Act 3

Scene I: Before the Palace of Menelaus in Sparta

(Helen enters with the Chorus of Captive Trojan Women. Panthalis is leader of the Chorus.)

Helen

I, Helen the much admired yet much reviled,

Come from the shore, where recently we landed,

Still drunk with the violent rocking of those waves

That from Phrygian heights on high-arched backs,

By Poseidon’s favour, and the East Wind’s power,

Carried us here to the coast of my native land.

There, below us, beside his bravest soldiers

King Menelaus, now, celebrates his return.

But you, bid me welcome, you, the lofty house

Tyndareus my father built when he returned,

Close by the slope of Pallas Athene’s hill:

Here, where with Clytemnestra, in sisterhood, I

And Castor and Pollux, grew and happily played:

You, more nobly adorned than all Sparta’s houses.

Be greeted by me, you honoured double doors!

Once, Menelaus the shining bridegroom came

To me, through your friendly inviting portals,

I, the one singled out from among so many.

Open to me once more, so that I might fulfil,

The King’s command, truly, as a wife should.

Let me pass! And let everything be left behind,

That raged round me, till now, so full of doom.

For since, light in heart, I left this place behind,

Seeking out Venus’ temple, in sacred duty,

Where instead a Trojan robber abducted me,

Many things have happened, men, far and wide,

Gladly tell of, though she’s not so glad to hear them,

Round whom the story grew, and myth was spun.

Chorus

O marvellous woman, don’t disdain

Inheritance of the noblest estate!

For the highest fate’s granted to you alone,

The glory of beauty that towers above all.

The Hero’s name sounds his advance,

And proudly he strides:

But he bows down, most stubborn of men,

Before conquering Beauty, in mind and sense.

Helen

Enough of that! I’m brought here by my husband,

I’ve been sent ahead by him, now, to his city:

But what the meaning of it is I can hardly guess.

Do I come as his wife? Do I come as the Queen?

Or a sacrifice, for a Prince’s bitter pain,

And the ill fortune long endured by the Greeks?

I’m conquered: but am I a prisoner? I can’t tell!

True, the Immortals appointed Fame, and Fate,

As the two ambiguous, doubtful companions

Of Beauty, to stand here at this threshold with me,

The gloomy, threatening presences by my side.

Even in the hollow ship my husband seldom

Gazed at me, or spoke an encouraging word.

He sat in front of me, as if in evil thought.

But scarcely had the foremost ship’s prow greeted

Land, in that deep bay Eurotas’ mouth has made,

Than he spoke to us, as the gods had urged him:

‘Here my soldiers will disembark in ordered ranks,

I’ll muster them, ranged along the ocean’s-shore:

But you’ll go on, ever on along the banks

Of sacred Eurotas, shining with bright orchards,

Guide the horses through gleaming water meadows,

Till of your lovely journey you make an end,

Where Lacedemon, once a rich spreading field,

Surrounded by austere mountains, was created.

Walk through the high-towered house of princes,

And summon the capable old Stewardess

Along with the maidservants I left behind,

Let her display the store of rich treasure to you,

That which your father left, and that I myself

Have added to, amassing it in war and peace.

You’ll find it all still in the most perfect order:

It is a prince’s privilege that he should find

That all is loyalty, on returning to his house,

All that he’s left behind still in its proper place.

Since no slave has the power to effect a change.’

Chorus

Let this treasure, so steadily massed,

Bring you delight, now, in eye and breast!

For the necklace bright, and the crown of gold,

Were resting, and darkening, in proud repose:

But enter now, and claim them all,

They’ll quickly respond.

I love to see Beauty itself compete

Against gold and pearls and glittering gems.

Helen

So again there came my lord’s imperious speech:

‘When you’ve examined all of it in due order,

Take as many tripods as you think you’ll need,

And as many vessels as sacrifice requires,

To fulfil the customs of the sacred rites.

Take cauldrons, and basins, and circular bowls:

The purest of water from the holy fountains,

In deep urns: take care that you’ve dry wood too,

Such as will quickly catch fire, and hold all ready:

And finally don’t forget a well-honed knife:

Everything else I’ll leave for your decision.’

So he spoke, at the same time urging my going:

But he who commanded marked out nothing living

To be slain: to honour the Olympian gods.

Essential, but I’ll think no more about it,

And leave all things in the hands of the gods:

They fulfil whatever is in their mind to do,

Whether or not we think it good or evil:

In either case we mortals must endure it.

Often the priest’s heavy axe has been lifted,

From the bowed neck of the sacrificial victim,

So he could not slaughter it, being hindered,

By enemies near, or the gods’ intervention.

Chorus

What might happen, think not of that:

Queen, go on, now, step inside,

And be brave!

Good and evil come

Unannounced, to Mankind:

Though it’s proclaimed, we’ll not believe.

Troy still burned: did we not see

Death in our faces, shameful death:

And are we not here,

Your friends, happily serving,

Seeing the blinding sun in the sky

Seeing the Loveliest on Earth,

You, the kind: we the joyous?

Helen

Let it be, as it will! Whatever awaits me,

I must go, swiftly, up to that royal house,

Long forsaken, often longed for, almost lost,

That’s before my eyes once more: I know not how.

My feet don’t carry me onwards so bravely, now,

Up those high steps, I skipped over as a child.

Chorus

Sorrowful prisoners,

Oh, cast away, Sisters,

All your pain, to the winds:

Share in your mistress’ joy

Share now in Helen’s joy,

Who returns, truly late indeed,

To her father’s hearth and home,

But with all the more firm a step,

Delightedly approaching.

Praise the sacred gods,

Creating happiness,

Bringing the wanderer home!

See the freed prisoner

Soar on uplifted wings,

Over harshness, while, all in vain,

The captives, so full of longing,

Pine away, arms still outstretched,

To the walls of their prison.

But a god snatched her up, then,

The far-exiled:

And from Ilium’s fall,

Carried her back once more, home

To the old, to the newly adorned, her

Father’s house,

From unspeakable

Rapture and torment,

Now, reborn, to remember

The days of her childhood.

Panthalis (As leader of the Chorus.)

Now leave behind the joyful path of your singing,

And turn your eyes towards the open doorway!

Sisters, what do I see! Surely the Queen returns

Waking towards us, again, with anxious steps?

What is it, great Queen? What can you have met with,

Within the halls of your house, instead of greetings,

To cause you such trembling? You can hide nothing,

Since I see your reluctance written on your brow,

And amazement competes there with noble anger.

Helen (Who has left the doors open, in her turmoil.)

A daughter of Zeus is stirred by no common fear,

No lightly passing hand of Terror can touch her:

Only the Horror that the womb of ancient Night,

Raised from chaos, and shaped in its many forms,

In glowing clouds that shoot, upwards and outwards,

From the peak’s fiery throat, to shake the hero’s breast.

So here today the Stygian gods have marked

The entrance to my house with terror: and gladly

I’d take myself far away, like a guest let go,

Far from this often trodden, long yearned for threshold.

But no! I’ve retreated here now, into the light,

And you Powers will drive me no further, whoever

You are. Rather, I’ll think of some consecration,

So the hearth-fire, cleansed, greets the wife, as the lord.

The Leader of the Chorus

Noble lady, reveal to your maidservants here,

Who help you reverently, what has happened.

Helen

You’ll see what I saw yourselves, with your own eyes,

If ancient Night has not, straight away, swallowed it,

That shape of hers: withdrawn it to her heart’s depths.

But I’ll picture it to you in words, so you’ll know:

As, with those recent orders in mind, I trod,

Gravely, through the palace’s innermost room,

Awed by the silence of the gloomy corridors,

No sound of busy labour greeting my ears,

No sound of prompt, diligent effort meeting my eye,

No Stewardess appeared, and no maidservants,

No courtesy such as usually greets the stranger.

But as I approached closer to the hearth stone

Beside the glowing ashes that remained, I saw

A veiled woman, vast shape, seated on the floor,

Not like one who’s asleep, but one deep in thought.

I summoned her to work, with words of command,

Thinking she was the Stewardess whom my husband,

Had placed there perhaps, with foresight, when he left.

But she still sat there, crouched and immoveable:

At last, stirred by my threats, she raised her arm,

As if she gestured me away from hearth and hall.

I turned aside from her, angrily, and sped,

To the steps where the Thalamos is adorned

On high, and close beside it the treasure house:

Suddenly that strange shape sprang up from the floor,

Barring my way, imperiously, showing herself,

Tall and haggard, with hollow, blood-coloured gaze:

A shape so weird that mind and eye were troubled.

But I talk to the wind: for words weary themselves

Trying to conjure forms, vainly, like some creator.

See for yourselves! She even dares the daylight!

Here am I mistress, till the King, my lord, shall come.

Phoebus, beauty’s friend, drives the horrid spawn of Night

To caverns underground, or he binds them fast.

(Phorkyas appears on the threshold, between the doorposts.)

Chorus

Much have I learned, although the locks

Curl youthfully still across my temples!

Many the terrible things I’ve seen,

The soldiers’ misery, Ilium’s night,

When it fell.

Through the clouded, and dust-filled turmoil,

The press of warriors, I heard the gods

Calling terribly, heard the ringing

Iron voice of Discord through the field,