ANALYTIKOS. Have you given her soul a chance to grow?
MENELAUS. Her soul, indeed! It's shut in her rouge pot. [He has been strutting about. Suddenly he sits down crushing a roll of papyrus. He takes it up and in utter disgust reads.] "The perfect hip, its development and permanence." Bah! [He flings it to the floor.] I've done what I had to do, and Gods grant the bait may be sweet enough to catch the Queen.
ANALYTIKOS. If you had diverted yourself with a war or two you might have forgotten your troubles at home.
MENELAUS [frightened]. I detest dissension of any kind—my dream was perpetual peace in comfortable domesticity with a womanly woman to warm my sandals.
ANALYTIKOS. Is not the Queen——?
MENELAUS. No! No! The whole world is but her mirror. And I'm expected to face that woman every morning at breakfast for the rest of my life, and by Venus that's more than even a King can bear!
ANALYTIKOS. Even a King cannot alter destiny. I warn you, whom the Gods have joined together——
MENELAUS [in an outburst]. Is for man to break asunder!
ANALYTIKOS [deeply shocked]. You talk like an atheist.
MENELAUS. I never allow religion to interfere with life. Go call the victim and see that he be left alone with the Queen. [MENELAUS exits and ANALYTIKOS goes over to the door of the library and summons PARIS, who enters clad in a gorgeous robe.]