 | Hecuba |  |
1
ACT I.
ULYSSES, TALTHYBIUS.ULYSSES.
What—when the peace, the future fame of Greece,
Hang on th'event, does Nestor thus advise?
Thou must mistake him, herald.
TALTHYBIUS.
With due deference
He hears Ulysses' counsel; yet compassion
Prompts him to listen to Pyrechmes' suit,
And yield up Hecuba.
ULYSSES.
Compassion!—weakness!
Meer womanish weakness! call it nothing better.
I feel a crimson blush burn on my cheek
E'vn at the thought. Was it for this, dread Pallas,
We led our Argives to Scamander's banks
To toil ten tedious years? was it for this,
2
Send thy sage spirit to direct our councils,
That veer as passion drives. See where our sails
Stand bent at Chersonesus, to transport
Us and our spoils to Greece: and shall we leave
The noblest, most important part behind,
The queen of Troy and her young dangerous daughter,
Because Pyrechmes bids? What is Pyrechmes,
That Greece in her full glory fears his frown?
Greece has more cause to fear a future foe.
Yes, from releas'd Polyxena may spring
New Hectors, arm'd to wreak revenge hereafter,
And send our sons to people Pluto's realms.
By force, I must detain her, or by fraud:
For my own sake I must: for on Ulysses
The shame, the weakness, want of policy,
All fall upon Ulysses.
TALTHYBIUS.
Yet the queen's
Distressful state—
ULYSSES.
Talthybius, do not think,
That ten long years of bloodshed stop up here
The passages to pity. No, the groans
Of reverend, wretched age, the tears that gush
From the sad eyes of supplicating beauty,
Wou'd melt my heart too at less dangerous times:
But now—back herald to the king; inform him—
Yet stay.—Have these ambassadors with Nestor
Held private conference?
3
Young Eriphilus
Enter'd his tent at day-break. Till which time,
With Iphitus alone has he confer'd.
ULYSSES.
That lowring leader of a Trojan troop,
Just ripe for a revolt?
TALTHYBIUS.
He, royal sir,
The queen's chief oracle—as for Melanthus—
ULYSSES.
Aye, what of him? what know'st thou of Melanthus?
TALTHYBIUS.
Nothing. He shuns all converse, and seems rapt
In melancholy musings.
ULYSSES.
Yes, th'old man
Seems close and crafty; bears himself aloof;
Keeps his young charge, as 'twere, beneath his wing.
I do not like that caution: it means mischief.
Else wherefore ventur'd not the youth alone?
What needed this grey-bearded monitor
To help him pay the ransom?—Say to Nestor,
I'll meet him at his tent.
[Exit Tal.
My doubts were just!
Danger doth lurk beneath the hoary locks
Of this Melanthus. There's some secret plot—
'Tis scarce engender'd yet; and prudence bids
We crush the dang'rous birth. Yes, if the wizard
4
The princess shall be fetter'd with a charm
Faster than his fond efforts can undo.
And for the queen—why, let the queen go free.
It harms not us: her barren womb no more
Shall teem with Trojan pests: and such an act
May smooth the roughness of our enterprize,
And calm Pyrechmes. True, we fear him not;
Yet policy forbids us to despise
Ev'n a weak foe, till we recruit our pow'rs,
Thin'd by a ten years siege.
OFFICER, ULYSSES.
OFFICER.
At great Achilles' tomb, Calchas, dread sir,
Awaits your royal will.
[Exit.
ULYSSES.
I follow thee.—
Aye, now I will inspire that holy seer
With counsel, that from his prophetic mouth
Shall seem heav'n's voice.—But first let me assail
This boy—ambassador. And therefore come I
To the queen's tent. Open he seems and free:
And from his shallow mind my art may draw
The dangerous schemes of his grave monitor,
And do the chiefs rich service.—He approaches,
But with him the old man. I will withdraw
Till a fit time, and muse on some device
To lure this youngling from his tutor's beck.
[Exit.
5
ÆTHRON.
Here doth my guidance end. Behold the place
Where all the live-long day the royal captives
Pour forth their piteous plaints. That little tent,
Spread in the darksom gloom of yon lone beech,
Contains all Troy.
ERIPHILUS.
Thanks for thy conduct, soldier.
Yet sure it needed not. This far-off station,
These interrupted bursts of female sorrow,
Proclaim it the queen's dwelling. There she lies,
The daughter of affliction! whelm'd with woes
So vast, humanity trembles to think her
Of its own species.
MELANTHUS.
From the book of fate,
Jove's equal hand to every mortal man
Deals his due portion; be it bliss or woe.
Think not I mean to check thy noble nature:
Thou too art born a man; and as thou art,
Thy soul perforce must melt at human sufferings.
But learn, dear youth, with reverential awe
To kiss heav'n's ministring rod.
ERIPHILUS.
Oh good Melanthus,
Cast but a thought on that illustrious scene
Which once was Troy. Where now her menacing bulwarks?
Rich palaces, proud tow'rs that propt the skies?
Where her intrepid heroes, reverend seers?
6
The good old king. Death's ruthless scythe has swept him,
Amid the general carnage, to the tomb;
Him and his numerous race. But oh ye pow'rs,
If I'm ordain'd to save these royal captives—
If I am sent your aweful delegate
To counteract their fate—they shall be free.
I feel they shall. I come heav'n's minister,
And glory in the sacred embassy.
MELANTHUS.
Hear me Eriphilus—
ÆTHRON.
Do not repress
His noble ardor. Here at Chersonesus
The Greeks but stay to raise Achilles' tomb.
That finish'd, the first favoring wind transports
Their fleet to Greece. Go then, illustrious strangers,
Go, like two guardian gods, and sooth their souls.
[Exit.
ERIPHILUS.
I go.—come on, Melanthus; my soul burns
To tell the joyful tidings.
MELANTHUS.
Yet bethink thee,
When at Achilles' tomb thou didst unfold
Pyrechmes' will, did Hecuba's redemption
Meet a full promise? Thy impetuous zeal,
Ev'n in the cause of virtue, makes me tremble.
Oh temper it, dear youth. Think on the perils
7
There's not a Greek but, were thy secret known,
Wears for thy life a dagger.
ERIPHILUS.
I'll be calm.
Soon shalt thou find I will.—But shou'd Atrides
Refuse the ransom—by th'immortal pow'rs,
Distress like Hecuba's—
MELANTHUS.
The queen's distress
Sinks in my heart as deep as thine, which prompts
My steadiest caution. Trust me, this compliance
With each rash impulse, howsoe'er disguis'd
In friendship's or in virtue's specious form,
Is but mean incense to our own fond passions.
Then calmly to the tent. Back from the port
I shall return, before thou hast dispatch'd
Thy business with the queen. Be quick, be cautious,
Be secret too.—Remember thou hast sworn.
[Exit.
ERIPHILUS.
I have. And pow'rful must the pang be found,
That from my soul the secret doth extort.
ULYSSES, ERIPHILUS.
ULYSSES.
Well hast thou sped, brave youth. Soon as the tomb,
Rais'd by our chiefs to great Achilles' shade,
Is finish'd, thou shalt tender to Troy's queen
The first, best gift of Jove, her liberty.
ERIPHILUS.
Thanks to the Greeks, the queen will soon be free.
8
The princess too thy happy hand leads forth
To gay Pæonia's court. Her eyes will dart
New lustre 'mid the charms that glitter there,
In beauty's brilliant circle.
ERIPHILUS.
Every tongue
Grows rapturous in her praise; speaks her most fair.
Yet not more fair than wise; more wise than virtuous.
The pow'rs of love and wisdom seem to vie,
Which most shou'd deck her minion.
ULYSSES.
Blest the youth,
Who cou'd inspire a heart like hers with love!
ERIPHILUS.
Oh blest indeed, if there be such a youth,
Whose peerless qualities—
ULYSSES.
Sometimes 'tis seen,
That modest worth shrinks from the proffer'd bliss
Which the soul inly pines for. That's false shame.
There is a time when merit may step forth,
And claim its due reward.
ERIPHILUS.
Surely there is.
ULYSSES.
Then fear not, gallant youth, that thy mild virtues
Want pow'r to draw from her enchanting eyes
A favoring smile on thee.
ERIPHILUS.
On me? good heavens,
9
ULYSSES.
And wherefore not?
Large is her worth; but she's of mortal mould.
And know, that on this sublunary scene
Perfection dwells not. Nature's purest ore
Bears some alloy: nay even yon glorious sun,
Whose quick'ning beams all nature animate,
Oft sends forth barren droughts and purple deaths.
ERIPHILUS.
But she, the princess—
ULYSSES.
Think'st thou she enjoys
A sole exemption from a general fate?
ERIPHILUS.
Yes, virtue white as hers—
ULYSSES.
The whitest virtue
'Scapes not unblemish'd. Envy's baleful breath
Soils ev'n the snow that circles Dian's heart:
What wonder therefore, shou'd it brand the princess?
ERIPHILUS.
Oh heavens, for what?
ULYSSES.
For that she was accomplice
With Paris in the murder of Achilles,
Ev'n at the sacred shrine, where her base tongue
Plighted the full assurance of her faith.
ERIPHILUS.
Infernal falsehood!
10
How—this bold behaviour
I'll suits thy humble birth.
ERIPHILUS.
I am to blame—
But were the villain here, whose sland'rous tongue
Thus wounds my honor—
ULYSSES.
Wounds your honor?—yours?—
ERIPHILUS.
Did I say mine? it was too proud a word.
Yet—virtue's is the general cause; 'tis mine;
'Tis yours, oh king; and each affront it bears
Wounds both our honors, and demands revenge.
Polyxena's no murd'rer.—
ULYSSES.
But should Pyrrhus
Credit the babling rumour; where were then
Thy embassy, young man? might not revenge
Devote her virgin beauties to the bed
Of a vile slave?
ERIPHILUS.
By heav'n he dares not!—
ULYSSES.
Dares not?
ERIPHILUS.
Is he a king, and dares he prostitute
A subject's virtue? for she's now his subject.
ULYSSES.
She is his slave, and not his subject, youth.
11
Is he a man, and dares he do a deed
Humanity must shudder but to hear!
ULYSSES.
Yet duty to his father's rev'rend shade
May prompt him to confine the captive princess,
Till the doubt's clear'd.—Or haply she may gain
Permission to depart, so the queen stays
A hostage in her stead. And what imports it,
Where Hecuba dreams out her few last hours?
ERIPHILUS.
Ye pow'rs, imports it not to the poor queen,
Who tends her sick'ning age? what pious hands
Pay the last dismal office to her shade;
Wash her pale corse, and in the hallow'd urn
Her sacred ashes close?
ULYSSES.
Much do I love
Thy mild humanity, that thus can melt
At even a stranger's woe: for hardly cou'd'st thou
Shew tend'rer feelings for a Trojan's fate,
Wert thou of Trojan birth.—How now, Talthybius?
TALTHYBIUS, ULYSSES, ERIPHILUS.
TALTHYBIUS.
Great Agamemnon, and the Grecian chiefs
Intreat your royal presence.
ULYSSES.
At my tent
[To Eriphilus.
12
But yet take heed, young man: be not too sure,
For danger loves to lurk close by the side
Of negligent security. Repeat
Thy suit no more, till the due rites are done
To great Achilles. Importunity
Creates suspicion. Know, thou can'st not act
With too much caution: ev'n the surest step
May lose its footing on this slippery world.
[Exit Uly. and Tal.
ERIPHILUS.
False coz'ning Greek!—But, ah! what fairy vision
Breaks on m' enchanted sight?—it comes upon me;
The floating form of some divinity,
That tends this mansion!
ERIPHILUS
, POLYXENA.
Say, thou beauteous virgin.
If to the presence of the queen of Troy
Thy guidance can conduct my friendly step:
I bring her welcome tidings.
POLYXENA.
Stranger, no.
She shuns each human eye.
ERIPHILUS.
If thou art Polyxena,
As something in my soul doth more than whisper)
O royal maid, permit an unknown youth
One moment's converse. Never till this hour,
Did his heart melt with such soft sympathy.
13
Brief be thy speech, young stranger.
ERIPHILUS.
Hapless princess!
Of sire, of kingdom, liberty bereft!
With scarce a friend to save thee from the scoffs
Of cruel conqu'rors—
POLYXENA.
True, I have no friend.
My sire, my brethren all, have left the sun!
But why shou'd my distress wake in thy breast
These sighs of pity?—hadst thou known the queen—
ERIPHILUS.
I know the iron hand of destiny
Lies heavy on the queen. But wou'd fain hope
My tidings might relume her lamp of life,
Had grief its flame extinguish'd.
POLYXENA.
Vain attempt!
—But say, whence com'st thou, youth, and what thy errand?
ERIPHILUS.
From blest Pæonia's king, sweet maid, I come.
Bear, says Pyrechmes, to the queen of Troy,
And to her peerless daughter, our best greetings.
Inform them that the rugged blasts of fortune
Have firmer in my soul that friendship rooted,
Their virtues planted there. And if the calm
That lulls my court, can blunt the edge of grief,
Tell them my kingdom opens all its gates
To give them entrance.
14
He's a friend indeed!
ERIPHILUS.
Unworthy he to bear the name of king!
Unworthy ev'n to bear the name of man,
Who shares not such distress!—To stop the ears
Of pity to the cries of common misery,
Were a disgrace to nature: but when fate
Frowns on an aged queen—a beauteous princess—
I meant not to offend. Believe me, fair one,
This tongue ne'er learn'd to gloze in flatt'ry's school.
POLYXENA.
I do believe thee. Flattery may fawn,
Lackey the heels of fortune's golden minions,
And kiss the stool of majesty—but, oh!
Can Hecuba, can I, her child, be flatter'd!
ERIPHILUS.
Hear my soul speak!—dear as my own, I hold
Your welfares: nearest to my heart they lie,
Mixt with my own: and, stranger as I seem,
I for your precious lives wou'd pour my blood.
—Thou wonder'st at my words! and my fond heart
Is all on fire to tell thee—but an oath,
A solemn oath, in silence locks my lips,
Till we quit Chersonesus. Quickly therefore
Lead to the queen.
POLYXENA.
Oh! still, I fear, I fear,
Th'attempt were vain! Believe me, gentle youth,
No pow'r on earth can aid her: and in heav'n
15
Has murder'd every hope.
ERIPHILUS.
And has no hand
Planted a poniard in the villain's heart?
POLYXENA.
No, he still walks the earth; drinks the pure breath
Of morn; and on his breast the sun of heaven
Darts a warm ray of gladness, as it shone
For him alone—
ERIPHILUS.
Oh name th'inhuman foe—
POLYXENA.
Alas! the fellest rancour of a foe
Patience might bear—but when the open heart,
Unarm'd with caution's or suspicion's shield,
Receives a stab from friendship—nay, from duty—
From filial duty—for oh earth and heav'n!
The villain Polymestor was her son—
Her daughter's husband—
ERIPHILIS.
What, the Thracian king,
Who wedded her Ilione?
POLYXENA.
To him,
Guarded by good Eumelus, at the time
When Troy was first besieg'd, she sent her son,
Her infant Polydore; and with him sent
Treasures of such vast value, as might raise
Another kingdom, shou'd Troy yield to fate.
16
His innocent brother.—Oh had you beheld
The queen's dread transports when she first receiv'd
The fatal tidings—
ERIPHILUS.
Fluttering heart be still!
POLYXENA.
Prone on the earth she fell with one deep groan,
Deep as if life went in it. Then, as struck
By some quick impulse, stedfast gaz'd on heav'n
In speechless agony: her bosom heav'd,
She grasp'd her hands, and bursting into tears,
Fell tranc'd into my arms!
ERIPHILUS.
My struggling soul
Will bear no more—thy Polydore, sweet maid—
Hah! whither would my frenzy?
POLYXENA.
What of him?
What of my Polydore? thy words; thy actions;
Thy looks; I've mark'd a mystery in all!
Oh answer me, good youth! say, didst thou know
My Polydore? thou tremblest; thy mild nature
Melts at the mention of that tragic tale.
Alas who knows, but thy fast-flowing eyes
Did see the ruthless dagger rend his breast,
And let out his sweet life! while vainly thou
Didst wish for vengeance on the bloody villain!
ERIPHILUS.
Vengeance shall overtake him. Else were I
17
POLYXENA.
Good youth!—and wilt thou purge the groaning earth
Of such a wretch?—
ERIPHILUS.
Else shou'd I blush to live!
POLYXENA.
Then hie thee to the queen. For the blest hope
Of such revenge may rouze her sorrowing soul
To listen to thy suit.—Ah go, and prosper!
ERIPHILUS.
Lead on, lead on.—Now bloody Polymestor,
Tremble I—thy fate approaches—
POLYXENA.
May the spirit
Of my dead Hector march with thee along,
Thrice noble youth! bear a broad shield before thee!
And edge thy mortal sword!—Now to the tent.
For haply ere this time the dewy finger
Of morn has beckon'd from the queen's sad couch
The friendly sleep that crept upon her woe.
And lo she comes;—perhaps 'twere best retire
For a short space. Anon thou may'st return.
Why dost thou tremble? why thus gaze upon her?
Haste, screen thyself behind yon spreading beech.
[Exit Eriphilus.
18
HECUBA.
Lend, virgins, lend your aid. A little onward
Lead from the tent. Support your queen; support
Your fellow-slave!—Oh! dearer far to me,
[To Polyxena.
Than life, than liberty! child of my heart,
What have I seen!—all cheering light of heaven:
And thou, tremendous night! why these dread visions
That rouze me from my couch, and chill my breast
With fearful drops like these!—thou sable mother
Of dusky-pinion'd dreams! my soul abhors
The ominous phantom. Thrice it stalk'd before me
A terrible spectre! stern Achilles' ghost!
POLYXENA.
His ghost!
HECUBA.
It stopt; and pointed at its wound.
Then grinn'd a horrid smile, and disappear'd!
POLYXENA.
'Tis the meer coinage of a troubled mind.
HECUBA.
But then, my virgins, then—oh! wou'd to heav'n
Sage Helenus were here, whose piercing eye
Doth look into futurity's dark womb—
Methought, Sigea, a gaunt ravening wolf
Did from my bosom tear with bloody tooth
A milk-white hind!—ye ever gracious gods,
Protect my dearest child!
19
The gracious gods
Will for thy sake protect me. Trust their care,
And give these visions to the passing wind.
Ev'n now, by their permission, is arriv'd
A stranger, with good tidings. Does it please you
To hear his errand?
HECUBA.
No, I'll not be seen,
Not speak, Polyxena. A stranger-eye
Will but insult my woe. Here let me sit,
And ponder on my Polydore and Death.
ERIPHILUS, HECUBA, POLYXENA, SIGEA, &c.
ERIPHILUS.
Heart-piercing sight! How deep has sorrow dug
Its furrows on that venerable brow!
My pow'rs all lose their functions at her presence.
Oh at this sad, this tender hour of trial,
Aid me some pitying god.
HECUBA.
Unmanner'd stranger,
Whence this intrusion?
ERIPHILUS.
Think not, honor'd queen,
That my unbidden presence violates
Thy sanctity of sorrow. I but claim
The privilege of mild humanity
To wipe the tears of virtue.
HECUBA.
Lead me hence
20
ERIPHILUS.
This blessed end
Draws me to Chersonesus; and I bring
Most welcome tidings.
HECUBA.
What have I to do
With welcome tidings?—Pray ye lead me hence.
ERIPHILUS.
I will retire.
POLYXENA.
And wilt thou not vouchsafe
A moment's audience? well he knows thy wrongs;
And kindly comes to mingle with thy grief
His social tears; and to revenge thy wrongs.
He from Pæonia comes—
ERIPHILUS.
To bring thee freedom,
From good Pyrechmes.
HECUBA.
Say'st thou, youth? Phyrechmes?
I knew him well. He was my Priam's friend.
Thou seest my memory's sound. The good old king!
I hope he lives most happy!—as I think,
He never had a child!
ERIPHILUS.
His only child
Died in the womb: and all the father's fondness,
His charitable friendship show'rs on me.
From him I come, not rudely to restrain
21
Tis nature's kind relief to her poor children.
She bids affliction weep away its woe.
HECUBA.
Friend, (if I yet can call one mortal friend)
Be not deceived: Nor let the good Pyrechmes,
Thy sovereign, be deceived. Indeed I wou'd not
Your kindness shou'd misdeem poor Hecuba
An object fit for pity. Generous youth,
I'll tell thee what I will not tell the Greeks!
But shou'd it ever 'scape thee—
ERIPHILUS.
It shall never.
But your heart will not suffer you to speak.
The tear starts in your eye. Repress the secret
Till happier times permit.
HECUBA.
Till happier times!
ERIPHILUS.
Oh rest on hope; that heav'n-born champion
Which ne'er forsakes the virtuous; but in perils
Lends confidence, and leads them unappall'd
Ev'n to the gates of death.
POLYXENA.
She heeds thee not.
But I will watch the first calm interval:
For now her mind seems hurrying thro' the waste
Of desolate despair, too fast to mark
Compassion's call.—Ah see!
22
The dreadful gods,
Who, in their ireful mood, have turn'd me forth
This terrible example to mankind,
Doubtless have cause! wretched mortality
Believes, and trembles; but perforce must yield.
I yield me too; I bow to your dread wills!
Yet when my mind, with scrutiny severe,
Tries, judges a long life of fourscore years,
And finds no crime but what dares look at pardon;
Forgive, forgive me, if my bursting heart
Wishes that Hecuba had ne'er been born!
ERIPHILUS.
Oh yet try friendship's pow'r; it's precious balm,
Oft tho' it fails to cure, yet ever calms
The rage of sorrow's wounds. Oh 'tis a ray
Can melt the sable gloom of deep despair
Into the milder shade of melancholy.
HECUBA.
I prithee leave me, youth.—My mind's disturb'd,
Thine eye doth burden me. It looks too deep
Into the secret sorrow of my soul.
There's something in thy gesture—in thy mien!
I prithee, leave me youth. My mind's disturb'd.
ERIPHILUS.
Vast are thy woes: yet shall sweet liberty
Lighten the load. Then suffer my blest hand
Swift to conduct thee to Pæonia's court.
HECUBA.
See'st thou that urn?
23
Alas—
HECUBA.
That little urn,
Is it not large enough for my few ashes?
Why wou'd'st thou bear this mockery of a queen
To gay Pæonia's court? I can die here.
ERIPHILUS.
Wou'd'st thou die here a slave? wou'd'st thou bequeath
To hostile hands the venerable relicks
Of royal Priam? Heav'ns, can Hector's mother
Rest undisturb'd beneath the horrid gloom
Of dire Achilles' shrine?
HECUBA.
Distracting thought!
POLYXENA.
Oh hear the voice of Heav'n, in this good youth,
Inviting thee to peace.
ERIPHILUS.
Tho' thy own life
Has lost it's value, heav'ns, can Hecuba
See that fair flower thus droop its languid head?
Oh save the princess, save thy only child,
From pining grief that preys upon her youth!
HECUBA.
My dearest child.—
POLYXENA.
Quit but this horrid isle,
And I'm thy sad associate in despair;
Chuse life or death!
24
Thy death? my daughter's death?
Dry, dry thy tears: I will no more provoke them.
I'll go with thee, my child, to good Pyrechmes.
There in the social sweets of friendly converse,
Lose each sad moment; save when thou and I
Sometime retire beneath the pensive gloom
Of some sequester'd poplar; there we'll sit,
And talk together o'er the buried virtues
Of some lov'd friend.—Lead then, ingenuous youth,
Whoe'er thou art; lead us where social peace
Sits smiling at the hospitable board
Of good Pyrechmes.
POLYXENA.
Oh that blest resolve
Drives hence despair: and makes the sun shine on me
With a sweet gracious eye.
ERIPHILUS.
Back to your tent,
Please you, retire awhile. To Agamemnon
I'll haste; lay down the ransom; and with joy
Lead you to liberty.
HECUBA.
For thy reward,
May he who sits on high, in thunder thron'd,
Pour from his urn those blessings upon thee,
That never more must visit my sad heart.
[Exeunt.
End of the First ACT.
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