TAL. Where, O ye Phrygian damsels, shall I find
The wretched Hecuba, who erst was queen
Of Ilion?
CHOR. Prostrate near you on the ground,
Wrapt in her mantle, there she lies.
TAL. Great Jove!
What shall I say? that thou from Heaven look’st down
Upon mankind, or have they rashly formed
A vain opinion, deeming that the race
Of gods exist, though fortune governs all?
Ha! was not this the queen of wealthy Phrygia,
And was not she the happy Priam’s wife?
But her whole city by the hostile spear
Is now destroyed, while she a slave, bowed down
By age, and childless, stretched upon the ground,
Defiles with dust her miserable head.
Old as I am, yet gladly would I die
Rather than sink into abhorred disgrace.
Arise, unhappy woman, O lift up
That feeble body, and that hoary head.
HEC. Away! O suffer this decrepit frame
To rest. Why move me! Whosoe’er thou art,
What mean’st thou? why dost thou molest th’ afflicted?
TAL. Talthybius: me, the herald of the Greeks,
O woman, Agamemnon hath despatched
To fetch you.
HEC. Com’st thou, by the Greeks ordained,
My friend, to slay me also at the tomb?
How welcome were such tidings; let us go,
With speed conduct me thither.
TAL. To inter
Your daughter, I invite you; both the sons
Of Atreus, and the assembled Grecian host,
Have sent me for that purpose.
HEC. Ah! what say’st thou?
Thou com’st not to inform me I must die,
But to unfold the most disastrous tidings.
Then art thou lost, my daughter, from the arms
Of thy fond mother torn; of thee, my child
Am I bereft. But how did ye destroy her,
Respectfully, or with the ruthless hand
Of hostile rage? Speak, though it wound my soul.
TAL. A second time, in pity to your daughter,
You make me weep; for now while I relate
Her sufferings, tears bedew these swimming eyes,
Such as I shed when at the tomb she perished.
To view the sacrifice the Grecian host
Were all assembled: taking by the hand
Polyxena, on the sepulchral hillock
Achilles’ son then placed her: I drew near,
Attended by the chosen youths of Greece,
To hold the tender victim, and prevent
Her struggles. But Achilles’ son, uplifting
With both his hands a cup of massive gold,
Poured forth libations to his breathless sire;
And gave a sign to me, through the whole camp
Strict silence to proclaim. I in the midst
Stood up and cried: “Be mute, ye Greeks, let none
Presume to speak, observe a general silence.”
The troops obeyed, and through their crowded ranks
Not e’en a breath was heard, while in these words
The chief expressed his purpose: “Son of Peleus,
My father, the propitiatory drops
Of these libations which invite the dead
Accept; O come and quaff the crimson blood
Of this pure virgin, whom to thee all Greece
And I devote; be thou benign, O grant us
Securely to weigh anchor, to unbind
Our halsers, and on all of us bestow
A happy voyage to our native land
From vanquished Troy.” He ceased, and in his prayer
Joined the whole army, when the chief unsheathed
His golden-hilted sword, and gave a sign
To chosen youths of Greece to hold the virgin,
Which she perceived, and in these words addressed
The warriors: “O ye Argives, who laid waste
My city, willingly I die, let no man
Confine these arms, I with undaunted breast
Will meet the stroke. I by the gods conjure you
Release, and slay me as my rank demands
Like one born free; for I from mighty kings
Descend, and in the shades beneath should blush
To be accounted an ignoble slave.”
Through all the host ran murmurs of assent,
And royal Agamemnon bade the youths
Release the virgin; they their monarch’s voice,
Soon as they heard, obeyed; our lord’s behests
The princess too revering, from her shoulder
Down to her waist rent off the purple robe,
Displayed her bosom like some statue formed
In exquisite proportion, and to earth
Bending her knee, in these affecting words
Expressed herself: “If at my breast thou aim
The wound, strike here; if at my neck, that neck
Is ready bared.” Half willing, and half loth,
Through pity for the maid, he with keen steel
Severed the arteries; streams of blood gushed forth:
Yet even thus, though at her latest gasp,
She showed a strong solicitude to fall
With decency, while stood the gazing host
Around her: soon as through the ghastly wound
Her soul had issued, every Greek was busied
In various labours; o’er the corse some strewed
The verdant foliage, others reared a pyre
With trunks of fir: but he who nothing brought,
From him who with funereal ornament
Was laden, heard these taunts: “O slothful wretch,
Bear’st thou no robe, no garland, hast thou nought
To give in honour of this generous maid?”
Such their encomiums on thy breathless daughter.
You, of all women, who in such a child
Were happiest, now most wretched I behold.
CHOR. Fate, the behests of the immortal gods
Accomplishing, with tenfold weight hath caused
This dreadful curse to fall on Priam’s house,
And on our city.
HEC. ’Midst unnumbered ills
I know not, O my daughter, whither first
To turn my eyes, for if on one I touch,
Another hinders me, and I again,
By a long train of woes succeeding woes,
To some fresh object am from thence called off;
Nor can I from my tortured soul efface
The grief thy fate occasions; yet the tale
Of thy exalted courage checks my groans,
Which else had been immoderate. No just cause
Have we for wonder, if the barren land
Cheered by Heaven’s influence, with benignant suns
Yields plenteous harvests, while a richer soil
Deprived of every necessary aid
Bears weeds alone. But ’midst the human race
The wicked man is uniformly wicked,
The good still virtuous, nor doth evil fortune
Corrupt his soul; the same unsullied worth
He still retains. Is this great difference owing
To birth, or education? We are taught
What virtue is, by being nurtured well,
And he who thoroughly hath learnt this lesson,
Guided by the unerring rule of right,
Can thence discern what’s base.—My soul in vain
Hath hazarded these incoherent thoughts.
But, O Talthybius, to the Greeks repair,
And strict injunctions give, that no man touch
My daughter’s corse, but let the gazing crowd
Be driven away. For in a numerous host
Its multitudes break loose from all restraints,
The outrages of mariners exceed
Devouring flame, and whosoe’er abstains
From mischief, by his comrades is despised.
But, O my aged servant, take and dip
That urn in ocean’s waves, and hither bring,
Filled with its water, that the last sad rites
To my departed daughter I may pay,
And lave the corse of that unwedded bride,
Of that affianced virgin: but alas!
Whence with such costly gifts as she deserves,
Her tomb can I adorn? My present state
Affords them not, but what it doth afford
Will I bestow, and from the captive dames
Appointed to attend me, who reside
Within these tents, some ornaments collect.
If, unobserved by their new masters, aught
They have secreted. O ye splendid domes,
Ye palaces once happy, which contained
All that was rich and fair; O Priam thou
The sire, and I who was the aged mother
Of an illustrious race, how are we dwindled
To nothing, stripped of all our ancient pride!
Yet do we glory, some in mansions stored
With gold abundant, others when distinguished
Among the citizens by sounding titles.
Vain are the schemes which with incessant care
We frame, and all our boastful words are vain.
The happiest man is he who, by no ill
O’ertaken, passes through life’s fleeting day.
[_Exit_ HECUBA.