‘To speak the truth,’ said Proserpine, ‘I am a little disappointed that I have not had an opportunity, during my visit, of becoming acquainted with some of the chiefs of that celebrated party; for, although a Liberal, I am a female one, and I like to know every sort of person who is distinguished.’
‘The fact is,’ replied her host, ‘that the party has never recovered from the thunderbolt of that scheming knave Jupiter, and do not bear their defeat so philosophically as years, perhaps, permit me to do. If we have been vanquished by the spirit of the age,’ continued Saturn, ‘you must confess that, in our case, the conqueror did not assume a material form very remarkable for its dignity. Had Creation resolved itself into its original elements, had Chaos come again, or even old Coelus, the indignity might have been endured; but to be baffled by an Olympian juste milieu, and to find, after all the clamour, that nothing has been changed save the places, is, you will own, somewhat mortifying.’
‘But how do you reconcile,’ inquired the ingenuous Proserpine, ‘the success of Jupiter with the character which you ascribed last night to the spirit of the age?’
‘Why, in truth,’ said Saturn, ‘had I not entirely freed myself from all party feeling, I might adduce the success of my perfidious and worthless relative as very good demonstration that the spirit of the age is nothing better than an ignis fatuus. Nevertheless, we must discriminate. Even the success of Jupiter, although he now conducts himself in direct opposition to the emancipating principles he at first professed, is no less good evidence of their force; for by his professions he rose. And, for my part, I consider it a great homage to public opinion to find every scoundrel now-a-days professing himself a Liberal.’
‘You are candid;’ said Proserpine. ‘I should like very much to see the Titans.’
‘My friends are at least consistent,’ observed Saturn; ‘though certainly at present I can say little more for them. Between the despair of one section of the party, and the over-sanguine expectations of the other, they are at present quite inactive, or move only to ensure fresh rebuffs.’
‘You see little of them, then?’
‘They keep to themselves: they generally frequent a lonely vale in the neighbourhood.’
‘I should so like to see them!’ exclaimed Proserpine.
‘Say nothing to Tiresias,’ said old Saturn, who was half in love with his fair friend, ‘and we will steal upon them unperceived.’ So saying, the god struck the earth with his cane, and there instantly sprang forth a convenient car, built of curiously carved cedar, and borne by four enormous tawny-coloured owls. Seating himself by the side of the delighted Proserpine, Saturn commanded the owls to bear them to the Valley of Lamentations.