Part 21

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.

On thee who build’st thy tuneful seat Protected by the leafy groves, I call, O nightingale, thy accents ever sweet Their murmuring melancholy fall Prolong! O come, and with thy plaintive strain Aid me to utter my distress, Thy woes, O Helen, let the song express, And those of Troy now levelled with the plain By Grecian might. From hospitable shores, Relying on barbaric oars, The spoiler Paris fled, And o’er the deep to Priam’s realm with pride Bore his imaginary bride, Fancying that thou hadst graced his bed, To nuptials fraught with shame by wanton Venus led.

I. 2.

Unnumbered Greeks, transpierced with spears, Or crushed beneath the falling ramparts, bled: Hence with her tresses shorn, immersed in tears The matron wails her lonely bed, But Nauplius, kindling near th’ Eubœan deep Those torches, o’er our host prevailed; Though with a single bark the traitor sailed, He wrecked whole fleets against Caphareus’ steep, And the Ægean coasts, the beacon seemed A star, and through Heaven’s conclave gleamed, Placed on the craggy height. While flushed with conquest, from the Phrygian strand They hastened to their native land, Portentous source of bloody fight, The cloud by Juno formed, beguiled their dazzled sight.

II. 1.

Whether the image was divine, Drew from terrestrial particles its birth, Or from the middle region, how define By curious search, ye sons of earth? Far from unravelling Heaven’s abstruse intents, We view the world tost to and fro, Mark strange vicissitudes of joy and woe, Discordant and miraculous events. Thou, Helen, art indeed the child of Jove. The swan, thy sire, inflamed by love, To Leda’s bosom flew: Yet with imputed crimes malignant fame Through Greece arraigns thy slandered name. Of men I know not whom to trust, But what the gods pronounce have I found ever just.

II. 2.

Frantic are ye who seek renown Amid the horrors of th’ embattled field, Who masking guilt beneath a laurel crown With nervous arm the falchion wield, Not slaughtered thousands can your fury sate. If still success the judgment guide, If bloody battle right and wrong decide, Incessant strife must vex each rival state: Hence from her home departs each Phrygian wife, O Helen, when the cruel strife Which from thy charms arose, One conference might have closed: now myriads dwell With Pluto in the shades of Hell, And flames, as when Jove’s vengeance throws The bolt, have caught her towers and finished Ilion’s woes.

THEOCLYMENUS, CHORUS (HELEN _and_ MENELAUS _behind the tomb_).

THEOC. Hail, O thou tomb of my illustrious sire! For thee have I interred before my gate, That with thy shade I might hold frequent conference, O Proteus; Theoclymenus thy son Thee, O my father, oft as he goes forth, Oft as he enters these abodes, accosts. But to the palace now convey those hounds And nets, my servants. I full many a time Have blamed myself, because I never punished With death such miscreants; now I am informed That publicly some Greek to these domains Is come unnoticed by my guards, a spy, Or one who means to carry Helen off By stealth: but if I seize him, he shall die. Methinks I find all over: for the daughter Of Tyndarus sits no longer at the tomb, But from these shores hath fled, and now is crossing The billowy deep. Unbar the gates, bring forth My coursers from the stalls, and brazen cars; Lest through my want of vigilance the dame Whom I would make my consort, should escape me, Borne from this land. Yet stay; for I behold Those we pursue still here beneath this roof, Nor are they fled. Ho! why in sable vest Hast thou arrayed thyself, why cast aside Thy robes of white, and from thy graceful head With ruthless steel thy glowing ringlets shorn, And wherefore bathed thy cheek with recent tears? Groan’st thou, by visions of the night apprized Of some calamity, or hast thou heard Within, a rumour that afflicts thy soul?

HEL. My lord (for I already by that name Accost you), I am utterly undone, My former bliss is vanished, and I now Am nothing.

THEOC. Art thou plunged into distress So irretrievable? what cruel fate Hath overtaken thee?

HEL. My Menelaus, (Ah, how shall I express myself?) is dead.

THEOC. Although I must not triumph in th’ event Thou speak’st of, yet to me ’tis most auspicious. How know’st thou? Did Theonoe tell thee this?

HEL. She and this mariner, who when he perished Was present, both concur in the same tale.

THEOC. Is there a man arrived, who for the truth Of that account can vouch?

HEL. He is arrived: And would to Heaven that such auspicious fortune As I could wish attended him.

THEOC. Who is he? Where is he? I would know the real fact.

HEL. ’Tis he who stupefied with sorrow sits Upon the tomb.

THEOC. In what unseemly garb Is he arrayed, O Phœbus!

HEL. In that dress, Ah me! methinks my husband I behold.

THEOC. But in what country was the stranger born, And whence did he come hither?

HEL. He’s a Greek, One of those Greeks who with my husband sailed.

THEOC. How doth he say that Menelaus died?

HEL. Most wretchedly, engulfed amid the waves.

THEOC. Where? as he passed o’er the barbarian seas?

HEL. Dashed on the rocks of Libya, which affords No haven.

THEOC. But whence happened it, that he This partner of his voyage did not perish?

HEL. The worthless are more prosperous than the brave.

THEOC. Where left he the wrecked fragments of his ship When he came hither?

HEL. There, where would to Heaven Perdition had o’ertaken him, and spared The life of Menelaus.

THEOC. He, it seems, Is then no more: but in what bark arrived This messenger?

HEL. Some sailors, as he says, By chance passed by, and snatched him from the waves.

THEOC. But where’s that hateful pest which in thy stead Was sent to Ilion?

HEL. Speak you of a cloud, Resembling me? it mounted to the skies.

THEOC. O Priam, for how frivolous a cause Thou with thy Troy didst perish!

HEL. In their woes I too have been involved.

THEOC. But did he leave Thy husband’s corse unburied, or strew dust O’er his remains?

HEL. He left them uninterred, Ah, wretched me!

THEOC. And didst thou for this cause Sever the ringlets of thy auburn hair?

HEL. Still is he dear, lodged in this faithful breast

THEOC. Hast thou sufficient reason then to weep For this calamity?

HEL. Could you bear lightly Your sister’s death?

THEOC. No surely. But what means Thy still residing at this marble tomb?

HEL. Why do you harass me with taunting words, And why disturb the dead?

THEOC. Because, still constant To thy first husband, from my love thou fliest.

HEL. But I will fly no longer: haste, begin The nuptial rite.

THEOC. ’Twas long ere thou didst come To this: but I such conduct must applaud.

HEL. Know you then how to act? let us forget All that has passed.

THEOC. Upon what terms? with kindness Should kindness be repaid.

HEL. Let us conclude The peace, and O be reconciled.

THEOC. All strife With thee I to the winds of heaven consign.

HEL. Now, since you are my friend, I by those knees Conjure you.

THEOC. With what object in thy view, To me an earnest suppliant dost thou bend?

HEL. I my departed husband would inter.

THEOC. What tomb can be bestowed upon the absent Wouldst thou inter his shade?

HEL. There is a custom Among the Greeks established, that the man Who in the ocean perishes——

THEOC. What is it? For in such matters Pelops’ race are wise.

HEL. To bury in their stead an empty vest.

THEOC. Perform funereal rites, and heap the tomb On any ground thou wilt.

HEL. We in this fashion Bury not the drowned mariner.

THEOC. How then? I am a stranger to the Grecian customs.

HEL. Each pious gift due to our breathless friends We cast into the sea.

THEOC. On the deceased What presents for thy sake can I bestow?

HEL. I know not: for in offices like these Am I unpractised, having erst been happy.

THEOC. An acceptable message have you brought, O stranger.

MEN. Most ungrateful to myself And the deceased.

THEOC. What funereal rites on those Ocean hath swallowed up, do ye bestow?

MEN. Such honours as each individual’s wealth Enables us to pay him.

THEOC. Name the cost, And for her sake receive whate’er you will.

MEN. Blood is our first libation to the dead.

THEOC. What blood? inform me, for with your instructions I will comply.

MEN. Determine that thyself, For whatsoe’er thou giv’st will be sufficient.

THEOC. The customary victims ’mong barbarians Are either horse or bull.

MEN. Whate’er thou giv’st, Let it be somewhat princely.

THEOC. My rich herds With these are amply furnished.

MEN. And the bier Without the corse is borne in solemn state.

THEOC. It shall: but what is there beside which custom Requires to grace the funeral.

MEN. Brazen arms: For war was what he loved.

THEOC. We will bestow Such presents as are worthy of the race Of mighty Pelops.

MEN. And those budding flowers Th’ exuberant soil produces.

THEOC. But say, how And in what manner ye these offerings plunge Into the ocean.

MEN. We must have a bark And mariners to ply the oars.

THEOC. How far Will they launch forth the vessel from the strand?

MEN. So far as from the shore thou scarce wilt see The keel divide the waves.

THEOC. But why doth Greece Observe this usage?

MEN. ’Lest the rising billows Cast back to land th’ ablutions.

THEOC. Ye shall have A swift Phœnician vessel.

MEN. This were kind, And no small favour shown to Menelaus.

THEOC. Without her presence, cannot you perform These rites alone?

MEN. Such task or to a mother, Or wife, or child, belongs.

THEOC. ’Tis then her duty, You say, to bury her departed lord?

MEN. Sure, piety instructs us not to rob The dead of their accustomed dues.

THEOC. Enough: On me it is incumbent to promote Such virtue in my consort. I will enter The palace, and from thence for the deceased Bring forth rich ornaments; with empty hands You from this region will not I send forth, That you may execute what she desires. But having brought me acceptable tidings, Instead of these vile weeds shall you receive A decent garb and food, that to your country You may return: for clearly I perceive That you are wretched now. But torture not Thy bosom with unprofitable cares, O hapless woman, for thy Menelaus Is now no more, nor can the dead revive.

MEN. Thee it behoves, O blooming dame, to love Thy present husband, and to lay aside The fond remembrance of thy breathless lord; For such behaviour suits thy fortunes best. But if to Greece with safety I return, That infamy which erst pursued thy name I’ll cause to cease, if thou acquit thyself Of these great duties like a virtuous consort.

HEL. I will; nor shall my husband e’er have cause To blame me: you too, who are here, shall witness The truth of my assertions. But within Go lave your wearied limbs, O wretched man, And change your habit; for without delay To you will I become a benefactress. Hence too with greater zeal will you perform The rites my dearest Menelaus claims, If all due honours you from me receive.

[_Exeunt_ THEOCLYMENUS, HELEN, _and_ MENELAUS.

CHORUS.

ODE.

I. 1.

O’er mountains erst with hasty tread Did the celestial mother stray, Nor stop where branching thickets spread, Where rapid torrents crossed her way, Or on the margin of the billowy deep; Her daughter whom we dread to name She wept, while hailing that majestic dame, Cymbals of Bacchus from the craggy steep Sent forth their clear and piercing sound, Her car the harnessed dragons drew; Following the nymph torn from her virgin crew. Amidst her maidens swift of foot were found Diana skilled the bow to wield, Minerva, who in glittering state Brandished the spear and raised her Gorgon shield; But Jove looked down from Heaven t’ award another fate.

I. 2.