The Ruinous Face.
by Maurice Hewlett.
When the siege of Troy had been ten years doing, and most of the chieftains were dead, both of those afield and those who held the walls; and some had departed in their ships, and all who remained were leaden-hearted; there was one who felt the rage of war insatiate in his bowels: Menelaus, yellow-haired King of the Argives. He, indeed, rested not day or night, but knew the fever fretting at his members, and the burning in his heart. And when he scanned the windy plain about the city, and the desolation of it; and when he saw the huts of the Achaeans, and the furrows where the chariots ploughed along the lines, and the charred places of camp-fires, smoke-blackened trees, and puddled waters of Scamander, and corn-lands and pastures which for ten years had known neither plough nor deep-breathed cattle, nor querulous sheep; even then in the heart of Menelaus was no pity for Dardan nor Greek, but only for himself and what he had lost--white-bosomed Helen, darling of G.o.ds and men, and golden treasure of the house.
The vision of her glowing face and veiled eyes came to him in the night-season to make him mad, and in dreams he saw her, as once and many times he had seen her, lie supine. There as she lay in his dream, all white and gold, thinner than the mist-wreath upon a mountain, he would cry aloud for his loss, and throw his arms out over the empty bed, and feel his eye-sockets smart for lack of tears; for tears came not to him, but his fever made his skin quite dry, and so were his eyes dry.
Therefore, when the chiefs of the Achaeans in Council, seeing how their strength was wearing down like a s...o...b..nk under the sun, looked reproachfully upon him, and thought of Hector slain, and of dead Achilles who slew him, of Priam, and of Diomede, and of tall Patroclus, he, Menelaus, took no heed at all, but sat in his place, and said, "There is no mercy for robbers of the house. Starve whom we cannot put to the sword. Lay closer leaguer. So shall I win my wife again and have honor among the Kings, my fellows." So he spake, for it was so he thought day and night; and Agamemnon, King of Men, bore with him, and carried the voices of all the Achaeans. For since the death of Achilles there was no man stout enough to gainsay him, or deny him anything.
In those days there was little war, since every man outside the walls was sick of strife, and consumed with longing for his home, and wife and children there. And one told another, "My son will be a grown man in his first beard," and one, "My daughter will be a wife." As for the men of Troy, it was well for them that their foes were spent; for Hector was dead, and Agenor, and Troilus; and King Priam, the old, was fallen into dotage, which deprived him of counsel. He loved Alexandros only, whom men called Paris. On which account aeneas, the wise prince, stood apart, and kept himself within the walls of his house. There remained only that beauteous Paris, the ravisher. Him Helen held fast enchained by her white arms and slow, sweet smile, and by the shafts of light from her kind eyes. All the compliance of a fair woman made for love lay in her; she could refuse nothing that was asked of her by him who had her. And she was gentle and very modest, and never dejected or low of heart; but when comfort was asked of her she gave it, and when solace, solace; and when he cried, "Oh for a deep draught of thee!" she gave him his desire.
In these days he seldom left his hall, where she sat at the loom with her maids, or had them comb and braid her long hair. But of other women, wives and widows of heroes, Andromache mourned Hector dead and outraged, and Ca.s.sandra the wrath to come. Through the halls of the King"s house came little sound but of women weeping loss; therefore, if love made Helen laugh sometimes, she laughed low and softly, lest some other should be offended. The streets were all silent, and the dogs ate one another. In the temples of the G.o.ds they neglected the sacrifice, and what little might be offered was eaten by clouds of birds.
Anniversaries and feasts were like common days. If the G.o.ds were offended with Troy, there was no help for it. Men must live first, before they can serve G.o.d.
Now the tenth year was come to the Spring, when young men and virgins worship Artemis the Bright; and abroad on the plains the crocus was aflower, and the anemone; and the blades of the iris were like swords stuck hilt downward in the earth. A green veil spread lightly over the land, and men might see a tree scorched black upon one side and budded with gold upon the other. Melted snow brimmed Simois and Scamander; cranes and storks built their nests, and one stood sentinel while his mate sat close, watchful in the reeds. On the mild, westerly airs came tenderness to bedew the hearts of men war-weary. They stepped carefully lest they should crush young flowers, thinking in their minds, "G.o.d"s pity must restrain me. If so fair a thing can thrive in place so foul, who am I to mar it?" But upon Menelaus, the King, the season worked like a ferment, so that he could never stay long in one place. All night long he turned and stretched himself out; but in the gray of the morning he would rise, and walk abroad by himself over the silent land, and about the sleeping walls of the city. So found he balm for his ache, and so he did every day.
The house of Paris stood by the wall, and the garden upon the roof of the women"s side was there upon it, and stretched far along the ramparts of Troy. King Menelaus knew it very well, for he had often seen Helen there with her maids when, with a veil to cover her face up to the eyes, she had stood there to watch the fighting, or the games about the pyre of some chieftain dead, or the manege of the ships lying off Tenedos.
Indeed, when he had been there in his chariot, urging an attack upon the gate, he had seen Paris come out of the house to Helen where she stood in the garden; and he saw that deceiver take the lovely woman in his arm, and with his hand withdraw the veil from her mouth that he might look at it. The maids were all about her, and below raged a battle among men; but he cared nothing for these. No, but he lifted up her face by the chin, and stooped his head, and kissed her twice; and would have kissed her a third time, but that by chance he saw King Menelaus below him, who stood up in his chariot and watched. Then he turned lightly and left her, and went in, and so presently she too, with her veil in her hand, not yet over her mouth, looked down from the wall and saw the King, her husband. Long and deeply looked she; and he looked up at her; and so they stood, gazing each at the other. Then came women from the house and veiled her mouth, and took her away. Other times, too, he had seen her there, but she not him; and now, at this turn of the year, the memory of her came bright and hard before him; and he walked under the wall of the house in the gray of the morning. And as he walked there fiercely on a day, behold she stood above him on the wall, veiled, and in a brown robe, looking down at him. And they looked at each other for a s.p.a.ce of time. And n.o.body was by.
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE ABDUCTION OF HELEN FROM THE PAINTING BY RUDOLPH VON DEUTSCH]
Shaking, he said, "O Ruinous Face, art thou so early from the wicked bed?"
She said low, "Yea, my lord, I am so early."
"These ten long years," he said then, "I have walked here at this hour, but never yet saw I thee."
She answered, "But I have seen my lord, for at this hour my lord Alexandros is accustomed to sleep and I to wake. And so I take the air, and am by myself."
"O G.o.d!" he said, "would that I could come at thee, lady." She replied him nothing. So, after a little while of looking, he spoke to her again, saying, "Is this true which thou makest me to think, that thou walkest here in order that thou mayst be by thyself? Is it true, O thou G.o.d-begotten?"
She said, smiling a little, "Is it so wonderful a thing that I should desire to be alone?"
"By my fathers," he said, "I think it wonderful. And more wonderful is it to me that it should be allowed thee." And then he looked earnestly at her, and asked her this: "Dost thou, therefore, desire that I should leave thee?"
"Nay," said she slowly, "I said not so."
"Ask me to stay, and I stay," he said. But she made no answer to that; but looked down to the earth at her feet. "Behold," said the King presently, "ten years and more since I have known my wife. Now if I were to cast my spear at thee and rive open thy golden side, what wonder were it? Answer me that."
She looked long at him, that he saw the deep gray of her eyes. And he heard the low voice answer him, "I know that my lord would never do it."
And he knew it better than she, and the reason as well as she.
A little while more they talked together, alone in the sunless light; and she was in a gentle mood, as indeed she always was, and calmed the fret in him, so that he could keep still and take long breaths, and look at her without burning in his heart. She asked him of their child, and when he told her it was well, stood thoughtful and silent. "Here," said she, presently, "I have no child," and it seemed to him that she sighed.
"O Lady," he said, "dost thou regret nothing of all these ten long years?"
Her answer was to look long at him without speech. And then again she veiled her eyes with her eyelids and hung her head. He dared say nothing.
Paris came out of the house, fresh from the bath, rosy and beautiful, and whistled a low clear note, like the call of a bird at evening. Then he called upon Helen.
"Where is my love? Where is the Desire of the World?"
She looked up quickly at King Menelaus, and smiled half, and moved her hand; and she went to Paris. Then the King groaned, and rent himself.
But he would not stay, nor look up, lest he should see what he dared not see.
Next day, very early, and every day after, those two, long-severed, kept a tryst: so in time she came to be there first, and a strife grew between them which should watch for the other. And after a little she would sit upon the wall and speak happily to him without disguise. So happiness came to him, too, and he ceased to reproach her. For she reasoned very gently with him of her own case, urging him not to be angry with her. Defending herself, she said, "Thou shouldst not reproach me, husband, nor wouldst thou in thy heart if thou knewst what is in mine, or what my portion has been since with fair words in many-mansioned Sparta he did beguile me. With words smoother than honey, and sweeter than the comb of it he did beguile me, and with false words made me believe that I was forsaken and betrayed; and urged me to take ship with him in search of thee. Nor ever once did he reveal himself until we touched Cranae in the ship. Then he showed me all his power, and declared his purpose with me. And I could do nothing against him; and so he brought me to Troy and kept me there. All these years he has loved, and still loves me in his fashion: and art thou angry with me, my lord, that I do not for ever reproach him, or spend myself in tears, and fast, and go like one distraught, holding myself aloof from all his house? Nay, but of what avail would that be, or what reward to many that treat me well here in Troy? For King Priam, the old king, is good to me, and the Queen also; and my lord Hector was above all men good to me, and defended me always against scorn and evil report. True it is that I have been the reproach of men, both Trojans and Achaeans; and all the woes of the years have been laid to me who am most guiltless of offence. For all my sin has been that I have been gentle with those who hold me here; and have not denied them that which cannot be denied, but have given what I must with fair-seeming."
And another time she said, "What mercy have men for a woman whom they desire and cannot have? And what face have women for her who is more sought than them? And what of such a woman, O lord Menelaus, what of her in her misery? Is it true, thinkest thou, because she is good to look upon and is desired by men, that she should have no desires of her own?
And must she have pleasure only in that which men seek of her, and none in her house and child overseas? Is my face then, and are these my b.r.e.a.s.t.s all that I have? And is my mind nothing at all, nor the kindness in my heart, nor the joy I have in the busy world? My face has been ruin unto many, and many have sought my b.r.e.a.s.t.s; but to me it has been misery and shame, and my milk a bitter gall."
Thus spake Helen of the fair girdle; and he saw her eyes filled with tears, and pure sorrow upon her face; and he held up his arms to her, crying, "O my dear one, wilt thou not come back to me?" She could not speak for crying; but nodded her head often between her covering hands.
Then he, seeing how her thoughts lay, gently toward home, and desiring to please her now more than anything in the world, spake of the child, swearing by the G.o.ds of Lacedaemon that she was not forgotten. "Nay," he said, "but still she talks of her mother, and every day would know of her return. And those about her in our house, faithful ones, say, "The King thy father has gone to bring our lady back; and all will be happy again." And so," said he, "it shall be, beloved, if thou wilt but come."
Then Helen lifted up her face from her covering hands, and showed him her eyes. And he said, "O Wonder of the World, shall I come for thee?"
And her words were sped down the wall, soft as dropping rose-leaves: "Come soon." And King Menelaus returned to his quarters, glorying in his strength.
This day he took counsel with King Agamemnon his brother, and with Odysseus, wisest of the Achaeans, and told them all. And while they pondered what the news might mean he declared his purpose, which was to have Helen again by all means, and to enter Troy disguised by night, and in the morning to drop with her in his arms over the wall, from the garden of Paris" house. But Odysseus dissuaded him, and so did the King his brother; for they knew very well that Troy must be sacked, and the Achaeans satisfied with plunder, and death, and women. For after ten years of strife men raven for such things, and will not give over until they have them. Also it was written in the heart of Hera that the walls of Troy must be cast down, and the pride thereof made a byword. So it was that the counsel of King Menelaus was overpa.s.sed, and that of Odysseus prevailed. And with him lay the word that he should make his plan, and tell it over to Menelaus, that he might tell it again to Helen when he saw her on the wall.
At this time a great heart was in Helen, and strong purpose. And it was so that while Paris marvelled to see her beauty wax ever the clearer, and while he loved her more than ever he had, and found her compliance the sweeter, he guessed nothing of what spirit it was that possessed her, nor of what she did when she was by herself. Nor could he guess, since she refused him never what he asked of her, how she weighed him lightly beside Menelaus her husband; nor, while she let herself be loved, what soft desires were astir in her heart to be cherished as a wife, sharer of a man"s hearth, partaker of his counsels, comforter in his troubles, and mother of his sons. But it came to pa.s.s that the only joy of her life was in the seeing King Menelaus in the morning, and in the reading in his gaze the a.s.surance of that peace which she longed for. And, again, her pride lay in fitting herself for it when it should come. Now, therefore, she forsook the religion of Aphrodite, to whom all her duty had been before, and in a grove of olive-trees in the garden of the house had built an altar to Artemis Aristoboule. There offered she incense daily, and paid tribute of wheaten cakes kneaded with honey, and little figures of bears such as virgins offer to the Pure in Heart in Athens. And she would have whipped herself as they do in Sparta had she not feared discovery by him who still had her. So every day after speech with Menelaus the King about companionship and the sanct.i.ties of the wedded hearth, she prayed to the G.o.ddess, saying, "O Chaste and Fair, by that pure face of thine and by thy untouched zone; by thy proud eyes and curving lip, and thy bow and scornful bitter arrows, aid thou me unhappy. Lo, now, Maid and Huntress, I make a vow. I will lay up in thy temple a fair wreath of box-leaves made of beaten gold on that day when my lord brings me home to my hearth and child, to be his friend and faithful companion, sharer of his joys and sorrows, and when he loves my proved and constant mind better than the bounty of my body. Hear me and fail me not, Lady of Grace." So prayed Helen, and then went back to the house, and suffered her lot, and cherished in her heart her high hope.
When all was in order in the plans of the Achaeans, King Menelaus told everything to Helen his wife; and how Odysseus was to come disguised into the city and seek speech with her. To the which she listened, marking every word; and bowed her head in sign of agreement; and at the end was silent, looking down at her lap and deeply blushing. And at last she lifted her eyes and showed them to the King, her husband, who marked them and her burning color, and knew that she had given him her heart again. So he returned that day to his quarters, glorifying and praising G.o.d. Immediately he went over to the tents of Odysseus, and sought out the prince, and said, "Go in, thou, this night, and the gray-eyed G.o.ddess, the Maiden, befriend thee! This I know, Helen my wife shall be mine again before the moon have waned."
[Ill.u.s.tration: HELEN OF TROY FROM THE PAINTING BY SIR FREDERICK LEIGHTON]
Odysseus nodded his head. "Enough said, Son of Atreus," said he. "I go in this night."
Now, in these days of weariness of strife, when the leaguer was not strict, the gates of Troy were often opened, now this one, now that, to let in fugitives from the hill-country. Odysseus, therefore, disguised himself as one of these, in sheepskin coat and swathes of rushes round his legs; and he stood with wounded feet, leaning upon a holly staff, as one of a throng. White dust was upon his beard, and sweat had made seams in the dust of his face and neck. Then, when they asked him at the gate, "Whence and what art thou, friend?" he answered, "I am a shepherd of the hills, named Glykon, whose store of sheep the Achaeans have reived, whose wife stolen away, whose little ones put to the sword and fire. Me only have they left alive; and where should I come if not here?" So they let him in, and he came and stood in the hall of Paris with many other wretches. Then presently came Helen of the starry eyes and sweet pale face, she and her women to minister. And she knelt down with ewer and basin and a napkin to wash the feet of the poor. To whom, as she knelt at the feet of Odysseus, and rinsed his wounds and wiped away the dry blood, spake that crafty one in her ear, saying: "There are other wounds than mine for thy washing, lady, and deeper. For they are in the heart of King Menelaus, and in thy daughter"s heart."
She kept her face hidden from him, bending to his feet; but he saw that she trembled and moved her shoulders. So then he said again, "I know that thou art pitiful. I know that thou wilt wash his wounds."
She answered him, whispering, "Yes; oh, yes."