Persephone.
“Yonder brook Demeter’s tears received,
That she wept for her Persephone.”
Schiller.
Scarcely had the words fallen from Cleodice’s lips than there appeared
several maidens running, dancing and pirouetting. They seemed to be so
many sylvan nymphs effusing the spirit of eternal spring among imaginary
wooded hills, beside babbling brooks and amid fragrant meadows in search
of flowers to wind in their long hair which streamed behind them or fell
about their shoulders as they ran.
“The one with the richly broidered gown of pure white is Persephone,”
explained Eumetis, observing that Zopyrus’ eyes were fastened upon that
figure.
Seated between Cleodice and Eumetis, Zopyrus had not withdrawn his gaze
from the girl in white, the Persephone. It was the maiden whom he had
rescued on the Acropolis!
“She is very beautiful, is she not, Zopyrus?” questioned Eumetis with
pique.
But Zopyrus did not hear.
Happy Persephone! Life that moves along with nothing to disturb its
tranquility! Presently she sees a flower, a narcissus, fairer and taller
than any around it, but it is far away. She leaves her companions and
runs gayly to pluck it. Her hand is almost upon the fair blossom when
lo! the earth opens at her feet, and a chariot drawn by two black horses
emerges seemingly from the very bowels of the earth. Within the chariot
stands a dark, somber-visaged man upon whose head rests a crown with a
solitary dull red stone in the front. This man is Hades,[5] lord of the
underworld. He seizes the hapless Persephone who struggles vainly for
freedom, and placing her beside him in his magnificent chariot, vanishes
with her to the nether regions.
While this scene was being enacted, Zopyrus sat as one dazed, for in the
person of Hades he had recognized the traitor of Thermopylæ.
Again the pit is occupied, this time by two female figures clad in robes
of mourning. They are Ceres and her faithful maid Iambe. Ceres questions
every one they meet in the hope of finding some trace of her lost
daughter, Persephone. Hecate, goddess of night, is approached with an
inquiry regarding the possible whereabouts of the unfortunate girl, but
Night has seen nothing, only heard the cry of anguish.
During the six months that Persephone dwelt with Pluto, her husband, the
face of nature showed the withering touch of the mourning goddess. It
was for Helios, the sun god, to reveal where Persephone was hidden, and
during the remainder of the year that Persephone’s abode was with her
mother, Ceres’ magic influence was made manifest in the growing and
maturing vegetation.
So the mother goddess, Earth, who during her sorrow had caused all
nature to be barren, produced fruit, flowers and grain in abundance. As
her faithful heart pined for her daughter, Life, so do we mourn the lost
lives of our loved ones until our souls are assured of their
resurrection. So often from the bitterest experiences of life do the
greatest blessings come.
A communion service followed the presentation of the suffering and
rejoicing of Demeter, in which all the initiates drank of the same cup
with the representatives of the goddesses. These ceremonies appealed to
the eyes and imaginations of the celebrants through a form of religious
mesmerism.
The ceremonies over, the crowds moved slowly out of the Telesterion.
From the entrance to the rock-terrace, Persephone and Agne, the woman
who had represented Ceres, watched the departing throng.
“An appreciative audience, do you not think so, Persephone?” asked the
older woman.
“I sincerely hope so,” replied the girl. “My greatest happiness can come
only from successfully convincing others that there is a future
existence for all who deserve it.”
“I saw my cousin, Cleodice and her daughter, Eumetis,” said Agne. “There
was a young man seated between them, and I believe he must be the one to
whom Eumetis is betrothed. He will find Eumetis a worthy mate, for a
more unselfish girl never lived. She loved Polygnotus, but when she
realized that her sister, Corinna loved him, she stepped aside and gave
Polygnotus every opportunity to pay court to her sister. But see who is
coming to pay court here, little Persephone! Behold Pluto is vanished,
and in his stead we see Ephialtes. I was young once, Persephone, and if
I mistake not, your greatest happiness lies with him, not in revealing a
future life to others. Do not misunderstand me, my dear, your part as
Persephone is a noble one and may be for a year or two yet, but then
younger Persephones will come to the front, and you do not want to
become a Demeter!” here Agne laughed bitterly. “I once stood as you now
stand and hesitated between a lover and an ambition,—and now I am just
Demeter, truly a noble calling, but not life as it should be. You are
life, Persephone! You personify it! Then live it, and Ephialtes will
gladly share it with you.”
Persephone was amazed at Agne’s frank outburst. She had always known her
as a devout, conscientious woman whose interest in her part of Ceres in
the mystery-play was the obsession of her life. It was now vividly
impressed upon her that Agne had once been young as she was, that Agne
had once loved and been loved, and now Agne’s advice was to make the
most of that love which comes in life’s spring-time.
“But I always thought you wanted me to succeed you some day as Demeter!”
the girl exclaimed wonderingly.
“Maybe some day you can, but live first. Demeter was a mother, and I
believe a real mother will present the truths of our belief more vividly
than can one who has never known the joys and pangs of motherhood.” With
these words Agne left the maiden just as Ephialtes approached.
“Come with me to the Grotto of Pluto, Persephone,” said Ephialtes. “I
wish to have a word with you alone.”
The Grotto of Pluto was a half furlong distant from the Great Hall which
the two now left by way of the rock-terrace. The night breeze from
across the Rharian plain was warm and laden with the odors of grain
fields.
“The usual cool sea breeze has deserted us tonight,” remarked
Persephone, “but I love equally well that which blows from the land. It
seems to bear a message from others who live in our own fair land and to
unite us by its common touch.”
“I love that wind,” said Ephialtes, “which blows across the water from
strange, unknown lands, bringing with it a feeling of mystery. It is
characteristic, I suppose, that the woman love her native land and the
familiar haunts of her childhood, but the man longs to explore the
unknown.”
“Yes I love Greece, Ephialtes, and who would not? It has the richest
pale-blue air, the loveliest mountain forms and silvery estuaries,
sinking far into the heart of the land!”
They arrived, meeting no one, at the entrance of the Grotto of Pluto.
“Let us go in,” said Ephialtes softly. “There is a new statue of Iacchos
I would show you.”
“Some other time, Ephialtes. There is no one here. Tell me what you said
you wished to tell me when we were in the Telesterion.”
Ephialtes was keenly disappointed that the girl would not enter the
grotto with him. His impulse was to carry her bodily there, but he knew
her utterances of remonstrance would attract attention, so he silently
obeyed her wish, feeling impotent rage.
“On the second night of the next full moon, there is to be a festival of
Dionysus on the island of Naxos. Will you go with me, Persephone?”
He was standing before her; he clasped her hand and gazed pleadingly
into her eyes. She hesitated and turned thoughtfully away.
“I will go with you if I may take Agne as chaperone,” she replied.
Ephialtes answered with well concealed irritation: “Very well, if you
insist, but surely you do not mistrust a friend of such long standing as
myself, and oh my dear Persephone, will you not change your answer to my
question which was put to you last when we drifted together in the barge
off of Salamis?”
“My answer is the same, and by the way, have you found any clue to the
identity of the traitor of Thermopylæ?”
The young man glanced furtively about him and made answer: “Not yet, but
you may rest assured I will find him since my future happiness depends
upon it. Goodbye now, sweet Persephone, till the second night of the
full moon. I shall count the hours as lost till I see you.”
He strode toward her as though to embrace her, but warned by her
attitude of aloofness, merely imprinted a kiss upon her hand. He could
well afford to bridle his passions so as not to offend her before the
excursion to Naxos.