Exodos

(TALTHYBIUS, followed by one or two Soldiers and bearing the child ASTYANAX, dead, is seen approaching.)

LEADER.Ah, change on change! Yet each one racksThis land with evil manifold;Unhappy wives of Troy, behold,They bear the dead Astyanax,Our prince, whom bitter Greeks this hourHave hurled to death from Ilion's tower.

TALTHYBIUS.One galley, Hecuba, there lingereth yet,Lapping the wave, to gather the last freightOf Pyrrhus' spoils for Thessaly. The chiefHimself long since hath parted, much in griefFor Peleus' sake, his grandsire, whom, men say,Acastus, Pelias' son, in war arrayHath driven to exile. Loath enough beforeWas he to linger, and now goes the moreIn haste, bearing Andromache, his prize.'Tis she hath charmed these tears into mine eyes,Weeping her fatherland, as o'er the waveShe gazed, and speaking words to Hector's grave.Howbeit, she prayed us that due rites be doneFor burial of this babe, thine Hector's son,That now from Ilion's tower is fallen and dead.And, lo! this great bronze-fronted shield, the dreadOf many a Greek, that Hector held in fray,O never in God's name--so did she pray--Be this borne forth to hang in Peleus' hallOr that dark bridal chamber, that the wallMay hurt her eyes; but here, in Troy o'erthrown,Instead of cedar wood and vaulted stone,Be this her child's last house. . . . And in thine handsShe bade me lay him, to be swathed in bandsOf death and garments, such as rest to theeIn these thy fallen fortunes; seeing that sheHath gone her ways, and, for her master's haste,May no more fold the babe unto his rest.Howbeit, so soon as he is garlandedAnd robed, we will heap earth above his headAnd lift our sails. . . . See all be swiftly done,As thou art bidden. I have saved thee oneLabour. For as I passed Scamander's streamHard by, I let the waters run on him,And cleansed his wounds.--See, I will go forth nowAnd break the hard earth for his grave: so thouAnd I will haste together, to set freeOur oars at last to beat the homeward sea!

(He goes out with his Soldiers, leaving the body of the Child in HECUBA's arms.)

HECUBA.Set the great orb of Hector's shield to lieHere on the ground. 'Tis bitter that mine eyeShould see it. . . . O ye Argives, was your spearKeen, and your hearts so low and cold, to fearThis babe? 'Twas a strange murder for brave men!For fear this babe some day might raise againHis fallen land! Had ye so little pride?While Hector fought, and thousands at his side,Ye smote us, and we perished; and now, now,When all are dead and Ilion lieth low,Ye dread this innocent! I deem it notWisdom, that rage of fear that hath no thought. . . .Ah, what a death hath found thee, little one!Hadst thou but fallen fighting, hadst thou knownStrong youth and love and all the majestyOf godlike kings, then had we spoken of theeAs of one blessed . . . could in any wiseThese days know blessedness. But now thine eyesHave seen, thy lips have tasted, but thy soulNo knowledge had nor usage of the wholeRich life that lapt thee round. . . . Poor little child!Was it our ancient wall, the circuit piledBy loving Gods, so savagely hath rentThy curls, these little flowers innocentThat were thy mother's garden, where she laidHer kisses; here, just where the bone-edge frayedGrins white above--Ah heaven, I will not see!Ye tender arms, the same dear mould have yeAs his; how from the shoulder loose ye dropAnd weak! And dear proud lips, so full of hopeAnd closed for ever! What false words ye saidAt daybreak, when he crept into my bed,Called me kind names, and promised: 'Grandmother,When thou art dead, I will cut close my hair,And lead out all the captains to ride byThy tomb.' Why didst thou cheat me so? 'Tis I,Old, homeless, childless, that for thee must shedCold tears, so young, so miserably dead.Dear God, the pattering welcomes of thy feet,The nursing in my lap; and O, the sweetFalling asleep together! All is gone.How should a poet carve the funeral stoneTo tell thy story true? 'There lieth hereA babe whom the Greeks feared, and in their fearSlew him.' Aye, Greece will bless the tale it tells!Child, they have left thee beggared of all elseIn Hector's house; but one thing shalt thou keep,This war-shield bronzen-barred, wherein to sleep.Alas, thou guardian true of Hector's fairLeft arm, how art thou masterless! And thereI see his handgrip printed on thy hold;And deep stains of the precious sweat, that rolledIn battle from the brows and beard of him,Drop after drop, are writ about thy rim.Go, bring them--such poor garments hazardousAs these days leave. God hath not granted usWherewith to make much pride. But all I can,I give thee, Child of Troy.--O vain is man,Who glorieth in his joy and hath no fears:While to and fro the chances of the yearsDance like an idiot in the wind! And noneBy any strength hath his own fortune won.

(During these lines several Women are seen approaching with garlands and raiment in their hands.)

LEADER.Lo these, who hear thee raiment harvestedFrom Ilion's slain, to fold upon the dead.

(During the following scene HECUBA gradually takes the garments and wraps them about the Child.)

HECUBA.O not in pride for speeding of the carBeyond thy peers, not for the shaft of warTrue aimed, as Phrygians use; not any prizeOf joy for thee, nor splendour in men's eyes,Thy father's mother lays these offeringsAbout thee, from the many fragrant thingsThat were all thine of old. But now no more.One woman, loathed of God, hath broke the doorAnd robbed thy treasure-house, and thy warm breathMade cold, and trod thy people down to death!

CHORUS. Some Women.Deep in the heart of meI feel thine hand,Mother: and is it heDead here, our prince to be,And lord of the land?

HECUBA.Glory of Phrygian raiment, which my thoughtKept for thy bridal day with some far-soughtQueen of the East, folds thee for evermore.And thou, grey Mother, Mother-Shield that boreA thousand days of glory, thy last crownIs here. . . . Dear Hector's shield! Thou shalt lie downUndying with the dead, and lordlier thereThan all the gold Odysseus' breast can bear,The evil and the strong!

CHORUS. Some Women.Child of the Shield-bearer,Alas, Hector's child!Great Earth, the All-mother,Taketh thee unto herWith wailing wild!

Others.Mother of misery,Give Death his song!(HEC. Woe!) Aye and bitterly(HEC. Woe!) We too weep for thee,And the infinite wrong!

(During these lines HECUBA, kneeling by the body, has been performing a funeral rite symbolically staunching the dead Child's wounds.)

HECUBA.I make thee whole;I bind thy wounds, O little vanished soul.This wound and this I heal with linen white:O emptiness of aid! . . . Yet let the riteBe spoken. This and . . . Nay, not I, but he,Thy father far away shall comfort thee!

(She bows her head to the ground and remains motionless and unseeing.)

CHORUS.Beat, beat thine head:Beat with the wailing chimeOf hands lifted in time:Beat and bleed for the dead.Woe is me for the dead!

HECUBA.O Women! Ye, mine own . . .

(She rises bewildered, as though she had seen a vision.)

LEADER.Hecuba, speak!Thine are we all. Oh, ere thy bosom break . . .

HECUBA.Lo, I have seen the open hand of God;And in it nothing, nothing, save the rodOf mine affliction, and the eternal hate,Beyond all lands, chosen and lifted greatFor Troy! Vain, vain were prayer and incense-swellAnd bulls' blood on the altars! . . . All is well.Had He not turned us in His hand, and thrustOur high things low and shook our hills as dust,We had not been this splendour, and our wrongAn everlasting music for the songOf earth and heaven!Go, women: lay our deadIn his low sepulchre. He hath his meedOf robing. And, methinks, but little careToucheth the tomb, if they that moulder thereHave rich encerement. 'Tis we, 'tis we,That dream, we living and our vanity!

(The Women bear out the dead Child upon the shield, singing, when presently flames of fire and dim forms are seen among the ruins of the City.)

CHORUS. Some Women.Woe for the mother that bare thee, child,Thread so frail of a hope so high,That Time hath broken: and all men smiledAbout thy cradle, and, passing by,Spoke of thy father's majesty.Low, low, thou liest!

Others.Ha! Who be these on the crested rock?Fiery hands in the dusk, and a shockOf torches flung! What lingereth stillO wounded City, of unknown ill,Ere yet thou diest?

TALTHYBIUS (coming out through the ruined Wall).Ye Captains that have charge to wreck this keepOf Priam's City, let your torches sleepNo more! Up, fling the fire into her heart!Then have we done with Ilion, and may partIn joy to Hellas from this evil land.And ye--so hath one word two faces--stand,Daughters of Troy, till on your ruined wallThe echo of my master's trumpet callIn signal breaks: then, forward to the sea,Where the long ships lie waiting.And for thee,O ancient woman most unfortunate,Follow: Odysseus' men be here, and waitTo guide thee. . . . 'Tis to him thou go'st for thrall.

HECUBA.Ah, me! and is it come, the end of all,The very crest and summit of my days?I go forth from my land, and all its waysAre filled with fire! Bear me, O aged feet,A little nearer: I must gaze, and greetMy poor town ere she fall.Farewell, farewell!O thou whose breath was mighty on the swellOf orient winds, my Troy! Even thy nameShall soon be taken from thee. Lo, the flameHath thee, and we, thy children, pass awayTo slavery . . . God! O God of mercy! . . . Nay:Why call I on the Gods? They know, they know,My prayers, and would not hear them long ago.Quick, to the flames! O, in thine agony,My Troy, mine own, take me to die with thee!

(She springs toward the flames, but is seized and held by the Soldiers.)

TALTHYBIUS.Back! Thou art drunken with thy miseries,Poor woman!--Hold her fast, men, till it pleaseOdysseus that she come. She was his lotChosen from all and portioned. Lose her not!

(He goes to watch over the burning of the City. The dusk deepens.)

CHORUS. Divers Women.Woe, woe, woe!Thou of the Ages, O wherefore fleest thou,Lord of the Phrygian, Father that made us?'Tis we, thy children; shall no man aid us?'Tis we, thy children! Seest thou, seest thou?

Others.He seeth, only his heart is pitiless;And the land dies: yea, she,She of the Mighty Cities perisheth citiless!Troy shall no more be!

Others.Woe, woe, woe!Ilion shineth afar!Fire in the deeps thereof,Fire in the heights above,And crested walls of War!

Others.As smoke on the wing of heavenClimbeth and scattereth,Torn of the spear and driven,The land crieth for death:O stormy battlements that red fire hath riven,And the sword's angry breath!

(A new thought comes to HECUBA; she kneels and beats the earth with her hands.)

HECUBA.O Earth, Earth of my children; hearken! and O mine own,Ye have hearts and forget not, ye in the darkness lying!

LEADER.Now hast thou found thy prayer, crying to them that are gone.

HECUBA.Surely my knees are weary, but I kneel above your head;Hearken, O ye so silent! My hands beat your bed!

LEADER.I, I am near thee;I kneel to thy dead to hear thee,Kneel to mine own in the darkness; O husband, hear my crying!

HECUBA.Even as the beasts they drive, even as the loads they bear,

LEADER.(Pain; O pain!)

HECUBA.We go to the house of bondage. Hear, ye dead, O hear!

LEADER.(Go, and come not again!)

HECUBA.Priam, mine own Priam,Lying so lowly,Thou in thy nothingness,Shelterless, comfortless,See'st thou the thing I am?Know'st thou my bitter stress?

LEADER.Nay, thou art naught to him!Out of the strife there came,Out of the noise and shame,Making his eyelids dim,Death, the Most Holy!

(The fire and smoke rise constantly higher.)

HECUBA.O high houses of Gods, beloved streets of my birth,Ye have found the way of the sword, the fiery and blood-red river!

LEADER.Fall, and men shall forget you! Ye shall lie in the gentle earth.

HECUBA.The dust as smoke riseth; it spreadeth wide its wing;It maketh me as a shadow, and my City a vanished thing!

LEADER.Out on the smoke she goeth,And her name no man knoweth;And the cloud is northward, southward; Troy is gone for ever!

(A great crash is heard, and the Wall is lost in smoke and darkness.)

HECUBA.Ha! Marked ye? Heard ye? The crash of the towers that fall!

LEADER.All is gone!

HECUBA.Wrath in the earth and quaking and a flood that sweepeth all,

LEADER.And passeth on!

(The Greek trumpet sounds.)

HECUBA.Farewell!--O spirit grey,Whatso is coming,Fail not from under me.Weak limbs, why tremble ye?Forth where the new long dayDawneth to slavery!

CHORUS.Farewell from parting lips,Farewell!--Come, I and thou,Whatso may wait us now,Forth to the long Greek shipsAnd the sea's foaming.

(The trumpet sounds again, and the Women go out in the darkness.)