Andromache
ACT I
A. S. Kline © 2007 All Rights Reserved
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Contents
Act I Scene I (Orestes, Pylades)
Act I Scene II (Pyrrhus, Orestes, Phoenix)
Act I Scene III (Pyrrhus, Phoenix)
Act I Scene IV (Pyrrhus, Andromache, Cephisa)
Pyrrhus, son of Achilles, King of
Orestes, son of Agamemnon.
Pylades, friend to Orestes.
Andromache, widow of Hector,
prize of Pyrrhus after the sack of
Hermione, daughter of Helen and Menelaus, betrothed to Pyrrhus.
Cleone, confidante to Hermione.
Cephisa, confidante to Andromache.
The scene is Buthrotes,
a town on the coast of
Now, since I find my loyal friend once more
My fortune will be set on some fresh course;
Already its very path appears milder,
Since it ensured we meet here together.
Who’d have thought shores fatal to my days
Would reveal Pylades to Orestes’ gaze?
That after six months, with you lost to me,
At Pyrrhus court you’d be returned to me?
Pylades
I give thanks to Heaven, whose stormy seas
Seemed to have closed for me the route to
Since that fatal day when roaring waters
Severed our fleet, in sight of
In that parting what despair I suffered!
What tears I shed at the ills that gathered,
Fearing some new danger for you there,
One my saddened friendship could not share!
I dreaded above all that melancholy
That shrouded your spirit so entirely.
I feared lest Heaven, with a cruel hand
Might offer you the death you’d sought so long.
But here you are, my Lord; I dare say, thus,
That happier fate brought you to
The pomp that here follows in your footsteps
Not that of some poor wretch who looks for death.
Orestes
Alas, who knows what future leads me on?
Love made me seek her, the unkindest one.
But who knows what it orders for my fate,
And whether life or death to contemplate?
Pylades
What! Your soul accepts love’s slavery
Relying on that to set your being free?
By what spell, forgetful of your suffering,
Could you endeavour to revive this thing?
Will Hermione, in
Offer in
Your disregarded vows a source of shame,
You abhorred her; would not speak her name.
You deceived me, my lord.
Orestes
I deceived myself.
Friend, do not crush this wretch, your second self.
Have I concealed my heart and my desires?
You saw my passion born, and its first fires.
When Menelaus bestowed his daughter
In Pyrrhus’ favour, as family avenger,
You saw my despair; and you’ve seen me
Drag from sea to sea my chains, ennui.
In that sad state, I found you, no less,
Set to follow the miserable Orestes,
Always to calm the course of my rage,
Preserve to me the balance of my days.
When I recalled, amidst all our alarms,
How Hermione offered Pyrrhus her charms,
You know what anger in my heart was born:
I wished, in forgetting, to repay her scorn.
I thought to do so, thought my victory safe;
I took my transports for the pangs of hate;
Belittling her charms, loathing her disdain,
I defied her thus to trouble me again,
So, crushing tenderness, achieving peace,
Pure self-deception, I arrived in
To find our princes all assembled there
And some dark danger troubling the air.
I joined them, thinking fierce war and glory
Would prove more material to my story;
That, my mind regaining its old vigour,
Love would vanish from my heart the quicker.
But admire the machinations of fate
That returns me to the net I would escape.
I hear on every side they threaten Pyrrhus;
They say, forgetting birth and loyalty,
He takes to heart an enemy of
Astyanax, Hector’s wretched offspring,
The last of
I hear, to stop her infant being seized,
Andromache tricked the wily Ulysses,
Another child, at
Taken for her son, thus came to harm.
Oblivious to Hermione the fair,
My rival hawks his heart and crown elsewhere.
Menelaus, not crediting it, complains
Of marriage long-delayed for all his pains.
Amongst these irritations to his soul,
In mine a secret joy arises whole.
I triumphed; priding myself above all
Vengeance alone answered to the call.
Yet my ungrateful heart soon rebelled,
There I found traces of the love I quelled.
I felt my hatred then had run its course,
Or rather that my love returned in force.
And so from every Greek I sought their vote.
They sent me to Pyrrhus, I agreed to go.
I come to discover if he’ll now release
This child whose presence so alarms
Happier for me if I, in love’s duress,
Win not Astyanax but my princess!
Do not expect that passions so renewed
By greatest perils could be now subdued.
Resistance proves vain, and all see plainly,
Blindly I follow now the fate that claims me.
I love; I seek Hermione on this coast,
To sway her, carry her off, or be lost.
You know Pyrrhus: how does he act to her?
His court, his heart: tell me what passes here.
Is Hermione still enthralled, Pylades?
Will he return what he has reft from me?
Pylades
I would deceive you, if I dared suggest
He’d place her in your hands: mere foolishness:
Not that he seems enamoured of his conquest;
His passion’s stirred for Hector’s widow: yes,
He loves her.
But that harsh widow, of late,
Merely repays his love for her with hate;
And every day he’s seen to try her:
To sway his captive, or to terrify her.
He threatens her son’s life, whom he hides,
And makes those tears flow, that he dries.
Hermione has known, a hundred times,
This angry lover thus renounce his crimes,
Of his troubled vows bringing her homage,
At her feet sighing, less from love than rage.
So don’t anticipate some sign of health
From a mind so little master of itself.
In his wild disorder he may be moved
To wed where he hates, punish where he loves.
Orestes
Tell me then how does Hermione see
This wayward lover, hostile to her beauty?
Pylades
Hermione, at least apparently,
Seems to scorn her love’s inconstancy,
Yet thinks, pleased to mitigate his harshness,
He’ll seek yet to regain her tenderness.
But her tears I’ve seen revealed to me:
She mourns his scorn for her, secretly.
Prepared to go away, yet still she stays,
Sometimes calling Orestes to her aid.
Orestes
Oh, if I thought so, I’d go, Pylades
And throw…
Pylades
Complete, my lord, your embassy.
You’ll see the king. Speak and tell the man
How all
Far from yielding this child of his mistress,
Their hatred will inflame his tenderness.
The more you seek to part them, then the more
They’ll unite: ask all, gain naught, implore.
He comes.
Orestes
Well, go then! And that cruel one prepare
To see this lover, only here for her.
Orestes
All the Greeks speak to you through my voice,
Suffer me here to take pride in their choice,
And show before you, Sire, my proper joy
Seeing Achilles’ son, victor at
Yes, we admired his exploits as your blows.
Hector fell to him,
And you proved, fortune showing you her face,
That Achilles’ only son could take his place.
But
As he would not have,
And sees you, touched by a fatal pity,
Shielding the remnants of that warlike city.
Have you forgot, Sire, who that Hector was?
Our race bereaved can still recall its loss.
His name makes widows, and our daughters weep;
There’s not a family in the whole of
That does not seek revenge on that boy
For some man that Hector killed at
Who knows what he’ll undertake some day?
Perhaps we’ll see him disembark, I say,
To burn, as his father did, our fleet,
Torch in hand, chase it through the deep.
Do I dare tell you, Sire, what I think?
Fear reprisal now for what you’re doing,
Lest the snake you harbour at your breast
Punishes you one day for your caress.
Placate the Greeks, Sire, and avoid all strife,
Protect yourself from vengeance, save your life;
Destroy a foe, dangerous in the extreme,
Who’ll test on you the means of fighting them.
Pyrrhus
I thought she cared for more important things,
And with you here as her ambassador,
Believed her plans might show more grandeur.
Who’d have thought, in such a humble scene,
Agamemnon’s son is the go-between;
That a whole race, so often triumphant,
Works towards the death of one infant?
But to whom should I make sacrifice?
Has
And alone of Greeks is it denied me
To dispose of a captive fate gave me?
Yes, my lord, beneath
The blood-stained victors shared their spoils,
And Fate, whose judgement men followed then,
Brought to my hands Andromache and her son.
Hecuba fell to Ulysses’ share;
Cassandra followed your father there:
Have I claimed the right to their captives?
Sought to deny the fruits of their exploits?
You fear Hector and
His son slay me for granting him his life.
Such caution’s called mere anxiety,
I see no such possibility.
I see it of another age, that place:
Its mighty ramparts, its heroic race,
Mistress of Asia; and I reflect
On
I see towers: cloaked in ash they stand,
A river stained with blood, an empty land,
A child among the flames; what is the chance,
That
Ah! If the death of Hector’s son was planned,
Why wait a year to put the thing in hand?
Could you not burn him there at Priam’s breast?
He should have died at
All was approved of then: age, infancy
Made weakness their defence, but uselessly.
Victory, night, still crueller than we foes,
Urged us to murder, and confused our blows.
My wrath among the vanquished was severe.
But why should cruelty survive it here?
Why, despite pity welling, as it should,
Must I at will bathe in an infant’s blood?
No sir. Let
Let it seek elsewhere what
The course of all my enmity is run;
Orestes
Sire, you well know with what deceit
A false Astyanax was sent to meet
The death that awaited Hector’s son;
Hector they pursue not every Trojan.
Yes, Greeks hunt the son for the father;
With too much blood they bought their anger.
With that alone it will not be erased;
It will draw them to
You can stop them.
Pyrrhus
I’d welcome them with joy:
Let them, in
Let them entangle hatreds, not distinguish
The conqueror from those they’d punish.
It will not be the first act of injustice
With which
Hector profited, my lord; some day
His son may profit in the selfsame way.
Orestes
So, in you
Pyrrhus
Did I win to be dependent on her?
Orestes
Hermione, Sire, will arrest your blows:
Between you and her father, interpose.
Pyrrhus
Hermione, my lord, is much the dearer
For my not playing slave to her father;
And perhaps some day I’ll harmonise
The needs of love and grandeur in her eyes.
Yet you may go, visit Helen’s daughter:
I know how close you are to each other.
Then, my lord, I’ll no longer keep you,
Go: tell the Greeks how I’ve refused you.
So you’ve sent him off to see his mistress?
Pyrrhus
They say he is enamoured of the princess.
And what if that flame should re-kindle, Sire?
If he pays court, if he makes love to her?
Pyrrhus
Ah! Let them love,
Let them, entranced, return to
Our ports are open, they’re at liberty.
From her constraint and boredom set me free!
Sire…
Pyrrhus
I’ll share my heart with you another time:
Andromache is here.
Pyrrhus
Do you seek me, Madame?
Is so sweet a hope permitted me?
Andromache
I go where my captive son waits for me.
Since, once a day, you let me see my boy,
All that remains of Hector and of
I go now, Sire, to weep awhile with him:
I have not yet been today to visit him.
Pyrrhus
Ah! Madame, if all proves as it appears,
The Greeks will give you fresh cause for tears.
Andromache
What is this fear their hearts are gripped by, Sire?
Has some Trojan escaped their funeral pyre?
Pyrrhus
Their hatred for Hector is not yet dead:
They fear his son!
Andromache
Fit object of their dread!
A wretched child, who barely understands
He’s Hector’s son, Pyrrhus his guardian.
Pyrrhus
Such as he is, the Greeks demand his life.
Agamemnon’s son hastens on the knife.
Andromache
And you’ll accept so cruel a request?
Shall what I am condemn the guiltless?
They cannot fear he’ll avenge his father;
They fear he’ll dry the tears of a mother.
He might seem father, husband, yet to me;
But I lose all, and always by your deed.
Pyrrhus
Madame, my refusal forestalls your tears.
The Greeks may yet threaten me for years;
But, should they still, taking to the sea
With a thousand ships, ask him of me,
Though it cost what Helen caused to flow,
My palace burning in ten years or so,
I shall not waver: I’ll be his defence;
I’ll guard his life at my life’s expense.
Now, with the risks I run for your pleasure,
Will you view me in less hostile measure?
Greek hatred presses on me from all sides,
Must I contest your cruelties besides?
I offer my sword. May I hope for more,
That you’ll accept a heart that must adore?
Upholding your cause, will you permit me
To see you no longer as an enemy?
Andromache
Sire, what now? What will
Shall so great a heart show fatal weakness?
Do you wish words, so fine and generous,
To seem the whim of one grown amorous?
Sad captive, irksome to myself I prove,
Do you now wish Andromache to love?
What charms for you can doomed eyes show,
That you’ve condemned to endless tears below?
No, no, respect your enemy’s pain rather,
Ease my troubles: give my son his mother,
Fight the wars, a hundred tribes may start,
Without my paying for it with my heart,
Despite me, thus grant refuge to misfortune:
That would be worthy of Achilles’ son.
Pyrrhus
What! Has your anger not yet run its course?
Will you hate forever, with eternal force?
I have done evil, doubtless;
Saw my hands bathe in Trojan blood before.
But the power with which your eyes sway me,
For the tears they shed, makes me pay dearly!
With how much remorse are they repaid?
I suffer the ills I dealt at
Vanquished and in chains, regret consumes me,
Burned by more fires than I lit around me,
Such cares, such tears, such unquiet ardour…
Alas! Was I ever as cruel as you are?
Yet enough of this mutual persecution;
Our common foes suggest our fusion.
Madame, tell me I may hope further,
I’ll give you your boy, act as his father;
I’ll teach him myself to avenge the Trojans;
Punish the Greeks for your ills and my own.
Fired by a look, I’ll undertake it all:
More swiftly than the Greeks brought them down,
Within its risen walls your son I’ll crown.
Andromache
Sire, we are scarcely moved by such grandeur:
It would be to promise what killed his father.
No, you may not hope to receive us more,
Sacred Walls that failed to guard my Hector.
Misfortune only seeks the smallest favours,
Sire: I ask only exile with my tears.
Far from Greeks, and far from you, allow
Me to hide my son, mourn my husband now.
Your love means hatred for us in the end:
Return, return to the daughter of Helen.
Pyrrhus
How, Madame? Ah, how you trouble me!
How grant her the heart that you stole from me?
I know my vows promised her an empire;
I know it was to reign she travelled here;
Fate brought you both, your destinies the same:
She to impose, and you to bear, the chains.
Yet have I cared in any way to please her?
Would you not declare, in seeing rather
Your charms in power and hers disdained,
That she was captive here, and that you reigned?
Oh! Let one of the sighs my heart sends you,
Flying towards her, bring her rapture too!
Andromache
And why should she fend your sighs away?
Does she forget the services you gave?
Do
To a husband’s grave does she pay tribute?
And such a man! Ah, Memory, so cruel!
His death has made your father immortal.
He’ll owe dead Hector fame, down the years,
You’ll both be known only by my tears.
Pyrrhus
Well, lady, well, it seems I must obey:
I must forget you, or must rather hate.
Too long I’ve shown you love’s violence
To lapse into a dull indifference.
Consider well: from now on, my heart,
If it must not love, must take hate’s part.
I’ll spare nothing in my righteous anger;
The son pays for the scorn of the mother;
To waste my glory saving an ingrate.
Andromache
Alas! He’ll die then. With no more defence
That a mother’s tears and his innocence.
And perhaps after all, in my misery,
His death will hasten on the end for me.
I prolonged my life for him, but there,
Following him, I’ll go see his father.
Thus all three, by you Sire, reconciled,
We’ll thank you…
Pyrrhus
Go, Madame, go see your child.
Perhaps, on seeing him, your love, more wise,
Will cease to take mere anger for your guide.
To learn our future I will find you there.
Madame, embrace him and so learn to care.
End of Act I