Olympian Nights Part 17

"A high old G.o.d I'd make," said I.

"You'd pa.s.s," he observed, quietly. "I'll call you Pencillius, G.o.d of Chirography--or would you rather come as Nonsensius, the newly discovered deity of Jocosity?"

"I think I'd rather be Zero, G.o.d of Nit," said I, and it was so ordained.

Of course, I accepted the invitation and was on hand at the palace, as I thought, promptly. As a matter of fact, my watch having in some mysterious fashion been affected by the excitement of the adventure, got galloping away just as my own heart had done more than once. The result was that, instead of arriving at the palace at eight o'clock, as I was expected to do, I got there at seven. Of course, my exalted hosts were not ready to receive me, and there were no other guests to bear me company and keep me out of mischief in the drawing-room, where for an hour I was compelled to wait. At first all went well. I found much entertainment in the room, and on the centre-table, a beautiful bit of furniture, carved out of one huge amethyst, I discovered a number of books and magazines, which kept me tolerably busy for a half-hour. There was a finely bound copy of _Don'ts for the G.o.ds, or Celestial Etiquette_, in which I found many valuable hints on the procedure of Olympian society--notably one injunction as to the use of finger-bowls, from which I learned that the G.o.ds in their lavishness have a bowl for each finger; and a little volume by Bacchus on _Intemperance_, which I wish I might publish for the benefit of my fellow-mortals. All I remember about it at the moment of writing is that the author seriously enjoins upon his readers the wickedness of drinking more than sixty c.o.c.ktails a day, and utterly deprecates the habit of certain Englishmen of drinking seven bottles of port at a sitting. Bacchus seemed to think that, with the other wines incidental to a dinner, no one, not even an Englishman, should attempt to absorb more than five bottles of port over his coffee. It struck me as being rather good advice.

Wearying of the reading at the end of a half-hour, I began a closer inspection of the room and its contents. It was full of novelties, and, naturally, gorgeous past all description; but what most excited my curiosity was a small cabinet, not unlike a stereoscope in shape, which stood in one corner of the room. It had a b.u.t.ton at one side, over which was a gilt tablet marked "Push." On its front was the legend, "Drop a Nickel in the Slot, Push the b.u.t.ton, and See the Future." I followed the instructions eagerly. The nickel was dropped, the b.u.t.ton pushed, and, putting my eyes before the lenses, I gazed into the remotest days to come. I had come across the Futuroscope, otherwise a kinetoscope with the gift of prophecy. The coming year pa.s.sed rapidly, and I saw what fate had in store for the world for the twelve months immediately ahead of me; then followed a decade, then a century, and then others, until, just as I was approaching the dread cataclysm which is to mark the end of all mortal things, I heard a quick, startled voice back of me.

It was that of Jupiter, and his tone was a strange mixture of wrath and regret.

"What on earth have you done?" he cried.

"Nothing, your Majesty," said I, shaking all over as with the ague at the revelations I had just witnessed, "except getting a bird's-eye view of what is to come."

"I am sorry," said he, gravely. "It is not well that mortals should know the future, and your imprudent act is destructive of all the plans I have had for you. You must leave us instantly, for that instrument is for the G.o.ds alone. Moreover, the knowledge of that which you have seen--"

Here his voice positively thundered, and the frown that came upon his brow filled me with awe and terror.

"All knowledge of what you have seen must be removed from your brain,"

he added, grimly.

I was speechless with fear as the ruler of Olympus touched an electric b.u.t.ton at the side of the room, and the two huge slaves, Gog and Magog, appeared.

"Seize him!" Jupiter commanded, sternly.

In an instant I was bound hand and foot.

"To the office of Dr. aesculapius!" he commanded, and I was unceremoniously removed to the room wherein I had had my interview with the great doctor, where I was immediately etherized and my brain operated upon. Precisely what was done to me I shall probably never know, but what I do know is that from that time to this all that I saw in that marvellous Futuroscope is a blank, although on all other subjects pertaining to my visit to the G.o.ds my recollection is perfectly clear. It suffices to say that I lay for a long time in a stupor, and when finally I came to my senses again I found myself comfortably ensconced in my own bed, in my own home; not in Greece, but in America; suffering from a dull headache from which I did not escape for at least three hours. Again and again and again have I tried to recall that wonderful picture of a marvellous future seen by my mortal eyes that night upon Olympus, that I might set it upon paper for others to read, but with each effort the dreadful pain in the top of my head returns and I find myself compelled to abandon the project.

So was my brief visit to Olympus begun and ended. In its results it has perhaps been neither elevating nor remarkably instructive, but it has given me a better understanding of, and a better liking for, that great company of mythological beings who used to preside over the destinies of the Greeks. They appeared more human than G.o.dlike to my eyes. They were companionable to a degree, and for a time, at least, would prove congenial a.s.sociates for a summer outing, but as a steady diet--well, I am not at all surprised that, as men waxed more mature in years and in experience, these t.i.tanic members of the Olympian four hundred lost their power and became no greater factor in the life of the large society of mankind than any other group of people, equal in number and of seeming importance, whose days and nights are given over solely to pleasure and the morbid pursuit of notoriety.

THE END