Prologos
Andromache
Then am I lost; ah, my child! those
vultures twain will take and slay thee; while he who is called thy father lingers still in Delphi.
75
Maid
True, for had he been here thou wouldst not have fared so hardly, I am sure; but, as it is, thou art friendless.
Andromache
Have no tidings come of the possible arrival of Peleus?
Maid
He is too old to help thee if he came.
80
Andromache
And yet I sent for him more than once.
Maid
Surely thou dost not suppose that any of thy messengers heed thee?
Andromache
Why should they? Wilt thou then go for me?
Maid
How shall I explain my long absence from the house?
Andromache
Thou art a woman; thou canst invent a hundred ways.
85
Maid
There is a risk, for Hermione keeps no careless guard.
Andromache
Dost look to that? Thou art disowning thy friends in distress.
Maid
Not so; never taunt me with that. I will go, for of a truth a
woman and a slave is not of much account, e’en if aught befall, me.
90
Andromache
Go then, while I will tell to heaven the lengthy tale of lamentation, mourning, and weeping, that has ever been my hard lot; for ’tis woman’s way to delight in present misfortunes
even to keeping them always on her tongue and lips. But I have many reasons, not merely one for tears,–my city’s fall, my Hector’s death, the hardness of the lot to which I am bound, since I fell on slavery’s evil days undeservedly.
95
’Tis never right to call a son of man happy, till thou hast seen his end, to judge from the way he passes it how he will descend to that other world.
100
[Episode]
’Twas no bride Paris took with him to the towers of Ilium, but a curse to his bed when he brought Helen to her bower.
Andromache
For her sake, O Troy, did eager warriors, sailing from Hellas in a thousand ships, capture and make thee a prey to fire and sword; and the son of sea-born Thetis mounted on his chariot dragged my husband Hector round the walls, ah woe is me! while I was hurried from my chamber to the beach,
105
with slavery’s hateful pall upon me. And many a tear I shed as I left my city, my bridal bower, and my husband in the dust. Woe, woe is me! why should I prolong my life, to serve Hermione? Her cruelty it is that drives me hither
110
