The Trojan Women of Euripides. Euripides
Читать онлайн книгу.
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.
[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?
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.
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?
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;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
Caphêreus with the bones of drownèd 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 strengthenèd!
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,