A Walk In Hellas:
From Lebedeia To Chaeroneia
From Chaeroneia To Arachoba
New Life Of Old Parnassus
Two Worlds Of Parnassus
Rambles Over Parnassus
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( Originally Published Early 1900's )
THE history of Delphi is a history of the spiritual life of Greece. The social and political changes of the country took place elsewhere, but their inner significance is best imaged in the mutations of the Delphic Oracle from its early importance to its cessation. It was the intense spiritual center; to it the fresh Greek problem was always presented for solution ; it had to give some response, often uncertain enough. Over a thousand years we know that it was consulted, and probably much longer. During that time its history would be the best reflection of the Greek consciousness, had we anything like a complete record of its eventful moments.
Now can we get an image of the old town, an image true yet not detailed, which will tell its own meaning? Not a mere picture of the fancy, I mean, but an image which is an utterance of the real thing at Delphi, which in its own visage reveals what lies back of it and created it. Such an image becomes laden with profound significance, with the very profoundest, of a nation or age, and speaks as nothing else can. Thus, too, great monuments ought to speak ; this they do speak, if read aright. Delphi is full of ruins ; they are still an expression of that old world in fact just the true expression of it, if they be made to tell their secret. Such is now our vocation : to compel their utterance, if we can ; accordingly let us begin during these sunny days to ramble among the stones of Delphi, and listen to their broken speech. Not with the pains-taking research of the antiquarian shall we make the round, but chiefly solicitous about the thing said or intended to be said by the monuments. Can we hear the voice of the Delphic stones and put it into words? It is not a slight task, but it must be attempted.
The sojourner will, therefore, settle down to his occupation, perceiving that he has no small enterprise in hand. Chiefly let him feel that the work is not to be done in haste; indeed, forcing of any sort will spoil the whole result; leisurely loving assimilation is the only method of reaching the Delphic heart. It is not with him a subject of erudite search, of antiquarian lore; still he must organize his studies, which will naturally fall into certain divisions; he will consider the Delphic town, now represented by ruins, in its various parts. These ruins he will dwell among, listening first to their separate voices; then he will seek to find the common note in them all. But first he will cast a glance every day into the physical background of the town.
Already we have had much to say about the aspect of Nature at Delphi; yet we have by no means said enough; it must never be left out of the vision. Nature is indeed the oldest monument of Delphi, and the best pre-served; little change has come over it since the beginning of the Oracle. It has its own ancient note still, that is the key-note; it whispers the same to-day as yesterday, and vaguely hints wherewith it is to be filled. The most indefinite perchance, still it is the most enduring of Delphic memorials and always in the background.
What strikes the observer at once is the immense variety of Nature within a small space. Earth seems to have centered all her diversity at this spot, and therein to have attained a sort of universality just here; no wonder then that she was the first divinity of the ancient Delphians. You behold mountain and plain, sea and valley, with the eternal interplay of clouds and skies; all the seasons with their various vegetation are within eye-shot; rudest aspect of rocks with mildest repose of fields sport through the range of the same glance. Such is the intense concentration of Nature, yet ever in movement too, like Time itself But there is no confusion, on the contrary everything has its chosen place, and the whole moves forward in quiet harmony. Day by day you will watch the landscape, study it with new wonder, till the feeling of it sink deep within you, and you will exclaim This is indeed the center of the earth. So the old Delphians felt when they showed in their town the omphalos or navel of the world. That was but an utterance of their faith, and it still may be taken as the utterance of Nature to-day.
Yet it is strange that the ancients had no landscape artists in our sense of the term. Small bits of scenery seem to float through those pictures of Polygnotus in the Lesche, but there were then no painters of landscape, nor any writers of landscape, such as we have now in excess. Shall we say that anciently there was no love of Nature on these hill-sides love of Nature for its own sake? The truth is, that the ancient Greek man had more of it than we and lived more near to Nature; in fact he was too much a part of the same to distinguish himself fully from it. To stand back and admire Nature, demands separation from it in the admirer; not so free from Its immediate influence was the Greek as we are, it is in his soul more deeply. Therein lies the very source of his art: Nature was not separated from spirit, but in a most intimate, triumphant harmony with it.
So Nature becomes filled with spirit, and is trans-formed from her primitive rudeness, being made into the image of mind. Thus Art springs up, for Art is Nature transfigured. This transfiguration of Nature is the most beautiful, if not the most important, step in the history of mankind. It took place on this hill-side, for the Delphic city is the center and outgrowth of the surrounding nature. Here are the ruins, the remains of that ancient transfiguration of Nature; let us traverse them, and try to hear what they report.
Delphi lies on the mountain slope in a small depression of a semi-circular form ; the site has often been compared to a theater. You will say, after some inspection, . that the town rests in the very eye of the landscape, is its eye's apple in fact. The peculiarities of the Delphic territory are concentrated at this point, ready to burst forth into new forms. The city springs from the unwonted travail of the earth ; buildings rise up from the slope, telling even in their ruins the Delphic secret. Let us go through them in order.
. (1.) Gymnasium. Still many remains of this building are visible; it was upon the site where the Metochi or cloister now stands. Thick walls of cut stone appear, inside of which the chapel is at present; scattered about are fragments of columns, of architectural ornaments, of reliefs. A broken world, yet capable of being put together again for it was not a caprice, but a severe, even logical development of forms. This structure was a principal one of the town, indeed of every Greek town, an integral element of communual life. What then was done here?
This was the place of education, we may call it the Greek school-house; yet very different things were taught there from what we teach in such a place. It is the house of training, but the first thing to be trained in man is his natural part, his body. Such is the primary function of Greek education, to transfigure that physical element which belongs to him, then he can pass beyond his body and reduce nature. Thus he elevates his own frame into a work of art, making it transparent with his own will, the beautiful implement which not only sub-serves but also clearly images his intelligence.
From this educational basis sprang much which be-longs peculiarly to the Greek man. First of all, health, the harmonious working of the members of the body ; it thus becomes truly an organism in which there is no jar. Health he had and cherished, for health is harmony and attunes the world to harmony. The Greek leaves everywhere the impression of health, no dyspeptic outbursts and no hysteric jerkiness, but health. The Greek Literature has this glory of health; struggle, despair, death, it has but the death is a healthy one. Therefore, if he keep his Greek harmony, he must train the body, to which then he may attune all. Here is the training-school, first step of Greek education, yet never laid aside for old as well as young practiced gymnastic exercises. From the body this health went over into the mind, from nature into spirit; and as spiritual the Greek training is a persistent fact of the world.
But not for health merely was the gymnasium built here, not for physical education; it was rather that man might make himself a beautiful object, his body become a perfect thing of its kind. Let it be developed for its own sake, let the germ be unfolded into complete being then the body will be beautiful ; behold it ! So every Greek man sought to make himself the bearer of a perfect thing, though it be the body merely. Not only this; he loved to behold that perfection in others, loved to look at the most beautiful man. Hence the Gymnasium was a place of gathering to behold beautiful forms, organisms working melodiously with a delight of their own. See the youths wrestling, and the eager spectators ! The eye becomes trained to form, sensitive to graceful movement. But watch that other man intently gazing there with inner ectasy. It is the Artist, he is to shape a statue of Hermes; now he beholds the God divinely floating over land and sea in yonder youth. Thus the Gymnasium became the inspiration of plastic art. No beautiful man must perish, the artist must rescue him from death ; so we read of 3,000 statues of athletes in the enclosure of the God at Delphi to be protected by Apollo as long as his worship endures. The Gymnasium thus finds its utterance in Art; its training ended in bringing forth the beautiful plastic work, in which the Greek beheld himself in a divine mirror.
Far different is the training here at present; the monastery stands upon the site of the old Gymnasium. Not the tranformation of body now, but its laceration, its destruction; it is given us to be crucified. An ugly thing it is, to be disguised in black garments which re-veal no form; a worthless thing, to be punished forever for something which it never did. Quite the opposite to what one anciently saw on this spot; joyous youths leaping up in radiant shapes, children of sunlight, white as day. But let us not live now in modern Castri, but in ancient Delphi.
(2.) Stadion. If the Gymnasium was the place of training, the Stadion was the place where that training was put to the test. Thither we may now pass to the upper part of the town ; thence we overlook the ancient city, overlook the vale, and from one part catch a glimpse of the sea, with Arcadian summits lying beyond in the blue distance. Still seats cut out of the solid rock can be observed, rising upwards, row after row ; let us fill them with the mass of ancient faces gazing there. What were they looking at ?
It may be summed up in a word: struggle. A trait of abiding intensity in the old Greek was to behold struggle, the beautiful struggle. The Gymnasium prepared the body into an instrument of grace and dexterity, that was the first struggle of training; but who among these many youths and men has the most perfect instrument? It must be settled by contest; thus arose the games and their rewards. Practice leads to conflict; the end is beautiful victory; the result of training is shown in the outcome of the contest.
With deep participation they looked from these seats on the struggle, and therein beheld an image of human life. Man begins with struggle, his whole existence is struggle, important if the struggle be desperate. Thus the value of existence is measured by struggle. The 'contestants stood in the Stadion, with forms developed by training; they had made the preparation, so that every movement was skill and beauty; it was the beautiful struggle which the spectators gazed at ; such, too, they were to make of their lives. Struggle it had to be; let it not be frantic, spasmodic, extravagant, but regular, moderate, beautiful. An ideal principle always lurked in these games, quite as much as in the conflicts of a tragedy.
Harmony, therefore, we see even in struggle. Now this harmony is to find expression in a more tuneful way; hence the poet enters. He celebrates the victor; he throbs with exultation as he beholds triumph in the beautiful struggle. He sings Kallinikos, beautiful victory; not the rude superiority of brute force, but the victory of nature trained, of beauty. For this the paean rises, and includes Heroes and Gods; for have they not done likewise, and are they not Heroes and Gods just by virtue of beautiful victory, over wild beasts, monsters, robbers, over giants and Titans? Our Delphic God had his contest with Python, ending in victory which gave us Delphi : anciently the fight was described in music with flute, harp and song.
But the struggle did not end in one strain; music too had its struggle. For many were the musicians ready to celebrate the beautiful victory; who can make it most beautiful? Next then we must have a musical contest, in which a struggle is thrown momentarily into harmony itself, only to end in a still newer harmony. The hill-side re-echoed with harmony, life was to be melodious, and to seek a melodious utterance. The poet is, therefore, the last expression of this harmonious world. He too has required to be trained, has had his struggle with rude nature out of which he has lured his strains ; then comes the poetical contest ending with him also in beautiful victory. Thus the Stadion rises to a grand musical swell, culminating in the song and triumph of the poet who is here the lyrist or sweet singer of odes and hymns to the victors.
(3) Theater. Still there is struggle or the representation of struggle, but it is of a new kind. Deep conflicts of soul now enter, and possess the realm of Art; these are to be represented in all their strength. It is no longer the beautiful struggle of bodies, but the beautiful struggle of principles, of exalted ideas; nature has risen to spirit. Such is the transition from the Stadion to the Theater. Behold Antigone and Creon; they are not the bearers of a physical conflict but of a spiritual conflict; each has a right, and these two rights grapple like two athletes, not to the outer eye but to the inner vision, with an agonizing intensity. The unseen realm is now drawn into struggle become a vast arena whose mighty combatants are thoughts, body-controlling, world-conquering. An ideal element always lay in the the bodily combat, but it was obscured by flesh; in the Theater the last shred of rude nature is thrown off and the struggle becomes wholly ideal two athletic thoughts wrestling for the control of the universe.
The Theater, therefore, manifests struggle in the Up-per World, while the Stadion manifests struggle in the Lower World. Yet even the latter bears the faint impress of the former, and therein finds its chief glory. But the theatrical representation is wholly the work of the poet; its combatants are his creations; they fight entirely under his command. For the poet's realm is peculiarly this Upper World, in which he dwells, and to which he leads the spectator up from below. Thus there arises upon this spot the Dramatic Poet, portraying the collisions of principles and solving them into a final harmony, which is the nature of beautiful victory.
But among dramatic poets there is struggle struggle to represent this sphere in the most adequate manner. There must be a contest and its prize; who among these makers of harmony is most harmonious? A temporary dissonance, but ending in sweetest concert with beautiful victory for the poet. Thus the struggle in its two-fold phase, in the dramatic work, and in the dramatic contest, has ended in harmony. No wonder that a fountain of song was eternally welling up at Delphi, and in all Greece; here is that veritable fountain now gurgling at our side, which has become the type of all poetic fountains.
(4.) Castalia. Doubtless the spring at the mouth of the gorge is the ancient Castalian fount dear to the Muses. The earthquake of 1870, which destroyed Delphi; filled the spring with a mass of broken rock from the mountain above. It has now been cleared out, and the form of the site can be observed accurately. Six stone steps descend to the rectangular basin of water; leading to these steps was a pavement of stone. Niches hewn into the solid rock, now sacred to St. John, show the places for ancient images. Behind the basin is a passage cut through the rock which leads to small chambers, the innermost sanctuary of the spot. The whole was doubtless covered with a small temple; column and frieze engirdled the waters; still a few architectural marks will be noticed.
All is laid out in the happiest proportion, though only the foundations remain. There is a simple harmony speaking from these hints. Here one sees what the Greeks did with nature in the strongest light. Around Castalia on all sides are rude fantastic shapes, jutting precipices, chaotic ravines ; at once they drop into symmetry, nothing is capricious, the phantasms become filled with harmonious law. No contrast could be more direct or striking than the one just here. Behold the two-Nature and Art set alongside of each other in the gorge; thus the world becomes harmonious, man too and Castalia is veritably the inspiration of such an existence, the abode of the Muses.
Thus the contrast rises into an act of worship for the ancient man; he could behold what he was, what he must make out of himself. The example for the eye and the heart of the pilgrim .was here; the ceremonies with-in the little temple said the same thing, also the statues in the niches above. Fancy the beautiful things once on this spot, the whole mountain seemed to be passing into the new transformation ; the suppliant entered the shrine with such a lesson, the natural spring is changed into a hundred rills of marble beauty. Nor can one for-get the long white folds of the priestess descending into the pool ere she sits upon the tripod; the utterance of the fountain in one form or other she must give, being herself transformed and beautiful.
Of Castalia the modern traveler will drink daily during his sojourn; the image of its old form will spring into his mind, its purport too will not fail to suggest it-self like a face under the water. The fountain beautified by Art, and raised into a symbol of the transfiguration of Nature, will be quaffed : such is the true poetic draught. Equally needful will it be to go back into the dim gorge and there behold the image of an immense head in the rock with long mane-like hair the man of nature who is to be transformed into the beautiful statue. Dark is this descent, full of shudders possibly, but the faithful pilgrim has to make it, and to be purified.
The earthquake, too, will become in his mind a sort of a typical thing, in its attempt to overwhelm Castalia. The bruises of the falling stones are marked everywhere upon the basin; still she appears again in beauty. Such earthquakes have been frequent at Delphi, both of the real and spiritual kind ; chiefly the latter. Above all, those tides of barbarians, from the oldest times to our own, from Persian to Turk, have come like an earthquake; ages of ignorance and of prose have buried Castalia out sight, but somebody will be forever bringing her to light again. Thus every occurrence seems to adumbrate a meaning below the surface. Castalia elevates all reality into a type; whatever happens to her becomes a poetic deed, revealing underneath the truth of ages. Veritably, therefore, it is the spring of the Muses. Just as the body was trained in the Gymnasium, so Nature was trained in the fountain, to reveal her spiritual visage.
Into what different world from that of the dark prophetic recess does Castalia lead you! In it nature is trained to beauty, to the mild bearer of spirit ; the rough sides of the mountain fall into harmonious pro-portion in the chapel and temple ; out of the naked rock spring happy shapes representing what is divine ; the fountain itself is changed from a wild spontaneous gush out of chaotic masses into the calm pellucid basin of marble which now holds it. Such was the Greek world imaged in Castalia herself; such too was the Greek religion faintly adumbrated, whose more complete manifestation we may now consider.
(5.) Temple of Apollo. This was the central point of Delphi, we may say of all Greece, at one time, namely, its instinctive, prophetic period. But its deepest foundation rested upon training also, training of the mind, to which we have ascended from training of the body. Wisdom is the result, hence that old inscription seen in the vestibule, Know Thyself. Castalia, however, had done this too in her rise out of nature; but now mind comes to worship its own principle in Apollo ; mind is the God. The divine has truly appeared, and spirit adores spirit in all its manifestations. These we shall hastily trace in their connection with the temple.
It is clear that the world of Art revealed itself primarily here in antiquity. The ancient pilgrim, rounding the spur of the mountain behind which Delphi lies, looked up as he came from the East and beheld, what? First the temple, one of the finest and largest in Greece the Greek temple with white column, architrave and me-tope ; Apollo, God of Light, was perched aloft in the pediment; this was the first object falling into his eye. Then around the temple were grouped the smaller buildings, treasuries, porches each one an architectural gem : all gathered around the heart of Delphi. Thither he would pass through a forest of statues, over 3,000 in the time of Pliny after repeated depredations of the temple. Nero alone is said to have carried off 500 works in bronze. Famous paintings too were on the walls of the sacred edifices, notably those in the Lesche, hereafter to be mentioned.
Art, then, is the revelation; the early religious inistinct comes forth in forms of beauty.. Thus there appears to the outer sense the Greek world ; here it is revealed, revealed in Art. On this hilliside is the bloom of Greek life; this Delphic work we may call its fairest coronal flower. As one looks up and sees all that beauty restored, he asks again, how did it happen to spring up just here? One can not approach Delphi to-day with-out feeling the might of Nature, that she is doing her best to utter the spiritual element which lies back of her. Such is the variety of her forms, and their intensity too, ready to rise into the new transfiguration at the touch of the sympathetic hand of skill. Nature declares her-self to be a Greek artist with all her shapely figures bursting forth to the sun on this hill-side.
But the anxious inquirer could not be content with this sensuous glory, he must go deeper and seek the dark roots of the fair flower, roots striking deep into the Delphic rocks. In other words, from Art he must pass to Religion. For is not this the most important question: What is Time bringing forth for me and out of me? Time, as the elemental principle of our world, has all concealed within its dark chasm ; the eager pilgrim would fain have himself brought into sunlight from his own obscure depths, as beautiful Delphi has been brought into sunlight out of dim Nature. So he enters the temple and inquires of the God there, who himself has risen into this beautiful revelation. The Priestess springs upon the tripod, the strange prophetic vapor rises from the unknown depths of the earth and inspires her; thus she seeks to bring the dark unseen thing to light, which is her holy act and her loyalty to the God. Her lispings are written down in poetic form by the priest, sometimes a distinct utterance, sometimes very indistinct, but even then commanding the consultor to put his own meaning into the response, and thus to take his own deed upon himself.
Therefore we have even at bright Delphi the obscure symbol of man's ascent out of darkness; necessarily an unclear thing, though very real. Within the sacred walls was a deep cave, to which very few found admission ; the glorious temple with all its fair works was built around a dark recess of Gaia ; if the consultor would know his own origin and what is to be, thither he must descend and listen. It gives the process of Greek culture and hints what every Greek man has to go through, giving him an impressive symbol of his regeneration, whereby it becomes his religion, the deepest principle by which he lives.
Art also at Delphi has expressed this dualism of Greek life its Upper and Lower Worlds. In the famous painting by Polygnotus in the Lesche was the Trojan war, that grand struggle of Grecian civilization with the Orient. The profoundest duty of the Hellenic world, its duty to be the barrier of the West against the Oriental man, was therein expressed vividly to the vision. The Greek of every age could read in that picture his last duty, could behold his ideal. But there was another painting in the same place: the descent of Ulysses, the supremely wise man of Greece, to the Lower Regions, and what he beheld there. Thus the wise man must do, must go back into the primitive dark chasm of things such is the inner descent which was imaged by the painter, but which had to be performed by the worshiper.
There was also the sacred fire kept forever burning, and the sacred hearth of the God, the primitive spot which binds to unity human feeling. Subterranean caverns or chambers were built under the temple round the fount of Cassotis, whither one might go and catch the first rude lisp of mother Earth. The Earth is indeed the primal Totality, and will reveal the Totality for has she not all in her bosom, all that is to be ? Let the priestess be absorbed into the Earth, and feel the faint oscilations, or whisperings perchance; then let her utter them. Often Gaia does seem to forwarn and to reveal deep secrets in that way. In some such manner the worshiper tried to get back of the fair life at Delphi, the world of temples, statues, treasures, to reach what lay behind them and brought them into being and to appropriate, the same unto himself. The beautiful life must be mine, it is that which I worship ; let me transfuse myself, now a rude thing of Nature, into the Delphic image, by passing through the same process.
Very far back was the Delphic worshiper led; there were hints of that remotest form of worship, the fetish. The sacred stone upon which the first Sybil sat and uttered her responses was pointed out in historic times, still an object of reverence. Then the stone of Cronus, which Rhea gave him instead of the infant Jupiter, was there; this infant grew up and overthrew the old Gods, the Gods of mere Nature, and instituted the new glorious epoch of which Delphi is the highest manifestation. Let therefore the ancient relic, the symbol of the mighty revolution be preserved as a holy memorial. Chiefest of all is the Omphalus or navel stone, marking the center of the earth. Jupiter sent out two eagles, one from the East and one from the West, and they met upon that spot; such was the divine proof. The stone had the two images of the two eagles upon it, as the account runs. Very old indication of the importance of Delphi, this is ; the place is a center, an intense physical center first, then a spiritual one in fact the one images the other. We have already noticed the primitive oracle of Gaia; the first rude attempt to grasp the Universal, for is not the Earth the first All to the natural man? Thus the worshiper was led back deep into the origin of things, and deep into himself. The two stones, one the formless fetich, the other the marble statue of Apollo, shewed the Delphic transition.
In the ceremonial at Delphi, we may therefore notice several stages of primitive worship, each of which was a descent of the soul into itself as well as a going backward in historic time. This correspondence of the growth of history with the growth of the single soul, of what is universal with what is individual, is the great fact of religion; each human personality must be what its race is, nay must ideally go over what its race has gone over. The worshiper beholds in these rites a rise out of that which he himself is and an elevation into the divine ; it is to him, therefore, the most vital of all processes.
Thus the world or its history is nothing more than a man, the universal man, developing himself according to his own spiritual law, with which universal man the individual man must place himself in harmony in the act of worship. The World-Man let him be called ; he too is seeking to unfold himself into reality, whereof the Greek time is one great phase. To this World-Man correspond infinite individuals, reflecting him as their Highest, adoring him, going back through his primordial stages, for his way is their way. Thus was every Greek in the Delphic time, an image more or less complete of the World-Man then ; this was indeed his very essence, was that which made him Greek.
In one way or another every individual has to pass through the development of the World-Man, of his antecedent historic realities; such is the education of the race to-day. One must be all that the World-Man is or has ever been essentially. Merely individual development would be worth little, if there was not in it at the same time a universal development, if the World-Man did not shine through it and transfigure it. Each person must grow over again what mankind has grown over; on the wing of his race he rises out of savagery to the front of his own time; such is true education, such, too, in another form, is worship. Thus the Delphic worshiper in these rites lived over again the life of his race, and rose with it into the clear happy sunlight of Delphi.
Mythology too has imaged the same course of things as the ceremonial. The legend says of Gaia that she was here first, then occurred changes; Themis, she who establishes, had the Oracle after Gaia, before it passed to Apollo. Then the slaying of the serpent Python marks the advent of the new God. Dim adumbrations in legend they are of early changes, early advances; the mythus always pictures the ascent of the spiritual from the natural ; indeed it is just the forms of nature filled with the impress of spirit.
(6.) Pylaea. This is the supposed site of the Amphictyonic edifice the political instrumentality of Delphi. The Amphictyonic council sat here, it was the political framework which protected Delphi ; a sort of federation it seems of surrounding tribes, whose object was to de-fend the God, to preserve him as the sacred center of Hellenism. One highest purpose alone it could have that was to unite Greece, to make these little communities harmonious; all Greece was to be a Delphi, beautiful flowers springing up from rocky slopes. The oneness which the whole Hellenic race felt in its God the Amphictyons were to make institutional, to elevate into the state.
But this could not be, this was the limit of the God, the limit of Greece. The unity which she felt in her deity, she was unable to realize in her political institutions. Her oneness remains an emotion, an aspiration, a dream, an oracle. Not strong enough to realize her common brotherhood such was her weakness ; with it the brand of destiny. The Delphic Amphictyony as a political contrivance is utterly fragile, shows in fact the limitation of Greek spirit in all is nakedness. Thus the bare stones of Pylaea are deeply significant they mean the ruins of Delphi, temples and all; that Hellenic unity in the God never became an abiding fact in the world. The town had no adequate protection from without, which is furnished by the state; Greece never translated, never could translate this Delphic feeling of oneness into one government for the whole Greek kinship ; the religious unity was never realized in the secular polity, which, therefore never had any true center. The stones of Pylaea represent more than Delphi, they are the image of entire Hellas.
Not all the ruins of Delphi have we here reported, nor is it necessary. There is one Hellenic note in them, they sing in unison, when we are once introduced into their company. That note of unity is what the eager so-journer would hear, and carry away in some form, if he can; many times during the day he goes out and listens. But not always can he hear the music; it has its day, its hour, its very minute ; it cannot be wooed at will, it cannot be held by violence. But after many attempts, after long sitting amid the tumbled stones, after a loyal surrender to the influence, it will come, come unexpectedly. The Delphic unity, that of the whole Greek world, will rise up a living thing, a creative thing in the soul, will be yours, though your utterance of it be faint and fragmentary as Delphi itself.