Hypatia. or New Foes with an Old Face
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Оглавление
Charles Kingsley. Hypatia. or New Foes with an Old Face
PREFACE
CHAPTER I: THE LAURA
CHAPTER II: THE DYING WORLD
CHAPTER III: THE GOTHS
CHAPTER IV: MIRIAM
CHAPTER V: A DAY IN ALEXANDRIA
CHAPTER VI: THE NEW DIOGENES
CHAPTER VII: THOSE BY WHOM OFFENCES COME
CHAPTER VIII: THE EAST WIND
CHAPTER IX: THE SNAPPING OF THE BOW
CHAPTER X: THE INTERVIEW
CHAPTER XI: THE LAURA AGAIN
CHAPTER XII: THE BOWER OF ACRASIA
CHAPTER XIII: THE BOTTOM OF THE ABYSS
CHAPTER XIV: THE ROCKS OF THE SIRENS
CHAPTER XV: NEPHELOCOCCUGIA
CHAPTER XVI: VENUS AND PALLAS
CHAPTER XVII: A STRAY GLEAM
CHAPTER XVIII: THE PREFECT TESTED
CHAPTER XIX: JEWS AGAINST CHRISTIANS
CHAPTER XX: SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER
CHAPTER XXI: THE SQUIRE-BISHOP
CHAPTER XXII: PANDEMONIUM
CHAPTER XXIII: NEMESIS
CHAPTER XXIV: LOST LAMBS
CHAPTER XXV: SEEKING AFTER A SIGN
CHAPTER XXVI: MIRIAM’S PLOT
CHAPTER XXVII: THE PRODIGAL’S RETURN
CHAPTER XXVIII: WOMAN’S LOVE
CHAPTER XXIX: NEMESIS
CHAPTER XXX: EVERY MAN TO HIS OWN PLACE
Отрывок из книги
In the four hundred and thirteenth year of the Christian Era, some three hundred miles above Alexandria, the young monk Philammon was sitting on the edge of a low range of inland cliffs, crested with drifting sand. Behind him the desert sand-waste stretched, lifeless, interminable, reflecting its lurid glare on the horizon of the cloudless vault of blue. At his feet the sand dripped and trickled, in yellow rivulets, from crack to crack and ledge to ledge, or whirled past him in tiny jets of yellow smoke, before the fitful summer airs. Here and there, upon the face of the cliffs which walled in the opposite side of the narrow glen below, were cavernous tombs, huge old quarries, with obelisks and half-cut pillars, standing as the workmen had left them centuries before; the sand was slipping down and piling up around them, their heads were frosted with the arid snow; everywhere was silence, desolation-the grave of a dead nation, in a dying land. And there he sat musing above it all, full of life and youth and health and beauty—a young Apollo of the desert. His only clothing was a ragged sheep-skin, bound with a leathern girdle. His long black locks, unshorn from childhood, waved and glistened in the sun; a rich dark down on cheek and chin showed the spring of healthful manhood; his hard hands and sinewy sunburnt limbs told of labour and endurance; his flashing eyes and beetling brow, of daring, fancy, passion, thought, which had no sphere of action in such a place. What did his glorious young humanity alone among the tombs?
So perhaps he, too, thought, as he passed his hand across his brow, as if to sweep away some gathering dream, and sighing, rose and wandered along the cliffs, peering downward at every point and cranny, in search of fuel for the monastery from whence he came.
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‘From Hypatia’s, you say? Why, he only returned to the city this morning.’
‘I saw his four-in-hand standing at her door, as I came down the Museum Street hither, half an hour ago.’
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