Euripides and the Women Left Standing in the Ashes ================================================== Troy has fallen and the men are dead, so what happens to the women? Euripides wrote this in 415 BCE as a direct critique of his own city's brutality, and it still hits like a brick. ---------------------------------------- SAM: Hey, welcome back to 7 Minute Books. I'm Sam, and today we're talking about The Trojan Women by Euripides, which is maybe the most gutting piece of anti-war literature ever written. Sophie, I have to ask, why does a play from 415 BCE still feel like it was written last week? SOPHIE: Hey there Sam. Because it's not really about Troy at all. It's about what happens after the victory parade goes home, to the people who are left behind. And here's the thing that gets me every time. Troy has already fallen when the play opens. The men are dead. The city is burning. The only people left on stage are the women, waiting to be divided up as spoils. SAM: Right, and that's such a deliberate choice. He doesn't show us the horse. He doesn't show us the battle. He starts the play at the moment when all the glory is already over and there's nothing left but the aftermath. SOPHIE: Exactly. And before we even meet a human character, we get the gods. Poseidon shows up to mourn the city he helped build, and then Athena arrives, and she is furious. Not at the Trojans, at the Greeks. Because Ajax raped Cassandra in her temple, and the Greeks showed zero respect for the gods on the way out. SAM: So the two of them basically hatch a plan to wreck the Greek fleet on the way home. SOPHIE: They do. And that prologue does something really important. It tells the audience that the Greek victory is not righteous. It's just the next link in a chain of violence. The gods aren't judges up there. They're petty and they're vengeful, and their loyalties shift based on who insulted them last. SAM: Which is honestly scarier than if they just didn't exist. Because at least if the gods are absent, you can say the universe is indifferent. But here they're actively rooting for more destruction. SOPHIE: Right. And then they leave, and the play belongs to the mortals. And the central figure is Hecuba, the old queen of Troy. She's lying on the ground when we first see her. She's lost her husband, her sons, her kingdom, and everything. Her first sound isn't even a word. It's just a cry. SAM: The part that got me was how the chorus works in this play. It's not background decoration. These are the women of Troy, and they sing together about the smoke rising from their homes and the ships waiting to carry them into slavery. It turns one woman's grief into the grief of an entire civilization. SOPHIE: Yeah, Euripides uses that communal voice so well. It's not just Hecuba suffering. It's everyone. And then the first blow lands when Talthybius arrives. He's the Greek herald, and he's this fascinating figure because he's not a villain. He's a bureaucrat of suffering. He delivers terrible news with a heavy heart, but he has no power to change any of it. SAM: He's the most terrifying character in the play, honestly. The ordinary man just carrying out orders. SOPHIE: Completely. And the news he brings is brutal. Hecuba is assigned to Odysseus as a slave. Which is its own kind of horror, because Odysseus is the man of tricks and lies. To belong to him after everything he did to Troy is the ultimate degradation. SAM: And then he tells her about her daughter Polyxena, who was already sacrificed on Achilles' tomb. She didn't even know. Her throat was slit without ceremony, and Hecuba finds out after the fact. SOPHIE: That's the moment where any illusion of dignity just evaporates. Polyxena's death isn't a noble sacrifice. It's a political murder dressed up as a religious ritual. SAM: Then we get Cassandra, and this is where the play does something I did not expect. She's being dragged off to be Agamemnon's concubine, and she's not weeping. She's ecstatic. She's dancing. SOPHIE: Because she can see the future. Apollo cursed her to always speak the truth and never be believed. So she's singing about how she's going to destroy Agamemnon's household, how Clytemnestra is going to kill him when he gets home, how the whole House of Atreus is going to crumble in blood. SAM: And everyone thinks she's gone mad with grief. SOPHIE: Exactly. But her madness is the only power she has left. She knows her captor's victory is hollow. That's a direct link back to what Poseidon and Athena promised at the top of the play. The Greek triumph is built on sacrilege, and it's going to be paid for. SAM: Okay, but then we get to Andromache, and this is where the play becomes almost unbearable. She's Hector's widow, and she arrives holding her baby son, Astyanax. And she's been awarded to Neoptolemus, Achilles' son, as a war prize. SOPHIE: She represents the future that's been stolen. She's a young mother whose only crime was being married to a brave man. And her one comfort is her son. She starts imagining him growing up and avenging his father and restoring Troy. SAM: And then Talthybius comes back, and his face tells the story before he even speaks. SOPHIE: The Greek council has voted to kill the child. They're afraid that if Hector's son lives, he'll come back for revenge one day. So the logic of war says you have to tear out the root entirely. There's no room for mercy. SAM: And Andromache's grief just turns into this howling rage. She curses the Greeks. She curses the gods. She begs for her son's life. And Hecuba, who has already lost everything, has to stand there and watch her grandson be taken away to be killed. SOPHIE: The chorus sings a dirge for him. They imagine the games he'll never play, the love he'll never know. And Talthybius takes the boy from his mother's arms. He does it quickly, but that doesn't make it any less horrifying. SAM: I actually pushed back on this when I first read it. I thought, surely the murder of a child is the extreme, right? That's not what war is normally like. And then I remembered the summary mentions Euripides wrote this right after the Athenians massacred the island of Melos. They killed all the men and enslaved the women and children. This wasn't hypothetical for him. SOPHIE: No, it was a direct critique of his own city. He was watching Athens do exactly what the Greeks do to Troy in this play. And the murder of Astyanax is the central symbol. It's the killing of the future. It's the moment where you realize war isn't just about soldiers dying on a battlefield. It's about the deliberate annihilation of innocence. SAM: And then they bring the body back to Hecuba. On Hector's shield. SOPHIE: Which is just devastating. The shield that was a symbol of Trojan strength is now a makeshift coffin for his son. And Hecuba's speech over the body is the emotional climax of the whole play. She doesn't talk about gods or justice or revenge. She just looks at her grandson. She marvels at his hair. She looks at his mouth and his hands that will never hold anything again. SAM: She prepares him for burial with the few scraps of finery the women have left. It's not a heroic eulogy. It's just a grandmother burying a child. SOPHIE: Right. And then the final act is the destruction of Troy itself. The Greeks set the whole city on fire, and the women watch their homes and their temples burn. Hecuba tries to throw herself into the flames because she wants to die with her city, and the soldiers hold her back. She's not even allowed to choose her own death. SAM: Because she's property now. She belongs to Odysseus. SOPHIE: And the play ends with this slow procession. The women are led away in chains, and the walls of Troy collapse behind them. Hecuba's last words are a cry of pure despair. She asks why they have to live. Why they have to suffer. And there's no answer. SAM: Euripides offers no comfort at all. He doesn't suggest the Trojans will be avenged or that their suffering has a higher purpose. The gods have abandoned them. Justice is a sham. SOPHIE: But here's what I find so remarkable. Within all that bleakness, he still finds something resilient. Hecuba doesn't become a hero in the traditional sense. She doesn't fight back. She doesn't outsmart anyone. Her heroism is her endurance. She keeps feeling, she keeps grieving, and she keeps speaking for the people who can't. SAM: The one thing I'm actually taking away from this is that the play refuses to take sides. The Greeks aren't monsters. They're men following orders, driven by fear and ambition. The Trojans aren't saints either. They're just people who lost everything. And the whole point is that war reduces everyone to the same level of suffering. SOPHIE: Yeah, it asks you to look at the cost of victory from the perspective of the woman on the ground, not the general. And honestly, if you want to sit with these ideas a little longer, the whole library is over at 7minutebooks.com/app. There are over 6,000 fiction and nonfiction titles you can read or listen to in any language, and it starts at 2.99 a month, 9.99 a year, or 19.99 once for lifetime access. SAM: And that image of the city in flames, with women and children fleeing and a child killed to prevent future revenge, that's not ancient history. That's been repeated over and over, right up to today. SOPHIE: That's the whole point. Euripides isn't teaching us about strategy or leadership. He's showing us the irredeemable cost of violence, and he's asking us to refuse to look away. We'll see you in the next one.