THE MYSTERIES OF THE _ADYTUM_
Tarsus gave itself up with full abandon to the festival. The Tarsian
religion of the period, though outwardly adorned by the polish of Greek
art, letters, and philosophy, was largely orgiastic and Oriental in its
internal character. The popular faith contained a strange mixture of
Greek, Roman, Phrygian, Phœnician, and even Egyptian elements, for the
mingling of which the intermediate situation of the Cilician metropolis
was especially favorable. In Greece itself, a terrible decadence had taken
place since the earlier philosophy and idealism of Pythagoras, Socrates,
and Plato; but in Tarsus, the religion, though nominally Grecian, was
permeated with the fanaticism and magic of Eastern cults. It was sensual,
superstitious, and spectacular, though it had an iridescent Hellenic film
of grace and beauty.
But with all the depravity of the period, there was a spontaneity and
natural optimism, which, while not atoning for its excesses, should not be
left out of the account. A hard and narrow asceticism, which during
mediæval ages made life “a bed of spikes,” was the future great sweep of
the human pendulum to the other extreme. If there was less seriousness,
there was at the same time less pessimism and morbidity. The ripening
process in humanity is a matter of millenniums, and only in the broad
sunshine of the higher evolutionary philosophy can proper adjustments and
allowances for wide vibrations be made.
The law of correspondence is universal. The relation between the seen and
the unseen is not only intimate but perfectly fitting. The soul, whether
of low or high attainment, has its extension into, and connection with,
spiritual forces of its own quality and on its own plane. By a subtle
mysterious union, each mingles with its own. Like attracts like. But yet
lives of selfishness and sensuality have within them the germs of finer
instincts; and sooner or later, when needed lessons have been learned,
there will be a drawing upward of the divinity, now latent within, toward
its transcendent correspondence, even though the recognition long be dim.
Evil is a misdirection of forces within that are good _per se_.
Every one has some supreme ideal; and for the present this concept, even
though low and limited, is to him godlike—in fact, his god. Human ideals
of God are ever to rise and become more perfect, for man has all
potentiality within him.
Linked with all the corruption of the sensuous age in question, there was
a strong impulse toward worship. Pantheism recognized a divine ordination
of all possible unseen forces, as well as seen objects; and then, in order
not to miss the fulness of religion, it erected altars to the “unknown
God.” The instinct of deific devotion was great in quantity, but low in
quality. The sacred mysteries were all absorbing, but took little hold
upon the moral nature.
Weighed by the delicate but immutable balances of thought‐quality, the
morals of the various ages might not be so dissimilar. Vice is no less
vice when it is secretive. The world has learned to dissemble. Before the
present age can greatly boast of its own moral purity, as compared with
that of the past, it must apply the inner as well as the external test.
Even low instincts, when idealized and sanctified, are in some measure
purified by the quality of thought concerning them. If by the accepted
ethics of one age, a certain course of conduct be not only regular but
correct, and by those of another low and vile, who shall declare that
their moral quality is identical? Judgment, to be just, must be tempered,
or at least somewhat relative rather than absolute. An age which held that
every real force, sex‐principle, and sensuous or artistic instinct was
some manifestation of, or in close relation with the Deity, or deities,
should be studied in the clarifying light of the evolutionary philosophy.
While the majority of the Tarsian population did not join the procession,
they generally surrendered fully to the exuberant spirit of the occasion,
thereby pleasing themselves and gaining the favor of the gods. The morning
was superb; and the great moving human panorama began to unroll itself
from the lower part of the city, in a stream, kaleidoscopic in its
changes, toward the temple. The chariots, in column two abreast, led the
way, crowding back the dense mass of people on either side, thereby
clearing a path for the less resistant portions of the great procession.
These were followed by companies of men, dressed in various symbolic
costumes, bearing offerings and instruments which pertained to the
mysteries of prophecy, music, poetry, and medicine, and the other arts and
muses. Some bore banners, inscribed with occult signs and emblems; others
swung smoking censers with a slow rhythmical measure which corresponded to
the march. Then followed a long procession of girls, chanting and dancing
to the measured time of the music of tabourets and harps which vibrated to
their own light touch. Their long hair was thrown loosely back to the soft
breeze; their faces, necks, and arms fully exposed to the sunlight, and
their lithe, shapely forms and white limbs were but lightly veiled by
free‐flowing pink or golden‐hued robes. There were priests wearing tall
cone‐shaped hats, and priestesses with hair coiled and intertwined with
symbolic leaves, flowers, and garlands, some wearing charms and amulets,
and waving their wands to the beat of the movement. Some bore bunches of
grapes or other fruits, and others carried small cornucopias of spices and
sweets for their rich odors and for consumption upon the altars which were
about the temple. There were also cows, sheep, and goats, bedecked with
trappings, ribbons, and garlands, for sacrifice, or other symbolic
ceremonies and priestly rites.
Everything beautiful in nature,—its flowers, trees, birds, air, and
sunshine, lent their charm for the enrichment of the service to the
Tarsian gods, and the honor of their temple. The chariots of Marcius and
Leander were prominent in the procession, side by side.
“Shades of Daphne! Marcius, I saw old Chloe, and a beautiful young Jewess
with her, in the rabble just past.”
“Ah! I have seen the features of that charmer before! Mine eyes deceive me
not! Dost thou recall the storm, the lightning, the crash, and thine own
discomfiture? Methinks thou wert dreaming at that particular moment.”
“By Pallas! I am not unmindful that the gods kept us from a threatened
descent to the shades of Pluto.”
“Ah, my gallant! But with that I cannot forget that the cage was rent, and
the bird flew out.”
“Send regrets to the breezes, stern Roman! The Muse whispers that we may
yet,—
‘Wreathe then the roses, wreathe,
The Beautiful still is ours;
While the stream shall flow, and the sky shall glow,
The Beautiful still is ours.’”
“A truce to thine overflowing poetic sentiment, Leander; but to return to
events. Dost thou think that old Chloe recognized us?”
“Peradventure not, though her eyes are sharp; but what recks it? Doubtless
she thinks we perished in the ruin, else she would have returned. The dead
has buried its dead.”
“But the dead sometimes rise, my effeminate Greek.”
“Dost thou believe in spirits?”
“Too well I know them. They are more in number than the gods.”
“What of signs, omens, and dreams?”
“I believe the most impossible dreams may become true.”
“Dost thou think there are life and feeling and motion beyond the Styx,
Marcius?”
“Shades of Hades! I do. But I would rather be a slave beneath the sun than
a king in the Cimmerian regions of the under‐world.”
“I believe nothing, Marcius. Thou art superstitious. Show me a shade from
the under‐world, and I will give him a hearty greeting.
‘Away with your stories of Hades,
Which the Flamen has forged to affright us.
We laugh at your three Maiden Ladies,
Your Fates—and your sullen Cocytus.’”
“A graceful turn to a shady subject, and quite worthy of thine ever ready
Muse. But, nevertheless, shades there are, my poet, and perchance they may
yet give thee an unwelcome greeting.”
“Black or white, I invite them!
‘Oh! blest be the bright Epicurus,
Who taught us to laugh at such fables;
On Hades they wanted to moor us,
But his hand cut the terrible cables.’”
“We approach the temple. I have heard that in the mysterious recesses of
the _adytum_ one may receive, not only responses from the Oracle, but,
perchance, messages from the ghosts of the departed. Wilt thou enter the
inner shrine, and envelop thyself in the vapor of mystical enchantment?”
“I will gladly greet all the shapeless spirits that come, even an endless
procession, but I count them dull and insipid. Give me shapely form and
graceful feature! I quaff real wine and not an empty goblet.”
“We will penetrate to the heart of the mysteries and inquire our fate. The
gods grant us an unveiling.
“But see! We are at the end of our route, and the temple with all its
riches is before us. Thou hast managed thy steeds well, luxurious Greek.
Charioteer! poet! gallant! and now seeker of mysteries!”
The procession wound gracefully through the peristyle on one side and back
on the other, thence into the avenues of the great garden, finally losing
itself and melting away in its intricate mazes.
After sending away their chariots by attendants, Marcius and Leander
lingered for some time among the bowers and grottoes of the temple
grounds.
Among the bewildering charms of the garden was a shimmering pond in its
midst, the banks of which were decked with groves of lotus and blooming
rose‐trees. Clustered around the numerous statues, delicate jets of
perfumed water threw up their fine spray, and loaded the air with aromatic
fragrance. Graceful shallops, shaped like swans or fish, moved about in
the pond, filled with lightly draped rowers of both sexes, whose gilded
oars kept time to the music of harps and citharæ, played by girls in
unnumbered smaller craft which circled around them. Some were dressed as
Sirens, covered with green net‐work in imitation of scales. Trooping out
from among high clusters of plants and flowers were groups disguised as
Fauns, Satyrs, Nymphs, and Dryads, playing on tabourets, drums, flutes, or
tambourines. The water of the pond responsively heaved to the rhythm of
oars which beat in unison. As night drew on, the echoes of voices, horns,
and trumpets grew louder; and the votaries of Bacchus and Venus, amid
shouts and laughter, threw all restraint to the winds. On the shores and
terraces shone swarms of lights, while other parts of the groves were dark
and hidden.
It was late in the evening when Marcius and Leander, satiated and sobered
by the excesses of the day, entered, arm in arm, the _pronaos_ of the
temple. On each side were low seats, comfortably cushioned; and by a
mutual impulse they sat down for a little rest before penetrating farther
into the interior. The Roman seemed in a dejected mood. His black eyes
were heavy and dull; and his mien, usually so haughty and imperious, was
tame and passive. He turned towards Leander.
“Life is a hollow mockery. When shall my eyes open to the true Olympus,
where real gods make their abode? I feel a strange unrest, and confess
myself weary of the Tarsian deities.”
“Ah, my high and mighty Marcius! Thou art downcast to‐night. Get rid of
thyself,—that is, drive away thy thoughts.”
“My thoughts are too deep to be rooted out. They hold me in thraldom!
Genius decays! Vice vanquishes virtue! How will it all end? What has the
unseen future in store for us?”
“Leave the future! The gods serve us to‐day as we serve them. To‐day! to‐
day is all!
‘If hope is lost and freedom fled,
The more excuse for pleasure.’”
“By all the divinities of Rome! Nothing less than the oars of Charon
himself will ever break thine everlasting trail of poetry. But a truce to
thy chatter! Let us to the Mysteries and inquire our respective fates!”
“Perchance they will brighten thy spirits and calm thy temper.”
Slowly rising, they made their way into the _cella_ of the temple.
The perpetual fire was burning upon the great sacred hearth; and before it
were a few persons who had prostrated themselves, each waiting the slow
turn for their introduction to the inner Mysteries. The _cella_ was
unlighted save by the fitful glare of the fire on the hearth. The strange
symbols and inscriptions which covered the walls and ceiling produced a
weird and unearthly effect.
In a recess, just above the fire, were great gilded, interlaced triangles,
and over those the symbolic Winged Globe. These were surrounded with
divine monograms, emblems of the powers of Nature. On the ceiling was a
large design of the crux Ansata, the oldest known hieroglyph, also the
Greek divine Logos representing inner illumination. The walls were covered
with other mysterious characters,—the key of Hermes, the serpent in a
circle, cabalistic names, a talisman of Pythagoras, monogram of Fire, or
the generative principle, symbolisms of the divine Wreath, hieroglyph of
Eros, monograms of the three Delphic mysteries and the re‐born soul. Harps
of Æolia which hung in the valves of the outer walls filled the air with
sweet and plaintive melody in fitful measure.
Marcius and Leander waited for a full hour at the sacred fire for the
numbers to be called which would give them their turn for an introduction
to the inner _Mysteria Sacra_. A feeling of awe gradually crept through
their souls—a sense of having left the world behind. Unseen influences
were bearing down upon them. The hieroglyphs seemed alive and engaged in
an ominous dance, frowning upon them and calling them to judgment. They
grasped each other’s hands, and looked into each other’s eyes to reassure
themselves.
At length the number of Marcius was called, and he was ushered into the
_adytum_. The valve closed behind him; and as he passed forward, there
hung, directly overhead, a great flaming symbol of the _Mysteria
Eleusinia_. Its brightness slowly faded until, in a little time, it only
cast a dim blue ghastly light in flashes, so that he could see but
indistinctly. He was impelled still farther on, and soon a cool breeze
swept gently up from cavernous depths below. The walls melted and
retreated; and the courageous Roman, nearly overcome, pinched himself to
find if he were still in the body. He involuntarily turned to retreat, but
the valve had disappeared.
“Am I alive? or is this Hades?”
But see! a vapor ascends in the dim blue light from the cavernous realm
below. It winds itself upward, and anon within it there are great
forbidding and uncanny Shapes; and with bedeviled mien, leering faces, and
ominous gestures they beckon to Marcius.
Soon a pungent aromatic odor diffused itself through the air, which
mysteriously stilled his excited senses so that he regained his wonted
composure.
The column of vapor rolled itself up, growing more dense, and anon
something like a defined form slowly gathered itself together from it. For
a little time the dim misty light only revealed indistinct outlines; but
soon it grew clearer, and advanced a step toward Marcius, a part of the
vaporous cloud forming a soft background. The transformation now became
rapid, and anon there stood before him a beautiful young woman. With a
flash of recognition the heart of the Roman leaped to his throat.
“Marcius!”
“Alethea!”
The light increased; and the form, in every detail, stood out with
lifelike color and distinctness. She wore a long silvery white robe, the
folds of which were lightly gathered by a girdle, and swept in easy lines
to her feet. The bare neck, arms, and shoulders were of a pale rose‐color
or flesh‐tint, and the bosom palpitated with emotion. The face was clear,
calm, and natural, with an expression of sadness about the eyes; and the
blond hair, thrown lightly behind the shoulders, reached below the waist.
There was breath and life.
“Alethea! Dost thou still live? Was thy death, then, an idle tale? Whence
camest thou to this place?”
“Marcius! I come from the world of spirits.”
“Surely, thou art no ghost! Thy bosom heaves with life, and thine eyes
glisten with warm emotion. Let me again fold thy beautiful form to my
breast, and feel thy warm breath; for I love thee still.”
“Marcius! thou wert false, _heartless—cruel_! I loved thee with a pure and
single devotion. After deceiving me, thou didst cast me off.”
“Oh, say not so! Try me once again and I will be”—
“Nay, thy time has past. Thou art incapable of love, and it shall remain
unknown to thee. Thy baseness hath blasted it forever! From henceforth the
world shall be to thee a wilderness.”
“Alethea! curse me not! Thou art living flesh and blood! Thou hast not
died! Come to me once more!”
“Marcius, I curse thee not! but mortals must reap as they have sown.”
“Not so! I will persuade thee! Alethea, thou shalt again be mine!”
He advanced, and clasped her in his embrace. But his arms encircled only
the _thin, cold air_.
It grew suddenly dark, and voices and groans and shrieks echoed from all
directions. Thrusting his fingers in his ears, and with a chill which
penetrated to his very bones, he turned and fled to the _cella_.