THE PRINCESS HEARS FROM THE WORLD
The sun shone clear and hot, and the guests in the garden were glad to
rest in the shaded places of promenade along the brooksides and under
the beeches and soaring pines of the avenues. Far up the extended
hollow there was a basin first to receive the water from the conduit
supposed to tap the aqueduct leading down from the forest of Belgrade.
The noise of the little cataract there was strong enough to draw a
quota of visitors. From the front gate to the basin, from the basin to
the summit of the promontory, the company in lingering groups amused
each other detailing what of fortune good and bad the year had brought
them. The main features of such meetings are always alike. There were
games by the children, lovers in retired places, and old people plying
each other with reminiscences. The faculty of enjoyment changes but
never expires.
An array of men chosen for the purpose sallied from the basement of the
palace carrying baskets of bread, fruits in season, and wine of the
country in water-skins. Dispersing themselves through the garden, they
waited on the guests, and made distribution without stint or
discrimination. The heartiness of their welcome may be imagined; while
the thoughtful reader will see in the liberality thus characterizing
her hospitality one of the secrets of the Princess's popularity with
the poor along the Bosphorus. Nor that merely. A little reflection will
lead up to an explanation of her preference for the Homeric residence
by Therapia. The commonalty, especially the unfortunate amongst them,
were a kind of constituency of hers, and she loved living where she
could most readily communicate with them.
This was the hour she chose to go out and personally visit her guests.
Descending from the portico, she led her household attendants into the
garden. She alone appeared unveiled. The happiness of the many amongst
whom she immediately stepped touched every spring of enjoyment in her
being; her eyes were bright, her cheeks rosy, her spirit high; in a
word, the beauty so peculiarly hers, and which no one could look on
without consciousness of its influence, shone with singular enhancement.
News that she was in the garden spread rapidly, and where she went
everyone arose and remained standing. Now and then, while making
acknowledgments to groups along the way, she recognized acquaintances,
and for such, whether men or women, she had a smile, sometimes a word.
Upon her passing, they pursued with benisons, "God bless you!" "May the
Holy Mother keep her!" Not unfrequently children ran flinging flowers
at her feet, and mothers knelt and begged her blessing. They had lively
recollection of a sickness or other overtaking by sorrow, and of her
boat drawing to the landing laden with delicacies, and bringing what
was quite as welcome, the charm of her presence, with words inspiring
hope and trust. The vast, vociferous, premeditated Roman ovation,
sonorously the Triumph, never brought a Consular hero the satisfaction
this Christian woman now derived.
She was aware of the admiration which went with her, and the sensation
was of walking through a purer and brighter sunshine. Nor did she
affect to put aside the triumph there certainly was in the
demonstration; but she accounted it the due of charity--a triumph of
good work done for the pleasure there was in the doing.
At the basin mentioned as the landward terminus of the garden the
progress in that direction stopped. Thence, after gracious attentions
to the women and children there, the Princess set out for the summit of
the promontory. The road taken was broad and smooth, and on the left
hand lined from bottom to top with pine trees, some of which are yet
standing.
The summit had been a place of interest time out of mind. From its
woody cover, the first inhabitants beheld the Argonauts anchor off the
town of Amycus, king of the Bebryces; there the vengeful Medea
practised her incantations; and descending to acknowledged history, it
were long telling the notable events of the ages landmarked by the
hoary height. When the builder of the palace below threw his scheme of
improvement over the brow of the hill, he constructed water basins on
different levels, surrounding them with raised walls artistically
sculptured; between the basins he pitched marble pavilions, looking in
the distance like airy domes on a Cyclopean temple; then he drew the
work together by a tesselated pavement identical with the floor of the
house of Caesar hard by the Forum in Rome.
Giving little heed to the other guests in occupancy of the summit, the
attendants of the Princess broke into parties sight seeing; while she
called Sergius to her, and conducted him to a point commanding the
Bosphorus for leagues. A favorite lookout, in fact, the spot had been
provided with a pavement and a capacious chair cut from a block of the
coarse brown limestone native to the locality. There she took seat, and
the ascent, though all in shade, having been wearisome, she was glad of
the blowing of the fresh upper air.
From a place in the rear Sergius had witnessed the progress to the
present halt. Every incident and demonstration had been in his view and
hearing. The expressions of affection showered upon the Princess were
delightful to him; they seemed so spontaneous and genuine. As testimony
to her character in the popular estimate at least, they left nothing
doubtful. His first impression of her was confirmed. She was a woman to
whom Heaven had confided every grace and virtue. Such marvels had been
before. He had heard of them in tradition, and always in a strain to
lift those thus favored above the hardened commonplace of human life,
creatures not exactly angels, yet moving in the same atmosphere with
angels. The monasteries, even those into whose gates women are
forbidden to look, all have stories of womanly excellence which the
monks tell each other in pauses from labor in the lentil patch, and in
their cells after vesper prayers. In brief, so did Sergius' estimate of
the Princess increase that he was unaware of impropriety when, trudging
slowly after the train of attendants, he associated her with heroines
most odorous in Church and Scriptural memories; with Mothers Superior
famous for sanctity; with Saints, like Theckla and Cecilia; with the
Prophetess who was left by the wayside in the desert of Zin, and the
later seer and singer, she who had her judgment-seat under the palm
tree of Deborah.
Withal, however, the monk was uncomfortable. The words of his Hegumen
pursued him. Should he tell the Princess? Assailed by doubts, he
followed her to the lookout on the edge of the promontory.
Seating herself, she glanced over the wide field of water below; from
the vessels there, she gazed across to Asia; then up at the sky, full
to its bluest depth with the glory of day. At length she asked:
"Have you heard from Father Hilarion?"
"Not yet," Sergius replied.
"I was thinking of him," she continued. "He used to tell me of the
primitive church--the Church of the Disciples. One of his lessons
returns to me. He seems to be standing where you are. I hear his voice.
I see his countenance. I remember his words: 'The brethren while of one
faith, because the creed was too simple for division, were of two
classes, as they now are and will always be'--ay, Sergius, as they will
always be!--'But,' he said, 'it is worthy remembrance, my dear child,
unlike the present habit, the rich held their riches with the
understanding that the brethren all had shares in them. The owner was
more than owner; he was a trustee charged with the safe-keeping of his
property, and with farming it to the best advantage, that he might be
in condition to help the greatest number of the Christian brotherhood
according to their necessities.' I wondered greatly at the time, but
not now. The delight I have today confirms the Father; for it is not in
my palace and garden, nor in my gold, but in the power I derive from
them to give respite from the grind of poverty to so many less
fortunate than myself. 'The divine order was not to desist from getting
wealth'--thus the Father continued--'for Christ knew there were who,
labor as they might, could not accumulate or retain; circumstances
would be against them, or the genius might be wanting. Poor without
fault, were they to suffer, and curse God with the curse of the sick,
the cold, the naked, the hungry? Oh, no! Christ was the representative
of the Infinitely Merciful. Under his dispensation they were to be
partners of the more favored.' Who can tell, who can begin to measure
the reward there is to me in the laughter of children at play under the
trees by the brooks, and in the cheer and smiles of women whom I have
been able to draw from the unvarying routine of toil like theirs?"
There was a ship with full spread sail speeding along so close in shore
Sergius could have thrown a stone on its deck. He affected to be deeply
interested in it. The ruse did not avail him.
"What is the matter?"
Receiving no reply, she repeated the question.
"My dear friend, you are not old enough in concealment to deceive me.
You are in trouble. Come sit here.... True, I am not an authorized
confessor; yet I know the principle on which the Church defends the
confessional. Let me share your burden. Insomuch as you give me, you
shall be relieved."
It came to him then that he must speak.
"Princess," he began, striving to keep his voice firm, "you know not
what you ask."
"Is it what a woman may hear?"
A step nearer brought him on the tesselated square.
"I hesitate, Princess, because a judgment is required of me. Hear, and
help me first."
Then he proceeded rapidly:
"There is one just entered holy service. He is a member of an ancient
and honorable Brotherhood, and by reason of his inexperience,
doubtless, its obligations rest the heavier on his conscience. His
superior has declared to him how glad he would be had he a son like
him, and confiding in his loyalty, he intrusted him with gravest
secrets; amongst others, that a person well known and greatly beloved
is under watch for the highest of religious crimes. Pause now, O
Princess, and consider the obligations inseparable from the relation
and trust here disclosed.... Look then to this other circumstance. The
person accused condescended to be the friend and patron of the same
neophyte, and by vouching for him to the head of the Church, put him on
the road to favor and quick promotion. Briefly, O Princess, to which is
obligation first owing? The father superior or the patron in danger?"
The Princess replied calmly, but with feeling: "It is not a
supposition, Sergius."
Though surprised, he returned: "Without it I could not have your
decision first."
"Thou, Sergius, art the distressed neophyte."
He held his hands out to her: "Give me thy judgment."
"The Hegumen of the St. James' is the accuser."
"Be just, O Princess! To which is the obligation first owing?"
"I am the accused," she continued, in the same tone.
He would have fallen on his knees. "No, keep thy feet. A watchman may
be behind me now."
He had scarcely resumed his position before she asked, still in the
quiet searching manner: "What is the highest religious crime? Or
rather, to men in authority, like the Hegumen of your Brotherhood, what
is the highest of all crimes?"
He looked at her in mute supplication.
"I will tell you--HERESY."
Then, compassionating his suffering, she added: "My poor Sergius! I am
not upbraiding you. You are showing me your soul. I see it in its first
serious trial.... I will forget that I am the denounced, and try to
help you. Is there no principle to which we can refer the matter--no
Christian principle? The Hegumen claims silence from you; on the other
side, your conscience--I would like to say preference--impels you to
speak a word of warning for the benefit of your patroness. There, now,
we have both the dispute and the disputants. Is it not so?"
Sergius bowed his head.
"Father Hilarion once said to me: 'Daughter, I give you the ultimate
criterion of the divineness of our religion--there cannot be an
instance of human trial for which it does not furnish a rule of conduct
and consolation.' A profound saying truly! Now is it possible we have
here at last an exception? I do not seek to know on which side the
honors lie. Where are the humanities? Ideas of honor are of men
conventional. On the other hand, the humanities stand for Charity. If
thou wert the denounced, O Sergius, how wouldst thou wish to be done
by?"
Sergius' face brightened.
"We are not seeking to save a heretic--we are in search of quiet for
our consciences. So why not ask and answer further: What would befall
the Hegumen, did you tell the accused all you had from him? Would he
suffer? Is there a tribunal to sentence him? Or a prison agape for him?
Or torture in readiness? Or a King of Lions? In these respects how is
it with the friend who vouched for you to the head of the Church? Alas!"
"Enough--say no more!" Sergius cried impulsively. "Say no more. O
Princess, I will tell everything--I will save you, if I can--if not,
and the worst come, I will die with you."
Womanlike the Princess signalized her triumph with tears. At length she
asked: "Wouldst thou like to know if I am indeed a heretic?"
"Yes, for what thou art, that am I; and then"--
"The same fire in the Hippodrome may light us both out of the world."
There was a ring of prophecy in the words.
"God forbid!" he ejaculated, with a shiver.
"God's will be done, were better! ... So, if it please you," she went
on, "tell me all the Hegumen told you about me."
"Everything?" he asked doubtfully.
"Why not?"
"Part of it is too wicked for repetition."
"Yet it was an accusation."
"Yes."
"Sergius, you are no match in cunning for my enemies. They are Greeks
trained to diplomacy; you are"--she paused and half smiled--"only a
pupil of Hilarion's. See now--if they mean to kill me, how important to
invent a tale which shall rob me of sympathy, and reconcile the public
to my sacrifice. They who do much good, and no harm"--she cast a glance
at the people swarming around the pavilions--"always have friends. Such
is the law of kindness, and it never failed but once; but today a
splinter of the Cross is worth a kingdom."
"Princess, I will hold nothing back."
"And I, Sergius--God witnessing for me--will speak to each denunciation
thou givest me."
"There were two matters in the Hegumen's mind," Sergius began, but
struck with the abruptness, he added apologetically: "I pray you,
Princess, remember I speak at your insistence, and that I am not in any
sense an accuser. It may be well to say also the Hegumen returned from
last night's Mystery low in spirits, and much spent bodily, and before
speaking of you, declared he had been an active partisan of your
father's. I do not think him your personal enemy."
A mist of tears dimmed her eyes while the Princess replied: "He was my
father's friend, and I am grateful to him; but alas! that he is
naturally kind and just is now of small consequence."
"It grieves me"--
"Do not stop," she said, interrupting him.
"At the Father's bedside I received his blessing; and asked leave to be
absent a few days. 'Where?' he inquired, and I answered: 'Thou knowest
I regard the Princess Irene as my little mother. I should like to go
see her.'"
Sergius sought his auditor's face at this, and observing no sign of
objection to the familiarity, was greatly strengthened.
"The Father endeavored to persuade me not to come, and it was with that
purpose he entered upon the disclosures you ask.... 'The life the
Princess leads'--thus he commenced--'and her manners, are outside the
sanctions of society.'"
Here, from resting on her elbow, the listener sat upright, grasping the
massive arm of the chair.
"Shall I proceed, O Princess?"
"Yes."
"This place is very public"--he glanced at the people above them.
"I will hear you here."
"At your pleasure.... The Hegumen referred next to your going about
publicly unveiled. While not positively wrong, he condemned the
practice as a pernicious example; besides which there was a defiant
boldness in it, he said, tending to make you a subject of discussion
and indelicate remark."
The hand on the stony arm trembled.
"I fear, O Princess," Sergius continued, with downcast look, "that my
words are giving you pain."
"But they are not yours. Go on."
"Then the Father came to what was much more serious."
Sergius again hesitated.
"I am listening," she said.
"He termed it your persistence in keeping up the establishment here at
Therapia."
The Princess grew red and white by turns.
"He said the Turk was too near you; that unmarried and unprotected your
proper place was in some house of God on the Islands, or in the city,
where you could have the benefit of holy offices. As it was, rumor was
free to accuse you of preferring guilty freedom to marriage."
The breeze fell off that moment, leaving the Princess in the centre of
a profound hush; except for the unwonted labor of her heart, the leaves
overhead were not more still. The sight of her was too
oppressive--Sergius turned away. Presently he heard her say, as if to
herself: "I am indeed in danger. If my death were not in meditation,
the boldest of them would not dare think so foul a falsehood....
Sergius," she said.
He turned to her, but she broke off diverted by another idea. Had this
last accusation reference to the Emperor's dream of making her his
wife? Could the Emperor have published what took place between them?
Impossible!
"Sergius, did the Hegumen tell you whence this calumny had origin?"
"He laid it to rumor merely."
"Surely he disclosed some ground for it. A dignitary of his rank and
profession cannot lend himself to shaming a helpless woman without
reason or excuse."
"Except your residence at Therapia, he gave no reason."
Here she looked at Sergius, and the pain in the glance was pitiful. "My
friend, is there anything in your knowledge which might serve such a
rumor?"
"Yes," he replied, letting his eyes fall.
"What!" and she lifted her head, and opened her eyes.
He stood silent and evidently suffering.
"Poor Sergius! The punishment is yours. I am sorry for you--sorry we
entered on this subject--but it is too late to retire from it. Speak
bravely. What is it you know against me? It cannot be a crime; much I
doubt if it be a sin; my walk has been very strait and altogether in
God's view. Speak!"
"Princess," he answered, "coming down from the landing, I was stopped
by a concourse studying a brass plate nailed to the right-hand pillar
of your gate. It was inscribed, but none of them knew the import of the
inscription. The hamari came up, and at sight of it fell to saluting,
like the abject Eastern he is. The bystanders chaffered him, and he
retorted, and, amongst other things, said the brass was a safeguard
directed to all Turks, notifying them that this property, its owner,
and inmates were under protection of the Prince Mahommed. Give heed
now, I pray you, O Princess, to this other thing of the man's saying.
The notice was the Prince Mahommed's, the inscription his signature,
and the Prince himself fixed the plate on the pillar with his own hand."
Sergius paused.
"Well," she asked.
"The inferences--consider them."
"State them."
"My tongue refuses. Or if I must, O Princess, I will use the form of
accusation others are likely to have adopted. 'The Princess Irene lives
at Therapia because Prince Mahommed is her lover, and it is a
convenient place of meeting. Therefore his safeguard on her gate.'"
"No one could be bold enough to"--
"One has been bold enough."
"One?"
"The Hegumen of my Brotherhood."
The Princess was very pale.
"It is cruel--cruel!" she exclaimed. "What ought I to do?"
"Treat the safeguard as a discovery of to-day, and have it removed
while the people are all present." She looked at him searchingly. On
her forehead between the brows, he beheld a line never there before.
More surprising was the failure of self-reliance observable in her
request for counsel. Heretofore her courage and sufficiency had been
remarkable. In all dealings with him she had proved herself the
directress, quick yet decided. The change astonished him, so little was
he acquainted with the feminine nature; and in reply he spoke hastily,
hardly knowing what he had said. The words were not straightforward and
honest; they were not becoming him any more than the conduct suggested
was becoming her; they lingered in his ear, a wicked sound, and he
would have recalled them--but he hesitated.
Here a voice in fierce malediction was heard up at the pavilions,
together with a prodigious splashing of water. Laughter, clapping of
hands, and other expressions of delight succeeded.
"Go, Sergius, and see what is taking place," said the Princess.
Glad of the opportunity to terminate the painful scene, he hastened to
the reservoirs and returned.
"Your presence will restore quiet at once."
The people made way for their hostess with alacrity. The hamari, it
appeared, had just arrived from the garden. Observing Lael in the midst
of the suite of fair ladies, he advanced to her with many strange
salutations. Alarmed, she would have run away had not Joqard broken
from his master, and leaped with a roar into the water. The poor beast
seemed determined to enjoy the bath. He swam, and dived, and played
antics without number. In vain the showman, resorting to every known
language, coaxed and threatened by turns--Joqard was self-willed and
happy, and it were hard saying which appreciated his liberty most, he
or the spectators of the scene.
The Princess, for the time conquering her pain of heart, interceded for
the brute; whereupon the hamari, like a philosopher used to making the
best of surprises, joined in the sport until Joqard grew tired, and
voluntarily returned to control.