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Books: Hypatia

C >> Charles Kingsley >> Hypatia




'Is she still within?'

'What if she be?'

'Let me pass into my own room.'

'Yours? Who has been paying the rent for you, these four months
past? You! What can you say to her? What can you do for her?
Young pedant, you must be in love yourself before you can help poor
creatures who are in love!'

But Philammon pushed past her so fiercely, that the old woman was
forced to give way, and with a sinister smile she followed him into
the chamber.

Pelagia sprang towards her brother.

'Will she?--will she see me?'

'Let us talk no more of her, my beloved,' said Philammon, laying his
hands gently on her trembling shoulders, and looking earnestly into
her eyes .... 'Better that we two should work out our deliverance
for ourselves, without the help of strangers. You can trust me?'

'You? And can you help me? Will you teach me?'

'Yes, but not here .... We must escape--Nay, hear me, one moment!
dearest sister, hear me! Are you so happy here that you can conceive
of no better place? And--and, oh, God! that it may not be true
after all!--but is there not a hell hereafter?'

Pelagia covered her face with her hands--'The old monk warned me of
it!'

'Oh, take his warning....' And Philammon was bursting forth with
some such words about the lake of fire and brimstone as he had been
accustomed to hear from Pambo and Arsenius, when Pelagia interrupted
him-

'Oh, Miriam! Is it true? Is it possible? What will become of me?'
almost shrieked the poor child.

'What if it were true?--Let him tell you how he will save you from
it,' answered Miriam quietly.

'Will not the Gospel save her from it--unbelieving Jew? Do not
contradict me! I can save her.'

'If she does what?'

'Can she not repent? Can she not mortify these base affections?
Can she not be forgiven? Oh, my Pelagia! forgive me for having
dreamed one moment that I could make you a philosopher, when you may
be a saint of God, a--'

He stopped short suddenly, as the thought about baptism flashed
across him, and in a faltering voice asked, 'Are you baptized?'

'Baptized?' asked she, hardly understanding the term.

'Yes--by the bishop--in the church.'

'Ah,' she said, 'I remember now .... When I was four or five years
odd .... A tank, and women undressing .... And I was bathed too,
and an old man dipped my head under the water three times .... I
have forgotten what it all meant--it was so long ago. I wore a
white dress, I know, afterwards.'

Philammon recoiled with a groan.

'Unhappy child! May God have mercy on you!'

'Will He not forgive me, then? You have forgiven me. He?--He must
be more good even than you.--Why not?'

'He forgave you then, freely, when you were baptized: and there is
no second pardon unless--

'Unless I leave my love!' shrieked Pelagia.

'When the Lord forgave the blessed Magdalene freely, and told her
that her faith had saved her--did she live on in sin, or even in the
pleasures of this world? No! though God had forgiven her, she could
not forgive herself. She fled forth into the desert, and there,
naked and barefoot, clothed only with her hair, and feeding on the
herb of the field, she stayed fasting and praying till her dying
day, never seeing the face of man, but visited and comforted by
angels and archangels. And if she, she who never fell again, needed
that long penance to work out her own salvation--oh, Pelagia, what
will not God require of you, who have broken your baptismal vows,
and defiled the white robes, which the tears of penance only can
wash clean once more?'

'But I did not know! I did not ask to be baptized! Cruel, cruel
parents, to bring me to it! And God! Oh, why did He forgive me so
soon? And to go into the deserts! I dare not! I cannot! See me,
how dedicate and tender I am! I should die of hunger and cold! I
should go mad with fear and loneliness! Oh! brother, brother, is
this the Gospel of the Christians? I came to you to be taught how
to be wise, and good, and respected, and you tell me that all I can
do is to live this horrible life of torture here, on the chance of
escaping torture forever! And how do I know that I shall escape it?
How do I know that I shall make myself miserable enough? How do I
know that He will forgive me after all? Is this true, Miriam? Tell
me, or I shall go mad!'

'Yes,' said Miriam, with a quiet sneer. 'This is the gospel and good
news of salvation, according to the doctrine of the Nazarenes.'

'I will go with you!' cried Philammon. 'I will go! I will never
leave you! I have my own sins to wash away!--Happy for me if I ever
do it!--And I will build you a cell near mine, and kind men will
teach us, and the will pray together night and morning, for
ourselves and for each other, and weep out our weary lives together--'

'Better end them here, at once!' said Pelagia, with a gesture of
despair, and dashed herself down on the floor.

Philammon was about to lift her up, when Miriam caught him by the
arm, and in a hurried whisper--'Are you mad? Will you ruin your own
purpose? Why did you tell her this? Why did you not wait--give her
hope--time to collect herself--time to wean herself from her lover,
instead of terrifying and disgusting her at the outset, as you have
done? Have you a man's heart in you? No word of comfort for that
poor creature, nothing but hell, hell, hell--See to your own chance
of hell first! It is greater than you fancy!'

'It cannot be greater than I fancy!'

'Then see to it. For her, poor darling!--why, even we Jews, who know
that all you Gentiles are doomed to Gehenna alike, have some sort of
hope for such a poor untaught creature as that.'

'And why is she untaught? Wretch that you are. You have had the
training of her! You brought her up to sin and shame! You drove
from her recollection the faith in which she was baptized!'

'So much the better for her, if the recollection of it is to make
her no happier than it does already. Better to wake unexpectedly in
Gehenna when you die, than to endure over and above the dread of it
here. And as for leaving her untaught, on your own showing she has
been taught too much already. Wiser it would be in you to curse
your parents for having had her baptized, than me for giving her ten
years' pleasure before she goes to the pit of Tophet. Come now,
don't be angry with me. The old Jewess is your friend, revile her
as you will. She shall marry this Goth.'

'An Arian heretic!'

'She shall convert him and make a Catholic of him, if you like. At
all events, if you wish to win her, you must win her my way. You
have had your chance, and spoiled it. Let me have mine. Pelagia,
darling! Up, and be a woman! We will find a philtre downstairs to
give that ungrateful man, that shall make him more mad about you,
before a day is over, than ever you were about him.'

'No!' said Pelagia, looking up. 'No love-potions! No poisons!'

'Poisons, little fool! Do you doubt the old woman's skill? Do you
think I shall make him lose his wits, as Callisphyra did to her
lover last year, because she would trust to old Megaera's drugs,
instead of coming to me!'

'No! No drugs; no magic! He must love me really, or not at all!
He must love me for myself, because I am worth loving, because he
honours, worships me, or let me die. I, whose boast was, even when
I was basest, that I never needed such mean tricks, but conquered
like Aphrodite, a queen in my own right! I have been my own love-
charm: when I cease to be that, let me die!'

'One as mad as the other!' cried Miriam, in utter perplexity. 'Hist!
what is that tramp upon the stairs?'

At this moment heavy footsteps were heard ascending the stairs ....
All three stopped aghast: Philammon, because he thought the visitors
were monks in search of him; Miriam, because she thought they were
Orestes's guards in search of her; and Pelagia, from vague dread of
anything and everything....

'Have you an inner room?' asked the Jewess.

'None.'

The old woman set her lips firmly, and drew her dagger. Pelagia
wrapped her face in her cloak, and stood trembling, bowed down, as
if expecting another blow. The door opened, and in walked, neither
monks nor guard, but Wulf and Smid.

'Heyday, young monk!' cried the latter worthy, with a loud laugh--
'Veils here, too, eh? At your old trade, my worthy portress of
hell-gate? Well, walk out now; we have a little business with this
young gentleman.'

And slipping past the unsuspecting Goths, Pelagia and Miriam hurried
downstairs.

'The young one, at least, seems a little ashamed of her errand ....
Now, Wulf, speak low; and I will see that no one is listening at the
door.'

Philammon faced his unexpected visitors with a look of angry
inquiry. What right had they, or any man, to intrude at such a
moment on his misery and disgrace? .... But he was disarmed the
next instant by old Wulf, who advanced to him, and looking him fully
in the face with an expression which there was no mistaking, held
out his broad, brown hand.

Philammon grasped it, and then covering his face with his hands,
burst into tears.

'You did right. You are a brave boy. If you had died, no man need
have been ashamed to die your death.'

'You were there, then?' sobbed Philammon.

'We were.'

'And what is more,' said Smid, as the poor boy writhed at the
admission, 'we were mightily minded, some of us, to have leapt down
to you and cut you a passage out. One man, at least, whom I know
of, felt his old blood as hot for the minute as a four-year-old's.
The foul curs! And to hoot her, after all! Oh that I may have one
good hour's hewing at them before I die!'

'And you shall!' said Wulf. 'Boy, you wish to get this sister of
yours into your power?'

'It is hopeless--hopeless! She will never leave her--the Amal.'

'Are you so sure of that?'

'She told me so with her own lips not ten minutes ago. That was she
who went out as you entered!'

A curse of astonishment and regret burst from Smid....

'Had I but known her! By the soul of my fathers, she should have
found that it was easier to come here than to go home again!'

'Hush, Smid! Better as it is. Boy, if I put her into your power,
dare you carry her off?'

Philammon hesitated one moment.

'What I dare you know already. But it would be an unlawful thing,
surely, to use violence.'

'Settle your philosopher's doubts for yourself. I have made my
offer. I should have thought that a man in his senses could give
but one answer, much more a mad monk.'

'You forget the money matters, prince,' said Smid, with a smile.

'I do not. But I don't think the boy so mean as to hesitate on that
account.'

'He may as well know, however, that we promise to send all her
trumpery after her, even to the Amal's presents. As for the house,
we won't trouble her to lend it us longer than we can help. We
intend shortly to move into more extensive premises, and open
business on a grander scale, as the shopkeepers say,--eh, prince?'

'Her money?--That money? God forgive her!' answered Philammon. 'Do
you fancy me base enough to touch it? But I am resolved. Tell me
what to do, and I will do it.'

'You know the lane which runs down to the canal, under the left wall
of the house?'

'Yes.'

'And a door in the corner tower, close to the landing-place?'
'I do.'

'Be there, with a dozen stout monks, to-morrow, an hour after
sundown, and take what we give you. After that, the concern is
yours, not ours.'

'Monks?' said Philammon. 'I am at open feud with the whole order.'

'Make friends with them, then,' shortly suggested Smid.

Philammon writhed inwardly. 'It makes no difference to you, I
presume, whom I bring?'

'No more than it does whether or not you pitch her into the canal,
and put a hurdle over her when you have got her,' answered Smid;
'which is what a Goth would do, if he were in your place.'

'Do not vex the poor lad, friend. If he thinks he can mend her
instead of punishing her, in Freya's name, let him try. You will be
there, then? And mind, I like you. I liked you when you faced that
great river-hog. I like you better now than ever; for you have
spoken to-day like a Sagaman, and dared like a hero. Therefore
mind; if you do not bring a good guard to-morrow night, your life
will not be safe. The whole city is out in the streets; and Odin
alone knows what will be done, and who will be alive, eight-and-
forty hours hence. Mind you!--The mob may do strange things, and
they may see still stranger things done. If you once find yourself
safe back here, stay where you are, if you value her life or your
own. And--if you are wise, let the men whom you bring with you be
monks, though it cost your proud stomach--'

'That's not fair, prince! You are telling too much!' interrupted
Smid, while Philammon gulped down the said proud stomach, and
answered, 'Be it so!'

'I have won my bet, Smid,' said the old man, chuckling, as the two
tramped out into the street, to the surprise and fear of all the
neighbours, while the children clapped their hands, and the street
dogs felt it their duty to bark lustily at the strange figures of
their unwonted visitors.

'No play, no pay, Wulf. We shall see to-morrow.'

'I knew that he would stand the trial! I knew he was right at
heart!'

'At all events, there is no fear of his ill-using the poor thing, if
he loves her well enough to go down on his knees to his sworn foes
for her.'

'I don't know that,' answered Wulf, with a shake of the head. 'These
monks, I hear, fancy that their God likes them the better the more
miserable they are: so, perhaps they may fancy that he will like
them all the more, the more miserable they make other people.
However, it's no concern of ours.'

'We have quite enough of our own to see to just now. But mind, no
play, no pay.'

'Of course not. How the streets are filling! We shall not be able
to see the guards to-night, if this mob thickens much more.'

'We shall have enough to do to hold our own, perhaps. Do you hear
what they are crying there? "Down with all heathens! Down with
barbarians!" That means us, you know.'

'Do you fancy no one understands Greek but yourself? Let them come
.... It may give us an excuse .... And we can hold the house a
week.'

'But how can we get speech of the guards?'

'We will slip round by water. And, after all, deeds will win them
better than talk. They will be forced to fight on the same side as
we, and most probably be glad of our help; for if the mob attacks
any one, it will begin with the Prefect.'

'And then--Curse their shouting! Let the soldiers once find our
Amal at their head, and they will be ready to go with him a mile,
where they meant to go a yard.'

'The Goths will, and the Markmen, and those Dacians, and Thracians,
or whatever the Romans call them. But I hardly trust the Huns.'

'The curse of heaven on their pudding faces and pigs' eyes! There
will be no love lost between us. But there are not twenty of them
scattered in different troops; one of us can thrash three of them;
and they will be sure to side with the winning party. Besides,
plunder, plunder, comrade! When did you know a Hun turn back from
that, even if he were only on the scent of a lump of tallow?'

'As for the Gauls and Latins,' .... went on Wulf meditatively, 'they
belong to any man who can pay them.'....

'Which we can do, like all wise generals, one penny out of our own
pocket, and nine out of the enemy's. And the Amal is staunch?'

'Staunch as his own hounds, now there is something to be done on the
spot. His heart was in the right place after all. I knew it all
along. But he could never in his life see four-and-twenty hours
before him. Even now if that Pelagia gets him under her spell
again, he may throw down his sword, and fall as fast asleep as
ever.'

'Never fear; we have settled her destiny for her, as far as that is
concerned. Look at the mob before the door! We must get in by the
postern-gate.'

'Get in by the sewer, like a rat! I go my own way. Draw, old
hammer and tongs! or run away!'

'Not this time.' And sword in hand, the two marched into the heart
of the crowd, who gave way before them like a flock of sheep.

'They know their intended shepherds already,' said Smid. But at
that moment the crowd, seeing them about to enter the house, raised
a yell of 'Goths! Heathens! Barbarians!' and a rush from behind
took place.

'If you will have it, then!' said Wulf. And the two long bright
blades flashed round and round their heads, redder and redder every
time they swung aloft .... The old men never even checked their
steady walk, and knocking at the gate, went in, leaving more than
one lifeless corpse at the entrance.

'We have put the coal in the thatch, now, with a vengeance,' said
Smid, as they wiped their swords inside.

'We have. Get me out a boat and half a dozen men, and I and Goderic
will go round by the canal to the palace, and settle a thing or two
with the guards.'

'Why should not the Amal go, and offer our help himself to the
Prefect?'

'What? Would you have him after that turn against the hound? For
troth and honour's sake, he must keep quiet in the matter.'

'He will have no objection to keep quiet--trust him for that! But
don't forget Sagaman Moneybag, the best of all orators,' called Smid
laughingly after him, as he went off to man the boat.



CHAPTER XXV: SEEKING AFTER A SIGN


'What answer has he sent back, father?' asked Hypatia, as Theon re-
entered her chamber, after delivering that hapless letter to
Philammon.

'Insolent that he is! he tore it to fragments and tied forth without
a word.'

'Let him go, and desert us like the rest, in
our calamity!'

'At least, we have the jewels.'

'The jewels? Let them be returned to their owner. Shall we defile
ourselves by taking them as wages for anything--above all, for that
which is unperformed?'

'But, my child, they were given to us freely. He bade me keep them;
and--and, to tell you the truth, I must keep them. After this
unfortunate failure, be sure of it, every creditor we have will be
clamouring for payment.'

'Let them take our house and furniture, and sell us as slaves, then.
Let them take all, provided we keep our virtue.'

'Sell us as slaves? Are you mad?'

'Not quite mad yet, father,' answered she with a sad smile. 'But how
should we be worse than we are now, were we slaves? Raphael Aben-
Ezra told me that he obeyed my precepts, when he went forth as a
houseless beggar; and shall I not have courage to obey them myself,
if the need come? The thought of his endurance has shamed my luxury
for this many a month. After all, what does the philosopher require
but bread and water, and the clear brook in which to wash away the
daily stains of his earthly prison-house? Let what is fated come.
Hypatia struggles with the stream no more!'

'My daughter! And have you given up all hope? So soon disheartened!
What! Is this paltry accident to sweep away the purposes of years?
Orestes remains still faithful. His guards have orders to garrison
the house for as long as we shall require them.'

'Send them away, then. I have done no wrong, and I fear no
punishment.'

'You do not know the madness of the mob; they are shouting your name
in the streets already, in company with Pelagia's.'

Hypatia shuddered. Her name in company with Pelagia's! And to this
she had brought herself!

'I have deserved it! I have sold myself to a lie and a disgrace! I
have stooped to truckle, to intrigue! I have bound myself to a
sordid trickster! Father! never mention his name to me again! I
have leagued myself with the impure and the bloodthirsty, and I have
my reward! No more politics for Hypatia from henceforth, my father;
no more orations and lectures; no more pearls of Divine wisdom cast
before swine. I have sinned in divulging the secrets of the
Immortals to the mob. Let them follow their natures! Fool that I
was, to fancy that my speech, my plots, could raise them above that
which the gods had made them!'

'Then you give up our lectures? Worse and worse! We shall be
ruined utterly!'

'We are ruined utterly already. Orestes? There is no help in him.
I know the man too well, my father, not to know that he would give
us up to-morrow to the fury of the Christians were his own base
life--even his own baser office--in danger.'

'Too true--too true! I fear,' said the poor old man, wringing his
hands in perplexity. 'What will become of us,--of you, rather? What
matter what happens to the useless old star-gazer? Let him die!
To-day or next year is alike to him. But you, you! Let us escape
by the canal. We may gather up enough, even without these jewels,
which you refuse, to pay our voyage to Athens, and there we shall be
safe with Plutarch; he will welcome you--all Athens will welcome
you--we will collect a fresh school--and you shall be Queen of
Athens, as you have been Queen of Alexandria!'

'No, father. What I know, henceforth I will know for myself only.
Hypatia will be from this day alone with the Immortal Gods!'

'You will not leave me?' cried the old man, terrified.

'Never on earth!' answered she, bursting into real human tears, and
throwing herself on his bosom. 'Never--never! father of my spirit as
well as of my flesh!--the parent who has trained me, taught me,
educated my soul from the cradle to use her wings!--the only human
being who never misunderstood me--never thwarted me--never deceived
me!'

'My priceless child! And I have been the cause of your ruin!'

'Not you!--a thousand times not you! I only am to blame! I
tampered with worldly politics. I tempted you on to fancy that I
could effect what I so rashly undertook. Do not accuse yourself
unless you wish to break my heart! We can be happy together yet.--A
palm-leaf hut in the desert, dates from the grove, and water from
the spring--the monk dares be miserable alone in such a dwelling,
and cannot we dare to be happy together in it?'

'Then you will escape?'

'Not to-day. It were base to flee before danger comes. We must
hold out at our post to the last moment, even if we dare not die at
it like heroes. And to-morrow I go to the lecture-room,--to the
beloved Museum, for the last time, to take farewell of my pupils.
Unworthy as they are, I owe it to myself and to philosophy to tell
them why I leave them.'

'It will be too dangerous--indeed it will!'

'I could take the guards with me, then. And yet--no .... They
shall never have occasion to impute fear to the philosopher. Let
them see her go forth as usual on her errand, strong in the courage
of innocence, secure in the protection of the gods. So, perhaps,
some sacred awe, some suspicion of her divineness, may fall on them
at last.'

'I must go with you.'

'No, I go alone. You might incur danger where I am safe. After
all, I am a woman .... And, fierce as they are, they will not dare
to harm me.'

The old man shook his head.

'Look now,' she said smilingly, laying her hands on his shoulders,
and looking into his face .... 'You tell me that I am beautiful, you
know; and beauty will tame the lion. Do you not think that this
face might disarm even a monk?'

And she laughed and blushed so sweetly, that the old man forgot his
fears, as she intended that he should, and kissed her and went his
way for the time being, to command all manner of hospitalities to
the soldiers, whom he prudently determined to keep in his house as
long as he could make them stay there; in pursuance of which wise
purpose he contrived not to see a great deal of pleasant flirtation
between his valiant defenders and Hypatia's maids, who, by no means
so prudish as their mistress, welcomed as a rare boon from heaven an
afternoon's chat with twenty tall men of war.

So they jested and laughed below, while old Theon, having brought
out the very best old wine, and actually proposed in person, by way
of mending matters, the health of the Emperor of Africa, locked
himself into the library, and comforted his troubled soul with a
tough problem of astronomy, which had been haunting him the whole
day, even in the theatre itself. But Hypatia sat still in her
chamber, her face buried in her hands, her heart full of many
thoughts; her eyes of tears. She had smiled away her father's
fears; she could not smile away her own.

She felt, she hardly knew why, but she felt as clearly as if a god
had proclaimed it to her bodily ears, that the crisis of her life
was come: that her political and active career was over, and that
she must now be content to be for herself, and in herself alone, all
that she was, or might become. The world might be regenerated: but
not in her day;--the gods restored; but not by her. It was a
fearful discovery, and yet hardly a discovery. Her heart had told
her for years that she was hoping against hope,--that she was
struggling against a stream too mighty for her. And now the moment
had come when she must either be swept helpless down the current,
or, by one desperate effort, win firm land, and let the tide roll on
its own way henceforth .... Its own way? .... Not the way of the
gods, at least; for it was sweeping their names from off the earth.
What if they did not care to be known? What if they were weary of
worship and reverence from mortal men, and, self-sufficing in their
own perfect bliss, recked nothing for the weal or woe of earth?
Must it not be so? Had she not proof of it in everything which she
beheld? What did Isis care for her Alexandria? What did Athens
care for her Athens? .... And yet Homer and Hesiod, and those old
Orphic singers, were of another mind .... Whence got they that
strange fancy of gods counselling, warring, intermarrying, with
mankind, as with some kindred tribe?