Torchbearer (Scene 6)

by 

Catherine Proppe


Sophia enters the theater back stage, kisses Eirene, and sends her off to play with the other children in the stands.

Agnas is supervising the performance of the Hymn to Aphrodite. When she sees Sophia, she hastens over.

“Good morning, Mother,” she says.

“Good morning, my dear.”

“As you can see, my scenery is half-finished, while all the city’s carpenters are busy at work rebuilding the grainary you torched yesterday.”

“Now, now, dear. They are almost finished.”

“And I have to use actresses to play the parts of the male characters. Half my musicians are gone, the men pressed into service as guards and some kind of makeshift army.”

“We all suffer in times of war.”

“War? Is that what this is? Since the beginning of time, a truce is called for The Mysteries, and the first time I am in charge my mother starts a war right in the middle of things?”

“Your Mysteries will go down in history as the greatest performance of all time. The Mysteries that turned the tide against the Christians and this monotheistic nonsense.

“Now, dear, please perform the Hymn to Athena. The people are watching. We must invoke the warrior Goddess.”

“Oh, for Deo’s sake,” says Agnas.

Agnas interrupts the Hymn to Aphrodite with applause. “That is good, very good. Thank you.” She bustles about the stage as Sophia joins the elders in the audience.

As the performers prepare for the Hymn to Athena, a conversation ensues among the elders.

“Tell me about this Alaric,” Sophia says.

“Presbis, there is good news and bad news.”

“Tell me some good news, please.”

“The good news is, Theodosius, the Roman Emperor, is dead and his sons are weaklings.”

“That is good news.”

“The bad news is –“

“Wait. Let us savor that for a moment.” A pause, a smile. “Go on.”

“His son, Arcadius, has been given rule over Greece and Egypt, but, because Arcadius is weak, his wife rules in his stead.”

“I would put that in the good news column.”

“She is a champion of Christianity.”

“Why would a woman embrace a religion that hates the Goddess?”

“I don’t know, Sophia Theia.”

“She is a Roman first, a woman second,” says Sophia.

“She allied with Alaric against her own military commander because she fears that the commander will become too powerful. She ordered Stilicho to stand down against Alaric’s forces in the north, in Thessaly.

“Now, with Stilicho out of the picture, there is nothing stopping Alaric.

“Alaric has laid waste to every town north of here. Every city save Thebes.”

“He is a road warrior.”

“Theia?”

“He fights on land. Our ports have nothing to fear.”

THE HYMN TO ATHENA COMMENCES ON STAGE

“Thebes stood against him?”

“Yes.”

“And Alaric is now entertained in Athens?”

“Yes, Theia.”

“Then Thebes is our best hope for an alliance. Dispatch an emissary to Thebes. We wish to honor their victory in extraordinary fashion.”

“How will we honor them?”

“Let me think.” Sophia watched the spectacle of the Hymn to Athena fill the stage.

“Eleusis will honor them as never before,” she said.

Athena stood triumphant on the stage.

“A Theban will serve as hierophant of the Mysteries this year.”

“Sophia, Theia, it cannot be done.”

“With a Theban as hierophant, Thebes will send warriors to defend the Mysteries.”

“Your family has always served as hierophant. It is not possible.”

“We all suffer in times of war.”

The Constitutional Order
by Solon (c 600 BCE)

Never will our city be destroyed by Zeus' decree,


Nor by the will of the bless'd immortal [Goddesses and] Gods,


For, born of a potent father, great-hearted guardian


Pallas Athena spreads her hands o'er our city


But, by money seduced, the Athenians themselves


Seek mindlessly to corrupt the great city,


Joined by the iniquitous schemes of their leaders,


Who from arrogance great woes shall suffer:


For they understand not how to restrain gluttony,


Nor best to order their feasting in quiet.



(The Greek manuscript breaks off here; a fragment
refers to "corrupt ones becoming rich."
)

Sparing neither sacred ground nor public goods,


Greedily they steal from the one place or the other.


They fail to protect the rev'rend temples of Justice [Dike],


She who notes silently the "what is and what has been,”

Who in time shall come exacting retribution.


Behold, an inex'rable harm visits all Athens:


To vile slavery is she swiftly progressed,


Which rouses up from slumber civil strife and war


War that wipes out for many their cherished youth;


Now our much-loved city is soon worn down by faction,


While the wicked stir them to confrontations.


These evils ensnare the whole people; but the poor,


Many of them, depart to a foreign land,


Plundered, and bound up in shameful fetters.


For the slave's yoke bears all other wickedness.


Thus does the public evil come home to each of us:


Straining, the courtyard gates no longer hold fast,


The evil leaps o'er the high walls; it finds everyone,


Even him fleeing to the inmost chamber.



This my soul commands me teach the Athenians:


A bad constitution brings civic turmoil,


But a good one shows well-ordering and coherence,


As it puts shackles 'round about wrong-doing


It smoothes out the rough; it checks greed, tempers hubris,


And withers the fruits of reckless impulse.


It takes crooked judgments and makes them straight,


Softens arrogant deeds, halts seditious acts,


And ends the bile of grievous strife. And so under it,


Everything for mankind becomes whole and wise.

EUNOMIA is the goddess of good order and lawful conduct. She is associated with the internal stability of a state, including the enactment of good laws.

Eunomia by Solon (c 600 BCE)

These things my spirit bids me

teach the men of Athens:

that Dysnomia

brings countless evils for the city,

but Eunomia brings order

and makes everything proper,

by enfolding the unjust in fetters,

smoothing those things that are rough,

stopping greed,

sentencing hubris to obscurity

making the flowers of mischief to whither,

and straightening crooked judgments.

She calms the deeds of arrogance

and stops the bilious anger of harsh strife.

Under Her control, all things are proper

and prudence reigns human affairs. 

A Homeric Hymn, trans. by P.B.Shelley

O Universal Mother, who dost keep


From everlasting thy foundations deep,


Eldest of things, Great Earth, I sing of thee!


All shapes that have their dwelling in the sea,


All things that fly, or on the ground divine


Live, move, and there are nourished... these are thine;


These from thy wealth thou dost sustain; from thee


Fair babes are born, and fruits on every tree


Hang ripe and large, revered Divinity!

The life of mortal men beneath thy sway


Is held; thy power both gives and takes away!


Happy are they whom thy mild favors nourish;


All things unstinted round them grow and flourish.


For them, endures the life-sustaining field


Its load of harvest, and their cattle yield


Large increase, and their house with wealth is filled.


Such honoured dwell in cities fair and free,


The homes of lovely women, prosperously;


Their sons exult in youth's new budding gladness,


And their fresh daughters free from care or sadness,


With bloom-inwoven dance and happy song,


On the soft flowers the meadow-grass among,


Leap round them sporting... such delights by thee


Are given, rich Power, revered Divinity.

Mother of Gods, thou Wife of starry Heaven,


Farewell! be thou propitious, and be given


A happy life for this brief melody,


Nor thou nor other songs shall unremembered be.

Torchbearer

A Work-in-Progress

by

Catherine R. Proppe
United States of America
GreekAlphabetSecrets@gmail.com
 


 

 
Title: Torchbearer

Logline: Torchbearer is a drama in which Sophia, an elder ambassador in 4th century Eleusis, Greece, defends the city against the onslaught of Christianity while her daughter (stage director) rehearses the venerable Eleusinian Mysteries (Hymns of Orpheus) in a 20,000-seat ampitheatre. Meanwhile, Alaric's Christian army bears down, intent on destroying the city and the Mysteries of the Goddess.
 
Scene: Eleusis, Greece 396 CE

Characters:

Sophia - grandmother, ambassador, elder

Agnas Eumolpas  - mother, hereditary Director of Eleusinian Mysteries

Hellen - eldest daughter, training as torchbearer

Eirene – youngest daughter, learning the alphabet

Alaric – head of Christian army, destroys Eleusis


1st Scene

"Keep your arm up. Keep it up!"

Hellen is walking about ten yards ahead, her right arm extended straight up, holding an unlit torch.

"Tell her to drop her shoulders down and back," Sophia tells Agnas. But before Agnas can shout the directive, Hellen's shoulders melt down her back, as if by magic, and her arm extends higher than it has all afternoon. The two women scan the crowded marketplace. (Describe crowd here.) 

Sure enough, taller than most boys his age, his face framed in dark curls, a young man’s eyes lock on Hellen, an unabashed smile on his face. Hellen's face turns ever-so-slightly toward him as they pass.

"And that works, too," says Sophia. The young man stands strong and proud, he stands with confidence. "She could do worse."

"She could do better," says Agnas.

The crowd parts before Hellen as they make their way to the theater. 

"You must begin Eirene's grammar lessons tomorrow," murmurs Sophia.

"The festival commences in two weeks, Mother," says Agnas. “Dress rehearsals begin in a week. My Aphrodite is hobbling around on a twisted ankle. There are a million details with the costumes. My special effects crew wants to try something new this year that could blow up half the audience. It’s not the best time to teach my youngest daughter the alphabet!”

"She is seven now, and the new moon is tonight. It is best to begin on the new moon," says Agnas. She looks into her daughter's face. "What are you so worried about? I will teach her. You have too much to do. I am her grandmother. I will teach her. Look, Hellen's arm is sagging again."

"Keep it up!" Agnas shouts.


*****


The women each pluck a single leaf from the eucalyptus tree outside the amphitheater, crush it between their fingers, and toss it onto the fire in the hearth on the circular stage, an offering to Hestia. 

Hellen pantomimes lighting the hearth fire with the torch she carries and then poses at the foot of the stage, still holding the torch overhead. 
Sophia sinks into a seat near the tenth row while Agnas scans the scene with a practiced eye.

Everyone looks busy, very busy, so busy that she suspects someone has alerted them to her approach, but that is okay. She has to inspire fear to get them to perform the heights of perfection required.

The chorus rehearses under the practiced eye of the choreographer, circling and stepping in the ancient steps passed down for generations. The orchestra has broken up into section drills, lyres in one section, flutes in another, percussionists in the stands. Carpenters hammer and saw away at scenery props, competing with the orchestra for dominance. The hymnists trill scales.

Agnas claps her hands twice. Instantly, the sounds fall away. The dancers cease. All eyes turn to her, all eyes but Hellen’s. She stands poised in front, center stage.

“That will do for now, Hellen,” Agnas says. Hellen relaxes visibly. She exits the stage to join her grandmother in the seating area. She rests her head on her grandmother’s shoulder. Sophia gently massages her granddaughter’s torchbearing arm.

“This is a disaster,” says Agnas, her clear voice carrying perfectly throughout the 20,000 seat amphitheater. “Nothing is right. Don’t plan on being home for dinner tonight. Let’s get on with it.”

Several stage managers approach her with reports and she disappears into her creation.

Sophia’s presence in the theater has not gone unnoticed. Slowly, gradually, the elders observing the rehearsals make their way toward Sophia. The most honored first, greeting her, commenting on the weather, asking after her health. Soon, Sophia’s circle includes some two dozen elders, inquiring of her and exchanging pleasantries. 

Hellen quickly bores of their small talk and excuses herself to watch the dancers’ choreography. Eirene races up and down the stands with the other children.

“Presbis, Sophia Theia, there are rumors,” says the person seated closest to Sophia. His opening seems to unleash a floodgate. 

(As they speak, images of the destruction and carnage flash.)

“They have destroyed the Museum in Alexandria.”

“They burned the Library at Alexandria to the ground.”

“500,000 scrolls. Destroyed.”

“They are torturing scholars in Egypt. Hypatia. She is dead. They dragged her from her chariot, they stripped her naked--

“They dragged her into their church, they threw her on the floor--

“They flogged her with broken bits of tile, flaying her until she was dead--

“They dragged her mutilated body and burned her in a bonfire in Kinaron--”

“Stop!” commands Sophia. “What is the source of these rumors?”

“There are many sources, Theia.”

Sophia looks from eye to eye. Sober faces. Fear.

“They say there is only one god, their god, their god and his son.”

“They say there is no divine mother. No daughter. Only a father and a son. They say the Goddess is evil. That Earth is evil.”

“Why would anyone believe such nonsense?!”

“They say there is only one book, their book. They say all other books are evil.”

“Sophia Theia, their message is dangerous.”

“No one would believe!” she protests.

“But, Sophia Theia. Their message. It is simple.”

Sophia’s eyes darken. “Simple.”

“You know the power of the simple message, Presbis.”

“Yes,” Sophia says solemnly. And then, “I built a career on it,” she says, almost unintelligibly, looking down into her lap.

Her chin snaps up. “We must summon our messengers,” she says.

Instantly, two dozen index fingers are raised and crooked. One by one, the children playing tag up and down the steps notice the signal and race over. One by one, each child receives a coin, a name, and instructions. The children run off, jostling to be first to return with their charge. The elders settle into a companionable but troubled silence. 

Only the sounds of Agnas’ assistant barking stage directions, the saws and hammers of the scenery crew, and the tuneful reed break the silence in the vast amphitheater.


 *****

Sophia moves silently through the dark house before sunrise, making her way to Eirene’s small bed on the main floor. She gently strokes the girl’s face until the child wakes, eyes flickering, looking for meaning. This is how her own grandmother had woken Sophia so many years ago, in the hour before dawn on the first morning of the crescent moon of her seventh year. She pictures it as though it were yesterday.

“Maia?” says the child.

“Come, my sweet. Today you begin your lessons.” She wraps the child in a thick blanket and guides her through the house, the sounds of their footsteps barely making a sound on the polished floors.

They make their way through the dark streets, artisans and bakers greeting Sophia on their way to the shore. The child looks wide-eyed at the sights of the village at this early hour. So many people up before dawn. 

When they reach the beach, they remove their sandals. The sand feels cool underfoot. The wind ripples the water’s surface. Sophia sinks to her knees about 20 feet from the water’s edge, pulling Eirene beside her.

“It’s cold, Maia,” the child says, snuggling her face into the space between her grandmother’s face and shoulder.

“Yes. That is right. It is cold,” Sophia states emphatically.

Sophia uses her hands to smooth a level space in the sand, a space large enough to begin the first day’s lesson.

“Look out there,” Sophia points toward the burgeoning sunrise. “What do you see, Eirene?” she asks.

“I see the water, Maia.” 

“And what else?”

“The sky?” 

“Yes. That is right. You see the water and the sky.” Sophia draws a long horizontal line in the sand in the space she has just cleared. “This,” she says, “is the horizon line. It is the line that separates the sky from the earth, the sky from the sea. Now, you may draw some waves below the line to indicate the ocean.”

She watches as the child draws little squiggles in the sand to represent water. When she breaks through the horizon line she holds her breath and looks at her grandmother.

“It is fine. See? You can smooth it over and start again.” 

The sky above the horizon glows yellow to orange. 

“It’s so pretty,” the little girl says.

“That is Auge,” says Sophia.

“I know, Maia.”

“That is good. You know. Now, soon, what will happen?”

The child looks at her questioningly. 

“Helios will arise over the horizon!” Sophia said, as though it is the most wonderful thing on earth. “Now, an easy question: Which way does the sun go in the morning, my meleema? Does it go up or down?”

“It goes up, Maia.”

“That is right. Everybody knows it. The sun comes from below the horizon and arises over it.” Sophia no sooner says the words than the first rays of sun break the horizon, as beautiful and perfect as every day since the beginning of time.

“Now,” she says, “draw an arrow pointing up.”

The child draws an arrow in the squiggly area of the sand indicating the sea. 

“Draw another one in the sky.”

The child does as she is told.

“And now, draw an arrow that goes right through the horizon line.”

The child draws an arrow with its legs beneath the horizon line and its apex in the sky.

“You see? You have drawn the letter A. You have drawn the letter alpha!” Sophia claps her hands together and hugs her grandchild tight. “You have learned your first letter!”

*****

Hellen, the eldest girl, a beauty, chats with her friends near the city fountain. She holds two loafs of bread in a market basket dangling from her forearm.

The handsome young man from the day before approaches her.

“Hellen,” he says. Her friends move away. “I know only one utterly beautiful thing,” he says. “My hungry eyes know only one thing.” [Meleager]

She smiles and touches his cheek gently with the back of the fingers of one hand. “In my dream the folds of a purple kerchief shadowed your cheeks,” she says to him. [Sappho]

He groans. “Come with me,” he urges. “To the cove?” he pleads.

“But, the bread for my family. The rehearsals,” she protests.

“Bread, rehearsals. What about us?”

“My mother . . .” she says.

He mouths the word “mother,” looking down at the ground and scowling. “Tonight?” he says. He cups Hellen’s face in his hands. “To everything else, I am blind,” he says. [Meleager]

She looks around and sees her group of friends watching them.

“I have to go,” she says.

“Tonight?” he says.

“I have to go.”


“Now, the letter beta.”

Sophia smooths out the sand once again. “Sit,” she tells her granddaughter. 

The child sits down. 

“When you sat down, where did you sit?”

“On the ground?”

“That is right. You sat on the ground. On Ge, the earth. But what part of your body sat on the ground?”

“My bottom.”

“That is right. Your butt!”

The child giggles.

“You sat on the ground with your butt. This what a butt looks like.” Sophia draws the letter beta in the sand. “Now, draw a butt,” she tells the child.

The child draws the letter beta.

“And when you take a step, what is that called? What is a step?”

“A basis.”

“Yes, a basis. A basis is a step.”

“Everybody knows that, Maia.”

“That is right! Everybody knows it. And what is the base of a statue called?”

“The bomos?”

“Right. And ‘basagei,’ what does it mean?”

“The ground.”

“Yes. The ‘base of Ge.’ Now, if I wanted to measure how deep the water is, the deepest point is called the ‘bathos.’ Do you know what ‘buthos’ means?”

“The bottom?”

“Very good. You are learning. Beta means the basis. That is why these words begin with the letter beta. 

“On the night you were born, your father and I came here, right here, to this very beach. And we watched the sun set and we waited to see the stars, we wanted to know your basis, the sign rising at the time of your birth. Of course, we already knew that your sign was Leo, the Lion, but it is right and good on the night the child is born to watch for her sign on the horizon. We watched, we saw, we talked about your fate, your ‘bankon.’ Your ‘bankon’ is your destiny.”

“What is my destiny, Maia?”

Sophia grasps Eirene by her shoulders and looks into her eyes. “Your destiny is to be strong. Fierce. Stronger than anything. Stronger than a bull.”

“Am I strong, Maia?”

“Yes, you are strong. The Lion draws the carriage for the Divine Mother, that is why the sign of the Lion appears first, then the sign of the Mother. She rides in a chariot drawn by lions. Let me hear you growl.”

“Growl,” the child says in a mock fierce voice.

“I am a bull,” Sophia puts her index fingers above her head like horns. “I am going to attack the Divine Mother. I am charging toward her. My bull horns are lowered toward her, what do you do---“

“GROWL!”  the child shouts, her hands hooked like claws.

Sophia laughs. “Yes. That is good.” She laughs and puts her arm around the child. “That is very good.”

“What is your basis, Maia?”

A shadow comes over Sophia’s animated expression. “On the night of my birth, my father did not come to see my sign on the horizon.”

“Why, Maia?”

“My mother did not survive my birth. It happens. It is the way of things. Sometimes with birth, comes death. With death, comes birth. The sun rises. It sets. It rises again.”

“So you don’t have a sign?”

“Of course I have a sign. Everyone has a basis. My eldest brother went to the beach with my Maia.”

“Great Uncle Tim?”

“Yes, Great Uncle Tim.”

“Did Great Uncle Max and  ___ and ___  and ___ and___ and ___ go with him?”

“No, Great Uncle ___ and ___ were just little, they were bare-bottomed-babies! They were too little to go. Uncle Tim went to the shore with my Maia. They watched for the signs. My sign is Platigks, the Scales of Justice. Your mother was born under Capricorn, the horned pig.”

“And Hellen?”

“Your sister’s basis is Karkinos.”

“Is that a good sign?”

“The crab? The crab?” Sophia crab walks a few steps. “Let me see you walk like a crab. Can you? Look at Maia, I walk like a crab.” Sophia crab-walks with a bit more dexterity than one would expect from an old woman. “Can you walk like a crab?”

The child crab-walks. Sophia sits on the sand, laughing and clapping. An aged fisherman walks up.

“I will catch that crab and use it for bait,” he teases, pretending to approach Eirene.

“Oh, no! Eirene! Come to Maia! Maia will protect you!”

The child runs into her grandmother’s arms and hugs her, not sure if she should be afraid or not. Sophia and the fisherman laugh.

“Kalimera,” Sophia says to the man.

“Kalimera, Theia,” he says. He continues down the beach toward the docks.

“And now, I have something for you,” says Sophia. She searches in the folds of her gown.

“A present?”

“A present? Yes. A gift. A gift from Ge, the Divine Mother. She gives us all gifts. All gifts.”

Sophia holds a small item wrapped in cloth and tied with flax. Her gnarled fingers struggle to untie the string.

“Here, Maia, I will do it,” says Eirene.

The child unties the string to reveal a very small ceramic pot filled with dirt. Her face falls. Not a toy.

“The pot, it is filled with Ge, with dirt, a small bit of earth. Inside the dirt I have placed a seed. When the mother plant gives up her seed, the seed must go to the earth, to the Divine Mother, to be nourished so that the seed can grow. The roots go down into the earth, the sprout goes up, toward the sun and the rain, toward Helios and Zeus. When your seed sprouts, it will look like this.”

Sophia smooths the sand near her with a sense of urgency. She draws the letter gamma. “What letter is that?” she asks.

“Gamma?”

“Yes. That is the letter gamma. That is what a sprout looks like when it comes out of Ge.” She draws the letter E to form the word “GE.”  

“And now I will tell you one more story. This you must learn, and then we will go to the baker for treats.

“These are the words of Hesiod, from 1000 years ago. Say, ‘Hesiod.’”

“Hesiod.”

“Now, listen and repeat: 

“’Verily at the first Chaos came to be . . . “

The child repeats the words.

“’But next wide-bosomed Earth, the ever-sure foundation . . .’”

She repeats.

“’Of all.’”

“’Of all.’”

“Now, again.” They repeat the exercise.

Sophia gets up from the sand, takes the little girl’s hand, and they walk back toward the town, continuing the repetition as they walk.


As soon as the old woman and her granddaughter near the city, walking hand in hand, it is clear that something big is amiss.

Trumpets are sounding. Drums are pounding at a deliberate beat. A procession of Roman soldiers in full regalia on horseback streams toward the marketplace.

Townspeople follow the line of soldiers. Something big is happening.

“What is it?” people say to Sophia when they see her.

Sophia pretends not to hear their inquiries. Stone-faced, she walks with Eirene to the town square, where a podium has been set up above the crowd. Pushed and shoved in the jostling for position in the crowd, Sophia stumbles. 

The young man who had caught Hellen’s eye the day before sees them. “Sophia Theia! Eirene!” he calls. He hastens toward them. “Come with me,” he says.

He leads them up a staircase into a building with an open balcony where they can see the crowd and the podium. 

Finally, a contingent of seven horsemen ride to the podium and one of the riders alights. A gong sounds. A hush falls over the crowd.

The herald stands at the podium, and with a clear and ringing voice, announces his authority with a string of epithets:

“On the authority of Flavius Theodosius Augustus

“Emperor Triumphant

“Son of Valentinian

“Defeater of the Usurper Eugenius at the Battle of Frigidus

“Slayer of the Polis of Thessalonica

“Victor in the Battle of Maximus

“Defender of the Catholic Church

“Founder of the Capitol in Constantinople

“Emperor of Catholicism

“Sole Emperor of the Empire

“Champion of the Christian Faith

“Destroyer of the Serapeum at Alexandria

“Destroyer of the Temples of Syria

“Destroyer of the Temples of Carthage

“Destroyer of the Temple of Delphi

“Prohibitor of the Games of Olympus

“Hereby, let it be known that henceforth and forever more  

“The Mysteries of Demeter are forbidden henceforth and forever more.

“The temples shall be closed henceforth and forever more.

A murmur sets up through the crowd. The gong is sounded again.

“Entrance to any temple is forbidden henceforth and forever more.

“Gazing upon a statue is forbidden henceforth and forever more.

“Offerings within any home are forbidden henceforth and forever more.

“All domestic shrines shall be destroyed henceforth and forever more.“

“By the power of the Roman Imperial Empire, champion of the One God, the True God:

“The Eleusinian Mysteries are forbidden henceforth and forevermore.”

The speaker jumps back onto his horse and the regalia of horsemen begin their parade through the center of the city and out of town.

Sophia looks out on the square.

“What does it mean, Maia?” her granddaughter asks.

“Sophia Theia?” says the young man.

Sophia looks out on the crowd, stone-faced and silent. Some people see her on the balcony. “Sophia Theia!” they cry. “Sophia Theia!” Many eyes turn to her. Slowly, she raises her right hand and extends her index finger and crooks it. The elders in the crowd do the same. 

Sophia descends from the balcony and begins walking toward the theater, the elders and others in her wake. “Sophia Theia, let me carry you,” says a man with a carriage. 
 
They arrive at the interior of the theater where Agnas is supervising the orchestra and dancers.

A stream of children, messengers, run to the farthest rows of the theater, and, unusually silent, await their instructions.

Agnas stops the rehearsal. “What is this?” she asks when her mother and more than a hundred elders settle into the seats of the theater.

“Bring us something to eat and to drink,” Sophia says.

“Let us honor our elders,” Agnas announces.  Servants begin dispensing food and beverages to the elders.

Hellen comes running into the theater. “Mother, what shall we do?” she cries.

Agnas looks toward Sophia. “What is this all about?” she asks.

“The Emperor has outlawed The Mysteries,” Sophia says.  

“We must send a delegation to the Senate,” she continues. She crooks her finger and the oldest boy messenger runs up. “Go to the Senate and tell the magistrate that a Council of Elders wishes to convene there tomorrow at 10 o’clock,” she tells the boy. She writes something on a piece of parchment and hands the boy a candle. “Light this,” she orders him. The boy lights the candle from the altar of Hestia and brings it back to Sophia. She folds the parchment, drips candle wax on the flap, blows on it, and seals the document with the insignia from her ring.

“We must prepare our arguments,” she says. 

The elders begin to break up into smaller groups, parchment papers and pens in hand.

“Another foolish edict from Rome,” says Agnas, center stage. “As if these foreigners could ever bring an end to the Mysteries. Not on my watch,” she says. 

“Play it again!” she says. The musicians begin a raggedy rendition. Agnas bangs her baton on a drum rim. 

Silence. 

“And. We. Begin,” she says, holding both hands aloft in front of her. With a downstroke, the music commences.

*******
Alaric processes into Athens in a grand spectacle. He is greeted by dignitaries in front of the Parliament. Politicians rush down the steps to greet him.

He waves and smiles at the cheering crowd.
 ***********

Under the morning sun the marketplace of Eleusis is in full swing. Cartloads of corn and other grains rumble through the city. The threshing floor is covered with wheat.

The elders process through the crowded market, a boy with a drum goes before them to set the pace with his drumbeat. The crowd parts and bows.

The elders climb the stairs, past statues that have been covered with sheets, and process into the Senate Chambers, where the nine senators sit at the dais.

The boy with the drum cries out, “The Council of Elders, my lords.”

“The Council of Elders is so recognized,” says the president of the Senate.

“Presbis Sophia Eumolpas, daughter of Timaeus!” the boy announces.

Sophia stands up and begins her speech. “Honorable Senators, distinguished Hellenes. 

“Yesterday morning, at sunrise, I began my granddaughter’s lessons in the alphabeta.

“She learned that gamma is the letter for our Mother Earth, Ge, our Mother who gives us all things.

“Today, she will learn the letter delta, the letter of direction. It is the letter of our Mother Demeter, the Directing Mother.  

“Because of Mother Demeter we are born, we survive, we have the promise of eternal happiness after death.

“Of all the great cities of Greece, Demeter chose to make Eleusis her home.

“Every year, since the earliest meetings of the Amphictyonic Council, before records were kept, all Hellenes honor Queen Deo, the Director of Life and Law through her Mysteries at Eleusis.

“Even as I speak, delegations from the far corners of Greece arrive in Eleusis to deliver first fruit offerings to Queen Deo. To participate in her Divine Mysteries.

“Because of Mother Demeter, the grainary is near full to capacity.

“Because of Mother Demeter, the threshing floor groans with grain.

“Because of Mother Demeter, the Rarian Plains await the first tip of the plough pole.

“All of Greece looks to the great city of Eleusis to fulfill the sacred promise to honor Mother Demeter and her Divine Daughter, Kore.

“But, yesterday afternoon, a foreign delegation, a delegation of soldiers from Italy, under the command of an Emperor from Spain, made a foolish pronouncement and left, like cowards.

“Our obligation is to our Mother Demeter, to Eleusis, and to all the Hellenes, to all of Greece, to all of the world.

“Let the Romans have their Roman God.

“Eleusis must keep the torch of Liberty alive.”

Applause, shouts of approval.

The presiding Senator stands up, revealing a cross sewn into his robe.

“Honored elders, Sophia Theia, you have brokered many peace treaties and negotiated the terms to end many battles. Eleusis is indebted to your service. 

“But a new dawn is upon us.

“Athens has opened its doors to Alaric’s Christian army. Athens is in concert with Emperor Theodosius. City upon city has cast aside the old ways---“

“Have been tortured into submission!” an elder man shouts.

The elder man is removed by guards while the President continues speaking.

“The old temples have been converted to worship of the God Jesus—“

“They have been destroyed by Christian armies!” the old man manages to shout before he is removed from the room.

“I will tolerate no more outbursts,” the President states grimly.

“Let it be known that today I will announce a new decree. No one shall worship the Goddesses and Gods within the home. Private worship is forbidden. Private altars shall be destroyed.

“All of Greece unites with Rome under the Father and the Son. All grains of Greece and Rome are consecrated to the Father and the Son.

“There is no place for the old ways of the Mother and the Daughter.

“The Eleusinian Mysteries are no more.”

He bangs his gavel.

A murmur crescendos in the hall.

“Ksi,” says Sophia, as she stands. The elders process out of the Senate hall. A crowd has gathered at the foot of the steps. The elders process through the crowd. They make eye contact with individuals in the crowd and say, “Ksi.” The crowd begins to repeat the word, “ksi, kisi.”

The Senate leaders look at one another, they don’t know what it means. A gong sounds. The presiding Senator steps forward at the top of the Senate steps.

“God, our heavenly father, has blessed us with an abundant harvest! Tomorrow, we will begin dispersing his grain to the citizens of Eleusis, and then, throughout the Empire. Praise be to Jesus!”

The other Senators echo, “Praise be to Jesus!” but the crowd begins to disperse as though nothing had been said, the murmur of “ksi” still present. 

By the time the procession of elders reaches the theater, the theater seats are packed to capacity. A hymn to Demeter is being performed on the stage. The elders take seats on the stage.

At the completion of the hymn, the elders applaud, and the crowd follows suit.

Agnas takes center stage. Her mother says to her in a low voice, “The Senate is Ksi.”

Agnas announces in a clear voice, “The Senate is Ksi.”

“It is foreign,” says Sophia.

“It is foreign,” Agnas announces.

“They cannot be trusted,” says Sophia.

“They cannot be trusted,” Agnas repeats.

“They take Queen Deo’s grain and consecrate it to their god.”

“They take Queen Deo’s grain and consecrate it to their god.”

Agnas takes a torch and lights it in the altar fire and holds it high above her head.

"Burn the grain," Sophia says.

“Burn the grain!” announces Agnas.

“Torch the grain,” says Sophia.

“Torch the grain!” announces Agnas.

A row of actors and actresses dressed as Goddesses and Gods stand at the foot of the stage with a stack of unlit torches. 

The crowd streams forward, and lights their torches. When every person holds a torch, the shout goes up, “To the grainary!”

When the mob arrives at the grainary they toss lit torches into the silos and set the walls on fire. A few guards try to stop them, but then the guards recognize people they know in the crowd, and call to them by name. The guards open the grainary doors and join in the uprising.

“Anassa! Anassa!” the crowd chants.

As the flames and smoke rise high into the sky the call goes up, “To the Senate!”

The mob surges through the marketplace to the Senate. When they storm the steps they find the Senate chamber empty. From a balcony someone cries, “There they go!” the dust of hoofprints is seen in the distance as the Senators flee the city.

“Eleusis is free!” The crowd cheers. They tear down the crosses in the Senate hall and remove the sheets that covered the statues of their Goddesses and Gods.

Sophia takes the podium.

“We have driven the ksi from our city. We have destroyed the grain consecrated to their god. Tonight, we build a new granary, and tomorrow we will consecrate it to our Mother, Demeter, and her Daughter, Kore. Let it be known throughout Greece, Eleusis is free, a beacon of Liberty to all!”

CUT TO ALARIC CHUMMING IT UP WITH THE GLITTERATI AT THE PARTHENON IN ATHENS

He hands out gold coins and crosses to each person he greets. The Parthenon’s statue of Athena lies in crumbled ruins on the floor, replaced by a huge cross.

A messenger whose uniform bears the sign of the cross rushes up to Alaric, out of breath.

“My lord, an urgent message.”

Alaric reads the message. 

“An uprising in Eleusis. Well, my soldiers are hungry for bread. Assemble my commanders,” he says menacingly.

******
The elders mill about the Senate chambers. Sophia is the only woman.

“These provinces have already submitted their grain,” an elder man points to a parchment on the wall.

“They will re-submit their offering or be banned,” says Sophia.

“These provinces have ships in the harbor, waiting to unload their cargoes.”

“They will consecrate their cargoes to the Goddess or be confiscated.”

“These provinces are en-route.”

“They must consecrate their offerings to the Goddess before entering Her city. Consecrate or confiscate.”

A messenger bursts into the room, out of breath. 

“What is it, boy?” says the elder man.

“The Christian army has claimed the Parthenon! All of Athens welcomes Alaric!” he shouts, near tears.

“Alaric is from the north,” says another elder.

“Athens leaves us defenseless,” says another.

“Athens has betrayed Athena. The warrior Goddess is without a home. We shall welcome Athena to Eleusis,” says Sophia. She points to the city of Athens on a map.

“Let Athens have its Christian god,” she draws a cross on the map to indicate Athens. “The pretty city on the hill won’t last long without food.” 


*******

Sophia shakes her grandchild’s shoulder. “Wake up,” she says, gruffly. 

The elder woman and the child walk silently through the dark rooms of the house, emerging into the dim light of morning. The little girl starts heading down the path, toward the beach, but Sophia calls her back. “Today,” she says, “we go up, to the Temple.” She heads uphill.

As they near the temple region, they pass carpenters hard at work raising the roof on a new grainary and removing the charred remains of the grainary the people had torched the day before. 

“Kalimera,” the workmen greet Sophia.

She nods.

Sophia stops in front of a smoldering pile of charred wood. “Let the god of the ksi feed the ksi,” Sophia says to Eirene, loudly enough for the workmen to hear. She begins walking toward the temple. “Our grain belongs to Mother Deo,” she says more loudly.

They approach the colossal statue of a seated Demeter in front of the temple and bow. 

Sophia takes the child’s hand and mounts the steps. The guards of the temple nod to them. They walk toward an engraving on an inner wall that faces the rising sun.

“These are the letters of our alphabet,” Sophia smooths her hand over the engravings. “27-letters. 3 groups of 9, you see?”

(The letters are engraved as follows:

Α   Β   Γ   Δ   Ε   F   Ζ   Η   Θ
 
Ι   Κ   Λ   Μ   Ν   Ξ   Ο   Π   Q 

Ρ   Σ   Τ   Υ   Φ   Χ   Ψ   Ω   ϡ    


“The first nine letters are single digits, 1 through 9.

“The next nine letters are double digits, 10 through 90.

“The final nine letters are triple digits, 100 through 900.

“So, ΦΙΔ, spells ‘feed.’  The number for feed is 514. You see? 500 (Sophia points to the letter Φ) plus 10 (she points to Ι) plus 4 (she points to Δ).

“The Romans, they steal our alphabet and destroy the letters that they fear. They make up a new alphabet, a Roman alphabet for their Roman god.

“Today, you will learn the letters that the Romans fear.” 

A small group starts to gather, and Sophia projects her voice so they can all hear.

“They keep A and B, but they destroy Gamma, the letter for Ge, the generative Earth, our Mother. Because they hate our Mother.

“They destroy delta, our letter of direction, the letter for Demeter, our Directing Mother, the Director of growth and justice, because they covet our prosperity and despise our laws.

“They keep E and F and they keep Z, the letter for Zeus, but move it to the end of their alphabet. I don’t know why. Why move it to the end? Who knows?

“They keep H, but they destroy theta, our divine letter, the letter that means Goddesses and Gods because they hate our Goddesses and Gods. Theta, the sacred number nine, they destroy. Because they hate our sacred ways.

“Now: the double digits. They keep I and K and they destroy lambda, our letter for release, our symbol for freedom, because they hate our freedom. They keep M and N and destroy ksi, our symbol for the foreigner, the symbol for detachment, because we use this symbol against them.

“They keep O and destroy pi, our symbol for unity, for the PanHellenes, all the Hellenes. Remember this: the word for “all” begins with pi, you see? Under the same roof. They call us pagans, ‘all the rest.’ All the rest. Everyone but them. Because they hate us and fear our unity they destroy our letter pi, our symbol for unity.

“They keep Q, the number for 90.

“But they give an extra leg to rho, our letter for flow. They say that there is no flow. That everything is fixed, that everything is written down in one book. One book. One god. One government. Their book. Their god. Their government. Fixed. No flow.

“They destroy our letter sigma, our letter for synchronizing. See? It looks like the starting gates at a race track. Everyone starts at once. Sigma means the crescent moon. That is how we synchronize our calendars, on the kalends, the new moon. They don’t want us to be synchronized, so they destroy our letter sigma.

“They keep T and move Y to the second to last letter. I don’t know why they move it.

“Now, the letter phi. It is the letter for Phusis, for Physics, for Nature. It is a sacred letter. It combines I, the letter for divine power, with omicron, the letter for a whole entity, you see? ‘Divinely-powered,’ Sophia traces the vertical line of phi, ‘entity,’ she traces the circle in the letter phi. They hate Phusis and Physics and science.  

“They keep X , the letter for ‘foundation,’ and assign it to their Jesus, they call him Chreestos, ‘oracle.’

“They destroy the letter psi, our letter for Psyche, the Goddess of the soul. They don’t believe we have souls! They claim all souls for their god. They hate our symbol for soul.

“They destroy the letter omega, the letter that means egg, that means “bring-forth” in travail. They lie and say it means 'the end' because it leads to the last letter of our alphabet, and they hate this last letter more than all the rest combined.

“Parakuisma, the letter for 900. Parakuisma. Having to do with pregnancy.

“Do they hate pregnancy, Maia?” asks Eirene.

“Yes. They hate pregnancy. This life is no good, they say. Happiness is in Heaven, they say. Do away with earthly things, they say. They hate Earth. They hate our Mother. They hate us. We must drive them from our lands. No more ksi.”

“No more ksi,” says Eirene.

“No more ksi,” says Sophia.

“No more ksi,” murmur some of the people who have gathered.

“We have driven out their politicians, but they will return,” says Sophia. “We must be prepared. We must gather our weapons. We must be ready to fight. My brothers sit now in the Senate Council preparing a plan. In the meantime, we will continue our harvest of Deo’s grains. We will dedicate our first fruits to Our Mother. And, on the full moon, we will welcome initiates to the Mysteries of the Divine Mother and  Kore, Her Daughter, the way we have for a thousand years. Long live Eleusis.”

“Long live Eleusis,” the crowd repeats.

“Come, Eirene, we have much to do,” says Sophia.

Torchbearer (Scene 5)

by

Catherine Proppe


Sophia shakes her granddaughter’s shoulder. “Wake up,” she says, gruffly.

The elder woman and the child walk silently through the dark rooms of the house, emerging into the dim light of morning. The little girl starts heading down the path, toward the beach, but Sophia calls her back. “Today,” she says, “we go up, to the Temple.” She heads uphill.

As they near the temple region, they pass carpenters hard at work raising the roof on a new grainary and removing the charred remains of the grainary the people had torched the day before.

“Kalimera,” the workmen greet Sophia.

She nods.

Sophia stops in front of a smoldering pile of charred wood. “Let the god of the ksi feed the ksi,” Sophia says to Eirene, loudly enough for the workmen to hear. She begins walking toward the temple. “Our grain belongs to Mother Deo,” she says more loudly.

They approach the colossal statue of a seated Demeter in front of the temple and bow.

Sophia takes the child’s hand and mounts the steps. The guards of the temple nod to them. They walk toward an engraving on an inner wall that faces the rising sun.

“These are the letters of our alphabet,” Sophia smooths her hand over the engravings. “27-letters. 3 groups of 9, you see?”

(The letters are engraved as follows:

Α   Β   Γ   Δ   Ε   F   Ζ   Η   Θ

Ι   Κ   Λ   Μ   Ν   Ξ   Ο   Π   Q

Ρ   Σ   Τ   Υ   Φ   Χ   Ψ   Ω   ϡ   

“The first nine letters are single digits, 1 through 9.

“The next nine letters are double digits, 10 through 90.

“The final nine letters are triple digits, 100 through 900.

“So, ΦΙΔ, spells ‘feed.’  The number for feed is 514. You see? 500 (Sophia points to the letter Φ) plus 10 (she points to Ι) plus 4 (she points to Δ).

“The Romans, they steal our alphabet and destroy the letters that they fear. They make up a new alphabet, a Roman alphabet for their Roman god.

“Today, you will learn the letters that the Romans fear.”

A small group starts to gather, and Sophia projects her voice so they can all hear.

“They keep A and B, but they destroy Gamma, the letter for Ge, the generative Earth, our Mother. Because they hate our Mother.

“They destroy delta, our letter of direction, the letter for Demeter, our Directing Mother, the Director of growth and justice, because they covet our prosperity and despise our laws.

“They keep E and F and they keep Z, the letter for Zeus, but move it to the end of their alphabet. I don’t know why. Why move it to the end? Who knows?

“They keep H, but they destroy theta, our divine letter, the letter that means Goddesses and Gods because they hate our Goddesses and Gods. Theta, the sacred number nine, they destroy. Because they hate our sacred ways.

“Now: the double digits. They keep I and K and they destroy lambda, our letter for release, our symbol for freedom, because they hate our freedom. They keep M and N and destroy ksi, our symbol for the foreigner, the symbol for detachment, because we use this symbol against them.

“They keep O and destroy pi, our symbol for unity, for the PanHellenes, all the Hellenes. Remember this: the word for “all” begins with pi, you see? Under the same roof. They call us pagans, ‘all the rest.’ All the rest. Everyone but them. Because they hate us and fear our unity they destroy our letter pi, our symbol for unity.

“They keep Q, the number for 90.

“But they give an extra leg to rho, our letter for flow. They say that there is no flow. That everything is fixed, that everything is written down in one book. One book. One god. One government. Their book. Their god. Their government. Fixed. No flow.

“They destroy our letter sigma, our letter for synchronizing. See? It looks like the starting gates at a race track. Everyone starts at once. Sigma means the crescent moon. That is how we synchronize our calendars, on the kalends, the new moon. They don’t want us to be synchronized, so they destroy our letter sigma.

“They keep T and move Y to the second to last letter. I don’t know why they move it.

“Now, the letter phi. It is the letter for Phusis, for Physics, for Nature. It is a sacred letter. It combines I, the letter for divine power, with omicron, the letter for a whole entity, you see? ‘Divinely-powered,’ Sophia traces the vertical line of phi, ‘entity,’ she traces the circle in the letter phi. They hate Phusis and Physics and science.  

“They keep X , the letter for ‘foundation,’ and assign it to their Jesus, they call him Chreestos, ‘oracle.’

“They destroy the letter psi, our letter for Psyche, the Goddess of the soul. They don’t believe we have souls! They claim all souls for their god. They hate our symbol for soul.

“They destroy the letter omega, the letter that means egg, that means “bring-forth” in travail, they lie and say it means 'the end' because it leads to the last letter of our alphabet, and they hate this last letter more than all the rest combined.

“Parakuisma, the letter for 900. Parakuisma. Having to do with pregnancy.

“Do they hate pregnancy, Maia?” asks Eirene.

“Yes. They hate pregnancy. This life is no good, they say. Happiness is in Heaven, they say. Do away with earthly things, they say. They hate Earth. They hate our Mother. They hate us. We must drive them from our lands. No more ksi.”

“No more ksi,” says Eirene.

“No more ksi,” says Sophia.

“No more ksi,” murmur some of the people who have gathered.

“We chased out their politicians, but they will return,” says Sophia. “We must prepare. We must gather our weapons. We must be ready to fight. My brothers sit now in the Senate Counsel preparing a plan. In the meantime, we will continue our harvest of Deo’s grains. We will dedicate our first fruits to Our Mother. And, on the full moon, we will welcome initiates to the Mysteries of the Divine Mother and Kore, Her Daughter, the way we have for a thousand years. Long live Eleusis.”

“Long live Eleusis,” the crowd repeats.

“Come, Eirene, we have much to do,” says Sophia.

Here are two wonderful articles about Demeter and Eleusis written in 1909 by Fraternity  (Sorority) sisters of the Chi Omega Fraternity.

Find the original online here: https://play.google.com/books/reader?id=3vESAAAAIAAJ&printsec=frontcover&output=reader&authuser=0&hl=en&pg=GBS.PA134

The first article recounts the poetry surrounding Demeter and includes a handy listing of authors on the subject.

The second recounts an actual visit the women took to the ancient site of the Eleusinian Mysteries!

Think about that. 1909. Here was a multi-University organization of College women with a governing body and various committees and a newsletter at a time when many women were legally prohibited from attending many Universities. At a time when U.S. women had not yet won the right to vote!

It wasn’t until 1920 that the United States Congress passed the 19th Amendment!

It makes you wonder how many of the women on this letterhead were suffragists?

Their writing is wonderfully poetic.

Their words evoke a time when women were on the cusp of forging new identities.

Their names are a nostalgic listing of names that might belong to our grandmothers, names like:

Martha

Arta

Georgia

Mary

Anna

Inga

Corinne

Edna

Leila Sue

Letty Mae

Leslie

Helen

Bess

Harriet

Ava

Marguerite

Alice

Lilian

Emma

Ellen

Florence

Eleanor

Margaret

Irita

Hazel

Agnes

Ruth

Vera

Bessie

Katherine

Elma

Laura

Frances

Louise

Mable

Maude

Below, I have taken the liberty in re-printing the articles to re-spell “Goddess”  and “God” with an uppercase “G,” something that even modern writers generally don’t yet dare to do, but it’s got to start somewhere, right?  (A recognition that deities are deities regardless of the writer's editorial prohibitions.)




THE ELEUSIS  of CHI OMEGA

VOL. ELEVEN                                     MAY, 1909                                     NUMBER TWO

DEMETER

THE PATRON GODDESS OF CHI OMEGA

The budding life of happy spring,

The yellow autumn's faded leaf,

Alike to gentle hearts shall bring

The symbols of my joy and grief.

— Schiller, The Complaint of Ceres [Demeter]

            It is "Founders' Day" — of all days surely the most fitting in which to write of Demeter (Ceres), the gracious "alma mater" of Chi Omega. The fields all about me are warm with thousands of the golden-hearted poppies our Goddess loves, and with her, every loyal Californian. My heart is something akin to Wordsworth's, though it was a host of daffodils he saw. Everywhere the sturdy old live oaks have put on a new and soft green; the little wild flowers are hiding because the sun is getting too hot for them. There is joy in mere living. Demeter has smiled on the world, and blessed it. I feel very strongly today that love and gratitude, which we cannot express too often, to the "Five" who conceived and brought to perfection so beautiful an ideal as the Chi Omega Fraternity. That such an organization is increasing in strength each day is argument enough that "ideals" have come to stay, and help in the business of real living. Into Chi Omega has crept something of the divinity of April when

                                    Every clod feels a stir of might,

                                    An instinct within it that reaches and towers.

            The promise of awakened earth is ours, and as long as spring returns and Demeter rejoices in her daughter again, so long, I hope, shall we forget to grow "old and crafty and wise" — too wise to be enthusiastic.

            But you are waiting to hear about the patron Goddess of Chi Omega, and her daughter Persephone (Proserpine, Kore, Cora). The poets have all been before me, and you have their versions, and so I am going back to the oldest and purest source, the "Homeric Hymn."

            The long-lost text of this hymn was discovered among the manuscripts of the library at Moscow in 1780; it is the central expression of the story, and Grote places it as early as 600 years before Christ.

            It is probably one of the songs of the Eleusinian festival. The interpreter of the holy places sings of "Demeter and her daughter Persephone, whom Aidoneus (Pluto) carried away, by the consent of Zeus, as she played apart from her mother, with the daughters of the ocean, gathering flowers in a meadow of soft grass, roses and crocus and fair violets, flags and hyacinths, and above all the strange flower, the Narcissus, brought forth for the first time, to snare the footsteps of the flower-like girl. A hundred heads of blossoms grew up from the roots of it, and the sky and the earth, and the salt waves of the sea were glad at the scent thereof. She stretched forth her hands to take the flower, then the earth opened, and the king of the great nation of the dead sprang out with his immortal horses. He seized the unwilling girl, and bore her away weeping on his golden chariot. She uttered a shrill cry, but neither man nor God heard her voice, nor even the nymphs of the meadow where she was playing except Hecate only — sitting as ever in her cave, half veiled with a shining veil, thinking delicate thoughts, she, and the sun also heard her. The peaks of the hills and the depths of the sea echoed her cry. Then her mother heard it. A sharp pain seized at her heart. Nine days she wandered up and down the earth, having blazing torches in her hands; in her great sorrow she refused to taste of ambrosia, or of the cup of the sweet nectar, nor washed her face. But when the tenth morning came Hecate met her, but could not tell her who had borne the girl away. And Demeter said not a word, but fled away swiftly with her, till they came to the Sun, who told her the whole story."

            So grief-stricken was Demeter when she heard the tale, she forsook the Gods and went to dwell among men, hiding her beauty under a sad and worn countenance. And thus she came to the house of King Celeus, of Eleusis. She sat down by the wayside well, and the king's daughters with crocus-colored hair flying about their shoulders, came there to fill their brazen pitchers, but they did not know Demeter.

            "The Gods are hard for men to recognize," says the hymn simply. But they were kind to her, and at their bidding she went to their father's house. And as she passed through the sunny porch where the mother was sitting against one of the pillars of the roof, she saw that there was a young child in her arms. Demeter crossed the threshold and as she passed through her head rose and touched the roof, and her presence filled the doorway with a divine brightness, but even so they did not know her. Here it was she refused wine, and drank the cup of barley water flavored with mint. She became the nurse of the child, Demophoon (Triptolemus), and would have made him immortal by putting him in the ashes each night, but the mother spied on the Goddess, and in her anger Demeter would proceed no further; yet because he had been so near to her, she made him her priest, and taught him the uses of the plough, thus he became the great helper of mankind. "

            Then Demeter manifested herself; a fragrant odor fell from her raiment, and her flesh shone from afar; the long, yellow hair descended waving over her shoulders and the great house was filled with the brightness of lightning. Then she passed out through the halls.

            "So all night long, trembling with fear, they sought to propitiate the glorious Goddess, and Celeus, at her command, built a fair temple. Then Demeter returned and sat there regretting the loss of her daughter. In her anger she sent a grievous famine on the earth. The dry seed remained hidden in the soil." George Meredith paints the time vividly:

            Sole sound the snap of sapless trees,

            More sharp than sling-stones on hard breastplates hurled.

            Back to first chaos tumbled the stopped world,

            Careless to lure or please.

            A nature of gaunt ribs, an earth of crags!

            Zeus began to feel disturbed, and finally he sent Hermes to the kingdom of the dead to persuade Pluto to suffer his bride to return to the light of day. That king did not object, but before his sad queen left, he gave her a morsel of sweet pomegranate to eat, designing secretly thereby that she should not remain always upon earth, but might some time return to him.

            "So Ceres [Demeter] and Persephone spent the day in communion and Zeus sent to them Rhea, his venerable mother, the oldest of divine persons, to bring them back reconciled to the company of the Gods, and he ordained that Persephone should spend two parts of the year with her mother and one-third part only with her husband. So Demeter suffered the earth to yield its fruits once more and the land was suddenly laden with leaves, and flowers, and waving corn."

            How mother and daughter spent that first beautiful day Tennyson tells us, and Jean Ingelow in her dainty lyric verse. I have given the story at length, because it is told so simply and sympathetically that whoever reads it will find it lingers in his memory persistently.

            Always we shall think of Demeter as the perfect mother, who understands the depth of sorrow and the height of joy because she has experienced both. In her wanderings she becomes almost humanized, and in return she and Proserpine [Persephone], alone of all the Greek [Goddesses and] Gods, seem to have been the objects of a personal love and loyalty. "She abode among men" and humbled herself to serve them, she touched mortals with her immortal fingers, and they loved her as a woman while they worshiped her as a divinity. Of the host of Goddesses, she alone stretched out the hand of loving kindness to her children. She is warmer, more loving, more real than the others, and she makes us love her more because she touches the emotions of love and pity.

            How did Demeter become so dear to the people? we ask ourselves. Pater has answered the question by indicating how myths grow. They arise, he says, through the attempt primitive [women and] men make to explain natural phenomena by ingenious stories of their own. After a little while the poets remold these legends, fix their outlines and develop their situations. In the next step the myth passes into the ethical stage. Despite the steady march of science with its brilliant explanations of physical processes, there has ever been developing a philosophy of instinct rather than understanding. This may be illustrated by the feeling which comes to one in the first warm days of spring when nature is at work, when the blood seems to be coursing through the trees as surely as it leaps in our own veins. A feeling of strong relationship is thus established between [hu]man[s] and nature. "The sky in its unity and variety, the sea in its unity and variety, mirrored themselves respectively in these simple, but profoundly impressive Greeks, as Zeus, as Glaucus, or Poseidon. And a large part of their experience — all that related itself to the earth in its changes, the growth and decay of all things born of it — was covered by the story of Demeter, the myth of the earth as a mother."

            The story of Demeter, then, was a gradual growth, the work of [women and] men thinking independently, in places far distant from each other, yet all dealing with the same aspects of nature. It is not strange, when this is considered, how numerous and varied her attributes are. No nation with less esthetic sense than the Greeks could have developed such clear and idyllic images from mere wondering and surmises. In the extant works of art, though we see her represented in each case a little differently, in the main a certain harmony characterizes all. Her form is copied from Juno's. She has the same majestic stature, flowing draperies, and matronly air, but is of a milder character. She wears a garland of poppies, or holds a bunch in her hand. Sometimes she has a crown of wheat, often she carries a basket of fruit. The torch is one of her favorite emblems, and the homely implements of the farm, the sickle, and the plow, are often represented with her. As "Mother Earth" and protectress of agriculture, she takes part in the mowing and binding up of the corn, presiding over all the pleasing duties of farm life. She stands beside the woman baking at the oven, or prepares the mysterious juices of the poppy to alleviate pain. Other conceptions place her in a chariot drawn by dragons. Art, however, has not left as many monuments of her as poetry. It is generally thought that she appears in the group of deities on the eastern fringe of the Parthenon. But the most striking of the statues is that found by Mr. Newton at Cnidos in 1857. This is now in the British Museum, where we may all see it some day. There are two other statues of Ceres [Demeter] in the Vatican at Rome, and one in the Glypothek at Munich. Many of the ancient vases are decorated with scenes illustrating the story of Homeric hymns, but more frequently these were put upon the tombs of the young girls who died. Probably more familiar are Bernini's Pluto and Proserpine [Persephone] (sculpture) ; P. Schobet's "Rape (sic) of Proserpine" (picture), and the Eleusinian relief Demeter, Proserpina, and Triptolemus (at Athens). On one of the Messene coins is a head thought to be Demeter's. Pater dwells with pleasure on the "crisp, chaste opening of the lips, the minutely wrought earrings, and the delicately touched ears of corn, "and the fact that the old workman who made it," impressed in the face all the purity and proportion, the purged and dainty intelligence of the human countenance."

            The country folk, dreaming over sowing and reaping in spring and autumn, were awed by the mystery and solemnity of the season's change and the growth and decay in nature. Says Pater: "The habitual solemnity of thought and expression which Wordsworth found in the peasants of Cumberland, and Millet in the peasants of Brittany may well have had its prototype in early Greece. To the people the incidents of the yearly labor become acts of worship ; they seek her blessing through many expressive names, and almost catch sight of her at dawn or evening in the nooks of the fragrant fields." The whole ancient world paid tribute to her. The New International Encyclopedia says that the worship of Demeter and Proserpine [Persephone] as a dual impersonation of the "corn spirit" may be found in the customs of the European peasants of today. This is no doubt a survival of a festival the Romans had in honor of Ceres [Demeter], called the "Cerealic." This was celebrated on April 19. Virgil has described the scene. The translation is by C. Pitt.

            To Ceres chief her annual rites be paid,

            On the green turf, beneath a fragrant shade.

            When Winter ends, and Spring serenely shines,

            Then fat the lambs, then mellow are the wines,

            Then sweet are slumbers on the flowery ground,

            Then with thick shades are lofty mountains crown'd.

            Let all the winds bend low at Ceres' shrine;

            Mix honey sweet for her, with milk and mellow wine;

            Thrice lead the victim the new fruits around,

            And Ceres call, and choral hymns resound ;

            Presume not, swains, the ripen'd grain to reap.

            Till crown'd with oak in antic dance ye leap, I

            nvoking Ceres, and in solemn lays.

            Exalt your rural queen's immortal praise.

            The Greeks had two kinds of festivals. First the Eleusinia, which was celebrated in the spring and in the autumn, in February and September, respectively. There was a difference between the Festivals and the Mysteries of Eleusis. The former were for all classes. The latter were very serious and solemn, only the initiated witnessed the ceremonies. These secrets have never been revealed, but probably they had to do with instructions "in the nature of life and death, and the consolation of immortality." (Preller.) The second festival was the Thesmophoria, particularly for married women, Demeter being the deity of the discretion of wives.

            Thus guarding ever the homes of [women and] men, watching over their industries, Ceres [Demeter] becomes the founder of civilized order. From her wanderings she becomes the patron of travelers and the abstract type of the wanderer. Every detail in her life, judging from the Homeric hymn, is signficant. Even the robe of dark blue which we are told she had on when she went to Celeus' palace, was not only the raiment of her mourning, but also the blue robe of the earth in shadow, as we see it in Titian's landscapes ; her great age is the age of the immemorial earth. The sweet breath with which she nourishes the child Demophoon is the warm west wind, her bosom where he lies is the bosom of the earth. The yellow hair which falls suddenly over her shoulders at her transformation in the house of Celeus is the golden corn. It is beautiful to trace out these meanings, and one feels well repaid for so doing.

            Few Goddesses have inspired, I dare say, so many poets as Demeter. Among the ancients, Callimachus, in the third century before Christ, wrote a hymn in celebration of the procession of the Sacred Basket. In the same age there was an idyll of Theocritus in the "Shepherd's Journey." Euripides varies the story and adapts it to poetry. Claudian wrote the last extant poems on Demeter. With the more modern poets she is even more popular. Milton, Thomas Warton, Pope, Gray, Thomson and Addison have all mentioned her with appreciation. Important poems and articles have been devoted to her by Schiller, Aubrey deVere, Tennyson, Swinburne, Walter Pater, Sydney Colvin, R. H. Stoddard, B. W. Proctor, Thomas Hood, George Meredith, Barry Cornwall, Lewis Morris, and among women writers of note, Jean Ingelow, Helen H. Jackson and Dora Greenwell. This forms a rich storehouse for all Chi Omegas who want to know Demeter better. The most interesting and scholarly of all these, perhaps, and the one to which I am most gratefully indebted, is Mr. Walter H. Pater's article "The Myth of Demeter and Persephone," in the Fortnightly Review (volume xix, new series, pages 82-95, and 260-276). Many of his ideas and remarks I have put in my own words, much I have adapted, and I have quoted from it freely, because it is exceptionally good, and is printed in a form which makes it somewhat inaccessible to the ordinary reader. This paper has been prepared amid the stress of heavy college work, and does not pretend to be finished in its form. It is, after all, simply an echo of a hurried but wide reading on the subject, and especially of Mr. Pater's article, and it is with his words — the last in his essay — that I wish to close, because they express so exactly my own feeling in regard to Demeter and Persephone.

            "There is an attractiveness in these Goddesses of the earth, akin to the influences of cool places, quiet houses, subdued light, tranquilising voices; for me, at least, I know it has been good to be with Demeter and Persephone all the time I have been reading and thinking of them; and throughout this essay, I have been asking myself, what is there in this phase of ancient religion for us at the present day? The myth of Demeter and Persephone, then, illustrates the power of the Greek religion as a religion of pure ideas, of conceptions which having no link on the historical fact, yet because they arose naturally out of the spirit of [hu]man[ity], and embodied in adequate symbols, his (sic) physical and spiritual life, maintained their hold, through many changes, and are still not without a solemnizing power even for the modern mind, which has once admitted them as recognized and habitual inhabitants, and abiding thus for the elevation and purifying of our sentiments. Long after the earlier and simpler races of their worshippers have passed away, they may be a pledge to us of the place in our culture, at once legitimate and possible, of Greek religious poetry in general, of the poetry of all religions."

                        by    Elizabeth Lee Buckingham, Mu.





ANCIENT ELEUSIS

            Next to Athens, Eleusis was the most important city of ancient Attica. It was situated on the bay of Eleusis, opposite Salamis, and was connected with Athens by the Sacred Road. It was famous as the seat of worship of Demeter, or Ceres, whose mystic rites — the Eleusinian Mysteries — were here performed with great pomp and solemnity from the earliest times till Alaric the leader of the Goths, destroyed the famous temple of the Goddess.

            Annually those who had already been initiated into the lesser mysteries assembled at Athens. On the sacred day of the festival, they walked to the sea to be purified. The third day was one of fasting. Then came the procession of the sacred basket filled with pomegranates and poppy seed, and drawn on a cart of oxen, followed by women; this took place on the fourth day. The fifth was the torch procession to the temple of Demeter at Eleusis. On the sixth day the initiates were taken into the inner sanctuary and initiated into the final mysteries. What the teachings were that were revealed unto them is unknown, though they are supposed to have been in regard to a future life. On the seventh day they returned to Athens with laughter and music, and the remaining two days were given to merrymaking and feasting and musical ceremonies.

            The site of the old city Eleusis is now occupied by the little town of Levsina.

A DAY AT ELEUSIS

            It is said that the climate of Greece has undergone a decided change since the great days of Pericles, and I well believe it, for we all know the light airiness of the early Greeks in the matter of dress, while the modern Atalanta wears furs.

            So on a certain April Fifth I have in mind, when all Athens was a-twitter with spring, when the birds in the Palace Gardens vied with each other in paeans of praise, we dressed ourselves warmly and took steamer rugs to put over our knees, even while we rejoiced for the ancients that they did not need such things. For who would like to think of Helen in a shapeless knitted sweater?

            At the early hour of eight we packed ourselves neatly into a wide, roomy, comfortable carriage, drawn by two strong bays, and with great eagerness made ready for the long drive to Eleusis. Athens was gleaming, white and peaceful, in the early sun light which filtered through the great, crooked acacia trees along the avenues and dappled the broad white streets with shadows, varying with the gentle breezes which, wafted in from the Pirates, swayed the closely leafed branches over our heads. In the business district all was astir with commercial activity, and the petty shopkeepers were displaying bright wares before their doors on the very streets where the chariot of Miltiades once rattled over the stones. With a sharp turn to the northwest we left this suddenly behind us, and in a few minutes were on the Sacred Way. The road leads through green barley fields where the fresh green blades are so interspersed with scarlet poppies and daisies that one is reminded of Botticelli's Spring. For a while the way follows a narrow winding stream with pebbly banks, but soon this meanders off, murmuring to itself, and we are left again with the barley fields and the distant mountains. Finally we come out on a broad, high eminence — and we are at Eleusis, the trysting-place. With exclamations of delighted surprise and wonder we rush to the edge of a rocky plateau for a better view of the glorious panorama which spreads itself around us. Imagine a sky and sea bathed in the most celestial blue — a blue before which even the far-famed Bay of Naples pales in comparison — on three sides of us the Bay of Salamis stretching out to eternity, while before us lies the long island of Salamis, barren, peaceful, impressive, a gray-brown spot in the surrounding blue. The waves gently lap its rocky coast as if in untiring caresses, and far, far beyond it may be seen tall, snow capped mountains, their peaks among, or above, the clouds. Behind us are abrupt, high, rocky hills, almost as impossible to scale as Parnassus, and here, right around us, are the ruined pillars of the Temple to Demeter, once one of the architectural glories of Greece. It has been a year since I saw Eleusis yet I remember that first momentary view as if it had been yesterday, as vividly as did the little boy whose mother slapped him to make him remember the Coliseum. The surprise, the delight of it all, left on me an indelible impression.

            We are standing on a platform cut out of the solid rock, and from it we pass through two propylaea into the inner inclosure of the temple itself. Little is left of the sacred edifice; the vandal followers of Alaric worked well its devastation, and now grass grows unconfined where once was an inlaid floor of Pentelic marble, and we strive hard, as we gaze at strewn and hacked bases and capitals of pillars, to conjure up in our minds the picture of the glory as it once stood. On a setting that would seem fit as a favorite resort of the immortals, now stands, or squats, the miserable village of Lefsino ( Xevalva) , sprawling even amidst the ruins of the temple, looking as out of place and yet as snugly unconscious of it as might a toad on an altar of Venus.

            The name, Lefsino, is probably a corruption of Eleusis, which the Greeks pronounce Elefsis. Many of the scattered blocks and tablets , about the ruins bear inscriptions carefully cut in Greek capitals, and it was with a thrill of delighted understanding that I spelled out the word Hierophant.

            A typical Greek peasant offered himself as our guide and we engaged him, not because we needed a guide but because he evidently needed a dragma. He explained to us the plan of the temple, and, as we had an illustrated guide-book, we understood him. He showed us two holes in the ground, perhaps a dozen yards apart. These are connected underground by a rough, dark, narrow passage, and through this passage (we gleaned it from his expressive gesture), the blindfolded neophyte was dragged by the feet and bumped about. Thus did he make his perilous journey through the underworld, after which he was led into the blinding light of the inner shrine where he saw — who knows what?

            When we had pryed into every inclosure, kicked over every stone, and kodaked each other on every marble base, we remembered that it was late and we were hungry, so our lunch was produced from under the driver's seat in the carriage, and we sat down on the rocky ledge, and, watching the tiny, distant white sails of fishing-boats blinking lazily in the sun, we devoured a feast of honey from Hymettus, dried figs from Smyrna, and delicious Greek nougat filled with crispest almonds. For the others it was lunch — for me it was a Chi Omega banquet! We imagined we were sitting on the exact spot where Demeter sat, mourning for the lost Persephone, and where she was addressed by the daughters of the Eleusinian king, Oleus; and that our sandwiches were the pomegranate and the poppy seed so intimately connected with the legend. We could close our eyes and fancy we saw the glad meeting of mother and daughter, then the quickly rewarding harvest, as the glad young shoots put forth, taking their first peep into a glorious new world — a world of spring.

            Can you imagine a more fitting, a more inspiring spot on which to spend Chi Omega's birthday than the birthplace of Chi Omega's traditions? Except that I had to thrill alone, I felt that my celebration was best of all.

                                                                    by  Emily Van Dorn Miller, Rho.



SUPREME GOVERNING COUNCIL

OF THE

CHI OMEGA FRATERNITY

Ida Pace Purdue, S. H. (President)

(Mrs. A. H. Purdue)

Fayetteville, Ark.

Susan Thornton Bitting, S. T. B. (Vice-president)

Carlsbad, N. Mex.

Jessie Anna Parker, S. K. A. (Secretary)

Olathe, Kans.

May Gullette Miller, S. N. V. (Treasurer)

403 N. Seventh Street

Fort Smith, Ark.

Wendla Justitia McCaskey, S. M., (Secret Work)

(Acting for Mary Wright Bain)

6357 Normal Avenue, Chicago, Ill.

Mattie Craighill Nicholas, Eleusis Editor

608 Court Street

Lynchburg, Va.

Standing Committees, etc.

CHAPTER HOUSE COMMITTEES

INFORMATION COMMITTEE

Myrtle Morrissy Maclver (Mrs. M. N.), Nu, Oskosh, Wis.

Wendla McCaskey, Omicron, 6357 Normal Ave., Chicago, Ill.

Mary Stewart, Eta, De Land, Fla.

LOAN FUND COMMITTEE

Lelia Harwood, Xi, 2907 Kenmore Ave., Chicago, Ill.

Florence Mitchell, Lambda, Iola, Kans.

Laura Olsen, Nu, Eau Claire, Wis.

EXAMINATION COMMITTEE

Martha Land, Chi, R. R. 10, Lexington, Ky.

Arta Kocken, Kappa, North Platte, Nebr.

Georgia Shattuck, Nu, Medford, Wis.

Mary C. Love Collins (Mrs. H. M.), Delta, Tyrone, Pa.

Anna Vineyard, Tau, Miller School, Albemarle Co., Va.

SONG BOOK COMMITTEE

Mrs. Inga Sandberg, Nu, 620 Langdon St., Madison, Wis.

Corinne Brackett, Phi Alpha, 1464 Girard St., N. W., Wash ington, D. C.

Secretary of National Pan-Hellen1c Conference. Miss L. P. Green (K A 6), 15 East Ave., Ithaca, N. Y.

Chapter Correspondents

PSI — University of Arkansas,

                        Forrest Ellis, Fayetteville, Ark.

CHI — Transylvania University,

                        Edna Earl Hinton, 603 North Broadway, Lexington, Ky.

UPSILON— Union University,

                        Leila Sue Young, Lovelace Hall, Jackson, Tenn.

TAU — University of Mississippi,

                        Anne H. Augustus, University, Miss.

SIGMA — Randolph-Macon Woman's College,

                        Letty Mae McRoberts, College Park, Va.

RHO — Tulane University, Newcomb College,

                        Leslie Keller, 6330 St. Charles Ave., New Orleans, La.

PI — University of Tennessee,

                        Helen Gordon, 1616 W. Clinch Ave., Knoxville, Tenn.

OMICRON— University of Illinois,

                        Bess Matthews, 307 John St., Champaign, Ill.

XI — Northwestern University,

                        Harriet Wilson, 730 Milburn St., Evanston, III.

NU — University of Wisconsin,

                        Ava Cochrane, 620 Langdon St., Madison, Wis.

MU — University of California,

                        Marguerite Diaz-Pena, 1700 Euclid Ave., Berkeley, Cal.

LAMBDA — University of Kansas,

                        Gail Sutton, 1005 Kentucky St., Lawrence, Kans.

KAPPA— University of Nebraska,

                        Alice Burge, 1035 J St., Lincoln, Nebr.

IOTA — University of Texas.

            Lilian Walker, 402 W. 24th St., Austin, Tex.

THETA — West Virginia University,

            Emma Beall, Morgantown, W. Va.

ETA — University of Michigan.

            Ellen Crawford, 1027 University Ave., Ann Arbor, Mich.

ZETA — University of Colorado,

            Florence Scott, 1155 Thirteenth St., Boulder, Colo.

EPSILON — Columbia University, Barnard College,

            Eleanor Martin, Perth Amboy, N. J.

DELTA — Dickinson College,

            Margaret Gruber, Carlisle, Pa.

GAMMA — Florida Woman's College,

            Irita Bradford, 591 E. Virginia St., Tallahassee, Fla.

BETA— Colby College,

            Hazel L. B reckon ridge, Foss Hall, Waterville, Me.

PHI ALPHA— George Washington University,

            Agnes Ballock, 1013 Fifteenth St., Washington,

D. C. FAYETTEVILLE ALUMNA—

            Ruth Crozier, Fayetteville, Ark.

WASHINGTON CITY ALUMNiE—

            Vera Vaughan, 1718 I St., Washington, D. C.

ATLANTA ALUMNiE—

            Bessie Ray, 133 Lee St., Atlanta, Ga.

LEXINGTON ALUMNA—

            Katherine Campbell, Nicholasville, Ky.

OXFORD ALUMNAE—

            Elma Meek, Oxford, Miss.

KNOXVILLE ALUMNA—

            Laura Thornburgh, Knoxville, Tenn.

CHICAGO ALUMNjE—

            Frances Pitkin, 1291 Perry St., Chicago, Ill.

KANSAS CITY ALUMNAE—

            Louise Knight, 1418 Linwood Boulevard, Kansas City, Mo.

NEW YORK CITY ALUMNA—

            Mable Boote, 00 Highland Ave., Yonkers, N. Y.

TEXARKANA ALUMNiE—

            Louise Holman, Texarkana, Ark.

NEW ORLEANS ALUMNjE—

            Elma Follett, 1232 St. Mary St., New Orleans, La.

LYNCHBURG ALUMN-E—

            Evelyn L. Moore, Lynchburg, Va.

DENVER ALUMNA—

            Maude Young, 131 Logan Ave., Denver, Colo.

MILWAUKEE ALUMNAE—

            Maude Watrous, Milwaukee, Wis.

Torchbearer (Scene 4)

by

Catherine Proppe


Under the morning sun the marketplace is in full swing. Cartloads of corn and other grains rumble through the city. The threshing floor is covered with wheat.

The elders process through the crowded market, a boy with a drum goes before them to set the pace with his drumbeat. The crowd parts and bows.

The elders climb the stairs, past statues that have been covered with sheets, and process into the Senate Chambers, where the nine senators sit at the dais.

The boy with the drum cries out, “The Council of Elders, my lords.”

“The Council of Elders is so recognized,” says the president of the Senate.

“Presbis Sophia Eumolpas, daughter of Timaeus!” the boy announces.

Sophia stands up and begins her speech. “Honorable Senators, distinguished Hellenes.

“Yesterday morning, at sunrise, I began my granddaughter’s lessons in the alphabeta.

“She learned that gamma is the letter for our Mother Earth, Ge, our Mother who gives us all things.

“Today, she will learn the letter delta, the letter of direction. It is the letter of our Mother Demeter, the Directing Mother.  

“Because of Mother Demeter we are born, we survive, we have the promise of eternal happiness after death.

“Of all the great cities of Greece, Demeter chose to make Eleusis her home.

“Every year, since the earliest meetings of the Amphictyonic Council, before records were kept, all Hellenes honor Queen Deo, the Director of Life and Law through her Mysteries at Eleusis.

“Even as I speak, delegations from the far corners of Greece arrive in Eleusis to deliver first fruit offerings to Queen Deo. To participate in her Divine Mysteries.

“Because of Mother Demeter, the grainary is near full to capacity.

“Because of Mother Demeter, the threshing floor groans with grain.

“Because of Mother Demeter, the Rarian Plains await the first tip of the plough pole.

“All of Greece looks to the great city of Eleusis to fulfill the sacred promise to honor Mother Demeter and her Divine Daughter, Kore.

“But, yesterday afternoon, a foreign delegation, a delegation of soldiers from Italy, under the command of an Emperor from Spain, made a foolish pronouncement and left, like cowards.

“Our obligation is to our Mother Demeter, to Eleusis, and to all the Hellenes, to all of Greece, to all of the world.

“Let the Romans have their Roman God.

“Eleusis must keep the torch of Liberty alive.”

Applause, shouts of approval.

The presiding Senator stands up, revealing a cross sewn into his robe.

“Honored elders, Sophia Theia, you have brokered many peace treaties and negotiated the terms to end many battles. Eleusis is indebted to your service.

“But a new dawn is upon us.

“Athens has opened its doors to Alaric’s Christian army. Athens is in concert with Emperor Theodosius. City upon city has cast aside the old ways---“

“Have been tortured into submission!” an elder man shouts.

The elder man is removed by guards while the President continues speaking.

“The old temples have been converted to worship of the God Jesus—“

“They have been destroyed by Christian armies!” the old man manages to shout before he is removed from the room.

“I will tolerate no more outbursts,” the President states grimly.

“Let it be known that today I will announce a new decree. No one shall worship the Goddesses and Gods within the home. Private worship is forbidden. Private altars shall be destroyed.

“All of Greece unites with Rome under the Father and the Son. All grains of Greece and Rome are consecrated to the Father and the Son.

“There is no place for the old ways of the Mother and the Daughter.

“The Eleusinian Mysteries are no more.”

He bangs his gavel.

A murmur crescendoes in the hall.

“Ksi,” says Sophia, as she stands. The elders process out of the Senate hall. A crowd has gathered at the foot of the steps. The elders process through the crowd. They make eye contact with individuals in the crowd and say, “Ksi.” The crowd begins to repeat the word, “ksi, kisi.”

The Senate leaders look at one another, they don’t know what it means. A gong sounds. The presiding Senator steps forward at the top of the Senate steps.

“God, our heavenly father, has blessed us with an abundant harvest! Tomorrow, we will begin dispersing his grain to the citizens of Eleusis, and then, throughout the Empire. Praise be to Jesus!”

The other Senators echo, “Praise be to Jesus!” but the crowd begins to disperse as though nothing had been said, the murmur of “ksi” still present.  

By the time the procession of elders reaches the theater, the theater seats are packed to capacity. A hymn to Demeter is being performed on the stage. The elders take seats on the stage.

At the completion of the hymn, the elders applaud, and the crowd follows suit.

Agnas takes center stage. Her mother says to her in a low voice, “The Senate is Ksi.”

Agnas announces in a clear voice, “The Senate is Ksi.”

“It is foreign,” says Sophia.

“It is foreign,” Agnas announces.

“They cannot be trusted,” says Sophia.

“They cannot be trusted,” Agnas repeats.

“They take Queen Deo’s grain and consecrate it to their god.”

“They take Queen Deo’s grain and consecrate it to their god.”

Agnas takes a torch and lights it in the altar fire and holds it high above her head.

"Burn the grain," Sophia says.

“Burn the grain!” announces Agnas.

“Torch the grain,” says Sophia.

“Torch the grain!” announces Agnas.

A row of actors and actresses dressed as Goddesses and Gods stand at the foot of the stage with a stack of unlit torches.

The crowd streams forward, and lights their torches. When every person holds a torch, the shout goes up, “To the grainary!”

When the mob arrives at the grainary they toss lit torches into the silos and set the walls on fire. A few guards try to stop them, but then the guards recognize people they know in the crowd, and call to them by name. The guards open the grainary doors and join in the uprising.

“Anassa! Anassa!” the crowd chants.

As the flames and smoke rise high into the sky the call goes up, “To the Senate!”

The mob surges through the marketplace to the Senate. When they storm the steps they find the Senate chamber empty. From a balcony someone cries, “There they go!” the dust of hoofprints is seen in the distance as the Senators flee the city.

“Eleusis is free!” The crowd cheers. They tear down the crosses in the Senate hall and remove the sheets that covered the statues of their Goddesses and Gods.

Sophia takes the podium.

“We have driven the ksi from our city. We have destroyed the grain consecrated to their god. Tonight, we build a new granary, and tomorrow we will consecrate it to our Mother, Demeter, and her Daughter, Kore. Let it be known throughout Greece, Eleusis is free, a beacon of Liberty to all!”

CUT TO ALARIC CHUMMING IT UP WITH THE GLITTERATI AT THE PARTHENON IN ATHENS

He hands out gold coins and crosses to each person he greets. The Parthenon’s statue of Athena lies in crumbled ruins on the floor, replaced by a huge cross.

A messenger whose uniform bears the sign of the cross rushes up to Alaric, out of breath.

“My lord, an urgent message.”

Alaric reads the message. “Assemble my commanders,” he says menacingly.

Torchbearer (Scene 3)

by

Catherine Proppe



As soon as the old woman and her granddaughter near the city, walking hand in hand, it is clear that something big is amiss.

Trumpets are sounding. Drums are pounding at a deliberate beat. A procession of Roman soldiers in full regalia on horseback streams toward the marketplace.

Townspeople follow the line of soldiers. Something big is happening.

“What is it?” people say to Sophia when they see her.

Sophia pretends not to hear their inquiries. Stone-faced, she walks with Eirene to the town square, where a podium has been set up above the crowd. Pushed and shoved in the jostling for position in the crowd, Sophia stumbles.

The young man who had caught Hellen’s eye the day before sees them. “Sophia Theia! Eirene!” he calls. He hastens toward them. “Come with me,” he says.

He leads them up a staircase into a building with an open balcony where they can see the crowd and the podium.

Finally, a contingent of seven horsemen ride to the podium and one of the riders alights. A gong sounds. A hush falls over the crowd.

The herald stands at the podium, and with a clear and ringing voice, announces his authority with a string of epithets:

“On the authority of Flavius Theodosius Augustus

“Emperor Triumphant

“Son of Valentinian

“Defeater of the Usurper Eugenius at the Battle of Frigidus

“Slayer of the Polis of Thessalonica

“Victor in the Battle of Maximus

“Defender of the Catholic Church

“Founder of the Capitol in Constantinople

“Emperor of Catholicism

“Sole Emperor of the Empire

“Champion of the Christian Faith

“Destroyer of the Serapeum at Alexandria

“Destroyer of the Temples of Syria

“Destroyer of the Temples of Carthage

“Destroyer of the Temple of Delphi

“Prohibitor of the Games of Olympus

“Hereby, let it be known that henceforth and forever more  

“The Mysteries of Demeter are forbidden henceforth and forever more.

“The temples shall be closed henceforth and forever more.

A murmur sets up through the crowd. The gong is sounded again.

“Entrance to any temple is forbidden henceforth and forever more.

“Gazing upon a statue is forbidden henceforth and forever more.

“Offerings within any home are forbidden henceforth and forever more.

“All domestic shrines shall be destroyed henceforth and forever more.“

“By the power of the Roman Imperial Emperor, Champion of the One God, the True God:

“The Eleusinian Mysteries are forbidden henceforth and forevermore.”

The speaker jumps back onto his horse and the regalia of horsemen begin their parade through the center of the city and out of town.

Sophia looks out on the square.

“What does it mean, Maia?” her granddaughter asks.

“Sophia Theia?” says the young man.

Sophia looks out on the crowd, stone-faced and silent. Some people see her on the balcony. “Sophia Theia!” they cry. “Sophia Theia!” Many eyes turn to her. Slowly, she raises her right hand and extends her index finger and crooks it. The elders in the crowd do the same.

Sophia descends from the balcony and begins walking toward the theater, the elders and others in her wake. “Sophia Theia, let me carry you,” says a man with a carriage.

They arrive at the interior of the theater where Agnas is supervising the orchestra and dancers.

A stream of children, messengers, run to the farthest rows of the theater, and, unusually silent, await their instructions.

Agnas stops the rehearsal. “What is this?” she asks when her mother and more than a hundred elders settle into the seats of the theater.

“Bring us something to eat and to drink,” Sophia says.

“Let us honor our elders,” Agnas announces.  Servants begin dispensing food and beverages to the elders.

Hellen comes running into the theater. “Mother, what shall we do?” she cries.

Agnas looks toward Sophia. “What is this all about?” she asks.

“The Emperor has outlawed The Mysteries,” Sophia says.  

“We must send a delegation to the Senate,” she continues. She crooks her finger and the oldest boy messenger runs up. “Go to the Senate and tell the magistrate that a Council of Elders wishes to convene there tomorrow at 10 o’clock,” she tells the boy. She writes something on a piece of parchment and hands the boy a candle. “Light this,” she orders him. The boy lights the candle from the altar of Hestia and brings it back to Sophia. She folds the parchment, drips candle wax on the flap, blows on it, and seals the document with the insignia from her ring.

“We must prepare our arguments,” she says.

The elders begin to break up into smaller groups, parchment papers and pens in hand.

“Another foolish edict from Rome,” says Agnas, center stage. “As if these foreigners could ever bring an end to the Mysteries. Not on my watch,” she says.

“Play it again!” she says. The musicians begin a raggedy rendition. Agnas bangs her baton on a drum rim.

Silence.

“And. We. Begin,” she says, holding both hands aloft in front of her. With a downstroke, the music commences.

Torchbearer (Scene 2)

by

Catherine Proppe



“Now, the letter beta.”

Sophia smoothed out the sand once again. “Sit,” she told her granddaughter.

The child sat down.

“When you sat down, where did you sit?”

“On the ground?”

“That is right. You sat on the ground. On Ge, the earth. But what part of your body sat on the ground?”

“My bottom.”

“That is right. Your butt!”

The child giggled.

“You sat on the ground with your butt. This what a butt looks like.” Sophia drew the letter beta in the sand. “Now, draw a butt,” she told the child.

The child drew the letter beta.

“And when you take a step, what is that called? What is a step?”

“A basis.”

“Yes, a basis. A basis is a step.”

“Everybody knows that, Maia.”

“That is right! Everybody knows it. And what is the base of a statue called?”

“The bomos?”

“Right. And ‘basagei,’ what does it mean?”

“The ground.”

“Yes. The ‘base of Ge.’ Now, if I wanted to measure how deep the water is, the deepest point is called the ‘bathos.’ Do you know what ‘buthos’ means?”

“The bottom?”

“Very good. You are learning. Beta means the basis. That is why these words begin with the letter beta.

“On the night you were born, your father and I came here, right here, to this very beach. And we watched the sun set and we waited to see the stars, we wanted to know your basis, the sign rising at the time of your birth. Of course, we already knew that your sign was Leo, the Lion, but it is right and good on the night the child is born to watch for her sign on the horizon. We watched, we saw, we talked about your fate, your ‘bankon.’ Your ‘bankon’ is your destiny.”

“What is my destiny, Maia?”

Sophia grasped Eirene by her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Your destiny is to be strong. Fierce. Stronger than anything. Stronger than a bull.”

“Am I strong, Maia?”

“Yes, you are strong. The Lion draws the carriage for the Divine Mother, that is why the sign of the Lion appears first, then the sign of the Mother. She rides in a chariot drawn by lions. Let me hear you growl.”

“Growl,” the child said in a mock fierce voice.

“I am a bull,” Sophia put her index fingers above her head like horns. “I am going to attack the Divine Mother. I am charging toward her. My bull horns are lowered toward her, what do you do---“

“GROWL!”  the child shouted, her hands hooked like claws.

Sophia laughed. “Yes. That is good.” She laughed and put her arm around the child. “That is very good.”

“What is your basis, Maia?”

A shadow came over Sophia’s animated expression. “On the night of my birth, my father did not come to see my sign on the horizon.”

“Why, Maia?”

“My mother did not survive my birth. It happens. It is the way of things. Sometimes with birth, comes death. With death, comes birth. The sun rises. It sets. It rises again.”

“So you don’t have a sign?”

“Of course I have a sign. Everyone has a basis. My eldest brother went to the beach with my Maia.”

“Great Uncle Tim?”

“Yes, Great Uncle Tim.”

“Did Great Uncle Max and  ___ and ___  and ___ and___ and ___ go with him?”

“No, Great Uncle ___ and ___ were just little, they were bare-bottomed-babies! They were too little to go. Uncle Tim went to the shore with my Maia. They watched for the signs. My sign is Platigks, the Scales of Justice. Your mother was born under Capricorn, the horned pig.”

“And Hellen?”

“Your sister’s basis is Karkinos.”

“Is that a good sign?”

“The crab? The crab?” Sophia crab-walked a few steps. “Let me see you walk like a crab. Can you? Look at Maia, I walk like a crab.” Sophia crab-walked with a bit more dexterity than one would expect from an old woman. “Can you walk like a crab?”

The child crab-walked. Sophia sat on the sand, laughing and clapping. An aged fisherman walked up.

“I will catch that crab and use it for bait,” he teased, pretending to approach Eirene.

“Oh, no! Eirene! Come to Maia! Maia will protect you!”

The child ran into her grandmother’s arms and hugged her, not sure if she should be afraid or not. Sophia and the fisherman laughed.

“Kalimera,” Sophia said to the man.

“Kalimera, Theia,” he said. He continued down the beach toward the docks.

“And now, I have something for you,” said Sophia. She searched in the folds of her gown.

“A present?”

“A present? Yes. A gift. A gift from Ge, the Divine Mother. She gives us all gifts. All gifts.” 

Sophia held a small item wrapped in cloth and tied with flax. Her gnarled fingers struggled to untie the string.

“Here, Maia, I will do it,” said Eirene.

The child untied the string to reveal a very small ceramic bottle filled with dirt. Her face fell. Not a toy.

“The pot, it is filled with Ge, with dirt, a small bit of earth. Inside the dirt I have placed a seed. When the mother plant gives up her seed, the seed must go to the earth, to the Divine Mother, to be nourished so that the seed can grow. The roots go down into the earth, the sprout goes up, toward the sun and the rain, toward Helios and Zeus. When your seed sprouts, it will look like this.”

Sophia smoothed the sand near her with a sense of urgency. She drew the letter gamma. “What letter is that?” she asked.

“Gamma?”

“Yes. That is the letter gamma. That is what a sprout looks like when it comes out of Ge.” She drew the letter E to form the word “GE.” 

“And now I will tell you one more story. This you must learn, and then we will go to the baker for treats.

“These are the words of Hesiod, from 1000 years ago. Say, ‘Hesiod.’”

“Hesiod.”

“Now, listen and repeat:

“’Verily at the first Chaos came to be . . . “

The child repeats the words.

“’But next wide-bosomed Earth, the ever-sure foundation . . .’”

She repeats.

“’Of all.’”

“’Of all.’”

“Now, again.” They repeat the exercise.

Sophia gets up from the sand, takes the little girl’s hand, and they walk back toward the town, continuing the repetition as they walk.