The Trojan women of Euripides | Page 5

huts on the right opens, and the Women steal
out severally, startled and afraid.
FIRST WOMAN.
[Strophe I.
How say'st thou? Whither moves thy cry, Thy bitter cry? Behind our
door We heard thy heavy heart outpour Its sorrow: and there shivered
by Fear and a quick sob shaken From prisoned hearts that shall be free
no more!

HECUBA.
Child, 'tis the ships that stir upon the shore....
SECOND WOMAN.
The ships, the ships awaken!
THIRD WOMAN.
Dear God, what would they? Overseas Bear me afar to strange cities?
HECUBA.
Nay, child, I know not. Dreams are these, Fears of the hope-forsaken.
FIRST WOMAN.
Awake, O daughters of affliction, wake And learn your lots! Even now
the Argives break Their camp for sailing!
HECUBA.
Ah, not Cassandra! Wake not her Whom God hath maddened, lest the
foe Mock at her dreaming. Leave me clear From that one edge of woe.
O Troy, my Troy, thou diest here Most lonely; and most lonely we The
living wander forth from thee, And the dead leave thee wailing!
[One of the huts on the left is now open, and the rest of the CHORUS
come out severally. Their number eventually amounts to fifteen.
FOURTH WOMAN.
[Antistrophe I.
Out of the tent of the Greek king I steal, my Queen, with trembling
breath: What means thy call? Not death; not death! They would not
slay so low a thing!

FIFTH WOMAN.
O, 'tis the ship-folk crying To deck the galleys: and we part, we part!
HECUBA.
Nay, daughter: take the morning to thine heart.
FIFTH WOMAN.
My heart with dread is dying!
SIXTH WOMAN.
An herald from the Greek hath come!
FIFTH WOMAN.
How have they cast me, and to whom A bondmaid?
HECUBA.
Peace, child: wait thy doom. Our lots are near the trying.
FOURTH WOMAN.
Argos, belike, or Phthia shall it be, Or some lone island of the tossing
sea, Far, far from Troy?
HECUBA.
And I the agèd, where go I, A winter-frozen bee, a slave Death-shapen,
as the stones that lie Hewn on a dead man's grave: The children of mine
enemy To foster, or keep watch before The threshold of a master's door,
I that was Queen in Troy!
A WOMAN TO ANOTHER.
[Strophe 2.

And thou, what tears can tell thy doom?
THE OTHER.
The shuttle still shall flit and change Beneath my fingers, but the loom,
Sister, be strange.
ANOTHER (wildly).
Look, my dead child! My child, my love, The last look....
ANOTHER.
Oh, there cometh worse. A Greek's bed in the dark....
ANOTHER.
God curse That night and all the powers thereof!
ANOTHER.
Or pitchers to and fro to bear To some Pirênê[12] on the hill, Where the
proud water craveth still Its broken-hearted minister.
ANOTHER.
God guide me yet to Theseus' land[13], The gentle land, the famed
afar....
ANOTHER.
But not the hungry foam--Ah, never!-- Of fierce Eurotas, Helen's river,
To bow to Menelaus' hand, That wasted Troy with war!
A WOMAN.
[Antistrophe 2.
They told us of a land high-born, Where glimmers round Olympus'

roots A lordly river, red with corn And burdened fruits.
ANOTHER.
Aye, that were next in my desire To Athens, where good spirits
dwell....
ANOTHER.
Or Aetna's breast, the deeps of fire That front the Tyrian's Citadel: First
mother, she, of Sicily And mighty mountains: fame hath told Their
crowns of goodness manifold....
ANOTHER.
And, close beyond the narrowing sea, A sister land, where float
enchanted Ionian summits, wave on wave, And Crathis of the burning
tresses Makes red the happy vale, and blesses With gold of fountains
spirit-haunted Homes of true men and brave!
LEADER.
But lo, who cometh: and his lips Grave with the weight of dooms
unknown: A Herald from the Grecian ships. Swift comes he, hot-foot to
be done And finished. Ah, what bringeth he Of news or judgment?
Slaves are we, Spoils that the Greek hath won!
[TALTHYBIUS[14], followed by some Soldiers, enters from the left.
TALTHYBIUS.
Thou know'st me, Hecuba. Often have I crossed Thy plain with tidings
from the Hellene host. 'Tis I, Talthybius.... Nay, of ancient use Thou
know'st me. And I come to bear thee news.
HECUBA.
Ah me, 'tis here, 'tis here, Women of Troy, our long embosomed fear!

TALTHYBIUS.
The lots are cast, if that it was ye feared.
HECUBA.
What lord, what land.... Ah me, Phthia or Thebes, or sea-worn
Thessaly?
TALTHYBIUS.
Each hath her own. Ye go not in one herd.
HECUBA.
Say then what lot hath any? What of joy Falls, or can fall on any child
of Troy?
TALTHYBIUS.
I know: but make thy questions severally.
HECUBA.
My stricken one must be Still first. Say how Cassandra's portion lies.
TALTHYBIUS.
Chosen from all for Agamemnon's prize!
HECUBA.
How, for his Spartan bride A tirewoman? For Helen's sister's pride?
TALTHYBIUS.
Nay,