Hypatia by Charles Kingsley (good books to read for young adults txt) 📕

Philammon sobbed again, as the poor civilised savage artlessly opened to him all her moral darkness. What could he say? .... he knew what to say. The disease was so utterly patent, that any of Cyril’s school-children could have supplied the remedy. But how to speak it?—how to tell her, before all things, as he longed to do, that there was no hope of her marrying the Amal, and, therefore, no peace for her till she left him.

‘Then you did hate the—the—’ said he, at last, catching at some gleam of light.

‘Hate it? Do I not belong, body and soul, to him?—him only? .... And yet …. Oh, I must tell you all! When I and the girls began to practise, all the old feelings came back—the love of being admired, and applauded, and cheered; and dancing is so delicious!— so delicious to feel that you are doing anything beautiful perfectly, and better than every one else! .... And he saw that I liked it, and despised me for it …. And, deceitful!—he little guessed how much of the pains which I took were taken to please him, to do my best before him, to win admiration, only that I might take it home and throw it all at his beloved feet, and make the world say once more, “She has all Alexandria to worship her, and yet she cares for that one Goth more than for—” But he deceived me, true man that he is! He wished to enjoy my smiles to the last moment, and then to cast me off, when I had once given him an excuse …. Too cowardly to upbraid me, he let me ruin myself, to save him the trouble of ruining me. Oh, men, men! all alike! They love us for their own sakes, and we love them for love’s sake. We live by love, we die for love, and yet we never find it, but only selfishness dressed up in love’s mask …. And then we take up with that, poor, fond, self-blinded creatures that we are!—and in spite of the poisoned hearts around us, persuade ourselves that our latest asp’s egg, at least, will hatch into a dove, and that though all men are faithless, our own tyrant can never change, for he is more than man!’

‘But he has deceived you! You have found out your mistake. Leave him, then, as he deserves!’

Pelagia looked up, with something of a tender smile. ‘Poor darling! Little do you know of love!’

Philammon, utterly bewildered by this newest and strangest phase of human passion, could only gasp out—

‘But do you not love me, too, my sister?’

‘Do I not love you? But not as I love him! Oh, hush, hush!—, you cannot understand yet!’ And Pelagia hid her face in her hands, while convulsive shudderings ran through every limb….

‘I must do it! I must! I will dare every thing, stoop to everything for love’s sake! Go to her!—to the wise woman!—to Hypatia! She loves you! I know that she loves you! She will hear you, though she will not me!’

‘Hypatia? Do you know that she was sitting there unmoved at—in the theatre?’

‘She was forced! Orestes compelled her! Miriam told me so. And I saw it in her face. As I passed beneath her, I looked up; and she was as pale as ivory, trembling in every limb. There was a dark hollow round her eyes—she had been weeping, I saw. And I sneered in my mad self-conceit, and said, “She looks as if she was going to be crucified, not married!”. But now, now!—Oh, go to her! Tell her that I will give her all I have—jewels, money, dresses, house! Tell her that I—I--entreat her pardon, that I will crawl to her feet myself and ask it, if she requires!—Only let her teach me— teach me to be wise and good, and honoured, and respected, as she is! Ask her to tell a poor broken-hearted woman her secret. She can make old Wulf, and him, and Orestes even, and the magistrates, respect her …. Ask her to teach me how to be like her, and to make him respect me again, and I will give her all—all!’

Philammon hesitated. Something within warned him, as the Daemon used to warn Socrates, that his errand would be bootless. He thought of the theatre, and of that firm, compressed lip; and forgot the hollow eye of misery which accompanied it, in his wrath against his lately-worshipped idol.

‘Oh, go! go! I tell you it was against her will. She felt for me— I saw it—Oh, God! when I did not feel for myself! And I hated her, because she seemed to despise me in my fool’s triumph! She cannot despise me now in my misery …. Go! Go! or you will drive me to the agony of going myself.’

There was but one thing to be done.

‘You will wait, then, here? You will not leave me again?’

‘Yes. But you must be quick! If he finds out that I am away, he may fancy …. Ah, heaven! let him kill me, but never let him be jealous of me! Go now! this moment! Take this as an earnest—the cestus which I wore there. Horrid thing! I hate the sight of it! But I brought it with me on purpose, or I would have thrown it into the canal. There; say it is an earnest—only an earnest—of what I will give her!’

In ten minutes more Philammon was in Hypatia’s hall. The household seemed full of terror and disturbance; the hall was full of soldiers. At last Hypatia’s favourite maid passed, and knew him. Her mistress could not speak with any one. Where was Theon, then? He, too, had shut himself up. Never mind. Philammon must, would speak with him. And he pleaded so passionately and so sweetly, that the soft-hearted damsel, unable to resist so handsome a suppliant, undertook his errand, and led him up to the library, where Theon, pale as death, was pacing to and fro, apparently half beside himself with terror.

Philammon’s breathless message fell at first upon unheeding ears.

‘A new pupil, sir! Is this a time for pupils; when my house, my daughter’s life, is not safe? Wretch that I am! And have I led her into the snare? I, with my vain ambition and covetousness! Oh, my child! my child! my one treasure! Oh, the double curse which will light upon me, if—’

‘She asks for but one interview.’

‘With my daughter, sir? Pelagia! Will you insult me? Do you suppose, even if her own pity should so far tempt her to degrade herself, that I could allow her so to contaminate her purity?’

‘Your terror, sir, excuses your rudeness.’

‘Rudeness, sir? the rudeness lies in your intruding on us at such a moment!’

‘Then this, perhaps, may, in your eyes at least, excuse me in my turn.’ And Philammon held out the cestus. ‘You are a better judge of its value than I. But I am commissioned to say, that it is only an earnest of what she will give willingly and at once, even to the half of her wealth, for the honour of becoming your daughter’s pupil.’ And he laid the jewelled girdle on the table.

The old man halted in his walk. The emeralds and pearls shone like the galaxy. He looked at them; and walked on again more slowly …. What might be their value? What might it not be? At least, they would pay all his debts …. And after hovering to and fro for another minute before the bait, he turned to Philammon.

‘If you would promise to mention the thing to no one—’

‘I will promise.’

‘And in case my daughter, as I have a right to expect, shall refuse—’

‘Let her keep the jewels. Their owner has learnt, thank God, to despise and hate them! Let her keep the jewels—and my curse! For God do so to me, and more also, if I ever see her face again!’

The old man had not heard the latter part of Philammon’s speech. He had seized his bait as greedily as a crocodile, and hurried off with it into Hypatia’s chamber, while Philammon stood expectant; possessed with a new and fearful doubt. ‘Degrade herself!’ ‘Contaminate her purity!’ If that notion were to be the fruit of all her philosophy? If selfishness, pride, Pharisaism, were all its outcome? Why—had they not been its outcome already? When had he seen her helping, even pitying, the poor, the outcast? When had he heard from her one word of real sympathy for the sorrowing; for the sinful? .... He was still lost in thought when Theon re-entered, bringing a letter.

‘From Hypatia to her well-beloved pupil.

‘I pity you—how should I not? And more. I thank you for this your request, for it shows me that my unwilling presence at the hideous pageant of to-day has not alienated from me a soul of which I had cherished the noblest hopes, for which I had sketched out the loftiest destiny. But how shall I say it? Ask yourself whether a change—apparently impossible—must not take place in her for whom you plead, before she and I can meet. I am not so inhuman as to blame you for having asked me; I do not even blame her for being what she is. She does but follow her nature; who can be angry with her, if destiny have informed so fair an animal with a too gross and earthly spirit? Why weep over her? Dust she is, and unto dust she will return: while you, to whom a more divine spark was allotted at your birth, must rise, and unrepining, leave below you one only connected with you by the unreal and fleeting bonds of fleshly kin.’

Philammon crushed the letter together in his hand, and strode from the house without a word. The philosopher had no gospel, then, for the harlot! No word for the sinner, the degraded! Destiny forsooth! She was to follow her destiny, and be base, miserable, self-condemned. She was to crush the voice of conscience and reason, as often as it awoke within her, and compel herself to believe that she was bound to be that which she knew herself bound not to be. She was to shut her eyes to that present palpable misery which was preaching to her, with the voice of God Himself, that the wages of sin are death. Dust she was, and unto dust she will return! Oh, glorious hope for her, for him, who felt as if an eternity of bliss would be worthless, if it parted him from his new- found treasure! Dust she was, and unto dust she must return!

Hapless Hypatia! If she must needs misapply, after the fashion of her school, a text or two here and there from the Hebrew Scriptures, what suicidal fantasy set her on quoting that one? For now, upon Philammon’s memory flashed up in letters of light, old words forgotten for months—and ere he was aware, he found himself repeating aloud and passionately, ‘I believe in the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting,’ .... and then clear and fair