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.
Verily, no Phidias, or Praxiteles, among the ancients, could have
worshiped by means of the sacred art of their day, and found a better
subject to crystallize in form for the good of future generations,
than this, an Olympian Madonna, a son at his mother’s knee. Maternal
love and the responsive trust and veneration of Youth.
The nearer approach of Eros naturally brought his torch in closer
proximity. Its brilliancy became dazzling, in fact blinding to eyes
long since unused to its power.
Aphrodite, conscious only of the physical inconvenience, placed her
hand before her face as if to shade the eyes. This was enough for
Eros, he placed his torch upon a tripod at greater distance, where
it remained, so near and yet so far; so subtle are the adverse
influences when the physical becomes dominant over the spiritual.
And instantly the natural consequence:
Eros separated from his torch was no longer the same. He had entered
the shadows; his aspect at once changed. His form, still exquisite to
behold, was like sculptured marble, faultless in outline, yet without
the flesh tint, the warmth of color; complete except the illuminating
flame which Zeus had given him.
Aphrodite still gazed with admiration, but, alas! strange to say, his
aspect having become more familiar to present conditions and himself
speechless, she also said nothing; and Eros continued to manifest the
beauty of form alone.
And again the natural consequence:
Aphrodite had called him for a purpose, and must talk with him; must
cause the exquisite form to manifest life, the statue must respond.
And she called him anew:
“Eros! Oh, Eros! why not speak? Come to me from amid those shadows!
Eros! answer!”
Alas, no response.
And again she called him.
He was but a stone.
And again, for the third time.
No response possible.
* * * * *
Yet while she waited, a profound and thrilling change did take
place, both in form and expression. Not that Eros spake, but his
form manifested a movement or evolution towards another phase of his
nature. So impressive had he been as a statue of divine suggestion,
that many a Greek would have placed him within the precincts of a
sacred temple as most appropriate locality for his abode. Once there,
his heavenly youth would serve to uplift the hearts of all who beheld
him. Once so conceived, any religion might have felt enriched from
an artistic point of view, to possess him among the treasures of
the sacred enclosure, as a symbol of the countless babes within the
heavenly realm; for “of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.”
And so Eros now appeared, as a mediæval cherub, a concomitant to
a sacred picture. His religious aspect still apparent, but now as
accessory; and often represented only as “head and wings,” gazing
upwards.
And still he was silent; significant, but silent.
To Aphrodite he seemed as one fading away from her forever, to be
lost amid enveloping clouds; possibly to be appropriated by other
worshipers than those who frequented Olympus. And such would have
been the case if the torch of Zeus, ever radiant, so near and yet so
far, had not still cast some light upon the scene. To Aphrodite, Eros
was still hers, of her, and from her, by whatever name he might be
addressed; and who more potent than she to call him by any name she
chose, any endearing term that sprang from her heart?
“Eros, my own! Eros, my darling! My cherub! surely you wish not to
offend me, and rest gazing at others. Cupid! speak!”
She had called him by his later and modern name; and again the
natural consequence, the final change. Of course he spoke. Being what
he was as Cupid in modern conception, he could not do otherwise, he
could not avoid conversation. Also, his youthful wings commenced to
flutter; and his beauty, never lost since the beginning, made him,
from the worldly point of view, adorable.
But, alas! not as Eros, simply the modern fascinating Cupid. Sad,
also! no longer the Aphrodite of early times, but the Roman Venus
still in vogue; Venus who at once asserted herself by giving orders
to her attendant Cherub. The Cherub carried his bow and arrows, and
the torch of Zeus grew very dim as Venus spake:
“Cupid! you certainly are clever! but you gave me such a shock! I
thought you never would wake up, or speak to me again!”
The Cherub fluttered about her person not unlike a butterfly to
fascinate by graceful movement; the poetry of motion, an admirable
motif for decoration; activity, new sensations; no more, no less.
“Cupid! if ever that occurs again, you will be caught and imprisoned,
imprisoned within a picture gallery, and there you will remain. Zeus
help you! Naughty boy!”
The beautiful winged youth, the spritely Cupid, at once answered:
“I’ll girdle the earth in forty minutes. Catch me, who catch can.”
Venus smiled. Some would have thought this smile “bewitching,” others
could have called her expression “a cynical smile.” But it soon faded
away, and in no degree prevented her proceeding at once to the object
of their interview.
“Cupid! there is going to be an engagement.”
“Ah! then the fight comes later on,” remarked the precocious Sprite.
“Are you ready?”
“Always ready,” and as if to suit the action to the word, he
fluttered in graceful curves, and finally, _en passant_, kissed her
upon the cheek.
“Good. I see you are! You may amuse yourself with bow and arrows when
the time comes.”
“May I respectfully inquire when this momentous engagement is to
transpire?”
“When you see me----”
“Do what, my Lady Venus?”
“Rise from the sea, and give the usual signal.”
The confab ended for the present. Lady Venus and Cupid understood
each other perfectly.
* * * * *
A moonlit night and zephyrs wafted in; an easy chair, and no one
looking on. Two in shadow, gazing upon legendary Greece; talking
mythology such as they alone could understand; feeling fluctuations
of quite another kind.
A convalescent lassie, and a sympathizing lad, old friends for at
least a year, it seemed as if from childhood. A timely aid, and a
grateful maid; compliments in words, and nature’s complementary. A
man’s stout heart, and a woman’s tender sympathy, sincerity and truth.
The conditions were favorable.
What else?
A secret, a secret to all but Cupid who stood behind a celestial-rose
bush on the heights nearby, his bow and arrows ready. An event not to
be seen by the binoculars of newsy gossips, nor even perceived by the
mental eyes of inquisitives. All is left to the spiritual discernment
of those who have loved.
What actually occurred during that heavenly evening when they drifted
upon the bosom of the Adriatic, when the stars shone brightly or
when cloud-draperies hid some endearing charm, can only fully be
known to two (and the divinities), these two nature’s lovely, lovable
and loved. But sure it is, before the evening closed, Aphrodite
again arose from the sea, a Vision of Loveliness. Gliding by in her
graceful shell, floating amid foam on the crest of a wave, illumined
by a divine radiance, she threw a kiss of affection, the signal. And
from behind the celestial-rose bush sped Love’s Arrow, borne upon
the wings of the unseen. As this sweet messenger enters the hearts
of those ready to respond, so it was welcomed by Adele and Paul,
reclining beneath the brow of Olympus.
XXVI
INTERMEZZO--ALLEGRO