No More Learning

he is not dead?

_Ap_. Dead.

_Her_. Who killed him? Who could have the heart? That lovely boy!

_Ap_. It was the work of my own hand.

_Her_. You must have been mad!

_Ap_. Not mad; it was an accident.

_Her_. Oh? and how did it happen?

_Ap_. He was learning to throw the quoit, and I was throwing with him.
I had just sent my quoit up into the air as usual, when jealous Zephyr
(damned be he above all winds! he had long been in love with Hyacinth,
though Hyacinth would have nothing to say to him)--Zephyr came
blustering down from Taygetus, and dashed the quoit upon the child's
head; blood flowed from the wound in streams, and in one moment all
was over. My first thought was of revenge; I lodged an arrow in
Zephyr, and pursued his flight to the mountain. As for the child, I
buried him at Amyclae, on the fatal spot; and from his blood I have
caused a flower to spring up, sweetest, fairest of flowers, inscribed
with letters of woe. --Is my grief unreasonable?

_Her_. It is, Apollo. You knew that you had set your heart upon a
mortal: grieve not then for his mortality.

F.




XV

_Hermes. Apollo_


_Her_. To think that a cripple and a blacksmith like him should marry
two such queens of beauty as Aphrodite and Charis!

_Ap_. Luck, Hermes--that is all. But I do wonder at their putting up
with his company; they see him running with sweat, bent over the
forge, all sooty-faced; and yet they cuddle and kiss him, and sleep
with him!

_Her_. Yes, it makes me angry too; how I envy him! Ah, Apollo, you may
let your locks grow, and play your harp, and be proud of your looks; I
am a healthy fellow, and can touch the lyre; but, when it comes to
bedtime, we lie alone.

_Ap_. Well, my loves never prosper; Daphne and Hyacinth were my great
passions; she so detested me that being turned to a tree was more
attractive than I; and him I killed with a quoit. Nothing is left me
of them but wreaths of their leaves and flowers.

_Her_. Ah, once, once, I and Aphrodite--but no; no boasting.

_Ap_. I know; that is how Hermaphroditus is accounted for. But perhaps
you can tell me how it is that Aphrodite and Charis are not jealous of
one another.

_Her_. Because one is his wife in Lemnus and the other in Heaven.
Besides, Aphrodite cares most about Ares; he is her real love; so she
does not trouble her head about the blacksmith.

_Ap_. Do you think Hephaestus sees?

_Her_. Oh, he sees, yes; but what can he do? he knows what a martial
young fellow it is; so he holds his tongue. He talks of inventing a
net, though, to take them in the act with.

_Ap_. Ah, all I know is, I would not mind being taken in that
act.

H.




XVI

_Hera. Leto_


_Hera_. I must congratulate you, madam, on the children with whom you
have presented Zeus.

_Leto_. Ah, madam; we cannot all be the proud mothers of Hephaestuses.

_Hera_. My boy may be a cripple, but at least he is of some use. He is
a wonderful smith, and has made Heaven look another place; and
Aphrodite thought him worth marrying, and dotes on him still. But
those two of yours ! --that girl is wild and mannish to a degree; and
now she has gone off to Scythia, and her doings _there_ are no secret;
she is as bad as any Scythian herself,--butchering strangers and
eating them! Apollo, too, who pretends to be so clever, with his bow
and his lyre and his medicine and his prophecies; those oracle-shops
that he has opened at Delphi, and Clarus, and Dindyma, are a cheat; he
takes good care to be on the safe side by giving ambiguous answers
that no one can understand, and makes money out of it, for there are
plenty of fools who like being imposed upon,--but sensible people know
well enough that most of it is clap-trap. The prophet did not know
that he was to kill his favourite with a quoit; he never foresaw that
Daphne would run away from him, so handsome as he is, too, such
beautiful hair! I am not sure, after all, that there is much to choose
between your children and Niobe's.

_Leto_. Oh, of course; my children are butchers and impostors. I know
how you hate the sight of them. You cannot bear to hear my girl
complimented on her looks, or my boy's playing admired by the company.

_Hera_. His playing, madam! --excuse a smile;--why, if the Muses had
not favoured him, his contest with Marsyas would have cost him his
skin; poor Marsyas was shamefully used on that occasion; 'twas a
judicial murder. --As for your charming daughter, when Actaeon once
caught sight of her charms, she had to set the dogs upon him, for fear
he should tell all he knew: I forbear to ask where the innocent child
picked up her knowledge of obstetrics.

_Leto_. You set no small value on yourself, madam, because you are the
wife of Zeus, and share his throne; you may insult whom you please.
But there will be tears presently, when the next bull or swan sets out
on his travels, and you are left neglected.

F.




XVIII

_Hera. Zeus_


_Hera_. Well, Zeus, I should be ashamed if _I_ had such a son; so
effeminate, and so given to drinking; tying up his hair in a ribbon,
indeed! and spending most of his time among mad women, himself as much
a woman as any of them; dancing to flute and drum and cymbal! He
resembles any one rather than his father.

_Zeus_. Anyhow, my dear, this wearer of ribbons, this woman among
women, not content with conquering Lydia, subduing Thrace, and
enthralling the people of Tmolus, has been on an expedition all the
way to India with his womanish host, captured elephants, taken
possession of the country, and led their king captive after a brief
resistance. And he never stopped dancing all the time, never
relinquished the thyrsus and the ivy; always drunk (as you say) and
always inspired! If any scoffer presumes to make light of his
ceremonial, he does not go unpunished; he is bound with vine-twigs; or
his own mother mistakes him for a fawn, and tears him limb from limb.
Are not these manful doings, worthy of a son of Zeus? No doubt he is
fond of his comforts, too, and his amusements; we need not complain of
that: you may judge from his drunken achievements, what a handful the
fellow would be if he were sober.

_Hera_. I suppose you will tell me next, that the invention of wine is
very much to his credit; though you see for yourself how drunken men
stagger about and misbehave themselves; one would think the liquor had
made them mad. Look at Icarius, the first to whom he gave the vine:
beaten to death with mattocks by his own boon companions!

_Zeus_. Pooh, nonsense. That is not Dionysus's fault, nor the wine's
fault; it comes of the immoderate use of it. Men _will_ drink their
wine neat, and drink too much of it. Taken in moderation, it engenders
cheerfulness and benevolence. Dionysus is not likely to treat any of
his guests as Icarius was treated. --No; I see what it is:--you are
jealous, my love; you can't forget about Semele, and so you must
disparage the noble achievements of her son.

F.




XIX

_Aphrodite_. _Eros_


_Aph_. Eros, dear, you have had your victories over most of the Gods--
Zeus, Posidon, Rhea, Apollo, nay, your own mother; how is it you make
an exception for Athene? against her your torch has no fire, your
quiver no arrows, your right hand no cunning.

_Eros_. I am afraid of her, mother; those awful flashing eyes! she is
like a man, only worse. When I go against her with my arrow on the
string, a toss of her plume frightens me; my hand shakes so that it
drops the bow.

_Aph_. I should have thought Ares was more terrible still; but you
disarmed and conquered him.

_Eros_. Ah, he is only too glad to have me; he calls me to him. Athene
always eyes me so! once when I flew close past her, quite by accident,
with my torch, 'If you come near me,' she called out, 'I swear by my
father, I will run you through with my spear, or take you by the foot
and drop you into Tartarus, or tear you in pieces with my own hands'--
and more such dreadful things. And she has such a sour look; and then
on her breast she wears that horrid face with the snaky hair; that
frightens me worst of all; the nasty bogy--I run away directly I see
it.

_Aph_. Well, well, you are afraid of Athene and the Gorgon; at least
so you say, though you do not mind Zeus's thunderbolt a bit. But why
do you let the Muses go scot free? do _they_ toss their plumes and
hold out Gorgons' heads?

_Eros_. Ah, mother, they make me bashful; they are so grand, always
studying and composing; I love to stand there listening to their
music.

_Aph_. Let them pass too, because they are grand. And why do you never
take a shot at Artemis?

_Eros_. Why, the great thing is that I cannot catch her; she is always
over the hills and far away. But besides that, her heart is engaged
already.

_Aph_. Where, child?

_Eros_. In hunting stags and fawns; she is so fleet, she catches them
up, or else shoots them; she can think of nothing else. Her brother,
now, though he is an archer too, and draws a good arrow--

_Aph_. I know, child, you have hit _him_ often enough.

H.




XX.

THE JUDGEMENT OF PARIS

_Zeus. Hermes. Hera. Athene. Aphrodite. Paris_


_Zeus_. Hermes, take this apple, and go with it to Phrygia; on the
Gargaran peak of Ida you will find Priam's son, the herdsman. Give him
this message: 'Paris, because you are handsome, and wise in the things
of love, Zeus commands you to judge between the Goddesses, and say
which is the most beautiful. And the prize shall be this apple. '--Now,
you three, there is no time to be lost: away with you to your judge. I
will have nothing to do with the matter: I love you all exactly alike,
and I only wish you could all three win. If I were to give the prize
to one of you, the other two would hate me, of course. In these
circumstances, I am ill qualified to be your judge. But this young
Phrygian to whom you are going is of the royal blood--a relation of
Ganymede's,--and at the same time a simple countryman; so that we need
have no hesitation in trusting his eyes.

_Aph_. As far as I am concerned, Zeus, Momus himself might be our
judge; _I_ should not be afraid to show myself. What fault could he
find with _me_? But the others must agree too.

_Hera_. Oh, we are under no alarm, thank you,--though your admirer
Ares should be appointed. But Paris will do; whoever Paris is.

_Zeus_. And my little Athene; have we her approval? Nay, never blush,
nor hide your face. Well, well, maidens will be coy; 'tis a delicate
subject. But there, she nods consent. Now, off with you; and mind, the
beaten ones must not be cross with the judge; I will not have the poor
lad harmed. The prize of beauty can be but one.

_Herm_. Now for Phrygia. I will show the way; keep close behind me,
ladies, and don't be nervous. I know Paris well: he is a charming
young man; a great gallant, and an admirable judge of beauty. Depend
on it, he will make a good award.

_Aph_. I am glad to hear that; I ask for nothing better than a just
judge. --Has he a wife, Hermes, or is he a bachelor?

_Herm_. Not exactly a bachelor.

_Aph_. What do you mean?

_Herm_. I believe there is a wife, as it were; a good enough sort of
girl--a native of those parts--but sadly countrified! I fancy he does
not care very much about her. --Why do you ask?

_Aph_. I just wanted to know.

_Ath_. Now, Hermes, that is not fair. No whispering with Aphrodite.

_Herm_. It was nothing, Athene; nothing about you. She only asked me
whether Paris was a bachelor.

_Ath_. What business is that of hers?

_Herm_. None that I know of. She meant nothing by the question; she
just wanted to know.

_Ath_. Well, and is he?

_Herm_. Why, no.

_Ath_.
And does he care for military glory? has he ambition? Or is he
a _mere_ neatherd?

_Herm_. I couldn't say for certain. But he is a young man, so it is to
be presumed that distinction on the field of battle is among his
desires.

_Aph_. There, you see; _I_ don't complain; I say nothing when you
whisper with _her_. Aphrodite is not so particular as some people.

_Herm_. Athene asked me almost exactly the same as you did; so don't
be cross. It will do you no harm, my answering a plain question. --
Meanwhile, we have left the stars far behind us, and are almost over
Phrygia. There is Ida: I can make out the peak of Gargarum quite
plainly; and if I am not mistaken, there is Paris himself.

_Hera_. Where is he? I don't see him.

_Herm_. Look over there to the left, Hera: not on the top, but down
the side, by that cave where you see the herd.

_Hera_. But I _don't_ see the herd.

_Herm_. What, don't you see them coming out from between the rocks,--
where I am pointing, look--and the man running down from the crag, and
keeping them together with his staff?

_Hera_. I see him now; if he it is.

_Herm_. Oh, that is Paris. But we are getting near; it is time to
alight and walk. He might be frightened, if we were to descend upon
him so suddenly.

_Hera_. Yes; very well. And now that we are on the earth, you might go
on ahead, Aphrodite, and show us the way. You know the country, of
course, having been here so often to see Anchises; or so I have heard.

_Aph_. Your sneers are thrown away on me, Hera.

_Herm_. Come; I'll lead the way myself. I spent some time on Ida,
while Zeus was courting Ganymede. Many is the time that I have been
sent here to keep watch over the boy; and when at last the eagle came,
I flew by his side, and helped him with his lovely burden. This is the
very rock, if I remember; yes, Ganymede was piping to his sheep, when
down swooped the eagle behind him, and tenderly, oh, so tenderly,
caught him up in those talons, and with the turban in his beak bore
him off, the frightened boy straining his neck the while to see his
captor. I picked up his pipes--he had dropped them in his fright and
--ah! here is our umpire, close at hand. Let us accost him. --
Good-morrow, herdsman!

_Par_. Good-morrow, youngster. And who may you be, who come thus far
afield? And these dames? They are over comely, to be wandering on the
mountain-side.

_Herm_. 'These dames,' good Paris, are Hera, Athene, and Aphrodite;
and I am Hermes, with a message from Zeus. Why so pale and tremulous?
Compose yourself; there is nothing the matter. Zeus appoints you the
judge of their beauty. 'Because you are handsome, and wise in the
things of love' (so runs the message), 'I leave the decision to you;
and for the prize,--read the inscription on the apple. '

_Par_. Let me see what it is about. FOR THE FAIR, it says. But, my
lord Hermes, how shall a mortal and a rustic like myself be judge of
such unparalleled beauty? This is no sight for a herdsman's eyes; let
the fine city folk decide on such matters. As for me, I can tell you
which of two goats is the fairer beast; or I can judge betwixt heifer
and heifer;--'tis my trade. But here, where all are beautiful alike, I
know not how a man may leave looking at one, to look upon another.
Where my eyes fall, there they fasten,--for there is beauty: I move
them, and what do I find? more loveliness! I am fixed again, yet
distracted by neighbouring charms. I bathe in beauty: I am enthralled:
ah, why am I not _all_ eyes like Argus? Methinks it were a fair award,
to give the apple to all three. Then again: one is the wife and sister
of Zeus; the others are his daughters. Take it where you will, 'tis a
hard matter to judge.

_Herm_. So it is, Paris. At the same time--Zeus's orders! There is no
way out of it.

_Par_. Well, please point out to them, Hermes, that the losers must
not be angry with me; the fault will be in my eyes only.

_Herm_. That is quite understood. And now to work.

_Par_. I must do what I can; there is no help for it. But first let me
ask,--am I just to look at them as they are, or must I go into the
matter thoroughly?

_Herm_. That is for you to decide, in virtue of your office. You have
only to give your orders; it is as you think best.

_Par_. As I think best? Then I will be thorough.

_Herm_. Get ready, ladies. Now, Mr. Umpire. --I will look the other
way.

_Hera_. I approve your decision, Paris. I will be the first to submit
myself to your inspection. You shall see that I have more to boast of
than white arms and large eyes: nought of me but is beautiful.

_Par_. Aphrodite, will you also prepare?

_Ath_. Oh, Paris,--make her take off that girdle, first; there is
magic in it; she will bewitch you. For that matter, she has no right
to come thus tricked out and painted,--just like a courtesan! She
ought to show herself unadorned.

_Par_. They are right about the girdle, madam; it must go.

_Aph_. Oh, very well, Athene: then take off that helmet, and show your
head bare, instead of trying to intimidate the judge with that waving
plume. I suppose you are afraid the colour of your eyes may be
noticed, without their formidable surroundings.

_Ath_. Oh, here is my helmet.

_Aph_. And here is my girdle.

_Hera_. Now then.

_Par_. God of wonders! What loveliness is here! Oh, rapture! How
exquisite these maiden charms! How dazzling the majesty of Heaven's
true queen! And oh, how sweet, how enthralling is Aphrodite's smile!
'Tis too much, too much of happiness. --But perhaps it would be well
for me to view each in detail; for as yet I doubt, and know not where
to look; my eyes are drawn all ways at once.

_Aph_. Yes, that will be best.

_Par_. Withdraw then, you and Athene; and let Hera remain.

_Hera_. So be it; and when you have finished your scrutiny, you have
next to consider, how you would like the present which I offer you.
Paris, give me the prize of beauty, and you shall be lord of all Asia.

_Par_. I will take no presents. Withdraw. I shall judge as I think
right. Approach, Athene.

_Ath_. Behold. And, Paris, if you will say that I am the fairest, I
will make you a great warrior and conqueror, and you shall always win,
in every one of your battles.

_Par_. But I have nothing to do with fighting, Athene. As you see,
there is peace throughout all Lydia and Phrygia, and my father's
dominion is uncontested. But never mind; I am not going to take your
present, but you shall have fair play. You can robe again and put on
your helmet; I have seen. And now for Aphrodite.

_Aph_. Here I am; take your time, and examine carefully; let nothing
escape your vigilance. And I have something else to say to you,
handsome Paris. Yes, you handsome boy, I have long had an eye on you;
I think you must be the handsomest young fellow in all Phrygia. But it
is such a pity that you don't leave these rocks and crags, and live in
a town; you will lose all your beauty in this desert. What have you to
do with mountains? What satisfaction can your beauty give to a lot of
cows? You ought to have been married long ago; not to any of these
dowdy women hereabouts, but to some Greek girl; an Argive, perhaps, or
a Corinthian, or a Spartan; Helen, now, is a Spartan, and such a
pretty girl--quite as pretty as I am--and so susceptible! Why, if she
once caught sight of _you_, she would give up everything, I am sure,
to go with you, and a most devoted wife she would be. But you have
heard of Helen, of course?

_Par_. No, ma'am; but I should like to hear all about her now.

_Aph_. Well, she is the daughter of Leda, the beautiful woman, you
know, whom Zeus visited in the disguise of a swan.

_Par_. And what is she like?

_Aph_. She is fair, as might be expected from the swan, soft as down
(she was hatched from an egg, you know), and such a lithe, graceful
figure; and only think, she is so much admired, that there was a war
because Theseus ran away with her; and she was a mere child then. And
when she grew up, the very first men in Greece were suitors for her
hand, and she was given to Menelaus, who is descended from Pelops. --
Now, if you like, she shall be your wife.

_Par_. What, when she is married already?

_Aph_. Tut, child, you are a simpleton: _I_ understand these things.

_Par_. I should like to understand them too.

_Aph_. You will set out for Greece on a tour of inspection: and when
you get to Sparta, Helen will see you; and for the rest--her falling
in love, and going back with you--that will be my affair.

_Par_. But that is what I cannot believe,--that she will forsake her
husband to cross the seas with a stranger, a barbarian.

_Aph_. Trust me for that. I have two beautiful children, Love and
Desire. They shall be your guides. Love will assail her in all his
might, and compel her to love you: Desire will encompass you about,
and make you desirable and lovely as himself; and I will be there to
help. I can get the Graces to come too, and between us we shall
prevail.

_Par_. How this will end, I know not. All I do know is, that I am in
love with Helen already. I see her before me--I sail for Greece I am
in Sparta--I am on my homeward journey, with her at my side! Ah, why
is none of it true?

_Aph_. Wait. Do not fall in love yet. You have first to secure my
interest with the bride, by your award. The union must be graced with
my victorious presence: your marriage-feast shall be my feast of
victory. Love, beauty, wedlock; all these you may purchase at the
price of yonder apple.

_Par_. But perhaps after the award you will forget all about _me_?

_Aph_. Shall I swear?

_Par_. No; but promise once more.

_Aph_. I promise that you shall have Helen to wife; that she shall
follow you, and make Troy her home; and I will be present with you,
and help you in all.

_Par_. And bring Love, and Desire, and the Graces?

_Aph Assuredly; and Passion and Hymen as well.