Attempt at a lath
memory. His legend, together with that of Firdausi's heroes,
are familiar to most of the village lords. One is sorry in a way
that they can now only read about war while its practice is
abandoned, since that alone might keep them, it seems, from
going to pieces altogether under their village boredom.
The squire and his family did not tire of telling me about the
comfort and splendour of the bath of Bijeno. A clear stream,
said they, renewed every day, ran from a mountain spring into
a tank where, being heated, it received the ablutions of the
squire's lady and her friends before any villagers were allowed
in: I should have it all to myself if I liked.
The mist was still creeping in at our door in a dark and
cheerless way; the rain dripped outside: the prospect of a hot
bath in limpid water sounded alluring; against my better
judgment I consented. I went out in a dressing-gown into
the mist; two daughters and a maid preceded me with a lantern
down a narrow muddy lane, out into fields, in again among
houses, and finally down steps to a subterranean catacomb
littered with debris and egg-shells, where five or six elderly
Maenads with nothing on to hide the repulsiveness of their
bodies welcomed me with exclamations of joy. I felt as if I
were to be initiated among witches into worlds of darkness.
Through two low doorways of stone I saw the water, a torpid
brew which looked many weeks old already: the toothless
naked ones saw me hesitate, and invited me with shrieks of
delight. But my courage failed. Though I knew that it
meant an insult to Bijeno and all its inhabitants, I could not
face it: I gathered up my dressing-gown and fled.
When I returned to die family circle, the squire's musician
was with Him, a wizened litde man in a felt suit much too big
for him, gadiered into a tight belt which made him look like
musical comedy. He was playing on a pipe that Theocritus
might have handled, made of the Chalus reeds and decorated
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