'Twas a hot season in the skies. Sirius held the ascendant, and under
his influence even the radiant band of the Celestials began to droop,
while the great ball-room of Olympus grew gradually more and more
deserted. For nearly a week had Orpheus, the leader of the heavenly
orchestra, played to a deserted floor. The _élite_ would no longer
figure in the waltz.
Juno obstinately kept her room, complaining of headache and ill-temper.
Ceres, who had lately joined a dissenting congregation, objected
generally to all frivolous amusements; and Minerva had established, in
opposition, a series of literary soirees, at which Pluto nightly
lectured on the fine arts and phrenology, to a brilliant and fashionable
audience. The Muses, with Hebe and some of the younger deities, alone
frequented the assemblies; but with all their attractions there was
still a sad lack of partners. The younger gods had of late become
remarkably dissipated, messed three times a week at least with Mars in
the barracks, and seldom separated sober. Bacchus had been sent to
Coventry by the ladies, for appearing one night in the ball-room, after
a hard sederunt, so drunk that he measured his length upon the floor
after a vain attempt at a mazurka; and they likewise eschewed the
company of Pan, who had become an abandoned smoker, and always smelt
infamously of cheroots. But the most serious defection, as also the most
unaccountable, was that of the beautiful Diana, _par excellence_ the
belle of the season, and assuredly the most graceful nymph that ever
tripped along the halls of heaven. She had gone off suddenly to the
country, without alleging any intelligible excuse, and with her the last
attraction of the ball-room seemed to have disappeared. Even Venus, the
perpetual lady patroness, saw that the affair was desperate.
"Ganymede, _mon beau garcon_," said she, one evening at an unusually
thin assembly, "we must really give it up at last. Matters are growing
worse and worse, and in another week we shall positively not have enough
to get up a tolerable gallopade. Look at these seven poor Muses sitting
together on the sofa. Not a soul has spoken to them to-night, except
that horrid Silenus, who dances nothing but Scotch reels."
"_Pardieu!_" replied the young Trojan, fixing his glass in his eye.
"There may be a reason for that. The girls are decidedly _passées_, and
most inveterate blues. But there's dear little Hebe, who never wants
partners, though that clumsy Hercules insists upon his conjugal rights,
and keeps moving after her like an enormous shadow. 'Pon my soul, I've a
great mind--Do you think, _ma belle tante_, that anything might be done
in that quarter?"
"Oh fie, Ganymede--fie for shame!" said Flora, who was sitting close to
the Queen of Love, and overheard the conversation. "You horrid, naughty
man, how can you talk so?"
"_Pardon, ma chère_!" replied the exquisite with a languid smile. "You
must excuse my _badinage_; and indeed, a glance of your fair eyes were
enough at any time to recall me to my senses. By the way, what a
beautiful _bouquet_ you have there. _Parole d'honneur_, I am quite
jealous. May I ask who sent it?"
"What a goose you are!" said Flora, in evident confusion: "how should I
know? Some general admirer like yourself, I suppose."
"Apollo is remarkably fond of hyacinths, I believe," said Ganymede,
looking significantly at Venus. "Ah, well! I see how it is. We poor
detrimentals must break our hearts in silence. It is clear we have no
chance with the _preux chevalier_ of heaven."
"Really, Ganymede, you are very severe this evening," said Venus with a
smile; "but tell me, have you heard anything of Diana?"
"Ah! _la belle Diane_? They say she is living in the country somewhere
about Caria, at a place they call Latmos Cottage, cultivating her faded
roses--what a color Hebe has!--and studying the sentimental."
"_Tant pis_! She is a great loss to us," said Venus. "Apropos, you will
be at Neptune's _fête champétre_ to-morrow, _n'est ce pas?_ We shall
then finally determine about abandoning the assemblies. But I must go
home now. The carriage has been waiting this hour, and my doves may
catch cold. I suppose that boy Cupid will not be home till all hours of
the morning."
"Why, I believe the Rainbow Club _does_ meet to-night, after the
dancing," said Ganymede significantly. "This is the last oyster-night of
the season."
"Gracious goodness! The boy will be quite tipsy," said Venus. "Do, dear
Ganymede! try to keep him sober. But now, give me your arm to the
cloak-room."
"_Volontiers_!" said the exquisite.
As Venus rose to go, there was a rush of persons to the further end of
the room, and the music ceased. Presently, two or three voices were
heard calling for Aesculapius.
"What's the row?" asked that learned individual, advancing leisurely
from the refreshment table, where he had been cramming himself with tea
and cakes.
"Leda's fainted!" shrieked Calliope, who rushed past with her
vinaigrette in hand.
"_Gammon_!" growled the Abernethy of heaven, as he followed her.
"Poor Leda!" said Venus, as her cavalier adjusted her shawl. "These
fainting fits are decidedly alarming. I hope it is nothing more serious
than the weather."
"I hope so, too," said Ganymede. "Let me put on the scarf. But people
will talk. Pray heaven it be not a second edition of that old scandal
about the eggs!"
"_Fi done_! You odious creature! How can you? But after all, stranger
things have happened. There now, have done. Good-night!" and she stepped
into her chariot.
"_Bon soir_" said the exquisite, kissing his hand as it rolled away.
"'Pon my soul, that's a splendid woman. I've a great mind--but there's
no hurry about that. _Revenons à nos oeufs._ I must learn something more
about this fainting fit." So saying, Ganymede re-ascended the stairs.