THE DAWN OF FAITH
The day had arrived, and Varro and Chios were to meet the priests and
priestesses concerning the picture of Saronia. Many eyes were turned
upon them until they entered the Temple and were hidden from view.
When the time came for the Roman to approach the High Priest, he
addressed him thus:
'Most noble of the Megalobyzi, most exalted among men, king of priests,
High Priest of the great Diana, whose fame extends from Central Rome to
Britain in the West, where stands a temple to her name--fame which
extends not only from the centre to the West, but back again through the
great world until it grasps the lands and islands of the far-off East,
we, in all humility, and for the great veneration in which we hold the
goddess, would help to honour the name of her great High Priestess,
Saronia, before whom we bow lowly, and salute her first among women, by
presenting to this holy shrine a picture truly painted of this noble
virgin, that her goodness and beauty may ever appear before the eyes of
the worshippers of her august mistress, Diana Triformis.'
Then replied the chief Megabyzus:
'Have we an artist in Ephesus who could do justice to our noble queen?'
'We have,' said Varro; 'Chios the Greek. This is he.'
'Good, most esteemed Proconsul, but remember it is enacted that the High
Priestess cannot leave the precincts of the Temple to sit for this
picture.'
'That we know, and to this end have secured the help of Chios, who knows
well the face of great Saronia, and he has almost finished the work.
Wouldst thou, in the name of the goddess, accept it from my hands?'
'We will, and mayest thou, good artist, prosper in thy work, and
consider thyself fortunate that this honour is conferred on thee, the
honour of immortalizing the loveliest woman since the time of Helen.'
'Most noble priest, I am thine humble servant, and reverence thy creed.'
But as Chios raised his eyes to those of Megabyzus, he saw them filled
with a strange fire--eyes like those of an evil spirit, gleaming behind
the living windows of darkling hue. It was but for a moment, and the
priest turned to Saronia, saying:
'Thy consent to us already has been given. Wouldst thou speak to these
noble friends?'
Then the girl, in her beauty and power, addressed the Roman in accents
sweet and queenly, thanking him for the gift; and, looking on Chios as
if she had never before seen him, said:
'Noble artist of the Ephesian city, when wilt thou scan my features--say
when--and in what part of this Temple may I linger that thy efforts may
be complete?'
'I purpose to trouble thee but little, mighty priestess. I will come
when thou art offering sacrifice at the altar, and gaze on thy splendour
afar off. As it has been said, the painting is well-nigh finished. I
have beheld thee often when I worshipped here. Thy lineaments are graven
on my memory. When word is sent me I will come.'
'Well, it shall be quickly,' said she, adding, with a smile: 'Before my
beauty fades, if any there be. Come to-morrow at the hour of sacrifice,
and thou wilt see Saronia.'
When they had retired, she meditated within: 'What meaneth this strange
proceeding? The affianced of Nika presenting the picture of Saronia to
the Temple, and Chios to paint it. There is evil afloat. The stormy
petrel skims the waves. I will find from Chios the meaning of this
secret work. No good for me can come from the house of Venusta. Be
patient, Saronia, and thou shalt learn all. I will contrive to speak
with Chios. Out of his heart of love he will tell me all. His eyes
looked into mine: his mind was pure and shaped towards me. Good Chios, I
trust thee, but I will try thee.'
* * * * *
The next day when he arrived the Temple was full of song--white-robed
priests and virgins stood around the altar offering their devotions,
whilst the incense-cloud rose upward through the open roof like a
morning mist hanging around the mountain.
He was seated in a nook of the Temple where great pillars hid him from
view. He heard not the morning song nor saw the incense-cloud ascend; he
saw but one object, and that was Saronia, with uplifted eyes filled with
radiant mystery, beseeching Heaven, the loose drapery hanging in snowy
folds around her form and falling to her feet.
One half-hour, with such intent as Chios had, was worth a lifetime to a
meaner man. Every touch of the brush told, and ere the service ended he
rested, and gazed passionately on her he loved so well.
The song sank down to a whisper and died, burying its harmonies among
the mighty marble pillars. Priestesses and priests moved away, leaving
Saronia alone at the great altar, looking like the goddess of the
shrine. For a moment she was silent, standing like a statue of Scopas;
then she beckoned Chios to come forward, and moved away from the
flower-strewn altar to meet him. The eyes of the girl spoke
love--softest, tenderest love--but the face of Chios was like the
granite rock of Bolerium. He knew he faced the opening through which the
priests had passed, and feared to smile. Her lips parted, and she said:
'Chios, what brings thee here? There is mystery in it all.'
'Thou hast truly said. I have a mission to speak for Nika. My words must
necessarily be few and to the point. She pines with the weight of the
curse of Hecate, and asks thy intercession.'
'Ah! I see through it all. Nika, the torturer, the serpent, would rob
Saronia, and thou, half-hearted, art tottering on thy throne.'
'No, Saronia. Hear me!'
'I will _not_. Listen thou to me. If this curse were removed, thou
wouldst marry her. She knows thou never wilt whilst it remains. I have
not power to undo what my goddess binds. Had I, Saronia would _never_ be
the one to feather an arrow for Nika. No, no; go thy way! Choose ye whom
ye will love. I will never force thee to love me, neither will I help
thee to love another. Farewell!' and, turning sharply, she went, and as
she passed away turned again, and gave one look of love, so tenderly
that the great tears swept down the cheeks of Chios. She saw them, and
read his answering love.
* * * * *
He was alone. The Temple, with all its grandeur, was a tomb. He
staggered to a seat, and for a while seemed as if his soul had gone
away. Then, arousing himself, he gazed long and lovingly at the spot
where she had stood near the altar steps, and then went out into the
fierce glare of the sun.
Passing from the Temple, he espied a stranger coming towards him. As he
approached, he discovered him to be the man he met very nearly at the
same place when the great procession passed.
'We have met again,' said Judah. 'How hast thou fared? Thou dost not
seem happy.'
'Thou hast rightly said. I suffer.'
'Perhaps I may comfort thee. It will not be the first time I have
ministered to such complaint.'
'No, thou canst not. My sorrow is too deep to be fathomed, and too
sacred to expose.'
'I like thy thoughts, young man. Wert thou taught them yonder?' pointing
towards the Temple.
'No; they are the fruit of a mind that receives no impetus from such
fraud as so-called worship is.'
'Thou speakest strongly. What knowest thou of worship? A mind perturbed
like thine is like a troubled sea, with never a place for calm. The
worshipping soul is not thine.'
'True, friend; I may not be a worshipper, neither wish to be one. This
life is a mystery; the next a deeper one. If we cannot understand this
earth-life, and are unable to trust mortals whom we see and know, how,
then, can we trust those whom we have not seen?'
'Shall we bestow our affections on the gods, who may not exist save in
our imagination, or, if they be, for all we know, they may ridicule our
adoration, make sport of us, tools of us to suit some purpose in pursuit
of their own glory.'
'Art thou a philosopher?'
'I am an artist.'
'Why followest thou this profession?'
'Because I love it.'
'Hast thou fame, riches?'
'Yea, sufficient.'
'Why dost thou work?'
'That I may portray Nature in her beauteous forms, and give them forth
to the people, that they may ever have the truth in trees and flowers
and the ever-changing sea.'
'Thou hast a benevolent spirit, and thy works betray such. Is it not
so?'
'Man should not herald every atom of good he possesses.'
'That is true; but, nevertheless, a man's works reflect his inner being.
What is thy name?'
'Chios.'
'A Greek?'
'It is so.'
'Then listen, Chios the Ionian. If thou canst be judged by thy works,
judge ye the Creator of Nature by the same law. The God who made the
pine-tree shoot forth from the darkling earth and grow upwards towards
the vaulted heaven, clothing its foliage with the morning mist as with a
garment; winged the great eagle which gazes on the sun, and made him a
home amongst the rocks on yonder mountain-side; painted the petals of
the rose which scatters perfume on the languid air--He who rolls the
waves towards the shore, breaking eternally by His decree; the God who
made the loveliest form in which a soul ere robed itself; fills the
fruitful earth with food for men--judge Him, I say, by His works, as I
have judged thee by thine. Are not His acts benevolent--are they not
proofs of love? Thy acts are feeble attempts, and so are mine--little
imitations, the outcome of His breath within us. His are boundless,
eternal, and show forth His guardian care for all His creatures.'
'I never looked at the matter in this way,' replied Chios. 'Thou seemest
right. There must be a great First Cause behind all this, and it does
appear His motive is unselfish.'
'In that thou sayest truly, for God is love.'
'What! So have the gods and goddesses of Greece that passion; and, if
our traditions be correct, they loved too well, and made fools of
themselves.'
'Again, Chios, thou art wise. I say thou art also true; but the loves of
the Grecian gods is not the love of my God. The traditions of your
Ionian faith are lies. There are no gods but One. The passions imputed
to them are but reflections of that which is impure in man. That which
dwells in the bosom of the Infinite is purer than the river at its
source, rising into light through the fissures of the rock. The best of
man's love is selfish, and we exchange love for love. Men do not bestow
their affections on those who hate them, but the Eternal One loves all
with an amplitude beyond comprehension. "For God so loved the world that
He gave His only begotten Son, that we might have life eternal."'
'What dost thou mean by life eternal?'
'This: that thy life may spread out into the great future, and the
spirit be young when the stars grow dim and the sun be dead, and
knowledge accumulate higher and deeper, joy broaden out as the aeons on
aeons pass slowly behind thee, gathering in number like sands on the
sea-shore; but never a shadow of death will lay on thee--never thy years
will cease to be numberless. Thou wilt begin it, never wilt end it--end
there is none.'
'Thou art mighty in thy thoughts. I would know more of thee.'
'Nay, it matters not to thee what of myself. My purpose will be served
if I can lead thy mind into the channel of truth. I deem it fair to say,
thy face being once set towards the goal, thou wilt pursue thy course
till all is well.'
'Thou thinkest too highly of me.'
'No.'
'Well, this I promise, good man: I will give fairest of hearing to thy
teachings, and hope thou mayest implant the seed of a good faith, which
may spring up and bear a bountiful harvest; but tell me ere we part, in
the great life thou speakest of where is my future home? who are my
companions?'
'They shall kindred spirits be. What thou makest thyself here determines
whom thou shalt dwell with yonder. Thine abode shall suit thy soul. Here
men of evil build palaces and dwell therein, whilst others, as pure as
the mountain breeze, crawl in and out a hovel or a rocky cave; but in
the new life this shall not be. In what part of the mighty universe thou
wilt begin thy course I cannot tell--perchance one of those bright orbs
of light which shine forth so sweetly may be thy home. Then on and on,
through space illimitable, but always nearer the infinite. Here mother
and father greeted thee, but yonder, where there is no marrying or
giving in marriage, God Himself shall be all in all, and meet thy
coming. Take this parchment; I have written it for thee. Read it well;
bend thine heart in prayer, seek communion with the Great Spirit that He
may give thee light, for without such the words of man are useless. I
wish thee well, Chios, and will see thee again.'
As he passed away, Chios felt such a sense of loneliness as he had never
before experienced. A faint dawn was breaking, and he murmured: 'Where
there is no marrying or giving in marriage;' and the dark eyes of
Saronia seemed to gaze steadily into his soul, until he cried: 'We must
follow hand in hand through the life that is to be. Light without her
would be darkness; life, however long, would be eternal death!'