Euripides Monologues for Women and Men

HELEN: To what ills
Have I been subject, O my dear companions!
Did not my mother, as a prodigy
Which wondering mortals gaze at, bring me forth?
For neither Grecian nor barbaric dame
Till then produced an egg, in which her children
Enveloped lay, as they report, from Jove
Leda engendered. My whole life and all
That hath befallen me, but conspires to form
One series of miraculous events;
To Juno some, and to my beauty some
Are owing. Would to Heaven, that, like a tablet
Whose picture is effaced, I could exchange
This form for one less comely, since the Greeks
Forgetting those abundant gifts showered down
By prosperous Fortune which I now possess,
Think but of what redounds not to my honour,
And still remember my ideal shame.
Whoever therefore, with one single species
Of misery is afflicted by the gods,
Although the weight of Heaven’s chastising hand
Be grievous, may with fortitude endure
Such visitation: but by many woes
Am I oppressed, and first of all exposed
To slanderous tongues, although I ne’er have erred.
It were a lesser evil e’en to sin
Than be suspected falsely. Then the gods,
‘Midst men of barbarous manners, placed me far
From my loved country: torn from every friend,
I languish here, to servitude consigned
Although of free born race: for ‘midst barbarians
Are all enslaved but one, their haughty lord.
My fortunes had this single anchor left,
Perchance my husband might at length arrive
To snatch me from my woes; but he, alas!
Is now no more, my mother too is dead,
And I am deemed her murd’ress, though unjustly,
Yet am I branded with this foul reproach;
And she who was the glory of our house,
My daughter in the virgin state grown grey,
Still droops unwedded: my illustrious brothers,
Castor and Pollux, called the sons of Jove,
Are now no more. But I impute my death,
Crushed as I am by all these various woes,
Not to my own misdeeds, but to the power
Of adverse fortune only: this one danger
There yet remains, if at my native land
I should again arrive, they will confine me
In a close dungeon, thinking me that Helen
Who dwelt in Ilion, till she thence was borne
By Menelaus. Were my husband living,
We might have known each other, by producing
Those tokens to which none beside are privy:
But this will never be, nor can he e’er
Return in safety. To what purpose then
Do I still lengthen out this wretched being?
To what new fortunes am I still reserved?
Shall I select a husband, but to vary
My present ills, to dwell beneath the roof
Of a barbarian, at luxurious boards
With wealth abounding, seated? for the dame
Whom wedlock couples with the man she hates
Death is the best expedient. But with glory
How shall I die? the fatal noose appears
To be so base, that e’en in slaves ’tis held
Unseemly thus to perish; in the poniard
There’s somewhat great and generous. But to me
Delays are useless: welcome instant death:
Into such depth of misery am I plunged.
For beauty renders other women blest,
But hath to me the source of ruin proved.

HIPPOLYTUS:
Great Zeus, why didst thou, to man’s sorrow, put woman, evil counterfeit, to dwell where shines the sun? If thou wert minded that the human race should multiply, it was not from women they should have drawn their stock, but in thy temples they should have paid gold or iron or ponderous bronze and bought a family, each man proportioned to his offering, and so in independence dwelt, from women free. But now as soon as ever we would bring this plague into our home we bring its fortune to the ground. ‘Tis clear from this how great a curse a woman is; the very father, that begot and nurtured her, to rid him of the mischief, gives her a dower and packs her off; while the husband, who takes the noxious weed into his home, fondly decks his sorry idol in fine raiment and tricks her out in robes, squandering by degrees, unhappy wight! his house’s wealth. For he is in this dilemma; say his marriage has brought him good connections, he is glad then to keep the wife he loathes; or, if he gets a good wife but useless kin, he tries to stifle the bad luck with the good. But it is easiest for him who has settled in his house as wife mere cipher, incapable from simplicity. I hate a clever woman; never may she set foot in my house who aims at knowing more than women need; for in these clever women Cypris implants a larger store of villainy, while the artless woman is by her shallow wit from levity debarred. No servant should ever have had access to a wife, but men should put to live with them beasts, which bite, not talk, in which case they could not speak to any one nor be answered back by them. But, as it is, the wicked in their chambers plot wickedness, and their servants carry it abroad. Even thus, vile wretch, thou cam’st to make me partner in an outrage on my father’s honour; wherefore I must wash that stain away in running streams, dashing the water into my ears. How could I commit so foul a crime when by the very mention of it I feel myself polluted? Be well assured, woman, ’tis only my religious scruple saves thee. For had not I unawares been caught by an oath, ‘fore heaven! I would not have refrained from telling all unto my father. But now I will from the house away, so long as Theseus is abroad, and will maintain strict silence. But, when my father comes, I will return and see how thou and thy mistress face him, and so shall I learn by experience the extent of thy audacity. Perdition seize you both! I can never satisfy my hate for women, no! not even though some say this is ever my theme, for of a truth they always are evil. So either let some one prove them chaste, or let me still trample on them for ever.

Odysseus, I see that you are hiding
your right hand underneath your cloak, and turning
your face away, so I can’t touch your beard.
You’re off the hook; don’t worry. I refuse
to call on Zeus, Protector of Suppliants.
Since I’m compelled, I’ll follow you, and also
since death is what I want. If I resist
I’ll be no good, in love with mere survival. 
Why should I live? My father was the lord
of all the Phrygians. That was my starting point.
Then, I was raised on promises and hopes
of royal marriage, and keen rivalry
to see whose hearth and home I would belong to.
Unlucky me—I was the princess once,
first among the women of Ida, admired
among the maidens, equal to the gods
in all but one respect: mortality.
And now I am a slave. The name, to start with
— so unfamiliar!—makes me long for death.
And then, I might get cruel-minded masters;
whoever pays for me with silver—me,
sister of Hector, and of many others!—
will give me orders, tell me that I must
make bread, and sweep the house, and do my weaving,
spending painful days under compulsion.
Some paid-for slave from somewhere will defile
my bed, which was prestigious once, considered
a prize for rulers.

No! I’m free to close
my eyes forever, turn from this day’s light,
give my body to Hades. Go ahead,

CASSANDRA: O mother, crown my head with victor’s wreaths; rejoice
in my royal match; lead me to my lord; nay, if thou find me loth at
all, thrust me there by force; for if Loxias be indeed a prophet,
Agamemnon, that famous king of the Achaeans, will find in me a bride
more fraught with woe to him than Helen. For I will slay him and lay
waste his home to avenge my father’s and my bretheren’s death. But
of the deed itself I will not speak; nor will I tell of that axe which
shall sever my neck and the necks of others, or of the conflict ending
in a mother’s death, which my marriage shall cause, nor of the overthrow
of Atreus’ house; but I, for all my frenzy, will so far rise above
my frantic fit, that I will prove this city happier far than those
Achaeans, who for the sake of one woman and one man’s love of her
have lost a countless host in seeking Helen. Their captain too, whom
men call wise, hath lost for what he hated most what most he prized,
yielding to his brother for a woman’s sake-and she a willing prize
whom no man forced-the joy he had of his own children in his home.
For from the day that they did land upon Scamander’s strand, their
doom began, not for loss of stolen frontier nor yet for fatherland
with frowning towers; whomso Ares slew, those never saw their babes
again, nor were they shrouded for the tomb by hand of wife, but in
a foreign land they lie. At home the case was still the same; wives
were dying widows, parents were left childless in their homes, having
reared their sons for others, and none is left to make libations of
blood upon the ground before their tombs. Truly to such praise as
this their host can make an ample claim. Tis better to pass their
shame in silence by, nor be mine the Muse to tell that evil tale.
But the Trojans were dying, first for their fatherland, fairest fame
to win; whomso the sword laid low, all these found friends to bear
land, their funeral rites all duly paid by duteous hands. And all
such Phrygians as escaped the warrior’s death lived ever day by day
with wife and children by them-joys the Achaeans had left behind.
is dead and gone, but still his fame remains as bravest of the brave
and this was a result of the Achaeans’ coming; for had they remained
at home, his worth would have gone unnoticed. So too with Paris, he
married the daughter of Zeus, whereas, had he never done so, the alliance
he made in his family would have been forgotten. Whoso is wise should
fly from making war; but if he be brought to this pass, a noble death
will crown his city with glory, a coward’s end with shame. Wherefore,
mother mine, thou shouldst not pity thy country or my spousal, for
this my marriage will destroy those whom thou and I most hate.