Chapter 105
[Enter Apollo. He is an elderly "buck" with an air of a.s.sumed juvenility and is dressed in dressing gown and smoking cap.
AP. [yawning] I shan't go out today. I was out yesterday and the day before and I want a little rest. I don't know how it is,but I seem to feel my work a great deal more than I used to.
DIA. I am sure these short days can't hurt you. Why you don't rise til six and you're in bed again by five; you should have a turn at my work and see how you like that--out all night.
AP. My dear sister, I don't envy you--though I remember when I did--but that was when I was a younger sun. I don't think I'm quite well. Perhaps a little change of air will do me good. I've a mind to show myself in London this winter. They'll be very glad to see me. No. I shan't go out today. I shall send them this fine, thick wholesome fog and they won't miss me. It's the best subst.i.tute for a blazing sun--and like most subst.i.tutes, nothing at all like the real thing.
[Fog clears away and discovers the scene described. Hurried music. Mercury shoots up from behind precipice at the back of stage. He carries several parcels afterwards described. He sits down, very much fatigued.]
MER. Home at last. A nice time I've had of it.
DIA. You young scamp you've been out all night again. This is the third time you've been out this week.
MER. Well you're a nice one to blow me up for that.
DIA. I can't help being out all night.
MER. And I can't help being down all night. The nature of Mercury requires that he should go down when the sun sets, and rise again when the sun rises.
DIA. And what have you been doing?
MER. Stealing on commission. There's a set of false teeth and a box of Life Pills for Jupiter--an invisible peruke and a bottle of hair dye--that's for Apollo--a respirator and a pair of galoshes--that's for Cupid--a full bottomed chignon, some auricomous fluid, a box of pearl-powder, a pot of rouge, and a hare's foot--that's for Venus.
DIA. Stealing. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.
MER. Oh, as the G.o.d of thieves I must do something to justify my position.
DIA.and AP. [contemptuously] Your position.
MER. Oh, I know it's nothing to boast of even on earth. Up here, it's simply contemptible. Now that you G.o.ds are too old for your work, you've made me the miserable drudge of Olympus--groom, valet,
AP. Your Christmas boxes ought to be something considerable.
MER. They ought to be but they're not. I'm treated abominably.
I make everybody and I'm n.o.body. I go everywhere and I'm nowhere. I do everything and I'm nothing. I've made thunder for Jupiter, odes for Apollo, battles for Mars, and love for Venus.
I've married couples for Humen and six weeks afterwards, I've divorced them for Cupid, and in return I get all the kicks while they pocket the halfpence. And in compensation for robbing me of the halfpence in question, what have they done for me.
AP. Why they've--ha.ha.ha. they've made you the G.o.d of thieves.
MER. Very self denying of them. There isn't one of them who hasn't a better claim to the distinction than I have.
Oh, I'm the celestial drudge, For morning to night I must stop at it.
On errands all day I must trudge, And stick to my work til I drop at it.
In summer I get up at one.
(As a good-natured donkey I'm ranked for it.) then I go and I light up the sun.
And Phoebus Apollo gets thanked for it.
Well, well, it's the way of the world.
And will be through all its futurity.
Though noodles are baroned and earled, There's nothing for clever obscurity.
I'm the slave of the G.o.ds, neck and heels, And I'm bound to obey, though I rate at 'em.
And I not only order their meals, But I cook 'em and serve'em and wait at 'em.
Then I make all their nectar, I do.
(What a terrible liquor to rack us is.) And whenever I mix them a brew, Why all the thanksgivings are Bacchus's.
Well, well, it's the way of the world, etc.....
The reading and writing I teach.
And spelling-books many I've edited.
And for bringing those arts within reach, That donkey Minerva gets credited.
Then I sc.r.a.pe at the stars with a knife, And plate-powder the moon (on the days for it).
And I hear all the world and his wife Awarding Diana the praise for it.
Well, well, it's the way of the world, etc....
[After song--very loud and majestic music is heard]
DIA and MER [looking off] Why, who's this? Jupiter, by Jove.
[Enter Jupiter, an extremely old man, very decrepit, with very thin straggling white beard, he wears a long braided dressing gown, handsomely trimmed, and a silk night-cap on his head.
Mercury falls back respectfully as he enters.]
JUP. Good day, Diana. Ah, Apollo. Well, well, well, what's the matter? What's the matter?
DIA. Why that young scamp Mercury says that we do nothing, and leave all the duties of Olympus to him. Will you believe it, he actually says that our influence on earth is dropping down to nil.
JUP. Well, well. Don't be hard on the lad. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure that he's far wrong. Don't let it go any further, but, between ourselves, the sacrifices and votive offerings have fallen off terribly of late. Why, I can remember the time when people offered us human sacrifices, no mistake about it, human sacrifices. Think of that.
DIA. Ah. Those good old days.
JUP. Then it fell off to oxen, pigs, and sheep.
AP. Well, there are worse things than oxen, pigs and sheep.
JUP. So I've found to my cost. My dear sir, between ourselves, it's dropped off from one thing to another until it has positively dwindled down to preserved Australian beef. What do you think of that?
AP. I don't like it at all.
JUP. You won't mention it. It might go further.
DIA. It couldn't fare worse.
JUP. In short, matters have come to such a crisis that there's no mistake about it--something must be done to restore our influence, the only question is, what?
MER. [Coming forward in great alarm. Enter Mars]
Oh incident unprecedented.
I hardly can believe it's true.
MARS. Why, bless the boy, he's quite demented.
Why, what's the matter, sir, with you?