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Browsing named entities in Euripides, Andromache (ed. David Kovacs).

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ded me to deprive you of your lawful due as a wife? [Is it that Sparta is a lesser city than Troy and is surpassed in fortune by it, and that you see me a free woman?] Was it in order that I might bear children instead of you, slaves and a miserable appendage to myself? Or is it that, emboldened by youth and a body in the bloom of its prime, by the greatness of my city and by friends, I mean to possess your house instead of you? Or will people put up with my children as the royal family of Phthia if you do not bear any? Naturally, since the Greeks love me both for Hector's sake . And am I myself obscure and not rather one of Troy's royal family? No, it is not because of any drugs of mine that your husband dislikes you but the fact that you are not fit to live with. For this too is a means of procuring love. It is not beauty but good qualities that give joy to husbands. But if you get angry, then Sparta is
o blame? Will you let go the cause and attack the effect that came after? Alas for my misery! O my unhappy fatherland, what injustice I suffer! Why must I even have given birth and doubled the burden I bear? [But why do I lament these things but do not consider to their last drop the misfortunes immediately before me?] I saw Hector dragged to death behind a chariot and Troy put piteously to the torch, and I myself went, pulled by the hair, as a slave to the Argive ships. And when I came to Phthia, I was made the bride of Hector's slayer. How can life be sweet for me? To what shall I look? To my past or my present fate? I had left a single son, the eye of my life: those who have decided these things mean to kill him. But no, not to save my wretched life! If he survives he bears our hopes, while for me not to die on behalf of my child is a reproach. She leaves the altar and puts her arms about Molossus. There, I leave the altar and am in your hands, to cut my throat, slay, imprison,
Andromache sung Here am I, hands bloodied with the tight bonds about them, being sent down to death. Boy sung Mother, o mother, under your wing I go down as well. Andromache sung This is a cruel sacrifice, o rulers of Phthia! Boy sung Father, come and help those you love. Andromache sung Dear child, you will lie below dead with your dead mother, next to her breast. Boy sung Oh me! What will become of me? Unhappy are we, you and I, mother.
son Achilles, was Hector's brother, and she was Hector's wife.] Yet you share the same roof with her, you think it right to have her at your table, and you allow her to give birth in your house to children who are your bitterest enemies. And when I, in forethought for you and for me, meant to kill her, I find she is snatched from my hands. Yet come now (it is no shame to touch on this point) if my daughter has no children and Andromache does, will you set them up as kings over the land of Phthia, and will they, though barbarian in race, rule over Greeks? After that can you maintain that I, who hate what is not right, am lacking in judgment, while it is you that have sense? [Consider now this point too. If you had given your daughter to one of your fellow-citizens and she had suffered this kind of treatment, would you sit by in silence? I do not think so. Yet do you, on behalf of a foreigner, shout such things at your close kin? Further, a woman groans as much as a man when she is w
with others' having children just because she herself has none. If her luck in respect to children is bad, must we be bereft of offspring? Clear away from this woman, slaves, so that I may learn whether anyone means to prevent me from loosening her hands. To Andromache Raise yourself up! Andromache rises to her feet Though I tremble with age, I will loosen the plaited thongs. To Menelaus Did you, base coward, mar her hands thus? Was it a bull or a lion you thought you were tying up with the noose? Or were you afraid that she might take a sword and wreak vengeance on you? To Molossus Come here under my arm, child, and help me to untie your mother's bonds. In Phthia I shall bring you to manhood to be a great enemy to these people. If you Spartans did not have your reputation won by spear-fighting, you may be sure that in other respects you are no one's superior. Chorus Leader Old men are a thing that knows no restraint and are hard to keep a watch on because of their quick temper.
Menelaus You fly too readily into abusive talk. For my part, since I have come to Phthia against my will, I shall not do anything demeaning nor will I have it done to me. For the present, since I do not have unlimited time, I will go home. There is a city not far off from Sparta which previously was friendly but now is hostile. I mean to attack it as general and make it our subject. But when I have arranged matters there to my satisfaction, I shall return. Man to man with my son-in-law I sha we may not escape now only to be captured later! Peleus No cowardly woman-talk here, please! March on! Who will touch us? He shall smart for it that lays a hand on us! For by the gods' grace I rule over a throng of cavalry and many hoplites in Phthia. And I am still upright on my feet and no grey-beard, as you suppose. If I once look at that sort of man, I will send him flying, old man though I am. Even an old man, if he be brave, is more than a match for many young men. What use is bodily v
Hermione sung You have abandoned me, father, abandoned me, all alone on the shore with no sea-going oar! He will kill me, kill me! No more shall I dwell in this bridal house of mine! To which of the gods' statues shall I run as suppliant? Or shall I fall as a slave before the knees of my slave? O that I might soar up out of the land of Phthia to the place where the ship of pine passed through the Symplegades, first bark that ever sailed!
s, my daughter]. Enter by Eisodos B Orestes in travelling costume. Chorus Leader Look, here comes a stranger, a man of different hue from ourselves, hastening towards us with speedy step. Orestes Ladies who dwell in this foreign land, is this the house of Achilles' son and his royal residence? Chorus Leader It is. But who are you that ask this? Orestes My name is Orestes, and I am son of Agamemnon and Clytaemestra. I am going to the oracle of Zeus at Dodona. But since I have arrived in Phthia, I have decided to learn whether my kinswoman, Hermione of Sparta, is alive and enjoying good fortune. For though the land she dwells in is far off from me, she is nonetheless dear to me. Hermione kneels before Orestes and grasps his knees. Hermione O son of Agamemnon, appearing like a haven from storm to sailors, I beg you by your knees, have pity on me for the ill-luck you see me suffering, for my fortunes are not good! I place about your knees my arms, which have the force of suppliant
er, come from Sparta for this purpose. Orestes Yet he was bested by an old man's hand? Hermione Yes, by his sense of shame—and then he left me! Orestes I see: for what you've done you fear your husband. Hermione Yes. For he will be within his rights to kill me. What use to speak of it? But I entreat you in the name of Zeus, who is of our family, escort me to any place far away from this land or to my father's house. For this house seems to take voice and drive me forth, and the land of Phthia hates me. And if my husband leaves the oracle of Phoebus and comes home before then, he will kill me in great disgrace or I shall be a slave to the concubine who was once my slave. Orestes How then did you come to commit these grave sins, as some might call them? Hermione My undoing was bad women coming into the house. They puffed me up in folly by speaking in this vein: ‘Will you put up with this wretched captive in your house sharing in your marriage-bed? By the goddess, in my house she
Troy (Turkey) (search for this): card 1009
Chorus O Phoebus, who built high the fair-walled rock of Troy, and you, Lord of the Deep, who ride your chariot with horses the color of the sea over the salt main, why did you deprive your hand of its cunning craftsmanship, and put it at the service of Ares, Lord of the Spear, and thereby let slip luckless, luckless Troy? Chorus O Phoebus, who built high the fair-walled rock of Troy, and you, Lord of the Deep, who ride your chariot with horses the color of the sea over the salt main, why did you deprive your hand of its cunning craftsmanship, and put it at the service of Ares, Lord of the Spear, and thereby let slip luckless, luckless Troy?
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