University of Virginia Library

`IPSISTOS.'

1. I.

With the first tokens of the gray dawning, and
while yet the thin gray mists lay like a gauzy veil
above the half-canopied mountains, the gates of
the great city were thrown open, and the people
thereof began to pour forth in mighty crowds.
Like a swollen torrent, that forces its way over
the barrier and broken rocks, they came roaring
and rushing, less with the innate feeling of power
than of enjoyment. A universal spirit of intoxication
seemed to possess the multitude, and by
tens, by twenties, and by hundreds, with wild and
dissonant cries of mingling yet discordant voices,
they pressed their way through the narrow gateway,
and came forth clamoring upon the plain.
The aged and the yet green in youth—wise, venerable
men — devout matrons, — trembling and
hopeful maidens, — and sportive childhood, that

laughs and leaps, were mingling together, until,
even ere the sun had yet risen, the vast esplanade
in front of the city was covered with their forms.
One mighty will seemed to move in every heart,
and to unite all voices in a universal song, as if
for some great deliverance. An hundred thousand
tongues mingled in the strain, and the hills
that surrounded them gave back the melody with a
seven-fold echo.

“Lofty and beautiful is the temple that stands
above the hill!” Such was the song of the multitude.
— “Lofty is the temple on the high hill, and
lovely is the goddess who sits in power therein.
Let us to the temple, oh! ye people. Let us bow
down before the goddess thereof, and bury our
faces in the sacred dust that lies at her footstool.
Let us put her feet upon our necks, and grow
great by reason of our abasement. Let us carry
the fatted lamb and the bleating kid, for sweet is
the savor of the burnt offering in her nostrils, and
she smiles when the flamen smites the heavy ox
in the forehead, and his dying blood besprinkles
her garments. To the temple on the hill, oh! ye
people, — to the lovely goddess who dwells therein.
Let us fly to her worship, — let us bring our
offerings, — the fatted lamb and the calf, and the
bleating kid, — let us twine about their necks the

flowers that are in season, and hang their brows
with clusters of the bleeding grape, that so we
may show our love for the goddess and the
priests, and our reverence for the white temple
that stands lofty upon the hill.”

And when these words were ended, the shouting
of the far-stretching multitude grew great
again, like the clamor of meeting winds and waters;
and they ran towards the white temple that rose
proudly on the high hill in the rosy light of the
morning — the swift leading the way, and the
strong rushing after, giving no heed to the cries
and the groans of the feeble and the young, whom
they overthrew and trampled in the fury of their
flight. Well did they know that the goddess
whom they sought would freely forgive the evil
which happened only from the overflowing of their
zeal in her worship. And many were the priests
that did homage for that people around the altars
of the goddess. And they prayed before her
presence, that she would come forth and lend grace
to her worshippers by the smile of her benignant
countenance. And the multitude brought great
store of gold and jewels, and with gifts of value
rewarded those who served them in this wise.
They brought bracelets for the arms of solid
gold, and bright drops of amber and of pearl —

of jewels from the mine, and pale blue water-gems
from the deep — to hang around the necks, and
fasten in the ears, of that sacred priesthood. And
the holy men prayed steadfastly before the goddess
for the multitude, and the goddess vouchsafed
to hear and to smile upon their prayers. And the
golden gates of the temple were thrown wide, and
the multitude shouted anew by reason of their exceeding
joy; and, in the madness of their devotion,
many of them rushed towards the golden entrance,
ere the priest had yet veiled the glory
shining from within; but were driven back and
blinded by the streams of excessive light which
encountered them as they came. But soon the
gong sounded, which was the signal for the goddess
to appear — and the guards that waited upon
the priests, with their golden lances, drove back
the impatient multitude from the path of the procession,
which was to move towards the great city,
that it might be blessed with the presence of the
goddess. Then, as the crowd gave way, came
forth the car of the sun, borne by the sacred ox,
whose horns, covered with gold, had each a glorious
emerald shining thereon. And the rays of
that golden orb dazzled the eyes of those who too
confidently beheld it, and they threw themselves
upon the sands as it came, and the sacred ox
pressed with heavy feet upon their necks. Then,
perched upon a crystal bough, and borne by a
lovely boy, whose long yellow hair floated in
trained luxuriance down his back, came forth the
milk-white pigeon, which bore the words of the
goddess to her distant worshippers; and the boy
that carried the pigeon was blind from his birth,
and it was the eyes of the sacred bird that guided
him in his progress; and sometimes, as he went,
the pigeon would fly off from the bough to bear
the words of the goddess to the priesthood, and
at such moments the boy stood still. Next came
one whose arms were bound to his side, and he was
clothed in yellow garments, and he bore upon his
head a crystal globe, which was the sign of eternity,
and within might be seen a butterfly with
folded wing, and this was the sign of immortality.
He was followed by an hundred others, bound and
attired like himself, and their bonds were a token
that they opposed not the will of the goddess;
and they bore the globe and butterfly by turns.
As they advanced from the temple, the mighty and
mixed multitude, which had fallen into sudden
silence when the golden sun came forth, now, as
suddenly, rose into clamorous rejoicing — the hills
shook in their shouting; and, from the vast circle
of the plain, the continued voices bore to the city
the glad tidings of the coming of the goddess.
Next came the slaves — an hundred ebon-dyed
slaves from Ethiopia — and they bore heavy censers
of crystal; and ever and anon they scattered
sweet incense among the people. A girdle of silver
cloth was wrapped about their loins, and they
wore a collar of silver, and a chain about the neck,
of silver also. A chosen band followed these, of
the youth dedicated to the priesthood; and they
wore no badges, and their garments were of the
coarsest woollen. After these came the sages, the
wisest and the most venerable among those who
had given themselves to the service of the goddess
from their childhood. They wore long white
beards, and they were greatly reverenced among
the people by reason of their close neighborhood
to the goddess, and as they were the first to know
and to declare her irrevocable decrees. In their
secret abodes they had traced the history and duties
of the heavenly bodies — had locked up the
niggard sciences in narrow cells, making them
servants, and denying them to that world which
they were intended to inform; but which, in its
inferior ignorance, might only have abused their
offices. To these succeeded the artificers, the
painters, the builders, the workers in fire, and the
secret properties of subtle minerals. Then came
the high priest, an experienced magician, than
whom the great city knew none more wise and
more in favor with the goddess. He stood upon
the platform, which was of solid brass, upon which
the throne of the goddess was raised. His robes
were of sable, but under them might be seen a
belt of purple and living fire. A serpent twined
itself about his arm, and sometimes lifted its green
head above the shoulder of the priest, whose hand
grasped it by the middle. As he advanced, his
presence announced that of the Deity, and was
acknowledged by an astounding shout from the
anxious multitude. The car of the goddess, itself
a temple, now rolled heavily through the brazen
entrance. It was drawn by the ponderous behemoth,
whose hoofs were coated with silver, and
whose forward step shook the solid earth over
which he came. Around the car, a troop of lovely
priestesses danced on feet that spurned the air,
and their forms, flexible as light, melted and sank
away into continual and changing shapes of grace
and luxuriance; and tears of light gathered in the
eyes of the young men of the multitude, as they
looked upon their voluptuous involutions. These
closed the procession, and as they passed from the
brazen door of the temple, it shut, of itself, with a
startling and tremendous sound.

2. II.

But there was one of all that mighty and mixed
multitude, that felt not with the rest — that saw not
with their eyes, nor measured the things he saw
by their understandings. He came with them
from the city, for he dared not remain behind, in
that time of general jubilee; but his voice joined
not with the rest in swelling the clamor of rejoicing.
With slow steps and a sick spirit, he followed
far behind, and his heart grew cold in his
bosom, as he beheld their wild impatience, and witnessed
the headlong fury of their devotion. Their
cries stunned and troubled him, and the big tears
gathered upon his eye-lashes.

“Beautiful, indeed,” murmured Ipsistos to his
own heart, — “beautiful, indeed, is the goddess,
— lovely beyond the loveliness of woman, whom
the keen eye of the builder beheld, where she lay
buried in the bosom of the solid rock, whence his
nice hand and searching instrument of steel, gave
her release. With the fine touch of endowing art
he removed the rude dints of the heavy masses
which had lain so long upon her visage, and
brought back the light into her features, and the

life which belongs only to expression, which had
been banished from them so long. In her temple
have the people raised her, and they behold in her
countenance nothing but perfection. In her they
see the embodied form of the universal and diffusive
truth, and they claim for her the possession of
a perfect beauty. But to me all the sweet conviction,
which makes the heart confident in its hope,
and brings it peace, seems utterly denied. To
me she does not seem the true; neither, though she
is beautiful, can I esteem her the perfect beauty
which so immutable a goddess should be. She
wins not my heart when I behold her, — her charms
gather only upon mine eyes. With reluctant
hand I lay the first fruits upon her altars even as
I am bidden, but she knows that it is only as I am
bidden that I bring them, and though she smiles
upon others, she, methinks, hath a frown only and
ever for me. I pray to her for the blessing, and
she withholds it; yet wherefore should she withhold
it when I pray only to be wise. Alas! I
inquire of these things in vain. The mists gather
more thickly around me, and when my brethren
cry loudest in rejoicing for the light which ascendeth,
then, upon my sight, the darkness falls
more heavily than ever. My soul is sorrowful
within me. The prayer that I make returns upon
me with the bitterness of rejection. Wherefore
should this be so? Wherefore, of all this multitude,
should I, alone, be joyless and voiceless?
My brothers—they come back from the temple,
having the song still upon their lips, and the smile
still in their hearts. My sisters enter with laughter
the dwelling of my father, though poverty sits
upon the hearth, and weeps because of the cold.
The smile of the goddess hath blessed them, until
they forget the withered and wrinkled grandsire
whom they leave famishing at home. Alas! for
me, when I see the burnt offerings and the fruits
upon the altars of the goddess, I think not upon
her worship, but upon his want. Wherefore
should the goddess need as a testimony of our
homage the waste of her own fruits, which had
else cheered the heart and strengthened the limbs
of age and poverty. Wherefore — ah!”

A terrible voice sounded in the ears of the
youth:

“Ipsistos!”

He shivered with terror as he looked up. The
car of the goddess was rolling onwards, and her
eye was fixed upon him with a glance that seemed
to search and freeze his soul. The voice of the
chief priest, a second time, reached his ears in low
accents, unheard by any but the youth.

“Ipsistos! The eye of the goddess is upon
thee. She looks into thy heart. She beholds thy
discontent. Beware!”

The youth sank upon his knees, and clasping
his hands above his head, he bowed his face to the
dust while the car passed onwards.

“Alas!” moaned the stricken youth as the
crowd rolled between him and the priest, “I am
doomed!”

And there he lay prostrate and desponding,
while the elated crowd, forgetting all wretchedness
of their brother, felt only the triumph of that
power which permitted them to kneel!

3. III.

“Ipsistos!” said the sacred messenger of the
temple, touching the melancholy youth with the
spiral rod of his office, — “thou art called.”

“Whither?” demanded the youth.

“To the temple!” was the answer of authority.

“I obey! — I follow thee!” said the youth, with
fear and trembling.

“It is well. Bermahdi awaits thee.”

And Ipsistos prepared to follow as he was commanded,
and his heart was full of fears; for had he

not heard from Bermahdi that the goddess was a
jealous goddess — quick to see the falling off of
the worshipper at her altars, and terrible in her
punishments for every departure from the law as
it is written.

“Fare thee well, my father,” cried the youth,
— “I am commanded to leave thee for a while.”

“Who commands thee, my son?” said the venerable
man.

“Bermahdi.”

“Ha! — Thou hast sinned, my son. Thou
hast sinned against the goddess.”

“I fear me.”

And the old man trembled, and fell upon his
face, as the favorite of his eyes departed.

4. IV.

Ipsistos stood in the presence of Bermahdi, the
white-bearded, and his heart sank within him.
Wondrous was the chamber in which he stood, —
strange were all the objects and aspects around
him. The roof of that chamber was vaulted like
the sky, and studded with a thousand stars. Clouds
hung aloft, now rising and now receding, and
from them, at moments, Ipsistos could see the keen

and cold eye of the goddess looking down upon
him. The vault was upborne by gigantic figures
of black marble, that moved around him in a constant
circle; and, ever and anon, a heavy instrument
of sounding metal told the progress of the
never stopping hours. A burning mirror stood
upright against the wall, and Ipsistos beheld within
it the constant progress of things as they concerned
the people of the goddess. And he saw
himself within it, even he, Ipsistos, but the figure
paused not, but disappeared at the waving of the
hand of Bermahdi. The chief priest sat before a
table of red porphyry, on which the characters and
signs of the seasons were inscribed. Instruments
of strange form, and to him, unknown uses, lay
upon the table. Bermahdi was a magician of
unbounded wisdom, and his studies were as various
as the faces of the stars of heaven. He seemed,
even then, to be toiling in the divine arts of astrology;
and when Ipsistos regarded his stern but
venerable aspect, and saw the strange instruments
around him, and beheld the books in languages
unknown, gathered with great pains and at wondrous
cost from the remotest nations, — his awe,
mingling with the apprehensions which his soul
felt at the summons of the sacred messenger, became
a sort of terror, and he trembled in the presence
of the holy man.

“Ipsistos!” said Bermahdi, “approach!”

And as the youth drew nigh to the table an
hundred serpents sprang forward, with hissing fury
and open jaws, ready to devour the intruder; but,
at the word of Bermahdi, they crawled back to
the slimy baskets where they had lain coiled in
sleep, and offered no farther interruption to his approach.

“Ipsistos! thou had'st been doomed but for
thy youth. Thou art poor and feeble, else thou
had'st perished. Had'st thou been high among
the people, — high of birth and fortune, — this
night thou had'st fed the sacred serpents of the
goddess, whom, in thy secret thoughts, thou hast
contemned. Wherefore is this madness, Ipsistos?
Thy brothers are devout worshippers, — they come
with glad hearts and full hands to the temple, —
they bend with reverence before the altar, — they
heed the words of the goddess, and question not
her laws. But thou dost not, Ipsistos. In thy vain
sould thou hast asked — `why is this?' With thy
shallow understanding, thou wouldst judge the
decrees which are written for the world. Why
dost thou not believe, and trust, and do homage
like thy brothers?”

“Alas! father! wherefore? It is from thee

that I would have the answer. Thou art the
favored of the goddess, — I pray thee implore
her that she tell me, why I am other in spirit than
my brothers?”

The holy man frowned gloomily as he listened
to these words of the unhappy youth.

“What, boy! — wouldst thou demand of the
goddess, why is this, and wherefore is that. I tell
thee that thy presumption prays a sudden judgment
upon thee. Thy vain thoughts are working
out thy doom.”

“Be merciful, father. I would not offend with
my presumption. I would school my heart unto
humility. It is to know the right only that I ask
to know at all. My prayer is for wisdom only.”

“Thy prayer is insolent, boy. What! shall
we be all Magi. Shall wisdom be a thing to cast
in equal lots, — shall we demand of the goddess
to be other than we are. Foolish and audacious
boy. Thou must learn to obey, ere thou art wise —
to trust those who are the born counsellors of the
land, — who have authority for judgment from the
goddess. Hast thou lived so long, and art thou
still ignorant of her power? Hast thou seen nothing
to shew to thee the might which she has, beyond
that of thee and all thy people, and which
she puts forth daily through the hands of those
who tend upon her altars? Hast thou not listened

to her oracles? Does she not foretell the plague
which kills, the tempest which desolates, the ruler
of the city who shall best serve its interests, the
coming of the enemy whom ye fear? Does not
her power dissipate the enemy, stay the plague,
repair the city, provide the ruler? Is thy people
prosperous or not?”

“Alas! father, poverty sits upon the hearth of
my sire, and the flesh is shrivelled upon his aged
limbs. The city is prosperous, but my father
lacks bread for his hunger, and he hath no raiment
against the cold.”

“And what of this, idle boy. What is the
pleasure or the life of one, or even of a thousand,
in consideration of this great argument. Thy life
is but a span at best, and something must end it.
The goddess that gives thee life, hath surely a
right to prescribe its laws, its limits, and its vicissitudes.
Believe this, and thy father suffers little;
but even this pretence shall be denied thee for
complaint. Thou shalt carry from the temple this
night the food which shall make him strong, and
the garments which shall bring the blood back
into his aged limbs. Will that content thee?”

“I will bless thee for it, father.”

“And be true and joyful in thy worship of the
goddess?”

“I will strive — with all my soul and with all my
strength, I will strive,” replied Ipsistos.

“Thou shalt, or it shall be worse for thee. Lo!
— Here shalt thou see the power of the goddess.
Thou shalt behold sights never yet vouchsafed to
thy people. Look! What seest thou?”

And, as he spake, the magician uttered a word
of power, and the brooding cloud rolled away
from overhead, and the sun hung his broad and
burning shield above the eyes of Ipsistos, though,
it was then the mid hour of the night, so that they
were confounded and darkened by the blaze. And
when he looked again, the cold pale moon was
shining in its place.

“Thou hast seen the mansions of the sun and
moon, — they are ever present to the goddess, and
visible at her command. Some of her power she
will now confer, even upon thee, that thou may'st
no longer doubt of her worship. Grasp me that
wand of ebony which thou seest upon the edge of
yon fountain.”

The youth did so, and of a sudden it became a
serpent in his grasp. He flung it to the ground,
and it once more became a wand of ebony.

“Thou seest; but that is not all. Thou shalt
cross unharmed upon those fiery bars over which
it is written that every devotee should go. But

first put off thy sandals, and put on these sacred
shoes which have been hallowed upon the altar of
the goddess.”

The youth put on the shoes as he was directed,
and at the same instant a part of the wall opened
before him, and he beheld a bridge of fire-bars
which spanned a cavernous hollow of vast extent,
in which he could see nothing, but from which
there came a continual roaring like the evening
anthem of the sea. The youth shrank back from
the trial, but Bermahdi encouraged him.

“Fear nothing!” he said, — “For thou wearest
sandals which have been hallowed by the goddess.”
A voice, soft but clear, and but melodious,
reached his ears an instant after, which repeated
the words of encouragement.

“Fear nothing, Ipsistos. There is nought to
harm thee!”

“What voice is that!” cried Bermahdi, with
looks of unfeigned astonishment.

“Was it not the voice of the goddess?” said
Ipsistos, — “methought it was she who spoke.”

“Ay, it was, — it must have been!” cried
Bermahdi, — “it must have been the goddess.
Thou seest, my son, that she loves thee. Fear
nothing.”

“Fear nothing, Ipsistos,” said the gentle voice
once more.

And the heart of Ipsistos was full of joy as he
heard it, but the countenance of Bermahdi was
troubled. The youth felt tears of pleasure steal
out upon his cheek, for the tones of that sweet
speaker sunk like music and peace into his heart.
He feared no longer, Boldly he advanced upon
the blazing bars, which, to his great wonder, gave
out no heat. And when he had passed over the
bridge to the opposite side of the cavern, he stood
in the presence of the goddess. But her looks
were lovely no longer. Anger blazed in her eyes,
and her lips were distorted by reason of the passion
within her breast.

“This is strange,” said Bermahdi, — “strange
that she should frown upon thee, Ipsistos, when
thou hast passed through the first trial of the noviciate.
Thou wilt become a noviciate, my son.”

“Wherefore, father?”

“See'st thou not that she frowns upon thee?”
The youth was silent.

“Ha! dost thou refuse?” cried Bermahdi.

“No, no — I refuse not — but suffer me to think
upon it, my father. I am not yet worthy — I
would meditate upon the wonders I have seen.”

“Thou shalt! Go now in safety. The path

is clear. Nothing shall harm thee on thy way.
But see that thou hast early thought upon this, my
son. Thou hast thought, already, too much or too
little, and thy error must be amended. Remember!
the eyes of the goddess are upon thee.”

Again the gentle voice whispered in his ears.

“Fear nothing, Ipsistos;” and when he looked
upon the statue of the goddess, her features were
convulsed with anger. A stream of fire seemed
to issue from her eyes, and with a shivering fear
that ran through all his veins like a sudden ague,
the youth fled from her terrific presence.

5. V.

He fled, but the gentle voice still lingered in his
ears, and as he left the portals of the temple, its
tones of encouragement were repeated.

“Fear nothing, Ipsistos. I am she whom in thy
secret soul thou lovest; and I am powerful to protect
thee. Let the tyrant rage; he shall not prevail
against thy thought, nor against the true worship
which is already living in thy spirit. He may
cast thee into a dungeon — he may load thee with
chains — in his brute anger he may buffet thee,
and with his keen thong he may cover thee with

stripes; but of a surety shalt thou live through
all, and glorious shall be thy triumph in the end.
Fear nothing, Ipsistos — for, so long as thou keepest
my voice in thy ears, so long shalt thou live,
and so sure shall be thy great victory over thy
enemy. Thou shalt tread upon his neck, Ipsistos.”

And the youth grew bold to speak to the voice
as he hearkened to these grateful words, and he
said —

“And how, oh, sweetest whisper of the night —
thou that stealest upon mine ear like a music from
heaven, and sinkest, blessing, into my heart like a
balmy food thereof; — how am I to keep thee forever
nigh to me? Tell me, that I may not lose
thee.”

“By keeping me ever in thy heart, as thou dost
now. By seeking me as thou hast ever done!”

“How! blessed voice — have I ever sought
thee before, when, until this hour, mine ears remember
not to have heard thee.”

“Thine ear hath not heard me, Ipsistos, but day
and night, even from the hour of thy birth, have I
spoken to thy heart. Thou hast truly called me a
music from heaven, and a balmy food thereof. I
am both — for I am that principle without which

no music could be such in the ears of the good,
and no food could give nourishment.”

“What art thou!” demanded the trembling
youth.

“Truth! Doth not thy own heart teach
thee?” was the answer.

“Alas — but it did not!” replied Ipsistos.

“Of a surety it did, Ipsistos, from the first moment
when thou felt'st that thou could'st not love
the creature which thy people worship with a wild
and headlong idolatry. Thou could'st not think
her beautiful, because, in thy own heart, thou
beheld'st a yet lovelier image.”

“And shall I see thee with mine eyes, oh, thou,
whom my soul worships,” cried the youth, sinking
on his knees, and lifting his hands together, as
if the object of his adoration stood even then unveiled
before him.

“Yea, thou mayst if thou so wishest it; but I
warn thee, Ipsistos, in the hour that thou regardest
me with thy human eyes — in that hour shalt
thou surely die. Art thou ready?”

Prostrate in the dim night, the youth sunk down
in silence. But in silence he remained not long.

“Give me to behold thee,” he cried aloud to
the voice — “Give me to look upon the blessed
and beautiful features of that divine being who is

in my lifted heart, and death shall be welcome.
Gladly will I embrace it, for thy sake, sweetest and
loveliest of the dreams that have won me from
sleep, and made life, itself, a dream.”

“Thou art bold, now, Ipsistos; but when death
looks upon thee with his grim aspect, and claims
thee for his own —”

“Even then will I be bold!” cried the undaunted
youth.

“When thou feel'st his steely grasp upon thy
shoulder!”

“I will laugh upon him — I will defy him with
a song in thy praise.”

“When he drags thee to the roaring blaze, and
the burning fagots crackle and hiss around
thee! —”

“Ha! — must it, then, be so!” cried the youth,
shuddering, and covering his face with his hands.

“Perhaps!” said the voice. “Wilt thou not
then shrink from thy faith? Wilt thou not then
forswear me? Wilt thou not deny that thou
hast seen my face, and hearkened to my counsel,
as thou dost now? Death is terrible, Ipsistos!”

“I will not! Though death be terrible, I will
not shrink from the danger — I will not deny thee,
nor forget the faith which I have pledged thee, and
which I pledge thee here.”

“And yet 'twere pity, Ipsistos, that thy youth
should perish thus. Think of thy old grandsire.”

“Ah!”

“Thy brothers and thy sisters.”

“Alas! they need me not. Did they love me,
and need me more, I were less bold, perchance, in
this encounter. My grandsire hath not many days
of life, and even were I gone from him, but little
were his loss therein. The promise which thou
makest me, moves me more than these fears and
losses which thou describest unto me. Give me to
look upon thy divine presence, and see the beauties
which are there, and I am ready for the stake,
and for the cruel executioner. Tell me, shall I
not behold thee now?”

“Not yet!” cried the voice. “Thou could'st
not see me now, even if thou would'st, and I were
willing to suffer thee. There are scales upon thine
eyes, which must first fall off. There is yet a fetter
upon thy thought which must be broken; and
thou hast learned lessons in thy mind, which must
be unlearned, ere thou can'st behold me. Yet
shall I not be utterly unseen of thee. Even now,
if thou lookest keenly, thou may'st behold a faint
shadow of my person beside thee, and, as thou
strivest to behold me and hearkenest to my voice,
my features shall grow clear unto thine eyes, — thy

flesh to my touch, — thy soul shall be filled with
my spirit. But I warn thee, in that time thou
diest. Thy danger begins with thy knowledge,
and in the moment of thy greatest victory, shalt
thou perish.”

And the youth gazed as he was bidden, and a
shadowy form passed beside him, and the stars
yielded in their places, and all things swam before
his sense. When he looked again, the shadow
and the voice were gone.

6. VI.

“I bring thee food, my father,” said Ipsistos;
and he placed before the aged man the viands
which had been given him by the high priest of
the temple.

“Ha! my son, — be thou blessed among the
sons of men, as thou art blest and beloved by thy
sire. Whence got'st thou these meats — this
bread, and the luscious grapes which thou puttest
before me.”

“From Bermahdi.”

“From Bermahdi! — Blessed be Bermahdi —
blessed be the holy temple — forever honored
the goddess therein.”

And the aged man kneeled as he said these
words, and the young women and the sons kneeled
also, all but Ipsistos.

“How, my son, — wherefore kneelest thou not
with us? — would'st thou withhold thy blessings
and thy thanks?”

“My thanks have been already given, my father.
I have spoken with Bermahdi in the temple.”

“In the temple! — Ha! have I been so blessed
in my old age as to behold a son of mine who
hath had admittance to the temple of the goddess.
Let me look upon thee, — let me kneel to thee, my
son, for of a truth the goddess hath greatly favored
thee.”

“Kneel not to me, — look not upon me, father,
but eat of the meats sent thee by Bermahdi. I
am blind, and weak, and not worthy of thy regard.”

“But thou saw'st the wondrous things of the
temple, my son, — the giants which are there fettered
beneath the feet of the goddess, — the sacred
serpent that speaks at her bidding, — the holy
owl of counsel, and the ape, the ox, the emeralds
—”

“I saw many things, my father, of which I
took little heed.”

“Little heed, my son, — little heed! What

meanest thou? Thou took'st little heed of what
thou saw'st in the temple! What! thou wast
frightened; the wonders overcame thee? Thou
wert blinded and astonished by the blaze. It was
enough, my son, to confound thee. It is my
wonder how thou saw'st any thing, — how thou
cam'st alive from that glorious presence. But the
goddess strengthens whom she loves, and by these
tokens, Ipsistos, thou art beloved of the goddess.
Grant it be so, — grant it be, — then would my
gray hairs go down to the grave in peace.”

But far other was the prayer in the heart of Ipsistos,
and he turned away in silence from the admiring
gaze which the doting old man fixed upon
him. And the brothers and sisters murmured
among themselves, and marvelled much at the
favor of the goddess towards Ipsistos. And they
said, “Wherefore is this favor of Bermahdi?
Have we not been the first ever to bring our offerings
to the temple? Though they were mean, yet
we brought of the best in our store; and our prayers
and songs were the loudest in the presence of
the goddess. And was not Ipsistos a loiterer by
the way-side, and when did he raise voice or song
in honor of the temple? The goddess hath surely
meant, for one of us, the favor which Bermahdi
hath so blindly bestowed on him.”

“And what said Bermahdi to thee, my son?”
demanded the grandsire.

“He would have me in the service of the goddess,”
replied Ipsistos.

“Ha! thou dost not say it!” cried the rejoicing
father.

“He! a servant in the temple!” cried the eldest
of the brothers. — “Ha! ha! ha! This is
a folly, if not worse. Thou speak'st idly, Ipsistos,
— I trust thou dost not wilfully declare thy
falsehood.”

“I speak the truth only, my brother,” meekly
replied Ipsistos.

“I will not believe it,” cried the rest. —
“Wherefore should they make thee a servant in
the temple. What hast thou, — what art thou?
Thou art mad, Ipsistos. Thou art poor, and what
is thy father? Made he not bricks for the city,
even for those who are now living and can declare
his craft; and what is thy craft, but the same, Ipsistos,
which thou art only too idle to follow.”

“True, true, Ipsistos, — thou must surely err in
this,” cried the old man, sorrowfully. — “Wherefore
should Bermahdi choose thee to serve in the
temple. Thy brothers speak but reason; — and
yet, my children, Ipsistos hath never yet told me
other than the truth.”

“And it is the truth only which I tell thee now,
my father. Bermahdi hath commanded me to
serve in the temple, in season to become a priest.”

“A priest!” cried the elder brother in amazement.

“A priest!” cried they all, in wonder at the
apparent madness or gross presumption of the
youth.

“Thou a priest!” said the elder brother. —
“What should make thee a priest, when thy
awkward hands let fall the garlands ere they reach
the altar.”

“Thou a priest!” exclaimed the eldest sister.
— “How would thy long arms look in the holy
garments? — they would drag about thy heels like
a great mill-sack.”

“Only to think,” said the younger sister, the
favorite of Ipsistos, “only to think of making
thee a priest, Ipsistos, when I have ridden upon
thy shoulders a thousand times.”

“Nay, flout not thy brother, my children — ye
make me sad as I behold his sorrows. Flout him
not, though, in truth, my son, thy story is most
strange.”

“Yet true, my father. Do not these fruits speak
for me? They are from the altar of the temple.”

This could not be denied. The brothers and

sisters of the youth had seen them carried to the
temple. And the old man marvelled much upon
the mystery; he could not yet be satisfied of his
son's truth, for when had the son of a maker of
brick, been called to such sacred office. Meanwhile,
a grievous suspicion of Ipsistos grew in
the hearts of his brethren. And they whispered
among themselves, and their evil thought came to
the ears of the father.

“He hath stolen these things from the altar of
the goddess. Of a truth he hath committed sacrilege.”

And with these words the aged man dashed
from his lips the untasted viands, and his jaws
were distended with the horror of the thought.

“What hast thou done, Ipsistos? My son, my
best beloved, wherefore hast thou done this
thing?”

“They wrong me, my father, for, of a truth, I
am not guilty of this base crime. The fruits
were given to me, for thee, by the hands of Bermahdi.”

“Swear it, by the temple and the goddess!
and I will believe thee,” said the father.

“It will not then be a greater truth than it is
now, my father. Believe me, as I tell thee, but I

will not swear;” and he rushed from the dwelling
as he spoke these words.

“He is guilty!” cried the brothers with joy,
but the old man hung his head in shame.

“Alas!” he cried, “wherefore was I born to
this dishonor.”

And the sons hurried away to the chief priest,
to declare the theft and to restore the consecrated
fruits; but the old man lay upon his face at the
door of his habitation, and would not be comforted.

7. VII.

“And ye say,” said Bermahdi, to the brethren
of Ipsistos, “ye say that your brother is no true
servant of the goddess — that he bows not in reverence
at her altars — that he gives not his soul
with the fruits which he offers — that he loves not
her high places, nor the holy priesthood that minister
before her?”

“Of a truth, we say it,” replied the envious
brethren.

“Ye are wrong,” answered to them the high
priest, “ye know not the heart of your brother.

What though he worship in another fashion from
ye, still is he a devout worshipper. I have seen
into his soul, my children; it is no less pure than
yours. The goddess hath chosen him for her altars,
and ye are no less honored in her choice than
is he. Hence was her gift to him, for thy grand-sire,
of the fruits and meats which he carried home
to your habitation. Do him no injustice, therefore,
by your ungentle thoughts, for truly do I believe
him honest. Yet, I would not, that ye should
hold me unnoteful of your zeal. Ye shall give it
employment. See that Ipsistos lacks not, nor falls
short, in his flow of service. If ye deem him laggard
— if ye notice any falling off in his outward
devotions, though it may import no loss of love
within — yet bring me true report of his backslidings,
that I may counsel him providently, and tutor
him unto the good work which is ready for his
hands. And, as ye have so fully shown your zeal
for the altars of the goddess, ye shall have like
share with your brother of the fruits therefrom.
Take ye, and eat, and bear ye home to your
grandsire, of the fruits which remain unconsumed.
And let this be a sign unto ye, that ye are all the
care of the goddess, and your house henceforward
shall be the abiding place of blessing and abundance.
Go ye now — remember well what I have
spoken in your ears touching the devotion of Ipsistos,
and come to me and reveal in secret what
ye may misdeem of his thoughts and misdoing;
for though I believe not that your brother is erring,
yet the best of us falter in our walks of duty,
and the strongest sink at times under a weakness
of sinew which should make them sorrowful and
ashamed. Go now, and the blessing of the goddess
be upon ye.”

And the brethren of Ipsistos went away, with
hearts of rejoicing and with hands of plenty; and
they rejoiced not more because of the favor of the
goddess than of the charge which had been given
them to be watchful of the doings of their brother.
And in their hearts they abused the counsels of
the holy Bermahdi, for, whereas, he had given it
in charge to them to report on the backslidings of
Ipsistos that he might be providently led back into
the fold of the temple, and they took his words as
a direction to find evil in his wanderings, and to
prove the flaws in all his performances. And
those that Bermahdi had named as zealous for the
goddess, grew to be zealous spies upon the failings
of their brother; and in their hearts they said —

“Bermahdi will punish Ipsistos if he goes aside
from the path leading to the temple. He means

not to counsel but to condemn, for is not the goddess
a jealous goddess, and does not her breath
destroy the offender, though it be a sin of his ignorance
only, and his first sin. Of a surety will
she destroy this brother, whose pride of heart lifts
him above us, and who, in a vain conceit of soul,
thinks to be wiser than his father. Well — he
shall not be missed when Bermahdi calls for the
victim.”

Thus communing, they returned to the dwelling
of their father, and their hearts were filled with
wrath when they found that their grandsire now
loved Ipsistos more than before, and took but little
heed of the abundance of fruits which they had
brought with them from the temple. And he called
upon them to rejoice with him, and to implore blessings
upon their brother, saying—

“Verily, Ipsistos, my son, thou art my best beloved,
and the favorite of the goddess. Join with
me, my children, and give praise to your brother;
for he hath cheered our hearth with the blessings
of heaven, and hath smoothed my passage to the
tomb. Blessed of the goddess, Ipsistos, be thou
also the blessed of thy father and thy brethren.”

And the brothers murmured among themselves,
and, more than ever, they hated him by reason of
the exceeding love of their father. All hated him

but the young maiden, his sister, the youngest of
all, whose name was Damaina; and she flung herself
upon the neck of Ipsistos, and called him her
dear brother, and shed tears of joy and reverence
upon his neck. And the brothers turned from beholding
her, and they spake together apart, and
they asked of each other how best they should obey
the commands of Bermahdi, and seek out the backslidings
of Ipsistos.

8. VIII.

But the youth heeded not their doings, nor imagined
the feelings in their hearts. In his own a
sweet sadness prevailed, a shadow from his searching
thought, that moved over strangest places,
and wandered into worlds far beyond his arm.
His life strayed afar from the accustomed paths of
his boyhood; for the voice was ever in his ears,
— the voice whose tones were a perfect melody
which he might not resist, — and they led him
away from the crowded places, and they tempted
him to fields which had ever been forbid. In the
presence of his brethren he had little comfort, and
his mood found no fellowship among those who
had once given him most sweet society. With

sad eyes, but without complaint, did his grandsire
behold the shadow that was upon the youth, and
the friends of his boyhood, and his young sister
Damaina, the best beloved of all, reproached him
loudly for his desertion. But Ipsistos only sighed
to them in return; and he walked apart to hide
the tears which were in his eyes, though his heart
was softened only with a becoming joy.

“They chafe with me now,” he said to himself
in musing, “but will they chafe with me when I
bring them to a sight of her whom my soul loveth;
when they look upon the divine light of her eyes,
and feel the blessed tones of her voice sink like a
balm from heaven into their hearts.”

And a holy pride filled his bosom as he thought
that he should bring those who loved him to such
superior enjoyment. And he followed the voice;
and came to a mighty wood which was dusky with
gigantic forms, each having a double shadow.
And he wandered away among the shadows 'till
they grew like a bannered army around him, and
he laid himself down at their feet, and they hung
above him, and he thought unutterable things.
But the thoughts gave him pain at length, for they
came like pictures that pass rapidly in the uncertain
light before the eye. And he failed to know

them or perceive their offices. Vainly did he
strive to fix them with his revolving mind; but
they fled from him, looking behind them as they
fled, and showing him glimpses of their beguiling
features. Through the dim mazes of his mind
he struggled to trace their flight, but others came
between, and so he was confounded; and he prayed
for counsel and help from the voice, and even
as he prayed he slept.

9. IX.

And the sleep of the youth was troubled, and
strange visions prevailed in his slumbers. A thousand
streaming lights, that seemed half girt with a
drapery of cloud, danced around him in the closing
void. Then, as they departed, mighty shadows
rose even from the earth at his feet, and they
floated away from before his sight, only to give
place to other and mightier shadows yet. These
came in sable and timed array, — a gorgeous company
of trooping forms, having strange shapes
that yielded to the light; and they bore solemn
banners that went trailing through the sky. Then,
a mightier form than all the rest, — a shadowless
form, full of light that yet gave none forth, —

came following after, and Ipsistos saw that it wore
a crown upon its head, and yet the face beneath
it was hidden from his straining gaze. From the
midst of the crown rose a broad tongue of flame,
that waved to and fro among the clouds by reason
of the rapid motion of the shadow. And the
shadow stood still when it hung above the spot
where the youth was sleeping, and the tongue of
fire which was upon the crown ceased to move in
the wind. And, even as he looked, Ipsistos beheld
a sheet of flame pass out from the tongue,
and it fell from cloud to cloud, and it parted them
all, and it rested upon his own forehead. And at
the same moment the mighty shadows which had
hung around him, with brows of dusk and threatening,
took to flight with a rushing noise, and the
youth could hear them scream while they flew, as
if pursued by a mighty terror. And a bright
light, like the bursting of a meteor, fell around
him, and he heard a voice like that which had
counselled him before, louder and more piercing
but not less musical, that stopt his ascending spirit,
and riveted his wandering thought.

“Arise, Ipsistos, thou art called unto thy office.
Thy sleep is over. The light is around thee, —
the promise of the day. Tarry not, but come.”

And a shivering fell upon the sleeper as he
heard these warning accents, and marvelled at the
increased power of the voice: and his heart sunk
within him, not as he felt unwillingness to serve as
he was bidden, but because he despaired of doing
his service fitly, by reason of his inability. And
he said to himself as he awakened, —

“Now, wherefore should I be chosen for this
mighty work? Am I not the son of the brick-maker,
— is not my extraction mean, and, of a
certainty, I have not been taught in the mysteries
of the college, nor in the divine languages of past
ages? I am but mocked with this sweet delusion,
— I do but cheat myself with the vanities of mine
own heart.”

And the voice came to his ears again from
among the pale groves, that lay behind him in the
silence of their birth-hour. And the voice was
sweeter in his ears than ever, and it was strong
also. And it cheered him with words of encouragement.

“Wherefore should'st thou doubt of thy own
fitness for the work of her whom thou lovest? I
tell thee, Ipsistos, that the servant is honored by
the service, and the work of truth takes no honor
from the proudest and the wealthiest, — nay, not
even from the wisest in the land. Thy humility

is becoming in thee, and is the best wisdom thou
canst bring to my service. But thou must be bold
too, and confident, — humble, because thou well
knowest how little is thy knowledge in respect to
truth, — bold, as it is thy purpose to have knowledge
of the truth only. Come to me in this valley
of shadow, — build here thy altars; and hither
bring the constant offering of thy heart, not of
thy hands. Come.”

And the voice melted away in his ears, and the
youth heard nothing but the murmuring of the
wind as it streamed upon its way among the
branches of the bending lindens. But he rose as
he was bidden, and went forward to the silent
dwelling of the shade from whence the sounds had
arisen. And, as his feet faltered, by reason of his
uncertainty, the voice whispered him on his true
path, and strengthened him to come.

10. X.

And Ipsistos sought the pale groves where the
voice dwelt, and he entered them with fear and
trembling. A mystery hung over them like that
which hangs above the mansion in the dreams
and darkness of the night. And a sound, like

that of a complaining water, that keeps a ceaseless
travel through all hours, and murmurs as it
has no rest, filled the groves; and he heard no
other sound. And he prayed that he might hearken
to the voice again; and it fell upon his ears
like a string smitten by the winds at a far distance;
and the youth lay upon his face and trembled, for
the words of the voice had no meaning to his ears.
But while he lay upon the earth, and moaned in
his grief, he felt the breathing of a warm air
around him; and when he looked up, lo! a bright
eye was gazing down upon him from the leaves of
the tree above his head. And he saw nothing but
the eye; but he straightway knew it for the eye of
the voice whose blessed sounds had sunk so deeply
into his heart; and he murmured a fond prayer of
thanksgiving for the blessing which had been
vouchsafed him, even according to the promise of
the voice in his behalf. “Thou shalt not see me,
— thou canst not see me, even if thou wouldst and
I were willing, — until the scales have fallen from
thine eyes, and until thou hast unlearned much
which stands in the way of thy knowledge now;
but” — and with glad heart, did he remember the
promise of the voice — “when thou givest up thy
whole soul in my service, then shall my features
come out before thee.” And the youth prayed
fervently for the consummation of the blessed promise,
for his heart was full of the beauty of the
eye which looked down upon him from the cloud,
and with the sweetness of that melodious voice
which had cheered him and led him on his rightful
path. And, even where he stood, did he build
an altar to the voice and the eye, and morning and
evening did he steal away from the press of the
city to offer up his homage to the divine spirit
which he so much loved. And the more bright
did the eye appear unto his eyes, and the more
musical the voice to his heart, so, in the like degree,
did the countenance of the goddess worshipped
by his people, put on frowns. And he now
saw what he had not seen before, that in her face
were the shadows of many passions of evil which
belonged to men. Was not her eye fixed upon
him with hate, and did she not smile upon those
whom he well knew to be base and unworthy, as
they brought her rich offerings which the hand of
violence had despoiled from the weak, and the arts
of the cunning had inveigled and taken from the
confiding. “And can the goddess be true?” asked
Ipsistos of himself, “whose judgments tally not
with justice. Shall she smile upon the wrong doer,
and share of the spoil which comes of the wrong.
Is mere power, which the wild colt hath in his
madness, — a power to destroy, — the sign of the
perfect goddess? Shall my heart receive her
laws for truth, and grow fond of her smile, when
it approves of violence, and the sin that spoils and
strikes?” And the voice in his heart answered
“No;” —and with free footsteps he hurried away
at evening to his lonely worship in the forest; and
while he prayed, a halo of light gathered about
his brow, and, looking upward, he beheld the perfect
face of the benign and blessing spirit which
he sought.

11. XI.

He saw the pefect face, and never did the vision
of his dreams, or the imaginings of his hopes,
seem half so divine or beautiful. The face looked
forth from a cloud, the edges of which were transparent
with a golden light; and as the lips opened
to speak, the words came forth in visible rays,
and the sounds fell upon his heart in melody, and
the air blossomed with odor. And the light from
her lips fell upon his own, and his soul was lifted
into the highest hope, when he heard the tones of
his own voice, and felt that they were like hers.
And he gave praises aloud to the divine spirit that

looked down upon him, and he spake in song,
even in the holy song of the prophets who had
perished for the truth. And the voice told him
that his song was sweet in her ears, and worthy of
her altars. Till the night cloud settled down upon
the pale groves where he worshipped, did Ipsistos
linger in the place which became so holy to his
heart; and wings lifted his feet that night when
he returned to the humble dwelling of his father.

Wings lifted his feet, for he had a divine purpose
in his heart.

12. XII.

“What!” he exclaimed, “shall my eyes only
look upon this gracious presence? Shall this
blessing come to me only? Is there none worthy
to share with me this joy, — to partake with me
of this glorious truth, — to live with me in the triumph
which is promised me, and which must be
mine!”

And he mused thus by the hearth of his aged
grandsire, and he saw not that the old man slept
in his seat. Then came to him Damaina, the best
beloved of all his sisters, and she threw herself
around his neck, and she said to him, —

“See, our grandsire sleepeth, Ipsistos, — he will
fall from his chair, — help me to bear him to his
couch.”

And in his heart an instant voice cried, —

“Thou art she who shall share with me this
blessing, — even thou, my gentlest Damaina; for
thy heart is pure, and thy soul loveth the truth,
and thou hast reverence for the aged, and clamorest
not in the high places with the presumption of
ignorance. Thou art worthy of this joy, Damaina.
It shall be thine.”

And he lifted his sleeping grandsire to his couch
of straw, and that night he said nothing to the
young maiden. But when the gray dawn had
risen to his summits in the east, then did Ipsistos
come to the chamber of the maiden, and he cried
to her with a persuasive voice, and these were his
words, —

“Come forth, Damaina, my beloved. I would
have thee go with me. Now, while the day is
young, and the hours are blessed with the vigor
of a night's repose, go forth with me into the forest.
I will show thee some precious flowers, and thine
eyes shall behold a loveliness which thou hast never
seen before!”

And the maiden came forth with the step that

dances to the music of a gentle heart, and a youthful
but pure fancy.

“Whither dost thou lead me, my brother? But
I care not whither. I know thy walks must be the
loveliest, for well I know how much thou seekest
the things which are so. Lead me, then, my brother,
— I will joy in the flowers which give thee
joy; and my heart shall drink of the same sweets
with thine.”

And Ipsistos rejoiced greatly because of the
fondness of the maiden.

“If she will love the things which I love,” he
mused to his own soul, “she will soon see the
glories which delight mine eye.”

And he led her to the pale groves where he worshipped;
and he shewed her the simple temple
which his hands had built. And he bowed himself
before the temple, and he called upon the
maiden to do likewise.

“Wherefore, my brother?” asked Damaina.

“It is the temple of the true goddess, my sister.
I have beheld her divine presence even among
these trees. She will be with me anon.”

But the maiden trembled, and forebore to kneel
with her brother, by whose words her soul was
confounded.

“What altar is this for the goddess, — what

true goddess is this of whom thou speakest, Ipsistos?”

“She who is truth, — whom the truth alone
makes beautiful, — makes strong, — makes immortal.”

“Ha! my brother, — but these words of thine
are strange to mine ears. Have we not long worshipped
this goddess? Stands not her white temple
upon the high hill that looks down upon the
city of our fathers.”

“No! her temple is in the white heart! It is
with you and with me, my sister, if we blind not
ourselves wilfully, and refuse not to yield our
hearts to the truth. Stay, — hear you not her
voice?”

“I hear nothing, my brother, but a faint murmur
as of a wind that sighs among the decaying
trees.”

“It is her voice! Kneel with me, dearest sister,
and the melody shall sink into your heart.”

But Damaina did not then kneel by reason of
her great surprise. But Ipsistos knelt, and he
prayed with a passionate plea that the sweet voice
should fill the ears of the sister whom he loved.
And when the maiden heard his prayer, her heart
strove within her; and she mused to herself, and
said, —

“Surely this brother loves me, — surely he is
wise and good;” — and even while he prayed she
sank down on the turf beside him, and her prayers
were joined with his. And the sound, which was
but a murmur in her ears before, now took a shape
of music, — faint at first as the first plainings of
the harp troubled by the rising wind, but gathering
into fulness at last, and swelling into expression
that will not be restrained. The heart of the
maiden trembled within her, but it was with a new-born
joy, and not with any fear, that it trembled;
and she began to love the voice with a love like
that of Ipsistos, though, to this time, she had no
knowledge of the blessed spirit which he had seen,
save by the gentle tones with which she had spoken
to her ears. Yet, all the while that she prayed
beside her brother, the face was looking down
upon them both, though the maiden beheld it not.
And the eyes of Ipsistos were opened, and he beheld
the form of the true goddess, even as she had
promised that he should behold her. And she
smiled upon him, so that he felt the wings growing
upon his shoulders, but her words were grave
in his ears.

“Thy prayer is granted thee, Ipsistos, — thou
hast seen me according to the desire of thy heart.

But thy hour is at hand, my son, — thou hast but
little time to live.”

And the youth bowed his face to the earth, and
his heart spoke in prayer.

“Art thou ready, Ipsistos? The death-angel
will demand thee soon.”

And the youth replied sadly, but without faltering,
—

“Joy of divine love, I am ready.”

And the lovely image faded away in a sweet
smile from his sight, and the music died away
among the pale groves; and the two, Ipsistos and
Damaina, rose from the place where they had
worshipped; and their souls were lifted into thought,
so that neither spoke as they took their way, with
slow feet, back to the habitation of their father.
Yet the words of the voice to Ipsistos came not
to the ears of Damaina, neither did his lips reveal
to her the doom which awaited him.

13. XIII.

And towards evening the two went again to the
place of their secret worship. But this time they
went not in secret. Eyes were upon them that regarded
not the object of their devotion, and hearts

were busy to find evil in the things which their
hearts desired. The brethren to whom Bermahdi
had given it in charge to heed the backslidings of
Ipsistos, followed with cautious footsteps upon his
path, and beheld the place where he worshipped.
And they took heed that he bent himself down before
the altar which his own hands had raised, and
that he prayed to other than the goddess of the
temple. And they hurried to the chief priest with
the tidings, and he gave them a rich bounty and
much praise for their zeal in his behalf. And he
bade them keep secret what they had seen, and
seek out more knowledge yet of the doings of Ipsistos.
And they were spies set upon their brother,
who told the chief priest of his outgoings, and followed
him from place to place. But nothing did
they say of Damaina, the sweet maiden, who
bowed with her brother before the strange altar
of his worship. And nothing did Ipsistos know
of the doings of his brothers; and he gave little
heed to his fears, that counselled him to be cautious
in what he did. For the spirit of truth which he
worshipped, worked within him, and a fire lighted
up his tongue. So that when the elders, and the
chiefs, and the rulers of the people, were gathered
together in the high places, he could not be kept
from speech, and he came to where they were assembled;
and he penetrated into the high places,
even among the mighty men of the city, the famous
in arts and arms, the sages and the lawgivers.
And he cried to them with a loud voice,
and all fear had utterly gone out of his heart. And
he told them of the wonders which his eyes had
seen, and his ears had heard, even of the wonders
of that new goddess which had vouchsafed to smile
upon one so lowly. And he prayed that they
might give heed to his counsels, that they might
be blessed also by her countenance. And he would
have led them to his place of worship, even to the
pale groves where he had raised his altar; but
they mocked at his madness, and marvelled at the
fondness of the youth.

And they were astounded, and said, one to
another —

“Who is he that speaks to us with so bold a
voice — is he not one of the dust-carriers? —
wears he not of the blue which is the cloth of the
laborer? — is he not of the suburbs — the son of
the brick-maker?”

And they drave him out from among them, and
they shut the door against his face.

14. XIV.

Then, Ipsistos, with a heart sore for his people,
went into the market-place, where were gathered
together many of his own condition, and to these
he cried aloud, and he prayed that they might give
ear to his tidings, and he promised to show them
strange things. And they were angered when
they beheld him on the eminence, and hearkened
to the words of his exhortations. And one said —

“Is not this Ipsistos, the son of the brick-maker
— and shall one of our own sort claim to be wiser
than we?”

And another cried —

“The mortar is even now upon his jacket, yet
would he talk for the magi.”

“Where should he get this impudence,” cried
a third, “to speak to us in words of counsel?
Were we not boys together — have we not often
played together on the same hill-side?”

“I know him well; he liveth in our street — he
is a fool that dreams — let us stop his mouth.”

Then came one from Bermahdi, the high priest,
who whispered in the ear of a huge man whose

anger was greater than the rest, and these were the
words of his speech —

“Thrust him down, brother, he is insolent; —
doth he pretend to be wiser than us? — thrust him
down, I tell you; — it shall be good if we do so.”

Then said another who came from Bermahdi —

“He hath reviled the goddess, whose white temple
is upon the hill — thrust him down — let the
grass grow in his mouth!”

“Stone him!” cried a third.

And the huge man, whose name was Brassid,
lifted a rock and flung it at Ipsistos, and the rock
smote the youth upon the ear and sorely wounded
him. And Ipsistos fled from the wrath of the multitude;
and he fled, not from fear but from sorrow,
as he beheld many among the multitude with whom
he had played even when a boy. And he had a
purpose in his flight, and he fled towards the pale
groves where he had raised the altar. And the
multitude pursued him, and they reviled him and
stoned him as he fled. But when the youth
reached the groves he paused in his flight, and he
turned full upon the multitude — and his eye was
lifted, and he beheld the goddess whom he worshipped,
looking down upon him from the cloud.
And the sweet voice spoke in his ears —

“Ipsistos — thy hour is come!”

“Let the hour be blessed by thee, oh! image
of divinest joy, and thy servant hath no fears. He
is ready.”

And he laid his hands upon the horns of the altar,
and he looked out upon the multitude. And
he began a song of thanksgiving and of praise,
though their voices were bitter with revilings. And
they rushed upon him where he stood, and they
tore him from the horns of the altar. With a
blind fury they set upon him, and the strong men
seized each of them a limb. And Brassid was the
man who bade them do violence upon him. And
they dragged the youth to and fro, and they rent
his limbs apart, and scattered them asunder even
while the life struggled in his bosom. And when
they had done the deed, they were confounded,
and knew not what they had done. But Brassid,
the strong, who was of a mean craft, he laughed
to scorn the confusion of the multitude. And
with loud cries he rushed upon the altar which Ipsistos
had raised with his own hands, and he would
have torn the altar from its place, but a sudden fear
seized upon him. For a bright eye looked out
upon him from the cloud, with a look of exceeding
sorrow; and the sounds of a sad voice came
upon his ears like a passing wind; and these were
the words of the voice —

“What! ye have slain your master — he who
hath wrought for you; and now would you destroy
his work? Go! — but come to me at evening.”

And none saw the eye, or heard the voice, but
Brassid, and, for a brief time, he was too greatly
astonished to speak. And the people would have
rushed upon the altar even as he had done, but he
stayed their fury:

“Enough! Wherefore should we pull down
this pile which is but of wood, and the work of him
whom we have destroyed. Let it stand, in token
of his folly.”

And he led the multitude back to the city, but
the voice went with him.

15. XV.

And the aged man, the grandsire of Ipsistos,
died that night by reason of his exceeding grief;
and the house of the brethren was the house of
mourning. But Damaina, the young sister of Ipsistos,
she stayed not to join with them in the song
of lamentation. Her heart was with Ipsistos, by
the lonely altar, among the pale groves of the
forest. And though it was a fear of the wrath of
the multitude that kept the brethren away from

seeking his mangled remains to give them burial,
yet no such fear stayed the footsteps of Damaina.
And she went forth from the dwelling when no
one beheld her, and with a sorrow that was beyond
any dread of what the vengeance of man could do,
and she sought out the place of worship in the
forest, even among the dusky shadows of the night.
And lo! when she came to the spot, a bright halo
was shining above the altar. And wherever a
limb of Ipsistos had fallen, there also hung a silver
light; and by this token the maiden well knew that
the lovely goddess smiled upon the purpose which
was in her heart. And the maiden gathered up
the scattered remains, and she looked about for a
place to lay them; and even while she looked, the
earth opened before her at the foot of the altar,
and a flame, like a flame from heaven, came down
and hung above the place. Then did Damaina
see the meaning of the goddess whom her brother
had loved, and she laid his bleeding limbs therein.
And the earth closed over them when she had
done, and she prayed with a fond heart above the
grave. And her prayer was accepted, and she
saw the bright face looking down upon her, even
as it had looked down upon Ipsistos; and by this
sign did the maiden know that the blessing of truth
was growing perfected in her heart. And while
she kneeled before the altar she heard the footsteps
of one approaching, and she would have risen in
fear, and fled from the place, because of the night.
But the voice of the goddess commanded her to
stay and fear nothing.

“He who cometh,” said the voice, “is a worshipper
like thyself. He will do thee no manner
of harm.”

And it was Brassid that came; he who led the
multitude against Ipsistos; and the maiden trembled
when she beheld him in spite of the promise
of the goddess. But Brassid approached the altar
with a trembling greater than her own. And
the strong man humbled himself with his face in
the dust ere he drew nigh unto the altar. He
had no strength in his limbs because of the guilt
in his heart, and he prayed like one who repenteth
and is full of sorrow for his misdeeds. Then Damaina,
the maiden, had pity of his sufferings, even
though he smote her brother, and she prayed to
the goddess in his behalf. And he cried, —

“Who art thou that pleadest for a wretch like
me. Know'st thou not that blood is on my hands,
— even the blood of the good and the innocent?”

Then the maiden answered him, saying, —

“I am the maiden Damaina, even she, the best
beloved sister of Ipsistos, whom thy hand hath

slain; but if thou weepest for that deed, shall I
not forgive thee, with a heart as tender of mercy
as thine own? Bear witness, oh, beautiful goddess
whom my brother loved, bear witness that I forgive
this unhappy man, — even from my inmost
heart do I forgive him.”

While thus she prayed before the altar, the pale
groves were lighted up with a sudden glory; and
the two beheld the bright face, and the lovely features
of the goddess, and her words came to them
in authority. And she bade the man, even Brassid
who slew Ipsistos, draw nigh to the altar, and
when he came as he was commanded, and bowed
by the side of Damaina, lo! it was the form of
Ipsistos that stood between them, — and the image
of the youth smiled sweetly upon him, even upon
Brassid his murderer, and his words were these in
his ears:

“Thou hast driven me from the work which
was assigned me, — it is commanded that thou
labor to the fulfilment thereof. Go, therefore, and
the smile of the goddess be with thee; — in my
blood shalt thou find a cement which shall build a
stronger and a higher temple than the white temple
upon the hill.”

And Ipsistos spake nothing to Damaina, but

he looked upon her with a smile of blessing and
love, and so passed from her sight.

16. XVI.

And from that hour a power seemed given unto
Brassid to work great things. And he went
among the people of his craft in the market place,
and he taught them, so that they hearkened with
reverence to his voice. And the people came to
hear him from all quarters of the city, and after
hearing him they went away sad and thoughtful.
Day by day, and night by night, without weariness
and without fear, did Brassid teach along the
highways, of the wonders which he had seen, and
the greater wonders which he had heard, and a
power was given to him of the goddess, so that
whoso came to hear, though it were in scorn only,
remained to do homage to the wondrous truths
which he brought, and followed him, by reason of
this homage, whithersoever he went. And the
numbers increased daily of those who followed him.
Then did the chief men of the city hold counsel
with the priests of the temple upon the hill, how
best to overcome this preacher of strange doctrines.
And they sent persons against them with

authority to seize and punish. But the multitude
rose up in defence of Brassid, even as they had
risen against Ipsistos at his summons, and they
pelted the servants of the temple with stones, and
they ran furiously upon the temple. And they
dragged the goddess from her throne, and they
drove forth the priests from within it. And Brassid
bade them smite the head from the false goddess,
and drag her carcass in the dust. And they
tore the white temple asunder, so that one stone
stood not up against another. And when this had
been done, then did Brassid bid them bring the
white marble of the temple to the pale groves
where Ipsistos had built his altar, and they raised
a temple loftier than that upon the hill, and they
raised it even over the grave of Ipsistos whom they
had slain. And in the temple over against the altar
there descended a divine form from heaven,
but over the face thereof hung a bright and shining
veil; and on the veil was written these
words:

“To those, only, who, like Ipsistos, love me ere
yet they have known me, my veil shall be uplifted.”

And the people built a high monument to the
memory of Ipsistos with the huge stones with
which they had slain him; and Brassid wrote the

inscription upon the monument, which was as follows:

But Damaina, the sister of Ipsistos, beheld nothing
of these things. They saw her not after
that hour when the goddess had given it in charge
to Brassid to complete the labor of Ipsistos. And
they raised for her a tomb beside that of her brother,
but left open the door thereof, as thinking
she might yet come. But to this day she came
not.