But where was Philammon all that week?
For the first day or two of his imprisonment he had raved like some wild
beast entrapped. His new-found purpose and energy, thus suddenly dammed
back and checked, boiled up in frantic rage. He tore at the bars of his
prison; he rolled himself, shrieking, on the floor. He called in vain on
Hypatia, on Pelagia, on Arsenius--on all but God. Pray he could not, and
dare not; for to whom was he to pray? To the stars?--to the Abysses and
the Eternities?....
Alas! as Augustine said once, bitterly enough, of his own Manichaean
teachers, Hypatia had taken away the living God, and given him instead
the four Elements.... And in utter bewilderment and hopeless terror
he implored the pity of every guard and gaoler who passed along the
corridor, and conjured them, as brothers, fathers, men, to help him.
Moved at once by his agony and by his exceeding beauty, the rough
Thracians, who knew enough of their employer’s character to have little
difficulty in believing his victim to be innocent, listened to him and
questioned him. But when they offered the very help which he implored,
and asked him to tell his story, the poor boy’s tongue clove to the roof
of his mouth. How could he publish his sisters shame? And yet she was
about to publish it herself!.... And instead of words, he met their
condolences with fresh agonies, till they gave him up as mad; and, tired
by his violence, compelled him, with blows and curses, to remain quiet;
and so the week wore out, in dull and stupefied despair, which trembled
on the very edge of idiocy. Night and day were alike to him. The food
which was thrust in through his grate remained untasted; hour after
hour, day after day, he sat upon the ground, his head buried in his
hands, half-dozing from mere exhaustion of body and mind. Why should
he care to stir, to eat, to live? He had but one purpose in heaven and
earth: and that one purpose was impossible.
At last his cell-door grated on its hinges.
‘Up, my mad youth!’ cried a rough voice. ‘Up, and thank the favour of
the gods, and the bounty of our noble--ahem!--Prefect. To-day he gives
freedom to all prisoners. And I suppose a pretty boy like you may go
about your business, as well as uglier rascals!’
Philammon looked up in the gaoler’s face with a dim half-comprehension
of his meaning.
‘Do you hear?’ cried the man with a curse. ‘You are free. Jump up, or I
shut the door again, and your one chance is over.’
‘Did she dance Venus Anadyomene?’
‘She! Who?’
‘My sister! Pelagia!’
‘Heaven only knows what she has not danced in her time! But they say she
dances to-day once more. Quick! out, or I shall not be ready in time for
the sports. They begin an hour hence. Free admission into the theatre
to-day for all--rogues and honest men, Christians and heathens--Curse
the boy! he’s as mad as ever.’
So indeed Philammon seemed; for, springing suddenly to his feet, he
rushed out past the gaoler, upsetting him into the corridor, and fled
wildly from the prison among the crowd of liberated ruffians, ran from
the prison home, from home to the baths, from the baths to the theatre,
and was soon pushing his way, regardless of etiquette, towards the lower
tiers of benches, in order, he hardly knew why, to place himself as near
as possible to the very sight which he dreaded and abhorred.
As fate would have it, the passage by which he had entered opened close
to the Prefect’s chair of state, where sat Orestes, gorgeous in his
robes of office, and by him--to Philammon’s surprise and horror--Hypatia
herself.
More beautiful than ever, her forehead sparkling, like Juno’s own, with
a lofty tiara of jewels, her white Ionic robe half hidden by a crimson
shawl, there sat the vestal, the philosopher. What did she there? But
the boy’s eager eyes, accustomed but too well to note every light and
shade of feeling which crossed that face, saw in a moment how wan
and haggard was its expression. She wore a look of constraint, of
half-terrified self-resolve, as of a martyr: and yet not an undoubting
martyr; for as Orestes turned his head at the stir of Philammon’s
intrusion, and flashing with anger at the sight, motioned him fiercely
back, Hypatia turned too, and as her eyes met her pupil’s she blushed
crimson, and started, and seemed in act to motion him back also; and
then, recollecting herself, whispered something to Orestes which quieted
his wrath, and composed herself, or rather sank into her place again, as
one who was determined to abide the worst.
A knot of gay young gentlemen, Philammon’s fellow-students, pulled him
down among them, with welcome and laughter; and before he could collect
his thoughts, the curtain in front of the stage had fallen, and the
sport began.
The scene represented a background of desert mountains, and on the stage
itself, before a group of temporary huts, stood huddling together the
black Libyan prisoners, some fifty men, women, and children, bedizened
with gaudy feathers and girdles of tasselled leather, brandishing their
spears and targets, and glaring out with white eyes on the strange scene
before them, in childish awe and wonder.
Along the front of the stage a wattled battlement had been erected,
while below, the hyposcenium had been painted to represent rocks, thus
completing the rough imitation of a village among the Libyan hills.
Amid breathless silence, a herald advanced, and proclaimed that these
were prisoners taken in arms against the Roman senate and people,
and therefore worthy of immediate death: but that the Prefect, in his
exceeding clemency toward them, and especial anxiety to afford the
greatest possible amusement to the obedient and loyal citizens of
Alexandria, had determined, instead of giving them at once to the
beasts, to allow them to fight for their lives, promising to the
survivors a free pardon if they acquitted themselves valiantly.
The poor wretches on the stage, when this proclamation was translated
to them, set up a barbaric yell of joy, and brandished their spears and
targets more fiercely than ever.
But their joy was short. The trumpets sounded the attack: a body of
gladiators, equal in number to the savages, marched out from one of
the two great side passages, made their obeisance to the applauding
spectators, and planting their scaling-ladders against the front of the
stage, mounted to the attack.
The Libyans fought like tigers; yet from the first, Hypatia, and
Philammon also, could see that their promised chance of life was a mere
mockery. Their light darts and naked limbs were no match for the heavy
swords and complete armour of their brutal assailants, who endured
carelessly a storm of blows and thrusts on heads and faces protected by
visored helmets: yet so fierce was the valour of the Libyans, that even
they recoiled twice, and twice the scaling-ladders were hurled
down again, while more than one gladiator lay below, rolling in the
death-agony.
And then burst forth the sleeping devil in the hearts of that great
brutalised multitude. Yell upon yell of savage triumph, and still more
savage disappointment, rang from every tier of that vast ring of seats,
at each blow and parry, onslaught and repulse; and Philammon saw with
horror and surprise that luxury, refinement, philosophic culture itself,
were no safeguards against the infection of bloodthirstiness. Gay and
delicate ladies, whom he had seen three days before simpering delight
at Hypatia’s heavenward aspirations, and some, too, whom he seemed to
recollect in Christian churches, sprang from their seats, waved their
hands and handkerchiefs, and clapped and shouted to the gladiators. For,
alas! there was no doubt as to which side the favour of the spectators
inclined. With taunts, jeers, applause, entreaties, the hired ruffians
were urged on to their work of blood. The poor wretches heard no voice
raised in their favour: nothing but contempt, hatred, eager lust
of blood, glared from those thousands of pitiless eyes; and,
broken-hearted, despairing, they flagged and drew back one by one.
A shout of triumph greeted the gladiators as they climbed over the
battlement, and gained a footing on the stage. The wretched blacks
broke up, and fled wildly from corner to corner, looking vainly for an
outlet....
And then began a butchery.... Some fifty men, women, and children were
cooped together in that narrow space.... And yet Hypatia’s countenance
did not falter. Why should it? What were their numbers, beside the
thousands who had perished year by year for centuries, by that and far
worse deaths, in the amphitheatres of that empire, for that faith which
she was vowed to re-establish. It was part of the great system; and she
must endure it.
Not that she did not feel; for she, too, was woman; and her heart,
raised far above the brutal excitement of the multitude, lay calmly open
to the most poignant stings of pity. Again and again she was in the
act to entreat mercy for some shrieking woman or struggling child;
but before her lips could shape the words, the blow had fallen, or the
wretch was whirled away from her sight in the dense undistinguishable
mass of slayers and slain. Yes, she had begun, and she must follow
to the end.... And, after all, what were the lives of those few
semi-brutes, returning thus a few years earlier to the clay from which
they sprang, compared with the regeneration of a world?.... And it would
be over in a few minutes more, and that black writhing heap be still for
ever, and the curtain fall .... And then for Venus Anadyomene, and art,
and joy, and peace, and the graceful wisdom and beauty of the old Greek
art, calming and civilising all hearts, and softening them into pure
devotion for the immortal myths, the immortal deities, who had inspired
their forefathers in the glorious days of old.... But still the black
heap writhed; and she looked away, up, down, and round, everywhere, to
avoid the sickening sight; and her eye caught Philammon’s gazing at her
with looks of horror and disgust.... A thrill of shame rushed through
her heart, and blushing scarlet, she sank her head, and whispered to
Orestes--
‘Have mercy!--spare the rest!’
‘Nay, fairest vestal! The mob has tasted blood, and they must have
their fill of it, or they will turn onus for aught I know. Nothing so
dangerous as to check a brute, whether he be horse, dog, or man, when
once his spirit is up. Ha! there is a fugitive! How well the little
rascal runs!’
As he spoke, a boy, the only survivor, leaped from the stage, and rushed
across the orchestra toward them, followed by a rough cur-dog.
‘You shall have this youth, if he reaches us.’
Hypatia watched breathless. The boy had just arrived at the altar in
the centre of the orchestra, when he saw a gladiator close upon him.
The ruffian’s arm was raised to strike, when, to the astonishment of the
whole theatre, boy and dog turned valiantly to bay, and leaping on
the gladiator, dragged him between them to the ground. The triumph was
momentary. The uplifted hands, the shout of ‘Spare him!’ came too late.
The man, as he lay, buried his sword in the slender body of the child,
and then rising, walked coolly back to the side passages, while the poor
cur stood over the little corpse, licking its hands and face, and making
the whole building ring with his doleful cries. The attendants entered,
and striking their hooks into corpse after corpse, dragged them out of
sight, marking their path by long red furrows in the sand; while the
dog followed, until his inauspicious howlings died away down distant
passages.
Philammon felt sick and giddy, and half rose to escape. But Pelagia!....
No--he must sit it out, and see the worst, if worse than this was
possible. He looked round. The people were coolly sipping wine and
eating cakes, while they chatted admirably about the beauty of the great
curtain, which had fallen and hidden the stage, and represented, on
a ground of deep-blue sea, Europa carried by the bull across the
Bosphorus, while Nereids and Tritons played around.
A single flute within the curtain began to send forth luscious strains,
deadened and distant, as if through far-off glens and woodlands; and
from the side passages issued three Graces, led by Peitho, the goddess
of persuasion, bearing a herald’s staff in her hand. She advanced to the
altar in the centre of the orchestra, and informed the spectators
that, during the absence of Ares in aid of a certain great military
expedition, which was shortly to decide the diadem of Rome, and the
liberty, prosperity, and supremacy of Egypt and Alexandria, Aphrodite
had returned to her lawful allegiance, and submitted for the time being
to the commands of her husband, Hephaestus; that he, as the deity of
artificers, felt a peculiar interest in the welfare of the city of
Alexandria, the workshop of the world, and had, as a sign of his
especial favour, prevailed upon his fair spouse to exhibit, for this
once, her beauties to the assembled populace, and, in the unspoken
poetry of motion, to represent to them the emotions with which, as she
arose new-born from the sea, she first surveyed that fair expanse of
heaven and earth of which she now reigned undisputed queen.
A shout of rapturous applause greeted this announcement, and forthwith
limped from the opposite slip the lame deity himself, hammer and pincers
on shoulder, followed by a train of gigantic Cyclops, who bore on their
shoulders various pieces of gilded metal work.
Hephaestus, who was intended to supply the comic element in the vast
pantomimic pageant, shambled forward with studied uncouthness, amid
roars of laughter; surveyed the altar with ludicrous contempt; raised
his mighty hammer, shivered it to pieces with a single blow, and
beckoned to his attendants to carry off the fragments, and replace it
with something more fitting for his august spouse.
With wonderful quickness the metal open-work was put in its place, and
fitted together, forming a frame of coral branches intermingled with
dolphins, Nereids, and Tritons. Four gigantic Cyclops then approached,
staggering under the weight of a circular slab of green marble, polished
to a perfect mirror, which they placed on the framework. The Graces
wreathed its circumference with garlands of sea-weed, shells, and
corallines, and the mimic sea was complete.
Peitho and the Graces retired a few steps, and grouped themselves with
the Cyclops, whose grimed and brawny limbs, and hideous one-eyed
masks, threw out in striking contrast the delicate hue and grace of the
beautiful maiden figures; while Hephaestus turned toward the curtain,
and seemed to await impatiently the forthcoming of the goddess.
Every lip was breathless with expectation as the flutes swelled louder
and nearer; horns and cymbals took up the harmony; and, to a triumphant
burst of music, the curtain rose, and a simultaneous shout of delight
burst from ten thousand voices.
The scene behind represented a magnificent temple, half hidden in an
artificial wood of tropic trees and shrubs, which filled the stage.
Fauns and Dryads peeped laughing from among their stems, and gorgeous
birds, tethered by unseen threads, fluttered and sang among their
branches. In the centre an overarching avenue of palms led from the
temple doors to the front of the stage, from which the mimic battlements
had disappeared, and had been replaced, in those few moments, by a broad
slope of smooth greensward, leading down into the orchestra, and fringed
with myrtles, roses, apple-trees, poppies, and crimson hyacinths,
stained with the life-blood of Adonis.
The folding doors of the temple opened slowly, the crash of instruments
resounded from within; and, preceded by the musicians, came forth the
triumph of Aphrodite, and passed down the slope, and down the outer ring
of the orchestra.
A splendid car, drawn by white oxen, bore the rarest and gaudiest of
foreign flowers and fruits, which young girls, dressed as Hours and
Seasons, strewed in front of the procession and among the spectators.
A long line of beautiful youths and maidens, crowned with garlands,
and robed in scarfs of purple gauze, followed by two and two. Each pair
carried or led a pair of wild animals, captives of the conquering might
of Beauty.
Foremost were borne, on the wrists of the actors, the birds especially
sacred to the goddess--doves and sparrows, wrynecks and swallows; and a
pair of gigantic Indian tortoises, each ridden by a lovely nymph, showed
that Orestes had not forgotten one wish, at least, of his intended
bride.
Then followed strange birds from India, parakeets, peacocks, pheasants
silver and golden; bustards and ostriches: the latter, bestridden each
by a tiny cupid, were led on in golden leashes, followed by antelopes
and oryxes, elks from beyond the Danube, four-horned rams from the Isles
of the Hyperborean Ocean, and the strange hybrid of the Libyan hills,
believed by all spectators to be half-bull half-horse. And then a murmur
of delighted awe ran through the theatre, as bears and leopards, lions
and tigers, fettered in heavy chains of gold, and made gentle for the
occasion by narcotics, paced sedately down the slope, obedient to
their beautiful guides; while behind them, the unwieldy bulk of two
double-horned rhinoceroses, from the far south, was overtopped by the
long slender necks and large soft eyes of a pair of giraffes, such as
had not been seen in Alexandria for more than fifty years.
A cry arose of ‘Orestes! Orestes! Health to the illustrious Prefect!
Thanks for his bounty!’ And a hired voice or two among the crowd
cried, ‘Hail to Orestes! Hail, Emperor of Africa!’.... But there was no
response.
‘The rose is still in the bud,’ simpered Orestes to Hypatia. He rose,
beckoned and bowed the crowd into silence; and then, after a short
pantomimic exhibition of rapturous gratitude and humility, pointed
triumphantly to the palm avenue, among the shadows of which appeared
the wonder of the day--the huge tusks and trunk of the white elephant
himself.
There it was at last! Not a doubt of it! A real elephant, and yet as
white as snow. Sight never seen before in Alexandria--never to be seen
again! ‘Oh, thrice blest men of Macedonia!’ shouted some worthy on
high, ‘the gods are bountiful to you this day!’ And all mouths and eyes
confirmed the opinion, as they opened wider and yet wider to drink in
the inexhaustible joy and glory.
On he paced solemnly, while the whole theatre resounded to his heavy
tread, and the Fauns and Dryads fled in terror. A choir of nymphs swung
round him hand in hand, and sang, as they danced along, the conquering
might of Beauty, the tamer of beasts and men and deities. Skirmishing
parties of little winged cupids spread themselves over the orchestra,
from left to right, and pelted the spectators with perfumed comfits,
shot among them from their tiny bows arrows of fragrant sandal-wood, or
swung smoking censers, which loaded the air with intoxicating odours.
The procession came on down the slope, and the elephant approached the
spectators; his tusks were wreathed with roses and myrtles; his ears
were pierced with splendid earrings, a jewelled frontlet hung between
his eyes; Eros himself, a lovely winged boy, sat on his neck, and guided
him with the point of a golden arrow. But what precious thing was
it which that shell-formed car upon his back contained? The goddess!
Pelagia Aphrodite herself?
Yes; whiter than the snow-white elephant--more rosy than the pink-tipped
shell in which she lay, among crimson cushions and silver gauze, there
shone the goddess, thrilling all hearts with those delicious smiles, and
glances of the bashful playful eyes, and grateful wavings of her tiny
hand, as the whole theatre rose with one accord, and ten thousand eyes
were concentrated on the unequalled loveliness beneath them.
Twice the procession passed round the whole circumference of the
orchestra, and then returning from the foot of the slope towards the
central group around Hephaestus, deployed right and left in front of the
stage. The lions and tigers were led away into the side passages; the
youths and maidens combined themselves with the gentler animals into
groups lessening gradually from the centre to the wings, and stood
expectant, while the elephant came forward, and knelt behind the
platform destined for the goddess.
The valves of the shell closed. The Graces unloosed the fastenings of
the car. The elephant turned his trunk over his back, and, guided by
the hands of the girls, grasped the shell, and lifting it high in air,
deposited it on the steps at the back of the platform.
Hephaestus limped forward, and, with his most uncouth gestures,
signified the delight which he had in bestowing such a sight upon his
faithful artisans of Alexandria, and the unspeakable enjoyment which
they were to expect from the mystic dance of the goddess; and then
retired, leaving the Graces to advance in front of the platform,
and with their arms twined round each other, begin Hypatia’s song of
invocation.
As the first strophe died away, the valves of the shell reopened, and
discovered Aphrodite crouching on one knee within. She raised her head,
and gazed around the vast circle of seats. A mild surprise was on her
countenance, which quickened into delightful wonder, and bashfulness
struggling with the sense of new enjoyment and new powers. She glanced
downward at herself; and smiled, astonished at her own loveliness; then
upward at the sky; and seemed ready, with an awful joy, to spring up
into the boundless void. Her whole figure dilated; she seemed to drink
in strength from every object which met her in the great universe
around; and slowly, from among the shells and seaweeds, she rose to
her full height, the mystic cestus glittering round her waist, in deep
festoons of emeralds and pearls, and stepped forward upon the marble
sea-floor, wringing the dripping perfume from her locks, as Aphrodite
rose of old.
For the first minute the crowd was too breathless with pleasure to think
of applause. But the goddess seemed to require due homage; and when she
folded her arms across her bosom, and stood motionless for an instant,
as if to demand the worship of the universe, every tongue was loosed,
and a thunder-clap of ‘Aphrodite!’ rang out across the roofs of
Alexandria, and startled Cyril in his chamber at the Serapeium, and
weary muleteers on distant sand-hills, and dozing mariners far out at
sea.
And then began a miracle of art, such as was only possible among a
people of the free and exquisite physical training, and the delicate
aesthetic perception of those old Greeks, even in their most fallen
days. A dance, in which every motion was a word, and rest as eloquent as
motion; in which every attitude was a fresh motive for a sculptor of the
purest school, and the highest physical activity was manifested, not
as in the coarser comic pantomimes, in fantastic bounds and unnatural
distortions, but in perpetual delicate modulations of a stately and
self-restraining grace. The artist was for the moment transformed into
the goddess. The theatre, and Alexandria, and the gorgeous pageant
beyond, had vanished from her imagination, and therefore from the
imagination of the spectators, under the constraining inspiration of
her art, and they and she alike saw nothing but the lonely sea around
Cytherea, and the goddess hovering above its emerald mirror, saying
forth on sea, and air, and shore, beauty, and joy, and love....
Philammon’s eyes were bursting from his head with shame and horror: and
yet he could not hate her; not even despise her. He would have done so,
had there been the faintest trace of human feeling in her countenance to
prove that some germ of moral sense lingered within: but even the faint
blush and the downcast eye with which she had entered the theatre were
gone; and the only expression on her face was that of intense enjoyment
of her own activity and skill, and satisfied vanity, as of a petted
child.... Was she accountable? A reasonable soul, capable of right or
wrong at all? He hoped not .... He would trust not.... And still Pelagia
danced on; and for a whole age of agony, he could see nothing in heaven
or earth but the bewildering maze of those white feet, as they twinkled
over their white image in the marble mirror.... At last it was
over. Every limb suddenly collapsed, and she stood drooping in soft
self-satisfied fatigue, awaiting the burst of applause which rang
through Philammon’s ears, proclaiming to heaven and earth, as with a
mighty trumpet-blast, his sister’s shame.
The elephant rose, and moved forward to the side of the slabs. His back
was covered with crimson cushions, on which it seemed Aphrodite was
to return without her shell. She folded her arms across her bosom, and
stood smiling, as the elephant gently wreathed his trunk around her
waist, and lifted her slowly from the slab, in act to place her on his
back....
The little feet, clinging half fearfully together, had Just risen from
the marble-The elephant started, dropped his delicate burden heavily on
the slab, looked down, raised his forefoot, and throwing his trunk into
the air, gave a shrill scream of terror and disgust....
The foot was red with blood--the young boy’s blood--which was soaking
and bubbling up through the fresh sand where the elephant had trodden,
in a round, dark, purple spot....
Philammon could bear no more. Another moment and he had hurled down
through the dense mass of spectators, clearing rank after rank of
seats by the sheer strength of madness, leaped the balustrade into
the orchestra below, and rushed across the space to the foot of the
platform.
‘Pelagia! Sister! My sister! Have mercy on me! on yourself! I will hide
you! save you! and we will flee together out of this infernal place!
this world of devils! I am your brother! Come!’
She looked at him one moment with wide, wild eyes--The truth flashed on
her--
‘Brother!’
And she sprang from the platform into his arms.... A vision of a lofty
window in Athens, looking out over far olive-yards and gardens, and the
bright roofs and basins of the Piraeus, and the broad blue sea, with the
purple peaks of Aegina beyond all.... And a dark-eyed boy, with his
arm around her neck, pointed laughing to the twinkling masts in the far
harbour, and called her sister.... The dead soul woke within her; and
with a wild cry she recoiled from him in an agony of shame, and covering
her face with both her hands, sank down among the blood-stained sand.
A yell, as of all hell broke loose, rang along that vast circle--
‘Down with him!’ ‘Away with him!’ ‘Crucify the slave!’ ‘Give the
barbarian to the beasts!’ ‘To the beasts with him, noble Prefect!’ A
crowd of attendants rushed upon him, and many of the spectators sprang
from their seats, and were on the point of leaping down into the
orchestra.
Philammon turned upon them like a lion at bay; and clear and loud his
voice rose through the roar of the multitude.
‘Ay! murder me as the Romans murdered Saint Telemachus! Slaves as
besotted and accursed as your besotted and accursed tyrants! Lower than
the beasts whom you employ as your butchers! Murder and lust go fitly
hand in hand, and the throne of my sister’s shame is well built on the
blood of innocents! Let my death end the devil’s sacrifice, and fill up
the cup of your iniquity!’
‘To the beasts!’ ‘Make the elephant trample him to powder!’
And the huge brute, goaded on by the attendants, rushed on the youth,
while Eros leaped from his neck, and fled weeping up the slope.
He caught Philammon in his trunk and raised him high in air. For an
instant the great bellowing ocean of heads spun round and round. He
tried to breathe one prayer, and shut his eyes--Pelagia’s voice rang
sweet and clear, even in the shrillness of intense agony--
‘Spare him! He is my brother! Forgive him, men of Macedonia! For
Pelagia’s sake-- Your Pelagia! One boon--only this one!’
And she stretched her arms imploringly toward the spectators, and then
clasping the huge knees of the elephant, called madly to it in terms of
passionate entreaty and endearment.
The men wavered. The brute did not. Quietly he lowered his trunk, and
set down Philammon on his feet. The monk was saved. Breathless and
dizzy, he found himself hurried away by the attendants, dragged through
dark passages, and hurled out into the street, with curses, warnings,
and congratulations, which fell on an unheeding ear.
But Pelagia kept her face still hidden in her hands, and rising, walked
slowly back, crushed by the weight of some tremendous awe, across the
orchestra, and up the slope; and vanished among the palms and oleanders,
regardless of the applause and entreaties, and jeers, and threats, and
curses, of that great multitude of sinful slaves.
For a moment all Orestes’s spells seemed broken by this unexpected
catastrophe. A cloud, whether of disgust or of disappointment, hung upon
every brow. More than one Christian rose hastily to depart, touched with
real remorse and shame at the horrors of which they had been the willing
witnesses. The common people behind, having glutted their curiosity with
all that there was to see, began openly to murmur at the cruelty and
heathenry of it. Hypatia, utterly unnerved, hid her face in both her
hands. Orestes alone rose with the crisis. Now, or never, was the time
for action; and stepping forward, with his most graceful obeisance,
waved his hand for silence, and began his well-studied oration.
‘Let me not, O men of Macedonia, suppose that you can be disturbed from
that equanimity which befits politicians, by so light an accident as
the caprice of a dancer. The spectacle which I have had the honour and
delight of exhibiting to you--(Roars and applause from the liberated
prisoners and the young gentlemen)--and on which it seemed to me you
have deigned to look with not altogether unkindly eyes--(Fresh applause,
in which the Christian mob, relenting, began to join)--is but a pleasant
prelude to that more serious business for which I have drawn you here
together. Other testimonials of my good intentions have not been wanting
in the release of suffering innocence, and in the largess of food, the
growth and natural property of Egypt, destined by your late tyrants to
pamper the luxury of a distant court.... Why should I boast?--yet even
now this head is weary, these limbs fail me, worn out in ceaseless
efforts for your welfare, and in the perpetual administration of the
strictest justice. For a time has come in which the Macedonian race,
whose boast is the gorgeous city of Alexander, must rise again to the
political pre-eminence which they held of old, and becoming once more
the masters of one-third of the universe, be treated by their rulers
as freemen, citizens, heroes, who have a right to choose and to employ
their rulers--Rulers, did I say? Let us forget the word, and substitute
in its place the more philosophic term of ministers. To be your
minister--the servant of you all--To sacrifice myself, my leisure,
health, life, if need be, to the one great object of securing the
independence of Alexandria--This is my work, my hope, my glory--longed
for through weary years: now for the first time possible by the fall
of the late puppet Emperor of Rome. Men of Macedonia, remember that
Honorius reigns no more! An African sits on the throne of the Caesars!
Heraclian, by one decisive victory, has gained, by the favour of--of
Heaven, the imperial purple; and a new era opens for the world. Let the
conqueror of Rome balance his account with that Byzantine court, so long
the incubus of our Trans-Mediterranean wealth and civilisation; and let
a free, independent, and united Africa rally round the palaces and
docks of Alexandria, and find there its natural centre of polity and of
prosperity.’
A roar of hired applause interrupted him and not a few, half for the
sake of his compliments and fine words, half from a natural wish to be
on the right side--namely, the one which happened to be in the ascendant
for the time being--joined.... The city authorities were on the point
of crying, ‘Imperator Orestes,’ but thought better of it; and waited for
some one else to cry first--being respectable. Whereon the Prefect
of the Guards, being a man of some presence of mind, and also not in
anywise respectable, pricked up the Prefect of the docks with the point
of his dagger, and bade him, with a fearful threat, take care how he
played traitor. The worthy burgher roared incontinently--whether with
pain or patriotism; and the whole array of respectabilities--having
found a Curtius who would leap into the gulf, joined in unanimous
chorus, and saluted Orestes as Emperor; while Hypatia, amid the shouts
of her aristocratic scholars, rose and knelt before him, writhing
inwardly with shame and despair, and entreated him to accept that
tutelage of Greek commerce, supremacy, and philosophy which was forced
on him by the unanimous voice of an adoring people....
‘It is false!’ shouted a voice from the highest tiers, appropriated
to the women of the lower classes, which made all turn their heads in
bewilderment.
‘False! false! you are tricked! He is tricked! Heraclian was utterly
routed at Ostia, and is fled to Carthage, with the emperor’s fleet in
chase.’
‘She lies! Drag the beast down!’ cried Orestes, utterly thrown off his
balance by the sudden check.
‘She? He! I, a monk, brought the news! Cyril has known it--every Jew in
the Delta has known it, for a week past! So perish all the enemies of
the Lord, caught in their own snare!’
And bursting desperately through the women who surrounded him, the monk
vanished.
An awful silence fell on all who heard. For a minute every man looked in
his neighbour’s face as if he longed to cut his throat, and get rid of
one witness, at least, of his treason. And then arose a tumult, which
Orestes in vain attempted to subdue. Whether the populace believed the
monk’s words or not, they were panic-stricken at the mere possibility
of their truth. Hoarse with denying, protesting, appealing, the would-be
emperor had at last to summon his guards around him and Hypatia, and
make his way out of the theatre as best he could; while the multitude
melted away like snow before the rain, and poured out into the streets
in eddying and roaring streams, to find every church placarded by Cyril
with the particulars of Heraclian’s ruin.