Stasimon 4
[Episode]
All me! ah me! new troubles fall on my country, to take the place of those that still are fresh! Behold,
Chorus Leader
you hapless wives of Troy, the corpse of Astyanax, whom the Danaids have cruelly slain by hurling him from the battlements.
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Talthybius
Hecuba, one ship alone delays its plashing oars,
and it is soon to sail to the shores of Phthia freighted with the remnant of the spoils of Achilles’ son; for Neoptolemus is already out at sea, having heard that new calamities have befallen Peleus, for Acastus, son of Pelias, has banished him from the realm. Therefore he is gone, too quick to indulge in any delay,
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and with him goes Andromache, who drew many tears from me when she set out from the land, wailing her country and crying her farewell to Hector’s tomb. And she begged her master leave to bury this poor dead child of Hector
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who breathed his last when hurled from the turrets; entreating too that he would not carry this shield, the terror of the Achaeans—this shield with plates of brass with which his father would gird himself—to the home of Peleus or to the same bridal bower where she, Andromache,
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the mother of this corpse, would be wed, a bitter sight to her, but let her bury the child in it instead of in a coffin of cedar or a tomb of stone, and to your hands commit the corpse that you may deck it with robes and garlands as best you can with your present means;
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for she is far away and her master’s haste prevented her from burying the child herself. So we, when you have decked the corpse, will heap the earth above and set upon it a spear; but do you with your best speed perform your allotted task;
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one toil however I have already spared you, for I crossed Scamander’s stream and bathed the corpse and cleansed its wounds. But now I will go to dig a grave for hiin, that our united efforts
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shortening our task may speed our ship towards home. Exit Talthybius.
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Hecuba
Place the shield upon the ground, Hector’s shield so deftly rounded, a piteous sight, a bitter grief for me to see. O you Achaeans, more reason have you to boast of your prowess than your wisdom. Why have you in terror of this child
been guilty of a murder never matched before? Did you fear that some day he would rear again the fallen walls of Troy? It seems then you were nothing after all, when, though Hector’s fortunes in the war were prosperous and he had ten thousand other arms to back him, we still were daily overmatched; and yet, now that our city is taken and every Phrygian slain,
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you fear a tender child like this! I do not commend the fear of one who fears but never yet has reasoned out the cause.
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Ah! my beloved, yours is a piteous death indeed! If you had died for your city, when you had tasted of the sweets of manhood, of marriage, and of godlike power over others,
then were you blessed, if anything here is blessed. But now after one glimpse, one dream of them, you know them no more, my child, and have no joy of them, though heir to all. Ah, poor child! how sadly have your own father’s walls, those towers that Loxias reared, shorn from your head
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the locks your mother fondled, and so often caressed, from which through fractured bones the face of murder grins—briefly to dismiss my shocking theme. O hands, how sweet the likeness you retain of his father, and yet you lie Iimp in your sockets before me!
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Dear mouth, so often full of words of pride, death has closed you, and you have not kept the promise you made, when nestling in my robe, Ah, mother, many a lock of my hair I will cut off for you, and to your tomb will lead my troops of friends, taking a fond farewell of you.
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But now I am not to be buried by you, but you, the younger one, a wretched corpse, are buried by me, on whom old age has come with loss of home and children. Ah me, those kisses numberless, the nurture that I gave to you, those sleepless nights—they all are lost! What shall the bard inscribe upon your tomb about you?
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Argives once for fear of him slew this child? Foul shame should that inscription be to Hellas. O child, though you have no part in all your father’s wealth, yet shall you have his brazen shield in which to find a tomb. Ah! shield that kept safe the comely arm of Hector,
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now have you lost your valiant keeper! How fair upon your handle lies his imprint, and on the rim that circles around are marks of sweat, that trickled often from Hector’s brow as he pressed it against his beard in battle’s stress.
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Come, bring forth, from such store as you have, adornment for the hapless dead, for fortune gives no chance now for lovely offerings; yet of such as I possess, you shall receive these gifts. He is a foolish mortal who thinks his luck secure and so rejoices; for fortune, like a madman in her moods,
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springs towards this man, then towards that; and no one ever experiences the same unchanging luck.
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Chorus Leader
Look! all is ready and they are bringing at your bidding from the spoils of Troy adornment to put upon the dead.
Hecuba
Ah! my child, it is not as victor over your comrades
with horse or bow—customs Troy esteems, without pursuing them to excess—that Hector’s mother decks you now with ornaments from the store that once was yours, though now Helen, whom the gods abhor, has bereft you of your own, yes, and robbed you
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of your life and caused your house to perish root and branch.
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Chorus
Woe! thrice woe! my heart is touched, and you the cause, my mighty prince in days now passed!
Hecuba
About your body now I swathe this Phrygian robe of honor, which should have clad you on your marriage-day,
wedded to the noblest of Asia’s daughters. You too, dear shield of Hector, victorious parent of countless triumphs past, accept your crown, for though you share the dead child’s tomb, death cannot touch you; for you merit honors far beyond those arms the arms of Achilles, which were set up as a prize, and won by Odysseus from Aias.
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that the crafty villain Odysseus won.
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Chorus
Alas! alas! you, O child, shall earth take to her breast, a cause for bitter weeping. Mourn, you mother!
Chorus
Wail for the dead.
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Chorus
Woe indeed for your unending sorrow!
Hecuba
Your wounds in part I will bind up with bandages, a wretched healer in name alone, without reality; but for the rest your father must look to that among the dead.
Chorus
Smite, oh smite upon your head with frequent blow of hand. Woe is me!
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Hecuba
My kind, good friends—
Chorus
Speak out, Hecuba, the word that was on your lips.
Hecuba
It seems the only things that heaven concerns itself about are my troubles and Troy hateful in their eyes above all other cities. In vain did we sacrifice to them. But if the god had not caught us in his grip and plunged us headlong beneath the earth, we should have been unheard of, and not ever sung in Muses’ songs,
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furnishing to bards of after-days a subject for their minstrelsy. Go, bury now in his poor tomb the dead, wreathed all duly as befits a corpse. And yet I think it makes little difference to the dead, if they get a gorgeous funeral;
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but this is a cause of idle pride to the living. The corpse is carried off to burial.
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Chorus Leader
Alas! for your unhappy mother, who over your corpse has closed the high hopes of her life! Born of a noble stock, counted most happy in your lot,
ah! what a tragic death is yours! Ha! who are those I see on yonder pinnacles darting to and fro with flaming torches in their hands? Some new calamity wiII soon alight on Troy.
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Talthybius
You captains whose allotted task it is to fire this town of Priam, to you I speak. No longer keep the fire-brand idle in your hands, but launch the flame, that when we have destroyed the city of Ilium we may set forth in gladness on our homeward voyage from Troy.
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And you, you sons of Troy, to let my orders take at once a double form—start for the Achaean ships for your departure from the land, as soon as the leaders of the army blow loud and clear upon the trumpet. And you, unhappy grey-haired lady,
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follow; for here come servants from Odysseus to fetch you, for to him you are assigned by lot to be a slave far from your country.
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Hecuba
Ah, woe is me! This surely is the last, the utmost limit, of all my sorrows; I go forth from my land; my city is ablaze with flame.
Yet, you aged foot, make one painful struggle to haste, that I may say a farewell to this wretched town. O Troy, that before had such a grand career among barbarian towns, soon will you be bereft of that splendid name. They are burning you, and leading us even now from our land
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to slavery. O gods! Yet why do I call on the gods? They did not hearken ever before to our call. Come, let us rush into the flames, for to die with my country in its blazing ruin would be a noble death for me.
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Talthybius
Your sorrows drive you frantic, poor lady.
Go, lead her away, make no delay, for you must deliver her into the hand of Odysseus, conveying to him his prize.
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Hecuba
Woe! oh woe! Son of Cronos, prince of Phrygia, father of our race,
do you behold our sufferings now, unworthy of the stock of Dardanus?
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Chorus
He sees them, but our mighty city is a city no more, and Troy’s day is done.
Ilium is ablaze; the homes of Pergamos and its towering walls are now one sheet of flame.
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Chorus
As the smoke soars on wings to heaven, so sinks our city to the ground before the spear.
With furious haste both fire and enemy spear devour each house.
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[Episode 1]
Oh, earth, nourisher of my children!
Hecuba
Hearken, my children, hear your mother’s voice.
Chorus
You are calling on the dead with voice of lamentation.
Hecuba
Yes, as I stretch my aged limbs upon the ground, and beat upon the earth with both my hands.
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Chorus
I follow you and kneel, invoking from the nether world my hapless husband.
Hecuba
I am being dragged and hurried away—
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Chorus
The sorrow, the sorrow of that cry!
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Hecuba
To dwell beneath a master’s roof!
Chorus
From my own country!
Hecuba
Woe is me! O Priam, Priam, slain, unburied, left without a friend, nothing do you know of my cruel fate.
Chorus
No, for over his eyes black death has drawn his pall, a pure man slain by the impure.
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Hecuba
Woe for the temples of the gods and for our dear city!
Hecuba
Murderous flame and enemy spear are now your lot.
Chorus
Soon will you tumble to your own loved soil, and be forgotten.
Hecuba
And the dust, mounting to heaven on wings like smoke, will rob me of the sight of my home.
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Chorus
The name of my country wiII pass into obscurity; all is scattered far and wide, and hapless Troy has ceased to be.
Hecuba
Did you know, did you hear?
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Chorus
Yes, it was the crash of the citadel.
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Hecuba
The shock, the shock—
Chorus
Will overwhelm our city utterly.
Hecuba
O woe is me! trembling, quaking limbs, support my footsteps! away! to face
the day that begins your slavery.
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Chorus
Woe for our unhappy town! And yet let us advance to the Achaean fleet.