Will thou yet take all, Galilean? Yet these things thou shalt not take:The laurel, the palm and the pæan; the breast of the nymph in the brake.
Will thou yet take all, Galilean? Yet these things thou shalt not take:The laurel, the palm and the pæan; the breast of the nymph in the brake.
Could it be that we could keep these things and yet remain loyal to the religion of sacrifice? Could we worship as well at the voluptuous altar of Cytherea and at the mystic shrine of the Holy Grail?
My mind was in a tumult of inquiry as Chairoarose from his knee and engaged in conversation with the group; and though they did not point or look at me I knew that it was of me they were talking. Presently, Chairo came to me and held out his hand:
"You are a traveller from the Past, I hear! Dropped down among us in some unaccountable way." He looked me squarely in the eye as he held my hand a moment, with a frank scrutiny that I had already noticed in Lydia. Then he added:
"You were returning to the Hall; if you don't mind, I shall accompany you; it is too late for me to begin work before lunch; besides, there is no scythe for me." And waving his hand to Lydia and the others, he walked away with me toward the Hall.
THE CULT OF DEMETER
For some distance we walked in silence. At last I said: "You will not be surprised to hear that I am bewildered; everything is in some respects so much the same and in others so different."
"I am curious to know what bewilders you most."
"Well, it is bewildering enough to be told that you are actually living under the régime of Collectivism—a thing which we always considered impossible; but I confess what piques my curiosity most is this cult of Demeter——"
A scowl came over Chairo's face.
"How much do you know about it?" said he.
"Nothing, except that Lydia is a Demetrian and that she is to be married to some mathematician——"
"Married!" interrupted Chairo. "It cannotbe called a marriage! It is a desecration!" He paused a moment as if to collect himself and then began again in a calmer voice:
"It is difficult for me to speak of it without impatience; but declamation which is well enough on the rostrum is not tolerable in conversation, so I shall not give way to it. The cult of Demeter is an abomination—one of the natural fruits of State Socialism, which, to my mind, means the paralysis of individual effort and death to individual liberty. I lead the opposition in our legislature, and you will, therefore, take all I say with the allowance due to one who has struggled, his whole life through, against what I believe to be an intolerable abuse. The cult of Demeter is nothing more nor less than the attempt to breed men as men breed animals. It totally disregards the fact that a man has a soul, and that the demands of a soul are altogether paramount over those of the body. To attempt to breed men along purely physical or mental lines without regard to psychical aspirations is contrary not only to common sense, but to the highest religion. Did not Christ Himself say, 'What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul'?"
"You quote Christ," interrupted I. "Is itpossible that the Christian religion can live side by side with the cult of Demeter?"
"Yes," said Chairo, "and this is perhaps just where the mischief lies. Christianity has remained among us as the religion of sacrifice; and the priests of Demeter bolster up their hideous doctrine and their exorbitant power by appeal to this religion of sacrifice."
"But where," asked I, "do they derive this power of theirs?"
"Where else," answered Chairo, "but through the hold they have upon the imagination of the women—that terrible need for ritual which has given the priest his power ever since the world began. Gambetta was right, 'Le cléricalisme; voilá l'ennemi.'"
"Do you mean to say," asked I, "that superstition has survived among you?"
"No, you cannot call it superstition; the time has long since passed when the priesthood could impose on the minds of men through superstition; but just because they now appeal to a higher and nobler function of mind are they the more dangerous."
"Tell me," I said—I paused a moment, for I was very anxious to ask a question and yet a little afraid to do so.
But Chairo looked at me again with a look so frank that I ventured:
"Tell me," I said, "is Lydia going to accept the mission?"
"No one can tell," said Chairo. "She is profoundly religious, profoundly possessed with this notion of sacrifice; she has been brought up to believe the mission of Demeter the highest honor which the state can give, and it comes to her now clothed with all the mysticism of a strange ritual and a religious obligation. Think of it: just because she has the talent of rapid calculation, a knack which you in your time used to exhibit as a freak in a country fair, she is to be sacrificed—ah, if it were only a sacrifice I shouldn't complain—but she is to be contaminated. She is to be contaminated, because, forsooth, it is believed that by coupling this knack of calculation with one possessing a profounder genius for mathematics, she will bring into the world a being further endowed with mathematical ability. What if she did; is there not something in the world worth more than mathematics?"
"And what mathematician will be selected?" asked I.
"That is the wicked part of it," answered Chairo; "that matter is absolutely in the handsof the priests. My God!" he said, "I shall not endure it."
His eyes flashed, and his voice, though low, rang as he spoke these words. But we were now approaching the Hall and we saw the Pater, as they called him, sitting upon the veranda. "I have spoken vigorously," he said in a lower voice, as we approached the Hall—"perhaps too vigorously; but I do not mean to disguise my intention. I would not speak in this way upon a public platform, because they would endeavor to stop me, and the issue would be raised before public opinion is ripe for it. But I warn you the Pater is on the side of the priests, and so, to avoid discussion, which we seldom allow to interfere with the harmony of our domestic life, I recommend you not to speak of these things to the Pater when I am present."
The Pater arose and advanced to meet us, holding out his hands to Chairo.
"Welcome to Tyringham," he said. And then looking toward me he added: "You could not get hold of a better man to explain to you the changes that have occurred since your time, but I warn you he will not give you an optimistic view of them."
I smiled, but said nothing.
After a few words about the weather and the crops Chairo left us, and I at once began upon the burning theme.
I repeated to him the substance of what Chairo had said, leaving out the heat, the indignation, and the threat. I sat down on the balcony with the Pater, and he, after listening to me, began:
"Chairo is a man of extraordinary gifts, and has, of course, the quality which generally attends these gifts—inordinate ambition. Such men are naturally prone to favor individualism as opposed to collective action, and to desire the rewards that come from individual success. It was such men as Chairo who prevented so long the realization of Solidarity, and who will always constitute a formidable opposition. Nor, indeed, would it be well for the state that they should cease to exist; for the Collectivist community would soon lapse into mere routine and officialism, were it not kept perpetually at its best by the opposition of just such as these.
"Unfortunately in this particular case his opposition is rendered not only acute but dangerous, by the fact that he has come into collision with one of the most precious institutions of the state, through his inordinate passion for Lydia.Indeed, I had Chairo in mind when I said to you, as we parted, that the economic problem presented by the distribution of wealth was by far the least of the problems that presented themselves. The desire for the accumulation of wealth is an artificial desire; it grew with the institution of private property, and when the institution of private property was abolished the desire for it very soon, in great part, disappeared. But the desire of a man for a woman is an elemental passion which has its root deep down in the necessities of human nature. This passion will always be with us and will always tend, when coupled with such abilities as Chairo's, to disrupt the state."
"But," I interrupted, "is not this cult of Demeter a dangerous thing?"
"To the mind of Chairo," answered he, "inflamed as it is by his love for Lydia, undoubtedly it is. But all those who belong to Chairo's party and hate Collectivism because it doesn't furnish them the reward which they feel due to their ability, are using this issue in an attempt to break up the entire system. But consider for a moment what is this cult of Demeter which you think so dangerous. In the first place there is in it no coercion, absolutely none: the priests tender tosuch women as they think proper the mission of Demeter, and this mission can be accepted or declined; no disgrace attends the declining of it; the woman to whom it is offered is absolutely free. In the second place, the cult is to the utmost degree reasonable. Let us, for a moment, glance at the notions that have prevailed on this subject in times past.
"From the earliest civilization the notion has prevailed that the most highly religious act a woman could perform was to make the sacrifice involved in celibacy. We see it in one of its most beautiful developments at Rome. There, to the Vestal Virgins was entrusted the maintenance of the sacrificial flame; to them were accorded the highest honors of the Roman state, the most favored places at all state functions; they alone, except the consuls, were preceded in the street by lictors, and if, in walking through the streets of Rome, they met a criminal going to execution, he was immediately set free. The sacrifice required by this institution was chastity. So, in the Christian Church, those of both sexes who desired to give themselves particularly to the worship of Christ secluded themselves in convents and took the vow of chastity. Yet what a barren piece of sentimentality it was! We respect it still, becausethere was in it the element of sacrifice; but a woman capable of such self-sacrifice as this commits a crime against the body politic by refusing to become the mother of children; it is just from such women as these that we want to raise new generations, capable of carrying the torch of civilization onward in its march. The real sacrifice to be demanded of these is not chastity; it is the surrender of personal inclination to the benefit of the commonwealth. The real sacrifice consists in refusing to leave the maternal function at the mercy of a momentary caprice, and, on the contrary, in consecrating it to a noble purpose and to the general good. But you can hardly understand all this till you have heard the story of Latona, who founded the cult—the first and greatest saint in our calendar."
The Pater did not persuade me; it was horrible to me that it should be in the power of any man or men, by appealing to a woman's willingness to sacrifice herself or by the exercise of priestly craft, to condemn her to marriage without love, which, to my mind, is its only justification.
"And you think," said I, protesting, "that it is right to sacrifice the love of a woman for life?"
"No," interrupted the Pater, "not for life! There you labor under a mistake. Let me tell youwhat happens: if a woman accepts the mission she becomes attached to the temple of Demeter, and while attending upon the ritual is slowly prepared for the act of sacrifice; this is a period of seclusion and prayer. Not that we believe in the existence of a goddess Demeter, but that Demeter represents to us that divinity in our own hearts which puts passion under constraint, and makes of it, not a capricious tyrant, but a servant to human happiness—our own happiness best understood, believe me—as well as the happiness of the community. And so the Vestal—for so we entitle her—invokes and keeps herself in communion with this special divinity within us each, and without us all, until her heart is lifted into a consciousness of her mission as the highest possible to her sex. Compare that, my friend, with the maternity which is often the undesired consequence of a caprice or ceremony. But as I have already hinted, the sacrifice is neither imposed at all, nor is it suggested for a lifetime.
"Indeed, the Demetrian ceremony, once consummated, often results in permanent marriage; upon this point the woman has the first word; though, of course, the ultimate conclusion must rest upon the consent of both. For example, the woman decides the question whether the bridegroomshall become known to her. Some women, in whom the instinct of the mother predominates over that of the wife, elect never to know the father of their child; and as soon as pregnancy is assured, cease all relations with him. Others, indeed the great majority, become mystically attached to the man who, in the obscurity of the Demetrian temple, has accomplished for them the mission of their motherhood; they ask to see him; and if upon fuller acquaintance both consent, a provisional marriage is celebrated between them."
"Provisional marriage!" exclaimed I, aghast again.
"All our first marriages are provisional," answered the Pater with magnificent disregard for my indignation. "What can be more preposterous—more fatal to happiness—than to commit a man and woman for life to bonds accepted at an age when the mind is immature, and under an impulse which is notoriously blinding. It became a commonplace paradox in your time that the fact of being in love was a convincing argument against marriage; for a human being in love is one who has been by so much deprived of reason—by so much deprived of the exercise of the very judgment most necessary to select a life companion. Look back at the consequences of your institutionof marriage: in your time it was already in process of dissolution; the facility of divorce had already destroyed the indissolubility of marriage, and made of it a mere time contract. And divorce, that the clergy of your day regarded as a trespass of Immorality on the sanctity of the marriage tie, was, as a matter of fact, the protest of Morality against the immoral consequences of the indissolubility of the marriage tie. No, there are two essential elements in sexual morality: one is temperance; the other is sacrifice. All are expected to practise the one; the few only are capable of practising the other. The art is to frame institutions which recognize this and to accommodate the institution to the temperament of the race——"
"Yes," interrupted I, "but this is just where you fail; how are you accommodating your Demetrian institutions to such temperaments as those of Lydia and Chairo? Do you not see that by imposing them in such cases as theirs you are risking the wreck of your entire system?"
"You are perhaps right," answered the Pater. "I am not initiated into the secrets of the priesthood; but it may be easily guessed that upon the application of the system there may well be divergence of opinion. We have already seen the systemresult in infamous outrage in the South, and give rise to the necessity of government intervention—a very dangerous thing in such questions."
"But how do you practise this system of provisional marriage?"
"Simply enough: the first marriage is always provisional; if a child is born, the marriage must last until the child is weaned; at that time the parties are expected either to renew the vow of fidelity in the temple of Demeter, or to renounce it. They can at that time renounce it without disgrace, though it is seldom renounced without heart-burning; one wants to renounce and the other to renew. But both know in advance that the day of the weaning—which is a function of the cult—is the day upon which final vows are to be pronounced; both prepare for it, and its inevitable coming insures on the part of the one who most desires the renewal a conduct of a nature to insure it. But renunciation on the part of either involves no disgrace. A second renunciation after a second marriage is otherwise. There is no institutional obstacle to it; each or both can at any time renounce; but public opinion has happily created a sentiment against a second renunciation, which makes them rare. This is just where the system broke down in the South;the public opinion against repeated renunciations did not exist; caprice became the order of the day; the priests of Demeter became corrupt; and sexual disorder involved, as it always must, every conceivable other disorder in the state."
"And what was done?" I asked.
The Pater looked grave: "The Government interfered and substituted state control for individual control. It is this that furnishes to Chairo and his party their strongest weapon. State control is abominable; institutions like ours are possible only in a community possessed of such a moral sense as prevails in these New England States."
"But how could the Government undertake control of marriage?"
"By an extension of our State Colony system; this you will understand only when you have seen the working of the State Colony system for yourself."
One thing more I was eager to know. "What had the gesture of Lydia, as Chairo kissed her hand, meant; was it an acceptance?" I asked the Pater, and he answered:
"Just as it is no disgrace to a man that a woman should not return his love, so is it no disgrace to a woman that she should withhold heranswer. In your time a woman who did not respond affirmatively or negatively to a proposal of marriage was accused of playing fast and loose. But we do not regard it as a bad thing for a man to be kept waiting, or for a woman to keep him waiting; indeed, I am reminded of a word of one of your own authors who said that there was no better education for a man's character than the effort to win the love of a worthy woman. And so, when a man has altogether made up his mind that he loves a woman, he does not feel it necessary to keep his love secret till he knows whether the woman will accept it; on the contrary, he makes open confession of it as Chairo did. And the woman, if she is not prepared to decide, responds to such an act as Chairo's, with a sign of the cross to indicate that she is for the time being set apart until such time as she has prayerfully considered. And in Lydia's case, this has a double signification; her choice is doubly religious, in that she not only has to consult her heart as to her love for Chairo, but also her conscience as to her duty to the cult."
I was glad that the reapers began returning and that our conversation was brought to a close by their return, for I was fairly tired. Great as was my curiosity to know more of these singularinstitutions I felt the need of thinking a little about them before my mind was crowded with further information. And so I gladly returned to the men's quarters, which were becoming crowded with those who had more right there than I to a plunge in the crystal pool. We were soon ready for lunch, and I was accompanied thither by Chairo, Cleon, and Ariston.
ANNA OF ANN
My place at lunch was by the side of the Mater. I soon guessed that she was the wife of the patriarchal old man with whom I had been conversing. She had a delicious air of comfortableembonpoint, a clear skin, pink cheeks, and massive white hair. She was already seated when Ariston took me to her table, and, moving the empty chair a little to help me to my seat, she said, smiling:
"You are to sit here; I am dreadfully anxious to talk to you; where on earth have you come from now?"
I sat down by her, and answered:
"I wish you could explain it to me."
She looked me in the face and said: "You look just like the rest of us, except, that only ourpriestsshave"; I looked in the direction of Chairo inquiringly. "Oh, yes, Chairo shaves, and a few others who want to be peculiar; but all of us simple folk——"
She chuckled a little, and then, bending near me, whispered in my ear: "I have been looking at your trousers!"
I made a deprecating gesture and smiled; she joined me, but in a laugh so brimming over with merriment and so contagious that very soon all the table had joined but without knowing why. When the Mater had finished laughing and the others with her, Ariston said:
"Well, Mater, now that you've finished laughing, perhaps you will tell us what it's all about?"
"Indeed, I won't," answered she; and there was almost a wink in her innocent old eye as she turned to me and said: "It is a secret—isn't it?—a secret between us two," and she patted my hand as if I had been her son.
I promised her with exaggerated solemnity never to reveal it, and she patted my hand again and added:
"I see you'll become one of us—one of the Tyringham Colony; we always come together at every harvest time—as indeed do all the other colonies—only we think our colony is just a little bit nicer than every other."
"And so does every other," said Ariston, "think itself better than the rest."
"And so all are happy," answered the Materconvincingly. "But have you met your neighbor, Anna of Ann?"
I turned to my right, and saw that Lydia was not the only beautiful woman at Tyringham. Anna of Ann was of a different type. Her features were delicate; the eye was not remarkable; indeed, her glance was veiled and almost disappointing; her nose was ordinary; her skin clear but colorless; it was assuredly in her mouth, and perhaps in her low forehead and clustering hair, that her beauty resided; and as she spoke there were little movements of the lips that were bewitching:
"No, I have not been haymaking with Ariston's group and so we have not spoken," she said. "But I saw you this morning after breakfast, and"—she added archly—"I stared at you with all the others; we were dreadfully rude! But then, therewassome excuse for us, wasn't there?"
"Every excuse," I answered reassuringly. "But tell me, what do you do when you are not haymaking?"
"What do you mean; work or play?"
"What do you work at, and what do you play at?"
"My work generally consists in attending atthe public store; I sell in the hosiery department at New York."
"And what do you play at?"
"Sculpture."
"She's a great sculptor," volunteered Cleon, nodding at her from the other side of the table.
"No, I am not," deprecated Anna; "I am not recognized."
I looked at the Mater inquiringly.
"By 'recognized,'" said the Mater, "she means the state hasn't recognized her; that is to say, she has to do her work at the store or wherever else she is assigned during the regular three hours a day. When the state recognizes her—as it is sure to do one of these days—she will be allowed to devote all her time to sculpture."
"I don't believe the state will ever recognize her," said Ariston; "she is a great deal too good. That Sixth is a fool!"
"Sixth is head of the fine arts department," explained the Mater. "His full name is Sprague Sixth; six generations ago we had a great artist called Sprague, who was for twenty years our secretary of the fine arts, and one of his sons has borne his name ever since, until it has become a tradition in Massachusetts that we must have a Sprague at the head of our fine arts. This manSprague Sixth, whom we call Sixth for short, doesn't believe anybody can be good at art unless he has studied in the state school. Now Anna did not show any talent until her school days were over and she had been assigned to work in the store."
"And now there is no chance for her," said Ariston ironically.
"What do you mean," exclaimed Cleon, taking Ariston seriously, "she can be a great artist, without being recognized?"
"I am not sure I want to be recognized," said Anna. "If I were recognized I should have to spend half my day in doing dull things for the state to please Sixth; whereas, now one half of the day is spent in doing mechanical work at the store; the other half I have fresh for my own work. I am going to ask to be assigned to a factory; for factory work is still more mechanical than that of the store, and I can then be more free to think of my own work."
All this was very strange and illuminating. A sculptor asking to do factory work!
"But won't factory work be very hard and brutalizing?" I asked.
Anna looked at me, puzzled, and Ariston came to her rescue.
"I don't think," he said, "Anna appreciates your point of view. In your day all factory work was done purely to make money; the factories were uncomfortable places, and workmen had to work eight and ten hours a day. Now that most of us have to do some factory work during the year, inventiveness has set to work to make the factory comfortable, and as we all of us have to work for the state and we no longer have to pay the cost of competition, three or four hours a day are all that are necessary to furnish the whole community with the necessaries and comforts of life."
"And so I can give the rest of the day to sculpture," said Anna.
"Without any anxiety as to whether her sculpture will pay or not," added Ariston.
"She just has to please herself," said the Mater comfortably.
"I am dreaming!" said I.
"No, you're not," said the Mater; and she pinched me till I started.
Everybody found this very funny—and so I took it as good-naturedly as I could. But I made up my mind to have a little revenge, so I asked the Mater quite loud as soon as they had finished laughing:
"Tell me, is Lydia the only Demetrian here?"
All looked shocked except Cleon, who laughed louder than ever, but Anna looked at him severely and said:
"Cleon, I'm surprised."
I noticed, too, a smile curl Ariston's lip. The Mater put a warning finger to her mouth and shook her head reproachfully.
"You see," I said, with no small satisfaction at the confusion I had caused, "I am new to all these things; I have to distinguish fact from fancy; the sacred from the profane."
"Of course," said Ariston, "although we have our domestic life in the cities, apart, every family having its own separate home, even there we jostle against one another a great deal more than you used in your time; and here at the colony we are like one large family; we have, therefore, to respect one another's opinions, and I might add—prejudices." He bowed here at the Mater as though in deference to her cult of Demeter. "We wouldn't be happy otherwise; and we have learned that after all, the highest religion is the highest happiness. And so each of us respects the religion of the other; in our heart of hearts we doubtless tax one another with superstition,but we never admit it. Every cult, therefore, is tolerated and receives the outward respect of all."
I could not help wondering whether this was true. Chairo clearly regarded the cult of Demeter as dangerous and bad; how long then would he tolerate it? Ariston divined my thought, for he added:
"Of course, I assume that the cult involves no danger to the state; or to individual liberty."
But the brows of the women darkened and I felt we were on dangerous ground, so I asked:
"And what are you going to do this afternoon?"
"We are going on with our haymaking."
"But I thought you worked only three or four hours a day?"
"Yes, that is all we owe the state; but we often ask to work all day for a season in order to have the whole day to ourselves later. And as harvesting must be done within a given space of time, it suits our economy as well as our inclination to work all day at this season and have October to ourselves. Most of us go hunting all of October, and in November we meet again at the Eleusinian festival."
"Hunting?" I asked; "but where do you hunt?"
"Almost wherever we want, though, of course, this has to be arranged. Since your time the state has replanted forests on all the high ground least suited to agriculture, and game is carefully preserved there during the whole year except October; which is our open season. Some hunting is done, too, in November and December to suit the convenience of those who have to work in October; but it is mostly done in October."
Lunch was by this time over and we adjourned to the veranda for coffee and a cigar. There we were joined by Chairo and others, and gradually I began to get some notion of the working of their Collectivist State. But as their explanations left me in considerable bewilderment, and it was only when I saw the system in actual operation that I understood it, I shall not attempt to give an account of our conversations, but rather describe the events that followed, not only for the interest of the events themselves, but for the light they threw on the problems which still remain unsolved for our race.
Lydia's good-natured reproach at my idleness kindled in me a desire to remove the occasion of it, so I set myself to learn to mow, and in a very few days my muscles accustomed themselves to the work. I soon picked up a part in their favoriterefrains and was able to join in their music as well as their occupations. My ardor for Lydia cooled when I felt its hopelessness; and I confess to an admiration for Chairo which justified her love for him. Neither of them attempted to disguise their desire to be alone with each other, and yet they never moved far from the rest of us. Obviously, Lydia had not decided between Chairo and Demeter.
The Pater told me that she need not decide for another year, though it was likely that she would do so at the Eleusinian festival in November. This festival, corresponding to our Thanksgiving Day, was held in honor of Demeter and Persephone, the genii of fruitfulness, whether of the earth or of men; and it was generally on some such occasion that vows were taken or missions renounced.
IRÉNÉ
I spent the whole harvest season at Tyringham, and when it was over I went with Chairo to New York in order to get some ocular understanding of their factory system. It was there that I understood one of the reasons that made Lydia hesitate, for I met there another woman—a Demetrian also—whose history had been intimately interwoven with Chairo's.
Lydia had decided, much to Chairo's disappointment, that she would spend October in the Demetrian cloister attached to the temple. She said she felt the need of seclusion. It was one of the functions of the cloistered to attend the daily rite at the altar, and I often went at the sacred hour to attend the service, doubtless drawn by the desire to see Lydia engaged in her ministration. One afternoon, as I sat in the shadow of a pillar, I was struck by the singular majesty of one of the ministrants. She headed the processionof women who carried the censers, and it was she who offered the incense at the altar.
I was living with Chairo and Ariston in bachelor quarters and described the priestess to the latter on my return home. Ariston's face flushed as he answered: "That must be Iréné of Tania; she is a Demetrian and is the mother of a boy by Chairo."
Noticing that my question had moved Ariston I was unwilling to push my inquiries; but after a few moments of silence Ariston, who after his laconic answer had lowered his eyes to the book he was reading, looked up and seeing the question in my eyes that I had refrained from putting into words, added:
"Her story is a sad one. She was selected by Demeter not on account of any special gifts, but because of her splendid combination of qualities; she was a type; she represented a standard it was useful to reproduce. Chairo for similar reasons was selected as her bridegroom; she chose to know him and became deeply enamored. How should she not? He remained devoted to her until her boy was weaned and then did not renew his vows. She bore his decision with dignity; indeed, so well did she disguise her disappointment that for a long time no one knew whether it was Chairo orherself who had decided to separate. But when Chairo began to show his love for Lydia, Iréné sickened; there was no apparent reason for it and no acute disease; her appetite failed and she lost strength and color."
Ariston paused, as though he were going over it all in his mind, unwilling to give it utterance. Finally, he arose and walked to the window, and after looking out a little, turned to me and said:
"The fact is, I was consumedly in love with her myself; her illness gave me an excuse for being a great deal with her, and at last in a moment of folly—for I might have guessed—I told her of my love. I shall never forget her face when I did so: the sadness on it deepened; she held out her hand to me and said: 'I am fond of you, Ariston—and am grateful! But I love Chairo and shall never love anyone but him.'" Ariston's voice became hoarse as he repeated Iréné's words. But he paused, cleared his throat, and went on.
"Since then she has made a great effort over herself. She was told that she was allowing sorrow to unfit her for her duty to her child, and that she was suffering from no malady beyond that most pernicious of all maladies—the malady of the will. She collected herself, regained control, and has now recovered her health—and all herbeauty. Was there ever beauty greater than her's?"
"She is very beautiful—more than beautiful—she filled me with a kind of wonder. But tell me, won't she object to your having told me her secret?"
"It is not a secret; these things are not regarded as secrets; we hold it unworthy to blab of such things, but we never make an effort to conceal them. Often since then Iréné has spoken of Chairo in such a manner as to leave no doubt as to her feelings for him; and yet she has probably never in terms admitted it to anyone but me. In confiding to you my love for her, she would not complain at my also confiding to you her love for him."
Ariston's simplicity filled my heart with tenderness for him.
I went to him, put my hands on his shoulders, and said:
"I am sorry for you."
For a moment he seemed taken aback by this expression of sympathy; but when our eyes met his were dimmed. In a moment, however, he had recovered control, and said:
"It doesn't make any difference in one way. I see her still; and one of these days she will besorry for me and become my wife; she will then end by loving me. I mean to work to this end; the hope of attaining all this gives me courage."
It seemed all the worse to me that Ariston, with his gayety and humor, should be in his heart so sad. And yet, if it was to be, better that it should come to one who had a fund of joyousness within himself, on which he could draw.
The next day Lydia sent word to Ariston that she would like to see him, and Ariston suggested that I should go with him to the cloister. "I shall, of course," he said, "wish to see Lydia alone for a little, but you will have an opportunity of seeing the cloister and what they do there."
The cloister of Demeter and all the institutions which clustered around it were situated in the neighborhood of what was in my time Madison Square. All the buildings between Twentieth Street and Thirty-fourth Street, north and south, and between Sixth Avenue and Fourth Avenue, east and west, had been cleared away; and upon the cleared space had been constructed a building dedicated to the cult. The temple of Demeter, closely resembling the Pantheon, was surrounded by a grove of ilex trees. At a short distance from the temple and connected with it by a columned arcade, was the cloister, built alsoof white marble, around a court carpeted with lawn; this cloister was the dwelling place of the priestesses of Demeter and of all those women who were either in retreat or in novitiate. A short distance from the cloister was a large building, similar to the other large buildings of which New York now mainly consisted. Twenty stories in height, covering acres of ground and built around a large open court, these buildings were no longer open to the objection alleged against them in my time, owing to the fact that they were now removed from one another by large spaces planted with trees. This particular building was devoted to the education of youth, and particularly all children who, for any reason, became what was termed "children of the state." The building was so large that it permitted of a running track within the court of four laps to the mile. New York had been transformed by the construction of these enormous buildings, each one of which constituted practically a city of itself. Some of them, such as the one in which I was living with Ariston, were devoted exclusively to bachelors and childless widowers; others were entirely for unmarried women and childless widows; others, on the contrary, were set aside for the use of families and consisted of apartments of different sizes.
Although the inmates of these buildings constantly met after the fulfillment of their daily task, every family had as separate a home as in my day. Almost every building had a dramatic corps of its own, a musical choir of its own, a football club, a tennis club, and other athletic, amusement, and educational clubs of its own, and all these clubs contributed to the amusement one of the other, each colony contributing its share to the enjoyment of the whole community.
Lydia was in the hospital ward of the state children's building, where at last we found her, for though in retreat she was by no means idle. She was not discountenanced when she saw us; nor would she even allow me to leave them, but told Ariston what she had to say simply and in a few words. It was this: She had come to the cloister, she said, very largely for the purpose of seeing Iréné there; she took it for granted that Iréné's duties at the temple would bring them together. Lydia feared, however, that Iréné was avoiding her, and wanted Ariston to arrange a meeting between them.
Ariston promised to do this, and then we all three walked through the buildings, Lydia taking great pride in her share of the work there.
Ariston did not find it easy to arrange thismeeting. Iréné freely confessed that she did not want to speak to Lydia at this moment; she was unwilling to give her reasons, but we both easily guessed them. Iréné, however, did not refuse to see Lydia and promised to go to her on the following day.
The following day was the first of the Eleusinian festival. In the daily rite, incense was offered to the goddess as a token of sacrifice, but at the Eleusinian festival there was added a note of thanksgiving to the rite, which substituted perfumes and flowers in lieu of incense. It was the privilege of Iréné to select from among the ministrants the one who was to hand her the gifts brought by the rest, and it was from the hand of the chosen one that Iréné took the gifts and laid them upon the altar.
On this opening day Iréné selected Lydia for this privilege, for she meant this joint ministration at the altar to serve as prelude and preparation for their meeting. The temple was crowded.
Lydia trembled a little as she followed Iréné to the altar; a priest stood on either side as the priestesses, postulants, and novices of the Demetrian procession went up the steps to it. Arrived at the foot of the altar they formed a group about it, dividing one-half on one side, the other halfon the other; between the altar and the body of the temple stood only Iréné and Lydia.
Lydia took the perfumes and handed them to Iréné, who sprinkled them first upon the altar, then upon the priests, and then toward the congregation; then she took the flowers, some of them in vases, others in wreaths, and handed them to Iréné, who arranged them upon the altar; when the last gift had been taken there Iréné kneeled and Lydia kneeled by her side. There was a deep silence in the temple. At this point in the ritual there was a pause, during which it was the privilege of the postulants and novices to have a prayer offered in case of special anxiety. Iréné, though unsolicited, at this moment offered the following prayer: