by Euripides
HELEN
My dead husband would I fain bury.
THEOCLYMENUS
What tomb can be bestowed on lost bodies? Wilt thou bury a shade?
HELEN
In Hellas we have a custom, whene’er one is drowned at sea-
THEOCLYMENUS
What is your custom? The race of Pelops truly hath some skill in matters such as this.
HELEN
To hold a burial with woven robes that wrap no corpse.
THEOCLYMENUS
Perform the ceremony; rear the tomb where’er thou wilt.
HELEN ’Tis not thus we give drowned sailors burial.
THEOCLYMENUS
How then? I know nothing of your customs in Hellas.
HELEN
We unmoor, and carry out to sea all that is the dead man’s due.
THEOCLYMENUS
What am I to give thee then for thy dead husband?
HELEN
Myself I cannot say; I had no such experience in my previous happy life.
THEOCLYMENUS
Stranger, thou art the bearer of tidings I welcome.
MENELAUS
Well, I do not, nor yet doth the dead man.
THEOCLYMENUS
How do ye bury those who have been drowned at sea?
MENELAUS
Each according to his means.
THEOCLYMENUS
As far as wealth goes, name thy wishes for this lady’s sake.
MENELAUS
There must be a blood-offering first to the dead.
THEOCLYMENUS
Blood of what? Do thou show me and I will comply.
MENELAUS
Decide that thyself; whate’er thou givest will suffice.
THEOCLYMENUS
Amongst barbarians ’tis customary to sacrifice a horse or bull,
MENELAUS
If thou givest at all, let there be nothing mean in thy gift.
THEOCLYMENUS I have no lack of such in my rich herds
MENELAUS
Next an empty bier is decked and carried in procession.
THEOCLYMENUS
It shall be so; what else is it customary to add?
MENELAUS
Bronze arms; for war was his delight.
THEOCLYMENUS
These will be worthy of the race of Pelops, and these will we give.
MENELAUS
And with them all the fair increase of productive earth.
THEOCLYMENUS
And next, how do ye pour these offerings into the billows?
MENELAUS
There must be a ship ready and rowers.
THEOCLYMENUS
How far from the shore does the ship put out?
MENELAUS
So far that the foam in her wake can scarce be seen from the strand.
THEOCLYMENUS
Why so? wherefore doth Hellas observe this custom?
MENELAUS
That the billow may not cast up again our expiatory offerings.
THEOCLYMENUS
Phoenician rowers will soon cover the distance.
MENELAUS ‘Twill be well done, and gratifying to Menelaus, too.
THEOCLYMENUS
Canst thou not perform these rites well enough without Helen?
MENELAUS
This task belongs to mother, wife, or children.
THEOCLYMENUS ’Tis her task then, according to thee, to bury her husband.
MENELAUS
To be sure; piety demands that the dead be not robbed of their due.
THEOCLYMENUS
Well, let her go; ’tis my interest to foster piety in a wife. And thou, enter the house and choose adornment for the dead. Thyself, too, will not send empty-handed away, since thou hast done her a service. And for the good news thou hast brought me, thou shalt receive raiment instead of going bare, and food, too, that thou mayst reach thy country; for as it is, I see thou art in sorry plight. As for thee, poor lady, waste not thyself in a hopeless case; Menelaus has met his doom, and thy dead husband cannot come to life.
MENELAUS
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.
HELEN 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.)
CHORUS (singing) 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.
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.
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.
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.
(HELEN comes out of the palace alone.)
HELEN
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.)
THEOCLYMENUS
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.
HELEN 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.
THEOCLYMENUS (to an attendant) Go thou, and furnish them with a Sidonian galley of fifty oars and rowers also.
HELEN
Shall not he command the ship who is ordering the funeral?
THEOCLYMENUS
Most certainly; my sailors are to obey him.
HELEN
Repeat the order, that they may clearly understand thee.
THEOCLYMENUS I repeat it, and will do so yet again if that is thy pleasure.
HELEN
Good luck to thee and to me in my designs!
THEOCLYMENUS
Oh! waste not thy fair complexion with excessive weeping.
HELEN
This day shall show my gratitude to thee.
THEOCLYMENUS
The state of the dead is nothingness; to toil for them is vain.
HELEN
In what I say, this world, as well as that, hath share.
THEOCLYMENUS
Thou shalt not find in me a husband at all inferior to Menelaus.
HELEN
With thee have I no fault to find; good luck is all I need.
THEOCLYMENUS
That rests with thyself, if thou show thyself a loving wife to me.
HELEN
This is not a lesson I shall have to learn now, to love my friends.
THEOCLYMENUS
Is it thy wish that I should escort thee in person with active aid?
HELEN
God forbid! become not thy servant’s servant, O king!
THEOCLYMENUS
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.
(THEOCLYMENUS and his retinue enter the palace.)
MENELAUS 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) 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.”
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.
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.
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.)
SECOND MESSENGER O king, at last have I found thee in the palace; for new tidings of woe art thou soon to hear from me.
THEOCLYMENUS
How now?
MESSENGER
Make haste to woo a new wife; for Helen hath escaped.
THEOCLYMENUS
Borne aloft on soaring wings, or treading still the earth?
MESSENGER
Menelaus has succeeded in bearing her hence; ’twas he that brought the news of his own death.
THEOCLYMENUS O monstrous story! what ship conveyed her from these shores? Thy tale is past belief.
MESSENGER
The very ship thou didst thyself give the stranger; and that thou mayest briefly know all, he is gone, taking thy sailors with him.
THEOCLYMENUS
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.
MESSENGER
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 fo
r 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.