MEN. Your son I hither bring, whom from this fane
With secrecy, you to another house,
Without my daughter’s knowledge, had removed.
You boasted that this image of the goddess
To you, and those who hid him, would afford
A sure asylum: but your deep-laid craft,
O woman, cannot baffle Menelaus.
If you depart not hence, he in your stead
Shall be the victim; therefore well revolve
Th’ important question; had you rather die,
Or, with his streaming gore, let him atone
The foul offence ’gainst me and ’gainst my daughter
By you committed?
AND. Thou, O vain opinion,
Hast with renown puffed up full many men
Who were of no account. I deem those blest
On whom with truth such honour is bestowed:
But them who by fallacious means obtain it
I hold unworthy of possessing fame.
When all their seeming wisdom but arises
From Fortune’s gifts. Thou with the bravest chiefs
Of Greece, from Priam erst didst wrest his Troy;
E’en thou who art so mean as to inspire
Thy daughter with resentment ’gainst a child,
And strive with me a miserable captive:
Unworthy of thy conquest over Troy
Thee do I hold, and Troy yet more disgraced
By such a victor. Some indeed there are
To all appearance upright, who awhile
Outwardly glitter, though they in their hearts
Are on a level with the worthless bulk
Of mortals, and superior but in wealth
Whose power is great. This conference let us end,
O Menelaus, be it now supposed
I by thy daughter am already slain:
’Twill be impossible for her to ’scape
From the pollution ruthless murder brings;
Thou too by many tongues wilt be accused
Of this vile deed, with her will they confound
Thee the abettor. But if I preserve
My life, are ye resolved to slay my son?
How will the father tamely bear the death
Of his loved offspring? he was not esteemed
At Troy so void of courage. He is gone
Whither his duty calls. Soon will the chief
Act worthy of the race from which he springs,
The hoary Peleus, and his dauntless sire
Achilles, he from these abodes will cast
Thy daughter forth, and when thou to another
In marriage giv’st her, what hast thou to say
On her behalf? “That from a worthless lord
Her wisdom drove her?” This would be a falsehood
Too gross. But who would wed her? till grown grey
In widowhood, shall she beneath thy roofs
Fix her loathed residence? O wretched man,
The rising conflux of unnumbered woes
Behold’st thou not? hadst thou not rather find
Thy daughter wronged by concubines, than suffering
Th’ indignities I speak of? we from trifles
Such grievous mischiefs ought not to create;
Nor if we women are a deadly bane,
To the degenerate nature of our sex
Should men conform. If I pernicious drugs
Have to thy daughter ministered, and been,
As she pretends, the cause of her abortion,
Immediately will I without reluctance,
And without grovelling at this altar’s base,
To any rigid punishment submit
Inflicted by thy son-in-law, from whom
I surely merit as severe revenge
For having made him childless. Such am I:
But in thy temper I perceive one cause
Of just alarm, since in that luckless strife
About a woman, and a vile one too,
Thou the famed Phrygian city didst destroy.
CHOR. Too freely hast thou spoken, in a tone
Which ill becomes thy sex, and that high soul
The bounds of wisdom hath o’erleaped.
MEN. O woman,
So small an object, as you rightly judge,
Deserves not the attention of my realm,
Nor that of Greece. But learn this obvious truth:
To any man whate’er he greatly needs,
Is of more worth by far than taking Troy.
My daughter I assist, because I deem it
A wrong of great importance should she lose
Her bridal rights: for every woman looks
On all beside as secondary ills:
But if she from her husband’s arms be torn,
Seems reft of life itself. That Phthia’s prince
Direct my servants, and that his obey
Me and my race, is fitting: for true friends
Have no distinct possessions, but hold all
In common. While I wait for the return
Of her long absent lord, should I neglect
My daughter’s interests, I were weak, not wise.
But leave this shrine of Thetis: for the child
Shall if you bleed escape th’ impending doom:
Him, if you die not, will I slay, since fate
Of you or him the forfeit life demands.
AND. Ah me! a bitter and unwelcome choice
Of life on terms like these hast thou proposed;
Wretch that I am! for whether I decline
Or make such option, I am wretched still.
O thou, who by a trifling wrong provoked,
Committ’st great crimes, attend: for what offence
Wouldst thou bereave me of my life? what city
Have I betrayed? what child of thine destroyed?
What mansion fired? I to my master’s bed
By force was dragged: yet me alone, not him
The author of that crime, thou mean’st to slay.
Thou, the first cause o’erlooking, on th’ effect
Which it produces, vent’st thy rage. What woes
Encompass wretched me! alas! my country!
How dreadful are the wrongs which I endure!
But wherefore was I doomed to bear a child,
And to the burden under which I groan
Add a new burden? what delight can life
To me afford? or on what fortunes past
Or present should I turn these eyes which saw
The corse of Hector by the victor’s car
Whirled round the walls, and wretched Troy a heap
Of blazing ruins? I meantime a slave
By my dishevelled hair was dragged aboard
The Argive navy; when I reached the coast
Of Phthia, and cohabited with those
Who slew my Hector; (but why lavish plaints
On past calamities, without deploring
Or taking a due estimate of those
Which now impend?) I had this only son
My life’s last comfort left, and they who take
Delight in deeds of cruelty, would slay him;
Yet to preserve my miserable life
He shall not perish; for auspicious hopes,
Could he be saved, his future days attend:
But if I died not for my son, reproach
Would be my portion. Lo! I leave the altar
And now am in thy hands, stab, slay me, bind,
Strain hard the deadly noose. My son, thy mother,
To rescue thee from an untimely grave,
Descends the shades beneath; if thou escape
The ruthless grasp of fate, remember me
How miserably I suffered; and with kisses,
At his return, when thou goest forth to meet
Thy father, when a flood of tears thou shedd’st,
And cling’st around him with those pliant arms,
Inform him how I acted. All men hold
Their children dear as life; but he who scorns them
Because he ne’er experienced what it is
To be a father, though with fewer griefs
Attended, but enjoys imperfect bliss.
[_Rises, and advances from the altar._
CHOR. I with compassion to this moving tale
Have listened; for distress, to all mankind,
Though strangers, must seem piteous: but on thee,
O Menelaus, ’tis incumbent now
To reconcile thy daughter, and this captive,
That she may from her sorrows be released.
MEN. Seize her, and bind her hands; for she shall hear
No pleasing language: I proposed to slay
Your son, that you might leave that hallowed altar
Of Thetis, and thus craftily induced you
To fall into my hands, and meet your death;
Be well assured, such is the present state
Of your affairs: as for that boy, on him
My daughter shall pass judgment, or to kill,
Or spare him: but now enter these abodes,
That you may learn, slave as you are, to treat
Those who are free no longer with disdain.
AND. Thou hast o’erreached me by thy treacherous arts;
Alas! I am betrayed.
MEN. Proclaim these tidings
To all men; for I shall not contradict them.
AND. By those who dwell beside Eurotas’ stream
Are such base frauds called wisdom?
MEN. Both at Troy
And there, ’tis just the injured should retaliate.
AND. Believ’st thou that the gods are gods no longer,
Nor wield the bolt of vengeance?
MEN. We must look
To that: but you shall die.
AND. And wilt thou seize
This unfledged bird, to slay him?
MEN. No, I will not,
But give him to my daughter, who must act
As she thinks fit.
AND. Then how, alas, my son!
Can I sufficiently bewail thy fate?
MEN. “Him,” ’twas but now with arrogance you said,
“Auspicious hopes attend.”
AND. Ye worst of foes
To all mankind, inhabitants of Sparta!
Expert in treacherous counsels, still devising
New falsehoods, curst artificers of mischief,
Your paths are crooked, yet though void of worth,
Through Greece by circumspection ye uphold
An undeserved pre-eminence. What crimes,
What murders, what a thirst for abject gain
Characterize your realm! with specious tongue
Uttering a language foreign to your heart,
Are ye not ever caught? Perdition seize you!
Death is less grievous than thou deem’st to me
Who date my utter ruin from that hour
When Ilion’s wretched city was involved
In the same fate with my illustrious lord,
Whose spear oft drove thee trembling from the field
Into thy ships: but now against his wife
A formidable warrior art thou come
To murder me: strike, for this coward tongue
Shall never leave thine and thy daughter’s shame
Unpublished. If in Sparta thou art great,
So was I erst in Ilion; but exult not
In my disasters, for on thee ere long
The same reverse of fortune may attend.