Folklore and Magic at Odyssey 4.271–289

Menelaus’ story about Helen, related to Telemachus, Peisistratus, and Helen herself in the fourth book of the Odyssey, has been widely discussed in conjunction with its pair, Helen’s own story about her secret meeting with Odysseus at Troy (Odyssey 4.242–259), recounted immediately before Menelaus’ narrative. [2] By general consensus, the stories are closely connected through parallel structure as well as common themes and function. They serve to praise Odysseus’ virtues to Telemachus, anticipate patterns in the story of Odysseus’ homecoming, and reveal much about the speakers’ character and their relationship. [3] Menelaus’ story in particular has been generally considered a thinly covered attack on Helen and a token of the tension in the couple’s marriage, [4] as, since antiquity, Helen’s activity around the Wooden Horse has been interpreted as a sign of her deceitfulness. It is taken for granted that Helen’s purpose is to harm the hidden warriors by coaxing them into revealing themselves.

However, the prevailing perception of Helen’s activity as hostile to the Greeks has largely been shaped by Menelaus’ own perspective, which is influenced by his distrust of his unfaithful wife. His past anxiety and present resentment at Helen’s perceived attempt to undermine the Greeks are obvious in his emotional, second-person narrative. [5] He is still convinced now, as he was then, that Helen’s coming to the Wooden Horse was an unquestionably hostile action, for the sake of the Trojans: κελευσέμεναι δέ σ’ ἔμελλε / δαίμων, ὃς Τρώεσσιν ἐβούλετο κῦδος ὀρέξαι (Odyssey 4.274–275). His apprehension is further established through his description of Odysseus’ handling of the situation as lifesaving (σάωσε) and attribution of Helen’s departure to Athena, protectress of the Greeks. Accordingly, scholarly criticism has largely concentrated on Helen’s famous mimophony; justifiably so, since this is the most sensational of her actions and the one apparently directly affecting the men inside the Horse. But the connection of Helen’s mimicry to her other actions, the encircling and touching of the Horse, has remained largely unexplored. [6]

Menelaus’ story elicits no comments from his audience, not even from Helen herself. Telemachus only makes a brief comment concerning his father and concludes the scene by suggesting that it is time to go to bed (Odyssey 4.291–295). Apart from the implicit bitterness in Menelaus’ narrative and the hint of embarrassment in Telemachus’ clumsy ending of the conversation, there is no textual guidance regarding the significance of Helen’s extraordinary actions or their evaluation, neither by the characters nor by the poet. Secondary as well as primary narratees are left to their own resources and opinions, not only with regard to Helen’s actions, but also as to the many loose ends in Menelaus’ story. For example, why did only Menelaus, Diomedes, and Anticlus feel the temptation to respond to Helen’s calling, while all the others remained quiet? Did Helen’s voice affect only some of the men? Or did it affect different men in different ways? And why?

Furthermore, while the traditional view of a perfidious Helen has not been challenged, [7] some critics have expressed uneasiness about the disparity between Helen’s perceived purpose and the intricacy of her method, [8] and at least one critic has pointed out that Helen acts out of character in this scene. [9] The undisputed uncanniness and incomprehensibility of the whole scene have been casually attributed to the folkloristic, fairy-tale and magical nature of Helen’s performance. [10]

The possibility strongly suggests itself that Menelaus’ story is open to alternative interpretations. [11] In this paper I explore this possibility by focusing on the substratum of folklore and magic underlying the scene. By taking a comparative approach, using parallels from ancient magical practice, international folktales, and folklore found in Greek literature, I aim to review the signification and pragmatic function of each of Helen’s actions and show how they interrelate to form a complex ritual, intended to protect the Greeks.

The discussion that follows rests on the assumption that Helen knows of the ruse of the Wooden Horse. [12] In her account of her secret meeting with Odysseus, Helen says plainly that he revealed all the Greeks’ plans to her (Odyssey 4.256): καὶ τότε δή μοι πάντα νόον κατέλεξεν Ἀχαιῶν. There is no reason to assume that the stratagem of the Wooden Horse was not among them. According to Proclus’ summary of the Little Iliad (Chrestomathy 4–5), [13] the structure was already complete before Odysseus’ meeting with Helen.

Helen’s triple circumambulation around the Wooden Horse represents an ancient folk ritual that was widely practiced in various cultures throughout the ancient and modern world. This ritual was performed regularly during religious ceremonies, but also on secular occasions at times of communal or personal crisis. The triple, [14] or sevenfold, ritualistic encircling of persons, animals, plants, objects, or places, was believed to create a symbolic circle that placed the entities within it under the influence of the agent. The mere will of the agent was thought sufficient to make this act meaningful and produce the desired results, but the ritual was often complemented by additional elements to strengthen its effect and make it more specific, such as accompanying gestures, the act of carrying objects, the inclusion of animals and the recitation of incantations. While the intention behind the ritual can sometimes be to bind the encircled entity and restrict its movements (which may or may not be a hostile action), reports from various cultures indicate that the ritual was predominantly benign, serving to protect, purify or bestow blessings and honor upon the encircled entity, provided that the direction of the movement was sunwise. Moving in the opposite direction signified a malign influence and was associated with death. [15] The symbolic circles created through ritual circumambulation serve a protective function similar to that of actual magical circles found in folktales and spells, where the circles primarily serve to safeguard individuals or objects from the supernatural forces of evil. [16] The following spell from ancient Egypt is an illustrative example of a protective ritual involving circumambulation:

According to the Egyptologist Robert Ritner, ancient Egyptian civilization was deeply rooted in the notion and physical act of ritual encircling, which was synonymous with “enchanting,” both in the broader notion of “having control over” and in the narrower sense of “protecting.” While there are sporadic instances where the term for “encircling” is used to denote confinement or limitation, the overwhelming majority of paradigms in public and private ceremonies suggest that ritual encircling was primarily perceived as benign. [17] In fact, the words and notions “remedy” and “encirclement” were very closely associated. [18]

Helen’s magical actions in the fourth book of the Odyssey exemplify the close association between remedies and circles and the benign connotations of both, as seen in ancient Egyptian culture. Especially so, since the poet is keen to emphasize her connection with Egypt and attribute her knowledge of medicine to it. Helen applies this knowledge benignly, first by administering a drug for forgetfulness to her sorrowful husband and their emotional guests. Her act of providing the remedy is communicated only to the primary narratees. It is an expression of compassion and can be considered through the lens of ancient Egyptian culture, as a therapeutic encircling of the dejected characters:

Helen’s encirclement of the Wooden Horse serves as the second instance of her magical knowledge, which, as it seems, predated her time in Egypt. It is only now that the secondary narratees learn of this knowledge of hers. The same magical procedure as in the administration of the drug is also at work here, only in reverse, the encircling functioning as a remedy for a challenging situation, [19] as Helen creates a protective circle around the Wooden Horse and those within it. Although there is no indication about the direction of Helen’s circular movement (and this is the norm in reports of circumambulation in ancient texts), it is reasonable to assume that she went in the right way, following the sun’s path. Had she gone in the opposite direction the outcome of the war would have been different and Menelaus would not have survived to recount the tale. Her encirclement ensures the Horse’s safety from direct assault and prevents it from moving. [20] Both prophylactic measures are necessary because, as we learn from Demodocus’ song (Odyssey 8. 503–508), even after the Trojans brought the Horse into the city and dragged it to their agora on the acropolis, they were still deliberating whether to pierce it open with their spears or to haul it to the top of the cliffs and cast it down.

Deiphobus’ presence is perplexing. Ιt has been suggested that he is simply accompanying Helen, or that he is the one who coerced her into the inspection of the Wooden Horse, which he closely oversees. [21] However, his position behind her is remarkably intriguing. In parallel scenes within the epics, where one character follows another, the character in front always holds superior authority due to their higher status. For instance, the formula ὣς εἰπὼν ὃ μὲν ἦρχ’, ὃ δ’ ἅμ’ ἕσπετο ἰσόθεος φώς (“He spoke thus and led the way and the man equal to the gods followed”) appears three times in the Iliad referring to lesser heroes following more esteemed ones: Ajax following Menelaus (11.472), Melanippus following Hector (15.599) and Meriones following Patroclus (16.333). In other parts of the Iliad ἕσπετο is used to depict offspring following their parents (4.476 and 13.299–300) and sheep following the ram (13.492). At Iliad 3.420 Helen is compelled to follow Athena who leads the way (ἦρχε) taking her to Paris, and, similarly, to follow (εἵπετ’) Paris to bed (3.447). [22] Therefore, it appears that Deiphobus is following Helen not in an active, dominant capacity, but rather in a passive, subdued state. But for what purpose?

I propose examining Deiphobus’ role in light of two ancient Greek accounts of ritual circumambulation for apotropaic purposes. Herodotus (1.84.3) recounts that the king of Sardis had been advised by the seers of Telmessos that if the lion, born to him by one of his concubines, was carried around the city walls, the city would be invincible (περιενειχθέντος τοῦ λέοντος τὸ τεῖχος ἔσονται Σάρδιες ἀνάλωτοι). The king himself performed the ritual. In a similar tale recounted by Pausanias (9.22.1), Hermes averted a pestilence from Tanagra by carrying a ram around the city walls (λέγουσιν ὡς ὁ Ἑρμῆς σφισιν ἀποτρέψαι νόσον λοιμώδη περὶ τὸ τεῖχος κριὸν περιενεγκών). In both cases the protective effect of the encircling is strengthened by the presence of an animal which, presumably, imparts its qualities to the city and its citizens through the principle of similarity, [23] thereby repelling external threats. Accordingly, it is worth considering the notion that Deiphobus, though he may believe he is supervising Helen, is actually being led by her around the Wooden Horse in support of her protective ritual, akin to the animals carried around cities in the aforementioned examples. The objective would be to transfer his unique attribute, “he who frightens the enemy,” as implied by his name, [24] to the Greek warriors, who, when entering the Horse, were crying and trembling with fear, as we learn from Odysseus at Odyssey 11.527 (δάκρυά τ’ὠμόργνυντο, τρέμον θ’ ὑπὸ γυῖα ἑκάστου). Deiphobus is used by Helen like a homoeopathic remedy to alleviate his own enemies’ fear.

But there may be a more ominous aspect to this. According to Jane Harrison, “In stress of great emergency, of pestilence, of famine, and throughout historical times at the moment before a battle, σφάγια were regularly offered. They seem to have been carried round or through the person or object purified.” [25] According to William Pritchett, the purpose of σφάγια before a battle was “to avoid evil by offering to infernal divinities the blood of a victim in place of that of the prospective combatants.” [26] Is Helen offering Deiphobus as a purifying victim before the battle for the sake of the Greeks? It is a thought worth entertaining, considering her expressed delight at the deaths of Trojans and her confessed change of heart described in her story:

The next mention of Deiphobus occurs at Odyssey 8.517–520, in Demodocus’ song about the fall of Troy. It is to Deiphobus’ house that Odysseus and Menelaus head as soon as they emerge out of the Wooden Horse, seeking their first Trojan victim. In Proclus’ summary of the Sack of Ilion (Chrestomathy 2) Deiphobus is killed by Menelaus: Μενέλαος δὲ ἀνευρὼν Ἑλένην ἐπὶ τὰς ναῦς κατάγει, Δηΐφοβον φονεύσας.

Helen touches the Wooden Horse during her triple circumambulation around it. The fleeting reference to her gesture does not allow for the realization that Helen could not have touched any part of the main body of the structure that was so huge, that, according to Proclus’ summary of the Little Iliad (Chrestomathy 5), the Trojans had to take down a part of their walls to drag it into the city. Its height has been calculated to be approximately 9.074m (around 29.77 feet) from the ground to the top of head. Even if Helen extended her hand as high as possible, it would have barely reached beyond the midpoint of the legs, which have been estimated to be 4.15m (about 13.61 feet) from the ground to the ridge. [27] The repetition of Helen’s motion—touching each leg three times— indicates that her action is deliberate and purposeful, rather than mechanical or exploratory, much like her circumambulation around the Horse. It seems to be intended to affect the Horse’s movement, by reinforcing the restricting and protective effect of her encirclement. [28] We may compare it with instances in ancient Egyptian spells, where the magician or invoked deity would lay their hand on the patient as a protective gesture to ward off harmful influences. The significance of the divine touch in protective spells is evident in the ivory rods ending in a hand, believed to be part of the equipment of Egyptian magicians. [29]

But the manner of Helen’s touch carries a deeper significance. ἀμφαφόωσα implies a quality of stroking and rubbing, as one would do to an actual horse; [30] it is akin to ψηλαφάω, which denotes feeling or groping about, as one would when trying to comprehend an unfamiliar object or person; [31] it also evokes the notion of gentle massaging for therapeutic purposes. [32] Like the act of touching, so rubbing in ancient magico–medical spells can be effective on its own, irrespective of the use of ointments or incantations. In the “ritual of rubbing,” a magico-medical treatment from ancient Mesopotamia, rubbing is an integral part of the procedure, serving not only its non-magical therapeutic purposes but also as a magical means to extract malevolent forces from the body. [33]

Helen’s gesture, therefore, carries a soothing, comforting, reassuring, and therapeutic quality. As such, we may presume, it is not intended for the structure itself but for the warriors concealed within the Wooden Horse and transferred to them by contiguity. [34] By the same principle, Helen’s gesture may serve as a means to identify the men, in the manner of a visually challenged person. But its true impact will be best understood in combination with her last two actions: addressing the men inside the structure by their names and imitating their wives’ voices.

The notion that a person has power over another when knowing and uttering their name is a widespread motif in folklore and magic. [35] The importance of the knowledge of the name of the target (human or divine) for a successful magic spell is foregrounded in a historiola of an ancient Egyptian spell, in which Isis, who wants to heal her poisoned father, the supreme god Re, is unable to work her healing magic, unless he reveals his name to her: “Tell me your name my divine father. A man lives when one recites in his name … A man will live when his name is pronounced.” [36] In the spells of the Greek Magical Papyri that seek to secure assistance from some god, the sorcerer is instructed to pronounce the name of the deity he is invoking, as a means to compel the god to obey him: “Whenever you wish to do something, speak his name alone into the air [and] say: [‘Come!’] and you will see him actually standing near you” [37] (PGM 1.151) Often the person performing the spell stresses that the name he is using is the real name (or names) of the god, implying that this knowledge is unique to him: “[This] is your authoritative name (τοῦτο αὐθεντικόν σου ὄνομα): ARBATH ABAŌTH BAKCHABRĒ” (PGM 1.36). Most important, it is clearly pointed out that the power of this knowledge compels the god to assist the sorcerer (provided of course that the proper rites have been or are performed): “Hearken to me as I pray to you, that you may perform the NN deed because I invoke you by your names (ὅτι ἐνεύχομαί σοι κατὰ τῶν σῶν ὀνομάτων)” (PGM 3.107). Knowing the name, it is implied, is equal to knowing the nature of the god, something that is often openly declared: “Hear me in every ritual which [I perform], and grant all the [petitions] of my prayer completely, because I know (ὅτι οἶδα) your signs, [symbols and] forms, who you are each hour and what your name is (τί σου ὄνομα)” (PGM 3.499–501).

Helen’s knowledge of the men’s names gives her power to control them. She exercises this power by calling each warrior by his name while at the same time applying a stroking gesture, which is transferred from the structure’s surface to the men inside. Helen is, in effect, enacting the well–known formula χειρί τέ μιν κατέρεξεν ἔπος τ’ ἔφατ’ ἔκ τ’ ὀνόμαζεν (“He/she stroked her/him with his/her hand and said a word and called him/her by his/her name”), or its equivalent, ἔν τ’ ἄρα οἱ φῦ χειρί ἔπος τ’ ἔφατ’ ἔκ τ’ ὀνόμαζε (“He/she put his/her hand on him/her and said a word and called him/her by his/her name”). [38] According to Richard Martin these and similar “hand and word” phrases are employed in the epics to introduce mainly type-scenes of welcoming and consolation, as well as in other emotional, intimate conversations. Of the formulas mentioned here he says, in particular, “These introduce motherly, comforting language—Thetis to Achilles (1.361, 19.7, 24.127), Dione to Aphrodite (5.372), Hekabe to Hektor (6.253)—or words between intimates, like Hektor and his wife (6.406, 485).” [39] It is therefore a reasonable inference that Helen aims to encourage and sooth the men by engaging them in a fictitious comforting, welcoming scene. But not with herself.

In addition to using the target’s name to exert control, a magician casting a spell also assumes an identity different than his own, proclaiming to be a powerful being, often a god, superior to the target. This he does by appropriating the name of the entity whose identity he assumes while performing the appropriate rites. It is believed that this new identity will compel the target to submit to the sorcerers’ will: “May they say to me an answer to everything about which I am asking here today, for I am Harpokrates in Mendes, I am Isis the wise” (PDM 14.752–756). [40]

In the epics, gods employ a reverse procedure by assuming the form and voice of friends and relatives to address and encourage the heroes at crucial moments. As a rule, the poet stresses that the change in form is accompanied by a change in voice, which indicates the importance of voice in identifying a speaker. In the Iliad this pattern consistently leads to a renewal of the heroes’ diminishing courage and consequent action on their part. [41] Similarly, in the Odyssey, Athena assumes the form and voice of Mentes to inspire Odysseus, Telemachus and Laertes. [42]

Helen’s imitation of the wives’ voices is a variation of the patterns observed in magical spells and Homeric epic. Instead of assuming a false name or altering her physical form, Helen adopts a false voice to embody the identity of each man’s wife, [43] as the person most likely to affect him. It is an acknowledged fact in the Iliad that the warriors’ thoughts are preoccupied with their wives. Agamemnon employs the image of wives and children anxiously waiting at home as an emotive appeal to persuade the soldiers to consider abandoning the war (Iliad 2.135): αἳ δέ που ἡμέτεραί τ’ ἄλοχοι καὶ νήπια τέκνα / εἵατ’ ἐνὶ μεγάροις ποτιδέγμεναι (“our wives and small children are sitting at home waiting for us”). Similarly, in the second assembly of the army, Odysseus acknowledges the warriors’ longing for their wives (2.292–293): καὶ γάρ τίς θ’ ἕνα μῆνα μένων ἀπὸ ἧς ἀλόχοιο / ἀσχαλάᾳ σὺν νηῒ πολυζύγῳ (“for if a man stays away from his wife even for a month in the many–benched ship he is distressed.”). Now that the end of the war is near, we may assume that the prospective homecoming and the welcoming by their wives is a comforting thought for the Greeks, and especially for the warriors inside the Wooden Horse, who, as we saw above, are under extreme stress.

By combining the gesture and voice of a welcoming wife, Helen is imitating the welcoming scene to be performed by the warriors’ wives upon their return and transferring the feeling that such a scene would generate to the men inside. [44] Her primary purpose is to comfort and encourage the men, as well as keep them quiet. Additionally, through persuasive analogy, her act is intended to bring about the desired scene in the future. The spell proves effective, as most of the men remain quiet, enveloped by the envisioned scene they long for (Odyssey 4.285): ἔνθ’ ἄλλοι μὲν πάντες ἀκὴν ἔσαν υἷες Ἀχαιῶν. [45] Interestingly, ἀκήν is a result of enchantment (κηληθμός) caused by the tales of Odysseus at Odyssey 11.333–334 and 13.1–2.

The idea of Helen safeguarding the Greeks inside the Horse is further rooted in the rich folkloric substratum of this passage. The story of the Wooden Horse is itself a variation of the folktale motif of the capture of a city by concealed warriors, [46] its most well-known parallel being the Egyptian tale The Capture of Joppa. William Hansen has pointed out the similarities in plot between the legend of the Wooden Horse with another international folktale, The Golden Ram. In this tale, a man (often a soldier) hidden in an artificial animal gains access to a secluded girl, a princess confined by her father, whom he seduces and eventually marries. The girl takes pleasure in the company of the concealed man and is willing to help him. For Hansen, who sees in Helen the secluded princess of the folktale, the two stories derive from the same tradition. [47] Likewise, I would argue that the princess’s constant willingness to help the concealed hero is preserved in Helen’s helpful stance.

It is now time to address a few loose ends. According to the interpretation offered here, Odysseus cannot be unaffected by Helen’s spell, as he, of all men, has a virtuous wife, who will eventually welcome him home. Nevertheless, he seems to be the only one aware of the situation. I would argue that there are two reasons for his awareness. First, that he is the hero renowned for his self-restraint, an ability repeatedly demonstrated during his adventures, but most conspicuously so when he eventually has to face the situation in his palace. He is even capable of restraining his feelings and actually postponing his welcome, when he finally comes face to face with Penelope in an emotional scene:

Moreover, according to Proclus’ summary of the Little Iliad, during his secret visit to Troy, Odysseus actually came to an agreement (συντίθεται) with Helen in organizing the sack of the city: ἀναγνωρισθεὶς ὑφ’ Ἑλένης περὶ τῆς ἁλώσεως τῆς πόλεως συντίθεται (Chrestomathy 4–5). The notion of collaboration conveyed by συντίθεται might indicate that Helen also revealed her plans to Odysseus, who, therefore, is in the know and collaborates with her to keep the men calm. Τhe episode with the Sirens at Odyssey 12.158–200 is a particularly relevant parallel: there, as here, Odysseus is forewarned and, therefore, forearmed. [48]

But the spell does not work on Menelaus nor on Diomedes or Anticlus, who are tempted to respond to the voice they hear and put the Greeks in mortal danger. Since not much is known about Anticlus, I would refrain from straining any interpretation on him. I prefer to see this figure as a foil to Odysseus, representing, as his name indicates, what would have ensued from Menelaus’ and Diomedes’ potential reaction. [49] But it is not a coincidence, I suggest, that Menelaus and Diomedes are husbands who have been betrayed by their wives. [50] Helen’s sympathetic magic cannot take effect since the bond that connected husband and wife is broken and the intimacy that would enable a magical effect exists no more. [51] There will be no welcoming or comforting scene for them, because there are no faithful wives to actualize it. Consequently, Menelaus and Diomedes are not enchanted into experiencing Helen’s imitation of a welcoming scene and her whole ritual has no effect on them. Grounded in their own realities, shaped as they are by the faithlessness of their wives, they are surprised to hear the familiar voices. It is their spontaneous urge to respond that almost drags everybody to their destruction. From the standpoint of the deceived husbands, in retrospect, the voice they heard was as deceitful and dangerous as their treacherous wives, a voice that tried to lure them to their death. This is the standpoint from which Menelaus tells his story, and it is deeply rooted in folklore.

Anyone familiar with the folktale The Wolf and the Seven Kids will readily recognize in Menelaus’ outlook the motif of deceptive imitation of voice with the intention to kill: a predator (usually a wild animal but, in African tales, also a cannibal) gains access to secluded females or young animals by imitating the voice of their guardian. In African tales, where this motif is especially common, the predator also appropriates the communicative mode of the guardian, by overhearing and singing a secret song, known only to the guardian and the secluded parties and serving as password. The importance of the right vocal timbre is stressed in all tales. The predator invariably succeeds the third time, after he has managed to alter his voice so as to sound exactly like the guardian’s. The secluded entities are killed. [52]

This motif is exemplified in classical sources in accounts of the hyena, an animal much abhorred and feared in the ancient world as well as in modern cultures acquainted with it. Due to its anatomy, feeding habits, and extraordinary range of vocalizations, the hyena has been associated with promiscuity, magic, and death (associations implicitly attributed to Helen by Menelaus through his story). As a result, several extraordinary stories have been formulated around these attributes by peoples neighboring the habitats of the animal in Africa and Asia. [53] One particular story, which is repeated by many classical sources and has parallels from modern Africa, relates how the hyena entices and kills people by imitating familiar voices and calling them by name. The story appears in Greek sources as early as the second century BCE, significantly in a work about countries around the Red Sea, [54] but the fullest account is given by Aelian: [55]

Porphyrius (On Abstinence 3.4.30–32) offers the interesting detail that the animal “imitates the voice of the person most dear and in a way that the called one would at all events obey what is said” (καὶ μιμεῖταί γε τοῦ φιλτάτου καὶ ᾧ ἂν πάντως ὑπακούσειεν ὁ κληθεὶς τὸ φθέγμα). Possibly, we may see in this remark the important role that the vocal timbre plays in the broader category of folktales with the deceptive voice motif, to which the hyena story belongs.

The poet has woven together strands from different traditions to create a deliberately ambiguous passage that involves its audiences in the observation of a present weighed down with the past in more than one ways. The gap between Menelaus and Helen seems unbridgeable. But the objective narratee, while remaining sensitive to Menelaus’ perceived reality, forever tainted by Helen’s initial indiscretion, [57] can see in his story an exterior reality, in which Helen plainly displays her change of heart, which she had been openly expressing since her confrontation with Paris at Iliad 3.426–436. The different perspectives are both in Menelaus’ story to be contemplated. At the same time, with its magical aura and folktale elements that can be connected to an Egyptian background, the passage has a distinctively Egyptian colour. Hence, it contributes significantly to the Egyptian and magical aura with which the poet evidently wanted to envelop the Spartan evening, [58] and paves the way for a Spartan morning which is filled with another magical story from Egypt, told, again, by Menelaus.