I should like to
understand
them too.
Lucian
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.
_Par_. Take the apple: it is yours.
F.
XXI
_Ares. Hermes_
_Ar_. Did you hear Zeus's threat, Hermes? most complimentary, wasn't
it, and most practicable? 'If I choose,' says he, 'I could let down a
cord from Heaven, and all of you might hang on to it and do your very
best to pull me down; it would be waste labour; you would never move
me. On the other hand, if I chose to haul up, I should have you all
dangling in mid air, with earth and sea into the bargain and so on;
you heard? Well, I dare say he _is_ too much for any of us
individually, but I will never believe he outweighs the whole of us in
a body, or that, even with the makeweight of earth and sea, we should
not get the better of him.
_Her_. Mind what you say, Ares; it is not safe to talk like that; we
might get paid out for chattering.
_Ar_. You don't suppose I should say this to every one; I am not
afraid of you; I know you can keep a quiet tongue. I _must_ tell you
what made me laugh most while he stormed: I remember not so long ago,
when Posidon and Hera and Athene rebelled and made a plot for his
capture and imprisonment, he was frightened out of his wits; well,
there were only three of them, and if Thetis had not taken pity on him
and called in the hundred-handed Briareus to the rescue, he would
actually have been put in chains, with his thunder and his bolt beside
him. When I worked out the sum, I could not help laughing.
_Her_. Oh, do be quiet; such things are too risky for you to say or me
to listen to.
H.
XXIV
_Hermes_. _Maia_
_Her_. Mother, I am the most miserable god in Heaven.
_Ma_. Don't say such things, child.
_Her_. Am I to do all the work of Heaven with my own hands, to be
hurried from one piece of drudgery to another, and never say a word? I
have to get up early, sweep the dining-room, lay the cushions and put
all to rights; then I have to wait on Zeus, and take his messages, up
and down, all day long; and I am no sooner back again (no time for a
wash) than I have to lay the table; and there was the nectar to pour
out, too, till this new cup-bearer was bought. And it really is too
bad, that when every one else is in bed, I should have to go off to
Pluto with the Shades, and play the usher in Rhadamanthus's court. It
is not enough that I must be busy all day in the wrestling-ground and
the Assembly and the schools of rhetoric, the dead must have their
share in me too. Leda's sons take turn and turn about betwixt Heaven
and Hades--_I_ have to be in both every day. And why should the sons
of Alemena and Semele, paltry women, why should they feast at their
ease, and I--the son of Maia, the grandson of Atlas--wait upon them?
And now here am I only just back from Sidon, where he sent me to see
after Europa, and before I am in breath again-off I must go to Argos,
in quest of Danae, 'and you can take Boeotia on your way,' says
father, 'and see Antiope. ' I am half dead with it all. Mortal slaves
are better off than I am: they have the chance of being sold to a new
master; I wish I had the same!
_Ma_. Come, come, child. You must do as your father bids you, like a
good boy. Run along now to Argos and Boeotia; don't loiter, or you
will get a whipping. Lovers are apt to be hasty.
F.
XXV
_Zeus. Helius_
_Zeus_. What have you been about, you villainous Titan? You have
utterly done for the earth, trusting your car to a silly boy like
that; he has got too near and scorched it in one place, and in another
killed everything with frost by withdrawing the heat too far; there is
not a single thing he has not turned upside down; if I had not seen
what was happening and upset him with the thunderbolt, there would not
have been a remnant of mankind left. A pretty deputy driver!
_Hel_. I was wrong, Zeus; but do not be angry with me; my boy pressed
me so; how could I tell it would turn out so badly?
_Zeus_. Oh, of course you didn't know what a delicate business it is,
and how the slightest divergence ruins everything! it never occurred
to you that the horses are spirited, and want a tight hand! oh no!
why, give them their heads a moment, and they are out of control; just
what happened: they carried him now left, now right, now clean round
backwards, and up or down, just at their own sweet will; he was
utterly helpless.
_Hel_. I knew it all; I held out for a long time and told him he
mustn't drive. But he wept and entreated, and his mother Clymene
joined in, and at last I put him up. I showed him how to stand, and
how far he was to mount upwards, and where to begin descending, and
how to hold the reins, and keep the spirited beasts under control; and
I told him how dangerous it was, if he did not keep the track. But,
poor boy, when he found himself in charge of all that fire, and
looking down into yawning space, he was frightened, and no wonder; and
the horses soon knew I was not behind them, took the child's measure,
left the track, and wrought all this havoc; he let go the reins--I
suppose he was afraid of being thrown out--and held on to the rail.
But he has suffered for it, and my grief is punishment enough for me,
Zeus.
_Zeus_. Punishment enough, indeed! after daring to do such a thing as
that! --Well, I forgive you this time. But if ever you transgress
again, or send another substitute like him, I will show you how much
hotter the thunderbolt is than your fire. Let his sisters bury him by
the Eridanus, where he was upset. They shall weep amber tears and be
changed by their grief into poplars. As for you, repair the car--the
pole is broken, and one of the wheels crushed--, put the horses to and
drive yourself. And let this be a lesson to you.
H.
XXVI
_Apollo. Hermes_
_Ap_. Hermes, have you any idea which of those two is Castor, and
which is Pollux? I never can make out.
_Her_. It was Castor yesterday, and Pollux to-day.
_Ap_. How do you tell? They are exactly alike.
_Her_. Why, Pollux's face is scarred with the wounds he got in boxing;
those that Amycus, the Bebrycian, gave him, when he was on that
expedition with Jason, are particularly noticeable. Castor has no
marks; his face is all right.
_Ap_. Good; I am glad I know that. Everything else is the same for
both. Each has his half egg-shell, with the star on top, each his
javelin and his white horse. I am always calling Pollux Castor, and
Castor Pollux. And, by the way, why are they never both here together?
Why should they be alternately gods and shades?
_Her_. That is their brotherly way. You see, it was decreed that one
of the sons of Leda must die, and the other be immortal; and by this
arrangement they split the immortality between them.
_Ap_. Rather a stupid way of doing it: if one of them is to be in
Heaven, whilst the other is underground, they will never see one
another at all; and I suppose that is just what they wanted to do.
Then again: all the other gods practise some useful profession, either
here or on earth; for instance, I am a prophet, Asclepius is a doctor,
you are a first-rate gymnast and trainer, Artemis ushers children into
the world; now what are these two going to do? surely two such great
fellows are not to have a lazy time of it?
_Her_. Oh no. Their business is to wait upon Posidon, and ride the
waves; and if they see a ship in distress, they go aboard of her, and
save the crew.
_Ap_. A most humane profession.
F.
DIALOGUES OF THE SEA-GODS
I
_Doris. Galatea_.
_Dor_. A handsome lover, Galatea, this Sicilian shepherd who they say
is so mad for you!
_Gal_. Don't be sarcastic, Doris; he is Posidon's son, after all.
_Dor_. Well, and if he were Zeus's, and still such a wild shaggy
creature, with only one eye (there is nothing uglier than to have only
one eye), do you think his birth would improve his beauty?
_Gal_. Shagginess and wildness, as you call them, are not ugly in a
man; and his eye looks very well in the middle of his forehead, and
sees just as well as if it were two.
_Dor_. Why, my dear, from your raptures about him one would think it
was you that were in love, not he.
_Gal_. Oh no, I am not in love; but it is too bad, your all running
him down as you do. It is my belief you are jealous, Do you remember?
we were playing on the shore at the foot of Etna, where the long strip
of beach comes between the mountain and the sea; he was feeding his
sheep, and spied us from above; yes, but he never so much as glanced
at the rest of you; I was the pretty one; he was all eyes--eye, I
mean--for me. That is what makes you spiteful, because it showed I was
better than you, good enough to be loved, while you were taken no
notice of.
_Dor_. Hoity-toity! jealous indeed! because a one-eyed shepherd thinks
you pretty! Why, what could he see in you but your white skin? and he
only cared for that because it reminded him of cheese and milk; he
thinks everything pretty that is like them. If you want to know any
more than that about your looks, sit on a rock when it is calm, and
lean over the water; just a bit of white skin, that is all; and who
cares for that, if it is not picked out with some red?
_Gal_. Well, if I _am_ all white, I have got a lover of some sort;
there is not a shepherd or a sailor or a boatman to care for any of
you. Besides, Polyphemus is very musical.
_Dor_. Take care, dear; we heard him singing the other day when he
serenaded you. Heavens! one would have taken him for an ass braying.
And his lyre! what a thing! A stag's skull, with its horns for the
uprights; he put a bar across, and fastened on the strings without any
tuning-pegs! then came the performance, all harsh and out of tune; he
shouted something himself, and the lyre played something else, and the
love ditty sent us into fits of laughter. Why, Echo, chatterbox that
she is, would not answer him; she was ashamed to be caught mimicking
such a rough ridiculous song. Oh, and the pet that your beau brought
you in his arms! --a bear cub nearly as shaggy as himself. Now then,
Galatea, do you still think we envy you your lover?
_Gal_. Well, Doris, only show us your own; no doubt he is much
handsomer, and sings and plays far better.
_Dor_. Oh, I have not got one; _I_ do not set up to be lovely. But one
like the Cyclops--faugh, he might be one of his own goats! --he eats
raw meat, they say, and feeds on travellers--one like him, dear, you
may keep; I wish you nothing worse than to return his love.
H.
II
_Cyclops. Posidon_
_Cy_. Only look, father, what that cursed stranger has been doing to
me! He made me drunk, and set upon me whilst I was asleep, and blinded
me.
_Po_. Who has dared to do this?
_Cy_. He called himself 'Noman' at first: but when he had got safely
out of range, he said his name was Odysseus.
_Po_. I know--the Ithacan; on his way back from Troy. But how did he
come to do such a thing? He is not distinguished for courage.
_Cy_. When I got back from the pasture, I caught a lot of the fellows
in my cave. Evidently they had designs upon the sheep: because when I
had blocked up my doorway (I have a great big stone for that), and
kindled a fire, with a tree that I had brought home from the
mountain,--there they were trying to hide themselves. I saw they were
robbers, so I caught a few of them, and ate them of course, and then
that scoundrel of a Noman, or Odysseus, whichever it is, gave me
something to drink, with a drug in it; it tasted and smelt very good,
but it was villanously heady stuff; it made everything spin round;
even the cave seemed to be turning upside down, and I simply didn't
know where I was; and finally I fell off to sleep. And then he
sharpened that stake, and made it hot in the fire, and blinded me in
my sleep; and blind I have been ever since, father.
_Po_. You must have slept pretty soundly, my boy, or you would have
jumped up in the middle of it. Well, and how did Odysseus get off? He
couldn't move that stone away, _I_ know.
_Cy_.
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.
_Par_. Take the apple: it is yours.
F.
XXI
_Ares. Hermes_
_Ar_. Did you hear Zeus's threat, Hermes? most complimentary, wasn't
it, and most practicable? 'If I choose,' says he, 'I could let down a
cord from Heaven, and all of you might hang on to it and do your very
best to pull me down; it would be waste labour; you would never move
me. On the other hand, if I chose to haul up, I should have you all
dangling in mid air, with earth and sea into the bargain and so on;
you heard? Well, I dare say he _is_ too much for any of us
individually, but I will never believe he outweighs the whole of us in
a body, or that, even with the makeweight of earth and sea, we should
not get the better of him.
_Her_. Mind what you say, Ares; it is not safe to talk like that; we
might get paid out for chattering.
_Ar_. You don't suppose I should say this to every one; I am not
afraid of you; I know you can keep a quiet tongue. I _must_ tell you
what made me laugh most while he stormed: I remember not so long ago,
when Posidon and Hera and Athene rebelled and made a plot for his
capture and imprisonment, he was frightened out of his wits; well,
there were only three of them, and if Thetis had not taken pity on him
and called in the hundred-handed Briareus to the rescue, he would
actually have been put in chains, with his thunder and his bolt beside
him. When I worked out the sum, I could not help laughing.
_Her_. Oh, do be quiet; such things are too risky for you to say or me
to listen to.
H.
XXIV
_Hermes_. _Maia_
_Her_. Mother, I am the most miserable god in Heaven.
_Ma_. Don't say such things, child.
_Her_. Am I to do all the work of Heaven with my own hands, to be
hurried from one piece of drudgery to another, and never say a word? I
have to get up early, sweep the dining-room, lay the cushions and put
all to rights; then I have to wait on Zeus, and take his messages, up
and down, all day long; and I am no sooner back again (no time for a
wash) than I have to lay the table; and there was the nectar to pour
out, too, till this new cup-bearer was bought. And it really is too
bad, that when every one else is in bed, I should have to go off to
Pluto with the Shades, and play the usher in Rhadamanthus's court. It
is not enough that I must be busy all day in the wrestling-ground and
the Assembly and the schools of rhetoric, the dead must have their
share in me too. Leda's sons take turn and turn about betwixt Heaven
and Hades--_I_ have to be in both every day. And why should the sons
of Alemena and Semele, paltry women, why should they feast at their
ease, and I--the son of Maia, the grandson of Atlas--wait upon them?
And now here am I only just back from Sidon, where he sent me to see
after Europa, and before I am in breath again-off I must go to Argos,
in quest of Danae, 'and you can take Boeotia on your way,' says
father, 'and see Antiope. ' I am half dead with it all. Mortal slaves
are better off than I am: they have the chance of being sold to a new
master; I wish I had the same!
_Ma_. Come, come, child. You must do as your father bids you, like a
good boy. Run along now to Argos and Boeotia; don't loiter, or you
will get a whipping. Lovers are apt to be hasty.
F.
XXV
_Zeus. Helius_
_Zeus_. What have you been about, you villainous Titan? You have
utterly done for the earth, trusting your car to a silly boy like
that; he has got too near and scorched it in one place, and in another
killed everything with frost by withdrawing the heat too far; there is
not a single thing he has not turned upside down; if I had not seen
what was happening and upset him with the thunderbolt, there would not
have been a remnant of mankind left. A pretty deputy driver!
_Hel_. I was wrong, Zeus; but do not be angry with me; my boy pressed
me so; how could I tell it would turn out so badly?
_Zeus_. Oh, of course you didn't know what a delicate business it is,
and how the slightest divergence ruins everything! it never occurred
to you that the horses are spirited, and want a tight hand! oh no!
why, give them their heads a moment, and they are out of control; just
what happened: they carried him now left, now right, now clean round
backwards, and up or down, just at their own sweet will; he was
utterly helpless.
_Hel_. I knew it all; I held out for a long time and told him he
mustn't drive. But he wept and entreated, and his mother Clymene
joined in, and at last I put him up. I showed him how to stand, and
how far he was to mount upwards, and where to begin descending, and
how to hold the reins, and keep the spirited beasts under control; and
I told him how dangerous it was, if he did not keep the track. But,
poor boy, when he found himself in charge of all that fire, and
looking down into yawning space, he was frightened, and no wonder; and
the horses soon knew I was not behind them, took the child's measure,
left the track, and wrought all this havoc; he let go the reins--I
suppose he was afraid of being thrown out--and held on to the rail.
But he has suffered for it, and my grief is punishment enough for me,
Zeus.
_Zeus_. Punishment enough, indeed! after daring to do such a thing as
that! --Well, I forgive you this time. But if ever you transgress
again, or send another substitute like him, I will show you how much
hotter the thunderbolt is than your fire. Let his sisters bury him by
the Eridanus, where he was upset. They shall weep amber tears and be
changed by their grief into poplars. As for you, repair the car--the
pole is broken, and one of the wheels crushed--, put the horses to and
drive yourself. And let this be a lesson to you.
H.
XXVI
_Apollo. Hermes_
_Ap_. Hermes, have you any idea which of those two is Castor, and
which is Pollux? I never can make out.
_Her_. It was Castor yesterday, and Pollux to-day.
_Ap_. How do you tell? They are exactly alike.
_Her_. Why, Pollux's face is scarred with the wounds he got in boxing;
those that Amycus, the Bebrycian, gave him, when he was on that
expedition with Jason, are particularly noticeable. Castor has no
marks; his face is all right.
_Ap_. Good; I am glad I know that. Everything else is the same for
both. Each has his half egg-shell, with the star on top, each his
javelin and his white horse. I am always calling Pollux Castor, and
Castor Pollux. And, by the way, why are they never both here together?
Why should they be alternately gods and shades?
_Her_. That is their brotherly way. You see, it was decreed that one
of the sons of Leda must die, and the other be immortal; and by this
arrangement they split the immortality between them.
_Ap_. Rather a stupid way of doing it: if one of them is to be in
Heaven, whilst the other is underground, they will never see one
another at all; and I suppose that is just what they wanted to do.
Then again: all the other gods practise some useful profession, either
here or on earth; for instance, I am a prophet, Asclepius is a doctor,
you are a first-rate gymnast and trainer, Artemis ushers children into
the world; now what are these two going to do? surely two such great
fellows are not to have a lazy time of it?
_Her_. Oh no. Their business is to wait upon Posidon, and ride the
waves; and if they see a ship in distress, they go aboard of her, and
save the crew.
_Ap_. A most humane profession.
F.
DIALOGUES OF THE SEA-GODS
I
_Doris. Galatea_.
_Dor_. A handsome lover, Galatea, this Sicilian shepherd who they say
is so mad for you!
_Gal_. Don't be sarcastic, Doris; he is Posidon's son, after all.
_Dor_. Well, and if he were Zeus's, and still such a wild shaggy
creature, with only one eye (there is nothing uglier than to have only
one eye), do you think his birth would improve his beauty?
_Gal_. Shagginess and wildness, as you call them, are not ugly in a
man; and his eye looks very well in the middle of his forehead, and
sees just as well as if it were two.
_Dor_. Why, my dear, from your raptures about him one would think it
was you that were in love, not he.
_Gal_. Oh no, I am not in love; but it is too bad, your all running
him down as you do. It is my belief you are jealous, Do you remember?
we were playing on the shore at the foot of Etna, where the long strip
of beach comes between the mountain and the sea; he was feeding his
sheep, and spied us from above; yes, but he never so much as glanced
at the rest of you; I was the pretty one; he was all eyes--eye, I
mean--for me. That is what makes you spiteful, because it showed I was
better than you, good enough to be loved, while you were taken no
notice of.
_Dor_. Hoity-toity! jealous indeed! because a one-eyed shepherd thinks
you pretty! Why, what could he see in you but your white skin? and he
only cared for that because it reminded him of cheese and milk; he
thinks everything pretty that is like them. If you want to know any
more than that about your looks, sit on a rock when it is calm, and
lean over the water; just a bit of white skin, that is all; and who
cares for that, if it is not picked out with some red?
_Gal_. Well, if I _am_ all white, I have got a lover of some sort;
there is not a shepherd or a sailor or a boatman to care for any of
you. Besides, Polyphemus is very musical.
_Dor_. Take care, dear; we heard him singing the other day when he
serenaded you. Heavens! one would have taken him for an ass braying.
And his lyre! what a thing! A stag's skull, with its horns for the
uprights; he put a bar across, and fastened on the strings without any
tuning-pegs! then came the performance, all harsh and out of tune; he
shouted something himself, and the lyre played something else, and the
love ditty sent us into fits of laughter. Why, Echo, chatterbox that
she is, would not answer him; she was ashamed to be caught mimicking
such a rough ridiculous song. Oh, and the pet that your beau brought
you in his arms! --a bear cub nearly as shaggy as himself. Now then,
Galatea, do you still think we envy you your lover?
_Gal_. Well, Doris, only show us your own; no doubt he is much
handsomer, and sings and plays far better.
_Dor_. Oh, I have not got one; _I_ do not set up to be lovely. But one
like the Cyclops--faugh, he might be one of his own goats! --he eats
raw meat, they say, and feeds on travellers--one like him, dear, you
may keep; I wish you nothing worse than to return his love.
H.
II
_Cyclops. Posidon_
_Cy_. Only look, father, what that cursed stranger has been doing to
me! He made me drunk, and set upon me whilst I was asleep, and blinded
me.
_Po_. Who has dared to do this?
_Cy_. He called himself 'Noman' at first: but when he had got safely
out of range, he said his name was Odysseus.
_Po_. I know--the Ithacan; on his way back from Troy. But how did he
come to do such a thing? He is not distinguished for courage.
_Cy_. When I got back from the pasture, I caught a lot of the fellows
in my cave. Evidently they had designs upon the sheep: because when I
had blocked up my doorway (I have a great big stone for that), and
kindled a fire, with a tree that I had brought home from the
mountain,--there they were trying to hide themselves. I saw they were
robbers, so I caught a few of them, and ate them of course, and then
that scoundrel of a Noman, or Odysseus, whichever it is, gave me
something to drink, with a drug in it; it tasted and smelt very good,
but it was villanously heady stuff; it made everything spin round;
even the cave seemed to be turning upside down, and I simply didn't
know where I was; and finally I fell off to sleep. And then he
sharpened that stake, and made it hot in the fire, and blinded me in
my sleep; and blind I have been ever since, father.
_Po_. You must have slept pretty soundly, my boy, or you would have
jumped up in the middle of it. Well, and how did Odysseus get off? He
couldn't move that stone away, _I_ know.
_Cy_.
