The Celebration of the Mysteries.
“Thence what the lofty grave tragedians taught
In chorus or iambic, teachers best
Of moral prudence, with delight received
In brief sententious precepts, while they treat
Of fate, and chance, and change in human life.”
John Milton.
The first rays of sunlight were gilding the pillared temples of the city
as the procession for the Eleusinian Mysteries filed through the Dipylon
Gate. It was the fifth day of celebration, the previous four having been
spent at Athens in listening to formal proclamations, taking vows,
undergoing purification and being crowned with garlands as emblems of
initiation. Light were the hearts of the youths and maidens as with
singing and dancing they wended their way carrying cists containing
offerings to Demeter and Dionysus. At the head of the procession was
carried a statue of the infant Iacchos, a form of Dionysus.
Many of the female celebrants rode in carriages as the journey was a
long fatiguing one despite the many stops made. Zopyrus walked beside an
open litter in which sat Cleodice and Eumetis.
“My children,” said Cleodice smiling, “these mystæ are celebrating your
betrothal though they know it not! I regret so much that Pasicles was
unable to be with us, but he has invoked the blessing of Hymen upon you.
The nuptials will be solemnized immediately upon our return from
Eleusis.”
Eumetis glanced shyly at the young man who strode beside the carriage.
He had not looked well lately. There was something drawn and haggard
about his features.
“I fear these days of initiation into the Mysteries are proving too
strenuous for you, Zopyrus. You do not look yourself today,” said
Eumetis with concern.
“It is nothing,” replied Zopyrus, “but I shall be glad when these rites
are over.”
“For more reasons than one surely,” laughed Cleodice. “I remember how
impatient your father,” turning to her daughter, “was when it was
necessary to wait till the close of the Nemean games to celebrate our
marriage.”
Zopyrus turned to survey the landscape which lay all green and gold
about him. The familiarity of the scene at this point came to him as a
shock. There to the right lay the olive-grove and there, he could
mistake it not, was the same tree beneath whose gnarled branches he had
laid his precious burden on that day which would live forever in his
memory. Again he seemed to feel the weight of her unconscious body;
again he observed the beauty, winning seriousness and refinement of her
features and yet once again he imagined he heard her ask if he were not
a disguised Greek soldier! It was with an effort that he forced these
memories from him. A year had passed and he would probably never see her
again. She must have perished during the months that followed the battle
of Salamis as many Greeks had. It was folly, he resolved, to waste one’s
life in vain regrets. He was about to take as his wife a chaste girl of
excellent parentage, whose love was wholly his, and he would do his best
to make her happy! As they passed the path to the southward where he and
the maiden had turned to view the battle from the promontory, he turned
his eyes resolutely to the anxious countenance of Eumetis and smiled,
seeking to forget that which would force itself uppermost in his
consciousness. He partially succeeded, for the eyes of the maiden, so
full of loving regard, gave him a promise of undying affection. He
placed his hand over hers as it lay on the side of the carriage, then
suddenly he stopped as if struck by an arrow.
Upon his ears in solemn cadence fell again the hymn to Dionysus, the
pæan of joy which had miraculously saved Greece. It was now being sung
for the first time since that memorable event. Every voice that helped
to swell the triumphal song, thrilled with irrepressible ecstasy. Only
in the heart of one did sadness mingle with joy.
“What is the matter, Zopyrus? You are ill! Mother, stop a moment! I can
walk as far as the fountain of Kallichoros while Zopyrus takes my seat
in the carriage.”
Zopyrus quickly gained control of his emotions.
“Foolish girl,” he said with mock severity, “do you think I would ride
while you walked? I assure you I am perfectly well. The fountain is just
now in sight where we shall rest and enjoy a little jest and
merry-making.”
The voices and innumerable instruments which had filled the heavens with
harmony ceased their music. Vast masses of clouds which swept the sky,
alternately unveiled and eclipsed the sun. A crisp breeze sprang from
the sea, so that the mystæ proceeded along their way after a short stop,
desirous of reaching the Fountain of Kallichoros before the storm which
threatened should break. Their hopes were more than realized. The sun
peeped out from behind a cloud just as they reached Eleusis by the sea,
and shone directly above the gleaming temple to Demeter. With its magic
rays it lit up the whole sacred precinct. First were visible the
propolæa and the small temple of Pluto. To the left was the Telesterion,
a large covered building adjoining which was the sacred temple to the
goddess Demeter, where only those were admitted who had received full
initiation.
“This is the sacred temple,” whispered Cleodice who already assumed the
office of mystagogue, “and beyond, where you see the waving field of
corn, lies the Rharian Plain where Demeter first sowed corn. Still
farther is the field called Orgas, planted with trees consecrated to
Demeter and Persephone.”
An official cried in a loud voice, “To the sea, ye Mystæ.”
“You must undergo further purification,” said Eumetis, “before you can
proceed nearer the holy environs of the temple.”
At this point Cleodice and Eumetis left Zopyrus who was hurried on with
others to the seashore and into the sea where the final purification
took place. Nearly opposite lay Salamis, the view from this point
differing but little from that which he had obtained from the promontory
nearer Athens.
The sun had set and the stars came out one by one. As he stood upon the
sand and gazed toward the hazy outline of Salamis, an ecstatic mood took
possession of him. Conscious of his own impotence, he sank upon his
knees and lifted his eyes to the God who had saved Greece, and who was
manifest in all the wonders of nature around him.
Soon he realized that the other mystæ, bearing flaming torches, were
leaving the shore and repairing to the temple. As he hurried hither he
met Cleodice with a torch for him.
“We are going to the Telesterion to hear the address of the hierophant,”
she explained.
The flickering, reddish lights from hundreds of torches cast grotesque
shadows and produced a weird effect as they entered the enormous hall
and seated themselves upon the steps which surrounded the square floor
on all sides. Within this square many who had been in the procession
from Athens marched and sang with the lyre, the flute and the barbiton.
Upon their heads and around their shoulders rested garlands of
interwoven flowers.
The revelry ended at the appearance of four men from one of the six
doors which were arranged in pairs on three sides of the hall. First in
order came the sacred torch-bearer followed by the altar-priest who wore
the insignia and carried the holy emblems for the service. Immediately
behind him came the hierophant whose duty it was to expound the truths
to the newly initiated. This man, chosen in the prime of life, was
selected from the aristocratic family of the Eumolpidæ. His term would
last till his death, for such was the custom regarding the election of
this officer. In his footsteps followed a fourth figure, the sacred
herald, who together with the altar-priest and torch-bearer, was chosen
for life from the sacred family of Ceryces, the family in which Zopyrus
could proudly claim membership.
A hush fell upon the assembly at the appearance of these venerable men.
The hierophant with outstretched hands invoked the blessing of the
Mother goddess upon the celebrants. Then in a well modulated voice he
addressed his words to the newly initiated.
Zopyrus sat as one in a trance, for the sentiment was similar to that of
many utterances of his beloved friend Aeschylus. His thoughts wandered
for a moment to his poet friend and he wondered if he were faring well
on his journey to the island of Sicily. He was probably at this moment
on the surface of the dark sea searching the far horizon for a first
glimpse of fiery Ætna, a favorite abode of Demeter and her daughter
Persephone! This brought his thoughts back again to his immediate
surroundings and he listened as the hierophant spoke:—
“When I look upon yonder green fields, I call upon the faithful to give
thanks to Demeter, that is, that active manifestation of the One through
which the corn attains to its ripe maturity. Whether we view the sun or
the harvest, or contemplate with admiration the unity and harmony of the
visible or invisible world, still it is always with the Only, the
All-embracing One we have to do, to Whom we ourselves belong as those of
His manifestations in which He places His self-consciousness.
“The wonderful miracle of reviving vegetation, of the grain which dies
in the ground and springs anew to life, illustrates man’s longing for a
revival of his own life, and serves as an assurance of his hope of
immortality.
“Many of you sit before me fearful for the morrow, for you know not in
the day or in the night what course fate has marked out for you. But
think you that any part of the self-consciousness of this omnipotent God
can sink into utter oblivion? I tell you that death is but a passing out
of this life into a larger, fuller existence like unto the change which
takes place in a kernel of corn when it is planted in the ground. What
change does Demeter work in that corn? What change will the One
accomplish in you? In Demeter you see explained the mysteries pertaining
to the source of life. In Persephone you behold life itself with its
problems. Their relation to each other is emblematic of man’s
resurrection. We are here now to win the friendship of the Mother and
Daughter that we may procure a blessing at their hands in the next
existence.”
The hierophant withdrew, and the sacred herald announced that a mystery
play would be enacted.
Aeschylus had hinted to Zopyrus that the celebration consisted of
“things said” and “things done.” The young man’s eyes were fixed in
eager anticipation upon the clear space in the center of the Great Hall,
around the sides of which were seated not less than three thousand
spectators. The actors gained access to the pit by means of trap-doors
which opened from below.
“The first scene,” whispered Cleodice, “will represent Persephone and
some girl friends picking roses, lilies and hyacinths in the fields of
Enna in Sicily.”