_An Errant King_
THE thunder groaned, the wind howled, the rain fell in hissing torrents,
impenetrable darkness covered the earth. A blue and forky flash darted a
momentary light over the landscape. A Doric temple rose in the centre of
a small and verdant plain, surrounded on all sides by green and hanging
woods.
‘Jove is my only friend,’ exclaimed a wanderer, as he muffled himself up
in his mantle; ‘and were it not for the porch of his temple, this night,
methinks, would complete the work of my loving wife and my dutiful
subjects.’
The thunder died away, the wind sank into silence, the rain ceased, and
the parting clouds exhibited the glittering crescent of the young moon.
A sonorous and majestic voice sounded from the skies:--
‘Who art thou that hast no other friend than Jove?’ ‘One whom all
mankind unite in calling a wretch.’ ‘Art thou a philosopher?’
‘If philosophy be endurance. But for the rest, I was sometime a king,
and am now a scatterling.’ ‘How do they call thee? ‘Ixion of Thessaly.’
‘Ixion of Thessaly! I thought he was a happy man. I heard that he was
just married.’
‘Father of Gods and men! for I deem thee such, Thessaly is not Olympus.
Conjugal felicity is only the portion of the immortals!’
‘Hem! What! was Dia jealous, which is common; or false, which is
commoner; or both, which is commonest?’
‘It may be neither. We quarrelled about nothing. Where there is little
sympathy, or too much, the splitting of a straw is plot enough for a
domestic tragedy. I was careless, her friends stigmatised me as callous;
she cold, her friends styled her magnanimous. Public opinion was all
on her side, merely because I did not choose that the world should
interfere between me and my wife. Dia took the world’s advice upon every
point, and the world decided that she always acted rightly. However,
life is life, either in a palace or a cave. I am glad you ordered it to
leave off thundering.’
‘A cool dog this. And Dia left thee? ‘No; I left her.’ ‘What, craven?’
‘Not exactly. The truth is-----‘tis a long story.