The Tragedies of Euripides, Volume I | Page 5

withdraw myself out of the way of the
aged Hecuba, for she is advancing her step beyond the tent of
Agamemnon, dreading my phantom. Alas! O my mother, who, from
kingly palaces, hast beheld the day of slavery, how unfortunate art thou
now, in the degree that thou wert once fortunate! but some one of the
Gods counterpoising your state, destroys you on account of your
ancient prosperity.
HECUBA. CHORUS.
HEC. Lead onward, ye Trojan dames, the old woman before the tent;
lead onward, raising up one now your fellow-slave, but once your
queen; take me, bear me, conduct me, support my body, holding my
aged hand; and I, leaning on the bending staff of my hand,[4] will
hasten to put forward the slow motion of my joints. O lightning of Jove!
O thou gloomy night! why, I pray, am I thus disquieted in the night
with terrors, with phantoms? O thou venerable Earth, the mother of
black-winged dreams, I renounce the nightly vision, which regarding
my son who is preserved in Thrace, and regarding Polyxena my dear
daughter, in my dreams have I beheld, a fearful sight, I have learned, I
have understood. Gods of this land, preserve my son, who, my only son,
and, [as it were,] the anchor of my house, inhabits the snowy Thrace
under the protection of his father's friend. Some strange event will take
place, some strain will come mournful to the mournful. Never did my
mind so incessantly shudder and tremble. Where, I pray, ye Trojan
dames, can I behold the divine spirit of Helenus, or Cassandra, that
they may interpret my dreams? For I beheld a dappled hind torn by the
blood-stained fang of the wolf, forcibly dragged from my bosom, a

miserable sight. And dreadful this vision also; the spectre of Achilles
came above the summit of his tomb, and demanded as a tribute of
honor one of the wretched Trojan women. From my daughter then,
from my daughter avert this fate, ye Gods, I implore you.
CHOR. Hecuba, with haste to thee I flew, leaving the tents of our lords,
where I was allotted and ordained a slave, driven from the city of Troy,
led captive of the Greeks by the point of the spear, not to alleviate
aught of your sufferings, but bringing a heavy weight of tidings, and to
thee, O lady, a herald of woe. For it is said that it has been decreed in
the full council of the Greeks to make thy daughter a sacrifice to
Achilles: for you know how that having ascended o'er his tomb, he
appeared in his golden arms and restrained the fleet ships, as they were
setting their sails with their halliards, exclaiming in these words;
"Where speed ye, Grecians, leaving my tomb unhonored!" Then the
waves of great contention clashed together, and a divided opinion went
forth through the army of the Greeks; to some it appeared advisable to
give a victim to his tomb, and to others it appeared not. But
Agamemnon was studious to advance your good, cherishing the love of
the infuriated prophetess. But the two sons of Theseus, scions of
Athens, were the proposers of different arguments, but in this one
opinion they coincided, to crown the tomb of Achilles with fresh blood;
and declared they would never prefer the bed of Cassandra before the
spear of Achilles. And the strength of the arguments urged on either
side was in a manner equal, till that subtle adviser, that babbling
knave,[5] honeyed in speech, pleasing to the populace, that son of
Laertes, persuades the army, not to reject the suit of the noblest of all
the Greeks on account of a captive victim, and not to put it in the power
of any of the dead standing near Proserpine to say that the Grecians
departed from the plains of Troy ungrateful to the heroes who died for
the state of Greece. And Ulysses will come only not now, to tear your
child from your bosom, and to take her from your aged arms. But go to
the temples, speed to the altars, sit a suppliant at the knees of
Agamemnon, invoke the Gods, both those of heaven, and those under
the earth; for either thy prayers will prevent thy being deprived of thy
wretched daughter, or thou must behold the virgin falling before the
tomb, dyed in blood gushing forth in a dark stream from her neck

adorned with gold.[6]
HEC. Alas! wretched me! what shall I exclaim? what shriek shall I
utter? what lamentation? miserable through miserable age, and slavery
not to be endured, insupportable. Alas! who is there to defend me?
what offspring, what city! The old man is gone. My children are gone.
Whither shall I turn me? and whither shall I go? Where is