AN UNEXPECTED SOLUTION
Chairo had been kept informed of what was happening to Lydia until the
last day of the Eleusinian festival, and he believed that all danger of
losing her was over. The appearance of Lydia, therefore, in the
procession wearing the yellow veil was all the more a stupefying
surprise to him. I was standing with him and Ariston as the procession
passed, and was looking with eager and delighted interest at the
gracefully draped figures that succeeded one another to the sound of
music, which, with a subtle combination of majesty and grace, combined
the plain chant of the Catholic liturgy with the lighter fugues of Bach,
for in and out of great chords there ran intermingling strains of many
voices, very light and delicate.
The procession was headed by girls and boys, selected for their perfect
wholesomeness, who carried flowers and scattered them; they were dressed
in the old Greek _chiton_ which, fastened only above the shoulder,
betrayed every movement of their lithe young bodies, as, swaying with
the rhythm of the sower casting his seed, they threw their offerings
first on one side and then on the other. The governor of the State, the
mayor of the city, the commander of the militia, and their respective
cabinets and staffs followed, respectively arrayed in the insignia of
their office; the other cults also were represented; those of Jupiter
robed in purple; those of Asclepius; those of Dionysus, and others. In
striking contrast with these came next the novices and the nuns, swathed
closely and heavily, even the head being concealed within a fold of
drapery. The procession entered from the cloister, and on approaching
the altar where was kept burning the vestal flame, it divided so as to
allow the high priest and his acolytes to pass up between. The high
priest was followed by the choir, and after the choir walked those who
had accepted the mission.
It was upon these that the curiosity and impatience of the congregation
centered; it sometimes happened that there were none; in such case the
procession was closed by the Demetrians--that is to say, all who had
already accepted the mission and completed it. On this occasion a single
figure was seen to enter the portal, covered with the yellow veil and
so draped as to conceal her features. The head, however, more usually
bowed, was erect. For a sensible period of suspense it was impossible to
tell who it was that had assumed the yellow shroud; but presently those
nearest to her had discovered Lydia, and her name passed in an awful
whisper to where we stood. The name once pronounced, there could no
longer be mistake; Lydia alone of all the postulants could so hold
herself: _Vera incessu patuit dea_. I felt a clutch at my arm, and,
turning, saw the face of Chairo blanched and hard; but I was too
absorbed in the procession to take long heed of him; I saw the
procession close, and followed the ritual with breathless interest till
the congregation was dismissed, unaware that Chairo had already slipped
away from me and out of the temple.
As Ariston and I walked back to our lodging I asked what Chairo would
do. Ariston answered that he feared trouble. We were both deeply
affected, for even Ariston, votary of Demeter though he was, could not
but feel as I did, that there was something in the choice of Lydia
strange and portentous. We discussed it in low voices, and for many days
little else was spoken of. Meanwhile, anxiety regarding the action of
Chairo redoubled for he had disappeared. It was well known that the
Demetrian council was taking steps, but no one knew what the steps were,
and a sense of impending calamity weighed upon us all.
From the moment Lydia had decided to accept the mission, there seemed to
grow in her a strength that was not her own. She rose from the couch, on
which she had thrown herself upon leaving Irene, without a symptom of
her old irresolution; she stood without sense of fatigue while the
yellow shroud was so draped about her as to hide her face to the utmost
possible, for though she knew she could not escape recognition an
instinct in her set her upon the attempt to do so; and when in the
procession she entered the portals of the temple, a glow moved up from
her heart to her head that deeply flushed her countenance as she heard
the whisper "Lydia" grow from mouth to mouth into an almost angry
protestation. Nevertheless, she felt sure now that she was right; it was
easier as well as nobler to make the sacrifice than to yield. She walked
firmly, with head erect, until she sank upon her knees before the altar,
and the choir's triumphant processional was subdued in low responses to
the chant of the high priest.
At last he turned to her and lifted his hands in mute suggestion that
she should bring her tribute to the goddess. A Demetrian presented her
the flint which was to symbolize the strength of her sacrifice; the
priest gave her the steel that symbolized its cruelty; and striking one
against the other she lit a spark that added a new flame to the altar.
This was the irrevocable act. A great sigh mingled with many sobs broke
from those present in the temple; but _her_ eyes remained dry, and at
the close of the ceremony she walked back to the cloister as firmly as
she had left it.
But once returned, there came upon her the inevitable reaction; she
discovered that the strength which had come upon her suddenly could no
less suddenly forsake her; she threw herself upon a couch and asked to
be left alone. As the door closed upon her attendant she was half
astonished, half afraid to find sobs invade her and tears gush from her
eyes. What did it all mean? Had she a will of her own, or was she merely
the arena upon which instincts, half of heredity, half of education,
were fighting out their battle, independently of her? She seemed to have
become a mere spectator of it; alas, she must also be its victim. She
lay sobbing until the sobs slowly died away, leaving her exhausted, and
at last she slept like a tired child.
The next morning she awoke as weak as though she had had a long fever.
It was the custom for novices to be removed to a temple in an island off
the coast as soon as they accepted the mission--for, from the day of
acceptance they were secluded--living with Demetrians only, under
conditions which, though compatible with their mission were,
nevertheless, most conducive to gayety and health. But Lydia was too
weak to be moved; and she lay in her bed night and day, eating little,
sleeping little, very quiet. There was hardly room in her thoughts for
regret; she had committed the irrevocable act and now she must resign
herself; her body had been exhausted by the struggle and cried for rest;
and rest was given her.
Slowly her strength returned, and she was beginning to feel the time had
come to go to the island cloister when, suddenly in the middle of the
night, she was aware that some one had pushed aside the curtain at her
door and was standing in her room. She had neither seen nor heard
anything, but she was conscious of a presence, and a guilty delight in
her heart told her, however incredible, that it was--Chairo.
She raised herself in her bed on her hand and found herself seized in a
passionate embrace.
"For the love of God!" she heard his voice whisper to her, "don't
resist"; and compelling arms lifted her off her couch, wrapped the heavy
coverings upon it about her, and carried her like a child out of the
room. She was taken into the cloister; her head was covered, and she did
not wish to see. The weakness which had racked her bones and from which
she had barely recovered came back to her, but now how different! For it
wrapped a lethargy about her to which it was an ecstasy to surrender; no
pain now; no sorrow; not even contrition. She was in the arms of Chairo,
and it had happened without a sign from her; almost against her will;
without her consent. For a season, at any rate, Lydia surrendered
herself to the sweet self-deception that this had really all happened
without her consent. Deep in her heart, however, was the conviction that
she had strength enough to resist had she chosen; that a single cry
would have sufficed to thwart a desperate stratagem. She was a little
alarmed to find that this conviction could remain unshaken, and that,
nevertheless, there was a song of thanksgiving in her heart that the
strength of resistance had remained unused and the cry remained
unuttered.
Chairo's strong arms were about her as he silently hurried through the
cloister. Lydia heard other hurrying steps besides his; he had clearly
joined confederates; she was soon put into a carriage and whirled away
from the temple.