Hypatia — or New Foes with an Old Face, Charles Kingsley [thriller novels to read TXT] 📗

want mathematical demonstration to prove to me that when a child was in danger his father saved him—neither do I here. My reason, my heart, every faculty of me, except this stupid sensuous experience, which I find deceiving me every moment, which cannot even prove to me my own existence, accepts that story of Calvary as the most natural, most probable, most necessary of earthly events, assuming only that God is a righteous Person, and not some dream of an all-pervading necessary spirit-nonsense which, in its very terms, confesses its own materialism.’

Hypatia answered with a forced smile.

‘Raphael Aben-Ezra has deserted the method of the severe dialectician for that of the eloquent lover.’

‘Not altogether,’ said he, smiling in return. ‘For suppose that I had said to myself, We Platonists agree that the sight of God is the highest good.’

Hypatia once more shuddered at last night’s recollections.

‘And if He be righteous, and righteousness be—as I know it to be—identical with love, then He will desire that highest good for men far more than they can desire it for themselves.... Then He will desire to show Himself and His own righteousness to them.... Will you make answer, dearest Hypatia, or shall I?....or does your silence give consent? At least let me go on to say this, that if God do desire to show His righteousness to men, His only perfect method, according to Plato, will be that of calumny, persecution, the scourge, and the cross, that so He, like Glaucon’s righteous man, may remain for ever free from any suspicion of selfish interest, or weakness of endurance.... Am I deserting the dialectic method now, Hypatia?.... You are still silent? You will not hear me, I see.... At some future day, the philosopher may condescend to lend a kinder ear to the words of her greatest debtor .... Or, rather, she may condescend to hear, in her own heart, the voice of that Archetypal Man, who has been loving her, guiding her, heaping her with every perfection of body and of mind, inspiring her with all pure and noble longings, and only asks of her to listen to her own reason, her own philosophy, when they proclaim Him as the giver of them, and to impart them freely and humbly, as He has imparted them to her, to the poor, and the brutish, and the sinful, whom He loves as well as He loves her.... Farewell!’

‘Stay!’ said she, springing up: ‘whither are you going?’

‘To do a little good before I die, having done much evil. To farm, plant, and build, and rescue a little corner of Ormuzd’s earth, as the Persians would say, out of the dominion of Ahriman. To fight Ausurian robbers, feed Thracian mercenaries, save a few widows from starvation, and a few orphans from slavery.... Perhaps to leave behind me a son of David’s line, who will be a better Jew, because a better Christian, than his father.... We shall have trouble in the flesh, Augustine tells us.... But, as I answered him, I really have had so little thereof yet, that my fair share may probably be rather a useful education than otherwise. Farewell!’

‘Stay!’ said she. ‘Come again!—again! And her.... Bring her.... I must see her! She must be noble, indeed, to be worthy of you.’

‘She is many a hundred miles away.’

‘Ah! Perhaps she might have taught something to me—me, the philosopher! You need not have feared me.... I have no heart to make converts now.... Oh, Raphael Aben-Ezra, why break the bruised reed? My plans are scattered to the winds, my pupils worthless, my fair name tarnished, my conscience heavy with the thought of my own cruelty.... If you do not know all, you will know it but too soon .... My last hope, Synesius, implores for himself the hope which I need from him....And, over and above it all.... You!.... Et tu, Brute! Why not fold my mantle round me, like Julius of old, and die!’

Raphael stood looking sadly at her, as her whole face sank into utter prostration. ...............

‘Yes—come.... The Galilaean.... If He conquers strong men, can the weak maid resist Him? Come soon.... This afternoon.... My heart is breaking fast.’

‘At the eighth hour this afternoon?’

‘Yes.... At noon I lecture.... take my farewell, rather, for ever of the schools....Gods! What have I to say?.... And tell me about Him of Nazareth. Farewell!’

‘Farewell, beloved lady! At the ninth hour, you shall hear of Him of Nazareth.’

Why did his own words sound to him strangely pregnant, all but ominous? He almost fancied that not he, but some third person had spoken them. He kissed Hypatia’s hand, it was as cold as ice; and his heart, too, in spite of all his bliss, felt cold and heavy, as he left the room.

As he went down the steps into the street, a young man sprang from behind one of the pillars, and seized his arm.

‘Aha! my young Coryphaeus of pious plunderers! What do you want with me?’

Philammon, for it was he, looked at him an instant, and recognised him.

‘Save her! for the love of God, save her!’

‘Whom?’

‘Hypatia!’

‘How long has her salvation been important to you, my good friend?’

‘For God’s sake,’ said Philammon, ‘go back and warn her! She will hear you—you are rich—you used to be her friend—I know you—I have heard of you.... Oh, if you ever cared for her—if you ever felt for her a thousandth part of what I feel—go in and warn her not to stir from home!’

‘I must hear more of this,’ said Raphael, who saw that the boy was in earnest. ‘Come in with me, and speak to her father.’

‘No! not in that house! Never in that house again! Do not ask me why: but go yourself. She will not hear me. Did you—did you prevent her from listening?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I have been here—ages! I sent a note in by her maid, and she returned no answer.’

Raphael recollected then, for the first time, a note which he had seen brought to her during the conversation.

‘I saw her receive a note. She tossed it away. Tell me your story. If there is reason in it, I will bear your message myself. Of what is she to be warned?’

‘Of a plot—I know that there is a plot—against her among the monks and Parabolani. As I lay in bed this morning in Arsenius’s room—they thought I was asleep—’

‘Arsenius? Has that venerable fanatic, then, gone the way of all monastic flesh, and turned persecutor?’

‘God forbid! I heard him beseeching Peter the Reader to refrain from something, I cannot tell what; but I caught her name.... I heard Peter say, “She that hindereth will hinder till she be taken out of the way.” And when he went out into the passage I heard him say to another, “That thou doest, do quickly!....”’