Part 19

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?