_Hera. Leto_
_Hera_. I must congratulate you, madam, on the children with whom you
have presented Zeus.
_Leto_. Ah, madam; we cannot all be the proud mothers of Hephaestuses.
_Hera_. My boy may be a cripple, but at least he is of some use. He is
a wonderful smith, and has made Heaven look another place; and
Aphrodite thought him worth marrying, and dotes on him still. But those
two of yours !—that girl is wild and mannish to a degree; and now she
has gone off to Scythia, and her doings _there_ are no secret; she is
as bad as any Scythian herself,—butchering strangers and eating them!
Apollo, too, who pretends to be so clever, with his bow and his lyre
and his medicine and his prophecies; those oracle-shops that he has
opened at Delphi, and Clarus, and Dindyma, are a cheat; he takes good
care to be on the safe side by giving ambiguous answers that no one can
understand, and makes money out of it, for there are plenty of fools
who like being imposed upon,—but sensible people know well enough that
most of it is clap-trap. The prophet did not know that he was to kill
his favourite with a quoit; he never foresaw that Daphne would run away
from him, so handsome as he is, too, such beautiful hair! I am not
sure, after all, that there is much to choose between your children and
Niobe's.
_Leto_. Oh, of course; my children are butchers and impostors. I know
how you hate the sight of them. You cannot bear to hear my girl
complimented on her looks, or my boy's playing admired by the company.
_Hera_. His playing, madam!—excuse a smile;—why, if the Muses had not
favoured him, his contest with Marsyas would have cost him his skin;
poor Marsyas was shamefully used on that occasion; 'twas a judicial
murder.—As for your charming daughter, when Actaeon once caught sight
of her charms, she had to set the dogs upon him, for fear he should
tell all he knew: I forbear to ask where the innocent child picked up
her knowledge of obstetrics.
_Leto_. You set no small value on yourself, madam, because you are the
wife of Zeus, and share his throne; you may insult whom you please. But
there will be tears presently, when the next bull or swan sets out on
his travels, and you are left neglected.