“You were speaking of the pedestal. That, of course, was invented in
Eden; for Adam early recognized the convenience of knowing where to
leave your women and be certain of finding them on your return. So he
made the pedestal, decorated it, burned incense before it, and went away
upon his own occasions; and when Eve had finished her housekeeping (you
may remember, Milton tells us what good little dinners she provided for
Adam), she would look bored, climb upon the pedestal obediently, and
stand there all day, yawning and wondering what kept him away so long.
“Now, on a memorable day, the Serpent came by, and stopped and looked up
at the Lady of the Garden,—who naturally assumed a statuesque
pose,—and there was joy in his bright little eyes. But all he said was,
‘May I ask if you find this amusing?’
“And Eve replied, ‘No, not at all. But it is the proper place for a
lady.’
“And the Serpent rejoined: ‘Why?’
“And Eve reflected and answered: ‘Because Adam says so.’
“So the Serpent drew near and whispered in his soft sibilant voice:
‘Have you ever heard of Lilith? _She_ does not stand on a pedestal. She
gardens with Adam. To be frank, she is a cousin of my own.’
“And this made Eve extremely angry, and she replied sharply: ‘I don’t
know what you mean. He and I are alone in Eden. There’s no such person
as Lilith. You are only a serpent when all’s said and done. What can you
know?’
“And the Serpent replied very gently,—and his voice was as soothing as
the murmur of a distant hive of bees,—‘I am only a Serpent, true! But I
have had unusual opportunities of observation. Come and eat of the Tree
of Knowledge of Good and Evil. Long ages ago I tasted the Fruit. The
savour of my teeth is sweet on it still.’
“Eve hesitated, and she who hesitates is lost.
“‘I own I should like to know about this Lilith,’ she said. ‘But we were
told that fruit is unripe, and I don’t like bitter things. Is it
bitter?’
“And the Serpent narrowed his eyes until they shone like slits of
emerald.
“‘Sweet!’ he said; ‘come.’
“So she descended from the pedestal, and, guided by the Serpent, stood
before that wondrous Tree where every apple shines like a star among its
cloudy leaves. And she plucked one, and, tasting it, flung the rest
angrily at the Serpent, because it was still a little unripe; and having
tasted the Fruit Forbidden, she returned to the pedestal, pondering,
with the strangest new thoughts quickening in her brain.
“If Adam noticed anything when he came back that evening, it was only
that Eve was a little more silent than usual, and forgot to ask if the
thornless roses were striking root. She was thinking deeply, but there
were serious gaps in her knowledge.
“The first result of her partial enlightenment was that, though she now
only used the pedestal as a clothes-peg and spent all her spare time in
stalking Adam and Lilith, she always scrambled up in hot haste when he
returned. He could be certain of finding her there when he expected to,
and he made a point of that because, as he said,—
“‘No truly nice woman would ever want to leave it and go wandering about
the Garden. It does not do for a respectable woman to be seen speaking
even to an Archangel nowadays, so often does the Devil assume the form
of an Angel of Light. You never can tell. And besides, there is always
the Serpent, who, in my opinion, should never have been admitted.’
“Eve said nothing, which was becoming a habit. She only folded her
little hands meekly and accepted the homage paid to the pedestal with
perfect gravity and decorum. He never suspected until much later that
she knew what a comparatively interesting time Lilith was having, and
had indeed called on that lady at the other end of the Garden, with
friendly results. She was well aware that Lilith’s footing on the garden
paths was much more slippery and unsafe than her own on the pedestal.
Still, there were particulars which she felt would be useful.
“When Adam realized the facts, he realized also that he was face to face
with a political crisis of the first magnitude. If they fraternized,
those two, of such different characters and antecedents, there was
nothing they could not know—nothing they might not do! The pedestal was
rocking to its very foundation. The gardening with Lilith must end. She
would demand recognition; Eve would demand freedom. It might mean a
conspiracy—a boycott. What was there it might not mean? He scarcely
dared to think. Eden was crumbling about him.
“It was a desperate emergency, and as he sat with a racking head,
wishing them both in—Paradise, the Serpent happened along.
“‘Surely you look a little harassed,’ he said, stopping.
“Adam groaned.
“‘Is it as bad as all that?’ the Serpent asked, sympathetically.
“‘Worse.’
“‘What have they been at?’ asked the Serpent.
“‘They each know too much, and they will soon know more,’ he rejoined
gloomily. ‘Knowledge is as infectious as potato blight.’
“The Serpent replied with alacrity: ‘In this dreadful situation you must
know most. It is the only remedy. Come and eat at once of the Fruit of
the Tree. I have never understood why you did not do that the moment the
Rib took shape.’
“And Adam, like Eve asked: ‘Is it sweet?’
“So the Serpent narrowed his eyes till they shone like slits of ruby,
and said, ‘Bitter, but appetizing. Come.’
“And Adam replied: ‘I like bitters before dinner.’
“We all know what happened then; with the one exception that, as a
matter of fact, he found the apple a little overripe, too sweet, even
cloying; and not even swallowing what he had tasted, he threw the rest
away.
“It is just as well to have this version, for it must have been always
perfectly clear that Eve, having tasted the apple and thus acquired a
certain amount of wisdom, could never have desired to share it with
Adam. [“I have thought that myself,” murmured Joan.] No, it was the
Serpent’s doing in both cases; though naturally Adam blamed Eve when the
question was raised, for she had begun it.
“But what was the result? Well, there were several. It has, of course,
been a trial of wits between Adam, Eve, and Lilith ever since. But, in
tasting, he had learned one maxim which the Romans thought they invented
thousands of years later. It flashed into his mind one day, when he saw
the two gathering roses together and found his dinner was half an hour
late in consequence. It was simply this: Divide and Rule. Combined, he
could never manage them; the sceptre was daily slipping from his hand.
Divided, he could. So he put the maxim in practice and sowed division
and distrust between Eve and Lilith. They ceased to visit each other,
and were cuts when they met. And, naturally, after the Eviction the
meetings ceased entirely.
“You will have understood before this, my dear Joan, that Adam was the
first mortal to realize the value of competition. He now became the
object of spirited competition between the two. Each in her own way
outbid the other to secure his regard. Eve’s domestic virtues grew
oppressive; Lilith’s recklessness alarming. And it will readily be seen
why women have pursued men, rather than the other way over, as we see it
in the lower walks of creation.”
“Don’t prose,” said Joan. “What happened?”
“Well, in the last few years, the Serpent, who is always upsetting
things, happened along again, and found Eve balancing in extreme
discomfort on the pedestal, and Lilith resting, exhausted, after a
particularly hard day’s pursuit of Adam. And between them was a wall of
icy silence.
“He paused and said with his usual courtesy, ‘Ladies, you both seem
fatigued. Is it permitted to ask the reason?’ And his voice had all the
murmuring of all the doves of Arcady.
“And Lilith replied angrily: ‘I’m sick of hunting Adam. I always catch
him and always know I shall. And he wants to be caught, and yet insists
on being hunted before he gives me the rewards. Who can keep up any
interest in a game like that? If it were not for Eve, who would take up
the running if I dropped it, he might go to Gehenna for me!’”
“Oh, how true! I like Lilith best!” whispered Joan. She was not smoking
now.
“‘Strong, but pardonable,’ said the Serpent. ‘And you, dear Lady?’
“And Eve, casting a jealous scowl at Lilith, replied: ‘I’m weary of this
abominable pedestal. If you had stood on it off and on for five thousand
years, you would realize the cramp it means in the knees. But I daren’t
get off, for Adam says no truly nice woman ever would leave it, and it
pleases him. If it were not for Lilith, who would be upon it in two
seconds, I should be off it in less. And then where should I be? She
_will_ go on hunting him, and of course he must have quiet at home.’
“‘And you _will_ go on standing on your imbecile pedestal, and of course
such boredom makes him restless abroad,’ retorted the other.
“In the momentary silence that ensued, the Serpent looked up at Lilith
and narrowed his eyes till they shone like slits of amethyst.
“‘My cousin,’ he said, ‘our family was old when Adam was created. He is
poor game.’
“‘Nobody knows that better than I,’ said Lilith tartly. ‘What do you
suppose I hunt him for?’
“‘What, indeed!’ said the Serpent, hissing softly.
“‘Because of Eve—that only!’ she flashed at him. ‘She never shall
triumph over me. And what there is to give, he has.’
“He turned to Eve, narrowing his eyes till they shone like slits of
fire.
“‘And you stand cramped on this pedestal, beloved Lady?’
“‘Because of Lilith—that only! She, at all events, shall not have him.
And think of his morals!’”
(“Aha!” said Joan, with intense conviction.)
“The Serpent mused and curved his shining head toward Eve.
“‘If you will allow me to say so, I have always regretted that you never
finished that apple, and that my cousin Lilith has never tasted it at
all,’ he murmured. ‘A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, as certain
also of your own poets have said.’
“‘I have sometimes thought so, too,’ Eve replied mournfully; ‘and there
is a word that now and then flashes across my brain like an echo from
the past, but I can never quite recall it. It might explain matters.
Still, it is no use talking. That apple rotted long ago, and if the Tree
is still growing, which I doubt, there is always a guard of flying
infantry at the Gate. It is easier to get out than in where Eden is
concerned.’
“The Serpent smiled blandly.
“‘You have evidently forgotten that, by arrangement with the Governing
Body, I have always free ingress and egress. Look here!’
“He unfolded his iridescent coils, and there lay within them—shining,
mystic, wonderful, against his velvet bloom—two Apples.
“There was no hesitation, for each was equally weary of Adam’s
requirements; and, snatching each an Apple, they ate.
“But the Fruit has grown bitter since the days of the Garden. There is
nothing so bitter as knowledge. Their lips were wried, and the tears
came, and still they ate until not an atom remained. The Serpent
watched. For a moment each stared upon the other, trembling like a
snared bird, wild thoughts coming and going in the eyes of the Barren
Woman and the Mother of all Living. Then Eve stretched out her arms, and
Lilith flung herself into them, and they clung together, weeping.
“And the Serpent opened his eyes until they shone like sun, moon, and
stars all melted into one; and he said, ‘Ladies, the word you are
seeking is, I think, _Combination_.’ And smiling subtly, he went away.
“So Eve descended from her pedestal and trampled it; and Lilith broke
the rod of her evil enchantments; and they walked hand in hand, blessing
the world.
“Adam meanwhile was shooting,—big game, little game,—and, amid the
pressure of such important matters, never paid any attention to this
trifle. But this was the beginning of what will be the biggest
trade-union the world will ever see. All the women who matter will be
within it, and the black-legs outside will be the women who don’t count.
So now you see why men will not much longer have a run (literally) for
their money. Adam may have to put up with it, for he never ate the Apple
as Eve and Lilith have done, and therefore does not know so much about
the things of real importance. Unless indeed the Serpent— But we won’t
think of that until it happens.
“Now, my dear Joan, whether all this is a good or a bad thing, who can
tell? The Serpent undoubtedly shuffled the cards; and who the Serpent is
and what are his intentions, are certainly open questions. Some believe
him to be the Devil, but the minority think his true name is Wisdom. All
one really can say is that the future lies on the knees of the gods, and
that among all men the Snake is the symbol of Knowledge, and is
therefore surrounded with fear and hatred.
“Now that’s the story, and don’t you think there’s a kind of moral?”