"It may be so; I dare say I have many faults." "Oh, none!-none, my Paris!" "Whether I have or not is of no great consequence. Faults or no faults, I dare say I shall manage to get through the world. I dare say I shall always be able to find friends." "Why, everybody is your friend," said Enone. "Nobody!" No, nobody; except yourself, Enone, and a parcel of stupid shep Stupid shepherds, Paris!" "Yes, stupid shepherds, Enone: very good sort of people, I make no doubt, and very amusing, according to your ideas; but not according to mine." My own Paris! what can you mean ?” · "Enone! I wish you would just learn not to be so ecstatic in your conversation. There is no doubt I am your own Paris; but you need not remind me of it every time you speak to me." The beautiful girl dropped his hand, and rose slowly from the ground. She stared at her betrothed with her large blue eyes, in beautiful dismay; but Paris was not anxious to catch her glance, or observe her agitation. He remained seated, with his sight fixed on the ground, and I did not move. The tears burst from the eyes of Enone, and flowed down her cheek; but she respected the caprice which she still believed was only the offspring of sorrow and gloom, and in silence she stole away. That same night, Paris, having laden a couple of camels with a sufficient portion of his treasure, succeeded in departing unperceived from Ida, and arrived, three hours after sunrise, at Troy. V. Nature, who had invested Paris with that native grace which is worth all the instructions of the dancing-master, had endowed him also with that intuitive knowledge of the world which, at least in the lesser affairs of life, is a not less efficacious guide than experience. On entering Troy, therefore, for the first time, in spite of all the wonderful spectacles that rose around him, he did not at all lose his presence of mind, but contrived to enter a first-rate hotel in the vicinity of the Court, and give his directions with well-bred composure. Having secured his four vases of gold coin, his four caskets of jewels, and his four chaplets of pearls in a private chamber, he obtained a guide, under whose superintendence he spent a week in making himself acquainted with the metropolis. He contrived, in this period, to obtain all the information he required, and at its termination he had succeeded in engaging for his residence one of the most magnificent palaces in the city. To furnish his dwelling in the most sumptuous style, to establish a household in gorgeous liveries, and to obtain a requisite number of splendid equipages, was rapid, easy, and agreeable work for a young man of lively fancy and unlimited means; and in a very short time Paris daily appeared in the public drive in a chariot more brilliant than that of Queen Hecuba herself, and drawn by four milk-white steeds, which shamed even the vaunted stud of the son of Laomedon. All Troy now began to talk of the magnificent stranger, and his acquaintance was eagerly sought by the first nobles of the country. After all, there is nothing like being a millionnaire to obtain an entrance into high society; and here was a millionnaire, very young, very handsome, very accomplished, and very amiable! Such banquets,-such balls,—such breakfasts,-such fanciful festivals, had never been experienced. He was generous, too, as luxurious. If a lady smiled upon him, he presented her with jewels; if a gentleman admired a horse, it was immediately sent to his stables. Paris became, in the course of a month, the most fashionable personage in Troy his portrait or his bust figured in all the shops; and from the sovereign to the mob, among whom he showered gold, as he dashed through their streets, all agreed in extolling him as the most magnificent of men. And who was he? Everybody was anxious to discover. Some thought for a moment that he must be the god Plutus in disguise; but others, more experienced, imagined that he was only the King of Persia incog. At last his fame reached even Ida; and some of his old acquaintance hurried up to Troy, to see him in his chariot. It then came out that he was only the son of a grazier. The ladies would not believe it, he was so beautiful; and the gentlemen did not care, he was so rich. Just at this moment the Trojan heralds, a class of men whose allegations at Troy were never questioned, thought fit to publish his pedigree, which silenced all reports, for they traced his descent not only from the immortal Gods, but even from the royal family. VI. But who was to gain the golden prize? This was the question now debated in all the circles of Troy. It was Olympia who first engaged the attention of the fortunate youth; a dazzling young lady, whose black eyes flashed fire like lightning from a thunder-cloud. Olympia was the daughter of the noble leader of the Trojan opposition. She was even a more violent politician than her sire, and had resolved never to marry any one who was not, or would not be, a Prime Minister. She explained to Paris the state of the three parties in which Troy was then divided: there was the Court party, who insisted that the palace should not be repaired; there was the aristocratic opposition, headed by her father and herself, who were of opinion that the Grecian should be substituted for its antique Oriental architecture; and there was a third party, who held that the inconvenient structure should be removed altogether. Paris was of opinion that all parties were wrong, and that it would be wise to repair it according to the old style; but he was under the irresistible influence of Olympia, and joined, accordingly, the Grecians. Undoubtedly there was an excitement in his new pursuits, which at first exceedingly interested him, now a little palled by mere dissipation. It was flattering to feel that his conduct influenced public opinion, and might eventually regulate the fortunes of the realm. Olympia, too, assured him that his genius was eminently political, and that nature had decidedly intended him for an orator and a statesman. Who could resist the reasoning of Olympia? The life of Paris was now passed in political banquets, and in coteries where none were admitted but those who professed the same opinions as himself. In spite of Olympia, Paris began to find them rather dull. There was nothing sectarian about his character; he liked to enjoy himself, and every one to share his enjoyment. To shun, and to be shunned, equally annoyed him. A pursuit which engendered so much ill blood, which encouraged such petty feelings, fed such bad passions, and fostered such contracted views, offended the nobility of his soul. He found that he was required every day to speak, or think, or do much that was very partial, and, consequently, very unjust. He perceived, too, that his friends, when he became better acquainted with them-for he was a shrewd observer-in spite of all their affected zeal, were by no means influenced by that fine taste for pure Grecian architecture which they affected, but, under the pretence of repairing the palace, seemed extremely anxious of obtaining a dwelling within its walls. Occasionally, too, some of his companions were seized with a sudden and very suspicious taste for the Oriental style of building, on which they accordingly joined the opposite faction, and were generally installed in consequence in some good post in the household of Priam. Paris revolted from the undisguised selfishness which surrounded him. Finally, he began to be of opinion, that the office of Prime Minister entailed a servitude upon its possessor, which, according to his ideas of the purposes of existence, a man must be little short of maduess voluntarily to solicit. It was just at this moment when, even in spite of the eloquence of Olympia, he began to suspect he was intended neither for an orator nor a statesman, that he happened to meet the young Glaucopis. VII. "I wonder you can mix yourself up with the vulgarities of politics," said Glaucopis to Paris, in the sweetest voice in the world, and glancing at him with her large grey eyes. "I wonder so, too," replied Paris; "believe me, you have only expressed what I have long felt." The ball was just over. Paris longed to continue the conversation, but the lady-mother of Glaucopis at this moment summoned her daughter to retire. Paris handed them to their chariot, and was consoled for their abrupt departure by an invitation to their house. Glaucopis was a great genius, and had written several sonnets. She was all soul, and had resolved never to marry any one who was not, or would not be, the greatest poet of his age. She had hardly known Paris four-and-twenty hours, before she discovered that this was a destiny at his command. He was ravished to hear it: for he was charmed with Glaucopis, and delighted with the society he met at her house; so different from the circle he had mingled in under the auspices of Olympia. Such clever people! Not a soul who had not written a book, or who was not capable of appreciating one, particularly if it were composed by one of their own set. Such dinners! Nothing but wits! Such assemblies! Every sentence an oracle! Paris lived in a blaze of bon mots, and breathed an atmosphere of refined opinion. Then they were such amiable people, and praised each other with such extreme unction! They all agreed that they were all the cleverest people in the world! Doubtless pre-eminence was accorded to the fair Glaucopis. She, indeed, was a perfect Muse. How flattering to Paris to be signalled out for the admiration of such a surpassing creature! He willingly believed that he was a great poet, and in compliance with her reiterated appeals, resolved even to prove he was one. Each day he brought to his mistress the produce of his inventive brain, which she condescended to revise occasionally even was so kind as to mingle her own inspiration with that of her admirer. At last, the poem of Paris was published, and language cannot convey an idea of the impression it created-among his friends. They all met immediately and drank tea, and voted him the laurel and the bays without a dissentient voice. For the first time in his career, Paris began to feel that life, after all, had not disappointed him. His passion for Glaucopis increased daily in an exact proportion as his vanity was gratified. Every review that appeared in his favour-and as most of the wits who dined with him were critics, these were not rare-he admired her more ardently, and he was just on the point of offering her himself and his unrivalled fortune, when an ill-natured wag, who had not succeeded in gaining admittance into the Glaucopian coterie, published a satire on all the friends. It was irresistible, and set all Troy a-laughing. He painted them, as indeed they were-though not to the mind's-eye of the deluded and inexperienced Paris--a set of affected poetasters, remarkable for the mediocrity of their talents, and the insolence of their pretensions. He unravelled the secret intrigues and the disreputable manœuvres by which they had obtained almost a monopoly of a prostituted press he lashed the wits who laughed at their entertainers behind their backs, while they ate their dinners and praised them in the public journals: he showed how pernicious was this conspiracy to real taste, and how fatal to authors of real merit, who had no patrons but the public, now bewildered by false panegyric and hired applause: finally, he dissected the sonnets of Glaucopis, and mauled the still more ambitious efforts of her pupil in so efficient and unanswerable a style, that the lady felt it absolutely necessary to retire for a short time into the country, whither her mother earnestly invited Paris to follow them. VIII. Now, although his head had been a little turned by the sudden accession to his marvellous fortune, there was not really a better-hearted person in the world than Paris; one more frank, less conceited, or more anxious not to delude himself. He was shrewd withal, and after the first blow, not only laughed at the satire, but really felt grateful to the satirist for opening his eyes. Paris had been seized with the very common and very excusable desire of seeing the world, and as circumstances favoured him, he had seen it to very great advantage. Few people had seen as much in so short a time. He had acquired considerable self-knowledge in the progress of his adventures, and now that his spirit was calm and his head cool, he felt profoundly that however delightful for a time may be the excitement of the great world, the only true source of permanent happiness flows from the heart. He felt that he was lone. There was a time when it had been otherwise. He remembered Enone who had loved him when he was a simple shepherd. Who was like Enone? the beautiful, the innocent, the intelligent, the devoted? Enone, who loved him for his own, own sake! Amid the splendour of his palace, he covered his face with his hand, and sighed a deep, deep sigh. He was miserable, yet things might be worse. He had been false to Enone, yet still she might have been faithful to him. He had, at any rate, escaped both the political intriguante and the bas bleu. He had extricated himself, at least, from the fatal ties of ambition, and the desperate mesh of literature. He might be unhappy, but he was still free. He ordered his chariot. It was sunset when he arrived at Ida. He quitted his radiant car, and stole unperceived into the grove of pines. He started as he beheld a female figure standing by the altar. Could he trust his sight? Was it indeed Enone? He approached her unobserved. She had placed his bust upon the altar, and was crowning it with flowers. He advanced, he gently gained her hand, and pressed it to his lips. She turned, she started, she averted her eyes, pale as death, and trembling in every limb. "Lord Paris!" she exclaimed, in an agitated voice. "Oh! call me thine, Enone!" replied the impassioned Paris. “Oh! call me thine! for I am thine, beautiful, beloved girl; more truly, more fondly, more devotedly, even than when we wandered in the woods of Ida, and pledged our mutual vows on the banks of Simois. Yes! exquisite Enone, call me not false, behold I am faithful! Ah! believe me, darling, that if you knew all, you would pardon, you would pity me. My father, whom we deemed a simple shepherd, has left me an inheritance surpassing that of kings. In a moment of distraction I was seized with an irresistible passion to view that world which I could now command. I have viewed it, and I have returned to my Enone! Yes! Ambition, with all its lures, the splendour of POWER, and the arrogance of WISDOM, have dazzled, but have not seduced me. It is at these enchanting feet that I have resolved to lay myself and my fortunes; it is here that I entreat that I may devote myself to BEAUTY and to Love!", TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY. III. LEONIDAS. On Homer. WHEN the bright sun in heaven ascending high |