Hypatia by Charles Kingsley (phonics story books txt) 📖

‘For God’s sake,’ said Philammon, ‘go back and warn her! She will hear you—you are rich—you used to be her friend—I know you—I have heard of you …. Oh, if you ever cared for her—if you ever felt for her a thousandth part of what I feel—go in and warn her not to stir from home!’

‘I must hear more of this,’ said Raphael, who saw that the boy was in earnest. ‘Come in with me, and speak to her father.’

‘No! not in that house! Never in that house again! Do not ask me why: but go yourself. She will not hear me. Did you—did you prevent her from listening?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I have been here—ages! I sent a note in by her maid, and she returned no answer.’

Raphael recollected then, for the first time, a note which he had seen brought to her during the conversation.

‘I saw her receive a note. She tossed it away. Tell me your story. If there is reason in it, I will bear your message myself. Of what is she to be warned?’

‘Of a plot—I know that there is a plot—against her among the monks and Parabolani. As I lay in bed this morning in Arsenius’s room— they thought I was asleep—’

‘Arsenius? Has that venerable fanatic, then, gone the way of all monastic flesh, and turned persecutor?’

‘God forbid! I heard him beseeching Peter the Reader to refrain from something, I cannot tell what; but I caught her name …. I heard Peter say, “She that hindereth will hinder till she be taken out of the way.” And when he went out into the passage I heard him say to another, “That thou doest, do quickly! ....”’

‘These are slender grounds, my friend.’

‘Ah, you do not know of what those men are capable!’

‘Do I not? Where did you and I meet last?’

Philammon blushed and burst forth again. ‘That was enough for me. I know the hatred which they bear her, the crimes which they attribute to her. Her house would have been attacked last night had it not been for Cyril …. And I knew Peter’s tone. He spoke too gently and softly not to mean something devilish. I watched all the morning for an opportunity of escape, and here I am!—Will you take my message, or see her—’

‘What?’

‘God only knows, and the devil whom they worship instead of God.’

Raphael hurried back into the house—‘Could he see Hypatia?’ She had shut herself up in her private room, strictly commanding that no visitor should be admitted …. ‘Where was Theon, then?’ He had gone out by the canal gate half an hour before, with a bundle of mathematical papers under his arm, no one knew whither …. ‘Imbecile old idiot!’ and he hastily wrote on his tablet-

‘Do not despise the young monk’s warning. I believe him to speak the truth. As you love yourself and your father, Hypatia, stir not out to-day.’

He bribed a maid to take the message upstairs; and passed his time in the hall in warning the servants. But they would not believe him. It was true the shops were shut in some quarters, and the Museum gardens empty; people were a little frightened after yesterday. But Cyril, they had heard for certain, had threatened excommunication only last night to any Christian who broke the peace; and there had not been a monk to be seen in the streets the whole morning. And as for any harm happening to their mistress— impossible! ‘The very wild beasts would not tear her,’ said the huge negro porter, ‘if she was thrown into the amphitheatre.’

—Whereat a maid boxed his ears for talking of such a thing; and then, by way of mending it, declared that she knew for certain that her mistress could turn aside the lightning, and call legions of spirits to fight for her with a nod …. What was to be done with such idolaters? And yet who could help liking them the better for it?

At last the answer came down, in the old graceful, studied, self- conscious handwriting.

‘It is a strange way of persuading me to your new faith, to bid me beware, on the very first day of your preaching, of the wickedness of those who believe it. I thank you: but your affection for me makes you timorous. I dread nothing. They will not dare. Did they dare now, they would have dared long ago. As for that youth—to obey or to believe his word, even to seem aware of his existence, were shame to me henceforth. Because he is insolent enough to warn me therefore I will go. Fear not for me. You would not wish me, for the first time in my life, to fear for myself. I must follow my destiny. I must speak the words which I have to speak. Above all, I must let no Christian say, that the philosopher dared less than the fanatic. If my Gods are Gods, then will they protect me: and if not, let your God prove His rule as seems to Him good.’

Raphael tore the letter to fragments …. The guards, at least, were not gone mad like the rest of the world. It wanted half an hour of the time of her lecture. In the interval he might summon force enough to crush all Alexandria. And turning suddenly, he darted out of the room and out of the house.

‘Quem Deus vult perdere-!’ cried he to Philammon, with a gesture of grief. ‘Stay here and stop her!—make a last appeal! Drag the horses’ heads down, if you can! I will be back in ten minutes.’ And he ran off for the nearest gate of the Museum gardens.

On the other side of the gardens lay the courtyard of the palace. There were gates in plenty communicating between them. If he could but see Orestes, even alarm the guard in time! ....

And he hurried through the walks and alcoves, now deserted by the fearful citizens, to the nearest gate. It was fast, and barricaded firmly on the outside.

Terrified, he ran on to the next; it was barred also. He saw the reason in a moment, and maddened as he saw it. The guards, careless about the Museum, or reasonably fearing no danger from the Alexandrian populace to the glory and wonder of their city, or perhaps wishing wisely enough to concentrate their forces in the narrowest space, had contented themselves with cutting off all communication with the gardens, and so converting the lofty partition-wall into the outer enceinte of their marble citadel. At all events, the doors leading from the Museum itself might be open. He knew them every one, every hall, passage, statue, picture, almost every book in that vast treasure-house of ancient civilisation. He found an entrance; hurried through well-known corridors to a postern through which he and Orestes had lounged a hundred times, their lips full of bad words, their hearts of worse thoughts, gathered in those records of the fair wickedness of old …. It was fast. He beat upon it but no one answered. He rushed on and tried another. No one answered there. Another—still silence and despair! .... He rushed upstairs, hoping that from the windows above he might be able to call to the guard. The prudent soldiers had locked and barricaded the entrances to the upper floors of the whole right wing, lest the palace court should be commanded from thence. Whither now? Back—and whither then? Back, round endless galleries, vaulted halls, staircases, doorways, some fast, some open, up and down, trying this way and that, losing himself at whiles in that enormous silent labyrinth. And his breath failed him, his throat was parched, his face burned as with the simoom wind, his legs were trembling under him. His presence of mind, usually so perfect, failed him utterly. He was baffled, netted; there was a spell upon him. Was it a dream? Was it all one of those hideous nightmares of endless pillars beyond pillars, stairs above stairs, rooms within rooms, changing, shifting, lengthening out for ever and for ever before the dreamer, narrowing, closing in on him, choking him? Was it a dream? Was he doomed to wander for ever and for ever in some palace of the dead, to expiate the sin which he had learnt and done therein? His brain, for the first time in his life, began to reel. He could recollect nothing but that something dreadful was to happen—and that he had to prevent it, and could not …. Where was he now? In a little by-chamber …. He had talked with her there a hundred times, looking out over the Pharos and the blue Mediterranean …. What was that roar below? A sea of weltering yelling heads, thousands on thousands, down to the very beach; and from their innumerable throats one mighty war-cry— ‘God, and the mother of God!’ Cyril’s hounds were loose …. He reeled from the window, and darted frantically away again …. whither, he knew not, and never knew until his dying day.

And Philammon? .... Sufficient for the chapter, as for the day, is the evil thereof.

CHAPTER XXVIII: WOMAN’S LOVE

Pelagia had passed that night alone in sleepless sorrow, which was not diminished by her finding herself the next morning palpably a prisoner in her own house. Her girls told her that they had orders —they would not say from whom—to prevent her leaving her own apartments. And though some of them made the announcement with sighs and tears of condolence, yet more than one, she could see, was well inclined to make her feel that her power was over, and that there were others besides herself who might aspire to the honour of reigning favourite.

What matter to her? Whispers, sneers, and saucy answers fell on her ear unheeded. She had one idol, and she had lost it; one power, and it had failed her. In the heaven above, and in the earth beneath, was neither peace, nor help, nor hope; nothing but black, blank, stupid terror and despair. The little weak infant soul, which had just awakened in her, had been crushed and stunned in its very birth-hour; and instinctively she crept away to the roof of the tower where her apartments were, to sit and weep alone.

There she sat, hour after hour, beneath the shade of the large windsail, which served in all Alexandrian houses the double purpose of a shelter from the sun and a ventilator for the rooms below; and her eye roved carelessly over that endless sea of roofs and towers, and masts, and glittering canals, and gliding boats; but she saw none of them—nothing but one beloved face, lost, lost for ever.

At last a low whistle roused her from her dream. She looked up. Across the narrow lane, from one of the embrasures of the opposite house-parapet bright eyes were peering at her. She moved angrily to escape them.

The whistle was repeated, and a head rose cautiously above the parapet …. It was Miriam’s. Casting a careful look around, Pelagia went forward. What could the old woman want with her?

Miriam made interrogative signs, which Pelagia understood as asking her whether she was alone; and the moment that an answer in the negative was