I absolutely failed to determine. Well, the priest--if I can so describe a man without apparent dedication, robed without charm, and exalted by no visible act of sacrifice--ascended a species of open box, and spoke to the audience from the upturned lid of it. CIRCE. What did he say? Did he explain the religion of his people? HERMES. To tell you the truth, Circe, although I listened with what attention I could, and although the actual language was perfectly clear to me--you know I am rather an accomplished linguist--I formed no idea of what he said. I could not find the starting-point of his experience. CIRCE. To whom can this temple be possibly dedicated? APHRODITE. Depend upon it, it is not a temple at all. What Hermes was present at was unquestionably some gathering of local politicians. Poor these barbarians may be, but they could not excuse by poverty such a neglect of the decencies as he describes. No flowers, no bright robes, no music of stringed instruments, no sacrifice--it is quite impossible that the meanest of sentient beings should worship in such a manner. And as for the picture which you saw behind what you took to be the altar, I question not that it is used to keep in memory some ancestor who suffered from the tyranny of his masters. In the belief that he was assisting at a process of rustic worship, our poor Hermes has doubtless attended a revolutionary meeting. CIRCE. Dreadful! But may its conflicts long keep outside the arcades 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.