But now it was nearly over. The walls of Thebes had risen to the lyre of Amphion, while the slow but untiring Hours had followed to its soft music the glorious chariot of Apollo; and so artfully was all contrived that the spectators could not discover by what magic the stones were moved, or the figures representing the hours supported as they moved on the mists away.
Hermes, instructing Cadmus in the art of letters; Minerva, introducing the distaff into the household; and Ceres, teaching man to sow the corn; all these had followed with appropriate poetry and music, with many others of a similar description. And then, as if to heighten the effect by contrast, came a hush, a calm, a silence; the stage was covered with clouds; the incense rendered every object indistinct; low, melancholy tones uttered at intervals, kept expectation on the stretch; then suddenly a blast of trumpets seemed to clear away the mists; and the clouds receding, disclosed Aurora opening the gates of the morning to the music of the spheres, who then passed slowly out of sight as a far more lovely vision broke upon the spectators—Venus Urania, borne by the graces into the company of the muses, descending from the skies to greet the votaries who, garlanded and wreathed, were waiting to receive her in a burst of celestial song. The illusion was complete; the daughter of Coelus and of Light was on her first appearance greeted with a tumult of applause; and as in wavy, measured movements, encircled by the graces, she floated down to earth, scattering her bright inspirations in sparks of fire upon the muses who were kindling into enthusiasm at her approach, the whole assembly caught the melody as it rose from the inspired sisterhood:
Beautiful daughter of Coelus and Light,
Coming in glory to gladden our sight.
Vision of loveliness! star of the day!
Grateful and glad is the homage we pay.
All girt by the graces, thou comest to earth;
With joy and with music we welcome thy birth.
Oh! stay, thou sweet goddess, to brighten our life,
To banish our sorrows, to still every strife.
O Venus Urania! we call upon thee,
Inspirer of gladness, of ecstasy!
The singers were the multitude; the sound of the voices of the muses, or those who personified them, was lost in the thrilling greeting which that multitude gave to their favorite—Chione.
Dressed in a dazzling robe spangled with gold, crowned with rays so artificially disposed that they seemed to emit light as she was descending, Chione came forward as the Venus Urania of the Temple.
The throng hushed as she raised her arm to speak; among the thousands there, scarce a sound was heard; the very breathing was suppressed, for fear one tone of that eloquent voice should be unheard. "My friends," she began.
Suddenly a low, piercing wail broke upon the throng, like the moan of a distressed spirit, so unearthly was the sound. Again it rang through the echoes, under ground, over head. Chione started, and the throng was awed. Then, in the fearful silence, these words were heard. Distinctly they came forth, though uttered in a wild, unearthly cadence, as if they were spoken by one of another world:
Once for silver, now for gold,
Is the Lord of glory sold!
Woe, deep woe!
Judas went to his own place;
Nor shall time the sin efface.
He must every joy forego!
For ever, woe! [Footnote 27]
[Footnote 27: It is on record that, at the first preaching of the Gospel, numerous signs, sounds, and words were uttered in the pagan temples, at the times of worship, to the confusion of the multitudes therein assembled. I leave the fact as I found it, to the construction of my readers, each one for himself!]
Every heart was chilled; Chione paled and trembled. Magas sprang to her relief. "It is but a trick of your own devising; you are paid back in your own coin. Compose yourself, it is nothing." The crowd was too dense to allow a search to be made. There was a long pause, but at length Chione was called upon to proceed. Her theme was, "The Glory of Athens—of Athens, the Civilizer of the Nations."