faiths, its own myths.
Uniformity concerning them was not doctrinal, it was ritualistic. Then,
too, Aphrodite, Apollo, Zeus himself, the whole brilliant host of Olympus
were once monsters of Asia. However august they had since become, memories
and savors of anterior rites followed in their ascensions. These things
incited them to resume their primal forms. It was pleasurably that they
acceded. Therein is the simple mystery of their double lives, the reason
why Aphrodite could be degrading and ideal, celestial and vulgar, yet
always Philommeis, Queen of Smiles. In Cythera and Paphos she was but a
fresh avatar of Ishtar. In other sites she resembled the picture that
Dante made of Fortune and which an artist detached.

"Dante," said Saint-Victor, "displays Fortune turning her wheel,
distributing good and evil, success and failure, prosperity and want.
Mortals upbraid and accuse her. 'But these she does not hear. Tranquil
among primordial things, she turns her sphere and ineffably rejoices.' So
does Venus indifferently dispense high aims and viciousness. Curses do not
reach her, insults do not touch her, the passions she has unchained
cannot rise to where she is. In her high place tranquilly she turns her
sphere of stars.

'Volge sua sfera e beata si gode.'"

It was not that serene divinity, it was the more human Aphrodite of
Hesiod, that disturbed the Argive Helen. The story of her, the story of
the golden fruit tossed into Olympus with its tag, To the Fairest, the
rivalries that resulted, the decision of Paris, corrupt yet just, his
elopement with Helen, and the war of the world which ensued, these
episodes the hexameters of the _Iliad_ unfold.

There, drenched with blood and bathed in poetry, is Helen. There, too, is
Paris on his scarlet prow. With them you go from Lacedaemon, past the
faint, fair rose of Ida's snow, over the green plain of waters, right to
the gates of Ilium and within, and see how each man stopped and stood and
mused at Helen's face and her undreamed-of beauty.

Her beauty was no doubt surprising. She trailed admiration but also
respect. Homer relates that the seated sages rose at her approach. They
did not blame her for the conflagration that her face had caused. They
knew, as Priam knew, that responsibility rested not with the woman but
with the gods. Perhaps she was not responsible. As in an allegory of
beauty which itself is for all and yet for none, already she had passed
from hand to h