Chapter III (1)

What Phrygian artist on the top of Ide,
Or vagrant of a Grecian line,
Felled that inauspicious pine,
To frame the bark which Paris o’er the tide
Dared with barbaric oars to guide,
When to my palace, in an evil hour
Caught by beauty’s magic power,
He came to seize me for his bride?
But crafty Venus, authoress of these broils,
Marched thither, leagued with death, t’ annoy
Triumphant Greece and vanquished Troy,
(Wretch that I am, consumed with endless toils!)
And Juno seated on her golden throne,
Consort of thundering Jove,
Sent Hermes from the realms above,
Who found me, when I carelessly had strewn
Leaves plucked from roses in my vest,
As Minerva’s votary drest;
He bore me through the paths of air
To this loathed, this dreary land,
Called Greece, and Priam’s friends the strife to share,
And roused to bloody deeds each rival band;
Where Simois’ current glides, my name
Hence is marked with groundless shame.

CHOR. Your woes I know are grievous: but to bear
With tranquil mind the necessary ills
Of life, is most expedient.

HEL. 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
Then 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.

CHOR. O Helen, whosoe’er the stranger be
Who hither came, believe not that the whole
Of what he said, is truth.

HEL. But in plain terms
Hath he announced my dearest husband’s death.

CHOR. The false assertions which prevail, are many.

HEL. Clear is the language in which honest Truth
Loves to express herself.

CHOR. You are inclined
Rather to credit inauspicious tidings
Than those which are more favourable.

HEL. By fears
Encompassed, am I hurried to despair.

CHOR. What hospitable treatment have you found
Beneath these roofs?

HEL. All here, except the man
Who seeks to wed me, are my friends.

CHOR. You know
How then to act: leave this sepulchral gloom.

HEL. What are the counsels, or the cheering words
You wish to introduce?

CHOR. Go in, and question
The daughter of the Nereid, her who knows
All hidden truths, Theonoe, if your lord
Yet live, or view the solar beams no more:
And when you have learnt this, as suit your fortunes
Indulge your joys, or pour forth all your tears:
But ere you know aught fully, what avail
Your sorrows? therefore listen to my words;
Leaving this tomb, attend the maid: from her
Shall you know all. But why should you look farther
When truth is in these mansions to be found?
With you the doors I’ll enter; we together
The royal virgin’s oracles will hear.
For ’tis a woman’s duty to exert
Her utmost efforts in a woman’s cause.

HEL. My friends, your wholesome counsels I approve:
But enter ye these doors, that ye, within
The palace, my calamities may hear.

CHOR. You summon her who your commands obeys
Without reluctance.

HEL. Woeful day! ah me,
What lamentable tidings shall I hear?

CHOR. Forbear these plaintive strains, my dearest queen,
Nor with presaging soul anticipate
Evils to come.

HEL. What hath my wretched lord
Endured? Doth he yet view the light, the sun
Borne in his radiant chariot, and the paths
Of all the starry train? Or hath he shared
The common lot of mortals, is he plunged
Among the dead, beneath th’ insatiate grave?

CHOR. O construe what time yet may bring to pass
In the most favourable terms.

HEL. On thee
I call to testify, and thee adjure,
Eurotas, on whose verdant margin grow
The waving reeds: O tell me, if my lord
Be dead, as fame avers.

CHOR. Why do you utter
These incoherent ditties?

HEL. Round my neck
The deadly noose will I entwine, or drive
With my own hand a poinard through my breast;
For I was erst the cause of bloody strife;
But now am I a victim, to appease
The wrath of those three goddesses who strove
On Ida’s mount, when ’midst the stalls where fed
His lowing herds, the son of Priam waked
The sylvan reed, to celebrate my beauty.

CHOR. Cause these averted ills, ye gods, to light
On other heads; but, O my royal mistress,
May you be happy.

HEL. Thou, O wretched Troy,
To crimes which thou hast ne’er committed, ow’st
Thy ruin, and those horrible disasters
Thou hast endured. For as my nuptial gifts,
Hath Venus caused an intermingled stream
Of blood and tears to flow, she, griefs to griefs
And tears to tears hath added; all these sufferings
Have been the miserable Ilion’s lot.
Of their brave sons the mothers were bereft
The virgin sisters of the mighty dead
Strewed their shorn tresses on Scamander’s banks,
While, by repeated shrieks, victorious Greece
Her woes expressing, smote her laurelled head,
And with her nails deep furrowing tore her cheeks.
Happy Calisto, thou Arcadian nymph
Who didst ascend the couch of Jove, transformed
To a four-footed savage, far more blest
Art thou than she to whom I owe my birth:
For thou beneath the semblance of a beast,
Thy tender limbs with shaggy hide o’erspread,
And glaring with stern visage, by that change
Didst end thy griefs. She too whom Dian drove
Indignant from her choir, that hind whose horns
Were tipped with gold, the bright Titanian maid,
Daughter of Merops, to her beauty owed
That transformation: but my charms have ruined
Both Troy and the unhappy Grecian host.

[_Exeunt_ HELEN _and_ CHORUS.

MENELAUS.

O Pelops, in the strife on Pisa’s field,
Who didst outstrip the fiery steeds that whirled
The chariot of Oenomaus, would to Heaven
That when thy severed limbs before the gods
Were at the banquet placed, thou then thy life
Amidst the blest immortal powers hadst closed,
Ere thou my father Atreus didst beget,
Whose issue by his consort Ærope
Were Agamemnon and myself, two chiefs
Of high renown. No ostentatious words
Are these; but such a numerous host, I deem,
As that which we to Ilion’s shore conveyed,
Ne’er stemmed the tide before; these troops their king
Led not by force to combat, but bore rule
O’er Grecian youths his voluntary subjects,
And among these, some heroes, now no more,
May we enumerate; others from the sea
Who ’scaped with joy, and to their homes returned,
E’en after fame had classed them with the dead.
But I, most wretched, o’er the briny waves
Of ocean wander, since I have o’erthrown
The battlements of Troy, and though I wish
Again to reach my country; by the gods
Am I esteemed unworthy of such bliss.
E’en to the Libyan deserts have I sailed,
And traversed each inhospitable scene
Of brutal outrage; still as I approach
My country, the tempestuous winds repel me,
Nor hath a prosperous breeze from Heaven yet filled
My sails, to waft me to the Spartan coast:
And now a shipwrecked, miserable man,
Reft of my friends, I on these shores am cast,
My vessel hath been shivered ’gainst the rocks
Into a thousand fragments: on the keel,
The only part which yet remains entire
Of all that fabric, scarce could I and Helen,
Whom I from Troy have borne, escape with life
Through fortunes unforeseen: but of this land
And its inhabitants, the name I know not:
For with the crowd I blushed to intermingle
Lest they my squalid garments should observe,
Through shame my wants concealing. For the man
Of an exalted station, when assailed
By adverse fortune, having never learned
How to endure calamity, is plunged
Into a state far worse than he whose woes
Have been of ancient date. But pinching need
Torments me: for I have not either food
Or raiment to protect my shivering frame,
Which may be guessed from these vile rags I wear
Cast up from my wrecked vessel: for the sea
Hath swallowed up my robes, my tissued vests,
And every ensign of my former state.
Within the dark recesses of a cave
Having concealed my wife, that guilty cause
Of all my woes, and my surviving friends
Enjoined to guard her, hither am I come.
Alone, in quest of necessary aid
For my brave comrades whom I there have left,
If by my search I haply can obtain it,
I roam; but when I viewed this house adorned
With gilded pinnacles, and gates that speak
The riches of their owner, I advanced:
For I have hopes that from this wealthy mansion
I, somewhat for my sailors, shall obtain.
But they who want the necessary comforts
Of life, although they are disposed to aid us,
Yet have not wherewithal. Ho! who comes forth
From yonder gate, my doleful tale to bear
Into the house?

FEMALE SERVANT, MENELAUS.

FEMALE SER. Who at the threshold stands?
Wilt thou not hence depart, lest thy appearance
Before these doors give umbrage to our lords?
Else shalt thou surely die, because thou cam’st
From Greece, whose sons shall never hence return.

MEN. Well hast thou spoken, O thou aged dame.
Wilt thou permit me? For to thy behests
Must I submit: but suffer me to speak.

FEMALE SER. Depart: for ’tis my duty to permit
No Greek to enter this imperial dome.

MEN. Lift not thy hand against me, nor attempt
To drive me hence by force.

FEMALE SER. Thou wilt not yield
To my advice, thou therefore art to blame.

MEN. Carry my message to thy lords within.

FEMALE SER. I fear lest somewhat dreadful might ensue,
Should I repeat your words.

MEN. I hither come
A shipwrecked man, a stranger, one of those
Whom all hold sacred.

FEMALE SER. To some other house,
Instead of this, repair.

MEN. I am determined
To enter: but comply with my request.

FEMALE SER. Be well assured thou art unwelcome here,
And shalt ere long by force be driven away.

MEN. Alas! alas! where are my valiant troops?

FEMALE SER. Elsewhere, perhaps, thou wert a mighty man;
But here art thou no longer such.

MEN. O Fortune!
How am I galled with undeserved reproach!

FEMALE SER. Why are those eyelids moist with tears, why griev’st thou?

MEN. Because I once was happy.

FEMALE SER. Then depart,
And mingle social tears with those thou lov’st.

MEN. But what domain is this, to whom belong
These royal mansions?

FEMALE SER. Proteus here resides;
This land is Egypt.

MEN. Egypt? wretched me!
Ah, whither have I sailed!

FEMALE SER. But for what cause
Scorn’st thou the race of Nile?

MEN. I scorn them not:
My own disastrous fortunes I bewail.

FEMALE SER. Many are wretched, thou in this respect
Art nothing singular.

MEN. Is he, the king
Thou speak’st of, here within?

FEMALE SER. To him belongs
This tomb; his son is ruler of this land.

MEN. But where is he: abroad, or in the palace?

FEMALE SER. He’s not within; but to the Greeks he bears
The greatest enmity.

MEN. Whence rose this hate,
Productive of such bitter fruits to me?

FEMALE SER. Beneath these roofs Jove’s daughter Helen dwells.

MEN. What mean’st thou? Ha! what words with wonder fraught
Are these which thou hast uttered? O repeat them.

FEMALE SER. The child of Tyndarus, she who in the realm
Of Sparta erst abode.

MEN. Whence came she hither?
How can this be?

FEMALE SER. From Lacedæmon’s realm.

MEN. When? Hath my wife been torn from yonder cave?

FEMALE SER. Before the Greeks, O stranger, went to Troy
Retreat then from these mansions, for within
Hath happened a calamitous event,
By which the palace is disturbed. Thou com’st
Unseasonably, and if the king surprise thee,
Instead of hospitable treatment, death
Must be thy portion. To befriend the Greeks
Though well inclined, yet thee have I received
With these harsh words, because I fear the monarch.

[_Exit_ FEMALE SERVANT.

MEN. What shall I say? For I, alas! am told
Of present sorrows added to the past.
Come I not hither, after having borne
From vanquished Troy my consort, whom I left
Within yon cave well guarded? Yet here dwells
Another Helen, whom that woman called
Jove’s daughter. Lives there on the banks of Nile
A man who bears the sacred name of Jove?
For in the heavens there’s only one. What country,
But that where glides Eurotas’ stream beset
With waving reeds, is Sparta? Tyndarus’ name
Suits him alone. But is there any land
Synonymous with Lacedæmon’s realm,
And that of Troy? I know not how to solve
This doubt; for there are many, it appears,
In various regions of the world, who bear
Like appellations; city corresponds
With city; woman borrows that of woman;
Nor must we therefore wonder. Yet again
Here will I stay, though danger be announced
By yonder aged servant at the door:
For there is no man so devoid of pity
As not to give me food, when he the name
Of Menelaus hears. That dreadful fire
By which the Phrygian bulwarks were consumed
Is memorable, and I who kindled it
Am known in every land. I’ll therefore wait
Until the master of this house return.
But I have two expedients, and will practise
That which my safety shall require; of soul
Obdurate, if he prove, in my wrecked bark
Can I conceal myself, but if the semblance
Which he puts on, be mild, I for relief
From these my present miseries, will apply.
But this of all the woes that I endure
Is the most grievous, that from other kings
I, though a king myself, should be reduced
To beg my food: but thus hath Fate ordained.
Nor is it my assertion, but a maxim
Among the wise established, that there’s nought
More powerful than the dread behests of Fate.

HELEN, CHORUS, MENELAUS.

CHOR. I heard what yon prophetic maid foretold,
Who in the palace did unfold
The oracles; that to the shades profound
Of Erebus, beneath the ground
Interred, not yet hath Menelaus ta’en
His passage: on the stormy main
Still tossed, he cannot yet approach the strand,
The haven of the Spartan land:
The chief, who now his vagrant life bewails,
Without a friend, unfurls his sails,
From Ilion’s realm to every distant shore
Borne o’er the deep with luckless oar.

HEL. I to this hallowed tomb again repair,
Now I have heard the grateful tidings uttered
By sage Theonoe, who distinctly knows
All that hath happened? for she says my lord
Is living, and yet views the solar beams:
But after passing o’er unnumbered straits
Of ocean, to a vagrant’s wretched life
Full long inured, on these Ægyptian coasts,
When he his toils hath finished, shall arrive.
Yet there is one thing more, which she hath left
Unmentioned, whether he shall come with safety.
This question I neglected to propose,
O’erjoyed when she informed me he yet lives;
She also adds, that he is near the land,
From his wrecked ship, with his few friends, cast forth,
O mayst thou come at length; for ever dear
To me wilt thou arrive. Ha! who is that?
Am not I caught, through some deceitful scheme
Of Proteus’ impious son, in hidden snares?
Like a swift courser, or the madding priestess
Of Bacchus, shall I not with hasty step
Enter the tomb, because his looks are fierce
Who rushes on, and strives to overtake me?

MEN. On thee I call, who to the yawning trench
Around that tomb, and blazing altars hiest
Precipitate. Stay: wherefore dost thou fly?
With what amazement doth thy presence strike
And almost leave me speechless!

HEL. O my friends,
I suffer violence; for from the tomb
I by this man am dragged, who to the king
Will give me, from whose nuptial couch I fled.

MEN. We are no pirates, nor the ministers
Of lustful villany.

HEL. Yet is the vest
You wear unseemly.

MEN. Stay thy rapid flight,
Dismiss thy fears.

HEL. I stop, now I have reached
This hallowed spot.

MEN. Say, woman, who thou art;
What face do I behold?

HEL. But who are you?
For I by the same reasons am induced
To ask this question.

MEN. Never did I see
A greater likeness.

HEL. O ye righteous gods!
For ’tis a privilege the gods alone
Confer, to recognize our long-lost friends.

MEN. Art thou a Grecian or a foreign dame?

HEL. Of Greece: but earnestly I wish to know
Whence you derive your origin.

MEN. In thee
A wonderful resemblance I discern
Of Helen.

HEL. Menelaus’ very features
These eyes in you behold, still at a loss
Am I for words t’ express my thoughts.

MEN. Full clearly
Hast thou discovered a most wretched man.

HEL. O to thy consort’s arms at length restored!

MEN. To what a consort? O forbear to touch
My garment!

HEL. E’en the same, whom to your arms,
A noble bride, my father Tyndarus gave.

MEN. Send forth, O Hecate, thou orb of light,
Some more benignant spectre.

HEL. You in me
Behold not one of those who minister
At Hecate’s abhorred nocturnal rites.

MEN. Nor am I sure the husband of two wives.

HEL. Say, to whom else in wedlock are you joined?

MEN. To her who lies concealed in yonder cave,
The prize I hither bring from vanquished Troy.

HEL. You have no wife but me.

MEN. If I retain
My reason yet, these eyes are sure deceived.

HEL. Seem you not then, while me you thus behold,
To view your real consort?

MEN. Though your person
Resemble hers, no positive decision
Can I presume to form.

HEL. Observe me well,
And mark wherein we differ. Who can judge
With greater certainty than you?

MEN. Thou bear’st
Her semblance, I confess.

HEL. Who can inform you
Better than your own eyes?

MEN. What makes me doubt
Is this; because I have another wife.

HEL. To the domains of Troy I never went:
It was my image only.

MEN. Who can fashion
Such bodies, with the power of sight endued?

HEL. Composed of ether, you a consort have,
Heaven’s workmanship.

MEN. Wrought by what plastic god?
For the events thou speak’st of are most wondrous.

HEL. Lest Paris should obtain me, this exchange
Was made by Juno.

MEN. How couldst thou be here,
At the same time, and in the Phrygian realm?

HEL. The name, but not the body, can be present
At once in many places.

MEN. O release me;
For I came hither in an evil hour.

HEL. Will you then leave me here, and bear away
That shadow of a wife?

MEN. Yet, O farewell,
Because thou art like Helen.

HEL. I’m undone:
For though my husband I again have found,
Yet shall not I possess him.

MEN. My conviction,
From all those grievous toils I have endured
At Ilion, I derive, and not from thee.

HEL. Ah, who is there more miserable than I am?
My dearest friends desert me: I, to Greece,
To my dear native land, shall ne’er return.

MESSENGER, MENELAUS, HELEN, CHORUS.

MES. After a tedious search, O Menelaus,
At length have I with difficulty found you,
But not till over all the wide extent
Of this barbaric region I had wandered;
Sent by the comrades whom you left behind.

MEN. Have ye been plundered then by the barbarians?

MES. A most miraculous event hath happened,
Yet less astonishing by far in name
Than in reality.

MEN. Speak, for thou bring’st
Important tidings by this breathless haste.

MES. My words are these: in vain have you endured
Unnumbered toils.

MEN. Those thou bewail’st are ills
Of ancient date. But what hast thou to tell me?

MES. Borne to the skies your consort from our sight
Hath vanished, in the heavens is she concealed,
Leaving the cave in which we guarded her,
When she these words had uttered: “O ye sons
Of hapless Phrygia, and of Greece: for me
Beside Scamander’s conscious stream ye died,
Through Juno’s arts, because ye falsely deemed
Helen by Phrygian Paris was possest:
But after having here remained on earth
My stated time, observing the decrees
Of Fate, I to my sire the liquid ether
Return: but Tyndarus’ miserable daughter,
Though guiltless, hath unjustly been accused.”
Daughter of Leda hail! wert thou then here?
While I as if thou to the starry paths
Hadst mounted, through my ignorance proclaimed
Thou from this world on rapid wings wert borne.
But I no longer will allow thee thus
To sport with the afflictions of thy friends;
For in thy cause thy lord and his brave troops
On Ilion’s coast already have endured
Abundant toils.

MEN. These are the very words
She uttered; and by what ye both aver
The truth is ascertained. O happy day
Which gives thee to my arms!

HEL. My dearest lord,
O Menelaus, it is long indeed
Since I have seen you: but joy comes at last.
My friends, transported I receive my lord
Whom I once more with these fond arms enfold,
After the radiant chariot of the sun
Hath oft the world illumined.

MEN. I embrace
Thee too: but having now so much to say
I know not with what subject to begin.

HEL. Joy raises my exulting crest, these tears
Are tears of ecstasy, around your neck
My arms I fling with transport, O my husband,
O sight most wished for!

MEN. I acquit the Fates,
Since Jove’s and Leda’s daughter I possess,
On whom her brothers borne on milk-white steeds
Erst showered abundant blessings, when the torch
Was kindled at our jocund nuptial rite;
Though from my palace her the gods conveyed.
But evil now converted into good
To me thy husband hath at length restored
My long-lost consort: grant, O bounteous Heaven,
That I these gifts of fortune may enjoy.

HEL. May you enjoy them, for my vows concur
With yours; nor, of us two, can one be wretched
Without the other. O my friends, I groan
No longer, I no longer shed the tear
For my past woes: my husband I possess
Whom I from Troy expected to return
Full many, many years.

MEN. I still am thine,
And thee with these fond arms again enfold.
But oft the chariot of the sun revolved
Through his diurnal orbit, ere the frauds
Of Juno I discerned. Yet more from joy
Than from affliction rise the tears I shed.

HEL. What shall I say? what mortal could presume
E’er to have hoped for such a blest event?
An unexpected visitant once more
I clasp you to my bosom.

MEN. And I thee
Who didst appear to sail for Ida’s town,
And Ilion’s wretched turrets. By the gods,
Inform me, I conjure thee, by what means
Thou from my palace hither wert conveyed.

HEL. Alas! you to the source of all my woes
Ascend, and search into most bitter tidings.

MEN. Speak: for whate’er hath been ordained by Heaven
Ought to be published.

HEL. I abhor the topic
On which I now am entering.

MEN. Yet relate
All that thou know’st; for pleasing ’tis to hear
Of labours that are past.

HEL. I never went
To that barbarian youth’s adulterous couch
By the swift oar impelled: but winged love
Those hapless spousals formed.

MEN. What god, what fate
Hath torn thee from thy country?

HEL. O my lord,
The son of Jove hath placed me on the banks
Of Nile.

MEN. With what amazement do I hear
This wondrous tale of thy celestial guide!

HEL. Oft have I wept, and still the tear bedews
These eyes: to Juno, wife of Jove, I owe
My ruin.

MEN. Wherefore wished she to have heaped
Mischiefs on thee?

HEL. Ye sources of whate’er
To me hath been most dreadful, O ye baths
And fountains, where those goddesses adorned
Their rival beauties, from whose influence rose
That judgment!

MEN. Were those curses on thy head
By Juno showered, that judgment to requite?

HEL. To rescue me from Venus.

MEN. What thou mean’st
Inform me.

HEL. Who to Paris had engaged——

MEN. O wretched woman!

HEL. Wretched, wretched me!
Thus did she waft me to th’ Egyptian coast.

MEN. Then in thy stead to him that image gave,
As thou inform’st me.

HEL. But alas! what woes
Thence visited our wretched house! ah mother!
Ah me!

MEN. What sayst thou?

HEL. Leda is no more.
Around her neck she fixed the deadly noose
On my account, through my unhappy nuptials
O’erwhelmed with foul disgrace.

MEN. Alas! But lives
Hermione our daughter?

HEL. Yet unwedded,
Yet childless, O my husband, she bewails
My miserable ’spousals, my disgrace.

MEN. O Paris, who hast utterly o’erthrown
All my devoted house, these curst events,
Both thee, and myriads of the Grecian troops
With brazen arms refulgent, have destroyed.

HEL. But from my country in an evil hour,
From my loved native city, and from you,
Me hath the goddess driven, a wretch accursed
In that I left our home, and bridal bed,
Which yet I left not, for those base espousals.

CHOR. If ye hereafter meet with happier fortune,
This may atone for all ye have endured
Already.

MES. To me too, O Menelaus,
Communicate a portion of that joy
Which I perceive, but know not whence it springs.

MEN. Thou too, old man, shalt in our conference share.

MES. Was not she then the cause of all the woes
Endured at Troy?

MEN. Not she: we were deceived
By those immortal Powers, whose plastic hand
Moulded a cloud into that baleful image.

MES. What words are these you utter? have we toiled
In vain, and only for an empty cloud?

MEN. These deeds were wrought by Juno, and the strife
’Twixt the three goddesses.

MES. But is this woman
Indeed your wife?

MEN. E’en she: and thou for this
On my assertion safely mayst depend.

MES. My daughter, O how variable is Jove,
And how inscrutable! for he with ease
Whirls us around, now here, now there; one suffers
Full many toils; another, who ne’er knew
What sorrow was, is swallowed up at once
In swift perdition, nor in Fortune’s gifts
A firm and lasting tenure doth enjoy.
Thou and thy husband have endured a war,
Of slander thou, but he of pointed spears:
For by the tedious labours he endured
He nothing could obtain, but now obtains
The greatest and the happiest of all boons,
Which comes to him unsought. Thou hast not shamed
Thy aged father, and the sons of Jove,
Nor acted as malignant rumour speaks.
I now renew thy hymeneal rite,
And still am mindful of the torch I bore,
Running before the steeds, when in a car
Thou with this favoured bridegroom wert conveyed
From thy paternal mansion’s happy gates.
For worthless is that servant who neglects
His master’s interests, nor partakes their joys,
Nor feels for their afflictions. I was born
Indeed a slave, yet I with generous slaves
Would still be numbered, for although the name
I bear is abject, yet my soul is free.
Far better this, than if I had at once
Suffered two evils, a corrupted heart,
And vile subjection to another’s will.

MEN. Courage, old man: for thou hast borne my shield,
And in my cause endured unnumbered toils,
Sharing my dangers: now partake my joys;
Go tell the friends I left, what thou hast seen,
And our auspicious fortunes: on the shore
Bid them remain, till our expected conflict
Is finished; and observe how we may sail
From this loathed coast; that, with our better fortune
Conspiring, we, if possible, may ’scape
From these barbarians.

MES. Your commands, O king,
Shall be obeyed. But I perceive how vain
And how replete with falsehood is the voice
Of prophets: no dependence can be placed
Upon the flames that from the altar rise,
Or on the voices of the feathered choir.
It is the height of folly to suppose
That birds are able to instruct mankind.
For Calchas, to the host, nor by his words
Nor signs, declared, “I for a cloud behold
My friends in battle slain.” The seer was mute,
And Troy in vain was taken. But perhaps
You will rejoin, “’Twas not the will of Heaven
That he should speak.” Why then do we consult
These prophets? We by sacrifice should ask
For blessings from the gods, and lay aside
All auguries. This vain delusive bait
Was but invented to beguile mankind.
No sluggard e’er grew rich by divination,
The best of seers are Prudence and Discernment.

[_Exit_ MESSENGER.

CHOR. My sentiments on prophets well accord
With those of this old man. He whom the gods
Th’ immortal gods befriend, in his own house
Hath a response that never can mislead.

HEL. So be it. All thus far is well. But how
You came with safety, O unhappy man,
From Troy, ’twill nought avail for me to know;
Yet with the sorrows of their friends, have friends
A wish to be acquainted.

MEN. Thou hast asked
A multitude of questions in one short
And blended sentence. Why should I recount
To thee our sufferings on the Ægean deep,
Those treacherous beacons, by the vengeful hand
Of Nauplius kindled on Eubœa’s rocks,
The towns of Crete, or in the Libyan realm,
Which I have visited, and the famed heights
Of Perseus? never could my words assuage
Thy curiosity, and, by repeating
My woes to thee, I should but grieve the more,
And yet a second time those sufferings feel.

HEL. You in your answer have been more discreet
Than I who such a question did propose.
But pass o’er all beside, and only tell me
How long you wandered o’er the briny main.

MEN. Year after year, besides the ten at Troy,
Seven tedious revolutions of the sun.

HEL. The time you speak of, O unhappy man,
Is long indeed: but from those dangers saved
You hither come to bleed.

MEN. What words are these?
What dost thou mean? O, how hast thou undone me!

HEL. Fly from these regions with your utmost speed:
Or he to whom this house belongs will slay you.

MEN. What have I done that merits such a fate?

HEL. You hither come an unexpected guest,
And are a hindrance to my bridal rite.

MEN. Is there a man then who presumes to wed
My consort?

HEL. And with arrogance to treat me,
Which I, alas! have hitherto endured.

MEN. Of private rank, in his own strength alone
Doth he confide, or rules he o’er the land?

HEL. Lord of this region, royal Proteus’ son.

MEN. This is the very riddle which I heard
From yonder female servant.

HEL. At which gate
Of this barbarian palace did you stand?

MEN. Here, whence I like a beggar was repelled.

HEL. What, did you beg for food! ah wretched me!

MEN. The fact was thus: though I that abject name
Assumed not.

HEL. You then know, it seems, the whole
About my nuptials.

MEN. This I know: but whether
Thou has escaped th’ embraces of the king
I still am uninformed.

HEL. That I have kept
Your bed still spotless, may you rest assured.

MEN. How canst thou prove the fact? if thou speak truth
To me, it will give pleasure.

HEL. Do you see,
Close to the tomb, my miserable seat?

MEN. I on the ground behold a couch: but what
Hast thou to do with that, O wretched woman?

HEL. Here I a suppliant bowed, that I might ’scape
From those espousals.

MEN. Couldst thou find no altar,
Or dost thou follow the barbarian mode?

HEL. Equally with the temples of the gods
Will this protect me.

MEN. Is not then my bark
Allowed to waft thee to the Spartan shore?

HEL. Rather the sword than Helen’s bridal bed
Awaits you.

MEN. Thus should I of all mankind
Be the most wretched.

HEL. Let not shame prevent
Your ’scaping from this land.

MEN. And leaving thee,
For whom I laid the walls of Ilion waste?

HEL. ’Twere better than to perish in the cause
Of me your consort.

MEN. Such unmanly deeds
As these thou speak’st of would disgrace the chief
Who conquered Troy.

HEL. You cannot slay the king,
Which is perhaps the project you have formed.

MEN. Hath he then such a body as no steel
Can penetrate?

HEL. My reasons you shall know.
But it becomes not a wise man t’ attempt
What cannot be performed.

MEN. Shall I submit
My hands in silence to the galling chain?

HEL. You know not how to act in these dire straits
To which we are reduced: but of some plot
Must we avail ourselves.

MEN. ’Twere best to die
In some brave action than without a conflict.

HEL. One only hope of safety yet remains.

MEN. By gold can it be purchased, or depends it
On dauntless courage, or persuasive words?

HEL. Of your arrival if the monarch hear not.

MEN. Who can inform him? he will never sure
Know who I am.

HEL. He hath a sure associate,
Within his palace, equal to the gods.

MEN. Some voice which from its inmost chambers sounds?

HEL. No: ’tis his sister, her they call Theonoe.

MEN. She bears indeed a most prophetic name;
But say, what mighty deeds can she perform?

HEL. All things she knows, and will inform her brother
That you are here.

MEN. We both, alas! must die,
Nor can I possibly conceal myself.

HEL. Could our united supplications move her?

MEN. To do what action? Into what vain hope
Wouldst thou mislead me?

HEL. Not to tell her brother
That you are in the land.

MEN. If we prevail
Thus far, can we escape from these domains?

HEL. With ease, if she concur in our design,
But not without her knowledge.

MEN. This depends
On thee: for woman best prevails with woman.

HEL. Around her knees these suppliant hands I’ll twine.

MEN. Go then; but what if she reject our prayer?

HEL. You certainly must die; and I by force
Shall to the king be wedded.

MEN. Thou betray’st me;
That force thou talk’st of is but mere pretence.

HEL. But by your head that sacred oath I swear.

MEN. What sayst thou, wilt thou die, and never change
Thy husband?

HEL. By the self-same sword: my corse
Shall lie beside you.

MEN. To confirm the words
Which thou hast spoken, take my hand.

HEL. I take
Your hand, and swear that after you are dead
I will not live.

MEN. And I will put an end
To my existence, if deprived of thee.

HEL. But how shall we die so as to procure
Immortal glory?

MEN. Soon as on the tomb
Thee I have slain, myself will I destroy.
But first a mighty conflict shall decide
Our claims who to thy bridal bed aspire.
Let him who dares, draw near: for the renown
I won at Troy, I never will belie,
Nor yet returning to the Grecian shore
Suffer unnumbered taunts for having reft
Thetis of her Achilles, and beheld
Ajax the Telamonian hero slain,
With Neleus’ grandson, though I dare not bleed
To save my consort. Yet on thy behalf
Without regret, will I surrender up
This fleeting life: for if the gods are wise
They lightly scatter dust upon the tomb.
Of the brave man who by his foes is slain,
But pile whole mountains on the coward’s breast.

CHOR. O may the race of Tantalus, ye gods,
At length be prosperous, may their sorrows cease!

HEL. Wretch that I am! for such is my hard fate:
O Menelaus, we are lost for ever.
The prophetess Theonoe, from the palace
Comes forth: I hear the sounding gates unbarred.
Fly from this spot. But whither can you fly?
For your arrival here, full well she knows,
Absent, or present. How, O wretched me,
Am I undone! in safety you return
From Troy, from a barbarian land, to rush
Again upon the swords of fresh barbarians.

THEONOE, MENELAUS, HELEN, CHORUS.

THEON. [_to one of her Attendants_.]
Lead thou the way, sustaining in thy hand
The kindled torch, and fan the ambient air,
Observing every due and solemn rite,
That we may breathe the purest gales of Heaven.
Meanwhile do thou, if any impious foot
Have marked the path, with lustral flames efface
The taint, and wave the pitchy brand around,
That I may pass; and when we have performed
Our duteous homage to th’ immortal powers,
Into the palace let the flame be borne,
Restore it to the Lares. What opinion
Have you, O Helen, of th’ events foretold
By my prophetic voice? Your husband comes,
Your Menelaus in this land appears,
Reft of his ships, and of your image reft.
’Scaped from what dangers, O unhappy man,
Art thou arrived, although thou know’st not yet
Whether thou e’er shalt to thy home return,
Or here remain. For there is strife in Heaven;
And Jove on thy account this day will hold
A council; Juno who was erst thy foe,
Now grown benignant, with thy consort safe
To Sparta would convey thee, that all Greece
May understand that the fictitious nuptials
Of Paris, were the baleful gift of Venus.
But Venus wants to frustrate thy return,
Lest she should be convicted, or appear
At least the palm of beauty to have purchased
By vending Helen for a wife to Paris.
But this important question to decide,
On me depends; I either can destroy thee,
Which is the wish of Venus, by informing
My brother thou art here; or save thy life
By taking Juno’s side, and thy arrival
Concealing from my brother, who enjoined me
To inform him whensoe’er thou on these shores
Shouldst land. Who bears the tidings to my brother,
That Menelaus’ self is here, to save me
From his resentment?

HEL. At thy knees I fall,
O virgin, as a suppliant, and here take
My miserable seat, both for myself,
And him whom, scarce restored to me, I see
Now on the verge of death. Forbear t’ inform
Thy brother, that to these fond arms my lord
Again is come. O save him, I implore thee;
Nor gratify thy brother, by betraying
The feelings of humanity, to purchase
A wicked and unjust applause: for Jove
Detests all violence, he bids us use
What we possess, but not increase our stores
By rapine. It is better to be poor,
Than gain unrighteous wealth. For all mankind
Enjoy these common blessings, Air and Earth;
Nor ought we our own house with gold to fill,
By keeping fraudfully another’s right,
Or seizing it by violence. For Hermes,
Commissioned by the blest immortal powers,
Hath, at my cost, consigned me to thy sire,
To keep me for this husband, who is here
And claims me back again: but by what means
Can he receive me after he is dead?
Or how can the Ægyptian king restore me
A living consort to my breathless lord?
Consider therefore, both the will of Heaven
And that of thy great father. Would the god,
Would the deceased, surrender up or keep
Another’s right? I deem they would restore it.
Hence to thy foolish brother shouldst not thou
Pay more respect than to thy virtuous sire.
And sure if thou, a prophetess, who utter’st
Th’ oracular responses of the gods,
Break’st through thy father’s justice, to comply
With an unrighteous brother: it were base
In thee to understand each mystic truth
Revealed by the immortal powers, the things
That are, and those that are not; yet o’erlook
The rules of justice. But O stoop to save
Me, miserable me, from all those ills
In which I am involved; this great exertion
Of thy benignant aid, my fortunes claim.
For there is no man who abhors not Helen;
’Tis rumoured through all Greece that I betrayed
My husband, and abode beneath the roofs
Of wealthy Phrygia. But to Greece once more
Should I return, and to the Spartan realm;
When they are told, and see, how to the arts
Of these contending goddesses they owe
Their ruin; but that I have to my friends
Been ever true, they to the rank I held
’Midst chaste and virtuous matrons, will restore me:
My daughter too, whom no man dares to wed,
From me her bridal portion shall receive;
And I, no longer doomed to lead the life
Of an unhappy vagrant, shall enjoy
The treasures that our palaces contain.
Had Menelaus died, and been consumed
In the funereal pyre, I should have wept
For him far distant in a foreign realm;
But now shall I for ever be bereft
Of him who lives, and seem to have escaped
From every danger. Virgin, act not thus;
To thee I kneel a suppliant; O confer
On me this boon, and emulate the justice
Of your great sire. For fair renown attends
The children, from a virtuous father sprung,
Who equal their hereditary worth.

THEON. Most piteous are the words which you have spoken;
You also claim my pity: but I wish
To hear what Menelaus yet can plead
To save his life.

MEN. I cannot at your knees
Fall prostrate, or with tears these eyelids stain:
For I should cover all the great exploits
Which I achieved at Ilion with disgrace,
If I became a dastard; though some hold
’Tis not unworthy of the brave to weep
When wretched. But this honourable part
(If such a part can e’er be honourable)
I will not act, because the prosperous fortunes
Which erst were mine, are present to my soul.
If then you haply are disposed to save
A foreigner who justly claims his wife,
Restore her, and protect us: if you spurn
Our suit, I am not now for the first time,
But have been often wretched, and your name
Shall be recorded as an impious woman.
These thoughts, which I hold worthy of myself,
And just, and such as greatly must affect
Your inmost heart, I at your father’s tomb
With energy will utter. Good old man,
Beneath this marble sepulchre who dwell’st,
To thee I sue, restore my wife, whom Jove
Sent hither to thy realm, that thou for me
Might’st guard her. Thou, I know, since thou art dead,
Canst ne’er have power to give her back again:
But she, this holy priestess, will not suffer
Reproach to fall on her illustrious sire,
Whom I invoke amid the shades beneath:
For this depends on her. Thee too I call,
O Pluto, to my aid, who hast received
Full many a corse, which fell in Helen’s cause
Beneath my sword, and still retain’st the prize:
Either restore them now to life, or force
Her who seems mightier than her pious father,
To give me back my wife. But of my consort
If ye resolve to rob me, I will urge
Those arguments which Helen hath omitted.
Know then, O virgin, first I by an oath
Have bound myself, your brother to encounter,
And he, or I, must perish; the plain truth
Is this. But foot to foot in equal combat.
If he refuse to meet me, and attempt
To drive us suppliants from the tomb by famine,
My consort will I slay, and with the sword
Here on this sepulchre my bosom pierce,
That the warm current of our blood may stream
Into the grave. Thus shall our corses lie
Close to each other on this polished marble:
To you eternal sorrow shall they cause,
And foul reproach to your great father’s name.
For neither shall your brother wed my Helen,
Nor any man beside: for I with me
Will bear her; if I cannot bear her home,
Yet will I bear her to the shades beneath.
But why complain? If I shed tears, and act
The woman’s part, I rather shall become
An object of compassion, than deserve
To be esteemed a warrior. If you list,
Slay me, for I can never fall inglorious.
But rather yield due credence to my words,
So will you act with justice, and my wife
Shall I recover.

CHOR. To decide the cause
On which we speak, belongs to thee, O virgin:
But so decide as to please all.

THEON. By nature
And inclination am I formed to act
With piety, myself too I revere:
Nor will I e’er pollute my sire’s renown,
Or gratify my brother by such means
As might make me seem base. For from my birth,
Hath justice in this bosom fixed her shrine:
And since from Nereus I inherited
This temper, Menelaus will I strive
To save. But now since Juno is disposed
To be your friend, with her will I accord:
May Venus be propitious, though her rites
I never have partaken, and will strive
For ever to remain a spotless maid.
But I concur with thee, O Menelaus,
In all thou to my father at his tomb
Hast said: for with injustice should I act
If I restored not Helen: had he lived,
My sire on thee again would have bestowed
Thy consort, and her former lord on Helen.
For vengeance, in the shades of Hell beneath,
And among all that breathe the vital air,
Attends on those who break their plighted trust.
The soul of the deceased, although it live
Indeed no longer, yet doth still retain
A consciousness which lasts for ever, lodged
In the eternal scene of its abode,
The liquid ether. To express myself
Concisely, all that you requested me
Will I conceal, nor with my counsels aid
My brother’s folly; I to him shall show
A real friendship, though without the semblance,
If I his vicious manners can reform
And make him more religious. Therefore find
Means to escape yourselves; for I will hence
Depart in silence. First implore the gods;
To Venus sue, that she your safe return
Would suffer; and to Juno, not to change
The scheme which she hath formed, both to preserve
Your lord and you. O my departed sire,
For thee will I exert my utmost might,
That on thy honoured name no foul reproach
May ever rest.

[_Exit_ THEONOE.

CHOR. No impious man e’er prospered:
But fairest hopes attend an honest cause.

HEL. O Menelaus, as to what depends
Upon the royal maid, are we secure:
But next doth it become you to propose
Some means our safety to effect.

MEN. Now listen
To me; thou in this palace long hast dwelt,
An inmate with the servants of the king.

HEL. Why speak you thus? for you raise hopes, as though
You could do somewhat for our common good.

MEN. Canst thou prevail on any one of those
Who guide the harnessed steeds, to furnish us
With a swift car?

HEL. Perhaps I might succeed
In that attempt. But how shall we escape
Who to these fields and this barbarian land
Are strangers? An impracticable thing
Is this you speak of.

MEN. Well, but in the palace
Concealed, if with this sword the king I slay.

HEL. His sister will not suffer this in silence
If you attempt aught ’gainst her brother’s life.

MEN. We have no ship in which we can escape;
For that which we brought hither, by the waves
Is swallowed up.

HEL. Now hear what I propose;
From woman’s lips if wisdom ever flow.
Will you permit a rumour of your death
To be dispersed?

MEN. This were an evil omen:
But I, if any benefit arise
From such report, consent to be called dead
While I yet live.

HEL. That impious tyrant’s pity
Our female choir shall move, with tresses shorn,
And chaunt funereal strains.

MEN. What tendency
Can such a project have to our deliverance?

HEL. I will allege that ’tis an ancient custom;
And of the monarch his permission crave,
That I on you, as if you in the sea
Had perished, may bestow a vacant tomb.

MEN. If he consent, how can this feigned interment
Enable us to fly without a ship?

HEL. I will command a bark to be prepared,
From whence into the bosom of the deep
Funereal trappings I may cast.

MEN. How well
And wisely hast thou spoken! but the tomb
If he direct thee on the strand to raise,
Nought can this scheme avail.

HEL. But I will say
’Tis not the usage, in a Grecian realm,
With earth to cover the remains of those
Who perished in the waves.

MEN. Thou hast again
Removed this obstacle: I then with thee
Will sail, and the funereal trappings place
In the same vessel.

HEL. ’Tis of great importance
That you, and all those mariners who ’scaped
The shipwreck, should be present.

MEN. If we find
A bark at anchor, with our falchions armed
In one collected band will we assail
And board it.

HEL. To direct all this, belongs
To you; but may the prosperous breezes fill
Our sails, and guide us o’er the billowy deep.

MEN. These vows shall be accomplished; for the gods
At length will cause my toils to cease: but whence
Wilt thou pretend thou heard’st that I was dead?

HEL. Yourself shall be the messenger; relate
How you alone escaped his piteous doom,
A partner of the voyage with the son
Of Atreus, and the witness of his death.

MEN. This tattered vest will testify my shipwreck.

HEL. How seasonable was that which seemed at first
To be a grievous loss! but the misfortune
May end perhaps in bliss.

MEN. Must I with thee
Enter the palace, or before this tomb
Sit motionless?

HEL. Here stay: for if the king
By force should strive to tear you hence, this tomb
And your drawn sword will save you. But I’ll go
To my apartment, shear my flowing hair,
For sable weeds this snowy vest exchange,
And rend with bloody nails these livid cheeks:
For ’tis a mighty conflict, and I see
These two alternatives: if in my plots
Detected, I must die; or to my country
I shall return, and save your life. O Juno,
Thou sacred queen, who shar’st the couch of Jove,
Relieve two wretches from their toils; to thee
Our suppliant arms uplifting high t’wards Heaven
With glittering stars adorned, thy blest abode,
We sue: and thou, O Venus, who didst gain
The palm of beauty through my promised ’spousals,
Spare me, thou daughter of Dione, spare;
For thou enough hast injured me already;
Exposing not my person, but my name,
To those barbarians; suffer me to die,
If thou wilt slay me, in my native land.
Why art thou still insatiably malignant?
Why dost thou harass me by love, by fraud,
By the invention of these new deceits,
And by thy magic philtres plunge in blood
Our miserable house? If thou hadst ruled
With mildness, thou to man hadst been most grateful
Of all the gods. I speak not this at random.

[HELEN _and_ MENELAUS _retire behind the tomb_.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I. 1.