Euripides' HECUBA Complete

Translated by E. Coleridge.

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54 pages - You are on Page 22

Leader: Upon the race of Priam and my city some fearful curse hath
burst; 'tis sent by God, and we must bear it.

Hecuba: O my daughter! 'mid this crowd of sorrows I know not where
to turn my gaze; for if I set myself to one, another will not give
me pause; while from this again a fresh grief summons me, finding
a successor to sorrow's throne. No longer now can I efface from my
mind the memory of thy sufferings sufficiently to stay my tears; yet
hath the story of thy noble death taken from the keenness of my grief.
Is it not then strange that poor land, when blessed by heaven with
a lucky year, yields a good crop, while that which is good, if robbed
of needful care, bears but little increase; yet 'mongst men the knave
is never other than a knave, the good man aught but good, never changing
for the worse because of misfortune, but ever the same? Is then the
difference due to birth or bringing up? Good training doubtless gives
lessons in good conduct, and if a man have mastered this, he knows
what is base by the standard of good. Random shafts of my soul's shooting
these, I know. (To Talthybius) Go thou and proclaim to the Argives
that they touch not my daughter's body but keep the crowd away. For
when countless host is gathered, the mob knows no restraint, and the
unruliness of sailors exceeds that of fire, all abstinence from evil
being counted evil. (Talthybius goes out., Addressing a servant)
My aged handmaid, take a pitcher and dip it in the salt sea and bring
hither thereof, that I for the last time may wash my child, a virgin
wife, a widowed maid, and lay her out,-as she deserves, ah! whence
can I? impossible! but as best I can; and what will that be? I will
collect adornment from the captives, my companions in these tents,
if haply any of them escaping her master's eye have some secret store
from her old home. (The Maid departs.) O towering halls, O home
so happy once, O Priam, rich in store of fairest wealth, most blest
of sires, and I no less, the grey-haired mother of thy race, how are
we brought to naught, stripped of our former pride! And spite of all
we vaunt ourselves, one on the riches of his house, another be, cause
he has an honoured name amongst his fellow-citizens! But these things
are naught; in vain are all our thoughtful schemes, in vain our vaunting
words. He is happiest who meets no sorrow in his daily walk. (Hecuba
enters the tent.)

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