Ixion In Heaven
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Benjamin Disraeli >> Ixion In Heaven
Juno just acknowledged the entrance of Ixion by a slight and haughty
inclination of the head, and then resumed her employment. Minerva asked
him his opinion of her amendment, of which he greatly approved. Apollo
greeted him with a melancholy smile, and congratulated him on being
mortal. Venus complimented him on his visit to Olympus, and expressed
the pleasure that she experienced in making his acquaintance.
'What do you think of Heaven?' inquired Venus, in a soft still voice,
and with a smile like summer lightning.
'I never found it so enchanting as at this moment,' replied Ixion.
'A little dull? For myself, I pass my time chiefly at Cnidos: you must
come and visit me there. 'Tis the most charming place in the world. 'Tis
said, you know, that our onions are like other people's roses. We will
take care of you, if your wife come.'
'No fear of that. She always remains at home and piques herself on
her domestic virtues, which means pickling, and quarrelling with her
husband.'
'Ah! I see you are a droll. Very good indeed. Well, for my part, I like
a watering-place existence. Cnidos, Paphos, Cythera; you will usually
find me at one of these places. I like the easy distraction of a career
without any visible result. At these fascinating spots your gloomy race,
to whom, by-the-bye, I am exceedingly partial, appear emancipated from
the wearing fetters of their regular, dull, orderly, methodical, moral,
political, toiling existence. I pride myself upon being the Goddess of
watering-places. You really must pay me a visit at Cnidos.'
'Such an invitation requires no repetition. And Cnidos is your favourite
spot?'
'Why, it was so; but of late it has become so inundated with invalid
Asiatics and valetudinarian Persians, that the simultaneous influx of
the handsome heroes who swarm in from the islands to look after their
daughters, scarcely compensates for the annoying presence of their
yellow faces and shaking limbs. No, I think, on the whole, Paphos is my
favourite.'
'I have heard of its magnificent luxury.'
'Oh! 'tis lovely! Quite my idea of country life. Not a single tree! When
Cyprus is very hot, you run to Paphos for a sea-breeze, and are sure to
meet every one whose presence is in the least desirable. All the bores
remain behind, as if by instinct.'
'I remember when we married, we talked of passing the honeymoon at
Cythera, but Dia would have her waiting-maid and a bandbox stuffed
between us in the chariot, so I got sulky after the first stage, and
returned by myself.'
'You were quite right. I hate bandboxes: they are always in the way.
You would have liked Cy-thera if you had been in the least in love.
High rocks and green knolls, bowery woods, winding walks, and delicious
sunsets. I have not been there much of late,' continued the Goddess,
looking somewhat sad and serious, 'since--but I will not talk
sentiment to Ixion.'
'Do you think, then, I am insensible?'
'Yes.'
'Perhaps you are right. We mortals grow callous.'
'So I have heard. How very odd!' So saying, the Goddess glided away and
saluted Mars, who at that moment entered the hall. Ixion was presented
to the military hero, who looked fierce and bowed stiffly. The King of
Thessaly turned upon his heel. Minerva opened her album, and invited him
to inscribe a stanza.
'Goddess of Wisdom,' replied the King, 'unless you inspire me, the
virgin page must remain pure as thyself. I can scarcely sign a decree.'
'Is it Ixion of Thessaly who says this; one who has seen so much,
and, if I am not mistaken, has felt and thought so much? I can easily
conceive why such a mind may desire to veil its movements from the
common herd, but pray concede to Minerva the gratifying compliment
of assuring her that she is the exception for whom this rule has been
established.'
'I seem to listen to the inspired music of an oracle. Give me a pen!
'Here is one, plucked from a sacred owl.' 'So! I write. There! Will it
do?' Minerva read the inscription:--
_I HAVE SEEN THE WORLD, AND MORE THAN THE WORLD:
I HAVE STUDIED THE HEART OF MAN,
AND NOW I CONSORT WITH IMMORTALS.
THE FRUIT OF MY TREE OF KNOWLEDGE IS PLUCKED,
AND IT IS THIS,
'Adventures are to the Adventurous.'
Written in the Album of Minerva, by
Ixion in Heaven._
''Tis brief,' said the Goddess, with a musing air, 'but full of meaning.
You have a daring soul and pregnant mind.'
'I have dared much: what I may produce we have yet to see.'
'I must to Jove,' said Minerva, 'to council. We shall meet again.
Farewell, Ixion.'
'Farewell, Glaucopis.'
The King of Thessaly stood away from the remaining guests, and leant
with folded arms and pensive brow against a wreathed column. Mars
listened to Venus with an air of deep devotion. Euterpe played an
inspiring accompaniment to their conversation. The Queen of Heaven
seemed engrossed in the creation of her paper peacocks.
Ixion advanced and seated himself on a couch near Juno. His manner was
divested of that reckless bearing and careless coolness by which it was
in general distinguished. He was, perhaps, even a little embarrassed.
His ready tongue deserted him. At length he spoke.
'Has your Majesty ever heard of the peacock of the Queen of
Mesopotamia?'
'No,' replied Juno, with stately reserve; and then she added with an air
of indifferent curiosity, 'Is it in any way remarkable?'
'Its breast is of silver, its wings of gold, its eyes of carbuncle, its
claws of amethyst.'
'And its tail?' eagerly inquired Juno.
'That is a secret,' replied Ixion. 'The tail is the most wonderful part
of all.'
'Oh! tell me, pray tell me!'
'I forget.'
'No, no, no; it is impossible!' exclaimed the animated Juno.
'Provoking mortal!' continued the Goddess. 'Let me entreat you; tell me
immediately.'
'There is a reason which prevents me.'
'What can it be? How very odd! What reason can it possibly be? Now tell
me; as a particular, a personal favour, I request you, do tell me.'
'What! The tail or the reason? The tail is wonderful, but the reason is
much more so. I can only tell one. Now choose.'
'What provoking things these human beings are! The tail is wonderful,
but the reason is much more so. Well then, the reason; no, the tail.
Stop, now, as a particular favour, pray tell me both. What can the
tail be made of and what can the reason be? I am literally dying of
curiosity.'
'Your Majesty has cut out that peacock wrong,' remarked Ixion. 'It is
more like one of Minerva's owls.'
'Who cares about paper peacocks, when the Queen of Mesopotamia has got
such a miracle!' exclaimed Juno; and she tore the labours of the morning
to pieces, and threw away the fragments with vexation. 'Now tell me
instantly; if you have the slightest regard for me, tell me instantly.
What was the tail made of?'
'And you do not wish to hear the reason?'
'That afterwards. Now! I am all ears.' At this moment Ganymede entered,
and whispered the Goddess, who rose in evident vexation, and retired to
the presence of Jove.
The King of Thessaly quitted the Hall of Music. Moody, yet not
uninfluenced by a degree of wild excitement, he wandered forth into the
gardens of Olympus. He came to a beautiful green retreat surrounded by
enormous cedars, so vast that it seemed they must have been coeval with
the creation; so fresh and brilliant, you would have deemed them wet
with the dew of their first spring. The turf, softer than down, and
exhaling, as you pressed it, an exquisite perfume, invited him to
recline himself upon this natural couch. He threw himself upon the
aromatic herbage, and leaning on his arm, fell into a deep reverie.
Hours flew away; the sunshiny glades that opened in the distance had
softened into shade.
'Ixion, how do you do?' inquired a voice, wild, sweet, and thrilling as
a bird. The King of Thessaly started and looked up with the distracted
air of a man roused from a dream, or from complacent meditation over
some strange, sweet secret. His cheek was flushed, his dark eyes flashed
fire; his brow trembled, his dishevelled hair played in the fitful
breeze. The King of Thessaly looked up, and beheld a most beautiful
youth.
Apparently, he had attained about the age of puberty. His stature,
however, was rather tall for his age, but exquisitely moulded and
proportioned. Very fair, his somewhat round cheeks were tinted with
a rich but delicate glow, like the rose of twilight, and lighted by
dimples that twinkled like stars. His large and deep-blue eyes sparkled
with exultation, and an air of ill-suppressed mockery quivered round
his pouting lips. His light auburn hair, braided off his white forehead,
clustered in massy curls on each side of his face, and fell in sunny
torrents down his neck. And from the back of the beautiful youth there
fluttered forth two wings, the tremulous plumage of which seemed to have
been bathed in a sunset: so various, so radiant, and so novel were its
shifting and wondrous tints; purple, and crimson, and gold; streaks of
azure, dashes of orange and glossy black; now a single feather,
whiter than light, and sparkling like the frost, stars of emerald and
carbuncle, and then the prismatic blaze of an enormous brilliant! A
quiver hung at the side of the beautiful youth, and he leant upon a bow.
'Oh! God, for God thou must be!' at length exclaimed Ixion. 'Do I behold
the bright divinity of Love?'
'I am indeed Cupid,' replied the youth; 'and am curious to know what
Ixion is thinking about.' 'Thought is often bolder than speech.'
'Oracular, though a mortal! You need not be afraid to trust me. My aid
I am sure you must need. Who ever was found in a reverie on the
green turf, under the shade of spreading trees, without requiring the
assistance of Cupid? Come! be frank, who is the heroine? Some love-sick
nymph deserted on the far earth; or worse, some treacherous mistress,
whose frailty is more easily forgotten than her charms? 'Tis a miserable
situation, no doubt. It cannot be your wife?'
'Assuredly not,' replied Ixion, with energy.
'Another man's?'
'No.'
'What! an obdurate maiden?'
Ixion shook his head.
'It must be a widow, then,' continued Cupid. 'Who ever heard before of
such a piece of work about a widow!'
'Have pity upon me, dread Cupid!' exclaimed the King of Thessaly, rising
suddenly from the ground, and falling on his knee before the God.
'Thou art the universal friend of man, and all nations alike throw their
incense on thy altars. Thy divine discrimination has not deceived thee.
I _am_ in love; desperately, madly, fatally enamoured. The object of my
passion is neither my own wife nor another man's. In spite of all they
have said and sworn, I am a moral member of society. She is neither a
maid nor a widow. She is------'
'What? what?' exclaimed the impatient deity.
'A Goddess!' replied the King.
'Wheugh!' whistled Cupid. 'What! has my mischievous mother been
indulging you with an innocent flirtation?'
'Yes; but it produced no effect upon me.'
'You have a stout heart, then. Perhaps you have been reading poetry with
Minerva, and are caught in one of her Platonic man-traps.'
'She set one, but I broke away.'
'You have a stout leg, then. But where are you, where are you? Is it
Hebe? It can hardly be Diana, she is so cold. Is it a Muse, or is it one
of the Graces?'
Ixion again shook his head.
'Come, my dear fellow,' said Cupid, quite in a confidential tone, 'you
have told enough to make further reserve mere affectation. Ease your
heart at once, and if I can assist you, depend upon my exertions.'
'Beneficent God!' exclaimed Ixion, 'if I ever return to Larissa, the
brightest temple in Greece shall hail thee for its inspiring deity. I
address thee with all the confiding frankness of a devoted votary. Know,
then, the heroine of my reverie was no less a personage than the Queen
of Heaven herself!'
'Juno! by all that is sacred!' shouted Cupid. 'I am here,' responded
a voice of majestic melody. The stately form of the Queen of Heaven
advanced from a neighbouring bower. Ixion stood with his eyes fixed
upon the ground, with a throbbing heart and burning cheeks. Juno stood
motionless, pale, and astounded. The God of Love burst into excessive
laughter.
[Illustration: page28]
'A pretty pair!' he exclaimed, fluttering between both, and laughing
in their faces. 'Truly a pretty pair! Well! I see I am in your way.
Good-bye!' And so saying, the God pulled a couple of arrows from his
quiver, and with the rapidity of lightning shot one in the respective
breasts of the Queen of Heaven and the King of Thessaly.
The amethystine twilight of Olympus died away. The stars blazed with
tints of every hue. Ixion and Juno returned to the palace. She leant
upon his arm; her eyes were fixed upon the ground; they were in sight of
the gorgeous pile, and yet she had not spoken. Ixion, too, was silent,
and gazed with abstraction upon the glowing sky.
Suddenly, when within a hundred yards of the portal, Juno stopped, and
looking up into the face of Ixion with an irresistible smile, she
said, 'I am sure you cannot now refuse to tell me what the Queen of
Mesopotamia's peacock's tail was made of!'
'It is impossible now,' said Ixion. 'Know, then, beautiful Goddess, that
the tail of the Queen of Mesopotamia's peacock was made of some plumage
she had stolen from the wings of Cupid.'
'And what was the reason that prevented you from telling me before?'
'Because, beautiful Juno, I am the most discreet of men, and respect the
secret of a lady, however trifling.'
'I am glad to hear that,' replied Juno, and they re-entered the palace.
Mercury met Juno and Ixion in the gallery leading to the grand
banqueting hall.
'I was looking for you,' said the God, shaking his head. 'Jove is in a
sublime rage. Dinner has been ready this hour.'
The King of Thessaly and the Queen of Heaven exchanged a glance and
entered the saloon. Jove looked up with a brow of thunder, but did not
condescend to send forth a single flash of anger. Jove looked up and
Jove looked down. All Olympus trembled as the Father of Gods and men
resumed his soup. The rest of the guests seemed nervous and reserved,
except Cupid, who said immediately to Juno, 'Your Majesty has been
detained?'
'I fell asleep in a bower reading Apollo's last poem,' replied Juno. 'I
am lucky, however, in finding a companion in my negligence. Ixion, where
have you been?'
'Take a glass of nectar, Juno,' said Cupid, with eyes twinkling with
mischief; 'and perhaps Ixion will join us.'
This was the most solemn banquet ever celebrated in Olympus. Everyone
seemed out of humour or out of spirits. Jupiter spoke only in
monosyllables of suppressed rage, that sounded like distant thunder.
Apollo whispered to Minerva. Mercury never opened his lips, but
occasionally exchanged significant glances with Ganymede. Mars
compensated, by his attentions to Venus, for his want of conversation.
Cupid employed himself in asking disagreeable questions. At length
the Goddesses retired. Mercury exerted himself to amuse Jove, but the
Thunderer scarcely deigned to smile at his best stories. Mars picked
his teeth, Apollo played with his rings, Ixion was buried in a profound
reverie.
It was a great relief to all when Ganymede summoned them to the presence
of their late companions.
'I have written a comment upon your inscription,' said Minerva to Ixion,
'and am anxious for your opinion of it.'
'I am a wretched critic,' said the King, breaking away from her. Juno
smiled upon him in the distance.
'Ixion,' said Venus, as he passed by, 'come and talk to me.'
The bold Thessalian blushed, he stammered out an unmeaning excuse, he
quitted the astonished but good-natured Goddess, and seated himself by
Juno, and as he seated himself his moody brow seemed suddenly illumined
with brilliant light.
'Is it so?' said Venus.
'Hem!' said Minerva.
'Ha, ha!' said Cupid.
Jupiter played piquette with Mercury.
'Everything goes wrong to-day,' said the King of Heaven; 'cards
wretched, and kept waiting for dinner, and by-----a mortal!'
'Your Majesty must not be surprised,' said the good-natured Mercury,
with whom Ixion was no favourite. 'Your Majesty must not be very much
surprised at the conduct of this creature. Considering what he is, and
where he is, I am only astonished that his head is not more turned than
it appears to be. A man, a thing made of mud, and in Heaven! Only think,
sire! Is it not enough to inflame the brain of any child of clay? To be
sure, keeping your Majesty from dinner is little short of celestial high
treason. I hardly expected that, indeed. To order me about, to treat
Ganymede as his own lacquey, and, in short, to command the whole
household; all this might be expected from such a person in such a
situation, but I confess I did think he had some little respect left for
your Majesty.'
'And he does order you about, eh?' inquired Jove. 'I have the spades.'
'Oh! 'tis quite ludicrous,' responded the son of Maia. 'Your Majesty
would not expect from me the offices that this upstart daily requires.'
'Eternal destiny! is't possible? That is my trick. And Ganymede, too?'
'Oh! quite shocking, I assure you, sire,' said the beautiful cupbearer,
leaning over the chair of Jove with all the easy insolence of a
privileged favourite. 'Really, sire, if Ixion is to go on in the way he
does, either he or I must quit.'
'Is it possible?' exclaimed Jupiter. 'But I can believe anything of a
man who keeps me waiting for dinner. Two and three make five.'
'It is Juno that encourages him so,' said Ganymede.
'Does she encourage him?' inquired Jove.
'Everybody notices it,' protested Ganymede.
'It is indeed a little noticed,' observed Mercury.
'What business has such a fellow to speak to Juno?' exclaimed Jove. 'A
mere mortal, a mere miserable mortal! You have the point. How I have
been deceived in this fellow! Who ever could have supposed that,
after all my generosity to him, he would ever have kept me waiting for
dinner?'
'He was walking with Juno,' said Ganymede. 'It was all a sham about
their having met by accident. Cupid saw them.'
'Ha!' said Jupiter, turning pale; 'you don't say so! Repiqued, as I am a
God. That is mine. Where is the Queen?'
'Talking to Ixion, sire,' said Mercury. 'Oh, I beg your pardon, sire; I
did not know you meant the queen of diamonds.'
'Never mind. I am repiqued, and I have been kept waiting for dinner.
Accursed be this day! Is Ixion really talking to Juno? We will not
endure this.'
'Where is Juno?' demanded Jupiter.
'I am sure I cannot say,' said Venust with a smile.
'I am sure I do not know,' said Minerva, with a sneer.
'Where is Ixion?' said Cupid, laughing outright.
'Mercury, Ganymede, find the Queen of Heaven instantly,' thundered the
Father of Gods and men.
The celestial messenger and the heavenly page flew away out of different
doors. There was a terrible, an immortal silence. Sublime rage lowered
on the brow of Jove like a storm upon the mountain-top. Minerva seated
herself at the card-table and played at Patience. Venus and Cupid
tittered in the background. Shortly returned the envoys, Mercury looking
solemn, Ganymede malignant.
'Well?' inquired Jove; and all Olympus trembled at the monosyllable.
Mercury shook his head.
'Her Majesty has been walking on the terrace with the King of Thessaly,'
replied Ganymede.
'Where is she now, sir?' demanded Jupiter.
Mercury shrugged his shoulders.
'Her Majesty is resting herself in the pavilion of Cupid, with the King
of Thessaly,' replied Ganymede.
'Confusion!' exclaimed the Father of Gods and men; and he rose and
seized a candle from the table, scattering the cards in all directions.
Every one present, Minerva and Venus, and Mars and Apollo, and Mercury
and Ganymede, and the Muses, and the Graces, and all the winged
genii--each seized a candle; rifling the chandeliers, each followed Jove.
'This way,' said Mercury.
'This way,' said Ganymede.
'This way, this way!' echoed the celestial crowd.
'Mischief!' cried Cupid; 'I must save my victims.'
They were all upon the terrace. The Father of Gods and men, though both
in a passion and a hurry, moved with dignity. It was, as customary in
Heaven, a clear and starry night; but this eve Diana was indisposed, or
otherwise engaged, and there was no moonlight. They were in sight of the
pavilion.
'What are you?' inquired Cupid of one of the genii, who accidentally
extinguished his candle.
'I am a cloud,' answered the winged genius.
'A cloud! Just the thing. Now do me a shrewd turn, and Cupid is ever
your debtor. Fly, fly, pretty cloud, and encompass yon pavilion with
your form. Away! ask no questions; swift as my word.'
'I declare there is a fog,' said Venus.
'An evening mist in Heaven!' said Minerva.
'Where is Nox?' said Jove. 'Everything goes wrong. Who ever heard of a
mist in Heaven?'
'My candle is out,' said Apollo.
'And mine, too,' said Mars.
'And mine, and mine, and mine,' said Mercury and Ganymede, and the Muses
and the Graces.
'All the candles are out!' said Cupid; 'a regular fog. I cannot even see
the pavilion: it must be hereabouts, though,' said the God to himself.
'So, so; I should be at home in my own pavilion, and am tolerably
accustomed to stealing about in the dark. There is a step; and here,
surely, is the lock. The door opens, but the cloud enters before me.
Juno, Juno,' whispered the God of Love, 'we are all here. Be contented
to escape, like many other innocent dames, with your reputation only
under a cloud: it will soon disperse; and lo! the heaven is clearing.'
'It must have been the heat of our flambeaux,' said Venus; 'for see, the
mist is vanished; here is the pavilion.'
Ganymede ran forward, and dashed open the door. Ixion was alone.
'Seize him!' said Jove.
'Juno is not here,' said Mercury, with an air of blended congratulation
and disappointment.
'Never mind,' said Jove; 'seize him! He kept me waiting for dinner.'
'Is this your hospitality, AEgiochus?' exclaimed Ixion, in a tone of
bullying innocence. 'I shall defend myself.'
'Seize him, seize him!' exclaimed Jupiter. 'What! do you all falter? Are
you afraid of a mortal?'
'And a Thessalian?' added Ganymede.
No one advanced.
'Send for Hercules,' said Jove.
'I will fetch him in an instant,' said Ganymede.
'I protest,' said the King of Thessaly, 'against this violation of the
most sacred rights.'
'The marriage tie?' said Mercury.
'The dinner-hour?' said Jove.
'It is no use talking sentiment to Ixion,' said Venus; 'all mortals are
callous.'
'Adventures are to the adventurous,' said Minerva.
'Here is Hercules! here is Hercules!'
'Seize him!' said Jove; 'seize that man.'
In vain the mortal struggled with the irresistible demigod.
'Shall I fetch your thunderbolt, Jove?' inquired Ganymede.
'Anything short of eternal punishment is unworthy of a God,' answered
Jupiter, with great dignity. 'Apollo, bring me a wheel of your
chariot.'
'What shall I do to-morrow morning?' inquired the God of Light.
'Order an eclipse,' replied Jove. 'Bind the insolent wretch to the
wheel; hurl him to Hades; its motion shall be perpetual.'
'What am I to bind him with?' inquired Hercules.
'The girdle of Venus,' replied the Thunderer.
'What is all this?' inquired Juno, advancing, pale and agitated.
'Come along; you shall see,' answered Jupiter. 'Follow me, follow me.'
They all followed the leader, all the Gods, all the genii; in the midst,
the brawny husband of Hebe bearing Ixion aloft, bound to the fatal
wheel. They reached the terrace; they descended the sparkling steps of
lapis-lazuli. Hercules held his burthen on high, ready, at a nod, to
plunge the hapless but presumptuous mortal through space into Hades. The
heavenly group surrounded him, and peeped over the starry abyss. It was
a fine moral, and demonstrated the usual infelicity that attends unequal
connection.
'Celestial despot!' said Ixion.
In a moment all sounds were hushed, as they listened to the last words
of the unrivalled victim. Juno, in despair, leant upon the respective
arms of Venus and Minerva.
'Celestial despot!' said Ixion, 'I defy the immortal ingenuity of thy
cruelty. My memory must be as eternal as thy torture: that will support
me.'