THE PRINCE OF INDIA (Historical Novel). Lew Wallace
cell and said, ‘Come, rejoice with us—a baby is born in the house.’ Thou wert the baby; and thy appearance was the first of the great gladnesses to which I have referred.
“And not less distinctly I live over the hour we met in the chapel to christen thee. The Bishop was the chief celebrant; but not even the splendor of his canonicals—the cope with the little bells sewn down the sides and along the sleeves, the ompharium, the panagia, the cross, the crozier—were enough to draw my eyes from the dimpled pink face halt-hidden in the pillow of down on which they held thee up before the font. And now the Bishop dipped his fingers in the holy water—’ By what name is this daughter to be known?’ And I answered, ‘Irené.’ Thy parents had been casting about fora name. ‘Why not call her after the convent?’ I asked. They accepted the suggestion; and when I gave it out that great day—to the convent it was holiday—it seemed a door in my heart of which I was unknowing opened of itself, and took thee into a love-lined chamber to be sweet lady at home forever. Such was the second of my greatest happinesses.
“And then afterwhile thy father gave thee over to me to be educated. I made thy first alphabet, illuminating each letter with my own hand. Dost thou remember the earliest sentence I heard thee read? Or, if ever thou dost think of it now, be reminded it was thy first lesson in writing and thy first in religion—‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.’ And thence what delight I found in helping thee each day a little further on in knowledge until at length we came to where thou couldst do independent thinking.
“It was in Sta. Sophia—in my memory not more than an occurrence of yesterday. Thou and I had gone from the island up to the holy house, where we were spectators of a service at which the Emperor, as Basileus, and the Patriarch were celebrants. The gold on cope and ompharium cast the space about the altar into a splendor rich as sunshine. Then thou asked me, ‘Did Christ and His Disciples worship in a house like this? And were they dressed as these are?’ I was afraid of those around us, and told thee to use eye and ear, but the time for questions and answers would be when we were back safely in the old convent.
“When we were there, thou didst renew the questions, and I did not withhold the truth. I told thee of the lowliness and simple ways of Jesus—how He was clothed—how the out-doors was temple sufficient for Him. I told thee of His preaching to the multitude on the shore of the Galilean sea—I told of His praying in the garden of Gethsemane—I told of the attempt to make a King of Him whether He would or not, and how He escaped from the people—of how He set no store by money or property, titles, or worldly honors.
“Then thou didst ask, ‘Who made worship so formal?’ And again I answered truthfully, there was no Church until after the death of our Lord; that in course of two hundred years kings, governors, nobles and the great of the earth were converted to the faith, and took it under their protection; that then, to conform it to their tastes and dignity, they borrowed altars from pagans, and recast the worship so sumptuously in purple and gold the Apostles would not have recognized it. Then, in brief, I began telling thee of the Primitive Church of Christ, now disowned, forgotten or lost in the humanism of religious pride.
“Oh, the satisfaction and happiness in that teaching! At each lesson it seemed I was taking thee closer to the dear Christ from whom the world is every year making new roads to get further away— the dear Christ in search of whom I plunged into this solitude.
“How is it with thee now, my daughter? Dost thou still adhere to the Primitive Church? Do not fear to speak thy mind to Sergius. He too is in the secret of our faith, believing it best to love our Lord from what our Lord hath Himself said.
“Now I bring this letter to a close. Let me have reply by Sergius, who, when he has seen Constantinople, will come back to me, unless He who holds every man’s future in keeping discovers for him a special use.
“Do not forget me in thy prayers.
“Blessings on thee!
HILARION.”
The Princess read the letter a second time. When she came to the passage referring to the Primitive Church, her hands dropped into her lap, and she thought:
“The Father planted right well—better than he was aware, as he himself would say did he know my standing now.”
A glow which might have been variously taken for half-serious, half-mocking defiance shone in her eyes as the thought ran on:
“Ay, dear man! Did he know that for asserting the Primitive Church as he taught it to me in the old convent, the Greeks and the Latins have alike adjudged me a heretic; that nothing saves me from the lions of the Cynegion, except my being a woman—a woman forever offending hy going when and where I wist with my face bare, and therefore harmless except to myself. If he knew this, would he send me his blessing? He little imagined—he who kept his opinion to himself because he could see no good possible from its proclamation—that I, the prison-bred girl he so loved, and whom he helped make extreme in courage as in conviction, would one day forget my sex and condition, and protest with the vehemence of a man against the religious madness into which the Christian world is being swept. Oh, that I were a man!”
Folding the letter hastily, she arose to return to her guest. There was fixedness of purpose in her face.
“Oh, that I were a man!” she repeated, while passing the frescoed hall on the way out.
In the portico, with the white light of the marble whitening her whole person, and just as the monk, tall, strong, noble looking, despite the grotesqueness of his attire, was rising from the table, she stopped, and clasped her hands.
“I have been heard!” she thought, trembling. “That which it refused to make me, Heaven has sent me. Here is a man! And he is certified as of my faith, and has the voice, the learning, the zeal and courage, the passion of truth to challenge a hearing anywhere. Welcome Sergius! In want thou earnest; in want thou didst find me. The Lord is shepherd unto us both.”
She went to him confidently, and offered her hand.
Her manner was irresistible; he had no choice but to yield to it.
“Thou art not a stranger, but Sergius, my brother. Father Hilarion has explained everything.”
He kissed her hand, and replied:
“I was overbold, Princess; but I knew the Father would report me kindly; and I was hungry.”
“It is my part now to see the affliction comes not back again. So much has the Shepherd already determined. But, speaking as thy sister, Sergius, thy garments appear strange. Doubtless they were well enough in the Bielo-Osero, where the Rule of the Stadium is law instead of fashion; but here we must consult customs or be laughed at, which would be fatal to the rôle I have in mind for thee.” Then with a smile, she added, “Observe the dominion I have already assumed.”
He answered with a contented laugh: whereupon she went on, but more gravely:
“We have the world to talk over; but Lysander will now take you to your room, and you will rest until about mid-afternoon, when my boat will come to the landing to carry us to the city. The cowl you must exchange for a hat and veil, the sandals for shoes, the coarse cassock for a black gown; and, if we have time, I will go with you to the Patriarch.”
Sergius followed Lysander submissively as a child.
Chapter VI.
What Do the Stars Say?
The sun which relieved the bay of Therapia from the thraldom of night did the same service for the Golden Horn; only, with a more potential voice, it seemed to say to the cities which were the pride of the latter, Awake! Arise! And presently they were astir indoor and out.
Of all the souls who, obedient to the early summons, poured into the street, and by the south window of the study of the Prince of India, some going this direction, some that, yet each intent upon a particular purpose, not one gave