Troades: Act II

Talthybius: Alas, 'tis thus the Greeks are ever doomedTo lie impatient of the winds' delay,Whether on war or homeward journey bent.

Chorus: Tell thou the cause of this the Greeks' delay.What god obstructs the homeward-leading paths?

Talthybius: My soul doth quake, and all my limbs with fearDo tremble. Scarce is credence given to talesThat do transcend the truth. And yet I swear,With my own eyes I saw what I relate.Now with his level rays the morning sunJust grazed the summits of the hills, and dayHad vanquished night; when suddenly the earth,'Mid rumblings hidden deep and terrible,To her profoundest depths convulsive rocked.The tree-tops trembled, and the lofty grovesGave forth a thunderous sound of crashing boughs;While down from Ida's rent and rugged slopesThe loosened bowlders rolled. And not aloneThe earth did quake: behold, the swelling seaPerceived its own Achilles drawing near,And spread its waves abroad. Then did the groundAsunder yawn, revealing mighty caves,And gave a path from Erebus to earth.And then the high-heaped sepulcher was rent,From which there sprang Achilles' mighty shade,In guise as when, in practice for thy fates,O Troy, he prostrate laid the Thracian arms,Or slew the son of Neptune, doomed to wearThe swan's white plumes; or when, amidst the ranksIn furious battle raging, he the streamsDid choke with corpses of the slain, and XanthusCrept sluggishly along with bloody waves;Or when he stood as victor in his car,Plying the reins and dragging in the dustGreat Hector's body and the Trojan state.So there he stood and filled the spreading shoreWith wrathful words: "Go, get you gone, ye raceOf weaklings, bear away the honors dueMy manes; loose your thankless ships, and sailAcross my seas. By no slight offeringDid ye aforetime stay Achilles' wrath;And now a greater shall ye pay. Behold,Polyxena, once pledged to me in life,Must by the hand of Pyrrhus to my shadeBe led, and with her blood my tomb bedew."So spake Achilles and the realms of dayHe left for night profound, reseeking Dis;And as he plunged within the depths of earth,The yawning chasm closed and left no trace.The sea lies tranquil, motionless; the windIts boisterous threats abates, and where but nowThe storm-tossed waters raged in angry mood,The gentle waves lap harmless on the shore;While from afar the band of Tritons soundsThe marriage chorus of their kindred lord.

Pyrrhus: Now that you homeward fare, and on the seaYour joyful sails would spread, my noble sireIs quite forgot, though by his single handWas mighty Troy o'erthrown; for, though his deathSome respite granted to the stricken town,She stood but as some sorely smitten tree,That sways uncertain, choosing where to fall.Though even now ye seek to make amendsFor your neglect, and haste to grant the thingHe asks, 'tis but a tardy recompense.Long since, the other chieftains of the GreeksHave gained their just reward. What lesser prizeShould his great valor claim? Or is it naughtThat, though his mother bade him shun the war,And spend his life in long, inglorious ease,Surpassing even Pylian Nestor's years,He cast his mother's shamming garments off,Confessing him the hero that he was?When Telephus, in pride of royal power,Forbade our progress through his kingdom's bounds,He stained with royal blood the untried handThat young Achilles raised. Yet once againHe felt that selfsame hand in mercy laidUpon his wound to heal him of its smart.Then did Eëtion, smitten sore, beholdHis city taken and his realm o'erthrown;By equal fortune fell Lyrnessus' walls,For safety perched upon a ridgy height,Whence came that captive maid, Briseïs fair;And Chrysa, too, lies low, the destined causeOf royal strife; and Tenedos, and the landWhich on its spreading pastures feeds the flocksOf Thracian shepherds, Scyros; Lesbos too,Upon whose rocky shore the sea in twainIs cleft; and Cilla, which Apollo loved.All these my father took, and eke the townsWhose walls Caÿcus with his vernal floodDoth wash against. This widespread overthrowOf tribes, this fearful and destructive scourge,That swept through many towns with whirlwind power--This had been glory and the height of fameFor other chiefs; 'twas but an incidentIn great Achilles' journey to the war.So came my father and such wars he wagedWhile but preparing war. And though I passIn silence all his other merits, stillWould mighty Hector's death be praise enough.My father conquered Troy; the lesser taskOf pillage and destruction is your own.'Tis pleasant thus to laud my noble sireAnd all his glorious deeds pass in review:Before his father's eyes did Hector lie,Of life despoiled; and Memnon, swarthy sonOf bright Aurora, goddess of the dawn,For whose untimely death his mother's faceWas sicklied o'er with grief, while day was veiledIn darkness. When the heaven-born Memnon fell,Achilles trembled at his victory;For in that fall he learned the bitter truthThat even sons of goddesses may die.Then, 'mongst our latest foes, the Amazons,Fierce maidens, felt my father's deadly power.So, if thou rightly estimate his deeds,Thou ow'st Achilles all that he can ask,E'en though he seek from Argos or MycenaeSome high-born maid. And dost thou hesitateAnd haggle now, inventing scruples new,And deem it barbarous to sacrificeThis captive maid of Troy to Peleus' son?But yet for Helen's sake didst thou devoteThy daughter to the sacrificial knife.I make in this no new or strange request,But only urge a customary rite.

Agamemnon: 'Tis the common fault of youth to have no checkOn passion's force; while others feel aloneThe sweeping rush of this first fire of youth,His father's spirit urges Pyrrhus on.I once endured unmoved the blustering threatsOf proud Achilles, swoll'n with power; and now,My patience is sufficient still to bearHis son's abuse. Why do you seek to smirchWith cruel murder the illustrious shadeOf that famed chief? 'Tis fitting first to learnWithin what bounds the victor may command,The vanquished suffer. Never has for longUnbridled power been able to endure,But lasting sway the self-controlled enjoy.The higher fortune raises human hopes,The more should fortune's favorite controlHis vaulting pride, and tremble as he viewsThe changing fates of life, and fear the godsWho have uplifted him above his mates.By my own course of conquest have I learnedThat mighty kings can straightway come to naught.Should Troy o'erthrown exalt us overmuch?Behold, we stand today whence she has fallen.I own that in the past too haughtilyHave I my sway o'er fallen chieftains borne;But thought of fortune's gift has checked my pride,Since she unto another might have givenThese selfsame gifts. O fallen king of Troy,Thou mak'st me proud of conquest over thee,Thou mak'st me fear that I may share thy fate.Why should I count the scepter anythingBut empty honor and a tinsel show?This scepter one short hour can take away,Without the aid, perchance, of countless shipsAnd ten long years of war. The steps of fateDo not for all advance with pace so slow.For me, I will confess ('tis with thy grace,O land of Greece, I speak) I have desiredTo see the pride and power of Troy brought low;But that her walls and homes should be o'erthrownIn utter ruin have I never wished.But a wrathful foe, by greedy passion driven,And heated by the glow of victory,Within the shrouding darkness of the night,Cannot be held in check. If any actUpon that fatal night unworthy seemedOr cruel, 'twas the deed of heedless wrath,And darkness which is ever fury's spur,And the victorious sword, whose lust for blood,When once in blood imbued, is limitless.Since Troy has lost her all, seek not to graspThe last poor fragments that remain. Enough,And more has she endured of punishment.But that a maid of royal birth should fallAn offering upon Achilles' tomb,Bedewing his harsh ashes with her blood,While that foul murder gains the honored nameOf wedlock, I shall not permit. On meThe blame of all will come; for he who sinForbids not when he can, commits the sin.Pyrrhus: Shall no reward Achilles' shade obtain?

Agamemnon: Yea, truly; all the Greeks shall sing his praise,And unknown lands shall hear his mighty name.But if his shade demand a sacrificeOf out-poured blood, go take our richest flocks,And shed their blood upon thy father's tomb;But let no mother's tears pollute the rite.What barbarous custom this, that living manShould to the dead be slain in sacrifice?Then spare thy father's name the hate and scornWhich by such cruel worship it must gain.

Pyrrhus: Thou, swoll'n with pride so long as happy fateUplifts thy soul, but weak and spent with fearWhen fortune frowns; O hateful king of kings,Is now thy heart once more with sudden loveOf this new maid inflamed? Shalt thou aloneSo often bear away my father's spoils?By this right hand he shall receive his own.And if thou dost refuse, and keep the maid,A greater victim will I slay, and oneMore worthy Pyrrhus' gift; for all too longFrom royal slaughter hath my hand been free,And Priam asks an equal sacrifice.

Agamemnon: Far be it from my wish to dim the praiseThat thou dost claim for this most glorious deed--Old Priam slain by thy barbaric sword,Thy father's suppliant.

Pyrrhus: I know full wellMy father's suppliants--and well I knowHis enemies. Yet royal Priam came,And made his plea before my father's face;But thou, o'ercome with fear, not brave enoughThyself to make request, within thy tentDidst trembling hide, and thy desires consignTo braver men, that they might plead for thee.

Agamemnon: But, of a truth, no fear thy father felt;But while our Greece lay bleeding, and her shipsWith hostile fire were threatened, there he laySupine and thoughtless of his warlike arms,And idly strumming on his tuneful lyre.

Pyrrhus: Then mighty Hector, scornful of thy arms,Yet felt such wholesome fear of that same lyre,That our Thessalian ships were left in peace.

Agamemnon: An equal peace did Hector's father findWhen he betook him to Achilles' ships.Pyrrhus: 'Tis regal thus to spare a kingly life.

Agamemnon: Why then didst thou a kingly life despoil?

Pyrrhus: But mercy oft doth offer death for life.

Agamemnon: Doth mercy now demand a maiden's blood?

Pyrrhus: Canst thou proclaim such sacrifice a sin?

Agamemnon: A king must love his country more than child.

Pyrrhus: No law the wretched captive's life doth spare.

Agamemnon: What law forbids not, this let shame forbid.

Pyrrhus: 'Tis victor's right to do whate'er he will.

Agamemnon: Then should he will the least who most can do.

Pyrrhus: Dost thou boast thus, from whose tyrannic reignOf ten long years but now the Greeks I freed?

Agamemnon: Such airs from Scyros!

Agamemnon: Hemmed by the sea!

Pyrrhus: Yet that same sea is ours.But as for Pelops' house, I know it well.

Agamemnon: Thou base-born son of maiden's secret sin,And young Achilles, scarce of man's estate--

Pyrrhus: Yea, that Achilles who, by right of birth,Claims equal sovereignty of triple realms:His mother rules the sea, to AeacusThe shades submit, to mighty Jove the heavens.

Agamemnon: Yet that Achilles lies by Paris slain!

Pyrrhus: But by Apollo's aid, who aimed the dart;For no god dared to meet him face to face.

Agamemnon: I could have checked thy words, and curbed thy tongue,Too bold in evil speech; but this my swordKnows how to spare. But rather let them callThe prophet Calchas, who the will of heavenCan tell. If fate demands the maid, I yield.Thou who from bonds didst loose the Grecian ships,And bring to end the slow delays of war;Who by thy mystic art canst open heaven,And read with vision clear the awful truthsWhich sacrificial viscera proclaim;To whom the thunder's roll, the long, bright trailOf stars that flash across the sky, revealThe hidden things of fate; whose every wordIs uttered at a heavy cost to me:What is the will of heaven, O Calchas; speak,And rule us with the mastery of fate.

Calchas: The Greeks must pay th' accustomed price to death,Ere on the homeward seas they take their way.The maiden must be slaughtered on the tombOf great Achilles. Thus the rite perform:As Grecian maidens are in marriage ledBy other hands unto the bridegroom's home,So Pyrrhus to his father's shade must leadHis promised bride.But not this cause aloneDelays our ships: a nobler blood than thine,Polyxena, is due unto the fates;For from yon lofty tower must Hector's son,Astyanax, be hurled to certain death.Then shall our vessels hasten to the sea,And fill the waters with their thousand sails.

Chorus: When in the tomb the dead is laid,When the last rites of love are paid;When eyes no more behold the light,Closed in the sleep of endless night;Survives there aught, can we believe?Or does an idle tale deceive?What boots it, then, to yield the breathA willing sacrifice to death,If still we gain no dreamless peace,And find from living no release?Say, do we, dying, end all pain?Does no least part of us remain?When from this perishable clayThe flitting breath has sped away;Does then the soul that dissolution shareAnd vanish into elemental air?Whate'er the morning sunbeam knows,Whate'er his setting rays disclose;Whate'er is bathed by Ocean wide,In ebbing or in flowing tide:Time all shall snatch with hungry greed,With mythic Pegasean speed.Swift is the course of stars in flight,Swiftly the moon repairs her light;Swiftly the changing seasons go,While time speeds on with endless flow:But than all these, with speed more swift,Toward fated nothingness we drift.For when within the tomb we're laid,No soul remains, no hov'ring shade.Like curling smoke, like clouds before the blast,This animating spirit soon has passed.Since naught remains, and death is naughtBut life's last goal, so swiftly sought;Let those who cling to life abateTheir fond desires, and yield to fate;And those who fear death's fabled gloom,Bury their cares within the tomb.Soon shall grim time and yawning nightIn their vast depths engulf us quite;Impartial death demands the whole--The body slays nor spares the soul.Dark Taenara and Pluto fell,And Cerberus, grim guard of hell--All these but empty rumors seem,The pictures of a troubled dream.Where then will the departed spirit dwell?Let those who never came to being tell.