"Are not flesh and blood of the same significance in all of us? With youth and health superadded to a glorious physical structure, may we not always conclude a man rich in spirit and l.u.s.ty impulses? Is it possible a gown and priestly hat can entirely suppress his human nature? I have heard of Anthony the Anchorite."

The idea excited his humor, and he laughed.

"I mean no irreverence," he resumed; "but you know, dear Sergius, it is with laughter as with tears, we cannot always control it.... Anthony resolved to be a Saint, but was troubled by visions of beautiful women.

To escape them, he followed some children of Islam into the desert.

Alas! the visions went with him. He burrowed then in a tomb--still the visions. He hid next in the cellar of an old castle--in vain--the visions found him out. He flagellated himself for eighty and nine years, every day and night of which was a battle with the visions. He left two sheepskins to as many bishops, and one haircloth shirt to two favorite disciples--they had been his armor against the visions. Finally, lest the seductive goblins should a.s.sail him in death, he bade the disciples lose him by burial in an unknown place. Sergius, my good friend"--here the Greek drew nearer, and laid a hand lightly on the monk's flowing sleeve--"I heard some of your replies to my father, and respect your genius too much to do more than ask why you should waste your youth"--

"Forbear! Go not further--no, not a word!" Sergius exclaimed. "Dost thou account the crown the Saint at last won nothing?"

Demedes did not seem in the least put out by the demonstration; possibly he expected it, and was satisfied with the hearing continued him.

"I yield to you," he said, with a smile, "and willingly since you convince me I was not mistaken in your perception.... My father is a good man. His goodness, however, but serves to make him more sensitive to opposition. The divisions of the Church give him downright suffering.

I have heard him go on about them hours at a time. Probably his p.r.o.neness to lamentation should be endured with respectful patience; but there is a peculiarity in it--he is blind to everything save the loss of power and influence the schisms are fated to entail upon the Church. He fights valorously in season and out for the old orthodoxies, believing that with the lapse of religion as at present organized the respectability and dominion of the holy orders will also lapse. Nay, Sergius, to say it plainly, he and the Brotherhood are fast keying themselves up to a point in fanaticism when dissent appears blackest heresy. To you, a straightforward seeker after information, it has never occurred, I suspect, to inquire how far--or rather how close--beyond that attainment lie punishments of summary infliction and most terrible in kind? Torture--the stake--holocausts in the Hippodrome--spectacles in the Cynegion--what are they to the enthused Churchmen but righteous judgments mercifully executed on wayward heretics? I tell you, monk--and as thou lovest her, heed me--I tell you the Princess Irene is in danger."

This was unexpected, and forcibly put; and thinking of the Princess, Sergius lost the calmness he had up to this time successfully kept.

"The Princess--tortured--G.o.d forbid!"

"Recollect," the Greek continued--"for you will reflect upon this--recollect I overheard the close of your interview with my father.

To-morrow, or upon your return from Therapia, be it when it may, he will interrogate you with respect to whatever she may confide to you in the least relative to the Creed, which, as he states, she has prepared for herself. You stand warned. Consider also that now I have in part acquitted myself of the obligation I am under to you for my life."

The simple-mindedness of the monk, to whom the book of the world was just beginning to open, was an immense advantage to the Greek. It should not be surprising, therefore, if the former relaxed his air, and leaned a little forward to hear what was further submitted to him.

"Have you breakfasted?" the prodigal asked, in his easy manner.

"I have not."

"Ah! In concern for my father, you have neglected yourself. Well, I must not be inconsiderate. A hungry man is seldom a patient listener. Shall I break off now?"

"You have interested me, and I may be gone several days."

"Very well. I will make haste. It is but justice to the belligerents in the spiritual war to admit the zeal they have shown; Gregory the Patriarch, and his Latins, on the one side, and Scholarius and his Greeks on the other. They have occupied the pulpits alternately, each refusing presence to the other. They decline a.s.sociation in the Sacramental rites. In Sta. Sophia, it is the Papal ma.s.s to-day; to-morrow, it will be the Greek ma.s.s. It requires a sharp sense to detect the opposition in smell between the incense with which the parties respectively fumigate the altars of the ancient house. I suppose there is a difference. Yesterday the parabaloni came to blows over a body they were out burying, and in the struggle the bier was knocked down, and the dead spilled out. The Greeks, being the most numerous, captured the labarum of the Latins, and washed it in the mud; yet the monogram on it was identical with that on their own. Still I suppose there was a difference."

Demedes laughed.

"But seriously, Sergius, there is much more of the world outside of the Church--or Churches, as you prefer--than on the inside. In the tearing each other to pieces, the militants have lost sight of the major part, and, as normally bound, it has engaged in thinking for itself. That is, the shepherd is asleep, the dogs are fighting, and the sheep, left to their individual conduct, are scattered in a hunt for fresher water and greener pasturage. Have you heard of the Academy of Epicurus?"

"No."

"I will tell you about it. But do you take the seat there. It is not within my purpose to exhaust you in this first conference."

"I am not tired."

"Well"--and the Greek smiled pleasantly--"I was regardful of myself somewhat in the suggestion. My neck is the worse of having to look up so constantly.... The youth of Byzantium, you must know, are not complaining of neglect; far from it--they esteem it a great privilege to be permitted to think in freedom. Let me give you of their conclusions.

There is no G.o.d, they say, since a self-respecting G.o.d would not tolerate the strife and babble carried on in his name to the discredit of his laws. Religion, if not a deceit, is but the tinkling of brazen cymbals. A priest is a professor eking out an allowance of fine clothes and bread and wine; with respect to the mult.i.tude, he is a belled donkey leading a string of submissive camels. Of what account are Creeds except to set fools by the ears? Which--not what--_which_ is the true Christian Faith? The Patriarch tells us, 'Verily it is this,' and Scholarius replies, 'Verily the Patriarch is a liar and a traitor to G.o.d for his false teaching'--he then tells us it is that other thing just as unintelligible. Left thus to ourselves--I acknowledge myself one of the wandering flock--flung on our own resources--we resorted to counselling each other, and agreed that a subst.i.tute for religion was a social necessity. Our first thought was to revive Paganism; worshipping many G.o.ds, we might peradventure stumble upon one really existent: whether good or bad ought not to trouble us, provided he took intelligent concern in the drift of things. To quarrel about his qualities would be a useless repet.i.tion of the folly of our elders--the folly of swimming awhile in a roaring swirl. Some one suggested how much easier and more satisfactory it is to believe in one G.o.d than in many; besides which Paganism is a fixed system intolerant of freedom. Who, it was argued, would voluntarily forego making his own G.o.ds? The privilege was too delightful. Then it was proposed that we resolve ourselves each into a G.o.d unto himself. The idea was plausible; it would at least put an end to wrangling, by giving us all an agreeable object to worship, while for mental demands and social purposes generally we could fall back on Philosophy. Had not our fathers tried Philosophy? When had society a better well being than in the halcyon ages of Plato and Pythagoras? Yet there was a term of indecision with us--or rather incubation. To what school should we attach ourselves? A copy of the Enchiridion of Epictetus fell into our hands, and after studying it faithfully, we rejected Stoicism. The Cynics were proposed; we rejected them--there was nothing admirable in Diogenes as a patron. We next pa.s.sed upon Socratus.

_Sons of Sophroniscus_ had a lofty sound; still his system of moral philosophy was not acceptable, and as he believed in a creative G.o.d, his doctrine was too like a religion. Though the Delphian oracle p.r.o.nounced him the wisest of mankind, we concluded to look further, and in so doing, came to Epicurus. There we stopped. His promulgations, we determined, had no application except to this life; and as they offered choice between the gratification of the senses and the practice of virtue, leaving us free to adopt either as a rule of conduct, we formally enrolled ourselves Epicureans. Then, for protection against the Church, we organized. The departure might send us to the stake, or to Tamerlane, King of the Cynegion, or, infinitely worse, to the cloisters, if we were few; but what if we took in the youths of Byzantium as an entirety? The policy was clear. We founded an Academy--the Academy of Epicurus--and lodged it handsomely in a temple; and three times every week we have a session and lectures. Our membership is already up in the thousands, selected from the best blood of the Empire; for we do not confine our proselyting to the city."

Here Sergius lifted his hand. He had heard the prodigal in silence, and it had been difficult the while to say which dominated his feeling-- disgust, amazement, or pity. He was scarcely in condition to think; yet he comprehended the despairing cry of the Hegumen, Oh, my G.o.d! whither are we drifting? The possibilities of the scheme flew about him darkly, like birds in a ghastly twilight. He had studied the oppositions to religion enough to appreciate the attractive power there was for youth in the pursuit of pleasure. He knew also something of the race Epicureanism had run in the old compet.i.tions of philosophy--that it had been embraced by more of the cultivated Pagan world than the other contemporary systems together. It had been amongst the last, if not in fact the very last, of the conquests of Christianity. But here it was again; nor that merely-- here it was once more a subject of organized effort. Who was responsible for the resurrection? The Church? How wicked its divisions seemed to him!

Bishop fighting Bishop--the clergy distracted--altars discredited--sacred ceremonies neglected--what did it all mean, if not an interregnum of the Word? Men cannot fight Satan and each other at the same time. With such self-collection as he could command, he asked: "What have you in subst.i.tution of G.o.d and Christ?"

"A Principle," was the reply.

"What Principle?"

"Pleasure, the Purpose of this Life, and its Pursuit, an enn.o.bled occupation."

"Pleasure to one is not pleasure to another--it is of kinds."

"Well said, O Sergius! Our kind is gratification of the senses. Few of us think of the practice of virtue, which would be dreaming in the midst of action."

"And you make the pursuit an occupation?"

"In our regard the heroic qualities of human nature are patience, courage and judgment; hence our motto--Patience, Courage, Judgment. The pursuit calls them all into exercise, enn.o.bling the occupation."

The Greek was evidently serious. Sergius ran him over from the pointed shoes to the red feather in the conical red hat, and said in accents of pity:

"Oh, alas! Thou didst wrong in re-ent.i.tling thyself. Depravity had been better than Demedes."

The Greek lifted his brows, and shrugged his shoulders.

"In the Academy we are used to taking as well as giving," he said, wholly unembarra.s.sed. "But, my dear Sergius, it remains for me to discharge an agreeable commission. Last night, in full session, I told of the affair on the wall. Could you have heard my description of your intervention, and the eulogium with which I accompanied it, you would not have accused me of ingrat.i.tude. The brethren were carried away; there was a tempest of applause; they voted you a hero; and, without a dissent, they directed me to inform you that the doors of the Academy were open"--

"Stop," said Sergius, with both hands up as if to avert a blow. After looking at the commissioner a moment, his eyes fiercely bright, he walked the floor of the cell twice.

"Demedes," he said, halting in front of the Greek, a reactionary pallor on his countenance, "the effort thou art making to get away from G.o.d proves how greatly He is a terror to thee. The Academy is only a mult.i.tude thou hast called together to help hide thee from Christ. Thou art an organizer of Sin--a disciple of Satan"--he was speaking not loud or threateningly, but with a force before which the other shrank visibly--"I cannot say I thank thee for the invitation on thy tongue unfinished, but I am better of not hearing it. Get thee behind me."

He turned abruptly, and started for the door.

The Greek sprang after him, and took hold of his gown.

"Sergius, dear Sergius," he said, "I did not intend to offend you. There is another thing I have to speak about. Stay!"

"Is it something different?" Sergius asked.

"Ay--as light and darkness are different."

"Be quick then."

Sergius was standing under the lintel of the door. Demedes slipped past him, and on the outside stopped.

"You are going to Therapia?" he asked.

"Yes."

"The Princess of India will be there. She has already set out."

"How knowest thou?"