Children of the Dawn : Old Tales of Greece

by E. F. Buckley

And they crossed the blue Ægæan and came to glorious Sparta, lying low among the circling hills. And Menelaus made his guest welcome, and showed him all the splendours of his palace, with its inlaid columns and its frieze of gold and blue. His stable and horses did he show him, and the stadium where the races were run and his treasure-house beneath the ground. Last of all he took him to Helen, his wife.

Now Helen, fairer than the sun in heaven, was sitting among her maidens, and when her lord and Paris entered, she rose from her chair and came forward with a smile to greet them. In the curve of her neck, in the gleam of her hair, there was magic, and a witchery about her face and form that no man could withstand; for she was the fairest of all women under the sun, that ever had been or ever should be in time to come. Many a man in his day loved Helen of Sparta, and many a man did she love in return; for so the gods had made her, exceeding fair and exceeding fickle, a joy and a curse among men.

As Paris looked upon her, her beauty reached his heart like the fumes of wine, and he forgot himself and his native land and Œnone; he forgot all pride and manliness, and the ties of honour that bound him to his host—all but his passion for Helen. Day and night he thought of her and of her alone, and of how he might make her his own; and day and night he plotted and planned, and at last he gained his end. For Aphrodite, true to her word, helped him, as she alone could do, and kindled in the heart of Helen an answering flame, making her for the time being love Paris more than Menelaus, her lord, or any other man. And she cast dust in the eyes of Menelaus, so that he saw not how the two lived only for each other, nor suspected his guest of any treachery. So one dark night they fled away together to Gythium, and from thence they sailed to Cranaë, and were wedded, and had joy of their love, forgetful of all else.

Œnone, meanwhile, wandered lonely about the woods and groves of Ida. With a heavy heart she had watched the ships of Menelaus sail away, and now, day by day, she would go down to the shore and look out across the sea towards Hellas. High up upon a rock she would sit and sigh for him.

"Ah, Paris, between thee and me lies many a weary league of barren waters and many a misty mountain chain. But my heart is with thee in that strange new land. Oh, Paris, forget me not, but come back to me soon, beloved."

Thus would she sigh day by day; but he came not. Month after month passed by, and still he came not, nor any news of him, and his father and all the city were troubled to know what might have befallen him. So they manned a ship, and sent it out to Sparta to get news, and in time it returned home to tell how Paris and Helen had fled from Menelaus, and how Menelaus had set out in pursuit, and had followed them to the land of Egypt. After that no man knew where they had gone, or whether, perchance, Paris and Menelaus had met in deadly battle and fallen each by the other's hand, or what might have chanced. All the land was plunged in woe to think that Paris had so far forgotten his honour as to steal away the wife of his host. But still they kept watch by day and by night, in case he should come back and be persuaded to give her up and make what amends he could.

Paris, meanwhile, with Helen, had fled before Menelaus from Egypt, and had taken refuge in Phœnicia; and when he traced them there, they fled once more and took ship to return to Troy; for they could not live for ever as wanderers on the face of the earth. With the silence of shame the folk received them at the harbour, and amid silence, that spoke more than words, they made their way through the city and came and stood before Priam in his halls, with eyes downcast upon the ground. Now Priam had heard of their coming, and had prepared in his mind a wrathful speech wherewith to greet his son and the woman who had led him astray. But when he looked upon Helen his wrath melted away like frost before the sun; for she stood like a fair lily that some careless hand has half plucked from its stem, so that its head hangs drooping towards the dust. Even so did she stand, with the tear-drops falling from her eyes. And all the wrathful words faded from his mind, so that he spoke quite otherwise than he had planned.

"My children," he said gently, "come hither to me."

They came and knelt before him, and he laid his hands upon their young shoulders, as they bowed their heads and wept upon his knees.

"Ye have grievously sinned, my children," he said, "and ye are learning, all too late, how bitter is the fruit of sin. There is but one course before you. Paris, give back the woman thou hast stolen, and make what honourable amends thou canst. And thou, Helen, go home with thy lord when he comes for thee, and be a faithful wife to him always, and make him forget that ever thou didst play him false."