THE TEMPLE.
Æole and Electra followed the quivering Sensel into the passage, thence
to its end, and through a door leading into a court about which was
ranged the building allotted to the handmaids.
In this building, they ate and slept. As to recreation, there was time
for none, rest being their one desire when relieved from duty; and thus
there was no comradeship among them. They were virtually as cut off from
each other as from their friends without.
Sensel conducted the newcomers to rooms that adjoined, and received
their most grateful looks, though he shook his head as if to disclaim
thanks. As he was about to leave them, he said:
“In a little while, will I send you food and drink.”
They thanked him, this time in words; and looked after him until he had
disappeared, when Electra whispered:
“Didst thou note his kind voice, the gentle look of those shining eyes?
I believe him to be good—for all.”
“Electra, I like him; I am sure he is good.”
“Ah, thou art growing as the rose over it!”
“Let us look at our rooms, Electra.”
These, they found, were good sized and well lighted. Rugs covered the
smooth floors, and soft were the couches, easy the chairs. Besides,
there was a table for each. The apertures had hangings of white linen,
full and long, and an air of neatness prevailed.
Æole sighed, but said:
“We shall have some cheer, Electra.”
“It is fair for a prison, Æole.”
Æole stepped to her aperture to look out. Then she went into Electra’s
room, and inspected her view. When this was done, she said, with effort:
“Electra, wilt thou change rooms with me?”
“Yea. But why?”
“From my room I can see the water; the sight causeth pain. Thou knowest
it leadeth to my home.”
Her voice failed.
“Thou dear, sorrowing Æole!”
Electra took her in her arms and held her tight, and kissed her again
and again.
“I am glad that my room will do—that those great trees hide that mocking
water. Thou poor dear!”
“Electra, thou givest cheer. I should not grieve with thee to brighten.”
Fondly she returned the embrace and kisses. Tears were springing in both
pairs of eyes when a low tap was heard at the door.
Electra answered to admit Sensel. He, himself, was bearing the food and
drink—thin cakes made of corn and honey, pomegranates, melons, and a
sherbet of almonds and honey.
As he set these upon the table, he apologized:
“It was not my will to let another bear them.”
“It pleaseth us; doth it not, Electra?”
“Of a truth it pleaseth. Sensel, I own I am hungry in spite of this
prison.” It was good to see her smile.
Æole smiled back, as she said:
“One cannot stay in the depths where thou art, Electra. It giveth a fine
hunger to look at thee.”
Sensel laughed charmingly, then bowing low, retired. At once they sat
down, and with all their woe, did justice to the dainty fare.
When Sensel returned, they were sitting side by side, deep in
conversation. He said:
“Ye see I come again. Have ye ended?”
Each smiled her _yes_—and such smiles! A dotard’s head would have been
turned. No wonder was it that his own smile answered, that his olive
skin grew rosy, that his beautiful eyes became even more brilliant, that
his tall body undulated with a grace surprising, that he almost forgot
what he had come for. However, Electra’s words somewhat restored him.
She said, with feeling:
“Sensel, well hast thou treated us. Thou hast brought us what we like.
Our thanks are thine.”
He laughed so that they laughed to hear him; afterward, he looked at
Æole, his color rising. Thus she said with fine graciousness:
“Sensel, our rest this night will be calmer that thou hast served us.”
And with this began to blush as Psyche might because of his gallant bow.
After the like attention to Electra, he thought of his dishes, and
withdrew with the air of a prince.
“He is a wonder,” ejaculated Electra.
“Yea; and one it will be hard to get over. Was there ever such grace as
his in the bowing?”
“Never! His serpent self knoweth how to do things.”
Then, fearing he might have heard this, Electra arose, and looked out
with due caution. She returned, whispering:
“He standeth in deep thought at the end of the passage, and without the
dishes or food. He hath passed his burden to some other. I have it! He
would know more of us.”
“Well is it, for we would know more of him.” And Æole arose to peer out.
“He hath gone,” next came regretfully. “We shall not look upon him
further this day.”
They resumed their seats, again to confide their fears, or to remain
quiet and muse. Upon parting for the night, they wept in each other’s
arms.
But they were young. Thus sleep wooed them from their sorrow, and they
aroused only when the gong had sounded long in the morning. When Sensel
came to conduct them to breakfast, they looked refreshed; and, if it
must be told, sped rather buoyantly to the eating room.
Here they found about twenty of the handmaids. These were walking up and
down, awaiting the serving of the meal. All were pretty and graceful.
Indeed, a few were beautiful. Their complexions varied from olive to
red, their eyes were either gray, brown, or black; and the hair ranged
from light brown to jet black. Thus, all looked curiously at Æole
because of her auburn hair, blue eyes, and fair skin.
Without exception, their expressions were sweet and intelligent; and
they responded with warmth when introduced to the newcomers. After a
short talk, all sat down to the simple meal of pease, milk, bread, and
fruit—Sensel, meanwhile, leaving them, until the meal should be ended.
When he returned, it was to bid the new handmaids follow him. This they
did, passing from the eating room into the court, and thence to the
passage they had been in the night before. Through its length they went,
and paused at a great arched door at the end. Then Electra whispered:
“Æole, look within.”
This door opened into the temple proper. Thus Æole, who had never
attended the services because the queen did not, exclaimed of her
exceeding wonder and admiration. For this is what she saw:
A great circular space, marble paved, and inclosed by walls and ceiling
resplendent in settings of gold, silver, and orichalcum; at the eastern
end, a richly engraved golden altar on which the sacred fire blazed
high, and above which the morning light streamed in through a wide
aperture; a row of handmaids and one priest standing by who had been in
attendance the night through; flowers, flowers everywhere, on altar,
statues, in niches, and the apertures; numbers of lamps of silver and
gold pendent from the ceiling by silver chains or supported by alabaster
stands—each lamp simulating a bird or flower, and all having a handle at
one end and a beak at the other for pouring in oil, while through their
upper surfaces projected wicks from the reservoirs below; great stands
of alabaster bearing golden vessels in which smoked the incense;—and,
wonder of wonders, the many golden statues!
After entering, Sensel led them among these golden statues—these
representatives of Poseidon, Cleito, and the Nereids. Poseidon in his
chariot, and with head reaching to the roof, was a piece of work so
stupendous that Æole gazed bewildered, awed, until Sensel mercifully set
her to counting the Nereids disporting about him on their dolphins.
But this was like making way through a labyrinth to the dazed Æole; and
she found no rest until her eyes lighted on the beauteous Cleito, who
was standing in her sweet serenity beside Poseidon. With a happy cry,
she darted toward the entrancing figure, put her arms about it, and
looked up with love into the tender face.
“Electra, thus looked my mother. It is herself in gold. My mother—my
mother!”
“She was the wife of Poseidon. It is Cleito. Hast thou not heard the
story? How, in the ages past, Poseidon came unto this island to find it
a wilderness with her for its one fair flower? How he wedded her, and
made of this a heaven almost? How ten sons were born to them in the
palace which is now the temple above? How, when she died, he could no
longer be king for grief? How he placed the crown upon his eldest,
Atlas? How, after fond last words, he speeded away nevermore to be seen
of the islanders, whose heavy hearts at last found cheer in the thought
that their father was a god, and had gone back to his heaven from there
to watch over and guide them?”
“I have heard it all from Queen Atlana. How dear is the story. Ah,
Electra, if she were like this, what have we to fear?”
The tears were in Electra’s eyes. And Sensel’s, could it be that his
were moist? Eager were his low tones.
“Fear not, Æole. The spirit of Cleito may not be able to aid thee, but
the gods have other workers.”
Then, perceiving that the priest was nearing them, he added in his
ordinary tone:
“We may linger among these no longer. Thy duties, and those of Electra,
are now for thy thought. This priest will show you all.”
To this priest they were then introduced, and he at once began to
initiate them in their duties. These were to dust, to arrange the
flowers, to fill and light the lamps, to watch the sacred fire, and to
assist in the chanting of the services. Thus entered they upon their
servitude.
Through the day, the two looked forward to the night. Would Hellen be
permitted to join them, in deference to the voice, or would the king be
overruled? Their anxiety grew as the day waned; and, when dismissed late
in the evening, they repaired to their rooms without hope. When ready
for supper, and about to emerge from their doors, Sensel was perceived
standing near. At their greeting, he came towards them smiling his
brightest, and said:
“Hellen doth wait for you on the hill above, near the temple of Poseidon
and Cleito. There ye may talk with him for an hour, when ye have ended
your meal.”
“It is good,” returned Æole, overjoyed. “Sensel, we thank thee. To think
the king doth grant it. We feared to hope.”
“Yea, the king granteth it. But—let there be care,” and turning quickly,
he glided off.
After a hurried meal, they came out into the court to find him awaiting
them. He led them to a low door towards the west, and opening this
disclosed the hillside.
“Thou wilt find him above,” he whispered, “and have a care. Well is it
the moon riseth.”
They hastened out, and upward to meet Hellen just below the gold
inclosed temple. Much time did he take in embracing Æole, the while
holding Electra’s hand. When his ardor could no longer be prolonged, he
said in lowest tone:
“I have found the spot for us. It is the watch tower on the northern
slope. There can no ear hearken.”
He then took the lead. When passing the sacred temple, Electra forgot
not to fall on her knees in devotion to Poseidon and Cleito, and
afterward besought their intercession. Her face was the brighter when
she arose.
This watch tower stood below the temple of Poseidon and Cleito, and
above the inclosures holding the sacred bulls that were roaming in their
grounds with much of bellowing. This bellowing was indeed a safeguard,
as it could but drown all sounds contiguous.
The round tower must have been fifty feet in height, stone steps leading
up to its doorway which was fifteen feet from the ground. At the base,
the interior was about seventy-five feet in diameter, the wall here
being fifteen feet in thickness, this thickness decreasing gradually
upward, until at the top it was but eight feet.
When inside, Hellen assisted each up the stone staircase. At the top,
they seated themselves on the broad ledge; and when the bulls grew
rampant of noise, Hellen explained:
“Ere night fell, the king sent me word that we could meet here on this
part of the mountain for an hour of each evening, until it is his will
to change. But I think he recked not of the bulls.”
They laughed. Then Æole asked: “Who brought thee the word?”
“Sensel!”
“Say not his name in such tone,” urged Electra. “He hath been very good
to us.”
“His serpent self, then. I believe he is half serpent.”
“It is because of his dress, and his manner of moving and speeding,”
interposed Æole. “But his voice is fine and rich in kind tones, and his
eyes speak good. Though let us not talk of him now. Tell us of the
queen.”
“She hath been sick through the day. None have seen her save the ladies
Rica and Elna. They are in sore trouble. Ah, how my blood doth heat!”
“Of a truth thou lookest in a fever,” said Electra. “But calm thyself,
for the air surgeth much about us.”
He smiled. Electra continued:
“Ah, the poor queen! How fond is her heart; yet she hath but a stone in
the king!”
It was Hellen’s turn. “Electra, thou speakest to be heard—in thy warmth.
We must have a care. The air surgeth, and in it there are ears. Thus it
is wise to keep cool, and speak low.”
Good was it to hear Electra laugh.
“Ah, Hellen, but thou hast the last. Though for this time—alone.”
Here Æole, who had been far off in her abstraction, asked:
“Hellen, thinkest thou the queen will see thee on the morrow?”
“It is my hope.”
“Bid her take cheer. Tell her my duties are light, that my room is next
to that of my sister Electra. Tell her my fond thoughts are hers, that I
live on my hope to get to her.”
“I will.”
“And give her my fond greeting,” spoke Electra. “She was the friend of
my mother, and I saw her much until these last years.”
“Electra, why did we never meet thee before?”
“Queen Atlana and mine Uncle Oltis have not been friends since my
grandfather Olto died. The queen doth think my grandfather was hastened
to his death through the lack of care of Oltis.” Her voice had sunk to a
whisper, and she looked cautiously about her. “That is why the queen
never cometh to the temple. That is why I have been kept from her.”
“Oltis is a blight on all that is good,” responded Hellen.
“Yea, and he doth master the king. It is no wonder that the queen doth
shun him.”
Then followed quiet, the quiet of despair, almost. The three looked
sadly down from their eyry upon the scene beneath—upon the zones of
water[17] with their boats and galleys; upon the zones of land[17] with
their guardhouses and race courses; upon the plain to the west with its
many streams, its pyramids, its denseness of verdure, its brightly
lighted habitations; upon the restless bulls in their inclosures; upon
the dwellings of the artificers, miners and husbandmen that spread
northward beyond the third zone of water; upon the mountains towering to
the northeast; upon the ocean to the east. At length Æole spoke.
“This is a most smiling spot. Why are not the people better?”
“They lack thought for gods and man,” answered Electra.
“Yet—they show faith in worship.”
“It is the letter not the spirit. Theirs is a weak faith; their only
feeling a warm one for self.”
“Yea, they are sunk in thought of self, and thus in the placing high of
self,” added Hellen.
“It is too true. Atlano and Oltis would be gods. They would scale
heaven—there to be waited upon by even Amen and Poseidon. Ah, what a
spirit of evil hath mine uncle—he brother of my mother!” Poor Electra
turned away that they might not see her emotion.
“Æole, Electra, I call to mind that, in Pelasgia, we were taught to put
away self, to seek the truth. Æole, I often heard our father say: ‘It is
much to win a battle, more to do a kind act.’”
“Ah, Hellen, Hellen! Of late, I dream much of our father. But last
night, he came to me in sleep, and whispered, ‘Æole, all will be well.
Have hope.’ Thinkest thou it was his spirit talking to mine? Is it that
in sleep our spirits so throw off the bonds of flesh as to have full
being? Is it that they can see, can hold sweet speech with those beyond?
Yea, it is, it is! I know that our father is not of earth—that he cometh
to me in spirit. And our mother? If he hath gone, she hath not staid.
They look on us from above.”
“Æole, wouldst thou rave? Dost thou think the above, a place of
torment?”
“Hellen!”
“Could they look upon us would they joy?”
“They could see beyond this.”
“It is well thou canst hold such a thought—better if thou canst believe
such—best of all, if thou wouldst have them dead. But I doubt them.
Often I think what if they live to forget us. The horror of it!”
“The horror is in such a thought, Hellen. Wouldst thou sin?”
“Æole, it is they who sin, thus to forget their children.”
“Hellen,” cried Electra, “thou hast shocked Æole. Look how white she
is.”
Indeed Æole was not only white, but quivering of her wounded love and
indignation, and she turned her head away when Hellen, of his
contrition, begged for her forgiveness. A miserable quiet fell upon the
three until Electra said below her breath:
“Someone cometh down the mountain side.”
“It is that shaking Sensel!” exclaimed Hellen.
They remained still until the figure came beneath them, and proved to be
Sensel. He called softly:
“Are ye above?”
Electra answered: “Yea.”
He returned: “It is past the hour. Thyself and Æole should be in the
temple.”
“We will come at once, Sensel,” spoke Æole, firmly.
This, her firmness, was the result of Hellen’s rebellious expression.
Thereupon, she made the movement to descend, but Hellen heeded it not.
Then she called:
“Sensel, wilt thou come up?”
“Never!” cried Hellen. Starting to his feet, he held out his hand, and
led her half way down, there to meet Sensel, who had been quick to
respond.
“Hellen, thou wilt go back for Electra,” said she. “I will go the rest
of the way with Sensel.” Then quickly drawing her hand from his, she
gave it to Sensel, and down they went.
Hellen returned for Electra. When without, they beheld the other pair
already far up the hill. The discomfited Hellen could only mutter, as he
began to lead Electra:
“I merit this. But never have I seen Æole thus.”
“Dost thou think thou canst ever know a woman, Hellen?” was the
unsatisfactory return.
In unbroken silence, they continued their way. When the advancing pair
were joined at the hillside door, Hellen put his arm about Æole, and
kissed her good-night, afterward whispering, “I was wrong.”
“But I have not been right.”
With this, she kissed him again and again, so that he was comforted.
When he had well pressed Electra’s hand, off he sped.
The next two nights, Hellen bore no better tidings of the queen. She
still continued too feeble to see any but her ladies, therefore the
three young hearts grew in sadness.
But, on the fourth day, he received the message by Azu that the queen
would speak with him; and, overjoyed, followed the smiling pygmy to the
bower room, there to meet the Lady Rica who conducted him to an inner
room. Here, on a couch, lay Atlana; and, as he approached, his joy
became dread, so great was the change in her. Listlessly she held out
her hand, which the affectionate youth fell on his knees to kiss, while
the heavy sighs came fast. When Rica had withdrawn, Atlana murmured:
“Hellen, be not cast down. I am better, though weak, weak. Tell me, how
is Æole?”
“Dear Queen, Æole is well in body, but sore in mind because of thee. She
hath not smiled for days.”
“My poor Æole.”
“But for Electra she could not have borne it.”
“Electra!” In spite of her weakness the queen half arose to stare at him
in doubt and terror.
“Yea, Electra. She is a handmaid, and was called with Æole.”
“Electra a handmaid! She is a princess—is of our blood. Hellen, thou art
wrong.”
“Dear Queen, Electra, the niece of Oltis, is she that I mean—a maiden
most fair, most bright. There could be but one Electra with such eyes,
such a smile, such a grand spirit. To look upon her is to fall at her
feet.”
The queen lay back and moaned: “Electra it is—it is.” Then clasping her
hands she implored: “O Poseidon, is this the next? And canst thou look
on? O Amen, hast thou no shafts of fire?”
Hellen was awestricken at the intense despair of her tone, the reproach
even.
“Dear, dear Queen, be not so wrought. Thou wilt die.”
“Nay, Hellen.” To his amazement, she again half arose. “Nay, I shall not
die. I will live—live to bring to naught these fiends—these monsters of
false dealing. Yet, ah, Atlano, Atlano!” She began to weep in a way that
rent him.
After a little, with the hope to divert her, he said:
“Electra hath told us of thy fond feeling for her mother.”
“Yea. We were most dear to each other. The horror of it, the crime, that
Electra hath been called to the temple!”
“Queen Atlana, why is it a crime?”
“Hellen, I will tell thee.” She looked about her in fear, before
whispering:
“It is—that, at times, the handmaids have been called to the inner holy
place, where only the highest priests and the king can serve. And—these
handmaids never have been heard of more. Never hath one been seen after
passing into the inner holy place.”
Alas for poor Hellen! He could only break away and utter cry after cry
of dismay until speech came.
“What can I do? What can I do? Ah, why have I not known this?”
“It is wise for these Atlanteans, in their lack of spirit, to be quiet,
Hellen. But, hearken.” Her tone was calm with all its anguish.
Insensibly, he also calmed, and again knelt beside her.
“I must tell thee—these handmaids who have thus vanished were the
fairest of their sisters. Thus do I fear for Æole and Electra.”
Hellen, groaning, sank prostrate, unnerved.
“Thinkest thou, Hellen, they were yielded on the altar, the gifts of a
wicked worship? Or what else thinkest thou? What thoughts have been mine
since the first lovely young girl was taken from the others. And I have
had from Atlano but laughter, mockery, when I have questioned.”
“Queen Atlana, thou hast rent me!”
Hellen had arisen to pace wildly: and then stopped, and fell to
considering after the manner of one demented.
“Hellen, it will not do to give way as if mad. Rather, case thyself in
rock. Thou shouldst be serpent and dove, wouldst thou help Æole and
Electra.”
“Easy it is to talk thus!” He paused, choked for the moment. “But—what
can I do? How can I help them? Oh, ye base Pelasgians, to leave us to
this fate! I would wish to be born of stones, iron—not of such flesh and
blood!”
“Hellen, thou art going mad, thus to charge thy parents, and such
parents! Call to mind that thou hast told me of their truth, their care.
Nay—thou art not going mad—thou art mad. Yea, demons hold thee. Leave
me, Hellen!”
The queen’s indignation would have overwhelmed any save this fiery,
reckless, despairing youth. He was too far gone to be reached by
reproach of any kind. Thus, he turned away, saying:
“Thou hast said it, Queen Atlana. I will leave thee. My own bitter
thoughts are more dear than the cheer thou givest. But with thee I leave
my fond wishes, for thou hast been father, mother in one, the gods bless
thee!”
With this he began to hasten away.
The queen watched him in anguish. He must not leave with such a sore
spirit. When he was even at the door, she murmured:
“Hellen, one more word.”
“Queen Atlana, thou hast given me too many.”
Though he had paused and turned full around.
“I am sure all will go well, if thou wilt wait and be calm.”
“Have we not waited—years? And this is what they bring.”
“It may be the first step to your home.”
Hellen walked toward her with eager face. “That calleth to my mind
this,” he said.
Then he related what had occurred between himself and the red-garbed
figure, and dwelt upon the intervention of the mysterious voice. The
queen acknowledged the force of Electra’s reason for being dragged to
the temple by bending her head in shame; and raised it not until he
spoke of the voice. At the end, she was so awed as to fall back
overcome. Her lips then moved as if in prayer, and Hellen distinguished:
“O Amen—O Poseidon—ye have not forgotten, as I feared.”
She continued quiet for a little, her eyes closed. Then she raised with
sudden strength and brightening look.
“Hellen, hope. The gods answer. I feel it.”
“Could I but feel it. Are there gods?”
“Hellen, no more. Call to mind thy last sin. There are limits.”
“Forgive me, dear Queen.”
“The king seeth the powers above are in this, or he would not have
yielded. He hath granted Æole and thyself much.”
“Every night since have we met, and Electra hath been with us each
time.”
“Dear Electra. Hellen, she is noble. Such care was hers of her mother.
She is true and fond.”
“Do I not know it?”
Then he blushed because of the queen’s keen look.
“Think not too much of her, Hellen. It will but cause thee further
sorrow.”
“Dear Queen Atlana, didst thou know her father?”
“Yea. Cairais was a most noble prince of Khemi. He came hither to visit,
and learn of our land of Chimu. Then it was that he met Lustra, the
sister of Oltis. At once were they drawn to each other; and soon were
wedded, and went to Khemi. They staid in Khemi several years; and there
was Electra born. But Lustra began to fail, and pined for Atlantis.
Cairais brought her back, and she grew better. Then he sickened and
passed away before we thought him in danger. Lustra so mourned that she
again failed; and was not long in going to him. Through her time of
pain, the child Electra showed a grand heart. She was a woman in thought
and help.”
“Have not Æole and I felt it?”
“Her mother was good and most fair; her father, noble of heart and mind.
Electra, in truth, is their daughter.”
“But—dear Queen—why should the Atlanteans bear as they do?”
“They have been changing fast since the rule of Oltis. They are blind,
lost to feeling, sunk in pleasure. When some have risen in their anger
they have been sore treated. The father of the first handmaid that was
called became too questioning, too threatening. Therefore, he and his
family were banished to Chimu. After a few such cases, the people
yielded. Thou knowest even I was forced to yield.”
“How?”
“Whilst I clung to Æole, a drug was held at my nostrils that made me,
for the while, lose all sense. Their arts are many.”
“I shall be crazed again!”
“Be calm, Hellen. Call to mind that the gods are hearkening. My dreams
long have boded some dire evil to this island.”
“May such come. May this island sink into these waters, and soon—to rid
the world of such wicked work!”
“Hellen, thou knowest not what thou sayest. Yet, thou dost but speak my
dreams.”
She covered her eyes with her hands, and tremor after tremor passed over
her.
“Dear Queen Atlana, we will cease this talk so full of horror. Let me
kiss thy hand. Then will I go.”
“Yea, Hellen. It were better thou shouldst leave me for a little.”
She held out her hands. He rubbed them gently, magnetically, so that she
became calmer, and soon lay quiet. Then he arranged the cushions, and
placed the shawl over her most tenderly.
“Dear Queen Atlana, mayest thou now slumber. I go for a little.”
“My fond wishes to Æole and Electra. And bid them hope.”
“I will.”
After kissing her hands he went from her. The ladies Rica and Elna then
came in and fanned her until sleep came.
Alas, poor Queen Atlana!