“How stupid I am. I shall have to tell you everything from the
beginning.”
So she began the story of her first visit to the Museum, of the little
old man who had spoken to her there, of the mysterious seven times
bowing before the Rosetta Stone, and of all the marvels that had since
happened.
And as she talked, explaining and describing, she saw Diana beginning
to “understand.” Her eyes grew bright with eagerness, and, when at
last Rachel paused for breath, she slipped from the table and began to
dance about the room in her delight and excitement.
“I knew something like that might happen if only I could find out the
way to make it,” she cried. “Because, do you know, Rachel, I often have
dreams that are quite _real_—just as real as this room, and you, and
the tables and chairs are now. In those sorts of dreams I go to places
I’ve never seen in my life. Funny places where everything’s quite
different. People wear different clothes, and don’t talk English—and
yet I understand what they say. But I’m only there for a minute before
I come back again to my own bed and my own bedroom. And then I’m most
_awfully_ disappointed because I’m always quite sure that there’s
a way of making the dream _last_, so that I can go on, and have
adventures—instead of only seeing things in a sort of flash, you know.”
“Mr. Sheston can make them last—if they _are_ dreams!” Rachel
declared. “I have to call him ‘Mr. Sheston’ here,” she added. “But he’s
really Sheshà and Cleon, and I expect ever so many other people as
well. And yet all the _same_ person, you understand. In this life he
just happens to be Mr. Sheston, that’s all.”
“Oh, I _do_ wish I could see him,” sighed Diana.
She had scarcely spoken before her wish was granted, for at the last
word the door opened, and Mr. Sheston came in.
Rachel gave a shriek of delight, and seizing Diana’s hand, dragged her
to meet him.
“This is Diana. She’s the seventh child of the seventh child, and she
was born on the seventh of May, and everything that happens to her has
_sevens_ in it, and she has dreams, and—” Rachel tripped over her
words in her excitement, and Mr. Sheston laughed.
“Your Aunt Hester told me to walk up,” he said in an ordinary everyday
voice. “So this is Diana? How do you do, Diana?” He shook hands with
her, and turned to Rachel. “I came to see whether you felt inclined for
the Museum this afternoon. But as you have a friend with you—perhaps
another time?”
Diana gave a little gasp, and grew very pink, but seemed too shy to
speak.
But Rachel, who had seen a twinkle in Mr. Sheston’s eyes, laughed
happily.
“It’s just what Diana wants more than _anything_. Oh, do let’s put on
our things at once.”
She was running to the door when the old gentleman stopped her.
“Plenty of time. Plenty of time,” he said quietly. “Haven’t you yet
learnt that ‘time’ is as ‘magic’ as most other things? What have you
two been talking about?”
The children glanced at one another.
“I was telling her all about it,” said Rachel. “About the Pyramid,
you know, and Babylon, and the statue at Rhodes. I wouldn’t have told
anyone else, but when I found that she was a ‘seven’ girl too——”
“But before that?” interrupted Mr. Sheston, settling himself
comfortably into an arm-chair.
“We were talking about Diana,” said the other Diana. “It’s my name, and
Rachel had been reading about her in the Bible. And my father painted a
picture of her, so she was asking me about it.”
“Well,” returned Mr. Sheston, “let’s go on talking about Diana, because
there’s a great deal to say. There was a famous temple built for her
once upon a time, wasn’t there? Where was it?”
“At Ephesus,” said Rachel promptly.
“And where is Ephesus?”
“In Asia Minor,” answered Rachel again. “By the sea. Not so very far
from Rhodes,” she added, with a meaning glance.
Mr. Sheston got up, and to the children’s surprise, altered the
position of his arm-chair till it faced the window. Then he fetched two
other chairs, and placed one on either side of his own seat. This done,
he took from his coat pocket a leather case, and out of the case drew a
photograph. Then he pointed to the two small chairs on either side of
the big one.
“Sit down, one on each side of me,” he said.
When the children, too interested and puzzled to ask questions, had
done as he directed, he held the picture in such a position that both
of them could see what it represented.
“Is it the temple of Diana?” ventured Rachel as she glanced at the
photograph of a huge building.
“Well, not the picture of the temple itself, because that has ceased
to exist, and lies buried under ruins. But it’s a picture of what
scholars think the temple must have been like when it was standing....
And they’re not very far out,” he added. But this he murmured as though
to himself, as he again rose and walked towards the window. Rachel and
Diana watched him breathlessly while he propped the photograph against
the rim of one of the glass panes. After this had been successfully
accomplished, he returned to his seat, and looking from one little girl
to the other, said, “Stand up. Close your eyes. Bow seven times in the
direction of the picture.”
The children exchanged glances before they obeyed.
[Illustration]
“Open your eyes.” These were the next words—and they were necessary,
for till they were spoken, both of them felt all at once so drowsy that
they had no wish to raise their eyelids.
At the command, however, four eyes flew open in eager expectation—of
what, their owners scarcely knew. The scene they actually beheld was
surprising enough to force a little scream of astonishment from both of
them—even though Rachel, who had been through “adventures” before,
guessed at fresh wonders to follow.
The square-paned window, with its prospect of a road along which
omnibuses, carts and cabs travelled, and people went to and fro, had
vanished. They were looking into the open air.
* * * * *
A mist like a shimmering white veil obscured everything but the sky,
which was intensely blue, and though the children strained their eyes,
they could discern nothing beyond, except, perhaps, something that
might, or might not, be trees. They were just vague shapes behind the
soft wall of mist.
“You shall see more than this in a moment.”
Mr. Sheston’s voice was close to them, but as Rachel and Diana turned
their heads to look at him they found that neither he nor anything
within the room was visible. It was as though they sat in a darkened
theatre looking out upon a stage. “And the curtain hasn’t gone up
properly yet,” thought Rachel, full of tremulous anticipation.
“I’ll tell you why the curtain hasn’t gone up yet,” Mr. Sheston’s voice
continued, and Rachel gave a little jump of surprise—for she had not
spoken her thought aloud. Oh, certainly, as Salome in Babylon had said,
Sheshà was “the greatest of all magicians!”
“You will understand presently how Diana’s temple at Ephesus began,”
Mr. Sheston went on. “What I am going to tell you now is _legend_—that
is to say, something that has been repeated from father to son for
a great many years, always altered a little in the telling, so that
though there may be, and probably is, some truth in the story, we can’t
say how much is true and how much false. Well, the _legend_ part of
the story, you see, is rather like the mist full of vague shapes which
you’re looking at now. I’m going to _tell_ you the legend part—but,
directly we come to what we really _know_, the curtain will go up.
“Once upon a time, then, in the country we now call Asia Minor, the
women were taught (or perhaps taught themselves) to do all the hard and
all the fierce work generally done by men. The little girls learnt
to hurl spears called javelins, and to shoot with bow and arrows, and
when they grew up were brave fighters. They also tilled the ground,
and gathered the harvest, and built houses, and in fact did everything
of that sort as well as men. They were called Amazons, and even great
men-warriors found them powerful enemies. According to the old story
it was they—these Amazons—who founded the city of Ephesus. That is,
they were the first people to cultivate the land and to build houses
where the magnificent city of Ephesus afterwards stood. It was these
strange and wonderful women who first worshipped Diana in the woods
and groves near the dwelling-places they had built. And it was quite
natural they should worship the sort of goddess they imagined, for all
wild life was her kingdom. So the Amazons, being themselves huntresses
and fighters, loved and reverenced her. Forest creatures like the deer
and wild boars belonged to her as the goddess of hunting, and she was
also the protectress of all young human creatures—girls as well as
boys. Thus, even in times so far away that there is no real history
about them, there were altars where Diana was worshipped, and, legend
tells us, the first altars set up in her honour were in, or near, the
city of Ephesus, founded by the Amazons. At first these were very
simple altars, for neither men—nor even women—had yet learnt to build
temples.
“In a moment the mist-curtain will go up, and you shall see the sort of
altar that once stood, where, afterwards, temples were built, and at
last that most splendid one of all, which was called a Wonder of the
World.” ... Mr. Sheston paused.
“We have done with legend now,” he went on after a moment, “and all you
will see is what has actually happened in the past.”
Neither of the children spoke, but they watched in breathless suspense
to see the curtain of mist shake and begin slowly to dissolve. First,
tall pointed trees began to prick through the fog, then a glimpse of
blue sky became visible. Next there was a gleam of sunshine on low
white roofs, and at last, clear and distinct, a lovely country lay
spread out before their eyes. They seemed to be looking at it as one
might sit on a terrace overhanging a wide view, yet close enough to
the nearer trees as almost to be able to touch them. Warm air in gentle
puffs flowed towards them, and the sun was hot upon their faces and
hands.
[Illustration: A LITTLE BOY WALKED IN FRONT OF THE PROCESSION]
They saw in the distance a cluster of simple houses between trees,
which Rachel guessed rightly to be the earliest city of Ephesus. Beyond
these houses, lay the deeply blue sea, stretching away, away towards
the distant shores of Greece opposite, with here and there a rocky
island set in the blue. The land between the sea and the point nearest
to them, was all hill and dale—the hills covered with stiff cypress
trees like dark torches against the sky, mingled with graceful smaller
and lighter trees. But just in front, and quite close, there was an
open glade, and in the midst of it an altar made of piled-up stones.
The altar was overshadowed by a big tree, and hanging from the lowest
branch the children could see a little figure carved very roughly in
wood.
Just as they noticed this, the sound of faint music—so faint, so
remote that they could only hear it because of the absolute stillness,
made them look quickly to the left of the altar. There, at a little
distance, between the trees they saw approaching a company of women
and children. The smaller children were almost naked, and their tiny
bodies showed white against the dark background of the wood. The women
wore short tunics with strips of leather bound in a criss-cross fashion
round their bare legs. A little boy, with nothing but the skin of
some wild animal hanging from his shoulders, walked in front of the
procession, proudly blowing into a small pipe made of a hollow reed.
The other children also had reed-pipes in their hands, and most of them
carried armfuls of poppies. They crossed the glade and gathered in
front of the altar upon which the women as well as the children began
to scatter the poppies.
For a long minute Rachel and Diana watched the little scene, scarcely
daring to breathe, in case it should vanish before their eyes. Then it
_did_ vanish! Blue sea, blue sky, hills and valleys, the small town in
the distance, the glade with its altar, the group of people about it
with their flowers, were all swallowed up in the white mist.
The children, spellbound and silent, while the beautiful scene lasted,
now found their tongues loosened.
“Oh, what a _darling_ little boy—the one with the fur over his
shoulders,” exclaimed Diana. “Oh, how lovely the sea looked, and
the blue sky, and the woods!” cried Rachel, excitedly. “And didn’t
the children look pretty bringing their flowers? But they were all
_poppies_. Why did they all bring poppies?”
“Because the poppy was the flower sacred to Diana. Nearly all the gods
and goddesses of Greece and the Greek colonies had flowers, as well as
animals that were specially theirs. And poppies belonged to the goddess
Diana. But now, if you want to see anything more, you mustn’t speak
again.”
The children subsided at once into silence, and Mr. Sheston went on
talking.
“You noticed the little naked boy who led the procession to the altar
in the glade? Keep him in mind, for it was _he_ who built the first
real temple to Diana. Listen, and I will tell you all I know about him.
“He was called Dinocrates, and his home was in Ephesus (you saw the
town in the distance, a mile or two from the glade). At the time when
Dinocrates was young, the city was small, the wild country stretched up
close to its walls, and the boy lived nearly all day long in the open
air.
“His father taught him to hunt, and he learnt so quickly to hurl the
javelin and to shoot with bow and arrows, that everyone said he was
specially favoured by Diana. The belief that the goddess was watching
over him made Dinocrates, even as a tiny boy, very happy, and filled
him with courage so that he was always successful in the chase,
and even grown-up men marvelled at his wonderful skill. It was so
well-known that he was a child greatly loved by Diana that whenever
there was a festival in her honour, Dinocrates was always chosen to
lead the procession, and to be the first to place his offerings of
poppies on her altar. And later, when he was a little older, he was
allowed to sacrifice in her honour an animal he had killed in the
chase. So the boy grew up with a great love and reverence for Diana,
and a longing to serve her in some special way that would shew his
gratitude for her protection. He soon grew dissatisfied with the altar
of stones, and the rough image on the trunk of her sacred tree, and
in secret dreamt of some dwelling worthy of the goddess, which should
_last_, and not be liable to destruction like the loosely built altar
and the image exposed to the air.
“As time went on, he found that skill in hunting was not his only
gift. He liked to plan houses, and he soon began to plan better ones
than had ever been built before. By the time he was a man, he was the
most famous architect in Ephesus, and many new buildings in the city
began to rise, designed by him. But the dream of his life was to build
a dwelling-place for his special goddess on the very spot where as a
child, with other children, he had worshipped her out of doors under
the sacred tree.
“It must be a real temple, and a temple different from, and better in
every way than any of the attempts yet made by other men to fashion
dwelling-places for the gods. So he worked and thought and imagined,
and at last a little marble building, supported by pillars different
from any other pillars yet designed, actually covered the spot of the
original altar.
“The day his temple was finished was the happiest day of his life.
There was a great festival, and from the city, crowds of people had
come to worship Diana for the first time under a roof, and to gaze at
the building itself. Small and simple, it was yet the most wonderful
they had ever seen, with its columns of an entirely new shape, and its
marble porch. And everyone was loud in the praise of its architect.
[Illustration]
“That night, Dinocrates was too happy to sleep. He lay thinking of the
temple which had been his life work, till suddenly a great desire to
see it again swept over him. So he got up, dressed, and began to walk
quickly in its direction. In half an hour he reached the glade in the
heart of which stood the temple, and before long he saw it gleaming
through the encircling trees. Dinocrates stopped short in delight at
the beauty of the scene. There was a full moon, and its silver light
poured down upon the little white building and made it dazzling to
behold. Graceful shadows from the trees trembled upon its roof, and
lay in long bars across the grass, and in the deep silence he could
hear his heart beating. All at once, another sound made him start—the
sound of a horn coming from far away, very faint and sweet! And then,
scarcely trusting his eyes, he saw in the distance through the misty
avenues of trees, white forms moving. They came nearer, rushing over
the grass as though blown softly by an invisible wind, and through the
silvery haze he caught a glimpse of white arms, and beautiful faces,
and of one face more lovely than the rest, with cloudy hair in which
something in shape like a crescent moon, sparkled and shone.
“For a second he saw the forms of beautiful women sweeping up the steps
towards the door of the temple, and then the vision disappeared. There
was only the moonlight on the grass, and the shadows, and silence.
“‘The goddess herself takes possession of her temple,’ thought
Dinocrates. ‘And mortals cannot see the gods and live.’
“He felt so happy, and yet so tired, that he sank down before the
temple to rest, and the glade was all full of sunshine before the
people who had come to look for him found him lying there, and saw that
he was dead....”
“Oh,” whispered Diana after a moment, “that’s an awfully sad story.”
“No,” said Rachel’s voice on the other side of Mr. Sheston’s arm-chair.
“Not really. Because he came back again. In another life, you know.
You’ll see in a minute. She _will_ see him again, won’t she?” In the
darkness Rachel turned towards Mr. Sheston.
“The story isn’t finished yet,” he replied. “Let me go on with it.
“Dinocrates died in _that_ life, as Rachel says, and hundreds of years
passed. That first temple with the columns of a new shape was at last
destroyed by fire, and a new temple took its place, much larger,
much more splendid, as you will see in a moment. But the architect
who planned the second building copied those pillars invented by
Dinocrates, so though his temple had been destroyed, his work you
understand, in a way, went on. Now you are going to see that _second_
temple, still on the same place or _site_, as it is called, of the
first altar in the glade. And you shall see Dinocrates also—again
as a little boy. Before you see him, however, I may tell you that he
doesn’t remember anything about himself or his life many years before.
Remember that hundreds of years have passed between the life-time of
those simple people you have just seen and the people you are going
to see now. Even _they_ lived six hundred years before the birth of
Christ. But, as you will discover, they had already learnt to make
wonderful buildings.
“Shut your eyes again. Bow seven times—and many years will have gone
by.”
The white mist was again dissolving when the children opened their eyes
and looked eagerly to see what changes had taken place during the time
that had magically flown.
Unaltered were the blue sky and the blue sea; unaltered the hills,
unaltered many of the woods, though some of them had been cut down and
houses and gardens had taken their place. The little white town in the
distance, however, had grown into a large city, whose houses were now
big and imposing. But the greatest change of all had taken place in
what was once the glade and then (though they had not actually seen it)
the first small temple.
A white marble building, covering a great stretch of ground, now rose
in front of the children—a beautiful temple with arcades of lofty
pillars wonderfully carved, and thronging upon the steps leading to
the wide open doors was a multitude of people. They were gracefully
clothed—the men in tunics, with long cloaks drooping from their
shoulders, the women in robes falling in folds to their sandalled feet.
But the attention of Rachel and Diana was at once directed towards a
group for whom everyone on the steps of the temple made way.
A little boy dressed in a short white tunic, his silky hair falling on
either side of his face, walked at the head of a procession towards the
temple gates. Behind him, richly dressed, followed his parents, and a
train of attendants and slaves.
He was evidently the son of some great nobleman, and, as he passed,
the crowd pressed forward, and men and women looked over one another’s
shoulders for a glimpse of the pretty child who walked so composedly
alone. And then the temple, brilliant in the sunshine, the crowd on
its steps, the blue sky and the blue sea in the distance, disappeared
in a flash. But even before the watching children could utter a cry of
disappointment, they found themselves, to their amazement and delight,
actually _inside_ the building, and quite close to an altar before
which stood the little boy and his parents. The sound of chanting
voices echoed through the temple, on the marble floor of which the
sunshine fell. Sweet scents floated in the air from burning incense,
and presently a priest, dressed in a rich robe, came from the altar,
followed by attendant priests.
[Illustration]
One of these approached the boy, and with a pair of curiously shaped
shears, cut off his beautiful silky hair, letting it fall on to a
silver platter, held by a priestess. Lifting the platter aloft in both
hands the priestess moved slowly to the altar, upon which she placed
it, and then all the great company in the temple bowed themselves to
the ground and worshipped. The little boy—now with close-cropped
hair, and evidently proud and satisfied—was being led back towards
the entrance door, when all at once he stopped and gazed about him as
though he recognized something, and could scarcely believe his eyes.
Diana and Rachel, who followed him, saw him point eagerly to a row of
pillars, and then turn to his parents saying something at which they
smiled.
One second they saw his dark puzzled eyes—the next they themselves
were out of the temple and seated as before, one on either side of Mr.
Sheston.
The white mist blotted out everything in front of the window.
“That was Dinocrates. He had come back after hundreds of years, hadn’t
he?” cried Rachel.
“Oh, do explain about him,” begged Diana. “Why did he point to the
columns like that? Why did he have his hair cut off? What is he going
to do now?”
Mr. Sheston laughed softly. “I’ll take one question at a time,” he
began.
But it was Rachel who answered the first question after all.
“I know, I know,” she exclaimed. “When he looked at the pillars he was
sort of _remembering_, wasn’t he? Remembering that a long time ago he
made something like them.”
“Yes, that’s a good guess. He was. He felt that somehow or other he was
as you say, ‘mixed up’ with that temple.”
“And about his hair?” enquired Diana.
“Well, that was just a ceremony, meaning that he was dedicated to, or
put under the special protection of the goddess. Boys at a certain
age had their hair cut off and offered to Diana in the temple to show
that they were her worshippers. And in the case of Dinocrates this was
especially true, for he became, perhaps, the most celebrated of the
worshippers of Diana.
“Now let me go on with the story.
“Again, as in the life he had lived about three hundred years before,
he became, when he grew up, a most famous architect, and again,
strangely enough, he built another temple to Diana. The temple you have
just seen, famous throughout the world for its beauty, after standing
about three hundred years, was set on fire one night by a madman, and
burnt to the ground; just as the still earlier temple had been burnt.
“Two memorable things indeed happened on that night, for while the fire
was raging in the temple just outside Ephesus, a baby was born, who
lived to be the greatest conqueror in the world. His name was Alexander
the Great—and Rachel has already heard something about him.