ULY. Though I presume the counsels of our troops
And their decision are already known
To thee, O woman, yet must I repeat
Th’ unwelcome tidings; at Achilles’ tomb,
Polyxena, thy daughter, have the Greeks
Resolved to slay; me to attend the virgin
Have they commanded: but Achilles’ son
Is at the altar destined to preside,
And be the priest. Know’st thou thy duty then?
Constrain us not to drag her from those arms
With violence, nor strive with me; but learn
The force of thy inevitable woes:
For there is wisdom, e’en when we are wretched,
In following reason’s dictates.
HEC. Now, alas!
It seems a dreadful struggle is at hand,
With groans abounding and unnumbered tears.
I died not at the time I ought to die,
Neither did Jove destroy me; he still spares
My life, that I may view fresh woes, yet greater,
Wretch that I am, than all my former woes.
But if a slave, who not with bitter taunt,
Or keen reproach, her questions doth propose,
Might speak to freemen, now ’tis time for you
To cease, and give me audience while I ask——
ULY. Allowed, proceed; for I without reluctance
Will grant thee time.
HEC. Remember you when erst
You came to Troy a spy, in tattered garb
Disguised, and from your eyes upon your beard
Fell tears extorted by the dread of death?
ULY. I well remember: for by that event
My inmost heart was touched.
HEC. But Helen knew you,
And told me only.
ULY. I can ne’er forget
Into what danger I was fallen.
HEC. My knees
You in a lowly posture did embrace.
ULY. And to thy garment clung with faltering hand.
HEC. At length I saved and from our land dismissed you.
ULY. Hence I the solar beams yet view.
HEC. What language
Did you then hold, when subject to my power?
ULY. Full many were the words which I devised
To save my life.
HEC. Doth not your guilt appear
From your own counsels? Though your tongue avows
The generous treatment you from me received
No benefit on me do you confer,
But strive to harm me. O ungrateful race
Of men, who aim at popular applause
By your smooth speeches; would to Heaven I ne’er
Had known you, for ye heed not how ye wound
Your friends, whene’er ye can say ought to win
The crowd. But what pretence could they devise
For sentencing this virgin to be slain?
Are they constrained by fate, with human victims,
To drench the tomb on which they rather ought
To sacrifice the steer? or doth Achilles
Demand her life with justice, to retaliate
Slaughter on them who slaughtered? But to him
Hath she done nought injurious. He should claim
Helen as victim at his tomb, for she
His ruin caused by leading him to Troy.
If it was needful that some chosen captive
Distinguished by transcendent charms should die,
We were not meant; for the perfidious daughter
Of Tyndarus is most beauteous, and her crimes
To ours at least are equal. Justice only
In this debate supports me: hear how large
The debt which ’tis your duty to repay
On my petition: you confess you touched
My hand, and these my aged cheeks, in dust
Grovelling a suppliant; yours I now embrace,
From you the kindness which I erst bestowed
Again implore, and sue to you: O tear not
My daughter from these arms, nor slay the maid:
Sufficient is the number of the slain.
In her I yet rejoice, in her forget
My woes; she, for the loss of many children,
Consoles me, I in her a country find,
A nurse, a staff, a guide. The mighty ought not
To issue lawless mandates, nor should they,
On whom propitious fortunes now attend,
Think that their triumphs will for ever last:
For I was happy once, but am no more,
My bliss all vanished in a single day.
Yet, O my friend, revere and pity me,
Go to the Grecian host, admonish them
How horrible an action ’twere to slay
These captive women whom at first ye spared,
And pitied when ye dragged them from the altars.
For by your laws ’tis equally forbidden
To spill the blood of freemen, or of slave.
Although you weakly argue, will your rank
Convince them: for the self-same speech, when uttered
By the ignoble, and men well esteemed,
Comes not with equal force.
CHOR. The human soul
Is not so flinty as to hear the woes
And plaintive strains thou lengthen’st out, nor shed
The sympathizing tear.
ULY. To me attend,
O Hecuba, nor through resentment deem
That from a foe such counsels can proceed:
I am disposed to save thee, and now hold
No other language: but will not deny
What I to all have said; since Troy is taken,
On the first warrior of the host who asks
A victim, should thy daughter be bestowed.
The cause why many cities are diseased
Is this: the brave and generous man obtains
No honourable distinction to exalt him
Above the coward. But from us, O woman,
Achilles claims such homage, who for Greece
Died nobly. Is not this a foul reproach,
If, while our friends yet live, we seek their aid,
But after death ungratefully forget
Past services? Should armed bands once more
Assemble, and renew the bloody strife,
Will not some hardy veteran thus exclaim:
“Shall we go forth to battle, or indulge
The love of life, now we have seen the dead
Obtain no honours?” While from day to day
I live, though I have little, yet that little
For every needful purpose will suffice.
But may conspicuous trophies o’er my grave
Be planted, for such tribute to my name
Will last to after-ages. If thou call
Thy sufferings piteous, hear what in reply
We have to urge; amidst the Grecian camp
Are many aged dames, as miserable
As thou art, with full many a hoary sire,
And weeping bride, torn from her valiant lord,
O’er whose remains hath Ida’s dust been strewn.
Support thy woes: if with mistaken zeal
We have resolved to honour the deceased,
Our crime is ignorance: but ye barbarians
Pay no distinction to your friends, no homage
To the illustrious dead; hence Greece prevails;
But ye from your pernicious counsels reap
The bitter fruits they merit.
CHOR. Ah, what ills
Ever attend the captive state, subdued
By brutal violence, and forced t’ endure
Unseemly wrongs.
HEC. Those words I vainly spoke
Thy slaughter to avert, in air were lavished;
But, O my daughter, if thy power exceed
Thy mother’s, like the nightingale send forth
Each warbled note, to save thy life, excite,
By falling at his knees, Ulysses’ pity,
And on this ground, because he too hath children,
Entreat him to compassionate thy doom.
POLYX. I see thee, O Ulysses, thy right hand
Beneath thy robe concealing, see thee turn
Thy face away, lest I should touch thy beard.
Be of good cheer; I’ll not call down the wrath
Of Jove who guards the suppliant, but will follow
Thy steps, because necessity ordains
And ’tis my wish to die; if I were loth,
I should appear to be an abject woman,
And fond of life: but what could lengthened life
Avail to me, whose father erst was lord
Of the whole Phrygian realm? Thus first I drew
My breath beneath the roofs of regal domes;
Then was I nurtured with the flattering hope
That I should wed a monarch, and arrive
At the proud mansion of some happy youth.
Ill-fated princess, thus I stood conspicuous
Amid the dames and brightest nymphs of Troy,
In all but immortality a goddess;
But now am I a slave, and the first cause
Which makes me wish to die, is that abhorred
Unwonted name; else some inhuman lord
With gold perchance might purchase me, the sister
Of Hector, and full many a valiant chief,
Might make me knead the bread, and sweep the floor,
And ply the loom, and pass my abject days
In bitterness of woe: some servile mate
Might bring dishonour to my bed, though erst
I was deemed worthy of a sceptred king:
Not thus. These eyes shall to the last behold
The light of freedom. O ye shades receive
A princess. Lead me on then, O Ulysses,
And as thou lead’st despatch me, for no hope,
No ground for thinking, I shall e’er be happy,
Can I discern: yet hinder not by word
Or deed the steadfast purpose I have formed;
But, O my mother, in this wish concur
With me, that I may die ere I endure
Such wrongs as suit not my exalted rank.
For whosoe’er hath not been used to taste
Of sorrow, bears indeed the galling yoke,
Yet is he grieved, when he to such constraint
Submits his neck: but they who die may find
A bliss beyond the living; for to live
Ignobly were the utmost pitch of shame.
CHOR. A great distinction, and among mankind
The most conspicuous, is to spring from sires
Renowned for virtue; generous souls hence raise
To heights sublimer an ennobled name.
HEC. Thou, O my daughter, well indeed hast spoken;
Yet these exalted sentiments of thine
To me will cause fresh grief; but, if the son
Of Peleus must be gratified, and Greece
Avoid reproach, Ulysses, slay not her,
But me, conducting to Achilles’ tomb,
Transpierce with unrelenting hand. I bore
Paris, whose shafts the son of Thetis slew.
ULY. Not thee for victim, O thou aged dame,
But her, Achilles’ spectre hath demanded.
HEC. Yet slay me with my daughter; so shall earth,
And the deceased who claims these hateful rites,
A twofold portion drink of human gore.
ULY. Enough in her of victims; let no more
Be added: would to Heaven we were not bound
To offer up this one!
HEC. The dread behests
Of absolute necessity require,
That with my daughter I should die.
ULY. What mean’st thou?
I know no lord to counteract my will.
HEC. Her, as the ivy clings around the oak,
Will I embrace.
ULY. Not if to wiser counsels
Thou yield just deference.
HEC. I will ne’er consent
My daughter to release.
ULY. Nor will I go,
And leave her here.
POLYX. Attend to me, my mother,
And, O thou offspring of Laertes, treat
The just emotions of parental wrath
With greater mildness. But, O hapless woman,
Contend not with our conquerors. Would you fall
Upon the earth and wound your aged limbs,
Thrust from me forcibly, by youthful arms
Torn with disgrace away? Provoke not wrongs
Unseemly; O, my dearest mother, give
That much-loved hand, and let me join my cheek
To yours; for I no longer shall behold
The radiant orb of yonder sun. Now take
A last farewell, O you who gave me birth;
I to the shades descend.
HEC. But I the light
Am doomed to view, and still remain a slave.
POLYX. Unwedded, reft of promised bridal joys.
HEC. Thou, O my daughter, claim’st the pitying tear:
But I am a most miserable woman.
POLYX. There shall I sleep among the realms beneath,
From you secluded.
HEC. What resource, alas!
For me, the wretched Hecuba is left?
Where shall I finish this detested life?
POLYX. Born free, I die a slave.
HEC. I too, bereft
Of all my children.
POLYX. What commands to Hector,
Or to your aged husband, shall I bear?
HEC. Tell them I of all women am most wretched.