Hypatia — or New Foes with an Old Face

by Charles Kingsley

  CHAPTER X: THE INTERVIEW

  Philammon was aroused from his slumbers at sunrise the next morning bythe attendants who came in to sweep out the lecture-rooms, and wandered,disconsolately enough, up and down the street; longing for, and yetdreading, the three weary hours to be over which must pass before hewould be admitted to Hypatia. But he had tasted no food since noon theday before: he had but three hours' sleep the previous night, andhad been working, running, and fighting for two whole days without amoment's peace of body or mind. Sick with hunger and fatigue, and achingfrom head to foot with his hard night's rest on the granite-flags, hefelt as unable as man could well do to collect his thoughts or brace hisnerves for the coming interview. How to get food he could not guess; buthaving two hands, he might at least earn a coin by carrying a load; sohe went down to the Esplanade in search of work. Of that, alas! therewas none. So he sat down upon the parapet of the quay, and watched theshoals of sardines which played in and out over the marble steps below,and wondered at the strange crabs and sea-locusts which crawled up anddown the face of the masonry, a few feet below the surface, scramblingfor bits of offal, and making occasional fruitless dashes at the nimblelittle silver arrows which played round them. And at last his wholesoul, too tired to think of anything else, became absorbed in a mightystruggle between two great crabs, who held on stoutly, each by a claw,to his respective bunch of seaweed, while with the others they tugged,one at the head and the other at the tail of a dead fish. Which wouldconquer?.... Ay, which? And for five minutes Philammon was alone in theworld with the two struggling heroes.... Might not they be emblematic?Might not the upper one typify Cyril?--the lower one Hypatia?--and thedead fish between, himself?.... But at last the deadlock was suddenlyended--the fish parted in the middle; and the typical Hypatia and Cyril,losing hold of their respective seaweeds by the jerk, tumbled down, eachwith its half-fish, and vanished head over heels into the blue depths inso undignified a manner, that Philammon burst into a shout of laughter.

  'What's the joke?' asked a well-known voice behind him; and a handpatted him familiarly on the back. He looked round, and saw the littleporter, his head crowned with a full basket of figs, grapes, andwater-melons, on which the poor youth cast a longing eye. 'Well, myyoung friend, and why are you not at church? Look at all the saintspouring into the Caesareum there, behind you.'

  Philammon answered sulkily enough something inarticulate.

  'Ho, ho! Quarrelled with the successor of the Apostles already? Has myprophecy come true, and the strong meat of pious riot and plunder provedtoo highly spiced for your young palate? Eh?'

  Poor Philammon! Angry with himself for feeling that the porter wasright; shrinking from the notion of exposing the failings of hisfellow-Christians; shrinking still more from making such a jackanapeshis confidant: and yet yearning in his loneliness to open his heart tosome one, he dropped out, hint by hint, word by word, the events of thepast evening, and finished by a request to be put in the way of earninghis breakfast.

  'Earning your breakfast! Shall the favourite of the gods--shall theguest of Hypatia--earn his breakfast, while I have an obol to sharewith him? Base thought! Youth! I have wronged you. Unphilosophically Iallowed, yesterday morning, envy to ruffle the ocean of my intellect. Weare now friends and brothers, in hatred to the monastic tribe.'

  'I do not hate them, I tell you,' said Philammon. 'But these Nitriansavages--'

  'Are the perfect examples of monkery, and you hate them; and therefore,all greaters containing the less, you hate all less monastic monks--Ihave not heard logic lectures in vain. Now, up! The sea woos our dustylimbs: Nereids and Tritons, charging no cruel coin, call us to Nature'sbaths. At home a mighty sheat-fish smokes upon the festive board; beercrowns the horn, and onions deck the dish; come then, my guest andbrother!'

  Philammon swallowed certain scruples about becoming the guest of aheathen, seeing that otherwise there seemed no chance of having anythingelse to swallow; and after a refreshing plunge in the sea, followed thehospitable little fellow to Hypatia's door, where he dropped his dailyload of fruit, and then into a narrow by-street, to the ground-floorof a huge block of lodgings with a common staircase, swarming withchildren, cats, and chickens; and was ushered by his host into a littleroom, where the savoury smell of broiling fish revived Philammon'sheart.

  'Judith! Judith! where lingerest thou? Marble of Pentelicus! foam-flakeof the wine dark main! lily of the Mareotic lake! You accursed blackAndromeda, if you don't bring the breakfast this moment, I'll cut you intwo!'

  The inner door opened, and in bustled, trembling, her hands full ofdishes, a tall lithe negress, dressed in true negro fashion, in asnow-white cotton shift, a scarlet cotton petticoat, and a bright yellowturban of the same, making a light in that dark place which would haveserved as a landmark a mile off. She put the dishes down, and the portermajestically waved Philammon to a stool; while she retreated, and stoodhumbly waiting on her lord and master, who did not deign to introduceto his guest the black beauty which composed his whole seraglio.... But,indeed, such an act of courtesy would have been needless; for the firstmorsel of fish was hardly safe in poor Philammon's mouth, when theregress rushed upon him, caught him by the head, and covered him withrapturous kisses.

  Up jumped the little man with a yell, brandishing a knife in one handand a leek in the other; while Philammon, scarcely less scandalised,jumped up too, and shook himself free of the lady, who, finding itimpossible to vent her feelings further on his head, instantly changedher tactics, and, wallowing on the floor, began frantically kissing hisfeet.

  'What is this? before my face! Up, shameless baggage, or thou diest thedeath!' and the porter pulled her up upon her knees.

  'It is the monk! the young man I told you of, who saved me from the Jewsthe other night! What good angel sent him here that I might thank him?'cried the poor creature, while the tears ran down her black shiningface.

  'I am that good angel,' said the porter, with a look of intenseself-satisfaction. 'Rise, daughter of Erebus; thou art pardoned, beingbut a female. What says the poet?--

  '"Woman is passion's slave, while rightful lord O'er her and passion,rules the nobler male."

  Youth! to my arms! Truly say the philosophers, that the universe ismagical in itself, and by mysterious sympathies links like to like. Theprophetic instinct of thy future benefits towards me drew me to thee asby an invisible warp, hawser, or chain-cable, from the moment I beheldthee. Thou went a kindred spirit, my brother, though thou knewest itnot. Therefore I do not praise thee--no, nor thank thee in the least,though thou hast preserved for me the one palm which shadows my wearysteps--the single lotus-flower (in this case black, not white) whichblooms for me above the mud-stained ocean wastes of the Hylic Borboros.That which thou hast done, thou hast done by instinct--by divinecompulsion--thou couldst no more help it than thou canst help eatingthat fish, and art no more to be praised for it.'

  'Thank you,' said Philammon.

  'Comprehend me. Our theory in the schools for such cases is this--hasbeen so at least for the last six months; similar particles, from oneoriginal source, exist in you and me. Similar causes produce similareffects; our attractions, antipathies, impulses, are therefore, insimilar circumstances, absolutely the same; and therefore you did theother night exactly what I should have done in your case.'

  Philammon thought the latter part of the theory open to question, but hehad by no means stopped eating when he rose, and his mouth was much toofull of fish to argue.

  'And therefore,' continued the little man,'we are to consider ourselveshenceforth as one soul in two bodies. You may have the best of thecorporeal part of the division.... yet it is the soul which makes theperson. You may trust me, I shall not disdain my brotherhood. If anyone insults you henceforth, you have but to call me; and if I be withinhearing, why, by this right arm---'

  And he attempted a pat on Philammon's head, which, as there was a headand shoulder's difference between them, might on the whole have beenconsidered, from a theatric point of vie
w, as a failure. Whereon thelittle man seized the calabash of beer, and filling therewith a cow'shorn, his thumb on the small end, raised it high in the air.

  'To the Tenth Muse, and to your interview with her!'

  And removing his thumb, he sent a steady jet into his open mouth, andhaving drained the horn without drawing breath, licked his lips, handedit to Philammon, and flew ravenously upon the fish and onions.

  Philammon, to whom the whole was supremely absurd, had no invocation tomake, but one which he felt too sacred for his present temper of mind:so he attempted to imitate the little man's feat, and, of course, pouredthe beer into his eyes, and up his nose, and in his bosom, and finallychoked himself black in the face, while his host observed smilingly--

  'Aha, rustic! unacquainted with the ancient and classical customspreserved in this centre of civilisation by the descendants ofAlexander's heroes? Judith! clear the table. Now to the sanctuary of theMuses!'

  Philammon rose, and finished his meal by a monkish grace. A gentle andreverent 'Amen' rose from the other end of the room. It was the negress.She saw him look up at her, dropped her eyes modestly, and bustled awaywith the remnants, while Philammon and his host started for Hypatia'slecture-room.

  'Your wife is a Christian?' asked he when they were outside the door.

  'Ahem--! The barbaric mind is prone to superstition. Yet she is, beingbut a woman and a negress, a good soul, and thrifty, though requiring,like all lower animals, occasional chastisement. I married her onphilosophic grounds. A wife was necessary to me for several reasons: butmindful that the philosopher should subjugate the material appetite,and rise above the swinish desires of the flesh, even when his naturerequires him to satisfy them, I purposed to make pleasure as unpleasantas possible. I had the choice of several cripples--their parents, ofancient Macedonian family like myself, were by no means adverse; but Irequired a housekeeper, with whose duties the want of an arm or a legmight have interfered.'

  'Why did you not marry a scold?' asked Philammon.

  'Pertinently observed: and indeed the example of Socrates rose luminousmore than once before my imagination. But philosophic calm, my dearyouth, and the peaceful contemplation of the ineffable? I could notrelinquish those luxuries. So having, by the bounty of Hypatia and herpupils, saved a small suns, I went out bought me a negress, and hiredsix rooms in the block we have just left, where I let lodgings to youngstudents of the Divine Philosophy.'

  'Have you any lodgers now?'

  'Ahem! Certain rooms are occupied by a lady of rank. The philosopherwill, above all things, abstain from babbling. To bridle the tongue,is to--But there is a closet at your service; and for the hall ofreception, which you have just left--are you not a kindred and fraternalspark? We can combine our meals, as our souls are already united.'

  Philammon thanked him heartily for the offer, though he shrank fromaccepting it; and in ten minutes more found himself at the door of thevery house which he had been watching the night before. It was she,then, whom he had seen!.... He was handed over by a black porter to asmart slave-girl, who guided him up, through cloisters and corridors,to the large library, where five or six young men were sitting, busilyengaged, under Theon's superintendence, in copying manuscripts anddrawing geometric diagrams.

  Philammon gazed curiously at these symbols of a science unknown tohim, and wondered whether the day would ever come when he too wouldunderstand their mysteries; but his eyes fell again as he saw theyouths staring at his ragged sheepskin and matted locks with undisguisedcontempt. He could hardly collect himself enough to obey the summons ofthe venerable old man, as he beckoned him silently out of the room, andled him, with the titters of the young students ringing in his ears,through the door by which he had entered, and along a gallery, till hestopped and knocked humbly at a door.... She must be within! knockedtogether under him. His heart sank and sank into abysses! Poorwretch!.... He was half minded once to escape and dash into thestreet.... but was it not his one hope, his one object?.... But why didnot that old man speak? If he would have but said something!.... Ifhe would only have looked cross, contemptuous!.... But with the sameimpressive gravity, as of a man upon a business in which he had novoice, and wished it to be understood that lie had none, the old mansilently opened the door, and Philammon followed.... There she was!looking more glorious than ever; more than when glowing with theenthusiasm of her own eloquence; more than when transfigured last nightin golden tresses and glittering moonbeams. There she sat, withoutmoving a finger, as the two entered. She greeted her father with asmile, which made up for all her seeming want of courtesy to him, andthen fixed her large gray eyes full on Philammon.

  'Here is the youth, my daughter. It was your wish, you know; and Ialways believe that you know best--'

  Another smile put an end to this speech, and the old man retreatedhumbly toward another door, with a somewhat anxious visage, and thenlingering and looking back, his hand upon the latch--

  'If you require any one, you know, you have only to call--we shall beall in the library.'

  Another smile; and the old man disappeared, leaving the two alone.

  Philammon stood trembling, choking, his eyes fixed on the floor. Wherewere all the fine things he had conned over for the occasion? He darednot look up at that face, lest it should drive them out of his head. Andyet the more lie kept his eyes turned from the face, the more lie wasconscious of it, conscious that it was watching him; and the more allthe fine words were, by that very knowledge, driven out of his head....When would she speak? Perhaps she wished him to speak first. It was herduty to begin, for she had sent for him.... But still she kept silence,and sat scanning him intently from head to foot, herself as motionlessas a statue; her hands folded together before her, over the manuscriptwhich lay upon her knee. If there was a blush on her cheek at her owndaring, his eyes swam too much to notice it.

  When would the intolerable suspense end? She was, perhaps, as unwillingto speak as he. But some one must strike the first blow: and, as oftenhappens, the weaker party, impelled by sheer fear, struck it, and brokethe silence in a tone half indignant, half apologetic--

  'You sent for me hither!'

  'I did. It seemed to me, as I watched you during my lecture, both beforeand after you were rude enough to interrupt me, that your offence wasone of mere youthful ignorance. It seemed to me that your countenancebespoke a nobler nature than that which the gods are usually pleased tobestow upon monks. That I may now ascertain whether or not my surmiseswere correct, I ask you for what purpose are you come hither?'

  Philammon hailed the question as a godsend.--Now for his message! Andyet he faltered as he answered, with a desperate effort,--'To rebuke youfor your sins.'

  'My sins! What sins?' she asked, as she looked up with a stately, slowsurprise in those large gray eyes, before which his own glance sankabashed, he knew not why. What sins?--He knew not. Did she look likea Messalina? But was she not a heathen and a sorceress?--And yet heblushed, and stammered, and hung down his head, as, shrinking at thesound of his own words, he replied--

  'The foul sorceries--and profligacy worse than sorceries, in which, theysay--' He could get no farther: for he looked up again and saw an awfulquiet smile upon that face. His words had raised no blush upon themarble cheek.

  'They say! The bigots and slanderers; wild beasts of the desert, andfanatic intriguers, who, in the words of Him they call their master,compass heaven and earth to make one proselyte, and when they have foundhim, make him two-fold more the child of hell than themselves. Go--Iforgive you: you are young, and know not yet the mystery of the world.Science will teach you some day that the outward frame is the sacramentof the soul's inward beauty. Such a soul I had fancied your faceexpressed; but I was mistaken. Foul hearts alone harbour such foulsuspicions, and fancy others to be what they know they might becomethemselves. Go! Do I look like--? The very tapering of these fingers, ifyou could read their symbolism, would give your dream the lie.' And sheflashed full on him, like sun-rays from a mirror, the full radiance ofh
er glorious countenance.

  Alas, poor Philammon! where were thy eloquent arguments, thy orthodoxtheories then? Proudly he struggled with his own man's heart of flesh,and tried to turn his eyes away; the magnet might as well struggle toescape from the spell of the north. In a moment, he knew not how, uttershame, remorse, longing for forgiveness, swept over him, and crushed himdown; and he found himself on his knees before her, in abject and brokensyllables entreating pardon.

  'Go--I forgive you. But know before you go, that the celestial milkwhich fell from Here's bosom, bleaching the plant which it touched toeverlasting whiteness, was not more taintless than the soul of Theon'sdaughter.'

  He looked up in her face as he knelt before her. Unerring instincttold him that her words were true. He was a monk, accustomed to believeanimal sin to be the deadliest and worst of all sins--indeed, 'the greatoffence' itself, beside which all others were comparatively venial:where there was physical purity, must not all other virtues follow inits wake? All other failings were invisible under the dazzling veil ofthat great loveliness; and in his self-abasement he went on--

  'Oh, do not spurn me!--do not drive me away! I have neither friend,home, nor teacher. I fled last night from the men of my own faith,maddened by bitter insult and injustice--disappointed and disgusted withtheir ferocity, narrowness, ignorance. I dare not, I cannot, I will notreturn to the obscurity and the dulness of a Thebaid Laura. I have athousand doubts to solve, a thousand questions to ask, about that greatancient world of which I know nothing--of whose mysteries, they say, youalone possess the key! I am a Christian; but I thirst for knowledge....I do not promise to believe you-I do not promise to obey you; but let mehear! Teach me what you know, that I may compare it with what Iknow.... If indeed' (and he shuddered as he spoke the words) 'I do knowanything!'

  'Have you forgotten the epithets which you used to me just now?'

  'No, no! But do you forget them; they were put into my mouth. I--I didnot believe them when I said them. It was agony to me; but I did it, asI thought, for your sake--to save you. Oh, say that I may come and hearyou again! Only from a distance--in the very farthest corner of yourlecture-room. I will be silent; you shall never see me. But your wordsyesterday awoke in me--no, not doubts; but still I must, I must hearmore, or be as miserable and homeless inwardly as I am in my outwardcircumstances!' And he looked up imploringly for consent.

  'Rise. This passion and that attitude are fitting neither for you norme.'

  And as Philammon rose, she rose also, went into the library to herfather, and in a few minutes returned with him.

  'Come with me, young man,' said he, laying his hand kindly enough onPhilammon's shoulder.... 'The rest of this matter you and I can settle;'and Philammon followed him, not daring to look back at Hypatia, whilethe whole room swam before his eyes.

  'So, so I hear you have been saying rude things to my daughter. Well,she has forgiven you--'

  'Has she?' asked the young monk, with an eager start.

  'Ah! you may well look astonished. But I forgive you too. It is luckyfor you, however, that I did not hear you, or else, old man as I am, Ican't say what I might not have done. Ah! you little know, you littleknow what she is.--and the old pedant's eyes kindled with loving pride.'May the gods give you some day such a daughter!--that is, if you learnto deserve it--as virtuous as she is wise, as wise as she is beautiful.Truly they have repaid me for my labours in their service. Look, youngman! little as you merit it, here is a pledge of your forgiveness, suchas the richest and noblest in Alexandria are glad to purchase withmany an ounce of gold--a ticket of free admission to all her lectureshenceforth! Now go; you have been favoured beyond your deserts, andshould learn that the philosopher can practise what the Christian onlypreaches, and return good for evil.' And he put into Philammon's handa slip of paper, and bid one of the secretaries show him to the outerdoor.

  The youths looked up at him from their writing as he passed, with facesof surprise and awe, and evidently thinking no more about the absurdityof his sheepskin and his tanned complexion; and he went out with astunned, confused feeling, as of one who, by a desperate leap, hasplunged into a new world. He tried to feel content; but he dare not. Allbefore him was anxiety, uncertainty. He had cut himself adrift; he wason the great stream. Whither would it lead him? Well--was it not thegreat stream? Had not all mankind, for all the ages, been floating onit? Or was it but a desert-river, dwindling away beneath the fierysun, destined to lose itself a few miles on, among the arid sands? WereArsenius and the faith of his childhood right? And was the Old Worldcoming speedily to its death-throe, and the Kingdom of God at hand?Or was Cyril right, and the Church Catholic appointed to spread, andconquer, and destroy, and rebuild, till the kingdoms of this world hadbecome the kingdoms of God and of His Christ! If so, what use in thisold knowledge which he craved? And yet, if the day of the destruction ofall things were at hand, and the times destined to become worse and notbetter, till the end-how could that be?....

  'What news?' asked the little porter, who had been waiting for him atthe door all the while. 'What news, O favourite of the gods!'

  'I will lodge with you, and labour with you. Ask me no more at present.I am--I am--

  'Those who descended into the Cave of Trophonius, and beheld theunspeakable, remained astonished for three days, my young friend--and sowill you!' And they went forth together to earn their bread.

  But what is Hypatia doing all this while, upon that cloudy Olympus,where she sits enshrined far above the noise and struggle of man and hiswork-day world?

  She is sitting again, with her manuscripts open before her; but she isthinking of the young monk, not of them.

  'Beautiful as Antinous!.... Rather as the young Phoebus himself, freshglowing from the slaughter of the Python. Why should not he, too, becomea slayer of Pythons, and loathsome monsters, bred from the mud of senseand matter? So bold and earnest! I can forgive him those words for thevery fact of his having dared, here in my fathers house, to say them tome.... And yet so tender, so open to repentance and noble shame!--Thatis no plebeian by birth; patrician blood surely flows in those veins;it shows out in every attitude, every tone, every motion of the handand lip. He cannot be one of the herd. Who ever knew one of them craveafter knowledge for its own sake?.... And I have longed so for onereal pupil! I have longed so to find one such man, among the effeminateselfish triflers who pretend to listen to me. I thought I had foundone--and the moment that I had lost him, behold, I find another; andthat a fresher, purer, simpler nature than ever Raphael's was at itsbest. By all the laws of physiognomy--by all the symbolism of gestureand voice and complexion--by the instinct of my own heart, that youngmonk might be the instrument, the ready, valiant, obedient instrument,for carrying out all my dreams. If I could but train him into aLonginus, I could dare to play the part of a Zenobia, with him ascounseller.... And for my Odenatus--Orestes? Horrible!'

  She covered her face with her hand a minute. 'No!' she said, dashingaway the tears--'That--and anything--and everything for the cause ofPhilosophy and the gods!'