It is that crudity of yours, Hera, which has before now made your position in Olympus so untenable. You lack the art of elegant insinuation.
HERA.
Am I then to believe that you were playing a part when you seemed a little while ago so anxious to recognise Psyche in the drooping b.u.t.terfly?
EROS.
Oh! far from it. The sentiment of recognition was wholly genuine and almost rapturously pleasurable. It is true that in the confusion of our flight I had not been able to give a thought to our friend, who was, unless I am much mistaken, absent from her palace. Nor will I be so absurd as to pretend that I have, for a long while past, felt at all keenly the desire for her company. She has very little conversation. There are certain peculiarities of manner, which----
HERA.
I know exactly what you mean. My peac.o.c.k has a very peculiar voice, and----
EROS [_impatiently_].
You must permit me to protest against any comparison between Psyche and your worthy bird. But I was going to say that the moment I saw the brilliant little discrepancy which led us both to this spot--and to which I hesitate to give a more definite name--I was instantly and most pleasantly reminded of certain delightful episodes, of a really charming interlude, if I may so call it.
I cannot be perfectly certain what connection our ebullient high-flyer has with the G.o.ddess whose adorer I was and whose friend I shall ever be. But the symbol--if it be no more than a symbol--has been sufficient to awaken in me all that was most enjoyable in our relations. I shall often wander in these woods, among the cloud-like ma.s.ses of odorous blossom, in this windless harbour of sunlight and the murmur of leaves, in the hope of finding the little visitant here. She will never fail to remind me, but without disturbance, of all that was happiest in a series of relations which grew at last not so wholly felicitous as they once had been. One of the pleasures this condition of mortality offers us, I foresee, is the perpetual recollection of what was delightful in the one serious liaison of my life, and of nothing else.
HERA.
Aphrodite would charge you with cynicism, Eros.
EROS.
It would not be the first time that she has mistaken my philosophy for petulance.
VIII
[_On the terrace beside the house are seated_ PERSEPHONE, MAIA, _and_ CHLORIS. _The afternoon is rapidly waning, and lights are seen to twinkle on the farther sh.o.r.e of the sea. As the twilight deepens, from just out of sight a man"s voice is heard singing as follows_:]
_As I lay on the gra.s.s, with the sun in the west, A woman went by me, a babe at her breast; She kissed it and pressed it, She cooed, she caressed it, Then rocked it to sleep in her elbow-nest._
_She rocked it to rest with a sad little song, How the days were grown short, and the nights grown long; How love was a rover, How summer was over, How the winds of winter were shrill and strong._
_We must haste, she sang, while the sky is bright, While the paths are plain and the town"s in sight, Lest the shadows that watch us Should creep up and catch us, For the dead walk here in the gra.s.s at night._
[_The voice withdraws farther down the woods, but from a lower distance, in the clear evening, the last stanza is heard repeated.
The_ G.o.dDESSES _continue silent, until the voice has died away_.]
CHLORIS.
Rude words set to rude music; but they seem to penetrate to the very core of the heart.
MAIA.
Are you sad to-night, Chloris?
CHLORIS.
Not sad, precisely; but anxious, feverish, a little excited.
PERSEPHONE.
Hark! the song begins again.
[_They listen, and from far away the words come faintly back:_
_For the dead walk here in the gra.s.s at night._]
MAIA.
The dead! Shall we see them?
CHLORIS.
Why not? These barbarians appear to avoid them with an invincible terror, but why should we do so?
MAIA.
I do not feel that it would be possible for the dead to "catch" me, since I should be instantly and keenly watching for them, and much more eager to secure their presence than they could be to secure mine.
CHLORIS.
We do not know of what we speak, for it may very well be that the barbarians have some experience of these beings. Their influence may be not merely malign, but disgusting.
MAIA.
How ignorant we are!
CHLORIS.
Surely, Persephone, you must be able to give us some idea of the dead. Were they not the sole occupants of your pale dominions?
PERSEPHONE.
It is very absurd of me, but really I do not seem to recollect anything about them.
MAIA.
I suppose you disliked living in Hades very much?
PERSEPHONE.
Well, I spent six months there every year, to please my husband.
But a great deal of my time was taken up in corresponding with my mother. She was always nervous if she did not hear regularly from me. I really feel quite ashamed of my inattention.