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To her hearth and her home she comes,
Tardy her steps, yet all the more
Firmly and surely they bring her.
Praise to the sacred gods,
They give us life again,
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They grant blessed homecoming!
For the freed prisoner
Hovers like one on wings
Over the harshest way, while there
In his bondage another grieves
Vainly in longing outstretching his
Arms over walls that enclose him.
But her exile ended when
She was snatched up
By a god out of Troy’s
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Ruins and carried back here
To her ancient, newly adorned
Ancestral halls,
And after nameless
Joys and sufferings
To remembered youth
Brought to life once more for her.
PANTHALIS [as leader of the Chorus].
Step now aside from the delectable path of song
And turn your eyes to the great doorway of the house!
What is this, sisters? Is the queen not coming back
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To us, in agitation and with hasty steps?
Great queen, what is the matter? What alarming thing
In your own palace halls, instead of the greetings of
Your servants, can have encountered you? You do not hide
Your deep repugnance, for I see upon your brow
A noble anger written, fighting with surprise.
HELEN [entering in agitation, leaving the doors wide open].
To show base fear befits no daughter of high Zeus;
No fleeting slight alarm can set its hand on her.
But when some horror from the womb of ancient night,
Risen from the primal depths, is belched like burning cloud,
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Still manifold in shape, from the fire-mountain’s maw,
Then nameless dread strikes even the heroic heart.
So it has been today: the gods of hell have marked
My entry to this house with terror, so that on
This once familiar, long desired threshold now
I turn my back, and flee it like a guest dismissed.
But no! thus far I yield, into the light: you shall
Not drive me further, whatever powers you may be!
I will reconsecrate the hearth: the fire will then
Be purified to greet its mistress and its lord.
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CHORUS. Most noble lady, your devoted servants stand Here to support you: tell us what strange thing befell!
HELEN. With your own eyes you too shall see what I have seen,
If ancient night has not at once gulped back the shape
Again into its deep dark womb of mysteries.
But that they may inform you, listen to my words:
No sooner had I solemnly, reflecting on
The king’s next order, entered the silent royal rooms
And passages within, than their bleak emptiness
Struck me. No sound of diligent footsteps could I hear,
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I saw no busy haste of movement to and fro,
No serving-maid appeared to me, no housekeeper,
None such as welcomed any stranger in the past.
But as I neared the bosom of the house, the hearth,
There on the ground, where still some half-warm ashes glowed,
I saw her sitting—some tall shrouded woman’s form,
Not like a sleeper, but like one who meditates.
With stern commands I bade her set to work, for this,
As I supposed, was the housekeeper whom perhaps
My prudent husband left behind and set in charge;
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But folded on herself she still sat motionless,
Until at last, upon my threats, her right arm moved
And seemed to motion me away from hearth and hall.
I turned from her in anger, and approached the steps
That lead up to the bridal chamber, festively
Adorned, and close beside it stands the treasure-store.
But the uncanny thing rose quickly from the ground,
Barring my way commandingly, and there it stood,
Tall and cadaverous, with hollow bloodshot eyes,
So strangely shaped that it bewilders sight and mind.
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Yet I waste breath; for ever vainly words attempt
To recreate and recompose the forms we see.
Look for yourselves! She dares emerge into the light!
Here we are in control, until the king shall come:
The sun-god is the friend of beauty, and he drives
Vile night-born monsters underground, or masters them.
[PHORCYAS appears on the threshold between the doorposts.]
CHORUS. I have seen much, although still my brows are
Youthful, and youthful the locks that ring them!
Many the horrors that I have lived through:
War-harm’s wailing, murk of the night of
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Troy’s fall.
Through foggy clangour and through the dust-filled
Tumult of warriors, I heard the dreadful
Shouts of the gods, and over the field to the
City’s ramparts I heard the brazen Voice of strife.
Ah, Troy’s walls were not yet cast down,
But already the blazing fire
Leapt from neighbour to neighbour’s house,
Springing, spreading from here and there
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Through the night of the darkened city,
Blown by the wind of its own storm.
Fleeing, I saw through the smoke and heat
And the blaze of the writhing flames
Gods approaching in hideous rage:
Figures of wonder striding
Giant-tall through the darksome
Reek that swirled in the fire’s glow.
Did I see those things, or were they
Mere phantasms born in my fear-
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Tangled mind? That I never shall know;
But that I truly behold
This horror here and now with my eyes—
Of this indeed I am certain;
Even my hands could grasp it,
If I did not shrink back from it,
Sensing something of danger.
Which one are you among
Phorcys’s daughters?
For I must liken you
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To that generation.
Have you come here perhaps as one of the
Grey-born hags, the Graiae, who take
Turns, the three of them sharing
One eye, one tooth, between them?
Monster, how dare you be
Seen beside beauty,
Seen by the sun-god
Whose gaze knows all things?
Yet, step forth if you will; for indeed, he
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Himself can behold no hideous sight,
Even as his sacred eye has
Never yet looked upon shadow.
But we mortals, alas, by our
Grievous fate, must endure this pain,
This unspeakable sight-affliction
Which all vile, all eternally abject
Things lay on lovers of beauty.
Hear then, you who in insolence
Have confronted us, hear our curse,
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Hear such threats and such dire abuse as
Can be formed in the mouths of the fortunate
Who have been fashioned by high gods!
PHORCYAS. The proverb’s old, but still its meaning’s high and true,
That modesty and beauty never hand in hand
Pursue their way together along the earth’s green path.
Between the two, anci
ent deep-rooted hatred dwells,
So that wherever they may somehow chance to meet,
Each of them turns her back upon her enemy.
Each will press on then further with more vehement pace,
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Modesty sadly, beauty flown with insolence,
Till in the end hell’s hollow night receives them both,
If they are not first subjugated by old age.
Thus now, you foreign hussies, shameless, arrogant as
You are, I find you swarming hither like a hoarse
And noisy flight of cranes, which in a straggling cloud
Above our heads sends down its harsh cacophony
On us, so that the peaceful wayfarer is moved
To glance aloft; but off they fly upon their way,
While he goes his; and so it shall be between us.
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Who then are you, who dare to rage around this high
And royal house with drunken maenad revelry?
Who are you then, who howl against the keeper of
The palace household, like dogs howling at the moon?
Do you suppose I do not know your pedigree,
You war-begotten, battle-nurtured bitch-whelp brood?
Man-ravenous all, seducers and seduced alike,
Unmanning warlike energy and civil strength!
I see you huddled there like some cicada swarm,
Dropping and settling, covering the green tender crops.
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You female jackals of the fruit of others’ toil!
Dainty devourers of a germinating wealth!
You conquered slaves, you sold and peddled merchandise!
HELEN. To chide the servants when the mistress of the house
Is present, is to encroach upon their lady’s rights,
For it is her prerogative alone to praise
What is well done, and punish what is done amiss.
Moreover, I am contented with them, for they gave
Me faithful service when the lofty power of Troy
Stood under siege and fell defeated; likewise when
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We bore a wandering voyage’s vicissitudes,
Such as more often drive each man to serve himself.
And I expect the same here from these merry girls;
Not who one’s servants are, one asks, but how they serve.
Therefore stop sneering at them now, and shut your mouth.
If on your mistress’s behalf you have kept the king’s house well
Till now, then you have done your duty; but since she
Is here again in person, keep your proper place,
Or you will merit punishment and not reward.
PHORCYAS. To threaten members of the household is a right
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Which the high consort of our heaven-favoured king
Has earned by long years spent in prudent governance.
Lady, since you, whom now I acknowledge, take again
Your former place as queen and mistress of the house:
Take up the reins that have so long grown slack, rule now
And repossess the treasure, repossess us all!
But chiefly I request protection for my years
Against this gaggle—for your swan-like beauty makes
Them seem no more—of poor, half-wingless, cackling geese.
CHORUS LEADER. How vile beside such beauty ugliness appears!
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PHORCYAS. And beside riper wits how witless witlessness.
[From this point the members of the CHORUS step forward one by one to answer.]
FIRST CHORUS MEMBER. Tell of your father Erebus, tell of your mother Night!
PHORCYAS. Speak of the monster Scylla, your true sibling-child.
SECOND CHORUS MEMBER. How many monsters crawl about your family tree!
PHORCYAS. Begone to Hades; there you’ll find your kith and kin.
THIRD CHORUS MEMBER. You’ll not find yours there; none of the dead are old enough.
PHORCYAS. Find old Tiresias, try your harlot’s wiles on. him!
FOURTH CHORUS MEMBER. No doubt your great-granddaughter was Orion’s nurse.
PHORCYAS. Foul harpies fed you, I suppose, amid their filth.
FIFTH CHORUS MEMBER. What diet keeps your skinny figure as it is?
PHORCYAS. At least not blood, the favourite fare for which you crave.
SIXTH CHORUS MEMBER. Corpses are your prey, a disgusting corpse yourself!
PHORCYAS. I see the vampire fangs gleam in your insolent mouth.
CHORUS LEADER. I can stop yours if I pronounce your proper name.
PHORCYAS. Pronounce your own first, and well share the mystery.
HELEN. In sorrow, not in anger, I must intervene,
I must forbid this altercation’s violence.
Nothing does greater injury to a prince than if
His loyal servants itch with hidden mutual strife,
For his commands then can no longer echo back
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Harmoniously, translated swiftly into deeds:
Instead, disordered noise roars round him waywardly
While in confusion he upbraids the empty air.
Nor is this all. In your unseemly anger you
Called dreadful shapes to mind and dismal images
Which throng around me, so that I myself feel drawn
Down hellwards, even on this my green and native earth.
Is it a memory? Has delusion seized my mind?
Was I all that? And am I? And shall I still be
That nightmare image, Helena the cities’ bane?
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The girls all tremble: you alone, the eldest, stand
Calm and composed: now show me wisdom in your words.
PHORCYAS. Long years of manifold good fortune make the gods’
Latest and highest favours seem no more than dreams.
But you, whom they have so extravagantly blessed,
Saw in life’s sequence only men whose hot desire
Inflamed them quickly to bold various enterprise.
You were a child still whom lust-maddened Theseus snatched;
A splendid shapely man, as strong as Hercules.
HELEN. He carried me off, a slender fawn, just ten years old,
And I was held-in Attica, in Aphidnus’ halls.
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PHORCYAS. But your twin brothers quickly rescued you; and soon
A choice array of heroes all were wooing you.
HELEN. And I confess, my silent favour chiefly fell
On one, Patroclus, great Achilles’lookalike.
PHORCYAS. But Menelaus won you, by your fathers will;
He was a bold sea-rover and good housekeeper.
HELEN. He won the daughter, and the kingdom’s riches too.
Then of our marriage-bed was born Hermione.
PHORCYAS. But when, to conquer Crete, he left you by yourself,
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You had a visitor whose attractions proved too strong.
HELEN. Why do you call to mind that semi-widowhood
And the appalling ruin that it spelt for me?
PHORCYAS. I suffered by that voyage too: free-born in Crete,
It brought me long imprisonment and slavery.
HELEN. You were brought back at once to keep his household here:
His castle and its hard-won wealth became your trust.
PHORCYAS. You left them both, to seek the towered walls of Troy
And to enjoy love’s pleasures inexhaustibly.
HELEN. Do not speak of the pleasures! An infinitude
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Of bitter sorrow overwhelmed my heart and mind.
PHORCYAS. But you appeared, they say, in duplicated shape,*
Seen at the same time both in Egypt and in Troy.
HELEN. This is a superstition of dark-tangled sense!
Which of them am I? Even now I do not know.
PHORCYAS. Then,
as the story goes, out of the hollow realm
Of shades Achilles too became your amorous
Consort, his love defying all the decrees of fate.
HELEN. A phantom to a phantom, thus I joined with him*
It was a dream, for so the very words make plain.
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I vanish, I become a phantom even to myself.
[She sinks back into the arms of the half-chorus.]
CHORUS. Be silent, be silent!
Creature of evil eye and evil tongue!
From such hideous one-toothed
Lips, what should be breathed
Forth from so fearful a maw of horror!
For I dread an ill nature that seems benevolent,
The raging wolf in the garb of a sheep,
And this to me is a thing more fearful
Than the jaws of the three-headed hell-hound.*
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We stand here and in fear we listen:
When? how? where will it break out,
This monstrous malignant
Thing, from the ambush-depth where it lurks?
See, you offer no words full of consolation,
Oblivion-giving, speech gracious and mild:
Instead, you stir up the past and all its
Memories not of good but of evil,
And you smother with darkness not only
This present hour in its radiance
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But also the gentle
Gleam of the future’s new-dawning hope.
Be silent, be silent!
That the soul of our queen,
Almost slipping away already,
May still hold fast, and hold fast
This shape of all shapes, lovely
Above all others the sun ever shone upon.
[HELEN has recovered and stands in the centre again.]
PHORCYAS. Come, from fleeting clouds emerging, lofty sun of this our day:
Even your veiled form was rapture, reign in dazzling glory now!
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See, the world unfolds before you, see it with your gracious eyes.
Though for ugliness they chide me, yet I know true beauty well.
HELEN. In my swoon a desolation seized me, trembling I step free
And would gladly rest again now, for so weary are my bones:
But for princes it is seemly, and indeed for all men too,
To stand firm, to face whatever sudden danger shakes the heart.
PHORCYAS. Now before us in your greatness, in your beauty here you stand,
And your eye commands obedience: lady, say, what is your will?
HELEN. You must all compose your quarrel now, and to make good your fault
Hasten, as the king has ordered, to prepare a sacrifice.
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PHORCYAS. All is ready in the palace: vessels, tripod, sharp axe-blade,
Incense-fire and sprinkling-water: say, what shall the victim be?
HELEN. As to that, the king said nothing.