Lotis was a woman, with a woman's curiosity and a woman's
pertinacity. She was one who had risen superior to the prejudices
of her age and nation. She reverenced, nay, she worshipped
greatness; but greatness, with her, meant power of intellect,
strength of character, genius; thus, herself a free woman, she
had not disdained to form an intimacy with a slave, when, in that
slave, she recognized superior qualities. She had been the pupil
of Chione in poetry, music, and eloquence, and had been aware of
the passion Magas entertained for the beautiful slave. She was
curious to see who had replaced her image in his heart; for she
remembered enough of Magas to feel assured that, to ensure his
constancy, he must worship as well as love; as also, that it
required a woman of commanding genius to hold his mind in bonds.
Therefore was it, that she set a watch upon the house that
contained the famed Leontium, that she diligently informed
herself of her convalescence, and sought to know her daily
movements.
One day, she heard that the lady's litter was being borne from
the house to outside the city. Hastily she commanded a litter to
be got for herself, and desired the bearers to follow
whithersoever the other litter was borne. This was not, however,
altogether so easy a matter; for the litter was no sooner out of
the city gates, than the bearers proceeded rapidly across the
plains for upward of a mile and a half, when they entered on a
more sandy district. Gray, craggy rocks, of a dreary aspect,
utterly devoid of verdure, began to hem in the prospect, and, at
length, the bearers set down the litter in a heap of ruins of
very astonishing character. Large stones, measuring twelve or
fifteen feet in length, four or five in width, and of an equal
length, rough and unhewn, were built into walls, without mortar,
in the most solid manner, the walls being from twenty to
twenty-five feet thick. Ruined gateways of unequal size, one
looking toward Argos, the other northward, toward the mountain,
peculiar in shape and construction, attested a workmanship of a
race who had long since disappeared, since their work was
modelled on another form than that which is termed Grecian, and
was beyond the physical strength of the present race. Evidently,
it was a citadel in ruins.
{808}
The site, an abrupt rock, commanding the adjacent country, was
admirably fitted for the purpose; but the city it was to protect,
the inhabitants to whom it was to guarantee security, where were
they to be found? The enclosure, about seven hundred and fifty
feet long by one hundred and sixty broad, was nearly filled with
rubbish, or rather with stupendous stones; and outside of the
enclosure all traces of the former city were completely
obliterated. It was difficult to account for the invalid lady's
choice of such a site for her meditation; but certain it is, she
got out, clambered over the stones, motioned her attendants to
keep themselves at a distance, and disappeared within the
enclosure.
Lotis was now at a loss what to do. She descended from her
litter; but to plunge at once into that unknown abyss of sand and
ruin, she had hardly courage. Then what excuse could she frame
for intruding? Hesitatingly she proceeded; but curiosity got the
better of every other feeling; she climbed up the ruined citadel
and looked down. It was not possible! yes, it was true--it could
be no other! There, seated on a fallen column, leaning against
the ruined arch, sat--_Chione_, the very picture of
despair!
To descend softly, so as not to alarm her--to glide to her side
as gently as the rugged pathway would allow, was the next idea,
and this Lotis accomplished, though with some difficulty; she
stood beside her former friend, unseen, unheard. Chione's
distraction was too intense, her reverie too deep; her eyes were
turned upward, tearless from the very depth of her emotion, and
her hollow voice sounded at intervals but these sad words:
"My God! to know thee only by my loss! My God! can it be
possible? My God! may I never, never love thee again? Thou first,
thou fairest, thou only love!"
The despair of these accents, the deadly pallor of Chione's
cheeks, the attitude, the site, the recollection of the past,
struck a pang through the frame of Lotis; her tongue seemed to
cling to the roof of her mouth; in her excitement she could but
advance one step, lay her trembling hand on her friend's
shoulder, and utter one word, "Chione!"
The lady started, and gazed earnestly at the form before her. It
was some minutes before she spoke; when she did so, the tone of
her voice was very low and soft; she simply said, "And what
brings Lotis to the ruins of Tiryns?"
"To see the famed philosopher of the east. Three weeks have I
been in the city, awaiting an introduction. This morning I
followed the litter, that I might at least see the celebrated
lady who has made all Nauplia ring with her name."
"And you are punished for your curiosity by finding only Chione."
"I should have been yet more earnest, had I known it was Chione I
was seeking. Your disappearance made a great sensation among your
friends, and none missed you more than myself. You had bidden me
hope, after that day at the temple, that our intercourse was to
be renewed, but my hope was cheated. Why did you leave without
telling me you were going?"
"I did not know it myself. My mistress disposed of me to a friend
of hers at Corinth. I was taken away in the night."
"And how came you with Magas again?"
"I led a dreary life at Corinth. The people I was with were good
enough, but unlettered, and the woman was entirely given to
housekeeping. She put a distaff into my hands, and thought badly
of me that I would not spin from morning to night. I could not;
my heart had been devoted to philosophy, to poetry, to art; this
drudgery revolted me, though, as I said, the people were good,
and of the true religion."
{809}
"And what religion was that?" asked Lotis, with a smile.
"Nay, ask me not; I cannot tell you now. I will tell you how I
got away, or rather was forced away. One day, when on a errand
for my mistress, I encountered Magas, and he seized me. He would
hear no remonstrance; his boat was in the bay; he hurried me off.
I went with him through Asia, visiting the temples, the schools
of philosophy, the halls of art, the academies of science. Magas
has been to me a patron, friend, encourager; he has brought me
out, induced me to appear in public; and in fact, done all he
could to make my life an elysiun. Impetuous as he is, to me he
has been faultless."
"And yet you are not happy?"
"Happy! Happiness is scarcely a plant of this earth, Lotis!"
sighed Chione.
"Then why have you spoken as if it were attainable? Why have you
fired all hearts, in speaking to them of an indwelling God, who
is to restore all things to more than primitive order and
happiness? Why have you called the human soul the divine image,
if it is not capable of happiness?"
"I said not that the human soul is not capable of happiness. I
said only that supreme happiness is not a plant of this earth,
and that is true. The earth has been cursed through the fault of
man; it cannot yield us this happiness."
"But you give your hearers to understand that, through some means
or other, happiness may dwell in our hearts; therefore I say,
Chione, why dwells it not with you? Have you the means, or have
you not?"
"I _had_," said Chione sadly. "Once I had the means of
happiness; once I was blest. I have forfeited the means, I am
happy no more."
"Are they not recoverable then?" asked Lotis.
"I hardly know. Sometimes I think on certain conditions they
might be; but those conditions, those conditions, O Lotis!"
"Are they so very hard?"
"They bid me renounce all! This life of excitement, this love of
Magas, this applause of the multitude, this luxury of
existence--to become again a slave. You know it well, Lotis, I am
but a runaway slave."
"Your philosophy must be false, Chione, which implies such hard
conditions. Slavery is a necessary evil, I grant; but still it is
an evil to such as you, whose mind is exalted above the level of
the herd. I cannot think that you are bound to slavery by any
divine law; and as for human law, why, if you can keep clear of
that, as you have done lately, who on earth will blame you?"
"You do not understand, you cannot understand how I am bound.
Magas, you are aware, is not--can never be my husband."
"Well, I don't see why he _might_ not be, if he paid the
purchase-money for you, freed you, and then married you."
"He is too proud to marry a nameless slave!"
"But you are not nameless; you have made yourself a name in all
the cities through which you have passed. We have heard of your
fame at Smyrna, at Halicarnassus, at Ephesus, at--"
"Stop! Unconsciously you are paining me. It was at Ephesus I
received the blow which is destroying me.'
{810}
"At Ephesus!"
"O Lotis! if I could but tell you of the hollowness of this
philosophy the world so much admires; if I dared speak to you of
the light that shineth in darkness, though the darkness
comprehendeth it not; if my lips were not profane; if my life
were not blighted like a tree struck by lightning; then I might
tell you of that wisdom which is not in man's speech, but 'in the
power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.' But I
dare not; I am unhallowed, unworthy. Leave me, Lotis. Seek
another teacher."
"What did you hear at Ephesus that has so unnerved you?"
"I will tell you, though to you the words will bear no meaning.
But my heart must ease itself. I was walking through the streets,
when I observed a crowd entering one of those temples frequented
by the new sects. I entered with the rest. The preacher was
dilating on the necessity of his auditors having the
_spirit_ of Christ, which if ye have not, he said, ye are
none of his. He then proceeded to show how the world's sin had
crucified the Lord of heaven; how essential purity, truth, virtue
are to the Christian character; how every Christian's body was to
become the temple of the Holy Spirit; and how impossible it was
for the Holy Spirit to dwell with aught unholy, or aught not in
union with God. Hence the absolute necessity of sanctity to be
wrought in us by the _power_ of God, to whom we must
surrender our being. He then went on to speak of such Christians
as had apostatized; and the words, he used burned into my heart
like words of fire. 'It is impossible,' he said, 'for those who
were once enlightened, and have tasted of the heavenly gift, and
were made partakers of the Holy Spirit, and have tasted the good
word of God, and the powers of the world to come, if they fall
away, to renew them again unto repentance; seeing they crucify to
themselves the Son of God afresh, and put him to an open shame.'
[Footnote 75] I heard no more; I fainted away. When I waked from
my trance, I was at home, and Magas was standing over me. His
anxiety respecting my health scarce enabled him to suppress his
anger at my having been seen in a Christian assembly."
[Footnote 75: Hebrews vi 4-6.]
"That I can easily believe; nor do I see what you wanted with
such low company, who have evidently bewitched you; for what need
you care what was said in such an assembly as that?"
"What indeed, what indeed! O my God! that it should come to this,
that I dare no longer pronounce thy name, that I should be
ashamed of thee!" And Chione buried her face in her hands, and
gave way to an excessive fit of weeping.
Lotis was puzzled. "Is this the great philosopher?" thought she;
"the new Sappho, the Aspasia of the age? Is it illness or magic
that has worked this mental derangement? for derangement it
evidently is."
Lotis bent over her friend, endeavoring to console her, yet not
knowing how, when she was suddenly relieved by the sound of
horses' hoofs. She climbed to the top of the ruins. Magas was in
sight. She returned to whisper the news to Chione. Chione rose,
dried her tears by a strong effort of her will, and prepared to
greet her protector with a smile. He was evidently in an
ill-humor.
"What sudden caprice is this? What possessed you to come out here
to a city of the past? A fine place this for a sick woman!"
"You said you were going to Argos. I knew not that you would
require my presence."
{811}
"I was going to Argos, but was hindered when setting out; and
when I inquired for you, and heard you had come hither, I put off
my journey to learn what attraction could draw you to this
place."
"The attraction of the past. Who raised these walls, Magas?"
"How should I know? The Cyclops, I presume. Who else could have
lifted these immense stones? What have you to do with who raised
them or who destroyed them?"
"The place was in harmony with my feelings, with the meditation I
was about to make on the transitory nature of human grandeur. It
will be my next theme."
"You might choose a livelier one to advantage, Leontium," said
Magas. "You are destroying your own mind by cherishing these
gloomy thoughts. If, however, you want a fallen city to meditate
on, Mycenae is but seven miles ahead; and there you may ruminate,
if you will, on all the incidents of the Homerian epoch; and the
wild, savage waste may be the savage emblem of the royal
Agamemnon; while the ruins, which are absolutely magnificent, may
prove another puzzle--as to how the mighty stones that form the
edifices could have been lifted there. I measured two myself.
They were immense. One single stone extends across a wide
passage, and rests on the massive walls, forming the lintel.
Another extends from the lintel to the interior of the edifice.
It is thirty feet long, five feet thick, and twenty in width. It
is becoming fashionable to doubt the existence of the Cyclops.
But, I'd like to know, if _they_ did not lift these stones
into their places, who did do it? No mortal men of the present
race would be able. So I go in for the old tradition of Cyclopean
workers.
"Ah! Lotis, I did not observe you. I inquired for you at Athens,
but was told you were travelling. Did you come out here with
Leontium? Our secret will be safe with you, of course?"
"Of course," answered Lotis. "But I think you are somewhat too
near Athens for safety from other tongues. You will not be able
to keep the secret long from the public."
"I shall not try. We are bound for Rome shortly, and there we
shall be safe. I would _purchase_ safety, if safety were to
be bought; but the mistress who held my Chione will not part with
her right. Many offers have been made to her. She still hopes to
reclaim Chione, and will not listen to money proposals. When you
return, you may renew the offers, if you will favor me so much. I
should prefer a legal release, if I could get one; but it matters
little."
"You have not told me to whom I am to apply."
"I thought you knew. To the Lady Damaris."
"Why, she is said to be a Christian."
"That does not invalidate her rights."
"No; but it causes me surprise that it should be herself who
refuses freedom to Chione. I know many cases where she has freely
granted it."
"She is an enigma, and so are all these people. It is not worth
talking about. I don't believe she'd prosecute her claim to
Chione, did she know Chione and Leontium were one and the same
person."
During this colloquy Chione had sat motionless as a statue, and
had seemed so absorbed in her own thoughts as to be unmindful of
what was said. On its being ended, she rose, and requested Magas
to call for her litter. When he had departed to do so, she turned
to Lotis, and said earnestly:
{812}
"Lotis, when you return to Athens, will you do me a favor?"
"Assuredly, I will."
"Let the Bishop Dionysius know, in _confidence_, who
Leontium is, and what I said to you of Ephesus today."
"The Christian bishop?"
"Yes."
"For what earthly purpose?"
"No matter. Magas is coming back. Do you promise me?"
"I do."
"And you will keep the secret to all the rest of the world?"
"I will."
"Even to Magas?"
"Yes."
"Thanks, thanks. We will return home now."