This then is thy duty, fair young wife; be content with
thy present husband, and forget him who has no existence; for this
is thy best course in face of what is happening. And if ever I come
to Hellas and secure my safety, I will clear thee of thy former ill-repute,
if thou prove a dutiful wife to thy true husband.

I will; never shall my husband have cause to blame me; thou
shalt thyself attend us and be witness thereto. Now go within, poor
wanderer, and seek the bath, and change thy raiment. I will show my
kindness to thee, and that without delay. For thou wilt perform all
service due with kindlier feeling for my dear lord Menelaus, if at
my hands thou meet with thy deserts.

(THEOCLYMENUS, HELEN, MENELAUS
enter the palace.)

Through wooded glen, o’er torrent’s flood, and ocean’s booming waves
rushed the mountain-goddess, mother of the gods, in frantic haste,
once long ago, yearning for her daughter lost, whose name men dare
not utter; loudly rattled the Bacchic castanets in shrill accord,
what time those maidens, swift as whirlwinds, sped forth with the
goddess on her chariot yoked to wild creatures, in quest of her that
was ravished from the circling choir of virgins; here was Artemis
with her bow, and there the grim-eyed goddess, sheathed in mail, and
spear in hand. But Zeus looked down from his throne in heaven, and
turned the issue otherwhither.

(antistrophe 1)

Soon as the mother ceased from her wild wandering toil, in seeking
her daughter stolen so subtly as to baffle all pursuit, she crossed
the snow-capped heights of Ida’s nymphs; and in anguish cast her down
amongst the rocks and brushwood deep in snow; and, denying to man
all increase to his tillage from those barren fields, she wasted the
human race; nor would she let the leafy tendrils yield luxuriant fodder
for the cattle, wherefore many a beast lay dying; no sacrifice was
offered to the gods, and on the altars were no cakes to burn; yea,
and she made the dew-fed founts of crystal water to cease their flow,
in her insatiate sorrow for her child.

(strophe 2)

But when for gods and tribes of men alike she made an end to festal
cheer, Zeus spoke out, seeking to soothe the mother’s moody soul,
“Ye stately Graces, go banish from Demeter’s angry heart the grief
her wanderings bring upon her for her child, and go, ye Muses too,
with tuneful choir.” Thereon did Cypris, fairest of the blessed gods,
first catch up the crashing cymbals, native to that land, and the
drum with tight-stretched skin, and then Demeter smiled, and in her
hand. did take the deep-toned flute, well pleased with its loud note.

(antistrophe 2)

Thou hast wedded as thou never shouldst have done in defiance of
all right, and thou hast incurred, my daughter, the wrath of the great
mother by disregarding her sacrifices. Oh! mighty is the virtue in
dress of dappled fawn-skin, in ivy green that twineth round a sacred
thyrsus, in whirling tambourines struck as they revolve in air in
tresses wildly streaming for the revelry of Bromius, and likewise
in the sleepless vigils of the goddess, when the moon looks down and
sheds her radiance o’er the scene. Thou wert confident in thy charms
alone.

My friends, within the palace all goes well for us; for the
daughter of Proteus, who is privy to our stealthy scheme, told her
brother nothing when questioned as to my husband’s coming, but for
my sake declared him dead and buried. Most fortunate it is my lord
hath had the luck to get these weapons; for he is now himself clad
in the harness he was to plunge into the sea, his stalwart arm thrust
through the buckler’s strap, and in his right hand a spear, on pretence
of joining in homage to the dead. He hath girded himself most serviceably
for the fray, as if to triumph o’er a host of barbarian foes when
once we are aboard yon oared ship; instead of his rags from the wreck
hath he donned the robes I gave for his attire, and I have bathed
his limbs in water from the stream, a bath he long hath wanted. But
I must be silent, for from the house comes forth the man who thinks
he has me in his power, prepared to be his bride; and thy goodwill
I also claim and thy strict silence, if haply, when we save ourselves,
we may save thee too some day.

(THEOCLYMENUS and MENELAUS enter,
with a train of attendants bearing the offerings for the funeral rites.)

Advance in order, servants, as the stranger hath directed,
bearing the funeral gifts the sea demands. But thou, Helen, if thou
wilt not misconstrue my words, be persuaded and here abide; for thou
wilt do thy husband equal service whether thou art present or not.
For I am afraid that some sudden shock of fond regret may prompt thee
to plunge into the swollen tide, in an ecstasy of gratitude toward
thy former husband; for thy grief for him, though he is lost, is running
to excess.

O my new lord, needs must I honour him with whom I first shared
married joys; for I could even die with my husband, so well I loved
him; yet how could he thank me, were I to share death’s doom with
him? Still, let me go and pay his funeral rites unto the dead in person.
The gods grant thee the boon I wish and this stranger too, for the
assistance he is lending here! And thou shalt find in me a wife fit
to share thy house, since thou art rendering kindness to Menelaus
and to me; for surely these events are to some good fortune tending.
But now appoint someone to give us a ship wherein to convey these
gifts, that I may find thy kindness made complete.

Go thou, and furnish them with a
Sidonian galley of fifty oars and rowers also.

Shall not he command the ship who is ordering the funeral?

Most certainly; my sailors are to obey him.

Repeat the order, that they may clearly understand thee.

I repeat it, and will do so yet again if that is thy
pleasure.

Good luck to thee and to me in my designs!

Oh! waste not thy fair complexion with excessive weeping.

This day shall show my gratitude to thee.

The state of the dead is nothingness; to toil for them
is vain.

In what I say, this world, as well as that, hath share.

Thou shalt not find in me a husband at all inferior
to Menelaus.

With thee have I no fault to find; good luck is all I need.

That rests with thyself, if thou show thyself a loving
wife to me.

This is not a lesson I shall have to learn now, to love my
friends.

Is it thy wish that I should escort thee in person with
active aid?

God forbid! become not thy servant’s servant, O king!

Up and away! I am not concerned with customs which the
race of Pelops holds. My house is pure, for Menelaus did not die here;
go some one now and bid my vassal chiefs bring marriage-offerings
to my palace; for the whole earth must re-echo in glad accord the
hymn of my wedding with Helen, to make men envious. Go, stranger,
and pour into the sea’s embrace these offerings to Helen’s former
lord, and then speed back again with my bride, that after sharing
with me her marriage-feast thou mayst set out for home, or here abide
in happiness.

O Zeus, who art called the father of all and god of wisdom,
look down on us and change our woe to joy! Lend us thy ready help,
as we seek to drag our fortunes up the rugged hill; if with but thy
finger-tip thou touch us, we shall reach our longed-for goal. Sufficient
are the troubles we ere this have undergone. Full oft have I invoked
you gods to near my joys and sorrows; I do not deserve to be for ever
unhappy, but to advance and prosper. Grant me but this one boon, and
so will ye crown my future with blessing.

(MENELAUS, HELEN and their
train of attendants depart.)

CHORUS (singing, strophe 1)

Hail! thou swift Phoenician ship of Sidon! dear to the rowers, mother
to the foam, leader of fair dolphins’ gambols, what time the deep
is hushed and still, and Ocean’s azure child, the queen of calm, takes
up her parable and says: “Away! and spread your canvas to the ocean-breeze.
Ho! sailors, ho! come grip your oars of pine, speeding Helen on her
way to the sheltered beach where Perseus dwelt of yore.”

(antistrophe 1)

It may be thou wilt find the daughters of Leucippus beside the brimming
river or before the temple of Pallas, when at last with dance and
revelry thou joinest in the merry midnight festival of Hyacinthus,
him whom Phoebus slew in the lists by a quoit hurled o’er the mark;
wherefore did the son of Zeus ordain that Laconia’s land should set
apart that day for sacrifice; there too shalt thou find the tender
maid, whom ye left in your house, for as yet no nuptial torch has
shed its light for her.

(strophe 2)

Oh! for wings to cleave the air in the track of Libyan cranes, whose
serried ranks leave far behind the wintry storm at the shrill summons
of some veteran leader, who raises his exultant cry as he wings his
way o’er plains that know no rain and yet bear fruitful increase.
Ye feathered birds with necks outstretched, comrades of the racing
clouds, on on! till ye reach the Pleiads in their central station
and Orion, lord of the night; and as ye settle on Eurotas’ banks proclaim
the glad tidings that Menelaus hath sacked the city of Dardanus, and
will soon be home.

(antistrophe 2)

Ye sons of Tyndareus at length appear, speeding in your chariot through
the sky, denizens of heaven’s courts beneath the radiant whirling
stars, guide this lady Helen safely o’er the azure main, across the
foam-flecked billows of the deep-blue sea, sending the mariners a
favouring gale from Zeus; and from your sister snatch the ill-repute
of wedding with a barbarian, even the punishment bequeathed to her
from that strife on Ida’s mount, albeit she never went to the land
of Ilium, to the battlements of Phoebus.

(The SECOND MESSENGER enters
in haste, as THEOCLYMENUS comes out of the palace.)

O king, at last have I found thee in the palace;
for new tidings of woe art thou soon to hear from me.

How now?

Make haste to woo a new wife; for Helen hath escaped.

Borne aloft on soaring wings, or treading still the
earth?

Menelaus has succeeded in bearing her hence; ’twas he that
brought the news of his own death.

O monstrous story! what ship conveyed her from these
shores? Thy tale is past belief.

The very ship thou didst thyself give the stranger; and
that thou mayest briefly know all, he is gone, taking thy sailors
with him.

How was it? I long to know, for I never thought that
a single arm could master all those sailors with whom thou wert despatched.

Soon as the daughter of Zeus had left this royal mansion
and come unto the sea, daintily picking her way, most craftily she
set to mourn her husband, though he was not dead but at her side.
Now when we reached thy docks well walled, we began to launch the
fastest of Sidonian ships, with her full complement of fifty rowers,
and each task in due succession followed; some set up the mast, others
ranged the oars with their blades ready, and stored the white sails
within the hold, and the rudder was let down astern and fastened securely.
While we were thus employed, those Hellenes, who had been fellow-voyagers
with Menelaus, were watching us, it seems, and they drew nigh the
beach, clad in the rags of shipwrecked men,-well built enough, but
squalid to look upon. And the son of Atreus, directly he saw them
approach, bespoke them, craftily introducing the reason for his mourning:
“Ye hapless mariners, how have ye come hither? your Achaean ship where
wrecked? Are ye here to help bury dead Atreus’ son, whose missing
body this lady, daughter of Tyndareas, is honouring with a cenotaph?”
Then they with feigned tears proceeded to the ship, bearing aboard
the offerings to be thrown into the deep for Menelaus. Thereat were
we suspicious, and communed amongst ourselves regarding the number
of extra voyagers; but still we kept silence out of respect for thy
orders, for by intrusting the command of the vessel to the stranger
thou didst thus spoil all. Now the other victims gave no trouble,
and we easily put them aboard; only the bull refused to go forward
along the gangway, but rolled his eyes around and kept bellowing,
and, arching his back and glaring askance towards his horns, he would
not let us touch him. But Helen’s lord cried out: “O! ye who laid
waste the town of Ilium, come pick up yon bull, the dead man’s offering,
on your stout shoulders, as is the way in Hellas, and cast him into
the hold;” and as he spoke he drew his sword in readiness. Then they
at his command came and caught up the bull and carried him bodily
on to the deck. And Menelaus stroked the horse on neck and brow, coaxing
it to go aboard. At length, when the ship was fully freighted, Helen
climbed the ladder with graceful step and took her seat midway betwixt
the rowers’ benches, and he sat by her side, even Menelaus who was
called dead; and the rest, equally divided on the right and left side
of the ship, sat them down, each beside his man, with swords concealed
beneath their cloaks, and the billows soon were echoing to the rowers’
song, as we heard the boatswain’s note. Now when we were put out a
space, not very far nor very near, the helmsman asked, “Shall we,
sir stranger, sail yet further on our course, or will this serve?
For thine it is to command the ship.” And he answered: “‘Tis far enough
for me,” while in his right hand he gripped his sword and stepped
on to the prow; then standing o’er the bull to slay it, never a word
said he of any dead man, but cut its throat and thus made prayer:
“Poseidon, lord of the sea, whose home is in the deep, and ye holy
daughters of Nereus, bring me and my wife safe and sound to Nauplia’s
strand from hence! Anon a gush of blood, fair omen for the stranger,
spouted into the tide. One cried, “There is treachery in this voyage;
why should we now sail to Nauplia? Give the order, helmsman, turn
thy rudder.” But the son of Atreus, standing where he slew the bull,
called to his comrades, “Why do ye, the pick of Hellas, delay to smite
and slay the barbarians and fling them from the ship into the waves?”
While to thy crew the boatswain cried the opposite command: “Ho! some
of you catch up chance spars, break up the benches, or snatch the
oar-blade from the thole, and beat out the brains of these our foreign
foes.” Forthwith up sprang each man, the one part armed with poles
that sailors use, the other with swords. And the ship ran down with
blood; while Helen from her seat upon the stern thus cheered them
on: “Where is the fame ye won in Troy? show it against these barbarians.”
Then as they hasted to the fray, some would fall and some rise up
again, while others hadst thou seen laid low in death. But Menelaus
in full armour, made his way, sword in hand, to any point where his
watchful eye perceived his comrades in distress; so we leapt from
the ship and swam, and he cleared the benches of thy rowers. Then
did the prince set himself to steer, and bade them make a straight
course to Hellas. So they set up the mast, and favouring breezes blew;
and they are clear away, while I, from death escaped, let myself down
by the anchor chain into the sea; and, just as I was spent, one threw
me a rope and rescued me, and drew me to land to bring to thee this
message. Ah! there is naught more serviceable to mankind than a prudent
distrust.

I would never have believed that Menelaus could
have eluded us and thee, O king, in the way he did on his coming.

Woe is me! cozened by a woman’s tricks! My bride hath
escaped me. If the ship could have been pursued and overtaken, I would
have used every means forthwith to catch the strangers; as it is,
I will avenge myself upon my treacherous sister, in that she saw Menelaus
in my palace and did not tell me. Wherefore shall she nevermore deceive
another by her prophetic art.

Ho, there! whither away so fast, my lord? on what bloody
thought intent?

Whither justice calls me. Out of my path!

I will not loose thy robe, for on grievous mischief art thou
bent.

Shalt thou, a slave, control thy master?

Yea, for I am in my senses.

I should not say so, if thou wilt not let me

Nay, but that I never will.

Slay my sister most accursed.

Say rather, most righteous.

“Righteous?” She who betrayed me?

There is an honourable treachery, which ’tis right to commit.

By giving my bride to another?

Only to those who had a better right.

Who hath any rights o’er mine?

He that received her from her father.

Nay, but fortune gave her to me.

And destiny took her away.

“Tis not for thee to decide my affairs.

Only supposing mine be the better counsel.

So I am thy subject, not thy ruler.

Aye, a subject bound to do the right, and eschew the wrong.

It seems thou art eager to be slain.

Slay me; thy sister shalt thou never slay with my consent,
but me perchance; for to die for their masters is the fairest death
that noble slaves can find.

Restrain those bursts of rage that hurry thee to undue lengths,
Theoclymenus, king of this country. We are the twin sons of Zeus that
call to thee by name, whom Leda bore one day, with Helen too who hath
fled from thy palace. For thou art wroth for a marriage never destined
for thee; nor is thy sister Theonoe, daughter of a Nereid goddess,
wronging thee because she honours the word of God and her father’s
just behests. For it was ordained that Helen should abide within thy
halls up till the present time, but since Troy is razed to the ground
and she hath lent her name to the goddesses, no longer need she stay,
now must she be united in the self-same wedlock as before, and reach
her home and share it with her husband. Withhold then thy malignant
blade from thy sister, and believe that she herein is acting with
discretion. Long, long ago had we our sister saved, seeing that Zeus
has made us gods, but we were too weak for destiny as well as the
deities, who willed these things to be. This is my bidding to thee;
while to my sister I say, “Sail on with thy husband; and ye shall
have a prosperous breeze; for we, thy brethren twain, will course
along the deep and bring you safely to your fatherland. And when at
last thy goal is reached and thy life ended, thou shalt be famous
as a goddess, and with thy twin brethren share the drink-offering,
and like us receive gifts from men, for such is the will of Zeus.
Yea, and that spot where the son o Maia first appointed thee a home
when from Sparta he removed thee, after stealing an image of thee
from Heaven’s mansions to prevent thy marriage with Paris, even the
isle that lies like a sentinel along the Attic coast, shall henceforth
be called by thy name amongst men, for that it welcomed thee when
stolen from thy home. Moreover, Heaven ordains that the wanderer Menelaus
shall find a home within an island of the blest; for to noble souls
hath the deity no dislike, albeit these oft suffer more than those
of no account.”

Ye sons of Leda and of Zeus, I will forego my former
quarrel about your sister, nor no longer seek to slay mine own. Let
Helen to her home repair, if such is Heaven’s pleasure. Ye know that
ye are sprung of the same stock as your sister, best of women, chastest
too; hail then for the true nobility of Helen’s soul, a quality too
seldom found amongst her sex!

Many are the forms the heavenly will assumes;
and many a thing God brings to pass contrary to expectation: that
which was looked for is not accomplished, while Heaven finds out a
way for what we never hoped; e’en such has been the issue here.

THE END