The Festivities At Naxos.
“Now measuring forth with Attic grace
(Like figures round a sculptured vase)
The accent of some mythic song,
Now hurled, a Baccic group along.”
Aubrey de Vere.
The sun was scarcely an hour above the horizon when seven skiffs in
festive regalia left the harbor of Piræus southward bound. Six of them
were filled with youths and maidens bedecked with flowers. Across the
serene blue where scarcely a ripple was perceptible, the voices of the
merry-makers floated, returning in echoes from the temples of marble,
gleaming white on the naked promontories. The seventh boat was laden
with goats intended as sacrificial offerings to the god Dionysus at his
temple on the island of Naxos.
Ephialtes and Persephone, accompanied by Agne, whom Persephone has
insisted upon taking as chaperone, were seated in the foremost vessel.
Persephone sat at the prow gazing out across the waters. Her tunic and
skirt were of pale blue trimmed with golden brocade of an intricate
pattern. Her brown-gold hair lay in waves over her temples which were
encircled by a plain gold band from which hung a chaplet of sapphires,
lying on her forehead.
To Ephialtes she had never appeared more beautiful. He thought of the
evening that they had glided in this manner off Salamis. He intended to
ask her the same question, hoping she had long since forgotten the
request she had made of him. He turned frequently with ill-concealed
annoyance toward Agne who sat at Persephone’s left. Ephialtes felt that
now as in the Mystery drama they were Hades, Ceres and Persephone; that
Ceres strove to keep her daughter under her protection, and like Hades
he desired to snatch her from the maternal arms and keep her for his
own. He did not know that Agne’s advice had been favorable to his suit.
Had he been acquainted with this fact he might have been more tolerant
of the older woman.
As the afternoon wore on, a light breeze stirred the waters into
wavelets which gently lapped the shores of various islands of the
Cyclades which they passed; islands filled with sanctuaries and fanes of
white marble which gleamed ghost-like in the gathering dusk. At length
the moon loomed colossal beyond the island of Paros, throwing up
contours into misty and spectral relief, and softening all things with
its touch of silver.
The festive boats passed Paros, with its temple to Poseidon, the
occupants gazing ahead in eager anticipation till the rocky promontories
of Naxos arose darkly from the pathway of phosphorescence, then with one
impulse from every throat burst the hymn to Dionysus. Nearer and nearer
came the celebrants, loftier grew the cliffs of the island and louder
echoed the pæan until at last the boats drew up one by one in a
sheltered cove.
Dense foliage grew close to the steep pathway, the ascent of which was
facilitated by steps cut in the soil or formed naturally by the exposed
roots of trees. Through the branches the newcomers could see the lights,
twinkling as people passed to and fro—then the white columns and the
pleasing proportions of the temple came into view.
Persephone, Ephialtes and Agne were the first arrivals of the first
boat, and made their way unhindered to the temple which they entered,
mingling with the delirious throng whose acclamations rang through the
great hall. It seemed to the arrivals from Athens that every inhabitant
of Naxos was here celebrating.
A great gong silenced the sound of talking and laughter after all the
Athenians had arrived. A curtain at the end of the _cella_ dropped
revealing the image of the god of wine and revelry and immediately a
hymn of praise was sung following which the sacrifice of a goat was
consummated at the feet of the idol.
Night was turned into day, wine flowed freely and many a youth’s spirits
rose in proportion to the amount of wine he imbibed. To all this revelry
Persephone and Agne were horrified witnesses. They had heard that
Dionysus was worshipped with much rejoicing, especially at his temple at
Naxos, but they had not had occasion to realize to what depths his
worshippers sometimes fell. The two women looked furtively about seeking
some way in which they might escape unobserved to the boats where for a
few drachmas a couple of rowers would take them back to the mainland.
They crouched near a pillar watching with increasing terror, wine-filled
creatures who caroused around them. Many a youth lounged upon a couch or
the flower-strewn floor, his head in some fair one’s lap.
Ephialtes made his way with unsteady step to where the two women
cowered. The Greek blood which ran in his veins preserved his grace even
in drunkenness. Laughingly he held toward each a goblet of sparkling
wine which they declined. In provocation he accidentally spilled the
contents of the cup proffered to Persephone. For an instant he stood
dismayed watching the blood-like liquid as it flowed over the marble
floor, then with frenzied determination, he forced between the lips of
Agne the wine contained in the other goblet, after which he stood
swaying unsteadily with folded arms, a sinister smile curling his
handsome lips. Persephone determined to flee but she did not want to
leave Agne at the mercies of the drunken brutes around them.
“Come, come, Agne,” she whispered wildly, “You and I never dreamed what
would be the nature of this celebration—oh, Agne!”
The older woman made an attempt to answer and even to rise to her feet,
but in vain! In another instant she sank in a pitiful heap, apparently
lifeless. Persephone’s temples throbbed with angry passion as she turned
toward Ephialtes.
“There was a narcotic in that wine! I am glad mine was spilled.”
“There was no drug in yours, Persephone. I did not bring you here to put
you to sleep. It is a living maiden I want!” cried the young Greek
passionately.
He lurched toward her to take her in his arms, but she eluded his grasp
and he found himself embracing the fluted pillar near which she had sat.
A chance observer roared with laughter, and calling to his companions
cried, “A king of revelers here, my friends. What say you to crowning
him as Bacchus? Down with the god of stone and up with one of flesh and
blood!”
So saying he and his male companions ran to the throne where the stone
Dionysus sat. With unnatural strength due to the freeness of their
imbibing, they tore the god from his throne and forced the half
reluctant Ephialtes upon it. The wreath of grape leaves which had
adorned the head of Dionysus, was rudely snatched from it and placed
upon the young man’s curls.
After Ephialtes was ceremoniously enthroned, someone cried out, “where
is Ariadne? Bacchus must have his Ariadne! Where did she go? Bring her
back!”
This appeal was answered by a rapturous shout, and several youths
started in pursuit, returning shortly, dragging Persephone with them.
“Bacchus shows good taste,” cried one. “She is surely a rival of the
maiden whom Theseus deserted on these very shores!”
“Up with her,” cried another, “she must occupy the throne with him. She
shall be his queen.”
“That she shall!” cried Ephialtes, his courage returning as he beheld
the beautiful frightened face of the girl whom he loved.
He stooped from the throne and lifted in his arms the form of the now
unconscious girl. Across her marble-white forehead strands of loosened
hair streamed. The soft blue light from the circlet of sapphires which
lay on her cold brow, contrasted strangely with the ruddy brilliance of
a ruby clasp which adorned the hair of Ephialtes above his
passion-flushed countenance. He received a goblet of wine which had been
proffered to him and put it to the lips of the fainting maiden. The
draught brought her back to consciousness, and she gazed dazedly about,
then suddenly the horror of her situation came upon her. With an
agonized cry she rose to flee but was seized roughly by Ephialtes who,
impassioned, leaned over her, covering her face and throat with burning
kisses.