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 ...Mejlea of Euripides, 
 
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Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tlie Cornell University Library. 
 
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 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924026469019 
 
THE MEDEA 
 
 OF 
 
 EURIPIDES 
 
 TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH RHYMING VERSE 
 WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES BY 
 
 GILBERT MURRAY, M.A., LL.D. 
 
 SOMXTIME PROFESSOa OF GKIIK IN THI UNIVERSITY 
 
 or GLASGOW ; FELLOW OF NEW 
 
 COLLEGE, OXFORD 
 
 OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 
 AMERICAN BRANCH 
 
 NEW YORK: ;^^ WEST J 2ND STREET 
 
 I912 
 

 Copyright, 1906, by 
 Oxford Univiiisity Puas 
 
 AMIKICAN BKANCH 
 
 
 S 
 
 
 1:1 
 .•V 
 
 v» 
 
 L." • 
 
 (,■ ;• 
 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 The Medea, in spite of its background of wonder and 
 enchantment, is not a romantic play but a tragedy of 
 character and situation. It deals, so to speak, not with 
 the romance itself, but with the end of the romance, a 
 thing which is so terribly often the reverse of romantic. 
 For all but the very highest of romances are apt to have 
 just one flaw somewhere, and in the story of Jason and 
 Medea the flaw was of a fatal kind. 
 
 The wildness and beauty of the Argo legend run 
 through all Greek literature, from the mass of Corin- 
 thian lays older than our present Iliad, which later 
 writers vaguely associate with the name of Eum^lus, to 
 the Fotu'th Pythian Ode of Pindar and the beautiful 
 Argonautica of ApoUonius Rhodius. Our poet knows 
 the wildness and the beauty ; but it is not these quali- 
 ties that he specially seeks. He takes them almost for 
 granted, and pierces through them to the sheer tragedy 
 that hes below. 
 
 Jason, son of Aeson, King of I61cos, in Thessaly, 
 began his life in exile. His uncle Pelias had seized his 
 father's kingdom, and Jason was borne away to the 
 mountains by night and given, wrapped in a purple 
 robe, to Chiron, the Centaur. When he reached man- 
 hood he came down to Idlcos to demand, as Pindar 
 tells us, his ancestral honour, and stood in the market- 
 place, a world-famous figure, one-sandalled, with his 
 
vi INTRODUCTION 
 
 pard-skin, his two spears and his long hair, gentle and 
 wild and fearless, as the Wise Beast had reared him. 
 Pelias, cowed but loath to yield, promised to give up the 
 kingdom if Jason would make his way to the unknown 
 land of Colchis and perform a double quest. First, if 
 I read Pindar aright, he must fetch back the soul of his 
 kinsman Phrixus, who had died there far from home ; 
 and, secondly, find the fleece of the Golden Ram which 
 Phrixus had sacrificed. Jason undertook the quest: 
 gathered the most daring heroes from all parts of Hellas ; 
 built the first ship, Argo, and set to sea. After all man- 
 ner of desperate adventures he reached the land of 
 Ai^t^s, king of the Colchians, and there hope failed him. 
 By policy, by tact, by sheer courage he did all that man 
 could do. But Ai^tes was both hostile and treacherous. 
 The Argonauts were surrounded, and their destruction 
 seemed only a question of days when, suddenly, un- 
 asked, and by the mercy of Heaven, Aietes' daughter, 
 M^d^a, an enchantress as well as a princess, fell in love 
 with Jason. She helped him through all his trials ; slew 
 for him her own sleepless serpent, who guarded the 
 fleece ; deceived her father, and seciured both the fleece 
 and the soul of Phrixus. At the last moment it ap- 
 peared that her brother, Absyrtus, was about to lay an 
 ambush for Jason. She invited Absyrtus to her room, 
 stabbed him dead, and fled with Jason over the seas. 
 She had given up all, and expected in return a perfect 
 love. 
 
 And what of Jason ? He could not possibly avoid 
 taking Medea with him. He probably rather loved 
 her. She formed at the least a brilliant addition to 
 the glory of his enterprise. Not many heroes could 
 
INTRODUCTION vii 
 
 produce a barbarian princess ready to leave all and 
 follow them in blind trust. For of course, as every 
 one knew without the telling in fifth-centiu-y Athens, 
 no legal marriage was possible between a Greek and 
 a barbarian from Colchis. 
 
 All through the voyage home, a world-wide baffled 
 voyage by the Ister and the Eridanus and the African 
 Syrtes, Medea was still in her element, and proved a 
 constant help and counsellor to the Argonauts. When 
 they reached Jason's home, where Pelias was still king, 
 things began to be different. An ordered and law- 
 abiding Greek state was scarcely the place for the un- 
 tamed Colchian. We only know the catastrophe. She 
 saw with smothered rage how Pelias hated Jason and 
 was bent on keeping the kingdom from him, and she 
 determined to do her lover another act of splendid ser- 
 vice. Making the most of her fame as an enchantress, 
 she persuaded Pelias that he could, by a certain pro- 
 cess, regain his youth. He eagerly caught at the hope. 
 His daughters tried the process upon him, and Pelias 
 died in agony. Surely Jason would be grateful now ! 
 
 The real result was what it was sure to be in a civil- 
 ised country. Medea and her lover had to fly for their 
 lives, and Jason was debarred for ever from succeeding 
 to the throne of I61cos. Probably there was another 
 result also in Jason's mind : the conclusion that at all 
 costs he must somehow separate himself from this wild 
 beast of a woman who was ruining his life. He di- 
 rected their flight to Corinth, governed at the time by 
 a ruler of some sort, whether " tyrant " or king, who 
 was growing old and had an only daughter. Creon 
 would naturally want a son-in-law to support and sue 
 
viii INTRODUCTION 
 
 cecd him. And where in all Greece could he find one 
 stronger or more famous than the chief of the Argo- 
 nauts? If only Medea were not there! No doubt 
 Jason owed her a great debt for her various services. 
 Still, after all, he was not married to her. And a man 
 must not be weak in such matters as these. Jason ac- 
 cepted the princess's hand, and when Medea became 
 violent, found it difficult to be really angry with Creon 
 for instantly condemning her to exile. At this point 
 the tragedy begins. 
 
 The Medea is one of the earliest of Euripides' works 
 now preserved to us. And those of us who have in our 
 time glowed at all with the religion of realism, will 
 probably feel in it many of the qualities of youth. Not, 
 of course, the more normal, sensuous, romantic youth, 
 the youth of Romeo and Juliet; but another kind — crude, 
 austere, passionate— the youth of the poet who is also 
 a sceptic and a devotee of truth, who so hates the 
 conventionally and falsely beautiful that he is apt to 
 be unduly ascetic towards beauty itself. When a 
 writer really deficient in poetry walks in this path, the 
 result is purely disagreeable. It produces its best re- 
 sults when the writer, like Emipides or Tolstoy, is so 
 possessed by an inward flame of poetry that it breaks 
 out at the great moments and consumes the cramping 
 theory that would hold it in. One can feel in the 
 Medea thaf; the natural and inevitable romance of the 
 story is kept rigidly down. One word about Medea's 
 ancient serpent, two or three references to the Clashing 
 Rocks, one startling flash of light upon the real love of 
 Jason's life, love for the ship Argo, these are almost 
 all the concessions made to us by the merciless 
 
INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 delineator of disaster into whose hands we are fallen. 
 Jason is a middle-aged man, with much glory, indeed, 
 and some illusions ; but a man entirely set upon build- 
 ing up a great career, to whom love and all its works, 
 though at times he has found them convenient, are for 
 the most part only irrational and disturbing elements in 
 a world which he can otherwise mould to his will. 
 And yet, most cruel touch of all, one feels this man to 
 be the real Jason. It is not that he has fallen from 
 his heroic past. It is that he was really like this always. 
 And so with Medea. It is not only that her beauty 
 has begun to fade ; not only that she is set in surround- 
 ings which vaguely belittle and weaken her, making 
 her no more a bountiful princess, but only an am- 
 biguous and much criticised foreigner. Her very 
 devotion of love for Jason, now turned to hatred, shows 
 itself to have been always of that somewhat rank and 
 ugly sort to which such a change is natural. 
 
 For concentrated dramatic quality and sheer intensity 
 of passion few plays ever written can vie with the 
 Medea. Yet it obtained only a third prize at its first 
 production ; and, in spite of its immense fame, there 
 are not many scholars who would put it among their 
 favourite tragedies. The comparative failure of the 
 first production was perhaps due chiefly to the extreme 
 originality of the play. The Athenians in 432 B.C. had 
 not yet learnt to understand or tolerate such work as 
 this, though it is Ukely enough that they fortified their 
 unfavourable opinion by the sort of criticisms which 
 we still find attributed to Aristotle and Dicaearchus. 
 
 At the present time it is certainly not the newness 
 of the subject : I do not think it is Aegeus, nor yet 
 
X INTRODUCTION 
 
 the dragon chariot, much less Medea's involuntary 
 burst of tears in the second scene with Jason, that 
 really produces the feehng of dissatisfaction with which 
 many people must rise from this great play. It is 
 rather the general scheme on, which the drama is built. 
 It is a scheme which occurs again and again in Eurip- 
 ides, a study of oppression and revenge. Such a 
 subject in the hands of a more ordinary writer would 
 probably take the form of a triumph of oppressed 
 virtue. But Euripides gives us nothing so sympathetic, 
 nothing so cheap and unreal. If oppression usually 
 made people virtuous, the problems of the world 
 would be very different from what they are. Euripides 
 seems at times to hate the revenge of the oppressed al- 
 most as much as the original cruelty of the oppressor ; 
 or, to put the same fact in a different light, he seems 
 deliberately to dwell upon the twofold evil of cruelty, 
 that it not only causes pain to the victim, but actually 
 by means of the pain makes him a worse man, so that 
 when his turn of triumph comes, it is no longer a 
 triumph of justice or a thmg to make men rejoice. 
 This is a grim lesson ; taught often enough by history, 
 though seldom by the fables of the poets. 
 
 Seventeen years later than the Medea Euripides 
 expressed this sentiment in a more positive way in 
 the Trojan Women, where a depth of wrong borne 
 without revenge becomes, or seems for the moment to 
 become, a thing beautiful and glorious. But more 
 plays are constructed like the Medea. The Hecuba begins 
 with a noble and injured Queen, and ends with her 
 hideous vengeance on her enemy and his innocent 
 sons. In the Orestes all our hearts go out to the suf- 
 
INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 fering and deserted prince, till we find at last that we 
 have committed ourselves to the blood-thirst of a mad- 
 man. In the Electra, the workers of the vengeance 
 themselves repent. 
 
 The dramatic effect of this kind of tragedy is 
 curious. No one can call it undramatic or tame. Yet 
 it is painfully unsatisfying. At the close of the Medea 
 I actually find myself longing for a deus ex machind, 
 for some being like Artemis in the Hippolytus or the 
 good Dioscuri of the Electra, to speak, a word of ex- 
 planation or forgiveness, or at least leave some sound 
 of music in our ears to drown that dreadful and in- 
 sistent clamotir of hate. The truth is that in this play 
 Medea herself is the dea ex machind. The woman 
 whom Jason and Creon intended simply to crush has 
 been transformed by her injuries from an individual 
 human being into a sort of living Curse. She is in- 
 spired with superhuman force. Her wrongs and her 
 hate fill all the sky. And the judgment pronounced 
 on Jason comes not from any disinterested or peace- 
 making God, but from his own victim transfigured 
 into a devil. 
 
 From any such judgment there is an instant appeal 
 to sane human sympathy. Jason has suffered more 
 than enough. But that also is the way of the world. 
 And the last word upon these tragic things is most 
 often something not to be expressed by the sentences 
 of even the wisest articulate judge, but only by the 
 unspoken lacrimce rerum. 
 
 G. M. 
 
MEDEA 
 
CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY 
 
 J^Medea, daughter of Aietls, King of Colchis^ 
 ^f^ Jason, chief of the Argonauts; nephew of Pelias, King of ISlcot 
 " _ in Thessaly. 
 
 ^^Creon, ruler of Corinth. 
 
 tPAegeus, King of Athens. 
 ^Anurse of Medea. 
 '^VTwo Children of Jason and Medea. 
 ^1 Attendant on the children. 
 Messenger. 
 
 y^ 
 
 Chorus of Corinthian Women, with their Leader. 
 Soldiers and Attendants 
 
 The scene is laid in Corinth. The play was first acted when 
 PythodSrus was Archon, Olympiad Sf, year I (B.C. 431). 
 Euphorion was first, Sophocles second, Euripides third, with 
 Medea, Philoctltes, Dictys, and the Harvesters, a Satyr-play . 
 
MEDEA 
 
 The Scene represents the front of Medea's House in 
 Corinth. A road to the right leads towards the royal 
 castle, one on the left to the harbour. The Nurse is 
 discovered alone. 
 
 Nurse. 
 
 Would God no Argo e'er had winged the seas 
 To Colchis through the blue Sympl^gades : 
 No shaft of riven pine in P61ion's glen 
 Shaped that first oar-blade in the hands of men 
 Valiant, who won, to save King Pelias' vow. 
 The fleece All-golden ! Never then, I trow. 
 Mine own princess, her spirit wounded sore 
 With love of Jason, to the encastled shore 
 Had sailed of old I61cos : never wrought 
 The daughters of King Pelias, knowing not, 
 To spill their father's life : nor fled in fear, 
 Hunted for that fierce sin, to Corinth here 
 With Jason and her babes. This folk at need 
 Stood friend to her, and she in word and deed 
 Served alway Jason. Surely this doth bind, 
 Through all ill days, the hurts of humankind. 
 When man and woman 'to. one music move. 
 
 But now, the world is angry, and true love 
 Sick as with poison. Jason doth forsake 
 My mistress and his own two sons, to make 
 
]. EURIPIDES 
 
 His couch in a king's chamber. He must wed : 
 Wed with this Creon's child, who now is head 
 And chief of Corinth. Wherefore sore betrayed 
 Medea calleth up the oath they made, 
 They two, and wakes the clasped hands again. 
 The troth surpassing speech, and cries amain 
 On God in heaven to mark the end, and how 
 Jason hath paid his debt. 
 
 All fasting now 
 And cold, her body yielded up to pain. 
 Her days a waste of weeping, she hath lain. 
 Since first she knew that he was false. Her eyes 
 Are lifted not ; and all her visage lies 
 In the dust. If friends will speak, she hears no 
 
 more 
 Than some dead rock or wave that beats the shore : 
 Only the white throat in a sudden shame 
 May writhe, and all alone she moans the name 
 Of father, and land, and home, forsook that day 
 For this man's sake, who casteth her away. 
 Not to be quite shut out from home . . . alas. 
 She knoweth now how rare a thing that was ! 
 Methinks she hath a dread, not joy, to see 
 Her children near. 'Tis this that maketh me 
 Most tremble, lest she do I know not what. 
 Her heart is no hght thing, and useth not 
 To brook much wrong. I know that woman, aye. 
 And dread her ! Will she creep alone to die 
 Bleeding in that old room, where still is laid 
 Lord Jason's bed ? She hath for that a blade 
 Made keen. Or slay the bridegroom and the king, 
 And win herself God knows what direr thing ? 
 
MEDEA 5 
 
 'Tis a fell spirit. Few, I ween, shall stir 
 Her hate unscathed, or lightly humble her. 
 
 Ha ! 'Tis the children from their games again. 
 Rested and gay ; and all their mother's pain 
 Forgotten ! Young Uves ever turn from gloom ! 
 
 \The Children and their Attendant come in. 
 
 Attendant. 
 
 Thou ancient treasure of my lady's room. 
 What mak'st thou here before the gates alone, 
 And alway turning on thy lips some moan 
 Of old mischances ? Will our mistress be 
 Content, this long time to be left by thee ? 
 
 Nurse. 
 
 Grey guard of Jason's children, a good thrall 
 
 Hath his own grief, if any hurt befall 
 
 His masters. Aye, it holds one's heart ! . . . 
 
 Meseems 
 I have strayed out so deep in evil dreams, 
 I longed to rest me here alone, and cry 
 Medea's wrongs to this still Earth and Sky. 
 
 Attendant. 
 H ow ? Are the tears yet running in her eyes ? 
 
 Nurse. 
 
 'Twere good to be like thee ! . . . Her sorrow hes 
 Scarce wakened yet, not half its perils wrought. 
 
6 EURIPIDES 
 
 Attendant. 
 
 Mad spirit ! ... if a man may speak his thought 
 Of masters mad.— And nothing in her ears 
 Hath sounded yet of her last cause for tears ! 
 
 [He moves towards the house, but the Nurse 
 checks him. 
 
 Nurse. 
 
 What cause, old man ? . . . Nay, grudge me not one 
 word. 
 
 Attendant. 
 
 'Tis nothing. Best forget what thou hast heard. 
 
 Nurse. 
 
 Nay, housemate, by thy beard ! Hold it not hid 
 From me. ... I will keep silence if thou bid. 
 
 Attendant. 
 
 I heard an old man talking, where he sate 
 At draughts in the sun, beside the fountain gate. 
 And never thought of me, there standing still 
 Beside him. And he said, 'Twas Creon's will. 
 Being lord of all this land, that she be sent, 
 And with her her two sons, to banishment. 
 Maybe 'tis all false. For myself, I know 
 No further, and I would it were not so. 
 
 Nurse. 
 
 Jason will never bear it— his own sons 
 Banished, — however hot his anger runs 
 Against their mother! 
 
MEDEA 
 
 Attendant. 
 
 Old love burnetii low 
 When new love wakes, men say. He is not now 
 Husband nor father here, nor any kin. 
 
 Nurse. 
 
 But this is ruin ! New waves breaking in 
 To wreck us, ere we are righted from the old! 
 
 Attendant. 
 
 Well, hold thy peace. Our mistress will be told 
 All in good time. Speak thou no word hereof. 
 
 Nurse. 
 
 My babes ! What think ye of your father's love ? 
 God curse him not, he is my master still : 
 But, oh, to them that loved him, 'tis an ill 
 Friend. . . . 
 
 Attendant. 
 
 And what man on earth is different ? How ? 
 Hast thou lived all these years, and learned but now 
 That every man more loveth his own head 
 Than other men's ? He dreameth of the bed 
 Of this new bride, and thinks not of his sons. 
 
 Nurse. 
 
 Go : run into the house, my little ones : 
 
 All will end happily ! . . . Keep them apart : 
 
 Let not their mother meet them while her heart 
 
8 EURIPIDES 
 
 Is darkened. Yester night I saw a flame 
 Stand in her eye, as though she hated them. 
 And would I know not what. For sure her wrath 
 Will never turn nor slumber, till she hath . . . 
 Go : and if some must suffer, may it be 
 Not we who love her, but some enemy ! 
 
 Voice [wiMn). 
 Oh shame and pain : O woe is me ! 
 Would I could die in my misery ! 
 
 r 7%<f Children and the Attendant go in. 
 
 Nurse. 
 Ah, children, hark ! She moves again 
 
 Her frozen heart, her sleeping wrath. 
 
 In, quick ! And never cross her path. 
 Nor rouse that dark eye in its pain; 
 
 That fell sea-spirit;, and the dire 
 
 Spring of a will untaught, unbowed. 
 Quick, now! — Methinks this weeping cloud 
 
 Hath in its heart some thunder-fire. 
 
 Slow gathering, that must flash ere long. 
 
 I know not how, for ill or well. 
 
 It turns, this uncontrollable 
 Tempestuous spirit, blind with wrong. 
 
 Voice {within). 
 Have I not suffered ? Doth it call 
 No tears ? . . . Ha, ye beside the wall 
 Unfathered children, God hate you 
 As I am hated, and him, too. 
 
 That gat you, and this house and all ! 
 
MEDEA 
 
 ' Nurse. 
 
 For pity ! What have they to do, 
 
 Babes, with their father's sin ? Why call 
 Thy curse on these ? . . . Ah, children, all 
 
 These days my bosom bleeds for you. 
 
 Rude are the wills of princes : yea. 
 Prevailing alway, seldom crossed, 
 On fitful winds their moods are tossed : 
 
 'Tis best men tread the equal way. 
 
 Aye, not with glory but with peace 
 
 May the long summers find me crowned : 
 For gentleness — her very sound 
 
 Is magic, and her usages 
 
 All wholesome : but the fiercely great 
 Hath little music on his road. 
 And falleth, when the hand of God 
 Shall move, most deep and desolate. 
 
 [During the last words the Leader of the 
 Chorus has entered. Other women follow 
 her. 
 
 Leader. 
 
 I heard a voice and a moan, 
 A voice of the eastern seas : 
 Hath she found not yet her ease ? 
 Speak, O ag^d one. 
 
 For I stood afar at the gate. 
 
 And there came from within a cry. 
 
lo EURIPIDES 
 
 And wailing desolate. 
 
 Ah, no more joy have I, 
 For the griefs this house doth see. 
 And the love it hath wrought in me. 
 
 Nurse. 
 
 There is no house ! 'Tis gone. The lord 
 Seeketh a prouder bed : and she 
 
 Wastes in her chamber, not one word 
 Will hear of care or charity. 
 
 Voice {within). 
 
 O Zeus, O Earth, O Light, 
 
 Will the fire not stab my brain ? 
 What profiteth living ? Oh, 
 Shall I not lift the slow 
 Yoke, and let Life go. 
 As a beast out in the night, 
 To lie, and be rid of pain ? 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Some Women 
 
 A. 
 
 " O Zeus, O Earth, O Light : " 
 The cry of a bride forlorn 
 Heard ye, and wailing born 
 Of lost delight ? 
 
MEDEA II 
 
 B. 
 
 Why weariest thou this day, 
 
 Wild heart, for the bed abhorred, 
 
 The cold bed in the clay ? 
 
 Death cometh though no man pray, 
 Ungarlanded, un-ador^d. 
 Call him not thou. 
 
 C. 
 
 If another's arms be now 
 
 Where thine have been. 
 
 On his head be the sin : 
 Rend not thy brow ! 
 
 D. 
 
 All that thou sufferest, 
 
 God seeth : Oh, not so sore 
 Waste nor weep for the breast 
 
 That was thine of yore. 
 
 Voice {within). 
 
 Virgin of Righteousness, 
 Virgin of hallowed Troth, 
 Ye marked me when with an oath 
 I bound him ; mark no less 
 That oath's end. Give me to see 
 Him and his bride, who sought 
 My grief when I wronged her not. 
 Broken in misery. 
 
12 EURIPIDES 
 
 And all her house. . . . O God, 
 
 My mother's home, and the dim 
 
 Shore that I left for him, 
 
 And the voice of my brother's blood. . . . 
 
 Nurse. 
 
 Oh, wild words! Did ye hear her cry 
 
 To them that guard man's faith forsworn, 
 Themis and Zeus ? . . . This wrath new-bom 
 
 Shall make mad workings ere it die. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Other Women. 
 
 A. 
 
 Would she but come to seek 
 
 Our faces, that love her well, 
 
 And take to her heart the spell 
 
 Of words that speak ? 
 
 B. 
 
 Alas for the heavy hate 
 
 And anger that bumeth ever! 
 
 Would it but now abate, 
 
 Ah God, I love her yet. 
 
 And surely my love's endeavour 
 Shall fail not here. 
 
 C. 
 
 Go : from that chamber drear 
 
 Forth to the day 
 Lead her, and say, Oh, say 
 
 That we love her dear. 
 
MEDEA 13 
 
 D. 
 
 Go, lest her hand be hard 
 
 On the innocent r Ah, let be ! 
 For her grief moves hitherward, 
 Like an angry sea. 
 
 Nurse. 
 
 That will I : though what words of mine 
 Or love shall move her ? Let them lie 
 With the old lost labours ! . . . Yet her eye — 
 
 Know ye the eyes of the wild kine, 
 
 The lion flash that guards their brood ? 
 
 So looks she now if any thrall 
 
 Speak comfort, or draw near at all 
 My mistress in her evil mood. 
 
 [The Nurse goes into the house. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 A Woman. 
 
 Alas, the bold blithe bards of old 
 That all for joy their music made. 
 
 For feasts and dancing manifold. 
 That Life might listen and be glad. 
 
 But all the darkness and the wrong, 
 
 Quick deaths and dim heart-aching things. 
 
 Would no man ease them with a song 
 Or music of a thousand strings ? 
 
14 EURIPIDES 
 
 Then song had served us in oiir need. 
 
 What profit, o'er the banquet's swell 
 That lingering cry that none may heed ? 
 
 The feast hath filled them : all is well ! 
 
 Others. 
 
 I heard a song, but it comes no more. 
 
 Where the tears ran over : 
 A keen cry but tired, tired : 
 A woman's cry for her heart's desired, 
 For a traitor's kiss and a lost lover. 
 But a prayer, methinks, yet riseth sore 
 
 To God, to Faith, God's ancient daughter— 
 The Faith that over sundering seas 
 Drew her to Hellas, and the breeze 
 Of midnight shivered, and the door 
 Closed of the salt unsounded water. 
 
 [During the last words Medea has come 
 out from the house. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Women of Corinth, I am come to show 
 
 My face, lest ye despise me. For I know 
 
 Some heads stand high and fail not, even at night 
 
 Alone — far less like this, in all men's sight: 
 
 And we, who study not our wayfarings 
 
 But feel and cry — Oh we are drifting things. 
 
 And evil ! For what truth is in men's eyes. 
 
 Which search no heart, but in a flash despise 
 
MEDEA 15 
 
 A strange face, shuddering back from one that ne'er 
 
 Hath wronged them ? . . . Sure, far-comers anywhere, 
 
 I know, must bow them and be gentle. Nay, 
 
 A Greek himself men praise not, who alway 
 
 Should seek his own will recking not. . . . But I — 
 
 This thing undreamed of, sudden from on high. 
 
 Hath sapped my soul : I dazzle where I stand, 
 
 The cup of all life shattered in my hand, 
 
 Longing to die— O friends! He, even he. 
 
 Whom to know well was all the world to me, 
 
 The man I loved, hath proved most evil.— Oh, 
 
 Of all things upon earth that bleed and grow, 
 
 A herb most bruised is woman. We must pay 
 
 Our store of gold, hoarded for that one day. 
 
 To buy us some man's love ; and lo, they bring 
 
 A master of our flesh! There comes the sting 
 
 Of the whole shame. And then the jeopardy. 
 
 For good or ill, what shall that master be ; 
 
 Reject she cannot : and if he but stays 
 
 His suit, 'lis shame on all that woman's days. 
 
 So thrown amid new laws, new places, why, 
 
 'Tis magic she must have, or prophecy — 
 
 Home never taught her that — how best to guide 
 
 Toward peace this thing that sleepeth at her side. 
 
 And she who, labouring long, shall find some way 
 
 Whereby her lord may bear with her, nor fray 
 
 His yoke too fiercely, blessed is the breath 
 
 That woman draws ! Else, let her pray for death. 
 
 Her lord, if he be wearied of the face 
 
 Withindoors, gets him forth ; some merrier place 
 
 Will ease his heart : but she waits on, her whole 
 
 Vision enchained on a single soul. 
 
i6 EURIPIDES 
 
 And then, forsooth, 'tis they that face the call 
 Of war, while we sit sheltered, hid from all 
 Peril!— False mocking! Sooner would I stand 
 Three times to face their battles, shield in hand. 
 Than bear one child. 
 
 But peace ! There cannot be 
 Ever the same tale told of thee and me. 
 Thou hast this city, and thy father's home. 
 And joy of friends, and hope in days to come : 
 But I, being citiless, am cast aside 
 By him that wedded me, a savage bride 
 Won in far seas and left— no mother near. 
 No brother, not one kinsman anywhere 
 For harbour in this storm. Therefore of thee 
 I ask one thing. If chance yet ope to me 
 Some path, if even now my hand can win 
 Strength to requite this Jason for his sin. 
 Betray me not ! Oh, in all things but this, 
 I know how full of fears a woman is. 
 And faint at need, and shrinking from the light 
 Of battle : but once spoil her of her right 
 In man's love, and there moves, I warn thee well, 
 No bloodier spirit between heaven and hell. 
 
 Leader. 
 
 I will betray thee not. It is but just. 
 
 Thou smite him. — And that weeping in the dust 
 
 And stormy tears, how should I blame them ? . . . 
 
 Stay: 
 'Tis Creon, lord of Corinth, makes his way 
 Hither, and bears, methinks, some word of weight. 
 
MEDEA 17 
 
 Enter from the right Creon, the King, with armed 
 Attendants. 
 
 Creon. 
 
 Thou woman sullen-eyed and hot with hate 
 Against thy lord, Medea, I here command 
 That thou and thy two children from this land 
 Go forth to banishment. Make no delay : 
 Seeing ourselves, the King, are come this day 
 To see oxu' charge fulfilled ; nor shall again 
 Look homeward ere we have led thy children twain 
 And thee beyond our realm's last boundary. 
 
 Medea. 
 Lost ! Lost ! 
 
 Mine haters at the helm with sail flung free 
 Pursuing ; and for us no beach nor shore 
 In the endless waters ! . . . Yet, though stricken sore, 
 I still will ask thee, for what crime, what thing 
 Unlawful, wilt thou cast me out, O King ? 
 
 Creon 
 
 What crime ? I fear thee, woman— little need 
 To cloak my reasons — lest thou work some deed 
 Of darkness on my child. And in that fear 
 Reasons enough have part. Thou comest here 
 A wise-woman confessed, and full of lore 
 In unknown ways of evil. Thou art sore 
 In heart, being parted from thy lover's arms. 
 And more, thou hast made menace ... so the 
 alarms 
 
i8 EURIPIDES 
 
 But now have reached mine ear . . . on bride and groom, 
 And him who gave the bride, to work thy doom 
 Of vengeance. Which, ere yet it be too late, 
 I sweep aside. I choose to earn thine hate 
 Of set will now, not palter with the mood 
 Of mercy, and hereafter weep in blood. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 'Tis not the first nor second time, O King, 
 That fame hath hurt me, and come nigh to bring 
 My ruin. . . . How can any man, whose eyes 
 Are wholesome, seek to rear his children wise 
 Beyond men's wont ? Much helplessness in arts 
 Of common life, and in their townsmen's hearts 
 Envy deep-set ... so much their learning brings ! 
 Come unto fools with knowledge of new things, 
 They deem it vanity, not knowledge. Aye, 
 And men that erst for wisdom were held high. 
 Feel thee a thorn to fret them, privily 
 Held higher than they. So hath it been with me. 
 A wise-woman I am ; and for that sin 
 To divers ill names men would pen me in ; 
 A seed of strife ; an eastern dreamer ; one 
 Of brand not theirs ; one hard to play upon . . . 
 Ah, I am not so wondrous wise!— And now. 
 To thee, I am terrible ! What fearest thou ? 
 What dire deed ? Do I tread so proud a path — 
 Fear me not thou! — that I should brave the wrath 
 Of princes ? Thou : what has thou ever done 
 To wrong me ? Granted thine own child to one 
 Whom thy soul chose. — Ah, him out of my heart 
 I hate ; but thou, meseems, hast done thy part 
 
MEDEA 19 
 
 Not ill. And for thine houses' happiness 
 
 I hold no grudge. Go : marry, and God bless 
 
 Yoiir issues. Only suffer me to rest 
 
 Somewhere within this land. Though sore oppressed, 
 
 I will be still, knowing mine own defeat. 
 
 Creon. 
 
 Thy words be gentle : but I fear me yet 
 Lest even now there creep some wickedness 
 Deep hid within thee. And for that the less 
 I trust thee now than ere these words began. 
 A woman quick of wrath, aye, or a man. 
 Is easier watching than the cold and still. 
 
 Up, straight, and find thy road ! Mock not my will 
 With words. This doom is passed beyond recall ; 
 Nor all thy crafts shall help thee, being withal 
 My manifest foe, to linger at my side. 
 
 Medea {suddenly throwing herself down and 
 clinging to Creon). 
 
 Oh, by thy knees ! By that new-wedded bride . . . 
 
 Creon. 
 'Tis waste of words. Thou shalt not weaken me. 
 
 Medea. 
 Wilt hunt me ? Spurn me when I kneel to thee ? 
 
 Creon. 
 'Tis mine own house that kneels to me, not thou. 
 
20 EURIPIDES 
 
 Medea. 
 Home, my lost home, how I desire thee now ! 
 
 Creon. 
 And I mine, and my child, beyond all things. 
 
 Medea. 
 O Loves of man, what curse is on your wings ! 
 
 Creon. 
 Blessing or curse, 'tis as their chances flow. 
 
 Medea. 
 Remember, Zeus, the cause of all this woe ! 
 
 Creon. 
 Oh, rid me of my pains ! Up, get thee gone ! 
 
 Medea. 
 What would I with thy pains ? I have mine own. 
 
 Creon. 
 Up : or, 'fore God, my soldiers here shall fling . . 
 
 Medea. 
 Not that! Not that! ... I do but pray, O King 
 
MEDEA 21 
 
 Creon. 
 Thou wilt not ? I must face the harsher task ? 
 
 Medea 
 I accept mine exile. 'Tis not that I ask. 
 
 Creon. 
 Why then so wild ? Why clinging to mine hand ? 
 
 Medea {rising). 
 
 For one day only leave me in thy land 
 At peace, to find some counsel, ere the strain 
 Of exile fall, some comfort for these twain, 
 Mine innocents ; since others take no thought. 
 It seems, to save the babes that they begot. 
 
 Ah ! Thou wilt pity them ! Thou also art 
 A father : thou hast somewhere still a heart 
 That feels. ... I reck not of myself : 'tis they 
 That break me, fallen upon so dire a day. 
 
 Creon. 
 
 Mine is no tyrant's mood. Aye, many a time 
 
 Ere this my tenderness hath marred the chime 
 
 Of wisest counsels. And I know that now 
 
 I do mere folly. But so be it ! Thou 
 
 Shalt have this grace . . . But this I warn thee clear. 
 
 If once the morrow's sunlight find thee here 
 
 Within my borders, thee or child of thine. 
 
 Thou diest ! ... Of this judgment not a line 
 
22 EURIPIDES 
 
 Shall waver nor abate. So linger on. 
 If thou needs must, till the next risen sun ; 
 No further. ... In one day there scarce can be 
 Those perils wrought whose dread yet haunteth me. 
 [£xii Creon wUA his suite. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 O woman, woman of sorrow. 
 Where wilt thou turn and flee ? 
 
 What town shall be thine to-morrow. 
 What land of all lands that be, 
 
 What door of a strange man's home ? 
 Yea, God hath hunted thee, 
 
 Medea, forth to the foam 
 Of a trackless sea. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Defeat on every side; what else?— But Oh, 
 Not here the end is : think it not ! I know 
 For bride and groom .one battle yet untried. 
 And goodly pains for him that gave the bride. 
 
 Dost dream I would have grovelled to this man. 
 Save that I won mine end, and shaped my plan 
 For merry deeds ? My lips had never deigned 
 Speak word with him : my flesh been never stained 
 With touching. . . . Fool, Oh, triple fool! It. lay 
 So plain for him to kill my whole essay 
 By exile swift : and, lo, he sets me free 
 This one long day : wherein mine haters three 
 Shall lie here dead, the father and the bride 
 And husband— mine, not hers! Oh, I have tried 
 
MEDEA 23 
 
 So many thoughts of murder to my turn, 
 I know not which best likes me. Shall I bum 
 Their house with fire ? Or stealing past unseen 
 To Jason's bed— I have a blade made keen 
 For that— stab, breast to breast, that wedded pair ? 
 Good, but for one thing. Wheh I am taken there. 
 And killed, they will laugh loud who hate me. . . . 
 
 Nay, 
 I love the old way best, the simple way 
 Of poison, where we too are strong as men. 
 Ah me! 
 
 And they being dead— what place shall hold me then ? 
 What friend shall rise, with land inviolate 
 And trusty doors, to shelter from their hate 
 This flesh? . . . None anywhere! ... A little more 
 I needs must wait : and, if there ope some door 
 Of refuge, some strong tower to shield me, good : 
 In craft and darkness I will hunt this blood. 
 Else, if mine hour be come and no hope nigh, 
 Then sword in hand, full-willed and sure to die, 
 I yet will live to slay them. I will wend 
 Man-like, their road of daring to the end. 
 
 So help me She who of all Gods hath been 
 The best to me, of all my chosen queen 
 And helpmate, Hecat^, who dwells apart, 
 The flame of flame, in my fire's inmost heart : 
 For all their strength, they shall not stab my soul 
 And laugh thereafter ! Dark and full of dole 
 Their bridal feast shall be, most dark the day 
 They joined their hands, and hunted me away. 
 
 Awake thee now, Medeal Whatso plot 
 Thou hast, or cunning, strive and falter not. 
 
24 ' EURIPIDES 
 
 On to the peril-point ! Now comes the strain 
 
 Of daring. Shall they trample thee again ? 
 
 How ? And with Hellas laughing o'er thy fall 
 
 While this thief's daughter weds, and weds withal 
 
 Jason ? . . . A true king was thy father, yea, 
 
 And bom of the ancient Sun! . . . Thou know'st 
 
 the way; 
 And God hath made thee woman, things most vain 
 For help, but wondrous in the paths of pain. 
 
 [Medea goes into the House. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Back streams the wave on the ever-running river : 
 Life, life is changed and the laws of it o'ertrod. 
 Man shall be the slave, the affrighted, the low-liver! 
 
 Man hath forgotten God. 
 And woman, yea, woman, shall be terrible in story : 
 The tales too, meseemeth, shall be other than of 
 yore. 
 For a fear there is that cometh out of Woman and a 
 glory. 
 And the hard hating voices shall encompass her no 
 more! 
 
 The old bards shall cease, and their memory that 
 lingers 
 Of frail brides and faithless, shall be shrivelled as 
 with fire. 
 For they loved us not, nor knew us : and our lips were 
 dumb, our fingers 
 
 Could wake not the secret of the lyre. 
 
MEDEA 25 
 
 Else, else, O God the Singer, I had sung amid their 
 rages 
 A long tale of Man and his deeds for good and ill. 
 But the old World knoweth— 'tis the speech of all his 
 ages — 
 Man's wrong and ours : he knoweth and is still. 
 
 Some Women. 
 
 Forth from thy father's home 
 Thou camest, O heart of fire. 
 To the Dark Blue Rocks, to the clashing foam, 
 To the seas of thy desire : 
 
 Till the Dark Blue Bar was crossed ; 
 
 And, lo, by an alien river 
 Standing, thy lover lost. 
 Void-armed for ever, 
 
 Forth yet again, O lowest 
 
 Of landless women, a ranger 
 Of desolate ways, thou goest, 
 
 From the walls of the stranger. 
 
 Others. 
 
 And the great Oath waxeth weak ; 
 
 And Ruth, as a thing outstriven. 
 Is fled, fled, from the shores of the Greek, 
 
 Away on: the winds of heaven. 
 
26 EURIPIDES 
 
 Dark is the house afar, 
 
 Where an old king called thee daughter ; 
 All that was once thy star 
 In stormy water, 
 
 Dark : and, lo, in the nearer 
 
 House that was sworn to love thee, 
 Another, queenlier, dearer. 
 Is throned above thee. 
 
 Enter from the right Jason. 
 
 Jason. 
 
 Oft have I seen, in other" days than these, 
 
 How a dark temper maketh maladies 
 
 No friend can heal. 'Twas easy to have kept 
 
 Both land and home. It needed but to accept 
 
 Unstrivingly the pleasure of our lords. 
 
 But thou, for mere delight in stormy words. 
 
 Wilt lose all ! . . . Now thy speech provokes not me. 
 
 Rail on. Of all mankind let Jason be 
 
 Most evil; none shall check thee. But for these 
 
 Dark threats cast out against the majesties 
 
 Of Corinth, count as veriest gain thy path 
 
 Of exile. I myself, when princely wrath 
 
 Was hot against thee, strove with all good will 
 
 To appease the wrath, and wished to keep thee still 
 
 Beside me^ But thy mouth would never stay 
 
 From vanity, blaspheming night and day 
 
 Our masters. Therefore thou shalt fly the land. 
 
 Yet, even so, I will not hold my hand 
 From succouring mine own people. Here am I 
 To help thee, woman, pondering heedfuUy 
 
MEDEA 2^ 
 
 Thy new state. For I would not have thee flung 
 Provisionless away— aye, and the young 
 Children as well ; nor lacking aught that will 
 Of mine can bring thee. Many a lesser ill 
 Hangs on the heels of exile. . . . Aye, and though 
 Thou hate me, dream not that my heart can know 
 Or fashion aught of angry will to thee. 
 
 Medea 
 
 Evil, most evil ! . . . since thou grantest me 
 
 That comfort, the worst weapon left me now 
 
 To smite a coward. . . . Thou comest to me, thou. 
 
 Mine enemy! {Turning to the Chorus.) Oh, say, 
 
 how call ye this. 
 To face, and smile, the comrade whom his kiss 
 Betrayed? Scorn? Insult? Courage? None of 
 
 these : 
 'Tis but of all man's inward sicknesses 
 The vilest, that he knoweth not of shame 
 Nor pity ! Yet I praise him that he came . . . 
 To me it shall bring comfort, once to clear 
 My heart on thee, and thou shalt wince to hear. 
 
 I will begin with that, 'twixt me and thee, 
 That first befell. I saved thee. I saved thee — 
 Let thine own Greeks be witness, every one 
 That sailed on Argo — saved thee, sent alone 
 To yoke with yokes the bulls of fiery breath. 
 And sow that Acre of the Lords of Death; 
 And mine own ancient Serpent, who did keep 
 The Golden Fleece, the eyes that knew not sleep, 
 And shining coils, him also did I smite 
 Dead for thy sake, and lifted up the light 
 
28 EURIPIDES 
 
 That bade thee live. Myself, uncounselled, 
 
 Stole forth from father and from home, and fled 
 
 Where dark Idlcos under Pelion lies. 
 
 With thee— Oh, single-hearted more than wise! 
 
 I murdered Pelias, yea, in agony. 
 
 By his own daughters' hands, for sake of thee ; 
 
 I swept their house like War. — And hast thou then 
 
 Accepted all— O evil yet again! — 
 
 And cast me off and taken thee for bride 
 
 Another ? And with children at thy side ! 
 
 One could forgive a childless man. But no : 
 
 I have borne thee children . . . 
 
 Is sworn faith so low 
 And weak a thing ? I understand it not. 
 Are the old gods dead ? Are the old laws forgot. 
 And new laws made ? Since not my passioning. 
 But thine own heart, doth cry thee for a thing 
 Forsworn. 
 
 [She catches sight of her own hand which she 
 has thrown out to denounce him. 
 Poor, poor right hand of mine, whom he 
 Did cling to, and these knees, so cravingly, 
 We are unclean, thou and I ; we have caught the stain 
 Of bad men's flesh . . . and dreamed our dreams in vain. 
 
 Thou comest to befriend me ? Give me, then. 
 Thy counsel. 'Tis not that I dream again 
 For good from thee : but, questioned, thou wilt show 
 The viler. Say : now whither shall I go ? 
 Back to my father ? Him I did betray, 
 And all his land, when we two fled away. 
 To those poor Peliad maids ? For them 'twere good 
 To take me in, who spilled their father's blood. . . . 
 
MEDEA 29 
 
 Aye, so my whole life stands ! There were at home 
 
 Who loved me well : to them I am become 
 
 A curse. And the first friends who sheltered me, 
 
 Whom most I should have spared, to pleasure thee 
 
 I have turned to foes. Oh, therefore hast thou laid 
 
 My crown upon me, blest of many a maid 
 
 In Hellas, now I have won what all did crave. 
 
 Thee, the world-wondered lover and the brave ; 
 
 Who this day looks and sees me banished, thrown 
 
 Away with these two babes, all, all, alone . . . 
 
 Oh, merry mocking when the lamps are red : 
 
 " Where go the bridegroom's babes to beg their bread 
 
 In exile, and the woman who gave all 
 
 To save him ? " 
 
 • ■> O great God, shall gold withal 
 
 Bear thy clear mark, to sift the base and fine. 
 And o'er man's living visage runs no sign 
 To show the lie within, ere all too late ? 
 
 Leader. 
 
 Dire and beyond all healing is the hate 
 When hearts that loved are turned to enmity. 
 
 Jason. 
 
 In speech at least, meseemeth, I must be 
 Not evil ; but, as some old pilot goes 
 Furled to his sail's last edge, when danger blows 
 Too fiery, run before the wind and swell. 
 Woman, of thy loud storms.— And thus I tell 
 My tale. Since thou wilt build so wondrous high 
 Thy deeds of service in my jeopardy. 
 
30 EURIPIDES 
 
 To all my crew and quest I know but one 
 
 Saviour, of Gods or mortals one alone, 
 
 The Cyprian. Oh, thou hast both brain and wit, 
 
 Yet underneath . . . nay, all the tale of it 
 
 Were graceless telling ; how sheer love, a fire 
 
 Of poison-shafts, compelled thee with desire 
 
 To save me. But enough. I will not score 
 
 That count too close. 'Twas good help : and therefor 
 
 I give thee thanks, howe'er the help was wrought. 
 
 Howbeit, in my deliverance, thou hast got 
 
 Far more than given. A good Greek land hath 
 
 been 
 Thy lasting home, not barbary. Thou hast seen , ,, 
 Our ordered life, and justice, and the long j^ i#ti<^»»» 
 Still grasp of law not changing with the strong "U nrfW* 
 Man's pleasure. Then, all Hellas far and near ' 
 Hath learned thy wisdom, and in every ear 
 Thy fame is. Had thy days run by unseen 
 On that last edge of the world, where then had been 
 The story of great Medea ? Thou and I . . . 
 What worth to us were treasmres heaped high 
 In rich kings' rooms ; what worth a voice of gold 
 More sweet than ever rang from Orpheus old. 
 Unless our deeds have glory ? 
 
 Speak I so, 
 Touching the Quest I wrought, thyself did throw 
 The challenge down. Next for thy cavilling 
 Of wrath at mine- alliance with a king, 
 Here thou shalt see I both was wise,' and free 
 From touch of passion, and a friend to thee 
 Most potent, and my children . . . Nay, be still! 
 When first I stood in Corinth, clogged with ill 
 
MEDEA 31 
 
 From many a desperate mischance, what bliss 
 Could I that day have dreamed of, like to this, 
 To wed with a king's daughter, I exiled 
 And beggared? Not— what makes thy passion 
 
 wild— 
 From loathing of thy bed ; not over-fraught 
 With love for this new bride ; not that I sought 
 To upbuild mine house with offspring : 'tis enough. 
 What thou hast borne : I make no word thereof : 
 But, first and greatest, that we all might dwell 
 In a fair house and want not, knowing well 
 That poor men have no friends, but far and near 
 Shunning and silence. Next, I sought to rear 
 Our sons in nurture worthy of my race. 
 And, raising brethren to them, in one place 
 Join both my houses, and be all from now 
 Prince-like and happy. What more need hast 
 
 thou 
 Of children ? And for me, it serves my star 
 To link in strength the children that now are 
 With those that shall be. 
 
 Have I counselled ill ? 
 Not thine own self would say it, couldst thou still 
 One hour thy jealous flesh.— 'Tis ever so! 
 Who looks for more in women ? When the flow 
 Of love runs plain, why, all the world is fair: 
 But, once there fall some ill chance anywhere 
 To baulk that thirst, down in swift hate are trod 
 Men's dearest aims and noblest. Would to God 
 We mortals by some other seed could raise 
 Our fruits, and no blind women block our ways ! 
 Then had there been no curse to wreck mankind. 
 
32 EURIPIDES 
 
 Leader. 
 
 Lord Jason, very subtly hast thou twined 
 Thy speech : but yet, though all athwart thy will 
 I speak, this is not well thou dost, but ill. 
 Betraying her who loved thee and was true. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Surely I have my thoughts, and not a few 
 
 Have held me strange. To me it seemeth, when 
 
 A crafty tongue is given to evil men 
 
 'Tis like to wreck, not help them. Their own brain 
 
 Tempts them with lies to dare and dare again. 
 
 Till ... no man hath enough of subtlety. 
 
 As thou — be not so seeming-fair to me 
 
 Nor deft of speech. One word will make thee fall. 
 
 Wert thou not false, 'twas thine to tell me all. 
 
 And charge me help thy marriage path, as I 
 
 Did love thee ; not befool me with a lie. 
 
 Jason. 
 
 An easy task had that been ! Aye, and thou 
 A loving aid, who canst not, even now. 
 Still that loud heart that surges like the tide ! 
 
 Medea. 
 
 That moved thee not. Thine old barbarian bride, 
 
 The dog out of the east who loved thee sore. 
 
 She grew grey-haired, she served thy pride no more. 
 
MEDEA 33 
 
 Jason. 
 
 Now understand for once ! The girl to me 
 Is nothing, in this web of sovranty 
 I hold. I do but seek to save, even yet, 
 Thee : and for brethren to our sons beget 
 Young kings, to prosper all our lives again. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 God shelter me from prosperous days of pain, 
 And wealth that maketh wounds about my heart. 
 
 Jason. 
 
 Wilt change that prayer, and choose a wiser part ? 
 Pray not to hold true sense for pain, nor rate 
 Thyself unhappy, being too fortunate. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Aye, mock me ; thou hast where to lay thine head, 
 But I go naked to mine exile. 
 
 Jason. 
 
 Tread 
 Thine own path ! Thou hast made it all to be. 
 
 Medea. 
 How ? By seducing and forsaking thee ? 
 
34 EURIPIDES 
 
 Jason. 
 By those vile curses on the royal halls 
 
 Let loose. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 On thy house also, as chance falls, 
 lama living curse. 
 
 Jason. 
 
 Oh, peace ! Enough 
 Of these vain wars : I will no more thereof. 
 If thou wilt take from all that I possess 
 Aid for these babes and thine own helplessness 
 Of exile, speak thy bidding. Here I stand 
 Full-willed to succour thee with stintless hand, 
 And send my signet to old friends that dwell 
 On foreign shores, who will entreat thee well. 
 Refuse, and thou shall do a deed most vain. 
 But cast thy rage away, and thou shalt gain 
 Much, and lose little for thine anger's sake. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 I will not seek thy friends. I will not take 
 Thy givings. Give them not. Fruits of a stem 
 Unholy bring no blessing after them. 
 
 Jason. 
 
 Now God in heaven be witness, all my heart 
 Is willing, in all ways, to do its part 
 
MEDEA 35 
 
 For thee and for thy babes. But nothing good 
 Can please thee. In sheer savageness of mood 
 Thou' drivest from thee every friend. Wherefore 
 I warrant thee, thy pains shall be the more. 
 
 [Jle goes slowly away. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Go : thou art weary for the new delight 
 Thou wooest, so long tarrying out of sight 
 Of her sweet chamber. Go, fulfil thy pride, 
 O bridegroom ! For it may be, such a bride 
 Shall wait thee,— yea, God heareth me in this — 
 As thine own heart shall sicken ere it kiss. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Alas, the Love that falleth like a flood, 
 
 Strong-winged and transitory : 
 Why praise ye him ? What beareth he of good 
 
 To man, or glory ? 
 Yet Love there is that moves in gentleness. 
 Heart-filling, sweetest of all powers that bless. 
 Loose not on me, O Holder of man's heart. 
 
 Thy golden quiver. 
 Nor steep in poison of desire the dart 
 
 That heals not ever. 
 
 The pent hate of the word that cavilleth. 
 
 The strife that hath no fill. 
 Where once was fondness ; and the mad heart's breath 
 
 For strange love panting still : 
 O Cyprian, cast me not on these ; but sift. 
 Keen-eyed, of love the good and evil gift. 
 
36 EURIPIDES 
 
 Make Innocence my friend, God's fairest star. 
 
 Yea, and abate not 
 The rare sweet beat of bosoms without war. 
 
 That love, and hate not. 
 
 Others. 
 Home of my heart, land of my own. 
 
 Cast me not, nay, for pity. 
 Out on my ways, helpless, alone. 
 Where the feet fail in the mire and stone, 
 
 A woman without a city. 
 Ah, not that ! Better the end : 
 
 The green grave cover me rather. 
 If a break must come in the days I know, 
 And the skies be changed and the earth below; 
 For the weariest road that man may wend 
 
 Is forth from the home of his father. 
 
 Lo, we have seen : 'tis not a song 
 Sung, nor learned of another. 
 
 For whom hast thou in thy direst wrong 
 
 For comfort ? Never a city strong 
 To hide thee, never a brother. 
 
 Ah, but the man— cursed be he. 
 Cursed beyond recover. 
 
 Who openeth, shattering, seal by seal, 
 
 A friend's clean heart, then turns his heel, 
 
 Deaf unto love : never in me 
 
 Friend shall he know nor lover. 
 
 \While Medea is waiting downcast, seated 
 upon her door-step, there passes from the 
 left a traveller with followers. As he 
 catches sight of Medea he stops. 
 
MEDEA 37 
 
 Aegeus. 
 
 Have joy, Medea! 'Tis the homeliest 
 
 Word that old friends can greet with, and the best. 
 
 Medea [looking up, surprised). 
 
 Oh, joy on thee, too, Aegeus, gentle king 
 
 Of Athens! — But whence com'st thou joiuneying? 
 
 Aegeus. 
 From Delphi now and the old encavemed stair. . . . 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Where Earth's heart speaks in song? What mad'st 
 thou there ? 
 
 Aegeus. 
 Prayed heaven for children— the same search alway. 
 
 Medea. 
 Children ? Ah God ! Art childless to this day ? 
 
 Aegeus. 
 So God hath willed. Childless and desolate. 
 
 Medea. 
 What word did Phoebus speak, to change thy fate ? 
 
38 EURIPIDES 
 
 Aegeus. 
 Riddles, too hard for mortal man to read. 
 
 Medea. 
 Which I may hear ? 
 
 Aegeus. 
 
 Assuredly : they need 
 A rarer wit. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 How said he ? 
 
 Aegeus. 
 
 Not to spill 
 Life's wine, nor seek for more. . . . 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Until? 
 
 Aegeus. 
 
 Until 
 I tread the hearth-stone of my sires of yore. 
 
 Medea. 
 And what should bring thee here, by Creon's shore ? 
 
 Aegeus. 
 One Pittheus know'st thou, high lord of Troz6n ? 
 
MEDEA 39 
 
 Medea. 
 Aye, Pelops' son, a man most pure of sin. 
 
 Aegeus. 
 Him I would ask, touching Apollo's will. 
 
 Medea. 
 Much use in God's ways hath he, and much skill. 
 
 Aegeus. 
 
 And, long years back he was my battle-friend. 
 The truest e'er man had. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Well, may God send 
 Good hap to thee, and grant all thy desire. 
 
 Aegeus. 
 
 But thou . . . ? Thy frame is wasted, and the fire 
 Dead in thine eyes. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Aegeus, my husband is 
 The falsest man in the world. 
 
 Aegeus. 
 
 What word is this ' 
 
 Say clearly what thus makes thy visage dim ? 
 
40 EURIPIDES 
 
 Medea. 
 He is false to me, who never injured him. 
 
 Aegeus. 
 What hath he done ? Show all, that I mav see. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Ta'en him a wife ; a wife, set over me 
 To rule his house. 
 
 Aegeus. 
 
 He hath not dared to do, 
 Jason, a thing so shameful ? 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Aye, 'tis true : 
 And those he loved of yore have no place now. 
 
 Aegeus. 
 
 Some passion sweepeth him ? Or is it thou 
 He turns from ? 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Passion, passion to betray 
 His dearest! 
 
 Aegeus. 
 
 Shame be his, so fallen away 
 From honour! 
 
A king's heir ! 
 
 MEDEA 41 
 
 Medea. 
 Passion to be near a throne, 
 
 Aegeus. 
 How, who gives the bride ? Say on. 
 
 Medea. 
 Creon, who o'er all Corinth standeth chief. 
 
 Aegeus. 
 Woman, thou hast indeed much cause for grief. 
 
 Medea. 
 'Tis ruin.— And they have cast me out as well. 
 
 Aegeus. 
 Who ? 'Tis a new wrong this, and terrible. 
 
 Medea. 
 Creon the king, from every land and shore. . . 
 
 Aegeus. 
 And Jason suffers him ? Oh, 'tis too sore! 
 
42 EURIPIDES 
 
 Medea. 
 
 He loveth to bear bravely ills like these ! 
 
 But, Aegeus, by thy beard, oh, by thy knees, 
 I pray thee, and I give me for thine own. 
 Thy suppliant, pity me ! Oh, pity one 
 So miserable. Thou never wilt stand there 
 And see me cast out friendless to despair. 
 Give me a home in Athens ... by the fire 
 Of thine own hearth ! Oh, so may thy desire 
 Of children be fulfilled of God, and thou 
 Die happy ! . . . Thou canst know not ; even now 
 Thy prize is won ! I, I will make of thee 
 A childless man no more. The seed shall be, 
 I swear it, sown. Such magic herbs I know. 
 
 Aegeus. 
 
 Woman, indeed my heart goes forth to show 
 
 This help to thee, first for reUgion's sake. 
 
 Then for thy promised hope, to heal my ache 
 
 Of childlessness. 'Tis this hath made mine whole 
 
 Life as»a shadow, and starved out my soul. 
 
 But thus it stands with me. Once make thy way 
 
 To Attic earth, I, as in law I may. 
 
 Will keep thee and befriend. But in this land, 
 
 Where Creon rules, I may not raise my hand 
 
 To shelter thee. Move of thine own essay 
 
 To seek my house, there thou shalt alway stay, 
 
 Inviolate, never to be seized again. 
 
 But come thyself from Corinth. I would fain 
 
 Even in foreign eves be alway just. 
 
MEDEA 43. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 'Tis well. Give me an oath wherein to trust 
 And all that man could ask thou hast granted me. 
 
 Aegeus. 
 Dost trust me not ? Or what thing troubleth thee ? 
 
 Medea. 
 
 I trust thee. But so many, far and near, 
 
 Do hate me— all King Pelias' house, and here 
 
 Creon. Once bound by oaths and sanctities 
 
 Thou canst not yield me up for such as these 
 
 To drag from Athens. But a spoken word. 
 
 No more, to bind thee, which no God hath heard. . 
 
 The embassies, methinks, would come and go : 
 
 They all are friends to thee. . . . Ah me, I know 
 
 Thou wilt not list to me ! So weak am I, 
 
 And they full-filled with gold and majesty. 
 
 Aegeus. 
 
 Methinks 'tis a far foresight, this thine oath. 
 
 Still, if thou so wilt have it, nothing loath 
 
 Am I to serve thee. Mine own hand is so 
 
 The stronger, if I have this plea to show 
 
 Thy persecutors : and for thee withal 
 
 The bond more sure.— On what God shall I call? 
 
44 EURIPIDES 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Swear by the Earth thou treadest, by the Sun, 
 Sire of my sires, and all the gods as one. . . . 
 
 Aegeus. 
 To do what thing or not do ? Make all plain. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Never thyself to cast me out again. 
 Nor let another, whatsoe'er his plea, 
 Take me. while thou yet livest and art free. 
 
 Aegeus. 
 
 Never : so hear me, Earth, and the great star 
 Of daylight, and all other gods that are ! 
 
 Medea. 
 'Tis well : and if thou falter from thy vow . . . ? 
 
 Aegeus. 
 God's judgment on the godless break my brow ! 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Go! Go thy ways rejoicing.— All is bright 
 And clear before me. Go : and ere the night 
 Myself will follow, when the deed is done 
 I purpose, and the end I thirst for won. 
 
 [Aegeus and his train depart. 
 
MEDEA 45 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Farewell : and Maia's guiding Son 
 Back lead thee to thy hearth and fire, 
 Aegeus ; and all the long desire 
 
 That wasteth thee, at last be won : 
 
 Our eyes have seen thee as thou art, 
 
 A gentle and a righteous heart. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 God, and God's Justice, and ye blinding Skies! 
 At last the victory dawneth ! Yea, mine eyes 
 See, and my foot is on the mountain's brow. 
 Mine enemies ! Mine enemies, oh, now 
 Atonement cometh! Here at my worst hour 
 A friend is found, a very port of power 
 To save my shipwreck. Here will I make fast 
 Mine anchor, and escape them at the last 
 In Athens' walled hill. — But ere the end 
 'Tis meet I show thee all my counsel, friend : 
 Take it, no tale to make men laugh withal! 
 
 Straightway to Jason I will send some thrall 
 To entreat him to my presence. Comes he here. 
 Then with soft reasons will I feed his ear. 
 How his will now is my will, how all things 
 Are well, touching this marriage-bed of kings 
 For which I am betrayed — all wise and rare 
 And profitable ! Yet will I make one prayer. 
 That my two children be no more exiled 
 But stay. . . . Oh, not that I would leave a child 
 
40 EURIPIDES 
 
 Here upon angry shores till those have laughed 
 
 Who hate me : 'tis that I will slay by craft 
 
 The king's daughter. With gifts they shall be sent, 
 
 Gifts to the bride to spare their banishment. 
 
 Fine robings and a carcanet of gold. 
 
 Which raiment let her once but take, and fold 
 
 About her, a foul death that girl shall die 
 
 And all who touch her in her agony. 
 
 Such poison shall they drink, my robe and wreath ! 
 
 Howbeit, ol that no more. I gnash my teeth 
 Thinking on what a path my feet must tread 
 Thereafter. I shall lay those children dead — 
 Mine, whom no hand shall steal from me away ! 
 Then, leaving Jason childless, and the day 
 As night above him, I will go my road 
 To exile, flying, flying from the blood 
 Of these my best-beloved, and having wrought 
 All horror, so but one thing reach me not. 
 The laugh of them that hate us. 
 
 Let it come ! 
 What profits life to me ? I have no home. 
 No country now, nor shield from any wrong. 
 That was my evil hour, when down the long 
 Halls of my father out I stole, my will 
 Chained by a Greek man's voice, who still, oh, still. 
 If God yet live, shall all requited be. 
 For never child of mine shall Jason see 
 Hereafter living, never child beget 
 From his new bride, who this day, desolate 
 Even as she made me desolate, shall die 
 Shrieking amid my poisons. . . . Names have I 
 Among your folk ? One light ? One weak of hand ? 
 An eastern dreamer?— Nay, but with the brand 
 
MEDEA 47 
 
 Of strange suns burnt, my hate, by God above, 
 A perilous thing, and passing sweet my love ! 
 For these it is that make life glorious. 
 
 Leader. 
 
 Since thou has bared thy fell intent to us 
 
 I, loving thee, and helping in their need 
 
 Man's laws, adjiure thee, dream not of this deed ! 
 
 Medea. 
 
 There is no other way.— I pardon thee 
 Thy littleness, who art not wronged like me. 
 
 Leader. 
 Thou canst not kill the fruit thy body bore ! 
 
 Medea. 
 Yes : if the man I hate be pained the more. 
 
 Leader. 
 And thou made miserable, most miserable ? 
 
 Medea 
 
 Oh, let it come ! All words of good or ill 
 Are wasted now. 
 
 [S^e claps her hands : the NuRSS comes out 
 from the house. 
 
 Ho, woman ; get thee gone 
 And lead lord Jason hither. . . .There is none 
 
48 EURIPIDES 
 
 Like thee, to work me these high services. 
 But speak no word of what my purpose is, 
 As thou art faithful, thou, and bold to try 
 All succours, and a woman even as I ! 
 
 [The Nurse departs. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 The sons of Erechtheus, the olden. 
 
 Whom high gods planted of yore 
 In an old land of heaven upholden, 
 
 A proud land untrodden of war : 
 They are hungered, and, lo, their desire 
 
 With wisdom is fed as with meat : 
 In their skies is a shining of fire, 
 
 A joy in the fall of their feet : 
 And thither, with manifold dowers. 
 
 From the North, from the hills, from the mom. 
 The Muses did gather their powers. 
 
 That a child of the Nine should be born ; 
 And Harmony, sown as the flowers. 
 
 Grew gold in the acres of com. 
 
 And Cephisus, the fair-flowing river — 
 
 The Cyprian dipping her hand 
 Hath drawn of his dew, and the shiver 
 
 Of her touch is as joy in the land. 
 For her breathing in fragrance is written. 
 
 And in music her path as she goes. 
 And the cloud of her hair, it is litten 
 
 With stars of the wind-woven rose. 
 So fareth she ever and ever, 
 
 And forth of her bosom is blown, 
 
MEDEA 49 
 
 As dews on the winds of the river. 
 
 An hunger of passions unknown. 
 Strong Loves of all godlike endeavour, 
 
 Whom Wisdom shall throne on her throne. 
 
 Same Women. 
 
 But Cephisus the fair-flowing, 
 Will he bear thee on his shore ? 
 
 Shall the land that succours all, succour thee. 
 Who art foul among thy kind, 
 With the tears of children blind ? 
 Dost thou see the red gash growing. 
 Thine own burden dost thou see ? 
 
 Every side. Every way, 
 Lo, we kneel to thee and pray : 
 
 By thy knees, by thy soul, O woman wild ! 
 One at least thou canst not slay, 
 Not thy child ! 
 
 Others. 
 
 Hast thou ice that thou shalt bind it 
 To thy breast, and make thee dead 
 
 To thy children, to thine own spirit's pain ? 
 When the hand knows what it dares. 
 When thine eyes look into theirs, 
 Shalt thou keep by tears unblinded 
 Thy dividing of the slain? 
 
 These be deeds Not for thee : 
 These be things that cannot be ! 
 
 Thy babes— though thine hardihood be fell. 
 When they cling about thy knee, 
 'Twill be well! 
 
50 EURIPIDES 
 
 Enter Jason. 
 
 Jason. 
 
 I answer to thy call. Though full of hate 
 
 Thou be, I yet will not so far abate 
 
 My kindness for thee, nor refuse mine ear. 
 
 Say in what new desire thou hast called me here. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Jason, I pray thee, for my words but now 
 
 Spoken, forgive me. My bad moods. . . . Oh, thou 
 
 At least wilt strive to bear with them ! There be 
 
 Many old deeds of love 'twixt me and thee. 
 
 Lo, I have reasoned with myself apart 
 
 And chidden : " Why must I be mad, O heart 
 
 Of mine : and raging against one whose word 
 
 Is wisdom : making me a thing abhorred 
 
 To them that rule the land, and to mine own 
 
 Husband, who doth but that which, being done. 
 
 Will help us all — to wed a queen, and get 
 
 Young kings for brethren to my sons ? And yet 
 
 I rage alone, and cannot quit my rage — 
 
 What aileth me ?— when God sends harbourage 
 
 So simple ? Have I not my children ? Know 
 
 I not we are but exiles, and must go 
 
 Beggared and friendless else ? " Thought upon 
 
 thought 
 So pressed me, till I knew myself full-fraught 
 With bitterness of heart and blinded eyes. 
 So now — I give thee thanks: and hold thee wise 
 
MEDEA 51 
 
 To have caught this anchor for our aid. The fool 
 
 Was I ; who should have been thy friend, thy tool ; 
 
 Gone wooing with thee, stood at thy bed-side 
 
 Serving, and welcomed duteously thy bride. 
 
 But, as we are, we are— I will not say 
 
 Mere evil— women! Why must thou to-day 
 
 Turn strange, and make thee like some evil thing. 
 
 Childish, to meet my childish passioning? 
 
 See, I surrender : and confess that then 
 
 I had bad thoughts, but now have turned again 
 
 And found my wiser mind. \^She claps her hands. 
 
 Ho, children! Run 
 Quickly ! Come hither, out into the sun, 
 
 \The Children come from the house, followed 
 by their Attendant. 
 And greet your father. Welcome him with us. 
 And throw quite, quite away, as mother does. 
 Your anger against one so dear. Our peace 
 Is made, and all the old bad war shall cease 
 For ever. — Go, and take his hand. . . . 
 
 \As the Children go to Jason, she suddenly 
 bursts into tears. The Children quickly 
 return to her : she recovers herself, smiling 
 amid her tears. 
 
 Ah me, 
 I am full of hidden horrors ! . . . Shall it be 
 A long time more, my children, that ye live 
 To reach to me those dear, dear arms ? . . . Forgive ! 
 I am so ready with my tears to-day, 
 And full of dread. ... I sought to smooth away 
 The long strife with your father, and, lo, now 
 I have all drowned with tears this little brow ! 
 
 [She wipes the child's face. 
 
52 EURIPIDES 
 
 Leader. 
 
 O'er mine eyes too there stealeth a pale tear : 
 Let the evil rest, O God, let it rest here ! 
 
 Jason. 
 
 Woman, indeed I praise thee now, nor say 
 111 of thine other hour. 'Tis nature's way, 
 A woman needs must stir herself to wrath, 
 When work of marriage by so strange a path 
 Crosseth her lord. But thou, thine heart doth wend 
 The happier road. Thou hast seen, ere quite the 
 
 end. 
 What choice must needs be stronger : which to do 
 Shows a wise-minded woman. . . . And for you, 
 Children ; your father never has forgot 
 Your needs. If God but help him, he hath 
 
 wrought 
 A strong deliverance for your weakness. Yea, 
 I think you, with your brethren, yet one day 
 Shall be the mightiest voices in this land. 
 Do you grow tall and strong. Your father's hand 
 Guideth all else, and whatso power divine 
 Hath alway helped him. . . . Ah, may it be mine 
 To see you yet in manhood, stem of brow. 
 Strong-armed, set high o'er those that hate me. . . . 
 
 How? 
 Woman, thy face is turned. Thy cheek is swept 
 With pallor of strange tears. Dost not accept 
 Gladly and of good will my benisons ? 
 
MEDEA 53 
 
 Medea. 
 'Tis nothing. Thinking of these little ones. . . 
 
 Jason. 
 Take heart, then. I will guard them from all ill. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 I do take heart. Thy word I never will 
 Mistrust. Alas, a woman's bosom bears 
 But woman's courage, a thing bom for tears. 
 
 Jason. 
 What ails thee ?— All too sore thou weepest there. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 I was their mother ! When I heard thy prayer 
 Of long life for them, there swept over me 
 A horror, wondering how these things shall be. 
 
 But for the matter of my need that thou 
 Should speak with me, part I have said, and now 
 Will finish.— Seeing it is the king's behest 
 To cast me out from Corinth . . . aye, and best. 
 Far best, for me— I know it— not to stay 
 Longer to trouble thee and those who sway 
 The realm, being held to all their house a foe. . . . 
 Behold, I spread my sails, and meekly go 
 
54 EURIPIDES 
 
 To exile. But our children. . . . Could this land 
 Be still their home awhile : could thine own hand 
 But guide their boyhood. . . . Seek the king, and 
 
 pray 
 His pity, that he bid thy children stay ! 
 
 Jason. 
 He is hard to move. Yet surely 'twere well done. 
 
 Medea. 
 Bid her— for thy sake, for a daughter's boon. . . . 
 
 Jason. 
 Well thought ! Her I can fashion to my mind. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Siu-ely. She is a woman like her kind. . . . 
 
 Yet I will aid thee in thy labour ; I 
 
 Will send her gifts, the fairest gifts that lie 
 
 In the hands of men, things of the days of old. 
 
 Fine robings and a carcanet of gold. 
 
 By the boys' hands.— Go, quick, some handmaiden. 
 
 And fetch the raiment. 
 
 [A handmaid goes into the house 
 Ah, her cup shall then 
 Be filled indeed ! What more should woman crave, 
 Being wed with thee, the bravest of the brave, 
 
MEDEA 
 
 55 
 
 And girt with raiment which of old the sire 
 Of all my house, the Sun, gave, steeped in fire. 
 To his own fiery race ? 
 
 [TAe handmaid has returned bearing the Gifts. 
 Come, children, lift 
 With heed these caskets. Bear them as your gift 
 To her, being bride and princess and of right 
 Blessed!— I think she will not hold them Ught. 
 
 Jason. 
 
 Fond woman, why wilt empty thus thine hand 
 
 Of treasure ? Doth King Creon's castle stand 
 
 In stint of raiment, or in stint of gold ? 
 
 Keep these, and make no gift. For if she hold 
 
 Jason of any worth at all, I swear 
 
 Chattels like these will not weigh more with her. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Ah, chide me not ! 'Tis written, gifts persuade 
 The gods in heaven ; and gold is stronger made 
 Than words innumerable to bend men's ways. 
 Fortune is hers. God maketh great her days : 
 Young and a crowned queen ! And banishment 
 For those two babes. ... I would not gold were 
 
 spent. 
 But life's blood, ere that come. 
 
 My children, go 
 Forth into those rich halls, and, bowing low. 
 Beseech your father's bride, whom I obey. 
 Ye be not, of her mercy, cast away 
 
56 EURIPIDES 
 
 Exiled: and give the caskets— above all 
 
 Mark this!— to none but her, to hold withal 
 
 And keep. ... Go quick! And let your mother 
 
 know 
 Soon the good tiding that she longs for. ... Go ! 
 
 [SAe goes quickly into the house. Jason and 
 the Children with their Attendant 
 depart. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Now I have no hope more of the children's living ; 
 
 No hope more. They are gone forth unto death. 
 The bride, she taketh the poison of their giving : 
 
 She taketh the bounden gold and openeth ; 
 And the crown, the crown, she lifteth about her brow, 
 Where the light brown curls are clustering. No 
 hope now ! 
 
 O sweet and cloudy gleam of the garments golden ! 
 The robe, it hath clasped her breast and the crown 
 her head. 
 Then, then, she decketh the bride, as a bride of 
 olden 
 Story, that goeth pale to the kiss of the dead. 
 For the ring hath closed, and the portion of death 
 
 is there ; 
 And she flieth not, but perisheth unaware. 
 
 Some Women. 
 
 O bridegroom, bridegroom of the kiss so cold. 
 Art thou wed with princes, art thou girt with gold. 
 
MEDEA 57 
 
 Who know'st not, suing 
 
 For thy child's undoing, 
 And, on her thou lovest, for a doom untold ? 
 How art thou fallen from thy place of old! 
 
 Others. 
 
 O Mother, Mother, what hast thou to reap. 
 When the harvest cometh, between wake and sleep ? 
 For a heart unslaken. 
 For a troth forsaken, 
 1^0, babes that call thee from a bloody deep : 
 And thy love returns not. Get thee forth and weep ! 
 \Enter the Attendant with the two 
 Children: Medea comes out from 
 the house. 
 
 Attendant. 
 
 Mistress, these children from their banishment 
 Are spared. The royal bride hath mildly bent 
 Her hand to accept thy gifts, and all is now 
 Peace for the children. — Ha, why standest thou 
 Confounded, when good fortune draweth near ? 
 
 Medea. 
 Ah God! 
 
 Attendant. 
 This chimes not with the news I bear. 
 
 Medea. 
 O God, have mercy ! 
 
58 EURIPIDES 
 
 Attendant. 
 
 Is some word of wrath 
 Here hidden that I knew not of ? And hath 
 My hope to give thee joy so cheated me ? 
 
 Medea. 
 Thou givest what thou givest : I blame not thee. 
 
 Attendant. 
 Thy brows are all o'ercast : thine eyes are filled. . . . 
 
 Medea. 
 
 For bitter need, Old Man ! The gods have willed, 
 And my own evil mind, that this should come. 
 
 Attendant. 
 Take heart ! Thy sons one day will bring thee home. 
 
 Medea. 
 Home? ... I have others to send home. Woe's me! 
 
 Attendant. 
 
 Be patient. Many a mother before thee 
 
 Hath parted from her children. We poor things 
 
 Of men must needs endure what fortune brings. 
 
MEDEA 59 
 
 Medea. 
 I will endure. — Go thou within, and lay 
 All ready that my sons may need to-day. 
 
 [TAe Attendant goes into the house. 
 O children, children mine : and you have found 
 A land and home, where, leaving me discrowned 
 And desolate, forever you will stay, 
 Motherless children! And I go my way 
 To other lands, an exile, ere you bring 
 Your fruits home, ere I see you prospering 
 Or know your brides, or deck the bridal bed. 
 All flowers, and lift your torches overhead. 
 
 Oh, curs&d be mine own hard heart ! 'Twas all 
 In vain, then, that I reared you up, so tall 
 And fair ; in vain I bore you, and was torn 
 With those long pitiless pains, when you were 
 
 bom. 
 Ah, wondrous hopes my poor heart had in you, 
 How you would tend me in mine age, and do 
 The shroud about me with your own dear hands, 
 When I lay cold, blessed in all the lands 
 That knew us. And that gentle thought is dead ! 
 You go, and I live on, to eat the bread 
 Of long years, to myself most full of pain. 
 And never yoiu: dear eyes, never again, 
 Shall see your mother, far away being thrown 
 To other shapes of life. . . . My babes, my own. 
 Why gaze ye so ? — What is it that ye see? — 
 And laugh with that last laughter ? . . . Woe is me, 
 What shall I do ? 
 
 Women, my strength is gone. 
 Gone like a dream, since once I looked upon 
 
6o EURIPIDES 
 
 Those shining faces. ... I can do it not. 
 Good-bye to all the thoughts that burned so hot 
 Aforetime! I will take and hide them far, 
 Far, from men's eyes. Why should I seek a war 
 So blind : by these babes' wounds to sting again 
 Their father's heart, and win myself a pain 
 Twice deeper? Never, never! I forget 
 Henceforward all I laboured for. 
 
 And yet, 
 What is it with me ? Would I be a thing 
 Mocked at, and leave mine enemies to sting 
 Unsmitten ? It must be. O coward heart, 
 Ever to harbour such soft words!— Depart 
 Out of my sight, ye twain. [Tke Children ^o in. 
 
 And they whose eyes 
 Shall hold it sin to share my sacrifice, 
 On their heads be it ! My hand shall swerve not now. 
 
 Ah, Ah, thou Wrath within me ! Do not thou, 
 Do not. . . . Down, down, thou tortured thing, and 
 
 spare 
 My children ! They will dwell with us, aye, there 
 Far off, and give thee peace. 
 
 Too late, too late ! 
 By all Hell's living agonies of hate. 
 They shall not take my little ones ahve 
 To make their mock with ! Howsoe'er I strive 
 The thing is doomed ; it shall not escape now 
 From being. Aye, the crown is on the brow, 
 And the robe girt, and in the robe that high 
 Queen dying. 
 
 I know all. Yet . . seeing that I 
 
MEDEA 6i 
 
 Must go so long a journey, and these twain 
 A longer yet and darker, I would fain 
 Speak with them, ere I go. 
 
 [A handmaid brings the Children out again. 
 Come, children; stand 
 A little from me. There. Reach out your hand. 
 Your right hand — so — to mother: and good-bye! 
 
 \^She has kept them hitherto at arm^s length . 
 but at the touch of their hands, her resolu- 
 tion breaks down, and she gathers them 
 passionately into her arms. 
 Oh, darling hand ! Oh, darling mouth, and eye. 
 And royal mien, and. bright brave faces clear. 
 May you be blessed, but not here ! What here 
 Was yours, your father stole. . . . Ah God, the glow 
 Of cheek on cheek, the tender touch ; and Oh, 
 Sweet scent of childhood. . . . Go ! Go ! . . . Am I 
 
 blind? . . . 
 Mine eyes can see not, when I look to find 
 Their places. I am broken by the wings 
 Of evil. . Yea, I know to what bad things 
 I go, but louder than all thought doth cry 
 Anger, which maketh man's worst misery. 
 
 \She follows the Children into the house. 
 
 Chorus. 
 My thoughts have roamed a cloudy land, 
 And heard a fierier music fall 
 Than woman's heart should stir withal : 
 And yet some Muse majestical. 
 Unknown, hath hold of woman's hand. 
 Seeking for Wisdom— not in all : 
 
62 EURIPIDES 
 
 A feeble seed, a scattered band, 
 Thou yet shalt find in lonely places, 
 Not dead amongst us, nor our faces 
 Turned alway from the Muses' call. 
 
 And thus my thought would speak : that she 
 
 Who ne'er hath borne a child nor known 
 
 Is nearer to felicity : 
 
 Unlit she goeth and alone. 
 
 With little understanding what 
 
 A child's touch means of joy or woe, 
 
 And many toils she beareth not. 
 
 But they within whose garden fair 
 
 That gentle plant hath blown, they go 
 
 Deep- written all their days with care — 
 
 To rear the children, to make fast 
 
 Their hold, to win them wealth ; and then 
 
 Much darkness, if the seed at last 
 
 Bear fruit in good or evil men ! 
 
 And one thing at the end of all 
 
 Abideth, that which all men dread : 
 
 The wealth is won, the limbs are bred 
 
 To manhood, and the heart withal 
 
 Honest: and, lo, where Fortune smiled. 
 
 Some change, and what hath fallen ? Hark ! 
 
 'Tis death slow winging to the dark. 
 
 And in his arms what was thy child. 
 
 What therefore doth it bring of gain. 
 To man, whose cup stood full before, 
 
MEDEA 63 
 
 That God should send this one thing naore 
 Of hunger and of dread, a door 
 Set wide to every wind of pain ? 
 
 [Medea comes out alone from the house. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Friends, this long hour I wait on Fortune's dyes. 
 And strain my senses in a hot surmise 
 What passeth on that hill.— Ha! even now 
 There comes . . . 'tis one of Jason's men, I trow. 
 His wild-perturbfed breath doth warrant me 
 The tidings of some strange calamity 
 
 \Enter Messenger. 
 
 Messenger. 
 
 O dire and ghastly deed ! Get thee away, 
 
 Medea! Fly! Nor let behind thee stay 
 
 One chariot's wing, one keel that sweeps the seas. . . . 
 
 Medea. 
 And what hath chanced, to cause such flights as these ? 
 
 Messenger. 
 
 The maiden princess lieth— and her sire. 
 The king— both murdered by thy poison-fire. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Most happy tiding ! Which thy name prefers 
 Henceforth among my friends and well-wishers. 
 
64 EURIPIDES 
 
 Messenger. 
 
 What say'st thou ? Woman, is thy mind within 
 Clear, and not raving ? Thou art found in sin 
 Most bloody wrought against the king's high head, 
 And laughest at the tale, and hast no dread ? 
 
 Medea. 
 
 I have words also that could answer well 
 Thy word. But take thine ease, good friend, and tell, 
 How died they ? Hath it been a very foul 
 Death, prithee ? That were comfort to my soul. 
 
 Messenger. 
 
 When thy two children, hand in hand entwined. 
 Came with their father, and passed on to find 
 The new-made bridal rooms, Oh, we were glad. 
 We thralls, who ever loved thee well, and had 
 Grief in thy grief. And straight there passed a word 
 From ear to ear, that thou and thy false lord 
 Had poured peace offering upon wrath foregone. 
 A right glad welcome gave we them, and one 
 Kissed the small hand, and one the shining hair : 
 Myself, for very joy, I followed where 
 The women's rooms are. There oiu- mistress . . . she 
 Whom now we name so . . . thinking not to see 
 Thy little pair, with glad and eager brow 
 Sate waiting Jason. Then she saw, and slow 
 Shrouded her eyes, and backward tiu-ned again, 
 Sick that thy children should come near her. Then 
 
MEDEA 65 
 
 Thy husband quick went forward, to entreat 
 
 The young maid's fitful wrath. "Thou will not 
 
 meet 
 Love's coming with unkindness ? Nay, refrain 
 Thy suddenness, and turn thy face again. 
 Holding as friends all that to me are dear, 
 Thine husband. And accept these robes they bear 
 As gifts : and beg thy father to unmake 
 His doom of exile on them — for my'sake." 
 When once she saw the raiment, she could still 
 Her joy no more, but gave him all his will. 
 And almost ere the father and the two 
 Children were gone from out the room, she drew 
 The flowered garments forth, and sate her down 
 To her arraying : bound the golden crown 
 Through her long curls, and in a mirror fair 
 Arranged their separate clusters, smiling there 
 At the dead self that faced her. Then aside 
 She pushed her seat, and paced those chambers 
 
 wide 
 Alone, her white foot poising delicately— 
 So passing joyful in those gifts was she! — 
 And many a time would pause, straight-limbed, and 
 
 wheel 
 Her head to watch the long fold to her heel 
 Sweeping. And then came something strange. Her 
 
 cheek 
 Seemed pale, and back with crooked steps and weak 
 Groping of arms she walked, and scarcely found 
 Her old seat, that she fell not to the ground. 
 
 Among the handmaids was a woman old 
 And grey, who deemed, I think, that Pan had hold 
 
66 EURIPIDES 
 
 Upon her, or some spirit, and raised a seen 
 Awakening shout ; till through her lips was seen 
 A white foam crawling, and her eyeballs back 
 Twisted, and all her face dead pale for lack 
 Of life : and while that old dame called, the cry 
 Turned strangely to its opposite, to die 
 Sobbing. Oh, swiftly then one woman flew 
 To seek her father's rooms, one for the new 
 Bridegroom, to tell the tale. And all the place 
 Was loud with hiurying feet. 
 
 So long a space 
 As a swift walker on a measured way 
 Would pace a furlong's course in, there she lay 
 Speechless, with veiled lids. Then wide her eyes 
 She oped, and wildly, as she strove to rise, 
 Shrieked : for two diverse waves upon her rolled 
 Of stabbing death. The carcanet of gold 
 That gripped her brow was molten in a dire 
 And wondrous river of devouring fire. 
 And those fine robes, the gift thy children gave — 
 God's mercy!— everywhere did lap and lave 
 The delicate flesh ; till up she sprang, and fled, 
 A fiery pillar, shaking locks and head 
 This way and that, seeking to cast the crown 
 Somewhere away. But hke a thing nailed down 
 The burning gold held fast the anadem. 
 And through her locks, the more she scattered 
 
 them, 
 Came fire the fiercer, till to earth she fell 
 A thing— save to her sire— scarce nameable, 
 And strove no more. That cheek of royal mien, 
 Where was it— or the place where eyes had been? 
 
MEDEA 67 
 
 Only from crown and temples came faint blood 
 Shot through with fire. The very flesh, it stood 
 Out from the bones, as from a wounded pine 
 The gum starts, where those gnawing poisons fine 
 Bit in the dark— a ghastly sight ! And touch 
 The dead we durst not. We had seen too much. 
 
 But that poor father, knowing not, had sped, 
 Swift to his daughter's room, and there the dead 
 Lay at his feet. He knelt, and groaning low. 
 Folded her in his arms, and kissed her : " Oh, 
 Unhappy child, what thing unnatural hath 
 So hideously undone thee ? Or what wrath 
 Of gods, to make this old grey sepulchre 
 Childless of thee ? Would God but lay me there 
 To die with thee, my daughter ! " So he cried. 
 But after, when he stayed from tears, and tried 
 To uplift his old bent frame, lo, in the folds 
 Of those fine robes it held, as ivy holds 
 StrangUng among yoiu- laurel boughs. Oh, then 
 A ghastly struggle came ! Again, again. 
 Up on his knee he writhed ; but that dead breast 
 Clung still to his : till, wild, like one possessed. 
 He dragged himself half free ; and, lo, the live 
 Flesh parted ; and he laid him down to strive 
 No more with death, but perish ; for the deep 
 Had risen above his soul. And there they sleep, 
 At last, the old proud father and the bride, 
 Even as his tears had craved it, side by side. 
 
 For thee— Oh, no word more! Thyself will know 
 How best to baffle vengeance. . . . Long ago 
 I looked upon man's days, and found a grey 
 Shadow. And this thing more I surely say. 
 
68 EURIPIDES 
 
 That those of all men who are counted wise. 
 Strong wits, devisers of great policies, 
 . Do pay the bitterest toll. Since life began, 
 Hath there in God's eye stood one happy man ? 
 Fair days roll on, and bear more gifts or less 
 Of fortune, but to no man happiness. 
 
 [£xi( Messenger. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Some Women. 
 
 Wrath upon wrath, meseems, this day shall fall 
 From God on Jason ! He hath earned it all. 
 
 Other Women. 
 
 O miserable maiden, all my heart 
 
 Is torn for thee, so sudden to depart 
 
 From thy king's chambers and the light above 
 
 To darkness, all for sake of Jason's love ! 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Women, my mind is clear. I go to slay 
 My children with all speed, and theft, away 
 From hence ; not wait yet longer till they stand 
 Beneath another and an angrier hand 
 To die. Yea, howsoe'er I shield them, die 
 They must. And, seeing that they must, 'tis I 
 Shall slay them, I their mother, touched of none 
 Beside. Oh, up and get thine armotu- on, 
 
MEDEA 69 
 
 My heart ! Why longer tarry we to win 
 Our crown of dire inevitable sin ? 
 Take up thy sword, O poor right hand of mine, 
 Thy sword : then onward to the thin-drawn line 
 Where life turns agony. Let there be naught 
 Of softness now : and keep thee from that thought, 
 'Bom of thy flesh,' 'thine own beloved.' Now, 
 For one brief day, forget thy children : thou 
 Shalt weep hereafter. Though thou slay them, yet 
 Sweet were they. ... I am sore unfortunate. 
 
 \^Ske goes into the house. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Some Women. 
 
 O Earth, our mother ; and thou 
 
 All-seer, arrowy crown 
 Of Sunlight, manward now 
 
 Look down. Oh, look down ! 
 Look upon one accurst, 
 Ere yet in blood she twine 
 Red hands— blood that is thine! 
 O Sun, save her first ! 
 She is thy daughter still. 
 
 Of thine own golden line ; 
 Save her! Or shall man spill 
 The life divine ? 
 Give peace, O Fire that diest not! Send thy spell 
 
 To stay her yet, to lift her afar, afar— 
 A torture-changed spirit, a voice of Hell 
 Wrought of old wrongs and war ! 
 
70 EURIPIDES 
 
 Others. 
 
 Alas for the mother's pain 
 Wasted ! Alas the dear 
 Life that was bom in vain ! 
 
 Woman, what mak'st thou here, 
 Thou from beyond the Gate 
 Where dim SymplSgades 
 Clash in the dark blue seas, 
 The shores where death doth wait ? 
 Why hast thou taken on thee. 
 
 To make us desolate, 
 This anger of misery 
 And guilt of hate ? 
 For fierce are the smitings back of blood once shed 
 Where love hath been : God's vnrath upon them that 
 kill. 
 And an anguished earth, and the wonder of the dead 
 Haunting as music still. . . . 
 
 \A cry is heard within. 
 
 A Woman. 
 Hark ! Did ye hear ? Heard ye the children's cry ? 
 
 Another. 
 O miserable woman ! O abhorred ! 
 
 A Child within. 
 What shall I do? What is it? Keep me fast 
 From mother ! 
 
 The Other Child. 
 
 I know nothing. Brother! Oh, 
 I think she means to kill us. 
 
MEDEA 71 
 
 A Woman. 
 
 Let me go ! 
 I will— Help! Help!— and save them at the 
 last. 
 
 A Child. 
 
 Yes, in God's name ! Help quickly ere we die ! 
 
 7%e Other Child. 
 
 She has almost caught me now. She has a sword. 
 [Many of the Women are now beating at the 
 barred door to get in. Others are stand- 
 ing apart. 
 
 Women at the door. 
 
 Thou stone, thou thing of iron ! Wilt verily 
 Spill with thine hand that life, the vintage stored 
 Of thine own agony ? 
 
 The Other Women. 
 
 A Mother slew her babes in days of yore. 
 One, only one, from dawn to eventide, 
 Ino, god-maddened, whom the Queen of Heaven 
 Set frenzied, flying to the dark : and she 
 Cast her for sorrow to the wide salt sea. 
 Forth from those rooms of murder unforgiven, 
 Wild-footed from a white crag of the shore, 
 And clasping still her children twain, she died. 
 
 O Love of Woman, charged with sorrow sore. 
 What hast thou wrought upon us ? What beside 
 Resteth to tremble for ? 
 
 \ Enter hurriedly Jason and Attendants. 
 
^2 EURIPIDES 
 
 Jason. 
 
 Ye women by this dooi^yay clustering 
 
 Speak, is the doer of the ghastly thing 
 
 Yet here, or fled ? What hopeth she of flight ? 
 
 Shall the deep yawn to shield her ? Shall the height 
 
 Send wings, and hide her in the vaulted sky 
 
 To work red murder on her lords, and fly 
 
 Unrecompensed ? But let her go ! My care 
 
 Is but to save my children, not for her. 
 
 Let them she wronged requite her as they may. 
 
 I care not. 'Tis my sons I must some way 
 
 Save, ere the kinsmen of the dead can win 
 
 From them the payment of their mother's sin. 
 
 Leader. 
 
 Unhappy man, indeed thou knowest not 
 
 What dark place thou art come to ! Else, God wot, 
 
 Jason, no word like these could fall from thee. 
 
 Jason. 
 What is it?— Ha! The woman would kill me? 
 
 Leader. 
 Thy sons are dead, slain by their mother's hand. 
 
 Jason. 
 
 How ? Not the children. ... I scarce under- 
 stand. . . . 
 O God, thou hast broken me ! 
 
MEDEA 73 
 
 Leader. 
 
 Think of those twain 
 As things once fair, that ne'er shall bloom again. 
 
 Jason. 
 Where did she murder them ? In that old room ? 
 
 Leader. 
 Open, and thou shalt see thy children's doom. 
 
 Jason. 
 
 Ho, thralls ! Unloose me yonder bars ! Make more 
 Of speed ! Wrench out the jointing of the door. 
 And show my two-edged curse, the children dead, 
 The woman. . . . Oh, this sword upon her 
 
 head. 
 
 [ While the Attendants are still battering at 
 the door Medea appears on the roof, 
 standing on a chariot of winged Dragons, 
 in which are the children's bodies. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 What make ye at my gates ? Why batter ye 
 
 With brazen bars, seeking the dead and me 
 
 Who slew them ? Peace ! . . . And thou, if aught 
 
 of mine 
 Thou needest, speak, though never touch of thine 
 
74 EURIPIDES 
 
 Shall scathe me more. Out of his firmament 
 My fathers' father, the high Sun, hath sent 
 This, that shall save me from mine enemies' rage. 
 
 Jason. 
 
 Thou living hate ! Thou wife in every age 
 Abhorr&d, blood-red mother, who didst kill 
 My sons, and make me as the dead : and still 
 Canst take the sunshine to thine eyes, and smell 
 The green earth, reeking from thy deed of hell ; 
 I curse thee! Now, Oh, now mine eyes can see, 
 That then were blinded, when from savagery 
 Of eastern chambers, from a cruel land, 
 To Greece and home I gathered in mine hand 
 Thee, thou incarnate curse : one that betrayed 
 Her home, her father, her . . . Oh, God hath laid 
 Thy sins on me! — I knew, I knew, there lay 
 A brother murdered on thy hearth that day 
 When thy first footstep fell on Argo's hull. . . . 
 Argo, my own, my swift and beautiful 
 
 That was her first beginning. Then a wif» 
 I made her in my house. She bore to life 
 Children : and now for love, for chambering 
 And men's arms, she hath murdered them! A 
 
 thing 
 Not one of all the maids of Greece, not one. 
 Had dreamed of; whom I spumed, and for mine 
 
 own 
 Chose thee, a bride of hate to me and death. 
 Tigress, not woman, beast of wilder breath 
 
MEDEA 75 
 
 Than Skylla shrieking o'er the Tuscan sea. 
 Enough ! No scorn of mine can reach to thee, 
 Such iron is o'er thine eyes. Out from my road, 
 Thou crime-begetter. Wind with children's blood ! 
 And let me weep alone the bitter tide 
 That sweepeth Jason's days, no gentle bride 
 To speak with more, no child to look upon 
 Whom once I reared . . . all, all for ever gone ! 
 
 Medea. 
 
 An easy answer had I to this swell 
 Of speech, but Zeus our father knoweth well. 
 All I for thee have wrought, and thou for me. 
 So let it rest. This thing was not to be. 
 That thou shouldst live a merry hfe, my bed 
 Forgotten and my heart uncomforted. 
 Thou nor thy princess : nor the king that planned 
 Thy marriage drive Medea from his land. 
 And suffer not. Call me what thing thou please, 
 Tigress or Skylla from the Tuscan seas : 
 My claws have gripped thine heart, and all things 
 shine. 
 
 Jason. 
 
 Thou too hast grief. Thy pain is fierce as mine, 
 
 Medea. 
 I love the pain, so thou shalt laugh no more. 
 
 Jason. 
 Oh, what a womb of sin my children bore ! 
 
76 EURIPIDES 
 
 Medea. 
 Sons, did ye perish for your father's shame ? 
 
 Jason. 
 How ? It was not my hand that murdered them. 
 
 Medea 
 'Twas thy false wooings, 'twas thy tramphng pride. 
 
 Jason. 
 Thou hast said it ! For thy lust of love they died. 
 
 Medea. 
 And love to women a slight thing should be ? 
 
 Jason. 
 To women pure! — All thy vile life to thee! 
 
 Medea. 
 Think of thy torment. They are dead, they are dead ! 
 
 Jason. 
 No : quick, great God ; quick curses round thy head ! 
 
 Medea. 
 The Gods know who began this work of woe. 
 
MEDEA 77 
 
 Jason. 
 Thy heart and all its loathliness they know. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Loathe on. . . . But, Oh, thy voice. It hurts me 
 sore. 
 
 Jason. 
 Aye, and thine me. Wouldst hear me then no mbre ? 
 
 Medea. 
 How ? Show me but the way. 'Tis this I crave. 
 
 Jason. 
 Give me the dead to weep, and make their grave. 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Never ! Myself will lay them in a still 
 
 Green sepulchre, where Hera by the Hill 
 
 Hath precinct holy, that no angry men 
 
 May break their graves and cast them forth again 
 
 To evil. So I lay on all this shore 
 
 Of Corinth a high feast for evermore 
 
 And rite, to purge them yearly of the stain 
 
 Of this poor blood. And I, to Pallas' plain 
 
 I go, to dwell beside Pandion's son, 
 
 Aegeus.— For thee, behold, death draweth on, 
 
 Evil and lonely, like thine heart : the hands 
 
 Of thine old Argo, rotting where she stands, 
 
78 EURIPIDES 
 
 Snail smite thine head in twain, and bitter be 
 To the last end thy memories of me. 
 
 [SAe rises on the chariot and is slowly borne away. 
 
 Jason. 
 May They that hear the weeping child 
 
 Blast thee, and They that walk in blood ! , 
 
 Medea. 
 Thy broken vows, thy friends beguiled 
 Have shut for thee the ears of God. 
 
 Jason. ' 
 
 Go, thou art wet with children's tears ! 
 
 Medea. 
 Go thou, and lay thy bride to sleep. 
 
 Jason. 
 Childless, I go, to weep and weep. 
 
 Medea. 
 Not yet ! Age cometh and long years. 
 
 Jason. 
 My sons, mine own! 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Not thine, but mine . . . 
 
 Jason. 
 . . Who slew them ! 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Yes : to torture thee. 
 Jason. 
 Once let me kiss their Eps, once twine 
 
 Mine arms and touch. . . . Ah, woe is me! 
 
MEDEA 79 
 
 Medea. 
 
 Wouldst love them and entreat ? But now 
 They were as nothing. 
 
 Jason. 
 • At the last, 
 
 O God, to touch that tender brow! 
 
 Medea. 
 Thy words upon the wind are cast. 
 
 Jason. 
 
 Thou, Zeus, wilt hear me. All is said 
 
 For naught. I am but spumed away 
 And trampled by this tigress, red 
 
 With children's blood. Yet, come what may, 
 So far as thou hast granted, yea. 
 
 So far as yet my strength may stand, 
 I weep upon these dead, and say 
 
 Their last farewell, and raise my hand 
 
 To all the daemons of the air 
 
 In witness of these things ; how she 
 Who slew them, will not suffer me 
 
 To gather up my babes, nor bear 
 
 To earth their bodies ; whom, O stone 
 
 Of women, would I ne'er had known 
 Nor gotten, to be slain by thee ! 
 
 [ffe casts himself upon the earth. 
 
8o EURIPIDES 
 
 Chorus. 
 r 
 
 Great treasure halls hath Zeus in heaven, 
 From whence to man strange dooms be given, 
 
 Past hope or fear. 
 And the end men looked for cometh not, 
 And a path is there where no man though* 
 
 So hath it fallen here. ** 
 
NOTES TO MEDEA 
 
 p. 3, 1. 2, To Colchis through the blue SymplS- 
 gades.] — The Sympl^gades (" Clashing ") or Kuaneai 
 ("Dark blue") were two rocks in the sea which used 
 to clash together and crush anything that was between 
 them. They stood above the north end of the Bos- 
 phorus and formed the Gate (1. 1264, p. 70) to the 
 Axeinos Pontes, or "Stranger-less Sea," where all 
 Greeks were murdered. At the farthest eastern end of 
 that sea was the land of Colchis. 
 
 P. 3, 1. 3, PSlion.]— The great mountain in Thessaly. 
 Ifilcos, a little kingdom between PSlion and the sea, 
 ruled originally by Aeson, Jason's father, then by the 
 usurping P61ias. 
 
 P. 3, 1. 9, Daugnters of Pglias.] — See Introduction, 
 p. vii. 
 
 P. 4, 1. 18, Wed.]— Medea was not legally married 
 to Jason, and could not be, though in common par- 
 lance he is sometimes called her husband. Inter- 
 marriage between the subjects of two separate states 
 was not possible in antiquity without a special treaty. 
 And naturally there was no such treaty with Colchis. 
 
 This is, I think, the view of the play, and corre- 
 sponds to the normal Athenian conceptions of society. 
 In the original legend it is likely enough that Medea 
 belongs to "matriarchal" times before the institution 
 of marriage. 
 
 P. 4, 1. 18, Head of Corinth.]— A peculiar word 
 
 Si 
 
82 EURIPIDES 
 
 (oitrv/avav) afterwards used to translate the Roman 
 dictator. Creon is, however, apparently descended 
 from the ancient king Sisyphus. 
 
 P. 4, 1. 40, She hath a blade made keen, &c.] — 
 These lines (40, 41) are repeated in a different context 
 later on, p. 23, 11. 379, 380. The sword which to the 
 Nurse suggested suicide was really meant for murder. 
 There is a similar and equally dramatic repetition of 
 the lines about the crown and wreath (786, 949, pp. 
 46, 54), and of those about the various characters 
 popularly attributed to Medea (11. 304, 808, pp. 18, 46). 
 
 P. 5, 1. 48, Attendant.] — Greek Paidagdgos, or 
 " pedagogue " ; a confidential servant who escorted the 
 boys to and from school, and in similar ways looked 
 after them. Notice the rather light and cynical char- 
 acter of this man, compared with the tenderness of 
 the Nurse. 
 
 P. 5, 1. 57, To this still earth and sky.]— Not a mere 
 stage explanation. It was the ancient practice, if you 
 had bad dreams or terrors of the night, to " show " 
 them to the Sun in the morning, that he might clear 
 them away. 
 
 P. 8, 1. Ill, Have I not suffered?]— Medea is ap- 
 parently answering some would-be comforter. Cf. p. 
 4. (" If friends will speak," &c.) 
 
 P. 9,1. 131, Chorus.]— As Dr. Verrall has remarked, 
 the presence of the Chorus is in this play unusually 
 awkward from the dramatic point of view. Medea's 
 plot demands most absolute secrecy; and it is in- 
 credible that fifteen Corinthian women, simply be- 
 cause they were women, should allow a half-mad 
 foreigner to murder several people, including their 
 
NOTES 83 
 
 own Corinthian king and princess —who was a 
 woman also — rather than reveal her plot. We must re- 
 member in palliation (1) that these women belong to 
 the faction in Corinth which was friendly to Medea and 
 hostile to Creon; (2) that the appeal to them as 
 women had more force in antiquity than it would now, 
 and the princess had really turned traitor to her sex. 
 (See note on this subject at the end of the present 
 writer's translation of the Electra.) (3) The non-inter- 
 ference of the Chorus seems monstrous : yet in ancient 
 times, when law was weak and punishment was chiefly 
 the concern of the injured persons, and of no one else, 
 the reluctance of bystanders to interfere was much 
 greater than it is now in an ordered society. Some 
 oriental countries, and perhaps even California or 
 Texas, could afford us some startling instances of 
 impassiveness among bystanders. 
 
 P. 12, 1. 167, Oh, wild words!]— The Nurse breaks 
 in, hoping to drown her mistress's dangerous self-be- 
 trayal. Medea's murder of her brother (see Introduc- 
 tion, p. vi) was by ordinary standards her worst act, and 
 seems not to have been known in Corinth. It forms 
 the climax of Jason's denunciation, 1. 1334, p. 74. 
 
 P. 13, 1. 190, Alas, the brave blithe bards, &c.]— Who 
 is the speaker ? According to the MSS. the Nurse, and 
 there is some difficulty in taking the lines from her. Yet 
 (1) she has no reason to sing a song outside after saying 
 that she is going in ; and (2) it is quite necessary that 
 she should take a little time indoors persuading Medea 
 to come out. The words seem to suit the lips of an 
 impersonal Chorus. 
 
 The general sense of the poem is interesting. It is 
 
84 EURIPIDES 
 
 an apology for tragedy. It gives the tragic poet's con- 
 ception of the place of his art in the service of human- 
 ity, as against the usual feeling of the public, whose 
 serious work is devoted to something else, and who " go 
 to a play to be amused." 
 
 P. 14,1. 214, Women of Corinth, lam come, &c.] — 
 These opening lines are a well-known crux interpretum. 
 It is interesting to note, (1) that the Roman poet Ennius 
 (ca. 200 B.C.) who translated the Medea, did not under- 
 stand them in the least ; while, on the other hand, the 
 eariiest Greek commentators seem not to have noticed 
 that there was any difficulty in them worth commenting 
 upon. That implies that while the acting tradition 
 was alive and unbroken, the lines were easily under- 
 stood ; but when once the tradition failed, the meaning 
 was lost. (The first commentator who deals with the 
 passage is Irenaeus, a scholar of the Augustan time.) 
 
 P. 15, 1. 231, A herb most bruised is woman.]— This 
 fine statement of the wrongs of women in Athens doubt- 
 less contains a great deal of the poet's own mind ; but 
 from the dramatic point of view it is justified in several 
 ways. (1) Medea is seeking for a common ground on 
 which to appeal to the Corinthian women. (2) She 
 herself is now in the position of all others in which a 
 woman is most hardly treated as compared with a man. 
 (3) Besides this, one can see that, being a person of great 
 powers and vehement will, she feels keenly her lack of 
 outlet. If she had men's work to do, she could be a 
 hero : debarred from proper action (from to irpocr<rav, 
 Hip. 1019) she is bound to make mischief. Cf. p. 24, 
 11. 408, 409. " Things most vain, &c." 
 
 There is a slight anachronism in applying the Attic 
 
NOTES 8S 
 
 system of doweries to primitive times. Medea's con- 
 temporaries either lived in a "matriarchal" system 
 without any marriage, or else were bought by their 
 husbands for so many cows. 
 
 P. 17, 1. 271, Creon.]— Observe the somewhat 
 archaic abruptness of this scene, a sign of the early 
 date of the play. 
 
 P. 18, 1. 295, Wise beyond men's wont.]— Medea 
 was a " wise woman " which in her time meant much 
 the same as a witch or enchantress. She did really 
 know more than other women ; but most of this extra 
 knowledge consisted — or was supposed to consist — 
 either in lore of poisons and charms, or in useless 
 learning and speculation. 
 
 P. 18, 1. 304, A seed of strife, an Eastern dreamer, 
 &c.] — The meaning of these various "ill names " is not 
 certain. Cf. 1. 808, p. 46. Most scholars take Oarepav 
 Tpoirov (" of the other sort ") to mean " the opposite of 
 a dreamer." 
 
 P. 20, 11. 333-4, What would I with thy pains ?] — 
 A conceit almost in the Elizabethan style, as if by tak- 
 ing " pains " away from Creon, she would have them 
 herself. 
 
 P. 20, 1. 335, Not that! Not that!]— Observe what 
 a dislike Medea has of being touched: cf. 1. 370 ( "my 
 flesh been never stained," &c.) and 1. 496 ( " poor, poor 
 right hand of mine ! "), pp. 22, and 28. 
 
 P. 22, 1. 364, Defeat on every side.]— Observe (1) 
 that in this speech Medea's vengeance is to take the 
 form of a clear fight to the death against the three 
 guilty persons. It is both courageous and, judged by 
 the appropriate standard, just. (2) She wants to save 
 
86 EURIPIDES 
 
 her own life, not from cowardice, but simply to make 
 her revenge more complete. To kill her enemies and 
 escape is victory. To kill them and die with them is 
 only a drawn battle. Other enemies will live and 
 "laugh." (3) Already in this first soliloquy there is a 
 suggestion of that strain of madness which becomes 
 unmistakable later on in the play. (" Oh, I have tried 
 so many thoughts of murder/' &c., and especially the 
 lashing of her own fury, "Awake thee now, Medea.") 
 
 P. 24, 1. 405, Thief's daughter : lit. " a child of Sisy- 
 phus."]— Sisyphus, an ancient king of Corinth, was one 
 of the well-known sinners punished in Tartarus. Me- 
 dea's father, Ai^t^s, was a brother of Circe, and bom 
 of the Sun. 
 
 P. 24, 1. 409, Things most vain for help.] — See on 11. 
 230 ff. 
 
 P. 24,11. 410-430, Chorus.] —The song celebrates the 
 coming triumph of Woman in her rebellion against 
 Man ; not by any means Woman as typifying the do- 
 mestic virtues, but rather as the downtrodden, uncivil- 
 ised, unreasoning, and fiercely emotional half of hu- 
 manity. A woman who in defence of her honour and 
 her rights will die sword in hand, slaying the man who 
 wronged her, seems to the Chorus like a deliverer of 
 the whole sex. 
 
 P. 24, 1. 421, Old bards.]— Early literature in most 
 countries contains a good deal of heavy satire on wo- 
 men: e.g. Hesiod's "Who trusts a woman trusts a 
 thief ; " or Phocylides' " Two days of a woman are 
 very sweet : when you marry her and when you carry 
 her to her grave." 
 
 It is curious how the four main Choruses of the 
 
NOTES 87 
 
 Medea are divided each into two parts, distinct in sub- 
 ject and in metre. 
 
 P. 25, 1. 439, Faith is no more sweet.] — Copied 
 from a beautiful passage in Hesiod, Works and Days, 
 198 fl. : "There shall be no more sweetness found in 
 the faithful man nor the righteous. . . . And at last up 
 to Olympus from the wide-wayed earth, shrouding 
 with white raiment their beautiful faces, go Ruth and 
 Rebuking." (Aidos and Nemesis : i.e. the Ruth or 
 Shame that you feel with reference to your own 
 actions, and the Indignation or Disapproval that 
 others feel.) 
 
 P. 27, 11. 478 ff., Bulls of fiery breath.]— Among 
 the tasks set him by Ai^t^s, Jason had to yoke two 
 fire-breathing bulls, and plough with them a certain 
 Field of Ares, sow the field with dragon's teeth, and 
 reap a harvest of earth-born or giant warriors which 
 sprang from the seed. When all this was done, there 
 remained the ancient serpent coiled round the tree 
 where the Golden Fleece was hanging. 
 
 P. 29, 1. 507, The first friends who sheltered me.]— 
 i.e. the kindred of Pelias. 
 
 P. 29, 1. 509, Blest of many a maid in Hellas.] — 
 Jason was, of course, the great romantic hero of his 
 time. Cf. his own words, 1. 1340, p. 74. 
 
 Pp. 29 fl., 11. 523-575.- Jason's defence is made the 
 weaker by his reluctance to be definitely insulting to 
 Medea. He dares not say: "You think that, because 
 you conceived a violent passion for me,— to which, I 
 admit, I partly responded — I must live with you 
 always ; but the truth is, you are a savage with whom 
 a civilised man cannot go on living." This point 
 
8S EURIPIDES 
 
 comes out unveiled in his later speech, 1. 1329, if., 
 p. 74. 
 
 P. 30, 11. 536 S., Our ordered life and justice.] — 
 Jason has brought the benefits of civilisation to Medea ! 
 He is doubtless sincere, but the peculiar ironic cruelty 
 of the plea is obvious. 
 
 P. 30, 11. 541 ff.. The story of Great Medea, &c. 
 . . . Unless our deeds have glory.] — This, I think, is 
 absolutely sincere. To Jason ambition is everj'thing. 
 And, as Medea has largely shared his great deeds with 
 him, he thinks that she cannot but feel the same. It 
 seems to him contemptible that her mere craving for 
 personal love should outweigh all the possible glories 
 of life. 
 
 P. 31, 1. 565, What more need hast thou of chil- 
 dren?] — He only means, "of more children than you 
 now have." But the words suggest to Medea a 
 different meaning, and sow in her mind the first seed 
 of the child-murder. See on the Aegeus scene below. 
 
 P. 34, 1. 608, A Uving curse.] — Though she spoke 
 no word, the existence of a being so deeply wronged 
 would be a curse on her oppressors. So a murdered 
 man's blood, or an involuntary cry of pain (Aesch. Ag. 
 237) on the part of an injured person is in itself 
 fraught with a curse. 
 
 P. 35, 11. 627-641, Chorus. Alas, the Love, &c.] 
 — A highly characteristic Euripidean poem, keenly 
 observant of fact, yet with a lyrical note penetrating 
 all its realism. A love which really produces " good 
 to man and glory," is treated in the next chorus, 1. 844 
 ff., p. 49. 
 
 Pp. 37 ff., 11. 663-759, Aegeus.1— This scene is 
 
NOTES 89 
 
 generally considered to be a mere blot on the play, 
 not, I think, justly. It is argued that the obvious 
 purpose which the scene serves, the provision of an 
 asylum for Medea, has no keen dramatic interest. 
 The spectator would just as soon, or sooner, have her 
 die. And, besides, her actual mode of escape is largely 
 independent of Aegeus. Fiu-ther, the arrival of 
 Aegeus at this moment seems to be a mere coincidence 
 (Ar. Foetics, 61b, 23), and one cannot help suspect- 
 ing that the Athenian poet was influenced by mere 
 local interests in dragging in- the Athenian king and 
 the praises of Athens where they were not specially 
 appropriate. 
 
 To these criticisms one may make some answer. (1) 
 As to the coincidence, it is important to remember al- 
 ways that Greek tragedies are primarily historical plays, 
 not works of fiction. They are based on definite Logoi 
 or traditions [Frogs, 1. 1052, p. 254) and therefore can, 
 and should, represent accidental coincidences when it 
 was a datum of the tradition that these coincidences 
 actually happened. By Aristotle's time the practice 
 had changed. The tragedies of his age were essentially 
 fiction ; and he tends to criticise the ancient tragedies 
 by fictional standards. 
 
 Now it was certainly a datum in the Medea legend 
 that she took refuge with Aegeus, King of Athens, and 
 was afterwards an enemy to his son Theseus ; but I 
 think we may go further. This play pretty certainly 
 has for its foundation the rites performed by the Corin- 
 thians at the Grave of the Children of Medea in the 
 precinct of Hera Acraia near Corinth. See on 1. 1379. 
 p. 77. The legend in such cases is usually invented to 
 
90 EURIPIDES 
 
 explain the ritual ; and I suspect that in the ritual, and, 
 consequently, in the legend, there were two other 
 data : first, a pursuit of Medea and her flight on a 
 dragon-chariot, and, secondly, a meeting between 
 Medea and Aegeus. (Both subjects are frequent on 
 vase paintings, and may well be derived from historical 
 pictures in some temple at Corinth.) 
 
 Thus, the meeting with Aegeus is probably not 
 the free invention of Euripides, but one of the data 
 supplied to him by his subject. But he has made 
 it serve, as von Amim was the first to perceive, a re- 
 markable dramatic purpose. Aegeus was under a curse 
 of childlessness, and his desolate condition suggests to 
 Medea the ultimate form of her vengeance. She will 
 make Jason childless. Cf. 1. 670, "Children! Ah 
 God, art childless ? " (A childless king in antiquity 
 was a miserable object : likely to be deposed and dis- 
 honoured, and to miss his due worship after death. 
 See the fragments of Euripides' Oineus.) 
 
 There is also a further purpose in the scene, of a 
 curious and characteristic kind. In several plays of 
 Euripides, when a heroine hesitates on the verge of 
 a crime, the thing that drives her over the brink is 
 some sudden and violent lowering of her self-respect. 
 Thus Phaedra writes her false letter immediately 
 after her public shame. Crefisa in the Ion turns 
 murderous only after crjdng in the god's ears the 
 story of her seduction. Medea, a princess and, as we 
 have seen, a woman of rather proud chastity, feels, after 
 the offer which she makes to Aegeus in this scene 
 (1. 716 fl., p. 42), that she need shrink from nothing. 
 
 P. 38, 1. 681, The hearth-stone of my sires of yore.l 
 
NOTES 91 
 
 —This sounds as if it meant Aegeus' own house : in 
 reality, by an oracular riddle, it meant the house of 
 Pittheus, by whose daughter, Aethra, Aegeus became 
 the father of Theseus. 
 
 P. 43, 1. 731, An oath wherein to trust.] — Observe that 
 Medea is deceiving Aegeus. She intends to commit a 
 murder before going to him, and therefore wishes to 
 bind him down so firmly that, however much he wish 
 to repudiate her, he shall be unable. Hence this insist- 
 ence on the oath and the exact form of the oath. (At 
 this time, apparently, she scarcely thinks of the children, 
 only of her revenge.) 
 
 P. 46, 1. 808, No eastern dreamer, &c.]— See on 1. 304. 
 
 P. 47, 1. 820, The Nurse comes out.] — There is no in- 
 dication in the original to show who comes out. But 
 it is certainly a woman ; as certainly it is not one of the 
 Chorus ; and Medea's words suit the Nurse well. It is 
 an almost devilish act to send the Nurse, who would 
 have died rather than take such a message had she un- 
 derstood it. 
 
 P. 48, 11. 824-846, The sons of Erechtheus, &c.] — 
 This poem is interesting as showing the ideal concep- 
 tion of Athens entertained by a fifth-century Athenian. 
 One. might compare with it Pericles' famous speech in 
 Thucydides, ii., where the emphasis is laid on Athenian 
 "plain living and high thinking" and the freedom of 
 daily life. Or, again, the speeches of Aethra in Em-ip- 
 ides' Suppliant Women, where more stress is laid on 
 mercy and championship of the oppressed. 
 
 The allegory of " Harmony," as a sort of Kord, or 
 Earth-maiden, planted by all the Muses in the soil of 
 Attica, seems to be an invention of the poet. Not any 
 
92 EURIPIDES 
 
 given Art or Muse, but a spirit which unites and 
 harmonises all, is the special spirit of Athens. The Attic 
 connection with Er6s, on the other hand, is old and 
 traditional. But Euripides has transformed the primi- 
 tive nature-god into a mystic and passionate longing for 
 "all manner of high deed," a Love which, different 
 from that described in the preceding chorus, really en- 
 nobles human life. 
 
 This first part of the Chorus is, of course, suggested 
 by Aegeus ; the second is more closely connected with 
 the action of the play. " How can Medea dream of 
 asking that stainless land to shelter her crimes ? But 
 the whole plan of her revenge is not only wicked but 
 impossible. She simply could not do such a thing, if 
 she tried." 
 
 Pp. 50 ff ., 1. 869, The second scene with Jason.] — 
 Dicaearchus, and perhaps his master Aristotle also, seems 
 to have complained of Medea's bursting into tears in 
 this scene, instead of acting her part consistently— a 
 very prejudiced criticism. What strikes one about 
 Medea's assumed r61e is that in it she remains so like 
 herself and so unlike another woman. Had she really 
 determined to yield to Jason, she would have done so 
 in just this way, keen-sighted and yet passionate. One 
 is reminded of the deceits of half-insane persons, which 
 are due not so much to conscious art as to the emer- 
 gence of another side of the personality. 
 
 P. 54, 1. 949, Fine robings, &c.] — Repeated from 1. 
 786, p. 46, where it came full in the midst of Medea's 
 avowal of her murderous purpose. It startles one here, 
 almost as though she had spoken out the word " mur- 
 der " in some way which Jason could not understand. 
 
NOTES 93 
 
 P. 56, 1. 976, Chorus.] — The inaction of the 
 Chorus women during the last scene will not bear 
 thinking about, if we regard them as real human 
 beings, like, for instance, the Bacchae and the Trojan 
 Women in the plays that bear their name. Still there 
 is not only beauty, but, I think, great dramatic value 
 in the conventional and almost mystical quality of this 
 Chorus, and also in the low and quiet tone of that 
 which follows, 1. 1081 ff. 
 
 P. 59, 11. 1021 ff., Why does Medea kill her 
 children?]— She acts not for one clearly stated reason, 
 Uke a heroine in Sardou, but for many reasons, both 
 conscious and subconscious, as people do in real life. 
 Any analysis professing to be exact would be mis- 
 leading, but one may note some elements in her f eehng : 
 (1) She had played dangerously long with the notion 
 of making Jason childless. (2) When she repented of 
 this (1. 1046, p. 60) the children had already been 
 made the unconscious murderers of the princess. They 
 were certain to be slain, perhaps with tortures, by the 
 royal kindred. (3) Medea might take them with her 
 to Athens and trust to the hope of Aegeus' being able 
 and willing to protect them. But it was a doubtful 
 chance, and she would certainly be in a position of 
 weakness and inferiority if she had the children to 
 protect. (4) In the midst of her passionate half- 
 animal love for the children, there was also an element 
 of hatred, because they were Jason's : cf. 1. 112, p. 8. 
 (S) She also seems to feel, in a sort of wild-beast way, 
 that by killing them she makes them more her own : cf. 
 1. 793, p. 46, " Mine, whom no hand shall steal from me 
 away;" 1. 1241, p. 68, "touched of none beside." (6) 
 
94 EURIPIDES 
 
 Euripides had apparently observed how common it is, 
 when a woman's mind is deranged by suffering, that 
 her madness takes the form of child-murder. The 
 terrible lines in which Medea speaks to the "Wrath" 
 within her, as if it were a separate being (1. 1056, p. 
 60), seem to bear out this view. 
 
 P. 59, 1. 1038, Other shapes of life.]— A mystical 
 conception of death. Cf. Ion, 1067, where almost ex- 
 actly the same phrase is used. 
 
 P. 61, 1. 1078, I know to what bad deeds, &c.] — 
 This expression of double consciousness was immensely 
 famous in antiquity. It is quoted by Lucian, Plu- 
 tarch, Clement, Galen, Synesius, Hierocles, Arrian, 
 Simplicius, besides being imitated, e.g. by Ovid : " video 
 meliora proboque, Deteriora sequor." 
 
 P. 63, 1. 1123 ff., Messenger.]— A pendant to the 
 Attendant's entrance above, 1. 1002. The Attendant, 
 bringing apparently good news, is received with a 
 moan of despair, the Messenger of calamity with 
 serene -satisfaction. Cf. the Messenger who announces 
 the death of Pentheus in the BacchcR. 
 
 P. 65, r. 1162, Dead self.] — The reflection in the 
 glass, often regarded as ominous or uncanny in some 
 way. 
 
 P. 66, 1. 1176, The cry turned strangely to its op- 
 posite.] — The notion was that an evil spirit could be 
 scared away by loud cheerful shouts— t7/<?/«^<s. But 
 while this old woman is making an ololuge, she sees 
 that the trouble is graver than she thought, and the 
 cheerful cry turns into a wail. 
 
 P. 68, 1. 1236, Women, my mind is clear.]— With the 
 silence in which Medea passes over the success 
 
NOTES 95 
 
 of her vengeance compare Theseus' words, Hip., 
 1. 1260, " I laugh not, neither weep, at this fell doom." 
 
 P. 69, L 1249, Thou shalf weep hereaf ter. ] — Cf . 
 Othello, V. ii., " Be thus when thou art dead, and I will 
 kiss thee. And love thee after." 
 
 P. 69, 11. 1251 fE,— This curious prayer to the Sun to 
 " save " Medea— both from the crime of killing her 
 children and the misfortune of being caught by her 
 enemies— is apparently meant to prepare us for the 
 scene of the Dragon Chariot. Notice the emphasis 
 laid on the divine origin of Medea's race and her 
 transformation to " a voice of Hell." 
 
 P. 71, 11. 1278 ff., Death of the children.] -The 
 door is evidently barred, since Jason has to use crow- 
 bars to open it in 1. 1317. Cf. the end of Maeterlinck's 
 Mori de Tintagiles. 
 
 P. 71, 1. 1281, A mother slew her babes in days of 
 yore, &c.] — Ino, wife of Athamas, King of Thebes, 
 nursed the infant Dionysus. For this Hera punished 
 her with madness. She killed her two children, Lear- 
 chus and Melicertes, and leaped into the sea. (There 
 are various versions of the story.) — Observe the tech- 
 nique : just as the strain is becoming intolerable, we are 
 turned away from tragedy to pure poetry. See on Hip. 
 731. 
 
 P. 74, 1. 1320, This, that shall save me from mine 
 enemies' rage.] — There is nothing in the words of the 
 play to show what " this " is, but the Scholiast explains 
 it as a chariot drawn by winged serpents, and the stage 
 tradition seems to be clear on the subject. See note to 
 the Aegeus scene (p. 88). 
 
 This first appearance of Medea "above, on the 
 
96 feURIPIDES 
 
 tower " (Scholiast) seems to me highly effective. The 
 result is to make Medea into something like a dea ex 
 viachinA, who prophesies and pronounces judgment. 
 See Introduction. 
 
 P. 76, 1. 1370, They are dead, they are dead!]— This 
 wrangle, though rather hke some scenes in Norse sagas, 
 is strangely discordant for a Greek play. It seems as 
 if Euripides had deliberately departed from his usual 
 soft and reflective style of ending in order to express 
 the peculiar note of discord which is produced by the 
 so-called "satisfaction" of revenge. Medea's curious 
 cry : " Oh, thy voice ! It hurts me sore !" shows that 
 the effect is intentional. 
 
 P. 77, 1. 1379, A still green sepulchre.] — There was a 
 yearly festival in the precinct of Hera Acraia, near 
 Corinth, celebrating the deaths of Medea's children. 
 This festival, together with its ritual and " sacred leg- 
 end," evidently forms the germ of the whole tragedy. 
 Cf. the Trozenian rites over the tomb of Hippolytus, 
 Hip. 1424 fl. 
 
 P. 77, 1. 1386, The hands of thine old Argo.]— Jason, 
 left friendless and avoided by his kind, went back to 
 live with his old ship, now rotting on the shore. While 
 he was sleeping under it, a beam of wood fell upon 
 him and broke his head. It is a most grave mistake 
 to treat the line as spurious. 
 
Br THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 HISTORY OF ANCIENT GREEK LITERATURE. 
 
 ANDROMACHE : A Play. 
 
 CARLYON SAHIB : A Play. 
 
 THE EXPLOITATION OF INFERIOR RACES 
 IN ANCIENT AND MODERN TIMES : An 
 Essay in ' Liberalism and the Empire, ' 
 
 EURIPIDIS FABULAE: Brevi Adnotatione Critica 
 Instructae, Vols. I. and II. 
 
 EURIPIDES : HiPPOLYTus ; Bacchae ; Aristophanes' 
 ' Frogs. ' Translated into English verse. 
 
 EURIPIDES : The Trojan Women. Translated into 
 English verse. 
 
 EURIPIDES : Electra. Translated into English verse. 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 
 
THE ATHENIAN DRAMA 
 
 FOR ENGLISH READERS 
 
 A Series of Verse Translations of the Greek 
 
 Dramatic Poets, with Commentaries and 
 
 Explanatory Notes. 
 
 Crown 870, cloth, gilt top, 7s. 6d. each net. 
 
 Each Volume Illustrated from ancient 
 
 Sculptures and Vase-Fainting. 
 
 AESCHYLUS : The Orestean Trilogy. By Prof. 
 G. C. Warr. With an Introduction on The 
 Rise of Greek Tragedy, and 1 3 Illustrations. 
 
 SOPHOCLES: (Edipui Tyrannus and Coloneus, 
 and Antigone. By Prof. J. S. Phillimore. 
 With an Introduction on Sophocles and his 
 Treatment of Tragedy, and 16 Illustrations. 
 
 EURIPIDES: Hippolytus ; Bacchae ; Aristo- 
 phanes' * Frogs.' By Prof. Gilbert Murray. 
 With an Appendix on The Lost Tragedies of 
 Euripides, and an Introduction on The Signi- 
 ficance of the Bacchae in Athenian History, and 
 1 2 Illustrations. [Fifth Edition. 
 
 ALSO UNIFORM WITH THE ABOVE 
 THE HOMERIC HYMNS. A New Prose 
 Rendering by Andrew Lang, with Essays 
 Critical and Explanatory, and 14 Illustrations. 
 
 THE PLAYS OF EURIPIDES 
 Translated into English Rhyming Verse, with 
 Explanatory Notes, by Prof. Gilbert Murray. 
 
 Hippolytus. 1 6th Thousand. 
 The Bacchae. 12th Thous. 
 The Trojan Women. 1 3th Th. 
 Electra. 1 5th Thousand. 
 Medea. loth Thousand. 
 Iphigenta in Tauris. 8th Th. 
 Rhesus. 3rd Thousand. 
 
 The Frogs of Aristophanes. 
 loth Thousand. 
 
 (EdipusTyrannus of Sophocles. 
 1 2th Thousand. , 
 
 Paper Corers, is. 
 each net. 
 
 Also crown 8vo, 
 cloth, gilt top, 
 2s. each net. 
 
 ANDROMACHE : an Original Play by Prof. 
 Gilbert Murray. 
 
THE 
 
 TROJAN WOMEN 
 
 OF 
 
 EURIPIDES 
 
 TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH RHYMING VERSE 
 WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES BY 
 
 GILBERT MURRAY, LL.D., D.Litt. 
 
 REGIUS FKOFESSOR OF GREEK IN THE UNIVERITY OF OXFORD 
 
 THIRTEENTH THOUSAND 
 
 LONDON 
 
 GEORGE ALLEN & COMPANY, LTD, 
 
 1914 
 
 [All rights reserved] 
 
First Edition, March 1905 
 Reprinted May 1905 
 
 „ November 1908 
 
 ,, December 1910 
 
 ,j January 1912 
 
 ,, April 1914 
 
 Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson &* Co, 
 
 at the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTE 
 
 Judged by common standards, the TroSdes is far from 
 a perfect play ; it is scarcely even a good play. It 
 is an intense study of one great situation, with little 
 plot, little construction, little or no relief or variety. 
 The only movement of the drama is a gradual ex- 
 tinguishing of all the familiar lights of human life, 
 with, perhaps, at t he end, a suggestion that in th e 
 utter ness of night, when all fears o f a possible worse 
 ^Jtbjn g are passed, there is in some sense peace and 
 even glory . But the situation itself has at least this 
 dramatic value, that it is diflFerent from what it seems. 
 The consummation of a great conquest, a thing 
 celebrated in paeans and thanksgivings, the very 
 height of the day-dreams of unregenerate man — it 
 seems to be a great joy, and it is in truth a great 
 misery. It is conquest seen when the thrill of battle 
 is over, and nothing remains but to wait and think. 
 We feel in the background the presence of the 
 conquerors, sinister and disappointed phantoms ; of 
 the conquered men, after long torment, now resting 
 in death. But the living drama for Euripides lay in 
 the conquered women. It is from them that he has 
 named his play and built up his scheme of parts : four 
 figures clearly lit and heroic, the others in varying 
 grades of characterisation, nameless and barely articu- 
 late, mere half-heard voices of an eternal sorrow. 
 
6 INTRODUCTORY NOTE 
 
 Indeed, the most usual condemnation of the play 
 is not that it is dull, but that it is too harrowing; 
 that scene after scene passes beyond the due limits 
 of tragic art. There are points to be pleaded against 
 this criticism. The very beauty of the most fearful 
 scenes, in spite of their fearfiilness, is one ; the quick 
 comfort of the lyrics is another, falling like a spell of 
 peace when the strain is too hard to bear (cf. p. 89). 
 But the main defence is that, like many of the 
 greatest works of art, the TroUdes is something more 
 than art. It is also a prophecy, a bearing of witn ess. 
 AmLthe.groB het, bound to deliv er his message, walks 
 ou^ide_the.xegular-ffiays of the artist. 
 
 For some time before the TroSdes was produced, 
 Athens, now entirely in the hands of the War Party, 
 had been engaged in an enterprise which, though on 
 military grounds defensible, was bitterly resented by 
 the more humane minority, and has been selected by 
 Thucydides as the great crucial crime of the war. 
 She had succeeded in compelling the neutral Dorian 
 island of MSlos to take up arms against her, and after 
 a long siege had conquered the quiet and immemori- 
 ally ancient town, massacred the men and sold the 
 women and children into slavery. M^los fell in the 
 autumn of 416 B.C. The Troades was produced in 
 the following spring. And while the gods of the 
 prologue were prophesying destruction at sea for the 
 sackers of Troy, the fleet of the sackers of M^los, 
 flushed with conquest and marked by a slight but un- 
 forgettable taint of sacrilege, was actually preparing 
 to set sail for its fatal enterprise against Sicily. 
 
 Not, of course, that we have in the TroSdes a case 
 of political allusion. Far from it. Euripides does not 
 
INTRODUCTORY NOTE 7 
 
 mean M^los when he says Troy, nor mean Alcibiades' 
 fleet when he speaks of Agamemnon's. But he writes 
 under the influence of a year which to him, as to 
 ^^Qi ucydides, had been fille d full of indignan t pity 
 ,and_of dire foreboding. Thi s tragedy is perhaps, in 
 "F.i]rnppgn lifprati ^re, the first great expression of t he 
 spirit of pit y for mankind exalted into a movin g 
 principle ; a principle which has made the most 
 precious, and possibly the most destructive, elements 
 of innumerable rebellions, revolutions, and martyr- 
 doms, and of at least two great religions. 
 
 Pity is a rebel passion. Its hand is against the 
 strong, against the organised force of society, against 
 conventional sanctions and accepted Gods. It is the 
 Kingdom of Heaven within us fighting against the 
 brute powers of the world ; and it is apt to have those 
 qualities of unreason, of contempt for the counting of 
 costs and the balancing of sacrifices, of recklessness, and 
 even, in the last resort, of ruthlessness, which so often 
 mark the paths of heavenly things and the doings of 
 the children of light. It brings not peace, but a sword. 
 
 So it was with Euripides. The Troades itself has 
 indeed almost no fierceness and singularly little thought 
 of revenge. It is only the crying of one of the great 
 wrongs of the world wrought into music, as it were, 
 and made beautiful by " the most tragic of the poets." 
 But its author lived ever after in a deepening atmos- 
 phere of strife and even of hatred, down to the day 
 when, " because almost all in Athens rejoiced at his 
 suffering," he took his way to the remote valleys of 
 Macedon to write the Bacchae and to die. 
 
 G. M. 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 
 
CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY 
 
 Thb God Poseidon. 
 
 The Goddess Pallas Athena. 
 
 Hecuba, Queen of Troy, wife of Priam, mother of Hector and Paris. 
 Cassandra, daughter of Hecuba, a prophetess. 
 Andromache, wife of Hector, Prince of Troy. 
 Helen, wife of MenelaUs, King of Sparta ; carried off by Paris, 
 Prince of Troy. 
 
 Talthybius, Herald of the Greeks. 
 
 Menelaus, King of Sparta, and, together with his brother Aga' 
 memnon, General of the Greeks. 
 
 Soldiers attendant on Talthybius and Menelaus. 
 Chorus of Captive Trojan Women, young and old, 
 maiden and married. 
 
 The Troddes was first acted in the year 415 B.C. " The first 
 prize was won by Xenocles, whoever he may have been, with the 
 four plays Oedipus, Lycaon, Bacchae and Athamas, a Satyr-plc^. 
 The second by Euripides with the Alexander, Palamldls, Troddes 
 and Sisyphus, a Satyr-play." — Aelian, Faria Historia, ii. 8. 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 
 
 The scene represents a battlefield^ a few days after the 
 battle. At the back are the walls of Troy, partially 
 ruined. In front of them, to right and lefty are some 
 hutSf containing those of the Captive Women who 
 have been specially set apart for the chief Greek 
 leaders. At one side some dead bodies of armed men 
 are visible. In front a tall woman with white hair 
 is lying on the ground asleep. 
 
 It is the dusk of early dawn, before sunrise. The figure 
 of the god Poseidon is dimly seen before the walls. 
 
 Poseidon. 
 
 Up from Aegean caverns, pool by pool 
 Of blue salt sea, where feet most beautiful 
 Of Nereid maidens weave beneath the foam 
 Their long sea-dances, I, their lord, am come, 
 Poseidon of the Sea. 'Twas I whose power. 
 With great Apollo, builded tower by tower 
 These walls of Troy ; and still my care doth stand 
 True to the ancient People of my hand ; 
 Which now as smoke is perished, in the shock 
 Of Argive spears. Down from Parnassus' rock 
 The Greek Epeios came, of Phocian seed, 
 And wrought by Pallas' mysteries a Steed 
 Marvellous, big with arms ; and through my wall 
 It passed, a death-fraught image magical. 
 
12 EURIPIDES 
 
 The groves are empty and the sanctuaries 
 Run red with blood. Unburied Priam lies 
 By his own hearth, on God's high altar-stair, 
 And Phrygian gold goes forth and raiment rare 
 To the Argive ships ; and weary soldiers roam 
 Waiting the wind thaf^lows at last for home, 
 For wives and children, left long years away, 
 Beyond the seed's tenth fullness and decay. 
 To work this land's undoing. 
 
 And for me, 
 Since Argive Hera conquereth, and she 
 Who wrought with Hera to the Phrygians' woe, 
 Pallas, behold, I bow mine head and go 
 Forth from great Ilion and mine altars old. 
 When a still city lieth in the hold 
 Of Desolation, all God's spirit there 
 Is sick and turns from worship. — Hearken where 
 The ancient River waileth with a voice 
 Of many women, portioned by the choice 
 Of war amid new lords, as the lots leap 
 For Thessaly, or Argos, or the steep 
 Of Theseus' Rock. And others yet there are, 
 High women, chosen from the waste of war 
 For the great kings,) behind these portals hid ; 
 And with them that Laconian Tyndarid, 
 Helen, like them a prisoner and a prize. 
 
 And this unhappy one — would any eyes 
 Gaze now on Hecuba ? Here at the Gates 
 She lies 'mid many tears for many fates 
 Of wrong. One child beside Achilles' grave 
 In secret slain, Polyxena the brave. 
 Lies bleeding. Priam and his sons are gone ; 
 And, lo, Cassandra, she the Chosen One, 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 13 
 
 Whom Lord Apollo spared to walk her way 
 A swift and virgin spirit, on this day 
 Lust hath her, and she goeth garlanded 
 A bride of wrath to Agamemnon's bed. 
 
 [He turns to go ; and another divine Presence 
 becomes visible in the dusk. It is the 
 goddess Pallas Athena. 
 O happy long ago, farewell, farewell. 
 Ye shining towers and mine own citadel ; 
 Broken by Pallas, Child of God, or still 
 Thy roots had held thee true. 
 
 Pallas. 
 
 Is it the will 
 Of God's high Brother, to whose hand is given 
 Great power of old, and worship of all Heaven, 
 To suffer speech from one whose enmities 
 This day are cast aside ? 
 
 Poseidon. 
 
 His will it is : 
 Kindred and long companionship withal. 
 Most high Athena, are things magical. 
 
 Pallas. 
 
 Blest be thy gentle mood ! — Methinks I see 
 A road of comfort here, for thee and me. 
 
 Poseidon. 
 
 Thou hast some counsel of the Gods, or word 
 Spoken of Zeus ? Or is it tidings heard 
 From some far Spirit f 
 
14 EURIPIDES 
 
 Pallas. 
 
 For this Ilion's sake, 
 Whereon we tread, I seek thee, and would make 
 My hand as thine. 
 
 Poseidon. 
 
 Hath that old hate and deep 
 Failed, where she lieth in her ashen sleep i 
 Thou pitiest her ? 
 
 Pallas. 
 
 Speak first ; wilt thou be one 
 In heart with me and hand till all be done i 
 
 Poseidon. 
 
 Yea ; but lay bare thy heart. For this land's sake 
 Thou comest, not for Hellas ? 
 
 Pallas, 
 
 I would make 
 Mine ancient enemies laugh for joy, and bring 
 On these Greek ships a bitter homecoming. 
 
 Poseidon. 
 
 Swift is thy spirit's path, and strange withal. 
 And hot thy love and hate, where'er they fall. 
 
 Pallas. 
 
 A deadly wrong they did me, yea within 
 Mine holy place : thou knowest ? 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 15 
 
 Poseidon. 
 
 I know the sin 
 Of Ajax, when he cast Cassandra down . . . 
 
 Pallas. 
 
 And no man rose and smote him ; not a frown 
 Nor word from all the Greeks ! 
 
 Poseidon. 
 
 And 'twas thine hand 
 That gave them Troy ! 
 
 Pallas. 
 
 Therefore with thee I stand 
 To smite them. 
 
 Poseidon. 
 
 All thou cravest, even now 
 Is ready in mine heart. What seekest thou i 
 
 Pallas. 
 
 An homecoming that striveth ever more 
 And Cometh to no home. 
 
 Poseidon. 
 
 Here on the shore 
 Wouldst hold them or amid mine own salt foam ? 
 
 Pallas. 
 
 When the last ship hath bared her sail for home ! 
 
 Zeus shall send rain, long rain and flaw of driven 
 Hail, and a whirling darkness blown from heaven ; 
 
i6 EURIPIDES 
 
 To me his levin-light he promiseth 
 
 O'er ships and men, for scourging and hot death : 
 
 Do thou make wild the roads of the sea, and steep 
 
 With war of waves and yawning of the deep, 
 
 Till dead men choke Euboea's curling bay. 
 
 So Greece shall dread even in an after day 
 
 My house, nor scorn the Watchers of strange lands ! 
 
 Poseidon. 
 
 I give thy boon unbartered. These mine hands 
 
 Shall stir the waste Aegean ; reefs that cross 
 
 The Delian pathways, jag-torn Myconos, 
 
 Scyros and Lemnos, yea, and storm-driven 
 
 Caph^reus with the bones of drowned men 
 
 Shall glut him, — Go thy ways, and bid the Sire 
 
 Yield to thine hand the arrows of his fire. 
 
 Then wait thine hour, when the last ship shall wind 
 
 Her cable coil for home ! [Exit Pallas. 
 
 How are ye blind. 
 Ye treaders down of cities, ye that cast 
 Temples to desolation, and lay waste 
 Tombs, the untrodden sanctuaries where lie 
 The ancient dead ; yourselves so soon to die ! 
 
 [Exit Poseidon, 
 
 The day slowly dawns : Hecuba wakes. 
 Hecuba. 
 
 Up from the earth, O weary head ! 
 This is not Troy, about, above — 
 Not Troy, nor we the lords thereof. 
 
 Thou breaking neck, be strengthened ! 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 17 
 
 Endure and chafe not. The winds rave 
 And falter. Down the world's wide road, 
 Float, float where streams the breath of God ; 
 
 Nor turn thy prow to breast the wave. 
 
 Ah woe ! . . . For what woe lacketh here ? 
 
 My children lost, my land, my lord. 
 
 O thou great wealth of glory, stored 
 Of old in Ilion, year by year 
 
 We watched . . . and wert thou nothingness ? 
 
 What is there that I fear to say ? 
 
 And yet, what help ? . . . Ah, well-a-day. 
 This ache of lying, comfortless 
 
 And haunted ! Ah, my side, my brow 
 And temples ! All with changeful pain 
 My body rocketh, and would fain 
 Move to the tune of tears that flow : 
 For tears are music too, and keep 
 A song unheard in hearts that weep. 
 
 [She rises and gazes towards the Greek ships 
 far off on the shore. 
 
 O ships, O crowding faces 
 Of ships, O hurrying beat 
 Of oars as of crawling feet, 
 
 How found ye our holy places ? 
 
 Threading the narrows through. 
 Out from the gulfs of the Greek, 
 
 Out to the clear dark blue, 
 
 With hate ye came and with joy, 
 
 And the noise of your music flew, 
 Clarion and pipe did shriek, 
 
 B 
 
i8 EURIPIDES 
 
 As the coilW cords ye threw, 
 Held in the heart of Troy ! 
 
 What sought ye then that ye came i 
 
 A woman, a thing abhorred : 
 
 A King's wife that her lord 
 Hateth : and Castor's shame 
 
 Is hot for her sake, and the reeds 
 Of old Eur6tas stir 
 With the noise of the name of her. 
 
 She slew mine ancient King, 
 
 The Sower of fifty Seeds, 
 And cast forth mine and me. 
 
 As shipwrecked men, that cling 
 To a reef in an empty sea. 
 
 Who am I that I sit 
 
 Here at a Greek king's door, 
 Yea, in the dust of it ? 
 
 A slave that men drive before, 
 A woman that hath no home. 
 
 Weeping alone for her dead ; 
 
 A low and bruised head. 
 And the glory struck therefrom. 
 [^She starts up from her solitary brooding^ and 
 
 calls to the other Trojan Women in the huts. 
 
 Mothers of the Brazen Spear, 
 
 And maidens, maidens, brides of shame, 
 Troy is a smoke, a dying flame ; 
 Together we will weep for her : 
 
 1 call ye as a wide-wing'd bird 
 
 Calleth the children of her fold, 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 19 
 
 To cry, ah, not the cry men heard 
 
 In Ilion, not the songs of old. 
 That echoed when my hand was true 
 On Priam's sceptre, and my feet 
 Touched on the stone one signal beat. 
 And out the Dardan music rolled ; 
 And Troy's great Gods gave ear thereto. 
 [Tht door of one of the huts on the right opens, 
 and the Women steal out severally^ startled 
 and afraid. 
 
 First Woman. ro^ ^t 
 
 \htrophe 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 ! 
 
20 EURIPIDES 
 
 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 1 
 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 I 
 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. 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 21 
 
 Fourth Woman. 
 
 Argos, belike, or Phthia shall it be, 
 Or some lone island of the tossing sea, 
 Far, far from Troy i 
 
 Hecuba. 
 
 And I the agW, 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 I 
 
 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 I 
 
22 EURIPIDES 
 
 Another, 
 
 Or pitchers to and fro to bear 
 To some Pirdnd on the hill, 
 Where the proud water craveth still 
 Its broken-hearted minister. 
 Another. 
 
 God guide me yet to Theseus' land, 
 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, 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 23 
 
 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, 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.j 
 
24 EURIPIDES 
 
 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, nay : a bride herself, for the King's bed, 
 
 Hecuba. 
 
 The sainted of Apollo ? And her own 
 
 Prize that God promised 
 Out of the golden clouds, her virgin crown ? . , . 
 
 Talthybius. 
 He loved, her for that same strange holiness. 
 
 Hecuba. 
 
 Daughter, away, away, 
 
 Cast all away, 
 The haunted Keys, the lonely stole's array 
 That kept thy body like a sacred place ! 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 25 
 
 Talthybius. 
 Is't not rare fortune that the King hath smiled 
 On such a maid ? 
 
 Hecuba. 
 What of that other child 
 Ye reft from me but now ? 
 
 Talthybius {speaking with some constraint). 
 Polyxena ? Or what child meanest thou ? 
 
 Hecuba. 
 The same. What man now hath her, or what doom f 
 
 Talthybius. 
 She rests apart, to watch Achilles' tomb. 
 
 Hecuba. 
 To watch a tomb ? My daughter ? What is this ? . . . 
 Speak, Friend ? What fashion of the laws of Greece ? 
 
 Talthybius. 
 Count thy maid happy ! . She hath naught of ill 
 To fear . . . 
 
 Hecuba. 
 What meanest thou ? She liveth still ? 
 
 Talthybius. 
 I mean, she hath one toil that holds her free 
 From all toil else. 
 
 Hecuba. 
 What of Andromache, 
 Wife of mine iron-hearted Hector, where 
 Journeyeth she ? 
 
26 EURIPIDES 
 
 Talthybius. 
 Pyrrhus, Achilles' son, hath taken her. 
 
 Hecuba. 
 
 And I, whose slave am I, 
 The shaken head, the arm that creepeth by, 
 Staff-crutch^d, like to fall ? 
 
 Talthybius. 
 Odysseus, Ithaca's king, hath thee for thrall. 
 
 Hecuba. 
 
 Beat, beat the crownless head : 
 Rend the cheek till the tears run red ! 
 A lying man and a pitiless 
 Shall be lord of me, a heart full-flown 
 
 With scorn of righteousness : 
 O heart of a beast where law is none, 
 Where all things change so that lust be fed, 
 The oath and the deed, the right and the wrong, 
 Even the hate of the forked tongue : 
 Even the hate turns and is cold. 
 False as the love that was false of old I 
 
 O Women of Troy, weep for me ! 
 Yea, I am gone : I am gone my ways. 
 Mine is the crown of misery, 
 The bitterest day of all our dajrs. 
 
 Leader. 
 
 Thy fate thou knowest, Queen : but I know not 
 What lord of South or North has won my lot. 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 27 
 
 Talthybius. 
 
 Go, seek Cassandra, men ! Make your best speed, 
 That I may leave her with the King, and lead 
 These others to their divers lords, . . . Ha, there ! 
 What means that sudden light ? Is it the flare 
 Of torches ? 
 
 {Light is seen shining through the crevices of the 
 second hut on the right. He moves towards it. 
 Would they fire their prison rooms, 
 Or how, these dames of Troy? — 'Fore God, the dooms 
 Are known, and now they burn themselves and die 
 Rather than sail with us ! How savagely 
 In days like these a free neck chafes beneath 
 Its burden ! . . . Open ! Open quick ! Such death 
 Were bliss to them, it may be : but "twill bring 
 Much wrath, and leave me shamed before the King ! 
 
 Hecuba. 
 There is no fire, no peril : 'tis my child, 
 Cassandra, by the breath of God made wild. 
 
 [TAe door opens from within and Cassandra 
 enters, white-robed and wreathed like a 
 Priestess, a great torch in her hand. She 
 is singing softly to herself and does not see the 
 Herald or the scene before her. 
 
 Cassandra. 
 Lift, lift it high : [Strophe. 
 
 Give it to mine hand ! 
 Lo, I bear a flame 
 Unto God ! I praise his name. 
 I light with a burning brand 
 This sanctuary. 
 
28 EURIPIDES 
 
 Blessed is he that shall wed, 
 
 And blessed, blessed am I 
 
 In Argos : a bride to He 
 With a king in a king's bed. 
 
 Hail, O Hymen red, 
 
 O Torch that makest one ! 
 
 Weepest thou, Mother mine own ? 
 Surely thy cheek is pale 
 With tears, tears that wail 
 
 For a land and a father dead. 
 
 But I go garlanded : 
 I am the Bride of Desire : 
 
 Therefore my torch is borne — 
 
 Lo, the lifting of morn, 
 Lo, the leaping of fire ! — 
 
 For thee, O Hymen bright. 
 
 For thee, O Moon of the Deep, 
 
 So Law hath charged, for the light 
 Of a maid's last sleep. 
 
 Awake, O my feet, awake : i^»t"irophe 
 Our father's hope is won ! 
 Dance as the dancing skies 
 Over him, where he lies 
 Happy beneath the sun ! . . . 
 Lo, the Ring that I make . . . 
 [She makes a circle round her with the torch^ 
 and visions appear to her, 
 
 Apollo ! . . . Ah, is it thou ? 
 
 shrine in the laurels cold, 
 
 1 bear thee still, as of old, 
 
 Mine incense ! Be near to me now. 
 [She waves the torch as though bearing incense. 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 29 
 
 O Hymen, Hymen fleet : 
 
 Quick torch that makest one ! . . . 
 
 How ? Am I still alone ? 
 Laugh as I laugh, and twine 
 In the dance, O Mother mine : 
 
 Dear feet, be near my feet ! 
 
 Come, greet ye Hymen, greet 
 
 Hymen with songs of pride : 
 Sing to him loud and long. 
 Cry, cry, when the song 
 
 Faileth, for joy of the bride ! 
 
 O Damsels girt in the gold 
 
 Of Ilion, cry, cry ye, 
 For him that is doomed of old 
 
 To be lord of me ! 
 
 Leader. 
 
 O hold the damsel, lest her tranced feet 
 
 Lift her afar, Queen, toward the Hellene fleet ! 
 
 Hecuba. 
 
 O Fire, Fire, where men make marriages 
 
 Surely thou hast thy lot ; but what are these 
 
 Thou bringest flashing ? Torches savage-wild 
 
 And far from mine old dreams. — Alas, my child, 
 
 How little dreamed I then of wars or red 
 
 Spears of the Greek to lay thy bridal bed ! 
 
 Give me thy brand ; it hath no holy blaze 
 
 Thus in thy frenzy flung. Nor all thy days 
 
 Nor all thy griefs have changed them yet, nor learned 
 
 Wisdom. — Ye women, bear the pine half burned 
 
30 EURIPIDES 
 
 To the chamber back ; and let your drowned eyes 
 Answer the music of these bridal cries ! 
 
 [^She takes the torch and gives it to one of 
 the women. 
 
 Cassandra. 
 
 O Mother, fill mine hair with happy flowers, 
 And speed me forth. Yea, if my spirit cowers, 
 Drive me with wrath ! So liveth Loxias, 
 A bloodier bride than ever Helen was 
 Go I to Agamemnon, Lord most high 
 Of Hellas ! , . . I shall kill him, mother ; I 
 Shall kill him, and lay waste his house with fire 
 As he laid ours. My brethren and my sire 
 Shall win again . . . 
 
 {Checking herself) But part I must let be. 
 And speak not. Not the axe that craveth me. 
 And more than me ; not the dark wanderings 
 Of mother-murder that my bridal brings. 
 And all the House of Atreus down, down, down . , 
 
 Nay, I will show thee. Even now this town 
 Is happier than the Greeks. I know the power 
 Of God is on me : but this little hour, 
 Wilt thou but listen, I will hold him back ! 
 
 One love, one woman's beauty, o'er the track 
 Of hunted Helen, made their myriads fall. 
 And this their King so wise, who ruleth all, 
 What wrought he ? Cast out Love that Hate might 
 
 feed : 
 Gave to his brother his own child, his seed 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 31 
 
 Of gladness, that a woman fled, and fain 
 To fly for ever, should be turned again ! 
 
 So the days waned, and armies on the shore 
 Of Simois stood and strove and died. Wherefore ? 
 No man had moved their landmarks ; none had 
 
 shook 
 Their wallW towns. — And they whom Ares took, 
 Had never seen their children : no wife came 
 With gentle arms to shroud the limbs of them 
 For burial, in a strange and angry earth 
 Laid dead. And there at home, the same long dearth : 
 Women that lonely died, and aged men 
 Waiting for sons that ne'er should turn again. 
 Nor know their graves, nor pour drink-olFerings, 
 To still the unslaked dust. These be the things 
 The conquering Greek hath won I 
 
 But we — what pride, 
 What praise of men were sweeter ? — fighting died 
 To save our people. And when war was red 
 Around us, friends upbore the gentle dead 
 Home, and dear women's hands about them wound 
 White shrouds, and here they sleep in the old 
 
 ground 
 Beloved. And the rest long days fought on, 
 Dwelling with wives and children, not alone 
 And joyless, like these Greeks. 
 
 And Hector's woe. 
 What is it ? He is gone, and all men know 
 His glory, and how true a heart he bore. 
 It is the gift the Greek hath brought ! Of yore 
 Men saw him not, nor knew him. Yea, and even 
 Paris hath loved withal a child of heaven : 
 
32 EURIPIDES 
 
 Else had his love but been as others are. 
 
 Would ye be wise, ye Cities, fly from war ! 
 Yet if war come, there is a crown in death 
 For her that striveth well and perisheth 
 Unstained : to die in evil were the stain ! 
 Therefore, O Mother, pity not thy slain, 
 Nor Troy, nor me, the bride. Thy direst foe 
 And mine by this my wooing is brought low. 
 
 Talthybius {at last breaking through the spell 
 that has held him). 
 
 I swear, had not Apollo made thee mad. 
 
 Not lightly hadst thou flung this shower of bad 
 
 Bodings, to speed my General o'er the seas ! 
 
 'Fore God, the wisdoms and the greatnesses 
 Of seeming, are they hollow all, as things 
 Of naught ? This son of Atreus, of all kings 
 Most mighty, hath so bowed him to the love 
 Of this mad maid, and chooseth her above 
 All women ! By the Gods, rude though I be, 
 I would not touch her hand ! 
 
 Look thou ; I see 
 Thy lips are blind, and whatso words they speak, 
 Praises of Troy or shamings of the Greek, 
 I cast to the four winds 1 Walk at my side 
 In peace ! . . . And heaven content him of his 
 bride ! [He moves as though to go, but turns to 
 
 Hecuba, and speaks more gently. 
 And thou shalt follow to Odysseus' host 
 When the word comes. 'Tis a wise queen thou go'st 
 To serve, and gentle : so the Ithacans say. 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 33 
 
 Cassandra {seeing for the first time the Herald and 
 all the scene). 
 
 How fierce a slave ! . , , O Heralds, Heralds ! Yea, 
 
 Voices of Death ; and mists are over them 
 
 Of dead men's anguish, like a diadem. 
 
 These v/eak abhorrW things that serve the hate 
 
 Of kings and peoples ! . . . 
 
 To Odysseus' gate 
 My mother goeth, say'st thou ? Is God's word 
 As naught, to me in silence ministered, 
 That in this place she dies ? , . . {To herself) No 
 
 more ; no more ! 
 Why should I speak the shame of them, before 
 They come ? . . . Little he knows, that hard-beset 
 Spirit, what deeps of woe await him yet ; 
 Till all these tears of ours and harrowings 
 Of Troy, by his, shall be as golden things. 
 Ten years behind ten years athwart his way 
 Waiting : and home, lost and unfriended . . . 
 
 Nay : 
 Why should Odysseus' labours vex my breath ? 
 On ; hasten ; guide me to the house of Death, 
 To lie beside my bridegroom ! . . . 
 
 Thou Greek King, 
 Who deem'st thy fortune now so high a thing, 
 Thou dust of the earth, a lowlier bed I see, 
 In darkness, not in light, awaiting thee : 
 And with thee, with thee . . . there, where yawneth 
 
 plain 
 A rift of the hills, raging with winter rain, 
 
 c 
 
34 EURIPIDES 
 
 Dead . . . and out-cast . . . and naked ... It is I 
 Beside my bridegroom : and the wild beasts cry, 
 And ravin on God's chosen ! 
 
 [She clasps her hands to her brow and feels the 
 wreaths. 
 
 O, ye wreaths ! 
 Ye garlands of my God, whose love yet breathes 
 About me ; shapes of joyance mystical ; 
 Begone ! I have forgot the festival. 
 Forgot the joy. Begone ! I tear ye, so. 
 From off me ! . . . Out on the swift winds they go. 
 With flesh still clean I give them back to thee. 
 Still white, O God, O light that leadest me ! 
 
 [Turning upon the Herald, 
 Where lies the galley ? Whither shall I tread ? 
 See that your watch be set, your sail be spread. 
 The wind comes quick ! . . . Three Powers — mark 
 
 me, thou ! — 
 There be in Hell, and one walks with thee now ! 
 Mother, farewell, and weep not ! O my sweet 
 City, my earth-clad brethren, and thou great 
 Sire that begat us ; but a space, ye Dead, 
 And I am with you : yea, with crownW head 
 I come, and shining from the fires that feed 
 On these that slay us now, and all their seed ! 
 
 [She goes out, followed by Talthybius and the 
 Soldiers : Hecuba, after waiting for an in- 
 stant motionlessy falls to the ground. 
 
 Leader of Chorus. 
 
 The Queen, ye Watchers ! See, she falls, she falls, 
 Rigid without a word I O sorry thralls, 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 35 
 
 Too late ! And will ye leave her downstricken, 
 A woman, and so old ? Raise her again I 
 
 [Some women go to Hecuba, hut she refuses their 
 aid and speaks without rising, 
 
 Hecuba. 
 
 Let lie . . . the love we seek not is no love . . , 
 
 This ruined body ! Is the fall thereof 
 
 Too deep for all that now is over me 
 
 Of anguish, and hath been, and yet shall be ? 
 
 Ye Gods . . . Alas ! Why call on things so weak 
 
 For aid ? Yet there is something >that doth seek, 
 
 Crying, for God, when one of us hath woe. 
 
 O, I will think of things gone long ago 
 
 And weave them to a song, like one more tear 
 
 In the heart of misery. , . . All kings we were ; 
 
 And I must wed a king. And sons I brought 
 
 My lord King, many sons . . . nay, that were naught ; 
 
 But high strong princes, of all Troy the best. 
 
 Hellas nor Troas nor the garnered East 
 
 Held such a mother ! And all these things beneath 
 
 The Argive spear I saw cast down in death, 
 
 And shore these tresses at the dead men's feet. 
 
 Yea, and the gardener of my garden great. 
 It was not any noise of him nor tale 
 I wept for ; these eyes saw him, when the pale 
 Was broke, and there at the altar Priam fell 
 Murdered, and round him all his citadel 
 Sacked. And my daughters, virgins of the fold, 
 Meet to be brides of mighty kings, behold, 
 'Twas for the Greek I bred them I All are gone ; 
 And no hope left, that I shall look upon 
 Their faces any more, nor they on mine. 
 
36 EURIPIDES 
 
 And now my feet tread on the utmost line : 
 An old, old slave-woman, I pass below 
 Mine enemies' gates ; and whatso task they know 
 For this age basest, shall be mine ; the door, 
 Bowing, to shut and open. ... I that bore 
 Hector ! . . . and meal to grind, and this racked head 
 Bend to the stones after a royal bed ; 
 Torn rags about me, aye, and under them 
 Torn flesh ; 'twill make a woman sick for shame ! 
 Woe's me ; and all that one man's arms might hold 
 One woman, what long seas have o'er me rolled 
 And roll for ever 1 . . . O my child, whose white 
 Soul laughed amid the laughter of God's light, 
 Cassandra, what hands and how strange a day 
 Have loosed thy zone ! And thou, Polyxena, 
 Where art thou ? And my sons ? Not any seed 
 Of man nor woman now shall help my need. 
 
 Why raise me any more ? What hope have I 
 To hold me ? Take this slave that once trod high 
 In Ilion ; cast her on her bed of clay 
 Rock-pillowed, to lie down, and pass away 
 Wasted with tears. And whatso man they call 
 Happy, believe not ere the last day fall 1 
 
 Chorus. [^Strophe. 
 
 O Muse, be near me now, and make 
 A strange song for Ilion's sake. 
 Till a tone of tears be about mine ears 
 And out of my lips a music break 
 For Troy, Troy, and the end of the years : 
 
 When the wheels of the Greek above me pressed. 
 And the mighty horse-hoofs beat my breast ; 
 And all around were the Argivc spears 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 37 
 
 A towering Steed of golden rein — 
 
 O gold without, dark steel within ! — 
 Ramped in our gates ; and all the plain 
 
 Lay silent where the Greeks had been. 
 And a cry broke from all the folk 
 Gathered above on Ilion's rock : 
 " Up, up, O fear is over now ! 
 
 To Pallas, who hath saved us living, 
 To Pallas bear this victory- vow ! " 
 Then rose the old man from his room, 
 The merry damsel left her loom, 
 And each bound death about his brow 
 
 With minstrelsy and high thanksgiving ! 
 
 [Jntistrephe. 
 O, switt were all in Troy that day, 
 And girt them to the portal-way. 
 Marvelling at that mountain Thing 
 Smooth-carven, where the Argives lay, 
 And wrath, and Ilion's vanquishing : 
 
 Meet gift for her that spareth not, 
 
 Heaven's yokeless Rider. Up they brought 
 Through the steep gates her offering : 
 Like some dark ship that climbs the shore 
 
 On straining cables, up, where stood 
 Her marble throne, her hallowed floor, 
 
 Who lusted for her people's blood. 
 
 A very weariness of joy 
 
 Fell with the evening over Troy : 
 
 And lutes of Afric mingled there 
 
 With Phrygian songs : and many a maiden, 
 With white feet glancing light as air, 
 
38 EURIPIDES 
 
 Made happy music through the gloom : 
 And fires on many an inward room 
 All night broad-flashing, flung their glare 
 On laughing eyes and slumber-laden. 
 
 A Maiden. 
 
 I was among the dancers there 
 To Artemis, and glorying sang 
 
 Her of the Hills, the Maid most fair, 
 Daughter of Zeus : and, lo, there rang 
 
 A shout out of the dark, and fell 
 
 Deathlike from street to street, and made 
 
 A silence in the citadel : 
 
 And a child cried, as if afraid. 
 
 And hid him in his mother's veil. 
 
 Then stalked the Slayer from his den. 
 
 The hand of Pallas served her well ! 
 O blood, blood of Troy was deep 
 About the streets and altars then : 
 
 And in the wedded rooms of sleep, 
 Lo, the desolate dark alone. 
 And headless things, men stumbled on. 
 
 And forth, lo, the women go, 
 The crown of War, the crown of Woe, 
 To bear the children of the foe 
 And weep, weep, for Ilion ! 
 
 [jis the song ceases a chariot is seen approaching 
 from the town, laden with spoils. On it sits 
 a mourning Woman with a child in her 
 arms; 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 39 
 
 Leader. 
 
 Lo, yonder on the heaped crest 
 Of a Greek wain, Andromache, 
 As one that o'er an unknown sea 
 
 Tosseth ; and on her wave-borne breast 
 
 Her loved one clingeth. Hector's child, 
 Astyanax . , . O most forlorn 
 Of women, whither go'st thou, borne 
 
 'Mid Hector's bronzen arms, and piled 
 
 Spoils of the dead, and pageantry 
 Of them that hunted Ilion down ? 
 Aye, richly thy new lord shall crown 
 
 The mountain shrines of Thessaly ! 
 
 Andromache. [Strophe i. 
 
 Forth to the Greek I go. 
 
 Driven -as a beast is driven^ 
 Hec. Woe, woe ! 
 
 And. Nay, mine is woe : 
 
 Woe to none other given, 
 And the song and the crown therefor ! 
 Hec. O Zeus ! 
 
 And. He hates thee sore I 
 
 Hec. Children ! 
 And. No more, no more 
 
 To aid thee : their strife is striven ! 
 
 Hecuba. [Antistrophe i. 
 
 Troy, Troy is gone ! 
 And. Yea, and her treasure parted. 
 Hec. Gone, gone, mine own 
 
 Children, the noble-hearted I 
 
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 And. Sing sorrow. . . . 
 Hec. For me, for me ! 
 
 And. Sing for the Great City, 
 That falleth, falleth to be 
 A shadow, a fire departed. 
 
 Andromache. 
 
 [Strophe 2 
 
 Come to me, O my lover ! 
 Hec. The dark shroudeth him over. 
 
 My flesh, woman, not thine, not thine ! 
 And. Make of thine arms my cover ! 
 
 Hecuba. 
 
 [Anthtraphe 2. 
 O thou whose wound was deepest, 
 Thou that my children keepest, 
 Priam, Priam, O age-worn King, 
 Gather me where thou sleepest. 
 
 Andromache {her hands upon her heart). 
 
 [Strophe 3. 
 O here is the deep of desire, 
 Hec. (How ? And is this not woe ?) 
 
 And. For a city burned with fire ; 
 Hec. (It beateth, blow on blow.) 
 
 And. God's wrath for Paris, thy son, that he died not 
 long ago : 
 
 Who sold for his evil love 
 Troy and the towers thereof : 
 Therefore the dead men lie 
 Naked, beneath the eye 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 41 
 
 Of Pallas, and vultures croak 
 
 And flap for joy : 
 So Love hath laid his yoke 
 
 On the neck of Troy ! 
 
 Hecuba, 
 
 [Antlstrophe 3. 
 
 O mine own land, my home. 
 And. (I w^eep for thee, left forlorn,) 
 
 Hec. See'st thou what end is come ? 
 And. (And the house where my babes were born.) 
 
 Hec. a desolate Mother we leave, O children, a 
 City of scorn : 
 
 Even as the sound of a song 
 Left by the way, but long 
 Remembered, a tune of tears 
 Falling where no man hears. 
 In the old house, as rain, 
 
 For things loved of yore : 
 But the dead hath lost his pain 
 
 And weeps no more. 
 
 Leader. 
 
 How sweet are tears to them in bitter stress, 
 And sorrow, and all the songs of heaviness. 
 
 Andromache. 
 
 Mother of him of old, whose mighty spear 
 Smote Greeks like chafF, see'st thou what things are 
 here? 
 
 Hecuba. 
 
 I see God's hand, that buildeth a great crown 
 For littleness, and hath cast the mighty down. 
 
42 EURIPIDES 
 
 Andromache. 
 
 I and my babe are driven among the droves 
 Of plundered cattle. O, virhen fortune movers 
 So swift, the high heart like a slave beats low. 
 
 Hecuba, 
 'Tis fearful to be helpless. Men but now 
 Have taken Cassandra, and I strove in vain. 
 
 Andromache. 
 Ah, woe is me ; hath Ajax come again ? 
 But other evil yet is at thy gate. 
 
 Hecuba. 
 Nay, Daughter, beyond number, beyond weight 
 My evils are ! Doom raceth against doom. 
 
 Andromache. 
 Polyxena across Achilles' tomb 
 Lies slain, a gift flung to the dreamless dead. 
 
 Hecuba. 
 My sorrow ! . . . 'Tis but what Talthybius said : 
 So plain a riddle, and I read it not. 
 
 Andromache. 
 I saw her lie, and stayed this chariot ; 
 And raiment wrapt on her dead limbs, wid beat 
 My breast for her. 
 
 Hecuba {to herself). 
 
 O the foul sin of it ! 
 The wickedness ! My child. My child ! Again 
 I cry to thee. How cruelly art thou slain ! 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 43 
 
 Andromache. 
 
 She hath died her death, and howso dark it be, 
 Her death is sweeter than my misery. 
 
 Hecuba. 
 
 Death cannot be what Life is. Child ; the cup 
 Of Death is empty, and Life hath always hope. 
 
 Andromache. 
 
 Mother, having ears, hear thou this word 
 Fear-conquering, till thy heart as mine be stirred 
 With joy. To die is only not to be ; 
 
 And better to be dead than grievously 
 Living. They have no pain, they ponder not 
 Their own wrong. But the living that is 
 
 brought 
 From joy to heaviness, his soul doth roam, 
 As in a desert, lost, from its old home. 
 Thy daughter lieth now as one unborn, 
 Dead, and naught knowing of the lust and scorn 
 That slew her. And I . . . long since I drew 
 
 my bow 
 Straight at the heart of good fame ; and I know 
 My shaft hit ; and for that am I the more 
 Fallen from peace. All that men praise us for, 
 
 1 loved for Hector's sake, and sought to win. 
 I knew that alway, be there hurt therein 
 
 Or utter innocence, to roam abroad 
 Hath ill report for women ; so I trod 
 Down the desire thereof, and walked my way 
 In mine own garden. And light words and gay 
 
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 Parley of women never passed my door. 
 
 The thoughts of mine own heart ... I craved no 
 
 more . . . 
 Spoke with me, and I was happy. Constantly 
 I brought fair silence and a tranquil eye 
 For Hector's greeting, and watched well the way 
 Of living, where to guide and where obey. 
 
 And, lo ! some rumour of this peace, being gone 
 Forth to the Greek, hath cursed me. Achilles' son. 
 So soon as I was taken, for his thrall 
 Chose me. I shall do service in the hall 
 Of them that slew , . . How ? Shall I thrust aside 
 Hector's beloved face, and open wide 
 My heart to this new lord ? Oh, I should stand 
 A traitor to the dead ! And if my hand 
 And flesh shrink from him . . . lo, wrath and despite 
 O'er all the house, and I a slave ! _. 
 
 One night, 
 One night . . . aye, men have said it . . . maketh tame 
 A woman in a man's arms. . . . O shame, shame ! 
 What woman's lips can so forswear her dead. 
 And give strange kisses in another's bed ?j 
 Why, not a dumb beast, not a colt will run 
 In the yoke untroubled, when her mate is gone — 
 A thing not in God's image, dull, unmoved 
 Of reason. O my Hector ! best beloved. 
 That, being mine, wast all in all to me. 
 My prince, my wise one, O my majesty 
 Of valiance ! No man's touch had ever come 
 Near me, when thou from out my father's home 
 Didst lead me and make me thine. . . . And thou art 
 
 dead. 
 And I war-flung to slavery and the bread 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 45 
 
 Of shame in Hellas, over bitter seas_!j 
 
 What knoweth she of evils like to these, 
 That dead Polyxena, thou weepest for ? 
 There liveth not in my life any more 
 The hope that others have. Nor will I tell 
 The lie to mine own heart, that aught is well 
 Or shall be well. . . . Yet, O, to dream were sweet ! 
 
 Leader. 
 
 Thy feet have trod the pathway of my feet, 
 And thy clear sorrow teacheth me mine own. 
 
 Hecuba. 
 
 Lo, yonder ships : I ne'er set foot on one. 
 But tales and pictures tell, when over them 
 Breaketh a storm not all too strong to stem, 
 Each man strives hard, the tiller gripped, the mast 
 Manned, the hull baled, to face it : till at last 
 Too strong breaks the o'erwhelming sea : lo, then 
 They cease, and yield them up as broken men 
 To fate and the wild waters. Even so 
 I in my many sorrows bear me low, 
 Nor curse, nor strive that other things may be. 
 The great wave rolled from God hath conquered me. 
 
 But, O, let Hector and the fates that fell 
 On Hector, sleep. Weep for him ne'er so well. 
 Thy weeping shall not wake him. Honour thou 
 The new lord that is set above thee now, 
 And make of thine own gentle piety 
 A prize to lure his heart. So shalt thou be 
 A strength to them that love us, and — God knows. 
 It may be — rear this babe among his foes, 
 
46 EURIPIDES 
 
 My Hector's child, to manhood and great aid 
 For Ilion. So her stones may yet be laid 
 One on another, if God will, and wrought 
 Again to a city ! Ah, how thought to thought 
 Still beckons I . . . But what minion of the Greek 
 Is this that cometh, with new words to speak ? 
 
 [Enter Talthybius with a hand of Soldiers. He 
 comes forward ilowly and with evident disquiet. 
 
 Talthybius. 
 
 Spouse of the noblest heart that beat in Troy, 
 Andromache, hate me not ! 'Tis not in joy 
 I tell thee. But the people and the Kings 
 Have with one voice . . . 
 
 Andromache. 
 
 What is it ? Evil things 
 Are on thy lips ! 
 
 Talthybius. 
 
 'Tis ordered, this child . . . Oh, 
 How can I tell her of it ? 
 
 Andromache. 
 
 Doth he not go 
 With me, to the same master ? 
 
 Talthybius. 
 
 There is none 
 In Greece, shall e'er be master of thy son. 
 
 Andromache. 
 
 How ? Will they leave him here to build again 
 The wreck ? . . 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 47 
 
 Talthybius. 
 I know not how to tell thee plain ! 
 
 Andromache. 
 
 Thou hast a gentle heart . . . if it be ill, 
 And not good, news thou hidest I 
 
 Talthybius. 
 
 'Tis their will 
 Thy son shall die. . . . The whole vile thing is said 
 Now 1 
 
 Andromache. 
 Oh, I could have borne mine enemy's bed 1 
 
 Talthybius. 
 
 And speaking in the council of the host 
 ""Odysseus hath prevailed — 
 
 Andromache. 
 
 O lost ! lost ! lost ! . . . 
 Forgive me ! It is not easy . . . 
 
 Talthybius. 
 p- 
 
 . , . That the son 
 
 Of one so perilous be not fostered on 
 
 To manhood — 
 
 Andromache, 
 
 God ; may his own counsel fail 
 
 On his own sons 1 
 7^ 
 
48 EURIPIDES 
 
 Talthybius. 
 
 . . . But from this crested wall 
 Of Troy be dashed, and die. . . . Nay, let the thing 
 Be done. Thou shalt be wiser so. Nor cling 
 So fiercely to him. Suffer as a brave 
 Woman in bitter pain,; nor think to have 
 Strength which thou hast not. Look about thee here ! 
 Canst thou see help, or refuge anywhere ? 
 Thy land is fallen and thy lord, and thou 
 A prisoner and alone, one woman ; how 
 Canst battle against us? For thine own good 
 I would not have thee strive, nor make ill blood 
 And shame about thee. . . . Ah, nor move thy lips 
 In silence there, to cast upon the ships 
 Thy curse ! One word of evil to the host, 
 This babe shall have no burial, but be tossed 
 Naked. . . . Ah, peace ! And bear as best thou may, 
 War's fortune. So thou shalt not go thy way 
 Leaving this child unburied ; nor the Greek ' 
 Be stern against thee, if thy heart be meek ! 
 
 'Andromache {to the child). 
 
 Go, die, my best-beloved, my cherished one, 
 In fierce men's hands, leaving me here alone. 
 Thy father was too valiant ; that is why 
 They slay thee jj Other children, hke to die, 
 Might have been spared for that. But on thy head 
 His good is turned to evil. 
 
 O thou bed 
 And bridal ; O the joining of the hand, 
 That led me long ago to Hector's land 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 49 
 
 To bear, O not a lamb for Grecian swords 
 To slaughter, but a Prince o'er all the hordes 
 Enthroned of wide-flung Asia. . . . Weepest thou ? 
 Nay, why, my little one ? Thou canst not know. 
 And Father will not come ; he will not come ; 
 Not once, the great spear flashing, and the tomb 
 Riven to set thee free ]j Not one of all 
 His brethren, nor the might of Ilion's wall. 
 
 How shall it be ? One horrible spring . . . deep, 
 
 deep 
 Down. And thy neck . . . Ah God, so cometh 
 
 sleep ! . . . 
 And none to pity thee ! . . . Thou little thing 
 That curlest in my arms, what sweet scents cling 
 All round thy neck ! 'Beloved ; can it be 
 All nothing, that this bosom cradled thee 
 And fostered ; all the weary nights, wherethrough 
 I watched upon thy sickness, till I grew 
 Wasted with watching ? Kiss me. This one time 5 
 Not ever again. Put up thine arms, and climb 
 About my neck : now, kiss me, lips to lips. . , ,1 
 
 O, ye have found an anguish that outstrips 
 All tortures of the East, ye gentle Greeks ! 
 Why will ye slay this innocent, that seeks 
 No wrong ? . . . O Helen, Helen, thou ill tree 
 That Tyndareus planted, who shall deem of thee 
 As child of Zeus ? O, thou hast drawn thy breath 
 From many fathers. Madness, Hate, red Death, 
 And every rotting poison of the sky ! 
 Zeus knows thee not, thou vampire, draining dry 
 Greece and the world ! God hate thee and destroy, 
 That with those beautiful eyes hast blasted Troy, 
 And made the far-famed plains a waste withal. 
 
 o 
 
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 Quick ! take him : drag him : cast him from the wall, 
 If cast ye will ! Tear him, ye beasts, be swift 1 
 God hath undone me, and I cannot lift 
 One hand, one hand, to save my child from death . . . 
 O, hide my head for shame : fling me beneath 
 Your galleys' benches ! . . . 
 
 [^She swoons: then half-ristng. 
 
 Quick : I must begone 
 To the bridal. ... I have lost my child, my own ! 
 
 \The Soldiers close round her. 
 
 Leader. 
 
 O Troy ill-starred ; for one strange woman, one 
 Abhorred kiss, how are thine hosts undone ! 
 
 Talthybius [bending over Andromache and gradually 
 taking the Child from her). 
 
 Come, Child : let be that clasp of love 
 
 Outwearied ! Walk thy ways with me. 
 Up to the crested tower, above 
 
 Thy father's wall . . . where they decree 
 Thy soul shall perish. — Hold him : hold ! — 
 
 Would God some other man might ply 
 These charges, one of duller mould, 
 
 And nearer to the iron than 1 1 
 
 Hecuba. 
 
 O Child, they rob us of our own, 
 Child of my Mighty One outworn : 
 
 Ours, ours thou art ! — Can aught be done 
 Of deedsj can aught of pain be born^ 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 51 
 
 To aid thee ? — Lo, this beaten head, 
 This bleeding bosom ! These I spread 
 As gifts to thee. I can thus much. 
 
 Woe, woe for Troy, and woe for thee ! 
 What fall yet lacketh, ere we touch 
 
 The last dead deep of misery ? 
 [The Child, who has started back from Talthy- 
 Bius, is taken up by one of the Soldiers and 
 borne hack towards the city, while Andro- 
 mache is set again on the Chariot and driven 
 off towards the ships. Talthybius goes with 
 the Child. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 [Strophe I 
 In Salamis, filled with the foaming 
 Of billows and murmur of bees, 
 Old Telamon stayed from his roaming, 
 
 Long ago, on a throne of the seas ; 
 Looking out on the hills olive-laden. 
 
 Enchanted, where first from the earth 
 The grey-gleaming fruit of the Maiden 
 
 Athena had birth ; 
 A soft grey crown for a city 
 BelovW, a City of Light : 
 Yet he rested not there, nor had pity. 
 
 But went forth in his might, 
 Where Heracles wandered, the lonely 
 Bow-bearer, and lent him his hands 
 For the wrecking of one land only. 
 Of Ilion, Ilion only. 
 
 Most hated of lands I 
 
52 EURIPIDES 
 
 [yiniistrephe i 
 Of the bravest of Hellas he made him 
 A ship-folk, in wrath for the Steeds, 
 And sailed the wide waters, and stayed him 
 
 At last amid Simols' reeds ; 
 And the oars beat slow in the river, 
 
 And the long ropes held in the strand, 
 And he felt for his bow and his quiver, 
 
 The wrath of his hand. 
 And the old king died ; and the towers 
 
 That Phoebus had builded did fall. 
 And his wrath, as a flame that devours, 
 
 Ran red over all ; 
 And the fields and the woodlands lay blasted. 
 
 Long ago. Yea, twice hath the Sire 
 Uplifted his hand and downcast it 
 On the wall of the Dardan, downcast it 
 As a sword and as fire. 
 
 [Strophe 2. 
 In vain, all in vain, 
 
 O thou 'mid the wine-jars golden 
 That movest in delicate joy, 
 Ganym^d^s, child of Troy, 
 The lips of the Highest drain 
 
 The cup in thine hand upholden : 
 And thy mother, thy mother that bore thee. 
 Is wasted with fire and torn ; 
 
 And the voice of her shores is heard. 
 Wild, as the voice of a bird, 
 For lovers and children before thee 
 
 Crying, and mothers outworn. 
 And the pools of thy bathing are perished. 
 And the wind-strewn ways of thy feet : 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 53 
 
 Yet thy face as aforetime is cherished 
 
 Of Zeus, and the breath of it sweet ; 
 Yea, the beauty of Calm is upon it 
 
 In houses at rest and afar. 
 But thy land. He hath wrecked and o'erthrown it 
 In the wailing of war. 
 
 \Antistrophe 2. 
 O Love, ancient Love, 
 
 Of old to the Dardan given ; 
 Tiove of the Lords of the Sky ; 
 How didst thou lift us high 
 In Ilion, yea, and above 
 
 All cities, as wed with heaven !. 
 For Zeus — O leave it unspoken : 
 But alas for the love of the Morn ; 
 Morn of the milk-white wing, 
 The gentle, the earth-loving. 
 That shineth on battlements broken 
 
 In Troy, and a people forlorn ! 
 And, lo, in her bowers Tithonus, 
 
 Our brother, yet sleeps as of old : 
 O, she too hath loved us and known us. 
 
 And the Steeds of her star, flashing gold, 
 Stooped hither and bore him above us ; 
 
 Then blessed we the Gods in our joy. 
 But all that made them to love us 
 Hath perished from Troy. 
 
 \As the song ceases, the King Menelaus enters, 
 richly armed and followed by a bodyguard of 
 Soldiers. He is a prey to violent and con- 
 flicting emotions. 
 
54 EURIPIDES 
 
 Menelaus. 
 How bright the face of heaven, and how sweet 
 The air this day, that layeth at my feet 
 The woman that I . . . Nay : 'twas not for her 
 I came. 'Twas for the man, the cozener 
 And thief, that ate with me and stole away 
 My bride. But Paris lieth, this long day. 
 By God's grace, under the horse-hoofs of the Greek, 
 And round him all his land. And now I seek . . . 
 Curse her ! I scarce can speak the name she bears, 
 That was my wife. Here with the prisoners 
 They keep her, in these huts, among the hordes 
 Of numbered slaves. — The host whose labouring swords 
 Won her, have given her up to me, to fill 
 My pleasure ; perchance kill her, or not kill. 
 But lead her home. — Methinks I have foregone 
 The slaying of Helen here in Ilion . . . 
 Over the long seas I will bear her back. 
 And there, there, cast her out to whatso wrack 
 Of angry death they may devise, who know 
 Their dearest dead for her in Ilion. — Ho ! 
 Ye soldiers ! Up into the chambers where 
 She croucheth ! Grip the long blood-reeking hair, 
 And drag her to mine eyes . . . [Controlling himself. 
 
 And when there come 
 Fair breezes, my long ships shall bear her home, 
 
 [The Soldiers go to force open the door of the second 
 hut on the left. 
 
 Hecuba. 
 Thou deep Base of the World, and thou high Throne 
 Above the World, whoe'er thou art, unknown 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 55 
 
 And hard of surmise, Chain of Things that be, 
 Or Reason of our Reason ; God, to thee 
 I lift my praise, seeing the silent road 
 That bringeth justice ere the end be trod 
 To all that breathes and dies. 
 
 Menelaus {turning). 
 
 Ha ! who is there 
 That prayeth heaven, and in so strange a prayer ? 
 
 Hecuba, 
 I bless thee, Menelaus, I bless thee, 
 If thou wilt slay her ! Only fear to see 
 Her visage, lest she snare thee and thou fall ! 
 She snareth strong men's eyes ; she snareth tall 
 Cities ; and fire from out her eateth up 
 Houses. Such magic hath she, as a cup 
 Of death ! . . . Do I not know her ? Yea, and thou, 
 And these that lie around, do they not know ? 
 
 [The Soldiers return from the hut and stand aside 
 to let Helen pass between them. She comes 
 through them, gentle and unafraid : there is 
 no disorder in her raiment, 
 
 Helen. 
 King Menelaus, thy first deed might make 
 A woman fear. Into my chamber brake 
 Thine armdd men, and lead me wrathfully. 
 Methinks, almost, I know thou hatest me. 
 Yet I would ask thee, what decree is gone 
 Forth for my life or death ? 
 
 Menelaus [struggling with his emotion). 
 
 There was not one 
 
56 EURIPIDES 
 
 That scrupled for thee. All, all with one will 
 Gave thee to me, whom thou hast wronged, to kill ! 
 
 Helen. &*»f> ^».. 
 
 And is it granted that I speak, or no, 
 In answer to them ere I die, to show 
 I die most wronged and innocent ? 
 
 Menelaus. 
 
 I seek 
 To kill thee, woman ; not to hear thee speak ! 
 
 Hecuba. 
 
 O hear her ! She must never die unheard, 
 
 King Menelaus ! And give me the word 
 
 To speak in answer ! All the wrong she wrought 
 
 Away from thee, in Troy, thou knowest not. 
 
 The whole tale set together is a death 
 
 Too sure ; she shall not 'scape thee ! 
 
 Menelaus. 
 
 'Tis but breath 
 And time. For thy sake, Hecuba, if she need 
 To speak, I grant the prayer. I have no heed 
 Nor mercy — let her know it well — for her 1 
 
 Helenj 
 It may be that, how false or true soe'er 
 Thou deem me, I shall win no word from thee. 
 So sore thou boldest me thine enemy. 
 Yet I will take what words I think thy heart 
 Holdeth of anger : and in even part 
 Set my wrong and thy wrong, and all that fell. 
 
 [Pointing to Hecuba. 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 57 
 
 She Cometh first, who bare the seed and well 
 Of springing sorrow, when to life she brought 
 Paris : and that old King, who quenched not 
 Quick in the spark, ere yet he woke to slay. 
 The firebrand's image. — But enough : a day 
 Came, and this Paris judged beneath the trees 
 Three Crowns of Life, three diverse Goddesses. 
 The gift of Pallas was of War, to lead 
 His East in conquering battles, and make bleed 
 The hearths of Hellas. Hera held a Throne — 
 If majesties he craved — to reign alone 
 From Phrygia to the last realm of the West. 
 And Cypris, if he deemed her loveliest, 
 Beyond all heaven, made dreams about my face 
 And for her grace gave me. And, lo ! her grace 
 Was judged the fairest, and she stood above 
 Those twain. — Thus was I loved, and thus my 
 
 love 
 Hath holpen Hellas. No fierce Eastern crown 
 Is o'er your lands, no spear hath cast them down. 
 O, it was well for Hellas ! But for me 
 Most ill ; caught up and sold across the sea 
 For this my beauty ; yea, dishonoured 
 For that which else had been about my head 
 A crown of honour. , . . Ah, I see thy thought ; 
 The first plain deed, 'tis that I answer not, 
 How in the dark out of thy house I fled . . . 
 There came the Seed of Fire, this woman's seed ; 
 Came — O, a Goddess great walked with him then — 
 This Alexander, Breaker-down-of-Men, 
 This Paris, Strength - is - with - him ; whom thou, 
 
 whom — 
 O false and light of heart — thou in thy room 
 
S8 EURIPIDES 
 
 Didst leave, and spreadest sail for Cretan seas, 
 
 Far, far from me ! ... And yet, how strange it is ! 
 
 I ask not thee ; I ask my own sad thought, 
 
 What was there in my heart, that I forgot 
 
 My home and land and all I loved, to fly ^^ ;^., 
 
 With a strange man ?j Surely it was not I, 
 
 But Cypris, there ! Lay thou thy rod on her, 
 
 And be more high than Zeus and bitterer, 
 
 Who o'er all other spirits hath his throne, 
 
 But knows her chain must bind him. My wrong done 
 
 Hath its own pardon. . . . 
 
 One word yet thou hast, 
 Methinks, of righteous seeming. When at last 
 The earth for Paris oped and all was o'er, 
 And her strange magic bound my feet no more, 
 Why kept I still his house, why fled not I 
 To the Argive ships ? . . . Ah, how I strove to fly 1 
 The old Gate- Warden could have told thee all. 
 My husband, and the watchers from the wall ; 
 It was not once they took me, with the rope 
 Tied, and this body swung in the air, to grope 
 Its way toward thee, from that dim battlement. 
 
 Ah, husband still, how shall thy hand be bent 
 To slay me ? Nay, if Right be come at last. 
 What shalt thou bring but comfort for pains past. 
 And harbour for a woman storm-driven : 
 A woman borne away by violent menjj 
 And this one birthright of my beauty, this 
 That might have been my glory, lo, it is 
 A stamp that God hath burned, of slavery ! 
 
 Alas ! and if thou cravest still to be 
 As one set above gods, inviolate, 
 'Tis but a fruitless longing holds thee yet. 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 59 
 
 Leader. 
 
 O Queen, think of thy children and thy land, 
 
 And break her spell ! The sweet soft speech, the 
 
 hand 
 And heart so fell : it maketh me afraid. 
 
 Hecuba. 
 
 Meseems her goddesses first cry mine aid 
 Against these lying lips ! . . . Not Hera, nay, 
 Nor virgin Pallas deem I such low clay. 
 To barter their own folk, Argos and brave 
 Athens, to be trod down, the Phrygian's slave, 
 All for vain glory and a shepherd's prize 
 On Ida ! Wherefore should great Hera's eyes 
 So hunger to be fair ? She doth not use 
 To seek for other loves, being wed with Zeus. 
 And maiden Pallas ... did some strange god's face 
 Beguile her, that she craved for loveliness. 
 Who chose from God one virgin gift above 
 All gifts, and fleSth from the lips of love ? 
 
 Ah, deck not out thine own heart's evil springs 
 By making spirits of heaven as brutish things 
 And cruel. The wise may hear thee, and guess all 1 
 
 And Cypris must take ship — fantastical ! 
 Sail with my son and enter at the gate 
 To seek thee ! Had she willed it, she had sate 
 At peace in heaven, and wafted thee, and all 
 Amyclae with thee, under Ilion's wall. 
 
 My son was passing beautiful, beyond 
 His peers ; and thine own heart, that saw and conned 
 His face, became a spirit enchanting thee. 
 For all wild things that in mortality 
 
6o EURIPIDES 
 
 Have being, are Aphrodit^ ; and the name 
 She bears in heaven is born and writ of them. 
 
 Thou sawest him in gold and orient vest 
 Shining, and lo, a fire about thy breast 
 Leapt ! Thou hadst fed upon such little things. 
 Pacing thy v^ays in Argos. But now wings 
 Were come ! Once free from Sparta, and there rolled 
 The Ilian glory, like broad streams of gold. 
 To steep thine arms and splash the towers ! How 
 
 small. 
 How cold that day was Menelaus' hall ! 
 
 Enough of that. It was by force my son 
 Took thee, thou sayst, and striving. . . . Yet not one 
 In Sparta knew ! No cry, no sudden prayer 
 Rang from thy rooms that night. . . . Castor was there 
 To hear thee, and his brother : both true men, 
 Not yet among the stars ! And after, when 
 Thou camest here to Troy, and in thy track 
 Argos and all its anguish and the rack 
 Of war — Ah God ! — perchance men told thee ' Now 
 The Greek prevails in battle ' : then wouldst thou 
 Praise Menelaus, that my son might smart. 
 Striving with that old image in a heart 
 Uncertain still. Then Troy had victories : 
 And this Greek was as naught ! Alway thine eyes 
 Watched Fortune's eyes, to follow hot where she 
 Led first. Thou wouldst not follow Honesty. 
 
 Thy secret ropes, thy body swung to fall 
 Far, like a desperate prisoner, from the wall ! 
 Who found thee so ? When wast thou taken ? Nay, 
 Hadst thou no surer rope, no sudden way 
 Of the sword, that any woman honest-souled 
 Had sought long since, loving her lord of old ? 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 6i 
 
 Often and often did I charge thee ; ' Go, 
 My daughter ; go thy ways. My sons will know 
 New loves. I will give aid, and steal thee past 
 The Argive watch. O give us peace at last, 
 Us and our foes ! ' But out thy spirit cried 
 As at a bitter word. Thou hadst thy pride 
 In Alexander's house, and O, 'twas sweet 
 To hold proud Easterns bowing at thy feet. 
 They were great things to thee 1 . . . And comest 
 
 thou now 
 Forth, and hast decked thy bosom and thy brow, 
 And breathest with thy lord the same blue air. 
 Thou evil heart ? Low, low, with ravaged hair, 
 Rent raiment, and flesh shuddering, and within — 
 O shame at last, not glory for thy sin ; 
 So face him if thou canst I . . . Lo, I have done. 
 Be true, King ; let Hellas bear her crown 
 Of Justice. Slay this woman, and upraise 
 The law for evermore : she that betrays 
 Her husband's bed, let her be judged and die. 
 
 Leader. 
 
 Be strong, O King ; give judgment worthily 
 For thee and thy great house. Shake off thy long 
 Reproach ; not weak, but iron against the wrong ! 
 
 Menelaus. 
 
 Thy thought doth walk with mine in one intent. 
 'Tis sure ; her heart was willing, when she went 
 Forth to a stranger's bed. And all her fair 
 Tale of enchantment, 'tis a thing of air ! . . . 
 
 [Turning furiously upon Helen. 
 
62 EURIPIDES 
 
 Out, woman ! There be those that seek thee yet 
 With stones ! Go, meet them. So shall thy long 
 
 debt 
 Be paid at last. And ere this night is o'er 
 Thy dead face shall dishonour me no more ! 
 
 Helen {kneeling before htm and embracing him). 
 
 Behold, mine arms are wreathed about thy knees ; 
 
 Lay not upon my head the phantasies 
 
 Of Heaven. Remember all, and slay me not I 
 
 Hecuba. 
 
 Remember them she murdered, them that fought 
 Beside thee, and their children ! Hear that prayer ! 
 
 Menelaus. 
 
 Peace, agW woman, peace ! 'Tis not for her ; 
 She is as naught to me. 
 
 {To the Soldiers) . . . March on before, 
 Ye ministers, and tend her to the shore . . . 
 And have some chambered galley set for her, 
 Where she may sail the seas. 
 
 Hecuba. 
 
 If t h o u be there, 
 I charge thee, let not her set foot therein ! 
 
 Menelaus. 
 How ? Shall the ship go heavier for her sin ? 
 
 Hecuba. 
 A lover once, will alway love again. 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 63 
 
 Menklaus. 
 
 If that he loved be evil, he will fain 
 
 Hate it ! . . . How^beit, thy pleasure shall be done. 
 
 Some other ship shall bear her, not mine own, . . . 
 
 Thou counsellest very well . . . And when we come 
 
 To Argos, then . . . O then some pitiless doom 
 
 Well-earned, black as her heart ! One that shall bind 
 
 Once for all time the law on womankind 
 
 Of faithfulness ! . . . 'Twill be no easy thing, 
 
 God knoweth. But the thought thereof shall fling 
 
 A chill on the dreams of women, though they be 
 
 Wilder of wing and loathed more than she ! 
 
 [Exit, following Helen, who is escorted by the 
 Soldiers. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Some Women, 
 
 [Strophe i. 
 And hast thou turned from the Altar of frankin- 
 cense, 
 And given to the Greek thy temple of Ilion ? 
 The flame of the cakes of corn, is it gone from 
 hence. 
 The myrrh on the air and the wreathW towers 
 gone ? 
 And Ida, dark Ida, where the wild ivy grows, 
 The glens that run as rivers from the summer-broken 
 
 snows. 
 And the Rock, is it forgotten, where the first sunbeam 
 
 gloWSj 
 
 Thfe lit house most holy of the Dawn ? 
 
64 EURIPIDES 
 
 Others. 
 
 [Antistrophe i. 
 The sacrifice is gone and the sound of joy, 
 
 The dancing under the stars and the night-long 
 prayer : 
 The Golden Images and the Moons of Troy, 
 The Twelve Moons and the mighty names they 
 bear : 
 My heart, my heart crieth, O Lord Zeus on high, 
 Were they all to thee as nothing, thou thronW in the 
 
 sky, 
 Throned in the fire- cloud, where a City, near to die, 
 Passeth in the wind and the flare ? 
 
 A Woman. 
 
 [Strophe 2. 
 
 Dear one, O husband mine, 
 Thou in the dim dominions 
 
 Driftest with waterless lips, 
 
 Unburied ; and me the ships 
 
 Shall bear o'er the bitter brine, 
 Storm-birds upon angry pinions, 
 
 Where the towers of the Giants shine 
 
 O'er Argos cloudily. 
 
 And the riders ride by the sea. 
 
 Others. 
 
 And children still in the Gate 
 
 Crowd and cry, 
 A multitude desolate. 
 Voices that float and wait 
 
 As the tears run dry : 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 65 
 
 ' Mother, alone on the shore 
 
 They drive me, far from thee : 
 Lo, the dip of the oar. 
 
 The black hull on the sea I 
 Is it the Isle Immortal, 
 
 Salamis, waits for me ? 
 Is it the Rock that broods 
 Over the sundered floods 
 Of Corinth, the ancient portal 
 
 Of Pelops' sovran ty ? ' 
 
 A Woman, r ^ ^' ^ ,1 
 
 [/fnttstrophe 2. 
 
 Out in the waste of foam, 
 
 Where rideth dark Menelaus, 
 
 Come to us there, O white 
 
 And jagged, with wild sea-light 
 
 And crashing of oar-blades, come, 
 O thunder of God, and slay us : 
 
 While our tears are wet for home, 
 
 While out in the storm go we. 
 
 Slaves of our enemy 1 
 
 Others. 
 
 And, God, may Helen be there, 
 
 With mirror of gold, 
 Decking her face so fair. 
 Girl-like ; and hear, and stare, 
 
 And turn death-cold : 
 Never, ah, never more 
 
 The hearth of her home to see. 
 Nor sand of the Spartan shore. 
 Nor tombs where her fathers be. 
 
66 EURIPIDES 
 
 Nor Athena's bronzcn Dwelling, 
 
 Nor the towers of PitanS ; 
 For her face was a dark desire 
 Upon Greece, and shame like fire. 
 And her dead are welling, welling. 
 From red Simols to the sea I 
 
 [Talthybius, followed by one or two Soldiers 
 and bearing the child Astyanax dead^ is 
 seen approaching. 
 
 Leader. 
 
 Ah, change on change ! Yet each one racks 
 
 This land with evil manifold ; 
 
 Unhappy wives of Troy, behold. 
 They bear the dead Astyanax, 
 Our prince, whom bitter Greeks this hour 
 Have hurled to death from Ilion's tower. 
 
 Talthybius. 
 
 One galley, Hecuba, there lingereth yet. 
 
 Lapping the wave, to gather the last freight 
 
 Of Pyrrhus' spoils for Thessaly. The chief 
 
 Himself long since hath parted, much in grief 
 
 For P^leus' sake, his grandsire, whom, men say, 
 
 Acastus, Pelias' son, in war array 
 
 Hath driven to exile. Loath enough before 
 
 Was he to linger, and now goes the more 
 
 In haste, bearing Andromache, his prize. 
 
 'Tis she hath charmed these tears into mine eyes, 
 
 Weeping her fatherland, as o'er the wave 
 
 She gazed, and speaking words to Hector's grave. 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 67 
 
 Howbeit, she prayed us that due rites be done 
 
 For burial of this babe, thine Hector's son, 
 
 That now from Ilion's tower is fallen and dead. 
 
 And, lo I this great bronze-fronted shield, the dread 
 
 Of many a Greek, that Hector held in fra)^ 
 
 O never in God's name — so did she pray — 
 
 Be this borne forth to hang in PSleus' hall 
 
 Or that dark bridal chamber, that the wall 
 
 May 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 hands 
 
 She bade me lay him, to be swathed in bands 
 
 Of death and garments, such as rest to thee 
 
 In these thy fallen fortunes ; seeing that she 
 
 Hath gone her ways, and, for her master's haste, 
 
 May no more fold the babe unto his rest. 
 
 Howbeit, so soon as he is garlanded 
 And robed, we will heap earth above his head 
 And lift our sails. . . . See all be swiftly done. 
 As thou art bidden. I have saved thee one 
 Labour. For as I passed Scamander's stream 
 Hard by, I let the waters run on him. 
 And cleansed his wounds. — See, I will go forth now 
 And break the hard earth for his grave : so thou 
 And I will haste together, to set free 
 Our oars at last to beat the homeward sea ! 
 
 l^He goes out with his Soldiers, leaving the body of 
 the Child in Hecuba's arms. 
 
 Hecubaj 
 
 Set the great orb of Hector's shield to lie 
 
 Here on the ground. 'Tis bitter that mine eye 
 
68 EURIPIDES 
 
 Should see it. ... O ye Argives, was your spear 
 
 Keen, and your hearts so low and cold, to fear 
 
 This babe ? 'Twas a strange murder for brave 
 
 men ! 
 For fear this babe some day might raise again 
 His 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 not 
 Wisdom, that rage of fear that hath no thought. . . . 
 
 Ah, what a death hath found thee, little one ! 
 Hadst thou but fallen fighting, hadst thou known 
 Strong youth and love and all the majesty 
 Of godlike kings, then had we spoken of thee 
 As of one blessed . . . could in any wise 
 These days know blessedness. But now thine eyes 
 Have seen, thy lips have tasted, but thy soul 
 No knowledge had nor usage of the whole 
 Rich life that lapt thee round. . . . Poor little child ! 
 Was it our ancient wall, the circuit piled 
 By loving Gods, so savagely hath rent 
 Thy curls, these little flowers innocent 
 That were thy mother's garden, where she laid 
 Her kisses ; here, just where the bone-edge frayed 
 Grins white above — Ah heaven, I will not see ! 
 
 Ye tender arms, the same dear mould have ye 
 As his ; how from the shoulder loose ye drop 
 And weak ! And dear proud lips, so full of hope 
 And closed for ever ! What false words ye said 
 At daybreak, when he crept into my bed. 
 Called me kind names, and promised : ' Grandmother, 
 When thou art dead, I will cut close my hair, 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 69 
 
 And lead out all the captains to ride by 
 Thy tomb.' Why didst thou cheat me so ? 'Tis I, 
 Old, homeless, childless, that for thee must shed 
 Cold tears, so young, so miserably dead. 
 
 Dear God, the pattering welcomes of thy feet, 
 The nursing in my lap ; and O, the sweet 
 Falling asleep together ! All is gone. 
 How should a poet carve the funeral stone 
 To tell thy story true ? * There lieth here 
 A babe whom the Greeks feared, and in their fear 
 Slew, him.' Aye, Greece will bless the tale it 
 tells Jj 
 
 Child, they have left thee beggared of all else 
 In Hector's house ; but one thing shalt thou keep, 
 This war-shield bronzen-barred, wherein to sleep. 
 Alas, thou guardian true of Hector's fair 
 Left arm, how art thou masterless ! And there 
 I see his handgrip printed on thy hold ; 
 And deep stains of the precious sweat, that rolled 
 In battle from the brows and beard of him. 
 Drop after drop, are writ about thy rim. 
 
 Go, bring them — such poor garments hazardous 
 As these days leave. God hath not granted us 
 Wherewith to make much pn^e. 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 years 
 Dance like an idiot in the wind Jj And none 
 By any strength hath his own fortune won. 
 
 [During these lines several JVomen are seen ap- 
 preaching with garlands and raiment in 
 their hands. 
 
70 EURIPIDES 
 
 Leader. 
 
 Lo these, who bear thee raiment harvested 
 From 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 car 
 Beyond thy peers, not for the shaft of war 
 True aimed, as Phrygians use ; not any prize 
 Of joy for thee, nor splendour in men's eyes, 
 Thy father's mother lays these offerings 
 About thee, from the many fragrant things 
 That were all thine of old. But now no more. 
 One woman, loathed of God, hath broke the door 
 And robbed thy treasure-house, and thy warm breath 
 Made cold, and trod thy people down to death I 
 
 Chorus. 
 Some Women. 
 
 Deep in the heart of me 
 
 I feel thine hand, 
 Mother : and is it he 
 Dead here, our prince to be, 
 
 And lord of the land ? 
 
 Hecuba. 
 
 Glory of Phrygian raiment, which my thought 
 Kept for thy bridal day with some far-sought 
 Queen of the East, folds thee for evermore. 
 
 And thou, grey Mother, Mother-Shield that bore 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 71 
 
 A thousand days of glory, thy last crown 
 
 Is here. . . . Dear Hector's shield ! Thou shalt lie 
 
 down 
 Undying with the dead, and lordlier there 
 Than 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 her 
 With wailing wild ! 
 
 Others. 
 Mother of misery, 
 
 Give Death his song I 
 (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., symboli- 
 cally staunching the dead Chiles 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 rite 
 Be 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. 
 
^^ EURIPIDES 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Beat, beat thine head : 
 
 Beat with the wailing chime 
 Of hands lifted in time : 
 
 Beat and bleed for the dead. 
 
 Woe is me for the dead I 
 
 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 rod 
 
 Of mine affliction, and the eternal hatgj 
 
 Beyond all lands, chosen and lifted great 
 
 For Troy ! 'Vain, vain were prayer and incense-swell 
 
 And bulls' blood on the altars \j. . . All is well. 
 
 Had He not turned us in His hand, and thrust 
 
 Our high things low and shook our hills as dust, 
 
 We had not been this splendour, and our wrong 
 
 An everlasting music for the song 
 
 Of earth and heaven ! 
 
 Go, women : lay our dead 
 In his low sepulchre. He hath his meed 
 Of robing. And, methinks, but little care 
 Toucheth the tomb, if they that moulder there 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 73 
 
 Have rich encergment. '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 smiled 
 About 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 shock 
 Ot torches flung ! What lingereth still 
 O wounded City, of unknown ill, 
 Ere yet thou diest ? 
 
 Talthybius {coming out through the ruined Wall). 
 
 Ye Captains that have charge to wreck this keep 
 Of Priam's City, let your torches sleep 
 No more ! Up, fling the fire into her heart ! 
 Then have we done with Ilion, and may part 
 In joy to Hellas from this evil land. 
 
 And ye — so hath one word two faces — stand. 
 
74 EURIPIDES 
 
 Daughters of Troy, till on your ruined wall 
 The echo of my master's trumpet call 
 In signal breaks : then, forward to the sea, 
 Where the long ships lie waiting. 
 
 And for thee, 
 
 ancient woman most unfortunate. 
 Follow : Odysseus' men be here, and wait 
 
 To guide thee. . . . 'Tis to him thou go'st for thrall. 
 
 Hecubaj 
 
 Ah, me ! and is it come, the end of all, 
 The very crest and summit of my days ? 
 
 1 go forth from my land, and all its ways 
 Are filled with fire ! Bear me, O aged feet, 
 A little nearer : I must gaze, and greet 
 My poor town ere she fall. 
 
 Farewell, farewell ! 
 O thou whose breath was mighty on the swell 
 Of orient winds, my Troy ! Even thy name 
 Shall soon be taken from thee. Lo, the flame 
 Hath thee, and we, thy children, pass away 
 To slavery . . . God ! O God of mercy I . . . 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 JlameSy but is seized and 
 held by the Soldiers. 
 
 Talthybius. 
 
 Back 1 Thou art drunken with thy miseries, 
 Poor woman 1 — Hold her fest, men, till it please 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 75 
 
 Odysseus that she come. She was his lot 
 Chosen 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 fleSst thou, 
 Lord of the Phrygian, Father that made us ? 
 'Tis we, thy children ; shall no man aid us ? 
 'Tis we, thy children ! Sefist thou, sefist thou ? 
 
 Others. 
 He seSth, only his heart is pitiless ; 
 
 And the land dies : yea, she. 
 She of the Mighty Cities perisheth citiless ! 
 
 Troy shall no more be 1 
 
 Others. 
 Woe, woe, woe ! 
 
 Ilion shineth afar ! 
 Fire in the deeps thereof. 
 Fire in the heights above, 
 
 And crested walls of War I 
 
 Others. 
 As smoke on the wing of heaven 
 
 Climbeth 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. 
 
76 EURIPIDES 
 
 Hecuba. 
 
 \Strophe, 
 
 O Earth, Earth of my children ; hearken ! and O 
 mine own, 
 Ye have hearts and forget not, ye in the darkness 
 lying 1 
 
 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 !) 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 77 
 
 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. 
 
 [Antistrophe. 
 O high houses of Gods, beloved streets of my birth. 
 Ye have found the way of the sword, the fiery and 
 blood-red river 1 
 
 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 1 
 
78 EURIPIDES 
 
 Leader. 
 
 Out on the smoke she goeth, 
 And her name no man knoweth ; 
 And the cloud is northward, southward ; Troy is 
 gone for ever ! 
 
 [/f great crash is heard, and the Wall is lost in 
 smoke and darkness. 
 
 Hecuba. 
 
 Ha ! Marked ye ? Heard ye f The crash of the 
 towers that fall ! 
 
 Leader. 
 
 All is gone I 
 
 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 day 
 Dawneth to slavery 1 
 
THE TROJAN WOMEN 79 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Farewell from parting lips, 
 Farewell ! — Come, I and thou, 
 Whatso may wait us now, 
 Forth to the long Greek ships 
 And the sea's foaming. 
 [The trumpet sounds again, and the Women go out 
 in the darkness. 
 
NOTES ON THE TROJAN WOMEN 
 
 P. II, 1. S, Poseidon.] — In the //rW Poseidon is the 
 enemy of Troy, here the friend. This sort of con- 
 fusion comes from the fact that the Trojans and their 
 Greek enemies were largely of the same blood, with 
 the same tribal gods. To the Trojans, Athena the 
 War-Goddess was, of course, their War-Goddess, the 
 protectress of their citadel. Poseidon, god of the sea 
 and its merchandise, and Apollo (possibly a local 
 shepherd god .?), were their natural friends and had 
 actually built their city wall for love of the good old 
 king, Laomedon. Zeus, the great father, had Mount 
 Ida for his holy hill and Troy for his peculiar city. 
 (Cf. on p. 63.) 
 
 To suit the Greek point of view all this had to be 
 changed or explained away. In the Iliad generally 
 Athena is the proper War-Goddess of the Greeks. 
 Poseidon had indeed built the wall for Laomedon, but 
 Laomedon had cheated him of his reward — as after- 
 wards he cheated Heracles, and the Argonauts and 
 everybody else ! So Poseidon hated Troy. Troy is 
 chiefly defended by the barbarian Ares, the oriental 
 Aphrodite, by its own rivers Scamander and Simois 
 and suchlike inferior or unprincipled gods. 
 
 Yet traces of the other tradition remain. Homer 
 knows that Athena is specially worshipped in Troy. 
 He knows that Apollo, who had built the wall with 
 Poseidon, and had the same experience of Laomedon, 
 still loves the Trojans. Zeus himself, though eventu- 
 ally in obedience to destiny he permits the fall of the 
 
 city, nevertheless has a great tenderness towards it, 
 
 81 p 
 
82 EURIPIDES 
 
 P. 11,1. II, A steed marvellous.] — See below, on 
 p. 36. 
 
 P. 12, 1. 25, I go forth from great Ilion, &c.] — 
 The correct ancient doctrine. When your gods for- 
 sook you, there was no more hope. Conversely, when 
 your state became desperate, evidently your gods were 
 forsaking you. From another point of view, also, 
 when the city was desolate and unable to worship its 
 gods, the gods of that city were no more. 
 
 P. 12, 1. 34, Laconian Tyndarid.] — Helen was the 
 child of Zeus and Leda, and sister of Castor and Poly- 
 deuces ; but her human father was Tyndareus, an old 
 Spartan king. She is treated as "a prisoner and a 
 prize," i.e., as a captured enemy, not as a Greek 
 princess delivered from the Trojans. 
 
 P. 12, 1. 40, In secret slain.] — Because the Greeks 
 were ashamed of the bloody deed. See below, p. 42, 
 and the scene on this subject in the Hecuba. 
 
 P. 12, 1. 42, Cassandra.] — In the Agamemnon the 
 story is more clearly told, that Cassandra was loved by 
 Apollo and endowed by him with the power of 
 prophecy ; then in some way she rejected or betrayed 
 him, and he set upon her the curse that though 
 seeing the truth she shoidd never be believed. The 
 figure of Cassandra in this play is not inconsistent with 
 that version, but it makes a different impression. She 
 is here a dedicated virgin, and her mystic love for 
 Apollo does not seem to have sufiFered any breach. 
 
 P. 13, 1, 47, Pallas.] — (See above.) The historical 
 explanation of the Trojan Pallas and the Greek Pallas 
 is simple enough ; but as soon as the two are mytho- 
 logically personified and made one, there emerges just 
 such a bitter and ruthless goddess as Euripides, in his 
 revolt against the current mythology, loved to depict. 
 But it is not only the mythology that he is attacking. 
 He seems really to feel that if there are conscious gods 
 ruling the world, they are cruel or *' inhuman " 
 beings. 
 
NOTES 83 
 
 P. 15, 1. 70.] — Ajax the Less, son of Olfleus, either 
 ravished or attempted to ravish Cassandra (the story 
 occurs in both forms) while she was clinging to the 
 Palladium or image of Pallas. It is one of the great 
 typical sins of the Sack of Troy, often depicted on vases. 
 
 P. 17, 1. 123, Faces of ships.] — Homeric ships had 
 prows shaped and painted to look like birds' or beasts' 
 heads. A ship was alway? a wonderfully live and vivid 
 thing to the Greek poets. (Cf. p. 64.) 
 
 P. 1 8, 1. 132, Castor.] — Helen's brother : the Eur6tas, 
 the river of her home, Sparta. 
 
 P. 18, 1. 135, Fifty seeds.] — Priam had fifty children, 
 nineteen of them children of Hecuba (//. vi. 451, &c.). 
 
 P. 22, 1. 205, Pirene.] — The celebrated spring on 
 the hill of Corinth. Drawing water was a typical 
 employment of slaves. 
 
 P. 22, 1. 219 fF., Theseus' land, &c.J — Theseus' land 
 is Attica. The poet, in the midst of his bitterness over 
 the present conduct of his city, clings the more to its 
 old fame for humanity. The " land high-born " where 
 the PenStls flows round the base of Mount Olympus 
 in northern Thessaly is one of the haunts of Euripides' 
 dreams in many plays. Cf. Bacchae, 410 (p. 97 in 
 my translation). Mount Aetna fronts the " Tyrians' 
 citadel," i.e., Carthage, built by the Phoenicians. The 
 " sister land " is the district of Sybaris in South Italy, 
 where the river Crathis has, or had, a red-gold colour, 
 which makes golden the hair of men and the fleeces 
 of sheep ; and the water never lost its freshness. 
 
 P. 23, 1. 235.] — Talthybius is a loyal soldier with 
 every wish to be kind. But he is naturally in good 
 spirits over the satisfactory end of the war, and his tact 
 is not sufficient to enable him to understand the 
 Trojan Women's feelings. Yet in the end, since he 
 has to see and do the cruelties which his Chiefs only 
 order from a distance, the real nature of his work 
 forces itself upon him, and he feels and speaks at 
 times almost like a Trojan. It is worth noticing how 
 
84 EURIPIDES 
 
 the Trojan Women generally avoid addressing him. 
 (Cf. pp. 48, 67, 74.) 
 
 P. 24, 1. 256, The haunted keys (literally, " with God 
 through them, penetrating them").] — Cassandra was 
 his Key-bearer, holding the door of his Holy Place. 
 (Cf. Hip. 540, p. 30.) 
 
 P. 25, 1. 270, She hath a toil, &c.] — There is some- 
 thing true and pathetic about this curious blindness 
 which prevents Hecuba from understanding " so plain 
 a riddle." (Cf. below, p. 42.) She takes the watching 
 of a Tomb to be some strange Greek custom, and 
 does not seek to have it explained further. 
 
 P. 26, 1. 277, Odysseus.] — In Euripides generally 
 Odysseus is the type of the successful unscrupulous 
 man, as soldier and politician — the incarnation of what 
 the poet most hated. In Homer of course he is totally 
 diiFerent. 
 
 P. 27, 1. 301, Burn themselves and die.] — Women 
 under these circumstances did commit suicide in 
 Euripides' day, as they have ever since. It is rather 
 curious that none of the characters of the play, not 
 even Andromache, kills herself. The explanation 
 must be that no such suicide was recorded in the tradi- 
 tion (though cf. below, on p. 33) ; a significant fact, 
 suggesting that in the Homeric age, when this kind of 
 treatment of women captives was regular, the victims 
 did not suffer quite so terribly under it. 
 
 P. 28, 1. 310, Hymen.] — She addresses the Torch. 
 The shadowy Marriage-god " Hymen " was a torch and 
 a cry as much as anything more personal. As a torch 
 he is the sign both of marriage and of death, of sun- 
 rise and of the consuming fire. The full Moon was 
 specially connected with marriage ceremonies. 
 
 P. 30, 1. 356, Loxias.] — The name of Apollo as an 
 Oracular God. 
 
 Pp. 30-34, 11. 360-460, Cassandra's visions.] — The 
 allusions are to the various sufferings of Odysseus, as 
 narrated in the Odyssey, and to the tragedies of the house 
 
NOTES 8s 
 
 of Atreus, as told for instance in Aeschylus' Oresteia. 
 Agamemnon together with Cassandra, and in part 
 because he brought Cassandra, was murdered — felled 
 with an axe — on his return home by his wife Clytaem- 
 nestra and her lover Aegisthus. Their bodies were 
 cast into a pit among the rocks. In vengeance tor 
 this, Orestes, Agamemnon's son, committed " mother- 
 murder," and in consequence was driven by the 
 Erinyes (Furies) of his mother into madness and exile. 
 
 P. 30, 1. 370, This their king so wise.] — Agamemnon 
 made the war for the sake of his brother Menelaus, 
 and slew his daughter, Iphigenia, as a sacrifice at 
 Aulis, to enable the ships to sail for Troy. 
 
 P. 31, 11. 394, 398, Hector and Paris.] — The point 
 about Hector is clear, but as to Paris, the feeling that, 
 after all, it was a glory that he and the half-divine 
 Helen loved each other, is scarcely to be found any- 
 where else in Greek literature. (Cf., however, 
 Isocrates' " Praise of Helen,") Paris and Helen were 
 never idealised like Launcelot and Guinevere, or 
 Tristram and Iseult. 
 
 P. 32, 1. 423, A wise queen.] — Penelope, the faithful 
 wife of Odysseus. 
 
 P, 33, 1. 425, O Heralds, yea, Voices of Death.] — 
 There is a play on the word for "heralds" in the 
 Greek here, which I have evaded by a paraphrase. 
 (K»;/3-VK69 as though from K^p the death-spirit, " the 
 one thing abhorred of all mortal men.") 
 
 P. 33, 1. 430, That in this place she dies.] — The 
 death of Hecuba is connected with a certain heap 
 of stones on the shore of the Hellespont, called 
 Kunos-s^ma, or "Dog's Tomb." According to one 
 tradition (Eur. Hec, 1259 fF.) she threw herself off 
 the ship into the sea ; according to another she was 
 stoned by the Greeks for her curses upon the fleet ; 
 but in both she is changed after death into a sort of 
 Hell-hound. M. Victor Bdrard suggests that the dog 
 first comes into the story owing to the accidental 
 
86 EURIPIDES 
 
 resemblance of the (hypothetical) Semitic word 
 S'qoulah, "Stone" or "Stoning," and the Greek 
 Skulax, dog. The Homeric Scylla {Skulla) was also 
 both a Stone and a Dog {Phiniciens et Odyssie, i. 213). 
 Of course in the present passage there is no direct 
 reference to these wild sailor-stories. 
 
 P. 34, 1. 456, The wind comes quick.] — i.e. The 
 storm of the Prologue. Three Powers : the three 
 Erinyes. 
 
 P. 36, 1. 5 1 1 fF., Chorus.] — The Wooden Horse is 
 always difficult to understand, and seems to have an 
 obscuring effect on the language of poets who treat 
 of it. I cannot help suspecting that the story arises 
 from a real historical incident misunderstood. Troy, 
 we are told, was still holding out after ten years and 
 could not be taken, until at last by the divine sugges- 
 tions of Athena, a certain Epeios devised a " Wooden 
 Horse." 
 
 What was the " device " ? According to the 
 Odyssey and most Greek poets, it was a gigantic 
 wooden figure of a horse. A party of heroes, led by 
 Odysseus, got inside it and waited. The Greeks 
 made a show of giving up the siege and sailed away, 
 but only as far as Tenedos. The Trojans came out 
 and found the horse, and after wondering greatly 
 what it was meant for and what to do with it, made 
 a breach in their walls and dragged it into the 
 Citadel as a thank-offering to Pallas. In the night 
 the Greeks returned ; the heroes in the horse came 
 out and opened the gates, and Troy was captured. 
 
 It seems possible that the " device " really was the 
 building of a wooden siege-tower, as high as the walls, 
 with a projecting and revolving neck. Such engines 
 were (i) capable of being used at the time in Asia, as 
 a rare and extraordinary device, because they exist on 
 early Assyrian monuments ; (2) certain to be mis- 
 understood in Greek legendary tradition, because they 
 were not used in Greek warfare till many centuries 
 
NOTES 87 
 
 later. pFirst, perhaps, at the sieges of Perinthus and 
 Byzantium by Philip of Macedon, 340 B.C.) 
 
 It is noteworthy that in the great picture by 
 Polygn6tus in the Lesch^ at Delphi " above the wall 
 of Troy appears the head alone of the Wooden 
 Horse" {Paus. X. 26). Aeschylus also {Jg. 816) has 
 some obscure phrases pointing in the same direction : 
 "A horse's brood, a shield-bearing people, launched 
 with a leap about the Pleiads' setting, sprang clear 
 above the wall," &c. Euripides here treats the horse 
 metaphorically as a sort of war-horse trampling Troy, 
 
 P- 37> 1- 536? fl^'' ^^^^ spareth not, Heaven's 
 yokeless rider,] — Athena like a northern Valkyrie, as 
 often in the Iliad. If one tries to imagine what Athena, 
 the War-Goddess worshipped by the Athenian mob, 
 was like — what a mixture of bad national passions, of 
 superstition and statecraft, of slip-shod unimaginative 
 idealisation — one may partly understand why Euri- 
 pides made her so evil, Allegorists and high-minded 
 philosophers might make Athena entirely noble by 
 concentrating their minds on the beautiful elements 
 in the tradition, and forgetting or explaining away 
 all that was savage ; he was determined to pin her 
 down to the worst facts recorded of her, and let 
 people worship such a being if they liked ! 
 
 P- 38} !• 554, To Artemis,] — Maidens at the shrine 
 of Artemis are a fixed datum in the tradition. (Cf. 
 Hec. 935 ff) 
 
 P, 39 ff,, 1. 576 fF., Andromache and Hecuba,] — 
 This very beautiful scene is perhaps marred to most 
 modern readers by an element which is merely a part 
 of the convention of ancient mourning. Each of the 
 mourners cries : " There is no affliction like mine I " 
 and then proceeds to argue, as it were, against the 
 other's counter claim. One can only say that it was, 
 after all, what they expected of each other ; and I 
 believe the same convention exists in most places 
 where keening or wailing is an actual practice. 
 
88 EURIPIDES 
 
 P. 41, 1. 604, Even as the sound of a song.] — I have 
 filled in some words which seem to be missing in the 
 Greek here. 
 
 Pp. 41-50, Andromache.] — This character is 
 wonderfully studied. She seems to me to be a 
 woman who has not yet shown much character or 
 perhaps had very intense experience, but is only 
 waiting for sufficiently great trials to become a 
 heroine and a saint. There is still a marked element 
 of conventionality in her description of her life with 
 Hector ; but one feels, as she speaks, that she is 
 already past it. Her character is built up of 
 '■'■ Sophrosyne" of self-restraint and the love of good- 
 ness — qualities which often seem second-rate or even 
 tiresome until they have a sufficiently great field in 
 which to act. Very characteristic is her resolution 
 to make the best, and not the worst, of her life in 
 Pyrrhus' house, with all its horror of suffering and 
 apparent degradation. So is the self-conquest by 
 which she deliberately refrains from cursing her child's 
 murderers, for the sake of the last poor remnant of 
 good she can still do to him, in getting him buried. 
 The nobility of such a character depends largely, of 
 course, on the intensity of the feelings conquered. 
 
 It is worth noting, in this connection, that Euri- 
 pides is contradicting a wide-spread tradition (Robert, 
 Bild und Lied, pp. 63 fF.). Andromache, in the 
 pictures of the Sack of Troy, is represented with a 
 great pestle or some such instrument fighting with 
 the Soldiers to rescue Astyanax {^Ayhpo-fiayji] = " Man- 
 fighting"). 
 
 Observe, too, what a climax of drama is reached 
 by means of the very fact that Andromache, to the 
 utmost of her power, tries to do nothing " dramatic," 
 but only what will be best. Her character in 
 Euripides' play, Jndromache, is, on the whole, similar to 
 this, but less developed. 
 
 P. 51, 1. 799 fF., In Salamis, filled with the foaming, 
 
NOTES 89 
 
 &c.] — A striking instance of the artistic value of the 
 Greek chorus in relieving an intolerable strain. The 
 relief provided is something much higher than w^hat 
 we ordinarily call " relief" ; it is a stream of pure 
 poetry and music in key with the sadness of the sur- 
 rounding scene, yet, in a way, happy just because it 
 is beautiful. (Cf. note on Hippolytus, 1. 732.) 
 
 The argument of the rather difficult lyric is : 
 "This is not the first time Troy has been taken. 
 Long ago Heracles made war against the old king 
 Laomedon, because he had not given him the immortal 
 steeds that he promised. And Telamon joined him ; 
 Telamon who might have been happy in his island of 
 Salamis, among the bees and the pleasant waters, 
 looking over the strait to the olive-laden hills of 
 Athens, the beloved City ! And they took ship and 
 slew Laomedon. Yea, twice Zeus has destroyed 
 Ilion ! 
 
 (Second part.) Is it all in vain that our Trojan 
 princes have been loved by the Gods ? Ganym^d^s 
 pours the nectar of Zeus in his banquets, his face 
 never troubled, though his motherland is burned with 
 fire ! And, to say nothing of Zeus, how can the 
 Goddess of Morning rise and shine upon us uncaring ? 
 She loved Tith6nus, son of Laomedon, and bore him 
 up from us in a chariot to be her husband in the skies. 
 But all that once made them love us is gone ! " 
 
 P. 52, 1. 833, Pools of thy bathing.] — It is pro- 
 bable that Ganym^dds was himself originally a pool 
 or a spring on Ida, now a pourer of nectar in heaven. 
 
 Pp. S4-63, Menelaus and Helen,] — The meeting 
 of Menelaus and Helen after the taking of Troy was 
 naturally one of the great moments in the heroic 
 legend. The versions, roughly speaking, divide them- 
 selves into two. In one {Little Iliad, Ar. Lysistr. 155, 
 Eur. Andromache 628) Menelaus is about to kill her, 
 but as she bares her bosom to the sword, the sword 
 falls from his hand. In the other (Stesichorus, Sack 
 
90 EURIPIDES 
 
 of Ilton (?) ) Menelaus or some one else takes hei to 
 the ships to be stoned, and the men cannot stone her. 
 As Quintus of Smyrna says, " They looked on her as 
 they would on a God ! " 
 
 Both versions have affected Euripides here. And 
 his Helen has just the magic of the Helen of legend. 
 That touch of the supernatural which belongs of right 
 to the Child of Heaven — a mystery, a gentleness, a 
 strange absence of fear or wrath — is felt through all 
 her words. One forgets to think of her guilt or 
 innocence ; she is too wonderful a being to judge, 
 too precious to destroy. This supernatural element, 
 being the thing which, if true, separates Helen from 
 other women, and in a way redeems her, is for that 
 reason exactly what Hecuba denies. The contro- 
 versy has a certain eternal quality about it : the 
 hypothesis of heavenly enchantment and the hypothesis 
 of mere bad behaviour, neither of them entirely con- 
 vincing ! But the very curses of those that hate her 
 make a kind of superhuman atmosphere about Helen 
 in this play ; she fills the background like a great 
 well-spring of pain. 
 
 This Menelaus, however, is rather diflPerent from 
 the traditional Menelaus. Besides being the husband 
 of Helen, he is the typical Conqueror, for whose sake 
 the Greeks fought and to whom the central prize of 
 the war belongs. And we take him at the height of 
 his triumph, the very moment for which he made 
 the war ! Hence the peculiar bitterness with which 
 he is treated, his conquest turning to ashes in his 
 mouth, and his love a confused turmoil of hunger and 
 hatred, contemptible and yet terrible. 
 
 The exit of the scene would leave a modern 
 audience quite in doubt as to what happened, unless 
 the action were much clearer than the words. But all 
 Athenians knew from the Odyssey that the pair were 
 swiftly reconciled, and lived happily together as King 
 and Queen of Sparta. 
 
NOTES 9t 
 
 P. 54, 1. 884, Thou deep base of the world.] — These 
 lines, as a piece of religious speculation, were very 
 famous in antiquity. And dramatically they are most 
 important. All through the play Hecuba is a woman 
 of remarkable intellectual power and of fearless 
 thought. She does not definitely deny the existence 
 of the Olympian gods, like some characters in 
 Euripides, but she treats them as beings that have 
 betrayed her, and whose name she scarcely deigns to 
 speak. It is the very godlessness of Hecuba's fortitude 
 that makes it so terrible and, properly regarded, so 
 noble. (Cf. p. 35 " Why call on things so weak ? " 
 and p. 74 "They know, they know . . . ") Such 
 Gods were as a matter of fact the moral inferiors of 
 good men, and Euripides will never blind his eyes to 
 their inferiority. And as soon as people see that their 
 god is bad, they tend to cease believing in his existence 
 at all. (Hecuba's answer to Helen is not inconsistent 
 with this, it is only less characteristic.) 
 
 Behind this Olympian system, however, there is a 
 possibility of some real Providence or impersonal 
 Governance of the world, to which here, for a moment, 
 Hecuba makes a passionate approach. If there is any 
 explanation, any justice, even in the form of mere 
 punishment of the wicked, she will be content and 
 give worship ! But it seems that there is not. Then 
 at last there remains — what most but not all modern 
 freethinkers would probably have begun to doubt at 
 the very beginning — the world of the departed, the 
 spirits of the dead, who are true, and in their dim 
 way love her still (p. 71" Thy father far away shall 
 comfort thee," and the last scene of the play). 
 
 This last religion, faint and shattered by doubt as 
 it is, represents a return to the most primitive 
 "Pelasgian" beliefs, a worship of the Dead which 
 existed long before the Olympian system, and has long 
 outlived it. 
 
 P- 57> !• 922, The fire-brand's image.] — Hecuba, 
 
92 EURIPIDES 
 
 just before Paris' birth, dreamed that she gave birth 
 to a fire-brand. The prophets therefore advised that 
 the babe should be killed ; but Priam disobeyed them. 
 
 P. 57, 1. 924, Three Crowns of Life.] — On the 
 Judgment of Paris see Miss Harrison, Prolegomena, pp. 
 292 fF. Late writers degrade the story into a beauty 
 contest between three thoroughly personal goddesses — 
 and a contest complicated by bribery. But originally 
 the Judgment is rather a Choice between three pos- 
 sible lives, like the Choice of Heracles between Work 
 and Idleness. The elements of the choice vary in 
 different versions : but in general Hera is royalty ; 
 Athena is prowess in war or personal merit ; Aphrodite, 
 of course, is love. And the goddesses are not really to 
 be distinguished from the gifts they bring. They are 
 what they give, and nothing more. Cf. the wonder- 
 ful lyric Androm. 274 ff., where they come to " a young 
 man walking to and fro alone, in an empty hut in the 
 firelight." 
 
 There is an extraordinary effect in Helen herself 
 being one of the Crowns of Life — a fair equivalent for 
 the throne of the world. 
 
 P. 57, 1. 940 ff., Alexander . . . Paris.] — Two plays 
 on words in the Greek. 
 
 P. 58, 1. 956, The old Gate-Warden.]— He and the 
 Watchers are, of course, safely dead. But on the 
 general lines of the tradition it may well be that Helen 
 is speaking the truth. She loved both Menelaus 
 and Paris ; and, according to some versions, hated 
 D^Yphobus, the Trojan prince who seized her after 
 Paris' death. There is a reference to D^Iphobus in 
 the MSS. of the play here, but I follow Wilamowitz 
 in thinking it spurious. 
 
 Pp. 63 ff.. Chorus.] — On the Trojan Zeus see 
 above, on p. 11. Mount Ida caught the rays of the 
 rising sun in some special manner and distributed them 
 to the rest of the world ; and in this gleam of 
 heavenly fire the God had his dwelling, which is now 
 
NOTES 93 
 
 the brighter for the flames of his City going up like 
 incense ! 
 
 Nothing definite is known of the Golden Images 
 and the Moon-Feasts. 
 
 P, 64, I. 1088, Towers of the Giants.] — The pre- 
 historic castles of Tiryns and Mycdnae. 
 
 P. 65, 1. nil, May Helen be there.] — (Cf. above.) 
 PitanS was one of the five divisions of Sparta. Athena 
 had a " Bronzen House " on the acropolis of Sparta. 
 Simoi's, of course, the river of Troy. 
 
 P. 71, 1. 1232, 1 make thee whole.] — Here as else- 
 where Hecuba fluctuates between fidelity to the 
 oldest and most instinctive religion, and a rejection of 
 all Gods. 
 
 P. 72, 1. 1240, Lo, I have seen the open hand of 
 God.] — The text is, perhaps, imperfect here ; but 
 Professor Wilamowitz agrees with me that Hecuba 
 has seen something like a vision. The meaning of 
 this speech is of the utmost importance. It expresses 
 the inmost theme of the whole play, a search for an 
 answer to the injustice of suffering in the very 
 splendour and beauty of suffering. Of course it must 
 be suffering of a particular kind, or, what comes to the 
 same thing, sufiering borne in a particular way ; but 
 in that case the answer seems to me to hold. One 
 does not really think the world evil because there are 
 martyrs or heroes in it. For them the elements of 
 beauty which exist in any great trial of the spirit 
 become so great as to overpower the evil that created 
 them — to turn it from shame and misery into tragedy. 
 Of course to most sufferers, to children and animals 
 and weak people, or those without inspiration, the 
 doctrine brings no help. It is a thing invented by a 
 poet for himself 
 
 P. 75, 1. 1288, Thou of the Ages.]— The Phrygian 
 All-Father, identified with Zeus, son of Kronos. 
 (Cf on p. n.) 
 
 P. 76, 1. 1304, Now hast thou found thy prayer.] — 
 
94 EURIPIDES 
 
 The Gods have deserted her, but she has still the dead. 
 (Cf. above, on p. 71,) 
 
 P. 79, 1. 1332, Forth to the dark Greek ships.] — 
 Curiously like another magnificent ending of a great 
 poem, that of the Chanson de Roland, where Charle- 
 magne is called forth on a fresh quest : 
 
 " Deus," dist li Reis, " si penuse est ma vie I " 
 Pluret des oilz, sa barbe blanche tiret. . . , 
 
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 Hippolytus. 1 6th Thousand. 
 The Bacchae. 12th Thous. 
 The Trojan Women. l3thTh. 
 Electra. 1 5th Thousand. 
 Medea. loth Thousand. 
 Iphigenia In Tauris. 8th Th. 
 Rhesus. 3rd Thousand. 
 
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THE 
 
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 EURIPIDES 
 
 TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH RHYMING VERSE 
 WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES BY 
 
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First Edition, Navemter 1905 
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 February 1913 
 April 1914 
 
 Performed at 
 
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 IN 1907 
 
INTRODUCTION* 
 
 The Electro of Euripides has the distinction of being, 
 perhaps, the best abused, and, one might add, not the 
 best understood, of ancient tragedies. "A singular 
 monument of poetical, or rather unpoetical perver- 
 sity;" "the very worst of all his pieces;" are, for 
 instance, the phrases applied to it by Schlegel. Con- 
 sidering that he judged it by the standards of con- 
 ventional classicism, he could scarcely have arrived at 
 any different conclusion. For it is essentially, and 
 perhaps consciously, a protest against those standards. 
 So, indeed, is the tragedy of The Trojan Women ; but 
 on very different lines. The Electro has none of the 
 imaginative splendour, the vastness, the intense poetry, 
 of that wonderful work. It is a close-knit, powerful, 
 well-constructed play, as realistic as the tragic con- 
 ventions will allow, intellectual and rebellious. Its 
 psychology reminds one of Browning, or even of Ibsen. 
 To a fifth-century Greek all history came in the 
 form of legend ; and no less than three extant 
 tragedies, Aeschylus* Libation- Bearers (456 B.C.), Euri- 
 pides' Electra (413 B.C.), and Sophocles^ Electra (date 
 unknown : but perhaps the latest of the three) are 
 based on the particular piece of legend or history 
 now before us. It narrates how the son and daughter 
 
 ' Most of this introduction is reprinted, by the kind permission of 
 the Editors, from an article in the Independent Review, vol. i. No, 4, 
 
vi INTRODUCTION 
 
 of the murdered king, Agamemnon, slew, in due 
 course of revenge, and by Apollo's express command, 
 their guilty mother and her paramour. 
 
 Homer had long since told the story, as he tells so 
 many, simply and grandly, without moral questioning 
 and without intensity. The atmosphere is heroic. 
 It is all a blood-feud between chieftains, in which 
 Orestes, after seven years, succeeds in slaying his foe 
 Aegisthus, who had killed his father. He probably 
 killed his mother also ; but we are not directly told so. 
 His sister may have helped him, and he may possibly 
 have gone mad afterwards ; but these painful issues 
 are kept determinedly in the shade. 
 
 Somewhat surprisingly, Sophocles, although by his 
 time Electra and Clytemnestra had become leading 
 figures in the story and the mother-murder its essen- 
 tial climax, preserves a very similar atmosphere. His 
 tragedy is enthusiastically praised by Schlegel for " the 
 celestial purity, the fresh breath of life and youth, 
 that is diffused over so dreadful a subject." "Every- 
 thing dark and ominous is avoided. Orestes enjoys 
 the fulness of health and strength. He is beset 
 neither with doubts nor stings of conscience." Espe- 
 cially laudable is the "austerity" with which Aegisthus 
 is driven into the house to receive, according to 
 Schlegel, a specially ignominious death I 
 
 This combination of matricide and good spirits, 
 however satisfactory to the determined classicist, will 
 probably strike most intelligent readers as a little 
 curious, and even, if one may use the word at all in 
 connection with so powerful a play, undramatic. It 
 
INTRODUCTION vii 
 
 becomes intelligible as soon as we observe that Sopho- 
 cles was deliberately seeking what he regarded as an 
 archaic or " Homeric " style (cf. Jebb, Introd. p. xli.) ; 
 and this archaism, in its turn, seems to me best 
 explained as a conscious reaction against Euripides'" 
 searching and unconventional treatment of the same 
 subject (cf. Wilamowitz in Hermes, xviii. pp. 214 flF.). 
 In the result Sophocles is not only more " classical " 
 than Euripides; he is more primitive by far than 
 Aeschylus. 
 
 For Aeschylus, though steeped in the glory of the 
 world of legend, would not lightly accept its judg- 
 ment upon religious and moral questions, and above 
 all would not, in that region, play at make-believe. 
 He would not elude the horror of this story by simply 
 not mentioning it, like Homer, or by pretending that 
 an evil act was a good one, like Sophocles. He faces 
 the horror ; realises it ; and tries to surmount it on 
 the sweep of a great wave of religious emotion. The 
 mother-murder, even if done by a god's command, is 
 a sin ; a sin to be expiated by unfathomable suSering. 
 Yet, since the god cannot have commanded evil, it is 
 a duty also. It is a sin that must be committed. 
 
 Euripides, here as often, represents intellectually 
 the thought of Aeschylus carried a step further. He 
 faced the problem just as Aeschylus did, and as 
 Sophocles did not. But the solution offered by 
 Aeschylus did not satisfy him. It cannot, in its 
 actual details, satisfy any one. To him the mother- 
 murder — like most acts of revenge, but more than 
 most — was a sin and a horror. Therefore it should 
 
 b 
 
viii INTRODUCTION 
 
 not have been committed ; and the god who enjoined 
 it did command evil, as he had done in a hundred 
 other cases ! He is no god of light ; he is only a 
 demon of old superstition, acting, among other in- 
 fluences, upon a sore-beset man, and driving him 
 towards a miscalled duty, the horror of which, when 
 done, will unseat his reason. 
 
 But another problem interests Euripides even more 
 than this. What kind of man was it — above all, 
 what kind of woman can it have been, who would do 
 this deed of mother-murder, not in sudden fury but 
 deliberately, as an act of " justice," after many years ? 
 A "sympathetic" hero and heroine arc out of the 
 question ; and Euripides does not deal in stage villains. 
 He seeks real people. And few attentive readers of 
 this play can doubt that he has found them. 
 
 The son is an exile, bred in the desperate hopes 
 and wild schemes of exile ; he is a prince without 
 a kingdom, always dreaming of his wrongs and his 
 restoration ; and driven by the old savage doctrine, 
 which an oracle has confirmed, of the duty and 
 manliness of revenge. He is, as was shown by his 
 later history, a man subject to overpowering impulses 
 and to fits of will-less brooding. Lastly, he is very 
 young, and is swept away by his sister's intenser 
 nature. 
 
 That sister is the central figure of the tragedy. A 
 woman shattered in childhood by the shock of an 
 experience too terrible for a girl to bear ; a poisoned 
 and a haunted woman, eating her heart in ceaseless 
 broodings of hate and love, alike unsatisfied — hate 
 
INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 against her mother and stepfather, love for her dead 
 father and her brother in exile ; a woman who has 
 known luxury and state, and cares much for them ; 
 who is intolerant of poverty, and who feels her youth 
 passing away. And meantime there is her name, on 
 which all legend, if I am not mistaken, insists ; she is 
 A-lektra^ " the Unmated." 
 
 There is, perhaps, no woman's character in the 
 range of Greek tragedy so profoundly studied. Not 
 Aeschylus' Clytemnestra, not Phaedra nor Medea. 
 One's thoughts can only wander towards two great 
 heroines of "lost" plays. Althaea in the Meleager, 
 and Stheneboca in the Bellerophon. 
 
 G. M. 
 
ELECTRA 
 
CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY 
 
 Clytbmnbstra, Queen of Argos and Mycenae; widow of Aga- 
 memnon. 
 
 Elbctra, daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra. 
 Okbstes, son of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra, now in banishment, 
 A Feasant, husband of Electro, 
 An Old HtL^, formerly servant to Agamemnon. 
 Pvladbs, son of Strophios, King of Phocis-y friend to Orestes. 
 Abgisthus, usurping King of Argos and Mycenae, now husband 
 of Clytemnestra. 
 
 The Heroes Castor and PoLYDEncES. 
 Chokus of Argive Women, with their Leader. 
 Followers of Orestes ; Handmaids of Clytemnestra. 
 
 TTu Scene is laid in the mountains of Argos, The play was first 
 produced between the years 414 and \12 B.C. 
 
ELECTRA 
 
 The scene represents a hut on a desolate mountain side ; 
 the river Inachus is visible in the distance. The 
 time is the dusk of early dawn, before sunrise. The 
 Peasant is discovered in front of the hut. 
 
 Peasant. 
 
 Old gleam on the face of the world, I give thee 
 
 hail, 
 River of Argos land, where sail on sail 
 The long ships met, a thousand, near and far, 
 When Agamemnon walked the seas in warj 
 Who smote King Priam in the dust, and burned 
 The storied streets of Ilion, and returned 
 Above all conquerors, heaping tower and fane 
 Of Argos high with spoils of Eastern slain. 
 
 So in far lands he prospered ; and at home 
 Hjs own wife trapped and slew him. 'Twas the doom 
 Aegisthus wrought, son of his father's foe. 
 
 Gone is that King, and the old spear laid low 
 That Tantalus wielded when the world was young. 
 Aegisthus hath his queen, and reigns among 
 His people. And the children here alone, 
 Orestes and Electra, buds unblown 
 
4 EURIPIDES 
 
 Of man and womanhood, when forth to Troy 
 He shook his sail and left them — lo, the boy 
 Orestes, ere Aegisthus' hand could fall, 
 Was stolen from Argos — borne by one old thrall, 
 Who served his father's boyhood, over seas 
 Far oflF, and laid upon King Strophios' knees 
 In Phocis, for the old king's sake. But here 
 The maid Electra waited, year by year, 
 Alone, till the warm days of womanhood 
 Drew nigh and suitors came of gentle blood 
 In Hellas. Then Aegisthus was in fear 
 Lest she be wed in some great house, and bear 
 A son to avenge her father, Close he wrought 
 Her prison in his house, and gave her not 
 To any wooer. Then, since even this 
 Was full of peril, and the secret kiss 
 Of some bold prince might find her yet, and rend 
 Her prison walls, Aegisthus at the end 
 Would slay her. Then her mother, she so wild 
 Aforetime, pled with him and saved her child. 
 Her heart had still an answer for her lord 
 Murdered, but if the child's blood spoke, what word 
 Could meet the hate thereof ? After that day 
 Aegisthus thus decreed : whoso should slay 
 The old king's wandering son, should win rich 
 
 jneed 
 Of gold ; and for Electra, she must wed 
 With me, not base of blood — in that I stand 
 True Mycenaean — but in gold and land 
 ^Most poor, which maketh highest birth as naught. 
 ;' So from a powerless husband shall be wrought 
 V A powerless peril. Had some man of might 
 Possessed her, he had called perchance to light 
 
ELECTRA 5 
 
 Her father's blood, and unknown vengeances 
 Risen on Aegisthus yet. 
 
 Aye, mine she is : 
 But never yet these arms — the Cyprian knows 
 My truth ! — have clasped her body, and she goes 
 A virgin still. Myself would hold it shame 
 To abase this daughter of a royal name. 
 I am too lowly to love violence. Yea, 
 Orestes too doth move me, far away. 
 Mine unknown brother I Will he ever now 
 Come back and see his sister bowed so low P 
 
 Doth any deem me fool, to hold a fair 
 Maid in my room and seek no joy, but spare 
 Her maidenhood ? If any such there be, 
 Let him but look within. The fool is he 
 In gentle things, weighing the more and less 
 Of love by his own heart's untenderness. 
 
 [jis he ceases Electra comes out of the hut. She 
 is in mourning garb, and carries a large 
 pitcher on her head. She speaks without 
 observing the Peasant's presence. 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Dark shepherdess of many a golden star, 
 Dost see me. Mother Night f And how this jar 
 Hath worn my earth-bowed head, as forth and fro 
 For water to the hillward springs I go ? 
 Not for mere stress of need, but purpose set, 
 That never day nor night God may forget 
 Aegisthus' sin : aye, and perchance a cry 
 Cast forth to the waste shining of the sky 
 
6 EURIPIDES 
 
 May find my fether's ear. . . . The woman bred 
 Of Tyndareus, my mother — on her head 
 Be curses ! — from my house hath outcast me ; 
 She hath borne children to our enemy ; 
 She hath made me naught, she hath made Orestes 
 naught. . . . 
 
 [As the bitterness of her tone increases, the 
 Peasant comes forward. 
 
 Peasant. 
 
 What wouldst thou now, my sad one, ever fraught 
 With toil to lighten my toil ? And so soft 
 Thy nurture was ! Have I not chid thee oft, 
 And thou wilt cease not, serving without end ? 
 
 Electra [fuming to him with impulsive affection). 
 
 O friend, my friend, as God might be my friend, 
 Thou only hast not trampled on my tears. 
 Life scarce can be so hard, 'mid many fears 
 And many shames, when mortal heart can find 
 Somewhere one healing touch, as my sick mind 
 Finds thee. . . . And should I wait thy word, to 
 
 endure 
 A little for thine easing, yea, or pour 
 My strength out in thy toiling fellowship ? 
 Thou hast enough with fields and kine to keep ; 
 'Tis mine to make all bright within the door. 
 'Tis joy to him that toils, when toil is o'er. 
 To find home waiting, full of happy things. 
 
ELECTRA 
 
 Peasant. 
 
 If so it please thee, go thy way. The springs 
 Are not far off And I before the morn 
 Must drive my team afield, and sow the corn 
 In the hollows. — Not a thousand prayers can gain 
 A man's bare bread, save an he work amain. 
 
 [Elkctra and the Peasant depart on their several 
 ways. After a few moments there enter 
 stealthily two armed men, Orestes and 
 Pylades. 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 Thou art the first that I have known in deed 
 True and my friend, and shelterer of my need. 
 Thou only, Pylades, of all that knew, 
 Hast held Orestes of some worth, all through 
 These years of helplessness, wherein I lie 
 Downtrodden by the murderer — yea, and by 
 The murderess, my mother ! ... I am come. 
 Fresh from the cleansing of Apollo, home 
 To Argos — and my coming no man yet 
 Knoweth — to pay the bloody twain their debt 
 Of blood. This very night I crept alone 
 To my dead father's grave, and poured thereon 
 My heart's first tears and tresses of my head 
 New-shorn, and o'er the barrow of the dead 
 Slew a black lamb, unknown of them that reign 
 In this unhappy land. ... I am not fain 
 To pass the city gates, but hold me here 
 Hard on the borders. So my road is clear 
 
8 EURIPIDES 
 
 To fly if men look close and watch my way ; 
 
 If not, to seek my sister. For men say 
 
 She dwelleth in these hills, no more a maid 
 
 But wedded. I must find her house, for aid 
 
 To guide our work, and learn what hath betid 
 
 Of late in Argos. — Ha, the radiant lid 
 
 Of Dawn's eye lifteth ! Come, friend ; leave we now 
 
 This trodden path. Some worker of the plough, 
 
 Or serving damsel at her early task 
 
 Will presently come by, whom we may ask 
 
 If here my sister dwells. But soft I Even now 
 
 I see some bondmaid there, her death-shorn brow 
 
 Bending beneath its freight of well-water. 
 
 Lie close until she pass ; then question her. 
 
 A slave might help us well, or speak some sign 
 
 Of import to this work of mine and thine. . 
 
 [The two men retire into ambush. Electra 
 enters, returning from the well. 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Onward, O labouring tread, 
 
 As on move the years ; 
 Onward amid thy tears, 
 
 O happier dead 1 
 
 Let me remember. I am she, [Strophe i. 
 
 Agamemnon's child, and the mother of me 
 
 Clytemnestra, the evil Queen, 
 
 Helen's sister. And folk, I ween. 
 
 That pass in the streets call yet my name 
 
 Electra. . . . God protect my shame 1 
 
ELECTRA S 
 
 For toil, toil is a weary thing, 
 
 And life is heavy about my head ; 
 And thou far off, O Father and King, 
 In the lost lands of the dead. 
 A bloody twain made these things be ; 
 One was thy bitterest enemy, 
 And one the wife that lay by thee. 
 
 Brother, brother, on some far shore [Jntistrophe i. 
 
 Hast thou a city, is there a door 
 
 That knows thy footfall. Wandering One f 
 
 Who left me, left me, when all our pain 
 
 Was bitter about us, a father slain. 
 
 And a girl that wept in her room alone. 
 
 Thou couldst break me this bondage sore. 
 Only thou, who art far away. 
 
 Loose our father, and wake once more. . . . 
 Zeus, Zeus, dost hear me pray ? . . . 
 The sleeping blood and the shame and the doom ! 
 O feet that rest not, over the foam 
 Of distant seas, come home, come home ! 
 
 What boots this cruse that I carry ? [Strophe 2, 
 
 O, set free my brow I 
 For the gathered tears that tarry 
 
 Through the day and the dark till now, 
 Now in the dawn are free. 
 
 Father, and flow beneath 
 The floor of the world, to be 
 
 As a song in the house of Death : 
 From the rising up of the day 
 They guide my heart alway. 
 The silent tears unshed, 
 And my body mourns for the dead ; 
 
lo EURIPIDES 
 
 My cheeks bleed silently, 
 
 And these bruised temples keep 
 Their pain, remembering thee 
 
 And thy bloody sleep. 
 
 Be rent, O hair of mine head ! 
 
 As a swan crying alone 
 
 Where the river windeth cold. 
 For a loved, for a silent one, 
 
 Whom the toils of the fowler hold, 
 I cry. Father, to thee, 
 O slain in misery I 
 
 The water, the wan water, [Antistropht 2 
 
 Lapped him, and his head 
 Drooped in the bed of slaughter 
 
 Low, as one wearied ; 
 Woe for the cdgdd axe. 
 
 And woe for the heart of hate, 
 Houndlike about thy tracks, 
 
 O conqueror desolate. 
 From Troy over land and sea. 
 Till a wife stood waiting thee ; 
 Not with crowns did she stand, 
 Nor flowers of peace in her hand ; 
 With Acgisthus' dagger drawn 
 
 For her hire she strove, 
 Through shame and thrdugh blood alone ; 
 
 And won her a traitor's love. 
 
 [As she ceases there enter from right and 
 left the Chorus, consisting of women of 
 ArgoSy young and oldy in festal dress. ^ 
 
ELECTRA IT 
 
 Chorus. 
 Some JVomen. 
 
 Child of the mighty dead, [Strophe, 
 
 Electra, lo, my way 
 To thee in the dawn hath sped, 
 
 And the cot on the mountain grey. 
 
 For the Watcher hath cried this day : 
 He of the ancient folk, 
 
 The walker of waste and hill. 
 Who drinketh the milk of the flock ; 
 
 And he told of Hera's will ; 
 For the morrow's morrow now 
 
 They cry her festival, 
 And before her throne shall bow 
 Our damsels all 
 
 Elkctra. 
 
 Not unto joy, nor sweet 
 
 Music, nor shining of gold. 
 The wings of my spirit beat. 
 
 Let the brides of Argos hold 
 
 Their dance in the night, as of old ; 
 I lead no dance ; I mark 
 
 No beat as the dancers sway ; 
 With tears I dwell in the dark, 
 
 And my thought is of tears alway, 
 
 To the going down of the day. 
 Look on my wasted hair 
 And raiment. . . . This that I bear. 
 
la EURIPIDES 
 
 Is it meet for the King my sire, 
 
 And her whom the King begot ? 
 For Troy, that was burned with fire 
 And forgetteth not f 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Other Women. 
 
 Hera is great ! — Ah, come, [Antistrophe. 
 
 j Be kind ; and my hand shall bring 
 { Fair raiment, work of the loom, 
 And many a golden thing. 
 For joyous robe-wearing. 
 Deemest thou this thy woe 
 
 Shall rise unto God as prayer, 
 Or bend thine haters low ? 
 
 Doth God for thy pain have care ? 
 Not tears for the dead nor sighs. 
 
 But worship and joy divine 
 Shall win thee peace in thy skies, 
 O daughter mine ! 
 
 Electra. 
 
 No care cometh to God 
 
 For the voice of the helpless ; none 
 For the crying of ancient blood, 
 
 Alas for him that is gone. 
 
 And for thee, O wandering one : 
 That now, methinks, in a land 
 
 Of the stranger must toil for hire, 
 And stand where the poor men stand, 
 
 A-cold by another's fire, 
 
 O son of the mighty sire : 
 
ELECTRA 13 
 
 While I in a beggar's cot 
 
 On the wrecked hills, changing not. 
 
 Starve in my soul for food ; 
 
 But our mother lieth wed 
 In another's arms, and blood 
 Is about her bed. 
 
 Leader. 
 
 On all of Greece she wrought great jeopardy, 
 Thy mother's sister, Helen, — and on thee. 
 
 [Orestes and Pylades move out from their con- 
 cealment ; Okestes comes forward : Pylades 
 beckons to two Armed Servants and stays 
 with them in the background. 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Woe's me ! No more of wailing ! Women, flee ! 
 Strange armW men beside the dwelling there 
 Lie ambushed ! They are rising from their lair. 
 Back by the road, all you. I will essay 
 The house ; and may our good feet save us ! 
 
 Orestes [between Electra and the hut). 
 
 Stay, 
 Unhappy woman ! Never fear my steel. 
 
 Electra {in utter panic). 
 
 O bright Apollo 1 Mercy ! See, I kneel } 
 Slay me not. 
 
14 EURIPIDES 
 
 Orestes. 
 Others I have yet to slay 
 Less dear than thou. 
 
 Electra. 
 Go from me ! Wouldst thou lay 
 Hand on a body that is not for thee ? 
 
 Orestes. 
 None is there I would touch more righteously. 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Why lurk'st thou by my house ? And why a sword ? 
 
 Orestes. 
 Stay. Listen I Thou wilt not gainsay my word. 
 
 Electra. 
 There — I am still. Do what thou wilt with me. 
 Thou art too strong. 
 
 Orestes. 
 A word I bear to thee . . . 
 Word of thy brother. 
 
 Electra. 
 Oh, friend I More than friend I 
 Living or dead ? 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 He lives ; so let me send 
 My comfort foremost, ere the rest be heard. 
 
ELECTRA 15 
 
 Electra. 
 God love thee for the sweetness of thy word I 
 
 Oresths. 
 God love the twain of us, both thee and me. I 
 
 Electra. 
 He lives ! Poor brother 1 In what land weareth he 
 His exile ? 
 
 Orestes. 
 Not one region nor one lot 
 His wasted life hath trod. 
 
 Electra. 
 
 He lacketh not 
 For bread i 
 
 In exile. 
 
 Orestes. 
 Bread hath he ; but a man is weak 
 
 Electra. 
 What charge laid he on thee ? Speak, 
 
 Orestes. 
 To learn if thou still live, and how the storm, 
 Living, hath struck thee. 
 
 Electra. 
 
 That thou seest ; this form 
 Wasted . . , 
 
i6 EURIPIDES 
 
 Orestes. 
 Yea, riven with the fire of woe. 
 I sigh to look on thee. 
 
 Electra. 
 
 My face ; and, lo, 
 My temples of their ancient glory shorn. 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 Methinks thy brother haunts thee, being forlorn ; 
 Aye, and perchance thy father, whom they slew. . 
 
 Electra. 
 What should be nearer to me than those two ? 
 
 Orestes. 
 And what to him, thy brother, half so dear 
 As thou ? 
 
 Electra. 
 His is a distant love, not near 
 
 At need. 
 
 Orestes. 
 But why this dwelling place, this life 
 Of loneliness ? 
 
 Electra {with sudden bitterness). 
 
 Stranger, I am a wife. . . . 
 O better dead ! 
 
ELECTRA 17 
 
 Orestes.' 
 
 That seals thy brother's doom ! 
 What Prince of Argos . . . ? 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Not the man to whom 
 My father thought to give me. 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 Speak ; that I 
 May tell thy brother all, 
 
 Electra. 
 
 'Tis there, hard by, 
 His dwelling, where I live, far from men's eyes. 
 
 Orestes. 
 Some ditcher's cot, or cowherd's, by its guise ! 
 
 Electra {struck with shame for her ingratitude). 
 A poor man ; but true-hearted, and to me 
 God-fearing. 
 
 Orestes. 
 How ? What fear of God hath he ? 
 
 Electra. 
 He hath never held my body to his own. 
 
 Orestes. 
 Hath he some vow to keep ? Or is it done 
 To scorn thee ? 
 
 B 
 
i8 EURIPIDES 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Nay ; he only scorns to sin 
 Against my father's greatness. 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 But to win 
 A princess I Doth his heart not leap for pride i 
 
 Electra. 
 He honoureth not the hand that gave the bride. 
 
 Orestes. 
 I see. He trembles for Orestes' wrath ? 
 
 Electra. 
 Aye, that would move him. But beside, he hath 
 A gentle heart. 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 Strange 1 A good man. ... I swear 
 He we lLshall be requited . 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Whensoe'er 
 Our wanderer comes again I 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 Thy mother stays 
 Unmoved 'mid all thy wrong f 
 
 Electra. 
 
 A lover, weighs 
 More than a child in any woman's heart. 
 
ELECTRA 19 
 
 Oresths. 
 
 But what end seeks Aegisthus, by such art 
 Of shame ? 
 
 Electra. 
 
 To make mine unborn children low 
 And weak, even as my husband. 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 Lest there grow 
 From thee the avenger ?j 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Such his purpose is : 
 For which may I requite him I 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 And of this 
 Thy virgin life — Aegisthus knows it f 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Nay, 
 We speak it not. It cometh not his way. 
 
 Orestes. 
 These women hear us. Are they friends to thee ? 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Aye, friends and true. They will keep faithfully 
 All words of mine and thine. 
 
20 EURIPIDES 
 
 Orestes {trying her). 
 
 Thou art well stayed 
 With friends. And could Orestes give thee aid 
 In aught, if e'er . . . 
 
 Electra. 
 Shame on thee ! Seest thou not ? 
 ' Is it not time ? 
 
 Orestes {catching her excitement). 
 
 How time ? And if he sought 
 To slay, how should he come at his desire ? 
 
 Electra. 
 By daring, as they dared who slew his sire I 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 Wouldst thou dare with him, if he came, thou too, 
 To slay her? 
 
 Electra. 
 Yes ; with the same axe that slew 
 My father ! 
 
 Orestes. 
 'Tis thy message ? And thy mood 
 Unchanging ? 
 
 Electra. 
 Let me shed my mother's blood, 
 And I die happy. 
 
ELECTRA 21 
 
 Orestes. 
 God ! . . . I would that now 
 Orestes heard thee here. 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Yet, wottest thou, 
 Though here I saw him, I should know him not. 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 Surely. Ye both were children, when they wrought 
 Your parting. 
 
 Electra. 
 
 One alone in all this land 
 Would know his face. 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 The thrall, methinks, whose hand 
 Stole him from death — or so the story ran ? 
 
 Electra. 
 He taught my father, too, an old old man 
 Of other days than these. 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 Thy father's grave . . . 
 He had due rites and tendance ? 
 
 Electra. 
 
 What chance gave. 
 My father had, cast out to rot in the sun. 
 
22 EURIPIDES 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 God, 'tis too much ! , . . To hear of such things done 
 Even to a stranger, stings a man. . . . But speak, 
 Tell of thy life, that I may know, and seek 
 Thy brother with a tale that must be heard 
 Howe'er it sicken. If mine eyes be blurred, 
 Remember, 'tis the fool that feels not. Aye, 
 Wisdom is full of pity ; and thereby 
 Men pay for too much wisdom with much pain. 
 
 Leader. 
 
 My heart is moved as this man's. I would fain 
 Learn all thy tale. Here dwelling on the hills 
 Little I know of Argos and its ills. 
 
 Electra. 
 
 If I must speak — and at love's call, God knows, 
 
 I fear not — I will tell thee all ; my woes, 
 
 My father's woes, and — O, since thou hast stirred 
 
 This storm of speech, thou bear him this my word — 
 
 H i s woes and shame ! Tell of this narrow cloak 
 
 In the wind ; this grime and reek of toil, that choke 
 
 My breathing ; this low roof that bows my head 
 
 After a king's. This raiment . . . thread by thread, 
 
 'Tis I must weave it, or go bare — must bring, 
 
 Myself, each jar of water from the spring. 
 
 No holy day for me, no festival, 
 
 No dance upon the green I From all, from all 
 
 I am cut off. No portion hath my life 
 
 'Mid wives of Argos, being no true wife. 
 
 No portion where the maidens throng to praise 
 
 Castor — my Castor, whom in ancient days, 
 
ELECTRA 33 
 
 Ere he passed from us and men worshipped him, 
 They named my bridegroom ! — 
 
 And she, she! . . . The grim 
 Troy spoils gleam round her throne, and by each 
 
 hand 
 Queens of the East, my father's prisoners, stand, 
 A cloud of Orient webs and tangling gold. 
 And there upon the floor, the blood, the old 
 Black blood, yet crawls and cankers, like a rot 
 In the stone ! And on our father's chariot 
 The murderer's foot stands glorying, and the red 
 False hand uplifts that ancient staff, that led 
 The armies of the world I . . . Aye, tell him how 
 The grave of Agamemnon, even now, 
 Lacketh the common honour of the dead ; 
 A desert barrow, where no tears are shed, 
 No tresses hung, no gift, no myrtle spray. 
 And when the wine is in him, so men say, 
 Our mother's mighty master leaps thereon. 
 Spurning the slab, or pelteth stone on stone. 
 Flouting the lone dead and the twain that live : 
 " Where is thy son Orestes ? Doth he give 
 Thy tomb good tendance f Or is all forgot ? " 
 So is he scorned because he cometh not. . . . 
 O Stranger, on my knees, I charge thee, tell 
 This tale, not mine, but of dumb wrongs that swell 
 Crowding — and I the trumpet of their pain. 
 This tongue, these arms, this bitter burning brain ; 
 These dead shorn locks, and he for whom they 
 
 diedl 
 His father slew Troy's thousands in their pride : 
 He hath but one to kill. . . . O God, but one I 
 Is he a man, and Agamemnon's son ? | 
 
24 EURIPIDES 
 
 Leader. 
 
 But hold : is this thy husband from the plain, 
 His labour ended, hasting home again i 
 
 Enter the Peasant. 
 
 Peasant. 
 
 Ha, who be these ? Strange men in arms before 
 My house I What would they at this lonely door ? 
 Seek they for me ? — Strange gallants should not stay 
 A woman's goings. 
 
 Electra. 
 Friend and helper ! — Nay, 
 Think not of any evil. These men be 
 Friends of Orestes, charged with words for me I . . , 
 Strangers, forgive his speech. 
 
 Peasant. 
 
 What word have they 
 Of him ? At least he lives and sees the day ? 
 
 Electra. 
 So fares their tale — and sure I doubt it not ! 
 
 Peasant. 
 And ye two still are living in his thought. 
 Thou and his father ? 
 
 Electra. 
 
 In his dreams we live. 
 An exile hath small power. 
 
ELECTRA 25 
 
 Some privy message ? 
 
 For news of me. 
 
 Peasant. 
 
 And did he give 
 
 Electra. 
 None : they come as spies 
 
 Peasant, 
 
 Thine outward news their eyes 
 Can see ; the rest, methinks, thyself will tell. 
 
 Electra. 
 They have seen all, heard all. I trust them well. 
 
 Peasant. 
 
 Why were our doors not open long ago ? — 
 Be welcome, strangers both, and pass below 
 My lintel. In return for your glad words 
 Be sure all greeting that mine house affords 
 Is yours. — Ye followers, bear in their gear ! — 
 Gainsay me not ; for his sake are ye dear 
 That sent you to our house ; and though my part 
 In life be low, I am no churl at heart. 
 
 [The Peasant goes to the Armed Servants at 
 the back, to help them with the baggage. 
 
 Orestes [aside to Electra). 
 
 Is this the man that shields thy maidenhood 
 Unknown, and will not wrong thy father's blood ? 
 
26 EURIPIDES 
 
 Electra. 
 He is called my husband. 'Tis for him I toil. 
 
 Orestes. 
 Hoyf dark lies honou r hid ! And what turmoil 
 In ail things human : sons of mighty men 
 Fallen to naught, and f rom ill seed again 
 Good fruit : yea, famine in the rich man's scroll 
 ^WriFdeep, and in poor flesh a lordly soul. 
 As, lo, this man, not great in Argos, not 
 With pride of house uplifted, in a lot 
 Of unmarked life hath shown a prince's grace. 
 
 [To the Peasant, who has returned. 
 All that is here of Agamemnon's race. 
 And all that lacketh yet, for whom we come. 
 Do thank thee, and the welcome of thy home 
 Accept with gladness. — Ho, men ; hasten ye 
 Within ! — This open-hearted poverty 
 Is blither to my sense than feasts of gold. 
 
 Lady, thine husband's welcome makes me bold ; 
 Yet would thou hadst thy brother, before all 
 Confessed, to greet us in a prince's hall I 
 Which may be, even yet. Apollo spake 
 1 The word ; and surely, though small store I make 
 I Of man's jdiviningj God wil l fail us not. 
 
 [Orestes and Pylades go in^ following the 
 Servants. 
 
 Leader. 
 O never was the heart of hope so hot 
 Within me. How ? So moveless in time past, 
 Hath Fortune girded up her loins at last ? 
 
ELECTRA 27 
 
 Electra. 
 Now know'st thou not thine own ill furniture, 
 To bid these strangers in, to whom for sure 
 Our best were hardship, men of gentle breed ? 
 
 Peasant. 
 
 Nay, if the men be gentle, as indeed 
 
 I deem them, they will take good cheer or ill 
 
 With even kindness. 
 
 Electra. 
 
 'Twas ill done ; but still — 
 Go, since so poor thou art, to that old friend 
 Who reared my father. At the realm's last end 
 He dwells, where Tanaos river foams between 
 Argos and Sparta. Long time hath he been 
 An exile 'mid his flocks. Tell him what thing 
 Hath chanced on me, and bid him haste and bring 
 Meat for the strangers' tending. — Glad, I trow. 
 That old man's heart will be, and many a vow 
 Will lift to God, to learn the child he stole 
 From death, yet breathes. — I will not ask a dole 
 From home ; how should my mother help me i Nay, 
 I pity him that seeks that door, to say 
 Orestes liveth I 
 
 Peasant. 
 
 Wilt thou have it so ? 
 I will take word to the old man. But go 
 Quickly within, and whatso there thou find 
 Set out for them. A woman, if her mind 
 So turn, can lig ht on many a pleasant thing 
 To fill her board. And surely plenishing 
 We have for this one day. — 'Tis in such shifts 
 
28 EURIPIDES 
 
 As these, I care for riches, to make gifts 
 To friends, or lead a sick man back to health 
 With ease and plenty. Else small aid is wealth 
 For daily gladness ; once a man be done 
 With hunger, rich and poor are all as one. 
 
 [The Peasant goes off to the left ; Electra goei 
 into the home. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 O for the ships of Troy, the beat [Strophe i. 
 
 Of oars that shimiriered 
 Innumerable, and dancing feet 
 
 Of Nereids glimmered ; 
 And dolphins, drunken with the lyre, 
 Across the dark blue prows, like fire, 
 
 Did bound and quiver. 
 To cleave the way for Thetis' son, 
 Fleet-in-the-wind Achilles, on 
 To war, to war, till Troy be won 
 
 Beside the reedy river. 
 
 Up from Euboea's caverns came [Antistrophe i. 
 
 The Nereids, bearing 
 Gold armour from the Lords of Flame, ^^ ^'^'''"v 
 
 Wrought for his wearing : 
 Long sought those daughters of the deep, 
 Up Pelion's glen, up Ossa's steep 
 
 Forest enchanted. 
 Where Pelcus reared alone, afar, 
 His lost sea-maiden's child, the star 
 Of Hellas, and swift help of war 
 
 When weary armies panted. 
 
ELECTRA 29 
 
 There came a man from Troy, and told [Strophe 2. 
 
 Here in the haven, 
 How, orb on orb, to strike with cold 
 The Trojan, o'er that targe of gold, 
 
 Dread shapes were graven. 
 All round the level rim thereof 
 Perseus, on winged feet, above 
 
 The long seas hied -him ; 
 The Gorgon's wild and bleeding hair 
 He lifted ; and a herald fair. 
 He of the wilds, whom Maia bare, 
 
 God's Hermes, flew beside him. 
 
 [Antistrophe 2. 
 But midmost, where the boss rose higher, 
 
 A sun stood blazing, 
 And winged steeds, and stars in choir, 
 Hyad and Pleiad, fire on fire. 
 
 For Hector's dazing : 
 Across the golden helm, each way. 
 Two taloned Sphinxes held their prey. 
 
 Song-drawn to slaughter : 
 And round the breastplate ramping came 
 A mingled breed of lion and flame. 
 Hot-eyed to tear that steed of fame 
 
 That found Pir6n6's water. 
 
 The red red sword with steeds four-yoked [Epode, 
 
 Black-maned, was graven, 
 That laboured, and the hot dust smoked 
 
 Cloud wise to heaven. 
 
30 EURIPIDES 
 
 Thou Tyndarid woman I Fair and tall 
 Those warriors were, and o'er them all 
 
 One king great-hearted, 
 Whom thou and thy false love did slay : 
 Therefore the tribes of Heaven one day 
 For, these thy dead shall send on thee 
 An iron death : j;ea, men shall see 
 The white throat drawn,^ and bloodVred spray. 
 And lips in terror parted. 
 
 [y^f they ceascy there enters from the left a very 
 old man, bearing a lamby a wineskiny and 
 a wallet. 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 Where is my little Princess ? Ah, not row ; 
 But still my queen, who tended long ago 
 The lad that was her father. . . . How steep-set 
 These last steps to her porch I But faint not yet : 
 Onward, ye failing knees and back with pain 
 Bowed, till we look on that dear face again. 
 
 [Enter Electra. 
 Ah, daughter, is it thou ? — Lo, here I am. 
 With gifts from all my store ; this suckling lamb 
 Fresh from the ewe, green crowns for joyfiilness, 
 And creamy things new-curdled from the press. 
 And this long-storid juice of vintages 
 Forgotten, cased in fragrance : scant it is, 
 But passing sweet to mingle nectar-wise 
 With feebler wine. — Go, bear them in; mine eyes . . • 
 Where is my cloak ? — They are all blurred with 
 tears. 
 
ELECTRA 31 
 
 Electra. 
 
 What ails thine eyes, old friend ? After these years 
 Doth my low plight still stir thy memories ? 
 Or think'st thou of Orestes, where he lies 
 In exile, and my father f Aye, long love 
 Thou gavest him, and seest the fruit thereof 
 Wasted, for thee and all who love thee I 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 All 
 Wasted I And yet 'tis that lost hope withal 
 I cannot brook. But now I turned aside 
 To see my master's grave. All, far and wide. 
 Was silence ; so I bent these knees of mine 
 And wept and poured drink-ofierings from the wine 
 I bear the strangers, and about the stone 
 Laid myrtle sprays. And, child, I saw thereon 
 Just at the censer slain, a fleeced ewe. 
 Deep black, in sacrifice : the blood was new 
 About it : and a tress of bright brown hair 
 Shorn as in mourning, close. Long stood I there 
 And wondered, of all men what man had gone 
 In mourning to that grave. — My child, 'tis none 
 In Argos. Did there come . . . Nay, mark me 
 
 now . . . 
 Thy brother in the dark, last night, to bow 
 His head before that unador^d tomb ? 
 
 O come, and mark the colour of it. Come 
 And lay thine own hair by that mourner's tress I 
 A hundred little things make likenesses 
 In brethren born, and show the father's blood. 
 
32 EURIPIDES 
 
 Electra {trying te mask her excitement and resist the 
 contagion of his"). 
 Old heart, old heart, is this a wise man^s mood ? . . . 
 O, not in darkness, not in fear of men. 
 Shall Argos find him, when he comes again, 
 Mine own undaunted . . . Nay, and if it were, 
 What likeness could there be ? My brother's hair 
 Is as a prince's and a rover's, strong 
 With sunlight and with strife : not like the long 
 Locks that a woman combs. . . . And many a head 
 Hath this same semblance, wing for wing, tho' bred 
 Of blood not ours. . . , 'Tis hopeless. Peace, old 
 man. 
 
 Old Man. 
 The footprints ! Set thy foot by his, and scan 
 The track of frame and muscles, how they fit ! 
 
 Electra. 
 
 That ground will take no footprint I All of it 
 
 Is bitter stone. ... It hath ? . . . And who hath 
 
 said 
 There should be likeness in a brother's tread 
 And sister's ? His is stronger every way. 
 
 Old Man. 
 But hast thou nothing . . . ? If he came this day 
 And sought to show thee, is there no one sign 
 Whereby to know him ? . . . Stay ; the robe was 
 
 thine. 
 Work of thy loom, wherein I wrapt him o'er 
 That night, and stole him through the murderers' door. 
 
ELECTRA 33 
 
 Electra. 
 Thou knowest, when Orestes was cast out 
 I was a child. ... If I did weave some clout 
 Of raiment, would he keep the vesture now 
 He wore in childhood ? Should my weaving grow 
 As his limbs grew ? . . 'Tis lost long since. No 
 
 more ! 
 O, either 'twas some stranger passed, and shore 
 His locks for very ruth before that tomb : 
 Or, if he found perchance, to seek his home, 
 Some spy . . . 
 
 Old Man. 
 The strangers ! Where are they ? I fain 
 Would see them, aye, and bid them answer plain . . . 
 
 Electra. 
 Here at the door ! How swift upon the thought ! 
 
 Enter Orestes and Pylades. 
 Old Man. 
 High-born : albeit for that I trust them not. / 
 The highest oft are false. . . . Howe'er it be, 
 
 [Approaching them, 
 I bid the strangers hail ! 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 All hail to thee, 
 Greybeard I — Prithee, what man of all the King 
 Trusted of old, is now this broken thing ? 
 
 Electra. 
 'Tis he that trained my father's boyhood. 
 
34 EURIPIDES 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 How? 
 And stole from death thy brother ? Sayest thou ? 
 
 Electra. 
 This man was his deliverer, if it be 
 Deliverance, 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 How his old eye pierceth me, 
 As one that testeth silver and alloy I 
 Sees he some likeness here ? 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Perchance 'tis joy, 
 To see Orestes' comrade, that he feels. 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 None dearer. — But what ails the man ? He reels 
 Dizzily back. 
 
 Electra. 
 I marvel. I can say 
 No more. 
 
 Old Man (in a broken voice). 
 
 Electra, mistress, daughter, pray ! 
 Pray unto God ! 
 
 Electra. 
 Of all things I crave. 
 The thousand things, or all that others have. 
 What should I pray for i 
 
ELECTRA 35 
 
 Old Man. 
 Pray thine arms may hold 
 At last this treasure-dream of more than gold 
 God shows us ! 
 
 Electra. 
 God, I pray thee ! . . . Wouldst thou more ? 
 
 Old Man. 
 Gaze now upon this man, and bow before 
 Thy dearest upon earth ! 
 
 Electra. 
 
 I gaze on t h e e J 
 O, hath time made thee mad ? 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 Mad, that I see 
 Thy brother f 
 
 Electra. 
 
 My ... I know not what thou say'st : 
 I looked not for it . . . 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 I tell thee, here confessed 
 Standeth Orestes, Agamemnon's son 1 
 
 Electra. 
 A sign before I trust thee 1 O, but one I 
 How dost thou know . . ^ ? 
 
36 EURIPIDES 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 There, by his brow, I see 
 The scar he made, that day he ran with thee 
 Chasing thy fawn, and fell. 
 
 Electra {in a dull voice). 
 
 A scar ? 'Tis so. 
 I see a scar. 
 
 Old Man. 
 And fearest still to throw 
 Thine arms round him thou lovest ? 
 
 Electra. 
 
 O, no more ! 
 Thy sign hath conquered me. . . . {throwing herself 
 
 into Orestes' arms). At last, at last 1 
 Thy face like light I And do I hold thee fest, 
 Unhoped for ? 
 
 Orestes. 
 Yea, at last 1 And I hold thee. 
 
 Electra, 
 I never knew , , . 
 
 Orestes. 
 I dreamed not. 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Is it he, 
 Orestes f 
 
ELECTRA 37 
 
 Orestes. 
 Thy defender, yea, alone 
 To fight the world ! Lo, this day have I thrown 
 A net, which once unbroken from the sea 
 Drawn home, shall . . . O, and it must surely be ! 
 Else men shall knowTnere is no God, no light 
 In Heaven, if wrong to the end shall conquetxight. . 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Comest thou, comest thou now, 
 Chained by the years and slow, 
 
 O Day long sought ? 
 A light on the mountains cold 
 Is lit, yea, a fire burneth. 
 'Tis the light of one that turneth 
 From roamings manifold. 
 Back out of exile old 
 
 To the house that knew him not. 
 
 Some spirit hath turned our way, 
 
 Victory visible. 
 Walking at thy right hand, 
 Belovdd ; O lift this day 
 Thine arms, thy voice, as a spell j 
 And pray for thy brother, pray, 
 Threading the perilous land, 
 
 That all be well ! 
 
 Orestes. 
 Enough ; this dear delight is mine at last 
 Of thine embracing ; and the hour comes fast 
 
38 EURIPIDES 
 
 When we shall stand again as now we stand, 
 
 And stint not. — Stay, Old Man : thou, being at hand 
 
 At the edge of time, advise me, by what way 
 
 Best to requite my father's murderers. Say, 
 
 Have I in Argos any still to trust ; 
 
 Or is the love, once borne me, trod in dust. 
 
 Even as my fortunes are ? Whom shall I seek ? 
 
 By day or night ? And whither turn, to wreak 
 
 My will on them that hate us ? Say. 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 My son, 
 In thine adversity, there is not one 
 Will call thee friend. Nay, that were treasure-trove, 
 A friend to share, not faltering from love. 
 Fair days and foul the same. Thy name is gone 
 Forth to all Argos, as a thing o'erthrown 
 And dead. Thou hast not left one spark to glow 
 With hope in one friend's heart 1 Hear all, and 
 
 know : 
 Thou hast God's fortune and thine own right hand. 
 Naught else, to conquer back thy fatherland. 
 
 Orestbs. 
 The deed, the deed I What must we do i 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 Strike down 
 Aegisthus . . . and thy mother. 
 
 Orkstks. 
 
 'Tis the crown 
 My race is run for. But how find him ? 
 
ELECTRA 39 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 Not 
 Within the city walls, however hot 
 Thy spirit. 
 
 Orestes. 
 Ha ! With watchers doth he go 
 Begirt, and mailed pikemen ? 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 Even so : 
 He lives in fear of thee, and night nor day 
 Hath slumber. 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 That way blocked ! — 'Tis thine to say 
 What next remains. 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 I will ; and thou give ear. 
 A thought has found me I 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 All good thoughts be near, 
 For thee to speak and me to understand ! 
 
 Old Man. 
 But now I saw Aegisthus, close at hand 
 As here I journeyed. 
 
 Orestes. 
 That good word shall trace 
 My path for me ! Thou saw'st him ? In what place ? 
 
40 EURIPIDES 
 
 Old Man. 
 Out on the pastures where his horses stray. 
 
 Orestes. 
 What did he there so far ? — A gleam of day 
 Crosseth our darkness. 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 'Twas a feast, methought, 
 Of worship to the wild-wood nymphs he wrought. 
 
 Orestes. 
 The watchers of men's birth ? Is there a son 
 New born to him, or doth he pray for one 
 That Cometh ? ^Movement »/Electra. 
 
 Old Man. 
 More I know not ; he had there 
 A wreathed ox, as for some weighty prayer. 
 
 Orestes. 
 What force was with him ? Not his serfs alone ? 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 No Argive lord was there ; none but his own 
 Household. 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 Not any that might know my race. 
 Or guess ? 
 
 Old Man. 
 Thralls, thralls ; who ne'er have seen thy face. 
 
ELECTRA 41 
 
 Orestes. 
 Once I prevail, the thralls will welcome me ! 
 
 Old Man. 
 The slaves' way, that ; and no ill thing for thee ! 
 
 Orestes. 
 How can I once come near him i 
 
 f 
 Old Man. 
 
 Walk thy ways 
 Hard by, where he may see thee, ere he slays 
 His sacrifice. 
 
 Orestes, 
 
 How ? Is the road so nigh i 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 I- 
 
 He cannot choose but see thee, passing by. 
 And bid thee stay to share the beast they kill, j 
 
 Orestes. 
 A bitter fellow-feaster, if God will I 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 And then . . . then swift be heart and brain, to see 
 God's chances ! 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 Aye. Well hast thou counselled me. 
 But . , . where is she? 
 
4* EURIPIDES 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 In Argos now, I guess ; 
 But goes to join her husband, ere the press 
 Of the feast. 
 
 Orestes. 
 Why goejih not my mother straight 
 Forth at her husband's side f 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 She fain will wait 
 Until the gathered country-folk be gone. 
 
 Orestes. 
 Enough I She knows what eyes are turned upon 
 Her passings in the land ! 
 
 \ The unholy 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 Aye, all men hate 
 
 woman. 
 
 Orestes. 
 How then can I set 
 My snare for wife and husband in one breath f 
 
 Electra {coming forward). 
 \ Hold I ^It is I must wor k our mother's death. 
 
 Orestes. 
 If that be done, I think the other deed 
 Fortune will guide, 
 
ELECTRA 43 
 
 Electra. 
 
 This man must help our need, 
 One friend alone for both. 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 He will, he will ! 
 Speak on. What cunning hast thou found to fill 
 Thy purpose ? 
 
 Electra. 
 Get thee forth, Old Man, and quick 
 Tell Clytemnestra . . . tell her I lie sick, 
 New-mothered of a man-child. 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 Thou hast borne 
 A son ! But when i 
 
 Electra. 
 Let this be the tenth morn. 
 Till then a mother stays in sanctity, 
 Unseen, 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 And if I tell her, where shall be 
 The death in this ? 
 
 Electra. 
 
 That word let her but hear, 
 Straight she will seek me out I 
 
44 EURIPIDES 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 The queen ! What care 
 Hath she for thee, or pain of thine i 
 
 Electra. 
 
 She will ; 
 And weep my babe's low station I 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 Thou hast skill 
 To know her, child ; say on. 
 
 Electra. 
 
 But bring her here, 
 Here to my hand ; the rest will come. 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 I swear, 
 Here at the gate she shall stand palpable ! 
 
 Electra. 
 The gate : the gate that leads to me and Hell. 
 
 Old Man. 
 Let me but see it, and I die content. 
 
 Electra. 
 First, then, my brother : see his steps be bent . . . 
 
 Old Man. 
 Straight yonder, where Aegisthus makes his prayer I 
 
ELECTRA 45 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Then seek my mother's presence, and declare 
 Mjr news. 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 Thy very words, child, as tho' spoke 
 From thine own lips I 
 
 Electra. 
 Brother, thine hour is struck. 
 Thou standest in the van of war this day. 
 
 Orestes [rousing himself). 
 
 Aye, I am iSady. ... I will go my way, 
 If but some man will guide me. 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 Here am I, 
 To speed thee to the end, right thankfully. 
 
 Orestes {turning as he goes and raising his hands to 
 heaven). 
 
 Zeus of my sires, Zeus of the lost battle, 
 
 Electra. 
 Have pity ; have pity ; we have earned it well ! 
 
 Old Man. 
 Pity these twain, of thine own body sprung 1 
 
 Electra. 
 O Queen o'er Argive altars, Hera high. 
 
46 EURIPIDES 
 
 - Orestes. 
 Grant us thy strength, if for the right we cry. 
 
 Old Man. 
 Strength to these twain, to right their father's wrong ! 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Earth, deep Earth, to whom I yearn in vain, 
 
 Orestes. 
 And deeper thou, O father darkly slain. 
 
 Old Man. 
 Thy children call, who love thee : hearken thou ! 
 
 Orestes. 
 Girt with thine own dead armies, wake, O wake ! 
 
 Electra. 
 With all that died at llion for thy sake . . . 
 
 Old Man. 
 And hate earth's dark defilers ; help us now ! 
 
 Electra. 
 Dost hear us yet, O thou in deadly wrong, 
 Wronged by my mother ? 
 
 Old Man. 
 
 Child, we stay too long. 
 He hears ; be sure he hears ! 
 
 Electra. 
 
 And while he hears, 
 
 1 speak this word for omen in his ears ; 
 
ELECTRA 47 
 
 " Aegisthus dies, Acgisthus (lies." ... Ah me, 
 My brother, should it strike not him, but thee, 
 This wrestling with dark death, behold, I too 
 Am dead that hour. Think of me as one true, 
 Not one that lives, I have a sword made keen 
 For this, and shall strike deep, 
 
 I will go in 
 And make all ready. If there come from thee 
 Good tidings, all my house for ecstasy 
 Shall cry ; and if we hear that thou art dead. 
 Then comes the other end ! — Lo, I have said, 
 
 Orestes, 
 I know all, all. 
 
 ElECTRA. -• It'H y^r 
 
 Then be a man to-day \j 
 [Orestes and the Old Man depart. 
 O Women, let your voices from this fray 
 Flash me a fiery signal, where I sit. 
 The sword across my knees, expecting it. 
 For never, though they kill me, shall they touch 
 My living limbs ! — I know my way thus much. 
 
 \She goes into the house. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 When white-haired folk are met [Strophe 
 
 In Argos about the fold, 
 A story lingereth yet, 
 
 A voice of the mountains old, 
 
 That tells of the Lamb of Gold : 
 
48 EURIPIDES 
 
 A lamb from a mother mild, 
 
 But the gold of it curled and beat ; 
 And Pan, who holdeth the keys of the wild, 
 
 Bore it to Atreus' feet : 
 His wild reed pipes he blew, 
 
 And the reeds were filled with peace, 
 And a joy of singing before him flew. 
 
 Over the fiery fleece : 
 And up on the bas^d rock. 
 
 As a herald cries, cried he : 
 " Gather ye, gather, O Argive folk, 
 
 The King's Sign to see. 
 The sign of the blest of God, 
 
 For he that hath this, hath all ! " 
 Therefore the dance of praise they trod 
 
 In the Atreid brethren's hall. 
 
 They opened before men's eyes [Antistrophe. 
 
 That which was hid before, 
 The chambers of sacrifice. 
 
 The dark of the golden door, 
 
 And fires on the altar floor. 
 And bright was every street. 
 
 And the voice of the Muses' tree. 
 The carven lotus, was lifted sweet ; 
 
 When afar and suddenly. 
 Strange songs, and a voice that grew : 
 
 " Come to your king, ye folk I 
 Mine, mine, is the Golden Ewe ! " 
 
 'Twas dark Thyestes spoke. 
 For, lo, when the world was still. 
 
 With his brother's bride he lay, 
 And won her to work his will, 
 
 And they stole the Lamb away I 
 
ELECTRA 49 
 
 Then forth to the folk strode he, 
 
 And called them about his fold, 
 And showed that Sign of the King to be. 
 
 The fleece and the horns of gold. 
 
 Then, then, the world was changed ; [Strophe 2. 
 
 And the Father, where they ranged, 
 Shook the golden stars and glowing, 
 
 And the great Sun stood deranged 
 In the glory of his going. 
 
 Lo, from that day forth, the East 
 
 Bears the sunrise on his breast. 
 And the flaming Day in heaven 
 
 Down the dim ways of the west 
 Driveth, to be lost at even. 
 
 The wet clouds to Northward beat ; 
 
 And Lord Ammon's desert seat 
 Crieth from the South, unslaken. 
 
 For the dews that once were sweet. 
 For the rain that God hath taken. 
 
 'Tis a children's tale, that old [Antistrophe 2 
 
 Shepherds on far hills have told ; 
 And we reck not of their telling. 
 
 Deem not that the Sun of gold 
 Ever turned his fiery dwelling. 
 
 Or beat backward in the sky, 
 Tor the wrongs of man, the cry 
 Of his ailing tribes assembled, 
 To do justly, ere they die !, 
 'Once, men told the tale, and trembled ; 
 
so EURIPIDES 
 
 Fearing God, O Queen : whom thou 
 
 Hast forgotten, till thy brow 
 With old blood is dark and daunted. 
 
 And thy brethren, even now, 
 Walk among the stars, enchanted. _J 
 
 Leader. 
 
 Ha, friends, was that a voice ? Or some dream 
 
 sound 
 Of voices shakcth me, as underground 
 God's thunder shuddering ? Hark, again, and clear ! 
 It swells upon the wind. — Come forth and hear 1 
 Mistress, Elcctra ! 
 
 Electra, a bare sword in her hand, comes 
 from the house. 
 
 Elkctra. 
 
 Friends ! Some news is brought ? 
 How hath the battle ended ? 
 
 Leader. 
 
 I know naught. 
 There seemed a cry as of men massacred 1 
 
 Electra. 
 I heard it too. Far off, but still I heard. 
 
 Leader. 
 A distant floating voice . . . Ah, plainer now ! 
 
ELECTRA 51 
 
 Elbctra. 
 Of Argivc anguish ! — Brother, is it tb.ou f 
 
 Leader. 
 I know not. Many confused voices cry . , , 
 
 Electra. 
 Death, then for me ! That answer bids me die. 
 
 Leader. 
 Nay, wait ! We know not yet thy fortune. Wait ! 
 
 Electra. 
 No messenger from him ! — Too late, too late I 
 
 Leader. 
 The message yet will come. 'Tis not a thing 
 So light of compass, to strike down a king. 
 
 Enter a Messenger, running. 
 Messenger. 
 Victory, Maids of Argos, Victory ! 
 Orestes ... all that love him, list to me I . . . 
 Hath conquered I Agamemnon's murderer lies 
 Dead 1 O give thanks to God with happy cries ! 
 
 Electra. 
 Who art thou ? I mistrust thee. . . . 'Tis a plot ! 
 
 Messenger. 
 Thy brother's man. Look well. Dost know me not ? 
 
$2 EURIPIDES 
 
 Electra. 
 Friend, friend ; my terror made me not to see 
 Thy visage. Now I know and welcome thee. 
 How sayst thou ? He is dead, verily dead. 
 My father's murderer , . . ? 
 
 Messenger. 
 
 Shall it be said 
 Once more ? I know again and yet again 
 Thy heart would hear. Aegisthus lieth slain I 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Ye Gods I And thou, O Right, that seest all, 
 Art come at last ? . . . But speak ; how did he fall ? 
 How swooped the wing of death ? ... I crave 
 to hear. 
 
 Messenger. 
 
 Forth of this hut we set our faces clear 
 
 To the world, and struck the open chariot road ; 
 
 Then on toward the pasture lands, where stood 
 
 The great Lord of Mycenae. In a set 
 
 Garden beside a channelled rivulet. 
 
 Culling a myrtle garland for his brow. 
 
 He walked : but hailed us as we passed : " How now, 
 
 Strangers 1 Who are ye f Of what city sprung, 
 
 And whither bound ? " " Thessalians," answered 
 
 young 
 Orestes : " to Alpheiis journeying. 
 With gifts to Olympian Zeus." Whereat the king : 
 " This while, beseech you, tarry, and make full 
 The feast upon my hearth. We slay a bull 
 
ELECTRA 53 
 
 Here to the Nymphs. Set forth at break of day 
 To-morrow, and twill cost you no delay. 
 But come " — and so he gave his hand, and led 
 The two men in — " I must not be gainsaid ; 
 Come to the house. Ho, there ; set close at hand 
 Vats of pure water, that the guests may stand 
 At the altar's verge, where falls the holy spray." 
 Then quickly spake Orestes : " By the way 
 We cleansed us in a torrent strea m. We need 
 No puritying herer~ButTflndeed 
 Strangers m^'sESire thy worship, here are we 
 Ready, O King, and swift to follow thee." 
 
 So spoke they in the midst. And every thrall 
 Laid down the spears they served the King withal, 
 And hied him to the work. Some bore amain 
 The death-vat, some the corbs of hallowed grain ; 
 Or kindled fire, and round the fire and in 
 Set cauldrons foaming ; and a festal din 
 Filled all the place. Then took thy mother's lord 
 The ritual grains, and o'er the altar poured 
 Its due, and prayed : " O Nymphs of Rock and 
 
 Mere, 
 With many a sacrifice for many a year, 
 May I and she who waits at home for me, 
 My Tyndarid Queen, adore you. May it be 
 Peace with us always, even as now ; and all 
 111 to mine enemies" — meaning withal 
 Thee and Orestes. Then my master prayed 
 Against that prayer, but silently, and said 
 No word, to win once more his fatherland. 
 Then in the corb Aegisthus set his hand. 
 Took the straight blade, cut from the proud bull's head 
 A lock, and laid it where the fire was red ; 
 
54 EURIPIDES 
 
 Then, while the young men held the bull on high, 
 
 Slew it with one clean gash ; and suddenly 
 
 Turned on thy brother : " Stranger, every true 
 
 Thessalian, so the story goes, can hew 
 
 A bull's limbs clean, and tame a mountain steed. 
 
 Take up the steel, and shpw us if indeed 
 
 Rumour speak true." Right swift Orestes took 
 
 The Dorian blade, back from his shoulders shook 
 
 His broochW mantle, called on Pylades 
 
 To aid him, and waved back the thralls. With ease 
 
 Heelwise he held the bull, and with one glide 
 
 Bared the white limb ; then stripped the mighty 
 
 hide 
 From off him, swifter than a runner runs 
 His furlongs, and laid clean the flank. At once 
 Aegisthus stooped, and lifted up with care 
 The ominous parts, and gazed. No lobe was there ; 
 But lo, strange caves of gall, and, darkly raised, 
 The portal vein boded to him that gazed 
 Fell visitations. Dark as night his brow 
 Clouded. Then spake Orestes : " Why art thou 
 Cast down so sudden ? " " Guest," he cried, " there be 
 Treasons from whence I know not, seeking me. 
 Of all my foes, 'tis Agamemnon's son ; 
 His hate is on my house, like war." " Have done ! " 
 Orestes cried : " thou fear'st an exile's plot. 
 Lord of a city ? Make thy cold heart hot 
 With meat. — Ho, fling me a Thessalian steel ! 
 This Dorian is too light. I will unseal 
 The breast of him." He took the heavier blade, 
 And clave the bone. And there Aegisthus stayed, 
 The omens in his hand, dividing slow 
 This sign from that ; till, while his head bent low, 
 
ELECTRA 55 
 
 Up with a leap thy brother flashed the sword, 
 
 Then down upon his neck, and cleft the cord 
 
 Of brain and spine. Shuddering the body stood 
 
 One instant in an agony of blood, 
 
 And gasped and fell. The henchmen saw, and 
 
 straight 
 Flew to their spears, a host of them to set 
 Against those twain. But there the twain did 
 
 stand 
 Unfaltering, each his iron in his hand. 
 Edge fronting edge. Till " Hold," Orestes calls : 
 " I come not as in wrath against these walls 
 And mine own people. One man righteously 
 I have slain, who slew my father. It is I, 
 The wronged Orestes ! Hold, and smite me not. 
 Old housefolk of my father I " When they caught 
 That name, their lances fell. And one old man. 
 An ancient in the house, drew nigh to scan 
 His face, and knew him. Then with one accord 
 They crowned thy brother's temples, and outpoured 
 Joy and loud songs. And hither now he fares 
 To show the head, no Gorgon, that he bears. 
 But that Aegisthus whom thou hatest ! Yea, 
 Blood against blood, his debt is paid this day. 
 
 [He goes off to meet the others — Electra stands 
 as though stupefied. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Now, now thou shalt dance in our dances. 
 
 Beloved, as a fawn in the night ! 
 The wind is astir for the glances 
 
 Of thy feet ; thou art robed with delight. 
 
56 EURIPIDES 
 
 He hath conquered, he cometh to free us 
 
 With garlands new-won, 
 More high than the crowns of Alpheils, 
 
 Thine own father's son : 
 Cry, cry, for the day that is won I 
 
 Electra. 
 
 O Light of the Sun, O chariot wheels of flame, 
 O Earth and Night, dead Night without a name 
 That held me ! Now mine eyes are raised to see, 
 And all the doorways of my soul flung free. 
 Aegisthus dead I My father's murderer dead ! 
 What have I still of wreathing for the head 
 Stored in my chambers ? Let it come forth now 
 To bind my brother's and my conqueror's brow, 
 
 [Some garlands are brought out from the house tt 
 Electra. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Go, gather thy garlands, and lay them 
 
 As a crown on his brow, many-tressed, 
 But our feet shall refrain not nor stay them : 
 
 'Tis the joy that the Muses have blest. 
 For our king is returned as from prison, 
 
 The old king, to be master again, 
 Our beloved in justice re-risen : 
 With guile he hath slain . . . 
 But cry, cry in joyance again ! 
 
 [There enter from the left Orestes and Pylades, 
 followed by some thralls. 
 
ELECTRA 57 
 
 Electra. 
 
 O conqueror, come ! The king that trampled Troy 
 Knoweth his son Orestes. Come in joy, 
 Brother, and take to bind thy rippling hair 
 My crowns ! . . . O what are crowns, that runners 
 
 wear 
 For some vain race ? But thou in battle true 
 Hast felled our foe Aegisthus, him that slew 
 By craft thy sire and mine. [She crowns Orestes. 
 
 And thou no less, 
 O friend at need, O reared in righteousness, 
 Take, Pylades, this chaplet from my hand. 
 'Twas half thy battle. And may ye two stand 
 Thus alway, victory-crowned, before my face ! 
 
 [She crowns Pylades. 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 Electra, first as workers of this grace 
 Praise thou the Gods, and after, if thou will^ 
 Praise also me, as chosen to fulfil 
 God;s_W9rkL_3XuL=JEate^s. — Aye, 'tis no more a 
 
 dream ; ~ 
 
 In very deed I come from slaying him. 
 Thou hast the knowledge clear, but lo, I bring 
 More also. See himself, dead I 
 
 [Attendants bring in the body »/ Aegisthus on a bier. 
 
 Wouldst thou fling 
 This lord on the rotting earth for beasts to tear ? 
 Or up, where all the vultures of the air 
 May glut them, pierce and nail him for a sign 
 Far off? Work all thy will. Now he is thine. 
 
58 EURIPIDES 
 
 Electra. 
 It shames me ; yet, God knows, I hunger sore — 
 
 Orestes. 
 What wouldst thou ? Speak ; the old fear nevermore 
 Need touch thee. 
 
 Electra. 
 To let loose upon the dead 
 My hate ! Perchance to rouse on mine own head 
 The sleeping hate of the world ? 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 No man that lives 
 Shall scathe thee by one word. 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Our city gives 
 Quick blame ; and little love have men for me. 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 If aught thou hast unsaid, sister, be free 
 And speak. Between this man and us no bar 
 Cometh nor stint, but the utter rage of war. 
 
 [She goes and stands over the body. A moments 
 silence. 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Ah me, what have I ? What first flood of hate 
 To loose upon thee ? What last curse to sate 
 My pain, or river of wild words to flow 
 Bank-high between ? . . . Nothing ? . . . And yet 
 I know 
 
ELECTRA 59 
 
 There hath not passed one sun, but through the long 
 
 Cold dawns, over and over, like a song, 
 
 I have said them — words held back, O, some day yet 
 
 To flash into thy face, would but the fret 
 
 Of ancient fear fall loose and let me free. 
 
 And free I am, now ; and can pay to thee 
 
 At last the weary debt. 
 
 Oh, thou didst kill 
 My soul within. Who wrought thee any ill. 
 That thou shouldst make me fatherless ? Aye, me 
 And this my brother, loveless, solitary ? 
 'Twas thou, didst bend my mother to her shame : 
 "Vhy weakTiand^murdered him who lecCio fame 
 'fh^TaTOtTor Hellas — thou, that never cKJ^sed 
 Overseas toTroy ! . . . God help thee, wast thou lost 
 In blindness, long ago, dreaming, some-wise, 
 She would be true with thee, whose sin and lies 
 Thyself had tasted in my father's place ? 
 And then, that thou wert happy, when thy days 
 Were all one pain ? Thou knewest ceaselessly 
 Her kiss a thing unclean, and she knew thee 
 A lord so little true, so dearly won ! 
 So lost ye both, being in falseness one, 
 What fortune else had granted ; she thy curse. 
 Who marred thee as she loved thee, and thou hers . . . 
 And on thy ways thou heardst men whispering, 
 *' Lo, the Queen's husband yonder " — not " the King." 
 
 And then the lie of lies that dimmed thy brow. 
 Vaunting that by thy gold, thy chattels, Thou 
 Wert Something ; which themselves are nothingness, 
 Shadows, to clasp a moment ere they cease. 
 The thing thou art, and not the things thou hast, 
 Abideth, yea, and bindcth to the last 
 
6o EURIPIDES 
 
 Thy burden on thee : while all else, ill-won 
 And sin-companioned, like a flower o'erblown, 
 Flics on the wind away. 
 
 Or didst thou find 
 In women . . . Women ? . . . Nay, peace, peace ! 
 
 The blind 
 Could read thee. Cruel wast thou in thine hour. 
 Lord of a great king's house, and like a tower 
 Firm in thy beauty. 
 
 [Starting bad with a look of loathing. 
 Ah, that girl-like face ! 
 God grant, not that, not that, but some plain grace 
 Of manhood to the man who brings me love : 
 A father of straight children, that shall move 
 Swift on the wings of War. 
 
 So, get thee gone I 
 Naught knowing how the great years, rolling on, 
 Have laid thee bare, and thy long debt full paid. 
 
 O vaunt not, if one step be proudly made 
 In evil, that all Justice is o'ercast : 
 Vaunt not, ye men of sin, ere at the last 
 The thin-drawn marge before you glimmereth 
 Close, and the goal that wheels 'twixt life and death. 
 
 Leader. 
 Justice is mighty. Passing dark hath been 
 His sin : and dark the payment of his sin. 
 
 Elbctra {with a weary sigh, turning from the body). 
 Ah me ! Go some of you, bear him from sight. 
 That when my mother come, her eyes may light 
 On nothing, nothing, till she know the sword . . . 
 [The body is borne into the hut, Pylades goes with it. 
 
ELECTRA 6i 
 
 Orestes [looking along the road). 
 
 Stay, 'tis a new thing ! We have still a word 
 To speak . . . 
 
 Electra. 
 
 What f Not a rescue from the town 
 Thou seSst ? 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 'Tis my mother comes : my own 
 Mother, that bare me. \He takes off his crown, 
 
 Electra {springing, as it were, to life again, and 
 moving where she can see the road). 
 
 Straight into the snare ! 
 Aye, there she cometh. — Welcome in thy rare 
 Chariot ! All welcome in thy brave array 1 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 What would we with our mother ? Didst thou say 
 Kill her ? 
 
 Electra {turning on him). 
 
 What ? Is it pity ? Dost thou fear 
 To see thy mother's shape ? 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 'Twas she that bare 
 My body into life. She gave me suck. 
 How can 1 strike her ? 
 
62 EURIPIDES 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Strike her as she struck 
 Our father ! 
 
 Orestes {to himself, brooding). 
 
 Phoebus, God, was all thy mind 
 Turned unto darkness ? 
 
 Electra. 
 
 If thy God be blind, 
 Shalt thou have light f 
 
 Orestes {as htfore). 
 
 Thou, thou, didst bid me kill 
 My mother : which is sin. 
 
 Electra. 
 
 How brings it ill 
 To thee, to raise our father from the dust ? 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 I was a clean man once. Shall I be thrust 
 From men's sight, blotted with her blood ? 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Thy blot 
 Is black as death if h i m thou succour not ! 
 
 Orestes. 
 Who shall do judgment on me, when she dies ? 
 
ELECTRA 63 
 
 Elkctra. 
 
 Who shall do judgment, if thy father lies 
 Forgotten ? 
 
 Orestes (turning suddenly to Electra). 
 
 Stay 1 How if some fiend of Hell, 
 Hid in God's likeness, spake that oracle ? 
 
 Electra. 
 In God's own house ? I trow not. 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 And I trow 
 It was an evil charge I [He moves away from her, 
 
 Electra (almost despairing). 
 To fail me now ! 
 To fail me now !^ A coward ! — O brother, no ! 
 
 Orestes. 
 What shall it be, then ? The same stealthy blow . . . 
 
 Electra. 
 
 That slew our father! Courage I thou hast slain 
 Aegisthus. 
 
 Orestes. 
 Aye. So be it. — I have ta'en 
 A path of many terrors : and shall do 
 Deeds horrible. 'Tis God will have it so. . . . 
 Is this the joy of battle, or wild woe ? 
 
 \He goes into the house. 
 
64 EURIPIDES 
 
 Leader. 
 
 O Queen o'er Argos throned high, 
 
 O Woman, sister of the twain, 
 
 God's Horsemen, stars without a stain» 
 Whose home is in the deathless sky, 
 
 Whose glory in the sea's wild pain. 
 Toiling to succour men that die : 
 Long years above us hast thou been, 
 God-like for gold and marvelled power : 
 
 Ah, well may mortal eyes this hour 
 Observe thy state : All hail, O Queen ! 
 
 Enter from the right Clytemnestra on a chariot^ 
 accompanied by richly dressed Handmaidens. 
 
 Clytemnestra. 
 
 Down from the wain, ye dames of Troy, and hold 
 Mine arm as I dismount. . . . 
 
 [Answering Electra's thought. 
 The spoils and gold 
 Of Ilion I have sent out of my hall 
 To many shrines. These bondwomen are all 
 I keep in mine own house . . . Deemst thou the 
 
 cost 
 Too rich to pay me for the child I lost — 
 Fair though they be ? 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Nay, Mother, here am I 
 Bond likewise, yea, and homeless, to hold high 
 Thy royal arm I 
 
ELECTRA 65 
 
 Clytemnestra, 
 
 Child, the war-slaves are here ; 
 Thou needst not toil. 
 
 Electra. 
 
 What was it but the spear 
 Of war, drove me forth too ? Mine enemies 
 Have sacked my father's house, and, even as these, 
 Captives and fatherless, made me their prey. 
 
 Clytemnestra. 
 
 It was thy father cast his child away, 
 
 A child he might have loved 1 . . . Shall I speak 
 
 out? 
 [Controlling herself) Nay ; when a woman once is 
 
 caught about 
 With evil fame, there riseth in her tongue 
 A bitter spirit — wrong, I know 1 Yet, wrong 
 Or right, I charge ye look on the deeds done ; 
 And if ye needs must hate, when all is known, 
 Hate on 1 What profits loathing ere ye know ? 
 
 My father gave me to be his. 'Tis so. 
 But was it his to kill me, or to kill 
 The babes I bore ? Yet, lo, he tricked my will 
 With fables of Achilles' love : he bore 
 To Aulis and the dark ship-clutching shore, 
 He held above the altar-flame, and smote. 
 Cool as one reaping, through the strainW throat, 
 My white Iphigenia. . . . Had it been 
 To save some falling city, leaguered in 
 
 s 
 
66 EURIPIDES 
 
 With foemen ; to prop up our castle towers, 
 
 And rescue other children that were ours, 
 
 Giving one life for many, by God's laws 
 
 I had forgiven all ! Not so. Because 
 
 Helen was wanton, and her master knew 
 
 No curb for her : for that, for that, he slew 
 
 My daughter I — Even then, with all my wrong, 
 
 No wild beast yet was in me. Nay, for long, 
 
 I never would have killed him. But he came, 
 
 At last, bringing that damsel, with the flame 
 
 Of God about her, mad and knowing all : 
 
 And set her in my room ; and in one wall 
 
 Would hold two queens ! — O wild are woman's eyes 
 
 And hot her heart. I say not otherwise. 
 
 But, being thus wild, if then her master stray 
 
 To love far oflF, and cast his own away. 
 
 Shall not her will break prison too, and wend 
 
 Somewhere to win some other for a friend ? 
 
 And then on us the world's curse waxes strong 
 
 In righteousness ! The lords of all the wrong 
 
 Must hear no curse ! — I slew him. I trod then 
 
 The only road : which led me to the men 
 
 He hated. Of the friends of Argos whom 
 
 Durst I have sought, to aid me to the doom 
 
 I craved ? — Speak if thou wouldst, and fear not mc, 
 
 If yet thou deemst him slain unrighteously. 
 
 Leader. 
 
 / Thy words be just, yet shame their justice brings ; 
 ] A woman true of heart should bear all things 
 I From him she loves. And she who feels it not, 
 I cannot reason of her^ nor speak aught. 
 
ELECTRA 67 
 
 Elfctra. 
 _ Rememb er, mother, thy last word of grace, 
 Bidding me speak, andjear not, to thy face. 
 
 Clytemnestra. 
 So said I truly, child, and so say still. 
 
 Electra. 
 Wilt softly hear, and after work me ill ? 
 
 Clytemnestra. 
 Not so, not so. I will but pleasure thee. 
 
 Electra. 
 I answer then. And, mother, this shall be 
 My prayer of opening, where hangs the whole : 
 Would God that He had made thee clean of soul ! 
 Helen and thou — O, face and form were fair, 
 Meet for men's praise ; but sisters twain ye were. 
 Both things of naught, a stain on Castor's star. 
 And Helen slew her honour, borne afar 
 In wilful ravishment : but thou didst slay 
 The highest man of the world. And now wilt say 
 'Twas wrought in justice for thy child laid low 
 At Aulis ? . . . Ah, who knows thee as I know ? 
 Thou, thou, who long ere aught of ill was done 
 Thy child, when Agamemnon scarce was gone, 
 Sate at the looking-glass, and tress by tress 
 Didst comb the twined gold in loneliness. 
 When any wife, her lord being far away, 
 Toils to be fair, O blot her out that day 
 
68 EURIPIDES 
 
 As false within ! What would she with a cheek 
 
 So bright in strange men's eyes, unless she seek 
 
 Some treason ? None but I, thy child, could so 
 
 Watch thee in Hellas : none but I could know 
 
 Thy face of gladness when our enemies 
 
 Were strong, and the swift cloud upon thine eyes 
 
 If Troy seemed falling, all thy soul keen-set 
 
 Praying that h e might come no more 1 . . . And yet 
 
 It was so easy to be true. A king 
 
 Was thine, not feebler, not in anything 
 
 Below Aegisthus ; one whom Hellas chose 
 
 For chief beyond all kings. Aye, and God knows, 
 
 How sweet a name in Greece, after the sin 
 
 Thy sister wrought, lay in thy ways to win, 
 
 111 deeds make fair ones shine, and turn thereto 
 
 Men's eyes. — Enough : but say he wronged thee ; slew 
 
 By craft thy child : — what wrong had I done, what 
 
 The babe Orestes ? Why didst render not 
 
 Back unto us, the children of the dead, 
 
 Our father's portion ? Must thou heap thy bed 
 
 With gold of murdered men, to buy to thee 
 
 Thy strange man's arms ? Justice I Why is not he 
 
 Who cast Orestes out, cast out again ? 
 
 Not slain for me whom doubly he hath slain, 
 
 In living death, more bitter than of old 
 
 My sister's ? Nay, when all the tale is told 
 
 Of blood for blood, what murder shall we make, 
 
 I and Orestes, for our father's sake f 
 
 Clytemnestra. 
 
 Aye, child ; I know thy heart, from long ago. 
 Thou hast alway loved him best. 'Tis oft-time so : 
 Oiie^is hetjather's daughtei^ andjone hot 
 
 \i 
 
ELECTRA 69 
 
 To bear her mother's part. I blame thee not . . . 
 Yet think not I am happy, child ; nor flown 
 With pride now, in the deeds my hand hath done . . . 
 [Seeing Electra unsympathetic, she checks herself. 
 But thou art all untended, comfortless 
 Of body and wild of raiment ; and thy stress 
 Of travail scarce yet ended ! . . , Woe is me ! 
 'Tis all as I have willed it. Bitterly 
 I wrought against him, to the last blind deep 
 Of bitterness. . . . Woe's me ! 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Fair days to weep, 
 When help is not 1 Or stay : though he lie cold 
 Long since, there lives another of thy fold 
 Far off; there might be pity for thy son ? 
 
 Clytemnestra. 
 I dare not I . . . Yes, I fear him. 'Tis mine own 
 Life, and not his, comes first. And rumour saith 
 His heart yet burneth for his father's death. 
 
 Electra. 
 Why dost thou keep thine husband ever hot 
 Against me ? 
 
 Clytemnestra. 
 
 'Tis his mood. And thou art not 
 So gentle, child I 
 
 Electra. 
 My spirit is too sore I 
 Howbeit, from this day I will no more 
 Hate him. 
 
70 EURIPIDES 
 
 Clytkmnestra {with a flash of hope). 
 
 O daughter ! — Then, indeed, shall he, 
 I promise, never more be harsh to thee ! 
 
 Electra. 
 
 He lieth in my house, as 'twere his own. 
 'Tis that hath made him proud. 
 
 Clytemmestra. 
 
 Nay, art thou flown 
 To strife again so quick, child \ 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Well ; I say 
 No more ; long have I feared him, and alway 
 Shall fear him, even as now I 
 
 Clytemnestra. 
 
 Nay, daughter, peace ! 
 It bringeth little profit, speech like this . . . 
 Why didst thou call me hither ? 
 
 Electra. 
 
 It reached thee, 
 My word that a man-child is born to me ? 
 Do thou make offering for me — for the rite 
 I know not — as is meet on the tenth night. 
 I cannot ; I have borne no child till now. 
 
 Clytemnestra. 
 Who tended thee \ 'Tis she should make the vow. 
 
ELECTRA 71 
 
 Electra. 
 None tended me. Alone I bare my child. 
 
 Clytemnestra 
 
 What, is thy cot so friendless ? And this wild 
 So far from aid ? 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Who seeks for friendship sake 
 A beggar's house ? 
 
 Clytemnestra. 
 
 I will go in, and make 
 Due worship for thy child, the Peace-bringer. 
 To all thy need I would be minister. 
 Then to my lord, where by the meadow side 
 He prays the woodland nymphs. 
 
 Ye handmaids, guide 
 My chariot to the stall, and when ye guess 
 The rite draws near its end, in readiness 
 Be here again. Then to my lord I ... I owe 
 My lord this gladness, too. 
 
 [The Attendants depart ; Clytemnestra, lefl 
 alone, proceeds to enter the house, 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Welcome below 
 My narrow roof ! But have a care withal, 
 A grime of smoke lies deep upon the wall. 
 Soil not thy robe 1 . . . 
 
72 EURIPIDES 
 
 Not far now shall it be, . 
 The sacrifice God asks of me and thee. 
 The bread of Death is broken, and the knife 
 Lifted again that drank the Wild Bull's life : 
 And on his breast . . . Ha, Mother, hast slept well 
 Aforetime ? Thou shalt lie with him in Hell. 
 That grace I give to cheer thee on thy road ; 
 Give thou to me — peace from my father's blood ! 
 
 \She follows her mother into the home. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Lo, the returns of wrong. 
 
 The wind as a changed thing 
 Whispereth overhead 
 Of one that of old lay dead 
 In the water lapping long : 
 
 My King, O my King 1 
 
 A cry in the rafters then 
 
 Rang, and the marble dome : 
 
 " Mercy of God, not thou, 
 
 " Woman ! To slay me now, 
 
 "After the harvests ten 
 
 " Now, at the last, come home ! " 
 
 O Fate shall turn as the tide. 
 
 Turn, with a doom of tears 
 For the flying heart too fond ; 
 A doom for the broken bond. 
 She hailed him there in his pride, 
 
 Home from the perilous years, 
 
ELECTRA 73 
 
 In the heart of his walled lands, 
 In the Giants' cloud-capt ring 5 
 
 Herself, none other, laid 
 
 The hone to the axe's blade ; 
 
 She lifted it in her hands, 
 
 The woman, and slew her king. 
 
 Woe upon spouse and spouse, 
 
 Whatso of evil sway 
 Held her in that distress I 
 Even as a lioness 
 Breaketh the woodland boughs 
 
 Starving, she wrought her way. 
 
 Voice of Clytemnestra. 
 O Children, Children ; in the name of God, 
 Slay not your mother ! 
 
 A Woman. 
 
 Did ye hear a cry 
 Under the rafters ? 
 
 Another. 
 I weep too, yea, I ; 
 Down on the mother's heart the child hath trod ! 
 
 [yf death-cry from within. 
 
 Another. 
 God bringeth Justice in his own slow tide. 
 Aye, cruel is thy doom ; but thy deeds done | 
 Evil, thou piteous woman, and on one 
 Whose sleep was by thy side ! 
 
 \The door hursts open, and Orestes and 
 Electra come forth in disorder. Attend- 
 ants bring out the bodies «/ Clytemnestra 
 and Aegisthus. 
 
74 EURIPIDES 
 
 Leader. 
 
 Lo, yonder, in their mother's new-spilt gore 
 Red-garmented and ghastly, from the door 
 They reel. . . . O horrible I Was it agony 
 Like this, she boded in her last wild cry ? 
 There lives no seed of man calamitous, 
 Nor hath lived, like this seed of Tantalus. 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 / O Dark of the Earth, O God, 
 
 Thou to whom all is plain ; 
 Look on my sin, my blood, 
 
 This horror of dead things twain : 
 Gathered as one they lie 
 Slain ; and the slayer was I, 
 
 I, to pay for my pain 1 
 
 Electra. 
 
 Let tear rain upon tear, 
 
 Brother : but mine is the blame. 
 
 A fire stood over her, 
 
 And out of the fire I came, 
 
 I, in my misery. . . . 
 
 And I was the child at her knee. 
 * Mother ' I named her name. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Alas for Fate, for the Fate of thee, 
 O Mother, Mother of Misery : 
 And Misery, lo, hath turned again, 
 
ELECTRA 75 
 
 To slay thee, Misery and more, 
 Even in the fruit thy body bore. 
 Yet hast thou Justice, Justice plain, 
 For a sire's blood spilt of yore 1 
 
 Orestes. 
 Apollo, alas for the hymn 
 
 Thou sangest, as hope in mine ear 1 
 The Song was of Justice dim, \ 
 
 But the Deed is anguish clear ; \ 
 And the Gift, long nights of fear, 1 
 
 Of blood and of wandering, \ 
 
 Where cometh no Greek thing, 
 Nor sight, nor sound on the air. 
 Yea, and beyond, beyond, 
 
 Roaming — what rest is there ? 
 Who shall break bread with me ? 
 Who, that is clean, shall see 
 And hate not the blood-red hand. 
 
 His mother^s murderer ? 
 
 Electra. 
 And I ? What clime shall hold 
 
 My evil, or roof it above ? 
 I cried for dancing of old, ^ 
 
 I cried in my heart for love : 
 What dancing waiteth me now ? 
 What love that shall kiss my brow 
 
 Nor blench at the brand thereof? 
 
 Chorus. 
 Back, back, in the wind and rain 
 Thy driven spirit wheeleth again. 
 
 T 
 
76 EURIPIDES 
 
 Now is thine heart made clean within 
 That was dark of old and murder-fraught. 
 But, lo, thy brother ; what hast thou wrought . . . 
 Yea, though I love thee . . . what woe, what sin, 
 On him, who willed it not ! 
 
 Orestes. 
 Saw'st thou her raiment there, 
 Sister, there in the blood ? 
 She drew it back as she stood. 
 She opened her bosom bare. 
 
 She bent her knees to the earth. 
 The knees that bent in my birth . . , 
 And I , . . Oh, her hair, her hair . . . 
 
 \_He breaks into inarticulate weeping. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Oh, thou didst walk in agony. 
 Hearing thy mother's cry, the cry 
 Of wordless wailing, well know I. 
 
 Electra. 
 She stretched her hand to my cheek. 
 
 And there brake from her lips a moan ; 
 
 • Mercy, my child, my own ! ' 
 Her hand clung to my cheek ; 
 Clung, and my arm was weak ; 
 
 And the sword fell and was gone. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Unhappy woman, could thine eye 
 Look on the blood, and see her lie, 
 Thy mother, where she turned to die ? 
 
ELECTRA 77 
 
 Orestes. 
 I lifted over mine eyes 
 
 My mantle : blinded I smote, 
 As one smiteth a sacrifice ; 
 
 And the sword found her throat. 
 
 Electra. 
 I gave thee the sign and the word ; 
 I touched with mine hand thy sword. 
 
 Leader. 
 Dire is the grief ye have wrought. 
 
 Orestes. 
 Sister, touch her again : 
 Oh, veil the body of her ; 
 Shed on her raiment fair, 
 And close that death-red stain. 
 
 — Mother ! And didst thou bear, 
 Bear in thy bitter pain, 
 
 To life, thy murderer ? 
 [The two kneel over the body of Clytemnestra, 
 and cover her with raiment. 
 
 Electra. 
 On her that I loved of yore, 
 
 Robe upon robe I cast : 
 On her that I hated sore. 
 
 Chorus. 
 O House that hath hated sore, V 
 Behold thy peace at the last I 
 
78 EURIPIDES 
 
 Leader. 
 
 Ha, see : above the roof-tree high 
 
 There shineth ... Is some spirit there 
 Of earth or heaven ? That thin air 
 Was never trod by things that die ! 
 
 What bodes it now that forth they fare, 
 To men revealed visibly ? 
 
 [There appears in the air a vision «/" Castor and 
 PoLYDEUCES. The mortals kneel or veil 
 their faces. 
 
 Castor, 
 
 Thou Agamemnon's Son, give ear 1 'Tis we, 
 
 Castor and Polydeuces, call to thee, 
 
 God's Horsemen and thy mother's brethren twain. 
 
 An Argive ship, spent with the toiling main, 
 
 We bore but now to peace, and, here withal 
 
 Being come, have seen thy mother's bloody fall, 
 
 Our sister's. Righteous is her doom this day, 
 
 But not thy deed. And Phoebus, Phoebus . . . 
 
 He is my lord ; therefore I hold my peace. 
 Yet though in light he dwell, no light was this \, 
 He showed to thee, but darkness ! Which do thou ^ 
 Endure, as man must, chafing not. And now 
 Fare forth where Zeus and Fate have laid thy life. 
 
 The maid Electra thou shalt give for wife 
 To Pylades ; then turn thy head and flee 
 From Argos' land. 'Tis never more for thee 
 To tread this earth where thy dead mother lies. 
 And, lo, in the air her Spirits, bloodhound eyes, 
 
ELECTRA 79 
 
 Most horrible yet Godlike, hard at heel 
 Following shall scourge thee as a burning wheel, 
 Speed-maddened. Seek thou straight Athena's land. 
 And round her awful image clasp thine hand. 
 Praying : and she will fence them back, though hot 
 With flickering serpents, that they touch thee not, 
 Holding above thy brow her gorgon shield. 
 
 There is a hill in Athens, Ares' field, 
 Where first for that first death by Ares done 
 On Halirrhothius, Poseidon's son. 
 Who wronged his daughter, the great Gods of 
 
 yore 
 Held judgment : and true judgments evermore 
 Flow from that Hill, trusted of man and God. 
 There shalt thou stand arraigned of this blood ; 
 And of those judges half shall lay on thee 
 Death, and half pardon ; so shalt thou go free. 
 For Phoebus in that hour, who bade thee shed 
 Thy mother's blood, shall take on his own head 
 The stain thereof. And ever from that strife 
 The law shall hold, that when, for death or life 
 Of one pursued, men's voices equal stand. 
 Then Mercy conquereth. — But for thee, the band 
 Of Spirits dread, down, down, in very wrath. 
 Shall sink beside that Hill, making their path 
 Through a dim chasm, the which shall aye be trod 
 By reverent feet, where men may speak with God. 
 But thou forgotten and far off shalt dwell, 
 By great Alphetis' waters, in a dell 
 Of Arcady, where that gray Wolf-God's wall 
 Stanlis holy. And thy dwelling men shall call 
 Orestes' Town. So much to thee be spoke. 
 6ut this dead man, Aegisthus, all the folk 
 
8o EURIPIDES 
 
 Shall bear to burial in a high green grave 
 Of Argos. For thy mother, she shall have 
 Her tomb from Menelaus, who hath come 
 This day, at last, to Argos, bearing home 
 Helen. From Egypt comes she, and the hall 
 Of Proteus, and in Troy hath ne'er at all 
 Set foot. 'Twas but a wraith of Helen, sent 
 By Zeus, to make much wrath and ravishment. 
 
 So forth for home, bearing the virgin bride. 
 Let Pylades make speed, and lead beside 
 Thy once-named brother, and with golden store 
 Stablish his house far off on Phocis' shore. 
 
 Up, gird thee now to the steep Isthmian way, 
 Seeking Athena's blessed rock ; one day, 
 Thy doom of blood fulfilled and this long stress 
 Of penance past, thou shalt have happiness. 
 
 Leader {looking up). 
 
 Is it for us, O Seed of Zeus, 
 
 To speak and hear your words again ? 
 Castor, Speak : of this blood ye bear no stain. 
 Electra. I also, sons of Tyndareus, 
 
 My kinsmen ; may my word be said ? 
 Castor. Speak : on Apollo's head we lay 
 
 The bloody doings of this day. 
 Leader. Ye Gods, ye brethren of the dead, 
 
 Why held ye not the deathly herd 
 Of K^res back from off this home ? 
 Castor. There came but that which needs must 
 come 
 By ancient Fate and that dark word 
 
ELECTRA 
 
 8i 
 
 That rang from Phoebus in his mood. 
 Electra. And what should Phoebus seek with me, 
 Or all God's oracles that be, 
 That I must bear my mother's blood ? 
 
 Castor. Thy hand was as thy brother's hand, 
 
 Thy doom shall be as his . One stain, 
 From dim forefathers on the twain 
 Lighting, hath sapp ed your hearts as sand. 
 
 Orestes After so long, sister, to see 
 {whohasneyer And hold thee, and then part, then part, 
 head, nor • ^7 ^ that chained thee to my heart 
 spoken to the Forsaken, and forsaking thee 1 
 
 Castor. Husband and house are hers. She bears 
 No bitter judgment, save to go 
 Exiled from Argos. 
 
 Electra. And what woe, 
 
 What tears are like an exile's tears f 
 
 Orestes. 
 
 Castor, 
 
 Exiled and more am I ; impure, 
 A murderer in a stranger's hand ! 
 Fear not. There dwells in Pallas' land 
 
 All holiness. Till then endure ! 
 
 [Orestes and Electra embrace 
 
 Orestes. Aye, closer ; clasp my body well. 
 
 And let thy sorrow loose, and shed. 
 As o'er the grave of one new dead. 
 Dead evermore, thy last farewell I 
 
 \_A sound of weeping, 
 F 
 
82 EURIPIDES 
 
 Castor. Alas, what would ye ? For that cry 
 Ourselves and all the sons of heaven 
 Have pity. Yea, our peace is riven 
 By the strange pain of these that die. 
 
 Orestes. No more to see thee I Electra. Nor thy 
 breath 
 Be near my face 1 Orestes. Ah, so it 
 ends. 
 Electra. Farewell, dear Argos. All ye friends. 
 
 Farewell ! Orestes. O faithfal unto death. 
 
 Thou goest ? Electra. Aye, I pass from 
 you. 
 Soft-eyed at last. Orestes. Go, Pylades, 
 And God go with you ! Wed in peace 
 My tall Electra, and be true. 
 
 [Electra and Pylades depart to the left. 
 
 Castor. 
 
 Their troth shall fill their hearts. — But on : 
 Dread feet are near thee, hounds of prey, 
 Snake-handed, midnight-visaged, yea. 
 
 And bitter pains their fruit ! Begone ! 
 
 [Orestes departs to the right. 
 
 But hark, the far Sicilian sea 
 
 Calls, and a noise of men and ships 
 That labour sunken to the lips 
 
 In bitter billows ; forth go we, 
 
 Through the long leagues of fiery blue, 
 With saving ; not to souls unshriven ; 
 \ But whoso in his life hath striven 
 " To love things holy and be true, 
 
ELECTRA 83 
 
 Through toil and storm we guard him ; we 
 Save, and he shall not die ! — Therefore, 
 O praise the lying man no more. 
 
 Nor with oath-breakers sail the sea : 
 Farewell, ye walkers on the shore 
 
 Of death ! A God hath counselled ye. \ 
 
 [Castor and Polydeuces disappear. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Farewell, farewell 1 — But he who can so fare, s 
 And stumbletb not on mischief anywhere, 
 Blessed on earth is he 1 
 
NOTES TO THE ELECTRA 
 
 The chief characters in the play belong to one 
 family, as is shown by the two genealogies : — 
 
 
 Tantalus 
 
 1 
 Pelops 
 
 
 Atreus 
 
 1 
 
 
 1 
 Thyestes 
 
 1 
 
 Agamemnon 
 
 ( = Clytemnestra) 
 
 1 
 
 Menelaus 
 ( = Helen) 
 
 Aegisthus 
 ( = Clytemnestra) 
 
 Iphigenia Electra Orestes 
 
 (Also, a sister of Agamemnon, name variously given, 
 married Strophios, and was the mother of Pylades.) 
 
 II. 
 
 Tyndareus = Leda = Zeus 
 
 ^ I III 
 
 Clytemnestra Castor Polydeuces Helen 
 
 P. I, 1. 10, Son of his father's foe.] — Both foe and 
 brother. Atreus and Thyestes became enemies after 
 the theft of the Golden Lamb. See pp. 47 fF. 
 
 P. 2, 1. 34, Must wed with me.] — In Aeschylus 
 and Sophocles Electra is unmarried. This story of 
 her peasant husband is found only in Euripides, but is 
 
86 EURIPIDES 
 
 not likely to have been wantonly invented by him. 
 It was no doubt an existing legend — an S>p \0709, to 
 use the phrase attributed to Euripides in the Frogs (1. 
 1052). He may have chosen to adopt it for several 
 reasons. First, to marry Electra to a peasant was a 
 likely step for Aegisthus to take, since any child born 
 to her afterwards would bear a stigma, calculated to 
 damage him fatally as a pretender to the throne. 
 Again, it seemed to explain the name " A-lektra " (as 
 if from XeKTpop, " bed ;" cf. Schol. Orestes, 71, Soph. 
 EL 962, -^nt. 917) more pointedly than the commoner 
 version. And it helps in the working out of Electra's 
 character (cf. pp. 1 7, 22, &c.). Also it gives an oppor- 
 tunity of introducing the fine character of the peasant. 
 He is an AvTovpy6<if literally "self- worker," a man who 
 works his own land, far from the city, neither a slave 
 nor a slave-master ; " the men," as Euripides says in 
 the Orestes (920), "who alone save a nation." (Cf. 
 Bac, p. 115 foot, and below, p. 26, 11. 367-390.) As 
 Euripides became more and more alienated from the 
 town democracy he tended, like Tolstoy and others, to 
 idealise the workers of the soil. 
 
 P. 6, 1. 62, Children to our enemy.] — Cf. 626. 
 Soph. EL 589. They do not seem to be in existence 
 at the time of the play. 
 
 Pp. 5-6.] — Electra's first two speeches arc ad- 
 mirable as expositions of her character — the morbid 
 nursing of hatred as a duty, the deliberate posing, the 
 impulsiveness, the quick response to kindness. 
 
 P. 7, 1. 82, Pylades.] — Pylades is a persona muta 
 both here and in Sophocles' Electra, a fixed traditional 
 figure, possessing no quality but devotion to Orestes. 
 In Aeschylus' Libation-Bearers he speaks only once, 
 with tremendous effect, at the crisis of the play, to 
 rebuke Orestes when his heart fails him. In the 
 Iphigenia in Tauris, however, and still more in the 
 Orestes, he is a fully studied character. 
 
 P. 10, 1. I5i> A swan crying alone.] — Cf. Bacchae, 
 
NOTES 87 
 
 p. 152, "As yearns the milk-white swan when old 
 swans die." 
 
 P. II, 11. 169 fiF., The Watcher hath cried this 
 day.] — Hera was an old Pelasgian goddess, whose 
 worship was kept in part a mystery from the invading 
 Achaeans or Dorians. There seems to have been a 
 priest born " of the ancient folk," i.e., a Pelasgian or 
 aboriginal Mycenaean, who, by some secret lore — 
 probably some ancient and superseded method of cal- 
 culating the year — knew when Hera's festival was 
 due, and walked round the country three days before- 
 hand to announce it. He drank "the milk of the 
 flock" and avoided wine, either from some religious 
 taboo, or because he represented the religion of the 
 milk-drinking mountain shepherds. 
 
 P. 13, 11. 220 ff.] — Observe Electra's cowardice 
 when surprised ; contrast her courage, p. 47, when 
 sending Orestes oiF, and again her quick drop to 
 despair when the news does not come soon enough. 
 
 P. 16, 11. 247 fF., I am a wife. . . . O better dead !] 
 — Rather ungenerous, when compared with her words 
 on p. 6. (Cf. also her words on pp. 24 and 26.) But 
 she feels this herself, almost immediately. Orestes 
 naturally takes her to mean that her husband is one 
 of Aegisthus' friends. This would have ruined his 
 plot. (Cf above, p. 8, 1. 98.) 
 
 P. 22, 1. 312, Castor.] — I know no other mention 
 of Electra's betrothal to Castor. He was her kins- 
 man : see below on 1. 990. 
 
 Pp. 22-23, !'• 300-337.] — In this wonderful out- 
 break, observe the mixture of all sorts of personal 
 resentments and jealousies with the devotion of the 
 lonely woman to her father and her brother. "So 
 men say," is an interesting touch ; perhaps conscience 
 tells her midway that she does not quite believe what 
 she is saying. So is the self-conscious recognition of 
 her " bitter burning brain " that interprets all things 
 in a sort of distortion. — Observe, too, how instinctively 
 
88 EURIPIDES 
 
 she turns to the peasant for sympathy in the strain of 
 her emotion. It is his entrance, perhaps, which pre- 
 vents Orestes from being swept away and revealing 
 himself. The peasant's courage towards two armed 
 men is striking, as well as his courtesy and his sanity. 
 He is the one character in the play not somehow tainted 
 with blood-madness. 
 
 P. 27, 11. 403, 409. j — Why does Electra send 
 her husband to the Old Man ? Not, I think, really 
 for want of the food. It would have been easier to 
 borrow (p. I2, 1. 191) from the Chorus ; and, besides, 
 what the peasant says is no doubt true, that, if she 
 liked, she could find "many a pleasant thing" in 
 the house. I think she sends for the Old Man be- 
 cause he is the only person who would know Orestes 
 (p. 21, 1. 285). She is already, like the Leader 
 (p. 26, 1. 401), excited by hopes which she will not con- 
 fess. This reading makes the next scene clearer also. 
 
 Pp. 28-30, 11. 432-487, O for the Ships of Troy.] — 
 The two main Choric songs of this play are markedly 
 what Aristotle calls ifi^oXifia, "things thrown in." 
 They have no effect upon the action, and form little 
 more than musical "relief." Not that they are 
 positively irrelevant. Agamemnon is in our minds 
 all through the play, and Agamemnon's glory is of 
 course enhanced by the mention of Troy and the 
 praises of his subordinate king, Achilles. 
 
 Thetis, the Nereid, or sea-maiden, was won to 
 wife by Peleus. (He wrestled with her on the sea- 
 shore, and never loosed hold, though she turned into 
 divers strange beings — a lion, and fire, and water, and 
 sea-beasts.) She bore him Achilles, and then, unable 
 permanently to live with a mortal, went back beneath 
 the sea. When Achilles was about to sail to Troy, 
 she and her sister Nereids brought him divine armour 
 and guided his ships across the Aegean. The designs 
 on Achilles' armour, as on Heracles* shield, form a 
 fairly common topic of poetry. 
 
NOTES 8g 
 
 The descriptions of the designs are mostly clear. 
 Perseus with the Gorgon's head, guided by Hermes ; 
 the Sun on a winged chariot, and stars about him ; 
 two Sphinxes, holding as victims the men who had 
 failed to answer the riddles which they sang ; and, 
 on the breastplate, the Chimaera attacking Bellero- 
 phon's winged horse, Pegasus. The name Pegasus 
 suggested to a Greek ttj^y?;, "fountain;" and the great 
 spring of PirSnS, near Corinth, was made by Pegasus 
 stamping on the rock. 
 
 Pp. 30-47.] — The Old Man, like other old family 
 servants in Euripides — the extreme case is in the Ion 
 — is absolutely and even morbidly devoted to his 
 masters. Delightful in this first scene, he becomes 
 a little horrible in the next, where they plot the 
 murders ; not only ferocious himself, but, what seems 
 worse, inclined to pet and enjoy the bloodthirstiness 
 of his " little mistress." 
 
 Pp. 30-33, 11. 510-545.] — The Signs of Orestes. 
 This scene, I think, has been greatly misunderstood 
 by critics. In Aeschylus' Ltbation-Bearers, which 
 deals with the same subject as the EUctra, the scene 
 is at Agamemnon's tomb. Orestes lays his tress there 
 in the prologue. Electra comes bringing libations, 
 sees the hair, compares it with her own, finds that 
 it is similar " wing for wing " (o/ttoTTTepos — the same 
 word as here), and guesses that it belongs to Orestes. 
 She then measures the footprints, and finds one that 
 is like her own, one not ; evidently Orestes and a 
 fellow-traveller 1 Orestes enters and announces him- 
 self; she refuses to believe, until he shows her a 
 "woven thing," perhaps the robe which he is wear- 
 ing, which she recognises as the work of her own 
 hand. 
 
 The same signs, described in one case by the 
 same peculiar word, occur here. The Old Man 
 mentions one after the other, and Electra refutes 
 or rejects them. It has been thought therefore that 
 
90 EURIPIDES 
 
 this scene was meant as an attack — a very weak 
 and undignified attack — on Euripides' great master. 
 No parallel for such an artistically ruinous proceeding 
 is quoted from any Greek tragedy. And, apart 
 from the improbability h priori, I do not think it 
 even possible to read the scene in this sense. To 
 my mind, Electra here rejects the signs not from 
 reason, but from a sort of nervous terror. She dares 
 not believe that Orestes has come ; because, if it prove 
 otherwise, the disappointment will be so terrible. As 
 to both signs, the lock of hair and the footprints, 
 her arguments may be good ; but observe that she 
 is afraid to make the comparison at all. And as to 
 the footprint, she says there cannot be one, when 
 the Old Man has just seen it ! And, anyhow, she 
 will not go to see it ! Similarly as to the robe, 
 she does her best to deny that she ever wove it, 
 though she and the Old Man both remember it 
 perfectly. She is fighting tremulously, with all 
 her flagging strength, against the thing she longs 
 for. The whole point of the scene requires that 
 one ray of hope after another should be shown to 
 Electra, and that she should passionately, blindly, 
 reject them all. That is what Euripides wanted 
 the signs for. 
 
 But why, it may be asked, did he adopt Aeschylus' 
 signs, and even his peculiar word ? Because, whether 
 invented by Aeschylus or not, these signs were a 
 canonical part of the story by the time Euripides 
 wrote. Every one who knew the story of Orestes' 
 return at all, knew of the hair and the footprint. 
 Aristophanes in the Clouds (534 fF.) uses them pro- 
 verbially, when he speaks of his comedy " recognising 
 its brother's tress." It would have been frivolous 
 to invent new ones. As a matter of fact, it seems 
 probable that the signs are older than Aeschylus ; 
 neither they nor the word OyaoTrre/jo? particularly suit 
 Aeschylus' purpose. (Cf. Dr. Verrall's introduction to 
 
NOTES 91 
 
 the Libation- Bearers.) They probably come from the 
 old lyric poet, Stesichorus. 
 
 P. 43, 1. 652, New-mothered of a Man-Child.]— 
 Her true Man-Child, the Avenger whom they had 
 sought to rob her of! This pitiless plan was 
 suggested apparently by the sacrifice to the Nymphs 
 (p. 40). " Weep my babe's low station " is of 
 course ironical. The babe would set a seal on 
 Electra's degradation to the peasant class, and so end 
 the blood-feud, as far as she was concerned. Clytem- 
 nestra, longing for peace, must rejoice in Electra's 
 degradation. Yet she has motherly feelings too, and 
 in fact hardly knows what to think or do till she can 
 consult Aegisthus (p. 71). Electra, it would seem, 
 actually calculates upon these feelings, while despising 
 them. 
 
 P. 45, 1. 669, If but some man will guide me.] — 
 A suggestion of the irresolution or melancholia that 
 beset Orestes afterwards, alternating with furious 
 action. (Cf. Aeschylus' Libation- Bearer s^ Euripides' 
 Andromache and Orestes.) 
 
 P. 45, 1. 671, Zeus of my sires, &c.] — In this 
 invocation, short and comparatively unmoving, one 
 can see perhaps an effect of Aeschylus' play. In the 
 Libation-Bearers the invocation of Agamemnon com- 
 prises 200 lines of extraordinarily eloquent poetry. 
 
 P. 47 ff., 11. 699 ff.]— The Golden Lamb. The theft 
 of the Golden Lamb is treated as a story of the First 
 Sin, after which all the world was changed and 
 became the poor place that it now is. It was at 
 least the First Sin in the blood-feud of this drama. 
 
 The story is not explicitly told. Apparently the 
 magic lamb was brought by Pan from the gods, and 
 given to Atreus as a special grace and a sign that he 
 was the true king. His younger brother, Thyestes, 
 helped by Atreus' wife, stole it and claimed to be 
 king himself. So good was turned into evil, and love 
 into hatred, and the stars shaken in their courses. 
 
92 EURIPIDES 
 
 [It is rather curious that the Lamb should have 
 such a special effect upon the heavens and the 
 weather. It is the same in Plato {Polit. 268 ff.)> 
 and more definitely so in the treatise De Jstrologia, 
 attributed to Lucian, which says that the Golden 
 Lamb is the constellation Aries, " The Ram." Hugo 
 Winckler {Weltanschauung des alten Orients, pp. 30, 
 31) suggests that the story is a piece of Babylonian 
 astronomy misunderstood. It seems that the vernal 
 equinox, which is now moving from the Ram into 
 the Fish, was in the ninth and eighth centuries B.C. 
 moving from the Bull into the Ram. Now the 
 Bull, Marduk, was the special god of Babylon, and 
 the time when he yielded his place to the Ram was 
 also, as a matter of fact, the time of the decline of 
 Babylon. The gradual advance of the Ram not 
 only upset the calendar, and made all the seasons 
 wrong ; but seemed, since it coincided with the 
 fall of the Great City, to upset the world in general I 
 Of course Euripides would know nothing of this. 
 He was apparently attracted to the Golden Lamb 
 merely by the quaint beauty of the story.] 
 
 P. 50, 1. 746, Thy brethren even now.] — Castor 
 and Polydeuces, who were received into the stars 
 after their death. See below, on I. 990. 
 
 P. 51, 1. 757, That answer bids me die.] — Why? 
 Because Orestes, if he won at all, would win by a 
 surprise attack, and would send news instantly. A 
 prolonged conflict, without a message, would mean 
 that Orestes and Pylades were being overpowered. 
 Of course she is wildly impatient. 
 
 P. 51, 1. 765, Who art thou? I mistrust thee.] — 
 Just as she mistrusted the Old Man's signs. See 
 above, p. 89. 
 
 P. 52 ff., 11. 774 fF.] — Messenger's Speech. This 
 speech, though swift and vivid, is less moving and 
 also less sympathetic than most of the Messengers' 
 Speeches. Less moving, because the slaying of 
 
NOTES 93 
 
 Aegisthus has little moral interest ; it is merely a 
 daring and dangerous exploit. Less sympathetic, 
 because even here, in the first and comparatively 
 blameless step of the blood - vengeance, Euripides 
 makes us feel the treacherous side of it. A BoXo^ovia, 
 a "slaying by guile," even at its best, remains rather 
 an ugly thing. 
 
 P- 53> !• 793> Then quickly spake Orestes.] — 
 If Orestes had washed with Aegisthus, he would 
 have become his xenos, or guest, as much as if he had 
 eaten his bread and salt. In that case the slaying 
 would have been definitely a crime, a dishonourable 
 act. Also, Aegisthus would have had the right to 
 ask his name. — The unsuspiciousness of Aegisthus is 
 partly natural ; it was not thus, alone and unarmed, 
 that he expected Orestes to stand before him. Partly 
 it seems like a heaven-sent blindness. Even the omens 
 do not warn him, though no doubt in a moment more 
 they would have done so. 
 
 P. 56, 1. 878, With guile he hath slain.] — So 
 the MSS. The Chorus have already a faint feeling, 
 quickly suppressed, that there may be another side 
 to Orestes' action. Most editors alter the text to 
 mean " He hath slain these guileful ones." 
 
 P. 58} !• 900, It shames me, yet God knows I 
 hunger sore.] — To treat the dead with respect was 
 one of the special marks of a Greek as opposed to a 
 barbarian. It is possible that the body of Aegisthus 
 might legitimately have been refused burial, or even 
 nailed on a cross as Orestes in a moment of excitement 
 suggests. But to insult him lying dead would be a 
 shock to all Greek feeling. ("Unholy is the voice 
 of loud thanksgiving over slaughtered men," Odyssey 
 xxii. 412.) Any excess of this kind, any violence 
 towards the helpless, was apt to rouse " The sleeping 
 wrath of the world." There was a Greek proverb, 
 "Even an injured dog has his Erinys "^— /.?., his 
 unseen guardian or avenger. It is interesting, though 
 
94 EURIPIDES 
 
 not surprising, to hear that men had h'ttlc love for 
 Electra. The wonderful speech that follows, though 
 to a conventional Greek perhaps the most outrageous 
 thing of which she is guilty, shows best the inherent 
 nobility of her character before years of misery had 
 " killed her soul within." 
 
 P, 59, 11. 928 f.. Being in falseness one, &c.] — The 
 Greek here is very obscure and almost certainly 
 corrupt. 
 
 P. 61, 1. 964, TTis my mother comes.] — The 
 reaction has already begun in Orestes. In the 
 excitement and danger of killing his enemy he has 
 shown coolness and courage, but now a work lies 
 before him vastly more horrible, a little more treacher- 
 ous, and with no element of daring to redeem it. 
 Electra, on the other hand, has done nothing yet ; she 
 has merely tried, not very successfully, to revile the 
 dead body, and her hate is unsatisfied. Besides, one 
 sees all through the play that Aegisthus was a kind of 
 odious stranger to her ; it was the woman, her mother, 
 who came close to her and whom she really hated. 
 
 P. 63, 1. 979, Was it some fiend of Hell ?] — The 
 likeness to Hamlet is obvious. ("The spirit that I 
 have seen May be the Devil." End of Act II.) 
 
 P. 63, I. 983, How shall it be then, the same 
 stealthy blow ? . . .] — He means, I think, " the same 
 as that with which I have already murdered an 
 unsuspecting man to-day," but Electra for her own 
 purposes misinterprets him. 
 
 P. 64, 1. 990, God's horsemen, stars without a 
 stain.] — Cf. above, 11. 312, 746. Castor and Poly- 
 deuces were sons of Zeus and Leda, brothers of 
 Helen, and half-brothers of Clytemnestra, whose 
 father was the mortal Tyndareus. They lived as 
 knights without reproach, and afterwards became 
 stars and demigods. The story is told that originally 
 Castor was mortal and Polydeuccs immortal ; but 
 when Castor was fatally wounded Polydeuces prayed 
 
NOTES 95 
 
 that he might be allowed to give him half hJs im- 
 mortality. The prayer was granted ; and the two 
 live as immortals, yet, in some mysterious way, 
 knowing the taste of death. Unlike the common 
 sinners and punishers of the rest of the play, these 
 Heroes find their " glory " in saving men from peril 
 and suffering, especially at sea, where they appear as 
 the globes of light, called St. Elmo's fire, upon masts 
 and yards. 
 
 Pp. 64-71, II. 998 ff.] — Clytemnestra. "And 
 what sort of woman is this doomed and *evil' 
 Queen ? We know the majestic murderess of 
 Aeschylus, so strong as to be actually beautiful, so 
 fearless and unrepentant that one almost feels her to 
 be right. One can imagine also another figure that 
 would be theatrically eiFective — a * sympathetic ' 
 sinner, beautiful and penitent, eager to redeem her 
 sin by self-sacrifice. But Euripides gives us neither. 
 Perhaps he believed in neither. It is a piteous and 
 most real character that we have here, in this sad 
 middle-aged woman, whose first words are an apology ; 
 controlling quickly her old fires, anxious to be as little 
 hated as possible. She would even atone, one feels, 
 if there were any safe way of atonement ; but the 
 consequences of her old actions are holding her, and 
 she is bound to persist. ... In her long speech it is 
 scarcely to Electra that she is chiefly speaking ; it is 
 to the Chorus, perhaps to her own bondmaids ; to 
 any or all of the people whose shrinking so frets her." 
 {Independent Review, Lc.) 
 
 P. 65, 1. lOi I, Cast his child away.] — The Greek 
 fleet assembled for Troy was held by contrary winds 
 at Aulis, in the Straits of Euboea, and the whole 
 expedition was in danger of breaking up. The 
 prophets demanded a human sacrifice, and Agamem- 
 non gave his own daughter, Iphigenk. He induced 
 Clytemnestra to send her to him, by the pretext that 
 Achilles had asked for her in marriage. 
 
96 EURIPIDES 
 
 P. 66, 1. 1046, Which led me to the men he 
 hated.] — It made Clytemnestra's crime worse, that 
 her accomplice was the blood-foe. 
 
 Pp. 65-68. As elsewhere in Euripides, these two 
 speeches leave the matter undecided. He does not 
 attempt to argue the case out. He gives us a flash 
 of light, as it were, upon Clytemnestra's mind and 
 then upon Electra's. Each believes what she is 
 saying, and neither understands the whole truth. 
 It is clear that Clytemnestra, being left for ten years 
 utterly alone, and having perhaps something of Helen's 
 temperament about her, naturally fell in love with the 
 Lord of a neighbouring castle ; and having once 
 committed herself, had no way of saving her life 
 except by killing her husband, and afterwards either 
 killing or keeping strict watch upon Orestes and 
 Electra. Aegisthus, of course, was deliberately 
 plotting to carry out his blood-feud and to win a 
 great kingdom. 
 
 P. 72, 1. 1156, For the flying heart too fond.] — 
 The text is doubtful, but this seems to be the literal 
 translation, and the reference to Clytemnestra is 
 intelligible enough. 
 
 P. 73, 1. 1 157, The giants' cloud-capped ring.] — 
 The great walls of Mycenae, built by the Cycl6pes ; 
 cf. Trojan Women, p. 64, " Where the towers of the 
 giants shine O'er Argos cloudily." 
 
 P. 75, 1. I20I, Back, back in the wind and rain.] 
 — The only explicit moral judgment of the Chorus ; 
 cf. note on 1. 878. 
 
 P. 77, 1. 1225, I touched with my hand thy 
 sword.] — «./?., Electra dropped her own sword in 
 horror, then in a revulsion of feeling laid her hand 
 upon Orestes' sword — out of generosity, that he 
 might not bear his guilt alone. 
 
 P. 78, 1. 1241, An Argive ship.]— This may have 
 been the ship of Menelaus, which was brought to 
 Argos by Castor and Polydeuces, see 1. 1278, Helena 
 
NOTES 97 
 
 1663. The ships labouring in the "Sicihan sea" 
 (p. 82, 1. 1347) must have suggested to the audience 
 the ships of the great expedition against Sicily, then 
 drawing near to its destruction. The Athenian fleet 
 was destroyed early in September 413 b.c : this play 
 was probably produced in the spring of the same year, 
 at which time the last reinforcements were being 
 sent out. 
 
 P. 78, 1. 1249.] — Marriage of Py lades and Electra. 
 A good example of the essentially historic nature 
 of Greek tragedy. No one would have invented a 
 marriage between Electra and Pylades for the purposes 
 of this play. It is even a little disturbing. But it is 
 here, because it was a fixed fact in the tradition (cf. 
 [phigenia in Tauris, 1. 915 ff-), and could not be 
 ignored. Doubtless there were people living who 
 claimed descent from Pylades and Electra. 
 
 P. 79, 1. 1253, Scourge thee as a burning wheel.] 
 — At certain feasts a big wheel soaked in some inflam- 
 mable resin or tar was set fire to and rolled down 
 a mountain. 
 
 P. 79, 1. 1258, There is a hill in Athens.] — The 
 great fame of the Areopagus as a tribunal for man- 
 slaying (see Aeschylus' Eumenides) cannot have been 
 due merely to its incorruptibility. Hardly any 
 Athenian tribunal was corruptible. But the Areopagus 
 in very ancient times seems to have superseded the 
 early systems of " blood-feud " or " blepd-debt " by a 
 humane and rational system of law, taking account 
 of intention, provocation, and the varying degrees of 
 guilt. The Erinyes, being the old Pelasgian avengers 
 of blood, now superseded, have their dwelling in a 
 cavern underneath the Areopagus. 
 
 P. 80, 11. 1276 ff.] — The graves of Aegisthus and 
 Clytemnestra actually existed in Argos (Paus. ii. 
 16, 7). They form, so to speak, the concrete material 
 fact round which the legend of this play circles (cf. 
 Ridgcway in Hellenic Journal, xxiv. p. xxxix.). 
 
 o 
 
98 EURIPIDES 
 
 P. 80, 1. 1280.]— Helen. The story here adum- 
 brated is taken from Stesichorus, and forms the plot of 
 Euripides' play Helena (cf. Herodotus, ii. 113 ff.). 
 
 P. 80, 1. 1295, I also, sons of Tyndareus.] — 
 Observe that Electra claims the gods as cousins (of. 
 p. 22, 1. 313), addressing them by the name of their 
 mortal father. The Chorus has called them "sons 
 of Zeus." In the same spirit she faces the gods, 
 complains, and even argues, wrhile Orestes never raises 
 his eyes to them. 
 
 P. 80, 1. 1300.] — KSres. The death-spirits that 
 flutter over our heads, as Homer says, " inniunerable, 
 whom no man can fly nor hide from." 
 
 P. 82, 1. 1329, Yea, our peace is riven by the 
 strange pain of these that die.] — Cf. the attitude of 
 Artemis at the end of the Hippolytus. Sometimes 
 Euripides introduces gods whose peace is not riven, 
 but then they are always hateful. (Cf. Aphrodite in 
 the Hippolytus, Dionysus in the Bacchae, Athena in 
 the Trojan TVomen.) 
 
 P. 82, I. 1336, O faithful unto death.] — This is 
 the last word we hear of Electra, and it is interest- 
 ing. With all her unlovely qualities it remains true 
 that she was faithful — faithful to the dead and the 
 absent, and to what she looked upon as a fearful duty. 
 
 Additional Note on the presence of the Argive 
 women during the plot against the King and Queen. 
 (Cf. especially p. 19, 1. 272, These women hear us.) 
 — It would seem to us almost mad to speak so freely 
 before the women. But one must observe : i. 
 Stasis, or civil enmity, ran very high in Greece, and 
 these women were of the party that hated Aegisthus. 
 2. There runs all through Euripides a very strong 
 conception of the cohesiveness of women, their 
 secretiveness, and their faithfulness to one another. 
 Medea, Iphigenia, and Creusa, for instance, trust 
 
NOTES 99 
 
 their women friends with secrets involving life and 
 death, and the secrets are kept. On the other hand, 
 when a man — Xuthus in the Ion — tells the Chorus 
 women a secret, they promptly and with great 
 courage betray him. Aristophanes leaves the same 
 impression ; and so do many incidents in Greek 
 history. Cf. the murders plotted by the Athenian 
 women (Hdt. v. 87), and both by and against the 
 Lemnian women (Hdt. vi. 138). The subject is a 
 large one, but I would observe : l. Athenian women 
 were kept as a rule very much together, and apart 
 from men. 2. At the time of the great invasions the 
 women of a community must often have been of dif- 
 ferent race from the men ; and this may have started 
 a tradition of behaviour. 3. Members of a subject 
 (or disaffected) nation have generally this cohesive- 
 ness : in Ireland, Poland, and parts of Turkey the 
 details of a political crime will, it is said, be known 
 to a whole country side, but not a whisper come to 
 the authorities. 
 
 Of course the mere mechanical fact that the 
 Chorus had to be present on the stage counts for 
 something. It saved the dramatist trouble to make 
 his heroine confide in the Chorus. But I do not 
 think Euripides would have used this situation so 
 often unless it had seemed to him both true to life 
 and dramatically interesting. 
 
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