates.
Ulysses, wouldst thou so?
The Greeks have trusted thee, thou trustest—whom?
A mother. Would a mother tell this lie
Nor fear the augury of dreaded death? 625
They fear the auguries, who fear naught else.
She swears it with an oath—yet, falsely sworn,
What has she worse to fear? Now call to aid
All that thou hast of cunning, stratagem,
And guile, the whole Ulysses; truth dies not. 630
Watch well the mother; see—she mourns, she weeps,
She groans, turns every way her anxious steps,
Listens with ear attentive; more she fears
Than sorrows; thou hast need of utmost care.
[To Andromache.] For other mothers' loss 'tis right to grieve;635
Thee, wretched one, we must congratulate
That thou hast lost a son whose fate had been
To die, hurled headlong from the one high tower
Remaining of the ruined walls of Troy.
Andromache [aside]. Life fails, I faint, I fall, an icy fear640
Freezes my blood.
Ulysses [aside]. She trembles; here the place
For my attack; she is betrayed by fear;
I'll add worse fear. [To his followers.
Go quickly; somewhere lies,
By mother's guile concealed, the hidden foe—
The Greeks last enemy of Trojan name. 645
Go, seek him, drag him hither. [After a pause as though the child were found.] It is well;
The child is taken; hasten, bring him me.
[To Andromache.] Why do you look around and seem to fear?
The boy is dead.
Andromache. Would fear were possible!
Long have I feared, and now too late my soul 650
Unlearns its lesson.