SCENE I

_Helen, Hecuba, Andromache, Polyxena._

_Helen_ [_soliloquizing_]. Whatever sad and joyless marriage bond 880 Holds slaughter, lamentations, bloody war, Is worthy Helen. Even to fallen Troy I bring misfortune, bidden to declare The bridal that Achilles' son prepares For his dead father, and demand the robe 885 And Grecian ornaments. By me betrayed, And by my fraud, must Paris' sister die. So be it, this were happier lot for her; A fearless death must be a longed-for death. Why shrink to do his bidding? On the head 890 Of him who plots the crime remains the guilt.

[_Aloud to Polyxena._

Thou noble daughter of Troy's kingly house, A milder god on thy misfortune looks, Prepares for thee a happy marriage day. Not Priam nor unfallen Troy could give 895 Such bridal, for the brightest ornament Of the Pelasgian race, the man who holds The kingdom of the wide Thessalian land, Would make thee his by lawful marriage bonds. Great Tethys, and the ocean goddesses, 900 And Thetis, gentle nymph of swelling seas, Will call thee theirs; when thou art Pyrrhus' bride Peleus will call thee kin, as Nereus will. Put off thy robe of mourning, deck thyself In gay attire; unlearn the captive's mien, 905 And suffer skillful hands to smooth thy hair Now so unkempt. Perchance fate cast thee down From thy high place to seat thee higher still; It may be profit to have been a slave.

_Andromache._ This one ill only lacked to fallen Troy: 910 Pleasure, while Pergamus still smoking lies! Fit hour for marriage! Dare one then refuse? When Helen would persuade, who doubtful weds? Thou curse! Two nations owe to thee their fall! Seest thou the royal tomb, these bones that lie 915 Unburied, scattered over all the field? Thy bridal is the cause. All Asia's blood, All Europe's flows for thee, whilst thou, unstirred, Canst see two husbands fighting, nor decide Which one to wish the victor! Go, prepare 920 The marriage bed; what need of wedding torch Or nuptial lights, when burning Troy provides The fires for these new bridals? Celebrate, O Trojan women, honor worthily The marriage feast of Pyrrhus. Smite your breasts, 925 And weep aloud.

_Helen._ Soft comfort is refused By deep despair, which loses reason, hates The very sharers of its grief. My cause I yet may plead before this hostile judge, Since I have suffered heavier ills than she. 930 Andromache mourns Hector openly, Hecuba weeps for Priam, I, alone, In secret, weep for Paris. Is it hard, Grievous, and hateful to bear servitude? For ten long years I bore the captive's yoke. 935 Is Ilium laid low, her household gods Cast down? To lose one's land is hard indeed-- To fear is worse. Your sorrow friendship cheers, Me conquerors and conquered hate alike. For thee, there long was doubt whom thou shouldst serve, 940 My master drags me hence without the chance Of lot. Was I the bringer of the war? Of so great Teucrian carnage? Think this true If first a Spartan keel thy waters cut; But if of Phrygian oars I am the prey, 945 By the victorious goddess as a prize Given for Paris' judgment, pardon me! An angry judge awaits me, and my cause Is left to Menelaus. Weep no more, Andromache, put by thy grief. Alas, 950 Hardly can I myself restrain my tears.

_Andromache._ How great the ill that even Helen weeps! Why does she weep? What trickery or crime Plots now the Ithacan? From Ida's top, Or Troy's high tower, will he cast the maid 955 Upon the rocks? Or hurl her to the deep From the great cliff which, from its riven side, Out of the shallow bay, Sigeon lifts? What wouldst thou cover with deceitful face? No ill were heavier than this: to see 960 Pyrrhus the son of Priam's Hecuba. Speak, plainly tell the penalty thou bringst. Take from defeat at least this evil,--fraud. Thou seest thou dost not find us loth to die.

_Helen._ Would that Apollo's prophet bade me take 965 The long delay of my so hated life; Or that, upon Achilles' sepulcher, I might be slain by Pyrrhus' cruel hand, The sharer of thy fate, Polyxena, Whom harsh Achilles bids them give to him-- To offer to his manes, as his bride 971 In the Elysian Fields.

[_Polyxena shows great joy, Hecuba sinks fainting to the ground._

_Andromache._ See with what joy a noble woman meets Death-sentence, bids them bring the royal robe, And fitly deck her hair. She deemed it death 975 To be the bride of Pyrrhus, but this death A bridal seems. The wretched mother faints, Her sinking spirit fails; unhappy one, Arise, lift up thy heart, be strong of soul! Life hangs but by a thread--how slight a thing 980 Glads Hecuba! She breathes, she lives again, Death flies the wretched.

_Hecuba._ Lives Achilles still To vex the Trojans? Still pursues his foes? Light was the hand of Paris; but the tomb And ashes of Achilles drink our blood. 985 Once I was circled by a happy throng Of children, by their kisses weary made, Parted my mother love amongst them all. She, now, alone is left; for her I pray, Companion, solace, healer of my grief, 990 The only child of Hecuba, her voice Alone may call me mother! Bitter life, Pass from me, slip away, spare this last blow! Tears overflow my cheeks--a storm of tears Falls from her eyes!

_Andromache._ We are the ones should weep, 995 We, Hecuba, whom, scattered here and there, The Grecian ships shall carry far away. The maid will find at least a sepulcher In the dear soil of her loved native land.

_Helen._ Thy own lot known, yet more thou'lt envy hers. 1000

_Andromache._ Is any portion of my lot unknown?

_Helen._ The fatal urn has given thee a lord.

_Andromache._ Whom call I master? Speak, who bears me hence A slave?

_Helen._ Lot gave thee to the Scyrian king.

_Andromache._ Happy Cassandra, whom Apollo's wrath 1005 Spared from such fate!

_Helen._ The prince of kings claims her.

_Hecuba._ Be glad, rejoice, my child; Andromache Desires thy bridals, and Cassandra, too, Desires them. Is there any one would choose Hecuba for his bride?

_Helen._ Thou fallst a prey 1010 To the unwilling Ithacan.

_Hecuba._ Alas, What powerless, cruel, unrelenting god Gives kings by lot to be the prey of kings? What god unfriendly thus divides the spoil? What cruel arbiter forbids us choose 1015 Our masters? With Achilles' arms confounds Great Hector's mother? To Ulysses' lot! Conquered and captive am I now indeed, Besieged by all misfortunes! 'Tis my lord Puts me to shame, and not my servitude! 1020 Harsh land and sterile, by rough seas enclosed, Thou wilt not hold my grave! Lead on, lead on, Ulysses, I delay not, I will go-- Will follow thee; my fate will follow me. No tranquil calm will rest upon the sea; 1025 Wind, war, and flame shall rage upon the deep, My woes and Priam's! When these things shall come, Respite from punishment shall come to Troy. Mine is the lot, from thee I snatch the prize! But see where Pyrrhus comes with hasty steps 1030 And troubled face. Why pause? On, Pyrrhus, on! Into this troubled bosom drive the sword, And join to thy Achilles his new kin! Slayer of aged men, up, here is blood, 1034 Blood worthy of thy sword; drag off thy spoil, And with thy hideous slaughter stain the gods-- The gods who sit in heaven and those in hell! What can I pray for thee? I pray for seas Worthy these rites; I pray the thousand ships, The fleet of the Pelasgians, may meet 1040 Such fate as that I fain would whelm the ship That bears me hence a captive.