Helen

Perseus Greek · Perseus Greek · 691 sections

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These are the lovely pure streams of the Nile, which waters the plain and lands of Egypt, fed by white melting snow instead of rain from heaven. Proteus was king of this land when he was alive,
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living on the island of Pharos and lord of Egypt; and he married one of the daughters of the sea, Psamathe, after she left Aiakos’ bed. She bore two children in his palace here: a son Theoklymenos, because he spent his life in reverence of the gods,
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and a noble daughter, her mother’s pride, called Eido in her infancy. But when she came to youth, the season of marriage, she was called Theonoe; for she knew whatever the gods design, both present and to come,
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having received this honor from her grandfather Nereus.
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My own fatherland, Sparta, is not without fame, and my father is Tyndareus; but there is indeed a story that Zeus flew to my mother Leda, taking the form of a bird, a swan,
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which accomplished the deceitful union, fleeing the pursuit of an eagle, if this story is true. My name is Helen; I will tell the evils I have suffered. For the sake of beauty, three goddesses came to a deep valley on Mount Ida, to Paris:
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Hera and Kypris, and the virgin daughter of Zeus, wishing to have the judgment of their loveliness decided. Kypris offered my beauty, if misfortune is beautiful, for Paris to marry, and so she won. Paris, the shepherd of Ida, left his ox-stalls
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and came to Sparta, to have me in marriage.
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But Hera, indignant at not defeating the goddesses, made an airy nothing of my marriage with Paris; she gave to the son of king Priam not me, but an image, alive and breathing, that she fashioned out of the sky and made to look like me;
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and he thinks he has me—an idle fancy, for he doesn’t have me. And in turn the plans of Zeus added further troubles to these; for he brought a war upon the land of the Hellenes and the unhappy Phrygians, so that he might lighten mother earth
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of her crowded mass of mortals, and bring fame to the bravest man of Hellas. So I was set up as the Hellenes’ spear-prize, to test the courage of the Trojans; or rather not me, but my name. Hermes caught me up in the folds of the air and
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hid me in a cloud—for Zeus was not neglectful of me—and he set me down here in the house of Proteus, having selected the most self-controlled of all mankind, so that I might keep my bed pure for Menelaos. And so I am here, while my wretched husband
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has gathered an army and gone over to the towers of Ilion to hunt down and recover me. And many lives have been lost for my sake by the streams of Skamandros; and I who have endured all this am accursed, and have in appearance betrayed my husband
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and brought a great war to the Hellenes. Why then am I still alive? I heard the god Hermes declare that I would yet live in the glorious country of Sparta, with my husband—for Hermes knew I never went to Ilion—so that I would not go to bed with another man.
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Well, as long as Proteus saw this light of the sun, I was safe from marriage; but now that he is hidden in the dark earth, the dead man’s son hunts after a marriage with me. But I, out of regard to my husband of long ago, am throwing myself down as a suppliant before this tomb of Proteus,
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for him to keep my bed safe for my husband, so that, if I bear a name infamous throughout Hellas, at least my body may not incur disgrace here.
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Who holds power over this fortified house? The dwelling is worthy of comparison with Ploutos’,
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its royal enclosures and towering buildings. Ah! Oh gods, what sight is here? I see the hateful deadly likeness of the woman who ruined me and all the Achaeans. May the gods spurn you, so much do you look like
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Helen! If I were not in a foreign land, you would have died by this well-aimed arrow as a reward for your likeness to the daughter of Zeus.
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What is it, poor man—who are you, that you have turned away from me and loathe me for the misfortunes of that one?
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I was wrong; I gave way to my anger more than I should, for all Hellas hates that daughter of Zeus. Forgive me for what I said, lady.
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Who are you? Where have you come from, to visit this land?
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I am one of those unfortunate Achaeans, lady.
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Then it is no wonder that you loathe Helen. But who are you and where do you come from? Whose son should I call you?
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My name is Teucer, my father is Telamon, and Salamis is the land that nurtured me.
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Then why are you visiting these lands of the Nile?
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I am an exile, driven out of my native land.
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You must be unhappy! Who banished you from your fatherland?
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My father Telamon. Could you find anyone closer to me?
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But why? This matter is surely an unfortunate one.
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The death of my brother Aias at Troy was my ruin.
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How so? You didn’t take his life with your sword, did you?
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He threw himself on his own sword and died.
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Was he mad? For what sensible man would dare such a thing?
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Do you know a certain Achilleus, the son of Peleus?
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Yes; he came to woo Helen once, so I hear.
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When he died, he left a contest for his armor to his allies.
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Well, if he did, what harm is this to Aias?
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When someone else got the arms, he took his own life.
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Then are you ill through his suffering?
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Yes, because I did not die together with him.
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So you went to the famous city of Ilion, stranger?
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Yes, and by helping to sack it, I destroyed myself as well.
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Has it already been set alight and completely consumed by fire?
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So that not even a trace of the walls is evident.
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O miserable Helen! Because of you, the Phrygians have been destroyed.
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And also the Achaeans; great evils have been committed.
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How long is it since the city was sacked?
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Almost seven years have gone full circle, with their harvests.
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And how much longer were you waiting at Troy?
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For many months; the moon held its course through ten years.
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And did you capture the Spartan woman?
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Menelaos caught her by the hair to drag her away.
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Did you yourself see the wretched creature? Or do you speak from hearsay?
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I saw her with my own eyes, just as I see you, no less.
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Consider whether you had some fancy, sent by the gods.
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Think of some other topic, not that woman still!
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Are you so sure this fancy was reliable?
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I saw it with my own eyes; and the mind has sight.
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Is Menelaos already at home with his wife?
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No; he is neither in Argos nor by the streams of the Eurotas.
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Alas! This is evil news for those to whom you bring it.
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He is said to have disappeared with his wife.
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Wasn’t there the same passage for all the Argives?
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Yes; but a tempest scattered them in every direction.
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On which surface of the salty ocean?
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While they were crossing the Aegean in mid-channel.
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And from that time does no one know of Menelaos’ arrival?
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No one; but throughout Hellas he is reported to be dead.
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I am wholly lost. Is the daughter of Thestius alive?
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You speak of Leda? She is dead and gone, indeed.
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It wasn’t Helen’s disgraceful fame that killed her, surely?
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Yes, they say she tied a noose around her noble neck.
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Are the sons of Tyndareus still alive or not?
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They are dead, and not dead: it is a double story.
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Which report is the stronger? I am so unhappy at these evils!
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Men say that they are gods in the likeness of stars.
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That is good news; but what is the other story?
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That they killed themselves because of their sister. But enough of such talk! I do not need to grieve twice. As to why I came to this royal palace,
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wanting to see the prophetess Theonoe, you be my patron, so I might obtain an oracle: how I should steer a favorable course to the island of Cyprus, where Apollo has declared I am to live, giving it the island name of
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Salamis in honor of that fatherland over there.
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The voyage itself will explain that, stranger; leave this land and escape, before the son of Proteus, the ruler of this land, catches sight of you; now he is away with his trusty hounds tracking his savage quarry to the death;
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for he kills every visitor from Hellas that he catches. Do not seek to learn his reason, and I will not say; for how could I help you?
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Lady, you have spoken well. May the gods grant you a return for your kindness!
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Although you have a body like Helen’s, your heart is not like hers, but very different. May she die miserably, and never reach the streams of Eurotas! But may you always have good fortune, lady.
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Oh, as I begin the great lament of my great distress,
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what mourning shall I strive to utter? or what Muse shall I approach with tears or songs of death or woe? Alas!
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Winged maidens, virgin daughters of Earth, the Sirens, may you come to my mourning
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with Libyan flute or pipe or lyre, tears to match my plaintive woes; grief for grief and mournful chant for chant, may Persephone send choirs of death
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in harmony with my lamentation, so that she may receive as thanks from me, in addition to my tears, a paean for the departed dead beneath her gloomy roof.
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Beside the deep-blue water
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and on the tangled grass, I happened to be drying purple robes in the sun’s golden blaze near the young reed shoots; from my mistress, from where she cried aloud her misery,
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I heard a sound, a mournful song not fit for the lyre, because she was then shrieking, lamenting with her wails; just as a Naiad nymph, who sends a song of woe ringing over the hills, cries out, under the rocky hollows, with screams
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at the rape of Pan.
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Oh! Oh! Maidens of Hellas, the prey of barbarian sailors! An Achaean sailor
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came, he came bringing tears upon tears to me. Ilion has been destroyed and is left to the enemy’s fire through me, the death-giver, through my name, full of suffering.
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Leda sought death by hanging, in anguish over my disgrace. My husband, after much wandering in the sea, has died and is gone;
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and Castor and his brother, twin glory of their native land, have vanished, vanished, leaving the plains that shook to their galloping horses,
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and the schools of reed-fringed Eurotas, scene of youthful labors.
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Alas, alas! for your mournful fate and destiny, lady! You were fated, fated to have a life full of pain, when Zeus begot you on your mother,

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