of
this delightful woodland!

HERMES.

And still we know not to which of us the mild barbarians pray!

VII

[_The same scene, but no one present. A butterfly flits across
from the left, makes several pirouettes and exit to the
right._ HERA _enters quickly from the left_.]

HERA.

Could I be mistaken? What is this overpowering perfume? Is it
conceivable that in this new world odours take corporeal shape?
Anything is conceivable, except that I was mistaken in thinking
that I saw it fly across this meadow. It can only have been
beckoning me. [_The butterfly re-enters from the right, and, after
towering upwards, and wheeling in every direction, settles on a
cluster of meadow-sweet. It is followed from the right by_ EROS.
_He and_ HERA _look at one another in silence_.]

HERA.

You are occupied, Eros. I will not detain you.

EROS.

I propose to stay here for a little while. Are you moving on?
[_Each of them fixes eyes on the insect._]

HERA.

I must beg you to leave me, or to remain perfectly motionless. I
am excessively agitated.

EROS.

I followed the being which is hanging downwards from that spray
of blossom. Does it recall some one to you?

HERA.

Not in its present position. But I will not pretend, Eros, that
it is not the source of my agitation. Look at it now, as it flings
itself round the stalk, and opens and waves its fans. Do you still
not comprehend?

EROS.

I see nothing in it now. I am disappointed.

HERA.

But those great coloured eyes, waxing and waning! Those moons of
pearl! The copper that turns to crimson, the turquoise that turns
to violet, the greenish, pointed head that swings and rolls its
yoke of slender plumage! Ah! Eros, is it possible that you do not
perceive that it is a symbol of my peacock, my bird translated
into the language of this narrow and suppressed existence of ours?
What a strange and exquisite messenger! My poor peacock, with a
strident shriek of terror, fled from me on that awful morning, the
flames singeing its dishevelled train, its wings helplessly
flapping in the torrents of conflagration. It bade me no adieu, its
clangour of despair rang forth, an additional note of discord, from
the inner courts of my palace. And out of its agony, of its horror,
it has contrived to send me this adorable renovation of itself, all
its grace and all its splendour reincarnated in this tiny creature.
But alas! how am I to capture, how to co