Part 23
O Thebes, thou pride of Asia, from whose gate I came resplendent with a plenteous dower, To Priam’s regal house, the fruitful wife Of Hector: his Andromache was erst An envied name: but now am I more wretched Than any woman, or already born, Or to be born hereafter; for I saw My husband Hector by Achilles slain, And that unhappy son whom to my lord I bore, Astyanax, from Troy’s high towers Thrown headlong; when our foes had sacked the city, Myself descended from a noble line Of freeborn warriors, reached the Grecian coast, On Neoptolemus that island prince For the reward of his victorious arms Bestowed: selected from the Phrygian spoils. ’Twixt Phthia and Pharsalia, in these fields, I dwell, where Thetis from the haunts of men Retreating, with her Peleus erst abode. By Thessaly’s inhabitants, this spot Is from th’ auspicious nuptials of that goddess Called Thetidæum: here Achilles’ son Residing, suffers Peleus still to rule Pharsalia’s land, nor will assume the sceptre While lives his aged grandsire. In these walls A son, who to th’ embraces of my lord Achilles’ offspring, owes his birth, I bore, And though I had been wretched, a fond hope Still cherished, that while yet the boy was safe I some protection and relief might find In my calamities; but since my lord (Spurning my servile couch) that Spartan dame Hermione espoused, with ruthless hate By her am I pursued; for she pretends That I, by drugs endued with magic power, Administered in secret, make her barren And odious to her lord, because I wish To occupy this mansion in her stead, And forcibly to drive her from his couch, To which, at first I with reluctance came, But now have left it: mighty Jove can witness That I became the partner of his bed Against my own consent. But she remains Deaf to conviction, and attempts to slay me: In this design her father Menelaus Assists his daughter, he is now within, And on such errand left the Spartan realm: Fearing his rage, I near the palace take My seat, in Thetis’ temple, that the goddess From death may save me; for both Peleus’ self, And the descendants of that monarch, hold This structure reared in memory of his wedlock With the fair Nereid, in religious awe. But hence, in secret, trembling for his life, My only child have I conveyed away, Because his noble father is not present To aid me, and avails not now to guard His son, while absent in the Delphic land, To expiate there the rage with which he sought The Pythian tripod, and from Phœbus claimed A reparation for his father’s death. If haply he can deprecate the curses Attendant on his past misdeeds, and make The god propitious to his future days.
FEMALE ATTENDANT, ANDROMACHE.
ATT. My queen, for still I scruple not to use The same respectful title which I gave you When we in Ilion dwelt; you and your lord While he was living, shared my duteous love, And now I with important tidings fraught To you am come, trembling indeed lest one Of our new rulers overhear the tale, Yet greatly pitying your disastrous fate: For Menelaus and his daughter form Dire plots against you; of these foes beware.
AND. O my dear fellow-servant (for thou shar’st Her bondage who was erst thy queen, but now Is wretched), ah! what mean they? what fresh schemes Have they devised to take away my life, Who am by woes encompassed?
ATT. They intend, O miserable dame, to kill your son, Whom privately you from this house conveyed.
AND. Are they informed I sent the child away? Ah me! who told them? in what utter ruin Am I involved!
ATT. I know not; but thus much Of their designs I heard; in quest of him Is Menelaus from these doors gone forth.
AND. Then am I lost indeed: for, O my child, These two relentless vultures mean to seize thee, And take away thy life, while he who bears A father’s name, at Delphi still remains.
ATT. You had not fared so ill, I am convinced, If he were present, but now every friend Deserts you.
AND. Is there not a rumour spread Of Peleus’ coming?
ATT. He, though he were here, Is grown too old to aid you.
AND. More than once I sent to him.
ATT. Suppose you that he heeds None of your messengers?
AND. What means this question? Wilt thou accept such office?
ATT. What pretext To colour my long absence from this house Shall I allege?
AND. Full many are the schemes Which thou, who art a woman, can devise.
ATT. ’Twere dangerous; for Hermione is watchful.
AND. Dost thou perceive the danger, and renounce Thy friends in their distress?
ATT. Not thus: forbear To brand me with so infamous a charge: I go; for of small value is the life (Whate’er befall me) of a female slave.
[_Exit_ ATTENDANT.
AND. Proceed: meanwhile I to the conscious air Those plaints and bitter wailings will repeat, On which I ever dwell. Unhappy women Find comfort in perpetually talking Of what they suffer. But my groans arise Not from one ill, but many ills: the walls Of my loved country razed, my Hector slain, And that hard fortune, in whose yoke bound fast, Thus am I fallen into th’ unseemly state Of servitude. We never ought to call Frail mortals happy, at their latest hour Till we behold them to the shades descend.
ELEGY.
In Helen sure, to Troy’s imperial towers Young Paris wafted no engaging bride, But when he led her to those nuptial bowers, Some fiend infernal crossed the billowy tide.
With brandished javelin and devouring flame, For her the Grecian warriors to thy shore, O Ilion, in a thousand vessels came, And drenched thy smould’ring battlements with gore.
Around the walls, my Hector, once thy boast, Fixed to his car, was by Achilles borne, And from my chamber hurried to the coast I veiled my head in servitude forlorn.
Much wept these streaming eyes, when in the dust My city, palace, husband, prostrate lay. Subject to fierce Hermione’s disgust, Why should I still behold the hated day?
Harassed with insults from that haughty dame, Round Thetis’ bust my suppliant arms I fling, And here with gushing tears bewail my shame, As from the rock bursts forth the living spring.
CHORUS, ANDROMACHE.
CHORUS.
ODE.
I. 1.
O thou, who seated in this holy space, Hast Thetis’ temple thy asylum made, Though Phthia gave me birth, to aid Thee, hapless dame of Asiatic race, I hither come; would I from direful harms Could guard, could heal the strife ’Twixt thee and that indignant wife Hermione, whom ruthless discord arms To punish thee the rival of her charms, A captive, to the genial bed, Who by Achilles’ son wert led.
I. 2.
Aware of fate, th’ impending evil weigh, A helpless Phrygian nymph, thou striv’st in vain ’Gainst her of Sparta’s proud domain: Cease, to this sea-born goddess, cease to pray, And at her blazing shrine no longer stay: For how can it avail To thee with hopeless sorrow pale To suffer all thy beauties to decay, Because thy rulers with oppression sway? Thou to superior might must bend. Why, feeble as thou art, contend?
II. 1.
Yet hasten from the Nereid’s lofty seat, Consider that thou tread’st a foreign plain, And that these hostile walls detain In strictest bondage thy reluctant feet, Here none of all those friends, that numerous band, Who shared thy greatness, is at hand, To cheer thee in these days of shame, O wretched, wretched dame.
II. 2.
A miserable matron thou art come From Troy to our abodes, unwilling guest; Though mine the sympathizing breast, Yet I through reverence to our lords am dumb, Lest she, who springs from Helen, child of Jove, Should be a witness of that love Which I to thee whose griefs I share, Impelled by pity bear.
HERMIONE, ANDROMACHE, CHORUS.
HER. The gorgeous ornaments of gold, these brows Encircling, and the tissued robes I wear, I from Achilles’, or from Peleus’ stores, As chosen presents when I hither came, Received not, but from Sparta’s realm, these gifts My father Menelaus hath bestowed With a large dower, that I might freely speak Such is the answer which to you I make, O Phthian dames. But thou, who art a slave And captive, wouldst in these abodes usurp Dominion, and expel me; to my lord Thy drugs have made me odious, hence ensues My barrenness: the Asiatic dames, For these abhorred devices are renowned; But thee will I subdue, nor shall this dome Of the immortal Nereid, nor her altar Or temple save thee from impending death; If either man or god should be disposed To rescue thee, ’twere fit, that to atone For the proud thoughts thou in thy happier days Didst nourish, thou shouldst tremble, at my knees Fall low, and sweep the pavement of my house, Sprinkling the waters from a golden urn. Know where thou art: no Hector governs here, No Phrygian Priam doth this sceptre wield; This is no Chrysa, but a Grecian city. Yet thou, O wretched woman, art arrived At such a pitch of madness, that thou dar’st To sleep e’en with the son of him who slew Thy husband, and a brood of children bear To him whose hands yet reek with Phrygian gore, Such is the whole abhorred barbarian race; The father with his daughter, the vile son With his own mother, with her brother too The sister, sins, friends by their dearest friends Are murdered; deeds like these no wholesome law Prohibits: introduce not among us Such crimes, for ’tis unseemly that one man Possess two women; the fond youth who seeks Domestic harmony, confines his love To one fair partner of the genial bed.
CHOR. The female sex are envious, and pursue With an incessant hatred those who share Their nuptial joys.
AND. Alas! impetuous youth Proves baleful to mankind, and there are none Who act with justice in their blooming years. But what I dread is this, lest slavery curb My tongue, though I have many truths to utter: In this dispute with you, if I prevail, That very triumph may become my bane: For those of haughty spirits ill endure The most prevailing arguments when urged By their inferiors. Yet my better cause I will not thus betray. Say, youthful princess, What reasons of irrefragable force Enable me to drive you from the couch Of your own lawful husband? to the Phrygians Is Sparta grown inferior, and hath fortune On us conferred the palm? Do you behold me Still free? elate with youth, a vigorous frame, The wide extent of empire I possess, And number of my friends, am I desirous To occupy these mansions in your stead, That in your stead I might bring forth a race Of slaves, th’ appendages of my distress? Will any one endure (if you produce No children) that my sons should be the kings Of Phthia?—the Greeks love me for the sake Of Hector, I too was forsooth obscure, And not a queen, in Troy. Your husband’s hate, Not from my drugs, but from your soul, unsuited For social converse, springs: there is a philtre To gain his love. Not beauty, but the virtues, O woman, to the partners of our bed Afford delight. But if it sting your pride That Sparta’s a vast city, while you treat Scyros with scorn, amidst the poor, display Your riches, and of Menelaus speak As greater than Achilles; hence your lord Abhors you. For a woman, though bestowed On a vile mate, should learn to yield, nor strive For the pre-eminence. In Thrace o’erspread With snow, if you were wedded to a king, Who to his bed takes many various dames, Would you have slain them? you would cast disgrace On your whole sex by such unsated lust; Base were the deed: for though our souls are warmed With more intense desires than those of men We modestly conceal them. For thy sake I, O my dearest Hector, loved the objects Of thy affections, whene’er Venus’ wiles Caused thee to err, and at my breast full oft Nourished thy spurious children, that in nought Thy joys I might embitter: acting thus I won him by my virtues. But you tremble E’en if the drops of Heaven’s transparent dew Rest on your husband. Strive not to transcend Your mother in a wild excess of love, O woman. For the children, if endued With reason, such examples should avoid Of those who bore them, as corrupt the soul.
CHOR. As far as possible, O queen, comply With my advice, and in mild terms accost her.
HER. What mean’st thou by this arrogance of speech, This vain debate, as if thou still wert chaste, And I had strayed from virtue’s path?
AND. The words You have been using, now at least are void Of modesty.
HER. O woman, may this breast Harbour no soul like thine.
AND. Though bashful youth Glow on your cheek, indecent is your language.
HER. Thou by thy actions more than by thy words Hast proved the malice which to me thou bear’st.
AND. Why will you not conceal th’ inglorious pangs Of jealous love?
HER. What woman but resents Such wrongs, and deems them great?
AND. The use some make Of these misfortunes adds to their renown: But shame waits those who are devoid of wisdom.
HER. We dwell not in a city where prevail Barbarian laws.
AND. In Phrygia or in Greece Base actions are with infamy attended.
HER. Though most expert in every subtle art, Yet die thou must.
AND. Behold you Thetis’ image Turning its eyes on you?
HER. She loathes thy country Where her Achilles treacherously was slain.
AND. Your mother Helen caused his death, not I.
HER. Wouldst thou retrace still farther the sad tale Of our misfortunes?
AND. I restrain my tongue.
HER. Speak to me now on that affair which caused My coming hither.
AND. All I say is this: You have not so much wisdom as you need.
HER. From this pure temple of the sea-born goddess Wilt thou depart?
AND. Not while I live: you first Must slay, then drag me hence.
HER. I am resolved How to proceed, and wait my lord’s return No longer.
AND. Nor will I before he come Surrender up myself.
HER. With flaming brands Hence will I drive thee, and no deference pay To thy entreaties.
AND. Kindle them; the gods Will view the deed.
HER. The scourge too is prepared.
AND. Transpierce this bosom, deluge with my gore The altar of the goddess, you by her Shall be at length o’ertaken.
HER. From thy cradle, Trained up and hardened in barbarian pride, Canst thou endure to die? from this asylum Soon will I rouse thee by thy own consent, I with such baits am furnished, but conceal My purpose, which th’ event itself ere long Will make conspicuous. Keep a steady seat, For though by molten lead thou wert enclosed Hence would I rouse thee, ere Achilles’ son, Whom thou confid’st in, to this land return.
[_Exit_ HERMIONE.
AND. In him I place my still unshaken trust. Yet is it strange that the celestial powers, To heal the serpent’s venom, have assigned Expedients, but no remedy devised Against an evil woman who surpasses Or vipers’ stings or the consuming flame: Thus baleful is our influence on mankind.
CHORUS.
ODE.
I. 1.
The winged son of Maia and of Jove To many sorrowful events gave birth, And scattered discord o’er the bleeding earth, When he through sacred Ida’s piny grove Guided the car of three immortal dames, (The golden prize of beauty to obtain, In hateful strife engaged, who urged their claims); To where in his mean hut abode a lonely swain.
I. 2.
No sooner had they reached the destined bower, Than in the limpid spring her snowy frame Each goddess laved; to Priam’s son then came With artful speeches of such winning power As might beguile the rash and amorous boy: Venus prevailed; her words, though sweet their sound, Proved of destructive consequence to Troy, Whose stately bulwarks hence lie levelled with the ground.
II. 1.
When new-born Paris first beheld the light, Would that his mother, o’er her head, this brand Ordained by Heaven to fire his native land, Had cast, before he dwelt on Ida’s height. Unheeded from the bay’s prophetic shade Exclaimed Cassandra: “Let the child be slain; Kill him, or Priam’s empire is betrayed.” Frantic she raved and sued to every prince in vain.
II. 2.
Deaf was each prince, or Ilion ne’er had felt The servile yoke, nor hadst thou, hapless fair, Beneath these roofs, encompassed by despair, And subject to a rigid master, dwelt. O had he died, the fated toil of Greece, That stubborn war through ten revolving years, Had roused no heroes from the lap of peace, Nor caused the widow’s shrieks, the hoary father’s tears.
MENELAUS, MOLOSSUS, ANDROMACHE, CHORUS.
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.