MES. O king, I have discovered in the palace,
Events most inauspicious: what fresh woes
Is it my doleful office to relate!
THEOC. Say what hath happened?
MES. Seek another wife,
For Helen hath departed from this realm.
THEOC. Borne through the air on wings, or with swift foot
Treading the ground?
MES. Her o’er the briny main
From Ægypt’s shores, hath Menelaus wafted,
Who came in person with a feigned account
Of his own death.
THEOC. O dreadful tale! what ship
From these domains conveys her? thou relat’st
Tidings the most incredible.
MES. The same
You to that stranger gave, and in one word
To tell you all, he carries off your sailors.
THEOC. How is that possible? I wish to know:
For such an apprehension never entered
My soul, as that one man could have subdued
The numerous band of mariners, with whom
Thou wert sent forth.
MES. When from the royal mansion
Jove’s daughter to the shore was borne, she trod
With delicate and artful step, pretending
To wail her husband’s loss, though he was present,
And yet alive. But when we reached the haven,
Sidonia’s largest vessel we hauled forth,
Furnished with benches, and with fifty oars;
But a fresh series of incessant toil
Followed this toil; for while one fixed the mast,
Another ranged the oars, and with his hand
The signal gave, the sails were bound together,
Then was the rudder fastened to the stern
With thongs, cast forth: while they observed us busied
In such laborious task, the Grecian comrades
Of Menelaus to the shore advanced,
Clad in their shipwrecked vestments. Though their form
Was graceful, yet their visages were squalid:
But Atreus’ son, beholding their approach,
Under the semblance of a grief that masked
His treacherous purpose, in these words addressed them:
“How, O ye wretched sailors, from what bark
Of Greece that hath been wrecked upon this coast
Are ye come hither? will ye join with us
In the funereal rites of Menelaus,
Whom Tyndarus’s daughter, to an empty tomb
Consigns, though absent?” Simulated tears
They shed, and went aboard the ship, conveying
The presents to be cast into the sea
For Menelaus. But to us these things
Appeared suspicious, and we made remarks
Among ourselves upon the numerous band
Of our intruding passengers; but checked
Our tongues from speaking openly, through deference
To your commands. For when you to that stranger
Trusted the guidance of the ship, you caused
This dire confusion. All beside, with ease
Had we now lodged aboard, but could not force
The sturdy bull t’ advance; he bellowing rolled
His eyes around, bending his back and low’ring
Betwixt his horns, nor dared we to approach
And handle him. But Helen’s husband cried:
“O ye who laid Troy waste, will ye forget
To act like Greeks? why scruple ye to seize
And on your youthful shoulders heave the beast
Up to the rising prow, a welcome victim
To the deceased?” His falchion, as he spoke,
The warrior drew. His summons they obeyed,
Seized the stout bull, and carried him aboard:
But Menelaus stroked the horse’s neck
And face, and with this gentle usage led him
Into the bark. At length when all its freight
The vessel had received, with graceful foot
Helen, the steps ascending, took her seat
On the mid deck; and Menelaus near her,
E’en he who they pretended was no more.
But some on the right side, and on the left
Others in equal numbers, man to man
Opposed, their station took, their swords concealing
Beneath their garments. We distinctly heard
The clamorous sailors animate each other
To undertake the voyage. But from land
When a convenient distance we had steered,
The pilot asked this question: “Shall we sail,
O stranger, any farther from the coast,
Or is this right? for ’tis my task to guide
The vessel.” He replied: “Enough for me.”
Then seized with his right hand the falchion, leaped
Upon the prow, and standing o’er the bull
The victim (without mentioning the name
Of any chief deceased; but as he drove
The weapon through his neck) thus prayed: “O Neptune,
Who in the ocean dwell’st, and ye chaste daughters
Of Nereus, to the Nauplian shore convey
Me and my consort, from this hostile land,
In safety.” But a crimson tide of blood,
Auspicious to the stranger, stained the waves;
And some exclaimed: “There’s treachery in this voyage,
Let us sail homewards, issue thy commands,
And turn the rudder.” But the son of Atreus,
Who had just slain the bull, to his companions
Called loudly: “Why delay, O ye the flower
Of Greece, to smite, to slaughter those barbarians,
And cast them from the ship into the waves?”
But to your sailors our commander spoke
A different language: “Will not some of you
Tear up a plank, or with a shattered bench,
Or ponderous oar, upon the bleeding heads
Of those audacious foreigners our foes,
Impress the ghastly wound?” But on their feet
All now stood up; our hands with nautic poles
Were armed, and theirs with swords: a tide of slaughter
Ran down the ship. But Helen from the poop
The Greeks encouraged; “Where is the renown
Ye gained at Troy? display ’gainst these barbarians
The same undaunted prowess.” In their haste
Full many fell, some rose again, the rest
Might you have seen stretched motionless in death.
But Menelaus, sheathed in glittering mail,
Wherever his confederates he descried
Hard pressed, rushed thither with his lifted sword,
Driving us headlong from the lofty deck
Into the waves, and forced your mariners
To quit their oars. But the victorious king
Now seized the rudder, and to Greece declared
He would convey the ship: they hoisted up
The stately mast: propitious breezes came;
They left the land: but I from death escaping,
Let myself gently down into the waves
Borne on the cordage which sustains the anchor;
My strength began to fail, when some kind hand
Threw forth a rope, and brought me safe ashore,
That I to you these tidings might convey.
There’s nought more beneficial to mankind
Than wise distrust.
CHOR. I never could have thought
That Menelaus who was here, O king,
Could have imposed so grossly or on you
Or upon us.
THEOC. Wretch that I am, ensnared
By woman’s treacherous arts! the lovely bride
I hoped for, hath escaped me. If the ship
Could be o’ertaken by our swift pursuit,
My wrongs would urge me with vindictive hand
To seize the strangers. But I now will punish
That sister who betrayed me; in my house
Who when she saw the Spartan Menelaus,
Informed me not: she never shall deceive
Another man by her prophetic voice.
CHOR. Ho! whither, O my sovereign, would you go,
And for what bloody purpose?
THEOC. Where the voice
Of rigid justice summons me. Retire,
And stand aloof.
CHOR. Yet will not I let loose
Your garment; for you hasten to commit
A deed most mischievous.
THEOC. Wouldst thou, a slave,
Govern thy lord?
CHOR. Here reason’s on my side.
THEOC. That shall not I allow, if thou refuse
To quit thy hold.
CHOR. I will not then release you.
THEOC. To slay that worst of sisters.
CHOR. That most pious.
THEOC. Her who betrayed me.
CHOR. Glorious was the fraud
That caused so just a deed.
THEOC. When she bestowed
My consort on another.
CHOR. On the man
Who had a better claim——
THEOC. But who is lord
Of what belongs to me?
CHOR. Who from her sire
Received her.
THEOC. She by Fortune was bestowed
On me.
CHOR. But ta’en away again by Fate.
THEOC. Thou hast no right to judge of my affairs.
CHOR. If I but speak to give you better counsels.
THEOC. I am thy subject then, and not thy king.
CHOR. For having acted piously, your sister
I vindicate.
THEOC. Thou seem’st to wish for death.
CHOR. Kill me. Your sister you with my consent
Shall never slay; I rather would yield up
My life on her behalf. It is most glorious
To generous servants for their lords to die.
CASTOR _and_ POLLUX, THEOCLYMENUS, CHORUS.
CAS. _and_ POL. Restrain that ire that hurries thee away
Beyond the bounds of reason, O thou king
Of Ægypt’s realm; and listen to the voice
Of us twin sons of Jove, whom Leda bore
Together with that Helen who is fled
From thy abodes. Thou rashly hast indulged
Thine anger, for the loss of her whom Fate
Ne’er destined to thy bed. Nor hath thy sister
Theonoe, from th’ immortal Nereid sprung,
To thee done any injury; she reveres
The gods, and her great father’s just behests.
For till the present hour, was it ordained
That Helen in thy palace should reside:
But when Troy’s walls were from their bases torn,
And she had to the rival goddesses
Furnished her name, no longer was it fit
That she should for thy nuptials be detained,
But to her ancient home return, and dwell
With her first husband. In thy sister’s breast
Forbear to plunge the sword, and be convinced
That she in this affair hath acted wisely.
We long ere this our sister had preserved,
Since Jove hath made us gods, but were too weak
At once to combat the behests of Fate,
And the immortal powers, who had ordained
That these events should happen. This to thee,
O Theoclymenus, I speak. These words
Next to my lovely sister, I address;
Sail with your husband, for a prosperous breeze
Your voyage shall attend. We your protectors
And your twin brothers, on our coursers borne
Over the waves, will guide you to your country,
But after you have finished life’s career,
You shall be called a goddess, shall partake
With us the rich oblations, and receive
The gifts of men: for thus hath Jove decreed.
But where the son of Maia placed you first,
When he had borne you from the Spartan realm,
And formed by stealth from the aërial mansions
An image of your person, to prevent
Paris from wedding you, there is an isle
Near the Athenian realm, which men shall call
Helen in future times, because that spot
Received you, when in secrecy conveyed
From Sparta. The Heavens also have ordained
The wanderer Menelaus shall reside
Among the happy islands. For the gods
To those of nobler minds no hatred bear;
At their command though grievous toil await
The countless multitude.
THEOC. Ye sons of Jove
And Leda, I the contest will decline
Which I at first so violently urged,
Hoping your lovely sister to obtain,
And my own sister’s life resolve to spare:
Let Helen to her native shores return,
If ’tis the will of Heaven: but be assured,
The same high blood ye spring from with the best
And chastest sister: hail then, for the sake
Of Helen with a lofty soul endued,
Such as in female bosoms seldom dwells.
CHOR. A thousand shapes our varying fates assume
The gods perform what least we could expect,
And oft the things for which we fondly hoped
Come not to pass; but Heaven still finds a clue
To guide our steps through life’s perplexing maze,
And thus doth this important business end.