Hypatia — or New Foes with an Old Face by Charles Kingsley (e book reader TXT) 📗
- Author: Charles Kingsley
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Philammon heard no more. With the passionate and impulsive nature of a Greek fanatic, he burst forward through the crowd, towards the steps which led to the choir, and above which, in front of the altar, stood the corpse of Ammonius, enclosed in a coffin of glass, beneath a gorgeous canopy; and never stopping till he found himself in front of Cyril’s pulpit, he threw himself upon his face upon the pavement, spread out his arms in the form of a cross, and lay silent and motionless before the feet of the multitude.
There was a sudden whisper and rustle in the congregation: but Cyril, after a moment’s pause, went on—
‘Man, in his pride and self-sufficiency, despises humiliation, and penance, and the broken and the contrite heart; and tells thee that only as long as thou doest well unto thyself will he speak well of thee: the Son of God says that he that humbleth himself, even as this our penitent brother, he it is who shall be exalted. He it is of whom it is written that his father saw him afar off, and ran to meet him, and bade put the best robe on him, and a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet, and make merry and be glad with the choir of angels who rejoice over one sinner that repenteth. Arise, my son, whoso-ever thou art; and go in peace for this night, remembering that he who said, “My belly cleaveth unto the pavement,” hath also said, “Rejoice not against me, Satan, mine enemy, for when I fall I shall arise!”’
A thunder-clap of applause, surely as pardonable as any an Alexandrian church ever heard, followed this dexterous, and yet most righteous, turn of the patriarch’s oratory: but Philammon raised himself slowly and fearfully to his knees, and blushing scarlet endured the gaze of ten thousand eyes.
Suddenly, from beside the pulpit, an old man sprang forward, and clasped him round the neck. It was Arsenius.
‘My son! my son!’ sobbed he, almost aloud.
‘Slave, as well as son, if you will!’ whispered Philammon. ‘One boon from the patriarch; and then home to the Laura for ever!’
‘Oh, twice-blest night,’ rolled on above the deep rich voice of Cyril, ‘which beholds at once the coronation of a martyr and the conversion of a sinner; which increases at the same time the ranks of the church triumphant, and of the church militant; and pierces celestial essences with a twofold rapture of thanksgiving, as they welcome on high a victorious, and on earth a repentant, brother!’
And at a sign from Cyril, Peter the Reader stepped forward, and led away, gently enough, the two weepers, who were welcomed as they passed by the blessings, and prayers, and tears even of those fierce fanatics of Nitria. Nay, Peter himself, as he turned to leave them together in the sacristy, held out his hand to Philammon.
‘I ask your forgiveness,’ said the poor boy, who plunged eagerly and with a sort of delight into any and every self-abasement.
‘And I accord it,’ quoth Peter; and returned to the church, looking, and probably feeling, in a far more pleasant mood than usual.
CHAPTER XXVII: THE PRODIGAL’S RETURN
About ten o’clock the next morning, as Hypatia, worn out with sleepless sorrow, was trying to arrange her thoughts for the farewell lecture, her favourite maid announced that a messenger from Synesius waited below. A letter from Synesius? A gleam of hope flashed across her mind. From him, surely, might come something of comfort, of advice. Ah! if he only knew how sorely she was bested!
‘Let him send up his letter.’
‘He refuses to deliver it to any one but yourself. And I think,’—added the damsel, who had, to tell the truth, at that moment in her purse a substantial reason for so thinking—‘I think it might be worth your ladyship’s while to see him.’
Hypatia shook her head impatiently.
‘He seems to know you well, madam, though he refuses to tell his name: but he bade me put you in mind of a black agate—I cannot tell what he meant—of a black agate, and a spirit which was to appear when you rubbed it.’
Hypatia turned pale as death. Was it Philammon again? She felt for the talisman—it was gone! She must have lost it last night in Miriam’s
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