many a weary league by land, and on the road I passed many a shrine of
Aphrodite. But I never passed them by without lifting up my hands in
prayer to the goddess, for I knew that she could help me if she would,
and I knew that to them that love truly she is ever kind in the end.
But I wandered till I was footsore and weary, and yet I had no sign.
At length I came to the seashore, and took ship for the pleasant isle
of Cyprus, which is her own dear home. There at last she came to me,
walking on the waves of the sea, As I lay on the shore in the
night-time, I saw her as a great light afar, and she drew near to me
with the foam playing white about her feet. In her hand she bore three
shining golden apples. And she came and stood beside me, and I hid my
eyes at the sight of her beauty. But she spoke to me in a voice that
was soft and kind, and the melody of it touched my heart like the
melody of music.
"'Fear not, Meilanion,' she said; 'I have heard the cry of thy heart.
Here are three apples from mine own apple-tree. If she whom thou
lovest loves thee in return, she cannot resist the spell of their
golden brightness. When thou runnest against her, cast them one by one
into the middle of the course. If she love thee she will turn aside to
pick them up. For her they will be heavy as the gold they seem made
of. For thee they will be light as the fruit whose form they wear.
Farewell, and good luck to thy race.'
"Thereupon darkness came over my eyes, and I could find no words to
thank her. When I awoke I thought it had been a dream, but lo! by my
side upon the sand lay the apples, shining in the sunlight."
"And thy vow?" asked Atalanta. "How camest thou to make such a vow?"
He laughed at her words.
"When a hare is hunted," he said, "thou knowest how he will double and
turn, and take a line he has no mind to pursue to the end. So was it
with me. Long ago in my father's house I heard of thee and of thy
beauty, and how thou couldst cast such a spell upon the hearts of men
that for thy sake they would fling away their lives. And a great
desire came upon me to see this thing for myself, for I could scarce
believe it. So I set forth alone to find thee, and hid my name from
all men as I journeyed, for thus could I be more free to act as seemed
best in mine own eyes. And I saw thee run in a race, and that glimpse
was enough to tell me that I too one day must run with thee. Yet was I
more wary than my rivals. I knew that to come as a suitor was the way
to turn thy heart to stone. Wherefore I pretended to be bound by a
vow, which would bring me as a passing stranger before thee. Canst
thou forgive the lie?"
She smiled into his face.
"It was a daring venture," she said.
"I knew I was as one who treads unknown paths on a moonless night," he
answered. "Yet deep in my heart I felt that when a man desires one
thing on earth above every other--when he loves that thing better than
life itself, he is like to win it in the end, if he walk patiently
step by step in faith. He will win that thing, or death in his
struggle for it; and he is content that so it should be."
Such was the winning of Atalanta. As for the golden apples, she placed
them in a precious casket, and guarded them jealously all her days,
for a memorial of the race that she had failed to win.
Paris and OEnone
When Peleus the mortal married silver-footed Thetis, the fair nymph of
the sea, great was the rejoicing among gods and men; for Peleus was a
brave warrior and a mighty man, and well deserved to have for wife a
child of the Immortals. To his marriage-feast he bade all the gods and
goddesses, and they left their seats on calm Olympus, and came down to
Pelion where he dwelt, a band of shining ones, to do honour to the
mortal whom they loved. One alone of them all he had not asked--Eris,
the black-browed Goddess of Strife, for at his wedding-feast he wished
to have happiness and joy, and no dark looks to mar the gladness of
his board. But he looked to find shame in the heart of one who knew
not shame. As it was, she came unasked, and great was the sorrow that
her coming brought, both to him and to his wife and all the fair land
of Hellas. For she sowed the seed of discord which blossomed to the
blood-red flower of war, in which the mightiest and the best of two
great nations fell through ten long years of strife, and among them
was Achilles, the swiftest and bravest of mortal men, the son whom
Thetis bore to Peleus to be a comfort to him in his old age, and to
succeed him when he died. But as it was, Achilles died in battle far
from his native land, in the prime and flower of his manhood.
Now the manner in which Eris wreaked her vengeance was in this wise.
When the marriage-feast was drawing to its close, and the gladdening
wine had unlocked the lips and opened the hearts of the revellers,
above all the din and clatter there rang through the hall a harsh,
discordant laugh like the rattle of thunder before a storm. A dead
silence fell upon them all, and every eye was turned towards the place
from whence that fearful laugh had come. In the shade of the doorway
stood a tall gaunt figure wrapped all about in black. Above her head
she held a blood-red torch that flickered madly in the breeze, and
cast upon her face the shadow of her wild elf-locks. Her cheeks were
pale as ashes and her lips were thin and blue, but her eyes shone
bright as red-hot coals. When she saw the hall silent and trembling
before her, she laughed aloud once more and waved the torch above her.
"Ha! ha!" she cried. "You give me a cold welcome, my masters. But I am
kinder than you. I give, and take nothing in return. See here, I bring
a seasoning to your feast, and much joy may you have of it."
Thereupon she drew from her bosom an apple all of gold, and hurled it
in their faces on the board. It rolled along the table like a ball of
light, and stopped in the centre before Peleus, the king of the feast.
The eyes of all the guests followed it full of amazement and delight,
for it was wondrous fair to look upon.
"I see you like my gift," cried Eris. "Let her keep it who deserves it
best. Farewell. I stay not where I came unbidden."
Then she turned upon her heel, and strode away into the blackness of
the night.
When she had gone, Peleus put forth his hand and took the apple. It
was all of pure gold, the outermost parts of white gold pale as straw,
and the cheeks of red gold bright as poppies, and across it was
written in shining letters, "For the Fairest."
As Peleus read the words aloud he looked slowly round the board.
"O lady goddesses," he asked, "to which of you shall I give it?"
Thereupon arose a strife of tongues, and all the harmony and
good-fellowship of the feast was gone, for one said one thing and one
another, and each one in her heart wished to have it for her own. But
the claim of three stood out above that of all the rest.
"I am the Queen of Heaven," said Hera, "and the mother of gods and
man. The apple is mine by right."
"I am the giver of knowledge and wisdom," said Pallas Athene, "and
through me all things are perfected, and the wrong is put to right.
The apple should be mine."
"I am the Goddess of Love," said Aphrodite, "I am life itself. My
claim is the best of all."
As Peleus looked on them he knew not to which of them he should give
it, for each in turn seemed fairest. And he was wily withal, and knew
he could not give it to one without angering the other two against
him. So he said,
"O lady goddesses, who am I that I should judge between you? Choose
you your own judge from among the sons of men, and he shall give the
apple to her he deems the fairest."
Then they consulted together, and chose Paris, the son of Priam, King
of Troy; for he was the fairest of all mortal men, and would know how
to judge between them. And they left the halls of Peleus with a smile
upon their lips, but in their hearts was envy and hatred where there
had once been sympathy and love; for the apple of discord had
fulfilled the purpose of her who gave it.
Now Paris was the second son of Priam and Hecuba, and brother of
Hector, the pride of Troy. The night before he was born his mother
dreamed a dreadful dream--that she had given birth to a firebrand
which set all Troy aflame. In terror she sent for her child Cassandra,
the priestess of Apollo, whose word came always true. And she told her
dream, and asked what it could mean. Then Apollo raised from
Cassandra's eyes the veil that hides the future, and she told her
mother the meaning of that dream.
"In mine ears," she cried, "there sounds the din of battle and the
clash of arms. I see round Troy the foe-men's tents, and their ships
drawn up upon the shore. I see Scamander's stream run red with blood.
Through the desolate streets slinks one whose manhood has departed,
and who shuns the eyes of his fellow-men, for he prized a woman's arms
above his country's honour. That man is the son that thou shalt bear,
and he shall be the curse of Troy."
When Priam the king heard these words his heart was filled with anger.
"No son of mine," he cried, "shall bring shame and destruction on my
city. When the child is born he shall be cast out upon the mountains
to die ere his eyes can see the light."
So, notwithstanding his mother's entreaties, as soon as the child was
born he was given to Agelaus the herdsman to cast out upon the hills.
And he took him up to Gargarus, the topmost peak of Ida, and there he
left him to die of cold and hunger, or to be torn in pieces by the
beasts of prey.
But when the Fates have spoken, their word shall surely come to pass,
whatever man may do. And so it fell out now. A she-bear, whose cubs
the hunters had killed, found the child, and for five days and five
nights she suckled him, and kept him safe and warm. On the sixth day
Agelaus passed that way once more, looking to find the child dead, if
any trace of him remained. But lo! nestled in the moss and fallen
leaves, the babe lay sweetly sleeping. Then he marvelled greatly in
his heart.
"Surely," he thought, "this can be no common babe, and it is the will
of Heaven that he should live."
So he picked him up in his arms, and carried him home to his wife, for
long had they prayed the gods in vain for children. And they brought
him up as their own son, and called his name Paris. As soon as he
could walk, he would go out with his foster-father on the mountains,
and keep watch over the flocks and herds, and he grew to be a tall and
comely lad. For he breathed the pure sweet air of heaven, and bathed
in Ida's rippling streams. Nor did he lack courage and strength
withal. If ever a mountain lion, made bold by hunger, came down upon
the flocks and carried off a sheep or a goat, whilst the herdsmen fled
in terror for their lives, he would up and fight him single-handed
with his knife and his shepherd's staff, and it was not the lion that
came off best in that fight. So famous did he become for his strength
and prowess that all about the countryside men called him Alexander,
defender of men.
Now it came to pass one summer's day that he had walked for many a
long mile across the treeless downs, and at length he turned, hot and
thirsty, into the shade of the forest. Soon he came upon a mountain
stream that danced foaming over the stones, and he drank of its waters
gladly, and bathed in a clear brown pool; then, tired out, he cast
himself upon the bank and fell asleep.
When he awoke, the trunks of the pine-trees stood out purple against
the sunset, and the evening light cast over all things a glamour of
mystery. He rubbed his eyes, thinking he must still be dreaming; for
out of the stream beside him there rose a wondrous form of a maiden
clad all in misty white. Her hair was like fallen beech-leaves when
the sun shines on them through the trees, and her eyes were like the
changing river that reflects the light of heaven. She stood before him
motionless, and gazed down upon him where he lay.
"O most wonderful," he whispered, "who art thou?"
"I am OEnone," she answered, and her voice was like the music of the
brook--"OEnone, the daughter of Cebren, the river god, whose stream
runs dancing at your feet from the side of wooded Ida. O fairest of
mortals, I am lonely in these mountain glades; let me watch thy flocks
with thee."
Then she came towards him with both her hands outstretched. And
Paris took her cool white hands in his. Fair as the crescent moon, she
bent over him and raised him from his knees, and they looked deep into
each other's eyes and loved, as the young and pure alone can love.
From that day forth they watched his flocks together on the wooded
slopes, and wandered hand in hand through the forests and across the
smooth green lawns of Ida.
[Illustration: Out of the stream beside him there rose a wondrous form
of a maiden clad all in misty white.]
Meanwhile, since the day when Priam had given his child to be exposed
upon the mountains, many a circling year had passed, and the day drew
near on which, if his son had lived, he would have held great games
and feasted in honour of his reaching years of manhood. And Priam's
heart within him smote him when he thought of the innocent babe, and
he cast about in his mind how he yet might do him honour.
"Perchance I acted hastily," he thought, "and by care and good example
my son might after all have been a blessing to his city and to me. But
the dead are dead, and I cannot call him back to life. Yet will I
honour him as best I may, that in the world below they may know he is
a king's son and not utterly forgotten."
So he ordered great funeral games to be held in honour of his son, who
had died without a name upon the mountains. Far and wide throughout
the land the tidings went, and the lists were made ready, and rich
prizes brought together for the victors. Among them was to be a bull,
the strongest and finest from all the herds of Priam. The herdsmen
drove down their finest cattle to the city for the king himself to
chose, and he choose out a mighty beast which Agelaus had bred and
reared. Now it chanced that this bull was the favourite of Paris out
of all the cattle under his charge, and he loved him as some men love
a dog. When he heard that Agelaus had given him to be a prize in the
games, he waxed exceeding wrath.
"If he is to be any man's prize," he cried, "I shall be that man."
But Agelaus laughed at him.
"Who art thou," he said, "a foundling and a shepherd's foster-son, to
enter in the lists against the sons of kings?"
"Sons of kings or sons of crows, I care not," he answered. "My arms
are as strong and my feet are as swift as theirs any day. I shall
enter for the lists."
The old man chuckled at his words, for he loved the lad, and was proud
of his strength and beauty.
"The gods be praised!" he muttered. "The mountain air has not dulled
his spirit, nor dried up the royal blood in his veins."
But OEnone was sad when she heard of his resolve.
"Ah, Paris," she begged, "as thou lovest me, leave me not to enter for
these games."
"But I will come back to thee, beloved. What difference can it make?"
he asked.
"In my heart pale fear is sitting," she replied. "I know that if thou
goest, it will be the beginning of woes for thee, and for me, and for
all thy native land."
"Nay, thou art over fearful. Thou shalt see, I will come back with my
bull, and thou and I will be happy together, as we have always been."
"Paris," she said, "that I know will never be, if once thou joinest in
the games. I can see but dimly into the future, but this much at least
I know: that if thou goest, war shall beat about the walls of Troy
like a wave of the sea, and from the midst of the battle I see thee
earned forth wounded unto death. Ah, Paris, leave the bull for a
weaker man, and go not down!"
"Nay, I cannot hearken to such foolishness. What war can come if I go
to Troy for the sake of a bull?"
"The cause of the war I know not, but come it surely will. O Paris, in
that day come back to me, and I will heal thee of thy hurt! I know the
use of herbs, for many a strange charm has my father taught me, and if
any life is left in thee, I will call it back. But best of all, stay
with me now, and go not down to the games."
And, weeping, she threw her arms about his neck; but nothing she could
say would stop him.
So when the day came he went down into the city, and entered for the
lists with the flower of the land, and all the folk marvelled who he
might be. For he was tall and exceeding fair, and they had never seen
his face before. When the turn came for his match, he set his teeth
and wrestled like a young lion, for the bull that was the pride of his
flock; and the strength of his adversaries was turned to weakness.
With joy in his heart, he came forward to take his prize; and a loud
cheer rose to heaven, for the people were glad that he had won. And
the king's heart went out to him as he gave the prize, for he was the
age his son would have been had he lived.
"Young man," he said, "who art thou, and who is thy father?"
"I am Paris, the foster-son of Agelaus the herdsman," he answered.
"Is thine own sire dead, then?" asked Priam.
"O king, thou askest me riddles I cannot answer," said Paris, "seeing
I know not even who mine own sire may be."
"This is a strange matter," said the king, and in spite of himself his
heart beat fast within him.
Now Cassandra the prophetess, his daughter, was standing by his side,
and the time had come for her to speak.
"O king," she said, "thou hast not far to seek for the father of this
lad."
"What meanest thou?" said Priam.
"Put thy hands upon the lad's shoulders, and look into his eyes, and
thou shalt see the image of his father," she answered.
Trembling between hope and fear, the old king bent forward from his
seat and put his hands upon the young man's shoulders.
"Can it be--can it really be my son?" he asked.
"Thy son he is," replied Cassandra, "and no other man's. The Fates
decreed that he should live, and he has lived."
"My son, my son!" cried the king, and fell upon his neck. "How I have
longed for thee, and my soul has been weighed down with the burden of
thy death! Now in mine old age the gods have given thee back to me,
and my heart is glad. For thou art brave and fair, my son, and any
father would be proud of thee, nor fear that ever thou shouldst bring
dishonour on the land."
Once again the old man fell upon his neck and kissed him; and Hecuba,
his mother, held him in her arms, and wept tears of joy over the
child she had given up for dead. His brothers and his sisters crowded
round, and all the people; and some raised him on their shoulders, and
with songs and shouts of joy they took him to the palace of Priam.
There they clothed him in rich raiment, as befitted a king's son, and
held a great feast in his honour; for every man was glad that one so
fair and noble had been spared to bring honour to the land of Troy.
Cassandra alone sat silent amidst the revelry, for her heart was cut
in two. When she looked upon her brother's fair young face, she was
glad that he had lived; yet ever before her eyes there floated the
vision she had seen the night before he was born--a vision of war,
unmanliness and death--and she knew that vision would come true. When
she thought of it she shuddered and almost wished him dead, and in her
heart she cursed that fatal gift of prophecy which brought her nought
but grief. Verily in her case knowledge was not a thing of joy.
When the guests had departed, the old king took his son aside.
"I have set a place apart for thee, my son," he said, "and from this
day forth thou must live with thy kinsfolk in the palace."
"I will live with thee right gladly, my father," he answered, "but my
days I will spend upon the mountains as of yore, and keep watch over
thy flocks and herds. For I love the beasts and the mountain air, and
methinks in a city I should pine for want of my old free life."
The form of OEnone rose up before his eyes; but that he hid from his
father.
"Thou mayest live as best pleases thee, my son," said Priam, "and I
will give thee many goodly flocks and herds of cattle for thine own."
So it came to pass that, though Paris was a prince and son of the King
of Troy, there was small change in his manner of life, save that now
he lived in his father's palace instead of the herdsman's hut. For in
those days it was thought no shame even for a prince to be a shepherd,
and keep watch over his own flocks and herds.
It was soon after this that the strife arose among the goddesses about
the apple that Eris had cast in their midst at the marriage-feast of
Peleus. And Zeus sent down Iris, the swift-footed messenger of Heaven,
to tell Paris of the charge that was laid on him, and to bear him the
golden apple. Down the path of the rainbow she sped, the road whereby
she always went to and fro betwixt gods and men. Her shining robes
flew out behind her, and the wings upon her feet and shoulders glanced
like lightning in the sky. At early dawn, while the dew lay bright
upon the ground, she came and stood in the path as Paris was driving
his flocks to pasture. In one hand she held the staff that Zeus had
given her, to show she was the messenger of Heaven, and in the other
she held the golden apple.
"O fairest of mortals," she said, "I have been sent to thee by Zeus,
who rules on high. In heaven there is war between the three great
goddesses as to which of them shall have the prize for beauty, this
apple thou seest in mine hand. And they have appointed thee to be the
judge between them. Hold thyself ready, then, for this day at noon
they will come to thee here on the lonely heights of Ida."
She spoke, and threw the apple to him, and he caught it deftly, as a
player catches a ball. And wind-footed Iris sped back by the rainbow
path as swift as she had come.
"This is passing strange," thought Paris, as he gazed at the apple in
his hand, and read the words inscribed upon it--"For the Fairest."
There it lay, smooth and shining, a sure token that he had not been
dreaming. So he took it and showed it to OEnone, and told her what
Iris, the messenger of the gods, had said to him. When OEnone heard
it she was filled with fear.
"Cast it at their feet, Paris, when they come to thee," she begged,
"and say thou canst not set thyself up to be a judge of the
Immortals."
"Nay, that would anger them against me," he said; for in his heart he
was proud to have been chosen out of all the sons of men.
"I tell thee it will bring thee trouble if thou doest it, and to me
sorrow unspeakable," said she.
"Did the winning of the bull bring sorrow either to thee or to me?" he
asked scornfully.
OEnone was silent under his rebuke, though she knew her foreboding
would come true. When the sun was almost high in the heavens, she came
to him softly where he lay on the grass and kissed his hand.
"Zeus grant thee wisdom in thy judgment, Paris," she said, and glided
away swiftly through the trees, that he might not see the tears in her
eyes.
Then his heart smote him for his scornful words, and he rose up
hastily from the ground and called to her,
"OEnone, OEnone!"
But she answered him not, and when he looked for her among the trees,
he could find no trace of her. Now it was close upon noon, and he
hastened back to the glade, where Iris had bidden him stay, and waited
for the coming of the goddesses. In the clear bright light of noontide
they came and stood before him in the shade of the forest trees; and
he fell on his knees before them, filled with wonder and awe, and cast
his eyes upon the ground, for he was afraid to look upon such majesty
and beauty. Thereupon they drew near to him and bade him not be
afraid, but rise and give his judgment. So he rose from his knees and
looked upon them; and minute after minute passed, while still he
gazed, for he could not make up his mind, so passing fair was each.
"Ah, lady goddesses," he said at last, "take the apple and divide it
into three, for I cannot say who is the fairest among you."
"Nay, that may not be," they said; "thou must give it to one, and one
alone."
As he still hesitated, Hera spoke.
"Look well upon me, Paris," she said. "I am the Queen of Heaven, and
wife of Zeus almighty, and all power and might is in my hands. I can
give thee kingship and sovereignty, and dominion over many peoples.
See to it that my might is for thee, and not against."
As she spoke his heart turned cold with fear, and from terror he would
have given her the apple. But as he was about to stretch forth his
hand, Pallas Athene spoke.
"O Paris, what is power without wisdom? Purple and gold, and to sit
where others kneel--all these things make not a king. But to walk by
the light of knowledge where others grope in darkness--this can make
a slave a ruler of kings. This can I give thee."
Then the voice of reason within him prompted him to give the apple to
her; but once again he was withheld, as Aphrodite spoke.
"Power and wisdom, Paris? What are these but empty words at which men
vainly grasp? I can give thee that which all men covet--the fairest of
women for thine own."
The music of her voice made the blood rush like fire through his
veins, and his heart was melted within him.
"O Aphrodite," he cried, and fell at her feet, "thou art fairest.
Beside love, what is power, what is wisdom? I give thee the apple, O
thou fairest among the fair!"