The Greek Plays

by The Greek Plays- Sixteen Plays by Aeschylus, Sophocles

  failures to punish criminals with death.

  I’ve just now learnt a man came to this land,

  clearly a Greek, yet he got through the guards.

  Either a spy, or on the hunt for Helen:

  a kidnapper. He’ll die, if I can catch him.

  (He sees that Helen is gone.)

  Hey!

  Helen has left her place beside the tomb!

  It’s empty! She’s been whisked away by sea!

  1180

  Unlock the gates! Open the stables up!

  Servants, bring out my chariot! I’ll work

  to stop the wife I want from being abducted.

  (He notices Menelaus and his companions and Helen.)

  But wait! I see the men I’m hunting down

  right at my house—they haven’t run away.

  (to Helen) And you! Why have you changed from your white dress

  into this black one? Why did you chop off

  your hair so roughly from your noble head?

  Are your cheeks wet with tears? Have you been crying?

  1190

  Have you been having visions in the night,

  or did you hear some message from your country

  that made you mourn and broke your heart with grief?

  HELEN: Master—since I must call you that already—

  I’m done for. My life’s over. I am dead.

  THEOCLYMENUS: What’s happening to you? What is your trouble?

  HELEN: My Menelaus is—just say it!—dead.

  THEOCLYMENUS: I’m sorry. Though for me, this news is lucky.

  How do you know? Did Theonoë tell you?

  HELEN: Yes, and one who was present when he died.

  1200

  THEOCLYMENUS: Did someone come and give a full report?

  HELEN: Yes. And may that man go where I would wish!*38

  THEOCLYMENUS: Who is he? Where? I need to find out more.

  HELEN: This man who’s cowering beneath the tomb.

  THEOCLYMENUS: Apollo! What disgusting clothes he’s wearing!

  HELEN: My husband must be in the same sad plight.

  THEOCLYMENUS: This fellow who arrived, where is he from?

  HELEN: He is a Greek, one of my husband’s shipmates.

  THEOCLYMENUS: How does he say that Menelaus died?

  HELEN: A dreadful death beneath the salty waves.

  1210

  THEOCLYMENUS: Where was he sailing? In which foreign sea?

  HELEN: The man was cast away on Libyan rocks.

  THEOCLYMENUS: How did he live, when Menelaus died?

  HELEN: Sometimes the better man is not as lucky.

  THEOCLYMENUS: Where did he leave the fragments of the wreck?

  HELEN: Somewhere—oh, curse that ship! But bless my husband!

  THEOCLYMENUS: He’s dead. But in what boat did this man come?

  HELEN: He says some random sailors picked him up.

  THEOCLYMENUS: Where is that bad thing sent to Troy for you?

  HELEN: You mean the cloudy image? In the sky.

  1220

  THEOCLYMENUS: Priam and Troy! Your ruin was for nothing.

  HELEN: I shared in Priam’s people’s suffering.

  THEOCLYMENUS: And did he lay your husband in the earth?

  HELEN: No! Such a dreadful thing! He is not buried.

  THEOCLYMENUS: And this is why you cut your golden curls?

  HELEN: Yes, since I loved him once, and he’s still dear.*39

  THEOCLYMENUS: But is it right that you should weep for him?

  HELEN: Yes. Do you think your sister makes mistakes?

  THEOCLYMENUS: No. But what now? Will you stay by this tomb?

  1230

  HELEN: Yes, I’ll be true to him, and run from you.

  THEOCLYMENUS: Why do you tease me? He’s dead; let him go.

  HELEN: All right, no more. Begin the wedding plans.*40

  THEOCLYMENUS: About time, too! But good, I’m glad you’re ready.

  HELEN: Then here’s what you must do: forget the past.

  THEOCLYMENUS: One good deserves another: tell your terms.

  HELEN: Let’s make a truce, forgive me and make friends.

  THEOCLYMENUS: I hold no grudge against you. Let it go!

  HELEN: (kneeling and grasping his legs in supplication)

  If you’re a friend, I beg you, at your knees—

  THEOCLYMENUS: Why are you stretching out your arms in prayer?

  HELEN: Because I want to bury my dead husband.

  1240

  THEOCLYMENUS: Can absent shadows get a burial?

  HELEN: It’s the Greek custom, when one dies at sea—

  THEOCLYMENUS: Your culture has so much sophistication!

  HELEN: —to “bury” them, in an empty winding cloth.

  THEOCLYMENUS: Do it, and choose the spot to build the mound.

  HELEN: That’s not the way we bury those that drown.

  THEOCLYMENUS: How then? I don’t know much about Greek culture.

  HELEN: We take the trappings for the corpse to sea.

  THEOCLYMENUS: What stuff must I provide, to serve the dead?

  HELEN: This man knows that; I don’t. It’s my first loss.

  THEOCLYMENUS: (to Menelaus)

  1250

  Stranger, you came with happy news for me!

  MENELAUS: But not for me, and not for him who’s dead.

  THEOCLYMENUS: How do you bury those who died at sea?

  MENELAUS: As best each person’s riches will allow.

  THEOCLYMENUS: Have all the wealth you want—for Helen’s sake.

  MENELAUS: First blood must spill, an offering to the dead.

  THEOCLYMENUS: What animal? Just tell me and I’ll do it.

  MENELAUS: You can decide, since any gift is fine.

  THEOCLYMENUS: Barbarians usually give a horse or ox.

  MENELAUS: Just make sure what you give is not malformed.

  1260

  THEOCLYMENUS: I have a wealth of good ones in my herds.

  MENELAUS: A bier without a body must be brought.

  THEOCLYMENUS: Yes. Then what else is it the norm to bring?

  MENELAUS: Weapons of bronze, since war was what he loved.

  THEOCLYMENUS: I’ll give him arms, worthy of Pelops’ people.

  MENELAUS: And all the finest produce from the earth.

  THEOCLYMENUS: Of course. And how do you take it out to sea?

  MENELAUS: We need a ship, and a crew of skillful oarsmen.

  THEOCLYMENUS: How far away from shore must this boat go?

  MENELAUS: So you can scarcely see its wake from land.

  1270

  THEOCLYMENUS: Why’s that? Why do the Greeks perform this rite?

  MENELAUS: So tides won’t wash pollution back to shore.

  THEOCLYMENUS: You’ll have a swift Phoenician ship, with oars.

  MENELAUS: That’s good, and Menelaus will be pleased.

  THEOCLYMENUS: But can’t you do these rituals without Helen?

  MENELAUS: No: it’s the job of mother, child or wife.

  THEOCLYMENUS: She has to lay her husband to his rest?

  MENELAUS: It’s pious not to rob the dead’s last rites.

  THEOCLYMENUS: Then let her go. I want a pious wife.

  Go in the house and take things for the corpse.

  1280

  And when you leave, you’ll not go empty-handed,

  since you’ve helped Helen, and brought me good news.

  I’ll give you proper clothes instead of rags,

  and food, to make the journey to your country.

  I see how badly off you are right now.

  (to Helen) And you: I’m sorry for your loss. But do not waste

  your life on useless mourning.*41 Menelaus

  has passed away, and grief won’t bring him back.

  MENELAUS: (to Helen) Your job, young lady, is to let go the husband

  who isn’t here, and love the one who is.

  1290

  That’s b
est for you, given the situation.

  If I survive and make my way to Greece,

  I’ll stop them blaming you, if you can treat

  the man who shares your bed the way you should.

  HELEN: I will. I’ll never speak ill of my husband.

  You’ll be beside me and you’ll know the truth.

  But you, poor traveler, go in and wash,

  and change your clothes. I want, without delay,

  to do you favors, since you will perform

  the duties owed to darling Menelaus

  1300

  more lovingly if I’ve done right by you.

  strophe 1

  CHORUS: Once long ago, the Lady of the Mountains,

  the Mother of Gods, came running and rushing

  through glades thick with forest

  and gushing of rivers

  and the deep-sounding wave of the ocean.

  She longed for her daughter, the lost girl,

  whose name is unspeakable.

  The cymbals that clashed like the thunder

  screamed to a din to resound far and wide,

  1310

  when the goddess first yoked up her chariot

  with a team of wild beasts,

  and rode out to hunt for the one who was taken

  from the dancing circles of girls:

  for the Maiden.*42

  With feet like the stormwind they came:

  Artemis, bearing her bow,

  Athena, full-armed with her spear, her eyes glaring.

  Zeus the all-seeing one trained his bright gaze

  from his throne up in heaven

  and altered their destiny.

  antistrophe 1

  The Mother was out of her mind: she ran wandering, everywhere,

  1320

  searching and suffering, seeking her daughter,

  tracking the tricks of the rape.

  When she gave up her labors she climbed up the crags to the Nymphs

  on the peaks of Mount Ida, fed by the snow-drifts,

  and hurled herself down in her grief

  on the rocks in the snow-covered brush.

  She offered no harvest for humans

  and the fields of the earth lay sproutless and barren.

  She brought death to the races of people.

  1330

  She sent forth no fodder for flocks,

  no luscious tendrils of rich leafy vines.

  Life was gone from the cities.

  No rites were performed for the gods.

  The offerings lay on the altars unburnt.

  She stopped the dewy streams

  of clear bright water,

  in her bitter grief for her child.

  strophe 2

  But when she stopped all kinds of banquets

  for gods and the human race,

  Zeus softened the hatred

  1340

  and rage of the Mother, by speaking:

  “Go, holy Graces,

  go to Demeter; with shouting and chanting

  take from her angry heart

  grief for her daughter.

  Muses, go heal her with singing and dancing.”

  Then the most beautiful one of the blessed gods,

  Cyprian Aphrodite,

  took up the bronze that speaks like an earthquake

  and drums made of skin stretched taut.

  The goddess laughed

  1350

  and took in her hands

  the deep-rumbling hornpipe

  and was glad at the noise.

  antistrophe 2

  You burnt offerings down in the chambers of earth*43

  that were wrong and unholy,

  and, daughter, because you dishonored

  the rites of the mighty Mother,

  her wrath is upon you.

  Great power lies in the colorful clothes

  of the fawnskin

  1360

  and greenness of ivy

  as crown for the holy fennel stalks

  and the whirling and shaking up high in the air

  of the rhombus revolving

  and the hair that dances for Bacchus,*44

  and the all-night rites for the goddess.

  Ah, Helen, the beautiful moon

  rode her chariot far up above you,

  but you prided yourself on your beauty alone.*45

  HELEN: My friends, we’ve had good luck with things inside.

  1370

  When Theonoë’s brother questioned her

  about my husband, she said he’s not here.

  She helped me to conceal him, since she claimed

  he’s dead and can no longer see the sunlight.

  My husband seized upon his lucky strike.

  The weapons he’d been meant to sink at sea

  were his: he thrust his arm into a shield,

  and lifted it. His right hand grabbed a spear,

  as if to join in service to the dead.

  He’d armed himself in readiness for battle,

  1380

  prepared, when we’ve embarked upon the ship,

  to triumph over countless foreigners.*46

  I got him changed out of his shipwreck clothes,

  gave him a bath, the first for quite some time,

  in pure fresh riverwater, and I dressed him.

  But hush, don’t tell! The man who thinks he has

  definite prospects that I’ll be his bride

  is coming from the palace. I implore you,

  here on my knees, be kind and hold your tongue,

  so we’ll escape, and save you, too, someday.

  (Enter Theoclymenus.)

  1390

  THEOCLYMENUS: Slaves! Come at once, just as the stranger ordered.

  Bring out the oceanic funeral gifts.

  (to Helen) and Helen, if you think my words are sound,

  do as I say: stay here. You give your husband

  the same respect whether you’re there or not.

  I am afraid you’ll get a sudden urge

  to hurl yourself into the swelling waves,

  struck by affection for your former husband.

  You mourn too much for him, though he’s not here.

  HELEN: Oh, my new husband! No, I have to honor

  1400

  the marriage bed where I was first a bride.

  And yes, I’d like to lie beside that husband

  for love of him. But what good would it do him,

  if I shared in his death? Just let me go

  so I can pay his funeral gifts myself.

  So may the gods grant you what I would wish,

  and bless this stranger, since he shares the task.

  You’ll find me just the kind of wife I should be,

  when you’ve done this good turn to Menelaus

  and me. Yes, everything will turn out well.

  1410

  Now as your final kindness, get somebody

  to bring a ship in which we’ll take this cargo.

  THEOCLYMENUS: (to a slave) You! Go and get a ship with fifty oars,

  and fifty oarsmen, a Phoenician one.

  HELEN: I hope the funeral leader can be captain?

  THEOCLYMENUS: Of course. My sailors must obey this man.

  HELEN: Tell them again, be sure they understand.

  THEOCLYMENUS: I will, and three times over, if you wish.

  HELEN: Bless you! And may my plans bless me, as well.

  THEOCLYMENUS: Don’t spoil your pretty skin with too much weeping.

  1420

  HELEN: Today will show how much I’ll do for you.

  THEOCLYMENUS: It’s useless labor, caring for the dead.

  HELEN: It matters, here and there. I’m telling you.*47

  THEOCLYMENUS: I’ll be as good a husband as your first.

  HELEN: There’s nothing wrong with you. I just need luck.

  THEOCLYMENUS: It’s up to you, if you’ll be kind to me.

  HELEN: I don’t need teaching how to love my
loved ones.

  THEOCLYMENUS: Do you want me to come, too, and help with things?

  HELEN: No, master! Don’t be slave to your own slaves.

  THEOCLYMENUS: All right. I’ll let your old Greek customs go.

  1430

  My house is pure, since it was not the place

  that Menelaus died. Go, slave, and tell

  my chieftains they should bring my wedding presents

  here to my palace. Let all Egypt ring

  with wedding songs and shouts of happiness,

  and may our marriage be admired and envied.

  (to Menelaus) And stranger, when you’ve gone to give these gifts

  to Helen’s former husband, deep in ocean,

  then take my wife and hurry her back home.

  You are invited to my wedding feast,

  1440

  then you may go back home, or stay, with pleasure.

  MENELAUS: Zeus! You’re called the Father, God of Wisdom!

  Look on us now and save us from our troubles.

  We’re dragging up our fortunes to the clifftop;

  come join us! Quick! If just your fingertip

  brushes us, we will reach the goal we seek.

  Our former sufferings are quite enough.

  Gods, I have often called on you to listen

  to prayers of pain that went unanswered. But

  my luck can change, my feet can forge ahead.

  1450

  Just grant me this! You’ll make me glad forever!

  strophe 1

  CHORUS: Sidonian ship, with your oars rowing swiftly,

  Ship of Phoenicia, beloved by the waves,

  of Nereus, lord of the Ocean!

  You lead in the chorus of beautiful dancers,

  the dolphins. Whenever

  the waters are windless,

  the blue-flashing child of the deep sea,

  Galaneia, says this:

  “Come now, let down your sails;

  1460

  don’t think of sea breezes,

  but take up your oars made of fir,

  sailors, O sailors,

  and take Helen back to the harbors

  of Perseus’ home.”

  antistrophe 1

  I think she will come to Leucippus’ daughters,

  by the rush of the river

  or in front of the temple to the Maiden,*48

  and finally she will join in with the dancing,

  or join the festivities, joy in the night time,

  for dead Hyacinthus,

  1470

  killed by Apollo when he was competing

  with the infinite circle, the discus.*49

  The god, son of Zeus, commanded the Spartans

  to honor a day when the oxen are sacrificed.