HEN 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 ?none," she answered, and her voice was like the music of the brook—"?none, 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 out

stretched. 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.

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 ?none 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 ?none, and told her what Iris, the messenger of the gods, had said to him. When ?none 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.

?none 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,

"?none, ?none!"

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!"

As she stretched forth her hand towards him to take the apple, a mist fell over his eyes, and he knew no more. When he awoke the apple and the goddesses had vanished away, and ?none was bending over him weeping.

"Alas," she said, "my father, whose stream runs at thy feet, has told me thy choice, Paris, and I am come to bid thee farewell."

"Farewell, ?none? Why farewell?" he cried, and stretched out his arms to her. The flame of Aphrodite still burned in his heart, and to his eyes ?none had never looked more fair than now.

"Because of Aphrodite's promise," she answered.

"Ah, ?none!" he cried, and took her in his arms, "now I know what that promise meant. Thou art the fairest of women, and thou art mine, beloved, and Aphrodite's promise was fulfilled ere she made it."

"Nay, nay, that is not what she meant. I may be fair, Paris, yet I am no woman, but a child of the mountain waters. One day thou wilt forget me, and thy heart will turn to thine own kind. In that day Aphrodite has promised that the fairest of women shall be thine, and she will surely keep her word."

"Thou art woman enough for me," he said, "and I shall never want any other than thee." He kissed her, and comforted her as best he could. The hours fled by like minutes, the moon rose high in heaven, and one by one the stars came out, yet still they sat and talked of love, and of how they would be faithful to each other always. In like manner day after day passed by, and no two lovers in all the land were happier than Paris and ?none.

Now it chanced that about this time Menelaus, King of Sparta, came to Troy, at the command of the oracle at Delphi. For a year past his land had been laid waste by a grievous famine, and when he inquired the cause of it, the oracle bade him go to Troy and offer sacrifices at the tomb of Lycus and Chim?reus, the sons of Prometheus, for until their spirits were appeased the land of Sparta would be barren, and her sons would die of hunger in her streets. So Menelaus set sail for Troy, and Priam and all his house received him with joy. They held great feasts in his honour, and treated him hospitably, as befitted the king of a mighty people. When he had performed his task, and the time had come for him to return, he said to Priam,

"My friend, thou hast treated me right royally, and I in my turn would fain do thee some service. Say, wilt thou not sail............