CHAPTER VII: THOSE BY WHOM OFFENCES COME
Philammon's heart smote him all that day, whenever he thought of hismorning's work. Till then all Christians, monks above all, had beeninfallible in his eyes: all Jews and heathens insane and accursed.Moreover, meekness under insult, fortitude in calamity, the contempt ofworldly comfort, the worship of poverty as a noble estate, were virtueswhich the Church Catholic boasted as her peculiar heritage: on whichside had the balance of those qualities inclined that morning? Thefigure of Raphael, stalking out ragged and penniless into the wideworld, haunted him, with its quiet self-assured smile. And there hauntedhim, too, another peculiarity in the man, which he had never beforeremarked in any one but Arsenius--that ease and grace, that courtesy andself-restraint, which made Raphael's rebukes rankle all the more keenly,because he felt that the rebuker was in some mysterious way superior tohim, and saw through him, and could have won him Over, Or crushed himin argument, or in intrigue--or in anything, perhaps, except mere bruteforce. Strange--that Raphael, of all men, should in those few momentshave reminded him so much of Arsenius; and that the very same qualitieswhich gave a peculiar charm to the latter should give a peculiarunloveliness to the former, and yet be, without a doubt, the same. Whatwas it? Was it rank which gave it Arsenius had been a great man, heknew--the companion of kings. And Raphael seemed rich. He had heardthe mob crying out against the prefect for favouring him. Was it thenfamiliarity with the great ones of the world which produced this mannerand tone? It was a real strength, whether in Arsenius or in Raphael. Hefelt humbled before it--envied it. If it made Arsenius a more completeand more captivating person, why should it not do the same for him? Whyshould not he, too, have his share of it?
Bringing with it such thoughts as these, the time ran on till noon, andthe mid-day meal, and the afternoon's work, to which Philammon lookedforward joyfully, as a refuge from his own thoughts.
He was sitting on his sheepskin upon a step, basking, like a true sonof the desert, in a blaze of fiery sunshine, which made the blackstone-work too hot to touch with the bare hand, watching the swallows,as they threaded the columns of the Serapeium, and thinking how often hehad delighted in their air-dance, as they turned and hawked up and downthe dear old glen at Scetis. A crowd of citizens with causes,appeals, and petitions, were passing in and out from the patriarch'saudience-room. Peter and the archdeacon were waiting in the shade closeby for the gathering of the parabolani, and talking over the morning'swork in an earnest whisper, in which the names of Hypatia and Oresteswere now and then audible.
An old priest came up, and bowing reverently enough to the archdeacon,requested the help of one of the parabolani. He had a sailor's family,all fever-stricken, who must be removed to the hospital at once.
The archdeacon looked at him, answered an off-hand 'Very well,' and wenton with his talk.
The priest, bowing lower than before, re-presented the immediatenecessity for help.
'It is very odd,' said Peter to the swallows in the Serapeium, 'thatsome people cannot obtain influence enough in their own parishes to getthe simplest good works performed without tormenting his holiness thepatriarch.'
The old priest mumbled some sort of excuse, and the archdeacon, withoutdeigning a second look at him, said--'Find him a man, brother Peter.Anybody will do. What is that boy--Philammon--doing there? Let him gowith Master Hieracas.'
Peter seemed not to receive the proposition favourably, and whisperedsomething to the archdeacon....
'No. I can spare none of the rest. Importunate persons must take theirchance of being well served. Come--here are our brethren; we will all gotogether.'
'The farther together the better for the boy's sake,' grumbled Peter,loud enough for Philammon--perhaps for the old priest--to overhear him.
So Philammon went out with them, and as he went questioned hiscompanions meekly enough as to who Raphael was.
'A friend of Hypatia!'--that name, too, haunted him; and he began, asstealthily and indirectly as he could, to obtain information about her.There was no need for his caution; for the very mention of her nameroused the whole party into a fury of execration.
'May God confound her, siren, enchantress, dealer in spells andsorceress! She is the strange woman of whom Solomon prophesied.'
'It is my opinion,' said another, 'that she is the forerunner ofAntichrist.'
'Perhaps the virgin of whom it is prophesied that he will be born,'suggested another.
'Not that, I'll warrant her,' said Peter, with a savage sneer.
'And is Raphael Aben-Ezra her pupil in philosophy?' asked Philammon.
'Her pupil in whatsoever she can find where-with to delude men's souls,'said the old priest.
'The reality of philosophy has died long ago, but the great ones find itstill worth their while to worship its shadow.'
'Some of them worship more than a shadow, when they haunt her house,'said Peter. 'Do you think Orestes goes thither only for philosophy?'
'We must not judge harsh judgments,' said the old priest; 'Synesius ofCyrene is a holy man, and yet he loves Hypatia well.'
'He a holy man?--and keeps a wife! One who had the insolence to tell theblessed Theophilus himself that he would not be made bishop unless hewere allowed to remain with her; and despised the gift of the Holy Ghostin comparison of the carnal joys of wedlock, not knowing the Scriptures,which saith that those who are in the flesh cannot please God! Well saidSiricius of Rome of such men--"Can the Holy Spirit of God dwell in otherthan holy bodies?" No wonder that such a one as Synesius grovels at thefeet of Orestes' mistress!'
'Then she is profligate?' asked Philammon.
'She must be. Has a heathen faith and grace? And without faith andgrace, are not all our righteousnesses as filthy rags? What says St.Paul?--That God has given them over to a reprobate mind, full of allinjustice, uncleanness, covetousness, maliciousness, you know thecatalogue--why do you ask me?'
'Alas! and is she this?'
'Alas! And why alas? How would the Gospel be glorified if heathens wereholier than Christians? It ought to be so, therefore it is so. If sheseems to have virtues, they, being done without the grace of Christ, areonly bedizened vices, cunning shams, the devil transformed into anangel of light. And as for chastity, the flower and crown of allvirtues--whosoever says that she, being yet a heathen, has that,blasphemes the Holy Spirit, whose peculiar and highest gift it is, andis anathema maranatha for ever! Amen!' And Peter, devoutly crossinghimself, turned angrily and contemptuously away from his youngcompanion.
Philammon was quite shrewd enough to see that assertion was notidentical with proof. But Peter's argument of 'it ought to be, thereforeit is,' is one which saves a great deal of trouble...and no doubt he hadvery good sources of information. So Philammon walked on, sad, he knewnot why, at the new notion which he had formed of Hypatia, as a sortof awful sorceress--Messalina, whose den was foul with magic rites andruined souls of men. And yet if that was all she had to teach, whencehad her pupil Raphael learned that fortitude of his? If philosophy had,as they said, utterly died out, then what was Raphael?
Just then, Peter and the rest turned up a side street, and Philammon andHieracas were left to go on their joint errand together. They paced onfor some way in silence, up one street and down another, till Philammon,for want of anything better to say, asked where they were going.
'Where I choose, at all events. No, young man! If I, a priest, am to beinsulted by archdeacons and readers, I won't be insulted by you.'
'I assure you I meant no harm.'
'Of course not; you all learn the same trick, and the young ones catchit of the old ones fast enough. Words smoother than butter, yet veryswords.'
'You do not mean to complain of the archdeacon and his companions?' saidPhilammon, who of course was boiling over with pugnacious respect forthe body to which he belonged.
No answer.
'Why, sir, are they not among the most holy and devoted of men?'
'Ah--yes,' said his companion, in a tone which sounded v
ery like'Ah--no.'
'You do not think so?' asked Philammon bluntly.
'You are young, you are young. Wait a while till you have seen as muchas I have. A degenerate age this, my son; not like the good old times,when men dare suffer and die for the faith. We are too prosperousnowadays; and fine ladies walk about with Magdalens embroidered on theirsilks, and gospels hanging round their necks. When I was young they diedfor that with which they now bedizen themselves.'
'But I was speaking of the parabolani.'
'Ah, there are a great many among them who have not much business wherethey are. Don't say I said so. But many a rich man puts his name on thelist of the guild just to get his exemption from taxes, and leaves thework to poor men like you. Rotten, rotten! my son, and you will findit out. The preachers, now--people used to say--I know Abbot Isidoredid--that I had as good a gift for expounding as any man in Pelusium;but since I came here, eleven years since, if you will believe it, Ihave never been asked to preach in my own parish church.'
'You surely jest!'
'True, as I am a christened man. I know why--I know why: they are afraidof Isidore's men here.... Perhaps they may have caught the holy man'strick of plain speaking--and ears are dainty in Alexandria. And thereare some in these parts, too, that have never forgiven him the part hetook about those three villains, Marc, Zosimus, and Martinian, and acertain letter that came of it; or another letter either, which weknow of, about taking alms for the church from the gains of robbers andusurers. "Cyril never forgets." So he says to every one who does him agood turn.... And so he does to every one who he fancies has done hima bad one. So here am I slaving away, a subordinate priest, while suchfellows as Peter the Reader look down on me as their slave. Butit's always so. There never was a bishop yet, except the blessedAugustine--would to Heaven I had taken my abbot's advice, and gone tohim at Hippo!--who had not his flatterers and his tale-bearers, andgenerally the archdeacon at the head of them, ready to step into thebishop's place when he dies, over the heads of hard-working parishpriests. But that is the way of the world. The sleekest and the oiliest,and the noisiest; the man who can bring in most money to the charities,never mind whence or how; the man who will take most of the bishop'swork off his hands, and agree with him in everything he wants, and savehim, by spying and eavesdropping, the trouble of using his own eyes;that is the man to succeed in Alexandria, or Constantinople, or Romeitself. Look now; there are but seven deacons to this great city, andall its priests; and they and the archdeacon are the masters of it andus. They and that Peter manage Cyril's work for him, and when Cyrilmakes the archdeacon a bishop, he will make Peter archdeacon....Theyhave their reward, they have their reward; and so has Cyril, for thatmatter.'
'How?'
'Why, don't say I said it. But what do I care? I have nothing to lose,I'm sure. But they do say that there are two ways of promotion inAlexandria: one by deserving it, the other by paying for it. That'sall.'
'Impossible!'
'Oh, of course, quite impossible. But all I know is just this, that whenthat fellow Martinian got back again into Pelusium, after being turnedout by the late bishop for a rogue and hypocrite as he was, and got theear of this present bishop, and was appointed his steward, and ordainedpriest--I'd as soon have ordained that street-dog--and plundered him andbrought him to disgrace--for I don't believe this bishop is a bad man,but those who use rogues must expect to be called rogues--and ground thepoor to the earth, and tyrannised over the whole city so that no man'sproperty, or reputation, scarcely their lives, were safe; and after all,had the impudence, when he was called on for his accounts, to bring thechurch in as owing him money; I just know this, that he added to all hisother shamelessness this, that he offered the patriarch a large sum ofmoney to buy a bishopric of him.... And what do you think the patriarchanswered?'
'Excommunicated the sacrilegious wretch, of course!'
'Sent him a letter to say that if he dared to do such a thing again heshould really be forced to expose him! So the fellow, taking courage,brought his money himself the next time; and all the world says thatCyril would have made him a bishop after all, if Abbot Isidore had notwritten to remonstrate.'
'He could not have known the man's character,' said poor Philammon,hunting for an excuse.
'The whole Delta was ringing with it. Isidore had written to him againand again.'
'Surely then his wish was to prevent scandal, and preserve the unity ofthe church in the eyes of the heathen.'
The old man laughed bitterly.
'Ah, the old story--of preventing scandals by retaining them, andfancying that sin is a less evil than a little noise; as if the worst ofall scandals was not the being discovered in hushing up a scandal. Andas for unity, if you want that, you must go back to the good old timesof Dioclesian and Decius.'
'The persecutors?'
'Ay, boy--to the times of persecution, when Christians died likebrothers, because they lived like brothers. You will see very little ofthat now, except in some little remote county bishopric, which no oneever hears of from year's end to year's end. But in the cities it isall one great fight for place and power. Every one is jealous of hisneighbour. The priests are jealous of the deacons, and good cause theyhave. The county bishops are jealous of the metropolitan, and he isjealous of the North African bishops, and quite right he is. Whatbusiness have they to set up for themselves, as if they were infallible?It's a schism, I say--a complete schism. They are just as bad as theirown Donatists. Did not the Council of Nice settle that the Metropolitanof Alexandria should have authority over Libya and Pentapolis, accordingto the ancient custom?'
'Of course he ought,' said Philammon, jealous for the honour of his ownpatriarchate.
'And the patriarchs of Rome and Constantinople are jealous of ourpatriarch.'
'Of Cyril?'
'Of course, because he won't be at their beck and nod, and let them belords and masters of Africa.'
'But surely these things can be settled by councils?'
'Councils? Wait till you have been at one. The blessed Abbot Isidoreused to say, that if he ever was a bishop--which he never will be--heis far too honest for that--he would never go near one of them; for henever had seen one which did not call out every evil passion in men'shearts, and leave the question more confounded with words than theyfound it, even if the whole matter was not settled beforehand by somechamberlain, or eunuch, or cook sent from court, as if he were ananointed vessel of the Spirit, to settle the dogmas of the Holy CatholicChurch.'
'Cook?'
'Why, Valens sent his chief cook to stop Basil of Caesarea from opposingthe Court doctrine.... I tell you, the great battle in these cases isto get votes from courts, or to get to court yourself. When I was young,the Council of Antioch had to make a law to keep bishops from runningoff to Constantinople to intrigue, under pretence of pleading the causeof the orphan and widow. But what's the use of that, when every noisyand ambitious man shifts and shifts, from one see to another, till hesettles himself close to Rome or Byzantium, and gets the emperor's ear,and plays into the hands of his courtiers?'
'Is it not written, "Speak not evil of dignities"? 'said Philammon, inhis most sanctimonious tone.
'Well, what of that? I don't speak evil of dignities, when I complain ofthe men who fill them badly, do I?'
'I never heard that interpretation of the text before.'
'Very likely not. That's no reason why it should not be true andorthodox. You will soon hear a good many more things, which are trueenough--though whether they are orthodox or not, the court cooks mustsettle. Of course, I am a disappointed, irreverent old grumbler.Of course, and of course, too, young men must needs buy their ownexperience, instead of taking old folks' at a gift. There--use your owneyes, and judge for yourself. There you may see what sort of saints arebred by this plan of managing the Catholic Church. There comes one ofthem. Now! I say no more!'
As he spoke, two tall negroes came up to them, and set down beforethe steps of a large church which they were passing an object
new toPhilammon--a sedan-chair, the poles of which were inlaid with ivory andsilver, and the upper part enclosed in rose-coloured silk curtains.
'What is inside that cage?' asked he of the old priest, as the negroesstood wiping the perspiration from their foreheads, and a smartslave-girl stepped forward, with a parasol and slippers in her hand, andreverently lifted the lower edge of the curtain.
'A saint, I tell you!'
An embroidered shoe, with a large gold cross on the instep, was putforth delicately from beneath the curtain, and the kneeling maid put onthe slipper over it.
'There!'whispered the old grumbler. 'Not enough, you see, to useChristian men as beasts of burden--Abbot Isidore used to say--ay, andtold Iron, the pleader, to his face, that he could not conceive how aman who loved Christ, and knew the grace which has made all men free,could keep a slave.'
'Nor can I,' said Philammon.
'But we think otherwise, you see, in Alexandria here. We can't even walkup the steps of God's temple without an additional protection to ourdelicate feet.'
'I had thought it was written, "Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, forthe place where thou standest is holy ground."'
'Ah! there are a good many more things written which we do not findit convenient to recollect.--Look! There is one of the pillars of thechurch-the richest and most pious lady in Alexandria.'
And forth stepped a figure, at which Philammon's eyes opened wider thanthey had done even at the sight of Pelagia. Whatever thoughts the richand careless grace of her attire might have raised in his mind, it hadcertainly not given his innate Greek good taste the inclination tolaugh and weep at once, which he felt at this specimen of the tastelessfashion of an artificial and decaying civilisation. Her gown was stuffedout behind in a fashion which provoked from the dirty boys who lay aboutthe steps, gambling for pistachios on their fingers, the same commentswith which St. Clement had upbraided from the pulpit the Alexandrianladies of his day. The said gown of white silk was bedizened, from waistto ankle, with certain mysterious red and green figures at least a footlong, which Philammon gradually discovered to be a representation, inthe very lowest and ugliest style of fallen art, of Dives and Lazarus;while down her back hung, upon a bright blue shawl, edged withembroidered crosses, Job sitting, potsherd in hand, surrounded by histhree friends--a memorial, the old priest whispered, of a pilgrimagewhich she had taken a year or two before, to Arabia, to see and kiss theidentical dunghill on which the patriarch had sat.
Round her neck hung, by one of half a dozen necklaces, a manuscript ofthe Gospels, gilt-edged and clasped with jewels; the lofty diadem ofpearls on the head carried in front a large gold cross; while above andaround it her hair, stiffened with pomatum, was frizzled out half a footfrom a wilderness of plaits and curls, which must have cost some haplessslave-girl an hour's work, and perhaps more than one scolding, that verymorning.
Meekly, with simpering face and downcast eyes, and now and then apenitent sigh and shake of the head and pressure of her hand on herjewelled bosom, the fair penitent was proceeding up the steps, when shecaught sight of the priest and the monk, and turning to them with anobeisance of the deepest humility, entreated to be allowed to kiss thehem of their garments.
'You had far better, madam,' said Philammon, bluntly enough, 'kiss thehem of your own. You carry two lessons there which you do not seem tohave learnt yet.'
In an instant her face flashed up into pride and fury. 'I asked for yourblessing, and not for a sermon. I can have that when I like.'
'And such as you like,' grumbled the old priest, as she swept up thesteps, tossing some small coin to the ragged boys, and murmuring toherself, loud enough for Philammon's hearing, that she should certainlyinform the confessor, and that she would not be insulted in the streetsby savage monks.
'Now she will confess her sins inside--all but those which she has beenshowing off to us here outside, and beat her breast, and weep like avery Magdalen; and then the worthy man will comfort her with--"What abeautiful chain! And what a shawl--allow me to touch it! How soft anddelicate this Indian wool! Ah! if you knew the debts which I have beencompelled to incur in the service of the sanctuary!--" And then ofcourse the answer will be, as, indeed, he expects it should, that if itcan be of the least use in the service of the Temple, she, of course,will think it only too great an honour.... And he will keep the chain,and perhaps the shawl too. And she will go home, believing that shehas fulfilled to the very letter the command to break off her sins byalmsgiving, and only sorry that the good priest happened to hit on thatparticular gewgaw!'
'What,' asked Philammon; 'dare she actually not refuse suchimportunity?'
'From a poor priest like me, stoutly enough; but from a popularecclesiastic like him.... As Jerome says, in a letter of his I once saw,ladies think twice in such cases before they offend the city newsmonger.Have you anything more to say?'
Philammon had nothing to say; and wisely held his peace, while the oldgrumbler ran on--
'Ah, boy, you have yet to learn city fashions! When you are a littleolder, instead of speaking unpleasant truths to a fine lady with a crosson her forehead, you will be ready to run to the Pillars of Herculesat her beck and nod, for the sake of her disinterested help towards afashionable pulpit, or perhaps a bishopric. The ladies settle that forus here.'
'The women?'
'The women, lad. Do you suppose that they heap priests and churcheswith wealth for nothing? They have their reward. Do you suppose thata preacher gets into the pulpit of that church there, without lookinganxiously, at the end of each peculiarly flowery sentence, to seewhether her saintship there is clapping or not? She, who has such adelicate sense for orthodoxy, that she can scent out Novatianism orOrigenism where no other mortal nose would suspect it. She who meets ather own house weekly all the richest and most pious women of the city,to settle our discipline for us' as the court cooks do our doctrine. Shewho has even, it is whispered, the ear of the Augusta Pulcheria herself,and sends monthly letters to her at Constantinople, and might give thepatriarch himself some trouble' if he crossed her holy will!'
'What! will Cyril truckle to such creatures?'
'Cyril is a wise man in his generation--too wise, some say, for a childof the light. But at least, he knows there is no use fighting with thosewhom you cannot conquer; and while he can get money out of these greatladies for his almshouses, and orphan-houses, and lodging-houses, andhospitals, and workshops, and all the rest of it--and in that, I willsay for him, there is no man on earth equal to him, but Ambrose of Milanand Basil of Caesarea--why, I don't quarrel with him for making the bestof a bad matter; and a very bad matter it is, boy, and has been eversince emperors and courtiers have given up burning and crucifying us,and taken to patronising and bribing us instead.'
Philammon walked on in silence by the old priest's side, stunned andsickened.... 'And this is what I have come out to see--reeds shaken inthe wind, and men clothed in soft raiment, fit only for kings' palaces!'For this he had left the dear old Laura, and the simple joys andfriendships of childhood, and cast himself into a roaring whirlpool oflabour and temptation! This was the harmonious strength and unity ofthat Church Catholic, in which, as he had been taught from boyhood,there was but one Lord, one Faith, one Spirit. This was the indivisiblebody, 'without spot or wrinkle, which fitly joined together andcompacted by that which every member supplied, according to theeffectual and proportionate working of every part, increased thebody, and enabled it to build itself up in Love!' He shuddered as thewell-known words passed through his memory, and seemed to mock thebase and chaotic reality around him. He felt angry with the old man forhaving broken his dream; he longed to believe that his complaints wereonly exaggerations of cynic peevishness, of selfish disappointment; andyet, had not Arsenius warned him? Had he not foretold, word for word,what the youth would find-what he had found? Then was Saint Paul's greatidea an empty and an impossible dream? No! God's word could not fail;the Church could not err. The fault could not be in her, but in herenemies; not, as the old
man said, in her too great prosperity, but inher slavery. And then the words which he had heard from Cyril at theirfirst interview rose before him as the true explanation. How could theChurch work freely and healthily while she was crushed and fettered bythe rulers of this world? And how could they be anything but the tyrantsand antichrists they were, while they were menaced and deluded byheathen philosophy, and vain systems of human wisdom? If Orestes was thecurse of the Alexandrian Church, then Hypatia was the curse of Orestes.On her head the true blame lay. She was the root of the evil. Who wouldextirpate it?....
Why should not he? It might be dangerous; yet, successful orunsuccessful, it must be glorious. The course of Christianity wantedgreat examples. Might he not-and his young heart beat high at thethought--might he not, by some great act of daring, self-sacrifice,divine madness of faith, like David's of old, when he went out againstthe giant--awaken selfish and luxurious souls to a noble emulation, andrecall to their minds, perhaps to their lives, the patterns of thosemartyrs who were the pride, the glory, the heirloom of Egypt? And asfigure after figure rose before his imagination, of simple men and weakwomen who had conquered temptation and shame, torture and death, to livefor ever on the lips of men, and take their seats among the patriciansof the heavenly court, with brows glittering through all eternities withthe martyr's crown, his heart beat thick and fast, and he longed onlyfor an opportunity to dare and die.
And the longing begot the opportunity. For he had hardly rejoined hisbrother visitors when the absorbing thought took word again, and hebegan questioning them eagerly for more information about Hypatia.
On that point, indeed, he obtained nothing but fresh invective; but whenhis companions, after talking of the triumph which the true faith hadgained that morning, went on to speak of the great overthrow of Paganismtwenty years before, under the patriarch Theophilus; of Olympiodorus andhis mob, who held the Serapeium for many days by force of arms againstthe Christians, making sallies into the city, and torturing andmurdering the prisoners whom they took; of the martyrs who, among thosevery pillars which overhung their heads, had died in torments ratherthan sacrifice to Serapis; and of the final victory, and the soldierwho, in presence of the trembling mob, clove the great jaw of thecolossal idol, and snapped for ever the spell of heathenism, Philammon'sheart burned to distinguish himself like that soldier, and to wipe outhis qualms of conscience by some more unquestionable deed of Christianprowess. There were no idols now to break but there was philosophy--'Whynot carry war into the heart of the enemy's camp, and beard Satan in hisvery den? Why does not some man of God go boldly into the lecture-roomof the sorceress, and testify against her to her face?'
'Do it yourself, if you dare,' said Peter. 'We have no wish to get ourbrains knocked out by all the profligate young gentlemen in the city.'
'I will do it,' said Philammon.
'That is, if his holiness allows you to make such a fool of yourself.'
'Take care, sir, of your words. You revile the blessed martyrs, from St.Stephen to St. Telemachus, when you call such a deed foolishness.'
'I shall most certainly inform his holiness of your insolence.'
'Do so,' said Philammon, who, possessed with a new idea, wished fornothing more. And there the matter dropped for the time. ...............
'The presumption of the young in this generation is growinginsufferable,' said Peter to his master that evening.
'So much the better. They put their elders on their mettle in the raceof good works. But who has been presuming to-day?'
'That mad boy whom Pambo sent up from the deserts dared to offer himselfas champion of the faith against Hypatia. He actually proposed to gointo her lecture-room and argue with her to her face. What think you ofthat for a specimen of youthful modesty and self-distrust?'
Cyril was silent a while.
'What answer am I to have the honour of taking back? A month'srelegation to Nitria on bread and water? You, I am sure, will not allowsuch things to go unpunished; indeed, if they do, there is an end to allauthority and discipline.'
Cyril was still silent; whilst Peter's brow clouded fast. At last heanswered--
'The cause wants martyrs. Send the boy to me.'
Peter went down with a shrug, and an expression of face which looked buttoo like envy, and ushered up the trembling youth, who dropped on hisknees as soon as he entered.
'So you wish to go into the heathen woman's lecture-room, and defy her?Have you courage for it?'
'God will give it me.'
'You will be murdered by her pupils.'
'I can defend myself,' said Philammon, with a pardonable glancedownward at his sinewy limbs. 'And if not: what death more glorious thanmartyrdom?'
Cyril smiled genially enough. 'Promise me two things.'
'Two thousand, if you will.'
'Two are quite difficult enough to keep. Youth is rash in promises, andrasher in forgetting them. Promise me that, whatever happens, you willnot strike the first blow.'
'I do.'
'Promise me again, that you will not argue with her.'
'What then?'
'Contradict, denounce, defy. But give no reasons. If you do, you arelost. She is subtler than the serpent, skilled in all the tricks oflogic, and you will become a laughing-stock, and run away in shame.Promise me.'
'I do.'
'Then go.'
'When?'
'The sooner the better. At what hour does the accursed woman lectureto-morrow, Peter?'
'We saw her going to the Museum at nine this morning.'
'Then go at nine to-morrow. There is money for you.'
'What is this for?' asked Philammon, fingering curiously the first coinswhich he ever had handled in his life.
'To pay for your entrance. To the philosopher none enters without money.Not so to the Church of God, open all day long to the beggar and theslave. If you convert her, well. And if not'.... And he added to himselfbetween his teeth, 'And if not, well also--perhaps better.'
'Ay!' said Peter bitterly, as he ushered Philammon out. 'Go up to RamothGilead, and prosper, young fool! What evil spirit sent you here to feedthe noble patriarch's only weakness?'
'What do you mean?' asked Philammon, as fiercely as he dare.
'The fancy that preachings, and protestations, and martyrdoms can driveout the Canaanites, who can only be got rid of with the sword of theLord and of Gideon. His uncle Theophilus knew that well enough. If hehad not, Olympiodorus might have been master of Alexandria, and incenseburning before Serapis to this day. Ay, go, and let her convert you!Touch the accursed thing, like Achan, and see if you do not end byhaving it in your tent. Keep company with the daughters of Midian, andsee if you do not join yourself to Baal poor, and eat the offerings ofthe dead!'
And with this encouraging sentence, the two parted for the night.