Olympian Nights

I Summon a Valet

The room to which I was assigned was regal in its magnificence, and yet comfortable.  Few modern hotels afforded anything like it, and, tired as I was, I could not venture to rest until I had investigated it and its contents thoroughly.  It was, I should say, about twenty by thirty feet in its dimensions, and lighted by a soft, mellow glow that sprang forth from all parts without any visible source of supply.  At the far end was a huge window, before which were drawn portières of rich material in most graceful folds.  Pulling these to one side, so that I might see what the outlook from the window might be, I staggered back appalled at the infinite grandeur of what lay before my eyes.  It seemed as if all space were there, and yet within the compass of my vision.  Planets which to my eye had hitherto been but twinkling specks of light in the blackness of the heavens became peopled worlds, which I could see in detail and recognize.  Mars with its canals, Saturn with its rings—­all were there before me, seemingly within reach of my outstretched hand.  The world in which I lived appeared to have been removed from the middle distance, and those things which had rested beyond the ken of the mortal mind brought to my very feet, to be seen and touched and comprehended.

Then I threw the window open, and all was changed.  The distant objects faded, and a beautiful golden city greeted my eyes—­the city of Olympus, in which I was to pass so many happy hours.  For the instant I was puzzled.  Why at one moment the treasures of the universe of space had greeted my vision, and how all that had faded and the immediate surroundings of a celestial city lay before me, were not easy to understand.  I drew back and closed the window again, and at once all became clear; the window-glass held the magic properties of the magnifying-lens, developed to an intensity which annihilated all space, and I began to see that the development of mortals in scientific matters was puny beside that of the gods in whose hands lay all the secrets of the universe, although the principles involved were in our full possession.

The situation overwhelmed me somewhat, and I drew the portières together again.  The feelings that came over me were similar to those that come to one standing on the edge of a great precipice gazing downward into the vast, black depths yawning at his feet.  The giddiness that once, many years before, came upon me as I stood on the brink of the Niagaran cataract, which seemed irresistibly impelling me to join the mad rush of the waters, surged over me again, and I forced myself backward into the room, shutting out the sight, lest I should cast myself forth into the infinite space beyond.  I threw myself down upon a couch and covered my eyes with my hands and tried to realize the situation.  I was drunk with awe at all that was about me, and should, I think, have gone mad trying to comprehend its grandeur, had not my spirit been soothed by soft strains of music that now fell upon my ears.

I opened my eyes to discover whence the sounds had come, and even as the light streamed from unknown and unseen sources, so it was with the harmonies which followed, harmonies surpassing in beauty and swelling glory anything I had ever heard before.

And to these magnificent but soft and soothing strains I yielded myself up and slept.  How long my sleep continued I have no means of knowing.  It seemed to last but an instant, but when I opened my eyes once more I felt absolutely renewed in body and in spirit.  The damp garments which I had worn when I fell back upon the couch had in some wise been removed, and when I stood up to indulge in the usual stretching of my limbs I found myself clad in an immaculate flowing robe of white, soft of texture, fastened at the neck with a jewelled brooch, and at the waist its fulness restrained by a girdle of gold.  Furthermore, I had apparently been put through a process of ablution which left me with the cockles of my heart as warm as toast, and my whole being permeated with a glow of health which I had not known for many years.  The aches in my bones, which I had feared on waking to find intensified, were gone; and if I could have retained permanently the aspect of vigor and beauty which was returned to me by the mirror when I stood before it, I should be in imminent danger of becoming conceited.

“I wonder,” said I, as I gazed at myself in the mirror, “if this is the correct costume for breakfast.  It’s a slight drawback to know nothing of the customs of the locality in which you find yourself.  Possibly an investigation of my new wardrobe will help me to decide.”

I looked over the rich garments which had been provided, and found nothing which, according to my simple bringing up, suggested the idea that it was a good thing to wear at the morning meal.

“They ought to send me a valet,” I murmured.  “Perhaps they will if I ring for one.  Where the deuce is the bell, I wonder?”

A search of the room soon divulged the resting-place of this desirable adjunct to the tourist’s comfort.  The dial system which has proved so successful in American hotels was in vogue here, except that it manifested a willingness on the part of the proprietor to provide the guest with a range of articles utterly beyond anything to be found in the purely mundane caravansary.  I found that anything under the canopy that the mind of man could conceive of could be had by the mere pushing of a button.  The disk of the electrical apparatus was divided off into many sections, calling respectively for saddle-horses, symphony concerts, ocean steamships, bath-towels, stenographers; cocktails of all sorts, and some sorts of which I had never before heard, and all of which I resolved to try in discreet sequence; manicures, chiropodists, astrologers, prophets, clergymen of all denominations, plots for novelists—­indeed, anything that any person in any station of life might chance to desire could be got for the ringing.

My immediate need, however, was for a valet.  Puzzled as to the manners and customs of the gods, I did not wish to make a bad appearance in the dining-room in a costume which should not be appropriate.  I did think of ordering breakfast served in my room, but that seemed a very mortal and not a particularly godlike thing to do.  Hence, I rang for a valet.

[Illustration:  “ANYTHING could be got for the ringing”]

“I will tell him to get out my morning-suit, and no doubt he will select the thing I ought to wear,” I said as I pressed the button.

The response was instant.  My fingers had hardly left the button when a superb creature stood before me.  Whence he sprang I do not know.  There were no opening of doors, no traps or false panels, that I could see.  The individual simply materialized.

“At your service, sir,” said he, with a graceful obeisance.

“Pardon me,” I replied, overcome once more by what was going on.  “I—­ah—­think there must be some mistake.  I—­ah—­I didn’t ring for a god, I rang for a valet.”

“I am the valet of Olympus, sir,” he replied, gracefully flicking a speck of dust from the calf of his leg, the contour of which was beautiful to look upon, clad in superbly fitting silken tights.  “Adonis, at your service.  What can I do for you?”

“Well, I declare!” I cried, lost now in admiration of the way the gods were ordering things on Olympus.  “So they’ve made you a valet, have they?”

“Yes,” replied Adonis.  “I hold office for the six months that I am here.  You know that I am a resident of Olympus only half the time.  The balance I live in Hades.”

“It’s a common custom,” said I.  “Even with us, our swellest people go south for the winter.”

“Hum—­yes,” said Adonis, somewhat confused.  “It’s very good of you to draw that parallel.  Your construction of the situation does credit to your sense of what is polite, sir.  Unfortunately for me, however, my position is more like that of the habitual criminal who is sent to the penitentiary periodically.  I have to go, whether I want to or not.”

“Still, it must be a pleasant variation,” I observed, forgetting that it is bad form to converse with a servant, and remembering only that I was addressing an old flame of Madame Venus.  “Hades isn’t a bad place for a little while, I should fancy.”

“True,” sighed Adonis.  “But the society there is very mixed.  It’s full of self-made immortals, whereas we are all immortals by birth.”

“And who, pray,” I queried, “takes your place while you are below?”

“Narcissus,” he replied; “but there’s generally a lot of complaint about him.  He takes more pains dressing himself than he does in looking after guests, the result of which is that after my departure things get topsy-turvy, and by the time I get back, with the exception of Narcissus, there isn’t a well-dressed god in all Olympus.”

“I wonder, where such perfection is possible,” said I, “that they tolerate that.”

“They’re not going to very much longer,” said Adonis, and then he laughed.  “Narcissus queered himself last season at the palace.  Jove sent for him to trim his beard, and he nearly cut one of the old man’s ears off.  Investigation showed that instead of keeping his eye on what he was doing, he was looking at himself in the glass all the time.  Jupiter in his anger hurled a thunderbolt at him, but, fortunately for Narcissus, he hurled it at the mirrored and not at the real Narcissus, and he escaped.  The result is the rumor that he will be made head-waiter in the dining-room instead of valet next season, in which event I shall probably be allowed to remain here all through the year, or else they’ll put Jason on.”

“And which would you prefer?” I asked.

[Illustration:  “Jupiter hurled A thunder-bolt at him”]

“I think I’d rather have Jason put on,” said Adonis.  “While I don’t care much for the climate of Hades, I am received there with much consideration socially, whereas up here I am only the valet.  One doesn’t mind being a nabob once in a while, you know.  Besides—­ah—­don’t say anything about it to anybody up here, but I’m getting a trifle tired of Venus.  She is still beautiful, but you can’t get over the idea that she’s over four thousand years old.  Furthermore, I met a little Fury down below last season who is simply ravishing.”  Here Adonis gave me a wink which made me rather curious to see the little Fury.

“Ah, Adonis, Adonis!” I cried, shaking my finger at him; “still up to your old tricks, are you?”

“Why not?” he demanded.  “My character is formed. Noblesse oblige is a good motto for us all, only when one is born with faiblesse instead of noblesse, it becomes faiblesse oblige.  Furthermore, sir, if I am to have the reputation, I must insist upon the perquisites.”

What I replied to this bit of moralizing I shall not put down here, since I have no wish to commit myself thus publicly.  I will say, however, that I did not blame the youthful-looking person unreservedly.

“Moreover, I have very fine apartments in Hades,” he added, “and I should hate to give them up.  I live at the select home for gods and gentlemen, kept by Madame Persephone.  When she takes an interest in one of her boarders she is a mighty fine landlady, and, like most ladies, if I may say it with all due modesty, she has taken an interest in me.  The result is that I have the best suite in the house, overlooking the Styx, and as fine a table as any one could want.  But I must ask your pardon, sir, for taking up so much of your time with my personal affairs.  We both seem to have forgotten that I am here to wait upon you.”

“It has been very interesting, Adonis,” I said.  “And if it’s anybody’s fault, it is mine.  What I wished of you was that you should get out my breakfast-suit, so that I might dress and go to the dining-room.”

“Certainly, sir,” he replied, walking to the clothes-closet.  “Pardon me, but—­ah—­what is your profession when at home?”

“Why do you ask?” I queried.  “Not that I am unwilling to tell you, but—­”

“I merely wished to guide my selection of your garments.  If you are a naval officer, I will put out your admiral’s uniform.  If you are a professional golfer, I’ll get out your red coat.”

“I am a literary man,” I said.

“Ah!” he observed, lifting his eyebrows.  “Then, of course, you won’t mind wearing these.”

And he hauled forth a pair of black-and-white trousers with checks as large as the squares of a chessboard, a blue cloth vest with white polka dots, and a long, gray Prince Albert coat, with mauve satin lapels.  The shirt was pink and blue, stripes of each alternating, running cross-ways, a white collar, and a flaring red four-in-hand tie!

“Great Scott, Adonis!” I cried.  “Must I wear those?”

“You’re under no compulsion to do so,” said he.  “But I thought you said you were a literary man.”

“Well?”

“Well—­literary men never care what they wear so long as they attract attention, do they?”

I laughed.  “We are not all built that way, Adonis,” said I.  “Some of us are modest and have a little taste.”

“Well, it’s news to me,” said he.  “I guess it must be among the minor lights.”

“It is—­generally,” said I.  “And if you don’t mind, I’d rather wear the golf clothes.”

And I did.