The funeral rites over the body of the deceased Mukaukas were performed
on the day after the morrow. Since the priesthood had forbidden the old
heathen practice of mummifying the dead, and even cremation had been
forbidden by the Antonines, the dead had to be interred soon after
decease; only those of high rank were hastily embalmed and lay in state
in some church or chapel to which they had contributed an endowment.
Mukaukas George was, by his own desire, to be conveyed to Alexandria
and there buried in the church of St. John by his father’s side; but the
carrier pigeon, by which the news of the governor’s death had been sent
to the Patriarch, had returned with instructions to deposit the body in
the family tomb at Memphis, as there were difficulties in the way of the
fulfillment of his wishes.
Such a funeral procession had not been seen there within the memory of
man. Even the Moslem viceroy, the great general Amru, came over from the
other side of the Nile, with his chief military and civil officers,
to pay the last honors to the just and revered governor. Their brown,
sinewy figures, and handsome calm faces, their golden helmets and shirts
of mail, set with precious stones--trophies of the war of destruction in
Persia and Syria--their magnificent horses with splendid trappings, and
the authoritative dignity of their bearing made a great impression
on the crowd. They arrived with slow and impressive solemnity; they
returned like a cloud driven before the storm, galloping homewards from
the burial-ground along the quay, and then thundering and clattering
over the bridge of boats. Vivid and dazzling lightnings had flashed
through the wreaths of white dust that shrouded them, as their gold
armor reflected the sun. Verily, these horsemen, each of them worthy to
be a prince in his pride, could find it no very hard task to subdue the
mightiest realms on earth.
Men and women alike had gazed at them with trembling admiration: most of
all at the heroic stature and noble dusky face of Amru, and at the son
of the deceased Mukaukas, who, by the Moslem’s desire, rode at his side
in mourning garb on a fiery black horse.
The handsome youth, and the lordly, powerful man were a pair from whom
the women were loth to turn their eyes; for both alike were of noble
demeanor, both of splendid stature, both equally skilled in controlling
the impatience of their steeds, both born to command. Many a Memphite
was more deeply impressed by the head of the famous warrior, erect on
a long and massive throat, with its sharply-chiselled aquiline nose
and flashing black eyes, than by the more regular features and fine,
slightly-waving locks of the governor’s son--the last representative of
the oldest and proudest race in all Egypt.
The Arab looked straight before him with a steady, commanding gaze;
the youth, too, looked up and forwards, but turned from time to time
to survey the crowd of mourners. As he caught sight of Paula, among the
group of women who had joined the procession, a gleam of joy passed over
his pale face, and a faint flush tinged his cheeks; his fixed outlook
had knit his brows and had given his features an expression of such
ominous sternness that one and another of the bystanders whispered:
“Our gay and affable young lord will make a severe ruler.”
The cause of his indignation had not escaped the notice either of his
noble companion or of the crowd. He alone knew as yet that the Patriarch
had prohibited the removal of his father’s remains to Alexandria; but
every one could see that the larger portion of the priesthood of Memphis
were absent from this unprecedented following. The Bishop alone marched
in front of the six horses drawing the catafalque on which the costly
sarcophagus was conveyed to the burying-place, in accordance with
ancient custom:--Bishop Plotinus, with John, a learned and courageous
priest, and a few choristers bearing a crucifix and chanting psalms.
On arriving at the Necropolis they all dismounted, and the barefooted
runners in attendance on the Arabs came forward to hold the horses. By
the tomb the Bishop pronounced a few warm words of eulogy, after which
the thin chant of the choristers sounded trivial and meagre enough;
but scarcely had they ceased when the crowd uplifted its many thousand
voices, and a hymn of mourning rang out so loud and grand that this
burial ground had scarcely ever heard the like. The remaining ceremonies
were hasty and incomplete, since the priests who were indispensable to
their performance had not made their appearance.
Amru, whose falcon eye nothing could escape, at once noted the omission
and exclaimed, in so loud and inconsiderate a voice that it could be
heard even at some distance.
“The dead is made to atone for what the living, in his wisdom, did for
his country’s good, hand-in-hand with us Moslems.”
“By the Patriarch’s orders,” replied Orion, and his voice quavered,
while the veins in his forehead swelled with rage. “But I swear, by my
father’s soul, that as surely as there is a just God, it shall be an
evil day for Benjamin when he closes the gate of Heaven against this
noblest of noble souls.”
“We carry the key of ours under our own belt,” replied the general,
striking his deep chest, while he smiled consciously and with a kindly
eye on the young man. “Come and see me on Saturday, my young friend; I
have something to say to you! I shall expect you at sundown at my house
over there. If I am not at home by dusk, you must wait for me.”
As he spoke he twisted his hand in his horse’s mane and Orion prepared
to assist him to mount; but the Arab, though a man of fifty, was too
quick for him. He flung himself into the saddle as lightly as a youth,
and gave his followers the signal for departure.
Paula had been standing close to the entrance of the tomb with Dame
Neforis, and she had heard every word of the dialogue between the two
men. Pale, as she beheld him, in costly but simple, flowing, mourning
robes, stricken by solemn and manly indignation, it was impossible
that she should not confess that the events of the last days had had a
powerful effect on the misguided youth.
When Paula had led the grief-worn but tearless widow to her chariot,
and had then returned home with Perpetua, the image of the handsome and
wrathful youth as he lifted his powerful arm and tightly-clenched fist
and shook them in the air, still constantly haunted her. She had not
failed to observe that he had seen her standing opposite to him by the
open tomb and she had been able to avoid meeting his eye; but her heart
had throbbed so violently that she still felt it quivering, she had not
succeeded in thinking of the beloved dead with due devotion.
Orion, as yet, had neither come near her in her peaceful retreat, nor
sent any messenger to deliver her belongings, and this she thought very
natural; for she needed no one to tell her how many claims there must be
on his time.
But though, before the funeral, she had firmly resolved to refuse to see
him if he came, and had given her nurse fall powers to receive from his
hand the whole of her property, after the ceremony this line of conduct
no longer struck her as seemly; indeed, she considered it no more than
her duty to the departed not to repel Orion if he should crave her
forgiveness.
And there was another thing which she owed to her uncle. She desired to
be the first to point out to Orion, from Philip’s point of view, that
life was a post, a duty; and then, if his heart seemed opened to this
admonition, then--but no, this must be all that could pass between
them--then all must be at an end, extinct, dead, like the fires in a
sunken raft, like a soap-bubble that the wind has burst, like an echo
that has died away--all over and utterly gone.
And as to the counsel she thought of offering to the man she had once
looked up to? What right had she to give it? Did he not look like a man
quite capable of planning and living his own life in his own strength?
Her heart thirsted for him, every fibre of her being yearned to see him
again, to hear his voice, and it was this longing, this craving to which
she gave the name of duty, connecting it with the gratitude she owed to
the dead.
She was so much absorbed in these reflections and doubts that she
scarcely heard all the garrulous old nurse was saying as she walked by
her side.
Perpetua could not be easy over such a funeral ceremony as this; so
different to anything that Memphis had been wont to see. No priests, a
procession on horseback, mourners riding, and among them the son even
of the dead--while of old the survivors had always followed the body on
foot, as was everywhere the custom! And then a mere chirping of crickets
at the tomb of such illustrious dead, followed by the disorderly
squalling of an immense mob--it had nearly cracked her ears! However,
the citizens might be forgiven for that, since it was all in honor of
their departed governor!--this thought touched even her resolute heart
and brought the tears to her eyes; but it roused her wrath, too, for had
she not seen quite humble folk buried in a more solemn manner and with
worthier ceremonial than the great and good Mukaukas George, who had
made such a magnificent gift to the Church. Oh those Jacobites! They
only were capable of such ingratitude, only their heretical prelate
could commit such a crime. Every one in the Convent of St. Cecilia, from
the abbess down to the youngest novice, knew that the Patriarch had sent
word by a carrier pigeon forbidding the Bishop to allow the priests to
take part in the ceremony. Plotinus was a worthy man, and he had been
highly indignant at these instructions; it was not in his power to
contravene them; but at any rate he had led the procession in person,
and had not forbidden John’s accompanying him. Orion, however, had not
looked as though he meant to brook such an insult to his father or
let it pass unpunished. And whose arm was long enough to reach the
Patriarch’s throne if not.... But no, it was impossible! the mere
thought of such a thing made her blood run cold. Still, still.... And
how graciously the Moslem leader had talked with him!--Merciful Heaven!
If he were to turn apostate from the holy Christian faith, like so
many reprobate Egyptians, and subscribe to the wicked doctrines of
the Arabian false prophet! It was a tempting creed for shameless men,
allowing them to have half a dozen wives or more without regarding it
as a sin. A man like Orion could afford to keep them, of course; for the
abbess had said that every one knew that the great Mukaukas was a very
rich man, though even the chief magistrate of the city could not fully
satisfy himself concerning the enormous amount of property left. Well,
well; God’s ways were past finding out. Why should He smother one under
heaps of gold, while He gave thousands of poor creatures too little to
satisfy their hunger!
By the end of this torrent of words the two women had reached the house;
and not till then was Paula clear in her own mind: Away, away with the
passion which still strove for the mastery, whether it were in deed
hatred or love! For she felt that she could not rightly enjoy her
recovered freedom, her new and quiet happiness in the pretty home she
owed to the physician’s thoughtful care, till she had finally given up
Orion and broken the last tie that had bound her to his house.
Could she desire anything more than what the present had to offer her?
She had found a true haven of rest where she lacked for nothing that she
could desire for herself after listening to the admonitions of
Philip pus. Round her were good souls who felt with and for her, many
occupations for which she was well-fitted, and which suited her tastes,
with ample opportunities of bestowing and winning love. Then, a few
steps through pleasant shades took her to the convent where she could
every day attend divine service among pious companions of her own creed,
as she had done in her childhood. She had longed intensely for such food
for the spirit, and the abbess--who was the widow of a distinguished
patrician of Constantinople and had known Paula’s parents--could supply
it in abundance. How gladly she talked to the girl of the goodness and
the beauty of those to whom she owed her being and whom she had so early
lost! She could pour out to this motherly soul all that weighed on her
own, and was received by her as a beloved daughter of her old age.
And her hosts--what kind-hearted though singular folks! nay, in their
way, remarkable. She had never dreamed that there could be on earth any
beings at once so odd and so lovable.
First there was old Rufinus, the head of the house, a vigorous, hale
old man, who, with his long silky, snow-white hair and beard, looked
something like the aged St. John and something like a warrior grown
grey in service. What an amiable spirit of childlike meekness he had,
in spite of the rough ways he sometimes fell into. Though inclined to be
contradictory in his intercourse with his fellow-men, he was merry and
jocose when his views were opposed to theirs. She had never met a more
contented soul or a franker disposition, and she could well understand
how much it must fret and gall such a man to live on,--day after day,
appearing, in one respect at any rate, different from what he really
was. For he, too, belonged to her confession; but, though he sent his
wife and daughter to worship in the convent chapel, he himself was
compelled to profess himself a Coptic Christian, and submit to the
necessity of attending a Jacobite church with all his family on certain
holy days, averse as he was to its unattractive form of worship.
Rufinus possessed a sufficient fortune to secure him a comfortable
maintenance; and yet he was hard at work, in his own way, from morning
till night. Not that his labors brought him any revenues; on the
contrary, they led to claims on his resources; every one knew that he
was a man of good means, and this would have certainly involved him
in persecution if the Patriarch’s spies had discovered him to be a
Melchite, resulting in exile and probably the confiscation of his goods.
Hence it was necessary to exercise caution, and if the old man could
have found a purchaser for his house and garden, in a city where there
were ten times as many houses empty as occupied, he would long since
have set out with all his household to seek a new home.
Most aged people of vehement spirit and not too keen intellect, adopt
a saying as a stop-gap or resting-place, and he was fond of using two
phrases one of which ran: “As sure as man is the standard of all things”
and the other--referring to his house--“As sure as I long to be quit of
this lumber.” But the lumber consisted of a well-built and very spacious
dwellinghouse, with a garden which had commanded a high price in
earlier times on account of its situation near the river. He himself
had acquired it at very small cost shortly before the Arab incursion,
and--so quickly do times change--he had actually bought it from a
Jacobite Christian who had been forced by the Melchite Patriarch Cyrus,
then in power, to fly in haste because he had found means to convert his
orthodox slaves to his confession.
It was Philippus who had persuaded his accomplished and experienced
friend to come to Memphis; he had clung to him faithfully, and they
assisted each other in their works.
Rufinus’ wife, a frail, ailing little woman, with a small face and
rather hollow cheeks, who must once have been very attractive and
engaging, might have passed for his daughter; she was, in fact, twenty
years younger than her husband. It was evident that she had suffered
much in the course of her life, but had taken it patiently and all for
the best. Her restless husband had caused her the greatest trouble
and alarms, and yet she exerted herself to the utmost to make his life
pleasant. She had the art of keeping every obstacle and discomfort out
of his way, and guessed with wonderful instinct what would help him,
comfort him, and bring him joy. The physician declared that her stooping
attitude, her bent head, and the enquiring expression of her bright,
black eyes were the result of her constant efforts to discover even a
straw that might bring harm to Rufinus if his callous and restless foot
should tread on it.
Their daughter Pulcheria, was commonly called “Pul” for short, to save
time, excepting when the old man spoke of her by preference as “the poor
child.” There was at all times something compassionate in his attitude
towards his daughter; for he rarely looked at her without asking himself
what could become of this beloved child when he, who was so much older,
should have closed his eyes in death and his Joanna perhaps should soon
have followed him; while Pulcheria, seeing her mother take such care of
her father that nothing was left for her to do, regarded herself as the
most superfluous creature on earth and would have been ready at any time
to lay down her life for her parents, for the abbess, for her faith, for
the leech; nay, and though she had known her for no more than two days,
even for Paula. However, she was a very pretty, well-grown girl, with
great open blue eyes and a dreamy expression, and magnificent red-gold
hair which could hardly be matched in all Egypt. Her father had long
known of her desire to enter the convent as a novice and become a
nursing sister; but though he had devoted his whole life to a similar
impulse, he had more than once positively refused to accede to her
wishes, for he must ere long be gathered to his fathers and then her
mother, while she survived him, would want some one else to wear herself
out for.
Just now “Pul” was longing less than usual to take the veil; for she had
found in Paula a being before whom she felt small indeed, and to whom
her unenvious soul, yearning and striving for the highest, could look up
in satisfied and rapturous admiration. In addition to this, there were
under her own roof two sufferers needing her care: Rustem, the wounded
Masdakite, and the Persian girl. Neforis, who since the fearful hour of
her husband’s death had seemed stunned and indifferent to all the claims
of daily life, living only in her memories of the departed, had been
more than willing to leave to the physician the disposal of these two
and their removal from her house.
In the evening after Paula’s arrival Philippus had consulted with his
friends as to the reception of these new guests, and the old man
had interrupted him, as soon as he raised the question of pecuniary
indemnification, exclaiming:
“They are all very welcome. If they have wounds, we will make them heal;
if their heads are turned, we will screw them the right way round; if
their souls are dark, we will light up a flame in them. If the fair
Paula takes a fancy to us, she and her old woman may stay as long as it
suits her and us. We made her welcome with all our hearts; but, on
the other hand, you must understand that we must be free to bid her
farewell--as free as she is to depart. It is impossible ever to know
exactly how such grand folks will get on with humble ones, and as sure
as I long to be quit of this piece of lumber I might one day take it
into my head to leave it to the owls and jackals and fare forth, staff
in hand.--You know me. As to indemnification--we understand each other.
A full purse hangs behind the sick, and the sound one has ten times more
than she needs, so they may pay. You must decide how much; only--for the
women’s sake, and I mean it seriously--be liberal. You know what I need
Mammon for; and it would be well for Joanna if she had less need to
turn over every silver piece before she spends it in the housekeeping.
Besides, the lady herself will be more comfortable if she contributes to
pay for the food and drink. It would ill beseem the daughter of Thomas
to be down every evening under the roof of such birds of passage as we
are with thanks for favors received. When each one pays his share
we stand on a footing of give and take; and if either one feels any
particular affection to another it is not strangled by ‘thanks’ or ‘take
it;’ it is love for love’s sake and a joy to both parties.”
“Amen,” said the leech; and Paula had been quite satisfied by her
friend’s arrangements.
By the next day she felt herself one of the household, though she every
hour found something that could not fail to strike her as strange.