at Columbia University, “a very decided sermon in favor of spiritual
Christianity.” This explains in part Kingsley’s purpose in his portrayal
of life in the Roman empire of the fifth century. Let it be said right
here, however, that while _Hypatia_ contains more preaching than any
other novel we have to consider, it is entirely free from hollow
didacticism. As its alternative title, _New Foes with an Old Face_,
implies, Kingsley was supporting the cause of spiritual Christianity
against new elements, which were assailing Christianity in the same way
in which it has always been assailed. One of the most powerful of these
elements, at the time when Kingsley wrote, was deemed to be the false
Hellenism which was then trying to supplant Christianity in England and
on the continent. This form of paganism has no uncertain connection with
the Byronism, of which we have already spoken, while its tendency to
exalt Greek philosophy had been beautifully expressed in Schiller’s poem
_The Gods of Greece_. Kingsley’s desire to combat this tendency may be
the principal reason why he chose for his scene Alexandria; since in this
city was best represented the crisis of the dramatic struggle between
Christianity and Greek civilization in the fifth century. But another
important element which Kingsley was fighting,—(and critics have made
the mistake of supposing it to be the only one),—is represented in the
tendency of the Church of England toward Rome. This movement was chiefly
due to John Henry Newman, who went over to the Church of Rome, and whose
_Callista_ we shall have occasion to mention later. But it is interesting
to us to note that the conspiracy to Romanize the Church of England,
which Kingsley combatted, centred at Oxford; and, as has since been
pointed out by literary criticism, the Oxford movement was an evidence
of the Romantic spirit represented by Scott. For, long before Newman
went over to Rome, Scott’s mediæval priest had gained the sympathy of
countless English readers.[23] Thus Kingsley, who is a direct follower
of Scott in the historical romance, was forced to combat the tendency of
Scott’s readers to identify romance and mediæval Catholicism. G. P. R.
James, an earlier follower of Scott, though anything but a propagandist,
had spoken of Rome in _Attila_, (1837), as the “seat of the most
autocratic government the world has ever seen, republican, imperial and
_clerical_.” These words contain whole volumes of criticism, and show
how another writer of the novel of Roman life had identified the city of
Rome with the Church of Rome. This suggests another reason why Kingsley
chose Alexandria, rather than Rome, for the scene of his portrayal of
the struggle between Christianity and Paganism, in _Hypatia_. Had he
merely wished to portray this struggle, he might well have laid his scene
in Imperial Rome, as others have done, and have achieved tremendous
effect. But his opponents would have insisted on identifying the early
Church _at_ Rome with the Church _of_ Rome, and the situation at the
time forbade his allowing them the satisfaction of claiming that the
triumph of Christianity is to be found only in “the Eternal Church of
Rome.” In _Hypatia_ Kingsley in no way exceeds the limits of truth in
his delineation of the faults and hypocrisy of the early Church, though
his opponents could not stand the truth told of what they conceived to
be an eternal and perfect thing, (the Catholic Church). His faithful
presentation of life in the Roman empire, and of universal truths to be
derived from a study of the past, make _Hypatia_ continue to be read as
a great novel which has to be considered as a thing far above sectarian
controversy.
Kingsley’s own idea of what he wished to do in _Hypatia_ is admirably
expressed in a letter to the Rev. F. D. Maurice, written from Eversley,
January 16, 1851. (He writes of financial difficulties, which compel
him to support himself with his pen,—how this recalls Scott!) He then
says: “My present notion is to write a historical romance of the
beginning of the fifth century which has been breeding in my head this
two years.... If there is a storm brewing, of course I shall have to
help to fight the Philistines.... My idea in the romance is to set
forth Christianity as the only really democratic creed, and philosophy,
above all spiritualism, as the most exclusively aristocratic creed.
Such has been my opinion for a long time, and what I have been reading
lately confirms it more and more. Even Synesius, ‘the philosophic’
bishop, is an aristocrat by the side of Cyril. It seems to me that
such a book might do good just now, while the scribes and Pharisees,
Christian and heathen, are saying, this people which knoweth not the
law is accursed.” He wished to turn from English subjects “to some new
field, in which there is richer and more picturesque life.... I have
long wished to do something antique, and get out my thoughts about the
connection of the old world and the new; Schiller’s _Gods of Greece_
expresses, I think, a tone of feeling very common, and which finds its
vent in modern Neo-Platonism—Anythingarianism.”[24] Kingsley wished to
show “the connection of the old and new” in important phases of life and
thought; and incidentally that in any portrayal of life, thought must be
considered an essential part of life. He succeeded admirably in this, in
writing _Hypatia_.
In his desire to “show the connection of old and new,” and to portray
“a richer and more picturesque life,” Kingsley naturally turned to the
times of the Roman Empire. Why he did not select the city of Rome for his
scene, has already been suggested. Nevertheless, _Hypatia_ may well be
called a novel of Roman life. In the first place the scene practically
does move to Rome, when we follow Raphael Aben-Ezra in his travels to
the immediate vicinity of the eternal city. In the scenes leading up to
the defeat of Count Heraclian at Ostia, Rome’s seaport, the presence
of the capital of the world is felt in the background. Moreover, the
scene of the rest of the story is not confined to Alexandria, but takes
one to visit Saint Augustine and Synesius at Cyrene. The allusions to
the powerful position which Constantinople had assumed in Church and
government affairs completes the impression of the Roman empire as a
loosely organized whole. A further consideration shows one that the
important scenes which occur in Alexandria could, without difficulty,
be transferred to Rome, and described as a part of Roman life. The
brutal and licentious spectacles in the amphitheatre, the ostentatious
display of the upper classes, the lawless rioting of the lower classes,
who are sometimes curbed by Roman authority with unnecessary bloodshed,
and much else, are portrayed with a realistic effect, which could
hardly be surpassed in a portrayal of life anywhere else than in Rome
itself. In the time which _Hypatia_ describes, it is true, Rome was no
longer mistress of the world, but there remains an all-pervading sense
of her former greatness. Alexandria, though a city possessing its own
distinctive characteristics, had not escaped the universal stamp of Roman
influence. A few short years before Kingsley’s story opens, the Goths,
under Alaric, had sacked Rome, (410 A. D.), and Alexandria furnishes in
some ways a better example of the many-sided life of the declining Roman
empire than does Rome itself. There is, in short, an abundance of “Roman
life” in Alexandria.
If Alexandrian scenes in _Hypatia_ could be transferred to Rome, a
similar thing might be said of certain characters in the book. The most
truly Roman characters are Victoria and her father, who had been a Roman
officer in the force of Heraclian; these enter the story when its scene
is nearest to Rome. The armed forces of the weak Roman government at
Alexandria are also typical of Rome, whether performing as gladiators
in the amphitheatre, or employed in quelling a riot in the streets with
brutal carelessness of life and feeling. Orestes, the Roman governor of
Alexandria, is a typical Roman official, capable of thinking for himself
when not intoxicated, and bright enough to admit that he is forced to be
a puppet; “a poor, miserable slave of a governor,” who appears to feel
that his very treachery is forced on him by circumstance. Old Miriam is
a sorceress of a type which suggests the sibyls and later soothsayers at
Rome, by whose arts the Romans were so ready to be deceived, and whose
prophecies exerted so profound an influence on the imaginations of the
Romans. One of her victims is Hypatia, whose character stands out with
such strong individuality as the last support of Greek philosophy in
Alexandria, that it would be impossible to make her play her part in a
novel whose scene was laid principally in Rome. But many of the other
characters, major and minor, could be placed in such a novel without
disadvantage; indeed some of them have spent a good part of their lives
in Rome, when the story opens. Figures such as Arsenius and St. Augustine
represent men who had seen the world of Rome, and were seeking refuge
from its emptiness. The tyrannical bishop Cyril embodies a character
which could have displayed the autocratic power of the Church at Rome
or at any other important city of the Empire. Philammon, the real hero
of the story, is the kind of character who would fit in readily in any
environment and could easily be made a Roman. He is the best illustration
of a fact we have mentioned before, viz., that the historical novel
should contain characters who are, above all, human beings. Philammon’s
essentially human qualities gain the reader’s sympathy at once; and as
he is tempted by one doubt after another, one is reminded that the men
of the past were merely human beings like ourselves. Among the Gothic
invaders of the Roman Empire, old Wulf best represents those qualities
which Englishmen have regarded with pride as being typical of the English
race. Pelagia is a type which existed at Rome as at Alexandria. The same
thing can be said of the little porter, and of all the minor characters.
With characters such as these playing their parts in scenes of varying
significance, Kingsley has presented a vivid panorama of the life of
the time, which could only have been equalled by a portrayal of the
life of Rome itself. Without an excess of detail or an undue use of the
sensational, he has succeeded in emphasizing the important points in the
picture, and in implying those of less importance, so well, that the
life of the past is made to stand out in the clear light of present-day
experience.
By portraying the life of the past in the light of universal truth.
Kingsley was able to show, without stereotyped preaching, the triumph of
Christianity over paganism. Greek philosophy had been appropriated by and
identified with the so-called “national” religion of Rome, and had found
its greatest stronghold in the Hellenistic city of Alexandria. Hypatia
herself deserves to have her name made the title of Kingsley’s novel. She
is rightly presented as typifying the last adherent of paganism against
Christianity. The strength of her character lies in the truth of her
words, as compared with the inconsistencies of the monks. And it is to
be regarded as an essential point in the story, that the savage monks,
who represent sham Christianity, merely destroy the body of Hypatia, and
have not even attempted to win over her soul. At the time when Philammon
first meets Hypatia, her faith in herself and her message is supreme and
unshaken. Kingsley’s own words, describing the first impression she makes
upon the young monk, show the germs of real truth and beauty, which that
message contains, in spite of any inconsistencies:
So beautiful! So calm and merciful to him! So enthusiastic
towards all which was noble! Had not she too spoken of the
unseen world, of the hope of immortality, of the conquest of
the spirit over the flesh, just as a Christian might have done?
Was the gulf between them so infinite? If so, why had her
aspirations awakened echoes in his own heart,—echoes, too, just
such as the prayers and lessons of the Laura used to awaken? If
the fruit was so like, must not the root be like also?—Could
that be a counterfeit? That a minister of Satan in the robes of
an angel of light? Light at least it was: purity, simplicity,
courage, earnestness, tenderness, flashed out from eye, lip,
gesture....
The essence of sham Christianity, which pervaded all parts of the later
Empire, and was not confined to the great cities of Rome and Alexandria,
is shown by contrast in the description of the impression the monks had
made upon the young Philammon:
The men were coarse, fierce, noisy, so different from her!
Their talk seemed mere gossip,—scandalous too, and hard
judging most of it; about that man’s private ambition, and
that woman’s proud looks; and who had stayed for the Eucharist
the Sunday before, and who had gone out after the sermon; and
how the majority who did not stay, could possibly dare to go,
and how the minority who did not go could possibly dare to
stay.... Endless suspicions, sneers, complaints ... what did
they care for the eternal glories and the beatific vision?
Their one test for all men and things, from the patriarch to
the prefect, seemed to be,—did he or it advance the cause of
the Church?—which Philammon soon discovered to mean their own
cause, their influence, their self-glorification.
Criticism such as this the Church of Rome in Kingsley’s day took to
itself, and resented. But Kingsley’s criticism was directed against sham
Christianity, wherever it existed, (not solely against the Church of
Rome). Moreover, _Hypatia_ is not so much _against_ sham Christianity as
_for_ true Christianity. Let us return to Kingsley’s heroine. Hypatia,
the beauty of whose thought has been suggested in a preceding paragraph,
does not remain resolute to the end. Her attempt to prove that all
that is noble and beautiful has its source somewhere in the old pagan
system of philosophy, is as fine an attempt as could be made. But she
has undertaken the impossible, and her failure is certain. Her pathetic
subjection to the hypnotism and magic of old Miriam seems in a way
to portend her tragic death. Her weakness at the end makes it appear
that the author did not intend determination to be her most striking
virtue. Why is it that, even in her martyrdom, Hypatia does not arouse
the reader’s sympathy as some of the other characters do? It would
seem that her position on a pedestal above the ordinary run of mankind
deprives her of the sympathy she would otherwise deserve. But is this
all? Her aloofness from the multitude, her contempt for the rabble seem
almost justified; but are they, in a final analysis of the truth? Recall
Kingsley’s words, “My idea is to set forth Christianity as the only
really democratic creed, and philosophy, above all spiritualism, as the
most aristocratic creed.” Let us apply the last part of this statement
to Hypatia. She denies entirely the salvation of her _aristocratic
creed_ to the common herd, and to such as Pelagia, the harlot. This is
what finally repulses Philammon, in what forms the climax of the story.
Moreover, Hypatia as a last resort has been forced to a belief in the
“spiritualism”, (for such it is), which old Miriam offers, but does not
herself accept. This part of the story shows the aristocratic nature of
philosophy as a creed, and especially the sham of spiritualism.
And now let us consider the first part of the quotation just made. How
does Kingsley set forth the value of true Christianity “as the only
really democratic creed”? He starts by portraying the simplicity of life
in the Laura and of Philammon’s early training. When Philammon reaches
Alexandria, he does not scruple to risk his life for an unfortunate
negress, and he lives with the little porter on the most democratic
terms. Moreover, the generous care of the sick shown in the daily
visitations of Cyril, Peter the Reader, and the parabolani, entirely
overbalances the inconsistency, or even vindictive cruelty, which they
tolerate in the name of the Church. But the most striking evidence of
Christianity as a democratic creed, is seen in the character of Raphael
Aben-Ezra, the converted Jew. If one is assiduous in seeking parallels,
it is possible to see in the early life of Raphael traces of the Byronic
hero. But just as Kingsley shows the falsity of “Egyptian magic”, which
had been made important in earlier novels, so he shows the falsity of
any touches of Byronism which the character of Raphael may display. He
brings this character out of the mazes of self-conceit and skepticism
into something higher and nobler. Raphael, though born to luxury and
aristocratic ease, has drained the cup of pleasure to the dregs, and is
willing to exchange aristocratic ease for democratic poverty. He has
also exhausted the resources of philosophy, and has been thus prepared
to appreciate more fully the higher truth of Christianity. If one is to
draw an inference from biography, Kingsley has portrayed something of
the early doubts of his own mind, in the mental struggles of Raphael.
Raphael Aben-Ezra is perhaps as well-done as any character in the novel.
His calm reflections on life in general make possible for us a more
detached view and a clearer interpretation of the life of the time.
The “philosophic” coolness, (to use a word which he himself despised),
with which he exchanges the role of prince for that of beggar, gives
evidence that he is genuine and sincere. The depths of his character
do not really come to light, however, until in Italy he gets the first
faint ray of genuine hope, a hope which grows stronger from that time
on. He is enabled to consider this hope as legitimate and consistent
with the words of God, whether Christian or Hebrew, by the kindly advice
of Synesius. But Raphael’s real conversion takes place as he listens to
the inspiring words of St. Augustine, who is preaching not only _to_ but
_for_ the rough Roman legionaries. What wonder that he was able to win
them, heart and soul, when, as Raphael says: “He has been speaking to
these wild beasts as to sages and saints; he has been telling them that
God is as much with them as with prophets and psalmists.... I wonder if
Hypatia with all her beauty, could have touched their hearts as he has
done.” There is in this passage the whole essence of Christianity as a
democratic creed. The conversion of Raphael prepares the way for his
intellectual triumph over Hypatia, whom he all but convinces of the truth
of his new creed. And the conclusion of the story, portraying the humble
Christian self-sacrifice of Philammon, his sister and the other important
characters, completes the truthful presentation of Christianity as a
democratic creed.
Kingsley’s _Hypatia_ possesses a depth of insight and a richness of
instruction which are equalled in few novels, historical or otherwise.
But what Kingsley achieved in _Hypatia_ may be summed up, for one who
is studying the novel of Roman life, as follows: First, he gave a
complete picture of life in the Roman Empire in an accurate historical
setting. Secondly, in portraying the climax of the struggle between
Christianity and the Roman world, he showed the intimate connection
and universal relations, of life in the time of the Roman Empire, with
life in the ages which precede and follow it. In the first of these
achievements, no novelist has really surpassed Kingsley; in the second,
no one has come near equalling him. In regard to the first achievement,
Kingsley’s faithfulness to history and to the life of the fifth century,
it can be said that his “history” has been criticised, for its alleged
inaccuracy, by pedants of the malignant school of criticism, for whom
history exists only as a means for tripping up their betters. The hollow
sham of such criticism is apparent, if we merely allow to Kingsley the
freedom accorded to any historical novelist. He has in every respect
lived up to the promise of his masterful preface, in which he says: “I
have in my sketch of Hypatia and her fate, closely followed authentic
history, especially Socrates’ account of the closing scenes, as given
in _Book_ III, _Sec._ 15, of his _Ecclesiastical History_.” He also
follows authentic history in all other parts of the story where this
is essential, adopting the wise method, already discussed, of mingling
historical characters and events with imaginary characters and events.
When he is not making use of history, he is nevertheless true to the
spirit of history. His faithfulness to the life of the times is all
that he promises in these words of the _Preface_: “I have labored
honestly and industriously to discover the truth, even in its minutest
details, and to sketch the age, its manners and its literature as I
found them,—altogether artificial, slipshod, effete, resembling far
more the times of Louis Quinze than those of Sophocles and Plato.” In
regard to Kingsley’s second achievement in _Hypatia_, it may be said
that in portraying “the last struggle between the young Church and the
Old World,” (_Preface_), he showed the significance of a short period of
history, when fitted into the larger scheme of universal history. In the
conclusion of _Hypatia_, he says, “I have shown you New Foes under an Old
Face—your own likeness in toga and bonnet.... There is nothing new under
the sun. The thing which has been, it is that which shall be.” Other
writers of the novel of Roman life have shown with consummate art the
thing which has been,—Christian and Pagan; none have equalled Kingsley
in showing that it is also the thing which shall be. And even those who
refuse to draw a moral from any piece of fiction, may read with infinite
profit and pleasure the great novel which Kingsley’s scholarly insight
into the life of the Roman Empire enabled him to write.
John Henry Newman was a churchman, who became a bitter opponent of
Kingsley; his scholarship was profound, and his early religious training,
received from his French Huguenot mother, was along Calvinistic lines.
He knew the Bible, it is said, almost by heart. He was led to go over to
the Church of Rome by his own studies, since he came to believe that they
furnished arguments in support of the Church of Rome, rather than against
it. He came to feel with conviction, that the argument that “antiquity
was the true exponent of the doctrines of Christianity,” really supported
the Church of Rome. In this he was directly opposed to Kingsley. It is
commonly stated that Newman’s novel _Callista_, (1855), was written
in answer to Kingsley’s _Hypatia_, and this is probably correct. The
climax of the public controversy between Kingsley and Newman, however,
did not come until 1864, almost ten years later. In his _Postscript_ to
_Callista_, Newman refers to Lockhart’s _Valerius_ in such a way as to
imply that it is the only other important novel of Roman life, which
presents the struggles of Christianity in a philosophical light. He
thus intentionally disregards Kingsley’s recently published _Hypatia_.
_Callista_ is the story of a martyr in the African Church, under the
Decian persecution. Its scene is laid in Sicca Veneria, near Carthage,
and its portrayal of life in the Roman Empire is accurate and realistic.
The heartlessness of the Roman magistrates,—both in their persecution of
the Christians and in their characteristic strokes of policy in dealing
with the mob,—reveals the spirit of Roman life. Local color is especially
good, the description of the plague of locusts being the best that
exists anywhere in literature, (not excepting even the Bible). Newman
follows Kingsley in making his heroine a girl of Greek descent, whose
ideas of the beauty which she saw in paganism led her to be repulsed by
the religion of the Crucified God. But unlike Hypatia, Callista becomes
entirely converted.
The finest piece of writing in Newman’s novel, however, is the scene
between Callista and Agellius, in which she repudiates Christianity. St.
Cyprian, who had been mentioned by Kingsley, is brought into _Callista_;
and others high in the Church play a part in the story. Cyprian says the
discipline of the Church had become less firm in the interval before the
Decian persecution. The author is thus enabled to show that the Church
was strengthened by this persecution. To mention familiar elements,
magic appears in _Callista_, in the spells and herbs of a witch, which
result in her victim being possessed of a demon; the labyrinth motive
also appears in the description of the secret passages, by which Callista
escapes and which enable the Christians to remain concealed. In any final
analysis _Callista_ cannot be compared with Kingsley’s _Hypatia_. In
spite of some very fine passages, it is lacking in uniform excellence.
In its portrayal of life in the Roman empire, and in its handling of
Christianity it falls short of the deep significance intended. There
is indeed too much theological discussion. While _Callista_ is a novel
of Roman life, and can be read as such, it leans somewhat in the
direction of the story of religious instruction, a kind of fiction we
have mentioned as an offshoot of the novel of Roman life. Here we may
recall that _Fabiola_ by Cardinal Wiseman, had appeared the year before
_Callista_; _Fabiola_ represents the story of religious instruction _par
excellence_. Cardinal Wiseman had been for a number of years Professor
of Oriental languages at Roman University in Rome, and it is likely
that his study of Roman antiquities at Rome would have enabled him to
make _Fabiola_ a novel of Roman life; instead he made it a stereotyped
story of religious instruction. This oft-rewritten horror continues to
afford the young the opportunity to enjoy killing off martyrs to their
hearts’ content. We thus find it necessary again to dismiss the story of
religious instruction from primary consideration, but to remember its
presence in the background. Stories of this kind, by the prominent place
they gave to Christianity, set a precedent which seemed to bind authors
of the novel of Roman life to a considerable extent.