Four Tragedies and Octavia (18 page)

Great grief, unchecked, will never make an end.

ANDROMACHE
: No, let me weep, only a little longer,

Ulysses, I beseech you; let me weep

A little yet, and let me lay my hand

Upon his eyes while he still lives.… So young

To die… and yet already to be feared.…

Go now; your Troy awaits you; go, to freedom,

To join those Trojans who are free.

ASTYANAX
:                                        No! Mother!

ANDROMACHE
: No, do not cling to me; these hands you clutch

Cannot protect you now. When a young calf

Hears a wild lion roar and cowers in terror

Close to its mother's side, the angry beast

Comes on the more and scares the mother away!

He grabs the smaller prize in his huge jaws,

Crushes and carries him away; so he,

Our enemy, will snatch you from my breast.

Here are my kisses, and my tears, for you,

My son… and these torn tresses; take of me

All that you can and go to meet your father.

And take him these few words of my last cry:

‘If the departed can have any thought

Of this world's cares, and if love does not die

In funeral fires, will you allow your wife

Andromache to be a Greek lord's slave?

Are you so cruel? Can you lie inert,

Unheeding, while Achilles comes upon us?'…

Take, as I said, this hair, these tears, last relics

Of my poor husband's funeral; take my kiss,

And give it to your father. Let me keep

This garment; it will be your mother's comfort…

It has been touched by the beloved tomb,

And the beloved dead… some of his dust

May still be here… perhaps my lips can feel it.…

ULYSSES
: This moaning will go on for ever! Take him!

Remove this thing that keeps the Greek fleet waiting!

What future home awaits us prisoners?

Hills of Thessaly, vale of Tempe,

Phthia, whence soldiers mostly come,

Stony Trachis where fine herds breed,

Iolchos, queen of the wide sea?

Or Crete, broad island of a hundred cities?

The little town of Gortynis, dry Tricce,

Mothone nestling among trickling streams

In Oeta's woods – whose arrows

Have twice hailed ruin on Troy?

Pleuron, Diana's enemy?

The broad bay of Troezen?

Or Olenus, where homes are few and far?

Or Pelion, great domain of Prothoüs,

Last of three steps to heaven; that was where

Chiron
¹
was tutor to a boy already

Eager for battle; sprawled in his mountain den,

The giant strummed his lyre and sang war-songs

To whet that early appetite for strife.

What of Carystos, quarry of coloured marble?

Or Chalcis, treading the edge of that wild sea

Tossed by the ceaseless current of Euripus?

There is Calydnae, easy to reach

In any wind – and Gonoessa,

Where the wind never stops – Enispe,

Swept by the terrible north gales.

Or Peparethos, off the Attic shore?

Eleusis, proud of mysteries

That none may speak of?

And the home of Ajax – the first Salamis;
²

Calydon, famous for the fierce wild boar;

The swamps of Titaressos, a sluggish river

Meandering till it plunges under the sea.

Bessa, and Scarphe? And old Nestor's home,

Pylos? Pharis? Jupiter's Pisa? Elis –

Prizes of victory are well known there.

Oh, let the winds of fortune

Carry us where they will!

Make us a gift to any place they choose!

But Sparta – save us, O gods,

From Sparta, the bane of Troy,

And bane of the Greeks! Or Argos,

Or cruel Pelops' town,

Mycenae! save us too

From little Zacynthus and its little sister

Neritos – and the dangerous treacherous reefs

Of Ithaca!

What will your fate be, Hecuba?

What master will take you away,

Into what land, for all to see?

In what king's country must you die?

HELEN
: If marriage must be fraught with death and woe,

A time for tears and bloody murder, Helen

May well be chosen for its minister,

Since after their defeat I am still forced

To be obnoxious to the Phrygians.

On me it falls to tell the bride this lie

About her marriage with Achilles' son;

I am to see her dressed and decorated

In Grecian fashion, find the artful words

To tempt her to her doom; by my deceit

The sister of Paris must be lured to death.

But it is well that she should be deceived;

It will be easier for her; to die,

Without the fear of death, is easy death.

So let the task be quickly done; the guilt

Of crime enforced rests only on its author.…

    Dear princess of the Dardan house, at last

A good god looks more kindly on the fallen;

A happy marriage is prepared for you,

A marriage better than King Priam himself

In Troy's best days could have obtained for you.

The man who seeks your hand in holy wedlock

Is lord and king over the wide domain

Of Thessaly, the most illustrious hero

Of the Pelasgian race. You shall be called

Child of great Tethys; all sea goddesses,

And Thetis, tranquil queen of Ocean's main,

Will call you theirs; Peleus and Nereus,

Your husband's grandfathers, will welcome you

A daughter to their house, for you will be

The wife of Pyrrhus. Now you must forget

Captivity; take off those ugly clothes

And dress yourself for joy. Smooth that tossed hair

And have it braided neatly by skilled hands.

The fall that you have suffered may yet place you

Upon a higher throne; captives ere now

Have profited from their captivity.

ANDROMACHE
: It needed only this! The fallen Trojans'

Last indignity! A time for joy! –

With ruined Pergamum on fire around us.

A time for marriage! Who could look askance

At marriage, under Helen's auspices?

What woman could refuse such happiness?…

Bringer of doom, disaster, and destruction

To both our peoples – look upon these graves

Of captains, and the bare unburied bones

That strew the ground! Your marriage brought them here.

The blood of Asia and the blood of Europe

Has flowed for your sake, while you sat content

To watch the spectacle of warring husbands,

And knew not which to pray for. Let us have

More marriage, then! Torches and sacred fire –

You need not look for them – Troy will provide

Flames bright enough to celebrate a marriage

Such as was never seen before. Sing, women,

Sing, women of Troy, for the marriage of Pyrrhus,

Due hymns of mourning and of lamentation!

HELEN
: Great suffering, I know, can drive the mourner

Beyond the edge of reason; she will hear

No argument, and even hate the friends

Who suffer with her. Yet I have a cause

And will maintain it, even in the face

Of hostile judges; for my suffering

Is worse man yours. Andromache mourns Hector,

Hecuba weeps for Priam – but for Helen

There is no friend to share her grief for Paris,

No one must hear it; she must weep alone.

Is it so hard a thing to be a slave?

I have endured it long, a prisoner

Ten years. You have seen Ilium overthrown,

Her gods cast down? Yes, it is hard to see

One's country lost; harder to be afraid

Of finding it again. You have your friends

For comfort in your ills; I am detested

By conqueror and conquered equally.

What masters you will serve, chance will decide;

There is no chance for me, I am already

My master's prize. You say I was the cause

Of all this war's disaster for the Trojans;

True – if it was a Spartan ship that ventured

Into your seas; but if I was the prize

Of Trojan hands, and given by a goddess
¹

In payment to the judge who favoured her –

Absolve the victim. When I come to trial,

My judge will not be merciful; the verdict

Will rest with Menelaus. Will you now

Withhold your tears awhile, Andromache,

And teach this child… alas, I do believe

I must weep too.

ANDROMACHE
:        Some strange thing it must be

That can make Helen weep! But what? Tell us

Ulysses' whole abominable plot.

Must she be hurled from Ida's highest peak,

Dropped from the summit of the citadel,

Thrown down into the sea over the edge

Of that sheer precipice where high Sigeum

Looks out across the bay? Whatever it be,

Tell us the secret that your false face hides.

No outrage could be more intolerable

Than to have Pyrrhus made a son-in-law

To Hecuba and Priam. Speak and declare

What is the penalty you have prepared

For this unhappy girl. Spare us at least

This added insult – to be tricked by lies.

Death, as you see, we are prepared to suffer.

HELEN
: If I could have my wish, would I might hear

The word of the interpreter of gods

Commanding me also upon a sword

To end my hated life, or to let Pyrrhus

Roughly dispatch me at Achilles' tomb…

To share your fate, my poor Polyxena…

You must be given to him, Achilles says,

Given in sacrifice over his ashes,

To be his bride in the Elysian fields.

ANDROMACHE
: And look! O the brave spirit, she is happy

To hear the sentence of her death! Eager

To wear the royal ornament, she gladly

Allows the braiding of her hair. Marriage

On earth she would have counted death; this death

She takes for marriage. But alas, the mother…

This blow has stunned her, and her senses fail.

Stand up, unhappy Hecuba; take courage

And comfort to your sinking heart.… Her life

Hangs on a thread; only a little space

Parts Hecuba from her felicity.…

But no, she breathes; she is alive again.

Death has a way to elude the unfortunate.

HECUBA
: Still does Achilles live to plague the Phrygians?

Does he fight still? Paris, you struck too lightly.

Can the dead ashes and the tomb still thirst

For Trojan blood? A time I can remember

When there were happy faces at my side,

So many children to be mother to,

They tired me out with kissing. Only one

Is left me now – only this one to pray for,

Only this one companion, comfort, rest.

She is all my family, the only voice

To call me mother. O unhappy soul,

O stubborn life, will you not pass away

And spare me this last reckoning with death?

My eyes cannot withhold their tears; the rain

Descends and drowns my cheeks.

ANDROMACHE
:                                Yet are not we,

We, Hecuba, we rather to be mourned?

The fleet will sail and carry us away

Each to some different place. This child will rest

Beneath the soil of her dear native land.

HELEN
: And when you know what lot has fallen to you,

You will be still more envious of her fate.

ANDROMACHE
: Is there yet more to know?

HELEN
:                                                The lots are drawn;

The urn has given each captive to her master.

ANDROMACHE
: Whose slave am I to be? Tell me his name.

HELEN
: Yours was the first; the prince of Scyros has you.

ANDROMACHE
: Lucky Cassandra! – whom Apollo's word

And her crazed soul excluded from the lot.

HELEN
: She is the prize of the great king of kings.

HECUBA
: You can be glad, my child. You can be happy.

Well might Cassandra, and Andromache,

Envy your fate. Has anyone accepted

The gift of Hecuba?

HELEN
:                    Against his will,

Ulysses has you – for the little time –

HECUBA
: What heartless umpire of the lottery,

What blind unfeeling arbiter is he

Who can give royal slaves to royal masters!

Is some malicious god distributing

Us prisoners? Is the decision left

To some malign oppressor of the fallen,

Assigning us without discrimination

To those whom we must serve, with spiteful hand

Apportioning our fates? Is Hector's mother

Included with the armour of Achilles,

To be Ulysses' prize? This, then, is conquest,

This is captivity indeed, the last

Of all indignities. This is my shame –

Not slavery itself, but to be slave

To
him
. Shall he who won Achilles' spoils

Have those of Hector too? Is there a place

In that bleak island amid angry seas

Fit to contain my tomb? Well, I am ready.

Lead on, Ulysses. I will follow you,

And where I go my Fates will follow me.

The sea will have no peace for you; wind, wave,

Tempest, with war and fire and all the ills

That I and Priam have suffered, will destroy you.

Till that day comes, one thing for my revenge

Suffices – that your lot is spent on me;

What better prize you hoped for, you have lost.

    Now here comes Pyrrhus, walking rapidly,

With anger in his looks.… What more, then, Pyrrhus?

We are prepared. Plunge in this breast your sword,

And let the parents of your father's bride

Be reunited. Shedder of aged blood,

Strike here! Here's more to suit your liking.

Seize and remove your prisoner. Shame all gods

Of heaven above and all departed souls

With your vile murders. For you Greeks I pray –

What shall I pray? – that on the sea you find

Such fortune as befits this marriage rite.

And may the fate of all your Grecian fleet,

Of all your thousand ships, be like the fate

That shall befall, obedient to my prayers,

The ship that puts to sea with me on board.

Sorrow finds comfort in companionship;

And in the lamentations of great numbers

Is consolation; grief bites not so keenly

When many in the same plight share the mourning.

Jealous, jealous is grief; she likes to see

Many in her distress; she likes to know

That she is not alone condemned to suffer.

All are content to bear what all are bearing.

If none were happy, none would believe himself

Unfortunate, however great his troubles.

Take away wealth, and gold, and thriving lands

With droves of oxen at the plough – how then

The spirits of the down-pressed poor would rise!

What is misfortune but comparison?

Caught in extreme disaster, we are glad

To see no happy faces; he is the one –

The solitary voyager, escaping

Naked from rough seas into harbour – he

Is the one to moan and rail against his fate.

Tempest and shipwreck seem less terrible

To one who sees a thousand vessels sunk

In the same sea and has been swept ashore

On drifting wreckage in the teeth of gales

That fight the billows off the land.

The loss of Helle was great grief to Phrixus.
¹

When the great golden ram bore on his back

Brother and sister, and in ocean's deep

Lost one of them, he wept. Not so Deucalion

And Pyrrha; when those two looked round about them

And saw the sea, nothing but sea, since they

Were the sole human creatures left alive,

They did not weep.

Our sorrowful voices will soon be swept away

Scattered as ships steer off in all directions.

Sails will be spread at the sound of the trumpet; wind

And oar will carry the crews far out to sea,

And the shore will fade from sight.

Then how will we poor women feel – the land

Growing smaller and smaller on every side, the sea

Growing larger and larger, and the heights of Ida

Vanishing far away?

Then son will say to mother, mother to son,

As they show with a pointing finger, far away,

The quarter in which Troy lies: ‘There… that is Troy,

Where the dreadful cloud of smoke curls into the sky.'

That sight will be the landmark

To show the Trojans where their homeland lies.