Hecuba (1127b-1240)

By the gods I entreat you, let me vent on her the fury of my arm.

Hold! banish that savage spirit from your heart

and plead your cause, so that after hearing you and her in turn I may fairly decide what reason there is for your present sufferings.

I will tell my tale. There was a son of Priam, Polydorus, the youngest, a child by Hecuba, whom his father Priam sent to me from Troy to bring up in my halls,

suspecting no doubt the fall of Troy. I killed him; but hear my reason for killing him, how cleverly and wisely I had thought it out. My fear was that if that child were left to be your enemy, he would repeople Troy and settle it afresh;

and the Achaeans, knowing that a son of Priam survived, might bring another expedition against the Phrygian land, and then harry and lay waste these plains of Thrace, for the neighbours of Troy to experience the very troubles we were lately suffering, O king.

Now Hecuba, having discovered the death of her son, brought me here on the following pretext, saying she would tell me of hidden treasure stored up in Ilium by the race of Priam; and she led me apart with my children into the tent, that no other might hear her news.

So I sat down on a couch in their midst to rest; for there were many of the Trojan maidens seated there, some on my right hand, some on my left, as if beside a friend; and they were praising the weaving of our Edonian handiwork, looking at this robe as they held it up to the light;

while others examined my Thracian spear and so stripped me of two-fold protection. And those that were young mothers were dandling my children in their arms, with loud admiration, as they passed them on from hand to hand to remove them far from their father;

and then after their smooth speeches—would you believe it?—in an instant snatching daggers from somewhere in their dress they stab my children; while others, like foes, seized me hand and foot;

and if I tried to raise my head, anxious to help my children, they would clutch me by the hair; while if I stirred my hands, I could do nothing, poor wretch! for the numbers of the women. At last they did a fearful deed, worse than what had gone before; for they took their brooches

and stabbed the hapless pupils of my eyes, making them gush with blood, and then fled through the chambers; up I sprang like a wild beast in pursuit of the shameless murderesses, searching along each wall with hunter’s care,

dealing buffets, spreading ruin. This then is what I have suffered because of my zeal for you, Agamemnon, for slaying an enemy of yours. But to spare you a lengthy speech, if any of the men of former times have spoken ill of women, if any does so now, or shall do so hereafter,

I will say all this in one short sentence; for neither land or sea produces such a race, as whoever has had to do with them knows.

Curb your bold tongue, and do not, because of your own woes, thus embrace the whole race of women in one reproach.

For though some of us, and those a numerous class, deserve to be disliked, there are others among us who rank naturally among the good.

Never ought words to have outweighed deeds in this world, Agamemnon. No! if a man’s deeds were good, so should his words have been;

if, on the other hand, evil, his words should have been unsound, instead of its being possible at times to speak injustice well. There are, it is true, clever persons, who have made a science of this, but their cleverness cannot last for ever; a miserable end awaits them; no one ever yet escaped.

This part of my prelude belongs to you. Now will I turn to this fellow, and will give you your answer, you who say it was to save Achaea double toil and for Agamemnon’s sake that you killed my son. No, villain, in the first place

the barbarian race would never be friends with Hellas, nor could it be. Again, what interest did you have to further by your zeal? was it to form some marriage, or on the score of kinship, or what reason? or was it likely that they would sail here again and destroy

your country’s crops? Whom do you expect to persuade into believing that? If you would only speak the truth, it was the gold that slew my son, and your greedy spirit. Now tell me this: why, when Troy was victorious, when her ramparts still stood round her,

when Priam was alive, and Hector’s warring prospered, why did you not then, if you were really minded to do Agamemnon a service, slay the child, for you had him in your palace beneath your care, or bring him with you alive to the Argives? But when the enemy took us from the light

and our city made a signal by its smoke, you murdered the guest who had come to your hearth.

Furthermore, to prove your villainy, hear this; if you were really a friend to those Achaeans, you should have brought the gold, which you say you are keeping not for yourself but for this man,

and given it to them, for they were in need and had endured a long exile from their native land. But not even now can you bring yourself to part with it, but persist in keeping it in your palace. Again, had you kept my son safe and sound, as your duty was,

a fair renown would have been your reward, for it is in trouble’s hour that the good most clearly show their friendship; though prosperity by itself in every case finds friends. If you were in need of money and he were prosperous, that son of mine would have been as a mighty treasure for you to draw upon;

but now you have him no longer to be your friend, and the benefit of the gold is gone from you, your children too, and you yourself are in this sorry plight.
I say to you, Agamemnon, if you help this man, you will show your worthlessness; for you will be serving a guest-friend neither pious nor to be trusted where he should be,

not devout, not just; while I shall say you delight in evil-doers, being such a one yourself; but I do not abuse my masters.

Ah! how a good cause always affords men an opening for a good speech.

To be judge in a stranger’s troubles goes much against my grain, but still I must; yes, for to take this matter in hand and then put it from me is a shameful course. My opinion, that you may know it, is that it was not for the sake of the Achaeans or me that you killed your guest,