Chapter 2
Thy fate thou knowest, Queen: but I know not What lord of South or North has won my lot.
TALTHYBIUS.
Go, seek Cassandra, men! Make your best speed, That I may leave her with the King, and lead These others to their divers lords.... Ha, there! What means that sudden light? Is it the flare Of torches?
[_Light is seen shining through the crevices of the second hut on the right. He moves towards it._
Would they fire their prison rooms, Or how, these dames of Troy?--'Fore God, the dooms Are known, and now they burn themselves and die[18] Rather than sail with us! How savagely In days like these a free neck chafes beneath Its burden!... Open! Open quick! Such death Were bliss to them, it may be: but 'twill bring Much wrath, and leave me shamed before the King!
HECUBA.
There is no fire, no peril: 'tis my child, Cassandra, by the breath of God made wild.
[_The door opens from within and_ CASSANDRA _enters, white-robed and wreathed like a Priestess, a great torch in her hand. She is singing softly to herself and does not see the Herald or the scene before her._
CASSANDRA.
Lift, lift it high: [_Strophe_. Give it to mine hand! Lo, I bear a flame Unto God! I praise his name. I light with a burning brand This sanctuary. Blessèd is he that shall wed, And blessèd, blessèd am I In Argos: a bride to lie With a king in a king's bed.
Hail, O Hymen[19] red, O Torch that makest one! Weepest thou, Mother mine own? Surely thy cheek is pale With tears, tears that wail For a land and a father dead. But I go garlanded: I am the Bride of Desire: Therefore my torch is borne-- Lo, the lifting of morn, Lo, the leaping of fire!--
For thee, O Hymen bright, For thee, O Moon of the Deep, So Law hath charged, for the light Of a maid's last sleep.
Awake, O my feet, awake: [_Antistrophe_. Our father's hope is won! Dance as the dancing skies Over him, where he lies Happy beneath the sun!... Lo, the Ring that I make....
[_She makes a circle round her with a torch, and visions appear to her_.
Apollo!... Ah, is it thou? O shrine in the laurels cold, I bear thee still, as of old, Mine incense! Be near to me now.
[_She waves the torch as though bearing incense_.
O Hymen, Hymen fleet: Quick torch that makest one!... How? Am I still alone? Laugh as I laugh, and twine In the dance, O Mother mine: Dear feet, be near my feet!
Come, greet ye Hymen, greet Hymen with songs of pride: Sing to him loud and long, Cry, cry, when the song Faileth, for joy of the bride!
O Damsels girt in the gold Of Ilion, cry, cry ye, For him that is doomed of old To be lord of me!
LEADER.
O hold the damsel, lest her trancèd feet Lift her afar, Queen, toward the Hellene fleet!
HECUBA.
O Fire, Fire, where men make marriages Surely thou hast thy lot; but what are these Thou bringest flashing? Torches savage-wild And far from mine old dreams.--Alas, my child, How little dreamed I then of wars or red Spears of the Greek to lay thy bridal bed! Give me thy brand; it hath no holy blaze Thus in thy frenzy flung. Nor all thy days Nor all thy griefs have changed them yet, nor learned Wisdom.--Ye women, bear the pine half burned To the chamber back; and let your drownèd eyes Answer the music of these bridal cries!
[_She takes the torch and gives it to one of the women_.
CASSANDRA.
O Mother, fill mine hair with happy flowers, And speed me forth. Yea, if my spirit cowers, Drive me with wrath! So liveth Loxias[20], A bloodier bride than ever Helen was Go I to Agamemnon, Lord most high Of Hellas!... I shall kill him, mother; I Shall kill him, and lay waste his house with fire As he laid ours. My brethren and my sire Shall win again....[21]
(_Checking herself_) But part I must let be, And speak not. Not the axe that craveth me, And more than me; not the dark wanderings Of mother-murder that my bridal brings, And all 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 wallèd 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 unslakèd 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 Belovèd. 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 the festival, Forgot the joy. Begone! I tear ye, so, From off me!... Out on the swift winds they go. With flesh still clean I give them back to thee, Still white, O God, O light that leadest me!
[_Turning upon the Herald.
Where lies the galley? Whither shall I tread? See that your watch be set, your sail be spread The wind comes quick[27]! Three Powers--mark me, thou!-- There be in Hell, and one walks with thee now! Mother, farewell, and weep not! O my sweet City, my earth-clad brethren, and thou great Sire that begat us, but a space, ye Dead, And I am with you, yea, with crowned head I come, and shining from the fires that feed On these that slay us now, and all their seed!
[_She goes out, followed by Talthybius and the Soldiers_ Hecuba, _after waiting for an instant motionless, falls to the ground._
LEADER OF CHORUS.
The Queen, ye Watchers! See, she falls, she falls, Rigid without a word! O sorry thralls, Too late! And will ye leave her downstricken, A woman, and so old? Raise her again!
[_Some women go to HECUBA, but she refuses their aid and speaks without rising._
HECUBA.
Let lie ... the love we seek not is no love.... This ruined body! Is the fall thereof Too deep for all that now is over me Of anguish, and hath been, and yet shall be? Ye Gods.... Alas! Why call on things so weak For aid? Yet there is something that doth seek, Crying, for God, when one of us hath woe. O, I will think of things gone long ago And weave them to a song, like one more tear In the heart of misery.... All kings we were; And I must wed a king. And sons I brought My lord King, many sons ... nay, that were naught; But high strong princes, of all Troy the best. Hellas nor Troäs nor the garnered East Held such a mother! And all these things beneath The Argive spear I saw cast down in death, And shore these tresses at the dead men's feet. Yea, and the gardener of my garden great, It was not any noise of him nor tale I wept for; these eyes saw him, when the pale Was broke, and there at the altar Priam fell Murdered, and round him all his citadel Sacked. And my daughters, virgins of the fold, Meet to be brides of mighty kings, behold, 'Twas for the Greek I bred them! All are gone; And no hope left, that I shall look upon Their faces any more, nor they on mine. And now my feet tread on the utmost line: An old, old slave-woman, I pass below Mine enemies' gates; and whatso task they know For this age basest, shall be mine; the door, Bowing, to shut and open.... I that bore Hector!... and meal to grind, and this racked head Bend to the stones after a royal bed; Tom rags about me, aye, and under them Tom flesh; 'twill make a woman sick for shame! Woe's me; and all that one man's arms might hold One woman, what long seas have o'er me rolled And roll for ever!... O my child, whose white Soul laughed amid the laughter of God's light, Cassandra, what hands and how strange a day Have loosed thy zone! And thou, Polyxena, Where art thou? And my sons? Not any seed Of man nor woman now shall help my need. Why raise me any more? What hope have I To hold me? Take this slave that once trod high In Ilion; cast her on her bed of clay Rock-pillowed, to lie down, and pass away Wasted with tears. And whatso man they call Happy, believe not ere the last day fall!
* * * * *
CHORUS[28]. [_Strophe._
O Muse, be near me now, and make A strange song for Ilion's sake, Till a tone of tears be about mine ears And out of my lips a music break For Troy, Troy, and the end of the years: When the wheels of the Greek above me pressed, And the mighty horse-hoofs beat my breast; And all around were the Argive spears A towering Steed of golden rein-- O gold without, dark steel within!-- Ramped in our gates; and all the plain Lay silent where the Greeks had been. And a cry broke from all the folk Gathered above on Ilion's rock: "Up, up, O fear is over now! To Pallas, who hath saved us living, To Pallas bear this victory-vow!" Then rose the old man from his room, The merry damsel left her loom, And each bound death about his brow With minstrelsy and high thanksgiving!
[_Antistrophe._
O, swift were all in Troy that day, And girt them to the portal-way, Marvelling at that mountain Thing Smooth-carven, where the Argives lay, And wrath, and Ilion's vanquishing: Meet gift for her that spareth not[29], Heaven's yokeless Rider. Up they brought Through the steep gates her offering: Like some dark ship that climbs the shore On straining cables, up, where stood Her marble throne, her hallowed floor, Who lusted for her people's blood.
A very weariness of joy Fell with the evening over Troy: And lutes of Afric mingled there With Phrygian songs: and many a maiden, With white feet glancing light as air, Made happy music through the gloom: And fires on many an inward room All night broad-flashing, flung their glare On laughing eyes and slumber-laden.
A MAIDEN.
I was among the dancers there To Artemis[30], and glorying sang Her of the Hills, the Maid most fair, Daughter of Zeus: and, lo, there rang A shout out of the dark, and fell Deathlike from street to street, and made A silence in the citadel: And a child cried, as if afraid, And hid him in his mother's veil. Then stalked the Slayer from his den, The hand of Pallas served her well! O blood, blood of Troy was deep About the streets and altars then: And in the wedded rooms of sleep, Lo, the desolate dark alone, And headless things, men stumbled on.
And forth, lo, the women go, The crown of War, the crown of Woe, To bear the children of the foe And weep, weep, for Ilion!
* * * * *
[_As the song ceases a chariot is seen approaching from the town, laden with spoils. On it sits a mourning Woman with a child in her arms._
LEADER.
Lo, yonder on the heapèd crest Of a Greek wain, Andromachê[31], As one that o'er an unknown sea Tosseth; and on her wave-borne breast Her loved one clingeth, Hector's child, Astyanax.... O most forlorn Of women, whither go'st thou, borne 'Mid Hector's bronzen arms, and piled Spoils of the dead, and pageantry Of them that hunted Ilion down? Aye, richly thy new lord shall crown The mountain shrines of Thessaly!
ANDROMACHE [_Strophe I._
Forth to the Greek I go, Driven as a beast is driven.
HEC. Woe, woe!
AND. Nay, mine is woe: Woe to none other given, And the song and the crown therefor!
HEC. O Zeus!
AND. He hates thee sore!
HEC. Children!
AND. No more, no more To aid thee: their strife is striven!
HECUBA. [_Antistrophe I._
Troy, Troy is gone!
AND. Yea, and her treasure parted.
HEC. Gone, gone, mine own Children, the noble-hearted!
AND. Sing sorrow....
HEC. For me, for me!
AND. Sing for the Great City, That falleth, falleth to be A shadow, a fire departed.
ANDROMACHE.
[_Strophe 2._
Come to me, O my lover!
HEC. The dark shroudeth him over, My flesh, woman, not thine, not thine!
AND. Make of thine arms my cover!
HECUBA.
[_Antistrophe 2._
O thou whose wound was deepest, Thou that my children keepest, Priam, Priam, O age-worn King, Gather me where thou sleepest.
ANDROMACHE (_her hands upon her heart_).
[_Strophe 3._
O here is the deep of desire,
HEC. (How? And is this not woe?)
AND. For a city burned with fire;
HEC. (It beateth, blow on blow.)
AND. God's wrath for Paris, thy son, that he died not long ago:
Who sold for his evil love Troy and the towers thereof: Therefore the dead men lie Naked, beneath the eye Of Pallas, and vultures croak And flap for joy: So Love hath laid his yoke On the neck of Troy!
HECUBA.
[_Antistrophe 3._
O mine own land, my home,
AND. (I weep for thee, left forlorn,)
HEC. See'st thou what end is come?
AND. (And the house where my babes were born.)
HEC. A desolate Mother we leave, O children, a City of scorn:
Even as the sound of a song[32] Left by the way, but long Remembered, a tune of tears Falling where no man hears, In the old house, as rain, For things loved of yore: But the dead hath lost his pain And weeps no more.
LEADER.
How sweet are tears to them in bitter stress, And sorrow, and all the songs of heaviness.
ANDROMACHE[33].
Mother of him of old, whose mighty spear Smote Greeks like chaff, see'st thou what things are here?
HECUBA.
I see God's hand, that buildeth a great crown For littleness, and hath cast the mighty down.
ANDROMACHE.
I and my babe are driven among the droves Of plundered cattle. O, when fortune moves So swift, the high heart like a slave beats low.
HECUBA.
'Tis fearful to be helpless. Men but now Have taken Cassandra, and I strove in vain.
ANDROMACHE.
Ah, woe is me; hath Ajax come again? But other evil yet is at thy gate.
HECUBA.
Nay, Daughter, beyond number, beyond weight My evils are! Doom raceth against doom.
ANDROMACHE.
Polyxena across Achilles' tomb Lies slain, a gift flung to the dreamless dead.
HECUBA.
My sorrow!... 'Tis but what Talthybius said: So plain a riddle, and I read it not.
ANDROMACHE.
I saw her lie, and stayed this chariot; And raiment wrapt on her dead limbs, and beat My breast for her.
HECUBA (_to herself_).
O the foul sin of it! The wickedness! My child. My child! Again I cry to thee. How cruelly art thou slain!
ANDROMACHE.
She hath died her death, and howso dark it be, Her death is sweeter than my misery.
HECUBA.
Death cannot be what Life is, Child; the cup Of Death is empty, and Life hath always hope.
ANDROMACHE.
O Mother, having ears, hear thou this word Fear-conquering, till thy heart as mine be stirred With joy. To die is only not to be; And better to be dead than grievously Living. They have no pain, they ponder not Their own wrong. But the living that is brought From joy to heaviness, his soul doth roam, As in a desert, lost, from its old home. Thy daughter lieth now as one unborn, Dead, and naught knowing of the lust and scorn That slew her. And I ... long since I drew my bow Straight at the heart of good fame; and I know My shaft hit; and for that am I the more Fallen from peace. All that men praise us for, I loved for Hector's sake, and sought to win. I knew that alway, be there hurt therein Or utter innocence, to roam abroad Hath ill report for women; so I trod Down the desire thereof, and walked my way In mine own garden. And light words and gay Parley of women never passed my door. The thoughts of mine own heart ... I craved no more.... Spoke with me, and I was happy. Constantly I brought fair silence and a tranquil eye For Hector's greeting, and watched well the way Of living, where to guide and where obey. And, lo! some rumour of this peace, being gone Forth to the Greek, hath cursed me. Achilles' son, So soon as I was taken, for his thrall Chose me. I shall do service in the hall Of them that slew.... How? Shall I thrust aside Hector's beloved face, and open wide My heart to this new lord? Oh, I should stand A traitor to the dead! And if my hand And flesh shrink from him ... lo, wrath and despite O'er all the house, and I a slave!
One night, One night ... aye, men have said it ... maketh tame A woman in a man's arms.... O shame, shame! What woman's lips can so forswear her dead, And give strange kisses in another's bed? Why, not a dumb beast, not a colt will run In the yoke untroubled, when her mate is gone-- A thing not in God's image, dull, unmoved Of reason. O my Hector! best beloved, That, being mine, wast all in all to me, My prince, my wise one, O my majesty Of valiance! No man's touch had ever come Near me, when thou from out my father's home Didst lead me and make me thine.... And thou art dead, And I war-flung to slavery and the bread Of shame in Hellas, over bitter seas! What knoweth she of evils like to these, That dead Polyxena, thou weepest for? There liveth not in my life any more The hope that others have. Nor will I tell The lie to mine own heart, that aught is well Or shall be well.... Yet, O, to dream were sweet!
LEADER.
Thy feet have trod the pathway of my feet, And thy clear sorrow teacheth me mine own.
HECUBA.
Lo, yonder ships: I ne'er set foot on one, But tales and pictures tell, when over them Breaketh a storm not all too strong to stem, Each man strives hard, the tiller gripped, the mast Manned, the hull baled, to face it: till at last Too strong breaks the o'erwhelming sea: lo, then They cease, and yield them up as broken men To fate and the wild waters. Even so I in my many sorrows bear me low, Nor curse, nor strive that other things may be. The great wave rolled from God hath conquered me. But, O, let Hector and the fates that fell On Hector, sleep. Weep for him ne'er so well, Thy weeping shall not wake him. Honour thou The new lord that is set above thee now, And make of thine own gentle piety A prize to lure his heart. So shalt thou be A strength to them that love us, and--God knows, It may be--rear this babe among his foes, My Hector's child, to manhood and great aid For Ilion. So her stones may yet be laid One on another, if God will, and wrought Again to a city! Ah, how thought to thought Still beckons!... But what minion of the Greek Is this that cometh, with new words to speak?
[_Enter_ TALTHYBIUS _with a band of Soldiers. He comes forward slowly and with evident disquiet._
TALTHYBIUS.
Spouse of the noblest heart that beat in Troy, Andromache, hate me not! 'Tis not in joy I tell thee. But the people and the Kings Have with one voice....
ANDROMACHE.
What is it? Evil things Are on thy lips!
TALTHYBIUS.
Tis ordered, this child.... Oh, How can I tell her of it?
ANDROMACHE.
Doth he not go With me, to the same master?
TALTHYBIUS.
There is none In Greece, shall e'er be master of thy son.
ANDROMACHE.
How? Will they leave him here to build again The wreck?...
TALTHYBIUS. I know not how to tell thee plain!
ANDROMACHE.
Thou hast a gentle heart ... if it be ill, And not good, news thou hidest!
TALTHYBIUS.
'Tis their will Thy son shall die.... The whole vile thing is said Now!
ANDROMACHE. Oh, I could have borne mine enemy's bed!
TALTHYBIUS.
And speaking in the council of the host Odysseus hath prevailed--
ANDROMACHE.
O lost! lost! lost!... Forgive me! It is not easy....
TALTHYBIUS.
... That the son Of one so perilous be not fostered on To manhood--
ANDROMACHE.
God; may his own counsel fall On his own sons!
TALTHYBIUS.
... But from this crested wall Of Troy be dashed, and die.... Nay, let the thing Be done. Thou shalt be wiser so. Nor cling So fiercely to him. Suffer as a brave Woman in bitter pain; nor think to have Strength which thou hast not. Look about thee here! Canst thou see help, or refuge anywhere? Thy land is fallen and thy lord, and thou A prisoner and alone, one woman; how Canst battle against us? For thine own good I would not have thee strive, nor make ill blood And shame about thee.... Ah, nor move thy lips In silence there, to cast upon the ships Thy curse! One word of evil to the host, This babe shall have no burial, but be tossed Naked.... Ah, peace! And bear as best thou may, War's fortune. So thou shalt not go thy way Leaving this child unburied; nor the Greek Be stern against thee, if thy heart be meek!
ANDROMACHE (_to the child_).