Now the Sacred Way made its last steep turn. From here the whole Delphic Vale burst into view. The Way here ran upward and clung against the wall-like foundation of the Great Temple, but on its outer side was a veritable Olympos, full of gods and godlike men, statues which would remake art if we could but see them now.
All were in action. Achilles on horseback and his beloved young Patroclos running beside the horse and gazing up at him. Apollo and Heracles both grasping the tripod (for they had once had a quarrel over it). The mother Leto and sister Artemis were trying to quiet the angry god, and Athena was quieting the boisterous hero. The eyes of these statues were set with living coloured stones and looked in anger, command, compassion, whatever they willed. No wonder Theria shrank from them a little afraid.
Suddenly Theria was aware beyond the statues of the great depth of vale—the Pleistos a silver ribbon visible for miles, the hills away and away, and ah! the direct golden sunlight in long level shafts flooding the vale. The sun had risen high over the mountain. Her time was almost spent. She fairly ran up to the remaining Way to the platform of the great Temple.
She stood breathless, awed before the greatest temple of all Hellas. It was pure Doric. Grandeur spoke from its mighty columns, repose from its perfect roof. It was at once solemn and tender—man’s thought of God made visible. And indeed the god breathed forth in every line of it. No mere thing of white marble was this. Gorgeous it faced the sunrise, crimson of column, blue and orange of architrave, and golden griffined at eaves and peak.
The doors were newly opened and he who had opened them was busily brushing the threshold with a laurel branch for broom. He was singing softly to himself. Happy young priest at his happy task!
Theria came softly nearer. She knew what was in the temple, every bit of sacred furniture and age-old thing. She wanted to see each object, to treasure it in her heart for ever. The young priest saw her and stopped his sweeping in amazement.
“May I go in?” she asked.
“You know very well you may not,” was his answer. Unlike the rude porter he knew that Theria was a lady. “I cannot imagine, Despoinia, how you managed to come up here.”
“I cannot imagine either,” she answered. The joy of it overcame her and she laughed a gay ripple of laughter. This angered the young man.
“You had no business to come here,” he said severely. “You have disobeyed in coming, that I know, or you would not be alone.”