Trojan Women
Before the Greek tents outside the ruins of Troy. · The captive women of Troy wait to be shipped away as slaves.
Prologue
Poseidon mourns fallen Troy, and Athena wins his help to wreck the Greek fleet on its way home.
PoseidonἭκω λιπὼν Αἴγαιον ἁλμυρὸν βάθος
πόντοι· Ποσειδῶν, ἔνθα Νηρῄδων χοροὶ
κάλλιστον ἴχνος ἐξελίσσουσιν ποδός.
ἐξ οὗ γὰρ ἀμφὶ τήνδε Τρωικὴν χθόνα
Φοῖβός τε κἀγὼ λαΐνους πύργους πέριξ
ὀρθοῖσιν ἔθεμεν κανόσιν, οὔποτʼ ἐκ φρενῶν
εὔνοιʼ ἀπέστη τῶν ἐμῶν Φρυγῶν πόλει,
ἣ νῦν καπνοῦται καὶ πρὸς Ἀργείου δορὸς
ὄλωλε πορθηθεῖσʼ. ὁ γὰρ Παρνάσιος
Φωκεὺς Ἐπειὸς μηχαναῖσι Παλλάδος
ἐγκύμονʼ ἵππον τευχέων συναρμόσας
πύργων ἔπεμψεν ἐντὸς ὀλέθριον βρέτας·
PoseidonI have come, I, Poseidon, from the salt depths of the Aegean sea, where the choirs of Nereids weave the loveliest steps of their dancing feet. Phoebus and I once set towers of stone around this land of Troy, built true with straight measuring lines, and ever since, my heart has never lost its goodwill toward the city of my Phrygians. Now it smolders; the Argive spear has sacked it and it is gone. Epeius, the Phocian from Parnassus, used the devices of Pallas to fit together a horse big with weapons, and he sent that deadly image inside the walls.
ὅθεν πρὸς ἀνδρῶν ὑστέρων κεκλήσεται
δούρειος ἵππος, κρυπτὸν ἀμπισχὼν δόρυ.
ἔρημα δʼ ἄλση καὶ θεῶν ἀνάκτορα
φόνῳ καταρρεῖ· πρὸς δὲ κρηπίδων βάθροις
πέπτωκε Πρίαμος Ζηνὸς ἑρκείου θανών.
πολὺς δὲ χρυσὸς Φρύγιά τε σκυλεύματα
πρὸς ναῦς Ἀχαιῶν πέμπεται· μένουσι δὲ
πρύμνηθεν οὖρον, ὡς δεκασπόρῳ χρόνῳ
ἀλόχους τε καὶ τέκνʼ εἰσίδωσιν ἄσμενοι,
οἳ τήνδʼ ἐπεστράτευσαν Ἕλληνες πόλιν.
That is why men in later days will call it the Wooden Horse, the horse that wrapped hidden spears inside it. The groves are deserted, and the gods’ sanctuaries run with slaughter. At the foot of the altar steps of Zeus of the Courtyard, Priam has fallen dead. Gold in plenty and Phrygian spoils are being carried off to the Achaean ships. The Greeks who marched against this city are waiting for a wind astern, so that in the tenth season of sowing they may have the joy of seeing their wives and children.
ἐγὼ δέ, νικῶμαι γὰρ Ἀργείας θεᾶς
Ἥρας Ἀθάνας θʼ, αἳ συνεξεῖλον Φρύγας,
λείπω τὸ κλεινὸν Ἴλιον βωμούς τʼ ἐμούς·
ἐρημία γὰρ πόλιν ὅταν λάβῃ κακή,
νοσεῖ τὰ τῶν θεῶν οὐδὲ τιμᾶσθαι θέλει.
πολλοῖς δὲ κωκυτοῖσιν αἰχμαλωτίδων
βοᾷ Σκάμανδρος δεσπότας κληρουμένων.
καὶ τὰς μὲν Ἀρκάς, τὰς δὲ Θεσσαλὸς λεὼς
εἴληχʼ Ἀθηναίων τε Θησεῖδαι πρόμοι.
As for me, I am beaten by the Argive goddess Hera and by Athena, who joined in destroying the Phrygians, and so I am leaving famous Ilium and my altars. When cruel desolation seizes a city, the worship of the gods falls sick, and they are honored no more. The Scamander echoes with the many shrieks of the captive women as their masters are assigned by lot. Some have fallen by lot to the Arcadian people, some to the Thessalian, and some to the sons of Theseus, the leaders of the Athenians.
ὅσαι δʼ ἄκληροι Τρῳάδων, ὑπὸ στέγαις
ταῖσδʼ εἰσὶ τοῖς πρώτοισιν ἐξῃρημέναι
στρατοῦ, σὺν αὐταῖς δʼ ἡ Λάκαινα Τυνδαρὶς
Ἑλένη, νομισθεῖσʼ αἰχμάλωτος ἐνδίκως.
τὴν δʼ ἀθλίαν τήνδʼ εἴ τις εἰσορᾶν θέλει,
πάρεστιν Ἑκάβη κειμένη πυλῶν πάρος
δάκρυα χέουσα πολλὰ καὶ πολλῶν ὕπερ·
ᾗ παῖς μὲν ἀμφὶ μνῆμʼ Ἀχιλλείου τάφου
οἰκτρὰ τέθνηκε τλημόνως Πολυξένη,
φροῦδος δὲ Πρίαμος καὶ τέκνʼ· ἣν δὲ παρθένον
μεθῆκʼ Ἀπόλλων δρομάδα Κασάνδραν ἄναξ,
τὸ τοῦ θεοῦ τε παραλιπὼν τό τʼ εὐσεβὲς
γαμεῖ βιαίως σκότιον Ἀγαμέμνων λέχος.
The Trojan women not yet allotted are in these tents, picked out for the leading men of the army. With them is the Spartan, Tyndareus’ daughter Helen, and she is rightly counted a captive. And if anyone wants to see this poor woman, here she is: Hecuba, lying before the gates, shedding many tears for many losses. Her daughter Polyxena has died a pitiful, cruel death at the tomb of Achilles. Priam is gone, and her sons. And the maiden whom lord Apollo let run free in her frenzy, Cassandra, Agamemnon is taking by force to a secret bed, setting aside what is owed to the god and to piety.
ἀλλʼ ὦ ποτʼ εὐτυχοῦσα, χαῖρέ μοι, πόλις
ξεστόν τε πύργωμʼ· εἴ σε μὴ διώλεσε
Παλλὰς Διὸς παῖς, ἦσθʼ ἂν ἐν βάθροις ἔτι.
So farewell, city that once was fortunate, and you, towers of dressed stone. If Pallas, daughter of Zeus, had not destroyed you, you would still be standing on your foundations.
Athenaἔξεστι τὸν γένει μὲν ἄγχιστον πατρὸς
μέγαν δὲ δαίμονʼ ἐν θεοῖς τε τίμιον
λύσασαν ἔχθραν τὴν πάρος προσεννέπειν;
AthenaMay I speak to the one who is my father’s nearest kin, a great power, honored among the gods, and put our old enmity aside?
Poseidonἔξεστιν· αἱ γὰρ συγγενεῖς ὁμιλίαι,
ἄνασσʼ Ἀθάνα, φίλτρον οὐ σμικρὸν φρενῶν.
PoseidonYou may. Lady Athena, meetings between kin are no small charm for the heart.
Athenaἐπῄνεσʼ ὀργὰς ἠπίους· φέρω δὲ σοὶ
κοινοὺς ἐμαυτῇ τʼ εἰς μέσον λόγους, ἄναξ.
AthenaI’m glad of your gentle mood. My lord, I bring a proposal to lay before us both, a matter for you and for me.
Poseidonμῶν ἐκ θεῶν του καινὸν ἀγγελεῖς ἔπος,
ἢ Ζηνὸς ἢ καὶ δαιμόνων τινὸς πάρα;
PoseidonYou’re not bringing some new message from one of the gods, are you? From Zeus, or from one of the other powers?
Athenaοὔκ, ἀλλὰ Τροίας εἵνεκʼ, ἔνθα βαίνομεν,
πρὸς σὴν ἀφῖγμαι δύναμιν, ὡς κοινὴν λάβω.
AthenaNo. It’s for Troy, where we are standing, that I’ve come to you and your power, to make it an ally of mine.
Poseidonἦ πού νιν ἔχθραν τὴν πρὶν ἐκβαλοῦσα νῦν
εἰς οἶκτον ἦλθες πυρὶ κατῃθαλωμένης;
PoseidonCan it be that you’ve thrown off your old hatred, and now that Troy is burned to ashes you’ve come to pity it?
Athenaἐκεῖσε πρῶτʼ ἄνελθε· κοινώσει λόγους
καὶ συμπονήσεις ἃν ἐγὼ πρᾶξαι θέλω;
AthenaGo back to my first point. Will you share counsel with me and help me do what I mean to do?
Poseidonμάλιστʼ· ἀτὰρ δὴ καὶ τὸ σὸν θέλω μαθεῖν·
πότερον Ἀχαιῶν ἦλθες εἵνεκʼ ἢ Φρυγῶν;
PoseidonCertainly. But I do want to know your side of it too. Have you come for the Achaeans’ sake or for the Phrygians’?
Athenaτοὺς μὲν πρὶν ἐχθροὺς Τρῶας εὐφρᾶναι θέλω,
στρατῷ δʼ Ἀχαιῶν νόστον ἐμβαλεῖν πικρόν.
AthenaI want to bring joy to the Trojans, my former enemies, and to give the Achaean army a bitter homecoming.
Poseidonτί δʼ ὧδε πηδᾷς ἄλλοτʼ εἰς ἄλλους τρόπους
μισεῖς τε λίαν καὶ φιλεῖς ὃν ἂν τύχῃς;
PoseidonWhy do you leap like this from one mood to another, hating too hard and loving whoever you happen to?
Athenaοὐκ οἶσθʼ ὑβρισθεῖσάν με καὶ ναοὺς ἐμούς;
AthenaDon’t you know how I was outraged, and my temple with me?
Poseidonοἶδʼ, ἡνίκʼ Αἴας εἷλκε Κασάνδραν βίᾳ.
PoseidonI know: when Ajax dragged Cassandra off by force.
Athenaκοὐδέν γʼ Ἀχαιῶν ἔπαθεν οὐδʼ ἤκουσʼ ὕπο.
AthenaAnd the Achaeans did nothing to him. They didn’t even reproach him.
Poseidonκαὶ μὴν ἔπερσάν γʼ Ἴλιον τῷ σῷ σθένει.
PoseidonAnd yet it was your strength they used to sack Ilium.
Athenaτοιγάρ σφε σὺν σοὶ βούλομαι δρᾶσαι κακῶς.
AthenaThat’s exactly why I want to harm them, with your help.
Poseidonἕτοιμʼ ἃ βούλει τἀπʼ ἐμοῦ. δράσεις δὲ τί;
PoseidonWhatever you want from me is ready. What will you do?
Poseidonἐν γῇ μενόντων ἢ καθʼ ἁλμυρὰν ἅλα;
PoseidonWhile they stay on land, or out on the salt sea?
Athenaὅταν πρὸς οἴκους ναυστολῶσʼ ἀπʼ Ἰλίου.
καὶ Ζεὺς μὲν ὄμβρον καὶ χάλαζαν ἄσπετον
πέμψει γνοφώδη τʼ αἰθέρος φυσήματα,
ἐμοὶ δὲ δώσειν φησὶ πῦρ κεραύνιον,
βάλλειν Ἀχαιοὺς ναῦς τε πιμπράναι πυρί.
σὺ δʼ αὖ τὸ σὸν παράσχες Αἴγαιον πόρον
τρικυμίαις βρέμοντα καὶ δίναις ἁλός,
πλῆσον δὲ νεκρῶν κοῖλον Εὐβοίας μυχόν,
ὡς ἂν τὸ λοιπὸν τἄμʼ ἀνάκτορʼ εὐσεβεῖν
εἰδῶσʼ Ἀχαιοὶ θεούς τε τοὺς ἄλλους σέβειν.
AthenaWhen they sail home from Ilium. Zeus will send rain, hail beyond telling, and black blasts of wind from the sky. He says he’ll give me his thunderbolt fire, to strike the Achaeans and set their ships ablaze. You, for your part, make your Aegean crossing roar with towering waves and whirlpools, and fill the hollow gulf of Euboea with corpses. Then from now on the Achaeans will know to revere my shrines and to honor the other gods.
Poseidonἔσται τάδʼ· ἡ χάρις γὰρ οὐ μακρῶν λόγων
δεῖται· ταράξω πέλαγος Αἰγαίας ἁλός.
ἀκταὶ δὲ Μυκόνου Δήλιοί τε χοιράδες
Σκῦρός τε Λῆμνός θʼ αἱ Καφήρειοί τʼ ἄκραι
πολλῶν θανόντων σώμαθʼ ἕξουσιν νεκρῶν.
ἀλλʼ ἕρπʼ Ὄλυμπον καὶ κεραυνίους βολὰς
λαβοῦσα πατρὸς ἐκ χερῶν καραδόκει,
ὅταν στράτευμʼ Ἀργεῖον ἐξιῇ κάλως.
μῶρος δὲ θνητῶν ὅστις ἐκπορθεῖ πόλεις,
ναούς τε τύμβους θʼ, ἱερὰ τῶν κεκμηκότων,
ἐρημίᾳ δοὺς αὐτὸς ὤλεθʼ ὕστερον.
PoseidonIt will be done. A favor needs no long speeches. I’ll churn up the open waters of the Aegean. The shores of Mykonos, the reefs of Delos, Scyros and Lemnos and the headlands of Caphareus will hold the bodies of many dead. Now go to Olympus, take the thunderbolts from your father’s hands, and watch for the moment the Argive army casts off its cables. The mortal who sacks cities is a fool. He gives temples and tombs, the sanctuaries of the dead, over to desolation, and then he perishes himself.
Hecubaἄνα δύσδαιμον πεδόθεν κεφαλήν,
ἐπάειρε δέρην· οὐκέτι Τροία
τάδε καὶ βασιλῆς ἐσμεν Τροίας.
μεταβαλλομένου δαίμονος ἀνέχου.
πλεῖ κατὰ πορθμόν, πλεῖ κατὰ δαίμονα,
μηδὲ προσίστω πρῷραν βιότου
πρὸς κῦμα πλέουσα τύχαισιν.
αἰαῖ αἰαῖ.
τί γὰρ οὐ πάρα μοι μελέᾳ στενάχειν,
ᾗ πατρὶς ἔρρει καὶ τέκνα καὶ πόσις;
ὦ πολὺς ὄγκος συστελλόμενος
προγόνων, ὡς οὐδὲν ἄρʼ ἦσθα.
τί με χρὴ σιγᾶν; τί δὲ μὴ σιγᾶν;
HecubaUp, ill-fated woman, lift your head from the ground,
raise your neck. This is Troy no longer,
and we are no longer Troy’s royal house.
Fortune is changing: bear it.
Sail with the current, sail with your fate.
Don’t turn the prow of your life
against the wave, as chance carries you on.
Ah, ah.
What is there not for me to groan at, poor wretch,
whose country is gone, my children, my husband?
You vast swelling pride of my forefathers,
furled up now, so you were nothing after all.
What should I hold back? What should I not hold back?
τί δὲ θρηνῆσαι;
δύστηνος ἐγὼ τῆς βαρυδαίμονος
ἄρθρων κλίσεως, ὡς διάκειμαι,
νῶτʼ ἐν στερροῖς λέκτροισι ταθεῖσʼ.
οἴμοι κεφαλῆς, οἴμοι κροτάφων
πλευρῶν θʼ, ὥς μοι πόθος εἱλίξαι
καὶ διαδοῦναι νῶτον ἄκανθάν τʼ
εἰς ἀμφοτέρους τοίχους μελέων
ἐπὶ τοὺς αἰεὶ δακρύων ἐλέγους.
μοῦσα δὲ χαὔτη τοῖς δυστήνοις
ἄτας κελαδεῖν ἀχορεύτους.
What should I mourn?
Wretched me, how ill-fated is this posture
of my bent limbs as I lie here,
my back stretched out on this hard bed.
Oh, my head, oh, my temples,
my sides! How I long to roll over,
to shift my back and spine
from one side of my body to the other,
in time with my endless elegies of tears.
But this too is music for the wretched:
to cry out their ruin, with no dance.
πρῷραι ναῶν ὠκεῖαι,
Ἴλιον ἱερὸν αἳ κώπαις
διʼ ἅλα πορφυροειδέα καὶ λιμένας
Ἑλλάδος εὐόρμους
αὐλῶν παιᾶνι στυγνῷ
συρίγγων τʼ εὐφθόγγων φωναῖς
βαίνουσαι πλεκτὰν Αἰγύπτου
παιδείαν ἐξηρτήσασθʼ,
αἰαῖ, Τροίας ἐν κόλποις
τὰν Μενελάου μετανισσόμεναι
στυγνὰν ἄλοχον, Κάστορι λώβαν
τῷ τʼ Εὐρώτᾳ δυσκλείαν,
ἃ σφάζει μὲν
τὸν πεντήκοντʼ ἀροτῆρα τέκνων
Πρίαμον, ἐμέ τε μελέαν Ἑκάβαν
εἰς τάνδʼ ἐξώκειλʼ ἄταν.
Swift prows of ships,
you came with oars to holy Ilium
over the purple sea from the fine harbors of Greece,
to the hateful paean of pipes
and the voices of sweet-sounding reeds,
and you made fast the plaited craft of Egypt,
ah, in the bays of Troy,
in pursuit of Menelaus’
hateful wife, an outrage to Castor,
a disgrace to the Eurotas.
She has slaughtered
Priam, who sowed fifty children,
and run me, wretched Hecuba,
aground on this ruin.
ὤμοι θάκους οἵους θάσσω
σκηναῖς ἔφεδρος Ἀγαμεμνονίαις.
δούλα δʼ ἄγομαι γραῦς ἐξ οἴκων,
κουρᾷ ξυρήκει πενθήρη
κρᾶτʼ ἐκπορθηθεῖσʼ οἰκτρῶς.
ἀλλʼ ὦ τῶν χαλκεγχέων Τρώων
ἄλοχοι μέλεαι καὶ δύσνυμφοι,
τύφεται Ἴλιον, αἰάζωμεν·
μάτηρ δʼ ὡσεὶ πτανοῖς κλαγγὰν
ὄρνισιν ὅπως ἐξάρξω ʼγὼ
μολπὰν οὐ τὰν αὐτὰν
οἵαν ποτὲ δὴ
σκήπτρῳ Πριάμου διερειδομένα
ποδὸς ἀρχεχόρου πλαγαῖς Φρυγίαις
εὐκόμποις ἐξῆρχον θεούς.
Oh, what a seat is this where I sit,
settled by Agamemnon’s tents!
I am led from my home, an old woman, a slave,
my head pitifully ravaged,
shorn with the razor in mourning.
You wretched wives of the bronze-speared Trojans,
brides ill-wed,
Ilium is smoldering: let us wail.
Like a mother bird over her winged young,
I will lead off the shrieking cry,
a song not the same
as the one I once
led off for the gods,
leaning on Priam’s scepter,
with the proud Phrygian beat
of the lead dancer’s foot.
Parodos
The captive women gather around Hecuba, fearing which Greek master and which land they will be sent to.
Half-ChorusἙκάβη, τί θροεῖς; τί δὲ θωΰσσεις;
ποῖ λόγος ἥκει; διὰ γὰρ μελάθρων
ἄιον οἴκτους οὓς οἰκτίζει.
διὰ δὲ στέρνων φόβος ἀίσσει
Τρῳάσιν, αἳ τῶνδʼ οἴκων εἴσω
δουλείαν αἰάζουσιν.
Half-ChorusHecuba, what are you crying out? Why this shouting?
What is it you mean? Through the tent walls
I heard the laments you were crying.
And fear darts through the hearts
of the Trojan women inside these tents
who wail for their slavery.
Hecubaὦ τέκνʼ, Ἀργείων πρὸς ναῦς ἤδη
κινεῖται κωπήρης χείρ.
HecubaMy child, already at the Argive ships
the hands are moving to the oars.
Half-Chorusοἳ ʼγὼ τλάμων, τί θέλουσʼ; ἦ πού μʼ ἤδη
ναυσθλώσουσιν πατρίας ἐκ γᾶς;
Half-ChorusOh, poor me, what do they want? Can it be
they’re about to ship me off from my homeland?
Half-Chorusἰὼ ἰώ.
μέλεαι μόχθων ἐπακουσόμεναι
Τρῳάδες, ἔξω κομίσασθʼ οἴκων·
στέλλουσʼ Ἀργεῖοι νόστον.
Half-ChorusOh, oh!
Poor Trojan women, come out of the tents
to hear what you must suffer:
the Argives are making ready to sail home.
Hecubaἒ ἔ.
μή νύν μοι τὰν
ἐκβακχεύουσαν Κασάνδραν
πέμψητʼ ἔξω,
αἰσχύναν Ἀργείοισιν,
μαινάδʼ, ἐπʼ ἄλγει δʼ ἀλγυνθῶ.
ἰὼ
Τροία Τροία δύστανʼ, ἔρρεις,
δύστανοι δʼ οἵ σʼ ἐκλείποντες
καὶ ζῶντες καὶ δμαθέντες.
HecubaNo, no!
Don’t send her out to me,
Cassandra in her Bacchic frenzy,
a disgrace before the Argives,
a maenad, to bring me pain on pain.
Oh,
Troy, Troy, unhappy Troy, you are gone,
and unhappy those who are leaving you,
the living and the slain.
Half-Chorusοἴμοι. τρομερὰ σκηνὰς ἔλιπον
τάσδʼ Ἀγαμέμνονος ἐπακουσομένα,
βασίλεια, σέθεν, μή με κτείνειν
δόξʼ Ἀργείων κεῖται μελέαν,
ἢ κατὰ πρύμνας ἤδη ναῦται
στέλλονται κινεῖν κώπας.
Half-ChorusOh, no. Trembling, I left
these tents of Agamemnon to hear from you,
my queen: have the Argives decided
to kill me, poor wretch,
or are the sailors at the sterns
already making ready to ply their oars?
Hecubaὦ τέκνον, ὀρθρεύου σὰν ψυχάν,
ἐκπληχθεῖσʼ ἦλθον φρίκᾳ.
HecubaMy child, rouse your soul at this dawn.
I came out struck with dread.
Half-Chorusἤδη τις ἔβα Δαναῶν κῆρυξ;
τῷ πρόσκειμαι δούλα τλάμων;
Half-ChorusHas some herald of the Danaans come already?
To whom am I given, a wretched slave?
Half-Chorusἰὼ ἰώ.
τίς μʼ Ἀργείων ἢ Φθιωτᾶν
ἢ νησαίαν μʼ ἄξει χώραν
δύστανον πόρσω Τροίας;
Half-ChorusOh, oh!
Which man from Argos or from Phthia
or from some island land will carry me off,
poor wretch, far from Troy?
Hecubaφεῦ φεῦ.
τῷ δʼ ἁ τλάμων
ποῦ πᾷ γαίας δουλεύσω γραῦς,
ὡς κηφήν, ἁ
δειλαία νεκροῦ μορφά,
νεκύων ἀμενηνὸν ἄγαλμʼ, ἢ
τὰν παρὰ προθύροις φυλακὰν κατέχουσʼ
ἢ παίδων θρέπτειρʼ, ἃ Τροίας
ἀρχαγοὺς εἶχον τιμάς;
HecubaAh, ah.
Whose slave will I be, poor old woman,
where, in what corner of the earth,
like a drone,
a miserable shape of a corpse,
a strengthless image of the dead,
keeping watch at someone’s door
or nursing his children,
I who held the first honors in Troy?
Chorusαἰαῖ αἰαῖ. ποίοις δʼ οἴκτοις
τὰν σὰν λύμαν ἐξαιάζεις·
οὐκ Ἰδαίοις ἱστοῖς κερκίδα
δινεύουσʼ ἐξαλλάξω.
νέατον τεκέων σώματα λεύσσω,
νέατον· μόχθους ἕξω κρείσσους,
ἢ λέκτροις πλαθεῖσʼ Ἑλλάνων·
ἔρροι νὺξ αὔτα καὶ δαίμων·
ἢ Πειρήνας ὑδρευσομένα
πρόπολος σεμνῶν ὑδάτων ἔσομαι.
τὰν κλεινὰν εἴθʼ ἔλθοιμεν
Θησέως εὐδαίμονα χώραν.
μὴ γὰρ δὴ δίναν γʼ Εὐρώτα,
τὰν ἐχθίσταν θεράπναν Ἑλένας,
ἔνθʼ ἀντάσω Μενέλᾳ δούλα,
τῷ τᾶς Τροίας πορθητᾷ.
ChorusAh, ah! With what laments
you wail for your outrage!
No more at the looms of Ida
will I send the shuttle whirling to and fro.
For the last time I see my children’s bodies,
the last time. Worse toils will be mine:
either brought to the bed of some Greek
(curse that night, and that fate!)
or drawing water from Peirene,
a servant at its holy spring.
Oh, may we come to the famous,
happy land of Theseus!
But never to the eddies of the Eurotas,
Helen’s most hateful home,
where I would face Menelaus as a slave,
the sacker of Troy.
τὰν Πηνειοῦ σεμνὰν χώραν,
κρηπῖδʼ Οὐλύμπου καλλίσταν,
ὄλβῳ βρίθειν φάμαν ἤκουσʼ
εὐθαλεῖ τʼ εὐκαρπείᾳ·
τάδε δεύτερά μοι μετὰ τὰν ἱερὰν
Θησέως ζαθέαν ἐλθεῖν χώραν.
καὶ τὰν Αἰτναίαν Ἡφαίστου
Φοινίκας ἀντήρη χώραν,
Σικελῶν ὀρέων ματέρʼ, ἀκούω
καρύσσεσθαι στεφάνοις ἀρετᾶς.
τάν τʼ ἀγχιστεύουσαν γᾶν
Ἰονίῳ … πόντῳ,
ἃν ὑγραίνει καλλιστεύων
ὁ ξανθὰν χαίταν πυρσαίνων
Κρᾶθις ζαθέαις παγαῖσι τρέφων
εὔανδρόν τʼ ὀλβίζων γᾶν.
The holy land of the Peneus,
the lovely foot of Olympus,
is loaded with wealth, I have heard it said,
and with the bloom of rich harvests.
That would be my second choice,
after the holy, sacred land of Theseus.
And the land of Etna, Hephaestus’ land,
that faces Phoenicia,
mother of Sicily’s mountains: I hear
it is proclaimed with crowns for its excellence.
And the land that lies close
to the Ionian … sea,
watered by the loveliest of rivers,
the Crathis that turns hair to golden flame,
nourishing it with holy springs
and blessing a land of fine men.
καὶ μὴν Δαναῶν ὅδʼ ἀπὸ στρατιᾶς
κῆρυξ νεοχμῶν μύθων ταμίας
στείχει ταχύπουν ἴχνος ἐξανύων.
τί φέρει; τί λέγει; δοῦλαι γὰρ δὴ
Δωρίδος ἐσμὲν χθονὸς ἤδη.
But look, here comes a herald from the Danaan army,
steward of fresh news,
covering the ground with rapid strides.
What does he bring? What does he say? For we are slaves
of the Dorian land already.
First Episode
Talthybius announces the lots; Cassandra sings her own wedding song and foretells the ruin of Agamemnon and Odysseus.
TalthybiusἙκάβη, πυκνὰς γὰρ οἶσθά μʼ εἰς Τροίαν ὁδοὺς
ἐλθόντα κήρυκʼ ἐξ Ἀχαϊκοῦ στρατοῦ,
ἐγνωσμένος δὲ καὶ πάροιθέ σοι, γύναι,
Ταλθύβιος ἥκω καινὸν ἀγγελῶν λόγον.
TalthybiusHecuba, you know I’ve often made the journey to Troy as herald of the Achaean army, and you’ve known me before, lady. I am Talthybius, and I’ve come to bring you news.
Hecubaτόδε, φίλαι Τρῳάδες, ὃ φόβος ἦν πάλαι.
HecubaThis is it, my dear Trojan women, the thing we have long dreaded.
Talthybiusἤδη κεκλήρωσθʼ, εἰ τόδʼ ἦν ὑμῖν φόβος.
TalthybiusYou’ve already been allotted, if that’s what you were afraid of.
Hecubaαἰαῖ, τίνʼ ἢ Θεσσαλίας πόλιν
Φθιάδος εἶπας ἢ Καδμείας χθονός;
HecubaAh! To what city, did you say?
In Thessaly, in Phthia, or in the land of Cadmus?
Talthybiusκατʼ ἄνδρʼ ἑκάστη κοὐχ ὁμοῦ λελόγχατε.
TalthybiusYou’ve each been allotted to a different man, not all together.
Hecubaτίνʼ ἄρα τίς ἔλαχε; τίνα πότμος εὐτυχὴς
Ἰλιάδων μένει;
HecubaThen who has drawn whom? Which of the women of Ilium
has a happy fate waiting for her?
Talthybiusοἶδʼ· ἀλλʼ ἕκαστα πυνθάνου, μὴ πάνθʼ ὁμοῦ.
TalthybiusI know. But ask one thing at a time, not everything at once.
Hecubaτοὐμὸν τίς τίς ἔλαχε τέκος, ἔννεπε,
τλάμονα Κασάνδραν;
HecubaMy child, who, who has drawn her? Tell me,
my poor Cassandra?
Talthybiusἐξαίρετόν νιν ἔλαβεν Ἀγαμέμνων ἄναξ.
TalthybiusLord Agamemnon took her as his special prize.
Hecubaἦ τᾷ Λακεδαιμονίᾳ νύμφᾳ δούλαν;
ἰώ μοί μοι.
HecubaTo be a slave to his Spartan bride?
Oh, no, no!
Talthybiusοὔκ, ἀλλὰ λέκτρων σκότια νυμφευτήρια.
TalthybiusNo. To be the secret bride of his bed.
Hecubaἦ τὰν τοῦ Φοίβου παρθένον, ᾇ γέρας ὁ
χρυσοκόμας ἔδωκʼ ἄλεκτρον ζωάν;
HecubaWhat, Phoebus’ maiden, to whom the god
with golden hair gave the gift of a life unwed?
Talthybiusἔρως ἐτόξευσʼ αὐτὸν ἐνθέου κόρης.
TalthybiusDesire for the inspired girl shot him with its arrow.
Hecubaῥῖπτε, τέκνον, ζαθέους
κλῇδας, ἀπὸ χροὸς ἐνδυτῶν
στεφέων ἱεροὺς στολμούς.
HecubaThrow them away, my child,
the sacred keys; strip from your body
the holy trappings of your garlands.
Talthybiusοὐ γὰρ μέγʼ αὐτῇ βασιλικῶν λέκτρων τυχεῖν;
TalthybiusWell, isn’t it a great thing for her to win a king’s bed?
Hecubaτί δʼ ὃ νεοχμὸν ἀπʼ ἐμέθεν ἐλάβετε τέκος ποῦ μοι;
HecubaAnd my child you took from me just now, where is she?
TalthybiusΠολυξένην ἔλεξας, ἢ τίνʼ ἱστορεῖς;
TalthybiusYou mean Polyxena? Or who is it you’re asking about?
Talthybiusτύμβῳ τέτακται προσπολεῖν Ἀχιλλέως.
TalthybiusShe’s been assigned to serve at Achilles’ tomb.
Hecubaοἴμοι ἐγώ· τάφῳ πρόσπολον ἐτεκόμαν.
ἀτὰρ τίς ὅδʼ ἢ νόμος ἢ
τί θέσμιον, ὦ φίλος, Ἑλλάνων;
HecubaOh, no! I bore a servant for a grave.
But what custom is this,
what law of the Greeks, my friend?
Talthybiusεὐδαιμόνιζε παῖδα σήν· ἔχει καλῶς.
TalthybiusCount your daughter happy. All is well with her.
Hecubaτί τόδʼ ἔλακες; ἆρά μοι ἀέλιον λεύσσει;
HecubaWhat did you say? Tell me, does she still see the sun?
Talthybiusἔχει πότμος νιν, ὥστʼ ἀπηλλάχθαι πόνων.
TalthybiusFate has her, so she is free of her troubles.
Hecubaτί δʼ ἁ τοῦ χαλκεομήστορος Ἕκτορος δάμαρ,
Ἀνδρομάχα τάλαινα, τίνʼ ἔχει τύχαν;
HecubaAnd the wife of bronze-minded Hector,
poor Andromache, what fortune is hers?
Talthybiusκαὶ τήνδʼ Ἀχιλλέως ἔλαβε παῖς ἐξαίρετον.
TalthybiusAchilles’ son took her too, as his special prize.
Hecubaἐγὼ δὲ τῷ πρόσπολος ἁ τριτοβάμονος χερὶ
δευομένα βάκτρου γεραιῷ κάρᾳ;
HecubaAnd I, whose servant am I,
an old head that needs a staff
in my hand for a third foot?
TalthybiusἼθακος Ὀδυσσεὺς ἔλαχʼ ἄναξ δούλην σʼ ἔχειν.
TalthybiusOdysseus, lord of Ithaca, has drawn you as his slave.
Hecubaἒ ἔ.
ἄρασσε κρᾶτα κούριμον,
ἕλκʼ ὀνύχεσσι δίπτυχον παρειάν.
ἰώ μοί μοι.
μυσαρῷ δολίῳ λέλογχα φωτὶ δουλεύειν,
πολεμίῳ δίκας, παρανόμῳ δάκει,
ὃς πάντα τἀκεῖθεν ἐνθάδʼ
ἀντίπαλʼ αὖθις ἐκεῖσε διπτύχῳ γλώσσᾳ
φίλα τὰ πρότερʼ ἄφιλα τιθέμενος. πάντως
γοᾶσθʼ, ὦ Τρῳάδες, με.
βέβακα δύσποτμος, οἴχομαι
ἁ τάλαινα, δυστυχεστάτῳ
προσέπεσον κλήρῳ.
HecubaNo, no!
Beat your shorn head,
tear both your cheeks with your nails.
Oh, no, no!
I have drawn a loathsome, treacherous man to be slave to,
an enemy of justice, a lawless beast,
who twists everything from there to here
and back again to there with his double tongue,
turning what was friendly once to hatred.
Mourn for me, women of Troy, mourn with all your hearts.
I am gone, ill-starred, I am finished,
wretched me. I have fallen
to the unluckiest lot of all.
Chorusτὸ μὲν σὸν οἶσθα, πότνια, τὰς δʼ ἐμὰς τύχας
τίς ἆρʼ Ἀχαιῶν ἢ τίς Ἑλλήνων ἔχει;
ChorusYou know your own fate, my lady. But mine, who has it? Which of the Achaeans, which of the Greeks?
Talthybiusἴτʼ, ἐκκομίζειν δεῦρο Κασάνδραν χρεὼν
ὅσον τάχιστα, δμῶες, ὡς στρατηλάτῃ
εἰς χεῖρα δῶμεν· εἶτα τὰς εἰληγμένας
καὶ τοῖσιν ἄλλοις αἰχμαλωτίδων ἄγω.
ἔα, τί πεύκης ἔνδον ἵσταται σέλας;
πιμπρᾶσιν ἢ τί δρῶσι Τρῳάδες μυχούς,
ὡς ἐξάγεσθαι τῆσδε μέλλουσαι χθονὸς
πρὸς Ἄργος, αὑτῶν τʼ ἐκπυροῦσι σώματα
θανεῖν θέλουσαι; κάρτα τοι τοὐλεύθερον
ἐν τοῖς τοιούτοις δυσλόφως φέρει κακά.
ἄνοιγʼ ἄνοιγε, μὴ τὸ ταῖσδε πρόσφορον,
ἐχθρὸν δʼ Ἀχαιοῖς, εἰς ἔμʼ αἰτίαν βάλῃ.
TalthybiusGo, men. You must bring Cassandra out here as fast as you can, so we can put her into the commander’s hands. After that I’ll take the women allotted to the others too. Hey! Why is there a blaze of pine torches inside? Are the Trojan women setting fire to the inner rooms? What are they doing, now that they’re about to be taken from this land to Argos? Are they burning their own bodies, wanting to die? It’s true that in situations like this a free spirit takes its troubles very hard. Open up, open up, or what suits these women and is hateful to the Achaeans will bring the blame down on me.
Hecubaοὐκ ἔστιν, οὐ πιμπρᾶσιν, ἀλλὰ παῖς ἐμὴ
μαινὰς θοάζει δεῦρο Κασάνδρα δρόμῳ.
HecubaIt’s not that, they’re not setting fires. It’s my daughter Cassandra, running wild like a maenad, rushing out here.
Cassandraἄνεχε, πάρεχε, φῶς φέρε· σέβω, φλέγω
λαμπάσι τόδʼ ἱερόν.
Ὑμήν, ὦ Ὑμέναιʼ ἄναξ, ἰοὺ ἰού.
μακάριος ὁ γαμέτας,
μακαρία δʼ ἐγὼ βασιλικοῖς λέκτροις
κατʼ Ἄργος ἁ γαμουμένα.
Ὑμήν, ὦ Ὑμέναιʼ ἄναξ.
ἐπεὶ σύ, μᾶτερ, ἐπὶ δάκρυσι καὶ
γόοισι τὸν θανόντα πατέρα πατρίδα τε
φίλαν καταστένουσʼ ἔχεις,
ἐγὼ τόδʼ ἐπὶ γάμοις ἐμοῖς
ἀναφλέγω πυρὸς φῶς
ἐς αὐγάν, ἐς αἴγλαν,
διδοῦσʼ ὦ Ὑμέναιε σοί,
διδοῦσʼ ὦ Ἑκάτα φάος,
παρθένων ἐπὶ λέκτροις ἃ νόμος ἔχει.
CassandraHold it up, hand it here, bring the light! I honor, I set ablaze
this shrine with torches.
Hymen, O Hymenaeus, lord! Oh, joy, oh, joy!
Blessed is the bridegroom,
and blessed am I, to be married
to a royal bed in Argos.
Hymen, O Hymenaeus, lord!
Since you, Mother, with tears
and with groans keep mourning
my dead father and our dear country,
I myself for my wedding
light up the fire’s blaze,
to brilliance, to gleaming,
giving it to you, Hymenaeus,
giving you light, Hecate,
for the beds of maidens, as custom has it.
πάλλε πόδʼ αἰθέριον, ἄνεχε χορόν, εὐὰν εὐοῖ,
ὡς ἐπὶ πατρὸς ἐμοῦ
μακαριωτάταις τύχαις.
ὁ χορὸς ὅσιος,
ἄγε σὺ Φοῖβέ νυν· κατὰ σὸν ἐν δάφναις
ἀνάκτορον θυηπολῶ,
Ὑμήν, ὦ Ὑμέναιʼ, Ὑμήν.
χόρευε, μᾶτερ, ἄναγε, πόδα σὸν
ἕλισσε τᾷδʼ ἐκεῖσε μετʼ ἐμέθεν ποδῶν
φέρουσα φιλτάταν βάσιν.
βοᾶτε τὸν Ὑμέναιον, ὤ,
μακαρίαις ἀοιδαῖς
ἰαχαῖς τε νύμφαν.
Kick your foot high, lead the dance, euhan, euhoi!
as in my father’s
most blessed days.
The dance is holy.
Lead it now, Phoebus: in your temple among the laurels
I serve as your priestess.
Hymen, O Hymenaeus, Hymen!
Dance, Mother, lead off, whirl your foot
this way and that with mine,
step the dearest step.
Shout out the Hymenaeus, oh,
shout for the bride
with blessed songs and cries.
ἴτʼ, ὦ καλλίπεπλοι Φρυγῶν
κόραι, μέλπετʼ ἐμῶν γάμων
τὸν πεπρωμένον εὐνᾷ πόσιν ἐμέθεν.
Come, Phrygian girls in your lovely robes,
sing for my wedding
the husband fated for my bed.
Chorusβασίλεια, βακχεύουσαν οὐ λήψει κόρην,
ChorusMy queen, won’t you hold on to the girl in her frenzy,
μὴ κοῦφον αἴρῃ βῆμʼ ἐς Ἀργείων στρατόν;
so she doesn’t go dancing lightly off to the Argive army?
HecubaἭφαιστε, δᾳδουχεῖς μὲν ἐν γάμοις βροτῶν,
ἀτὰρ λυγράν γε τήνδʼ ἀναιθύσσεις φλόγα
ἔξω τε μεγάλων ἐλπίδων. οἴμοι, τέκνον,
ὡς οὐχ ὑπʼ αἰχμῆς σʼ οὐδʼ ὑπʼ Ἀργείου δορὸς
γάμους γαμεῖσθαι τούσδʼ ἐδόξαζόν ποτε.
παράδος ἐμοὶ φῶς· οὐ γὰρ ὀρθὰ πυρφορεῖς
μαινὰς θοάζουσʼ, οὐδέ σʼ αἱ τύχαι, τέκνον,
ἐσωφρονήκασʼ, ἀλλʼ ἔτʼ ἐν ταὐτῷ μένεις.
εἰσφέρετε πεύκας δάκρυά τʼ ἀνταλλάσσετε
τοῖς τῆσδε μέλεσι, Τρῳάδες, γαμηλίοις.
HecubaHephaestus, you carry the torch at mortals’ weddings, but this flame you’re flashing up is a grim one, far from our great hopes. Oh, my child, I never imagined you would be married like this, at the point of the spear, at the point of an Argive spear. Give me the light. You’re not carrying the fire straight, rushing about in your madness, and your misfortunes haven’t brought you to your senses, child. You’re still just as you were. Take the pine torches inside, women of Troy, and answer her wedding songs with your tears.
Cassandraμῆτερ, πύκαζε κρᾶτʼ ἐμὸν νικηφόρον
καὶ χαῖρε τοῖς ἐμοῖσι βασιλικοῖς γάμοις
καὶ πέμπε, κἂν μὴ τἀμά σοι πρόθυμά γʼ ᾖ.
ὤθει βιαίως· εἰ γὰρ ἔστι Λοξίας,
Ἑλένης γαμεῖ με δυσχερέστερον γάμον
ὁ τῶν Ἀχαιῶν κλεινὸς Ἀγαμέμνων ἄναξ.
κτενῶ γὰρ αὐτὸν κἀντιπορθήσω δόμους
ποινὰς ἀδελφῶν καὶ πατρὸς λαβοῦσʼ ἐμοῦ.
ἀλλʼ αὔτʼ ἐάσω· πέλεκυν οὐχ ὑμνήσομεν,
ὃς εἰς τράχηλον τὸν ἐμὸν εἶσι χἁτέρων,
μητροκτόνους τʼ ἀγῶνας, οὓς οὑμοὶ γάμοι
θήσουσιν, οἴκων τʼ Ἀτρέως ἀνάστασιν·
CassandraMother, crown my victorious head, and rejoice at my royal marriage. Send me on my way, and if I seem less than eager to you, push me by force. For if Loxias exists, the famous lord of the Achaeans, Agamemnon, will find his marriage to me more bitter than Helen’s. I will kill him, and sack his house in return, and take vengeance for my brothers and my father. But I’ll let that be. I won’t sing of the axe that will come down on my neck and on others’, or of the struggles of a matricide that my marriage will set in motion, or of the overthrow of the house of Atreus.
πόλιν δὲ δείξω τήνδε μακαριωτέραν
ἢ τοὺς Ἀχαιούς, ἔνθεος μέν, ἀλλʼ ὅμως
τοσόνδε γʼ ἔξω στήσομαι βακχευμάτων·
οἳ διὰ μίαν γυναῖκα καὶ μίαν Κύπριν
θηρῶντες Ἑλένην μυρίους ἀπώλεσαν.
ὁ δὲ στρατηγὸς ὁ σοφὸς ἐχθίστων ὕπερ
τὰ φίλτατʼ ὤλεσʼ, ἡδονὰς τὰς οἴκοθεν
τέκνων ἀδελφῷ δοὺς γυναικὸς εἵνεκα,
καὶ ταῦθʼ ἑκούσης κοὐ βίᾳ λελῃσμένης.
ἐπεὶ δʼ ἐπʼ ἀκτὰς ἤλυθον Σκαμανδρίους,
ἔθνησκον, οὐ γῆς ὅριʼ ἀποστερούμενοι
οὐδʼ ὑψιπύργου πατρίδος· οὓς δʼ Ἄρης ἕλοι,
οὐ παῖδας εἶδον, οὐ δάμαρτος ἐν χεροῖν
πέπλοις συνεστάλησαν, ἐν ξένῃ δὲ γῇ
κεῖνται. τὰ δʼ οἴκοι τοῖσδʼ ὅμοιʼ ἐγίγνετο·
But I will show that this city is more blessed than the Achaeans. I am possessed by the god, yes, but even so I will stand outside my frenzy this far. For the sake of one woman and one passion, hunting down Helen, they lost thousands. And their clever general destroyed what he loved most for the sake of what he hated most: he gave up his joy in his own children at home as a favor to his brother, for a woman’s sake, and a woman who went willingly, not one carried off by force. When they reached the shores of the Scamander, they died, though no one was robbing them of their borders or their high-towered country. Those whom Ares took never saw their children again. No wife’s hands wrapped them in their shrouds. They lie in a foreign land. And things at home were just as bad:
χῆραί τʼ ἔθνησκον, οἳ δʼ ἄπαιδες ἐν δόμοις
ἄλλως τέκνʼ ἐκθρέψαντες, οὐδὲ πρὸς τάφους
ἔσθʼ ὅστις αὐτοῖς αἷμα γῇ δωρήσεται.
ἦ τοῦδʼ ἐπαίνου τὸ στράτευμʼ ἐπάξιον.
σιγᾶν ἄμεινον τἀσχρά, μηδὲ μοῦσά μοι
γένοιτʼ ἀοιδὸς ἥτις ὑμνήσει κακά.
Τρῶες δὲ πρῶτον μέν, τὸ κάλλιστον κλέος,
ὑπὲρ πάτρας ἔθνησκον· οὓς δʼ ἕλοι δόρυ,
νεκροί γʼ ἐς οἴκους φερόμενοι φίλων ὕπο
ἐν γῇ πατρῴᾳ περιβολὰς εἶχον χθονός,
χερσὶν περισταλέντες ὧν ἐχρῆν ὕπο·
women died widows, and men died childless in their homes, having raised children for nothing, and there is no one to pour an offering of blood on the ground at their graves. Truly the army deserves this praise! Shameful things are better left unsaid; let my Muse not be a singer who hymns evils. The Trojans, first of all, died for their country, the finest glory there is. Those whom the spear took were carried home as corpses by their loved ones, and the earth of their fathers’ land embraced them, laid out by the hands that ought to do it.
ὅσοι δὲ μὴ θάνοιεν ἐν μάχῃ Φρυγῶν,
ἀεὶ κατʼ ἦμαρ σὺν δάμαρτι καὶ τέκνοις
ᾤκουν, Ἀχαιοῖς ὧν ἀπῆσαν ἡδοναί.
τὰ δʼ Ἕκτορός σοι λύπρʼ ἄκουσον ὡς ἔχει·
δόξας ἀνὴρ ἄριστος οἴχεται θανών,
καὶ ταῦτʼ Ἀχαιῶν ἧξις ἐξεργάζεται·
εἰ δʼ ἦσαν οἴκοι, χρηστὸς ἔλαθεν ἂν γεγώς.
Πάρις τʼ ἔγημε τὴν Διός· γήμας δὲ μή,
σιγώμενον τὸ κῦδος εἶχεν ἐν δόμοις.
φεύγειν μὲν οὖν χρὴ πόλεμον ὅστις εὖ φρονεῖ·
And those Phrygians who did not die in battle lived day after day with their wives and children, joys the Achaeans went without. And Hector’s fate, which grieves you, hear how it really stands. He has died and is gone, but proved the best of men, and it was the Achaeans’ coming that achieved this. If they had stayed at home, his worth would have gone unnoticed. And Paris married the daughter of Zeus; if he hadn’t, no one would ever have spoken of the glory in his house. So whoever has sense should avoid war.
εἰ δʼ εἰς τόδʼ ἔλθοι, στέφανος οὐκ αἰσχρὸς πόλει
καλῶς ὀλέσθαι, μὴ καλῶς δὲ δυσκλεές.
ὧν εἵνεκʼ οὐ χρή, μῆτερ, οἰκτείρειν σε γῆν,
οὐ τἀμὰ λέκτρα· τοὺς γὰρ ἐχθίστους ἐμοὶ
καὶ σοὶ γάμοισι τοῖς ἐμοῖς διαφθερῶ.
But if it comes to that, to die nobly is no shameful crown for a city, and to die ignobly is a disgrace. That is why, Mother, you shouldn’t pity our land, or my marriage bed. Through my marriage I will destroy the ones you and I hate most.
Chorusὡς ἡδέως κακοῖσιν οἰκείοις γελᾷς
μέλπεις θʼ ἃ μέλπουσʼ οὐ σαφῆ δείξεις ἴσως.
ChorusHow sweetly you laugh at your own family’s troubles, and sing what your singing may not prove true.
Talthybiusεἰ μή σʼ Ἀπόλλων ἐξεβάκχευσεν φρένας,
οὔ τἂν ἀμισθὶ τοὺς ἐμοὺς στρατηλάτας
τοιαῖσδε φήμαις ἐξέπεμπες ἂν χθονός.
ἀτὰρ τὰ σεμνὰ καὶ δοκήμασιν σοφὰ
οὐδέν τι κρείσσω τῶν τὸ μηδὲν ἦν ἄρα.
ὁ γὰρ μέγιστος τῶν Πανελλήνων ἄναξ,
Ἀτρέως φίλος παῖς, τῆσδʼ ἔρωτʼ ἐξαίρετον
μαινάδος ὑπέστη· καὶ πένης μέν εἰμʼ ἐγώ,
ἀτὰρ λέχος γε τῆσδʼ ἂν οὐκ ἐκτησάμην.
TalthybiusIf Apollo hadn’t driven your wits to frenzy, you wouldn’t get away with sending my generals off from this land with words like these. But it turns out the grand, the ones reputed wise, are no better than nobodies. The greatest lord of all the Greeks, the dear son of Atreus, has given in to a special passion for this mad girl. I’m a poor man myself, but I wouldn’t have taken her to my bed.
καὶ σοὶ μέν, οὐ γὰρ ἀρτίας ἔχεις φρένας,
Ἀργεῖʼ ὀνείδη καὶ Φρυγῶν ἐπαινέσεις
ἀνέμοις φέρεσθαι παραδίδωμʼ· ἕπου δέ μοι
πρὸς ναῦς, καλὸν νύμφευμα τῷ στρατηλάτῃ.
σὺ δʼ, ἡνίκʼ ἄν σε Λαρτίου χρῄζῃ τόκος
ἄγειν, ἕπεσθαι· σώφρονος δʼ ἔσει λάτρις
γυναικός, ὥς φασʼ οἱ μολόντες Ἴλιον.
As for you, since your wits aren’t sound, I hand your insults against the Argives and your praise of the Phrygians over to the winds to carry off. Follow me to the ships, a fine bride for the general. And you, when Laertes’ son wants to take you away, follow him. You’ll be the servant of a sensible woman, so say those who came to Ilium.
Cassandraἦ δεινὸς ὁ λάτρις. τί ποτʼ ἔχουσι τοὔνομα
κήρυκες; ἓν ἀπέχθημα πάγκοινον βροτοῖς
οἱ περὶ τυράννους καὶ πόλεις ὑπηρέται.
σὺ τὴν ἐμὴν φὴς μητέρʼ εἰς Ὀδυσσέως
ἥξειν μέλαθρα; ποῦ δʼ Ἀπόλλωνος λόγοι,
οἵ φασιν αὐτὴν εἰς ἔμʼ ἡρμηνευμένοι
αὐτοῦ θανεῖσθαι; τἄλλα δʼ οὐκ ὀνειδιῶ.
δύστηνος, οὐκ οἶδʼ οἷά νιν μένει πάθη·
ὡς χρυσὸς αὐτῷ τἀμὰ καὶ Φρυγῶν κακὰ
δόξει ποτʼ εἶναι. δέκα γὰρ ἐκπλήσας ἔτη
πρὸς τοῖσιν ἐνθάδʼ, ἵξεται μόνος πάτραν.
CassandraWhat a clever fellow this lackey is! Why do heralds have that name at all? They’re one thing all mortals hate alike, these underlings who hang around kings and cities. You say my mother will go to Odysseus’ halls? Then what about Apollo’s words, revealed to me, which say she will die here? The rest I won’t throw in her face. Poor wretch, he doesn’t know what sufferings are waiting for him. Some day my troubles and the Phrygians’ will look like gold to him. When he has filled out ten years on top of those he spent here, he will reach his homeland alone,
οὗ δὴ στενὸν δίαυλον ᾤκισται πέτρας
δεινὴ Χάρυβδις, ὠμοβρώς τʼ ὀρειβάτης
Κύκλωψ, Λιγυστίς θʼ ἡ συῶν μορφώτρια
Κίρκη, θαλάσσης θʼ ἁλμυρᾶς ναυάγια,
λωτοῦ τʼ ἔρωτες, Ἡλίου θʼ ἁγναὶ βόες,
αἳ σάρκα φωνήεσσαν ἥσουσίν ποτε,
πικρὰν Ὀδυσσεῖ γῆρυν. ὡς δὲ συντέμω,
ζῶν εἶσʼ ἐς Ἅιδου κἀκφυγὼν λίμνης ὕδωρ
κάκʼ ἐν δόμοισι μυρίʼ εὑρήσει μολών.
ἀλλὰ γὰρ τί τοὺς Ὀδυσσέως ἐξακοντίζω πόνους;
στεῖχʼ ὅπως τάχιστʼ· ἐς Ἅιδου νυμφίῳ γαμώμεθα.
passing where dread Charybdis has her home in the narrow channel of rock, and the mountain-roaming Cyclops who eats raw flesh, and Ligurian Circe who turns men into swine, and wrecks on the salt sea, and longing for the lotus, and the holy cattle of the Sun, whose flesh will one day find a voice, a voice bitter to Odysseus. To cut it short, he will go down alive to Hades, and when he has escaped the sea’s waters he will come home and find countless troubles in his house. But why do I keep hurling out Odysseus’ labors? Go, as fast as you can. Let me be married to my bridegroom in Hades.
ἦ κακὸς κακῶς ταφήσει νυκτός, οὐκ ἐν ἡμέρᾳ,
ὦ δοκῶν σεμνόν τι πράσσειν, Δαναϊδῶν ἀρχηγέτα.
κἀμέ τοι νεκρὸν φάραγγες γυμνάδʼ ἐκβεβλημένην
ὕδατι χειμάρρῳ ῥέουσαι νυμφίου πέλας τάφου
θηρσὶ δώσουσιν δάσασθαι, τὴν Ἀπόλλωνος λάτριν.
ὦ στέφη τοῦ φιλτάτου μοι θεῶν, ἀγάλματʼ εὔια,
χαίρετʼ· ἐκλέλοιφʼ ἑορτάς, αἷς πάροιθʼ ἠγαλλόμην.
ἴτʼ ἀπʼ ἐμοῦ χρωτὸς σπαραγμοῖς, ὡς ἔτʼ οὖσʼ ἁγνὴ χρόα
δῶ θοαῖς αὔραις φέρεσθαί σοι τάδʼ, ὦ μαντεῖʼ ἄναξ.
Vile man, you’ll have a vile burial, at night, not by day, you who think you’re doing something grand, leader of the Danaans! And as for me, my corpse will be thrown out naked, and the ravines flowing with winter torrents near my bridegroom’s grave will give it to wild beasts to tear apart—me, Apollo’s servant. Garlands of the god I love most, ornaments of my ecstasy, farewell. I have left the festivals I once delighted in. Go, torn from my skin, so that while my body is still pure I may give them to the swift winds to carry to you, lord of prophecy.
ποῦ σκάφος τὸ τοῦ στρατηγοῦ; ποῖ ποτʼ ἐμβαίνειν με χρή;
οὐκέτʼ ἂν φθάνοις ἂν αὔραν ἱστίοις καραδοκῶν,
ὡς μίαν τριῶν Ἐρινὺν τῆσδέ μʼ ἐξάξων χθονός.
χαῖρέ μοι, μῆτερ, δακρύσῃς μηδέν, ὦ φίλη πατρίς·
οἵ τε γῆς ἔνερθʼ ἀδελφοὶ χὠ τεκὼν ἡμᾶς πατήρ,
οὐ μακρὰν δέξεσθέ μʼ· ἥκω δʼ εἰς νεκροὺς νικηφόρος
καὶ δόμους πέρσασʼ Ἀτρειδῶν, ὧν ἀπωλόμεσθʼ ὕπο.
Where is the general’s ship? Where do I go aboard? Waste no more time watching for a wind to fill your sails: you’ll be taking me from this land as one of the three Furies. Farewell, Mother; don’t cry at all. Dear country, and my brothers under the earth, and the father who begot us, you won’t wait long to welcome me. I will come to the dead in triumph, having sacked the house of the sons of Atreus, who destroyed us.
ChorusἙκάβης γεραιᾶς φύλακες, οὐ δεδόρκατε
δέσποιναν ὡς ἄναυδος εἰς πέδον πίτνει;
οὐκ ἀντιλήψεσθʼ; ἢ μεθήσετʼ, ὦ κακαί,
γραῖαν πεσοῦσαν; αἴρετʼ εἰς ὀρθὸν δέμας.
ChorusYou who look after old Hecuba, don’t you see your mistress falling to the ground without a word? Won’t you catch hold of her? Or will you leave an old woman lying where she fell, you useless women? Lift her up, get her upright.
Hecubaἐᾶτέ μʼ, οὔτοι φίλα τὰ μὴ φίλʼ, ὦ κόραι,
κεῖσθαι πεσοῦσαν· πτωμάτων γὰρ ἄξια
πάσχω τε καὶ πέπονθα κἄτι πείσομαι.
ὦ θεοί· κακοὺς μὲν ἀνακαλῶ τοὺς συμμάχους,
ὅμως δʼ ἔχει τι σχῆμα κικλήσκειν θεούς,
ὅταν τις ἡμῶν δυστυχῆ λάβῃ τύχην.
πρῶτον μὲν οὖν μοι τἀγάθʼ ἐξᾷσαι φίλον·
τοῖς γὰρ κακοῖσι πλείονʼ οἶκτον ἐμβαλῶ.
ἤμην τύραννος κεἰς τύραννʼ ἐγημάμην,
κἀνταῦθʼ ἀριστεύοντʼ ἐγεινάμην τέκνα,
οὐκ ἀριθμὸν ἄλλως, ἀλλʼ ὑπερτάτους Φρυγῶν·
HecubaLet me be, girls. Kindness nobody wants is no kindness. Let me lie where I’ve fallen. What I suffer, what I have suffered, and what I have still to suffer are worth falling down for. Gods! I know I’m calling on poor allies. Still, there’s something fitting in calling on the gods when one of us meets with misfortune. So first I want to sing out the good things I’ve had, because that way I’ll stir more pity for my troubles. I was royal, and I married into royalty, and there I bore sons who were the best. They weren’t just a number, either; they were the finest of the Phrygians.
οὐ Τρῳὰς οὐδʼ Ἑλληνὶς οὐδὲ βάρβαρος
γυνὴ τεκοῦσα κομπάσειεν ἄν ποτε.
κἀκεῖνά τʼ εἶδον δορὶ πεσόνθʼ Ἑλληνικῷ,
τρίχας δʼ ἐτμήθην τάσδε πρὸς τύμβοις νεκρῶν,
καὶ τὸν φυτουργὸν Πρίαμον οὐκ ἄλλων πάρα
κλύουσʼ ἔκλαυσα, τοῖσδε δʼ εἶδον ὄμμασιν
αὐτὴ κατασφαγέντʼ ἐφʼ ἑρκείῳ πυρᾷ,
πόλιν θʼ ἁλοῦσαν. ἃς δʼ ἔθρεψα παρθένους
εἰς ἀξίωμα νυμφίων ἐξαίρετον,
ἄλλοισι θρέψασʼ ἐκ χερῶν ἀφῃρέθην.
κοὔτʼ ἐξ ἐκείνων ἐλπὶς ὡς ὀφθήσομαι,
αὐτή τʼ ἐκείνας οὐκέτʼ ὄψομαί ποτε.
No woman, Trojan or Greek or foreign, could ever boast of bearing sons like them. And I saw them fall to the Greek spear, and I cut off this hair of mine at the graves of the dead. And Priam, who fathered them, I didn’t weep for because others told me of it. I saw him with these eyes of mine, slaughtered at the altar fire of our own courtyard, and I saw the city taken. The daughters I raised to be worthy of the choicest bridegrooms, I raised for others: they were torn from my hands. There’s no hope they’ll ever see me again, and I’ll never see them again either.
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ θριγκὸς ἀθλίων κακῶν,
δούλη γυνὴ γραῦς Ἑλλάδʼ εἰσαφίξομαι.
ἃ δʼ ἐστὶ γήρᾳ τῷδʼ ἀσυμφορώτατα,
τούτοις με προσθήσουσιν, ἢ θυρῶν λάτριν
κλῇδας φυλάσσειν, τὴν τεκοῦσαν Ἕκτορα,
ἢ σιτοποιεῖν, κἀν πέδῳ κοίτας ἔχειν
ῥυσοῖσι νώτοις βασιλικῶν ἐκ δεμνίων,
τρυχηρὰ περὶ τρυχηρὸν εἱμένην χρόα
πέπλων λακίσματʼ, ἀδόκιμʼ ὀλβίοις ἔχειν.
οἲ ʼγὼ τάλαινα, διὰ γάμον μιᾶς ἄρα
γυναικὸς οἵων ἔτυχον ὧν τε τεύξομαι.
ὦ τέκνον, ὦ σύμβακχε Κασάνδρα θεοῖς,
οἵαις ἔλυσας συμφοραῖς ἅγνευμα σόν.
And last of all, the capstone of my miserable troubles: I’ll go to Greece an old woman and a slave. They’ll set me to the tasks least suited to my age. I, who bore Hector, will be a servant at the door keeping the keys, or I’ll bake bread. I’ll lay my wrinkled back on the ground after a royal bed, and wrap my worn-out body in worn-out rags of robes, clothes the prosperous would be ashamed to wear. Oh, no, how wretched I am! Look what I’ve met with, and what I’ve yet to meet with, all because of one woman’s marriage! My child, Cassandra, you who shared the gods’ Bacchic frenzy, what a disaster has ended your purity!
σύ τʼ ὦ τάλαινα, ποῦ ποτʼ εἶ, Πολυξένη;
ὡς οὔτε μʼ ἄρσην οὔτε θήλεια σπορὰ
πολλῶν γενομένων τὴν τάλαιναν ὠφελεῖ.
τί δῆτά μʼ ὀρθοῦτʼ; ἐλπίδων ποίων ὕπο;
ἄγετε τὸν ἁβρὸν δήποτʼ ἐν Τροίᾳ πόδα,
νῦν δʼ ὄντα δοῦλον, στιβάδα πρὸς χαμαιπετῆ
πέτρινά τε κρήδεμνʼ, ὡς πεσοῦσʼ ἀποφθαρῶ
δακρύοις καταξανθεῖσα. τῶν δʼ εὐδαιμόνων
μηδένα νομίζετʼ εὐτυχεῖν πρὶν ἂν θάνῃ.
And you, poor girl, Polyxena, where are you? I had many children, sons and daughters, and not one of them is any help to me in my misery. So why are you lifting me up? What hope is there? This foot was once so delicate in Troy and is now a slave’s. Lead it to a bed of straw on the ground and a pillow of stone, so I can fall there and waste away, worn down by tears. Of those who prosper, don’t count any of them fortunate until he’s dead.
First Stasimon
The chorus sings of the night the Trojans brought the wooden horse into their city.
Chorusἀμφί μοι Ἴλιον, ὦ
Μοῦσα, καινῶν ὕμνων
ἄεισον ἐν δακρύοις
ᾠδὰν ἐπικήδειον·
νῦν γὰρ μέλος εἰς Τροίαν
ἰαχήσω,
τετραβάμονος ὡς ὑπʼ ἀπήνας
Ἀργείων ὀλόμαν τάλαινα δοριάλωτος,
ὅτʼ ἔλιπον ἵππον οὐράνια
βρέμοντα χρυσεοφάλαρον ἔνοπλον
ἐν πύλαις Ἀχαιοί·
ἀνὰ δʼ ἐβόασεν λεὼς
Τρῳάδος ἀπὸ πέτρας σταθείς·
ἴτʼ ὦ πεπαυμένοι πόνων,
τόδʼ ἱερὸν ἀνάγετε ξόανον
Ἰλιάδι Διογενεῖ κόρᾳ.
ChorusSing to me of Ilium, Muse,
a funeral song of new hymns,
sung through tears.
For now I’ll cry out a song for Troy:
how I was destroyed, a wretched captive of the spear,
by the Argives’ four-footed wagon,
when the Achaeans left the horse at our gates,
roaring to the sky,
gold-trapped, full of armed men.
And the people shouted out,
standing on the Trojan rock:
“Come, your labors are over,
bring this holy image up
for the Zeus-born maiden of Ilium!”
τίς οὐκ ἔβα νεανίδων,
τίς οὐ γεραιὸς ἐκ δόμων;
κεχαρμένοι δʼ ἀοιδαῖς
δόλιον ἔσχον ἄταν.
πᾶσα δὲ γέννα Φρυγῶν
πρὸς πύλας ὡρμάθη,
πεύκᾳ ἐν οὐρείᾳ
ξεστὸν λόχον Ἀργείων
καὶ Δαρδανίας ἄταν
θεᾷ δώσων
χάριν ἄζυγος ἀμβροτοπώλου·
κλωστοῦ δʼ ἀμφιβόλοις λίνοιο, ναὸς ὡσεὶ
σκάφος κελαινὸν εἰς ἕδρανα
λάινα δάπεδά τε φόνια πατρίδι
Παλλάδος θέσαν θεᾶς.
Which young woman didn’t go,
which old man stayed at home?
Delighting in songs,
they took in their ruin, a trick.
The whole race of Phrygians
rushed to the gates
to give the goddess the polished ambush of the Argives
in mountain pine,
the ruin of Dardania,
a gift for the unwedded goddess of the immortal horses.
With ropes of spun flax, as if it were a ship’s dark hull,
they hauled it to the stone seat
of the goddess Pallas,
to the floor that would mean slaughter for our country.
ἐν δὲ πόνῳ καὶ χαρᾷ
νύχιον ἐπὶ κνέφας παρῆν,
Λίβυς τε λωτὸς ἐκτύπει
Φρύγιά τε μέλεα, παρθένοι δʼ
ἀέριον ἀνὰ κρότον ποδῶν
βοὰν ἔμελπον εὔφρονʼ· ἐν
δόμοις δὲ παμφαὲς σέλας
πυρὸς μέλαιναν αἴγλαν
… ἔδωκεν ὕπνῳ.
ἐγὼ δὲ τὰν ὀρεστέραν
τότʼ ἀμφὶ μέλαθρα παρθένον,
Διὸς κόραν ἐμελπόμαν
χοροῖσι· φοινία δʼ ἀνὰ
πτόλιν βοὰ κατεῖχε Περγάμων
ἕδρας· βρέφη δὲ φίλια
περὶ πέπλους ἔβαλλε ματρὶ
χεῖρας ἐπτοημένας·
Over the toil and the joy
the darkness of night came on.
The Libyan pipe was sounding,
and Phrygian songs, and girls
lifting their feet high to the beat
sang a happy shout. In the houses
the blaze of fire shone everywhere,
… gave a dark gleam to sleep.
And I was singing then
in the dances about the halls
of the mountain maiden,
Zeus’ daughter, when a murderous cry
through the city took hold
of Pergamum’s dwellings. Dear little children
threw their frightened hands
around their mothers’ robes.
λόχου δʼ ἐξέβαινʼ Ἄρης,
κόρας ἔργα Παλλάδος.
σφαγαὶ δʼ ἀμφιβώμιοι
Φρυγῶν, ἔν τε δεμνίοις
καράτομος ἐρημία
νεανίδων στέφανον ἔφερεν
Ἑλλάδι κουροτρόφον,
Φρυγῶν δὲ πατρίδι πένθος.
Out of the ambush came Ares,
the work of the maiden Pallas.
Phrygians were slaughtered around the altars,
and in the beds, the desolation of men beheaded
brought a crown of young women
to Greece, to raise its children,
and grief to the Phrygians’ homeland.
Second Episode
Andromache reports Polyxena’s death, and the Greeks decide to throw her son Astyanax from the walls.
Ἑκάβη, λεύσσεις τήνδʼ Ἀνδρομάχην
ξενικοῖς ἐπʼ ὄχοις πορθμευομένην;
παρὰ δʼ εἰρεσίᾳ μαστῶν ἕπεται
φίλος Ἀστυάναξ, Ἕκτορος ἶνις.
ποῖ ποτʼ ἀπήνης νώτοισι φέρει,
δύστηνε γύναι, πάρεδρος χαλκέοις
Ἕκτορος ὅπλοις σκύλοις τε Φρυγῶν
δοριθηράτοις,
οἷσιν Ἀχιλλέως παῖς Φθιώτης
στέψει ναοὺς ἀπὸ Τροίας;
Hecuba, do you see Andromache here,
carried off on a foreign cart?
Beside her heaving breast
goes her dear Astyanax, Hector’s son.
Where are you being taken on the wagon’s back,
unhappy lady,
sitting beside Hector’s bronze armor
and the Phrygians’ spoils, hunted down with the spear,
with which Achilles’ son from Phthia
will crown his temples, trophies from Troy?
Andromacheτί παιᾶνʼ ἐμὸν στενάξεις
AndromacheWhy groan out my victory song
Andromacheτῶνδʼ ἀλγέων
Andromacheof these pains
Andromacheκαὶ συμφορᾶς;
Andromacheand this disaster?
Andromacheπρίν ποτʼ ἦμεν.
Andromachewe were, once.
Hecubaἐμῶν τʼ εὐγένεια παίδων.
Hecubaand my children’s noble birth.
Hecubaφεῦ δῆτʼ ἐμῶν
HecubaAh, yes, for my
Hecubaοἰκτρὰ τύχα
HecubaPitiful, the fate
Hecubaἃ καπνοῦται.
Hecubagoing up in smoke.
Hecubaβοᾷς τὸν παρʼ Ἅιδᾳ
παῖδʼ ἐμόν, ὦ μελέα.
HecubaYou’re calling my son,
who is with Hades, poor thing.
Andromacheοἵδε πόθοι μεγάλοι· σχετλία, τάδε πάσχομεν ἄλγη,
οἰχομένας πόλεως, ἐπὶ δʼ ἄλγεσιν ἄλγεα κεῖνται
δυσφροσύναισι θεῶν, ὅτε σὸς γόνος ἔκφυγεν Ἅιδαν,
ὃς λεχέων στυγερῶν χάριν ὤλεσε πέργαμα Τροίας.
αἱματόεντα δὲ θεᾷ παρὰ Παλλάδι σώματα νεκρῶν
γυψὶ φέρειν τέταται· ζυγὰ δʼ ᾔνεσε δούλια Τροία.
AndromacheSuch is our great longing. Poor woman, these are the pains we suffer.
The city is gone, and pain is heaped on pain
by the gods’ ill will, ever since your son escaped Hades,
the one who destroyed Troy’s citadel for a hateful bed.
Bloodied bodies of the dead lie stretched beside the goddess Pallas
for the vultures to carry off, and Troy has accepted the yoke of slavery.
Hecubaὦ πατρὶς ὦ μελέα, καταλειπομέναν σε δακρύω,
νῦν τέλος οἰκτρὸν ὁρᾷς, καὶ ἐμὸν δόμον ἔνθʼ ἐλοχεύθην.
ὦ τέκνʼ, ἔρημος πόλις μάτηρ ἀπολείπεται ὑμῶν
οἷος ἰάλεμος οἷά τε πένθη …
δάκρυά τʼ ἐκ δακρύων καταλείβεται …
ἁμετέροισι δόμοις. ὁ θανὼν δʼ ἐπιλάθεται …
ἀλγέων ἀδάκρυτος.
HecubaMy country, my poor country, I weep for you as you’re left behind.
Now you see your pitiful end, and my house, where I gave birth.
Children, your mother, the city, is left desolate without you.
What wailing, what grief …
tears upon tears pour down …
for our house. The dead forget …
their pains and shed no tears.
Chorusὡς ἡδὺ δάκρυα τοῖς κακῶς πεπραγόσι
θρήνων τʼ ὀδυρμοὶ μοῦσά θʼ ἣ λύπας ἔχει.
ChorusHow sweet tears are to those who have fared badly, and the wailing of laments, and the song that holds grief.
Andromacheὦ μῆτερ ἀνδρός, ὅς ποτʼ Ἀργείων δορὶ
πλείστους διώλεσʼ, Ἕκτορος, τάδʼ εἰσορᾷς;
AndromacheMother of Hector, the man whose spear once killed so many Argives, do you see this?
Hecubaὁρῶ τὰ τῶν θεῶν, ὡς τὰ μὲν πυργοῦσʼ ἄνω
τὰ μηδὲν ὄντα, τὰ δὲ δοκοῦντʼ ἀπώλεσαν.
HecubaI see the gods’ work: how they tower up what is nothing, and destroy what seems to be something.
Andromacheἀγόμεθα λεία σὺν τέκνῳ, τὸ δʼ εὐγενὲς
εἰς δοῦλον ἥκει, μεταβολὰς τοιάσδʼ ἔχον.
AndromacheWe’re being carried off as plunder, my child and I. Nobility has come to slavery. That’s the kind of reversal it suffers.
Hecubaτὸ τῆς ἀνάγκης δεινόν· ἄρτι κἀπʼ ἐμοῦ
βέβηκʼ ἀποσπασθεῖσα Κασάνδρα βίᾳ.
HecubaNecessity is a terrible thing. Just now Cassandra too was torn away from me by force and taken off.
Andromacheφεῦ φεῦ·
ἄλλος τις Αἴας, ὡς ἔοικε, δεύτερος
παιδὸς πέφηνε σῆς· νοσεῖς δὲ χἄτερα.
AndromacheAh, ah. It seems another Ajax has turned up for your daughter, a second one. But you have other troubles too.
Hecubaὧν γʼ οὔτε μέτρον οὔτʼ ἀριθμὸς ἔστι μοι·
κακῷ κακὸν γὰρ εἰς ἅμιλλαν ἔρχεται.
HecubaI have troubles beyond measure and beyond counting. One trouble comes to compete with another.
Andromacheτέθνηκέ σοι παῖς πρὸς τάφῳ Πολυξένη
σφαγεῖσʼ Ἀχιλλέως, δῶρον ἀψύχῳ νεκρῷ.
AndromacheYour daughter Polyxena is dead. They slaughtered her at Achilles’ grave, a gift to a lifeless corpse.
Hecubaοἲ ʼγὼ τάλαινα. τοῦτʼ ἐκεῖνό μοι πάλαι
Ταλθύβιος αἴνιγμʼ οὐ σαφῶς εἶπεν σαφές.
HecubaOh, no, how wretched I am! So that was the riddle Talthybius told me a while ago. The truth was plain, but he didn’t put it plainly.
Andromacheεἶδόν νιν αὐτὴ κἀποβᾶσα τῶνδʼ ὄχων
ἔκρυψα πέπλοις κἀπεκλαυσάμην νεκρόν.
AndromacheI saw her myself. I got down from this cart, covered her with robes, and mourned over the body.
Hecubaαἰαῖ, τέκνον, σῶν ἀνοσίων προσφαγμάτων·
αἰαῖ μάλʼ αὖθις, ὡς κακῶς διόλλυσαι.
HecubaAh, ah, my child, for your unholy sacrifice! Ah, ah, and again, how cruelly you’ve died!
Andromacheὄλωλεν ὡς ὄλωλεν, ἀλλʼ ὅμως ἐμοῦ
ζώσης γʼ ὄλωλεν εὐτυχεστέρῳ πότμῳ.
AndromacheShe has died the way she died. Still, her death is a happier lot than my life.
Hecubaοὐ ταὐτόν, ὦ παῖ, τῷ βλέπειν τὸ κατθανεῖν·
τὸ μὲν γὰρ οὐδέν, τῷ δʼ ἔνεισιν ἐλπίδες.
HecubaSeeing the light and being dead aren’t the same, child. Death is nothing, but in life there are hopes.
Andromacheὦ μῆτερ ὦ τεκοῦσα, κάλλιστον λόγον
ἄκουσον, ὥς σοι τέρψιν ἐμβάλω φρενί.
τὸ μὴ γενέσθαι τῷ θανεῖν ἴσον λέγω,
τοῦ ζῆν δὲ λυπρῶς κρεῖσσόν ἐστι κατθανεῖν.
ἀλγεῖ γὰρ οὐδὲν τῶν κακῶν ᾐσθημένος·
ὁ δʼ εὐτυχήσας εἰς τὸ δυστυχὲς πεσὼν
ψυχὴν ἀλᾶται τῆς πάροιθʼ εὐπραξίας.
κείνη δʼ ὁμοίως ὥσπερ οὐκ ἰδοῦσα φῶς
τέθνηκε κοὐδὲν οἶδε τῶν αὑτῆς κακῶν.
AndromacheMother, you who bore him, listen to an argument, a very fine one, so I can bring some comfort to your heart. I say that never being born is the same as being dead, and being dead is better than living in misery. Someone who has never felt his troubles feels no pain. But someone who has fared well and then falls into misfortune wanders in his soul, cut off from his former happiness. She is dead as if she had never seen the light, and she knows nothing of her own troubles.
ἐγὼ δὲ τοξεύσασα τῆς εὐδοξίας
λαχοῦσα πλεῖστον τῆς τύχης ἡμάρτανον.
ἃ γὰρ γυναιξὶ σώφρονʼ ἔσθʼ ηὑρημένα,
ταῦτʼ ἐξεμόχθουν Ἕκτορος κατὰ στέγας.
πρῶτον μέν, ἔνθα κἂν προσῇ κἂν μὴ προσῇ
ψόγος γυναιξίν, αὐτὸ τοῦτʼ ἐφέλκεται
κακῶς ἀκούειν, ἥτις οὐκ ἔνδον μένει,
τούτου παρεῖσα πόθον ἔμιμνον ἐν δόμοις
εἴσω μελάθρων· κομψὰ θηλειῶν ἔπη
οὐκ εἰσεφριέμην, τὸν δὲ νοῦν διδάσκαλον
οἴκοθεν ἔχουσα χρηστὸν ἐξήρκουν ἐμοί.
As for me, I aimed at a good name, and I won the greatest share of it, but I missed good fortune. All the conduct that has been found sensible in women, I worked hard to practice in Hector’s house. First, a woman draws ill report on herself simply by not staying at home, whether there’s anything else to blame her for or not. So I gave up any wish to go out and stayed in the house, inside its halls. I didn’t let the clever talk of women in. I had my own good mind as my teacher, from home, and that was enough for me.
γλώσσης τε σιγὴν ὄμμα θʼ ἥσυχον πόσει
παρεῖχον· ᾔδη δʼ ἁμὲ χρῆν νικᾶν πόσιν,
κείνῳ τε νίκην ὧν ἐχρῆν παριέναι.
καὶ τῶνδε κληδὼν εἰς στράτευμʼ Ἀχαϊκὸν
ἐλθοῦσʼ ἀπώλεσέν μʼ· ἐπεὶ γὰρ ᾑρέθην,
Ἀχιλλέως με παῖς ἐβουλήθη λαβεῖν
δάμαρτα· δουλεύσω δʼ ἐν αὐθεντῶν δόμοις.
κεἰ μὲν παρώσασʼ Ἕκτορος φίλον κάρα
πρὸς τὸν παρόντα πόσιν ἀναπτύξω φρένα,
κακὴ φανοῦμαι τῷ θανόντι· τόνδε δʼ αὖ
στέργουσʼ ἐμαυτῆς δεσπόταις μισήσομαι.
I offered my husband a silent tongue and a quiet face. I knew where I ought to win against my husband, and where I ought to let him win. And the report of all this reached the Achaean army and destroyed me. When I was captured, Achilles’ son wanted to take me as his wife. I’ll be a slave in the house of the very men who killed my husband. If I push aside Hector’s dear face and open my heart to the husband I have now, I’ll look false to the dead. But if I hold on to my love for him instead, I’ll be hated by my own masters.
καίτοι λέγουσιν ὡς μίʼ εὐφρόνη χαλᾷ
τὸ δυσμενὲς γυναικὸς εἰς ἀνδρὸς λέχος·
ἀπέπτυσʼ αὐτήν, ἥτις ἄνδρα τὸν πάρος
καινοῖσι λέκτροις ἀποβαλοῦσʼ ἄλλον φιλεῖ.
ἀλλʼ οὐδὲ πῶλος ἥτις ἂν διαζυγῇ
τῆς συντραφείσης, ῥᾳδίως ἕλξει ζυγόν.
καίτοι τὸ θηριῶδες ἄφθογγόν τʼ ἔφυ
ξυνέσει τʼ ἄχρηστον τῇ φύσει τε λείπεται.
σὲ δʼ, ὦ φίλʼ Ἕκτορ, εἶχον ἄνδρʼ ἀρκοῦντά μοι
ξυνέσει γένει πλούτῳ τε κἀνδρείᾳ μέγαν·
And yet they say one night is enough to soften a woman’s hostility to a man’s bed. I spit on any woman who throws over her former husband for a new bed and loves another. Why, not even a filly will easily pull the yoke once she’s been unyoked from the mare she was raised with. And yet a beast is born without speech, has no use for reason, and is inferior by nature. But you, dear Hector, I had as a husband who was all I needed, great in understanding, birth, wealth and courage.
ἀκήρατον δέ μʼ ἐκ πατρὸς λαβὼν δόμων
πρῶτος τὸ παρθένειον ἐξεύξω λέχος.
καὶ νῦν ὄλωλας μὲν σύ, ναυσθλοῦμαι δʼ ἐγὼ
πρὸς Ἑλλάδʼ αἰχμάλωτος εἰς δοῦλον ζυγόν.
ἆρʼ οὐκ ἐλάσσω τῶν ἐμῶν ἡγεῖ κακῶν
Πολυξένης ὄλεθρον, ἣν καταστένεις;
ἐμοὶ γὰρ οὐδʼ ὃ πᾶσι λείπεται βροτοῖς
ξύνεστιν ἐλπίς, οὐδὲ κλέπτομαι φρένας
πράξειν τι κεδνόν· ἡδὺ δʼ ἐστὶ καὶ δοκεῖν.
You took me untouched from my father’s house, and you were the first to yoke my virgin bed. And now you are dead, and I’m being shipped to Greece as a captive, to the yoke of slavery. Don’t you think Polyxena’s death, which you’re lamenting, is a smaller thing than my troubles? I don’t even have what’s left to all mortals, hope. I don’t fool myself that I’ll ever have any good luck, though even imagining it is sweet.
Chorusεἰς ταὐτὸν ἥκεις συμφορᾶς· θρηνοῦσα δὲ
τὸ σὸν διδάσκεις μʼ ἔνθα πημάτων κυρῶ.
ChorusYou’ve come to the same disaster as I have. In lamenting your own lot, you teach me where I stand in my sufferings.
Hecubaαὐτὴ μὲν οὔπω ναὸς εἰσέβην σκάφος,
γραφῇ δʼ ἰδοῦσα καὶ κλύουσʼ ἐπίσταμαι.
ναύταις γὰρ ἢν μὲν μέτριος ᾖ χειμὼν φέρειν,
προθυμίαν ἔχουσι σωθῆναι πόνων,
ο μὲν παρʼ οἴαχʼ, ὃ δʼ ἐπὶ λαίφεσιν βεβώς,
ὃ δʼ ἄντλον εἴργων ναός· ἢν δʼ ὑπερβάλῃ
πολὺς ταραχθεὶς πόντος, ἐνδόντες τύχῃ
παρεῖσαν αὑτοὺς κυμάτων δρομήμασιν.
οὕτω δὲ κἀγὼ πόλλʼ ἔχουσα πήματα
ἄφθογγός εἰμι καὶ παρεῖσʼ ἐῶ στόμα·
HecubaI’ve never set foot on a ship myself, but I know about them from pictures I’ve seen and stories I’ve heard. If a storm is moderate enough to bear, sailors are eager to get safely out of trouble. One takes the tiller, one stands at the sails, one keeps the bilge-water out of the ship. But if a high, churning sea overwhelms them, they give in to fortune and let themselves go with the running of the waves. In the same way I, with all my sufferings, am speechless; I give up and let my mouth be still.
νικᾷ γὰρ οὑκ θεῶν με δύστηνος κλύδων.
ἀλλʼ ὦ φίλη παῖ, τὰς μὲν Ἕκτορος τύχας
ἔασον· οὐ γὰρ δάκρυά νιν σώσει τὰ σά·
τίμα δὲ τὸν παρόντα δεσπότην σέθεν,
φίλον διδοῦσα δέλεαρ ἀνδρὶ σῶν τρόπων.
κἂν δρᾷς τάδʼ, εἰς τὸ κοινὸν εὐφρανεῖς φίλους
καὶ παῖδα τόνδε παιδὸς ἐκθρέψειας ἂν
Τροίᾳ μέγιστον ὠφέλημʼ, ἣν ἄν ποτε
ἐκ σοῦ γενόμενοι παῖδες ὕστερον πάλιν
κατοικίσειαν, καὶ πόλις γένοιτʼ ἔτι.
The wretched surge the gods have sent overpowers me. But, my dear child, let Hector’s fate be. Your tears won’t save him. Honor your present master, and give the man the sweet bait of your ways. If you do this, you’ll cheer all of us who love you, and you might raise this child of my child to be the greatest help to Troy. Children born of you might someday settle it again, and there might still be a city.
ἀλλʼ ἐκ λόγου γὰρ ἄλλος ἐκβαίνει λόγος,
τίνʼ αὖ δέδορκα τόνδʼ Ἀχαϊκὸν λάτριν
στείχοντα καινῶν ἄγγελον βουλευμάτων;
But one word leads to another. Who’s this I see, the Achaeans’ servant, coming as messenger of new decisions?
TalthybiusΦρυγῶν ἀρίστου πρίν ποθʼ Ἕκτορος δάμαρ,
μὴ ʼμὲ στυγήσῃς· οὐχ ἑκὼν γὰρ ἀγγελῶ
Δαναῶν τε κοινὰ Πελοπιδῶν τʼ ἀγγέλματα.
TalthybiusWife of Hector, once the best of the Phrygians, don’t hate me. It’s not by my choice that I announce the joint decision of the Danaans and the sons of Pelops.
Andromacheτί δʼ ἔστιν; ὥς μοι φροιμίων ἄρχει κακῶν.
AndromacheWhat is it? You open with a prelude to bad news.
Talthybiusἔδοξε τόνδε παῖδα — πῶς εἴπω λόγον;
TalthybiusIt’s been decided that this boy—how can I say it?
Andromacheμῶν οὐ τὸν αὐτὸν δεσπότην ἡμῖν ἔχειν;
AndromacheSurely not that he’s to have a different master from me?
Andromacheἀλλʼ ἐνθάδʼ αὐτοῦ λείψανον Φρυγῶν λιπεῖν;
AndromacheThen he’s to be left here, all that’s left of the Phrygians?
Talthybiusοὐκ οἶδʼ ὅπως σοι ῥᾳδίως εἴπω κακά.
TalthybiusI don’t know how to tell you bad news gently.
Andromacheἐπῄνεσʼ αἰδῶ, πλὴν ἐὰν λέγῃς καλά.
AndromacheI commend your reluctance, unless your news is good.
Talthybiusκτενοῦσι σὸν παῖδʼ, ὡς πύθῃ κακὸν μέγα.
TalthybiusThey’re going to kill your son. There, now you know the whole terrible thing.
Andromacheοἴμοι, κακῶν τόδʼ ὡς κλύω μεῖζον κακόν.
AndromacheOh, no! What I’m hearing is a greater evil than all my evils.
Talthybiusνικᾷ δʼ Ὀδυσσεὺς ἐν Πανέλλησιν λέγων.
TalthybiusOdysseus carried the day, speaking before all the Greeks.
Andromacheαἰαῖ μάλʼ, οὐ γὰρ μέτρια πάσχομεν κακά.
AndromacheAh, ah, ah! What we suffer is beyond all measure.
Talthybiusλέξας ἀρίστου παῖδα μὴ τρέφειν πατρός,
TalthybiusHe said they mustn’t raise the son of so great a father—
Andromacheτοιαῦτα νικήσειε τῶν αὑτοῦ πέρι.
AndromacheMay he carry a vote like that about his own son!
Talthybiusῥῖψαι δὲ πύργων δεῖν σφε Τρωικῶν ἄπο.
ἀλλʼ ὣς γενέσθω, καὶ σοφωτέρα φανεῖ·
μήτʼ ἀντέχου τοῦδʼ, εὐγενῶς δʼ ἄλγει κακοῖς,
μήτε σθένουσα μηδὲν ἰσχύσειν δόκει.
ἔχεις γὰρ ἀλκὴν οὐδαμῇ· σκοπεῖν δὲ χρή·
πόλις τʼ ὄλωλε καὶ πόσις, κρατεῖ δὲ σύ,
ἡμῖν τε πῶς γυναῖκα μάρνασθαι μίαν
οἷόν τε; τούτων εἵνεκʼ οὐ μάχης ἐρᾶν
οὐδʼ αἰσχρὸν οὐδὲν οὐδʼ ἐπίφθονόν σε δρᾶν,
οὐδʼ αὖ σʼ Ἀχαιῶν βούλομαι ῥίπτειν ἀράς.
Talthybius—and that he must be thrown from the towers of Troy. Let it happen; you’ll show yourself wiser that way. Don’t cling to him. Bear the pain of your troubles nobly. And don’t imagine you have any strength when you have none. You have no defense anywhere. You must look at the facts: your city is gone, and your husband, and you are in our power. How could one woman fight against us? So I don’t want you to be eager for a fight, or to do anything shameful or anything that will provoke resentment. Nor do I want you hurling curses at the Achaeans.
εἰ γάρ τι λέξεις ᾧ χολώσεται στρατός,
οὔτʼ ἂν ταφείη παῖς ὅδʼ οὔτʼ οἴκτου τύχοι.
σιγῶσα δʼ εὖ τε ταῖς τύχαις κεχρημένη
τὸν τοῦδε νεκρὸν οὐκ ἄθαπτον ἂν λίποις
αὐτή τʼ Ἀχαιῶν πρευμενεστέρων τύχοις.
If you say anything that angers the army, this boy won’t be buried, and he won’t get any pity. But if you keep quiet and make the best of your fortunes, you won’t leave his body unburied, and you yourself will find the Achaeans kinder.
Andromacheὦ φίλτατʼ, ὦ περισσὰ τιμηθεὶς τέκνον,
θανεῖ πρὸς ἐχθρῶν μητέρʼ ἀθλίαν λιπών,
ἡ τοῦ πατρὸς δέ σʼ εὐγένειʼ ἀπώλεσεν,
ἣ τοῖσιν ἄλλοις γίγνεται σωτηρία,
τὸ δʼ ἐσθλὸν οὐκ εἰς καιρὸν ἦλθε σοὶ πατρός.
ὦ λέκτρα τἀμὰ δυστυχῆ τε καὶ γάμοι,
οἷς ἦλθον εἰς μέλαθρον Ἕκτορός ποτε,
οὐ σφάγιον υἱὸν Δαναΐδαις τέξουσʼ ἐμόν,
ἀλλʼ ὡς τύραννον Ἀσιάδος πολυσπόρου.
ὦ παῖ, δακρύεις; αἰσθάνει κακῶν σέθεν;
AndromacheMy dearest, my child, too highly prized, you’ll die at your enemies’ hands and leave your poor mother behind. Your father’s nobility has killed you, though it brings other children safety. Your father’s greatness came at the wrong time for you. My bed, my marriage, how unlucky you were! You brought me once to Hector’s house, not to bear my son as a victim for the Danaans to slaughter, but to be king of fertile Asia. My boy, are you crying? Do you sense what’s happening to you?
τί μου δέδραξαι χερσὶ κἀντέχει πέπλων,
νεοσσὸς ὡσεὶ πτέρυγας εἰσπίτνων ἐμάς;
οὐκ εἶσιν Ἕκτωρ κλεινὸν ἁρπάσας δόρυ
γῆς ἐξανελθὼν σοὶ φέρων σωτηρίαν,
οὐ συγγένεια πατρός, οὐκ ἰσχὺς Φρυγῶν·
λυγρὸν δὲ πήδημʼ εἰς τράχηλον ὑψόθεν
πεσὼν ἀνοίκτως, πνεῦμʼ ἀπορρήξεις σέθεν.
ὦ νέον ὑπαγκάλισμα μητρὶ φίλτατον,
ὦ χρωτὸς ἡδὺ πνεῦμα· διὰ κενῆς ἄρα
ἐν σπαργάνοις σε μαστὸς ἐξέθρεψʼ ὅδε,
μάτην δʼ ἐμόχθουν καὶ κατεξάνθην πόνοις.
Why do you clutch me with your hands and hold on to my robes, nestling under my wings like a chick? Hector won’t come back up from the earth with his famous spear in his hand to bring you safety, nor will your father’s kin, nor the strength of the Phrygians. You’ll fall from on high, a horrible leap, and land on your neck without pity, and break the breath out of your body. Little one, so dear to your mother’s arms, sweet smell of your skin! So it was all for nothing that this breast nursed you in your swaddling clothes. I toiled in vain, worn out with the labor.
νῦν, οὔποτʼ αὖθις, μητέρʼ ἀσπάζου σέθεν,
πρόσπιτνε τὴν τεκοῦσαν, ἀμφὶ δʼ ὠλένας
ἕλισσʼ ἐμοῖς νώτοισι καὶ στόμʼ ἅρμοσον.
ὦ βάρβαρʼ ἐξευρόντες Ἕλληνες κακά,
τί τόνδε παῖδα κτείνετʼ οὐδὲν αἴτιον;
ὦ Τυνδάρειον ἔρνος, οὔποτʼ εἶ Διός,
πολλῶν δὲ πατέρων φημί σʼ ἐκπεφυκέναι,
Ἀλάστορος μὲν πρῶτον, εἶτα δὲ Φθόνου,
Φόνου τε Θανάτου θʼ ὅσα τε γῆ τρέφει κακά.
οὐ γάρ ποτʼ αὐχῶ Ζῆνά γʼ ἐκφῦσαί σʼ ἐγώ,
πολλοῖσι κῆρα βαρβάροις Ἕλλησί τε.
Now, and never again, kiss your mother. Throw yourself on me, the one who bore you, wind your arms around my back and press your lips to mine. You Greeks, inventors of foreign cruelties, why are you killing this child? He’s guilty of nothing. Daughter of Tyndareus, you are no child of Zeus. I say you were born of many fathers: first the Spirit of Vengeance, then Envy, Murder, Death, and every evil the earth breeds. I will never claim that Zeus fathered you, a doom to so many foreigners and Greeks.
ὄλοιο· καλλίστων γὰρ ὀμμάτων ἄπο
αἰσχρῶς τὰ κλεινὰ πεδίʼ ἀπώλεσας Φρυγῶν.
ἀλλʼ ἄγετε φέρετε ῥίπτετʼ, εἰ ῥίπτειν δοκεῖ·
δαίνυσθε τοῦδε σάρκας. ἔκ τε γὰρ θεῶν
διολλύμεσθα παιδί τʼ οὐ δυναίμεθʼ ἂν
θάνατον ἀρῆξαι. κρύπτετʼ ἄθλιον δέμας
καὶ ῥίπτετʼ εἰς ναῦς· ἐπὶ καλὸν γὰρ ἔρχομαι
ὑμέναιον, ἀπολέσασα τοὐμαυτῆς τέκνον.
Death take you! With those most beautiful eyes you’ve shamefully destroyed the famous plains of the Phrygians. Go on: take him, carry him, throw him, if you’ve decided to throw him. Feast on his flesh. The gods are destroying us, and I couldn’t keep death from my child. Cover my miserable body and throw me into the ships. It’s a fine wedding I’m going to, now that I’ve lost my own child.
Chorusτάλαινα Τροία, μυρίους ἀπώλεσας
μιᾶς γυναικὸς καὶ λέχους στυγνοῦ χάριν.
ChorusPoor Troy, you’ve lost thousands for the sake of one woman and her hateful bed.
Talthybiusἄγε παῖ, φίλιον πρόσπτυγμα μεθεὶς
μητρὸς μογερᾶς, βαῖνε πατρῴων
πύργων ἐπʼ ἄκρας στεφάνας, ὅθι σοι
πνεῦμα μεθεῖναι ψῆφος ἐκράνθη.
λαμβάνετʼ αὐτόν. τὰ δὲ τοιάδε χρὴ
κηρυκεύειν, ὅστις ἄνοικτος
καὶ ἀναιδείᾳ τῆς ἡμετέρας
γνώμης μᾶλλον φίλος ἐστίν.
TalthybiusCome, child, let go of your loving embrace
of your miserable mother, and climb
to the topmost crown of your fathers’ towers,
where the vote has decreed
that you breathe your last.
Take him. Messages like these
ought to be carried by someone pitiless,
someone fonder of shamelessness
than my mind is.
Hecubaὦ τέκνον, ὦ παῖ παιδὸς μογεροῦ,
συλώμεθα σὴν ψυχὴν ἀδίκως
μήτηρ κἀγώ. τί πάθω; τί σʼ ἐγώ,
δύσμορε, δράσω; τάδε σοι δίδομεν
πλήγματα κρατὸς στέρνων τε κόπους·
τῶνδε γὰρ ἄρχομεν· οἲ ʼγὼ πόλεως,
οἴμοι δὲ σέθεν· τί γὰρ οὐκ ἔχομεν,
τίνος ἐνδέομεν μὴ οὐ πανσυδίᾳ
χωρεῖν ὀλέθρου διὰ παντός;
HecubaChild, son of my unhappy son,
we are robbed of your life unjustly,
your mother and I. What will become of me?
What can I do for you, poor boy? We give you these,
blows to the head and the beating of breasts;
these are what we still have power over. Oh, no, my city!
Oh, no, for you! What don’t we have?
What do we lack
to go headlong to utter ruin?
Second Stasimon
The chorus recalls Troy’s earlier sack by Heracles and how the gods’ love for Troy has come to nothing.
Chorusμελισσοτρόφου Σαλαμῖνος ὦ βασιλεῦ Τελαμών,
νάσου περικύμονος οἰκήσας ἕδραν
τᾶς ἐπικεκλιμένας ὄχθοις ἱεροῖς, ἵνʼ ἐλαίας
πρῶτον ἔδειξε κλάδον γλαυκᾶς Ἀθάνα,
οὐράνιον στέφανον λιπαραῖσί τε κόσμον Ἀθήναις,
ἔβας ἔβας τῷ τοξοφόρῳ συναριστεύων
ἅμʼ Ἀλκμήνας γόνῳ
Ἴλιον Ἴλιον ἐκπέρσων πόλιν ἁμετέραν
τὸ πάροιθεν ὅτʼ ἔβας ἀφʼ Ἑλλάδος·
ChorusTelamon, king of Salamis, where the bees are fed,
you who made your home on the wave-washed island
that lies facing the holy hills where Athena
first showed the branch of the gray-green olive,
a heavenly crown and an ornament for shining Athens—
you came, you came, with the archer, Alcmene’s son,
to win glory together,
to sack Ilium, Ilium, our city,
long ago, when you came from Greece.
ὅθʼ Ἑλλάδος ἄγαγε πρῶτον ἄνθος ἀτυζόμενος
πώλων, Σιμόεντι δʼ ἐπʼ εὐρείτᾳ πλάταν
ἔσχασε ποντοπόρον καὶ ναύδετʼ ἀνήψατο πρυμνᾶν
καὶ χερὸς εὐστοχίαν ἐξεῖλε ναῶν,
Λαομέδοντι φόνον· κανόνων δὲ τυκίσματα Φοίβου
… πυρὸς φοίνικι πνοᾷ καθελὼν
Τροίας ἐπόρθησε χθόνα,
δὶς δὲ δυοῖν πιτύλοιν τείχη περὶ Δαρδανίας
φονία κατέλυσεν αἰχμά.
μάταν ἄρʼ, ὦ χρυσέαις
ἐν οἰνοχόαις ἁβρὰ βαίνων,
Λαομεδόντιε παῖ,
Ζανὸς ἔχεις κυλίκων
πλήρωμα, καλλίσταν λατρείαν·
Then he led the flower of Greece, furious
over the horses, and at the fair-flowing Simois
he rested his sea-going oar and fastened the cables to the stern,
and took from the ships the sure aim of his hand,
death for Laomedon. The walls built true to Phoebus’ rule
… he brought down with fire’s red blast
and ravaged the land of Troy.
Twice, in two onslaughts, the murderous spear
brought down the walls around Dardania.
In vain, then, son of Laomedon,
you who step so delicately
among golden wine-jugs,
you have the task of filling Zeus’ cups,
the finest of services.
ἁ δέ σε γειναμένα πυρὶ δαίεται·
ἠιόνες δʼ ἅλιαι
ἴαχον· οἷον οἰωνὸς
… ὑπὲρ τεκέων βοᾷ,
αἳ μὲν ἄορας, αἳ δὲ παῖδας,
αἳ δὲ ματέρας γεραιάς.
τὰ δὲ σὰ δροσόεντα λουτρὰ
γυμνασίων τε δρόμοι
βεβᾶσι· σὺ δὲ πρόσωπα νεαρὰ
χάρισι παρὰ Διὸς θρόνοις
καλλιγάλανα τρέφεις·
Πριάμοιο δὲ γαῖαν
Ἑλλὰς ὤλεσʼ αἰχμά.
Ἔρως Ἔρως, ὃς τὰ Δαρδάνεια
μέλαθρά ποτʼ ἦλθες
οὐρανίδαισι μέλων·
The land that bore you is burning in fire.
The seashores
cried out, as a bird
… cries over its young:
some for husbands, some for children,
some for their aged mothers.
Your dewy bathing places
and the running tracks of the gymnasium
are gone. But you keep your young face
beside the throne of Zeus,
calm and lovely in its grace,
while the Greek spear
has destroyed the land of Priam.
Love, Love, who once came
to the halls of Dardanus,
dear to the heavenly gods,
ὡς τότε μὲν μεγάλως
Τροίαν ἐπύργωσας, θεοῖσιν
κῆδος ἀναψάμενος. τὸ μὲν οὖν Διὸς
οὐκέτʼ ὄνειδος ἐρῶ·
τὸ τᾶς δὲ λευκοπτέρου
ἁμέρας φίλιον βροτοῖς
φέγγος ὀλοὸν εἶδε γαῖαν,
εἶδε περγάμων ὄλεθρον,
τεκνοποιὸν ἔχουσα τᾶσδε
γᾶς πόσιν ἐν θαλάμοις,
ὃν ἀστέρων τέθριππος ἔλαβε
χρύσεος ὄχος ἀναρπάσας,
ἐλπίδα γᾷ πατρίᾳ
μεγάλαν· τὰ θεῶν δὲ
φίλτρα φροῦδα Τροίᾳ.
how high you raised Troy’s towers then,
binding her to the gods by marriage! As for Zeus,
I’ll speak no more of his disgrace.
But the light of white-winged Day,
so dear to mortals, saw the land destroyed,
saw the ruin of the citadel,
though in her bedchamber she had a husband from this land,
the father of her children,
whom the golden four-horsed chariot of the stars
snatched up and carried away,
a great hope for his native land.
But the gods’ love for Troy is gone.
Third Episode
Menelaus comes for Helen, who pleads her case, and Hecuba answers her point by point.
Menelausὦ καλλιφεγγὲς ἡλίου σέλας τόδε,
ἐν ᾧ δάμαρτα τὴν ἐμὴν χειρώσομαι
Ἑλένην· ὁ γὰρ δὴ πολλὰ μοχθήσας ἐγὼ
Μενέλαός εἰμι καὶ στράτευμʼ Ἀχαϊκόν.
ἦλθον δὲ Τροίαν οὐχ ὅσον δοκοῦσί με
γυναικὸς εἵνεκʼ, ἀλλʼ ἐπʼ ἄνδρʼ ὃς ἐξ ἐμῶν
δόμων δάμαρτα ξεναπάτης ἐλῄσατο.
κεῖνος μὲν οὖν ἔδωκε σὺν θεοῖς δίκην
αὐτός τε καὶ γῆ δορὶ πεσοῦσʼ Ἑλληνικῷ.
MenelausHow beautifully the sunlight shines today, the day I’ll get my hands on my wife, Helen! For I am Menelaus, the man who has toiled so much, I and the Achaean army. I came to Troy not so much for a woman’s sake, as people think, but against the man who deceived his host and stole my wife from my house. Well, with the gods’ help he has paid the penalty, he and his land, fallen to the Greek spear.
ἥκω δὲ τὴν τάλαιναν, οὐ γὰρ ἡδέως
ὄνομα δάμαρτος ἥ ποτʼ ἦν ἐμὴ λέγω,
ἄξων· δόμοις γὰρ τοῖσδʼ ἐν αἰχμαλωτικοῖς
κατηρίθμηται Τρῳάδων ἄλλων μέτα.
οἵπερ γὰρ αὐτὴν ἐξεμόχθησαν δορί,
κτανεῖν ἐμοί νιν ἔδοσαν, εἴτε μὴ κτανὼν
θέλοιμʼ ἄγεσθαι πάλιν ἐς Ἀργείων χθόνα.
ἐμοὶ δʼ ἔδοξε τὸν μὲν ἐν Τροίᾳ μόρον
Ἑλένης ἐᾶσαι, ναυπόρῳ δʼ ἄγειν πλάτῃ
Ἑλληνίδʼ εἰς γῆν κᾆτʼ ἐκεῖ δοῦναι κτανεῖν,
ποινὰς ὅσοι τεθνᾶσʼ ἐν Ἰλίῳ φίλοι.
I’ve come to take away the wretch—I don’t like to say the name of the woman who was once my wife. She’s been counted with the other Trojan women here in the captives’ quarters. The men who won her back with the toil of the spear have given her to me to kill, or, if I prefer not to kill her, to take back to the land of the Argives. I’ve decided not to put Helen to death here in Troy, but to take her by ship to Greek soil and there hand her over to be killed, as atonement for all my friends who died at Ilium.
ἀλλʼ εἶα χωρεῖτʼ εἰς δόμους, ὀπάονες,
κομίζετʼ αὐτὴν τῆς μιαιφονωτάτης
κόμης ἐπισπάσαντες· οὔριοι δʼ ὅταν
πνοαὶ μόλωσι, πέμψομέν νιν Ἑλλάδα.
Come on, men, go into the quarters and bring her out. Drag her by that bloodstained hair. When the winds come round in our favor, we’ll send her to Greece.
Hecubaὦ γῆς ὄχημα κἀπὶ γῆς ἔχων ἕδραν,
ὅστις ποτʼ εἶ σύ, δυστόπαστος εἰδέναι,
Ζεύς, εἴτʼ ἀνάγκη φύσεος εἴτε νοῦς βροτῶν,
προσηυξάμην σε· πάντα γὰρ διʼ ἀψόφου
βαίνων κελεύθου κατὰ δίκην τὰ θνήτʼ ἄγεις.
HecubaYou who carry the earth and have your seat upon the earth, whoever you are, so hard to guess and to know, Zeus, whether you’re the necessity of nature or the mind of mortals, I pray to you. For you move along a silent path and guide all mortal affairs with justice.
Menelausτί δʼ ἔστιν; εὐχὰς ὡς ἐκαίνισας θεῶν.
MenelausWhat’s this? What a strange new prayer to the gods!
Hecubaαἰνῶ σε, Μενέλαʼ, εἰ κτενεῖς δάμαρτα σήν.
ὁρῶν δὲ τήνδε φεῦγε, μή σʼ ἕλῃ πόθῳ.
αἱρεῖ γὰρ ἀνδρῶν ὄμματʼ, ἐξαιρεῖ πόλεις,
πίμπρησι δʼ οἴκους· ὧδʼ ἔχει κηλήματα.
ἐγώ νιν οἶδα καὶ σὺ χοἰ πεπονθότες.
HecubaI commend you, Menelaus, if you’ll kill your wife. But steer clear of seeing her, or she’ll take you captive with longing. She takes men’s eyes captive, takes cities, burns houses to the ground. That’s how her spells work. I know her, and so do you, and so do all who’ve suffered for her.
HelenΜενέλαε, φροίμιον μὲν ἄξιον φόβου
τόδʼ ἐστίν· ἐν γὰρ χερσὶ προσπόλων σέθεν
βίᾳ πρὸ τῶνδε δωμάτων ἐκπέμπομαι.
ἀτὰρ σχεδὸν μὲν οἶδά σοι στυγουμένη,
ὅμως δʼ ἐρέσθαι βούλομαι· γνῶμαι τίνες
Ἕλλησι καὶ σοὶ τῆς ἐμῆς ψυχῆς πέρι;
HelenMenelaus, this prelude is enough to frighten me. Your servants have laid hands on me and forced me out in front of these quarters. I’m fairly sure you hate me, but still I want to ask: what have the Greeks and you decided about my life?
Menelausοὐκ εἰς ἀκριβὲς ἦλθες, ἀλλὰ πᾶς στρατὸς
κτανεῖν ἐμοί σʼ ἔδωκεν, ὅνπερ ἠδίκεις.
MenelausIt never came to a careful vote. The whole army, the army you wronged, handed you over to me to kill.
Helenἔξεστιν οὖν πρὸς ταῦτʼ ἀμείψασθαι λόγῳ,
ὡς οὐ δικαίως, ἢν θάνω, θανούμεθα;
HelenThen may I answer that with a speech, and show that if I die, I’ll die unjustly?
Menelausοὐκ εἰς λόγους ἐλήλυθʼ, ἀλλά σε κτενῶν.
MenelausI didn’t come here to talk. I came to kill you.
Hecubaἄκουσον αὐτῆς, μὴ θάνῃ τοῦδʼ ἐνδεής,
Μενέλαε, καὶ δὸς τοὺς ἐναντίους λόγους
ἡμῖν κατʼ αὐτῆς· τῶν γὰρ ἐν Τροίᾳ κακῶν
οὐδὲν κάτοισθα. συντεθεὶς δʼ ὁ πᾶς λόγος
κτενεῖ νιν οὕτως ὥστε μηδαμῶς φυγεῖν.
HecubaListen to her, Menelaus, so she doesn’t die without having this. And let me speak the case against her. You know nothing of the wrongs she did in Troy. Once the whole case is put together, it will kill her so surely that she can’t possibly escape.
Menelausσχολῆς τὸ δῶρον· εἰ δὲ βούλεται λέγειν,
ἔξεστι. τῶν σῶν δʼ εἵνεχʼ, ὡς μάθῃ, λόγων
δώσω τόδʼ αὐτῇ, τῆσδε δʼ οὐ δώσω χάριν.
MenelausIt’s a gift of time I can spare. If she wants to speak, she may. But understand: I’ll grant her this because of your arguments, so she can learn from them. I won’t grant it as a favor to her.
Helenἴσως με, κἂν εὖ κἂν κακῶς δόξω λέγειν,
οὐκ ἀνταμείψει πολεμίαν ἡγούμενος.
ἐγὼ δʼ, ἅ σʼ οἶμαι διὰ λόγων ἰόντʼ ἐμοῦ
κατηγορήσειν, ἀντιθεῖσʼ ἀμείψομαι
τοῖς σοῖσι τἀμὰ καὶ τὰ σʼ αἰτιάματα.
πρῶτον μὲν ἀρχὰς ἔτεκεν ἥδε τῶν κακῶν
Πάριν τεκοῦσα· δεύτερον δʼ ἀπώλεσε
Τροίαν τε κἄμʼ ὁ πρέσβυς οὐ κτανὼν βρέφος,
δαλοῦ πικρὸν μίμημʼ, Ἀλέξανδρόν ποτε.
ἐνθένδε τἀπίλοιπʼ ἄκουσον ὡς ἔχει.
ἔκρινε τρισσὸν ζεῦγος ὅδε τριῶν θεῶν·
HelenWhether I seem to you to speak well or badly, perhaps you won’t answer me, since you think of me as an enemy. But I’ll answer the charges I expect you to make as you go through your case, setting my accusations against yours. First: this woman gave birth to the beginning of our troubles when she gave birth to Paris. Second: the old man destroyed Troy, and me, when he didn’t kill the baby—that bitter likeness of a firebrand—Alexander, as he was then. Now hear how the rest of it goes. This man judged a team of three goddesses.
καὶ Παλλάδος μὲν ἦν Ἀλεξάνδρῳ δόσις
Φρυξὶ στρατηγοῦνθʼ Ἑλλάδʼ ἐξανιστάναι,
Ἥρα δʼ ὑπέσχετʼ Ἀσιάδʼ Εὐρώπης θʼ ὅρους
τυραννίδʼ ἕξειν, εἴ σφε κρίνειεν Πάρις·
Κύπρις δὲ τοὐμὸν εἶδος ἐκπαγλουμένη
δώσειν ὑπέσχετʼ, εἰ θεὰς ὑπερδράμοι
κάλλει. τὸν ἐνθένδʼ ὡς ἔχει σκέψαι λόγον·
νικᾷ Κύπρις θεά, καὶ τοσόνδʼ οὑμοὶ γάμοι
ὤνησαν Ἑλλάδʼ, οὐ κρατεῖσθʼ ἐκ βαρβάρων,
οὔτʼ εἰς δόρυ σταθέντες, οὐ τυραννίδι.
ἃ δʼ ηὐτύχησεν Ἑλλάς, ὠλόμην ἐγὼ
εὐμορφίᾳ πραθεῖσα κὠνειδίζομαι
ἐξ ὧν ἐχρῆν με στέφανον ἐπὶ κάρᾳ λαβεῖν.
Pallas’ offer to Alexander was that he would lead the Phrygians and overthrow Greece. Hera promised he would rule over Asia and the farthest bounds of Europe, if Paris judged in her favor. Cypris, marveling at my beauty, promised to give me to him, if she outran the other goddesses in beauty. Now consider how the story goes from there. Cypris wins—and this is how much my marriage benefited Greece: you aren’t ruled by foreigners, you didn’t face them in battle, you aren’t under a tyrant. But what was good fortune for Greece was my ruin. I was sold for my beauty, and I’m reproached for what should have earned me a crown on my head.
οὔπω με φήσεις αὐτὰ τἀν ποσὶν λέγειν,
ὅπως ἀφώρμησʼ ἐκ δόμων τῶν σῶν λάθρᾳ.
ἦλθʼ οὐχὶ μικρὰν θεὸν ἔχων αὑτοῦ μέτα
ὁ τῆσδʼ ἀλάστωρ, εἴτʼ Ἀλέξανδρον θέλεις
ὀνόματι προσφωνεῖν νιν εἴτε καὶ Πάριν·
ὅν, ὦ κάκιστε, σοῖσιν ἐν δόμοις λιπὼν
Σπάρτης ἀπῆρας νηὶ Κρησίαν χθόνα.
εἶεν.
οὐ σʼ, ἀλλʼ ἐμαυτὴν τοὐπὶ τῷδʼ ἐρήσομαι·
τί δὴ φρονήσασʼ ἐκ δόμων ἅμʼ ἑσπόμην
ξένῳ, προδοῦσα πατρίδα καὶ δόμους ἐμούς;
You’ll say I haven’t yet come to the point right in front of us: how I slipped away from your house in secret. He came with no small goddess at his side, this woman’s avenging spirit—call him by the name Alexander, if you like, or Paris. And you, you worst of men, left him in your house and sailed off from Sparta to Crete. Well then. The next question I’ll put not to you but to myself: what was I thinking, that I followed a guest out of the house, betraying my country and my home?
τὴν θεὸν κόλαζε καὶ Διὸς κρείσσων γενοῦ,
ὃς τῶν μὲν ἄλλων δαιμόνων ἔχει κράτος,
κείνης δὲ δοῦλός ἐστι· συγγνώμη δʼ ἐμοί.
ἔνθεν δʼ ἔχοις ἂν εἰς ἔμʼ εὐπρεπῆ λόγον·
ἐπεὶ θανὼν γῆς ἦλθʼ Ἀλέξανδρος μυχούς,
χρῆν μʼ, ἡνίκʼ οὐκ ἦν θεοπόνητά μου λέχη,
λιποῦσαν οἴκους ναῦς ἐπʼ Ἀργείων μολεῖν.
ἔσπευδον αὐτὸ τοῦτο· μάρτυρες δέ μοι
πύργων πυλωροὶ κἀπὸ τειχέων σκοποί,
οἳ πολλάκις μʼ ἐφηῦρον ἐξ ἐπάλξεων
πλεκταῖσιν εἰς γῆν σῶμα κλέπτουσαν τόδε.
Punish the goddess, and be stronger than Zeus, who has power over all the other gods but is her slave. I deserve to be forgiven. Here, though, you might have a plausible argument against me: once Alexander was dead and gone to the depths of the earth, and my marriage was no longer the gods’ work, I ought to have left the house and gone over to the Argive ships. That is exactly what I was trying to do. My witnesses are the gatekeepers on the towers and the lookouts on the walls, who caught me again and again letting myself down from the battlements by ropes, trying to steal this body of mine away to the ground.
βίᾳ δʼ ὁ καινός μʼ οὗτος ἁρπάσας πόσις
Δηίφοβος ἄλοχον εἶχεν ἀκόντων Φρυγῶν.
πῶς οὖν ἔτʼ ἂν θνήσκοιμʼ ἂν ἐνδίκως, πόσι,
πρὸς σοῦ δικαίως, ἣν ὃ μὲν βίᾳ γαμεῖ,
τὰ δʼ οἴκοθεν κεῖνʼ ἀντὶ νικητηρίων
πικρῶς ἐδούλευσʼ; εἰ δὲ τῶν θεῶν κρατεῖν
βούλει, τὸ χρῄζειν ἀμαθές ἐστί σοι τόδε.
But this new husband, Deiphobus, seized me by force and kept me as his wife, against the Phrygians’ will. So how could I justly die, husband—and die rightly at your hands—when he married me by force, and when what I brought from home, instead of winning me a victor’s prize, has made me a bitter slave? If you want to overpower the gods, that wish of yours is folly.
Chorusβασίλειʼ, ἄμυνον σοῖς τέκνοισι καὶ πάτρᾳ
πειθὼ διαφθείρουσα τῆσδʼ, ἐπεὶ λέγει
καλῶς κακοῦργος οὖσα· δεινὸν οὖν τόδε.
ChorusMy queen, defend your children and your country, and destroy her persuasion. She speaks well, and she’s a criminal. That’s what makes it dangerous.
Hecubaτοῖς θεοῖσι πρῶτα σύμμαχος γενήσομαι
καὶ τήνδε δείξω μὴ λέγουσαν ἔνδικα.
ἐγὼ γὰρ Ἥραν παρθένον τε Παλλάδα
οὐκ εἰς τοσοῦτον ἀμαθίας ἐλθεῖν δοκῶ,
ὥσθʼ ἣ μὲν Ἄργος βαρβάροις ἀπημπόλα,
Παλλὰς δʼ Ἀθήνας Φρυξὶ δουλεύειν ποτέ.
αἳ παιδιαῖσι καὶ χλιδῇ μορφῆς πέρι
ἤλυθον ἐπʼ Ἴδην. τοῦ γὰρ εἵνεκʼ ἂν θεὰ
Ἥρα τοσοῦτον ἔσχʼ ἔρωτα καλλονῆς;
πότερον ἀμείνονʼ ὡς λάβοι Διὸς πόσιν,
ἢ γάμον Ἀθάνα θεῶν τινος θηρωμένη,
ἣ παρθενείαν πατρὸς ἐξῃτήσατο
φεύγουσα λέκτρα; μὴ ἀμαθεῖς ποίει θεὰς
τὸ σὸν κακὸν κοσμοῦσα· μὴ οὐ πείσῃς σοφούς.
HecubaFirst I’ll stand as the goddesses’ ally and show that she isn’t speaking justly. I don’t believe Hera and the virgin Pallas ever sank to such folly that one would sell Argos to foreigners, and Pallas would someday make Athens a slave to the Phrygians—goddesses going off to Ida for a game, preening over their looks! Why would the goddess Hera have had such a passion for beauty? To get a better husband than Zeus? Or was Athena hunting for a marriage with one of the gods—she who begged her father to let her stay a virgin, running from the marriage bed? Don’t make fools of the goddesses to dress up your own wickedness. I don’t think you’ll persuade the wise.
Κύπριν δʼ ἔλεξας, ταῦτα γὰρ γέλως πολύς,
ἐλθεῖν ἐμῷ ξὺν παιδὶ Μενέλεω δόμους.
οὐκ ἂν μένουσʼ ἂν ἥσυχός σʼ ἐν οὐρανῷ
αὐταῖς Ἀμύκλαις ἤγαγεν πρὸς Ἴλιον;
ἦν οὑμὸς υἱὸς κάλλος ἐκπρεπέστατος,
ὁ σὸς δʼ ἰδών νιν νοῦς ἐποιήθη Κύπρις·
τὰ μῶρα γὰρ πάντʼ ἐστὶν Ἀφροδίτη βροτοῖς,
καὶ τοὔνομʼ ὀρθῶς ἀφροσύνης ἄρχει θεᾶς.
σὺ γοῦν ἰδοῦσα βαρβάροις ἐσθήμασι
χρυσῷ τε λαμπρὸν ἐξεμαργώθης φρένας.
And Cypris—this is a fine joke—you say she came with my son to Menelaus’ house. Couldn’t she have stayed quietly in heaven and brought you to Ilium, Amyclae and all? My son was outstandingly handsome, and your own mind, when it saw him, turned itself into Cypris. Every folly men commit is Aphrodite to them, and the goddess’s name rightly begins like aphrosynē, “folly.” You, at least, saw him in his foreign clothes, gleaming with gold, and went out of your mind with lust.
ἐν μὲν γὰρ Ἄργει μίκρʼ ἔχουσʼ ἀνεστρέφου,
Σπάρτης δʼ ἀπαλλαχθεῖσα τὴν Φρυγῶν πόλιν
χρυσῷ ῥέουσαν ἤλπισας κατακλύσειν
δαπάναισιν· οὐδʼ ἦν ἱκανά σοι τὰ Μενέλεω
μέλαθρα ταῖς σαῖς ἐγκαθυβρίζειν τρυφαῖς.
εἶεν, βίᾳ γὰρ παῖδα φής σʼ ἄγειν ἐμόν·
τίς Σπαρτιατῶν ᾔσθετʼ, ἢ ποίαν βοὴν
ἀνωλόλυξας, Κάστορος νεανίου
τοῦ συζύγου τʼ ἔτʼ ὄντος οὐ κατʼ ἄστρα πω;
ἐπεὶ δὲ Τροίαν ἦλθες Ἀργεῖοί τέ σου
κατʼ ἴχνος, ἦν δὲ δοριπετὴς ἀγωνία,
εἰ μὲν τὰ τοῦδε κρείσσονʼ ἀγγέλλοιτό σοι,
Μενέλαον ᾔνεις, παῖς ὅπως λυποῖτʼ ἐμὸς
ἔχων ἔρωτος ἀνταγωνιστὴν μέγαν·
In Argos you lived with little to spend. Once you were rid of Sparta you hoped to flood the Phrygians’ city, flowing with gold, with your extravagance. Menelaus’ halls weren’t enough for you to run riot in with your luxuries. Well then: you say my son carried you off by force. Which Spartan noticed? What scream did you raise—when young Castor was there, and his twin, not yet among the stars? And when you came to Troy, with the Argives on your trail, and the struggle of spears began, if news came that this man was winning, you’d praise Menelaus, to hurt my son with the thought of a great rival in love;
εἰ δʼ εὐτυχοῖεν Τρῶες, οὐδὲν ἦν ὅδε.
εἰς τὴν τύχην δʼ ὁρῶσα τοῦτʼ ἤσκεις ὅπως
ἕποιʼ ἅμʼ αὐτῇ, τἀρετῇ δʼ οὐκ ἤθελες.
κἄπειτα πλεκταῖς σῶμα σὸν κλέπτειν λέγεις
πύργων καθιεῖσʼ ὡς μένουσʼ ἀκουσίως;
ποῦ δῆτʼ ἐλήφθης ἢ βρόχους ἀρτωμένη
ἢ φάσγανον θήγουσʼ, ἃ γενναία γυνὴ
δράσειεν ἂν ποθοῦσα τὸν πάρος πόσιν;
καίτοι γʼ ἐνουθέτουν σε πολλὰ πολλάκις·
ὦ θύγατερ ἔξελθʼ, οἱ δʼ ἐμοὶ παῖδες γάμους
ἄλλους γαμοῦσι, σὲ δʼ ἐπὶ ναῦς Ἀχαϊκὰς
πέμψω συνεκκλέψασα, καὶ παῦσον μάχης
Ἕλληνας ἡμᾶς τʼ. ἀλλὰ σοὶ τόδʼ ἦν πικρόν.
but if the Trojans were lucky, he was nothing. You kept your eye on fortune and made a practice of following wherever it went; you had no wish to follow excellence. And then you say you tried to steal yourself away, letting yourself down from the towers by rope, as if you stayed against your will? Where were you ever caught tying a noose or sharpening a sword, as a noble woman would have done, longing for her former husband? And yet I warned you, over and over: “Daughter, leave. My sons will make other marriages. I’ll help you slip out and send you to the Achaean ships. Stop the war between the Greeks and us.” But you hated that.
ἐν τοῖς Ἀλεξάνδρου γὰρ ὕβριζες δόμοις
καὶ προσκυνεῖσθαι βαρβάρων ὕπʼ ἤθελες·
μεγάλα γὰρ ἦν σοι. κἀπὶ τοῖσδε σὸν δέμας
ἐξῆλθες ἀσκήσασα κἄβλεψας πόσει
τὸν αὐτὸν αἰθέρʼ, ὦ κατάπτυστον κάρα·
ἣν χρῆν ταπεινὴν ἐν πέπλων ἐρειπίοις
φρίκῃ τρέμουσαν κρᾶτʼ ἀπεσκυθισμένην
ἐλθεῖν, τὸ σῶφρον τῆς ἀναιδείας πλέον
ἔχουσαν ἐπὶ τοῖς πρόσθεν ἡμαρτημένοις.
Μενέλαʼ, ἵνʼ εἰδῇς οἷ τελευτήσω λόγον,
στεφάνωσον Ἑλλάδʼ ἀξίως τήνδε κτανὼν
σαυτοῦ, νόμον δὲ τόνδε ταῖς ἄλλαισι θὲς
γυναιξί, θνήσκειν ἥτις ἂν προδῷ πόσιν.
You were living in arrogance in Alexander’s house, and you wanted foreigners bowing down to you. That meant a great deal to you. And on top of all this you’ve come out with your body dressed up, breathing the same air as your husband, you loathsome creature. You should have come humbly, in ragged clothes, shivering with fear, your head shorn like a Scythian’s, showing more modesty than shamelessness after the wrongs you’ve done. Menelaus, so you know where I’ll end my speech: crown Greece by killing her, as befits you, and set this law for all other women: death for any woman who betrays her husband.
ChorusΜενέλαε, προγόνων ἀξίως δόμων τε σῶν
τῖσαι δάμαρτα κἀφελοῦ πρὸς Ἑλλάδος
ψόγον τὸ θῆλύ τʼ, εὐγενὴς ἐχθροῖς φανείς.
ChorusMenelaus, punish your wife in a way worthy of your ancestors and your house, and rid yourself of Greece’s reproach that you’re weak. Show yourself noble before your enemies.
Menelausἐμοὶ σὺ συμπέπτωκας εἰς ταὐτὸν λόγου,
ἑκουσίως τήνδʼ ἐκ δόμων ἐλθεῖν ἐμῶν
ξένας ἐς εὐνάς, χἡ Κύπρις κόμπου χάριν
λόγοις ἐνεῖται. βαῖνε λευστήρων πέλας
πόνους τʼ Ἀχαιῶν ἀπόδος ἐν μικρῷ μακροὺς
θανοῦσʼ, ἵνʼ εἰδῇς μὴ καταισχύνειν ἐμέ.
MenelausYou and I have arrived at the same conclusion: she left my house of her own free will for a stranger’s bed, and Cypris has been dragged into her speech for show. Go to the men who’ll stone you, and pay for the Achaeans’ long labors with a short death, so you’ll learn not to disgrace me.
Helenμή, πρός σε γονάτων, τὴν νόσον τὴν τῶν θεῶν
προσθεὶς ἐμοὶ κτάνῃς με, συγγίγνωσκε δέ.
HelenNo, I beg you by your knees, don’t lay the gods’ sickness at my door and kill me. Forgive me.
Hecubaμηδʼ οὓς ἀπέκτεινʼ ἥδε συμμάχους προδῷς·
ἐγὼ πρὸ κείνων καὶ τέκνων σε λίσσομαι.
HecubaAnd don’t betray your allies, the men she killed. I beg you, for them and for their children.
Menelausπαῦσαι, γεραιά· τῆσδε δʼ οὐκ ἐφρόντισα.
λέγω δὲ προσπόλοισι πρὸς πρύμνας νεῶν
τήνδʼ ἐκκομίζειν, ἔνθα ναυστολήσεται.
MenelausEnough, old woman. I haven’t given her a thought. I’m telling my servants to take her off to the ships’ sterns, where she’ll sail.
Hecubaμή νυν νεὼς σοὶ ταὐτὸν εἰσβήτω σκάφος.
HecubaThen don’t let her board the same ship as you.
Menelausτί δʼ ἔστι; μεῖζον βρῖθος ἢ πάροιθʼ ἔχει;
MenelausWhy? Does she weigh more than she used to?
Menelausὅπως ἂν ἐκβῇ τῶν ἐρωμένων ὁ νοῦς.
ἔσται δʼ ἃ βούλει· ναῦν γὰρ οὐκ εἰσβήσεται
εἰς ἥνπερ ἡμεῖς· καὶ γὰρ οὐ κακῶς λέγεις·
ἐλθοῦσα δʼ Ἄργος ὥσπερ ἀξία κακῶς
κακὴ θανεῖται καὶ γυναιξὶ σωφρονεῖν
πάσαισι φήσει. ῥᾴδιον μὲν οὐ τόδε·
ὅμως δʼ ὁ τῆσδʼ ὄλεθρος εἰς φόβον βαλεῖ
τὸ μῶρον αὐτῶν, κἂν ἔτʼ ὦσʼ αἰσχίονες.
MenelausThat depends on how the beloved’s mind turns out. But you’ll have what you want: she won’t board the ship I’m on—you’ve made a good point. And when she gets to Argos she’ll die a bad death, as a bad woman deserves, and teach all women to be chaste. That’s not easy. Still, her death will frighten their folly, even if they’re worse than she is.
Third Stasimon
The chorus reproaches Zeus for abandoning Troy and prays that lightning strike Menelaus’ ship.
Chorusοὕτω δὴ τὸν ἐν Ἰλίῳ
ναὸν καὶ θυόεντα βωμὸν
προύδωκας Ἀχαιοῖς,
ὦ Ζεῦ, καὶ πελάνων φλόγα
σμύρνης αἰθερίας τε καπνὸν
καὶ Πέργαμον ἱρὰν
Ἰδαῖά τʼ Ἰδαῖα κισσοφόρα νάπη
χιόνι κατάρυτα ποταμίᾳ
τέρμονά τε πρωτόβολον ἁλίῳ
τὰν καταλαμπομέναν ζαθέαν θεράπναν.
φροῦδαί σοι θυσίαι χορῶν τʼ
εὔφημοι κέλαδοι κατʼ ὄρφναν
τε παννυχίδες θεῶν
χρυσέων τε ξοάνων τύποι
Φρυγῶν τε ζάθεοι σελᾶναι
συνδώδεκα πλήθει.
ChorusSo then, Zeus, you have betrayed to the Achaeans
your temple in Ilium
and your fragrant altar,
the flame of the offering cakes,
the smoke of myrrh rising to the sky,
and holy Pergamum,
and Ida’s ivy-hung glens, the glens of Ida,
streaming with snow-fed rivers,
and the peak first struck by the sun,
the radiant, sacred dwelling.
Gone are your sacrifices,
the glad songs of dancing choruses,
the gods’ night-long festivals in the dark,
the forms of golden statues,
and the Phrygians’ sacred moon-feasts,
twelve in number.
μέλει μέλει μοι τάδʼ εἰ φρονεῖς, ἄναξ,
οὐράνιον ἕδρανον ἐπιβεβὼς
αἰθέρα τʼ ἐμᾶς πόλεος ὀλομένας,
ἃν πυρὸς αἰθομένα κατέλυσεν ὁρμά.
ὦ φίλος ὦ πόσι μοι,
σὺ μὲν φθίμενος ἀλαίνεις
ἄθαπτος ἄνυδρος, ἐμὲ δὲ πόντιον σκάφος
ἀίσσον πτεροῖσι πορεύσει
ἱππόβοτον Ἄργος, ἵνα τείχεα
λάινα Κυκλώπιʼ οὐράνια νέμονται.
τέκνων δὲ πλῆθος ἐν πύλαις
δάκρυσι κατάορα στένει, βοᾷ βοᾷ·
I wonder, I wonder, my lord, whether you heed this,
seated on your heavenly throne
high in the air, while my city is destroyed,
brought down by the blazing rush of fire.
My love, my husband,
you are dead and wander
unburied, unwashed, and me
a seagoing ship,
darting on its wings, will carry
to horse-grazing Argos, where the walls
of Cyclopean stone rise to the sky.
And at the gates a crowd of children
clings to us in tears and cries, cries out:
μᾶτερ, ὤμοι, μόναν δή μʼ Ἀχαιοὶ κομίζουσι
σέθεν ἀπʼ ὀμμάτων
κυανέαν ἐπὶ ναῦν
εἰναλίαισι πλάταις
ἢ Σαλαμῖνʼ ἱερὰν
ἢ δίπορον κορυφὰν
Ἴσθμιον, ἔνθα πύλας
Πέλοπος ἔχουσιν ἕδραι.
εἴθʼ ἀκάτου Μενέλα
μέσον πέλαγος ἰούσας,
δίπαλτον ἱερὸν ἀνὰ μέσον πλάταν πέσοι
Αἰγαίου κεραυνοφαὲς πῦρ,
Ἰλιόθεν ὅς με πολύδακρυν
Ἑλλάδι λάτρευμα γᾶθεν ἐξορίζει·
χρύσεα δʼ ἔνοπτρα, παρθένων
χάριτας, ἔχουσα τυγχάνει Διὸς κόρα·
“Mother, oh no, the Achaeans are taking me away alone,
out of your sight,
onto a dark ship,
with oars that ply the sea,
to holy Salamis,
or the peak of the Isthmus between two seas,
where the halls of Pelops
hold the gates.”
If only, as Menelaus’ boat
goes out into the open sea,
the holy fire of the Aegean,
flashing with lightning, hurled with both hands,
would fall right among his oars,
since he drives me from Ilium, from my land,
in tears, to be a slave in Greece,
while the daughter of Zeus holds
her golden mirrors, the delight of girls.
μηδὲ γαῖάν ποτʼ ἔλθοι Λάκαιναν πατρῷόν
τε θάλαμον ἑστίας,
μηδὲ πόλιν Πιτάνας
χαλκόπυλόν τε θεάν,
δύσγαμον αἶσχος ἑλὼν
Ἑλλάδι τᾷ μεγάλᾳ
καὶ Σιμοεντιάσιν
μέλεα πάθη ῥοαῖσιν.
May he never reach the land of Laconia,
or the bedroom and hearth of his fathers,
or the city of Pitane,
or the goddess of the bronze gates,
now that he has taken back the bride of the evil marriage,
a disgrace to great Greece
and bitter suffering
to the streams of Simois.
Exodos
Hecuba buries Astyanax on Hector’s shield, Troy is set on fire, and the women are led to the ships.
ἰὼ ἰώ,
καιναὶ καινῶν μεταβάλλουσαι
χθονὶ συντυχίαι. λεύσσετε Τρώων
τόνδʼ Ἀστυάνακτʼ ἄλοχοι μέλεαι
νεκρόν, ὃν πύργων δίσκημα πικρὸν
Δαναοὶ κτείναντες ἔχουσιν.
Oh, oh!
New fortunes on this land
give way to newer still. Look,
poor wives of the Trojans,
at Astyanax, dead,
whom the Danaans flung from the towers, a bitter cast,
and killed, and carry here.
TalthybiusἙκάβη, νεὼς μὲν πίτυλος εἷς λελειμμένος
λάφυρα τἀπίλοιπʼ Ἀχιλλείου τόκου
μέλλει πρὸς ἀκτὰς ναυστολεῖν Φθιώτιδας·
αὐτὸς δʼ ἀνῆκται Νεοπτόλεμος, καινάς τινας
Πηλέως ἀκούσας συμφοράς, ὥς νιν χθονὸς
Ἄκαστος ἐκβέβληκεν ὁ Πελίου γόνος.
TalthybiusHecuba, one ship’s crew of oarsmen is left, about to sail for the shores of Phthia with the rest of the spoils of Achilles’ son. Neoptolemus himself has already put out to sea. He heard of some new troubles of Peleus: that Acastus, son of Pelias, has driven him out of his land.
οὗ θᾶσσον εἵνεκʼ, οὐ χάριν μονῆς ἔχων,
φροῦδος, μετʼ αὐτοῦ δʼ Ἀνδρομάχη, πολλῶν ἐμοὶ
δακρύων ἀγωγός, ἡνίκʼ ἐξώρμα χθονὸς
πάτραν τʼ ἀναστένουσα καὶ τὸν Ἕκτορος
τύμβον προσεννέπουσα. καί σφʼ ᾐτήσατο
θάψαι νεκρὸν τόνδʼ, ὃς πεσὼν ἐκ τειχέων
ψυχὴν ἀφῆκεν Ἕκτορος τοῦ σοῦ γόνος,
φόβον τʼ Ἀχαιῶν, χαλκόνωτον ἀσπίδα
τήνδʼ, ἣν πατὴρ τοῦδʼ ἀμφὶ πλεύρʼ ἐβάλλετο,
μή νιν πορεῦσαι Πηλέως ἐφʼ ἑστίαν,
μηδʼ εἰς τὸν αὐτὸν θάλαμον, οὗ νυμφεύσεται
μήτηρ νεκροῦ τοῦδʼ Ἀνδρομάχη, λύπας ὁρᾶν,
That’s why he’s gone in such haste, with no time to spare for staying, and Andromache with him. She brought many tears to my eyes when she set out from this land, mourning her country and calling farewell to Hector’s tomb. And she asked him to bury this body, Hector’s son, who fell from the walls and gave up his life; and not to take this bronze-backed shield, the Achaeans’ terror, which the boy’s father used to hold around his side, to Peleus’ hearth, nor into the same bedroom where Andromache, the dead boy’s mother, will be made a bride—a grief for her to look at—
ἀλλʼ ἀντὶ κέδρου περιβόλων τε λαΐνων
ἐν τῇδε θάψαι παῖδα· σὰς δʼ ἐς ὠλένας
δοῦναι, πέπλοισιν ὡς περιστείλῃς νεκρὸν
στεφάνοις θʼ, ὅση σοι δύναμις, ὡς ἔχει τὰ σά,
ἐπεὶ βέβηκε καὶ τὸ δεσπότου τάχος
ἀφείλετʼ αὐτὴν παῖδα μὴ δοῦναι τάφῳ.
ἡμεῖς μὲν οὖν, ὅταν σὺ κοσμήσῃς νέκυν,
γῆν τῷδʼ ἐπαμπισχόντες ἀροῦμεν δόρυ·
but to bury the boy in it, instead of a cedar coffin and a tomb of stone; and to give him into your arms, so that you could wrap the body in robes and garlands, as far as you can, given your state. For she has gone, and her master’s haste kept her from laying her child in his grave herself. So when you’ve dressed the body, we’ll cover him with earth and raise our mast.
σὺ δʼ ὡς τάχιστα πρᾶσσε τἀπεσταλμένα.
ἑνὸς μὲν οὖν μόχθου σʼ ἀπαλλάξας ἔχω·
Σκαμανδρίους γὰρ τάσδε διαπερῶν ῥοὰς
ἔλουσα νεκρὸν κἀπένιψα τραύματα.
ἀλλʼ εἶμʼ ὀρυκτὸν τῷδʼ ἀναρρήξων τάφον,
ὡς σύντομʼ ἡμῖν τἀπʼ ἐμοῦ τε κἀπὸ σοῦ
εἰς ἓν ξυνελθόντʼ οἴκαδʼ ὁρμήσῃ πλάτην.
You, do what you’ve been asked as quickly as you can. I’ve already spared you one task: as I crossed the streams of Scamander here, I bathed the body and washed his wounds. Now I’ll go and break open the ground to dig his grave, so that your work and mine, done together quickly, can speed our oars homeward.
Hecubaθέσθʼ ἀμφίτορνον ἀσπίδʼ Ἕκτορος πέδῳ,
λυπρὸν θέαμα κοὐ φίλον λεύσσειν ἐμοί.
ὦ μείζονʼ ὄγκον δορὸς ἔχοντες ἢ φρενῶν,
τί τόνδʼ, Ἀχαιοί, παῖδα δείσαντες φόνον
καινὸν διειργάσασθε; μὴ Τροίαν ποτὲ
πεσοῦσαν ὀρθώσειεν; οὐδὲν ἦτʼ ἄρα·
ὅθʼ Ἕκτορος μὲν εὐτυχοῦντος εἰς δόρυ
διολλύμεσθα μυρίου τʼ ἄλλης χερός·
πόλεως δʼ ἁλούσης καὶ Φρυγῶν ἐφθαρμένων
βρέφος τοσόνδʼ ἐδείσατʼ; οὐκ αἰνῶ φόβον,
ὅστις φοβεῖται μὴ διεξελθὼν λόγῳ.
HecubaSet Hector’s round shield on the ground—a painful sight, and no joy for me to look at. You Achaeans, with more weight in your spears than in your wits, why were you so afraid of this child that you carried out a murder never seen before? Afraid he might someday raise up fallen Troy? Then you were nothing after all. When Hector was winning with his spear, and countless other hands were with him, we were still being destroyed. Now the city’s taken, the Phrygians wiped out, and you were afraid of a baby this small? I have no praise for fear, when someone fears without thinking it through.
ὦ φίλταθʼ, ὥς σοι θάνατος ἦλθε δυστυχής.
εἰ μὲν γὰρ ἔθανες πρὸ πόλεως, ἥβης τυχὼν
γάμων τε καὶ τῆς ἰσοθέου τυραννίδος,
μακάριος ἦσθʼ ἄν, εἴ τι τῶνδε μακάριον.
νῦν δʼ αὔτʼ ἰδὼν μὲν γνούς τε τῇ ψυχῇ, τέκνον,
οὐκ οἶσθʼ, ἐχρήσω δʼ οὐδὲν ἐν δόμοις ἔχων.
δύστηνε, κρατὸς ὥς σʼ ἔκειρεν ἀθλίως
τείχη πατρῷα, Λοξίου πυργώματα,
ὃν πόλλʼ ἐκήπευσʼ ἡ τεκοῦσα βόστρυχον
φιλήμασίν τʼ ἔδωκεν, ἔνθεν ἐκγελᾷ
ὀστέων ῥαγέντων φόνος, ἵνʼ αἰσχρὰ μὴ λέγω.
Dearest, what an unhappy death came to you. If you had died for your city, after you’d reached manhood, and marriage, and the godlike power of a king, you’d have been blessed—if any of that is blessed. As it is, child, you glimpsed those things and your soul knew of them, but you never knew them; they were in your house, and you never had the use of them. Poor boy, how cruelly your father’s walls, the towers Loxias built, have shorn your head—your curls, which your mother so often tended and kissed. There, the murder grins out from the broken bones, not to speak of uglier things.
ὦ χεῖρες, ὡς εἰκοὺς μὲν ἡδείας πατρὸς
κέκτησθʼ, ἐν ἄρθροις δʼ ἔκλυτοι πρόκεισθε νῦν.
ὦ πολλὰ κόμπους ἐκβαλὸν φίλον στόμα,
ὄλωλας, ἐψεύσω μʼ, ὅτʼ εἰσπίπτων λέχος,
ὦ μῆτερ, ηὔδας, ἦ πολύν σοι βοστρύχων
πλόκαμον κεροῦμαι πρὸς τάφον θʼ ὁμηλίκων
κώμους ἐπάξω, φίλα διδοὺς προσφθέγματα.
σὺ δʼ οὐκ ἔμʼ, ἀλλʼ ἐγὼ σὲ τὸν νεώτερον
γραῦς ἄπολις ἄτεκνος ἄθλιον θάπτω νεκρόν.
οἴμοι, τὰ πόλλʼ ἀσπάσμαθʼ αἵ τʼ ἐμαὶ τροφαὶ
πόνοι τʼ ἐκεῖνοι φροῦδά μοι. τί καί ποτε
γράψειεν ἂν σῷ μουσοποιὸς ἐν τάφῳ;
Hands—what a sweet likeness of your father’s you have, and now you lie in front of me, limp at the joints. Dear mouth that made so many proud promises, you’re gone. You lied to me, when you used to tumble into my bed and say, “Grandmother, I’ll cut off a great lock of my hair for you, and bring my friends to your grave, and speak loving words to you.” But you aren’t burying me. I, an old woman without a city, without children, am burying you, the younger one, a wretched corpse. Oh, no—all those embraces, my nursing, all that care for you, gone. What could a poet ever write on your grave?
τὸν παῖδα τόνδʼ ἔκτειναν Ἀργεῖοί ποτε
δείσαντες; αἰσχρὸν τοὐπίγραμμά γʼ Ἑλλάδι.
ἀλλʼ οὖν πατρῴων οὐ λαχὼν ἕξεις ὅμως
ἐν ᾗ ταφήσει χαλκόνωτον ἰτέαν.
ὦ καλλίπηχυν Ἕκτορος βραχίονα
σώζουσʼ, ἄριστον φύλακʼ ἀπώλεσας σέθεν.
ὡς ἡδὺς ἐν πόρπακι σὸς κεῖται τύπος
ἴτυός τʼ ἐν εὐτόρνοισι περιδρόμοις ἱδρώς,
ὃν ἐκ μετώπου πολλάκις πόνους ἔχων
ἔσταζεν Ἕκτωρ προστιθεὶς γενειάδι.
φέρετε, κομίζετʼ ἀθλίῳ κόσμον νεκρῷ
ἐκ τῶν παρόντων· οὐ γὰρ εἰς κάλλος τύχας
δαίμων δίδωσιν· ὧν δʼ ἔχω, λήψει τάδε.
“This boy the Argives once killed because they were afraid of him”? That inscription would shame Greece. Still, though you didn’t inherit what was your father’s, you’ll have his bronze-backed willow shield to be buried in. Shield, you kept safe Hector’s well-made arm, and you’ve lost your best guardian. How sweet his print lies on your arm-strap, and the sweat on your well-turned rim, which Hector often dripped from his forehead in the thick of his labors, pressing you to his chin. Come, bring what adornment we have for the poor body. Fate doesn’t give us fortunes that allow for beauty. But what I have, you’ll have.
θνητῶν δὲ μῶρος ὅστις εὖ πράσσειν δοκῶν
βέβαια χαίρει· τοῖς τρόποις γὰρ αἱ τύχαι,
ἔμπληκτος ὡς ἄνθρωπος, ἄλλοτʼ ἄλλοσε
πηδῶσι, κοὐδεὶς αὐτὸς εὐτυχεῖ ποτε.
The mortal who thinks he’s doing well and rejoices as if it were secure is a fool. Fortune, in its ways, like a man out of his mind, leaps now this way, now that, and no one stays fortunate forever.
Chorusκαὶ μὴν πρὸ χειρῶν αἵδε σοι σκυλευμάτων
Φρυγίων φέρουσι κόσμον ἐξάπτειν νεκρῷ.
ChorusLook, these women are bringing you finery in their hands, from the Phrygian spoils, to put on the body.
Hecubaὦ τέκνον, οὐχ ἵπποισι νικήσαντά σε
οὐδʼ ἥλικας τόξοισιν, οὓς Φρύγες νόμους
τιμῶσιν, οὐκ εἰς πλησμονὰς θηρώμενοι,
μήτηρ πατρός σοι προστίθησʼ ἀγάλματα
τῶν σῶν ποτʼ ὄντων, νῦν δέ σʼ ἡ θεοστυγὴς
ἀφείλεθʼ Ἑλένη, πρὸς δὲ καὶ ψυχὴν σέθεν
ἔκτεινε καὶ πάντʼ οἶκον ἐξαπώλεσεν.
HecubaChild, it isn’t for beating your friends at racing horses, or with the bow—customs the Phrygians honor without pursuing them to excess—that your father’s mother lays these ornaments on you, from what was once yours. Now Helen, whom the gods hate, has robbed you of them; and besides, she has taken your life and destroyed your whole house.
Chorusἒ ἔ, φρενῶν
ἔθιγες ἔθιγες· ὦ μέγας ἐμοί ποτʼ ὢν
ἀνάκτωρ πόλεως.
ChorusAh, ah, my heart—
you’ve touched it, touched it! You who were once
a great lord of my city.
Hecubaἃ δʼ ἐν γάμοις ἐχρῆν σε προσθέσθαι χροῒ
Ἀσιατίδων γήμαντα τὴν ὑπερτάτην,
Φρύγια πέπλων ἀγάλματʼ ἐξάπτω χροός.
σύ τʼ ὦ ποτʼ οὖσα καλλίνικε μυρίων
μῆτερ τροπαίων, Ἕκτορος φίλον σάκος,
στεφανοῦ· θανεῖ γὰρ οὐ θανοῦσα σὺν νεκρῷ·
ἐπεὶ σὲ πολλῷ μᾶλλον ἢ τὰ τοῦ σοφοῦ
κακοῦ τʼ Ὀδυσσέως ἄξιον τιμᾶν ὅπλα.
HecubaThe Phrygian finery you should have worn on your body at your wedding, when you married the highest princess of Asia, I now fasten on your skin. And you, Hector’s beloved shield, once glorious in victory, mother of countless trophies, take your garland. You’ll die, though you’re not dying, with the dead. You deserve honor far more than the arms of clever, wicked Odysseus.
Chorusαἰαῖ αἰαῖ,
πικρὸν ὄδυρμα γαῖά σʼ, ὦ
τέκνον, δέξεται.
στέναξον, μᾶτερ,
ChorusAh, ah!
With bitter lament the earth
will receive you, child.
Groan, Mother,
Hecubaοἴμοι μοι.
HecubaOh, no, no!
Hecubaτελαμῶσιν ἕλκη τὰ μὲν ἐγώ σʼ ἰάσομαι,
τλήμων ἰατρὸς ὄνομʼ ἔχουσα, τἄργα δʼ οὔ·
τὰ δʼ ἐν νεκροῖσι φροντιεῖ πατὴρ σέθεν.
HecubaSome of your wounds I’ll heal with bandages—a poor doctor, with the name but not the skill. The rest your father will tend among the dead.
Chorusἄρασσʼ ἄρασσε κρᾶτα
πιτύλους διδοῦσα χειρός, ἰώ μοί μοι.
ChorusStrike, strike your head,
beating it with the stroke of your hand.
Oh, no, no!
Hecubaοὐκ ἦν ἄρʼ ἐν θεοῖσι πλὴν οὑμοὶ πόνοι
Τροία τε πόλεων ἔκκριτον μισουμένη,
μάτην δʼ ἐβουθυτοῦμεν. εἰ δʼ ἡμᾶς θεὸς
ἔστρεψε τἄνω περιβαλὼν κάτω χθονός,
ἀφανεῖς ἂν ὄντες οὐκ ἂν ὑμνηθεῖμεν ἂν
μούσαις ἀοιδὰς δόντες ἀφθίτους βροτῶν.
χωρεῖτε, θάπτετʼ ἀθλίῳ τύμβῳ νεκρόν·
ἔχει γὰρ οἷα δεῖ γε νερτέρων στέφη.
δοκῶ δὲ τοῖς θανοῦσι διαφέρειν βραχύ,
εἰ πλουσίων τις τεύξεται κτερισμάτων·
κενὸν δὲ γαύρωμʼ ἐστὶ τῶν ζώντων τόδε.
HecubaSo there was nothing in the gods’ minds but my sufferings, and Troy, hated above all cities. We sacrificed oxen for nothing. Yet if the god had overturned us and flung all that was on top down beneath the earth, we would have vanished and never been sung of; we would never have given the Muses undying songs for mortals to come. Go, bury the body in its poor grave. It has the garlands the dead below must have. I think it makes little difference to the dead whether they get rich funeral offerings. That’s an empty show for the living.
Chorusἰὼ ἰώ·
μελέα μήτηρ, ἣ τὰς μεγάλας
ἐλπίδας ἐν σοὶ κατέκαμψε βίου.
μέγα δʼ ὀλβισθεὶς ὡς ἐκ πατέρων
ἀγαθῶν ἐγένου,
δεινῷ θανάτῳ διόλωλας.
ἔα ἔα·
τίνας Ἰλιάσιν ταῖσδʼ ἐν κορυφαῖς
λεύσσω φλογέας δαλοῖσι χέρας
διερέσσοντας; μέλλει Τροίᾳ
ChorusOh, oh!
Unhappy mother, who saw
the great hopes of her life in you broken.
You were counted greatly blessed
for your noble fathers,
and you’ve perished by a terrible death.
Ah, ah!
Who are these I see on the heights of Ilium,
waving hands that blaze
with torches? Upon Troy
Talthybiusαὐδῶ λοχαγοῖς, οἳ τέταχθʼ ἐμπιμπράναι
Πριάμου τόδʼ ἄστυ, μηκέτʼ ἀργοῦσαν φλόγα
ἐν χερσὶ σώζειν, ἀλλὰ πῦρ ἐνιέναι,
ὡς ἂν κατασκάψαντες Ἰλίου πόλιν
στελλώμεθʼ οἴκαδʼ ἄσμενοι Τροίας ἄπο.
ὑμεῖς δʼ, ἵνʼ αὑτὸς λόγος ἔχῃ μορφὰς δύο,
χωρεῖτε Τρώων παῖδες, ὀρθίαν ὅταν
σάλπιγγος ἠχὴν δῶσιν ἀρχηγοὶ στρατοῦ,
πρὸς ναῦς Ἀχαιῶν, ὡς ἀποστέλλησθε γῆς.
σύ τʼ, ὦ γεραιὰ δυστυχεστάτη γύναι,
ἕπου. μεθήκουσίν σʼ Ὀδυσσέως πάρα
οἵδʼ, ᾧ σε δούλην κλῆρος ἐκπέμπει χθονός.
TalthybiusI call on the captains assigned to burn this city of Priam: don’t keep the flame idle in your hands any longer. Set the fire, so that once we’ve razed the city of Ilium we can set off home from Troy, glad to go. And you—so the same order has two parts—daughters of Troy, when the army’s leaders sound the high blast of the trumpet, go to the Achaeans’ ships, to be taken away from this land. And you, old woman, unhappiest of all, follow. These men have come for you from Odysseus, whose slave the lot sends you from this land to be.
Hecubaοἲ ʼγὼ τάλαινα· τοῦτο δὴ τὸ λοίσθιον
καὶ τέρμα πάντων ἦλθε τῶν ἐμῶν κακῶν·
ἔξειμι πατρίδος, πόλις ὑφάπτεται πυρί.
ἀλλʼ ὦ γεραιὲ πούς, ἐπίσπευσον μόλις,
ὡς ἀσπάσωμαι τὴν ταλαίπωρον πόλιν.
ὦ μεγάλα δή ποτʼ ἐμπρέπουσʼ ἐν βαρβάροις
Τροία, τὸ κλεινὸν ὄνομʼ ἀφαιρήσει τάχα.
πιμπρᾶσί σʼ, ἡμᾶς δʼ ἐξάγουσʼ ἤδη χθονὸς
δούλας· ἰὼ θεοί. καὶ τί τοὺς θεοὺς καλῶ;
καὶ πρὶν γὰρ οὐκ ἤκουσαν ἀνακαλούμενοι.
φέρʼ εἰς πυρὰν δράμωμεν, ὡς κάλλιστά μοι
σὺν τῇδε πατρίδι κατθανεῖν πυρουμένῃ.
HecubaOh, no, poor me. This is the last, the very end of all my sorrows. I’m leaving my country; my city is being set on fire. Old feet, hurry, hard as it is, so I can say goodbye to my wretched city. Troy, once so great, so splendid among the foreign nations, soon you’ll lose your famous name. They’re burning you, and already they’re leading us out of the land as slaves. Oh, gods! But why do I call on the gods? Before this, too, they didn’t listen when they were called. Come, let’s run into the fire. It would be the finest thing for me to die with this country of mine as it burns.
Talthybiusἐνθουσιᾷς, δύστηνε, τοῖς σαυτῆς κακοῖς·
ἀλλʼ ἄγετε, μὴ φείδεσθʼ· Ὀδυσσέως δὲ χρὴ
εἰς χεῖρα δοῦναι τήνδε καὶ πέμπειν γέρας.
TalthybiusYour sorrows have driven you out of your mind, poor woman. Come, take her, don’t be gentle. She has to be handed over to Odysseus and delivered as his prize.
Hecubaὀτοτοτοτοτοῖ.
Κρόνιε, πρύτανι Φρύγιε, γενέτα
πάτερ, ἀνάξια τᾶς Δαρδάνου
γονᾶς τάδʼ οἷα πάσχομεν δέδορκας;
HecubaOh—oh—oh—oh!
Son of Cronus, lord of Phrygia,
father who begot us,
do you see what we suffer,
unworthy of the race of Dardanus?
Chorusδέδορκεν, ἁ δὲ μεγαλόπολις
ἄπολις ὄλωλεν οὐδʼ ἔτʼ ἔστι Τροία.
ChorusHe sees. And the great city
is a city no more; it has perished; Troy is no more.
Hecubaὀτοτοτοτοτοῖ.
λέλαμπεν Ἴλιος περγάμων
τε πυρὶ καταίθεται τέραμνα
καὶ πόλις ἄκρα τε τειχέων.
HecubaOh—oh—oh—oh!
Ilium is ablaze,
the roofs of Pergamum burn with fire,
and the city, and the tops of the walls.
Chorusπτέρυγι δὲ καπνὸς ὥς τις οὐρανίᾳ
πεσοῦσα δορὶ καταφθίνει γᾶ.
μαλερὰ μέλαθρα πυρὶ κατάδρομα
δαΐῳ τε λόγχᾳ.
ChorusLike smoke on the wing to the sky,
our land, fallen to the spear, fades away.
The halls rage with fire, overrun
by flame and the enemy spear.
Hecubaὦ τέκνα, κλύετε, μάθετε ματρὸς αὐδάν.
HecubaChildren, hear me, listen to your mother’s voice!
Hecubaγεραιά τʼ εἰς πέδον τιθεῖσα μέλεα,
καὶ χερσὶ γαῖαν κτυποῦσα δισσαῖς.
HecubaOld as I am, I lay my limbs on the ground,
and beat the earth with both my hands.
Chorusδιάδοχά σοι γόνυ τίθημι γαίᾳ
τοὺς ἐμοὺς καλοῦσα νέρθεν
ἀθλίους ἀκοίτας.
ChorusAfter you, I set my knee on the earth,
calling up from below
my own poor husbands.
Chorusἄλγος ἄλγος βοᾷς.
ChorusIt’s pain, pain you cry.
Hecubaδούλειον ὑπὸ μέλαθρον ἐκ πάτρας γʼ ἐμᾶς.
ἰὼ ἰώ.
Πρίαμε Πρίαμε, σὺ μὲν ὀλόμενος
ἄταφος ἄφιλος
ἄτας ἐμᾶς ἄιστος εἶ.
Hecubaunder a slave’s roof, from my own country!
Oh, oh!
Priam, Priam, you’re dead,
unburied, with none of your own to mourn you,
and you know nothing of my ruin.
Chorusμέλας γὰρ ὄσσε κατακαλύπτει
θάνατος ὅσιον ἀνοσίαις σφαγαῖσιν.
ChorusFor black death has covered his eyes,
a holy man, by unholy slaughter.
Hecubaτὰν φόνιον ἔχετε φλόγα δορός τε λόγχαν.
HecubaYou have the murderous flame and the spearpoint.
Chorusτάχʼ εἰς φίλαν γᾶν πεσεῖσθʼ ἀνώνυμοι.
ChorusSoon you’ll fall to the dear earth, without a name.
Hecubaκόνις δʼ ἴσα καπνῷ πτέρυγι πρὸς αἰθέρʼ
ἄιστον οἴκων ἐμῶν με θήσει.
HecubaAnd the dust, like smoke on the wing to the sky,
will hide my home from my sight.
Chorusὄνομα δὲ γᾶς ἀφανὲς εἶσιν· ἄλλᾳ δʼ
ἄλλο φροῦδον, οὐδʼ ἔτʼ ἔστιν
ἁ τάλαινα Τροία.
ChorusThe land’s name will pass into darkness. One thing here,
another there, is gone. Wretched Troy
is no more.
ChorusΠεργάμων κτύπον.
ChorusThe crash of Pergamum.
Hecubaἔνοσις ἅπασαν ἔνοσις ἐπικλύσει πόλιν.
ἰὼ ἰώ,
τρομερὰ τρομερὰ μέλεα, φέρετʼ ἐμὸν
ἴχνος. ἴτʼ ἐπὶ τάλαιναν
δούλειον ἁμέραν βίου.
HecubaA quake, a quake will flood over the whole city!
Oh, oh!
Trembling, trembling limbs, carry
my steps. Go on to the wretched
day of a slave’s life.
Chorusἰὼ τάλαινα πόλις· ὅμως δὲ
πρόφερε πόδα σὸν ἐπὶ πλάτας Ἀχαιῶν.
ChorusOh, wretched city! But still,
move your feet forward to the Achaeans’ ships.