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Hypolympia; Or, The Gods in the Island, an Ironic Fantasy
Hypolympia; Or, The Gods in the Island, an Ironic Fantasy
PREFACE
The scene of this fantasy is an island, hitherto inhabited by Lutherans, in a remote but temperate province of Northern Europe. The persons are the Gods of Ancient Greece. The time is early in the Twentieth Century.
I
[A terrace high above the sea, which is seen far below, through vast masses of woodland. Steps lead down towards the water, from the centre of the scene. To the left, a large, low country-house, of unpretentious character, in the style of the late eighteenth century. Gardens belonging to the same period, and now somewhat neglected and overgrown, stretch on either side. The edge of the terrace is marked by a stone balustrade, with a stone seat running round it within. At the top of steps, ascending, appear Aphrodite and Eros.]
Aphrodite.
A moment, Eros. Let us sit here. What can this flutter at my girdle be? I breathe with difficulty. Oh! Eros, can this be death?
Eros.
Death? Ah! no; you have roses in your cheeks, mother. Your lips are like blood.
Aphrodite.
It must be weariness. Ever these new sensations, these odd, exciting apprehensions! This must be mortality. I never breathed the faster as I rose from terrace to terrace in Cythera.
Eros.
Yet this is like Cythera – a little like it. [Looking round.] It is not the least like it. These round billowy woods, that grey strip of sea far below, the long smooth land with square yellow fields and pointed brown fields, and the wild grey sky above. No; it would be impossible for anything to be less like Cythera.
Aphrodite.
Yet it is like it. [Gazing round.] How strange … to be where everything is not azure and gold and white – white land, gold houses and blue sky and sea. What are these woods, Eros?
Eros.
Are they beech-woods?
Aphrodite.
I did not think that I could ever be happy again. I am not happy. But I am not miserable. Now that my heart is quiet again, I am not miserable. Oh! that sick tossing on the black sea, the nausea, the aching, the dulness; that I, who sprang from the waves, could come to hate them so. We will never venture on the sea, again?
Eros.
Then must we stay for ever here, since this is an island.
Aphrodite.
Yes, here for ever. For ever? We have no "for ever" now, Eros.
[Enter, from the house, Cydippe.]
Aphrodite.