Helen

Don’t confuse my clouded, wandering mind completely.

To this moment, I don’t know which of them I am.

Phorkyas

Then they say: Achilles became your companion,

Came, burning, from the empty realm of shadows!

He’d loved you before, opposing fate’s command.

Helen

As phantom, I bound myself to a phantom.

It was a dream, as the tales themselves tell.

I fade, now, become a phantom to myself.

(She sinks into the arms of the Chorus.)

Silence! Silence!

False-seeing one, false-speaking one, you!

Out of the terrible single-toothed

Mouth, what might be breathed, so,

Out of so frightful a throat of horror!

Now the malevolent, seemingly benevolent,

Wolf’s anger under the woolly fleece,

Is more terrible to me than the jaws

Of the three-headed dog.

We stand here anxiously listening:

When? How? Where, will such malice

Break out now

From this predatory monster?

Now rather than friendly words, richly laced

With trust, waters of Lethe, sweet and mild,

You stir up all from the past,

The evil more than the good,

And instantly darken

The gleam of the present

And also the future’s

Sweetly glimmering, hopeful dawn.

Silence! Silence!

So the Queen’s spirit, now,

Almost ready to leave her,

Can still hold, and uphold

This, the form of all forms

On which the sun ever lighted.

(Helen has recovered, and stands in the centre again.)

Phorkyas

Shining out from fleeting vapours, comes the sunlight of our day, here,

That when veiled could so delight us, but in splendour only blinds us.

As the world is open to you, when you show your lovely face, now,

Though they scorn me so as ugly, still I know the beautiful.

Helen

I step, trembling, from the abyss that, in fainting, closed around me,

And would gladly rest my body, tired and weary are my limbs:

But it’s proper for a Queen, then, as it is for all about her,

To be calm, and courageous, whatever harm shall threaten.

Phorkyas

In your Majesty, and Beauty, standing here, now, before us,

Your look says it commands us. What do you command? Speak out.

Helen

Prepare yourselves to atone for what your quarrel has neglected:

Hurry with your sacrifice, now, as the king himself commanded.

Phorkyas

All is ready in the palace, bowls, and tripods, sharpened axe-blade,

For the sprinkling, incense burning: show me now the ready victim!

Helen

That the king has failed to tell me.

Phorkyas

He said nothing? Words of woe!

Helen

What’s this woe that overcomes you?

Phorkyas

Queen, it means you must be slaughtered!

Helen

I?

Phorkyas

And them.

Chorus

Oh, pain and suffering!

Phorkyas

You will fall beneath the axe.

Helen

Presaged, though still dreadful: I, alas!

Phorkyas

There’s no escaping.

Chorus

Oh! And us? What happens to us?

Phorkyas

She will die a noble death, then:

But you’ll hang in rows together, struggling, all along the rafters

Holding up the gabled roof there, as bird-catchers dangle thrushes.

(Helena and the Chorus stand stunned and alarmed, in striking composed groups.)

Phantoms! – Frozen images, you stand, parted

From that light you can’t belong to, in your terror.

Men, and the tribe of phantoms you resemble,

Will never willingly forgo the sunlight:

But none are saved from their fate, or can defer it.

All know it’s true, but only a few accept it.

Enough, you’re lost! Now, quickly: start the work.

(She claps her hands: muffled dwarfish forms appear in the doorway, and quickly carry out her orders.)

This way, you spheres, shadowy rounded forms!

Roll over here: and do what harm you wish.

Set up the gold-horned altar that you carry,

Let the gleaming axe lie there on the silver rim,

Fill the urns with water to wash away

All the hideous stains of darkened blood.

Spread the rich carpets out, here, over the dust,

So the sacrifice can kneel in royal manner,

And be wrapped around, once the head is severed,

And buried decently there, and with due honour.

The Leader of the Chorus

The Queen stands here beside us deep in thought,

The maidservants wither away like mown grass:

I think that I, as the eldest, am bound, in sacred duty,

To barter words with you, the eldest of all by far.

You’re wise, experienced, and seem well-disposed,

And though this foolish crowd baited you in error,

Speak of a way to escape this fate, if you know it.

Phorkyas

That’s easily done: it depends on the Queen alone,

To save herself, and you her followers with her.

But decision is required, and of the swiftest.

Chorus

Most honoured of Fates, wisest of Sibyls, you,

Hold the gold shears apart: bring both aid and light:

Already, we feel ourselves swinging, struggling,

Fearful, for our limbs would rather be dancing,

And afterwards rest, soft, on our lovers’ breast.

Helen

Let them be afraid! I feel pain but no terror:

Yet if rescue’s possible, I gladly accept.

To the wise, far-seeing mind, the impossible

Is often revealed as possible. Speak: say on!

Chorus

Speak, and tell us, tell us quickly: how we might escape the terror,

Dreadful nooses that still threaten, like some kind of evil necklace

Wound around our tender necks? Already we, oh, wretched creatures,

Feel the choking, suffocating, if you, Rhea, the great mother

Of the gods, won’t show us mercy.

Phorkyas

Have you the patience to listen, to long winded

Speeches, in silence? The history’s endless.

Chorus

Patience enough! While we’re listening, we’re alive.

Phorkyas

He who stays at home to guard his noble wealth

And secures the high walls of his lofty dwelling,

And maintains his roof against the driving rain,

Will prosper in all the days of his long life:

But whoever, in guilt, crosses the square-cut stones

Of the sacred threshold, swiftly, with fleeing steps,

Will, indeed find the ancient place, on their return,

But altered in every way, if not overthrown.

Helen

Why recount these familiar sayings here?

If you’d relate things: don’t provoke annoyance.

Phorkyas

It’s simple fact, in no way a criticism.

Menelaus sailed from bay to bay, looting,

Skirted the coast and islands, aggressively,

Returned with the spoils that are rusting there.

Then he spent ten long years there in front of Troy:

And I don’t know how many more, on the way home.

And how are things now with this place where we stand,

Tyndareus’ noble house, and the region round?

Helen

Do you embrace all scorn so completely

You can only open your mouth to criticise?

Phorkyas

The vales were neglected for so many years,

Those that rise behind Sparta, to the northward,

Beyond Taygetus, from where, a living stream,

Eurotas, pours downward, then along our valley,

Flows by our broad reed-beds, to feed your swans.

Up there, in the mountain vales, a bold race settled,

Pushing southward from Cimmerian darkness,

And then built an inaccessible fortress there,

From which, at will, they harass land and people.

Helen

Have they achieved all that? It seems unlikely.

Phorkyas

They’ve had time, perhaps twenty years in all.

Helena

Is there a leader? Are they a band of robbers?

Phorkyas

Not robbers, but one of them acts as leader.

I don’t curse him, though he attacked me too.

He might have taken all, but was satisfied

With gifts, not tribute, as he called them.

Helen

How did he look?

Phorkyas

Less than evil! He pleased me well.

He’s vigorous, daring, and sophisticated,

An intelligent man: as few among the Greeks.

They call his race Barbarians, but I’m doubtful

If they are any crueller than those heroes

Who proved such devourers of men, before Troy.

I respected his greatness, and confided in him.

His fortress! You should see with your own eyes!

It’s a great deal more than the clumsy masonry

Your father rolled together, higgledy-piggledy,

Cyclopean as a Cyclops, piling raw stone,

Over raw stone: there, instead there, it’s all

Plumb line and balance: it’s laid out by rule.

Look from outside! It rises straight to the sky,

So firm, tightly jointed – smooth as a steel mirror

To climb – that even your thoughts slide off!

And, inside, great courts with plenty of room,

Ringed by buildings, of every use and nature.

There you’ll see pillars, columns, arches, quoins,

Balconies, galleries, facing inwards and outwards,

And coats of arms.

Chorus

What arms are those?

Phorkyas

Ajax carried

A writhing snake on his shield: you yourself saw it.

The Seven against Thebes also bore their symbols

On each of their shields, replete with meaning.

There you saw moons, and stars in the night sky,

Heroes and Goddesses, torches, ladders, swords,

And whatever fierce weapons threaten fine cities.

Our heroic band carries such images too,

In bright colours, bestowed by our ancestors.

There you see lions, eagles with beaks and claws,

Horns of oxen, wings, roses, and peacocks’ tails,

Bands too made of gold, black, silver, blue and red.

The like of these hang in their halls, row on row.

In spacious halls, as wide as the whole wide world:

You could dance there!

Chorus

Say then, are there dancers, there?

Phorkyas

The best! A lively crowd of golden-haired youths.

The fragrance of youth! Paris was fragrant, thus,

When he grew close to the Queen.

Helen

You mistake your role

Completely: now speak your closing lines to me!

Phorkyas

No, you speak the last! Grave, and distinct say: Yes!

And I’ll surround you with that fortress.

Chorus

O, speak

That one short word, and save both yourself, and us!