The Trojan Women (966-1055)

O my royal mistress, defend your children’s and your country’s cause, bringing to nothing her persuasive arguments, for she pleads well in spite of all her villainy; this is monstrous!

First I will take up the cause of those goddesses,

and prove how she perverts the truth. For I can never believe that Hera or the maiden Pallas would have been guilty of such folly, the one to sell her Argos to barbarians, or that Pallas ever would make her Athens subject to the Phrygians,

coming as they did in mere wanton sport to Ida to contest the palm of beauty. For why should goddess Hera set her heart so much on such a prize? Was it to win a nobler lord than Zeus? or was Athena hunting down among the gods a husband,

she who in her dislike of marriage won from her father the gift of remaining unwed? Do not seek to impute folly to the goddesses, in the attempt to adorn your own sin; never will you persuade the wise. Next you have said—what well may make men jeer—that Cypris came with my son to the house of Menelaus.

Could she not have stayed quietly in heaven and brought you and Amyclae as well to Ilium?

No! my son was exceedingly handsome, and when you saw him your mind straight became your Aphrodite; for every folly that men commit, they lay upon this goddess,

and rightly does her name [*] begin the word for senselessness; so when you caught sight of him in gorgeous foreign clothes, ablaze with gold, your senses utterly forsook you. Yes, for in Argos you had moved in simple state, but, once free of Sparta,

it was your hope to deluge by your lavish outlay Phrygia’s town, that flowed with gold; nor was the palace of Menelaus rich enough for your luxury to riot in.

Enough of this! My son carried you off by force, so you say; what Spartan saw this? what cry for help

did you ever raise, though Castor was still alive, a vigorous youth, and his brother also, not yet among the stars? Then when you had come to Troy, and the Argives were on your track, and the mortal combat had begun, whenever tidings came to you of

Menelaus’ prowess, you would praise him, to grieve my son, because he had so powerful a rival in his love; but if the Trojans prospered, Menelaus was nothing to you. Your eye was fixed on Fortune, and by such practice you were careful to follow in her steps, careless of virtue’s cause.

And then you assert that you tried to let yourself down from the towers by stealth with twisted cords, as if unwilling to stay? Where were you ever found fastening the noose about your neck, or whetting the knife, as a noble wife would have done in regret for her former husband?

And yet often I advised you saying, Get away, daughter; my sons will take other brides, and I will belp you to steal away, and convey you to the Achaean fleet; oh, end the strife between us and Hellas! But this was bitter to you.

For you were wantoning in Alexander’s house, wishing to have obeisance done you by barbarians. Yes, it was a proud time for you; and now after all this you have adorned yourself, and come forth and have dared to appear under the same sky as your husband, revolting wretch!

Better if you had come in tattered raiment, cowering humbly in terror, with hair cut short, and if your feeling for your past sins were one of shame rather than effrontery. Menelaus, hear the conclusion of my argument;

crown Hellas by slaying her as she deserves, and establish this law for all other women: death to every one who betrays her husband.

Avenge yourself, Menelaus, on your wife, as is worthy of your home and ancestors,

clear yourself from the reproach of effeminacy at the lips of Hellas, and let your foes see your spirit.

Your thoughts coincide with mine, that she, without constraint, left my palace, and sought a stranger’s bed, and now Cypris is introduced for mere bluster. Away to those who shall stone you,

and by your speedy death requite the weary toils of the Achaeans, so that you may learn not to bring shame on me!

Oh, by your knees, I implore you, do not impute that heaven-sent affliction to me, or slay me; forgive me!

Do not betray your allies, whose death this woman caused;

on their behalf, and for my children’s sake, I entreat you.

Peace, revered lady; to her I pay no heed. I bid my servants take her away, aboard the ship, in which she is to sail.

Oh never let her set foot within the same ship as you.

Why is that? is she heavier than before?

The one who loves once, must love always.

Why, that depends how those we love are minded. But your wish shall be granted; she shall not set foot upon the same ship with me; for your advice is surely sound;

and when she comes to Argos she shall die a shameful death as is her due, and impress the need of chastity on all women. No easy task; yet shall her fate strike their foolish hearts with terror, even though they are more lost to shame than she. Exit Menelaus, dragging Helen with him.