There is none of Browning's seriousness in Disraeli's interpretation of Ixion. His story is utilized because it offers tempting chances for saucy, allusive comment on mundane affairs. A journey through space inevitably suggests the humor of proportion; but Ixion and Mercury give us not the grave irony of Byron's Cain and Lucifer, nor the rollicking yet pensive mirth of Mark Twain's Captain Stormfield. They are content with clever jocularity.
For instance, as they graze a certain star, Ixion inquires who live there. "Some low people who are trying to shine into notice," is the haughty reply. "'Tis a parvenu planet, and only sprung into space within this century. We do not visit them."[1]
During his brief but splendid sojourn on Olympus the guest is postured as a complacent, insolent, Barry Lyndon sort of rascal, who makes himself perfectly at home in the divine dining and drawing rooms (which are, of course, conducted according to the British code of etiquette), fulfills Cupid's prediction that he will write in Minerva's album, though he does manage to escape her "Platonic man-trap," carries on his intrigue with the Queen of Heaven in the Don Juan manner, and meets his detection and punishment with supercilious assurance and a final triumphant taunt.
The Infernal Marriage of Proserpine to Pluto introduces a disturbing element into the ancien régime of Hades. The new and influential bride stirs up a terrible political turmoil by interfering in the matter of Orpheus and Eurydice, and the consequence is quite disastrous. The conservative Fates and Furies are so incensed that they neglect their disciplinary duties, whereby the radical Sisyphus, Tantalus, and Ixion obtain a respite from torture and a
- ↑ Ixion, 272.
