Four Tragedies and Octavia (15 page)

HECUBA
,
widow of King Priam

ANDROMACHE
,
widow of Hector

ASTYANAX
,
her son
,
a child

HELEN

POLYXENA
,
daughter of Hecuba

AGAMEMNON
,
commander of the Greeks

PYRRHUS
,
son of Achilles

ULYSSES

TALTHYBIUS
,
a Greek herald

CALCHAS
,
a prophet

AN ELDER

A MESSENGER

CHORUS
of captive Trojan women

Greek soldiers

*

Scene: at Troy, outside the ruined city, near the tomb of Hector

HECUBA
: The man who puts his trust in kingly power,

The potentate wielding authority

In his high court, having no fear of gods

And their capricious will, the man who takes

His happy state for granted – let that man

Look upon me, and upon thee, O Troy.

Here is the proof, the strongest ever given

By Fate, to show on what uncertain ground

The pomp of power stands. Here lies in ruin

The masterpiece of gods, the tower of Asia.

To her defence allies had come from far,

From the nine mouths of frozen Tanäis,

And from the birthplace of the dawn, where Tigris

Pours his hot stream into the ruby sea;

Hither had come the queen of virgin tribes
¹

Whose frontiers face the nomad Scythians

And threaten foemen on the Pontic shore.

Yet she was vanquished; yet she was destroyed;

Great Pergamum lies low; her massive walls,

With all their towering beauty, are brought down,

Her houses all in ashes. Flames still leap

Around the royal palace, smoke goes up

From every corner of the wide domain

Of prince Assaracus,
²
but even fire

Cannot delay the conquerors' plundering hands.

The town is looted even while it burns.

Billows of smoke conceal the sky; dense clouds

Blacken the daylight with a pall of soot,

The reek of Ilium. There the victor stands,

His vengeance not yet satisfied; with Troy's

Slow death before his eyes, now the destroyer

Forgives her ten years' toil. Her agony

Appalls him too, and even seeing her vanquished

He hardly can believe such victory

Was possible. Already ravishers

Are carrying away the spoils of Troy,

More booty than a thousand ships can hold.

    Hear this, ye powers of heaven, ye gods above

That ever fight against me; this I swear

By the ashes of my home, by Phrygia's king

Now lying under all the Troy he ruled;

And by the ghost of him
¹
who, while he stood,

Kept Troy upright; by all you lesser ghosts,

My many many children: all this woe,

All the disasters that were once foretold

(Although her god forbade us to believe her)

By the impassioned voice of Phoebus' bride,
²

All these things I, I Hecuba foresaw –

When I was pregnant with a son, I saw

What was to come, and spoke my fears; Cassandra

Was not the first unheeded prophetess.

And who has laid these fires among your streets?

Not the sharp Ithacan,
³
nor his companion
⁴

In nightly escapades, nor traitor Sinon;
⁵

That fire was mine, my hand had lit the faggots
¹

Whose blaze consumes you now.

                                                      But why should I,

An aged lingering relic, now lament

Over the ruins of a fallen city?

Troy's doom is now old history. Remember,

Unhappy woman, what you have lately seen:

The execrable murder of a king –

Achilles' son (who could believe such sin?)

At the king's altar, sword in hand, his left

Clutching the king's hair – how he savagely

Forced the head back and drove the foul blade deep

Into the old man's throat; and when in triumph

He drew it out again, it came out dry.

What other man would not have stayed his rage,

What man would not have spared an aged life

Already at the door of death, or feared

The witnessing gods and the divine respect

Of royalty overthrown? There Priam lies,

Father of many kings, and has no tomb;

Troy blazes, but there is no fire for him.

And still the gods are not yet satisfied;

The lots are being drawn, assigning wives

And daughters of the royal house of Priam

To their new masters; I shall be one of them,

A prize whom no one wants. They take their pick,

One claiming Hector's wife, one Helenus',

And one Antenor's wife; even Cassandra

Does not lack suitors; my name is the one

They fear to draw, mine is the only name

That still holds terror for a Greek. Come, friends,

Can you no longer weep? Come, let me hear you,

Friends and fellow-prisoners; beat your breasts;

Honour the name of Troy. Let your laments

Be heard on Ida, fatal judgement-seat
¹

And source of all our woe.

CHORUS
: Well may you ask us to weep;

It is no new thing, we are well acquainted with tears.

Year after year we have wept,

Since a traveller from Troy
²
set foot ashore

At Amyclae in Greece,

Since a ship of Cybele's holy pine

Sailed over the sea.

Ten snows have whitened Ida's head,

Ten times her woods have built our funeral pyres,

Ten harvests has the reaper, at his peril,

Gathered in the Sigean fields;

And we have known no day without its grief.

Now we have cause to weep afresh.

Weep, women, weep! And you, our queen,

Raise your poor hands.

Let our mistress lead, and her lowly servants will follow;

Mourning is the work we all know well.

HECUBA
: You are my faithful friends in my time of sorrow.

Loose your hair, let it fall on your bowed shoulders,

Let it be dirtied in the hot dust of Troy.

Fill your hands with dust, it is all we can take

Away from Troy.

Let every arm be stretched forth; loosen your garments

And tie them around you, be naked to the womb –

Do you still want to cover your breast, shy prisoner –

For what husband's sake?

Tie your cloaks round your dropped tunics, women;

Hands must be free to beat the mad rhythm of lament.

Good… good… I like to see you thus,

My women of Troy.

Now let me hear you weep again;

Weep as you never wept before.

This is for Hector.

CHORUS
: We have loosed our hair, as for many a death before;

Tangled it falls from its knot;

We have smeared warm ash on our faces.

We have bared our shoulders and tied our fallen garments round our loins;

Our naked bosoms cry for the beating hand.

Work, Grief, with all your might!

Let our cries be heard on the Rhoetian shore;

Let Echo throw them back from her mountain caves –

Not only our last syllables as at other times,

But every word of our lament for Troy.

Let us be heard on every sea,

And in all the sky.

Hands, spare not your strength;

Heavily beat the breast;

What was enough before is not sufficient now.

This is for Hector.

HECUBA
: Yes, Hector, for you I am striking these arms,

For you these bleeding shoulders;

For you a mother's hands tear at her breast;

For you I beat my head.

Here, where I scarred my flesh at your funeral,

Let the wound open again and the blood pour down.

You were our country's tower,

Her stay against the Fates,

Shield of the Trojans when they wearied.

You were our wall,

On your shoulders for ten years our city stood;

With you she fell.

Hector's last day of life

Was the end of his country's life…

Enough for Hector. Let a new dirge be sung.

This is for Priam.

CHORUS
: Ruler of Phrygia, hear our mourning.

Father, twice captive, receive our tears.

All that has befallen Troy, under your rule,

Has twice befallen her.

Twice she has faced the arrows of Hercules,
¹

Twice seen her walls assaulted by Grecian arms.

Now, after the burial of Hecuba's children,

After the funerals of all the princely family,

Your death, father,

Ends the long procession to the grave.

Headless now you lie on the Sigean sands,

A victim slain in the sight of Jupiter.

HECUBA
: No! Change that strain, daughters of Troy!

You must not pity my Priam's death.

‘Priam is happy' you must cry.

He has gone free into the deep of death;

He will never wear the yoke of a conquering Greek.

He will never face again the sons of Atreus

Or the treacherous Ulysses; not for him

The prisoner's part in an Argive triumph,

The shoulder bowed under victor's trophies.

No one will bind those hands that held a sceptre;

He will not be seen paraded through Mycenae,

Running behind Agamemnon's chariot

With golden shackles on his wrists.

CHORUS
: ‘Happy is Priam', we cry.

He has taken his kingdom with him.

Now he walks through the safe shadows of Elysian groves,

Happy among the pious dead;

He will join Hector there.

Happy is Priam, happy is every man

That has died in battle

And taken with him his life's fulfilment.

TALTHYBIUS
: How long the waiting! Ever the long delay

When Greek ships lie at anchor, waiting to sail

In search of war, waiting to sail for home!

CHORUS
: What are they waiting for? Why are the ships

Held back? What god forbids their homeward voyage?

TALTHYBIUS
: I shudder to tell; I shake with fear. I saw –

Who will believe portents more terrible

Than can be true? – and yet I saw them all.

The first rays of the Sky God had but grazed

The mountain tops, light chasing dark away,

When from earth's hidden depths a roar was heard,

And a convulsion tore her inside out.

The tree-tops rocked, forest and sacred grove

Echoed the thunder; Ida was split in two,

And rocks came tumbling down. Not only earth

Did shake; the sea stood still, knowing her son

Achilles to be near. A rift appeared,

Caves yawned, hell gaped, earth parted and revealed

A way from worlds below to worlds above.

His tomb was burst asunder and there stood

The living ghost of the Thessalian leader,

Just as he looked when he was conquering Thrace

In practice for the punishment of Troy;

Or when he smote the white-plumed son
¹
of Neptune;

Or when, with bloody slaughter in the field,

He choked the rivers with his dead, and Xanthus,

Turned out of its accustomed course, became

A creeping swamp of gore; or when he stood

Proud and victorious in his chariot,

Dragging great Hector – dragging Troy – behind him.

And now in every quarter of the coast

His angry voice was heard: ‘Go, cowards, go!

Steal off, leaving unpaid the debt you owe

To my departed spirit; go, hoist sail

And launch your thankless fleet upon my sea!

It cost you dearly once, and shall again,

To appease Achilles' wrath. Polyxena

Was promised me; let her be sacrificed

Over my ashes; by the hand of Pyrrhus;

And let my tomb be watered with her blood.'

And with those awful words he took his leave

Of this world's light, and went back to the dead.

As he descended, earth was joined again

And its deep caverns closed. The sea lies calm

And motionless, the wind is gentle now,

Only a ripple whispers on the water,

And we have heard the Tritons from the deep

Singing the hymn of marriage.

PYRKHUS
[
to Agamemnon
]: So, when you spread your sails in eager haste

To cross the sea for home, you had forgotten –

You had forgotten Achilles, it appears.

You had no thought for him whose single hand

Had so struck Troy, her fall might be delayed

But only this remained, to see which way

Her towers would fall. Now, willing you may be,

And anxious, as you say, to grant his wish –

It is too late; already all your chiefs

Have claimed their spoils. What lesser prize is left,

Fit to be given for valour such as his?

Is it a little debt we owe to him,

When, though advised to stay away from war

And live his life out in tranquillity,

Passing the years of Nestor, he renounced

His mother's plot to hide him in disguise,
¹

Meaning to prove himself in arms a man?

And did not then his prentice hand receive

Its baptism of blood, of royal blood,

When that unfriendly king, rude Telephus,

Would bar him from the warring land of Mysia –

And lived to learn how strong, yet merciful,

That hand could be? Thebes fell to his assault,

Eëtion was overthrown and saw

His kingdom lost. A like fate overtook

The little hill-town Lyrnesus; and more –

The famous place where Briseis was taken;

Chryse, where kings had fought, laid low; and Tenedos,

Whose story is well known; then Scyros,

Rich pasture land of Thracian flocks; and Lesbos,

Breakwater of the Aegean sea; and Cilia,

Beloved by Phoebus; nor do we forget

The land washed by the spring flood of Caÿcus.

    And all this havoc, all this scourge of nations,

These countless cities scattered to the winds

As by some huge tornado, might have been

For any other man the crown and summit

Of a career of glorious victory.

Achilles took them in his stride. He came;

My father came to you with this behind him.

All these his other glorious wars he fought

As practice for one war. But leave aside

His other exploits; with but one alone

He could have been content – with Hector. Troy?

My father conquered Troy; you have but spoiled it.

It is my joy to tell the famous deeds

Of my illustrious sire – how Hector fell

In
his
own father's sight; how Memnon fell

Before his uncle's eyes; grieving for him,

His stricken mother's face was overcast

And that day's dawn was dull.
¹
Even the victor

Was harrowed at the sight of his own act;

That was the first time that Achilles learnt

A goddess's son could die. Then our last foe,

The Amazon queen, fell to his sword. Achilles

Deserves all you can pay, if the account

Be rightly reckoned – even if he should ask

A young girl's life – from Argos – or Mycenae.

Do you deny it? Do you now condemn

What once has been allowed, or think it brutal

To sacrifice a daughter of King Priam

To the son of Peleus? You once sacrificed

A daughter of your own for Helen's sake.

I only claim what precedent approves.

AGAMEMNON
: Young men cannot restrain their violence;

It is their common fault. The zeal of youth

Inspires them generally; Pyrrhus here

Is driven by his father's spirit too.

But I have borne the boasts and menaces

Of that proud son of Aeacus ere now,

And have not flinched. Who has most power to act,

Should have most power to endure. What then?

Do you think fit to soil the honoured shade

Of an illustrious leader with foul murder?

Ere you do that, you would do well to learn

What acts are fitting for a conqueror,

What penalties for the conquered. Power unchecked

Has never lasted long; tempered with reason

It can endure. Wherever Fortune's hand

Has lifted and upheld the power of man

Over his fellow-men, there it behoves him

To hold his privilege in check, to fear

Each change of wind and the too generous gods.

Greatness can fall at a touch; my victory

Has taught me that. If Troy's fall makes us proud

And insolent, we Greeks, let us remember,

Are standing in the place from which she fell.

I own I have been guilty, I have been headstrong

In exercise of power, I have been proud;

But now that spirit has been broken in me,

And broken by that thing which, in another,

Might well have caused it – by the gift of Fortune.

Priam has made me proud – and made me fearful.

    Why then should I think kingship anything

But name, o'erlaid with shallow gilt, a brow

Adorned with a mock diadem? A chance,

A moment, may sweep all these things away –

And, like as not, without the aid of ships

Numbered in thousands, or a ten years' war;

Not all find Fortune's hand so long suspended.

If I may speak my mind – forgive me, Argos –

I own I wanted to see Phrygia conquered,

Conquered and punished; but reduced to ruin,

Razed to the ground – I would have spared her that.

Would that I had! No power on earth can curb

The invader's lust, no hand restrain the licence

Of victory let loose upon the night.

If anything of what we did that night

Could have been called inhuman or unseemly,

It was the work of anger, and of darkness –

Itself a spur to cruelty – the work

Of the triumphant sword, whose appetite,

Once it has tasted blood, outruns all reason.

If anything of ruined Troy can live,

Then let it live; vengeance enough, and more,

Has been exacted. A princess to die,

A sacrificial victim, to imbrue

The ashes of the dead – a brutal murder

Called by the name of marriage – never! No!

That I will not allow. For upon me

The guilt of all comes back. Who, having the right

To ban wrongdoing, bans it not, commands it.

PYRRHUS
: So shall Achilles' soul not have its due?

AGAMEMNON
: It shall. All men on earth shall sing his praise

And lands unknown shall hear of his great name.

If blood must flow to give his ashes rest,

Let there be slaughtered finest Phrygian cattle;

Shed blood for which no mother's eyes need weep.

Where is such custom known? Where is man's life

Poured out in payment to the human dead?

Your duty is to shield your father's name

From hatred and dishonour, not ask us

To serve him with an act of brutal vengeance.

PYRRHUS
: Oh, you are puffed with pride, now that success

And safety have set up your confidence.

You did not use to be so bold, when danger

Was drumming the alarm – great king of kings!

No doubt your thoughts have turned to love again;

Some new-found mistress fires your passion. Why

Should you so often be the only one

To win a prize? Well, I shall give Achilles,

With my own hands, the victim he demands.

If you refuse to give her up, I'll find

Another, a better gift, a gift more worthy

To be the gift of Pyrrhus. This right hand

Has too long paused from shedding kingly blood.

Priam needs company.

AGAMEMNON
:              Pyrrhus deserves,

I'll not deny, the credit for that deed,

His noblest exploit in the war, the murder

Of Priam, his father's suppliant.

PYRRHUS
:                                      I know

Who were his suppliants, and his enemies.

Priam at least made his appeal in person;

You would not dare to make your own request;

You skulked in safety, you were too afraid

To meet your enemy; the king of Ithaca,

And Ajax, had to do the asking for you.
¹

AGAMEMNON
: Your father was no coward, I suppose,

That day when Greeks were dying all around him,

Their ships in flames, and he lay indolent,

Far from all thought of battle, lazily

Strumming sweet music on a tinkling lyre.

PYRRHUS
: The songs Achilles sang, you may be sure,

Daunted great Hector more than all your armour

Which scared him not a jot; in that dread hour

Peace reigned in the Thessalian camp.

AGAMEMNON
:                                        And there

Was peace, I think, for Hector's father too.
²

PYRRHUS
: It is a lordly act to spare a king.

AGAMEMNON
: And yet you raised your hand to kill a king?

PYRRHUS
: It may be mercy to grant death, not life.

AGAMEMNON
: And now in mercy you would have a maiden

Slaughtered upon a tomb?

PYRRHUS
:                           Since when have you

Thought it a crime to sacrifice a maiden?

AGAMEMNON
: A king must put his country above his children.

PYRRHUS
: No law forbids a prisoner's punishment.

AGAMEMNON
: Where law does not forbid, shame may forbid.

PYRRHUS
: The victor has the right to please himself.

AGAMEMNON
: Who has most right, should least indulge his pleasure.

PYRRHUS
: Dare you say that to those who for ten years

Endured your tyranny – till Pyrrhus freed them?

AGAMEMNON
: Is this the breed of Scyros?

PYRRHUS
:                                                    Scyros breeds

No brother-feuds.

AGAMEMNON
:       An island in the sea!

PYRRHUS
: Our mother sea! For Atreus and Thyestes –

We know their noble lineage.

AGAMEMNON
:                         And yours?

Son of a girl raped by a boy Achilles,

A stripling –

PYRRHUS
:         An Achilles, by his birthright

Lord of all spheres of heavenly dominion –

The sea through Thetis, the infernal world

Through Aeacus, the heavens through Jupiter.

AGAMEMNON
: Whom Paris killed –

PYRRHUS
:                                        Whom no immortal god

Dare challenge to his face.

AGAMEMNON
: I could find punishment to stop that tongue

And curb that insolence. But my sword too