In "Hypatia," published in 1853, after passing through
"Fraser's Magazine," Kingsley turned from social problems in
England to life in Egypt in the fifth century, taking the same
pains to give the historical facts of the old dying Roman
world as he did to describe contemporary events at home. The
moral of "Hypatia," according to its author, is that "the sins
of these old Egyptians are yours, their errors yours, their
doom yours, their deliverance yours. There is nothing new
under the sun."
_I.--The Laura_
In the 413th year of the Christian era, some 300 miles from Alexandria,
the young monk Philammon was sitting on the edge of a low range of
inland cliffs, crested with drifting sand. Behind him the desert sand
waste stretched, lifeless, interminable, reflecting its lurid blare on
the horizon of the cloudless vault of blue. Presently he rose and
wandered along the cliffs in search of fuel for the monastery from
whence he came, for Abbot Pambo's laura at Scetis.
It lay pleasantly enough, that lonely laura, or lane of rude Cyclopean
cells, under the perpetual shadow of the southern walls of crags, amid
its grove of ancient date-trees. And a simple, happy, gentle life was
that of the laura, all portioned out by rules and methods. Each man had
food and raiment, shelter on earth, friends and counsellors, living
trust in the continual care of Almighty God. Thither had they fled out
of cities, out of a rotten, dying world of tyrants and slaves,
hypocrites and wantons, to ponder undisturbed on duty and on judgment,
on death and eternity.
But to Philammon had come an insatiable craving to know the mysteries of
learning, to see the great roaring world of men. He felt he could stay
no longer, and on his return he poured out his speech to Abbot Pambo.
"Let me go! I am not discontented with you, but with myself. I knew that
obedience is noble, but danger is nobler still. If you have seen the
world, why should not I? Cyril and his clergy have not fled from it."
Abbot Pambo sought counsel with the good brother Aufugus, and then bade
Philammon follow him.
"And thou wouldst see the world, poor fool? Thou wouldst see the world?"
said the old man when the abbot had left them alone together.
"I would convert the world!"
"Thou must know it first. Here I sit, the poor unknown old monk, until I
die. And shall I tell thee what that world is like? I was Arsenius,
tutor of the emperor. There at Byzantium I saw the world which thou
wouldst see, and what I saw thou wilt see. Bishops kissing the feet of
parricides. Saints tearing saints in pieces for a word. Falsehood and
selfishness, spite and lust, confusion seven times confounded. And thou
wouldst go into the world from which I fled?"
"If the harvest be at hand, the Lord needs labourers. Send me, and let
that day find me where I long to be, in the forefront of the battle of
the Lord."
"The Lord's voice be obeyed. Thou shalt go. Here are letters to Cyril,
the patriarch. Thou goest of our free will as well as thine own. The
abbot and I have watched thee long, knowing that the Lord had need of
such as thee elsewhere. We did but prove thee, to see, by thy readiness
to obey, whether thou were fit to rule. Go, and God be with thee. Covet
no man's gold or silver. Neither eat flesh nor drink wine, but live as
thou hast lived--a Nazarite of the Lord. The papyrus boat lies at the
ferry; thou shalt descend in it. When thou hast gone five days' journey
downward, ask for the mouth of the canal of Alexandria. Once in the
city, any monk will guide thee to the archbishop. Send us news of thy
welfare by some holy mouth. Come."
Silently they paced together down the glen to the lonely beach of the
great stream. Pambo was there, and with slow and feeble arms he launched
the canoe. Philammon flung himself at the old men's feet, and besought
their blessing and their forgiveness.
"We have nothing to forgive. Follow thou thine inward call. If it be the
flesh, it will avenge itself; if it be of the Spirit, who are we that we
should fight against God? Farewell!"
A few minutes more, and the youth and his canoe were lessening down the
rapid stream in the golden summer twilight.
_II.--Hypatia, Queen of Paganism_
On his first morning in Alexandria, Philammon heard praises of Hypatia
from a fruit porter who showed him the way to the archbishop's house.
Hypatia, according to his guide, was the queen of Alexandria, a very
unique and wonderful person, the fountain of classic wisdom.
Later in the day, after he had presented himself to Archbishop Cyril,
Philammon learnt from an old priest, and from a fanatical monk named
Peter, that the very name of Hypatia was enough to rouse the clergy to a
fury of execration. It seemed that Orestes, the Roman governor of the
city, although nominally a Christian, was the curse of the Alexandrian
Church; and Orestes visited Hypatia, whose lectures on heathen
philosophy drew all the educated youth of the place.
Philammon's heart burned to distinguish himself at once. There were no
idols now to break, but there was philosophy.
"Why does not some man of God go boldly into the lecture-room of the
sorceress, and testify against her?" he asked.
"Do it yourself, if you dare," said Peter. "We have no wish to get our
brains knocked out by all the profligate young gentlemen in the city."
"I will do it," said Philammon.
The archbishop gave permission.
"Only promise me two things," he said. "Promise me that, whatever
happens, you will not strike the first blow, and that you will not argue
with her. Contradict, denounce, defy. But give no reasons. If you do you
are lost. She is subtler than the serpent, skilled in all the tricks of
logic, and you will became a laughing-stock, and run away in shame."
"Ay," said Peter, bitterly, as he ushered Philammon out. "Go up to
Ramoth Gilead and prosper, young fool! Ay, go, and let her convert you.
Touch the accursed thing, like Achan, and see if you do not end by
having it in your tent."
And with this encouraging sentence the two parted, and Philammon, on the
following morning, followed the train of philosophers, students, and
fine gentlemen to Hypatia's lecture-room.
Philammon listened to Hypatia in bewilderment, attracted by the beauty
of the speaker, the melody of her voice, and the glitter of her
rhetoric. As she discoursed on truth a sea of new thoughts and questions
came rushing in on his acute Greek intellect at every sentence. A
hostile allusion to the Christian Scriptures aroused him, and he cried
out, "It is false, blasphemous! The Scriptures cannot lie!"
There was a yell at this. "Turn the monk out!" "Throw the rustic through
the window!" cried a dozen young gentlemen. Several of the most valiant
began to scramble over the benches up to him, and Philammon was
congratulating himself on the near approach of a glorious martyrdom,
when Hypatia's voice, calm and silvery, stifled the noise and tumult in
a moment.
"Let the youth listen, gentlemen. He is but a monk and a plebeian, and
knows no better; he has been taught thus. Let him sit here quietly, and
perhaps we may be able to teach him otherwise."
And, without even a change of tone, she continued her lecture.
Philammon sprang up the moment that the spell of her voice was taken off
him, and hurried out through the corridor into the street. But he had
not gone fifty yards before his friend the fruit porter, breathless with
running, told him that Hypatia called for him. "Thereon, her father,
commands thee to be at her house--here--to-morrow at the third hour.
Hear and obey."
Cyril heard Philammon's story and Hypatia's message with a quiet smile,
and then dismissed the youth to an afternoon of labour in the city,
commanding him to come for his order in the evening.
But in the evening, Peter, already jealous of Cyril's interest in
Philammon, and enraged at any toleration being extended to Hypatia,
refused to let the youth enter the archbishop's house, and then struck
him full in the face. The blow was intolerable, and in an instant
Peter's long legs were sprawling on the pavement, while he bellowed like
a bull to all the monks that stood by, "Seize him! The traitor! The
heretic! He holds communion with heathens! And he was in Hypatia's
lecture-room this morning!"
A rush took place at the youth, but Philammon's blood was up. The ring
of monks were baying at him like hounds round a bear, and, against such
odds, the struggle would be desperate. He turned and forced his way to
the gate, amid a yell of derision which brought every drop of blood in
his body into his cheeks.
"Let me leave this court in safety! God knows whether I am a heretic;
and the archbishop shall know of your iniquity. I will not cross this
threshold again until Cyril himself sends for me to shame you!"
He strode on in his wrath some hundred yards or more before he asked
himself where he was going. Gradually one fixed idea began to glimmer
through the storm--to see Hypatia and convert her. He had Cyril's leave.
It must be right. That would justify him--to bring back, in the fetters
of the Gospel, the Queen of Heathendom. Yes, there was that left to live
for.
_III.--Pandemonium_
Philammon did not convert Hypatia, but he became her favourite pupil.
And Hypatia, dreaming that the worship of the old gods might be
restored, and her philosophy triumph over Christianity, received daily
visits from Orestes, the governor, and entered into his plans--to her
undoing.
For Orestes had an idea of becoming emperor, and of purchasing the
favour of the populace by a show of gladiators. To win Hypatia for
himself, he promised to restore the heathen games, and Hypatia, caring
nothing for Orestes, but always longing for the revival of the old
religion, promised, against her better judgment, to bear him company on
the day of the festival, and to sit by his side, and even to acclaim him
emperor.
The success of Orestes' plot depended on the success of a bigger
rebellion--the attempt of Heraclian, Count of Africa, to conquer Rome.
Heraclian had been defeated, and this was known to Cyril, but Orestes
was misled by false intelligence, and counted on Heraclian's victory for
his own triumph.
When the day of the spectacle arrived, to the horror and surprise of
Philammon, Hypatia herself sat by the side of the Roman prefect, while,
on the stage before them, a number of Libyan prisoners fought fiercely
for their lives, only to be butchered in the end by the professional
gladiators.
The sleeping devil in the hearts of the brutalised multitude burst forth
at the sight, and with jeers and applause the hired ruffians were urged
on to their work of blood.
Then a shameless exhibition of Venus followed, and Philammon could bear
no more. For Venus was his sister, long parted from him in childhood,
and only in the last few days had he learnt of his relationship to
Pelagia, the lady who had consented to act the part of the Goddess of
Love, and who was betrothed to Amal, the leader of the band of Goths. He
rushed down through the dense mass of spectators, leaped the balustrade
into the orchestra below, and tore across to the foot of the stage.
"Pelagia! Sister! My sister! Have mercy on me! On yourself! I will hide
you! Save you! We will flee together out of this infernal place! I am
your brother! Come!"
She looked at him one moment with wide, wild eyes. The truth flashed on
her. And she sprang from the platform into his arms, and then, covering
her face with both her hands, sank down among the bloodstained sand.
A yell ran along the vast circle. Philammon was hurried away by the
attendants, and Pelagia, her face still hidden by her hands, walked
slowly away and vanished among the palms at the back of the stage. A
cloud, whether of disgust or disappointment, now hung upon every brow,
and there was open murmuring at the cruelty and heathenry of the show.
Hypatia was utterly unnerved. Orestes alone rose to the crisis.
In a well-studied oration he declared that Heraclian the African was
conquerer of Rome, and a roar of hired applause supported him. Then the
prefect of the guards encouraged the city authorities to salute Orestes
as emperor, and Hypatia, amid shouts of her aristocratic scholars, rose
and knelt before him, writhing inwardly with shame and despair.
At the same moment a monk's voice shouted from the highest tiers in the
theatre, "It is false! False! You are tricked! Heraclian was utterly
routed; Cyril has known it, every Jew has known it, for a week past. So
perish all the enemies of the Lord, caught in their own snare!"
For a minute an awful silence fell on all who heard; and then arose a
tumult, which Orestes in vain attempted to subdue. The would-be emperor
summoned his guards around him and Hypatia, and made his way out as best
he could, while the multitude melted away like snow before the rain, to
find every church placarded by Cyril with the particulars of Heraclian's
ruin.
Two days later, when Hypatia went to give her farewell lecture to her
pupils--for all hope was dead--a mob of monks and their followers seized
her, dragged her into the church of the Caesareum, and there, before the
great, still figure of Christ, Peter struck her down, and the mob tore
her limb from limb.
_IV.--Back to the Desert_
Philammon had done his best, struggling in vain, to pierce the dense
mass of people, and save Hypatia. He had been wedged against a pillar,
unable to move, in the great church.
The little fruit porter, alone of all her disciples, fought his way
through the mob, only to be thrown down the steps.
When all was over in the church, and Hypatia was dead, and the mob had
rushed out, Philammon sank down exhausted outside, and the little porter
burst out into a bitter agony of human tears.
"She is with the gods," said the porter at last.
"She is with the God of gods," answered Philammon.
Then he felt that he must arise and flee for his life. He had gone forth
to see the world, and he had seen it. Arsenius was in the right after
all. Home to the desert. But first he would go himself, alone, and find
Pelagia, and implore her to flee with him.
* * * * *
Abbot Pambo, as well as Arsenius, had been dead several years; the
abbot's place was filled, by his own dying command, by a hermit from the
neighbouring deserts, who had made himself famous for many miles round
by his extraordinary austerities, his ceaseless prayers, and his loving
wisdom.
While still in the prime of his manhood, he was dragged, against his own
entreaties, to preside over the laura of Scetis. The elder monks
considered it an indignity to be ruled by so young a man; but the
monastery throve and grew rapidly under his government. His sweetness,
patience, and humility, and, above all, his marvellous understanding of
the doubts and temptations of his own generation, soon drew around him
all whose sensitiveness or waywardness had made them unmanageable in the
neighbouring monasteries.
Never was the young Abbot Philammon heard to speak harshly of any human
being, and he stopped, by stern rebuke, any attempt to revile either
heretics or heathens.
One thing was noted, that there mingled always with his prayers the
names of two women. And when some worthy elder, taking courage from his
years, dared to hint kindly that this caused some scandal to the weaker
brethren, "It is true," answered he. "Tell my brethren that I pray
nightly for two women, both of them young, both of them beautiful; both
of them beloved by me more than I love my own soul; and tell them that
one of the two was an actress, and the other a heathen." The old monk
laid his hand on his mouth and retired.
The remainder of his history it seems better to extract from an
unpublished fragment of the lives of the saints.
"Now when the said abbot had ruled the monastery of Scetis seven years
with uncommon prudence, he called one morning to him a certain ancient
brother, and said: 'Make ready for me the divine elements, that I may
consecrate them, and partake thereof with all my brethren, ere I depart
hence. For know assuredly that within the seventh day, I shall migrate
to the celestial mansions.' And the abbot, having consecrated,
distributed among his brethren, reserving only a portion of the most
holy bread and wine; and then, having bestowed on them all the kiss of
peace, he took the paten and chalice in his hands, and went forth from
the monastery towards the desert; whom the whole fraternity followed
weeping. And having arrived at the foot of a certain mountain, he
stopped, and blessing them, dismissed them, and so ascending, was taken
away from their eyes.
"But the eldest brother sent two of the young men to seek their master,
who, meeting with a certain Moorish people, learnt that a priest,
bearing a paten and chalice, had passed before them a few days before,
crossing the desert in the direction of the cave of the holy Amma.
"And they inquiring who this Amma might be, the Moors answered that some
twenty years ago there had arrived in those mountains a woman more
beautiful than had ever before been seen in that region, who, after
distributing among them the rich jewels which she wore, had embraced the
hermit's life, and sojourned upon the highest peak of a neighbouring
mountain.
"Then the two brothers, determining to proceed, arrived upon the summit
of the said mountain.
"There in an open grave, guarded by two lions, lay the body of
Philammon, the abbot; and by his side, wrapped in his cloak, the corpse
of a woman of exceeding beauty, such as the Moors had described. And by
the grave-side stood the paten and the chalice, emptied of their divine
contents. Whereupon, filling in the grave with all haste, they returned
weeping to the laura.
"Now, before they returned, one of the brethren, searching the cave
wherein the holy woman dwelt, found nothing there, saving one bracelet
of gold, of large size and strange workmanship, engraven with foreign
characters, which no one could decipher.
"And it came to pass years afterwards that certain wandering barbarians
of the Vandalic race saw this bracelet in the laura of Scetis, and
pretended that it had belonged to a warrior of their tribe."
* * * * *
So be it. Pelagia and Philammon, like the rest, went to their own place;
to the only place where such in such days could find rest; to the desert
and the hermit's cell.
Let him that is without sin among you cast the first stone, whether at
Hypatia or Pelagia, Cyril or Philammon.
* * * * *