Hypatia by Charles Kingsley (phonics story books txt) 📖

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

‘Ahem—! The barbaric mind is prone to superstition. Yet she is, being but a woman and a negress, a good soul, and thrifty, though requiring, like all lower animals, occasional chastisement. I married her on philosophic grounds. A wife was necessary to me for several reasons: but mindful that the philosopher should subjugate the material appetite, and rise above the swinish desires of the flesh, even when his nature requires him to satisfy them, I purposed to make pleasure as unpleasant as possible. I had the choice of several cripples—their parents, of ancient Macedonian family like myself, were by no means adverse; but I required a housekeeper, with whose duties the want of an arm or a leg might have interfered.’

‘Why did you not marry a scold?’ asked Philammon.

‘Pertinently observed: and indeed the example of Socrates rose luminous more than once before my imagination. But philosophic calm, my dear youth, and the peaceful contemplation of the ineffable? I could not relinquish those luxuries. So having, by the bounty of Hypatia and her pupils, saved a small suns, I went out bought me a negress, and hired six rooms in the block we have just left, where I let lodgings to young students of the Divine Philosophy.’

‘Have you any lodgers now?’

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

Philammon thanked him heartily for the offer, though he shrank from accepting it; and in ten minutes more found himself at the door of the very 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 a smart slave-girl, who guided him up, through cloisters and corridors, to the large library, where five or six young men were sitting, busily engaged, under Theon’s superintendence, in copying manuscripts and drawing geometric diagrams.

Philammon gazed curiously at these symbols of a science unknown to him, and wondered whether the day would ever come when he too would understand their mysteries; but his eyes fell again as he saw the youths staring at his ragged sheepskin and matted locks with undisguised contempt. He could hardly collect himself enough to obey the summons of the venerable old man, as he beckoned him silently out of the room, and led 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 he stopped and knocked humbly at a door …. She must be within! knocked together under him. His heart sank and sank into abysses! Poor wretch! .... He was half minded once to escape and dash into the street …. but was it not his one hope, his one object? .... But why did not that old man speak? If he would have but said something! .... If he would only have looked cross, contemptuous! .... But with the same impressive gravity, as of a man upon a business in which he had no voice, and wished it to be understood that lie had none, the old man silently opened the door, and Philammon followed …. There she was! looking more glorious than ever; more than when glowing with the enthusiasm of her own eloquence; more than when transfigured last night in golden tresses and glittering moonbeams. There she sat, without moving a finger, as the two entered. She greeted her father with a smile, which made up for all her seeming want of courtesy to him, and then fixed her large gray eyes full on Philammon.

‘Here is the youth, my daughter. It was your wish, you know; and I always believe that you know best—’

Another smile put an end to this speech, and the old man retreated humbly toward another door, with a somewhat anxious visage, and then lingering and looking back, his hand upon the latch—

‘If you require any one, you know, you have only to call—we shall be all in the library.’

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

Philammon stood trembling, choking, his eyes fixed on the floor. Where were all the fine things he had conned over for the occasion? He dared not look up at that face, lest it should drive them out of his head. And yet the more lie kept his eyes turned from the face, the more lie was conscious of it, conscious that it was watching him; and the more all the 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 her duty to begin, for she had sent for him …. But still she kept silence, and sat scanning him intently from head to foot, herself as motionless as a statue; her hands folded together before her, over the manuscript which lay upon her knee. If there was a blush on her cheek at her own daring, his eyes swam too much to notice it.

When would the intolerable suspense end? She was, perhaps, as unwilling to speak as he. But some one must strike the first blow: and, as often happens, the weaker party, impelled by sheer fear, struck it, and broke the 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 before and after you were rude enough to interrupt me, that your offence was one of mere youthful ignorance. It seemed to me that your countenance bespoke a nobler nature than that which the gods are usually pleased to bestow upon monks. That I may now ascertain whether or not my surmises were correct, I ask you for what purpose are you come hither?’

Philammon hailed the question as a godsend.—Now for his message! And yet he faltered as he answered, with a desperate effort,—‘To rebuke you for your sins.’

‘My sins! What sins?’ she asked, as she looked up with a stately, slow surprise in those large gray eyes, before which his own glance sank abashed, he knew not why. What sins?—He knew not. Did she look like a Messalina? But was she not a heathen and a sorceress?— And yet he blushed, and stammered, and hung down his head, as, shrinking at the sound of his own words, he replied—

‘The foul sorceries—and profligacy worse than sorceries, in which, they say—’ He could get no farther: for he looked up again and saw an awful quiet smile upon that face. His words had raised no blush upon the marble cheek.

‘They say! The bigots and slanderers; wild beasts of the desert, and fanatic intriguers, who, in the words of Him they call their master, compass heaven and earth to make one proselyte, and when they have found him, make him two-fold more the child of hell than themselves. Go—I forgive 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 sacrament of the soul’s inward beauty. Such a soul I had fancied your face expressed; but I was mistaken. Foul hearts alone harbour such foul suspicions, and fancy others to be what they know they might become themselves. Go! Do I look like—? The very tapering of these fingers, if you could read their symbolism, would give your dream the lie.’ And she flashed full on him, like sun-rays from a mirror, the full radiance of her glorious countenance.

Alas, poor Philammon! where were thy eloquent arguments, thy orthodox theories 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 to escape from the spell of the north. In a moment, he knew not how, utter shame, remorse, longing for forgiveness, swept over him, and crushed him down; and he found himself on his knees before her, in abject and broken syllables entreating pardon.

‘Go—I forgive you. But know before you go, that the celestial milk which fell from Here’s bosom, bleaching the plant which it touched to everlasting whiteness, was not more taintless than the soul of Theon’s daughter.’

He looked up in her face as he knelt before her. Unerring instinct told him that her words were true. He was a monk, accustomed to believe animal sin to be the deadliest and worst of all sins— indeed, ‘the great offence’ itself, beside which all others were comparatively venial: where there was physical purity, must not all other virtues follow in its wake? All other failings were invisible under the dazzling veil of that 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 with their ferocity, narrowness, ignorance. I dare not, I cannot, I will not return to the obscurity and the dulness of a Thebaid Laura. I have a thousand doubts to solve, a thousand questions to ask, about that great ancient world of which I know nothing—of whose mysteries, they say, you alone 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 me hear! Teach me what you know, that I may compare it with what I know …. If indeed’ (and he shuddered as he spoke the words) ‘I do know anything!’

‘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 did not believe them when I said them. It was agony to me; but I did it, as I thought, for your sake—to save you. Oh, say that I may come and hear you again! Only from a distance—in the very farthest corner of your lecture-room. I will be silent; you shall never see me. But your words yesterday awoke in me—no, not doubts; but still I must, I must hear more, or be as miserable and homeless inwardly as I am in my outward circumstances!’ And he looked up imploringly for consent.

‘Rise. This passion and that attitude are fitting neither for you nor me.’

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

‘Come with me, young man,’ said he, laying his hand kindly enough on Philammon’s shoulder …. ‘The rest of this matter you and I can settle;’ and Philammon followed him, not daring to look back at Hypatia, while the 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 lucky for you, however, that I did