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THE TROJAN WOMEN OF EURIPIDES
TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH RHYMING VERSE WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES BY
GILBERT MURRAY, LL.D., D.LITT.
REGIUS PROFESSOR OF GREEK IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD
THE TROJAN WOMEN
"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!"
To the cities of this present day might the prophetess Cassandra speak her message:
"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!"
A throb of human sympathy as if with one of our sisters of to-day comes to us at the end, when the city is destroyed and its queen would throw herself, living, into its flames. To be of the action of this play the imagination needs not to travel back over three thousand years of history. It can simply leap a thousand leagues of ocean.
If ever wars are to be ended, the imagination of man must end them. To the common mind, in spite of all its horrors, there is still something glorious in war. Preachers have preached against it in vain; economists have argued against its wastefulness in vain. The imagination of a great poet alone can finally show to the imagination of the world that even the glories of war are an empty delusion. Euripides shows us, as the centre of his drama, women battered and broken by inconceivable torture--the widowed Hecuba, Andromache with her child dashed to death, Cassandra ravished and made mad--yet does he show that theirs are the unconquered and unconquerable spirits. The victorious men, flushed with pride, have remorse and mockery dealt out to them by those they fought for, and go forth to unpitied death. Never surely can a great tragedy seem more real to us, or purge our souls more truly of the unreality of our thoughts and feelings concerning vital issues, than can The Trojan Women at this moment of the history of the world.
FRANCIS HOVEY STODDARD.
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
Judged by common standards, the Tro?des 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 extinguishing of all the familiar lights of human life, with, perhaps, at the end, a suggestion that in the utterness of night, when all fears of a possible worse thing are passed, there is in some sense peace and even glory. But the situation itself has at least this dramatic value, that it is different 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 articulate, mere half-heard voices of an eternal sorrow.
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.
G. M.
THE TROJAN WOMEN
CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY
THE GOD POSEIDON.
THE GODDESS PALLAS ATHENA.
SOLDIERS ATTENDANT ON TALTHYBIUS AND MENELAUS.
CHORUS OF CAPTIVE TROJAN WOMEN, YOUNG AND OLD, MAIDEN AND MARRIED.
THE TROJAN WOMEN
POSEIDON.
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, 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.
, 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?
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? Thou pitiest her?
PALLAS.
Speak first; wilt thou be one In heart with me and hand till all be done?
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?
POSEIDON.
I know the sin Of Ajax, when he cast Cassandra down....
PALLAS.
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