HERMES

Why so down in the mouth, Apollo?

APOLLO

It’s my bad luck in love, Hermes.

HERMES

Ah, yes, that could well make a chap sad. But what’s your bad luck? Still sore about Daphne?

APOLLO

Oh, no; I’m in mourning for my Laconian darling, Oebalus’ son.

HERMES

Is Hyacinthus dead then?

APOLLO

He certainly is.

HERMES

Who did it, Apollo? Who was so insensible to charm as to kill that lovely boy?

APOLLO

I did it with my own hand.

HERMES

What! Were you mad, Apollo?

APOLLO

No, it was an unlucky accident.

HERMES

How? I’d like to hear how it happened.

APOLLO

He was learning to throw the quoit, and I was throwing it with him, when Zephyrus did it—curse that wind above them all—Zephyrus, too, had been in love with him for a long time, but the boy wouldn’t look at him, and he couldn’t stand his contempt. Well, I threw my quoit as usual, and Zephyrus blew down from Taygetus, and dashed it down on the boy’s head. Blood poured out where it hit him, and he died on the spot, poor lad. I shot back at Zephyrus with my arrows and chased him hard, all the way back to the mountain. The boy I’ve had buried in Amyclae, where he was struck down by the discus, and I’ve made the earth send up from his blood the sweetest and fairest flower of them all, one which bears lettering ¹ of mourning for the dead one. Do you think it’s unreasonable of me to have a broken heart?

HERMES

Yes I do, my good chap. You knew you’d chosen a mortal to love; so you mustn’t be vexed at his death.

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.