Hecuba

Perseus Greek · Perseus Greek · 426 sections

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Take heart; you are safe from the suppliant’s god in my case, for I will follow you, both because I must and because it is my wish to die; for if I were unwilling, a coward would I show myself, a woman faint of heart. Why should I prolong my days? I whose father was lord
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of all the Phrygians, my chiefest pride in life. Then I was nursed on fair hopes to be a bride for kings, the center of keen jealousy among suitors, to see whose home I would make my own; and over each lady of Ida I was queen;
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ah me! admired among maidens, equal to a goddess, save for death alone, but now I am a slave! That name first makes me long for death, so strange it sounds; and then perhaps my lot might give me
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to some savage master, one that would buy me for money—me the sister of Hector and many others—who would make me knead him bread within his halls, or sweep his house or set me working at the loom, leading a life of misery;
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while some slave, bought I know not where, will taint my bed, once deemed worthy of royalty. No, never! Here I close my eyes upon the light, free as yet, and dedicate myself to Hades. Lead me away, Odysseus, and do your worst,
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for I see nothing within my reach to make me hope or expect with any confidence that I am ever again to be happy. Mother, do not seek to hinder me by word or deed, but join in my wish for death before I meet with shameful treatment undeserved.
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For whoever is not used to taste of sorrows, though he bears it, yet it galls him when he puts his neck within the yoke; far happier would he be dead than alive, for life bereft of honor is toil and trouble.
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A wondrous mark, most clearly stamped, does noble birth
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imprint on men, and the name goes still further where it is deserved.
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A noble speech, my daughter! but there is sorrow linked with its noble sentiments. Odysseus, if you must please the son of Peleus, and avoid reproach,
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do not slay this maid, but lead me to Achilles’ pyre and torture me unsparingly; it was I that bore Paris, whose fatal shaft laid low the son of Thetis.
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It is not your death, my lady, that Achilles’ ghost
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has demanded of the Achaeans, but hers.
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At least then slaughter me with my child; so shall there be a double drink of blood for the earth and the dead that claims this sacrifice.
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The maiden’s death suffices; no need to add
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a second to the first; would we did not need even this!
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Die with my daughter I must and will.
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How so? I did not know I had a master.
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I will cling to her like ivy to an oak.
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Not if you will listen to those who are wiser than you.
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Be sure I will never willingly relinquish my child.
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Well, be equally sure I will never go away and leave her here.
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Mother, listen to me; and you, son of Laertes, make allowance for a parent’s natural wrath. My poor mother, do not fight with our masters.
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Will you be thrown to the ground, be roughly thrust aside and wound your aged skin, and in unseemly fashion be torn from me by youthful arms? This you will suffer; but do not, for it is not right for you. No, my dear mother! give me your beloved hand,
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and let me press your cheek to mine; for never again, but now for the last time, shall I behold the dazzling sun-god’s orb. Take my last farewells now. O mother, my mother! I pass beneath the earth.
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O my daughter, I am still to live and be a slave.
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Unwedded I depart, never having tasted the married joys that were my due!
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Yours, my daughter, is a piteous lot, and sad is mine also.
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There in Hades’ courts shall I lie apart from you.
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Ah me, what shall I do? where shall I end my life?
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Daughter of a free-born father, a slave I am to die.
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Not one of all my fifty children left!
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What message can I take for you to Hector or your aged lord?
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Tell them that of all women I am the most miserable.
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Ah! breasts and paps that fed me with sweet food!
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Oh, my daughter—your wretched, untimely fate!
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Farewell, my mother! farewell, Cassandra!
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Fare well! others do, but not your mother, no!
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You too, my brother Polydorus, in Thrace, the home of steeds!
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Yes, if he lives, which I doubt; so luckless am I in every way.
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He lives; and, when you die, he will close your eyes.
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I am dead; sorrow has forestalled death here.
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Come veil my head, Odysseus, and take me away; for now, before the fatal blow, my heart is melted by my mother’s wailing, and hers by mine.
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O light of day! for still I may call you by your name, though now my share in you is only the time I take to go between Achilles’ tomb and the sword. Odysseus and his attendants lead Polyxena away.
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Alas! I faint; my limbs sink under me. O my daughter, embrace your mother, stretch out your hand,
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give it to me; do not leave me childless! Ah, friends! it is my death-blow. Oh! to see that Spartan woman, Helen, sister of the sons of Zeus, in such a plight; for her bright eyes have caused the shameful fall of Troy’s once prosperous town. Hecuba sinks fainting to the ground.
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O breeze, breeze of the sea,
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that wafts swift galleys, ocean’s coursers, across the surging main! Where will you bear me, the sorrowful one? To whose house shall I be brought, to be his slave and chattel?
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to some haven in the Dorian land, or in Phthia, where men say Apidanus, father of fairest streams, makes fat and rich the soil?
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Or to an island home, sent on a voyage of misery by oars that sweep the brine, leading a wretched existence in halls where the first-created palm and the bay-tree put forth their sacred
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shoots for dear Latona, a memorial of her divine birth-pains? and there with the maids of Delos shall I hymn
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the golden head-band and bow of Artemis, their goddess?
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Or in the city of Pallas, the home of Athena of the lovely chariot, shall I then upon her saffron robe yoke horses,
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embroidering them on my web in brilliant varied shades, or the race of Titans, put to sleep by Zeus the son of Cronos with bolt of flashing flame?
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Alas for my children! alas for my ancestors, and my country which is falling in smouldering ruin among the smoke, sacked by the Argive spear, while I upon a foreign
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shore am called a slave, indeed! leaving Asia, Europe’s handmaid, and receiving in its place a deadly marriage-bower.
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Where can I find Hecuba, who once was
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queen of Ilium, you Trojan maidens?
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There she lies near you, Talthybius, stretched full length upon the ground, wrapped in her robe.
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O Zeus! what can I say? that your eye is over man? or that we hold this opinion all to no purpose,
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falsely thinking there is any race of gods, when it is chance that rules the mortal sphere? Was not this the queen of wealthy Phrygia, the wife of Priam highly blessed? And now her city is utterly overthrown by the foe,
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and she, a slave in her old age, her children dead, lies upon the ground, soiling her wretched head in the dust. Ah! old as I am, may death be my lot before I am caught in any shameful mischance. Arise, poor lady! lift up
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yourself and raise that white head.
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Oh! who are you that will not let my body rest? Why disturb me in my anguish, whoever you are?
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I, Talthybius, have come, the servant of the Danaids; Agamemnon has sent me for you, lady.
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Good friend, have you come because the Achaeans are resolved after all to slay me too at the grave? How welcome your tidings would be! Let us hasten and lose no time; please lead the way, old man.
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I have come to fetch you to bury your daughter’s corpse, lady; and those that send me are
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the two sons of Atreus and the Achaean people.
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Alas! What will you say? Have you not after all come to fetch me to my doom, but to announce ill news? Lost, my child! snatched from your mother’s arms! and I am childless now, at least as regards you; ah, woe is me!
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How did you end her life? was any mercy shown? or did you deal ruthlessly with her as though your victim were a foe, old man? Speak, though your words must be pain to me.
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Lady, you wish me to have a double benefit of tears in pity for your child; for now too as I tell the sad tale
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my eyes will be wet, as they were at the tomb when she was dying.
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All Achaea’s army was gathered there in full array before the tomb to see your daughter sacrificed; and the son of Achilles took Polyxena by the hand and set her on the top of the mound, while I was near;
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and a chosen band of young Achaeans followed to hold your child and prevent her struggling. Then Achilles’ son took in his hands a brimming cup of gold and raised in his hand an offering to his dead father, making a sign to me
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to proclaim silence throughout the Achaean army. So I stood at his side and in their midst proclaimed, Silence, you Achaeans! let all the people be silent! peace! be still! So I hushed the army. Then he spoke: Son of Peleus, my father,
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accept the offering I pour for you to appease your spirit, strong to raise the dead; and come to drink the black blood of a pure girl, which I and the army are offering you; oh! be propitious to us; grant that we may loose our prows and the
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cables of our ships, and, meeting with a prosperous voyage from Ilium, all come to our country. So he spoke; and all the army echoed his prayer. Then seizing his golden sword by the hilt he drew it from its scabbard, signing to the picked young Argive
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warriors to hold the maid. But she, when she perceived it, uttered this speech: O Argives, who have sacked my city! of my free will I die; let no one lay hand on me; for bravely will I yield my neck.
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By the gods, leave me free; so slay me, that death may find me free; for to be called a slave among the dead fills my royal heart with shame.
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Then the people shouted their applause, and king Agamemnon told the young men to let go the maid.
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So they set her free, as soon as they heard this last command from him whose might was over all. And she, hearing her master’s words, took her robe and tore it open from the shoulder to the waist,
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displaying a breast and bosom fair as a statue’s; then sinking on her knee, one word she spoke more piteous than all the rest, Young prince, if it is my breast you are eager to strike, see, here it is, strike home! or if at my neck your sword
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you will aim, that throat is here and ready.
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Then he, half glad, half sorry in his pity for the maid, cut with the steel the channels of her breath, and streams of blood gushed forth; but she, even in death, took good heed to fall with grace,
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hiding from the gaze of men what must be hidden. When she had breathed her last through the fatal gash, no Argive set his hand to the same task, but some were strewing leaves over the corpse in handfuls, others bringing pine-logs
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and heaping up a pyre; and the one who brought nothing would hear from him who did such taunts as these, Do you stand still, ignoble wretch, with no robe or ornament to bring for the maiden? will you give nothing to her that showed such peerless bravery
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and spirit? Such is the tale I tell about your daughter’s death, and regard you as blessed beyond all mothers in your noble child, yet crossed in fortune more than all.
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Upon the race of Priam and my city some fearful curse has burst; it is sent by God, and we must bear it.
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O my daughter! among this crowd of sorrows I do not know where to turn my gaze; for if I set myself to one, another will not let me be; while from this again another grief summons me, finding a successor to sorrow’s throne. And now I can not efface from my mind the memory of your sufferings
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sufficiently to stay my tears; yet the story of your noble death has taken from the keenness of my grief. Is it not then strange that a poor land, when blessed by heaven with a lucky year, yields a good crop, while that which is good, if robbed of needful care,
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bears little fruit; yet among men the base is nothing else but wicked, the good man is good, never changing for the worse because of misfortune, but ever the same? Is then the difference due to birth or bringing up?
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Good training doubtless gives lessons in good conduct, and if a man has mastered this, he knows what is shameful by the standard of the good. And these are random shafts from my mind, I know.
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To Talthybius Go and proclaim to the Argives
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that they do not touch my daughter’s body but keep the crowd away. For when a countless army is gathered, the mob knows no restraint, and the unruliness of sailors exceeds that of fire, all abstinence from crime being counted criminal. Talthybius goes out.
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Addressing a servant Now you, my aged handmaid, take a pitcher
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and dip it in the salt sea and bring it here, that I for the last time may wash my child, an unwed bride, a ravished virgin, and lay her out, as she deserves, ah! how can I? impossible! but as best I can; and what will that amount to?
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I will collect adornment from the captives, my companions in these tents, if perhaps any of them escaping her new master’s eye has made some theft from her home. The servant departs. O towering halls, O home so happy once,
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O Priam, rich in store of fairest wealth, most blessed of fathers, and I no less, the grey-haired mother of your race, how are we brought to nothing, stripped of our former pride! And in spite of all we vaunt ourselves, one on the riches of his house,
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another because he has an honored name among his fellow-citizens! But these things are nothing; in vain are all our thoughtful schemes, in vain our boastful words. He is happiest who meets no sorrow day by day. Hecuba enters the tent.
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Woe and tribulation

Perseus Greek. CTS URN tlg0006.tlg007.perseus-eng2. Via the Perseus Digital Library / Open Greek and Latin TEI corpora. Licence: Available under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. Source.