CHAPTER XIII: THE BOTTOM OF THE ABYSS
'Here am I, at last!' said Raphael Aben-Ezra to himself. 'Fairly andsafely landed at the very bottom of the bottomless; disporting myself onthe firm floor of the primeval nothing, and finding my new element, likeboys when they begin to swim, not so impracticable after all. No man,angel, or demon, can this day cast it in my teeth that I am weak enoughto believe or disbelieve any phenomenon or theory in or concerningheaven or earth; or even that any such heaven, earth, phenomena,or theories exist--or otherwise.... I trust that is a sufficientlyexhaustive statement of my opinions? .... I am certainly not dogmaticenough to deny--or to assert either--that there are sensations.... fartoo numerous for comfort .... but as for proceeding any further, byinduction, deduction, analysis, or synthesis, I utterly declinethe office of Arachne, and will spin no more cobwebs out of myown inside--if I have any. Sensations? What are they, but parts ofoneself--if one has a self! What put this child's fancy into one's head,that there is anything outside of one which produces them? You haveexactly similar feelings in your dreams, and you know that there is noreality corresponding to them--No, you don't! How dare you be dogmaticenough to affirm that? Why should not your dreams be as real as yourwaking thoughts? Why should not your dreams be the reality, and yourwaking thoughts the dream? What matter which?
'What matter indeed? Here have I been staring for years--unless that,too, is a dream, which it very probably is--at every mountebank "ism"which ever tumbled and capered on the philosophic tight-rope; and theyare every one of them dead dolls, wooden, worked with wires, which are_petitiones principii_.... Each philosopher begs the question in hand,and then marches forward, as brave as a triumph, and prides himself--onproving it all afterwards. No wonder that his theory fits the universe,when he has first clipped the universe to fit his theory. Have I nottried my hand at many a one--starting, too, no one can deny, with thevery minimum of clipping,.... for I suppose one cannot begin lower thanat simple "I am I".... unless--which is equally demonstrable--at "I amnot I." I recollect--or dream--that I offered that sweet dream, Hypatia,to deduce all things in heaven and earth, from the Astronomics ofHipparchus to the number of plumes in an archangel's wing, from that onesimple proposition, if she would but write me out a demonstration of itfirst, as some sort of [Greek expression] for the apex of my invertedpyramid. But she disdained.... People are apt to disdain what they knowthey cannot do.... "It was an axiom," it was, "like one and one makingtwo.".... How cross the sweet dream was, at my telling her that I didnot consider that any axiom either, and that one thing and one thingseeming to us to be two things, was no more proof that they really weretwo, and not three hundred and sixty-five, than a man seeming to bean honest man, proved him not to be a rogue; and at my asking her,moreover, when she appealed to universal experience, how she proved thatthe combined folly of all fools resulted in wisdom!
'"I am I" an axiom, indeed! What right have I to say that I am not anyone else? How do I know it? How do I know that there is any one elsefor me not to be? I, or rather something, feel a number of sensations,longings, thoughts, fancies--the great devil take them all--fresh onesevery moment, and each at war tooth and nail with all the rest; andthen on the strength of this infinite multiplicity and contradiction,of which alone I am aware, I am to be illogical enough to stand up, andsay, "I by myself I," and swear stoutly that I am one thing, when all Iam conscious of is the devil only knows how many things. Of all quaintdeductions from experience, that is the quaintest! Would it not be morephilosophical to conclude that I, who never saw or felt or heard thiswhich I call myself, am what I have seen, heard, and felt--and no moreand no less--that sensation which I call that horse, that dead man,that jackass, those forty thousand two-legged jackasses who appear to berunning for their lives below there, having got hold of this same notionof their being one thing each--as I choose to fancy in my foolishhabit of imputing to them the same disease of thought which I find inmyself--crucify the word!--The folly of my ancestors--if I ever hadany--prevents my having any better expression.... Why should I not beall I feel--that sky, those clouds--the whole universe? Hercules! whata creative genius my sensorium must be!--I'll take to writing' poetry--amock-epic, in seventy-two books, entitled "The Universe: or, RaphaelAben-Ezra," and take Homer's Margites for my model. Homer's? Mine! Whymust not the Margites, like everything else, have been a sensation of myown? Hypatia used to say Homer's poetry was a part of her.... only shecould not prove it.... but I have proved that the Margites is a part ofme.... not that I believe my own proof--scepticism forbid! Oh, would toheaven that the said whole disagreeable universe were annihilated, ifit were only just to settle by fair experiment whether any of master "I"remained when they were gone! Buzzard and dogmatist! And how do you knowthat that would settle it? And if it did--why need it be settled?....
'I daresay there is an answer pat for all this. I could write a prettyone myself in half an hour. But then I should not believe it .... northe rejoinder to that.... nor the demurrer to that again .... So.... Iam both sleepy and hungry.... or rather, sleepiness and hunger are me.Which is it! Heigh-ho....' and Raphael finished his meditation by amighty yawn.
This hopeful oration was delivered in a fitting lecture-room. Betweenthe bare walls of a doleful fire-scarred tower in the Campagna of Rome,standing upon a knoll of dry brown grass, ringed with a few grim pines,blasted and black with smoke; there sat Raphael Aben-Ezra, working outthe last formula of the great world problem--'Given Self; to find God.'Through the doorless stone archway he could see a long vista of theplain below, covered with broken trees, trampled crops, smoking villas,and all the ugly scars of recent war, far onward to the quiet purplemountains and the silver sea, towards which struggled, far in thedistance, long dark lines of moving specks, flowing together, breakingup, stopping short, recoiling back to surge forward by some freshchannel, while now and then a glitter of keen white sparks ran throughthe dense black masses.... The Count of Africa had thrown for the empireof the world--and lost.
'Brave old Sun!' said Raphael, 'how merrily he flashes off thesword-blades yonder, and never cares that every tiny spark bringsa death-shriek after it! Why should he? It is no concern of his.Astrologers are fools. His business is to shine; and on the whole, heis one of my few satisfactory sensations. How now? This is questionablypleasant!'
As he spoke, a column of troops came marching across the field, straighttowards his retreat.
'If these new sensations of mine find me here, they will infalliblyproduce in me a new sensation, which will render all further onesimpossible.... Well? What kinder thing could they do for me?.... Ay--buthow do I know that they would do it? What possible proof is there thatif a two-legged phantasm pokes a hard iron-gray phantasm in among mysensations, those sensations will be my last? Is the fact of my turningpale, and lying still, and being in a day or two converted into crows'flesh, any reason why I should not feel? And how do I know that wouldhappen? It seems to happen to certain sensations of my eyeball--orsomething else--who cares? which I call soldiers; but what possibleanalogy can there be between what seems to happen to those singlesensations called soldiers, and what may or may not really happen to allmy sensations put together, which I call me? Should I bear apples if aphantasm seemed to come and plant me? Then why should I die if anotherphantasm seemed to come and poke me in the ribs?
'Still I don't intend to deny it.... I am no dogmatist. Positively thephantasms are marching straight for my tower! Well, it may be saferto run away, on the chance. But as for losing feeling,' continued he,rising and cramming a few mouldy crusts into his wallet, 'that, likeeverything else, is past proof. Why--if now, when I have some sort ofexcuse for fancying myself one thing in one place, I am driven mad withthe number of my sensations, what will it be when I am eaten, and turnedto dust, and undeniably many things in many places.... Will not thesensations be multiplied by--unbearable! I would swear at the thought,if I had anything to swear by! To be transmuted into the sensoria offorty different nasty carrion crows, besides two or three
foxes, and alarge black beetle! I'll run away, just like anybody else.... if anybodyexisted. Come, Bran! ...............
'Bran! where are you; unlucky inseparable sensation of mine? Picking upa dinner already off these dead soldiers? Well, the pity is that thisfoolish contradictory taste of mine, while it makes me hungry,forbids me to follow your example. Why am I to take lessons from mysoldier-phantasms, and not from my canine one? Illogical! Bran! Bran!'and he went out and whistled in vain for the dog.
'Bran! unhappy phantom, who will not vanish by night or day, lying onmy chest even in dreams; and who would not even let me vanish, and solvethe problem--though I don't believe there is any--why did you drag meout of the sea there at Ostia? Why did you not let me become a wholeshoal of crabs? How did you know, or I either, that they may not bevery jolly fellows, and not in the least troubled with philosophicdoubts?.... But perhaps there were no crabs, but only phantasms ofcrabs.... And, on the other hand, if the crab-phantasms give jollysensations, why should not the crow-phantasms? So whichever way it turnsout, no matter; and I may as well wait here, and seem to become crows,as I certainly shall do.--Bran!.... Why should I wait for her? Whatpleasure can it be to me to have the feeling of a four-legged, brindled,lop-eared, toad-mouthed thing always between what seem to be my legs?There she is! Where have you been, madam? Don't you see I am in marchingorder, with staff and wallet ready shouldered? Come!'
But the dog, looking up in his face as only dogs can look, ran towardthe back of the ruin, and up to him again, and back again, until hefollowed her.
'What's this? Here is a new sensation with a vengeance! O storm andcloud of material appearances, were there not enough of you already,that you must add to your number these also? Bran! Bran! Could you findno other day in the year but this, whereon to present my ears with thesqueals of--one--two--three--nine blind puppies?'
Bran answered by rushing into the hole where her new family lay tumblingand squalling, bringing out one in her mouth, and laying it at his feet.
'Needless, I assure you. I am perfectly aware of the state of the casealready. What! another? Silly old thing!--do you fancy, as the fineladies do, that burdening the world with noisy likenesses of yourprecious self, is a thing of which to be proud? Why, she's bringing outthe whole litter!.... What was I thinking of last? Ah--the argument wasself-contradictory, was it, because I could not argue without usingthe very terms which I repudiated. Well.... And--why should it not becontradictory; Why not? One must face that too, after all. Why shouldnot a thing be true and false also? What harm in a thing's being false?What necessity for it to be true? True? What is truth? Why should athing be the worse for being illogical? Why should there be any logic atall? Did I ever see a little beast flying about with "Logic" labelled onits back? What do I know of it, but as a sensation of my own mind--if Ihave any? What proof is that that I am to obey it, and not it me? If aflea bites me I get rid of that sensation; and if logic bothers me, I'llget rid of that too. Phantasms must be taught to vanish courteously.One's only hope of comfort lies in kicking feebly against the tyrannyof one's own boring notions and sensations--every philosopherconfesses that--and what god is logic, pray, that it is to be the soleexception?.... What, old lady? I give you fair warning, you must choosethis day, like any nun, between the ties of family and those of duty.'
Bran seized him by the skirt, and pulled him down towards the puppies;took up one of the puppies and lifted it towards him; and then repeatedthe action with another.
'You unconscionable old brute! You don't actually dare to expect the tocarry your puppies for you?' and he turned to go.
Bran sat down on her tail and began howling.
'Farewell, old dog! you have been a pleasant dream after all.... But ifyou will go the way of all phantasms.'.... And he walked away.
Bran ran with him, leaping and barking; then recollected her family andran back; tried to bring them, one by one, in her mouth, and then tobring them all at once; and failing sat down and howled.
'Come, Bran! Come, old girl!'
She raced halfway up to him; then halfway back again to the puppies;then towards him again: and then suddenly gave it up, and droppingher tail, walked slowly back to the blind suppliants, with a deepreproachful growl.
'* * *!' said Raphael with a mighty oath; 'you are right after all! Hereare nine things come into the world, phantasms or not, there it is; Ican't deny it. They are something, and you are something, old dog; or atleast like enough to something to do instead of it; and you are not I,and as good as I, and they too, for aught I know, and have as good aright to live as I; and by the seven planets and all the rest of it,I'll carry them!'
And he went back, tied up the puppies in his blanket, and set forth,Bran barking, squeaking, wagging, leaping, running between his legs andupsetting him, in her agonies of joy.
'Forward! Whither you will, old lady! The world is wide. You shall bemy guide, tutor, queen of philosophy, for the sake of this mere commonsense of yours. Forward, you new Hypatia! I promise you I will attend nolectures but yours this day!'
He toiled on, every now and then stepping across a dead body, orclambering a wall out of the road, to avoid some plunging, shriekinghorse, or obscene knot of prowling camp followers, who were alreadystripping and plundering the slain.... At last, in front of a largevilla, now a black and smoking skeleton, he leaped a wall, and foundhimself landed on a heap of corpses.... They were piled up against thegarden fence for many yards. The struggle had been fierce there somethree hours before.
'Put me out of my misery! In mercy kill me!' moaned a voice beneath hisfeet.
Raphael looked down; the poor wretch was slashed and mutilated beyondall hope.
'Certainly, friend, if you wish it,' and he drew his dagger. The poorfellow stretched out his throat, and awaited the stroke with a ghastlysmile. Raphael caught his eye; his heart failed him, and he rose.
'What do you advise, Bran?' But the dog was far ahead, leaping andbarking impatiently.
'I obey,' said Raphael; and he followed her, while the wounded mancalled piteously and upbraidingly after him.
'He will not have long to wait. Those plunderers will not be assqueamish as I.... Strange, now! From Armenian reminiscences I shouldhave fancied myself as free from such tender weakness as any ofmy Canaanite-slaying ancestors.... And yet by some mere spirit ofcontradiction, I couldn't kill that fellow, exactly because he asked meto do it.... There is more in that than will fit into the great invertedpyramid of "I am I.". Never mind, let me get the dog's lessons by heartfirst. What next, Bran? Ah! Could one believe the transformation? Why,this is the very trim villa which I passed yesterday morning, with thegarden-chairs standing among the flower-beds, just as the young ladieshad left them, and the peacocks and silver pheasants running about,wondering why their pretty mistresses did not come to feed them. Andhere is a trampled mass of wreck and corruption for the girls to find,when they venture back from Rome, and complain how horrible war is forbreaking down all their shrubs, and how cruel soldiers must be to killand cook all their poor dear tame turtle-doves! Why not? Why should theylament over other things--which they can just as little mend--and whichperhaps need no more mending? Ah! there lies a gallant fellow underneaththat fruit-tree!'
Raphael walked up to a ring of dead, in the midst of which lay,half-sitting against the trunk of the tree, a tall and noble officerin the first bloom of manhood. His casque and armour, gorgeously inlaidwith gold, were hewn and battered by a hundred blows; his shield wascloven through and through; his sword broken in the stiffened hand whichgrasped it still. Cut off from his troop, he had made his last standbeneath the tree, knee-deep in the gay summer flowers, and there he lay,bestrewn, as if by some mockery--or pity--of mother nature, with fadedroses, and golden fruit, shaken from off the boughs in that last deadlystruggle. Raphael stood and watched him with a sad sneer.
'Well!--you have sold your fancied personality dear! How many deadmen?.... Nine.... Eleven! Conceited fellow! Who told you that your onelife was worth the eleven
which you have taken?'
Bran went up to the corpse--perhaps from its sitting posture fancying itstill living--smelt the cold cheek, and recoiled with a mournful whine.
'Eh? That is the right way to look at the phenomena, is it? Well, afterall, I am sorry for you.... almost like you.... All your wounds infront, as a man's should be. Poor fop! Lais and Thais will never curlthose dainty ringlets for you again! What is that bas-relief upon yourshield? Venus receiving Psyche into the abode of the gods!.... Ah! youhave found out all about Psyche's wings by this time.... How do Iknow that? And yet, why am I, in spite of my common sense--if I haveany--talking to you as you, and liking you, and pitying you, if you arenothing now, and probably never were anything? Bran! What right had youto pity him without giving your reasons in due form, as Hypatia wouldhave done? Forgive me, sir, however--whether you exist or not, I cannotleave that collar round your neck for these camp-wolves to convert intostrong liquor.'
And as he spoke, he bent down, and detached, gently enough, amagnificent necklace.
'Not for myself, I assure you. Like Ate's golden apple, it shall go tothe fairest. Here, Bran!' And he wreathed the jewels round the neckof the mastiff, who, evidently exalted in her own eyes by the burden,leaped and barked forward again, taking, apparently as a matter ofcourse, the road back towards Ostia, by which they had come thitherfrom the sea. And as he followed, careless where he went, he continuedtalking to himself aloud after the manner of restless self-discontentedmen.
....'And then man talks big about his dignity and his intellect, andhis heavenly parentage, and his aspirations after the unseen, and thebeautiful, and the infinite--and everything else unlike himself. Howcan he prove it? Why, these poor blackguards lying about are very fairspecimens of humanity.--And how much have they been bothered since theywere born with aspirations after anything infinite, except infinite sourwine? To eat, to drink; to destroy a certain number of their species; toreproduce a certain number of the same, two-thirds of whom will die ininfancy, a dead waste of pain to their mothers and of expense to theirputative sires.... and then--what says Solomon? What befalls thembefalls beasts. As one dies, so dies the other; so that they have allone breath, and a man has no pre-eminence over a beast; for all isvanity. All go to one place; all are of the dust, and turn to dustagain. Who knows that the breath of man goes upward, and that the breathof the beast goes downward to the earth? Who, indeed, my most wiseancestor? Not I, certainly. Raphael Aben-Ezra, how art thou better thana beast? W hat pre-eminence hast thou, not merely over this dog, Butover the fleas whom thou so wantonly cursest? Man must painfully winhouse, clothes, fire.... A pretty proof of his wisdom, when every fleahas the wit to make my blanket, without any labour of his own, lodge hima great deal better than it lodges me! Man makes clothes, and the fleaslive in them.... Which is the wiser of the two?....
'Ah, but--man is fallen.... Well--and the flea is not. So much better hethan the man; for he is what he was intended to be, and so fulfils thevery definition of virtue, which no one can say of us of the red-ochrevein. And even if the old myth be true, and the man only fell, becausehe was set to do higher work than the flea, what does that prove--butthat he could not do it?
'But his arts and his sciences?.... Apage! The very sound of thosegrown-children's rattles turns me sick.... One conceited ass in ageneration increasing labour and sorrow, and dying after all even asthe fool dies, and ten million brutes and slaves, just where theirfore-fathers were, and where their children will be after them, to theend of the farce.... The thing that has been, it is that which shall be;and there is no new thing under the sun....
'And as for your palaces, and cities, and temples.... look at thisCampagna, and judge. Flea-bites go down after a while--and so do they.What are they but the bumps which we human fleas make in the old earth'sskin?. Make them? We only cause them, as fleas cause flea-bites....What are all the works of man, but a sort of cutaneous disorder in thisunhealthy earth-hide, and we a race of larger fleas, running about amongits fur, which we call trees? Why should not the earth be an animal? Howdo I know it is not? Because it is too big? Bah! What is big, andwhat is little? Because it has not the shape of one?.... Look intoa fisherman's net, and see what forms are there! Because it does notspeak?.... Perhaps it has nothing to say, being too busy. Perhaps itcan talk no more sense than we.... In both cases it shows its wisdom byholding its tongue. Because it moves in one necessary direction? ....How do I know that it does? How can I tell that it is not flirting withall the seven spheres at once, at this moment? But if it does--so muchthe wiser of it, if that be the best direction for it. Oh, what a basesatire on ourselves and our notions of the fair and fitting, to say thata thing cannot be alive and rational, just because it goes steadily onupon its own road, instead of skipping and scrambling fantastically upand down without method or order, like us and the fleas, from the cradleto the grave! Besides, if you grant, with the rest of the world, thatfleas are less noble than we, because they are our parasites, then youare bound to grant that we are less noble than the earth, because we areits parasites. .... Positively, it looks more probable than anythingI have seen for many a day.... And, by the bye, why should notearthquakes, and floods, and pestilences, be only just so many wayswhich the cunning old brute earth has of scratching herself when thehuman fleas and their palace and city bites get too troublesome?'
At a turn of the road he was aroused from this profitable meditationby a shriek, the shrillness of which told him that it was a woman's.He looked up, and saw close to him, among the smouldering ruins of afarmhouse, two ruffians driving before them a young girl, with her handstied behind her, while the poor creature was looking back piteouslyafter something among the ruins, and struggling in vain, bound as shewas, to escape from her captors and return.
'Conduct unjustifiable in any fleas,--eh, Bran? How do I know that,though? Why should it not be a piece of excellent fortune for her, ifshe had but the equanimity to see it? Why--what will happen to her?She will betaken to Rome, and sold as a slave.... And in spite of a fewdiscomforts in the transfer, and the prejudice which some persons haveagainst standing an hour on the catasta to be handled from head to footin the minimum of clothing, she will most probably end in being farbetter housed, fed, bedizened, and pampered to her heart's desire, thanninety-nine out of a hundred of her sister fleas.... till she beginsto grow old.... which she must do in any case....And if she have notcontrived to wheedle her master out of her liberty, and to make tip apretty little purse of savings, by that time--why, it is her own fault.Eh, Bran?'
But Bran by no means agreed with his view of the case; for afterwatching the two ruffians, with her head stuck on one side, for a minuteor two, she suddenly and silently, after the manner of mastiffs, sprangupon them, and dragged one to the ground.
'Oh! that is the "fit and beautiful," in this case, as they say inAlexandria, is it? Well--I obey. You are at least a more practicalteacher than ever Hypatia was. Heaven grant that there may be no more ofthem in the ruins!'
And rushing on the second plunderer, he laid him dead with a blow of hisdagger, and then turned to the first, whom Bran was holding down by thethroat.
'Mercy, mercy!' shrieked the wretch. 'Life! only life!'
'There was a fellow half a mile back begging me to kill him: with whichof you two am I to agree?--for you can't both be right.'
'Life! Only life!'
'A carnal appetite, which man must learn to conquer,' said Raphael,as he raised the poniard..... In a moment it was over, and Bran andhe rose--Where was the girl? She had rushed back to the ruins, whitherRaphael followed her; while Bran ran to the puppies, which he had laidupon a stone, and commenced her maternal cares.
'What do you want, my poor girl?' asked he in Latin. 'I will not hurtyou.'
'My father! My father!'
He untied her bruised and swollen wrists; and without stopping to thankhim, she ran to a heap of fallen stones and beams, and began diggingwildly with all her little strength, breathlessly calling 'Father!'
'Such is the gratitude of flea to flea! What is there, now, in the merefact of being accustomed to call another person father, and notmaster, or slave, which should produce such passion as that?.... Brutehabit!.... What services can the said man render, or have rendered,which make him worth--Here is Bran!.... What do you think of that, myfemale philosopher?'
Bran sat down and watched too. The poor girl's tender hands werebleeding from the stones, while her golden tresses rolled down overher eyes, and entangled in her impatient fingers; but still she workedfrantically. Bran seemed suddenly to comprehend the case, rushed to therescue, and began digging too, with all her might.
Raphael rose with a shrug, and joined in the work. ...............
'Hang these brute instincts! They make one very hot. What was that?'
A feeble moan rose from under the stones. A human limb was uncovered.The girl threw herself on the place, shrieking her father's name.Raphael put her gently back and exerting his whole strength, drew outof the ruins a stalwart elderly man, in the dress of an officer of highrank.
He still breathed. The girl lifted up his head and covered him withwild kisses. Raphael looked round for water; found a spring and a brokensherd, and bathed the wounded man's temples till he opened his eyes andshowed signs of returning life.
The girl still sat by him, fondling her recovered treasure, and bathingthe grizzled face in holy tears.
'It is no business of mine,' said Raphael. 'Come, Bran!'
The girl sprang up, threw herself at his feet, kissed his hands, calledhim her saviour, her deliverer, sent by God.
'Not in the least, my child. You must thank my teacher the dog, not me.'
And she took him at his word, and threw her soft arms round Bran's Deck;and Bran understood it, and wagged her tail, and licked the gentle facelovingly.
'Intolerably absurd, all this!' said Raphael. 'I must be going, Bran.'
'You will not leave us? You surely will not leave an old man to diehere?'
'Why not? What better thing could happen to him?'
'Nothing,' murmured the officer, who had not spoken before.
'Ah, God! he is my father!'
'Well?'
'He is my father!'
'Well?'
'You must save him! You shall, I say!' And she seized Raphael's arm inthe imperiousness of her passion.
He shrugged his shoulders: but felt, he knew not why, marvellouslyinclined to obey her.
'I may as well do this as anything else, having nothing else to do.Whither now, sir?'
'Whither you will. Our troops are disgraced, our eagles taken. We areyour prisoners by right of war. We follow you.'
'Oh, my fortune! A new responsibility! Why cannot I stir, without liveanimals, from fleas upward, attaching themselves to me? Is it notenough to have nine blind puppies at my back, and an old brute at myheels, who will persist in saving my life, that I must be burdened overand above with a respectable elderly rebel and his daughter? Why am Inot allowed by fate to care for nobody but myself? Sir, I give youboth your freedom. The world is wide enough for us all. I really ask noransom.'
'You seem philosophically disposed, my friend.'
'I? Heaven forbid! I have gone right through that slough, and come outsheer on the other side. For sweeping the last lingering taint of it outof me, I have to thank, not sulphur and exorcisms, but your soldiers andtheir morning's work. Philosophy is superfluous in a world where all arefools.'
'Do you include yourself under that title?'
'Most certainly, my best sir. Don't fancy that I make any exceptions. IfI can in any way prove my folly to you, I will do it.'
'Then help me and my daughter to Ostia.'
'A very fair instance. Well--my dog happens to be going that way; andafter all, you seem to have a sufficient share of human imbecility tobe a very fit companion for me. I hope, though, you do not set up for awise man!'
'God knows--no! Am I not of Heraclian's army?'
'True; and the young lady here made herself so great a fool about you,that she actually infected the very dog.'
'So we three fools will forth together.'
'And the greatest one, as usual, must help the rest. But I have ninepuppies in my family already. How am I to carry you and them?'
'I will take them,' said the girl; and Bran, after looking on at thetransfer with a somewhat dubious face, seemed to satisfy herself thatall was right, and put her head contentedly under the girl's hand.
'Eh? You trust her, Bran?' said Raphael, in an undertone. 'I mustreally emancipate myself from your instructions if you require a similarsimplicity in me. Stay! there wanders a mule without a rider; we may aswell press into the service.'
He caught the mule, lifted the wounded man into the saddle, and thecavalcade set forth, turning out of the highroad into a by-lane, whichthe officer, who seemed to know the country thoroughly, assured wouldlead them to Ostia by an unfrequented route.
'If we arrive there before sundown, we are saved,' said he.
'And in the meantime,' answered Raphael, 'between the dog and thisdagger, which, as I take care to inform all comers, is delicatelypoisoned, we may keep ourselves clear of marauders. And yet, what ameddling fool I am!' he went on to himself. 'What possible interest canI have in this uncircumcised rebel! The least evil is, that if we aretaken, which we most probably shall be, I shall be crucified for helpingto escape. But even if we get safe off--here is a fresh tie between meand those very brother fleas, to be rid of whom I have chosen beggaryand starvation. Who knows where it may end? Pooh! The man is like othermen. He is certain, before the day is over, to prove ungrateful, orattempt the mountebank-heroic, or give me some other excuse for biddinggood-evening. And in the meantime there is something quaint in the factof finding so sober a respectability, with a young daughter too, abroadon this fool's errand, which really makes me curious to discover withwhat variety of flea I am to class him.'
But while Aben-Ezra was talking to himself about the father, he couldnot help, somehow, thinking about the daughter. Again and again hefound himself looking at her. She was, undeniably, most beautiful. Herfeatures were not as regularly perfect as Hypatia's, nor her stature socommanding; but her face shone with a clear and joyful determination,and with a tender and modest thoughtfulness, such as he had never beheldbefore united in one countenance; and as she stepped along, firmly andlightly, by her father's side, looping up her scattered tresses as shewent, laughing at the struggles of her noisy burden, and looking up withrapture at her father's gradually brightening face, Raphael couldnot help stealing glance after glance, and was surprised to find themreturned with a bright, honest, smiling gratitude, which met full-eyed,as free from prudery as it was from coquetry.... 'A lady she is,' saidhe to himself; 'but evidently no city one. There is nature--or somethingelse, there, pure and unadulterated, without any of man's additions orbeautifications.' And as he looked, he began to feel it a pleasuresuch as his weary heart had not known for many a year, simply to watchher....
'Positively there is a foolish enjoyment after all in making other fleassmile.... Ass that I am! As if I had not drunk all that ditch-water cupto the dregs years ago!'
They went on for some time in silence, till the officer, turning tohim--
'And may I ask you, my quaint preserver, whom I would have thankedbefore but for this foolish faintness, which is now going off, what andwho you are?'
'A flea, sir--a flea--nothing more.'
'But a patrician flea, surely, to judge by your language and manners?'
'Not that exactly. True, I have been rich, as the saying is; I may berich again, they tell me, when I am fool enough to choose.'
'Oh if we were but rich!' sighed the girl.
'You would be very unhappy, my dear young lady. Believe a flea who hastried the experiment thoroughly.'
'Ah! but we could ransom my brother! and now we can find no money tillwe get back to Africa.'
'And none then,' said the officer, in a low voice. 'You forget, my poorchild, that I mortgaged
the whole estate to raise my legion. We must notshrink from looking at things as they are.'
'Ah! and he is prisoner! he will be sold for a slave--perhaps--ah!perhaps crucified, for he is not a Roman! Oh, he will be crucified!' andshe burst into an agony of weeping....Suddenly she dashed away her tearsand looked up clear and bright once more.
'No! forgive me, father! God will protect His own!'
'My dear young lady,' said Raphael, 'if you really dislike sucha prospect for your brother, and are in want of a few dirty coinswherewith to prevent it, perhaps I may be able to find you them inOstia.'
She looked at incredulously, as her eye glanced over his rags, and then,blushing, begged his pardon for her unspoken thoughts.
'Well, as you choose to suppose. But my dog has been so civil to youalready, that perhaps she may have no objection to make you a presentof that necklace of hers. I will go to the Rabbis, and we will make allright; so don't cry. I hate crying; and the puppies are quite chorusenough for the present tragedy.'
'The Rabbis? Are you a Jew?' asked the officer.
'Yes, sir, a Jew. And you, I presume, a Christian: perhaps you mayhave scruples about receiving--your sect has generally none abouttaking--from one of our stubborn and unbelieving race. Don't befrightened, though, for your conscience; I assure you I am no more a Jewat heart than I am a Christian.'
'God help you then!'
'Some one, or something, has helped me a great deal too much, forthree-and-thirty years of pampering. But, pardon me, that was a strangespeech for a Christian.'
'You must be a good Jew, sir, before you can be a good Christian.'
'Possibly. I intend to be neither--nor a good Pagan either. My dear sir,let us drop the subject. It is beyond me. If I can be as good a bruteanimal as my dog there--it being first demonstrated that it is good tobe good--I shall be very well content.'
The officer looked down on with a stately, loving sorrow. Raphael caughthis eye, and felt that he was in the presence of no common man.
'I must take care what I say here, I suspect, or I shall be entangledshortly in a regular Socratic dialogue.... And now, sir, may I returnyour question, and ask who and what are you? I really have no intentionof giving you up to any Caesar, Antiochus, Tiglath-Pileser, or otherflea-devouring flea.... They will fatten well enough without your blood.So I only ask as a student of the great nothing-in-general, which mencall the universe.'
'I was prefect of a legion this morning. What I am now, you know as wellas I.'
'Just what I do not. I am in deep wonder at seeing your hilarity, when,by all flea-analogies, you ought to be either be howling your fate likeAchilles on the shores of Styx, or pretending to grin and bear it, asI was taught to do when I played at Stoicism. You are not of that sectcertainly, for you confessed yourself a fool just now.'
'And it would be long, would it not, before you made one of them do asmuch? Well, be it so. A fool I am; yet, if God helps us as far as Ostia,why should I not be cheerful?'
'Why should you?'
'What better thing can happen to a fool, than that God should teach thathe is one, when he fancied himself the wisest of the wise? Listen tome, sir. Four mouths ago I was blessed with health, honour, lands,friends--all for which the heart of man could wish. And if, for aninsane ambition, I have chosen to risk all those, against the solemnwarnings of the truest friend, and the wisest saint who treads thisearth of God's--should I not rejoice to have it proved to me, even bysuch a lesson as this, that the friend who never deceived me before wasright in this case too; and that the God who has checked and turned mefor forty years of wild toil and warfare, whenever I dared to do whatwas right in the sight of my own eyes, has not forgotten me yet, orgiven up the thankless task of my education?'
'And who, pray, is this peerless friend?'
'Augustine of Hippo.'
'Humph! It had been better for the world in general, if the greatdialectician had exerted his powers of persuasion on Heraclian himself.'
'He did so, but in vain.'
'I don't doubt it. I know the sleek Count well enough to judge whateffect a sermon would have upon that smooth vulpine determination ofhis.... "An instrument in the hands of God, my dear brother.... Wemust obey His call, even to the death," etc. etc.' And Raphael laughedbitterly.
'You know the Count?'
'As well, sir, as I care to know any man.'
'I am sorry for your eyesight, then, sir,' said the Prefect severely,'if it has been able to discern no more than that in so august acharacter.'
'My dear sir, I do not doubt his excellence--nay, his inspiration. Howwell he divined the perfectly fit moment for stabbing his old comradeStilicho! But really, as two men of the world, we must be aware by thistime that every man has his price.'....
'Oh, hush! hush!' whispered the girl. 'You cannot guess how you painhim. He worships the Count. It was not ambition, as he pretends, butmerely loyalty to him, which brought here against his will.'
'My dear madam, forgive me. For your sake I am silent.'....
'For her sake! A pretty speech for me! What next?' said he to himself.'Ah, Bran, Bran, this is all your fault!'
'For my sake! Oh, why not for your own sake? How sad to hear one--onelike you, only sneering and speaking evil!'
'Why then? If fools are fools, and one can safely call them so, why notdo it?'
'Ah,--if God was merciful enough to send down His own Son to die forthem, should we not be merciful enough not to judge their failingsharshly!'
'My dear young lady, spare a worn-out philosopher any new anthropologictheories. We really must push on a little faster, if we intend to reachOstia to-night.'
But, for some reason or other, Raphael sneered no more for a fullhalf-hour.
Long, however, ere they reached Ostia, the night had fallen; and theirsituation began to be more than questionably safe. Now and then a wolf,slinking across the road towards his ghastly feast, glided like a lankghost out of the darkness, and into it again, answering Bran's growl bya gleam of his white teeth. Then the voices of some marauding party rangcoarse and loud through the still night, and made them hesitate and stopa while. And at last, worst of all, the measured tramp of an imperialcolumn began to roll like distant thunder along the plain below. Theywere advancing upon Ostia! What if they arrived there before the routedarmy could rally, and defend themselves long enough to re-embark!....What if--a thousand ugly possibilities began to crowd up.
'Suppose we found the gates of Ostia shut, and the Imperialistsbivouacked outside?' said Raphael half to himself.
'God would protect His own,' answered the girl; and Raphael had no heartto rob her of her hope, though he looked upon their chances of escape asgrowing smaller and smaller every moment. The poor girl was weary; themule weary also; and as they crawled along, at a pace which made itcertain that the fast passing column would be at Ostia an hour beforethem, to join the vanguard of the pursuers, and aid them in investingthe town, she had to lean again and again on Raphael's arm. Her shoes,unfitted for so rough a journey, bad been long since torn off, and hertender feet were marking every step with blood. Raphael knew it by herfaltering gait; and remarked, too, that neither sigh nor murmur passedher lips. But as for helping her, he could not; and began to cursethe fancy which had led to eschew even sandals as unworthy theself-dependence of a Cynic.
And so they crawled along, while Raphael and the Prefect, each guessingthe terrible thoughts of the other, were thankful for the darkness whichhid their despairing countenances from the young girl; she, on the otherhand, chatting cheerfully, almost laughingly, to her silent father.
At last the poor girl stepped on some stone more sharp than usual--and,with a sudden writhe and shriek, sank to the ground. Raphael lifted herup, and she tried to proceed, but sank down again.... What was to bedone?
'I expected this,' said the Prefect, in a slow stately voice. 'Hear me,sir! Jew, Christian, or philosopher, God seems to have bestowed on you aheart which I can trust. To your care I commit this girl--your property,like
me, by right of war. Mount her upon this mule. Hasten withher--where you will--for God will be there also. And may He so deal withyou as you deal with her henceforth. An old and disgraced soldier can dono more than die.'
And he made an effort to dismount; but fainting from his wounds, sankupon the neck of the mule. Raphael and his daughter caught in theirarms.
'Father! Father! Impossible! Cruel! Oh--do you think that I would havefollowed you hither from Africa, against your own entreaties, to desertyou now?'
'My daughter, I command!'
The girl remained firm and sound.
'How long have you learned to disobey me? Lift the old disgraced mandown, sir, and leave to die in the right place--on the battlefield wherehis general sent him.'
The girl sank down on the road in an agony of weeping. 'I must helpmyself, I see,' said her father, dropping to the ground. 'Authorityvanishes before old age and humiliation. Victoria! has your father nosins to answer for already, that you will send before his God with yourblood too upon his head?'
Still the girl sat weeping on the ground; while Raphael, utterly at hiswits end, tried hard to persuade himself that it was no concern of his.
'I am at the service of either or of both, for life or death; only be sogood as to settle it quickly.... Hell! here it is settled for us, with avengeance!'
And as he spoke, the tramp and jingle of horsemen rang along the lane,approaching rapidly.
In an instant Victoria had sprung to her feet--weakness and pain hadvanished.
'There is one chance--one chance for him! Lift over the bank, sir! Liftover, while I run forward and meet them. My death will delay them longenough for you to save him!'
'Death?' cried Raphael, seizing her by the arm. 'If that were all--'
'God will protect His own,' answered she calmly, laying her fingeron her lips; and then breaking from his grasp in the strength of herheroism, vanished into the night.
Her father tried to follow her, but fell on his face, groaning. Raphaellifted him, strove to drag up the steep bank: but his knees knockedtogether; a faint sweat seemed to melt every limb.... There was a pause,which secured ages long.... Nearer and nearer came the trampling.... Asudden gleam of the moon revealed Victoria standing with outspread arms,right before the horses' heads. A heavenly glory seemed to bathe herfrom head to foot.... or was it tears sparkling in his own eyes?....Then the grate and jar of the horse-hoofs on the road, as they pulled upsuddenly.... He turned his face away and shut his eyes....
'What are you?' thundered a voice.
'Victoria, the daughter of Majoricus the Prefect.'
The voice was low, but yet so clear and calm, that every syllable rangthrough Aben-Ezra's tingling ears....
A shout--a shriek--the confused murmur of many voices.... He looked up,in spite of himself-a horseman had sprung to the ground, and claspedVictoria in his arms. The human heart of flesh, asleep for many a year,leaped into mad life within his breast, and drawing his dagger, herushed into the throng--
'Villains! Hellhounds! I will balk you! She shall die first!'
And the bright blade gleamed over Victoria's head.... He was struckdown--blinded--half-stunned--but rose again with the energy ofmadness.... What was this? Soft arms around him.... Victoria's!
'Save him! spare him! He saved us! Sir! It is my brother! We are safe!Oh, spare the dog! It saved my father!'
'We have mistaken each other, indeed, sir!' said a gay young Tribune, ina voice trembling with joy. 'Where is my father?'
'Fifty yards behind. Down, Bran! Quiet! O Solomon, mine ancestor, whydid you not prevent me making such an egregious fool of myself? Why, Ishall be forced, in self-justification, to carry through the farce!'
There is no use telling what followed during the next five minutes,at the end of which time Raphael found himself astride of a goodlywar-horse, by the side of the young Tribune, who carried Victoria beforehim. Two soldiers in the meantime were supporting the Prefect on hismule, and convincing that stubborn bearer of burdens that it was notquite so unable to trot as it had fancied, by the combined arguments ofa drench of wine and two sword-points, while they heaped their generalwith blessings, and kissed his hands and feet.
'Your father's soldiers seem to consider themselves in debt to him: not,surely, for taking them where they could best run away?'
'Ah, poor fellows!' said the Tribune; 'we have had as real a panic amongus as I ever read of in Arrian or Polybius. But he has been a fatherrather than a general to them. It is not often that, out of a routedarmy, twenty gallant men will volunteer to ride back into the enemy'sranks, on the chance of an old man's breathing still.'
'Then you knew where to find us?' said Victoria.
'Some of them knew. And he himself showed us this very by-roadyesterday, when we took up our ground, and told us it might be ofservice on occasion--and so it has been.'
'But they told me that you were taken prisoner. Oh, the torture I havesuffered for you!'
'Silly child! Did you fancy my father's son would be taken alive? I andthe first troop got away over the garden walls, and cut our way out intothe plain, three hours ago.'
'Did I not tell you,' said Victoria, leaning toward Raphael, 'that Godwould protect His own?'
'You did,' answered he; and fell into a long and silent meditation.
Hypatia — or New Foes with an Old Face Page 14
