"Your Majesty--my Lord"--he then said firmly, "the most sorrowful of

men are those with conceptions too great for them, and which they must

carry about with nothing better to sustain their sinking spirits than a

poor hope of having them one day adopted; for until that day they are

like a porter overladen and going from house to house unknowing the

name of the owner of his burden or where to look for him. I am such an

unfortunate.... Oodeypoor, you must understand, is more than comely to

the eye of a native; it is a city where all religions are tolerated.

The Taing, the Brahman, the Hindoo, the Mohammedan, the Buddhist live

together there, protected and in peace, with their worship and houses

of worship; nor is there any shutting of mouths, because controversy

long since attained finality amongst them; or perhaps it were better

saying, because opinions there have now their recognized grooves, and

run in them from generation to generation--opinions to which men are

born as to their property, only without right of change or

modification; neither can they break away from them. There is no excuse

if an intelligent man in such a situation does not comprehend all the

religions thus in daily practice; or if one does comprehend them he

should not flatter himself possessed of any superior intellect.... The

Rajah, my father, died, and I mounted his silver throne, and for ten

years administered justice in the Hall of Durbars to which he had been

used, he and his father's father, Children of the Sun, most pure of

blood. By that time I was of mature mind, and having given myself up to

study, came to believe there is but one doctrine--principle--call it

what you will, my Lord--but one of heavenly origin--one primarily

comprehensible by all--too simple indeed to satisfy the egotism of men;

wherefore, without rejecting, they converted it into a foundation, and

built upon it each according to his vanity, until, in course of ages,

the foundation was overlaid with systems of belief, childish,

unnatural, ridiculous, indecent, or else too complicated for common

understanding"--

"This principle--what is it, Prince?" Constantine asked nervously.

"Your Majesty, I have already once named it."

"Mean you God?"

"And now, my Lord, thou hast pronounced it."

The stillness in the chamber was very deep. Every man seemed to be

asking, what next?

"One day, Your Majesty--it was in my tenth year of government--a

function was held in a tent erected for the purpose--a _shamiana_

vastly larger than any hall. I went up to it in state, passing through

lines of elephants, an hundred on either hand, covered with cloth of

gold and with houdahs of yellow silk roofed with the glory of peacocks.

Behind the mighty brutes soldiery blotted out the landscape, and the

air between them and the sky was a tawny cloud of flaunting yak-tails;

nor had one use for ears, so was he deafened by beat of drums and

blowing of brazen horns twice a tall man's height. I sat on a throne of

silver and gold, all my ministers present. My brother entered, he the

next entitled. Halfway down the aisle of chiefs I met him, and then led

him to my seat, and saluted him Rajah of Meywar. Your Majesty, so I

parted with crown and title--laid them down voluntarily to search the

world for men in power in love with God enough to accept him as their

sum of faith. Behold why I travel making the earth a study! Behold why

I am in Constantinople!"

Constantine was impressed.

"Where hast thou been?" he at length asked--"where before coming here?"

"It were easier did Your Majesty ask where I have not been. For then I

could answer, Everywhere, except Rome."

"Dost thou impugn our devotion to God?"

"Not so, not so, my Lord! I am seeking to know the degree of your love

of Him."

"How, Prince?"

"By a test."

"What test?"

No man listening could have said what mood the Emperor was in; yet the

guest replied with an appearance of rising courage: "A trial, to find

all the other things entering into Faith which Your Majesty and Your

Majesty's lords and subjects are willing to lay down for God's sake."

With a peremptory gesture Constantine silenced the stir and rustle in

the chamber. "It is right boldly put," he said.

"But none the less respectfully. My Lord, I am striving to be

understood."

"You speak of a trial. To what end?"

"One Article of Faith, the all-essential of Universal Brotherhood in

Religion."

"A magnificent conception! But is it practicable?"

Fortunately or unfortunately for the Prince, an officer that moment

made way through the courtiers, and whispered to the Dean, who at once

addressed himself to the Emperor.

"I pray pardon, but it pleased Your Majesty to bid me notify you when

it is time to make ready for the Mystery to-night. The hour is come;

besides which a messenger from Scholarius waits for an interview."

Constantine arose.

"Thanks, worthy Dean," he said; "we will not detain the messenger. The

audience is dismissed."

Then descending from the dais, he gave his hand to the Prince. "I see

the idea you have in mind, and it is worthy the bravest effort. I shall

look forward to the next audience with concern. Forget not that the

guestship continues. My steward will take you in charge. Farewell."

The Prince, sinking to his knees, kissed the offered hand, whereupon

the Emperor said as if just reminded: "Was not your daughter with my

kinswoman in the White Castle?"

"Your Majesty, the Princess on that occasion most graciously consented

to accept my daughter as her attendant."

"Were she to continue in the same attendance, Prince, we might hope to

have her at court some day."

"I lay many thanks at Your Majesty's feet. She is most honored by the

suggestion." Constantine in lead of his officers then passed out,

while, in care of the steward, the Prince was conducted to the

reception room, and served with refreshments. Afterwhile through the

windows he beheld the day expiring, and the first audience finished,

and the second appointed, he was free to think of the approaching

Mystery.

Be it said now he was easy in feeling--satisfied with the management of

his cause--satisfied with the impression he had made on the Emperor and

the court as well. Had not the latter applauded and voted to hear him

again? When taken with the care habitually observed by leading

personages in audiences formal as that just passed, how broadly

sympathetic the expressions of the monarch had been.

In great cheerfulness the Prince ate and drank, and even occupied the

wine-colored leisure conning an argument for the occasion in

prospect--noon, next day two weeks! And more clearly than ever his

scheme seemed good. Could he carry it through--could he succeed--the

good would be recognized--never a doubt of that. If men were sometimes

blind, God was always just.

In thought he sped forward of the coming appointment, and saw himself

not only the apostle of the reform, but the chosen agent, the

accredited go-between of Constantine and the young Mahommed. He

remembered the points of negotiation between them. He would not require

the Turk to yield the prophetic character of Mahomet; neither should

the Byzantine's faith in Christ suffer curtailment; he would ask them,

however, to agree to a new relation between Mahomet and Christ on the

one side and God on the other--that, namely, long conceded, as having

existed between God and Elijah. And then, an article of the utmost

materiality, the very soul of the recast religion, he would insist that

they obligate themselves to worship God alone, worship being His

exclusive prerogative, and that this condition of exclusive worship be

prescribed the only test of fraternity in religion; all other worship

to be punishable as heresy. Nor stopped he with Mahommed and

Constantine; he doubted not bringing the Rabbis to such a treaty. How

almost identical it was with the Judaism of Moses. The Bishop of Rome

might protest. What matter? Romanism segregated must die. And so the

isms of the Brahman and the Hindoo, so the Buddhist, the Confucian, the

Mencian--they would all perish under the hammering of the union. Then,

too, Time would make the work perfect, and gradually wear Christ and

Mahomet out of mind--he and Time together. What if the task did take

ages? He had an advantage over other reformers--he could keep his

reform in motion--he could guide and direct it--he could promise

himself life to see it in full acceptance. In the exuberance of

triumphant feeling, he actually rejoiced in his doom, and for the

moment imagined it more than a divine mercy.

CHAPTER IV

THE PANNYCHIDES

An invitation from the Emperor to remain and view the procession

marching up the heights of Blacherne had been of itself a compliment;

but the erection of a stand for the Prince turned the compliment into a

personal honor. To say truth, however, he really desired to see the

Pannychides, or in plain parlance, the Vigils. He had often heard of

them as of prodigious effect upon the participants. Latterly they had

fallen into neglect; and knowing how difficult it is to revive a dying

custom, he imagined the spectacle would be poor and soon over. While

reflecting on it, he looked out of the window and was surprised to see

the night falling. He yielded then to restlessness, until suddenly an

idea arose and absorbed him.

Suppose the Emperor won to his scheme; was its success assured? So used

was he to thinking of the power of kings and emperors as the sole

essential to the things he proposed that in this instance he had failed

to concede importance to the Church; and probably he would have gone on

in the delusion but for the Mysteries which were now to pass before

him. They forced him to think of the power religious organizations

exercise over men.

And this Church--this old Byzantine Church! Ay, truly! The Byzantine

conscience was under its direction; it was the Father Confessor of the

Empire; its voice in the common ear was the voice of God. To cast

Christ out of its system would be like wrenching a man's heart out of

his body. It was here and there--everywhere in fact--in signs,

trophies, monuments--in crosses and images--in monasteries, convents,

houses to the Saints, houses to the Mother. What could the Emperor do,

if it were obstinate and defiant? The night beheld through the window

crept into the Wanderer's heart, and threatened to put out the light

kindled there by the new-born hope with which he had come from the

audience.

"The Church, the Church! It is the enemy I have to fear," he kept

muttering in dismal repetition, realizing, for the first time, the

magnitude of the campaign before him. With a wisdom in wickedness which

none of his successors in design have shown, he saw the Christian idea

in the bosom of the Church unassailable except a substitute

satisfactory to its professors could be found. Was God a sufficient

substitute? Perhaps--and he turned cold with the reflection--the

Pannychides were bringing him an answer. It was an ecclesiastical

affair, literally a meeting of Churchmen _en masse_. Where--when--how

could the Church present itself to any man more an actuality in the

flesh? Perhaps--and a chill set his very crown to crawling--perhaps the

opportunity to study the spectacle was more a mercy of God than a favor

of Constantine.

To his great relief, at length the officer who had escorted him from

the Grand Gate came into the room.

"I am to have the honor," he said, cheerfully, "of conducting you to

the stand His Majesty has prepared that you may at ease behold the

Mysteries appointed for the night. The head of the procession is

reported appearing. If it please you, Prince of India, we will set out."

"I am ready."

The position chosen for the Prince was on the right bank of a cut

through which the road passed on its ascent from the arched gateway by

the Chapel to the third terrace, and he was borne thither in his sedan.

Upon alighting, he found himself on a platform covered by a canopy,

carpeted and furnished with one chair comfortably cushioned. At the

right of the chair there was a pyramid of coals glowing in a brazier,

and lest that might not be a sufficient provision against the damps of

the hours, a great cloak was near at hand. In front of the platform he

observed a pole securely planted and bearing a basket of inflammables

ready for conversion into a torch. In short, everything needful to his

well-being, including wine and water on a small tripod, was within

reach.

Before finally seating himself the Prince stepped out to the brow of

the terrace, whence he noticed the Chapel below him in the denser

darkness of the trees about it like a pool. The gleam of armor on the

area by the Grand Gate struck him with sinister effect. Flowers saluted

him with perfume, albeit he could not see them. Not less welcome was

the low music with which the brook cheered itself while dancing down to

the harbor. Besides a cresset burning on the landing outside the Port

entrance, two other lights were visible; one on the Pharos, the other

on the great Galata tower, looking in the distance like large stars.

With these exceptions, the valley and the hill opposite Blacherne, and

the wide-reaching Metropolis beyond them, were to appearances a blacker

cloud dropped from the clouded sky. A curious sound now came to him

from the direction of the city. Was it a rising wind? Or a muffled roll

from the sea? While wondering, some one behind him said:

"They are coming."

The voice was sepulchral and harsh, and the Prince turned quickly to

the speaker.

"Ah, Father Theophilus!"

"They are coming," the Father repeated.

The Prince shivered slightly. The noise beyond the valley arose more

distinctly.

"Are they singing?" he asked.

"Chanting," the other answered.

"Why do they chant?"

"Knowest thou our Scriptures?"

The Wanderer quieted a disdainful impulse, and answered:

"I have read them."

The Father continued:

"Presently thou wilt hear the words of Job: 'Oh, that thou wouldst hide

me in the grave, that thou wouldst keep me in secret, until thy wrath

be past, that thou wouldst appoint me a set time and remember me.'"

The Prince was startled. Why was one in speech so like a ghost selected

his companion? And that verse, of all to him most afflicting, and which

in hours of despair he had repeated until his very spirit had become

colored with its reproachful plaint--who put it in the man's mouth?

The chant came nearer. Of melody it had nothing; nor did those engaged

in it appear in the slightest attentive to time. Yet it brought relief

to the Prince, willing as he was to admit he had never heard anything

similar--anything so sorrowful, so like the wail of the damned in

multitude. And rueful as the strain was, it helped him assign the

pageant a near distance, a middle distance, and then interminability.

"There appear to be a great many of them," he remarked to the Father.

"More than ever before in the observance," was the reply.

"Is there a reason for it?"

"Our dissensions."

The Father did not see the pleased expression of his auditor's face,

but proceeded: "Yes, our dissensions. They multiply. At first the jar

was between the Church and the throne; now it is the Church against the

Church--a Roman party and a Greek party. One man among us has

concentrated in himself the learning and devotion of the Christian

East. You will see him directly, George Scholarius. By visions, like

those in which the old prophets received the counsel of God, he was

instructed to revive the _Pannychides._ His messengers have gone hither

and thither, to the monasteries, the convents, and the eremitic

colonies wherever accessible. The greater the presence, he says, the

greater the influence."

"Scholarius is a wise man," the Prince said, diplomatically.

"His is the wisdom of the Prophets," the Father answered.

"Is he the Patriarch?"

"No, the Patriarch is of the Roman party--Scholarius of the Greek."

"And Constantine?"

"A good king, truly, but, alas; he is cumbered with care of the State."

"Yes, yes," said the Prince. "And the care leads to neglect of his

soul. Kings are sometimes to be pitied. But there is then a special

object in the Vigils?"

"The Vigils to-night are for the restoration of the unities once more,

that the Church may find peace and the State its power and glory again.

God is in the habit of taking care of His own."

"Thank you, Father, I see the difference. Scholarius would intrust the

State to the Holy Virgin; but Constantine, with a worldlier

inspiration, adheres to the craft held by Kings immemorially. The

object of the Vigils is to bring the Emperor to abandon his policy and

defer to Scholarius?"

"The Emperor assists in the Mystery," the Father answered, vaguely.

The procession meantime came on, and when its head appeared in front of

the Grand Gate three trumpeters blew a flourish which called the guards

into line. A monk advanced and held parley with an officer; after which

he was given a lighted torch, and passed under the portal in lead of

the multitude. The trumpeters continued plying their horns, marking the

slow ascent.

"Were this an army," said Father Theophilus, "it would not be so

laborious; but, alas! the going of youth is nowhere so rapid as in a

cloister; nor is age anywhere so feeble. Ten years kneeling on a stony

floor in a damp cell brings the anchorite to forget he ever walked with

ease."

The Prince scarcely heard him; he was interested in the little to be

seen crossing the area below--a column four abreast, broken into

unequal divisions, each division with a leader, who, at the gate,

received a torch. Occasionally a square banner on a cross-stick

appeared--occasionally a section in light-colored garments; more

frequently a succession of heads without covering of any kind;

otherwise the train was monotonously rueful, and in its slow movement

out of the darkness reminded the spectator on the height of a serpent

crawling endlessly from an underground den. Afterwhile the dim white of

the pavement was obscured by masses stationary on the right and left of

the column; these were the people stopping there because for them there

was no further pursuit of the spectral parade.

The horns gave sonorous notice of the progress during the ascent. Now

they were passing along the first terrace; still the divisions were

incessant down by the gate--still the chanting continued, a dismal

dissonance in the distance, a horrible discord near by. If it be true

that the human voice is music's aptest instrument, it is also true that

nothing vocalized in nature can excel it in the expression of diabolism.

Suddenly the first torch gleamed on the second terrace scarce an

hundred yards from the Chapel.

"See him now there, behind the trumpeters--Scholarius!" said Father

Theophilus, with a semblance of animation.

"He with the torch?"

"Ay!--And he might throw the torch away, and still be the light of the

Church."

The remark did not escape the Prince. The man who could so impress

himself upon a member of the court must be a power with his brethren of

the gown generally. Reflecting thus, the discerning visitor watched the

figure stalking on under the torch. There are men who are causes in

great events, sometimes by superiority of nature, sometimes by

circumstances. What if this were one of them? And forthwith the

observer ceased fancying the mystical looking monk drawing the

interminable train after him by the invisible bonds of a will mightier

than theirs in combination--the fancy became a fact. "The procession

will not stop at the Chapel," the Father said; "but keep on to the

palace, where the Emperor will join it. If my Lord cares to see the

passage distinctly, I will fire the basket here."

"Do so," the Prince replied.

The flambeau was fired.

It shed light over the lower terraces right and left, and brought the

palace in the upper space into view from the base of the forward

building to the Tower of Isaac; and here, close by, the Chapel with all

its appurtenances, paved enclosure, speeding brook, solemn cypresses,

and the wall and arched gateway at the hither side stood out in almost

daytime clearness. The road in the cut underfoot must bring the frocked

host near enough to expose its spirit.

The bellowing of the horns frightened the birds at roost in the

melancholy grove, and taking wing, they flew blindly about.

Then ensued the invasion of the enclosure in front of the

Chapel--Scholarius next the musicians. The Prince saw him plainly; a

tall man, stoop-shouldered, angular as a skeleton; his hood thrown

back; head tonsured; the whiteness of the scalp conspicuous on account

of the band of black hair at the base; the features high and thin,

cheeks hollow, temples pinched. The dark brown cassock, leaving an

attenuated neck completely exposed, hung from his frame apparently much

too large for it. His feet disdained sandals. At the brook he halted,

and letting the crucifix fall from his right hand, he stooped and

dipped the member thus freed into the water, and rising flung the drops

in air. Resuming the crucifix, he marched on.

It cannot be said there was admiration in the steady gaze with which

the Prince kept the monk in eye; the attraction was stronger--he was

looking for a sign from him. He saw the tall, nervous figure cross the

brook with a faltering, uncertain step, pass the remainder of the

pavement, the torch in one hand, the holy symbol in the other; then it

disappeared under the arch of the gate; and when it had come through,

the sharp espial was beforehand with it, and waiting. It commenced

ascending the acute grade--now it was in the cut--and now, just below

the Prince, it had but to look up, and its face would be on a level

with his feet. At exactly the right moment, Scholarius did look up,

and--stop.

The interchange of glances between the men was brief, and can be

likened to nothing so aptly as sword blades crossing in a red light.

Possibly the monk, trudging on, his mind intent upon something which

was part of a scene elsewhere, or on the objects and results of the

solemnities in celebration, as yet purely speculative, might have been

disagreeably surprised at discovering himself the subject of study by a

stranger whose dress proclaimed him a foreigner; possibly the Prince's

stare, which we have already seen was at times powerfully magnetic,

filled him with aversion and resentment; certain it is he raised his

head, showing a face full of abhorrence, and at the same time waved the

crucifix as if in exorcism.

The Prince had time to see the image thus presented was of silver on a

cross of ivory wrought to wonderful realism. The face was dying, not

dead; there were the spikes in the hands and feet, the rent in the

side, the crown of thorns, and overhead the initials of the

inscription: This is the King of the Jews. There was the worn,

buffeted, bloodspent body, and the lips were parted so it was easy to

think the sufferer in mid-utterance of one of the exclamations which

have placed his Divinity forever beyond successful denial. The swift

reversion of memory excited in the beholder might have been succeeded

by remorse, but for the cry:

"Thou enemy of Jesus Christ--avaunt!"

It was the voice of Scholarius, shrill and high; and before the Prince

could recover from the shock, before he could make answer, or think of

answering, the visionary was moving on; nor did he again look back.

"What ails thee, Prince?"

The sepulchral tone of Father Theophilus was powerful over the benumbed

faculties of His Majesty's guest; and he answered with a question:

"Is not thy friend Scholarius a great preacher?"

"On his lips the truth is most unctuous."

"It must be so--it must be so! For"--the Prince's manner was as if he

were settling a grave altercation in his own mind--"for never did a man

offer me the Presence so vitalized in an image. I am not yet sure but

he gave me to see the Holy Son of the Immaculate Mother in flesh and

blood exactly as when they put Him so cruelly to death. Or can it be,

Father, that the effect upon me was in greater measure due to the

night, the celebration, the cloud of ministrants, the serious objects

of the Vigils?"

The answer made Father Theophilus happy as a man of his turn could

be--he was furnished additional evidence of the spiritual force of

Scholarius, his ideal.

"No," he answered, "it was God in the man."

All this time the chanting had been coming nearer, and now the grove

rang with it. A moment, and the head of the first division must present

itself in front of the Chapel. Could the Wanderer have elected then

whether to depart or stay, the _Pannychides_ would have had no further

assistance from him--so badly had the rencounter with Scholarius shaken

him. Not that he was afraid in the vulgar sense of the term. Before a

man can habitually pray for death, he must be long lost to fear. If we

can imagine conscience gone, pride of achievement, without which there

can be no mortification or shame in defeat, may yet remain with him, a

source of dread and weakness. The chill which shook Brutus in his tent

the evening before Philippi was not in the least akin to terror. So

with the Prince at this juncture. There to measure the hold of the

Christian idea upon the Church, it seemed Scholarius had brought him an

answer which finished his interest in the passing Vigils. In brief, the

Reformer's interest in the Mystery was past, and he wished with his

whole soul to retreat to the sedan, but a fascination held him fast.

"I think it would be pleasanter sitting," he said, and returned to the

platform.

"If I presume to take the chair, Father," he added, "it is because I am

older than thou."

Hardly was he thus at ease when a precentor, fat, and clad in a long

gown, stepped out of the grove to the clear lighted pavement in front

of the Chapel. His shaven head was thrown back, his mouth open to its

fullest stretch, and tossing a white stick energetically up and down in

the air, he intoned with awful distinctness: "The waters wear the

stones. Thou washest away the things which grow out of the dust of the

earth, and Thou destroyest the hopes of man."

The Prince covered his ears with his hands.

"Thou likest not the singing?" Father Theophilus asked, and continued:

"I admit the graces have little to do with musical practice in the holy

houses of the Fathers." But he for whom the comfort was meant made no

reply. He was repeating to himself: "Thou prevailest forever against

him, and he passeth."

And to these words the head of the first division strode forward into

the light. The Prince dropped his hands in time to hear the last verse:

"But his flesh upon him shall have pain, and his soul within him shall

mourn."

For whom was this? Did the singers know the significancy of the text to

him? The answer was from God, and they were merely messengers bringing

it. He rose to his feet; in his rebellious passion the world seemed to

melt and swim about him. He felt a longing to burn, break, destroy--to

strike out and kill. When he came to himself, Father Theophilus, who

thought him merely wonder struck by the mass of monks in march, was

saying in his most rueful tone: "Good order required a careful

arrangement of the procession; for though the participants are pledged

to godly life, yet they sometimes put their vows aside temporarily. The

holiest of them have pride in their establishments, and are often too

ready to resort to arms of the flesh to assert their privileges. The

Fathers of the Islands have long been jealous of the Fathers of the

city, and to put them together would be a signal for riot. Accordingly

there are three grand divisions here--the monks of Constantinople,

those of the Islands, the shores of the Bosphorus and the three seas,

and finally the recluses and hermits from whatever quarter. Lo! first

the Fathers of the Studium--saintly men as thou wilt see anywhere."

The speech was unusually long for the Father; a fortunate circumstance

of which the Prince availed himself to recover his self-possession. By

the time the brethren eulogized were moving up the rift at his feet, he

was able to observe them calmly. They were in long gowns of heavy gray

woollen stuff, with sleeves widening from the shoulders; their cowls,

besides covering head and visage, fell down like capes. Cleanly,

decent-looking men, they marched slowly and in order, their hands

united palm to palm below their chins. The precentor failed to inspire

them with his fury of song.

"These now coming," Father Theophilus said of the second fraternity,

"are conventuals of Petrion, who have their house looking out on the

harbor here. And these," he said of the third, "are of the Monastery of

Anargyres--a very ancient society. The Emperor Michael, surnamed the

Paphlegonian, died in one of their cells in 1041. Brotherhood with them

is equivalent to saintship."

Afterwhile a somewhat tumultuous flock appeared in white skirts and

loose yellow cloaks, their hair and beard uncut and flying. The

historian apologized.

"Bear with them," he said; "they are mendicants from the retreats of

Periblepte, in the quarter of Psammatica. You may see them on the

street corners and quays, and in all public places, sick, blind, lame

and covered with sores. They have St. Lazarus for patron. At night an

angel visits them with healing. They refuse to believe the age of

miracles is past."

The city monastics were a great host carrying banners with the name of

their Brotherhoods inscribed in golden letters; and in every instance

the Hegumen, or Abbot, preceded his fraternity torch in hand.

A company in unrelieved black marched across the brook, and their

chanting was lugubrious as their garb.

"Petra sends us these Fathers," said Theophilus--"Petra over on the

south side. They sleep all day and watch at night. The second coming

they say will happen in the night, because they think that time most

favorable for the trumpeting herald and the splendor of the

manifestations."

Half an hour of marching--men in gray and black and yellow, a few in

white--men cowled--men shorn and unshorn--barefooted men and men in

sandals--a river of men in all moods, except jovial and happy, toiling

by the observing stand, seldom an upturned face, spectral, morose,

laden body and mind--young and old looking as if just awakened after

ages of entombment;--a half hour of dismal chanting the one chapter

from the book of the man in the land of Uz, of all utterances the most

dismal;--a half hour of waiting by the Prince for one kindly sign,

without discovering it--a half hour, in which, if the comparison be not

too strong, he was like a soul keeping watch over its own abandoned

body. Then Father Theophilus said:

"From the cloisters of St. James of Manganese! The richest of the

monasteries of Constantinople, and the most powerful. It furnishes

Sancta Sophia with renowned preachers. Its brethren cultivate learning.

Their library is unexcelled, and they boast that in the hundreds of

years of their society life, they had never an heretic. Before their

altars the candles are kept burning and trimmed forever. Their numbers

are recruited from the noblest families. Young men to whom the army is

open prefer God-service in the elegant retirement of St. James of

Manganese. They will interest you, Prince; and after them we will have

the second grand division."

"Brethren of the Islands?"

"Yes, of the Islands and the sea-shores."

Upon the pavement then appeared a precentor attired like a Greek priest

of the present day; a rimless hat black and high, and turned slightly

outward at the top; a veil of the same hue; the hair gathered into a

roll behind, and secured under the hat; a woollen gown very dark,

glossy, and dropping in ample folds unconfined from neck to shoe. The

Hegumen followed next, and because of his age and infirmities a young

man carried the torch for him. The chanting was sweet, pure, and in

perfect time. All these evidences of refinement and respectability were

noticed by the Prince, and looking at the torch-bearer again, he

recognized the young monk, his room-mate in the White Castle.

"Knowest thou the youth yonder?" he asked, pointing to Sergius.

"A Russian recently arrived," the Father replied. "Day before yesterday

he was brought to the palace and presented to the Emperor by the

Princess Irene. He made a great impression."

The two kept their eyes on the young man until he disappeared ascending

the hill.

"He will be heard from;" and with the prediction the Prince gave

attention to the body of the Brotherhood.

"These men have the bearing of soldiers," he said presently.

"Their vows respecting war are liberal. If the _panagia_ were carried

to the walls, they would accompany it in armor."

The Prince smiled. He had not the faith in the Virgin of Blacherne

which the Father's answer implied.

The St. James' were long in passing. The Prince kept them in sight to

the last four. They were the aristocracy of the Church, prim, proud; as

their opportunities were more frequent, doubtless they were more wicked

than their associates of the humbler fraternities; yet he could not

promise himself favor from their superior liberality. On the contrary,

having a great name for piety to defend, if a test offered, they were

the more certain to be hard and vindictive--to send a heretic to the

stake, and turn a trifling variation from the creed into heresy.

"Who is this?" the Prince exclaimed, as a noble-looking man in full

canonicals stepped out of the cypress shadows, first of the next

division.

"Master of Ceremonies for the Church," Father Theophilus replied. "He

is the wall between the Islanders and the Metropolitans."

"And he who walks with him singing?"

"The _Protopsolete_--leader of the Patriarch's Choir."

Behind this singer the monks of the Isles of the Princes! In movement,

order, dress, like their predecessors in the march--Hegumen with their

followers in gray, black and white--hands palm to palm

prayerfully--chanting sometimes better, sometimes worse--never a look

upward but always down, as if Heaven were a hollow in the earth, an

abyss at their feet, and they about to step into it.

The Prince was beginning to tire. Suddenly he thought of the meeting of

pilgrims at El Zaribah. How unlike was the action there and here! That

had been a rush, an inundation, as it were, by the sea, fierce, mad, a

passion of Faith fostered by freedom; this, slow, solemn, sombre,

oppressive--what was it like? Death in Life, and burial by programme so

rigid there must not be a groan more or a tear less. He saw Law in it

all--or was it imposition, force, choice smothered by custom, fashion

masquerading in the guise of Faith? The hold of Christ upon the Church

began to look possible of measurement.

"Roti first!" said the Father. "Rocky and bare, scarce a bush for a

bird or grass for a cricket. Ah, verily he shall love God dearly or

hate the world mortally who of free will chooses a cloister for life at

Roti!"

The brethren of the three convents of the Island marched past clad in

short brown frocks, bareheaded, barefooted. The comments of the

historian were few and brief.

"Poor they look," he said of the first one, "and poor they are, yet

Michael Rhangabe and Romain Lacapene were glad to live and die with

them." Of the second: "When Romain Diogenes built the house these

inhabit, he little dreamed it would shelter him, a refugee from the

throne." Of the third: "Dardanes was a great general. In his fortunate

days he built a tower on Roti with one cell in it; in an evil hour he

aspired to the throne--failed--lost his eyes, retired to his lonesome

tower--by his sanctity there drew a fraternity to him, and died. That

was hundreds of years ago. The brethren still pray for his soul. Be it

that evil comes of good; not less does good come of evil--and so God

keeps the balances."

In the same manner he descanted on the several contingents from

Antigone as they strode by; then of those from God's houses at Halki,

the pearl of the Marmora; amongst them the monastery of John the

Precursor, and the Convents of St. George, Hagia Trias, and lastly the

Very Holy House of the All Holy Mother of God, founded by John VIII.

Palaeologus. After them, in turn, the consecrated from Prinkipo,

especially those from the Kamares of the Basilissa, Irene, and the

Convent of the Transfiguration.

The faithful few from the solitary Convent on the Island of Oxia, and

the drab-gowned abstinents of the monastery of Plati, miserables given

to the abnormity of mixing prayer and penance with the cultivation of

snails for the market in Constantinople, were the last of the Islanders.

Then in a kind of orderly disorganization the claustral inculpables

from holy houses on Olympus down by the Dardanelles, the Bosphorus, and

the Bithynian shore behind the Isles of the Princes, and some from

retreats in the Egean and along the Peloponnesus, their walls now dust,

their names forgotten.

"Where is the procession going?" the Prince now asked.

"Look behind you--up along the front of the palace."

And casting his eyes thither, the questioner beheld the ground covered

with a mass of men not there before.

"What are they doing?"

"Awaiting the Emperor. Only the third grand division is wanting now;

when it is up His Majesty will appear."

"And descend to the Chapel?"

"Yes."

For a time a noise more like the continuous, steady monotone of falling

water than a chant had been approaching from the valley, making its

darkness vocal. It threatened the gates awhile; now it was at the

gates. The Prince's wonder was great, and to appease it Father

Theophilus explained:

"The last division is at hand."

In the dim red light over the area by the gate below, the visitor

beheld figures hurriedly issuing from the night--figures in the

distance so wild and fantastic they did not at first seem human. They

left no doubt, however, whence the sound proceeded. The white sand of

the road up the terraces was beaten to dust under the friction and

pressure of the thousands of feet gone before; this third division

raised it into an attending cloud, and the cloud and the noise were

incessant.

Once more the Prince went out to the brink of the terrace. The monotony

of the pageant was broken; something new was announcing itself.

Spectres--devils--gnomes and jinn of the Islamitic Solomon--rakshakas

and hanumen of the Eastern Iliads--surely this miscellany was a

composition of them all. They danced along the way and swung themselves

and each other, howling like dervishes in frenzy. Again the birds took

wing and flew blindly above the cypresses, and the end of things seemed

about to burst when a yell articulate yet unintelligible shook the

guarded door of the venerable Chapel.

Then the demoniacs--the Prince could not make else of them--leaping the

brook, crowding the pent enclosure, hasting to the arched exit, were

plainly in view. Men almost naked, burned to hue of brick-dust; men in

untanned sheepskin coats and mantles; men with every kind of headgear,

turbans, handkerchiefs, cowls; men with hair and beard matted and

flying; now one helped himself to a louder yell by tossing in air the

dirty garment he had torn from his body, hirsute as a goat's; now one

leaped up agile as a panther; now one turned topsy-turvy; now groups of

them swirled together like whimsical eddies in a pool. Some went

slowly, their arms outspread in silent ecstasy; some stalked on with

parted lips and staring eyes, trance-like or in dead drunkenness of

soul; nevertheless the great majority of them, too weary and far spent

for violent exertion, marched with their faces raised, and clapping

their hands or beating their breasts, now barking short and sharp, like

old hounds dreaming, then finishing with long-drawn cries not unlike

the ending of a sorrowful chorus. Through the gate they crowded, and at

sight of their faces full of joy unto madness, the Prince quit pitying

them, and, reminded of the Wahabbees at El Zaribah, turned to Father

Theophilus.

"In God's name," he said, "who are these?"

"A son of India thou, and not know them at sight?"

There was surprise in the question, and a degree of unwarranted

familiarity, yet the Father immediately corrected himself, by solemnly

adding: "Look there at that one whirling his mantle of unshorn skin

over his head. He has a cave on Mt. Olympus furnished with a stool, a

crucifix, and a copy of the Holy Scriptures; he sleeps on the stone;

the mantle is his bedding by night, his clothing by day. He raises

vegetables, and they and snow-water seeping through a crevice in his

cavern subsist him.... And the next him--the large man with the great

coat of camel's hair which keeps him scratched as with thorns--he is

from the Monastery of St. Auxentius, the abode of a powerful fraternity

of ascetics. A large proportion of this wing of the celebrants is of

the same austere house. You will know them by the penitential,

dun-colored garment--they wear no other.... Yonder is a brother

carrying his right arm at a direct angle above his shoulder, stiff and

straight as a stick of seasoned oak. He is of a colony of Stylites

settled on this shore of the upper Bosphorus overlooking the Black Sea.

He could not lower the arm if he wished to; but since it is his

certificate of devoutness, the treasures of the earth laid at his feet

in a heap would be insufficient to induce him to drop it though for an

instant. His colony is one of many like it. Spare him thy pity. He

believes the clinch of that hand holds fast the latch of Heaven.... The

shouters who have just entered the arch in a body have hermitaries in

close grouping around the one failing monastery on Plati, and live on

lentils and snails; aside from which they commit themselves to Christ,

and so abound in faith that the Basileus in his purple would be very

happy were he true master of a tithe of their happiness.... Hast thou

not enough, O Prince? Those crossing the brook now?--Ah, yes! They are

anchorites from Anderovithos, the island. Pitiable creatures looked at

from the curtained windows of a palace--pitiable, and abandoned by men

and angels! Be not sure. Everything is as we happen to see it--a bit of

philosophy, which, as they despise the best things secularly considered

of this life, steels them to indifference for what you and I, and

others not of their caste, may think. They have arrived at a summit

above the corrupting atmosphere of the earth, where every one of them

has already the mansion promised him by our Blessed Lord, and where the

angels abide and delight to serve him.... For the rest, O Prince, call

them indifferently recluses, hermits, anticenobites, mystics, martyrs,

these from Europe, those from isolations deep somewhere in Asia. Who

feeds them? Did not ravens feed Elijah? Offer them white bread and

robes of silk, yesterday's wear of a king. 'What!' they will ask.

'Shall any man fare better than John the Forerunner?' Speak to them of

comfortable habitations, and they will answer with the famous saying,

'Foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of

Man hath not where to lay His head.' What more is there to be said?

Thou seest them, thou knowest them."

Yes, the Prince knew them. Like the horde which stood by the Black

Stone envious of Mirza's dying, these were just as ready to die for

Christ. He smiled grimly, and thought of Mahommed, and how easy the

Church had made the conquest of which he was dreaming.

It was with a sense of relief he beheld the tail of the division follow

its body up to the palace.

Then, last of all, came the dignitaries of the Church, the Cartulaire,

least in rank, with many intermediates, up to the Cyncelle, who, next

to the absent Patriarch, represented him. If what had preceded in the

procession was poor and unpretentious, this part was splendid to

excess. They were not more than eighteen or twenty in number, but they

walked singly with considerable intervals between them; while on the

right and left of each, a liveried servant carried a torch which gave

him to be distinctly seen. And the flashing of gold on their persons

was wonderful to the spectator. Why not? This rare and anointed body

was the Church going in solemnity to assist the Basileus in a high

ceremony.

Afterwhile the Emperor appeared descending to the Chapel.

To the Prince's amazement, he was in a plain, priestly black frock,

without crown, sword, sceptre or guard; and so did his guise compare

with the magnificence of the ecclesiastics surrounding him, he actually

seemed in their midst a prisoner or a penitent. He passed his visitor

like one going from the world forgetting and forgot.

"An explanation, Father," said the Prince. "The Church is in its robes,

but my august friend, the Emperor, looks as if he had suffered

dethronement."

"Thou wilt presently see His Majesty enter the Chapel alone. The legend

supposes him there in presence directly of God; if so, what merit would

there be in regalia? Would his sword or sceptre make his supplication

more impressive?"

The Prince bowed.

And while he watched, the gold-clad escort halted before the Holy

House, the door opened, and Constantine went in unattended. Then, the

door being shut behind him, the clergy knelt, and remained kneeling.

The light from the torches was plenteous there, making the scene

beautiful.

And yet further, while he stood watching, the trumpeting and chanting

on the level in front of the palace behind him ceased, and a few

minutes afterwards, he was aware of the noise of many feet rushing in a

scramble from all directions to the Chapel. Here and there flambeaux

streamed out, with hundreds of dark-gowned excited figures speeding

after them as best they could.

The bank the Prince occupied was overrun, like other contiguous spaces.

The object of the invaders was to secure a position near the revered

building as possible; for immediately on attaining it they dropped to

their knees, and began counting their rosaries and mumbling prayers. At

length it befell that the terraces far and near were densely crowded by

monks in low recitation.

"My Lord," said Father Theophilus, in a tone of reserved depth, "the

Mystery is begun. There is no more to be seen. Good-night!" And without

ado, he too knelt where he stood, beads in hand, eyes fixed upon the

one point of devotional interest.

When the sedan was brought, the Prince gave one last glance at the

scene, feeling it was to be thenceforward and forever a burden on his

memory. He took in and put away the weather-stained Chapel, centre of

so much travail; the narrow court in front of it brilliantly lighted

and covered with priests high and low in glittering vestments; the

cypresses looming skyward, stately and stiff, like conical monuments:

the torches scattered over the grounds, revealing patches of men

kneeling, their faces turned toward the Chapel: the mumbling and

muttering from parts unlighted telling of other thousands in like

engagement. He had seen battle-fields fresh in their horrors; decks of

ships still bloody; shores strewn with wreckage and drowned sailors,

and the storm not spent; populous cities shaken down by earthquakes,

the helpless under the ruins pleading for help; but withal never had he

seen anything which affected him as did that royal park at mid of

night, given up to that spectral multitude!

It seemed he could not get away from the spectacle soon enough; for

after issuing from the Grand Gate, he kept calling to his carriers,

impatiently: "Faster, my men, faster!"

CHAPTER V

A PLAGUE OF CRIME

Sergius' life in Constantinople had been almost void of incident. His

introduction to the Patriarch by the Princess Irene started him well

with that reverend official, whose confidence and love she commanded to

a singular degree. His personal qualities, however, were very helpful.

The gentleness of his nature, his youth, his simplicity,

respectfulness, intelligence and obvious piety were all in his favor;

at the same time the strongest attraction he possessed with the

strangers amongst whom he found himself was his likeness according to

the received Byzantine ideal to Christ. He had a habit, moreover, of

walking slowly, and with a quiet tread, his head lowered, his hands

clasped before him. Coming in this mood suddenly upon persons, he often

startled them; at such times, indeed, the disturbed parties were

constrained to both observe and forgive him--he reminded them so

strikingly of the Nazarene as He must have looked while in solitary

walks by the sea or along the highways of Galilee. Whatever the cause,

it is very certain His Serenity, the Patriarch, from mere attention to

the young Russian, passed speedily to interest in him, and manifested

it in modes pleasant and noticeable. By his advice, Sergius attached

himself to the Brotherhood of the Monastery of St. James of Manganese.

This was the first incident in his city life out of the usual. The

second was his presentation at court, where he was not less successful

with the Emperor than he had been with the Patriarch. Yet Sergius was

not happy. His was the old case of a spirit willing, even anxious, to

do, but held in restraint. He saw about him such strong need of saving

action; and the Christian plan, as he understood it, was so simple and

efficacious. There was no difference in the value of souls. Taking

Christ's own words, everything was from the Father, and He held the

gates of Heaven open for the beggar and the emperor alike. Why not

return to the plan devised, practised, and exemplified by the Saviour

Himself? The idea bore heavily upon his mind, and accounted for the

bent head and slow step fast becoming habitudes. At times the insurgent

impulses seemed beyond control. This was particularly when he walked in

crowded places; for then the people appeared an audience summoned and

ready to hear him; he had only to go into their midst, call to them,

and begin speaking; but often as he beheld the calm, patient, pleading

face of the Princess Irene, and heard her say ever so gently: "Wait,

wait! I know the situation--you do not. Our object is the most good.

God will send the opportunity. Then martyrdom, if it come, is going to

Heaven. Wait--I will give you the signal. You are to speak for me as

well as yourself. You are to be my voice"--so often he grew reconciled.

There was another trouble more difficult of comprehension and

description. Under its influence the sky did not look so blue as

formerly; the breeze was less refreshing; the sun where it scattered

its golden largesse over the sea failed to relieve it of dulness; and

in all things, himself included, there was something wanting--exactly

what he could not tell. However, as he had been indulging comparisons

of life in Constantinople with life in Bielo-Osero, and longing for the

holy quiet of the latter, he concluded he was homesick, and was

ashamed. It was childishness! The Great Example had no home! And with

that thought he struggled manfully to be a man forever done with such

weaknesses.

It became his wont of afternoons when the weather was tolerable to seek

the city wall opposite the old Chalcedonian point. In going thither, he

sometimes passed through the Hippodrome and Sta. Sophia, both in such

contact to the collection of palaces known as the Bucoleon that each

might have been fairly considered an appurtenance of the other. The

exercises in the spacious palaestrae had small interest for him; there

was always such evident rancor between the factions Blue and Green. The

dome of the great Church he regarded man's best effort at construction,

beyond which there was nothing more attainable; but how it dwindled and

faded when from the wall he looked at the sky, the sea, and the land,

the handiworks of God!

On the wall, at a point marked by a shallow angle, there was a cracked

stone bench, offering seawardly a view of the Isles of the Princes, and

the Asian domain beyond Broussa to the Olympian heights; westwardly,

the Bucoleon and its terraced gardens were near by, and above them in

the distance the Tower of Isaac Angelus arose over Blacherne, like a

sentinel on guard against the opposing summits of Galata and Pera. From

the bench, the walk, besides being wide and smooth, extended, with a

slight curvature northward to the Acropolis, now Point Serail, and on

the south to the Port of Julian. The airy promenade thus formed was

reached by several stairs intermediate the landmarks mentioned; yet the

main ascent was near the Imperial stables, and it consisted of a flight

of stone steps built against the inner face of the wall, like a broad

buttress. This latter was for the public, and of sunny days it was used

incessantly. Everybody in the category of invalids affected it in

especial, since litters and sedans were not inhibited there. In short,

the popularity of this mural saunter can be easily imagined.

The afternoon of the day the Prince of India was in audience by the

Emperor's invitation, Sergius was the sole occupant of the stone bench.

The hour was pleasant; the distant effects were perfect; birds and

boats enlivened the air and water; and in listening to the swish of

waves amongst the rocks and pebbles below, so like whisperings, he

forgot where he was, and his impatience and melancholy, and the people

strolling negligently past. One of his arms lay along the edge of the

bulwark before him, and he was not thinking so much as simply enjoying

existence. To such as noticed him he appeared a man in the drowsy stage

next to sleep.

Afterwhile a voice aroused him, and, without moving, he became aware of

two men stopped and talking. He could not avoid hearing them.

"She is coming," said one.

"How do you know?" the other asked.

"Have I not told you I keep a spy on the old Prince's house? A

messenger from him has just reported the chair arrived for her; and

this being her favorite stroll, she will be here presently."

"Have you considered the risks of your project?"

"Risks? Pah!"

The exclamation was with a contemptuous laugh.

"But they have grown since last night," the other persisted. "The

Indian is now at the Palace, His Majesty's guest."

"Yes, I had report of that also; but I have studied the game, and if

you fear to join me, I will see it through alone. As an offence against

law, it is abduction, not murder; and the penalty, imprisonment, can be

easily changed to banishment, which with me means at the utmost a short

absence to give friends an opportunity to prepare for my return.

Consider, moreover, the subject of the offence will be a woman. Can you

name an instance in which the kidnapper of a woman has been

punished?--I mean in our time?"

"True, women are the cheapest commodity in the market; therefore"--

"I understand," the first speaker interposed, a little impatiently,

"but Princes of India are not common in Constantinople, while their

daughters are less so. See the temptation! Besides, in the decadence of

our Byzantine empire, the criminal laws fail worse and worse of

execution. Only last night my father, delivering a lecture, said

neglect in this respect was one of the reasons of the Empire's going.

Only the poor and degraded suffer penalties now. And I--pah! What have

I to fear? Or thou? And from whom? When the girl's loss is

discovered--you observe I am viewing the affair in its most malignant

aspect--I know the course the Prince will take. He will run to the

palace; there he will fall at the Emperor's feet, tell his tale of woe,

and"--

"And if thou art denounced?"

The conspirator laughed again. "The worse for the Prince," he at length

replied. "The Hegumen, my honored father, will follow him to the

palace, and--but let the details go! The relations between the Basileus

and the Church are strained to breaking; and the condition is not

sanable while the quarrel between the Patriarch and Scholarius waxes

hotter."

"The Patriarch and Scholarius quarrelling? I had not heard of that."

"Openly, openly! His Majesty and the Patriarch are tenderly

sympathetic. What more is wanting to set the Prophet scolding? The

Patriarch, it is now known, will not be at the _Pannychides_ to-night.

His health began failing when, over his objection, it was decided to

hold the Mystery, and last week he betook himself to the Holy Mountain.

This morning the Prophet"--

"Thou meanest Scholarius?"

"Scholarius denounced him as an _azymite_, which is bad, if true; as

unfaithful to God and the Church, which is worse; and as trying to

convert the Emperor into an adherent of the Bishop of Rome, which,

considering the Bishop is Satan unchained, will not admit of a further

descent in sin. The Mystery tonight is Scholarius' scheme in

contravention of His Serenity's efforts. Oh, it is a quarrel, and a big

one, involving Church and State, and the infallibility of our newly

risen Jeremiah. Thus full-handed, thinkest thou in a suit the Prince of

India against the venerable Hegumen of all the St. James', His Majesty

will hesitate? Is thy opinion of him as a politician so

uncomplimentary? Think again, I say--think again!"

"Thy father's Brotherhood are His Majesty's friends!"

"Ah, the very point! They despise Scholarius now, and what an ado, what

a political display, to drive them into his arms! The Princes of India,

though they were numerous as the spectre caravan, could not carry

influence that far."

Here there was a rest in the conversation.

"Well, since thou wilt not be persuaded to let the enterprise go," the

protesting friend next said, "at least agree with me that it is

indiscreet to speak of it in a place public as this."

The laugh of the conspirator was heartier than before.

"Ah, hadst thou warned me not to speak of it to the"--

"Enough of that! The Prince of India is nothing to me--thou art my

friend."

"Agree with me then that thou hast ears, while the public"--

"Have not, thou wouldst say. Still there are things which may not be

whispered in a desert without being overheard."

"The Pagans who went before us had a god of wisdom, and they called him

Hermes. I should say thou hast been to school to him. 'Twas he,

doubtless, who taught outlaws to seek safety in crowded cities. By the

same philosophy, where can one talk treason more securely than on this

wall? Afraid of discovery! Not I, unless thou mumblest in thy sleep. We

go about our good intents--the improvement of our fortune for

instance--with awful care, and step by step, fortifying. The practice

is applicable to wickedness. I am no bungler. I will tell thee a

tale.... Thou knowest the Brotherhood of the Monastery of St. James of

Manganese is very ancient, and that the house in which it is quartered

is about as old as the Brotherhood. Their archives are the richest in

the empire. They have a special chamber and a librarian. Were he of the

mind, he might write a history of Constantinople by original data

without leaving his library. Fortunately the mere keepers of books

seldom write books.... My father's office is in the Monastery, and I

frequently find myself in his company there. He never fails to improve

the opportunity to lecture me, for he is a good man. One day, by

invitation, I accompanied the librarian to his place of keeping, and

saw it, and wondered how he could be willing to give his days--he is

now an old man--to such a mass of rot and smells. I spare you mention

of the many things he showed me; for there was but one of real ado with

what we are considering, an old document illuminated with an

untarnished chrysobula. 'Here,' said he, 'is something curious.' The

text was short--writers in those days knew the tricks of condensation,

and they practised them virtuously. I asked him to give it to me--he

refused--he would sooner have given me the last lock on his head, which

is a great deal, seeing that hair grows precious exactly as it grows

scantier. So I made him hold the lamp while I read.... The document was

dated about A.D. 1300--a century and a half gone, and proved to be a

formal report by the Patriarch to a council of Bishops and Hegumen....

Thou knowest, I am sure, the great cistern; not the Philoxenus, but the

larger one, with an entrance west of Sta. Sophia, sometimes called the

Imperial, because built by the first Constantine and enlarged by

Justinian."

"I know it."

"Well, there was a great ceremony there one day; the same with which

the report was concerned. The clergy attended in force and panoply led

by His Serenity in person--monks, nuns, deacons and deaconesses--in a

word, the Church was present. The cistern had been profaned. A son of

Satan, moved by a most diabolical ingenuity, had converted it into a

den of wickedness surpassing sinful belief; and the procession and

awful conclave were to assist His Serenity in restoring the water to

wholesomeness, impossible, in the belief of consumers, except by solemn

exorcism.... Heed now, my friend--I am about to tap the heart of my

story. A plague struck the city--a plague of crime. A woman

disappeared. There was search for her, but without success. The affair

would have been dismissed within the three days usually allotted

wonders of the kind, had not another like it occurred--and then

another. The victims, it was noticed, were young and beautiful, and as

the last one was of noble family the sensation was universal. The whole

capital organized for rescue. While the hunt was at its height, a

fourth unfortunate went the way of the others. Sympathy and curiosity

had been succeeded by anxiety; now the public was aroused to anger, and

the parents of handsome girls were sore with fear. Schemes for

discovery multiplied; ingenuity was exhausted; the government took part

in the chase--all in vain. And there being then a remission in the

disappearance, the theory of suicide was generally accepted. Quiet and

confidence were returning, when, lo! the plague broke out afresh! Five

times in five weeks Sta. Sophia was given to funeral services. The ugly

women, and the halt, and those long hopeless of husbands shared the

common terror. The theory of suicide was discarded. It was the doing of

the Turks, everybody said. The Turks were systematically foraging

Constantinople to supply their harems with Christian beauty; or if the

Turks were innocent, the devil was the guilty party. On the latter

presumption, the Church authorities invented a prayer of special

application. Could anything better signify the despair of the

community? A year passed--two years--three--and though every one

resolved himself into a watchman and hunter; though heralds cried

rewards in the Emperor's name three times each day on the street

corners, and in every place of common resort; though the fame of the

havoc, rapine, spoliation, or whatsoever it may please thee to call the

visitation, was carried abroad until everybody here and there knew

every particular come to light concerning it, with the pursuit, and the

dragging and fishing in the sea, never a clew was found.

One--two--three years, during which at intervals, some long, some

short, the ancient Christian centre kept on sealing its doors, and

praying. Finally the disappearances were about to be accepted as

incidents liable to happen at any time to any young and pretty woman.

They were placed in the category with death. There was mourning by

friends--that was about all. How much longer the mystery would have

continued may not be said.... Now accidents may not have brought the

world about, yet the world could not get along without accidents. To

illustrate. A woman one day, wanting water for her household, let a

bucket down one of the wells of the cistern, and drew up a sandal

slippery and decaying. A sliver buckle adhered to it. Upon inspecting

the prize, a name was observed graven on its underside. The curious

came to see--there was discussion--at length an examiner blessed with a

good memory coupled the inscription with one of the lost women. It was

indeed her name! A clew to the great mystery was at last obtained. The

city was thrown into tumult, and an exploration of the cistern

demanded. The authorities at first laughed. 'What!' they said. 'The

Royal reservoir turned into a den of murder and crime unutterable by

Christians!' But they yielded. A boat was launched on the darkened

waters--But hold!"

The voice of the speaker changed. Something was occurring to stop the

story. Sergius had succumbed to interest in it; he was listening with

excited sense, yet kept his semblance of sleep.

"Hold!" the narrator repeated, in an emphatic undertone. "See what

there is in knowing to choose faithful allies! My watchman was right.

She comes--she is here!"

"Who is here?"

"She--the daughter of the old Indian. In the sedan to my left--look!"

Sergius, catching the reply, longed to take the direction to himself,

and look, for he was comprehending vaguely. A blindfolded man can

understand quite well, if he is first informed of the business in

progress, or if it be something with which he is familiar; imagination

seems then to take the place of eyes. A detective, having overheard the

conversation between the two men, had not required sight of them; but

the young monk was too recently from the cloisters of Bielo-Osero to be

quick in the discernment of villanies. He knew the world abounded in

crime, but he had never dealt with it personally; as yet it was a

destroying wolf howling in the distance. He yearned to see if what he

dimly surmised were true--if the object at the moment so attractive to

his dangerous neighbors were indeed the daughter of the strange Indian

he had met at the White Castle. His recollection of her was wonderfully

distinct. Her face and demeanor when he assisted her from the boat had

often reverted to his thought. They spoke to him so plainly of

simplicity and dependence, and she seemed so pure and beautiful! And

making the acknowledgment to himself, his heart took to beating quick

and drum-like. He heard the shuffle and slide of the chairmen going;

when they ceased a new and strange feeling came and possessed itself of

his spirit, and led it out after her. Still he managed to keep his head

upon his arm.

"By the saintly patron of thy father's Brotherhood, she is more than

lovely! I am almost persuaded."

"Ah, I am not so mad as I was!" the conspirator replied, laughing; then

he changed to seriousness, and added, like one speaking between

clinched teeth--"I am resolved to go on. I will have her--come what

may, I will have her! I am neither a coward nor a bungler. Thou mayst

stay behind, but I have gone too far to retreat. Let us follow, and see

her again--my pretty Princess!"

"Stay--a moment."

Perception was breaking in on Sergius. He scarcely breathed.

"Well?" was the answer.

"You were saying that a boat was launched in the cistern. Then what?"

"Of discovery? Oh, yes--the very point of my argument! A raft was found

moored between four of the great pillars in the cistern, and there was

a structure on it with furnished rooms. A small boat was used for going

and coming."

"Wonderful!"

"Come--or we will lose the sight of her."

"But what else?"

"Hooks, such as fishermen use in hunting lobsters were brought, and by

dragging and fishing the missing women were brought to light--that is,

their bones were brought to light. More I will tell as we go. I will

not stay longer."

Sergius heard them depart, and presently he raised his head. His blood

was cold with horror. He was having the awful revelation which sooner

or later bursts upon every man who pursues a walk far in life.

CHAPTER VI

A BYZANTINE GENTLEMAN OF THE PERIOD

Sergius kept his seat on the bench; but the charm of the glorious

prospect spread out before it was gone.

Two points were swimming in his consciousness, like motes in a mist:

first, there was a conspiracy afoot; next, the conspiracy was against

the daughter of the Prince of India.

When at the door of the old Lavra upon the snow-bound shore of the

White Lake, he bade Father Hilarion farewell and received his blessing,

and the commission of an Evangel, the idea furthest from him was to

signalize his arrival in Constantinople by dropping first thing into

love. And to be just, the idea was now as distant from him as ever; yet

he had a vision of the child-faced girl he met on the landing at the

White Castle in the hands of enemies, and to almost any other person

the shrinking it occasioned would have been strange, if not suspicious.

His most definite feeling was that something ought to be done in her

behalf.

Besides this the young monk had another incentive to action. In the

colloquy overheard by him the chief speaker described himself a son of

the Hegumen of the St. James'. The St. James'! His own Brotherhood! His

own Hegumen! Could a wicked son have been born to that excellent man?

Much easier to disbelieve the conspirator; still there were traditions

of the appearance of monsters permitted for reasons clear at least to

Providence. This might be an instance of the kind. Doubtless the

creature carried on its countenance or person evidences of a miracle of

evil. In any event there could be no harm in looking at him.

Sergius accordingly arose, and set out in pursuit of the conspirators.

Could he overtake the sedan, they were quite certain to be in the

vicinity, and he doubted not discovering them.

The steps of the sedan-carriers, peculiarly quick and sliding, seemed

in passing the bench to have been going northwardly toward Point

Demetrius. Thither he first betook himself.

In the distance, over the heads of persons going and coming, he shortly

beheld the top of a chair in motion, and he followed it rapidly,

fearing its occupant might quit the wall by the stairs near the stables

of the Bucoleon. But when it was borne past that descent he went more

leisurely, knowing it must meet him on the return.

Without making the Point, however, the chair was put about toward him.

Unable to discover any one so much as suggestive of the plotters, and

fearing a mistake, he peered into the front window of the painted box.

A woman past the noon of life gave him back in no amiable mood the

stare with which he saluted her.

There was but one explanation: he should have gone down the wall

southwardly. What was to be done? Give up the chase? No, that would be

to desert his little friend. And besides he had not put himself within

hearing of the design against her--it was a doing of Providence. He

started back on his trace.

The error but deepened his solicitude. What if the victim was then

being hurried away?

At the head of the stairway by the stables he paused; as it was

deserted, he continued on almost running--on past the cracked

bench--past the Cleft Gate. Now, in front, he beheld the towers of the

imperial residence bearing the name Julian, and he was upbraiding

himself for indecision, and loading his conscience with whatever grief

might happen the poor girl, when he beheld a sedan coming toward him.

It was very ornate, and in the distance shone with burnishments--it was

the chair--hers. By it, on the right hand, strode the gigantic negro

who had so astonished him at the White Castle. He drew a long breath,

and stopped. They would be bold who in daylight assailed that king of

men!

And he was taking note of the fellow's barbaric finery, the solemn

stateliness of his air, and the superb indifference he manifested to

the stare of passers-by, when a man approached the chair on the

opposite side. The curtain of the front window was raised, and through

it, Sergius observed the inmate draw hastily away from the stranger,

and drop a veil over her face.

Here was one of the parties for whom he was looking. Where was the

other? Then the man by the left window looked back over his shoulder as

if speaking, and out of the train of persons following the sedan, one

stepped briskly forward, joined the intruder, and walked with him long

enough to be spoken to, and reply briefly; after which he fell back and

disappeared. This answered the inquiry.

Assured now of one of the conspirators in sight, the monk resolved to

await the coming up. Through the front window of the carriage, which

was truly a marvel of polish and glitter, the girl might recognize him;

perhaps she would speak; or possibly the negro might recall him; in

either event he would have an excuse for intervention.

Meantime, calmly as he could--for he was young, and warm blooded, and

in all respects a good instrument to be carried away by righteous

indignation--he took careful note of the stranger, who kept his place

as if by warrant, occasionally addressing the shrinking maiden.

Sergius was now more curious than angry; and he cared less to know who

the conspirator was than how he looked. His surprise may be imagined

when, the subject of investigation having approached near enough to be

perfectly observed, instead of a monster marked, like Cain, he appeared

a graceful, though undersized person, with an agreeable countenance.

The most unfavorable criticism he provoked was the loudness--if the

word can be excused--of his dress.

A bright red cloak, hanging in ample folds from an exaggerated buckle

of purple enamel on his left shoulder, draped his left side; falling

open on the right, it was caught by another buckle just outside the

right knee. The arrangement loosed the right arm, but was a serious

hamper to walking, and made it inconvenient to get out the rapier, the

handle of which was protrusively suggested through the cloak. A tunic

of bright orange color, short in sleeve and skirt, covered his body.

Where undraped, tight-fitting hose terminating in red shoes, flashed

their elongated black and yellow stripes with stunning effect. A red

cap, pointed at top, and rolled up behind, but with a long visor-like

peak shading the eyes, and a white heron feather slanted in the band,

brought the head into negligent harmony with the rest of the costume.

The throat and left arm were bare, the latter from halfway above the

elbow.

This was the monk's first view of a Byzantine gentleman of the period

abroad in full dress to dazzle such of the gentler sex as he might

chance to meet.

If Sergius' anticipation had been fulfilled; if, in place of the

elegant, rakish-looking chevalier in florid garb, he had been

confronted by an individual awry in body or hideous in feature, he

would not have been confused, or stood repeating to himself, "My God,

can this be a son of the Hegumen?"

That one so holy could have offspring so vicious stupefied him. The

young man's sins would find him out--thus it was written--and then,

what humiliation, what shame, what misery for the poor father!

Speeding his sympathy thus in advance, Sergius waited until the

foremost of the sedan carriers gave him the customary cry of warning.

As he stepped aside, two things occurred. The occupant of the box

lifted her veil and held out a hand to him. He had barely time to

observe the gesture and the countenance more childlike because of the

distress it was showing, when the negro appeared on the left side of

the carriage. Staying a moment to swing the javelin with which he was

armed across the top of the buckler at his back, he leaped forward with

the cry of an animal, and caught the gallant, one hand at the shoulder,

the other at the knee. The cry and the seizure were parts of the same

act. Resistance had been useless had there been no surprise. The Greek

had the briefest instant to see the assailant--an instant to look up

into the face blacker of the transport of rage back of it, and to cry

for help. The mighty hands raised him bodily, and bore him swiftly

toward the sea-front of the wall.

There were spectators near by; amongst them some men; but they were

held fast by terror. No one moved but Sergius. Having seen the

provocation, he alone comprehended the punishment intended.

The few steps to the wall were taken almost on the run. There, in

keeping with his savage nature, the negro wished to see his victim

fall, but a puff of wind blew the red cloak over his eyes, and he

stopped to shake it aside. The Greek in the interval seeing the jagged

rocks below, and the waves rolling in and churning themselves into

foam, caught at his enemy's head, and the teeth of the gold-gilt iron

crown cut his palms, bringing the blood. He writhed, and into Nilo's

ears--pitiless if they had not been dead--poured screams for mercy.

Then Sergius reached out, and caught him.

Nilo made no resistance. When he could free his eyes from the cloak he

looked at the rescuer, who, unaware of his infirmity, was imploring him:

"As thou lovest God, and hopest mercy for thyself, do no murder!"

Now, if not so powerful as Nilo, Sergius was quite as tall; and while

they stood looking at each other, their faces a little apart, the

contrast between them was many sided. And one might have seen the

ferocity of the black visage change first with pleased wonder; then

brighten with recognition.

The Byzantine gained his feet quickly, and in his turn taken with a

murderous impulse, drew his sword. Nilo, however, was quickest; the

point of his javelin was magically promotive of Sergius' renewed

efforts to terminate the affair. A great many persons were now present.

To bring a multitude in hot assemblage, strife is generally more

potential than peace, assume what voice the latter may. These rallied

to Sergius' assistance; one brought the defeated youth his hat, fallen

in the struggle; others helped him rearrange his dress; and

congratulating him that he was alive, they took him in their midst, and

carried him away. To have drawn upon such a giant! What a brave spirit

the lad must possess!

It pleased Sergius to think he had saved the Byzantine. His next duty

was to go to the relief of the little Princess. A dull fancy would have

taught how trying the situation must have been to her; but with him the

case was of a quick understanding quickened by solicitude. Taking Nilo

with him, he made haste to the sedan.

If we pause here, venturing on the briefest break in the narrative, it

is for the reader's sake exclusively. He will be sure to see how fair

the conditions are for a romantic passage between Lael and Sergius, and

we fear lest he fly his imagination too high. It is true the period was

still roseate with knighterrantry; men wore armor, and did battle

behind shields; women were objects of devotion; conversation between

lovers was in the style of high-flown courtesy, chary on one side,

energized on the other by calls on the Saints to witness vows and

declarations which no Saint, however dubious his reputation, could have

listened to, much less excused; yet it were not well to overlook one or

two qualifications. The usages referred to were by no means prevalent

amongst Christians in the East; in Constantinople they had no footing

at all. The two Comneni, Isaac and Alexis, approached more nearly the

Western ideal of Chivalry than any of the Byzantine warriors; if not

the only genuine Knights of Byzantium, they were certainly the last of

them; yet even they stood aghast at the fantastic manners of the

Frankish armigerents who camped before their gates en route to the Holy

Land. As a consequence, the language of ordinary address and

intercourse amongst natives in the Orient was simple and less

discolored by what may be called pious profanity. Their discourse was

often dull and prolix, but never a composite of sacrilege and

exaggeration. Only in their writings were they pedantic. From this the

reader can anticipate somewhat of the meeting between Sergius and Lael.

It is to be borne in mind additionally that they were both young; she a

child in years; he a child in lack of worldly experience. Children

cannot be other than natural.

Approaching the sedan anxiously, he found the occupant pale and faint.

Nilo being close at his side, she saw them both in the same glance, and

reached her hand impulsively through the window. It was a question to

which the member was offered. Sergius hesitated. Then she brought her

face up unveiled.

"I know you, I know you," she said, to Sergius. "Oh, I am so glad you

are come! I was so scared--so scared--I will never go from home again.

You will stay with me--say you will--it will be so kind of you.... I

did not want Nilo to kill the man. I only wanted him driven off and

made let me alone. He has followed and persecuted me day after day,

often as I came out. I could not set foot in the street without his

appearing. My father would have me bring Nilo along. He did not kill

him, did he?"

The hand remained held out during the speech, as if asking to be taken.

Meanwhile the words flowed like a torrent. The eyes were full of

beseechment, and irresistibly lovely. If her speech was innocent, so

was her appearance; and just as innocently, he took the hand, and held

it while answering:

"He was not hurt. Friends have taken him away. Do not be afraid."

"You saved him. I saw you--my heart was standing still in my throat.

Oh, I am glad he is safe! I am no longer afraid. My father will be

grateful; and he is generous--he loves me nearly as much as I love him.

I will go home now. Is not that best for me?"

Sergius had grown the tall man he was without having been so

entreated--nay, without an adventure in the least akin to this. The

hand lay in his folded lightly. He remembered once a dove flew into his

cell. The window was so small it no doubt suggested to the poor

creature a door to a nesting place. He remembered how he thought it a

messenger from the Heaven which he never gave over thinking of and

longing for, and he wanted to keep it, for afterwhile he was sure it

would find a way to tell him wherewith it was charged. And he took the

gentle stray in his hand, and nursed it with exceeding tenderness.

There are times when it seems such a blessing that memories lie shallow

and easy to stir; and now he recalled how the winged nuncio felt like

the hand he was holding--it was almost as soft, and had the same

magnetism of life--ay, and the same scarce perceptible tremble. To be

sure it was merely for the bird's sake he kept hold of the hand, while

he answered:

"Yes, I think it best, and I will go with you to your father's door."

To the carriers he said: "You will quit the wall at the grand stairs.

The Princess wishes to be taken home."

The sensation of manliness incident to caring for the weak was

refreshingly delightful. While the chair was passing he took place at

the window. The fingers of the little hand still rested on the silken

lining, like pinkish pearls. He beheld them longingly, but a restraint

fell upon him. The pinkish pearls became sacred. He would have had them

covered from the dust which the whisking breezes now blew up. The

breezes were insolent. The sun, sinking in gold over the Marmora, ought

to temper the rays it let fall on them. Long as the orb had shone, how

curious that it never acquired art enough to know the things which too

much of its splendor might spoil. Then too he desired to speak with

Lael--to ask if she was any longer afraid--he could not. Where had his

courage gone? When he caught the young Greek from Nilo, the shortest

while ago, he was wholly unconscious of timidity. The change was

wonderful. Nor was the awkwardness beginning to hamper his hands and

feet less incomprehensible. And why the embarrassment when people

paused to observe him?

Thus the party pursued on until the descent from the wall; he on the

right side of the chair, and Nilo on the left. Down in the garden where

they were following a walk across the terrace toward Sta. Sophia, Lael

put her face to the window, and spoke to him. His eagerness lest a word

were lost was remarkable. He did not mind the stooping--and from his

height that was a great deal--nor care much if it subjected him to

remark.

"Have you seen the Princess lately--she who lives at Therapia?" Lael

asked.

"Oh, yes," he answered. "She is my little mother. I go up there often.

She advises me in everything."

"It must be sweet to have such a mother," Lael said, with a smile.

"It is sweet," he returned.

"And how lovely she is, and brave and assuring," Lael added. "Why, I

forgot when with her to be afraid. I forgot we were in the hands of

those dreadful Turks. I kept thinking of her, and not of myself."

Sergius waited for what more she had to say.

"This afternoon a messenger came from her to my father, asking him to

let me visit her."

The heart of the monk gave a jump of pleasure.

"And you will go?"