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‘I have suspected, for some time, that you are rather a heretic’

‘Why, the truth is,’ replied Apollo, playing with his rings, ‘I do not think much of Homer. Homer was not esteemed in his own age, and our contemporaries are generally our best judges. The fact is, there are very few people who are qualified to decide upon matters of taste. A certain set, for certain reasons, resolve to cry up a certain writer, and the great mass soon join in. All is cant. And the present admiration of Homer is not less so. They say I have borrowed a great deal from him. The truth is, I never read Homer since I was a child, and I thought of him then what I think of him now, a writer of some wild irregular power, totally deficient in taste. Depend upon it, our contemporaries are our best judges, and his contemporaries decided that Homer was nothing. A great poet cannot be kept down. Look at my case. Marsyas said of my first volume that it was pretty good poetry for a God, and in answer I wrote a satire, and flayed Marsyas alive. But what is poetry, and what is criticism, and what is life? Air. And what is air? Do you know? I don’t. All is mystery, and all is gloom, and ever and anon from out the clouds a star breaks forth, and glitters, and that star is Poetry.’

‘Splendid!’ exclaimed Minerva.

‘I do not exactly understand you,’ said Neptune.

‘Have you heard from Proserpine, lately?’ inquired Jupiter of Ceres.

‘Yesterday,’ said the domestic mother. ‘They talk of soon joining us. But Pluto is at present so busy, owing to the amazing quantity of wars going on now, that I am almost afraid he will scarcely be able to accompany her.’

Juno exchanged a telegraphic nod with Ceres. The Goddesses rose, and retired.

‘Come, old boy,’ said Jupiter to Ixion, instantly throwing off all his chivalric majesty, ‘I drink your welcome in a magnum of Maraschino. Damn your poetry, Apollo, and, Mercury, give us one of your good stories.’

‘Well! what do you think of him?’ asked Juno.

‘He appears to have a fine mind,’ said Minerva.

‘Poh! he has very fine eyes,’ said Juno.

‘He seems a very nice, quiet young gentleman,’ said Ceres.

‘I have no doubt he is very amiable,’ said Latona.

‘He must have felt very strange,’ said Diana.

Hercules arrived with his bride Hebe; soon after the Graces dropped in, the most delightful personages in the world for a soiree, so useful and ready for anything. Afterwards came a few of the Muses, Thalia, Melpomene, and Terpsichore, famous for a charade or a proverb. Jupiter liked to be amused in the evening. Bacchus also came, but finding that the Gods had not yet left their wine, retired to pay them a visit.

Ganymede announced coffee in the saloon of Juno. Jupiter was in superb good humour. He was amused by his mortal guest. He had condescended to tell one of his best stories in his best style, about Leda, not too scandalous, but gay.

‘Those were bright days,’ said Neptune.

‘We can remember,’ said the Thunderer, with a twinkling eye. ‘These youths have fallen upon duller times. There are no fine women now. Ixion, I drink to the health of your wife.’

‘With all my heart, and may we never be nearer than we are at present.’

‘Good! i’faith; Apollo, your arm. Now for the ladies. La, la, la, la! la, la, la, la!’

The Thunderer entered the saloon of Juno with that bow which no God could rival; all rose, and the King of Heaven seated himself between Ceres and Latona. The melancholy Apollo stood apart, and was soon carried off by Minerva to an assembly at the house of Mnemosyne. Mercury chatted with the Graces, and Bacchus with Diana. The three Muses favoured the company with singing, and the Queen of Heaven approached Ixion.

‘Does your Majesty dance?’ she haughtily inquired.