Book III: Single Combat of Menelaus and Paris

Now when both armies were arrayed for war,Each with its chiefs, the Trojan host moved onWith shouts and clang of arms, as when the cryOf cranes is in the air, that, flying southFrom winter and its mighty breadth of rain,Wing their way over ocean, and at dawnBring fearful battle to the pygmy race,Bloodshed and death. But silently the GreeksWent forward, breathing valor, mindful stillTo aid each other in the coming fray.

As when the south wind shrouds a mountaintopIn vapors that awake the shepherd’s fear—A surer covert for the thief than night—And round him one can only see as farAs one can hurl a stone—such was the cloudOf dust that from the warriors’ trampling feetRose round their rapid march and filled the air.

Now drew they near each other, face to face,And Paris in the Trojan van pressed on,In presence like a god. A leopard’s hideWas thrown across his shoulders, and he boreA crooked bow and falchion. BrandishingTwo brazen-pointed javelins, he defiedTo mortal fight the bravest of the Greeks.

Him, Menelaus, loved of Mars, beheldAdvancing with large strides before the rest;And as a hungry lion who has madeA prey of some large beast—a horned stagOr mountain goat—rejoices, and with speedDevours it, though swift hounds and sturdy youthPress on his flank, so Menelaus feltGreat joy when Paris, of the godlike form,Appeared in sight, for now he thought to wreakHis vengeance on the guilty one, and straightSprang from his car to earth with all his arms.

But when the graceful Paris saw the chiefCome toward him from the foremost ranks, his heartWas troubled, and he turned and passed amongHis fellow-warriors and avoided death.As one, who meets within a mountain gladeA serpent, starts aside with sudden fright,And takes the backward way with trembling limbsAnd cheeks all white—the graceful Paris thusBefore the son of Atreus shrank in fear,And mingled with the high-souled sons of Troy.Hector beheld and thus upbraided himHarshly: “O luckless Paris, nobly formed,Yet woman-follower and seducer! ThouShouldst never have been born, or else at bestHave died unwedded; better were it far,Than thus to be a scandal and a scornTo all who look on thee. The long-haired Greeks,How they will laugh, who for thy gallant looksDeemed thee a hero, when there dwells in theeNo spirit and no courage? Wast thou suchWhen, crossing the great deep in thy stanch shipsWith chosen comrades, thou didst make thy wayAmong a stranger-people and bear offA beautiful woman from that distant land,Allied by marriage-ties to warrior-men—A mischief to thy father and to usAnd all the people, to our foes a joy,And a disgrace to thee? Why couldst thou notAwait Atrides? Then hadst thou been taughtFrom what a valiant warrior thou didst takeHis blooming spouse. Thy harp will not avail,Nor all the gifts of Venus, nor thy locks,Nor thy fair form, when thou art laid in dust.Surely the sons of Troy are faint of heart,Else hadst thou, for the evil thou hast wrought,Been laid beneath a coverlet of stone.”

Then Paris, of the godlike presence, spakeIn answer: “Hector, thy rebuke is just;Thou dost not wrong me. Dauntless is thy heart;’Tis like an axe when, wielded by the handThat hews the shipwright’s plank, it cuts right through,Doubling the wielder’s force. Such tameless heartDwells in thy bosom. Yet reproach me notWith the fair gifts which golden Venus gave.Whatever in their grace the gods bestowIs not to be rejected: ’tis not oursTo choose what they shall give us. But if thouDesirest to behold my prowess shownIn combat, cause the Trojans and the GreeksTo pause from battle, while, between the hosts, asI and the warlike Menelaus striveIn single fight for Helen and her wealth.Whoever shall prevail and prove himselfThe better warrior, let him take with himThe treasure and the woman, and depart;While all the other Trojans, having madeA faithful league of amity, shall dwellOn Ilium’s fertile plain, and all the GreeksReturn to Argos, famed for noble steeds,And to Achaia, famed for lovely dames.”

He spake, and Hector, hearing him, rejoiced,And went between the hosts, and with his spear,Held by the middle, pressed the phalanxesOf Trojans back, and made them all sit down.The long-haired Greeks meanwhile, with bended bows,Took aim against him, just about to sendArrows and stones; but Agamemnon, kingOf men, beheld, and thus he cried aloud:—

“Restrain yourselves, ye Argives; let not flyYour arrows, ye Achaians; Hector asks—He of the beamy helmet asks to speak.”

He spake, and they refrained, and all, at once,Were silent. Hector then stood forth and said:—

“Hearken, ye Trojans and ye nobly-armedAchaians, to what Paris says by me.He bids the Trojans and the Greeks lay downTheir shining arms upon the teeming earth,And he and Menelaus, loved of Mars,Will strive in single combat, on the groundBetween the hosts, for Helen and her wealth;And he who shall o’ercome, and prove himselfThe better warrior, to his home shall bearThe treasure and the woman, while the restShall frame a solemn covenant of peace.”

He spake, and both the hosts in silence heard.Then Menelaus, great in battle, said:—

“Now hear me also—me whose spirit feelsThe wrong most keenly. I propose that nowThe Greeks and Trojans separate reconciled,For greatly have ye suffered for the sakeOf this my quarrel, and the original faultOf Paris. Whomsoever fate ordainsTo perish, let him die; but let the restBe from this moment reconciled, and part.And bring an offering of two lambs—one white,The other black—to Earth and to the Sun,And we ourselves will offer one to Jove.And be the mighty Priam here, that heMay sanction this our compact—for his sonsAre arrogant and faithless—lest some handWickedly break the covenant of Jove.The younger men are of a fickle mood;But when an elder shares the act he looksBoth to the past and future, and providesWhat is most fitting and the best for all.”

He spake, and both the Greeks and Trojans heardHis words with joy, and hoped the hour was comeTo end the hard-fought war. They reined their steedsBack to the ranks, alighted, and put offTheir armor, which they laid upon the groundNear them in piles, with little space between.

Then Hector sent two heralds forth with speedInto the town, to bring the lambs and callKing Priam. Meanwhile Agamemnon badeTalthybius seek the hollow ships and findA lamb for the altar. He obeyed the wordsOf noble Agamemnon, king of men.

Meanwhile to white-armed Helen Iris cameA messenger. She took a form that seemedLaodice, the sister of Paris, whomAntenor’s son, King Helicaon, wed—Fairest of Priam’s daughters. She drew nearTo Helen, in the palace, weaving thereAn ample web, a shining double-robe,Whereon were many conflicts fairly wrought,Endured by the horse-taming sons of TroyAnd brazen-mailed Achaians for her sakeUpon the field of Mars. Beside her stoodSwift-footed Iris, and addressed her thus:—

“Dear lady, come and see the Trojan knightsAnd brazen mailed Achaians doing thingsTo wonder at. They who, in this sad war,Eager to slay each other, lately metIn murderous combat on the field, are nowSeated in silence, and the war hath ceased.They lean upon their shields, their massive spearsAre near them, planted in the ground upright.Paris, and Menelaus, loved of Mars,With their long lances will contend for thee,And thou wilt be declared the victor’s spouse.”

She said, and in the heart of Helen wokeDear recollections of her former spouseAnd of her home and kindred. InstantlyShe left her chamber, robed and veiled in white.And shedding tender tears; yet not alone,For with her went two maidens—Aethra, childOf Pitheus, and the large-eyed Clymenè.Straight to the Scaean gates they walked, by whichPanthoüs, Priam, and Thymoetes sat,Lampus and Clytius, Hicetaon sprungFrom Mars, Antenor and Ucalegon,Two sages—elders of the people all.Beside the gates they sat, unapt, through age,For tasks of war, but men of fluent speech,Like the cicadas that within the woodSit on the trees and utter delicate sounds.Such were the nobles of the Trojan raceWho sat upon the tower. But when they markedThe approach of Helen, to each other thusWith wingèd words, but in low tones, they said:—

“Small blame is theirs, if both the Trojan knightsAnd brazen-mailed Achaians have enduredSo long so many evils for the sakeOf that one woman. She is wholly likeIn feature to the deathless goddesses.So be it: let her, peerless as she is,Return on board the fleet, nor stay to bringDisaster upon us and all our race.”

So spake the elders. Priam meantime calledTo Helen: “Come, dear daughter, sit by me.Thou canst behold thy former husband hence,Thy kindred and thy friends. I blame thee not;The blame is with the immortals who have sentThese pestilent Greeks against me. Sit and nameFor me this mighty man, the Grecian chief,Gallant and tall. True, there are taller men;But of such noble form and dignityI never saw: in truth, a kingly man.”

And Helen, fairest among women, thusAnswered: “Dear second father, whom at onceI fear and honor, would that cruel deathHad overtaken me before I left,To wander with thy son, my marriage-bed,And my dear daughter, and the companyOf friends I loved. But that was not to be;And now I pine and weep. Yet will I tellWhat thou dost ask. The hero whom thou seestIs the wide-ruling Agamemnon, sonOf Atreus, and is both a gracious kingAnd a most dreaded warrior. He was onceBrother-in-law to me, if I may speak—Lost as I am to shame—of such a tie.”

She said, the aged man admired, and thenHe spake again: “O son of Atreus, bornUnder a happy fate, and fortunateAmong the sons of men! A mighty hostOf Grecian youths obey thy rule. I wentTo Phrygia once—that land of vines—and thereSaw many Phrygians, heroes on fleet steeds,The troops of Otreus, and of Mygdon, shapedLike one of the immortals. They encampedBy the Sangarius. I was an ally;My troops were ranked with theirs upon the dayWhen came the unsexed Amazons to war.Yet even there I saw not such a hostAs this of black-eyed Greeks who muster here.”

Then Priam saw Ulysses, and inquired:—“Dear daughter, tell me also who is that,Less tall than Agamemnon, yet more broadIn chest and shoulders. On the teeming earthHis armor lies, but he, from place to place,Walks round among the ranks of soldiery,As when the thick-fleeced father of the flocksMoves through the multitude of his white sheep.”

And Jove-descended Helen answered thus:—“That is Ulysses, man of many arts,Son of Laertes, reared in Ithaca,That rugged isle, and skilled in every formOf shrewd device and action wisely planned.”

Then spake the sage Antenor: “Thou hast saidThe truth, O lady. This Ulysses onceCame on an embassy, concerning thee,To Troy with Menelaus, great in war;And I received them as my guests, and theyWere lodged within my palace, and I learnedThe temper and the qualities of both.When both were standing mid the men of Troy,I marked that Menelaus’s broad chestMade him the more conspicuous, but when bothWere seated, greater was the dignitySeen in Ulysses. When they both addressedThe council, Menelaus briefly spakeIn pleasing tones, though with few words—as oneNot given to loose and wandering speech—althoughThe younger. When the wise Ulysses rose,He stood with eyes cast down, and fixed on earth,And neither swayed his sceptre to the rightNor to the left, but held it motionless,Like one unused to public speech. He seemedAn idiot out of humor. But when forthHe sent from his full lungs his mighty voice,And words came like a fall of winter snow,No mortal then would dare to strive with himFor mastery in speech. We less admiredThe aspect of Ulysses than his words.”

Beholding Ajax then, the aged kingAsked yet again: “Who is that other chiefOf the Achaians, tall, and large of limb—Taller and broader-chested than the rest?”

Helen, the beautiful and richly-robed,Answered: “Thou seest the mighty Ajax there,The bulwark of the Greeks. On the other side,Among his Cretans, stands Idomeneus,Of godlike aspect, near to whom are groupedThe leaders of the Cretans. OftentimesThe warlike Menelaus welcomed himWithin our palace, when he came from Crete.I could point out and name the other chiefsOf the dark-eyed Achaians. Two alone,Princes among their people, are not seen—Castor the fearless horseman, and the skilledIn boxing, Pollux—twins; one mother boreBoth them and me. Came they not with the restFrom pleasant Lacedaemon to the war?Or, having crossed the deep in their good ships,Shun they to fight among the valiant onesOf Greece, because of my reproach and shame?”

She spake; but they already lay in earthIn Lacedaemon, their dear native land.

And now the heralds through the city boreThe sacred pledges of the gods—two lambs,And joyous wine, the fruit of Earth, withinA goat-skin. One of them—Idasus—broughtA glistening vase and golden drinking-cups,And summoned, in these words, the aged king:—

“Son of Laomedon, arise! The chiefsWho lead the Trojan knights and brazen-mailedAchaians pray thee to descend at onceInto the plain, that thou mayst ratifyA faithful compact. Alexander nowAnd warlike Menelaus will contendWith their long spears for Helen. She and allHer treasures are to be the conqueror’s prize;While all the other Trojans, having madeA faithful league of amity, shall dwellOn Ilium’s fertile plain, and all the GreeksReturn to Argos, famed for noble steeds,And to Achaia, famed for lovely dames.”

He spake, and Priam, shuddering, heard and badeThe attendants yoke the horses to his car.Soon were they yoked; he mounted first and drewThe reins; Antenor took a place withinThe sumptuous car, and through the Scaean gatesThey guided the fleet coursers toward the field.

Now when the twain had come where lay the hostsOf Trojans and Achaians, down they steppedUpon the teeming earth, and went amongThe assembled armies. Quickly, as they came,Rose Agamemnon, king of men, and nextUprose the wise Ulysses. To the spotThe illustrious heralds brought the sacred thingsThat bind a treaty, and with mingled wineThey filled a chalice, and upon the handsOf all the kings poured water. Then the sonOf Atreus drew a dagger which he woreSlung by his sword’s huge sheath, and clipped awayThe forelocks of the lambs, and parted themAmong the Trojan and Achaian chiefs,And stood with lifted hands and prayed aloud:—

“O Father Jupiter, who rulest allFrom Ida, mightiest, most august! And thou,O all-beholding and all-hearing Sun!Ye Rivers, and thou Earth, and ye who dwellBeneath the earth and punish after deathThose who have sworn false oaths, bear witness ye,And keep unbroken this day’s promises.If Alexander in the combat slayMy brother Menelaus, he shall keepHelen and all her wealth, while we returnHomeward in our good ships. If, otherwise,The bright-haired Menelaus take the lifeOf Alexander, Helen and her wealthShall be restored, and they of Troy shall paySuch fine as may be meet, and may be longRemembered in the ages yet to come.And then if, after Alexander’s fall,Priam and Priam’s sons refuse the fine,I shall make war for it, and keep my placeBy Troy until I gain the end I seek.”

So spake the king, and with the cruel steelCut the lambs’ throats, and laid them on the ground,Panting and powerless, for the dagger tookTheir lives away. Then over them they pouredWine from the chalice, drawn in golden cups,And prayed to the ever-living gods; and thusWere Trojans and Achaians heard to say:—

“O Jupiter most mighty and august!Whoever first shall break these solemn oaths,So may their brains flow down upon the earth—Theirs and their children’s—like the wine we pour,And be their wives the wives of other men.”

Such was the people’s vow. Saturnian JoveConfirmed it not. Then Priam, of the lineOf Dardanus, addressed the armies thus:—

“Hear me, ye Trojans, and ye well-greaved Greeks!For me I must return to wind-swept Troy.I cannot bear, with these old eyes, to lookOn my dear son engaged in desperate fightWith Menelaus, the beloved of Mars.Jove and the ever-living gods aloneKnow which of them shall meet the doom of death.”

So spake the godlike man, and placed the lambsWithin his chariot, mounted, and drew upThe reins. Antenor by him took his placeWithin the sumptuous chariot. Then they turnedThe horses and retraced their way to Troy.

But Hector, son of Priam, and the greatUlysses measured off a fitting space,And in a brazen helmet, to decideWhich warrior first should hurl the brazen spear,They shook the lots, while all the people roundLifted their hands to heaven and prayed the gods;And thus the Trojans and Achaians said:—

“O Father Jove, who rulest from the topOf Ida, mightiest one and most august!Whichever of these twain has done the wrong,Grant that he pass to Pluto’s dwelling, slain,While friendship and a faithful league are ours.”

So spake they. Hector of the beamy helmLooked back and shook the lots. Forth leaped at onceThe lot of Paris. Then they took their seatsIn ranks beside their rapid steeds, and whereLay their rich armor. Paris the divine,Husband of bright-haired Helen, there put onHis shining panoply—upon his legsFair greaves, with silver clasps, and on his breastHis brother’s mail, Lycaon’s, fitting wellHis form. Around his shoulders then he hungHis silver-studded sword, and stout, broad shield,And gave his glorious brows the dreadful helm,Dark with its horse-hair plume. A massive spearFilled his right hand. Meantime the warlike sonOf Atreus clad himself in like array.

And now when both were armed for fight, and eachHad left his host, and, coming forward, walkedBetween the Trojans and the Greeks, and frownedUpon the other, a mute wonder heldThe Trojan cavaliers and well-greaved Greeks.There near each other in the measured spaceThey stood in wrathful mood with lifted spears.

First Paris hurled his massive spear; it smoteThe round shield of Atrides, but the brassBroke not beneath the blow; the weapon’s pointWas bent on that strong shield. The next assaultAtrides Menelaus made, but firstOffered this prayer to Father Jupiter:—

“O sovereign Jove! Vouchsafe that I avengeOn guilty Paris wrongs which he was firstTo offer; let him fall beneath my hand,That men may dread hereafter to requiteThe friendship of a host with injury.”

He spake, and flung his brandished spear; it smoteThe round shield of Priamides; right throughThe shining buckler went the rapid steel,And, cutting the soft tunic near the flank,Stood fixed in the fair corselet. Paris bentSideways before it and escaped his death.Atrides drew his silver studded sword,Lifted it high and smote his enemy’s crest.The weapon, shattered to four fragments, fell.He looked to the broad heaven, and thus exclaimed:—

“O Father Jove! Thou art of all the godsThe most unfriendly. I had hoped to avengeThe wrong by Paris done me, but my swordIs broken in my grasp, and from my handThe spear was vainly flung and gave no wound.”

He spake, and, rushing forward, seized the helmOf Paris by its horse-hair crest, and turnedAnd dragged him toward the well-armed Greeks. BeneathHis tender throat the embroidered band that heldThe helmet to the chin was choking him.And now had Menelaus dragged him thence,And earned great glory, if the child of Jove,Venus, had not perceived his plight in time.She broke the ox-hide band; an empty helmFollowed the powerful hand; the hero saw,Swung it aloft and hurled it toward the Greeks,And there his comrades seized it. He againRushed with his brazen spear to slay his foe.But Venus—for a goddess easilyCan work such marvels—rescued him, and, wrappedIn a thick shadow, bore him from the fieldAnd placed him in his chamber, where the airWas sweet with perfumes. Then she took her wayTo summon Helen. On the lofty towerShe found her, midst a throng of Trojan dames,And plucked her perfumed robe. She took the formAnd features of a spinner of the fleece,An aged dame, who used to comb for herThe fair white wool in Lacedaemon’s halls,And loved her much. In such an humble guiseThe goddess Venus thus to Helen spake:—

“Come hither, Alexander sends for thee;He now is in his chamber and at restOn his carved couch; in beauty and attireResplendent, not like one who just returnsFrom combat with a hero, but like oneWho goes to mingle in the choral dance,Or, when the dance is ended, takes his seat.”

She spake, and Helen heard her, deeply moved;Yet when she marked the goddess’s fair neck,Beautiful bosom, and soft, lustrous eyes,Her heart was touched with awe, and thus she said:—

“Strange being! Why wilt thou delude me still?Wouldst thou decoy me further on amongThe populous Phrygian towns, or those that studPleasant Maeonia, where there haply dwellsSomeone of mortal race whom thou dost deignTo make thy favorite. Hast thou seen, perhaps,That Menelaus, having overpoweredThe noble Alexander, seeks to bearMe, hated as I must be, to his home?And hast thou therefore fallen on this device?Go to him, sit by him, renounce for himThe company of gods, and never moreReturn to heaven, but suffer with him; watchBeside him till he take thee for his wifeOr handmaid. Thither I shall never go,To adorn his couch and to disgrace myself.The Trojan dames would taunt me. O, the griefsThat press upon my soul are infinite!”

Displeased, the goddess Venus answered: “Wretch,Incense me not, lest I abandon theeIn anger, and detest thee with a zealAs great as is my love, and lest I causeTrojans and Greeks to hate thee, so that thouShalt miserably perish.” Thus she spake;And Helen, Jove-begotten, struck with awe,Wrapped in a robe of shining white, went forthIn silence from amidst the Trojan dames,Unheeded, for the goddess led the way.

When now they stood beneath the sumptuous roofOf Alexander, straightway did the maidsTurn to their wonted tasks, while she went up,Fairest of women, to her chamber. ThereThe laughing Venus brought and placed a seatRight opposite to Paris. Helen sat,Daughter of aegis-bearing Jove, with eyesAverted, and reproached her husband thus:—

“Com’st thou from battle? Rather would that thouHadst perished by the mighty hand of himWho was my husband. It was once, I know,Thy boast that thou wert more than peer in strengthAnd power of hand, and practice with the spear,To warlike Menelaus. Go then now,Defy him to the combat once again.And yet I counsel thee to stand aloof,Nor rashly seek a combat, hand to hand,With fair haired Menelaus, lest perchanceHe smite thee with his spear and thou be slain.”

Then Paris answered: “Woman, chide me notThus harshly. True it is, that, with the aidOf Pallas, Menelaus hath obtainedThe victory; but I may vanquish himIn turn, for we have also gods with us.Give we the hour to dalliance; never yetHave I so strongly proved the power of love—Not even when I bore thee from thy homeIn pleasant Lacedaemon, traversingThe deep in my good ships, and in the isleOf Cranaë made thee mine—such glow of lovePossesses me, and sweetness of desire.”

He spake, and to the couch went up; his wifeFollowed, and that fair couch received them both.

Meantime Atrides, like a beast of prey,Went fiercely ranging through the crowd in searchOf godlike Alexander. None of allThe Trojans, or of their renowned allies,Could point him out to Menelaus, lovedOf Mars; and had they known his lurking-placeThey would not for his sake have kept him hid,For like black death they hated him. Then stoodAmong them Agamemnon, king of men,And spake: “Ye Trojans and Achaians, hear,And ye allies. The victory belongsTo warlike Menelaus. Ye will thenRestore the Argive Helen and her wealth,And pay the fitting fine, which shall remainA memory to men in future times.”

Thus spake the son of Atreus, and the restOf the Achaian host approved his words.