'Great is Diana of the Ephesians, whom all Asia and the inhabited earth worshippeth.'Unto the noble Lady Venusta,'Whereas thy slave-girl Saronia is now within the sacred precincts of the Temple of our Lady Saviour, and claims sanctuary, alleging that by your cruel treatment she has fled your abode;'And this Notice, in accordance with the Law, demands that you appear at our Tribunal, and if by proof you show her allegations false, she shall forthwith be handed back, you releasing her from all punishment for thus submitting her case to this our High and Sacred Court.'On the other hand, if she be in the right, then she shall be free to consecrate herself unto the service of the Ephesian goddess, and observe the rites as practised in the Temple of Artemis.'
'Great is Diana of the Ephesians, whom all Asia and the inhabited earth worshippeth.
'Unto the noble Lady Venusta,
'Whereas thy slave-girl Saronia is now within the sacred precincts of the Temple of our Lady Saviour, and claims sanctuary, alleging that by your cruel treatment she has fled your abode;
'And this Notice, in accordance with the Law, demands that you appear at our Tribunal, and if by proof you show her allegations false, she shall forthwith be handed back, you releasing her from all punishment for thus submitting her case to this our High and Sacred Court.
'On the other hand, if she be in the right, then she shall be free to consecrate herself unto the service of the Ephesian goddess, and observe the rites as practised in the Temple of Artemis.'
For a moment Venusta was silent. What was to be done? Her Roman blood ran riot through her veins. Recovering herself, she said to her daughter:
'I will pursue her even to the jaws of death. Shall I thus be taunted by a slave? No; the wife of Lucius will not submit to be taught her duty to a hag such as she! I will reply immediately and use the law to win her back.'
'Leave her,' said Nika. 'See, will it avail thee to have thy name blazoned abroad among the noble ones of Ephesus? She is not worth much—never was, and would be worthless were she back again. Let her go!'
'No, child, my dignity is hurt. Thou knowest the high position held by us in this city, and to remain silent, I fear, in this case is to admit guilt. This would not do.'
'Mother dear, let me speak again, and plainly. I fear her. Should she return, soon must thou prepare the marble urn to receive the ashes of Nika. What could we do with her? She is far too terrible for us. If she spake never aword, her look would kill me. Thou knowest she cannot now be punished, for after having sought sanctuary the law provides a shelter against torture, and think of the scandal were the case tried, and her name in any way coupled with our beloved friend Chios. No, no; let her go. Were it not an insult to offer thee, I would sell my jewels, all, all I possess—everything—and pay her ransom. Say, dearest mother, say to Nika, say for the torn fragment of peace left me, that my request is granted.'
'I will let her go,' said the Roman. 'I think it best as thou hast said. Her destiny seems to lie outside our reach. To bring her back is wrong to thee after what thou hast now said. To let her remain may be humiliation. However, one thing we know: whilst within the Temple she cannot trouble us. To free her and let her wander abroad—well, it would be worse than playing with a deadly serpent. Discussion further may only hamper our best policy. She shall circle in her own orbit.' And Venusta framed reply, stating the slave's assertions quite untrue; but, being desirous of making an offering to the Queen of Heaven, she set her free.
And thus does fate work out our destiny, and prove
'Man's goings are not of his own ways;How then can he direct his paths?'
'Man's goings are not of his own ways;How then can he direct his paths?'
Bathed in the sunlight of an azure sky, the Temple of Diana raised its lovely head and shone the fairest mistress of the ancient East. Boasting a long list of ancestors, she,the last of a line of temples, the Mighty One that should fight against the coming Christ, a strong fortress wherein her devotees should defend their faith against all detractors—this the last, the eighth, the proudest Temple, the wonder of the world, was now in all its splendour, enthroned at the head of the sacred port, and shone out like a silvery sun.
Built on sure foundations of the Ionic order, with symmetrical proportions, it towered high in majesty, with double rows of fluted marble pillars carved magnificently, many of which were the gifts of kings.
Its pronaos and pediments were resplendent with marble, whilst the vestibule and peristyle were adorned with the richest friezes and the noblest statues.
The roof of cedar was covered with marble and gold, and the staircases were of vine. Around it on every side great flights of marble steps led up to the sacred shrine.
The entrance doors to this mighty Temple were of cypress wood, with ivory panels of richest sculpture set in gold.
Within, the place was full of rarest beauty, and strength abounded on every hand.
Pillars rose on pillars, and the choicest workmanship adorned them. The friezes and the painted walls were all that art could furnish, and the sky appeared through the open roof like a circle of fairest blue.
In the Temple stood the altar, behind the altar the great statue of the Moon Goddess, Diana of the Ephesians, the Lady Saviour, the Resplendent One, the Mother of Nature. This symbol of deity was hidden from the vulgar gaze by a lovely veil of costly make, coloured with purple of Tyre, adorned with figures and arabesques and embroideries from Babylon, and edged with a fringe of purest gold. Behind the statue was the opisthodomus, or retiring chamber.
The Temple floor was of white marble, the purest kind, and polished, the joining of the slabs faced with golden wire.
The quiet splendour of this mighty edifice baffles description. Not only was it magnificent in itself, but it was the grand storehouse for all that was beautiful and costly. It abounded in the sculptured works of Praxiteles and Thrason, and there were the statues of the Amazons, and that by Rhœcus, which the Ephesians called 'Night,' and those by Phidias and Scopas, silver wrought by Mentor, vases made of gold.
The cella walls were hung with costly paintings—pictures by Timarete, the daughter of Nicon; others by Callithon of Samos, portraying 'Discord raising the Battle' and the 'Binding on of the Armour of Patroclus.' There was Euphonor's 'Ulysses feigning Madness,' and that great painting by Timanthes which caused a shudder to pass through the mighty Alexander, and the majestic portrait of that mighty conqueror painted by Apelles.
In it were stored the strangest books, and there hung the finest instruments of music.
It was the common treasury for all Asia; all nations deposited their treasures there for safety, and the world wondered at its riches. Deposits were made of all kinds—honorary statues, votive offerings, spoils, and actual treasure—and the people invoked the blessing of the goddess whose presence filled the golden shrine of Ephesus.
An awful stillness reigned within the sacred pile—silence soon to be lightly broken by the entrance of a few priestesses, who led a girl within the folding doors of the great sanctuary.
This was the night prior to initiation, and the novice was taken there that she might recognise solemnly what she was about to do on the morrow.
The moonlight streamed faintly through the open roof, casting shadows on the marble floor.
As Saronia—for it was she who accompanied thepriestesses—moved on, she drew her cloak lightly around her, for the night-winds were chill, and her spirit nature was strained to its highest point. They stopped in front of the great altar. The moon threw off her veil of clouds, and the light from her glorious body shone forth, illuminating the veil that hid the statue of the goddess.
'See thou that glorious orb, Saronia—for thou shalt ever retain thy name, a favour granted to few—seest thou that globe of light? 'Tis the symbol of our goddess—the symbol set in the blue heavens—and behind this purple veil her image stands, shadowing her forth, the mother of nature, protector of cities, and dispenser of all good gifts to men. On earth we worship her as such; above she is Luna, the Queen of Heaven; and when the time comes that thou canst bear it, thou shalt know her as Hecate, the goddess of the under world, she who governs the shades and rules the spirits in Hades with an eternal power. This goddess—the Triformis—thou art about to serve with all thy soul. Is it not so? Canst thou be true to her, forsaking all, follow where her great spirit leads? She will speak to thee, maiden—she will speak to thee; and, having once spoken, that voice will ever reverberate through the deepest recesses of thy being, will live on for ever to bless thee, or wind around thy soul to curse thee down to Tartarus as thou art faithful or false.
'Saronia! Saronia! it is not yet too late to withdraw and throw thyself into the mighty throe of the great world's agony. Which shall it be? It is for thee to decide. No one is pressed into the service of the great goddess Diana, neither may any follow her as a matter of convenience.'
A cloud passed o'er the moon, and they were shrouded in darkness. Then as suddenly passed those cloudlets away, and Saronia, trembling with fear, said:
'Great priestess of the goddess, fear not; my mind is settled.Long, long have I wished for this hour, the hour of joy. My soul thrills with anticipation; my whole being is like one grand instrument tuned to the hand of my lady goddess, Diana Trivia. Let the night hasten; let the darkness be driven with power of the storm-wind; may the night speed on, and make way for the morning. Oh, chaste moon, flee thy way to the west, that the scarlet shafts may appear and I may pour my soul out before thee. My spirit longeth for thee, oh gracious one, that I may dwell in thy Temple evermore.'
Then deep silence fell on all, and the pillars and roof cast great ghostly shadows on the floor, conjuring up mighty forms of weirdness, and the priestesses murmured reverently:
'The goddess is here! Hecate is here!'
The winds were rising and whistling with strange meaning through the sacred pines; the moon sailed down the west as a barque on the wings of a favouring gale; the stars looked down from their distant thrones; the song of the waves came up from the strand; and the night wore on.
The next day's sun arose, mounted the heavens in beauty, and smiled down its splendour on mountain and sea. Saronia breathed the fresh morning air. All nature was alive; the flowers seemed to cast a richer perfume; the birds, to her, warbled their choicest strains; life and joy were everywhere; night and death were asleep.
The great highway to peace was unclouded, and she could look straight down the golden road, until it melted into the altar-steps of heaven.
This was her bridal morn; why should she not be happy? And that day she was wedded to her faith, initiated into the mysteries of Diana, and became a priestess of the goddess.
Ephesus was a scene of gaiety.
Great arches decorated with choice foliage and festooned with lovely flowers spanned the public way; banners of strange beauty waved on the morning breeze; jubilant strains of martial music floated on the perfumed air.
The day was young, yet vast crowds were astir. This was a festive day—the day of the home-coming of Lucius, whose wife was Venusta.
Yes, he was to arrive in port to-day in command of a Roman squadron. Had he not been to far-off Britain and brought a British chieftain captive to Rome?
Already the powerful ships were seen between the Isle of Samos and the main. Soon they drew nearer. Their great square sails set to catch the favouring gale urged them onwards like homesick birds until they drew close to the entrance of the port, and the people flocked to meet them. For Lucius was a valiant commander, and he should have a hearty welcome. Besides, had he not from time to time made costly offerings to their city protectoress, and was there not a tablet in the great theatre recounting the noble deeds of Lucius Erastus?
The fleet had entered the channel leading up to the city port. First came, like flying scouts, groups of gaily painted boats and splendid barges, with sails of many hues, vermilion, azure, golden-coloured, and white, some with stripes, and many-formed devices, others with curious mystic signs.
Streamers hung lazily aloft from masts and yards, prows and sterns, whilst flutes and lyres, syrinx and clarionet, kithra and aulos sent forth the soft Ionian music until theshores were wrapt in softest harmony. Some of the welcomers had ventured beyond the margin of the strand, and now returned in haste to lead the way.
Then came the biremes with their double rows of oars, and clewed-up sails, swinging on the yards. Then the triremes followed with their treble banks of oars, and one among the last of those great ships was greatest. She was commanded by the Roman favourite. Yes, there she comes with beaked prow, projecting ram, castellated cabin, and great oars sweeping the silver sea. Above her gunwale rose a line of polished shields and rows of glittering spears—spears handled by warriors who knew their work.
Flags flew out from end to end, blazoning in wild profusion along the yards and up the mast, gambolling with the cordage and the mighty sail. Following the warships came a host of vessels and boats, and along the banks of the great canal multitudes hastened, shouting as they went great shouts of welcome.
The Roman fleet with its hosts of followers moored within the harbour with the city full in view, and Lucius thought he saw a silvery scarf waving from a house on Mount Coressus.
When he had landed and was near the great theatre, many were the friends who surrounded him, giving greeting; foes also, with envy at heart, time-servers, cried 'Welcome!'
Just then the joyous acclamations for a moment ceased. A cluster of priestesses going from temple to temple passed that way, and the hardy sailor bared his head as the little procession went by. Two eyes met his, and a feeling as if the dead were there crept through his soul; they were dark unfathomable eyes, and the girl was tall and beautiful, with clustering hair. And he said within him: 'Where have I seen that face ere now?'
When she had passed he went his way, but his brow wasdark with thought; something had crossed his track leaving a trail of gloom, why, he could not say. Again sweet voices chimed pleasantly, and the softest Ionian cadences floated out from the roofless Odeum. A carpet of bruised and dying roses strewed the ground.
He had soon forgotten the girl with the dark eyes and clustering hair, and entered his princely home on the slopes of Coressus. Around it the pine-trees waved a greeting, and the wind sighed through the branches of the cypress.
That evening the residence of Lucius was a scene of gaiety and splendour.
Venusta welcomed her husband with the true feelings of a loyal wife, and Nika was glad at the return of her father; she could now repose on his protective presence.
Many of the nobles of Ephesus had gathered there—artists and sculptors, philosophers and warriors, lovely women, Greeks and Romans, maidens of Caria, Priene, and girls from Samos blended in one great mass of power and beauty.
The sweet day still cast its soft light, and lit up the lovely flowers and beautiful trees of olive, cypress, pine, and myrtle. The sun had lost its power, the atmosphere was deliciously cool, and many came from within to breathe the refreshing air ere the dew bathed the grass and the night-birds sang from the grove, or the twilight heralded the night and the stars encircled the moon.
Nika, leaning on the arm of Lucius, stood by a great white marble fountain—he the bronzed sea-warrior, and she like a dream of spring.
'Tell me, child—for many seasons have rolled away since I left thee and thy mother to visit those lovely isles in the far-off west—is thy young heart sound like thy father's barque after the battling of the stormy seas, or has Cupid laid siege and thou capitulated?'
'Nay, father, Nika's heart is free, neither could it be otherwise, for it is hard as the marble of this fountain, colder than the water which springs from each chaste design.'
'Ah, girl, thou art, I fear, like others of thy sex, prone to sail under false colours when a lover is in chase. Tell me, where is Chios? I thought he would have been here. Was he not bidden?'
'He was, but there is no written law for him. He moves in his own eccentric orbit. He will come when most unexpected, suddenly, like an eagle from the clear blue depths of the sky, or as a comet from out the midnight gloom.'
'Why, daughter, there he is, conversing with that sweet maid of Smyrna! Let us crowd all sail, and bear down on his weather. Quickly! I like that boy, and, if my reckoning be correct, thou dost not dislike him. Am I right?'
'Well, I like him, and I like him not. He has mixed much with the people of the new faith, and ever as he goes that way his mind becomes o'erclouded with gloom. He is strangely abstracted, scarce a word escapes his lips. Were it not for this strange faith which spells him, I should say he loved, and, if 'twere love, I should not be the idol of his choice.'
'Who, then?'
'I know not;' and a painful sorrow passed across her brow, but Lucius saw it not.
The night came down, and beacon fires glared out on every hill and mountain-top. Coressus and Pion were aflame, great torches whirled and rushed wildly up and down the mountain-side, and moved in fiery lines throughout the city streets.
The lamps were lit within, and windows made of richly-coloured glass, amber, blue, and ruby, shone forth in lovely harmony and glorious hues, until the myrtle-trees, with theirgreat white blossoms and perfumed breath, seemed quivering with delight. Merry songs, with laughter and rippling music, floated on the lazy air. Joy ran riot in the house of Lucius, and the meanest slave had for a time a share of happiness. The hours rolled on in pleasure, like a stately ship on a sunny sea.
Down deep in the heart of Nika joy was mockery.
The guests departed, and she retired to her chamber. Throwing herself on a couch, she wept great tears of anguish, a tide of tears no joy could stay.
She arose and gazed out into the darkness, and saw the looming of the great Temple rearing its majestic form in sable gloom, darker than the night; and she looked into the great unfathomable depths of the skies, and sighed like the deep moaning of the wind. But the heavens were as brass, and the great sigh died without becoming a prayer.
Moving back silently to her couch, she lay down, but not to sleep, for she heard strange sounds arise from the sacred grove, and she knew the songs of the night came up from the Temple of Hecate.
The morning came, and with it the springs of life revived, and she said: 'Why this sadness? why this harvest of gloom? I will awaken myself, tear this veil of night from around my spirit. I will lay bare my soul to the glorious sunlight, drink in its glory until I am saturated with delight. I will not weep; I will not mourn; I defy this spell; I challenge this curse—this brand of hell! Oh that it were always day, that the sun never set, and my mind were as strong as now!' and she flung the great masses of wavy hair back from her stately forehead, and it fell to the ground, enshrouding her form till she looked like a goddess on earth.
'Why art thou so late, dear, to thy morning meal?' saidVenusta. 'Come, sit by my side, and tell me what thinkest thou of last night's innocent revelry? Was it not a right hearty welcome to thy father, most fitting to receive him? and didst thou note that noble Roman who stood next but one to thee when those dancing-girls came forward to dance to us? I know thou sawest him, Nika, for I saw your eyes meet. Well, he has come from Rome to govern. He is the new Proconsul. His influence in the imperial city is great. Besides, he is positively a favourite with the Emperor. I tell thee all this that thou mayest know of him. Moreover, Lucius has bidden him to spend this evening here, and thou wilt have ample time to satisfy thy curious mind respecting him, and, fortunately or unfortunately, as the Fates may determine, Chios also will be here. Nika, take care; this Roman is not a child or a fool! They say he is impetuous, firm, resolute when need be. Now let us join my husband. I see him yonder gathering flowers.'
Lucius came to them, smiling as he came. He offered a rose to Nika, but Venusta said: 'No, no; let me choose first! I will take the rose. Give her an unthorned flower; the emblem of evil and good, pleasure and pain, shall be mine, for we twain are one, husband, and if this flower presages aught than happiness, then may I, thy loving wife, rest on thy strong arm, as this rose clung to the oak from which thou pluckedst it.'
Nika was walking solitary, alone.
'Give her a bloom which speaks the language of hope;' and he approached and gave her the pink-white almond flower.
'Venusta,' said Lucius, 'I have been thinking of that slave girl, the dark Phœnician maid, Saronia; I see her not in her accustomed place. I feel a keen interest in that weird beauty. What of her? Is she dead, or what?'
'She is as good as dead to us, dear. She is at the Temple, and has been initiated as a priestess for the presiding goddess.'
'Priestess! priestess! What does it all mean? Light dawns! I saw her—yes, I saw her—as I passed through the city yesterday. Now I understand. Hear me. As I passed near the great theatre some maidens of the Temple came that way. I stood still, with bared head; the sounds of greeting were stayed until they went with solemn tread; and, as they passed, one with eyes deep-looking like the ocean's depths, turned them full on me, and gazed into my inner soul, and, like a barque which strikes a sunken rock and staggers, so did my spirit. I did my best to divine who she was, but all was dark, and I moved on with clouded mind. Now I know. Why is she there? Some great mystery hangs over it. I am not usually given to fear, but somehow I feel a sorrow of this event.'
Then did Venusta tell him of what had occurred—told him that only which she thought would screen herself and Nika.
The old commander saw too plainly that one side only of the story had been told, and felt confirmed in his suspicions when he saw his daughter's eyes suffused with tears. He, with that true manliness which permeated him, said but little, for fear he might know too much, and deeper wound the pent-up feelings of his child.
That evening the Roman nobleman arrived, and was warmly welcomed by Lucius, and introduced to Venusta and Nika; and Varro was soon at home, for at first sight he loved the sailor's daughter, and at once made up his mind to lay siege; but, Roman-like, he would mature his plans before declaring war. Besides, he knew not if a rival were in the field and would join the girl as firm ally.
It is well known how difficult it is to entertain a stranger the first quarter of an hour. One would know his pet theories and touch on them, so that the newcomer might lead off and rejoice; but even the astute mind of the wife of Lucius was puzzled to divine the inclinations of the Roman—he was impenetrable, a perfect blank; but the truth was this: the Roman tactician had but one thought just then, and that was of Nika, and it developed so rapidly that it was undiscovered. Had it been, it were not food for conversation; so Venusta opened fire with the beauties of the city, for the weather at that season of the year was nearly always fine.
'Well, how dost thou like our noble city, the envied of the world? Hast seen the great Gymnasium, the Serapion, the theatre?'
'Yea, my lady, I have, as much as one can in so short a time as I have lived within the great heart of this beautiful place. Rome is great, but Ephesus is lovely—the very air seems laden with rejoicings. Surely this must be the Elysian city on earth!'
'Thou art too complimentary; but, as thou sayest, it is lovely. Didst thou notice the double colonnade around the Agora, and the many mighty statues there? And what thinkest thou of the lovely little Odeum nestling at the feet of Mount Pion, and the great Stadium around the hillside to the west? Is it not noble?'
'Yes, it is fine, a magnificent racecourse; and I amtold seventy thousand people will not fill it to overflowing. Is this so?'
'Yes; and you should see the charioteers in full swing.'
'But thou hast not spoken of the gem of the city, the great Temple of Diana?'
'No, I have not.'
'I passed the Temple on my way hither, and I shall not soon forget when I stood without the Parabolus walls, and, looking through the entrance gate, gazed on the flight of marble steps leading up to the mighty building. I have seen nothing like it in my splendid Rome. Not only is the Temple great, but the very place on which it stands, surrounded with its sacred groves, seems a fit place for the birth of a goddess. I saw the shrine of Hecate lifting its head behind the mightier home of Diana, and heard songs of worship coming forth from both, sometimes low, as the murmur of a sinless child, then rising in great waves—billowy waves of jubilant harmony—until I seemed bound to the place by an invisible chain.'
Just then Chios was announced, and Varro saw by Nika's eyes that she had something more than respect for the Greek. Venusta was glad Chios had come, for she feared the Roman might continue to speak of the Temple, and that the conversation might drift towards the priestesses, and the name of Saronia be mentioned.
Chios appeared happy, save for the far-away look in his eyes. Nika was the only one who could read him and solve his abstraction. She spoke kindly to him, and gradually allowed her manner to change to freezing-point. This was strategic: she showed the Roman she valued little the friendship of the Greek, and Varro was deceived, and thought it true. There was no need for battle against this Ephesian artist. He could even use him to further hisown ends to win the girl. No, Nika had slighted Chios—treated him coldly. He could now treat him courteously and fraternize; but, could he have looked into the girl's heart, he would have seen the image of Chios engraved there.
'How long,' said Varro, 'hast thou been in Ephesus?'
'From childhood,' replied Chios.
'And hast thou followed thy profession from youth?'
'Yes, and I love it—am wedded to it for life.'
'What meanest thou? Wilt thou never wed some sweet Ionian girl?'
'Never! As I tell thee, I am wedded to my art. I shall never wed again. Why should I, seeing I love it dearly, as strongly as yonder priesthood love their faith and are content? So am I.'
At this saying of Chios the beautiful mouth of the Roman girl was slightly agitated, and her hand closed tightly on an almond flower, and its petals fell to the ground.
Then came Lucius and his wife, and all joined in pleasant gossip. Varro spoke proudly of Rome, and Lucius of Britain, and the time sped on. The young noble left, but Chios remained.
Nika was ill at ease, her mind was a storm, and, throwing a mantle over her shoulders, she said playfully:
'Come, Chios; take me to the balcony, that we may breathe the fresh night air.'
She was impatient to get at the mind of the Greek. Quick-sighted, she had already read the mind of the Roman. What did she care? She would be bold.
'Chios, why didst thou say thou wilt never wed? Is it really so?'
'Yes, Nika, it is true.'
'Chios, we have known each other long, and have been more than friends. We have been like children of onemother! Thou hast ever spoken freely and kindly to me, and I would ask thee one question—one little question—that is all.'
'Say on, Nika.'
'Didst thou ever love?'
'I may have.'
'I thought so much,' replied she; 'and where is that love? Does it live on, or is it—dead?'
'It lives, but I am trying to kill it.'
'Wouldst thou be a murderer, Chios?'
'No, I mean well.'
'Tell me thy secret, and I will bury it in the grave of my heart. Whom—dost—thou—love?'
'I cannot tell thee, but she is not a Roman.'
'Then Iknow—it is Saronia. Let me lean upon thy arm, Chios. Lead me within—the night is chill.'
From morn to eve great songs of praise and adoration went up before the shrine of Diana, and soft music echoed through the great Temple, sometimes swelling like the martial notes of the Persian hosts when they marched through the vales of Ionia to Abydos, and then sweet melodies sank back into the faintest strains, like a weeping lute or the sighs of a broken heart.
Those plaintive sounds suited one spirit, and that one was the storm-clad soul of Saronia. She had seen her old master on his arrival at Ephesus; he had done her noharm, and her heart went out towards him that she might speak and thank him for his kindness. After all, she had the true instinct of a woman, and must love something: she loved the goddess, but she had a spiritual and a human existence, and both must love. True, her nature was somewhat seared, battling as she had done for existence. There was a time when a kiss, a simple kiss, would have thrilled her very soul; but that was long ago. Since those happy times she had hardened herself against the world—the cold, selfish world made her so. But a nature with true instinctive love cannot long remain in such a state when conditions change; and now Saronia was coming to her former self, removed from the world and surrounded by those who really loved her. Her heart softened, and she felt a keen affection for Lucius.
There were but two men in the teeming millions of the world she cared for; of those two, one had been passively kind, the other an active friend. The latter was Chios, of whom she dared not think. No, she could not even breathe a sigh o'er the remembrances of him, for fear a smouldering dead past might break into a living flame. All this she knew—knew it now when she had passed from death to life, when the night had fled and the day dawned; so she conjured up a mighty gulf between her and the Greek, a gulf over which she would not pass, neither could he come unto her. But of Lucius she felt no fear, and this is the distinction between friendship and love.
Lucius was to visit the Temple of Diana to render thanks for her protecting grace to him whilst he had been battling with many storms; and his mariners had promised a votive offering to the goddess when the winds whistled through the cordage and the waves tossed their ship until it reeled and staggered like a drunken man. And now they came to fulfil their vows. This was not a vain show. Those sonsof the ocean had warm hearts, and would lay them there before the shrine. Neither did Lucius desire pomp or show; he would come with his men and worship simply, manly. So, when the sun was low and the winds were hushed, they drew nigh and bowed before the altar, and, offering their libations, whispered forth their prayers. Around the flower-strewn altar stood the priests and priestesses. The chanting songs went upward in deep sonorous rhythm, and as the sacred hymn died out in echoes through the columned sanctuary, the toilers of the sea bent low and sang:
Thanks to Thee, O Lady Saviour.Thanks to Thee, O great Dispenser.Mercy have, and keep us lowlyIn the hollow of Thine hand.Hail! O hail! Thou mighty Mother.Hail! Thou Giver of all good.Mercy have and keep us lowly,Ever bring us safe to Thee.
Thanks to Thee, O Lady Saviour.Thanks to Thee, O great Dispenser.Mercy have, and keep us lowlyIn the hollow of Thine hand.Hail! O hail! Thou mighty Mother.Hail! Thou Giver of all good.Mercy have and keep us lowly,Ever bring us safe to Thee.
Then in deep unison priests and mariners joined in one grand anthem of thanksgiving, and cheeks were wet with the tears of men whose sinews were like iron, and whose hearts were proof against fear.
When they moved away, Lucius looked lovingly towards the shrine, and beheld Saronia, with her robe of purest white, standing in bold relief against the rich colour of the great veil which hid the statue of the goddess from their view; and their eyes met, and from her came a look of sweetest thanks, filling his soul with unfathomable calm, and he knew their hearts were tuned in strange resemblance, and that the priestess of Diana would offer prayer for him whether he dwelt in his lovely home or paced the poop of his lofty ship when the gale grew loud and the storm-birds flew.
For a while stillness reigned, and the priests and priestesses were alone, singing their evening hymns; the great censor swung, and the burning incense filled the Temple with odour. Then they passed through the portals to their rest, and the Temple watchers stood at the gates and kept guard within the Parabolus walls.
The dark eyes of Saronia were filled with tears of joy, for she had seen Lucius; she was at peace, though the sun had set and the shadows fell.
And thus peace cometh to the mind of the tempest-tossed, but such a being as Saronia could not long sustain it. Her soul was a spirit in chase, pursuing something undefinable which she longed to obtain, that she might be for ever satisfied and her measure of happiness complete. A calm to her was like a summer day in winter-time, the harbinger of coming storm.
The studio of Chios was very beautiful, and an artist is pretty well known by the place in which he paints, provided he has means to gratify his tastes. It was not a great room filled with materials, leaving him just a dozen square feet to walk about, but a studio of ample proportions, and kept as it should be with space to move around. Nothing of it could be seen from the road, for great clusters of myrtle-trees, gigantic rose-bushes, and crimson oleanders hid it most effectually; but those of his friends who went that way knew when they had passed through the quietgateway and between the flower-trees that not far away was one of the sweetest little studios in Ephesus. Yes, there it was close to the pond of water-lilies, with the bees humming from blossom to blossom, and the birds singing cheerfully from the foliage which surrounded it; the birds were quite tame, for Chios was kind to them, and some would light upon his shoulders, and others on his arm.
A few steps led up to the marble portico, with its ceiling of blue decked with little silver stars and a crescent moon. At the entrance stood two small statues by Euphranor and Phidias.
Within all was beauty: the studio, circular in form, with alcoves lit with light which filtered in through the thinnest sheets of coloured marble; the furniture, simple, but choice; a kline or two of cedar-wood, enriched with gold, to recline on when weary; a few chairs of ebony, cypress, and rosewood were placed in the alcoves; a marble thronos for his sitters; a few small tables, three-legged and four-legged, beautifully carved, stood about to hold his brushes and palettes and the choicest flowers, which a good old servant brought him every morning.
These things, with his easels, made up the contents of his studio. It was not so famous for its furniture as for the beauty of its construction, with domed roof and circular opening to the sky, and its floor of marble enriched with precious stones. For Chios was wealthy, and could lavish money as he pleased in decorating his studio.
Behind this working-room were retiring-rooms, and a small but valuable library of choice manuscripts by Callinus, the Elegiac poet; Batalus, the musician; Dion, Andron, Delias, and Daphnus, the philosophers; with works by Phavorinus, Zenodotus, Menander, and many others.
It was a quiet afternoon; the winds were too lazy to stir and had fallen asleep.
Varro passed that way, and said: 'I will drop in and see Chios.'
The artist was outside, painting into his picture some apple-blossoms hanging gracefully from a tree which grew against a piece of old Greek wall. Looking up from his work with a smile, he welcomed the noble Roman.
'I am glad thou art come, for my hand is weary and my brain tired. It is so sultry within that I felt quite unfitted to work there, and sought refuge beneath those shading trees, whilst, as thou seest, a gleam of light comes down between the foliage and strikes upon those blossoms of the apple-tree.'
'I really hope I am not intruding too much, Chios?'
'Oh dear no; I am glad to see thee. Wilt thou sit? Make thyself at home.'
The two men talked of Ephesus and its people until the conversation was of the ladies, and soon the name of Nika was heard, for the Roman could not but speak of her.
'What thinkest thou of her?' said Chios. 'Thou hast seen her?'
'Well, truthfully, I may say, during the interview referred to, my mind was more concerned to think of Chios until I clearly perceived that he had the blank face given him by that beautiful girl. Then my heart grew hopeful, for, to tell thee all, I think I love that maid.'
'Think thou lovest—is that all? A man who loves is sure. A man has no such sure knowledge of anything else on this earth or in the beyond. I am afraid thy love is of the morning cloud thinness, and will soon pass away.'
'No, no. Believe me, it is not so. I spake not sofreely, truthfully, as I should. I love her, and am certain of it; but tell me, Chios, that thou lovest her not.'
'Why asketh thou such a question? Did she not give me the cut direct in thy presence?'
'Because I am skilled in the ways of women, and know they frequently act directly opposite to that they mean. I saw her coldness to thee, and saw no reason for it, and at once, in my mind, questioned the proceeding. Say, dost thou love her—hast tried to win her? Is she sporting with thy manly heart? Speak, on the honour of a Greek, and, if such be the case, I leave the field.'
'I love her not.'
'Hast thou failed, and stifled the dawn of love?'
'No.'
'Is it, then, Nika loves Chios, and Chios is adamant?'
'I am not skilled in the mysteries to be able to read her thoughts.'
'Perhaps not; but, as a man, like myself, thou canst read actions, and they are the outcome of thoughts.'
'Thou forgettest, noble friend, but a moment or so ago thou saidst that frequently actions were contrary to what was really meant. How, then, can I divine her meaning more than thyself?'
'True, thou hast me rather firmly; and such skill in fencing demands my admiration and consideration. I will not press further on thee, Chios, and I have now naught to do but to make love, and make her love me more than ever she loved another.'
'That will be an easy matter, for I saw how satisfied she was with Varro when last we passed the evening together at the house of Lucius. An Ephesian painter would stand no chance against the Proconsul of Ephesus.'
'Come, come, Chios; thou art already jealous of thy rival!'
'No; thou art free to conquer and annex. I am a friend of Nika, and trust may remain so, but I am nothing more, or ever may be.'
'Then I may take thee to be a man callous to the beauty of women, if thou art not charmed with her loveliness, for there is no girl in Ephesus as beautiful as she.'
'That may be so, but thou must not take me to be indifferent to the charms of the fair sex because I do not admire Nika's loveliness and think it beyond compare. I may find loveliness in another form; it may be in the virtues of the soul, or spirit, whichever you may choose to name that awful thing. Behind a less lovely face than hers may be enshrined a splendid harmony of thinking, active life, which is building up its destiny, and will continue so to do through the great æons, down the grand vista of the future, when the face once so fair to look upon has passed into base mould, and been blown hither and thither, the sport of every breeze. To love beauty only is like plucking an apple of Sodom, which has a fair rind to look at, but when pressed sends out little clouds of dust and leaves you nothing but the broken shell.'
'Chios, my friend, I thought thou wert an artist, but lo, thou art a philosopher also! And, if thou art not in love, well, I have never been in Rome! I shall wait; it will develop. I shall know. Well, good-bye, Chios. I have too long kept thee from thy work. The world waits for thy beautiful picture—I must not hinder. Good-bye. We meet at the house of Lucius, where I know thou at least art ever welcome.'
When he had gone, Chios went within, and threw himself upon a seat, clasping his head with both hands. It seemed as if some great agony would rend his being.
'What am I,' he cried, 'to be made the sport of fate? Why this great conflict within me? Why this uprising ofmy nature to war? He was true—I love hopelessly, and would to the gods I could quench it! If it would lie peacefully in my heart like a loving child upon its mother's bosom I would not care; but it is not so. A year or so ago that love was like a summer wind, but now it rushes through me with the terrible roar of a mighty storm, and tosses me to and fro like a ship whirled in a hurricane. What raises this great tempest? It is not I, Saronia! It is not Chios! I could have loved thee deeply when thou wert a slave, and would have at all hazard plucked thee from thy low estate, and lived for thee; but now I know thou never canst be mine, and fain would let thee rest, and never trouble, but for this mighty power which forces me onwards to declare to thee a love as pure as angels ever knew, but which would be a sacrilege both damned and deep were I to whisper such into thy soul. No, no; it must not be so! I will rise above it: bring into the arena all the might of my manhood, and in this holy war will fight against my star, against my fate, and may the greatest God, whoever He be, look down on this unequal combat and assist the right.'
Chios sank back upon the couch of cedar-wood. The shadows fell upon the marble floor. The night crept on, and he slept.
Saronia had been sent on an errand of mercy, and was returning, disguised, towards the Temple, when, as she was passing close to the garden of Chios, a crowd of brawlers, inflated with wine, came towards her. Wishing to avoidthem, she turned within the gate left open by Varro; but the fellows were too quick-sighted for her, saw her movements, guessed her mind, and followed her to have some sport, not knowing who she was. She ran quickly down the pathway to hide behind the foliage, and, not daring to follow, they let her go. She heard the shouting of the ribald crew as they passed down the road.
The moon shone out its full, and the silver light lit up the marble building. In passing the steps, she beheld the statue by Phidias, and her love for the beautiful prompted her to steal forward and take a hasty look. Standing near the doorway, she turned her eyes upwards towards the moonlit sky, and, in so doing, caught sight of the word 'Chios' carved over the splendid entrance. For a moment her heart failed her, and she nearly fell to the ground, but, leaning against the statue of Dawn, she recovered herself, and determined to hurry away. But the door of the studio was partly open, and she gazed within. She stepped noiselessly forward another step, and saw the light of the moon falling through the open roof. The light fell full on the face of a man, who seemed as dead. And she knew it was Chios.
Then came back the true nature of the woman who was destined to become great as a priestess of Diana. Old love sprang up anew. The smouldering embers of the almost dead past burst into life. Here was the man she would have loved—perhaps silently—had her course turned otherwise. Here was the man who had befriended her in deepest misery. Here was Chios lying stretched death-like before her. Should she at all hazard go within and see if he lived? Yes, by the goddess whom she worshipped she would venture! She passed noiselessly over the polished floor, step by step, like a night-thief treads; one step more, and she was beside him! She threw back her black mantle,displaying a garment of purest white clasped round the waist with a girdle of gold. Her massive tresses of rich dark hair floating over her brow shadowed her face until she looked like some great spirit queen, the Spirit Queen of Night.
She stooped; she placed her lips close to those of Chios, but they did not touch. She felt his warm breath on her cheeks. He lived! He sighed like the soughing of the wind amongst the reeds. He murmured, 'Saronia.'
She started up; stood near him. He still slept. She stood erect, with arms crossed over her bosom and head bowed, looking sweetly on his manly face. Then, taking from her neck a little silver shrine, in form like unto the Temple, she laid it on his bosom, fled noiselessly as she came, and passed up the road which led towards the great Temple.
Chios awoke, and for a moment was bewildered. He had slept when the golden sunlight smiled, and now the silver moon lit up the sky, lit up the garments of the night, and he said:
'Sleep is a blessed thing. Its mysteries, who can know? Dreams, they say, are fables of the mind. Would to Heaven I could have dreamt on, and have slipped through the thin gauze of mortality, and never more entered this vile clay supposed to be the temple of the soul!
'I wandered on and on into infinite space—without light, without the faintest dawn; no beloved hand led me. Weary and sad I flew from star to star, looking for my rest, but finding none. No chain of sympathy bound me until I drew nigh unto a world as one suspended glory. Then my whole soul stretched out to reach it, and I knew I had found sanctuary. I stood before the gates of a great city whose walls shone forth like a thousand suns, and I essayedto enter; but a being of transcendent loveliness stood before me, and I knew it was Saronia! She said: "Not yet, Chios. Thy humanity still lives, and the silver cord still binds thee to it. Thou must return and work out thy destiny. This city shalt thou dimly see, and then go back to earth."
'And we twain floated upwards, and stood on the diamond floor on the summit of the massive walls.
'And I looked on the great city until its loveliness bewildered, dazzled my comprehension, and I shuddered at my own deformity, and said: "Let us go!"
'Then, with a love radiant with eternal life, she pressed her lips to mine, saying: "My soul shall strengthen thine. Thou hast seen the city wherein is built a home for Saronia and Chios. Go, now, to earth whilst thou hast power. Make use of thy life that thou mayest be found meet to inherit the plane where our palace stands."
'I awoke to find myself lying on this couch, and to hear the whisperings of the evening breeze.
'Ah, me! I will go out and gaze up into the deep blue of the heavens. Perchance I may see the star on which is the City of Light.' And, as he arose, there slipped from the folds of his dress the little silver temple placed there by Saronia. It fell to the ground like a silver bell. Stooping, he took it in his hand. A cloudlet passed from the face of the moon. He grew deathly pale, and said: 'What meaneth this? Whence this charm? Great gods! Its ribbon is marked with the sign of a priestess, and another which tells me 'tis blessed by the goddess! Whose can it be? Has she been here? Is this the kiss of my dream? Is this emblem of faith the symbol of strength to me?
'My brain whirls with a strange delight. But, no, it cannot be! I neither can foster a love for Saronia nor may I embrace her faith.
'Why shall I not do both? No, no, Chios will kill the thought. I am seeking the truth to walk to the great life beyond. It shall be so. Saronia is too pure to miss her way, by whatever coloured light she may be led. She may worship Diana, I the Christ. We shall join hands on the diamond floorway which circles the city of God.
'Little silver shrine, little ribbon of gold, what shall I do with thee? Shall I cast thee from me, and bid farewell with longing eyes, as the mariner bids adieu to the last low streak of misty land ere he launches out on the trackless deep? or shall I wear thee on my breast, hid from the vulgar gaze, in memory of whom—of whom? Saronia? Perchance 'twas her! It shall remain. It cannot harm, and shall be near me until I know the giver.'
So he placed the golden ribbon around his neck, and hid the symbol on his heart, and stood like one drunken with new wine, until the shriek of the night-bird awoke him from his reverie.
Saronia was now a priestess of Diana Triformis, and initiated into the mysteries of Hecate. She had grown rapidly in favour with her companions, and was looked on as one of the most devoted women of Ephesus.
Her great strength of character eminently fitted her for the position in which she had been placed, and those around looked on the beautiful girl as one destined in due time to fill the mightiest position of honour in the great Temple, and prophesied that she would soon reach the proud eminence of High Priestess.
Saronia was not an ordinary being; one look at the rounded forehead which shone over dark eyebrows and the unfathomable eyes would convince the most sceptical. The mysteries had a charm for her, and now that she had been taught the hidden secrets of Nature, she craved to understand the powers which worked the will, to dive deeply into the sympathies governing the soul, and to become skilled in the magical rites observed in the worship of the goddess of the underworld.
Hers was an exceptional case, and her companions, knowing a great spirit was in their midst, hastened her career until, moving rapidly forwards, she stood inferior in knowledge and power to none save the Arch-Priestess of Diana. Thus the slave became a spiritual princess, and won the confidence of the people; they loved her for her goodness. Ever ready with words of kindness, she won the deepest regard from the suffering and the outcast.
Those duties were but one part of her priestly call—that part which reflected the purest nature of her goddess.
She worshipped one goddess, yet three: Luna in heaven, Diana on earth, Hecate in hell—a terrible gathering together of good and evil, a trinity in unity, but not a trinity in purity, a broken circle representing Morn, Noon, Night, Birth, Life, Death.
It was when Saronia moved into the great darkness of Hecate that the gloom and passion of the priestess were aroused, and the constant warring of evil against goodness within awakened new aspirations for another experience when she might revolve in a circle of truth and unsullied purity.
And thus it is that when we would do good, evil will present itself; so men set up the symbol of fire as the symbol of deity. Its active elements represent the bad; the light from the flame, the flower of the fire, designates the good.
The mystery of evil worked mightily on the sensitive mind of the girl, and she stretched forth through the darkness for a solution of this great problem which has harassed the minds of men through the ever-changing past. But no answer came, not a voice was heard, and she settled herself as well as she could to penetrate deeper into the hidden things, that perchance she might emerge into the glories of a nobler life.
She, by virtue of her occupation, believed in the great underworld of Hades—in Tartarus, in the Elysian—and knew that Hecate, her mistress, her goddess, presided over the depths where the unclothed spirits wailed and wandered, and over the starving ones who waited at the sacrifice to drink in the rich aroma arising from the altar fire. She knew of the pleadings of the lost for mercy from those they wronged on earth, and the pitiless refusals they met with from the unforgiving shades. In the dark, mysterious nature of Saronia were deep yearnings to set the unforgiven entombed ones free, that they might move upward on the arc of their ascending life, and go forward until they glistened with a glory of purity.
Frequently there arose within her mind the question, 'Is there a God of perfect goodness? Do I know all? Is there in the great and mighty universe a Central Throne, on which the All Perfect rules? Is there far away in the depths of yon gray-blue a King above all other gods and goddesses? And will He ever reveal Himself to man and teach a rule of life by which we may ascend to hold communion with Him?'
And as she meditated a joy unspeakable overwhelmed her soul, and tears, joyful tears, trickled down her beautiful face. But no voice or light came to say if other than Diana heard, and the great Temple shone before her in the sunlight. She said:
'This joy is from my goddess, Queen of Heaven; there is no goddess or god greater than she who speaks to me, and Hecate will control the evil which exists. I must bow before her and worship at her shrine, be co-worker with her, and afterwards she may explain to me those deep mysteries, things which sadden my soul. I shall know later that which to me is now impenetrable, dark, and lonely. O sweet goddess, hear me! O saviour, Queen, Protectress, hear me! O mighty Luminant, I adore thee! Queen of the Lower World, Queen of the Earth, Queen of the Skies, I adore, I worship thee! My being comes from thee, my life is held and led by thee, my future spreads out before thee. The great unfathomable eternity of the hereafter is known to thee. O mighty Lover, guard me! Generous Dispenser, protect me! Great, far-reaching goddess, lead me through the æons, purify my mind from those thoughts which would reach out after some other love! Wrest from my spirit those dark forebodings, those wild clamourings for light, when thou art the light of the ages, the glory of the visible, the multitudinous glory of the invisible, the great centre on which the universe revolves.'
The day was glorious, and the hearts of the Ephesian people were brimming over with joy, for was not this the first day of the month Artemision? Eager crowds of people read the great inscription, which ran as follows:
'To the Ephesian Diana.
'Inasmuch as it is notorious that not only among the people of Ionia, but everywhere among the Greek nations,temples are dedicated to her, on account of her plain manifestations of herself; and that, moreover, in token of the great veneration paid to her, a month is called after her name, by us Artemisiona, by the Macedonians and other Greek nations, Artemision, in which general assemblies and hieromenia are celebrated.
'Now, inasmuch as these sacred honours are not observed in the holy city, the nurse of its own, the Ephesian goddess; the people of Ephesus deem it proper that the whole month called by her name be sacred and set apart for the goddess; and have determined by this decree that the observation of it by them be improved.
'Therefore, it is enactedthat in the whole month Artemision the days be holy, and nothing be attended to in them but the yearly feastings, the Artemisial panegyrics and the hieromenia, the entire month being sacred to the goddess; for, from this improvement in her worship, her cities shall receive additional lustre and be permanent in their prosperity for ever.'
Little crowds coming up from Smyrna and Thyatira, Sardis and Laodicea, from Militus on the coast and Samos on the sea, gathered around and read this proclamation. The people of Ephesus felt themselves honoured by their city being the Temple-home of the great goddess, and all gave themselves up to rejoicing. And the day wore on.
From the great theatre, all the way through the city gate to the finest, largest, and richest Temple ever reared, thousands of people in holiday attire awaited with ardent desire for the great procession which was heralded as it left the Temple.
And now it moves in all its magnificence and music, and symbols of the ceremonies. First came choirs of the most beautiful youths and lovely maidens clothed in white robes,singing responsively the praises of their protecting deity. The procession moved along regularly. Some carried the holy utensils, others torches, others, again, baskets of flowers which were strewn in the way. Perfumes were scattered amongst the people until the air was redolent with sweet odours. Next followed the horses, hounds, and hunting accoutrements, as well for attack as defence; after this came a train of virgins led by a lovely girl dressed in a purple robe. The skin of a fawn girded it round, on which hung a quiver and arrows. She symbolized Diana the Huntress, and was followed by her faithful hounds.
Then came choirs of youths and maidens singing the sacred chants, one choir answering the other, and then unitedly sending forth a peal in unison.
After them a multitude of Ephesian children. Then, with flying feet and swinging, voluptuous forms, the dancing-girls of Ionia.
Now rose on the perfumed air the sound of instruments, from the sweet, low tones of the flute and golden notes of the magadis, to the resounding clang of the cymbals and the beat of the timbrels, playing the 'March of Hell.' Whoever has heard such notes may never forget them—music set to the shrieks of the lost in Tartarus—the wild imploring of the forsaken pleading for forgiveness, as the songs from the dwellers in the Elysian fields break on their sinking souls like a ray of golden hope, too soon to be drowned by the cries of the Furies.
And thus did the Ephesians play the 'March of the Goddess Hecate,' and the sound of the queenly tread of the Infernal Goddess seemed to follow the ranks of her devotees, ranks of priests and priestesses dressed in black raiment bestud with stars of gold, a crescent moon on every brow. They held their hands towards the earth. Now came banners waving in the air, and standards of silver andgold bestud with precious stones. The Temple way blazed out with gorgeous colouring and glittering sheen.
Then rose to view the golden statue of the goddess, with many symbols of earth and sky and sea, supported by bars of gold and borne on the shoulders of stalwart men, all priests of the Temple, followed by a train of virgin priestesses with heads erect, wearing fillets of gold and myrtle-blossoms, each carrying the insignia of her office. These were followed by priests and choirs of singers, and others carrying smaller images of the goddess and silver shrines set with diamonds and emeralds. A company of lovely girls played music like the Dawn of Love.
Men of culture, men of noble rank, followed: all were greeted with loud acclaim. Then came again the tones of tibia, cithara, and many-sounding instruments playing the music of Diana, no fierce trumpetings, but sweetest melody, soft, peaceful, and joyful. In the rhythm were the fall of dew, the swing of the sickle, the song of the reapers, the lowing of cattle and laughter of children at play, and the mother's murmur of love as she hushed her babe to rest.
The vast procession moved onward with songs and hymns innumerable, and music and melody mingled in harmony to the Queen of Nature, Queen of Hades, Queen of Heaven, telling the story of her many attributes.
The vast pageant had gone—gone by the way of the great theatre, around Mount Pion and the Stadium to the Sacred Grove and the Temple.
Two men remained behind; they were strangers to each other.
One was Chios, the other a man short in stature, roughly clad, with eyes full of fire and possessed of great intelligence. He neither knelt nor applauded whilst the processionpassed, but stood a stern spectator. One could see at a glance he was not a worshipper of the mighty Diana. Possessed of a firm, steadfast, thoughtful look, it stamped him as a character of no mean order. Who could he be? And why there at such a time, neither accepting nor opposing the worship of the city goddess?
He was one of the chief of the sect who followed the Christ of Nazareth, and had come to Ephesus to war against the Old with a New Creed.
Seeing him alone, and apparently poor, Chios, with that kindness ever characteristic of him, drew nigh, saying:
'Hail, fellow voyager! How didst thou like the mighty gathering of all that is power, truth, and loveliness in Ephesus?'
Then replied he:
'The kingly power and loveliness passed by in yonder show, but the truth was not there.'
'How sayest thou this, friend? Art thou not a worshipper of our great goddess Diana?'
'No.'
'What, then, dost thou worship?'
'I worship God.'
'And canst thou not worship God and adore her?'
'No.'
'Why?'
'Because God is a spirit and demands spiritual worship. He is a jealous God, and will have no other gods before Him.'
'Now, pray tell me,' said Chios, 'why of necessity should we worship your Deity? In what particular does He differ from Diana? She also is a great spirit. Why multiply gods and worship another?'
'Listen, young man. There is but one eternal past and future, and one Eternal God only can reign. There is nodivision of eternal power; so infinite is He, the universe is but a point compared to Him. He dwells above, below, beyond it. No man can follow His presence into the unfathomable abyss, no princely spirit could wing its way to find Him out. Ye worship ye know not what. You have set up the symbols of nature and named it deity. There is no God behind those symbols to answer when you call. You answer yourselves—believe a lie; custom gilds it as a truth.'
'Thou speakest strongly, good man. Dost thou bring proof of thy teachings?'
'My proof is within me: communion with the Spirit of my God. He speaks to me, believe it who may; it is sufficient for me.'
'But what if thou hast lulled thyself into a sweet calm, a calm born of content, worshipping a spiritual ideal? May it not be thus?'
'No.'
'How shall I know that what thou sayest is true?'
'By worshipping my God.'
'And what will follow?'
'The same conscious calm and communion, and thou shalt be the judge.'
'Tell me more of Him. Does He work by love or command?'
'Both. Those who serve Him find His commands encircled with love. He commands as a father for the good of his children. He is our Father, created our being; as when He said, "Let there be light," and the light flashed through the darkness.'
'What is the name of thy sect?'
'Christian.'
'Ah well, I have heard much of them, and desire to hear of their creed. Now I remember—yes, I remember theFather. Is there not wrapped up in the mysteries some teaching respecting a Son?'
'Yes, that is true—the Christ. He was slain by Pilate of Judea. Hast thou not heard of it?'
'Yes, I have heard as thou sayest; but I must confess I know little or nothing of the mysteries which surround thy faith.'
'Wouldst thou know?'
'I would.'
'Then thou shalt; but not now. This is not a place to expound the hidden things of God; moreover, if seen with me, evil may befall thee. Go now thy way. Let my prayers go with thee. We shall meet again. I will send for thee.'
'Thou mayest not find me.'
'I shall, fear not. I am not a magician, but my spirit is in sympathy with thine; we cannot travel far asunder without thou break the bond of union.'
'Dost understand Ephesian magic?'
'Yea, I understand, but practise not. Ere long it shall be shaken to its very roots.'
'Thou speakest as one with authority.'
'I do. Go in peace, and forget not the aged man who promises to reveal the truth to thee. Farewell!'
And as the stranger moved slowly away with downcast head and thoughtful mien, Chios felt as if a thick darkness surrounded him. Even Saronia faded from his mind before the burning words of that man. Chios perceived that the new teacher possessed immense spiritual and intellectual power, and felt his own weakness. He knew the sayings he had heard were but the outriders of a mighty army; that, in fact, this man had treated him as if he were a child. Who could he be? And whence came the great storehouse of wisdom which lay behind that impressivebrow? From whence came the influence with which he spoke? His voice was low, but every word struck home and flashed forth strong conviction. Was he a god in disguise? Was he one of the gods come down to witness the festivities of the great goddess Diana?
'No, no; I believe not those vain imaginings. I will wait and wish for the time to meet again this great spirit. I will sit at his feet and learn, and perchance receive light and perhaps rest. Certainly I require it. Creed of my own I have not, or believe not what I have. Saronia's love can never be mine. Truth and love I must obtain. Truth this man offers me, and a promise of love from the God of Love. If thus it comes to pass, I will live well and move onward to the great Dream City, and stand upon the diamond floorway which leads to the altar steps of the Father God.'
By this time the great procession had moved around the south of Mount Pion, and was returning towards the Temple by way of the Serapion.
Slowly it went with majestic tread, passing by the harbour, and sailors on the ships bowed down in lowly adoration.