ch naturally rules even strength
itself," to quote the Greek orator on the mistress of them all, on her
who, having never lived, can never die, the Daughter of the Swan.

While Helen enjoys this immortality, and is the ideal of beauty upon
earth, it is curious to reflect on the _modernite_ of her story, the
oldest of the love stories of the world. In Homer we first meet her, the
fairest of women in the song of the greatest of poets. It might almost
seem as if Homer meant to justify, by his dealing with Helen, some of the
most recent theories of literary art. In the "Iliad" and "Odyssey" the
tale of Helen is without a beginning and without an end, like a frieze on
a Greek temple. She crosses the stage as a figure familiar to all, the
poet's audience clearly did not need to be told who Helen was, nor
anything about her youth.

The famous judgment of Paris, the beginning of evil to Achaeans and Ilian
men, is only mentioned once by Homer, late, and in a passage of doubtful
authenticity. Of her reconciliation to her wedded lord, Menelaus, not a
word is said; of her end we are told no more than that for her and him a
mansion in Elysium is prepared--

"Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow."

We leave her happy in Argos, a smile on her lips, a gift in her hands, as
we met her in Troy, beautiful, adored despite her guilt, as sweet in her
repentance as in her unvexed Argive home. Women seldom mention her, in
the epic, but with horror and anger; men never address her but in gentle
courtesy. What is her secret? How did she leave her home with
Paris--beguiled by love, by magic, or driven by the implacable Aphrodite?
Homer is silent on all of these things; these things, doubtless, were
known by his audience. In his poem Helen moves as a thing of simple
grace, courtesy, and kindness, save when she rebels against her doom,
after seeing her lover fly from her husband's spear. Had we only Homer,
by far our earliest literary source, we should know little of the romance
of Helen; should only know that a lawless love brought ruin on Troy and
sorrow on the Achaeans; and this is thrown out, with no moral comment,
without praise or blame. The end, we learn, was peace, and beauty was
reconciled to life. There is no explanation, no _denouement_; and we
know how much _denouement_ and explanations hampered Scott and
Shakespeare. From these trammels Homer is free, as a god is free from
mortal limitations.

All this manner