Η ΩΡΑΙΑ ΕΛΕΝΗ ΜΕΤΑΞΥ ΣΟΒΑΡΟΥ ΚΑΙ ΑΣΤΕΙΟΥ

 

 Η Άννα Συνοδινού ως  Ελένη στο ομώνυμο

έργο του Ευριπίδη, σε παράσταση του Εθνικού Θεάτρου, το 1962.

Γοργίου, "Ελένης εγκώμιον"

(20) πῶς οὖν χρὴ δίκαιον ἡγήσασθαι τὸν τῆς Ἑλένης μῶμον, ἥτις εἴτ' ἐρασθεῖσα εἴτε λόγῳ πεισθεῖσα εἴτε βίᾳ ἁρπασθεῖσα εἴτε ὑπὸ θείας ἀνάγκης ἀναγκασθεῖσα ἔπραξεν ἃ ἔπραξε, πάντως διαφεύγει τὴν αἰτίαν; (21) ἀφεῖλον τῷ λόγῳ δύσκλειαν γυναικός, ἐνέμεινα τῷ νόμῳ ὃν ἐθέμην ἐν ἀρχῇ τοῦ λόγου· ἐπειράθην καταλῦσαι μώμου ἀδικίαν καὶ δόξης ἀμαθίαν, ἐβουλήθην γράψαι τὸν λόγον Ἑλένης μὲν ἐγκώμιον, ἐμὸν δὲ παίγνιον.

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(20) Πώς λοιπόν μπορεί κανείς να θεωρήσει δίκαιη τη μομφή εναντίον της Ελένης αφού, είτε ερωτεύτηκε, είτε πείσθηκε με λόγια, είτε αρπάχτηκε με τη βία, είτε εξαναγκάστηκε από θεϊκή ανάγκη και έκανε ό,τι έκανε, οπωσδήποτε απαλλάσσεται από την κατηγορία;

 (21) Με το λόγο μου απάλλαξα από τη δυσφήμηση μιά γυναίκα· έμεινα πιστός στους όρους που έθεσα στην αρχή του λόγου· δοκίμασα να καταλύσω την αδικία της μομφής και την αμάθεια της πεποίθησης· θέλησα να γράψω τον λόγο ως εγκώμιο της Ελένης και δικό μου παιχνίδι.

Μετ. Π. Καλλιγά

[από το βιβλίο Η Αρχαία Σοφιστική, Ν.Μ. Σκουτερόπουλος, ΓΝΩΣΗ 1991]

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 Jacques-Louis David. Ο έρωτας του Πάρη και της ωραίας Ελένης. 1788.

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*Ελένη (μυθολογία) - Βικιπαίδεια*

 

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Η ΩΡΑΙΑ ΕΛΕΝΗ

Οπόταν τα ανθρώπινα καταρασθεί η μοίρα,
λαμβάνει και το πήδημα του ψύλλου χαρακτήρα
σπουδαίον΄αν πυρέσσει δε και νους και φαντασία
πολλά συμβαίνουσι κακά και πλείονα γελοία.
Εκλόνισε την παλαιάν Ελλάδα της Ελένης
η αρπαγή΄ολίσθημα μιας "παραλυμένης"
εκρίθη συμφορά κοινή΄διό (=γι΄αυτό) κατά των Τρώων
ωπλίσθησαν σαν αστακοί το άνθος των ηρώων,
ενώ Ελέναι εκατόν (δεν λέγω πλειοτέρας)
κρυφίως θα επρύμνισαν (= έφυγαν με το πλοίο) εκείνας τα ημέρας
με τους καλούς των εραστάς, και δι΄αυτάς με ζήλον
ούτ΄εκινήθησαν στρατοί και στόλοι, ουδέ φύλλον.Αλλά φαιδροί και σκωπτικοί εγέλασαν ολίγον
διαβολικώς οι γείτονες στην μύτην των συζύγων.

Θεόδωρος Ορφανίδης (1817-1886)

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  Sara Teasdale

(1884-1933)

Helen of Troy

Wild flight on flight against the fading dawn

The flames' red wings soar upward duskily.

This is the funeral pyre and Troy is dead

That sparkled so the day I saw it first,

And darkened slowly after. I am she

Who loves all beauty -- yet I wither it.

Why have the high gods made me wreak their wrath --

Forever since my maidenhood to sow

Sorrow and blood about me? Lo, they keep

Their bitter care above me even now.

It was the gods who led me to this lair,

That tho' the burning winds should make me weak,

They should not snatch the life from out my lips.

Olympus let the other women die;

They shall be quiet when the day is done

And have no care to-morrow. Yet for me

There is no rest. The gods are not so kind

To her made half immortal like themselves.

It is to you I owe the cruel gift,

Leda, my mother, and the Swan, my sire,

To you the beauty and to you the bale;

For never woman born of man and maid

Had wrought such havoc on the earth as I,

Or troubled heaven with a sea of flame

That climbed to touch the silent whirling stars

And blotted out their brightness ere the dawn.

Have I not made the world to weep enough?

Give death to me. Yet life is more than death;

How could I leave the sound of singing winds,

The strong sweet scent that breathes from off the sea,

Or shut my eyes forever to the spring?

I will not give the grave my hands to hold,

My shining hair to light oblivion.

Have those who wander through the ways of death,

The still wan fields Elysian, any love

To lift their breasts with longing, any lips

To thirst against the quiver of a kiss?

Lo, I shall live to conquer Greece again,

To make the people love, who hate me now.

My dreams are over, I have ceased to cry

Against the fate that made men love my mouth

And left their spirits all too deaf to hear

The little songs that echoed through my soul.

I have no anger now. The dreams are done;

Yet since the Greeks and Trojans would not see

Aught but my body's fairness, till the end,

In all the islands set in all the seas,

And all the lands that lie beneath the sun,

Till light turn darkness, and till time shall sleep,

Men's lives shall waste with longing after me,

For I shall be the sum of their desire,

The whole of beauty, never seen again.

And they shall stretch their arms and starting, wake

With "Helen!" on their lips, and in their eyes

The vision of me. Always I shall be

Limned on the darkness like a shaft of light

That glimmers and is gone. They shall behold

Each one his dream that fashions me anew; --

With hair like lakes that glint beneath the stars

Dark as sweet midnight, or with hair aglow

Like burnished gold that still retains the fire.

Yea, I shall haunt until the dusk of time

The heavy eyelids filled with fleeting dreams.

I wait for one who comes with sword to slay --

The king I wronged who searches for me now;

And yet he shall not slay me. I shall stand

With lifted head and look within his eyes,

Baring my breast to him and to the sun.

He shall not have the power to stain with blood

That whiteness -- for the thirsty sword shall fall

And he shall cry and catch me in his arms,

Bearing me back to Sparta on his breast.

Lo, I shall live to conquer Greece again!