Book 15

Hermes: To think that a cripple and a blacksmith like him should marry two such queens of beauty as Aphrodite and Charis!

Apollo: Luck, Hermes—that is all. But I do wonder at their putting up with his company; they see him running with sweat, bent over the forge, all sooty-faced; and yet they cuddle and kiss him, and sleep with him!

Hermes: Yes, it makes me angry too; how I envy him! Ah, Apollo, you may let your locks grow, and play your harp, and be proud of your looks; I am a healthy fellow, and can touch the lyre; but, when it comes to bedtime, we lie alone.

Apollo: Well, my loves never prosper; Daphne and Hyacinth were my great passions; she so detested me that being turned toa tree was more attractive than I; and him I killed with a quoit. Nothing is left me of them but wreaths of their leaves and flowers,

Hermes: Ah, once, once, I and Aphrodite—but no; no boasting.

Apollo: I know; that is how Hermaphroditus is accounted for. But perhaps you can tell me how it is that Aphrodite and Charis are not jealous of one another.

Hermes: Because one is his wife in Lemnus and the other in Heaven. Besides, Aphrodite cares most about Ares; he is her real love; so she does not trouble her head about the blacksmith.

Apollo: Do you think Hephaestus sees?

Hermes: Oh, he sees, yes; but what can he do? he knows what a martial young fellow it is; so he holds his tongue. He talks of inventing a net, though, to take them in the act with.

Apollo: Ah, all I know is, I would not mind being taken in that act.

Henry Watson Fowler