In the grove of Venus, the scent of citrus fruits and quinces perfumes the air, charging everything with a sheen of sensuality. Entering the glade, the fruits and blossoms shift and shimmer magically before the eye, caressed by the sound of chuckling streams and the gentle cooing of doves.



[68]

Once, as a youth on the slopes of Mount Nysa, I seduced a nymph. As it had been promised that she would one day wear a crown, she made me promise that afterwards, I would bestow on her a crown. But a crown is no light symbol and when I complied with her request she was promptly turned into a pomegranate which is surmounted by a crown-like calyx. Though our marriage was arranged by the Fates, the same thing would have happened to Ariadne had I not thrown her bridal chaplet up into the stars and abandoned her on our wedding night. This was because, mortals, who live through time, are symbolically linked to the gods, who live beyond time, by means of the crown. The crown, as a circle of completion, represents time repeating itself, this being the only way by which immortality can be grasped by mortals. As Nietzsche discovered, the test of morality for a god or a hero is not to be made by comparing their actions with some pre-established moral code but by asking, whether, in a world of eternal recurrence, in which all actions are eternally repeated, they would have behaved in the same way. For an immortal the answer is invariably a resounding "yes!" As a god who dies in order to be born again, I am the quintessence of eternal recurrence and what distinguishes me from other gods is my willingness to put myself to the test and the ease with which I may be summoned by mortals, proffering myself in sacrifice to all those who invoke my name. I thus transcend categories and blur distinctions. In my being, life and death are interwoven, so that all my emblems embody both thanetos and eros and consequently many of them I share with Venus, Demeter, Persephone and Diana.
As a god who transcends categories, what makes the transgressions committed in my name uniquely mine, is the fact they inevitably lead to revelation and offer mankind a glimpse of the divine. Taken to its ultimate heights this results in the initiate becoming like me, and in becoming like me, he is absorbed into my being so that though he dies he is born again as a part of me. Those however, who undeservedly bestow upon themselves the crown that symbolises this process, are metamorphosed under its weight. It was from this fate that, by abandoning Ariadne on her wedding night and throwing her chaplet back into the hands of the Fates, I was able to save her.



[69]

In Ancient Greece, a woman's sexuality was defined by being linked with the fertility of the earth, so that Athenian fathers would hand their daughters over to their future husbands with the words, "I hand this woman over to you for the ploughing of legitimate children." As women were seen to derive a disproportionate amount of pleasure from sex, the positive aspects of this equation were offset by a distrust of female sexuality. Prior to marriage a Greek woman was called admetus, which means "untamed". Just as the earth had to be cultivated in order to maximise its fruitfulness, so too, Greek men thought of their wives' sexuality as something in need of control so as to ensure the legitimacy of the children produced. A hierarchical distinction therefore evolved, differentiating between the lover and the beloved. Where the lover was meant to be able to moderate his passions, the beloved was thought of as incapable of such control and was thus deemed to be inferior. Nevertheless, for all his restraint it was the lover, like the farmer, who was the initiator and the pursuer. Among Olympeans the only female deity to repeatedly assume the role of lover and reverse these hierarchies was Aphrodite, who with her magic girdle, could put even Zeus under temptation. At the onset of puberty, boys and girls were separated to be initiated by the elders of their sex into their future roles in life. In this, homosexual relationships between boys and men were an important part of the process. At first the distinction between lover and beloved was rigidly maintained but as the lover instilled in his beloved, the moderation and self-control that brought manhood, so the difference between them would become less marked. Likewise desiring relationships with other women were part of the initiatory journey made by a young girl on the way from puberty to adulthood and marriageable status. Dancing and singing with her female companions, she would be taught to cultivate feminine charms, learning to appreciate and desire them in others. But whilst homosexual relationships between men centred on initiation into the gender politics of power, among women they constituted a glorification of female beauty. In making herself beautiful an aristocratic Greek woman would be honouring Aphrodite as well as her female companions. Consequently, while for men there was always something fearful about the love goddess' power, by women she was invoked as a friend and ally. The distinction between lover and beloved was also of less significance between women. On Greek vases showing homosexual relationships taking place between men, the difference in age, shown by means of height and by the lover's being bearded, is always stressed whereas lesbian relationships are devoid of such hierarchical structuring, usually being symbolised by two women of equal height, sharing a cloak, often with a dove between them, representing courtship.
After being torn apart and eaten by the Titians, I was taken by Hermes to the house of King Athamas of Orchomenus and disguised as a girl to be brought up in the womens' quarters. But Hera saw through this disguise and drove Athamas and his queen mad. Zeus was therefore compelled to summon Mercury again, this time instructing him to transform me into a goat and to leave me to the care of the nymphs, Macris, Nysa, Erato, Bromie and Bacche, who lived on the slopes of the mountain named after Nysa. Thus, as a god of transgression, brought up among women, like Aphrodite I sought to challenge and reverse the hierarchies that ruled Greek society. While at symposia men drank their wine diluted with water, back at home their womenfolk drank theirs neat. Filled with my divine furor, my maenads are symbols of awe inspiring power; while my satyrs, with their insatiable appetites for women and wine, are devoid of any restraint or control and are thus comical figures. And yet for men, deep down they are equally disturbing.
It is here, that the roots of both tragedy and comedy are to be found. As the Country Dionysia, held every spring, became more and more popular, Pisistrates, the tyrant who ruled Athens from 546-527 BC realised that the best way to control a popular movement was to institutionalise it. Thus the first theatre was built in the centre of Athens, with the specific intention of bringing under the umbrella of officialdom a cult that had grown too strong to be either banned or ignored. On stage men would be dressed as satyrs while a throng of women armed with thyrsuses, would dance around my ritual phallus. This surging throng was called a komos, from whence komodeo, to mock. From the trag-odia, the "goat-song" sung by the satyrs, the tragedies of the later dramatic competitions evolved. However the play that won the competition in 404 BC not only succeeded in reuniting tragedy and comedy but also showed that my rites are not so easily reduced to authoritarian control as Pisistrates might have hoped. The play was, of course, Euripides's Bacchae, in which I, portrayed as an effeminate youth, mock and challenge the authority of the Theban king, Pentheus. At first disbelieving and indignant, he is later overcome with curiosity and the play ends with the women of Thebes returning triumphantly from the mountains, bearing what they believe to be the head of a mountain lion but which is in reality the head of Pentheus, whom they have dismembered.
In my rites, the distinctions between tragedy and comedy, life and death, lover and beloved, are all dissolved and hence I am known as Lyaeos, "the dissolver".

24 Oysters	Lemon Juice
3 Tbsp. crushed Crackers	Salt
100g Butter	Pepper
200 ml Cream	Cayenne
200 ml white Wine

Open the oysters and put into a pan, straining their water through muslin. Add the wine and begin to boil, removing from the heat as soon as the first bubbles appear. Skim any scum from the surface and add the cream, crushed crackers and butter. Season and stir well before serving.
Oysters are to be purchased live, with their shells tightly closed or closing when disturbed. They should therefore be heavy due to being full of water. Once bought they are to be consumed as soon as possible but can be kept for a short time if wrapped in seaweed or a damp cloth and kept in a cool place with the rounded side down. Oysters should be opened at the last possible moment with a stout knife and may be eaten alive, dressed simply with lemon or cooked.

[70]

In the seventeenth century, as the bases of the new science were being laid, the age-old equation linking female sexuality with the forces of Nature, once again came to the fore. But this time it was not so much their wives' sexuality that men sought to suppress, for that control had hardly been relinquished, rather the metaphor was now reversed and Nature was likened to a wench, whom it was the duty of the scientist to master and subdue. In his Advancement of Learning, Francis Bacon, expounding on the methodology of science, urges that from henceforth, Nature is to be bound into service, hounded in her wanderings and put on the rack and tortured for her secrets.
Where Hermetic philosophers had sought to balance and compliment the forces of the world by means of sympathetic magic, it was now the scientist's avowed intent to conquer and subdue them. Ever since Prometheus first brought fire to man, tyrants had coveted the thunderbolts of Zeus. In the seventeenth century the princes, dukes and rules of Italy realised that, following the Medieval invention of gunpowder, military strength was now firmly linked with the power and accuracy of the cannon. Scientists like Galilieo were therefore employed to study motion and the laws of falling bodies. Intuitively understanding that the symbol of Zeus' power was intimately connected with the laws that governed the heavens, once they had improved the fire power of their patron's canons such men then went on to apply their theories to the motions of the celestial bodies, daring to assume the role of Apollo himself.
Although Virgil in his Georgics also speaks of mastering the material side of Nature, concluding with the lines:

Blessèd is he whose mind had power to probe
The causes of things and trample underfoot
All the terrors of inexorable fate
And the clamour of devouring Acheron;

For all the vividness of his language, it is merely one of a number of ways in which the Muses may reward a man. Moreover what Virgil really means by "mastery" is "understanding". This, although it enables avoiding action to be taken of threatening events, does not include the tyranny over Nature that was to characterise the Modern Age. And yet, given man's insatiable greed, domination and understanding go inevitably, hand in hand. The difference was that in the Ancient world science was a purely speculative activity, unsullied by experimentation. For Bacon however, all true and fruitful natural philosophy hath a double scale or ladder, ascendant and descendant; ascending from experiments to the invention of causes, and descending from causes to the invention of new experiments... While the "double scale or ladder," was of course, the Renaissance magus's memory system, adapted and changed to suit the purposes of a new cause, it was the principle of experimentation which meant that the lewd metaphors of subjugation and penetration were to be no idle boasts. For although men had always tilled the earth and managed the fields, pruning and weeding them, so as to maximise their harvests, the forces of nature had always been respected. But with the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, this respect was to be dismissed as the mere superstition of rustic peasants. When Bacon quotes the above lines from Virgil, he tellingly omits the sub-clause with which the poet qualifies his assertion:

But happy too is he who knows the gods
Of the countryside, knows Pan and old Silvanus
And the sister Nymphs.



[71]

In the arts this passing of the age of innocence was mourned in the work of Poussin and Claude, with their evocative scenes of noble peasants and idyllic landscapes. In his Et in Arcadia ego, Poussin shows a group of peasants looking at an inscription that testifies to the omnipresence of death, even in Arcady. Though the peasants understand the inscription, they are not disturbed by its message for they know, revere and accept death as being one of the many forces of the world in which they live. But modern man who seeks only to subdue and possesses the things around him, is afraid of death, as he knows it is the one thing he can never control.
Significantly enough, both Poussin and Claude settled in Italy and their landscapes owe their magical qualities very much to the golden and silvery light of the hills around Rome. In the following century, when rich Englishmen sought to re-create these visions in their country parks, the essential atmosphere of ethereal timeless-ness was brought about not by the light of Southern skies but by the dampness of the English climate, whose mistiness served to transform the light to similar effect.
In wine-making, the vision of a lost Arcady was re-created through the invention of a wine whose perfume so embalms the senses that it could raise one from the dead. Champagne, however was not only distinguished by its perfume but also by its bubbles and it was here too that the English lead the way in appreciating them. Where Parisians at first disapproved of the bubbles in champagne, Londoners joyously noted how it puns and quibbles in the glass, recalling with all the sophistication of a Claude or Poussin, the bubbling exuberance with which I was filled as I drank that first kylix of still fermenting wine.



[72]

In the rites of Cybele the cruel and vengeful aspects of the Great Mother are honoured and as the shepherd Attis, my transgressions with the nymph after drinking that fateful first kylix are transmuted by the devotees of the Goddess into a frenzy of religious excitement. Insensible to pain they gash their bodies with the shards of broken pots. It is on this day, The Day of Blood, that those novices who aspire to the priesthood emasculate themselves and dash their virile parts against veiled images of the goddess. The sacrifice made by the blood and genitalia of these eunuchs atones for their youthful misdemeanours, just as I atoned for mine with a stone axe, ensuring that all future transgressions committed in my name would be such as to reveal the latent fecundity and power of the Great Mother. As my blood seeped away from me I was transformed into a pine tree and it is for this reason that pine-cones are symbols of fertility. When the tree discards its cones they are gathered by my maenads to make their thyrsuses and the kernels are trampled into the ground. Then at the Country and City Dionysia in the spring, the women dance around a stone phallus in memory of that, my first offering as Bacchus, god of wine.



[73]

Only when all possibilities of prolonging and propagating life have been renounced does death begin to spell out the promise of resurrection. Thus in wine-making and in art, Arcady could only be recreated when it was clear that it could never more be returned to.

1 Salmon	3 Tbsp. Cream
3 chopped Shallots	1/2 litre Champagne
Butter	Salt
2 Egg Yolks	Pepper
Fish Fumet

To make fish fumet: take 1 carrot, 1 onion, 2 Tbsp. butter, 400g fish bones, a bouquet garni, 300 ml white wine, 200 ml water and simmer for 30 minutes before straining.
With 50g butter and 40g flour, prepare a roux to which the fish stock is added. Bring to the boil and stirring continuously, cook for 15 minutes over a low heat.
Gut the salmon, coat with butter and sprinkle over it some salt, pepper and the chopped shallots. Place in a dish, add the champagne and begin cooking on a stove before transferring to an oven pre-heated to 220°C for 20 minutes. Then drain and place on a serving dish.
Boil the juices from the salmon until they are reduced by 1/2. Add to the veloutée sauce, heat and then beat in the egg yolks and cream. Season and strain as necessary. Pour some of the sauce over the salmon and glaze it by placing in a hot oven for 5 minutes. Serve with the rest of the sauce in a sauceboat.
Like all fish, the salmon is a phallic symbol representing fecundity and procreation, the power of the primeval waters, the origins of life and life sustained through renewal. Associated with all mother goddesses and lunar deities, fishes are also symbolic of devotees and disciples swimming through the waters of life. For the Celts, salmon symbolised knowledge of the gods and the other world. In Egyptian mythology fishes are the phallus of Osiris. During the Middle Ages, salmon was one of the most popular fish in Northern Europe but by the eighteenth century, polluted rivers meant that it was becoming more and more of a luxury food.

[74]

Like the best of Roman wines, the best Champagne was made with red grapes. It was also put into bottles - the modern equivalent of the impervious amphora - as soon as possible, as casks were found to "tire" the wine, causing it to lose some of its aroma. This however exposed a weakness in the region's wines, the problem, as with Chianti, of unfinished fermentation. In the spring as temperatures rose after the winter, the wine would start fermenting again and as France's glassworks were still fired with wood, the bottles were scarcely capable of withholding the pressure of the gas produced. The result was that anything between twenty and ninety per cent of bottles would burst, depending on the vintage and only a fool would go into a Champagne cellar without an iron mask to protect his face. It was here that the English were at an advantage, for when they ordered Champagne they sent the new and much stronger bottles invented by Sir Kenelm Digby to contain it. Using a coal furnace and a wind tunnel, Digby had succeeded in raising the temperature of his furnace so that a mixture with more sand and less potash could be used. The coal fumes darkened the glass to a deep green or brown colour, which was seen as a sign of strength and protected the wine from the damaging effects of light. The English had also recently re-discovered the practice of using cork as a means of creating a seal and would send a supply of corks with their bottles rather than have them stopped up with the laboriously made glass stoppers that the French used.
Nevertheless, it was the desire to eliminate bubbles from Champagne that lead to Dom Perignon, the wine's perfector, to favour red grapes as white grapes had more of a tendency to re-ferment. He also advocated intensive racking by whichever method resulted in the least splashing and absorbing of oxygen. His Champagne was therefore racked up to twelve times to rid the wine of its lees, this being done by pumping air into the top of a cask so that the wine would be forced out by pressure through a tube into the next cask. But Perignon's meticulousness was not just confined to the wine-cellar. In the winter his vines were pruned so hard that they grew no higher than three feet and produced only a small crop. At harvest time every precaution was taken to ensure that the grapes remained undamaged upon their stalks, any damaged or bruised ones being of course rejected. Work would be restricted to the early mornings and showery days so that the grapes were kept as cool as possible. They were then carried to the press by hand so as to create the least disturbance. If carrying by hand were impracticable, Dom Perignon would recommend that either mules or donkeys should be used, their being less excitable than horses. Before pressing, the grapes from the different vineyards were mixed so as to compliment each other and create a consistent flavour. Then, under his guidance, pressing would begin. To avoid extracting the red pigments, Perignon used the press repeatedly and briefly, producing four or more "cuts", of which only the first three were used. After the first fermentation and intensive racking, the wine would be bottled under the influence of a full moon so that it would remain "tranquil" and clear.
All this resulted in a wine which was, as Dom Perignon himself coyly admitted was the best in the world. However by the beginning of the eighteenth century, after thirty years' work at the Abbey of Hauptvillers, fashion was clearly demanding more of the sparkling wine Dom Perignon had spent his life trying to avoid. Of all the Champagne houses only Sillery remained a vin gris until the nineteenth century. The Abbey Treasurer's knowledge and experience of cellar work was therefore put to use in controlling as opposed to eliminating the notorious bubbles and English glass-blowers were summoned to Ste-Menehould, the glass-house nearest Hauptvillers, so that bottles could be made in the English fashion.
Meanwhile, there remained the problem of the yeasts which had produced the bubbles, forming sediment in the bottle. Early Champagne glasses were often made with a dimpled surface to camouflage any sediment in the wine. In vintages where there was a lot of sediment there was no alternative but to decant and re-bottle. It was not until the beginning of the nineteenth century that the technique of remuage was developed. Once the sediment had settled on the side of the bottle, the bottles were inverted and stood up-side down on a table with holes to receive the necks. Periodically, they would be raised a little way out of the holes and given a quick shake, before being allowed to drop back into place. This process moved the layer of sediment from the side of the bottle to the bottom of the cork. When the cork was removed the sediment would then be expelled by the gas. The bottle could then be topped up and re-corked without the labour of decanting and the resultant loss of "sparkle".
Apart from in England, where the taste was for a relatively dry Champagne, the general demand was for a Champagne with a sweetness approaching that of Roman wines. To achieve this, after remuage, the bottles were topped up with a syrup of wine, sugar and brandy, the amount of sugar added depending on the intended destination of the wine. As it was not known how much un-fermented sugar was in the wine to begin with, this meant that in a bad year, such as in 1828 when the grapes had a high sugar content anyway, as many as eighty per cent of the bottles could burst. With the invention of the sucre-oenomtre eight years later, this was finally brought down to fifteen or twenty per cent a year. Even so, it was still unwise to enter a wine-cellar in the spring without the protection of a wire face mask to guard against the bits of flying glass from exploding bottles. As Bacon himself said, For like as a man's disposition is never well known till he be crossed, nor Proteus ever changed shapes till he was straitened and held fast; so the passages and variations of nature cannot appear so fully in the liberty of nature, as in the trials and vexations of art. Never was this more true of a wine than of Champagne.



[75]

Worship of the Goddess Cybele had been brought to Rome in 204 BC, when, during the long war with Hannibal, a prophecy was discovered in one or the Sibylline Books, stating that an enemy from abroad could be expelled if the Goddess were brought from her sanctuary in Pessinus to the Palatine Hill in Rome. Accordingly, a delegation was sent to Phrygia, and the Arcus, the small black meteorite that was the embodiment of the Goddess' presence, was entrusted to them and duly installed in the Temple of Victory on the Palatine Hill. That year a bumper crop was harvested and the next year Hannibal abandoned his Italian Campaign and returned to Africa.
The Romans identified this new "Goddess of Pessinus", with Maia, Ops, Rhea, Tellus and Demeter and called her the "Great Mother of the Gods". Though she never became popular in Greece, by the end of the Republic her cult had attained prominence in Rome and the Galli, the emasculated priests of the Goddess were a familiar sight. Their bodies tattooed with patterns of ivy leaves and with little images hanging from their breasts, they would parade through the streets, carrying the image of their Goddess. Dressed in women's clothes and with long perfumed hair they would chant hymns, accompanying themselves with cymbals, tambourines, flutes and horns, while passers-by would shower them with rose petals and alms. Under the Empire, the cult of Cybele was to become one of the three most important in the Roman World, the other two cults being those of Mithras and Isis.
Attis was a shepherd and the first to follow my example in sacrificing his corporal virility to the goddess. At the Spring Festival of Cybele and Attis his death and resurrection were celebrated. On the twenty-second of March the priests of the goddess would fell a pine tree which they would swathe like a corpse in woollen bands and adorn with violets. Then an effigy of myself would be attached and the trunk would be carried into the city to be deposited in the sanctuary of the goddess. The day after, its arrival would be announced to the citizens of Rome with the blowing of trumpets. Two days later, on the Day of Blood, the trunk as well as the statue and altar of Cybele would be splattered with blood as the priests and devotees danced a frenzied dance. After offering his masculinity to Cybele, Attis lay down under a pine tree and as his life blood flowed away from him, he was absorbed into the multiplicity of my being. Consequently on the twenty-fifth of March he is celebrated as rising again. This day was traditionally a day of carnival, when the citizens of Rome had licence to dress up and impersonate whoever they pleased. After a day of rest, the festival would come to an end with the goddess's statue being taken in a wagon to be washed in a stream called the Almo, which flows into the Tiber just below the city walls. Leaving through the Porta Capena, the silver statue of the goddess, with the Arcus set into its head as a grim and merciless face, would be preceded by the nobles walking barefoot while the general populace followed behind. After the high priest had washed the blood off the statue and other sacred objects, the wagon and oxen would be showered with freshly blooming spring flowers. Then the procession would return to the goddess's sanctuary and the remainder of the day would be spent in rejoicing at the arrival of spring and in watching dramatic representations of the mysteries of the gods.

2 Oranges	175g Caster Sugar
8 Egg Yolks	1 Vanilla Pod
300 ml Double Cream	Salt
675 ml Milk	Crystallised Violets
15-20g Gelatine

To make crystallised violets: heat 1 volume of water with 2 volumes of sugar to make a syrup. Cool and immerse the violets in it. Then, in stages, bring slowly back to the boil. When cool enough to handle, remove from the syrup and place on grease-proof paper. Leave to dry over a stove or in an airing cupboard.
Chill the cream and 75 ml milk and leave the gelatine to soak in approx. 3 Tbsp. water. Mix the juice of the oranges with 600 ml milk and bring to the boil. Cover and set aside. Work 150g sugar into the egg yolks adding a pinch of salt. When smooth, blend into the milk. Then add the gelatine and over a gentle heat stir continuously until the custard sticks to the back of the spoon. Care should be taken that it does not boil. Strain through a fine sieve and place in a bowl surrounded with crushed ice. Stir until cool but do not chill so much that lumps form. Whip together the chilled cream and milk, adding 50g caster sugar just as it begins to thicken. Mix thoroughly into the custard. Baste the inside of a suitable mould with oil (preferably almond oil) and fill to the brim with Bavarian cream. Cover with buttered paper and chill until set firmly. To loosen, dip the mould in hot water, place the serving dish on top and invert quickly. Decorate with crystallised violets.
Like chocolate, vanilla came from the New World following the Spanish conquest of the Aztec kingdom. Vanilla pods are the fermented pods of certain, otherwise odourless orchids that have fallen to the ground.

[76]

Apart from the Eleusian Mysteries, in Greece Demeter also presided over the Thesmophoria, a festival held every autumn just before the corn for the next year's harvest was about to be sown. This was attended by married, aristocratic Greek women and like the biannual pilgrimages to my shrine at Delphi, it allowed them a rare chance of spending time away from the confines of their homes. As in the Eleusian Mysteries, the focus of the festival was Persephone's descent into the underworld and the celebration of her return. But where the Mysteries were a festival of contemplation, the Thesmophoria took practical steps to ensure that the corn and women's fertility did return.
The first day of the Thesmophoria would be spent ascending a hill and in leading the sacrificial pigs to the festival site. Towards evening the pigs would be pushed into pits, the chasms of Demeter and Persephone. Then cakes and the branches and cones of pine trees would be thrown in after them. During the course of the year the pigs, symbolic of female fertility and the cakes, shaped as phalli would be partially eaten by serpents that lived in the pits. The second day of the festival was spent in fasting and in sexual abstention, symbolised by the women's sitting on bundles of anaphrodisiac plants. This day represented Persephone's sojourn in Hades and special emphasis was placed on the avoidance of pomegranate seeds. The day after was the Day of the Beautiful Birth, when a group of women who had remained chaste for three days, would descend into the pits and frightening away the serpents by clapping their hands, would retrieve the rotting remains of the pigs, cakes and pine-cones, from the year before. These would then be placed upon an altar and the festival would conclude with joyous feasting and celebration. Shortly after, the sacred remains from the altars would be mixed in with the corn that was to be sown, to ensure a good harvest the following year.
Thus beneath the sweet fragrance of sensuality that pervades all existence, there lies the putrid smell of rotting flesh and the sound of hissing snakes. And yet it is the hissing sound of death that ensures life's return and continuity, for without death there can be neither birth nor re-birth.

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Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | References | Bacchus Table of Contents