Hypatia — or New Foes with an Old Face by Charles Kingsley (pocket ebook reader .txt) 📖

as moved him now; even the hint of her sin and danger had been heard heedlessly, if heard at all. It was the word itself which bore its own message, its own spell to the heart of the fatherless and motherless foundling, as he faced for the first time the deep, everlasting, divine reality of kindred.... A sister! of his own flesh and blood—born of the same father, the same mother—his, his, for ever! How hollow and fleeting seemed all ‘spiritual sonships,’ ‘spiritual daughterhoods,’ inventions of the changing fancy, the wayward will of man! Arsenius—Pambo—ay, Hypatia herself—what were they to him now? Here was a real relationship .... A sister! What else was worth caring for upon earth?

‘And she was at Athens when Pelagia was’—he cried at last—‘perhaps knew her—let us go to Pelagia herself!’

‘Heaven forbid!’ said Arsenius. ‘We must wait at least till Miriam’s answer comes.’

‘I can show you her house at least in the meanwhile; and you can go in yourself when you will. I do not ask to enter. Come! I feel certain that my finding her is in some way bound up with Pelagia. Had I not met her on the Nile, had you not met her in the street, I might never have heard that I had a sister. And if she went with Miriam, Pelagia must know her—she may be in that very house at this moment!’

Arsenius had his reasons for suspecting that Philammon was but too right. But he contented himself with yielding to the boy’s excitement, and set off with him in the direction of the dancer’s house.

They were within a few yards of the gate, when hurried footsteps behind them, and voices calling them by name, made them turn; and behold, evidently to the disgust of Arsenius as much as Philammon himself, Peter the Reader and a large party of monks!

Philammon’s first impulse was to escape; Arsenius himself caught him by the arm, and seemed inclined to hurry on.

‘No!’ thought the youth, ‘am I not a free man, and a philosopher?’ and facing round, he awaited the enemy.

‘Ah, young apostate! So you have found him, reverend and ill-used sir. Praised be Heaven for this rapid success!’

‘My good friend,’ asked Arsenius, in a trembling voice, ‘what brings you here?’

‘Heaven forbid that I should have allowed your sanctity and age to go forth without some guard against the insults and violence of this wretched youth and his profligate companions. We have been following you afar off all the morning, with hearts full of filial solicitude.’

‘Many thanks; but indeed your kindness has been superfluous. My son here, from whom I have met with nothing but affection, and whom, indeed, I believe far more innocent than report declared him, is about to return peaceably with me. Are you not, Philammon?’

‘Alas! my father’’ said Philammon, with an effort, ‘how can I find courage to say it’?—but I cannot return with you.’

‘Cannot return?’

‘I vowed that I would never again cross that threshold till—’

‘And Cyril does. He bade me, indeed he bade me, assure you that he would receive you back as a son, and forgive and forget all the past.’

‘Forgive and forget? That is my part—not his. Will he right me against that tyrant and his crew? Will he proclaim me openly to be an innocent and persecuted man, unjustly beaten and driven forth for obeying his own commands? Till he does that, I shall not forget that I am a free man.’

‘A free man!’ said Peter, with an unpleasant smile; ‘that remains to be proved, my gay youth; and will need more evidence than that smart philosophic cloak and those well-curled locks which you have adopted since I saw you last.’

‘Remains to be proved?’

Arsenius made an imploring gesture to Peter to be silent.

‘Nay, sir. As I foretold to you, this one way alone remains; the blame of it, if there be blame, must rest on the unhappy youth whose perversity renders it necessary.’

‘For God’s sake, spare me!’ cried the old man, dragging Peter aside, while Philammon stood astonished, divided between indignation and vague dread.

‘Did I not tell you again and again that I never could bring myself to call a Christian man my slave? And him, above all, my spiritual son?’

‘And, most reverend sir, whose zeal is only surpassed by your tenderness and mercy, did not the holy patriarch assure you that your scruples were groundless? Do you think that either he or I can have less horror than you have of slavery in itself? Heaven forbid! But when an immortal soul is at stake—when a lost lamb is to be brought back to the fold—surely you may employ the authority which the law gives you for the salvation of that precious charge committed to you? What could be more conclusive than his Holiness’s argument this morning? “Christians are bound to obey the laws of this world for conscience’ sake, even though, in the abstract, they may disapprove of them, and deny their authority. Then, by parity of reasoning, it must be lawful for them to take the advantage which those same laws offer them, when by so doing the glory of God may be advanced.”’

Arsenius still hung back, with eyes brimming with tears; but Philammon himself put an end to the parley.

‘What is the meaning of all this? Are you, too, in a conspiracy against me? Speak, Arsenius!’

‘This is the meaning of it, blinded sinner!’ cried Peter. ‘That you are by law the slave of Arsenius, lawfully bought with his money in the city of Ravenna; and that he has the power, and, as I trust, for the sake of your salvation, the will also, to compel you to accompany him.’

Philammon recoiled across the pavement, with eyes flashing defiance. A slave! The light of heaven grew black to him.... Oh, that Hypatia might never know his shame! Yet it was impossible. Too dreadful to be true....

‘You lie!’ almost shrieked he. ‘I am the son of a noble citizen of Athens. Arsenius told me so, but this moment, with his own lips!’

‘Ah, but he bought you—bought you in the public market; and he can prove it!’

‘Hear me—hear me, my son!’ cried the old man, springing toward him. Philammon, in his fury, mistook the gesture and thrust him fiercely back.

‘Your son!—your slave! Do not insult the name of son by applying it to me. Yes, sir; your slave in body, but not in soul! Ay, seize me—drag home the fugitive—scourge him—brand him—chain him in the mill, if you can; but even for that the free heart has a remedy. If you will not let me live as a philosopher, you shall see me die like one!’

‘Seize the fellow, my brethren!’ cried Peter, while Arsenius, utterly unable to restrain either party, hid his face and wept.

‘Wretches!’ cried the boy; ‘you shall never take me alive, while I have teeth or nails left. Treat me as a brute beast, and I will defend myself