Hypatia — or New Foes with an Old Face

by Charles Kingsley

  CHAPTER V: A DAY IN ALEXANDRIA

  In the meanwhile, Philammon, with his hosts, the Goths, had beenslipping down the stream. Passing, one after another, world-old citiesnow dwindled to decaying towns, and numberless canal-mouths, now fastfalling into ruin with the fields to which they ensured fertility,under the pressure of Roman extortion and misrule, they had enteredone evening the mouth of the great canal of Alexandria, slid easily allnight across the star-bespangled shadows of Lake Mareotis, and foundthemselves, when the next morning dawned, among the countless masts andnoisy quays of the greatest seaport in the world. The motley crowd offoreigners, the hubbub of all dialects from the Crimea to Cadiz, thevast piles of merchandise, and heaps of wheat, lying unsheltered in thatrainless air, the huge bulk of the corn-ships lading for Rome, whosetall sides rose story over story, like floating palaces, above thebuildings of some inner dock--these sights, and a hundred more, made theyoung monk think that the world did not look at first sight a thing tobe despised. In front of heaps of fruit, fresh from the market-boats,black groups of glossy negro slaves were basking and laughing on thequay, looking anxiously and coquettishly round in hopes of a purchaser;they evidently did not think the change from desert toil to cityluxuries a change for the worse. Philammon turned away his eyes frombeholding vanity; but only to meet fresh vanity wheresoever they fell.He felt crushed by the multitude of new objects, stunned by the dinaround; and scarcely recollected himself enough to seize the firstopportunity of escaping from his dangerous companions.

  'Holloa!' roared Smid the armourer, as he scrambled on to the steps ofthe slip; 'you are not going to run away without bidding us good-bye?'

  'Stop with me, boy!' said old Wulf. 'I saved you; and you are my man.'

  Philammon turned and hesitated.

  'I am a monk, and God's man.'

  'You can be that anywhere. I will make you a warrior.'

  'The weapons of my warfare are not of flesh and blood, but prayer andfasting,' answered poor Philammon, who felt already that he should haveten times more need of the said weapons in Alexandria than ever he hadhad in the desert.... 'Let me go! I am not made for your life! I thankyou, bless you! I will pray for you, sir! but let me go!'

  'Curse the craven hound!' roared half a dozen voices. 'Why did you notlet us have our will with him, Prince Wulf? You might have expected suchgratitude from a monk.'

  'He owes me my share of the sport,' quoth Smid. 'And here it is!' Anda hatchet, thrown with practised aim, whistled right for Philammon'shead--he had just time to swerve, and the weapon struck and snappedagainst the granite wall behind.

  'Well saved!' said Wulf coolly, while the sailors and market-women aboveyelled murder, and the custom-house officers, and other constablesand catchpolls of the harbour, rushed to the place--and retired againquietly at the thunder of the Amal from the boat's stern--

  'Never mind, my good follows! we're only Goths; and on a visit to theprefect, too.'

  'Only Goths, my donkey-riding friends!' echoed Smid, and at that ominousname the whole posse comitatus tried to look unconcerned, and foundsuddenly that their presence was absolutely required in an oppositedirection.

  'Let him go,' said Wulf, as he stalked up the steps. 'Let the boy go.I never set my heart on any man yet,' he growled to himself in an undervoice, 'but what he disappointed me--and I must not expect more fromthis fellow. Come, men, ashore, and get drunk!'

  Philammon, of course, now that he had leave to go, longed to stay--atall events, he must go back and thank his hosts. He turned unwillinglyto do so, as hastily as he could, and found Pelagia and her giganticlover just entering a palanquin. With downcast eyes he approached thebeautiful basilisk, and stammered out some commonplace; and she, full ofsmiles, turned to him at once.

  'Tell us more about yourself before we part. You speak such beautifulGreek--true Athenian. It is quite delightful to hear one's own accentagain. Were you ever at Athens?'

  'When I was a child; I recollect--that is, I think--'

  'What?' asked Pelagia eagerly.

  'A great house in Athens--and a great battle there--and coming to Egyptin a ship.'

  'Heavens!' said Pelagia, and paused.... 'How strange! Girls, who said hewas like me?'

  'I'm sure we meant no harm, if we did say it in a joke,' pouted one ofthe attendants.

  'Like me!--you must come and see us. I have something to say to you ....You must!'

  Philammon misinterpreted the intense interest of her tone, and if he didnot shrink back, gave some involuntary gesture of reluctance. Pelagialaughed aloud.

  'Don't be vain enough to suspect, foolish boy, but come! Do you thinkthat I have nothing to talk about but nonsense? Come and see me. Itmay be better for you. I live in--' and she named a fashionable street,which Philammon, though he inwardly vowed not to accept the invitation,somehow could not help remembering.

  'Do leave the wild man, and come,' growled the Amal from within thepalanquin. 'You are not going to turn nun, I hope?'

  'Not while the first man I ever met in the world stays in it,' answeredPelagia, as she skipped into the palanquin, taking care to show the mostlovely white heel and ankle, and, like the Parthian, send a randomarrow as she retreated. But the dart was lost on Philammon, who had beenalready hustled away by the bevy of laughing attendants, amid baskets,dressing-cases, and bird-cages, and was fain to make his escape into theBabel round, and inquire his way to the patriarch's house.

  'Patriarch's house?' answered the man whom he first addressed, a littlelean, swarthy fellow, with merry black eyes, who, with a basket of fruitat his feet, was sunning himself on a baulk of timber, meditativelychewing the papyrus-cane, and examining the strangers with a look ofabsurd sagacity. 'I know it; without a doubt I know it; all Alexandriahas good reason to know it. Are you a monk?'

  'Yes.'

  'Then ask your way of the monks; you won't go far without finding one.'

  'But I do not even know the right direction; what is your grudge againstmonks, my good man?'

  'Look here, my youth; you seem too ingenuous for a monk. Don't flatteryourself that it will last. If you can wear the sheepskin, and hauntthe churches here for a month, without learning to lie, and slander, andclap, and hoot, and perhaps play your part in a sedition--and--murdersatyric drama--why, you are a better man than I take you for. I, sir, ama Greek and a philosopher; though the whirlpool of matter may have,and indeed has, involved my ethereal spark in the body of a porter.Therefore, youth,' continued the little man, starting up upon his baulklike an excited monkey, and stretching out one oratorio paw, 'I bear atreble hatred to the monkish tribe. First, as a man and a husband;....for as for the smiles of beauty, or otherwise,--such as I have, I have;and the monks, if they had their wicked will, would leave neither mennor women in the world. Sir, they would exterminate the human race in asingle generation, by a voluntary suicide! Secondly, as a porter; forif all men turned monks, nobody would be idle, and the profession ofportering would be annihilated. Thirdly, sir, as a philosopher; for asthe false coin is odious to the true, so is the irrational and animalasceticism of the monk, to the logical and methodic self-restraint ofone who, like your humblest of philosophers, aspires to a life accordingto the pure reason.'

  'And pray,' asked Philammon, half laughing, 'who has been your tutor inphilosophy?'

  'The fountain of classic wisdom, Hypatia herself. As the ancientsage--the name is unimportant to a monk--pumped water nightly that hemight study by day, so I, the guardian of cloaks and parasols, at thesacred doors of her lecture-room, imbibe celestial knowledge. From myyouth I felt in me a soul above the matter-entangled herd. She revealedto me the glorious fact, that I am a spark of Divinity itself. A fallenstar, I am, sir!' continued he, pensively, stroking his lean stomach--'afallen star!--fallen, if the dignity of philosophy will allow ofthe simile, among the hogs of the lower world--indeed, even into thehog-bucket itself. Well, after all, I will show you the way to theArchbishop's. There is a philosophic pleasure in opening one's treasuresto the modest young. Perha
ps you will assist me by carrying this basketof fruit?' And the little man jumped up, put his basket on Philammon'shead, and trotted off up a neighbouring street.

  Philammon followed, half contemptuous, half wondering at what thisphilosophy might be, which could feed the self-conceit of anything soabject as his ragged little apish guide; but the novel roar and whirl ofthe street, the perpetual stream of busy faces, the line of curricles,palanquins, laden asses, camels, elephants, which met and passed him,and squeezed him up steps and into doorways, as they threaded theirway through the great Moon-gate into the ample street beyond, droveeverything from his mind but wondering curiosity, and a vague, helplessdread of that great living wilderness, more terrible than any deadwilderness of sand which he had left behind. Already he longed for therepose, the silence of the Laura--for faces which knew him and smiledupon him; but it was too late to turn back ow. His guide held on formore than a mile up the great main street, crossed in the centre of thecity, at right angles, by one equally magnificent, at each end of which,miles away, appeared, dim and distant over the heads of the livingstream of passengers, the yellow sand-hills of the desert; while at theend of the vista in front of them gleamed the blue harbour, through anetwork of countless masts.

  At last they reached the quay at the opposite end of the street; andthere burst on Philammon's astonished eyes a vast semicircle of bluesea, ringed with palaces and towers....He stopped involuntarily; andhis little guide stopped also, and looked askance at the young monk, towatch the effect which that grand panorama should produce on him.

  'There!--Behold our works! Us Greeks!--us benighted heathens! Look at itand feel yourself what you are, a very small, conceited, ignorant youngperson, who fancies that your new religion gives you a right to despiseevery one else. Did Christians make all this? Did Christians build thatPharos there on the left horn--wonder of the world? Did Christiansraise that mile-long mole which runs towards the land, with its twodrawbridges, connecting the two ports? Did Christians build thisesplanade, or this gate of the Sun above our heads? Or that Caesareumon our right here? Look at those obelisks before it!' And he pointedupwards to those two world-famous ones, one of which still lies on itsancient site, as Cleopatra's Needle. 'Look up! look up, I say, and feelsmall--very small indeed! Did Christians raise them, or engrave themfrom base to point with the wisdom of the ancients? Did Christians buildthat Museum next to it, or design its statues and its frescoes--now,alas! re-echoing no more to the hummings of the Attic bee? Did they pileup out of the waves that palace beyond it, or that Exchange? or fillthat Temple of Neptune with breathing brass and blushing marble? Didthey build that Timonium on the point, where Antony, worsted at Actium,forgot his shame in Cleopatra's arms? Did they quarry out that island ofAntirrhodus into a nest of docks, or cover those waters with the sailsof every nation under heaven? Speak! Thou son of bats and moles--thousix feet of sand--thou mummy out of the cliff caverns! Can monks doworks like these?'

  'Other men have laboured, and we have entered into their labours,'answered Philammon, trying to seem as unconcerned as he could. He was,indeed, too utterly astonished to be angry at anything. The overwhelmingvastness, multiplicity, and magnificence of the whole scene; the rangeof buildings, such as mother earth never, perhaps, carried on her lapbefore or since, the extraordinary variety of form-the pure Doric andIonic of the earlier Ptolemies, the barbaric and confused gorgeousnessof the later Roman, and here and there an imitation of the grandelephantine style of old Egypt, its gaudy colours relieving, while theydeepened, the effect of its massive and simple outlines; the eternalrepose of that great belt of stone contrasting with the restless rippleof the glittering harbour, and the busy sails which crowded out intothe sea beyond, like white doves taking their flight into boundlessspace?--all dazzled, overpowered, saddened him.... This was theworld.... Was it not beautiful?.... Must not the men who made all thishave been--if not great.... yet.... he knew not what? Surely they hadgreat souls and noble thoughts in them! Surely there was somethinggodlike in being able to create such things! Not for themselves alone,too; but for a nation--for generations yet unborn.... And there was thesea.... and beyond it, nations of men innumerable .... His imaginationwas dizzy with thinking of them. Were they all doomed--lost?.... Had Godno love for them?

  At last, recovering himself, he recollected his errand, and again askedhis way to the archbishop's house.

  'This way, O youthful nonentity!' answered the little man, leading theway round the great front of the Caesareum, at the foot of the obelisks.

  Philammon's eye fell on some new masonry in the pediment, ornamentedwith Christian symbols.

  'How? Is this a church?'

  'It is the Caesareum. It has become temporarily a church. The immortalgods have, for the time being, condescended to waive their rights; butit is the Caesareum, nevertheless. This way; down this street to theright. There,' said he, pointing to a doorway in the side of the Museum,'is the last haunt of the Muses--the lecture-room of Hypatia, the schoolof my unworthiness. And here,' stopping at the door of a splendid houseon the opposite side of the street, 'is the residence of that blestfavourite of Athene--Neith, as the barbarians of Egypt would denominatethe goddess--we men of Macedonia retain the time-honoured Greciannomenclature.... You may put down your basket.' And he knocked atthe door, and delivering the fruit to a black porter, made a politeobeisance to Philammon, and seemed on the point of taking his departure.

  'But where is the archbishop's house?'

  'Close to the Serapeium. You cannot miss the place: four hundred columnsof marble, now ruined by Christian persecutors, stand on an eminence--'

  'But how far off?'

  'About three miles; near the gate of the Moon.'

  'Why, was not that the gate by which we entered the city on the otherside?'

  'Exactly so; you will know your way back, having already traversed it.'

  Philammon checked a decidedly carnal inclination to seize the littlefellow by the throat, and knock his head against the wall, and contentedhimself by saying--

  'Then do you actually mean to say, you heathen villain, that you havetaken me six or seven miles out of my road?'

  'Good words young man. If you do me harm, I call for help; we are closeto the Jews' quarter, and there are some thousands there who will swarmout like wasps on the chance of beating a monk to death. Yet that whichI have done, I have done with a good purpose. First, politically, oraccording to practical wisdom--in order that you, not I, might carrythe basket. Next, philosophically, or according to the intuitions of thepure reason--in order that you might, by beholding the magnificence ofthat great civilisation which your fellows wish to destroy, learnthat you are an ass, and a tortoise, and a nonentity, and so beholdingyourself to be nothing, may be moved to become something.'

  And he moved off.

  Philammon seized him by the collar of his ragged tunic, and held him ina gripe from which the little man, though he twisted like an eel couldnot escape.

  'Peaceably, if you will; if not, by main force. You shall go back withme, and show me every step of the way. It is a just penalty.'

  'The philosopher conquers circumstances by submitting to them. I gopeaceably. Indeed, the base necessities of the hog-bucket side ofexistence compel me of themselves back to the Moon-gate, for anotherearly fruit job.'

  So they went back together.

  Now why Philammon's thoughts should have been running on the next newspecimen of womankind to whom he had been introduced, though only inname, let psychologists tell, but certainly, after he had walked somehalf-mile in silence, he suddenly woke up, as out of many meditations,and asked--

  'But who is this Hypatia, of whom you talk so much?'

  'Who is Hypatia, rustic? The queen of Alexandria! In wit, Athene; Herain majesty; in beauty, Aphrodite!'

  'And who are they?' asked Philammon.

  The porter stopped, surveyed him slowly from foot to head with anexpression of boundless pity and contempt, and was in the act of walkingoff in the ecstasy of his disdai
n, when he was brought to suddenly byPhilammon's strong arm.

  'Ah!--I recollect. There is a compact.... Who is Athene? The goddess,giver of wisdom. Hera, spouse of Zeus, queen of the Celestials.Aphrodite, mother of love.... You are not expected to understand.'

  Philammon did understand, however, so much as this, that Hypatia was avery unique and wonderful person in the mind of his little guide; andtherefore asked the only further question by which he could as yet testany Alexandrian phenomenon--

  'And is she a friend of the patriarch?'

  The porter opened his eyes very wide, put his middle finger in acareful and complicated fashion between his fore and third fingers, andextending it playfully towards Philammon, performed therewith certainmysterious signals, the effect whereof being totally lost on him, thelittle man stopped, took another look at Philammon's stately figure, andanswered--

  'Of the human race in general, my young friend. The philosopher mustrise above the individual, to the contemplation of the universal....Aha!-Here is something worth seeing, and the gates are open.' And hestopped at the portal of a vast building.

  'Is this the patriarch's house?'

  'The patriarch's tastes are more plebeian. He lives, they say, in twodirty little rooms--knowing what is fit for him. The patriarch's house?Its antipodes, my young friend--that is, if such beings have a cosmicexistence, on which point Hypatia has her doubts. This is the temple ofart and beauty; the Delphic tripod of poetic inspiration; the solace ofthe earthworn drudge; in a word, the theatre; which your patriarch, ifhe could, would convert to-morrow into a--but the philosopher must notrevile. Ah! I see the prefect's apparitors at the gate. He is making thepolity, as we call it here; the dispositions; settling, in short,the bill of fare for the day, in compliance with the public palate. Afacetious pantomime dances here on this day every week--admired bysome, the Jews especially. To the more classic taste, many of hismovements--his recoil, especially--are wanting in the true antiqueseverity--might be called, perhaps, on the whole, indecent. Still theweary pilgrim must be amused. Let us step in and hear.'

  But before Philammon could refuse, an uproar arose within, a rushoutward of the mob, and inward of the prefect's apparitors.

  'It is false!' shouted many voices. 'A Jewish calumny! The man isinnocent!'

  'There is no more sedition in him than there is in me,' roared a fatbutcher, who looked as ready to fell a man as an ox. 'He was always thefirst and the last to clap the holy patriarch at sermon.'

  'Dear tender soul,' whimpered a woman; 'and I said to him only thismorning, why don't you flog my boys, Master Hierax? how can you expectthem to learn if they are not flogged? And he said, he never could abidethe sight of a rod, it made his back tingle so.'

  'Which was plainly a prophecy!'

  'And proves him innocent; for how could he prophesy if he was not one ofthe holy ones?'

  'Monks, to the rescue! Hierax, a Christian, is taken and tortured in thetheatre!' thundered a wild hermit, his beard and hair streaming abouthis chest and shoulders.

  'Nitria! Nitria! For God and the mother of God, monks of Nitria! Downwith the Jewish slanderers! Down with heathen tyrants!'--And the mob,reinforced as if by magic by hundreds from without, swept down the hugevaulted passage, carrying Philammon and the porter with them.

  'My friends,' quoth the little man, trying to look philosophically calm,though he was fairly off his legs, and hanging between heaven and earthon the elbows of the bystanders, 'whence this tumult?'

  'The Jews got up a cry that Hierax wanted to raise a riot. Curse themand their sabbath, they are always rioting on Saturdays about thisdancer of theirs, instead of working like honest Christians!'

  'And rioting on Sunday instead. Ahem! sectarian differences, which thephilosopher--

  The rest of the sentence disappeared with the speaker, as a suddenopening of the mob let him drop, and buried him under innumerable legs.

  Philammon, furious at the notion of persecution, maddened by the criesaround him, found himself bursting fiercely through the crowd, till hereached the front ranks, where tall gates of open ironwork barred allfarther progress, but left a full view of the tragedy which was enactingwithin, where the poor innocent wretch, suspended from a gibbet, writhedand shrieked at every stroke of the hide whips of his tormentors.

  In vain Philammon and the monks around him knocked and beat atthe gates; they were only answered by laughter and taunts from theapparitors within, curses on the turbulent mob of Alexandria, with itspatriarch, clergy, saints, and churches, and promises to each and alloutside, that their turn would come next; while the piteous screams grewfainter and more faint, and at last, with a convulsive shudder, motionand suffering ceased for ever in the poor mangled body.

  'They have killed him! Martyred him! Back to the archbishop! To thepatriarch's house: he will avenge us!' And as the horrible news, andthe watchword which followed it, passed outwards through the crowd, theywheeled round as one man, and poured through street after street towardsCyril's house; while Philammon, beside himself with horror, rage, andpity, hurried onward with them.

  A tumultuous hour, or more, was passed in the street before he couldgain entrance; and then he was swept, along with the mob in which he hadbeen fast wedged, through a dark low passage, and landed breathless ina quadrangle of mean and new buildings, overhung by the four hundredstately columns of the ruined Serapeium. The grass was alreadygrowing on the ruined capitals and architraves.... Little did even itsdestroyers dream then, that the day would come when one only of thatfour hundred would be left, as 'Pompey's Pillar,' to show what the menof old could think and do.

  Philammon at last escaped from the crowd, and putting the letter whichhe had carried in his bosom into the hands of one of the priests whowas mixing with the mob, was beckoned by him into a corridor, and up aflight of stairs, and into a large, low, mean room, and there, by virtueof the world-wide freemasonry which Christianity had, for the firsttime on earth, established, found himself in five minutes awaiting thesummons of the most powerful man south of the Mediterranean.

  A curtain hung across the door of the inner chamber, through whichPhilammon could hear plainly the steps of some one walking up and downhurriedly and fiercely.

  'They will drive me to it!' at last burst out a deep sonorous voice.'They will drive me to it.... Their blood be on their own head! Itis not enough for them to blaspheme God and His church, to have themonopoly of all the cheating, fortune-telling, usury, sorcery, andcoining of the city, but they must deliver my clergy into the hands ofthe tyrant?'

  'It was so even in the apostles' time,' suggested a softer but far moreunpleasant voice.

  'Then it shall be so no longer! God has given me the power to stopthem; and God do so to me, and more also, if I do not use that power.To-morrow I sweep out this Augean stable of villainy, and leave not aJew to blaspheme and cheat in Alexandria.'

  'I am afraid such a judgment, however righteous, might offend hisexcellency.'

  'His excellency! His tyranny! Why does Orestes truckle to thesecircumcised, but because they lend money to him and to his creatures? Hewould keep up a den of fiends in Alexandria if they would do as much forhim! And then to play them off against me and mine, to bring religioninto contempt by setting the mob together by the ears, and to end withoutrages like this! Seditious! Have they not cause enough? The soonerI remove one of their temptations the better: let the other tempterbeware, lest his judgment be at hand!'

  'The prefect, your holiness?' asked the other voice slily.

  'Who spoke of the prefect? Whosoever is a tyrant, and a murderer, and anoppressor of the poor, and a favourer of the philosophy which despisesand enslaves the poor, should not he perish, though he be seven times aprefect?'

  At this juncture Philammon, thinking perhaps that he had already heardtoo much, notified his presence by some slight noise, at which thesecretary, as he seemed to be, hastily lifted the curtain, and somewhatsharply demanded his business. The names of Pambo and Arsenius, however,seemed to pacify him at onc
e; and the trembling youth was ushered intothe presence of him who in reality, though not in name, sat on thethrone of the Pharaohs.

  Not, indeed, in their outward pomp; the furniture of the chamber wasbut a grade above that of the artisan's; the dress of the great man wascoarse and simple; if personal vanity peeped out anywhere, it was inthe careful arrangement of the bushy beard, and of the few curling lockswhich the tonsure had spared. But the height and majesty of his figure,the stern and massive beauty of his features, the flashing eye, curlinglip, and projecting brow--all marked him as one born to command. As theyouth entered, Cyril stopped short in his walk, and looking him throughand through, with a glance which burnt upon his cheeks like fire, andmade him all but wish the kindly earth would open and hide him, took theletters, read them, and then began--

  'Philammon. A Greek. You are said to have learned to obey. If so youhave also learned to rule. Your father-abbot has transferred you to mytutelage. You are now to obey me.'

  'And I will.'

  'Well said. Go to that window, then, and leap into the court.'

  Philammon walked to it, and opened it. The pavement was fully twentyfeet below; but his business was to obey, and not take measurements.There was a flower in the vase upon the sill. He quietly removed it,and in an instant more would have leapt for life or death, when Cyril'svoice thundered 'Stop!'

  'The lad will pass, my Peter. I shall not be afraid now for the secretswhich he may have overheard.'

  Peter smiled assent, looking all the while as if he thought it a greatpity that the young man had not been allowed to put talebearing out ofhis own power by breaking his neck.

  'You wish to see the world. Perhaps you have seen something of itto-day.'

  'I saw the murder--'

  'Then you saw what you came hither to see; what the world is, and whatjustice and mercy it can deal out. You would not dislike to see God'sreprisals to man's tyranny?.... Or to be a fellow-worker with Godtherein, if I judge rightly by your looks?'

  'I would avenge that man.'

  'Ah! my poor simple schoolmaster! And his fate is the portent ofportents to you now! Stay awhile, till you have gone with Ezekiel intothe inner chambers of the devil's temple, and you will see worsethings than these--women weeping for Thammuz; bemoaning the decay of anidolatry which they themselves disbelieve--That, too, is on the list ofHercules' labour, Peter mine.'

  At this moment a deacon entered.... 'Your holiness, the rabbis of theaccursed nation are below, at your summons. We brought them in throughthe back gate, for fear of--'

  'Right, right. An accident to them might have ruined us. I shall notforget you. Bring them up. Peter, take this youth, introduce him to theparabolani.... Who will be the best man for him to work under?'

  'The brother Theopompus is especially sober and gentle.'

  Cyril shook his head laughingly.... 'Go into the next room, my son ....No, Peter, put him under some fiery saint, some true Boanerges, who willtalk him down, and work him to death, and show him the best and worstof everything. Cleitophon will be the man. Now then, let me see myengagements; five minutes for these Jews--Orestes did not choose tofrighten them: let us see whether Cyril cannot; then an hour to lookover the hospital accounts; an hour for the schools; a half-hour for thereserved cases of distress; and another half-hour for myself; and thendivine service. See that the boy is there. Do bring in every one intheir turn, Peter mine. So much time goes in hunting for this man andthat man.... and life is too short for all that. Where are these Jews?'and Cyril plunged into the latter half of his day's work with thatuntiring energy, self-sacrifice, and method, which commanded for him,in spite of all suspicions of his violence, ambition, and intrigue,the loving awe and implicit obedience of several hundred thousand humanbeings.

  So Philammon went out with the parabolani, a sort of organised guildof district visitors.... And in their company he saw that afternoonthe dark side of that world, whereof the harbour-panorama had been thebright one. In squalid misery, filth, profligacy, ignorance,ferocity, discontent, neglected in body, house, and soul, by the civilauthorities, proving their existence only in aimless and sanguinaryriots, there they starved and rotted, heap on heap, the masses of theold Greek population, close to the great food-exporting harbour of theworld. Among these, fiercely perhaps, and fanatically, but still amongthem and for them, laboured those district visitors night and day. Andso Philammon toiled away with them, carrying food and clothing, helpingsick to the hospital, and dead to the burial; cleaning out the infectedhouses--for the fever was all but perennial in those quarters--andcomforting the dying with the good news of forgiveness from above; tillthe larger number had to return to evening service. He, however, waskept by his superior, watching at a sick-bedside, and it was late atnight before he got home, and was reported to Peter the Reader as havingacquitted himself like 'a man of God,' as, indeed, without the leastthought of doing anything noble or self-sacrificing, he had truly done,being a monk. And so he threw himself on a truckle-bed, in one of themany cells which opened off a long corridor, and fell fast asleep in aminute.

  He was just weltering about in a dreary dream-jumble of Goths dancingwith district visitors, Pelagia as an angel, with peacock's wings;Hypatia with horns and cloven feet, riding three hippopotami atonce round the theatre; Cyril standing at an open window, cursingfrightfully, and pelting him with flower-pots; and a similar self-sownafter-crop of his day's impressions; when he was awakened by the trampof hurried feet in the street outside, and shouts, which gradually, ashe became conscious, shaped themselves into cries of 'Alexander's Churchis on fire! Help, good Christians! Fire! Help!'

  Whereat he sat up in his truckle-bed, tried to recollect where he was,and having with some trouble succeeded, threw on his sheepskin, andjumped up to ask the news from the deacons and monks who were hurryingalong the corridor outside.... 'Yes, Alexander's church was on fire;'and down the stairs they poured, across the courtyard, and out into thestreet, Peter's tall figure serving as a standard and a rallying point.

  As they rushed out through the gateway, Philammon, dazzled by the suddentransition from the darkness within to the blaze of moon and starlightwhich flooded the street, and walls, and shining roofs, hung back amoment. That hesitation probably saved his life; for in an instant hesaw a dark figure spring out of the shadow, a long knife flashed acrosshis eyes, and a priest next to him sank upon the pavement with a groan,while the assassin dashed off down the street, hotly pursued by monksand parabolani.

  Philammon, who ran like a desert ostrich, had soon outstripped all butPeter, when several more dark figures sprang out of doorways and cornersand joined, or seem to join, the pursuit. Suddenly, however, afterrunning a hundred yards, they drew up opposite the mouth of a sidestreet; the assassin stopped also. Peter, suspecting something wrong,slackened his pace, and caught Philammon's arm.

  'Do you see those fellows in the shadow?'

  But, before Philammon could answer, some thirty or forty men, theirdaggers gleaming in the moonlight, moved out into the middle of thestreet, and received the fugitives into their ranks. What was themeaning of it? Here was a pleasant taste of the ways of the mostChristian and civilised city of the Empire!

  'Well,' thought Philammon, 'I have come out to see the world, and Iseem, at this rate, to be likely to see enough of it.'

  Peter turned at once, and fled as quickly as he had pursued; whilePhilammon, considering discretion the better part of valour, followed,and they rejoined their party breathless.

  'There is an armed mob at the end of the street.'

  'Assassins!' 'Jews!' 'A conspiracy!' Up rose a Babel of doubtful voices.The foe appeared in sight, advancing stealthily, and the whole partytook to flight, led once more by Peter, who seemed determined to makefree use, in behalf of his own safety, of the long legs which nature hadgiven him.

  Philammon followed, sulkily and unwillingly, at a foot's pace; but hehad not gone a dozen yards when a pitiable voice at his feet called tohim--

  'Help! mercy! Do not leave me here to
be murdered! I am a Christian;indeed I am a Christian!'

  Philammon stooped, and lifted from the ground a comely negro-woman,weeping, and shivering in a few tattered remnants of clothing.

  'I ran out when they said the church was on fire,' sobbed the poorcreature, 'and the Jews beat and wounded me. They tore my shawl andtunic off me before I could get away from them; and then our own peopleran over me and trod me down. And now my husband will beat me, if I everget home. Quick! up this side street, or we shall be murdered!'

  The armed men, whosoever they were, were close on them. There was notime to be lost; and Philammon, assuring her that he would not deserther, hurried her up the side street which she pointed out. But thepursuers had caught sight of them, and while the mass held on up themain sight, three or four turned aside and gave chase. The poor negresscould only limp along, and Philammon, unarmed, looked back, and saw thebright steel points gleaming in the moonlight, and made up his mind todie as a monk should. Nevertheless, youth is hopeful. One chance forlife. He thrust the negress into a dark doorway, where her colour hidher well enough, and had just time to ensconce himself behind a pillar,when the foremost pursuer reached him. He held his breath in fearfulsuspense. Should he be seen? He would not die without a struggle atleast. No! the fellow ran on, panting. But in a minute more, anothercame up, saw him suddenly, and sprang aside startled. That start savedPhilammon. Quick as a cat, he leapt upon him, felled him to the earthwith a single blow, tore the dagger from his hand, and sprang to hisfeet again just in time to strike his new weapon full into the thirdpursuer's face. The man put his hand to his head, and recoiled againsta fellow-ruffian, who was close on his heels. Philammon, flushed withvictory, took advantage of the confusion, and before the worthy paircould recover, dealt them half a dozen blows which, luckily for them,came from an unpractised hand, or the young monk might have had morethan one life to answer for. As it was, they turned and limped off,cursing in an unknown tongue; and Philammon found himself triumphantand alone, with the trembling negress and the prostrate ruffian, who,stunned by the blow and the fall, lay groaning on the pavement.

  It was all over in a minute.... The negress was kneeling under thegateway, pouring out her simple thanks to Heaven for this unexpecteddeliverance; and Philammon was about to kneel too, when a thought struckhim; and coolly despoiling the Jew of his shawl and sash, he handed themover to the poor negress, considering them fairly enough as his own byright of conquest; but, lo and behold! as she was overwhelming him withthanks, a fresh mob poured into the street from the upper end, andwere close on them before they were aware .... A flush of terror anddespair,.... and then a burst of joy, as, by mingled moonlight andtorchlight, Philammon descried priestly robes, and in the forefront ofthe battle--there being no apparent danger--Peter the Reader, whoseemed to be anxious to prevent inquiry, by beginning to talk as fast aspossible.

  'Ah, boy! Safe? The saints be praised! We gave you up for dead! Whomhave you here? A prisoner? And we have another. He ran right into ourarms up the street, and the Lord delivered him into our hand. He musthave passed you.'

  'So he did,' said Philammon, dragging up his captive, 'and here is hisfellow-scoundrel.' Whereon the two worthies were speedily tiedtogether by the elbows; and the party marched on once more in search ofAlexander's church, and the supposed conflagration.

  Philammon looked round for the negress, but she had vanished. He was fartoo much ashamed of being known to have been alone with a woman to sayanything about her. Yet he longed to see her again; an interest--evensomething like an affection--had already sprung up in his heart towardthe poor simple creature whom he had delivered from death. Instead ofthinking her ungrateful for not staying to tell what he had donefor her, he was thankful to her for having saved his blushes, bydisappearing so opportunely.... And he longed to tell her so--to knowif she was hurt--to--Oh, Philammon! only four days from the Laura, anda whole regiment of women acquaintances already! True, Providence havingsent into the world about as many women as men, it maybe difficult tokeep out of their way altogether. Perhaps, too, Providence may haveintended them to be of some use to that other sex, with whom it has somixed them up. Don't argue, poor Philammon; Alexander's church is onfire!-forward!

  And so they hurried on, a confused mass of monks and populace, withtheir hapless prisoners in the centre, who, hauled, cuffed, questioned,and cursed by twenty self-elected inquisitors at once, thought fit,either from Jewish obstinacy or sheer bewilderment, to give no accountwhatsoever of themselves.

  As they turned the corner of a street, the folding-doors of a largegateway rolled open; a long line of glittering figures poured across theroad, dropped their spear-butts on the pavement with a single rattle,and remained motionless. The front rank of the mob recoiled; and anawe-struck whisper ran through them.... 'The Stationaries!'

  'Who are they?' asked Philammon in a whisper.

  'The soldiers--the Roman soldiers,' answered a whisperer to him.

  Philammon, who was among the leaders, had recoiled too--he hardly knewwhy--at that stern apparition. His next instinct was to press forward asclose as he dared.... And these were Roman soldiers!--the conquerors ofthe world!--the men whose name had thrilled him from his childhoodwith vague awe and admiration, dimly heard of up there in the lonelyLaura.... Roman soldiers! And here he was face to face with them atlast!

  His curiosity received a sudden check, however, as he found his armseized by an officer, as he took him to be, from the gold ornaments onhis helmet and cuirass, who lifted his vine-stock threateningly over theyoung monk's head, and demanded--

  'What's all this about? Why are you not quietly in your beds, youAlexandrian rascals?'

  'Alexander's church is on fire,' answered Philammon, thinking theshortest answer the wisest.

  'So much the better.'

  'And the Jews are murdering the Christians.'

  'Fight it out, then. Turn in, men, it's only a riot.'

  And the steel-clad apparition suddenly flashed round, and vanished,trampling and jingling, into the dark jaws of the guardhouse-gate, whilethe stream, its temporary barrier removed, rushed on wilder than ever.

  Philammon hurried on too with them, not without a strange feeling ofdisappointment. 'Only a riot!' Peter was chuckling to his brothersover their cleverness in 'having kept the prisoners in the middle, andstopped the rascals' mouths till they were past the guard-house.' 'Afine thing to boast of,' thought Philammon, 'in the face of the men whomake and unmake kings and Caesars!' 'Only a riot!' He, and the corps ofdistrict visitors--whom he fancied the most august body on earth--andAlexander's church, Christians murdered by Jews, persecution of theCatholic faith, and all the rest of it, was simply, then, not worth thenotice of those forty men, alone and secure in the sense of power anddiscipline, among tens of thousands .... He hated them, those soldiers.Was it because they were indifferent to the cause of which he wasinclined to think himself a not unimportant member, on the strength ofhis late Samsonic defeat of Jewish persecutors? At least, he obeyed thelittle porter's advice, and 'felt very small indeed.'

  And he felt smaller still, being young and alive to ridicule, when,at some sudden ebb or flow, wave or wavelet of the Babel sea, whichweltered up and down every street, a shrill female voice informed themfrom an upper window, that Alexander's church was not on fire at all;that she had gone to the top of the house, as they might have gone, ifthey had not been fools, etc. etc.; and that it 'looked as safe andas ugly as ever'; wherewith a brickbat or two having been sent up inanswer, she shut the blinds, leaving them to halt, inquire, discovergradually and piecemeal, after the method of mobs, they had beenfollowing the nature of mobs; that no one had seen the church on fire,or seen any one else who had seen the same, or even seen any light inthe sky in any quarter, or knew who raised the cry; or--or--in short,Alexander's church was two miles off; if it was on fire, it was eitherburnt down or saved by this time; if not, the night-air was, to saythe least, chilly: and, whether it was or not, there were ambuscadesof Jews--Satan only knew how strong-
-in every street between them andit.... Might it not be better to secure their two prisoners, and thenask for further orders from the archbishop? Wherewith, after the mannerof mobs, they melted off the way they came, by twos and threes, tillthose of a contrary opinion began to find themselves left alone, andhaving a strong dislike to Jewish daggers, were fain to follow thestream.

  With a panic or two, a cry of 'The Jews are on us!' and a general rushin every direction (in which one or two, seeking shelter from theawful nothing in neighbouring houses, were handed over to the watchas burglars, and sent to the quarries accordingly), they reached theSerapeium, and there found, of course, a counter-mob collected to informthem that they had been taken in--that Alexander's church had neverbeen on fire at all--that the Jews had murdered a thousand Christiansat least, though three dead bodies, including the poor priest who layin the house within, were all of the thousand who had yet been seen--andthat the whole Jews' quarter was marching upon them. At which newsit was considered advisable to retreat into the archbishop's house asquickly as possible, barricade the doors, and prepare for a siege--awork at which Philammon performed prodigies, tearing woodwork from therooms, and stones from the parapets, before it struck some of themore sober-minded that it was as well to wait for some more decideddemonstration of attack, before incurring so heavy a carpenter's bill ofrepairs.

  At last the heavy tramp of footsteps was heard coming down the street,and every window was crowded in an instant with eager heads; while Peterrushed downstairs to heat the large coppers, having some experience inthe defensive virtues of boiling water. The bright moon glittered on along line of helmets and cuirasses. Thank Heaven! it was the soldiery.

  'Are the Jews coming?' 'Is the city quiet?''Why did not you preventthis villainy?' 'A thousand citizens murdered while you have beensnoring!'--and a volley of similar ejaculations, greeted the soldiers asthey passed, and were answered by a cool--'To your perches, and sleep,you noisy chickens, or we'll set the coop on fire about your ears.'

  A yell of defiance answered this polite speech, and the soldiery, whoknew perfectly well that the unarmed ecclesiastics within were not to betrifled with, and had no ambition to die by coping-stones and hot water,went quietly on their way.

  All danger was now past; and the cackling rose jubilant, louder thanever, and might have continued till daylight, had not a window inthe courtyard been suddenly thrown open, and the awful voice of Cyrilcommanded silence.

  'Every man sleep where he can. I shall want you at daybreak. Thesuperiors of the parabolani are to come up to me with the two prisoners,and the men who took them.'

  In a few minutes Philammon found himself, with some twenty others, inthe great man's presence: he was sitting at his desk, writing, quietly,small notes on slips of paper.

  'Here is the youth who helped me to pursue the murderer, and havingoutrun me, was attacked by the prisoners,' said Peter. 'My hands areclean from blood, I thank the Lord!'

  'Three set on me with daggers,' said Philammon, apologetically, 'and Iwas forced to take this one's dagger away, and beat off the two otherswith it.'

  Cyril smiled, and shook his head.

  'Thou art a brave boy; but hast thou not read, "If a man smite thee onone cheek, turn to him the other"?'

  'I could not run away, as Master Peter and the rest did.'

  'So you ran away, eh? my worthy friend?'

  'Is it not written,' asked Peter, in his blandest tone, "If theypersecute you in one city, flee unto another"?'

  Cyril smiled again. 'And why could not you run away, boy?'

  Philammon blushed scarlet, but he dared not lie. 'There was a--a poorblack woman, wounded and trodden down, and I dare not leave her, for shetold me she was a Christian.'

  'Right, my son, right. I shall remember this. What was her name?'

  'I did not hear it.--Stay, I think she said Judith.'

  'Ah! the wife of the porter who stands at the lecture-room door, whichGod confound! A devout woman, full of good works, and sorely ill-treatedby her heathen husband. Peter, thou shalt go to her to-morrow with thephysician, and see if she is in need of anything. Boy, thou hast donewell. Cyril never forgets. Now bring up those Jews. Their Rabbis werewith me two hours ago promising peace: and this is the way theyhave kept their promise. So be it. The wicked is snared in his ownwickedness.'

  The Jews were brought in, but kept a stubborn silence.

  'Your holiness perceives,' said some one, 'that they have each of themrings of green palm-bark on their right hand.'

  'A very dangerous sign! An evident conspiracy!' commented Peter.

  'Ah! What does that mean, you rascals? Answer me, as you value yourlives.'

  'You have no business with us: we are Jews, and none of your people,'said one sulkily. 'None of my people? You have murdered my people! Noneof my people? Every soul in Alexandria is mine, if the kingdom of Godmeans anything; and you shall find it out. I shall not argue with you,my good friends, anymore than I did with your Rabbis. Take these fellowsaway, Peter, and lock them up in the fuel-cellar, and see that theyare guarded. If any man lets them go, his life shall be for the life ofthem.'

  And the two worthies were led out.

  'Now, my brothers, here are your orders. You will divide these notesamong yourselves, and distribute them to trusty and godly Catholics inyour districts. Wait one hour, till the city be quiet; and then start,and raise the church. I must have thirty thousand men by sunrise.'

  'What for, your holiness?' asked a dozen voices.

  'Read your notes. Whosoever will fight to-morrow under the banner of theLord, shall have free plunder of the Jews' quarter, outrage and murderonly forbidden. As I have said it, God do so to me, and more also, ifthere be a Jew left in Alexandria by to-morrow at noon. Go.'

  And the staff of orderlies filed out, thanking Heaven that they hada leader so prompt and valiant, and spent the next hour over the hallfire, eating millet cakes, drinking bad beer, likening Cyril to Barak,Gideon, Samson, Jephtha, Judas Maccabeus, and all the worthies of theOld Testament, and then started on their pacific errand.

  Philammon was about to follow them, when Cyril stopped him.

  'Stay, my son; you are young and rash, and do not know the city. Liedown here and sleep in the anteroom. Three hours hence the sun rises,and we go forth against the enemies of the Lord.'

  Philammon threw himself on the floor in a corner, and slumbered like achild, till he was awakened in the gray dawn by one of the parabolani.

  'Up, boy! and see what we can do. Cyril goes down greater than Barak theson of Abinoam, not with ten, but with thirty thousand men at his feet!'

  'Ay, my brothers!' said Cyril, as he passed proudly out in fullpontificals, with a gorgeous retinue of priests and deacons--'theCatholic Church has her organisation, her unity, her common cause, herwatchwords, such as the tyrants of the earth, in their weakness andtheir divisions, may envy and tremble at, but cannot imitate. CouldOrestes raise, in three hours, thirty thousand men, who would die forhim?'

  'As we will for you!' shouted many voices.

  'Say for the kingdom of God.' And he passed out.

  And so ended Philammon's first day in Alexandria.