CHAPTER IV
THE PANNYCHIDES
An invitation from the Emperor to remain and view the processionmarching up the heights of Blacherne had been of itself a compliment;but the erection of a stand for the Prince turned the compliment into apersonal honor. To say truth, however, he really desired to see thePannychides, or in plain parlance, the Vigils. He had often heard ofthem as of prodigious effect upon the participants. Latterly they hadfallen into neglect; and knowing how difficult it is to revive a dyingcustom, he imagined the spectacle would be poor and soon over. Whilereflecting on it, he looked out of the window and was surprised to seethe night falling. He yielded then to restlessness, until suddenly anidea arose and absorbed him.
Suppose the Emperor won to his scheme; was its success assured? So usedwas he to thinking of the power of kings and emperors as the soleessential to the things he proposed that in this instance he had failedto concede importance to the Church; and probably he would have gone onin the delusion but for the Mysteries which were now to pass beforehim. They forced him to think of the power religious organizationsexercise over men.
And this Church--this old Byzantine Church! Ay, truly! The Byzantineconscience was under its direction; it was the Father Confessor of theEmpire; its voice in the common ear was the voice of God. To castChrist out of its system would be like wrenching a man's heart out ofhis 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 windowcrept into the Wanderer's heart, and threatened to put out the lightkindled there by the new-born hope with which he had come from theaudience.
"The Church, the Church! It is the enemy I have to fear," he keptmuttering in dismal repetition, realizing, for the first time, themagnitude of the campaign before him. With a wisdom in wickedness whichnone of his successors in design have shown, he saw the Christian ideain the bosom of the Church unassailable except a substitutesatisfactory to its professors could be found. Was God a sufficientsubstitute? Perhaps--and he turned cold with the reflection--thePannychides were bringing him an answer. It was an ecclesiasticalaffair, literally a meeting of Churchmen _en masse_. Where--when--howcould the Church present itself to any man more an actuality in theflesh? Perhaps--and a chill set his very crown to crawling--perhaps theopportunity to study the spectacle was more a mercy of God than a favorof Constantine.
To his great relief, at length the officer who had escorted him fromthe Grand Gate came into the room.
"I am to have the honor," he said, cheerfully, "of conducting you tothe stand His Majesty has prepared that you may at ease behold theMysteries appointed for the night. The head of the procession isreported 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 cutthrough which the road passed on its ascent from the arched gateway bythe 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 theright 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 ofthe hours, a great cloak was near at hand. In front of the platform heobserved a pole securely planted and bearing a basket of inflammablesready for conversion into a torch. In short, everything needful to hiswell-being, including wine and water on a small tripod, was withinreach.
Before finally seating himself the Prince stepped out to the brow ofthe terrace, whence he noticed the Chapel below him in the denserdarkness of the trees about it like a pool. The gleam of armor on thearea by the Grand Gate struck him with sinister effect. Flowers salutedhim with perfume, albeit he could not see them. Not less welcome wasthe low music with which the brook cheered itself while dancing down tothe harbor. Besides a cresset burning on the landing outside the Portentrance, two other lights were visible; one on the Pharos, the otheron the great Galata tower, looking in the distance like large stars.With these exceptions, the valley and the hill opposite Blacherne, andthe wide-reaching Metropolis beyond them, were to appearances a blackercloud dropped from the clouded sky. A curious sound now came to himfrom the direction of the city. Was it a rising wind? Or a muffled rollfrom the sea? While wondering, some one behind him said:
"They are coming."
The voice was sepulchral and harsh, and the Prince turned quickly tothe speaker.
"Ah, Father Theophilus!"
"They are coming," the Father repeated.
The Prince shivered slightly. The noise beyond the valley arose moredistinctly.
"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 hideme in the grave, that thou wouldst keep me in secret, until thy wrathbe 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 selectedhis companion? And that verse, of all to him most afflicting, and whichin hours of despair he had repeated until his very spirit had becomecolored with its reproachful plaint--who put it in the man's mouth?
The chant came nearer. Of melody it had nothing; nor did those engagedin it appear in the slightest attentive to time. Yet it brought reliefto the Prince, willing as he was to admit he had never heard anythingsimilar--anything so sorrowful, so like the wail of the damned inmultitude. And rueful as the strain was, it helped him assign thepageant 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 jarwas between the Church and the throne; now it is the Church against theChurch--a Roman party and a Greek party. One man among us hasconcentrated in himself the learning and devotion of the ChristianEast. You will see him directly, George Scholarius. By visions, likethose in which the old prophets received the counsel of God, he wasinstructed to revive the _Pannychides._ His messengers have gone hitherand thither, to the monasteries, the convents, and the eremiticcolonies wherever accessible. The greater the presence, he says, thegreater 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 hissoul. Kings are sometimes to be pitied. But there is then a specialobject 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 theState to the Holy Virgin; but Constantine, with a worldlierinspiration, adheres to the craft held by Kings immemorially. Theobject of the Vigils is to bring the Emperor to abandon his policy anddefer to Scholarius?"
"The Emperor assists in the Mystery," the Father answered, vaguely.
The procession meantime came on, and when its head appeared in front ofthe Grand Gate three trumpeters blew a flourish which called the guardsinto line. A monk advanced and hel
d parley with an officer; after whichhe was given a lighted torch, and passed under the portal in lead ofthe multitude. The trumpeters continued plying their horns, marking theslow ascent.
"Were this an army," said Father Theophilus, "it would not be solaborious; but, alas! the going of youth is nowhere so rapid as in acloister; nor is age anywhere so feeble. Ten years kneeling on a stonyfloor in a damp cell brings the anchorite to forget he ever walked withease."
The Prince scarcely heard him; he was interested in the little to beseen crossing the area below--a column four abreast, broken intounequal divisions, each division with a leader, who, at the gate,received a torch. Occasionally a square banner on a cross-stickappeared--occasionally a section in light-colored garments; morefrequently a succession of heads without covering of any kind;otherwise the train was monotonously rueful, and in its slow movementout of the darkness reminded the spectator on the height of a serpentcrawling endlessly from an underground den. Afterwhile the dim white ofthe pavement was obscured by masses stationary on the right and left ofthe column; these were the people stopping there because for them therewas no further pursuit of the spectral parade.
The horns gave sonorous notice of the progress during the ascent. Nowthey were passing along the first terrace; still the divisions wereincessant down by the gate--still the chanting continued, a dismaldissonance in the distance, a horrible discord near by. If it be truethat the human voice is music's aptest instrument, it is also true thatnothing vocalized in nature can excel it in the expression of diabolism.
Suddenly the first torch gleamed on the second terrace scarce anhundred yards from the Chapel.
"See him now there, behind the trumpeters--Scholarius!" said FatherTheophilus, with a semblance of animation.
"He with the torch?"
"Ay!--And he might throw the torch away, and still be the light of theChurch."
The remark did not escape the Prince. The man who could so impresshimself upon a member of the court must be a power with his brethren ofthe gown generally. Reflecting thus, the discerning visitor watched thefigure stalking on under the torch. There are men who are causes ingreat events, sometimes by superiority of nature, sometimes bycircumstances. What if this were one of them? And forthwith theobserver ceased fancying the mystical looking monk drawing theinterminable train after him by the invisible bonds of a will mightierthan theirs in combination--the fancy became a fact. "The processionwill not stop at the Chapel," the Father said; "but keep on to thepalace, where the Emperor will join it. If my Lord cares to see thepassage 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 thepalace in the upper space into view from the base of the forwardbuilding to the Tower of Isaac; and here, close by, the Chapel with allits appurtenances, paved enclosure, speeding brook, solemn cypresses,and the wall and arched gateway at the hither side stood out in almostdaytime clearness. The road in the cut underfoot must bring the frockedhost near enough to expose its spirit.
The bellowing of the horns frightened the birds at roost in themelancholy grove, and taking wing, they flew blindly about.
Then ensued the invasion of the enclosure in front of theChapel--Scholarius next the musicians. The Prince saw him plainly; atall man, stoop-shouldered, angular as a skeleton; his hood thrownback; head tonsured; the whiteness of the scalp conspicuous on accountof the band of black hair at the base; the features high and thin,cheeks hollow, temples pinched. The dark brown cassock, leaving anattenuated neck completely exposed, hung from his frame apparently muchtoo large for it. His feet disdained sandals. At the brook he halted,and letting the crucifix fall from his right hand, he stooped anddipped the member thus freed into the water, and rising flung the dropsin air. Resuming the crucifix, he marched on.
It cannot be said there was admiration in the steady gaze with whichthe Prince kept the monk in eye; the attraction was stronger--he waslooking for a sign from him. He saw the tall, nervous figure cross thebrook with a faltering, uncertain step, pass the remainder of thepavement, the torch in one hand, the holy symbol in the other; then itdisappeared under the arch of the gate; and when it had come through,the sharp espial was beforehand with it, and waiting. It commencedascending the acute grade--now it was in the cut--and now, just belowthe Prince, it had but to look up, and its face would be on a levelwith his feet. At exactly the right moment, Scholarius did look up,and--stop.
The interchange of glances between the men was brief, and can belikened to nothing so aptly as sword blades crossing in a red light.
Possibly the monk, trudging on, his mind intent upon something whichwas part of a scene elsewhere, or on the objects and results of thesolemnities in celebration, as yet purely speculative, might have beendisagreeably surprised at discovering himself the subject of study by astranger whose dress proclaimed him a foreigner; possibly the Prince'sstare, which we have already seen was at times powerfully magnetic,filled him with aversion and resentment; certain it is he raised hishead, showing a face full of abhorrence, and at the same time waved thecrucifix as if in exorcism.
The Prince had time to see the image thus presented was of silver on across of ivory wrought to wonderful realism. The face was dying, notdead; there were the spikes in the hands and feet, the rent in theside, the crown of thorns, and overhead the initials of theinscription: This is the King of the Jews. There was the worn,buffeted, bloodspent body, and the lips were parted so it was easy tothink the sufferer in mid-utterance of one of the exclamations whichhave placed his Divinity forever beyond successful denial. The swiftreversion of memory excited in the beholder might have been succeededby remorse, but for the cry:
"Thou enemy of Jesus Christ--avaunt!"
It was the voice of Scholarius, shrill and high; and before the Princecould recover from the shock, before he could make answer, or think ofanswering, 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 benumbedfaculties 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 hewere settling a grave altercation in his own mind--"for never did a manoffer me the Presence so vitalized in an image. I am not yet sure buthe gave me to see the Holy Son of the Immaculate Mother in flesh andblood 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 thenight, the celebration, the cloud of ministrants, the serious objectsof the Vigils?"
The answer made Father Theophilus happy as a man of his turn couldbe--he was furnished additional evidence of the spiritual force ofScholarius, his ideal.
"No," he answered, "it was God in the man."
All this time the chanting had been coming nearer, and now the groverang with it. A moment, and the head of the first division must presentitself in front of the Chapel. Could the Wanderer have elected thenwhether to depart or stay, the _Pannychides_ would have had no furtherassistance from him--so badly had the rencounter with Scholarius shakenhim. Not that he was afraid in the vulgar sense of the term. Before aman can habitually pray for death, he must be long lost to fear. If wecan imagine conscience gone, pride of achievement, without which therecan be no mortification or shame in defeat, may yet remain with him, asource of dread and weakness. The chill which shook Brutus in his tentthe evening before Philippi was not in the least akin to terror. Sowith the Prince at this juncture. There to measure the hold of theChristian idea upon the Church, it seemed Scholarius had brought him ananswer which finished his interest in the passing Vigils. In brief, theReformer's interest in the Mystery was past, and he wished with hiswhole soul to retreat to the sedan, but a fascination held him fast.
"I think it would be pleasanter si
tting," he said, and returned to theplatform.
"If I presume to take the chair, Father," he added, "it is because I amolder than thou."
Hardly was he thus at ease when a precentor, fat, and clad in a longgown, stepped out of the grove to the clear lighted pavement in frontof the Chapel. His shaven head was thrown back, his mouth open to itsfullest stretch, and tossing a white stick energetically up and down inthe air, he intoned with awful distinctness: "The waters wear thestones. Thou washest away the things which grow out of the dust of theearth, 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 holyhouses of the Fathers." But he for whom the comfort was meant made noreply. He was repeating to himself: "Thou prevailest forever againsthim, and he passeth."
And to these words the head of the first division strode forward intothe 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 shallmourn."
For whom was this? Did the singers know the significancy of the text tohim? The answer was from God, and they were merely messengers bringingit. He rose to his feet; in his rebellious passion the world seemed tomelt and swim about him. He felt a longing to burn, break, destroy--tostrike out and kill. When he came to himself, Father Theophilus, whothought him merely wonder struck by the mass of monks in march, wassaying in his most rueful tone: "Good order required a carefularrangement of the procession; for though the participants are pledgedto godly life, yet they sometimes put their vows aside temporarily. Theholiest of them have pride in their establishments, and are often tooready to resort to arms of the flesh to assert their privileges. TheFathers of the Islands have long been jealous of the Fathers of thecity, and to put them together would be a signal for riot. Accordinglythere 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! firstthe Fathers of the Studium--saintly men as thou wilt see anywhere."
The speech was unusually long for the Father; a fortunate circumstanceof which the Prince availed himself to recover his self-possession. Bythe time the brethren eulogized were moving up the rift at his feet, hewas able to observe them calmly. They were in long gowns of heavy graywoollen 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 handsunited palm to palm below their chins. The precentor failed to inspirethem 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 theharbor here. And these," he said of the third, "are of the Monastery ofAnargyres--a very ancient society. The Emperor Michael, surnamed thePaphlegonian, died in one of their cells in 1041. Brotherhood with themis equivalent to saintship."
Afterwhile a somewhat tumultuous flock appeared in white skirts andloose yellow cloaks, their hair and beard uncut and flying. Thehistorian apologized.
"Bear with them," he said; "they are mendicants from the retreats ofPeriblepte, in the quarter of Psammatica. You may see them on thestreet corners and quays, and in all public places, sick, blind, lameand covered with sores. They have St. Lazarus for patron. At night anangel visits them with healing. They refuse to believe the age ofmiracles is past."
The city monastics were a great host carrying banners with the name oftheir Brotherhoods inscribed in golden letters; and in every instancethe Hegumen, or Abbot, preceded his fraternity torch in hand.
A company in unrelieved black marched across the brook, and theirchanting was lugubrious as their garb.
"Petra sends us these Fathers," said Theophilus--"Petra over on thesouth side. They sleep all day and watch at night. The second comingthey say will happen in the night, because they think that time mostfavorable for the trumpeting herald and the splendor of themanifestations."
Half an hour of marching--men in gray and black and yellow, a few inwhite--men cowled--men shorn and unshorn--barefooted men and men insandals--a river of men in all moods, except jovial and happy, toilingby the observing stand, seldom an upturned face, spectral, morose,laden body and mind--young and old looking as if just awakened afterages of entombment;--a half hour of dismal chanting the one chapterfrom the book of the man in the land of Uz, of all utterances the mostdismal;--a half hour of waiting by the Prince for one kindly sign,without discovering it--a half hour, in which, if the comparison be nottoo strong, he was like a soul keeping watch over its own abandonedbody. Then Father Theophilus said:
"From the cloisters of St. James of Manganese! The richest of themonasteries of Constantinople, and the most powerful. It furnishesSancta Sophia with renowned preachers. Its brethren cultivate learning.Their library is unexcelled, and they boast that in the hundreds ofyears of their society life, they had never an heretic. Before theiraltars the candles are kept burning and trimmed forever. Their numbersare recruited from the noblest families. Young men to whom the army isopen prefer God-service in the elegant retirement of St. James ofManganese. They will interest you, Prince; and after them we will havethe 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 priestof the present day; a rimless hat black and high, and turned slightlyoutward at the top; a veil of the same hue; the hair gathered into aroll behind, and secured under the hat; a woollen gown very dark,glossy, and dropping in ample folds unconfined from neck to shoe. TheHegumen followed next, and because of his age and infirmities a youngman carried the torch for him. The chanting was sweet, pure, and inperfect time. All these evidences of refinement and respectability werenoticed by the Prince, and looking at the torch-bearer again, herecognized 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 yesterdayhe was brought to the palace and presented to the Emperor by thePrincess Irene. He made a great impression."
The two kept their eyes on the young man until he disappeared ascendingthe hill.
"He will be heard from;" and with the prediction the Prince gaveattention 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 carriedto the walls, they would accompany it in armor."
The Prince smiled. He had not the faith in the Virgin of Blachernewhich the Father's answer implied.
The St. James' were long in passing. The Prince kept them in sight tothe last four. They were the aristocracy of the Church, prim, proud; astheir opportunities were more frequent, doubtless they were more wickedthan their associates of the humbler fraternities; yet he could notpromise himself favor from their superior liberality. On the contrary,having a great name for piety to defend, if a test offered, they werethe more certain to be hard and vindictive--to send a heretic to thestake, and turn a trifling variation from the creed into heresy.
"Who is this?" the Prince exclaimed, as a noble-looking man in fullcanonicals stepped out of the cypress shadows, first of the nextdivision.
"Master of Ceremonies for the Church," Father Theophilus replied. "Heis 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 theirfollowers in gray, black and white--hands palm to palmprayerfully--chanting sometimes better, sometimes worse--never a lookupward but always down, as if Heaven were a hollow in the earth,
anabyss at their feet, and they about to step into it.
The Prince was beginning to tire. Suddenly he thought of the meeting ofpilgrims at El Zaribah. How unlike was the action there and here! Thathad been a rush, an inundation, as it were, by the sea, fierce, mad, apassion of Faith fostered by freedom; this, slow, solemn, sombre,oppressive--what was it like? Death in Life, and burial by programme sorigid there must not be a groan more or a tear less. He saw Law in itall--or was it imposition, force, choice smothered by custom, fashionmasquerading in the guise of Faith? The hold of Christ upon the Churchbegan to look possible of measurement.
"Roti first!" said the Father. "Rocky and bare, scarce a bush for abird or grass for a cricket. Ah, verily he shall love God dearly orhate the world mortally who of free will chooses a cloister for life atRoti!"
The brethren of the three convents of the Island marched past clad inshort brown frocks, bareheaded, barefooted. The comments of thehistorian were few and brief.
"Poor they look," he said of the first one, "and poor they are, yetMichael Rhangabe and Romain Lacapene were glad to live and die withthem." Of the second: "When Romain Diogenes built the house theseinhabit, he little dreamed it would shelter him, a refugee from thethrone." Of the third: "Dardanes was a great general. In his fortunatedays he built a tower on Roti with one cell in it; in an evil hour heaspired to the throne--failed--lost his eyes, retired to his lonesometower--by his sanctity there drew a fraternity to him, and died. Thatwas hundreds of years ago. The brethren still pray for his soul. Be itthat evil comes of good; not less does good come of evil--and so Godkeeps the balances."
In the same manner he descanted on the several contingents fromAntigone as they strode by; then of those from God's houses at Halki,the pearl of the Marmora; amongst them the monastery of John thePrecursor, and the Convents of St. George, Hagia Trias, and lastly theVery 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 theConvent of the Transfiguration.
The faithful few from the solitary Convent on the Island of Oxia, andthe drab-gowned abstinents of the monastery of Plati, miserables givento the abnormity of mixing prayer and penance with the cultivation ofsnails for the market in Constantinople, were the last of the Islanders.
Then in a kind of orderly disorganization the claustral inculpablesfrom holy houses on Olympus down by the Dardanelles, the Bosphorus, andthe Bithynian shore behind the Isles of the Princes, and some fromretreats 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 coveredwith 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 fallingwater than a chant had been approaching from the valley, making itsdarkness vocal. It threatened the gates awhile; now it was at thegates. The Prince's wonder was great, and to appease it FatherTheophilus explained:
"The last division is at hand."
In the dim red light over the area by the gate below, the visitorbeheld figures hurriedly issuing from the night--figures in thedistance so wild and fantastic they did not at first seem human. Theyleft no doubt, however, whence the sound proceeded. The white sand ofthe road up the terraces was beaten to dust under the friction andpressure of the thousands of feet gone before; this third divisionraised it into an attending cloud, and the cloud and the noise wereincessant.
Once more the Prince went out to the brink of the terrace. The monotonyof the pageant was broken; something new was announcing itself.Spectres--devils--gnomes and jinn of the Islamitic Solomon--rakshakasand hanumen of the Eastern Iliads--surely this miscellany was acomposition of them all. They danced along the way and swung themselvesand each other, howling like dervishes in frenzy. Again the birds tookwing and flew blindly above the cypresses, and the end of things seemedabout to burst when a yell articulate yet unintelligible shook theguarded door of the venerable Chapel.
Then the demoniacs--the Prince could not make else of them--leaping thebrook, crowding the pent enclosure, hasting to the arched exit, wereplainly in view. Men almost naked, burned to hue of brick-dust; men inuntanned sheepskin coats and mantles; men with every kind of headgear,turbans, handkerchiefs, cowls; men with hair and beard matted andflying; now one helped himself to a louder yell by tossing in air thedirty garment he had torn from his body, hirsute as a goat's; now oneleaped up agile as a panther; now one turned topsy-turvy; now groups ofthem swirled together like whimsical eddies in a pool. Some wentslowly, their arms outspread in silent ecstasy; some stalked on withparted lips and staring eyes, trance-like or in dead drunkenness ofsoul; nevertheless the great majority of them, too weary and far spentfor violent exertion, marched with their faces raised, and clappingtheir hands or beating their breasts, now barking short and sharp, likeold hounds dreaming, then finishing with long-drawn cries not unlikethe ending of a sorrowful chorus. Through the gate they crowded, and atsight of their faces full of joy unto madness, the Prince quit pityingthem, and, reminded of the Wahabbees at El Zaribah, turned to FatherTheophilus.
"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 unwarrantedfamiliarity, yet the Father immediately corrected himself, by solemnlyadding: "Look there at that one whirling his mantle of unshorn skinover his head. He has a cave on Mt. Olympus furnished with a stool, acrucifix, and a copy of the Holy Scriptures; he sleeps on the stone;the mantle is his bedding by night, his clothing by day. He raisesvegetables, and they and snow-water seeping through a crevice in hiscavern subsist him.... And the next him--the large man with the greatcoat of camel's hair which keeps him scratched as with thorns--he isfrom the Monastery of St. Auxentius, the abode of a powerful fraternityof ascetics. A large proportion of this wing of the celebrants is ofthe same austere house. You will know them by the penitential,dun-colored garment--they wear no other.... Yonder is a brothercarrying his right arm at a direct angle above his shoulder, stiff andstraight as a stick of seasoned oak. He is of a colony of Stylitessettled 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 hiscertificate of devoutness, the treasures of the earth laid at his feetin a heap would be insufficient to induce him to drop it though for aninstant. His colony is one of many like it. Spare him thy pity. Hebelieves the clinch of that hand holds fast the latch of Heaven.... Theshouters who have just entered the arch in a body have hermitaries inclose grouping around the one failing monastery on Plati, and live onlentils and snails; aside from which they commit themselves to Christ,and so abound in faith that the Basileus in his purple would be veryhappy were he true master of a tithe of their happiness.... Hast thounot enough, O Prince? Those crossing the brook now?--Ah, yes! They areanchorites from Anderovithos, the island. Pitiable creatures looked atfrom the curtained windows of a palace--pitiable, and abandoned by menand angels! Be not sure. Everything is as we happen to see it--a bit ofphilosophy, which, as they despise the best things secularly consideredof this life, steels them to indifference for what you and I, andothers not of their caste, may think. They have arrived at a summitabove the corrupting atmosphere of the earth, where every one of themhas already the mansion promised him by our Blessed Lord, and where theangels abide and delight to serve him.... For the rest, O Prince, callthem indifferently recluses, hermits, anticenobites, mystics, martyrs,these from Europe, those from isolations deep somewhere in Asia. Whofeeds them? Did not ravens feed Elijah? Offer them white bread androbes of silk, yes
terday's wear of a king. 'What!' they will ask.'Shall any man fare better than John the Forerunner?' Speak to them ofcomfortable habitations, and they will answer with the famous saying,'Foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son ofMan 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 BlackStone envious of Mirza's dying, these were just as ready to die forChrist. He smiled grimly, and thought of Mahommed, and how easy theChurch had made the conquest of which he was dreaming.
It was with a sense of relief he beheld the tail of the division followits 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, nextto the absent Patriarch, represented him. If what had preceded in theprocession was poor and unpretentious, this part was splendid toexcess. They were not more than eighteen or twenty in number, but theywalked singly with considerable intervals between them; while on theright and left of each, a liveried servant carried a torch which gavehim to be distinctly seen. And the flashing of gold on their personswas wonderful to the spectator. Why not? This rare and anointed bodywas the Church going in solemnity to assist the Basileus in a highceremony.
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 comparewith the magnificence of the ecclesiastics surrounding him, he actuallyseemed in their midst a prisoner or a penitent. He passed his visitorlike 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 suffereddethronement."
"Thou wilt presently see His Majesty enter the Chapel alone. The legendsupposes him there in presence directly of God; if so, what merit wouldthere be in regalia? Would his sword or sceptre make his supplicationmore impressive?"
The Prince bowed.
And while he watched, the gold-clad escort halted before the HolyHouse, the door opened, and Constantine went in unattended. Then, thedoor being shut behind him, the clergy knelt, and remained kneeling.The light from the torches was plenteous there, making the scenebeautiful.
And yet further, while he stood watching, the trumpeting and chantingon the level in front of the palace behind him ceased, and a fewminutes afterwards, he was aware of the noise of many feet rushing in ascramble from all directions to the Chapel. Here and there flambeauxstreamed out, with hundreds of dark-gowned excited figures speedingafter 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 reveredbuilding as possible; for immediately on attaining it they dropped totheir knees, and began counting their rosaries and mumbling prayers. Atlength it befell that the terraces far and near were densely crowded bymonks in low recitation.
"My Lord," said Father Theophilus, in a tone of reserved depth, "theMystery is begun. There is no more to be seen. Good-night!" And withoutado, he too knelt where he stood, beads in hand, eyes fixed upon theone point of devotional interest.
When the sedan was brought, the Prince gave one last glance at thescene, feeling it was to be thenceforward and forever a burden on hismemory. He took in and put away the weather-stained Chapel, centre ofso much travail; the narrow court in front of it brilliantly lightedand covered with priests high and low in glittering vestments; thecypresses looming skyward, stately and stiff, like conical monuments:the torches scattered over the grounds, revealing patches of menkneeling, their faces turned toward the Chapel: the mumbling andmuttering from parts unlighted telling of other thousands in likeengagement. He had seen battle-fields fresh in their horrors; decks ofships 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 heseen anything which affected him as did that royal park at mid ofnight, given up to that spectral multitude!
It seemed he could not get away from the spectacle soon enough; forafter issuing from the Grand Gate, he kept calling to his carriers,impatiently: "Faster, my men, faster!"