“So far from it,” Tacita said, “that I would gladly listen longer. But you also may be weary. Tell me, these details of your history, are they all written?”
“Not all. The simple facts are all written. Our archives are perfect. The rest is left to the memory of the people. We write no books of adventure, and no novels; but we talk them; and our story-tellers are as inexhaustible as Scheherezade. You have not yet listened to one of them, though you may have seen an audience gathered about one in the booths above the Arcade. There is one whom I must soon take you to hear. He is a gardener, and understands more about olives and the making of oil than any other man in San Salvador. His story-telling is picturesque and poetical. He does not change the facts, but he transfigures them. His mind has a golden atmosphere. There is another, a baker, who will tell you stories as lurid as the fires that heat his ovens. One of the elders sometimes tells stories of heroic virtue in our pioneers, or in historical characters of the world. When our messengers come in, they always give a public account, sometimes very prosaic, of their travels.”
“Has there never been a traitor in San Salvador?” Tacita asked timidly, fearing to awaken some painful recollection.
“Never!” was the prompt reply. “In the first place, even of persons born here of our most highly-honored citizens, but sent out very young, no one can know that such a place exists till he has returned to it. This is your own case. Those who go out adults are persons who have been tried. Any notable wealth or luxury of living is forbidden, or discouraged, in our people; and having thus nothing which will attract flatterers, they see the world more nearly as it is. Self-interest helps. Besides, with the training our children have, no Judas can come out of San Salvador. We will have no weak mothers here. If a young child shows vicious dispositions, it is taken from its mother and carried outside for training. Perhaps it may never return.”
“She cannot go with it?” Tacita asked.
“She cannot go. Did she give birth to an immortal creature for her own amusement in seeing it ruining itself and others? I do not speak of any mere infirmity of temper in the child, but of some dishonest propensity which persists.”
Tacita bethought her to speak of Ion’s affairs, as she had promised; and after discussing the subject awhile, they went down through darkening stairs and passages to where supper awaited them, set out in an illuminated corner of the great hall.
“I had supper here that you might see the castle shadows,” Dylar said. “Seen from our little lighted corner, all this space seems to be crowded with dusky shapes. Do you see?”
CHAPTER XVI.
They returned to San Salvador the next day. The sun had set when they reached the town, and the streets were full. Elena and Dylar dismounted at the college; but Dylar insisted that Tacita should ride to the Arcade, and he walked there by her side. She made her little progress with a blushing modesty, ashamed of being the only person in town who was not on foot.