Edouard Schure the great initiates a study of the secret history of religions

flickering lights shine from all sides beneath the dense trees, at the edge of the river, in the depths of the valley.

"Those are the mystics," the aged guide of the temple says. "They are setting out on their way. Each procession has its torch-bearing guide. We shall follow them."

The travellers meet choirs leaving the woods, starting on their journey. First they see the Mystics of Young Bacchus pass by: adolescents clothed in long tunics of fine linen, and wearing crowns of ivy.

They bear cups of carved wood, symbols of the cup of life. Then follow proud, sturdy young men.

These are called The Mystics of Fighting Hercules: they wear short tunics which reveal their bare legs; lion's skins are draped over their shoulders and loins, and they wear crowns of olive leaves upon their heads. Next the inspired ones appear, The Mystics of Dismembered Bacchus, skins of panthers around their bodies, bands of velvet about their heads, thyrsus in their hands.

Passing near a cavern, they see the Mystics of Adonis and of Subterranean Eros kneeling upon the ground. They are mourning dead relatives or friends. They sing in a low voice, "Adonis, Adonis!

Give us back those you have taken from us, or let us go down into your kingdom!" The wind is swallowed up in the cavern, seeming to stretch itself into the underworld with laughs and mournful rattles of death. Suddenly a mystic turns to the disciple of Delphi and says, "You have crossed the threshold of Adonis; never again will you see the light of the living!" Another brushes past him, uttering these words in his ear: "Shade, you will be the prey of Shades! You who come from the night, return to Erebus!" The disciple of Delphi is frozen with fright. He whispers to his guide: "What does this mean?" The servant of the temple appears to have heard nothing. He only says, "You must pass over the bridge. No one avoids the end."

They cross a wooden bridge spanning the Peneus.

"Where," asks the neophyte, "do these plaintive voices and that mournful chant come from? What are those white shadows which walk in long lines beneath the poplars?"

"They are women who are about to become initiated into the Mysteries of Dionysus."

"Do you know their names?"

"Here no one knows the name of anyone, and each forgets his own. As at the entrance to the holy realm the mystics leave their soiled garments when they bathe themselves in the river, afterward clothing themselves in robes of clean linen, here each leaves his name in order to receive another.

For seven nights and seven days, one becomes transformed, one passes into another life. Look at all those processions of women! They are not grouped according to family or country, but according to the god who inspires them."

Young girls file by, wearing crowns of narcissus and dressed in blue peplos. The guide named these The Companion Nymphs of Persephone. They carry chests, urns and votive vases. Pressed in red peplos next appear The Mystic Lovers, The Passionate Wives and The Seekers of Aphrodite. They move into the depths of the dark forest. From it come violent cries, mixed with languishing sobs.

Little by little, these die away. Then a passionate chorus arises from the dark myrtle wood, mounting to the sky in slow measures. "Eros, you have wounded us! Aphrodite, you have broken our bones!

We have covered our breasts with the skin of the fawn, but we bear on our breasts the bloody marks of our wounds! Our heart is a consuming furnace. Others die of poverty; it is love which consumes us. Devour us, Eros! Erosl -- Or deliver us, Dionysus! Dionysus!"

Another procession moves forward. These women are clothed entirely in black wool, with long veils trailing behind them; all are overcome with deep mourning. The guide calls them Persephone's 112