MENELAUS. No! Not the historians. I want the truth for a change. ANALYTIKOS. The truth! MENELAUS. Where in books can I find escape from the grim reality of being hitched for life to such a wife? Bah! ANALYTIKOS. Philosophy teaches---- MENELAUS. Why have the Gods made woman necessary to man, and made them fools? ANALYTIKOS. For seventy years I have been resolving the problem of woman and even at my age---- MENELAUS. Give it up, old man. The answer is--don't. ANALYTIKOS. Such endless variety, and yet---- MENELAUS [with the conviction of finality]. There are only two sorts of women! Those who are failures and those who realize it. ANALYTIKOS. Is not Penelope, the model wife of your cousin Ulysses, an exception? MENELAUS. Duty is the refuge of the unbeautiful. She is as commonplace as she is ugly. [And then with deep bitterness.] Why didn't he marry Helen when we all wanted her? He was too wise for that. He is the only man I've ever known who seems able to direct destiny. ANALYTIKOS. You should not blame the Gods for a lack of will. MENELAUS [shouting]. Will! Heaven knows I do not lack the will to rid myself of this painted puppet, but where is the instrument ready to my hand? [At this moment a SHEPHERD of Apollonian beauty leaps across the rail of the balcony and bounds into the room. MENELAUS and ANALYTIKOS start back in amazement.] ANALYTIKOS. Who are you? PARIS. An adventurer. ANALYTIKOS. Then you have reached the end of your story. In a moment you will die. PARIS. I have no faith in prophets. ANALYTIKOS. The soldiers of the King will give you faith. Don't you know that it means death for any man to enter the apartments of the Queen? PARIS [looking from one to the other]. Oh! So you're a couple of eunuchs. [Though nearly eighty this is too much for ANALYTIKOS to bear. He rushes to call the guards, but MENELAUS stops him.] PARIS [to ANALYTIKOS]. Thanks. ANALYTIKOS. You thank me for telling you your doom? PARIS. No--for convincing me that I'm where I want to be. It's taken me a long while, but I knew I'd get here. [And then very intimately to MENELAUS.] Where's the Queen? MENELAUS. Where do you come from? PARIS. From the hills. I had come down into the market-place to sell my sheep. I had my hood filled with apples. They were golden-red like a thousand sunsets. MENELAUS [annoyed]. You might skip those bucolic details. PARIS. At the fair I met three ancient gypsies. MENELAUS. What have they to do with you coming here? PARIS. You don't seem very patient. Can't I tell my story in my own way? They asked me for the apple I was eating and I asked them what they'd give for it. MENELAUS. I'm not interested in market quotations. PARIS. You take everything so literally. I'm sure you're easily bored. MENELAUS [with meaning]. I am.