[34] In Salamis, filled with the foaming, &c.]—­A striking instance of the artistic value of the Greek chorus in relieving an intolerable strain.  The relief provided is something much higher than what we ordinarily call “relief”; it is a stream of pure poetry and music in key with the sadness of the surrounding scene, yet, in a way, happy just because it is beautiful. (Cf. note on Hippolytus, 1. 732.)

The argument of the rather difficult lyric is:  “This is not the first time Troy has been taken.  Long ago Heracles made war against the old king Laomedon, because he had not given him the immortal steeds that he promised.  And Telamon joined him; Telamon who might have been happy in his island of Salamis, among the bees and the pleasant waters, looking over the strait to the olive-laden hills of Athens, the beloved City!  And they took ship and slew Laomedon.  Yea, twice Zeus has destroyed Ilion!

(Second part.) Is it all in vain that our Trojan princes have been loved by the Gods?  Ganymedes pours the nectar of Zeus in his banquets, his face never troubled, though his motherland is burned with fire!  And, to say nothing of Zeus, how can the Goddess of Morning rise and shine upon us uncaring?  She loved Tithonus, son of Laomedon, and bore him up from us in a chariot to be her husband in the skies.  But all that once made them love us is gone!”

[35] Pools of thy bathing.]—­It is probable that Ganymedes was himself originally a pool or a spring on Ida, now a pourer of nectar in heaven.

[36] Menelaus and Helen.]—­The meeting of Menelaus and Helen after the taking of Troy was naturally one of the great moments in the heroic legend.  The versions, roughly speaking, divide themselves into two.  In one (Little Iliad, Ar. Lysistr. 155, Eur. Andromache 628) Menelaus is about to kill her, but as she bares her bosom to the sword, the sword falls from his hand.  In the other (Stesichorus, Sack of Ilion (?)) Menelaus or some one else takes her to the ships to be stoned, and the men cannot stone her.  As Quintus of Smyrna says, “They looked on her as they would on a God!”

Both versions have affected Euripides here.  And his Helen has just the magic of the Helen of legend.  That touch of the supernatural which belongs of right to the Child of Heaven—­a mystery, a gentleness, a strange absence of fear or wrath—­is felt through all her words.  One forgets to think of her guilt or innocence; she is too wonderful a being to judge, too precious to destroy.  This supernatural element, being the thing which, if true, separates Helen from other women, and in a way redeems her, is for that reason exactly what Hecuba denies.  The controversy has a certain eternal quality about it:  the hypothesis of heavenly enchantment and the hypothesis of mere bad behaviour, neither of them entirely convincing!  But the very curses of those that hate her make a kind of superhuman atmosphere about Helen in this play; she fills the background like a great well-spring of pain.