The Trojan women of Euripides | Page 7

the House of Atreus down, down, down....
Nay, I will show thee. Even now this town Is happier than the Greeks. I know the power Of God is on me: but this little hour, Wilt thou but listen, I will hold him back!
One love, one woman's beauty, o'er the track Of hunted Helen, made their myriads fall. And this their King so wise[22], who ruleth all, What wrought he? Cast out Love that Hate might feed: Gave to his brother his own child, his seed Of gladness, that a woman fled, and fain To fly for ever, should be turned again!
So the days waned, and armies on the shore Of Simois stood and strove and died. Wherefore? No man had moved their landmarks; none had shook Their wall��d towns.--And they whom Ares took, Had never seen their children: no wife came With gentle arms to shroud the limbs of them For burial, in a strange and angry earth Laid dead. And there at home, the same long dearth: Women that lonely died, and aged men Waiting for sons that ne'er should turn again, Nor know their graves, nor pour drink-offerings, To still the unslak��d dust. These be the things The conquering Greek hath won!
But we--what pride, What praise of men were sweeter?--fighting died To save our people. And when war was red Around us, friends upbore the gentle dead Home, and dear women's heads about them wound White shrouds, and here they sleep in the old ground Belov��d. And the rest long days fought on, Dwelling with wives and children, not alone And joyless, like these Greeks.
And Hector's woe, What is it? He is gone, and all men know His glory, and how true a heart he bore. It is the gift the Greek hath brought! Of yore Men saw him not, nor knew him. Yea, and even Paris[23] hath loved withal a child of heaven: Else had his love but been as others are. Would ye be wise, ye Cities, fly from war! Yet if war come, there is a crown in death For her that striveth well and perisheth Unstained: to die in evil were the stain! Therefore, O Mother, pity not thy slain, Nor Troy, nor me, the bride. Thy direst foe And mine by this my wooing is brought low.
TALTHYBIUS (at last breaking through the spell that has held him).
I swear, had not Apollo made thee mad, Not lightly hadst thou flung this shower of bad Bodings, to speed my General o'er the seas! 'Fore God, the wisdoms and the greatnesses Of seeming, are they hollow all, as things Of naught? This son of Atreus, of all kings Most mighty, hath so bowed him to the love Of this mad maid, and chooseth her above All women! By the Gods, rude though I be, I would not touch her hand!
Look thou; I see Thy lips are blind, and whatso words they speak, Praises of Troy or shamings of the Greek, I cast to the four winds! Walk at my side In peace!... And heaven content him of his bride!
[He moves as though to go, but turns to HECUBA, and speaks more gently.
And thou shalt follow to Odysseus' host When the word comes. 'Tis a wise queen[24] thou go'st To serve, and gentle: so the Ithacans say.
CASSANDRA (seeing for the first time the Herald and all the scene).
How fierce a slave!... O Heralds, Heralds! Yea, Voices of Death[25]; and mists are over them Of dead men's anguish, like a diadem, These weak abhorred things that serve the hate Of kings and peoples!...
To Odysseus' gate My mother goeth, say'st thou? Is God's word As naught, to me in silence ministered, That in this place she dies?[26]... (To herself) No more; no more! Why should I speak the shame of them, before They come?... Little he knows, that hard-beset Spirit, what deeps of woe await him yet; Till all these tears of ours and harrowings Of Troy, by his, shall be as golden things. Ten years behind ten years athwart his way Waiting: and home, lost and unfriended....
Nay: Why should Odysseus' labours vex my breath? On; hasten; guide me to the house of Death, To lie beside my bridegroom!...
Thou Greek King, Who deem'st thy fortune now so high a thing, Thou dust of the earth, a lowlier bed I see, In darkness, not in light, awaiting thee: And with thee, with thee ... there, where yawneth plain A rift of the hills, raging with winter rain, Dead ... and out-cast ... and naked.... It is I Beside my bridegroom: and the wild beasts cry, And ravin on God's chosen!
[She clasps her hands to her brow and feels the wreaths.
O, ye wreaths! Ye garlands of my God, whose love yet breathes About me, shapes of joyance mystical, Begone! I have forgot