Part 12

“Went off with an organ grinder; now his name only appears on Club letter paper and headings for concert programmes. He manages to get into print, but he never plays.”

“How discouraging to art and musicians! Alas! alas! But apropos of games, what is the popular athletic sport now-a-days around Olympus?”

“Chasing quinine pills--a caddy holds the pills. You take the pills and then chase ’em ‘over the hills and far away.’”

“For the health, I presume?”

“Of course; the discus has gone out, but this later game makes more discussion than the discus ever did. Golf goes first-rate in Greek costume. You ought to see it. Scotchmen outdone.”

“How about ‘events’--athletic events?”

“Oh, events always occur in the Stadium.”

“Bless me, how exciting! But it sounds very stationary.”

“The victor generally does feel puffed up,” said the Captain. “During the last Olympiad a local divinity came down (from up the country) and accumulated such centrifugal force in running that he flew off to Thermopylæ or Marathon, some outside place or other, caught hold of the post there, swung himself round and slid into the Stadium in fine style.”

“What honors did he receive--laurel or oak wreath?”

“Think it was fig leaves,” remarked the sailor Captain, “but I am not sure. At any rate he was a hero. The town gave him free entrance to all the beer saloons for life, a new pair of sandals with wings and honors galore.”

“How appreciative! Discriminating public!”

“Sure! His name was engraved in the most honorable place possible.”

“How was that?”

“At the foot of the list of victors from B. C. 1776, or thereabouts, to A. D. 1896. He can no doubt stand the honor, but I doubt about the beer.”

“May I ask his name?”

“Name--his name--let me see, what was his name? It escapes me just at present. I’ll ask the steward some time, he’s up in such things,” and the Captain went off to superintend the passage of his vessel through the narrow channel between the islands and the mainland.

“There’s modern fame!” thought Miss Winchester. “After winning an Olympiad, to be labeled No. 3672, approx., name forgotten and soon marked ‘Unknown.’”

XXIV

THE GODS INTERFERE

While in the vicinity of Olympus it was, of course, quite natural for the gods to take an interest in Adele and Paul at this critical period in their affairs. They had heard of Adele as an Idyl--and assumed her to be an interesting, romantic and possibly poetic little creature, and in their old-time way of looking at things were far from imagining what a modern American Idyl might have become.

Mrs. Cultus in turn also had her own ideal. “Those Grecian gods,” said she, “are so frightfully anthro-popo--something, I forget the exact word, but it means meddlesome men. If I had my way we would leave this place at once. Who is Aphrodite, anyhow? I thought Venus was the most popular at Olympus. Oh, dear, my Greek is awfully rusty. I wish I had a copy of Took’s--good old Took’s Pantheon was full of such things.”

Now, unfortunately for Mrs. Cultus, her flippant words flew upwards. They were heard in Olympus by the great Aphrodite herself, ever one of the most influential of the Twelve Court Divinities. Hearing herself referred to in this trivial manner she determined to prove to this modern woman her potency, and that too by hastening events before madame and daughter could escape from her realm. The campaign opened at once.

Aphrodite whispered in Adele’s ear to be sure to make herself attractive to Paul, especially in personal appearance, for he was acutely sensitive to certain impressions just at that time.

Adele’s natural instincts would no doubt have taught her that much, but as she was under the brow of Olympus it is better to call natural instincts and some other forces in nature by their proper names.

At any rate Adele was thus affected, using every natural womanly effort to make herself agreeable, and Paul responded with a keen sense of appreciation. If Adele expressed a desire to stroll on deck, Paul cleared the deck to give plenty of room; if she wished to rest after a promenade he hurried to bring two chairs, one in either hand; if she said the night was dark, he said “ebony;” and if she expressed admiration for the heavenly moonlight he was ready to agree they were together in a Paradise.

Things would have worked admirably if some of the deities other than Aphrodite and some busybodies who hang around Courts and courting in general had not further interfered. Juno the Jealous and Diana the Golf-player, both Roman divinities visiting Zeus and his consort Hera, conceived the idea that the course-links in the game Adele and Paul were playing were entirely too smooth for real life, and it was astonishing how many of the lesser dignitaries with their relations came to the same conclusion. Complications at once arose, since all were in the secret.

Juno promptly stirred up Boreas, whose special domain was a little farther round the coast in the Ægean Sea, inciting him to blow great guns which reverberated from shore to shore across the billows. This in turn ruffled up Neptune, and in consequence there was a tremendous commotion in the roadstead where the steamer lay. Neptune’s venerable locks shone like white-caps in all directions at once.

As to Adele, she admired the sea in commotion and Paul agreed it was “the most magnificent spectacle.” Adele thought she could stand the movement, in fact did at first, until the united efforts of Boreas and Neptune acting simultaneously produced a very peculiar motion of the vessel, and a diversity of feelings so complicated within herself that she naturally took to her state-room on short notice. Paul at once pronounced the weather “beastly,” and the previous magnificence took flight on the wings of the wind.

Now, with all these divinities conspiring against her, Adele’s resemblance to her mother was certainly brought into prominence as never before, and all the romance of her nature seemed to vanish.

Adele in her state-room: “It is a physical impossibility to look well, much less be agreeable, when things are tossing about in this frightful way. Where’s my trunk?” and as she reached down to open it, the trunk slid across the room. Alas, too late! When she raised her head a new sensation.

“Oh, what’s that? Oh, dear, what a peculiar pain! Call the steward, somebody. Steward, steward!”

Enter steward. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m miserable, steward.”

“Yes, ma’am, take tea and toast and a little porridge.”

Adele, sharply: “Go for Miss Winchester at once, steward. Tell her I’m--I’m----”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Enter Miss Winchester. “Awful sorry you feel so upset, Adele. What can I do for you?”

“I never felt so collapsed in my life,” moaned the sufferer. “Now, tell me, Frank, shall I really die of this or not? Really, I couldn’t stand a joke!” Miss Winchester smiled when she perceived this universal symptom.

“No joke? Not even an antique in Greece, good yet? You know what Ulysses said when he passed this way: ‘You fear you will, then fear you won’t, and don’t’; that’s what he thought, I’m sure.”

“Frank Winchester, you’re positively heartless! You make me feel like throwing both you and Ulysses through that port-hole. Oh, dear, dear! How badly I do feel!”

Miss Winchester did what she could to quiet matters. “No, Adele, you certainly won’t die on purpose, not just yet.”

“Oh, Frank, what an awful thing to say, when you know it’s really so critical;” then musing as if of unutterable things, “what will Paul think of me?”

Now Paul, as luck would have it, was constitutionally opposed to seasickness even in the roughest weather; and as for Adele she had never before been so badly affected. “Owing to too much ‘Egyptian Delight’ and dates,” said Miss Winchester, feeling her pulse.

Paul thought the trouble would prove merely a trivial matter on Adele’s part. If he had suspected how miserable she really felt he would have acted differently, but being a veritable tease at times, he sent her, by Miss Winchester, the following verses from a newspaper clipping “for consolation.”

Frank proceeded to console Adele by reading these newspaper verses:

I

“In the steamer, oh, my darling! When the fog horns shriek and blow, And the footsteps of the stewards Softly come and softly go; When the passengers are moaning With a deep and heartfelt woe, Will you think of me and love me As you did a week ago?

II

“In the cabin, oh, my darling! Think not bitterly of me, Tho’ I rushed away and left you In the middle of our tea; I was seized with sudden longing, Wished to gaze upon the sea, It was best to leave you thus, dear, Best for you and best for me.”

“In the gloaming,” said Frank, and finished with a deep sigh. Adele looked unutterable things. “Best keep Paul out of my presence--to send me such stuff, and just now, too!” The vessel gave an awful lurch, and a tumbler broke in falling. “Oh, Frank, I feel those terrible twists again! Is that awful propeller still at it?--it feels just that way.”

“It will soon untwist, dear--don’t mind; think of the consolation in those lovely verses.”

“I shall never speak to him again!” said Adele--“never!”

“Oh, yes, you will, and before the moon sets.” Miss Winchester was thinking of other lovers’ quarrels in her experience.

“Moon!” exclaimed Adele. “If this continues there’ll be no moon and I will be a lunatic. I have a thunder-gust headache.”

Frank bathed her temples with cologne.

“Oh, how delicious that is! It’s so kind of you, Frank. The Doctor would say your hand is sympathetic; I think it’s you, Frank. How much better I should feel if this ship would only keep still one minute, just one minute, half a minute, quarter of a----”

“That’s right, dear, go to sleep,” and Miss Winchester kissed her on the forehead as she slept.

And while she slept, one should remember the season when these events occurred--during the early autumn, the period when summer changes and a purer radiancy obtains in nature. The compensations of age in the year supplied the “unthought-of deficiencies of an ardent past.”

Luna, the Italian goddess, was also visiting Olympus at this time. She was behind a cloud during the pranks of Boreas and Neptune, but overheard the conversation between Adele and Miss Winchester, and her appeal to Adele that the lovers’ quarrel should be settled before she sank beneath the horizon touched her pride as a goddess. Luna was generally considered cold and purely philosophic and at times artistic in relation to lovers, but when in her march across the heavens her pride and power were touched or called in question, she could see very clearly and influence coming events with great force. In fact all the tides in mundane revolutions were affected by Luna.

Being a great personal friend of Aphrodite, the two goddesses put their heads together and approached Zeus. The very sight of two such exquisitely beautiful creatures of his own creation, embodying both philosophy and love in league towards one accomplishment, proved eminently effective. Their anthropomorphous paternal progenitor, as usual, listened to their request and granted it, his reason for so doing being markedly paternal in its character. In order to keep peace in the family while strangers were looking on, Zeus directed Neptune to cease his uproarious behavior, and sent Zephyr to take the place of Boreas. Zephyr, well known as the mildest and gentlest of the sylvan deities, was only too glad of the opportunity to take his family for an outing at the seaside. He and the little Zephyrs played with ripples on the waves like children enjoying themselves on the beach, while Mrs. Zephyr waved the tree branches to and fro when fanning herself in a hammock beneath. Thus, while Boreas scudded off with the heavy clouds from above, the Zephyr family wafted in gentle and delicious breezes below.

Luna looked down, smiling at intervals between clouds, at the result of her visit to Zeus, and her open countenance, often mistaken for that of a man, assumed the likeness of a cameo goddess.

While this went on Paul, on deck, was watching the heavens clearing after the storm, the breaking away of the clouds, the falling of the wind, the quieting of the sea. Through rifts in the sombre sky he caught glimpses of a silvery glow in the mysterious depths, the glow became a radiancy, and darker clouds hurried by in troops, their places taken by delicate draperies, gauze-like, upon which the silvery light played in form of a halo.

This celestial scenery riveted Paul’s attention. As the last shadow-cloud passed away the gauze-like draperies also receded from view, as a veil withdrawn from before a beautiful face.

Luna of Italy--Queen of the Night--shone forth.

Paul, keenly susceptible and appreciative, became absorbed in admiration, but such his mood at this time that never before had he been so affected by the moon’s glory.

“Our harvest moon at home,” thought he, “the merrymaking moon for lads and lassies, so they say. I like it better for yachting; no, I don’t, either;--the cozy twosing moon when one feels like confiding after the day’s work is done. Yes, I feel just that way--in some one we love best: Yes, I think so, too. The moon which settles things before the winter comes on--the moon--the--confound it! that moon knows entirely too much! let me think for myself.” He imagined he heard a whisper putting his secret longings into words, and telling him he ought not to live alone--that is to say, not enjoying this moon alone--no! And off he started, as if something very urgent suggested itself.

It was Aphrodite who had whispered to him.

XXV

APHRODITE RISES FROM THE SEA

In the meantime the quieting of the sea had produced a most beneficial effect upon Adele. Thanks to the kind ministrations of her mother and Miss Winchester, the thunder-gust headache had passed away as suddenly as it came. The steward entered again to open the port-holes in her state-room; a delicious breeze, soft and balmy, entered, most refreshing.

“How quickly the storm has passed,” said Adele to her mother.

“Yes, my child, and you had better leave this stuffy state-room as quickly as possible. I feel sure you will recover as soon as you breathe the invigorating air.”

“I had a whiff just now.”

“These coast storms are very fussy while they last,” said Mamma, “but I suppose ’twill be like all those along the Riviera; we often had superb nights following terrible gusts. You had better get up, Adele.”

“Do you think it safe to venture?”

“Not the slightest risk, not the slightest. I’ll ask your father to have the chair ready; you can take his arm at first.”

The soft, balmy air was again wafted in through the port, and passed with healing touch over Adele’s cheek.

“How delicious that is,” and she repeated the line:

“Soft as downy zephyrs are.”

Why Adele used the word zephyrs instead of pillows, Zeus only knows;--it must have been Zeus, not Aphrodite, for the latter seldom troubled herself about either zephyrs or garments; and yet the association of ideas aroused in the mind of her mother by Adele’s talking about zephyrs was most potent in results.

“That reminds me, Adele, I have a zephyr-shawl that is just the very thing. I’ll go and get it,” and off she hurried.

In the passage outside she met Paul, also in haste, and they stumbled over one another.

“I’m after a shawl for Adele; she ought to be on deck.”

“Ah! just what I think,” said Paul, enchanted to find matters already so favorable.

“Her father will bring her up.”

“I shall be delighted; let me.”

“No, thanks very much; but, no, it’s not at all necessary,” probably thinking of her daughter’s appearance. “But you may arrange her chair in some protected place.”

“Better than ever,” thought Paul. “I’ll find it; a first-class protection, to suit us all round.”

When Mrs. Cultus put the shawl around her daughter’s shoulders and mentioned incidentally that Paul was arranging things for her on deck, Adele had a violent revulsion of feeling. Still thinking of those trashy verses Paul had sent her, she felt little disposition to meet him; then noticed again how stuffy was the air of the state-room; then her mother insisted.

“But those verses, mother!”

“Never mind poetry,” said Mrs. Cultus, laughing. “Think of what you’ve done in that line yourself. You’re just like me. I did it,” and her mother shook all over with amusement.

“What are you laughing at?”--Adele serious.

“Why, my dear, you’ve been singing verses about ‘doves’ and ‘loves,’ and ‘toujours’ and ‘amours’ ever since you began singing lessons. If I believed half of what you’ve sung in public, I would not know what to think. Never mind poetry, verses don’t count. Now go on deck.”

“It was half Frank’s fault, anyhow,” mused Adele, “to read me such stuff when I felt so wretched. Never mind, I’ll have a good crow to pick with Paul when I get him alone.”

Aphrodite also laughed--one of her most bewitching ripples of laughter--when she overheard Adele’s last conclusion, and promptly sent for her accomplished son, Eros.

Eros was a youngster, at least in appearance, but very precocious. Like his father, the ancient Hermes (Mercury), he was very quick in his movements, and affected considerable style in his undress, for a divinity. He even appeared wearing a collar, with the very latest style of neck-tie, a cordon of blue ribbon over his shoulder instead of a belt around his waist; which fact often troubled artists and “fotographers” when they took his “picture.” Being thus ultra, he carried at times a torch, then again bow and arrows, in lieu of a walking stick; and sometimes put the name “Cupid” on his visiting cards, because he said it sounded “cute.” The modern divinities elsewhere, as well as at Olympus, were much divided in their opinions about this Eros-Cupid, “modern-antique.” Some said he was a good boy; others, the most mischievous little urchin that was to be found sporting around the Mount of the Gods; some contended that the mischief he wrought showed him to be a charming little elf with his mother’s dimples and ripples of laughter. Later, some foreigners dubbed him Puck, but he was never so designated at Olympus, never, not even by his mother; only by those who never ate apples, the apples of discord, nor sported with him in the Gardens of Hesperides.

Cupid, himself, however, when among the Romans generally followed their example and called her Venus, which he never did in Greece. The Greeks would have been shocked; they were artistic and saw nothing improper, even under the electric lightning-lights of Olympus; the Romans merely commonplace, practical, useful. It was rumored, however, that the pair of them, Aphrodite and Eros, did work together, as Venus and Cupid even in Greece, on the sly as it were, when Juno was off with her swans, and Diana gone out fishing; beg pardon, it was hunting in those days, fishing came in later.

On this occasion Eros appeared in due time, obedient to his mother’s call. But, marvellous to relate, in appearance quite different from what Aphrodite had expected. He became visible in his most ancient Greek garb, his aspect the Beauty of Youth. He bore a flaming torch which Zeus had given him, the torch with which he had been armed from the beginning of human experience, the torch which was lighted in the Garden of Eden. The most youth-full as well as ancient of all the divinities approached. From remote ages he had been known to exist in some form, not only as an epiphany or an apparition of youthful life and beauty, but more than this, far more: the personification of the principle of union among the disunited elements of the world, drawn together by that “enthusiastic congeniality of spirit” which is the basis of all true love; potent among human kind as the power which operates for that sincere friendship which continues and develops, ever ascending through the domain of mutual respect and regard, into the glorious realm of devotion, self-sacrifice. This, the purity of union among human kind, the purity of marriage, the birth of souls, the realm of Immortal Youth.

Such was the unexpected aspect of Eros when he first appeared; and such the significance of his presence.

Being a divinity, in the old Greek sense of the term, that is to say, a personification of the natural forces and instincts and passions, he could not appear reasonably in other garb or aspect at this time, when active in relation to the affairs of such a one as Adele Cultus, an Idyl, an ideal girl.

Upon Adele, in modern times, the same forces of nature were still operative as they had ever been since the beginning. Adele, too, possessed the divine spark or flame, within her, as given by her Creator Father, and she was both lovely and lovable. Paul adored her for her beauty of character, and her youthful form as _he_ saw it; and her devotion to the truth as they _both_ saw it; the true union, earthly, heavenly, eternal.

Alas, that such a divinity or personification, this original, ancient Eros, should ever have been dethroned by others less spiritual than Adele; dethroned, aye, dragged down from the lofty pedestal, the rock of ages; and his torch of flame become but an urn of ashes to be scattered by every vagrant wind; he, himself, in time, represented as a thoughtless wayward child, often as a wanton sporting with bows and arrows as if at play; and forcing himself where no true affection exists, not even regard. His unhappy victims deluded, and wandering in a region of shadows where the light ever grows more dim; alas! forever failing to enter the realm of Immortal Youth, the realm illumined by the unfailing radiance of true love.

Yet such are the vicissitudes involving changes and irregularities in mortal experience, especially in connection with the materialistic tendencies of modern times, that the original aspect of Eros has suffered, as with many other similar conceptions. His aspect only, not the natural forces which he personified; hence, in relation to Adele, the truth in Eros remained untouched, whereas, his interview with Aphrodite in this case certainly did illustrate the deterioration which had overtaken the region of Olympus since so many of the old divinities have fallen from their pedestals.

The Eros of the ancient Greeks could no longer retain his lofty attitude and position amid modern requirements, and his behavior in this instance certainly did demonstrate the deterioration. He became, in aspect only, by various stages, the versatile modern imp, Cupid, the Cupid now so often represented as blindfolded, or even blind; and with or without wings when used for decorative purposes. In fact, he might easily be mistaken for an all-day-vaudeville performer, or a cherub brought up upon the latest cereal, so little is left of the original mythological divinity.

As before noted, Eros responded promptly to his mother’s call, his appearance as it had been in the beginning.

Aphrodite was struck with amazement, it had been so long since she had seen him in that guise. It recalled to her the early Grecian period, soon after she herself had risen, born by the forces of nature from the foam of the sea at Cyprus; of the time when Eros (Amor) and the Graces were ever in her train, and she herself the deity of reproduction and love; of the time when the myrtle, the rose, and the apple were especially sacred to her, and the dove, the swan and certain other animals were symbolic of her activities. And she looked upon him with affection.

“Eros! Oh, Eros! my lovely boy! son of my youth!” and her voice failed. Overwhelmed by surging memories, some time elapsed before she could again speak.

“How long, Eros! how long since thou camest to me as now?”

Eros knelt before her as if to receive her blessing.