Hypatia or New Foes with an Old Face Part 59

'Impossible!'

'I say it!'

'As your dying speech? The true Raphael Aben-Ezra, then, lives no more!'

'But he may be born again.'

'And die to philosophy, that he may be born again into barbaric superst.i.tion! Oh worthy metempsychosis! Farewell, sir!' And she rose to go.

'Hear me!-hear me patiently this once, n.o.ble, beloved Hypatia! One more sneer of yours, and I may become again the same case-hardened fiend which you knew me of old-to all, at least, but you. Oh, do not think me ungrateful, forgetful! What do I not owe to you, whose pure and lofty words alone kept smouldering in me the dim remembrance that there was a Right, a Truth, an unseen world of spirits, after whose pattern man should aspire to live?'

She paused, and listened in wonder. What faith had she of her own? She would at least hear what he had found....

'Hypatia, I am older than you-wiser than you, if wisdom be the fruit of the tree of knowledge. You know but one side of the medal, Hypatia, and the fairer; I have seen its reverse as well as its obverse. Through every form of human thought, of human action, of human sin and folly, have I been wandering for years, and found no rest-as little in wisdom as in folly, in spiritual dreams as in sensual brutality. I could not rest in your Platonism-I will tell you why hereafter. I went on to Stoicism, Epicurism, Cynicism, Scepticism, and in that lowest deep I found a lower depth, when I became sceptical of Scepticism itself.'

'There is a lower deep still,' thought Hypatia to herself, as she recollected last night's magic; but she did not speak.

'Then in utter abas.e.m.e.nt, I confessed myself lower than the brutes, who had a law, and obeyed it, while I was my own lawless G.o.d, devil, harpy, whirlwind.... I needed even my own dog to awaken in me the brute consciousness of my own existence, or of anything without myself. I took her, the dog, for my teacher, and obeyed her, for she was wiser than I. And she led me back-the poor dumb beast-like a G.o.d-sent and G.o.d-obeying angel, to human nature, to mercy, to self-sacrifice, to belief, to wors.h.i.+p-to pure and wedded love.'

Hypatia started.... And in the struggle to hide her own bewilderment, answered almost without knowing it-

'Wedded love?.... Wedded love? Is that, then, the paltry bait by which Raphael Aben-Ezra has been tempted to desert philosophy?'

'Thank Heaven!' said Raphael to himself. 'She does not care for me, then! If she had, pride would have kept her from that sneer.' Yes, my dear lady,' answered he aloud, 'to desert philosophy, to search after wisdom; because wisdom itself had sought for me, and found me. But, indeed, I had hoped that you would have approved of my following your example for once in my life, and resolving, like you, to enter into the estate of wedlock.'

'Do not sneer at me!' cried she, in her turn, looking up at him with shame and horror, which made him repent of uttering the words. 'If you do not know-you will soon, too soon! Never mention that hateful dream to me, if you wish to have speech of me more!'

A pang of remorse shot through Raphael's heart. Who but he himself had plotted that evil marriage? But she gave him no opportunity of answering her, and went on hurriedly-

'Speak to me rather about yourself. What is this strange and sudden betrothal? What has it to do with Christianity? I had thought that it was rather by the glories of celibacy-gross and superst.i.tious as their notions of it are-that the Galileans tempted their converts.'

'So had I, my dearest lady,' answered he, as, glad to turn the subject for a moment, and perhaps a little nettled by her contemptuous tone, he resumed something of his old arch and careless manner. 'But-there is no accounting for man's agreeable inconsistencies-one morning I found myself, to my astonishment, seized by two bishops, and betrothed, whether I chose or not, to a young lady who but a few days before had been destined for a nunnery.'

'Two bishops?'

'I speak simple truth. The one was Synesius of course;-that most incoherent and most benevolent of busybodies chose to betray me behind my back:-but I will not trouble you with that part of my story. The real wonder is that the other episcopal match-maker was Augustine of Hippo himself!'

'Anything to bribe a convert,' said Hypatia contemptuously.

'I a.s.sure you, no. He informed me, and her also, openly and uncivilly enough, that he thought us very much to be pitied for so great a fall.... But as we neither of us seemed to have any call for the higher life of celibacy, he could not press it on us.... We should have trouble in the flesh. But if we married we had not sinned. To which I answered that my humility was quite content to sit in the very lowest ranks, with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.... He replied by an encomium on virginity, in which I seemed to hear again the voice of Hypatia herself.'

'And sneered at it inwardly, as you used to sneer at me.'

'Really I was in no sneering mood at that moment; and whatsoever I may have felt inclined to reply, he was kind enough to say for me and himself the next minute.'

'What do you mean?'

'He went on, to my utter astonishment, by such a eulogium on wedlock as I never heard from Jew or heathen, and ended by advice to young married folk so thoroughly excellent and to the point, that I could not help telling him, when he stopped; what a pity I thought it that he had not himself married, and made some good woman happy by putting his own recipes into practice.... And at that, Hypatia, I saw an expression on his face which made me wish for the moment that I had bitten out this impudent tongue of mine, before I so rashly touched some deep old wound.... That man has wept bitter tears ere now, be sure of it.... But he turned the conversation instantly, like a well-bred gentleman as he is, by saying, with the sweetest smile, that though he had made it a solemn rule never to be a party to making up any marriage, yet in our case Heaven had so plainly pointed us out for each other, etc. etc., that he could not refuse himself the pleasure.... and ended by a blessing as kindly as ever came from the lips of man.'

'You seem wonderfully taken with the sophist of Hippo,' said Hypatia impatiently; 'and forget, perhaps, that his opinions, especially when, as you confess, they are utterly inconsistent with themselves, are not quite as important to me as they seem to have become to you.'

'Whether he be consistent or not about marriage,' said Raphael, somewhat proudly, 'I care little. I went to him to tell me, not about the relation of the s.e.xes, on which point I am probably as good a judge as he-but about G.o.d and on that subject he told me enough to bring me back to Alexandria, that I might undo, if possible, somewhat of the wrong which I have done to Hypatia.'

'What wrong have you done me?.... You are silent? Be sure, at least, that whatsoever it may be, you will not wipe it out by trying to make a proselyte of me!'

'Be not too sure of that. I have found too great a treasure not to wish to share it with Theon's daughter.'

'A treasure?' said she, half scornfully.

'Yes, indeed. You recollect my last words, when we parted there below a few months ago?'

Hypatia was silent. One terrible possibility at which he had hinted flashed across her memory for the first time since;.... but she spurned proudly from her the heaven-sent warning.

'I told you that, like Diogenes, I went forth to seek a man. Did I not promise you, that when I had found one you should be the first to hear of him? And I have found a man.'

Hypatia waved her beautiful hand. 'I know whom you would say.... that crucified one. Be it so. I want not a man, but a G.o.d.'

'What sort of a G.o.d, Hypatia? A G.o.d made up of our own intellectual notions, or rather of negations of them-of infinity and eternity, and invisibility, and impa.s.sibility-and why not of immortality, too, Hypatia? For I recollect we used to agree that it was a carnal degrading of the Supreme One to predicate of Him so merely human a thing as virtue.'

Hypatia was silent.

'Now I have always had a sort of fancy that what we wanted, as the first predicate of our Absolute One, was that He was to be not merely an infinite G.o.d-whatever that meant, which I suspect we did not always see quite clearly-or an eternal one-or an omnipotent one-or even merely a one G.o.d at all; none of which predicates, I fear, did we understand more clearly than the first: but that he must be a righteous G.o.d:-or rather, as we used sometimes to say that He was to have no predicate-Righteousness itself. And all along, I could not help remembering that my old sacred Hebrew books told me of such a one; and feeling that they might have something to tell me which-'

'Which I did not tell you! And this, then, caused your air of reserve, and of sly superiority over the woman whom you mocked by calling her your pupil! I little suspected you of so truly Jewish a jealousy! Why, oh why, did you not tell me this?'

'Because I was a beast, Hypatia; and had all but forgotten what this righteousness was like; and was afraid to find out lest it should condemn me. Because I was a devil, Hypatia; and hated righteousness, and neither wished to see you righteous, nor G.o.d righteous either, because then you would both have been unlike myself. G.o.d be merciful to me a sinner!'

She looked up in his face. The man was changed as if by miracle-and yet not changed. There was the same gallant consciousness of power, the same subtle and humorous twinkle in those strong ripe Jewish features and those glittering eyes; and yet every line in his face was softened, sweetened; the mask of sneering faineance was gone-imploring tenderness and earnestness beamed from his whole countenance. The chrysalis case had fallen off, and disclosed the b.u.t.terfly within. She sat looking at him, and pa.s.sed her hand across her eyes, as if to try whether the apparition would not vanish. He, the subtle!-he, the mocker!-he, the Lucian of Alexandria!-he whose depth and power had awed her, even in his most polluted days.... And this was the end of him....

'It is a freak of cowardly superst.i.tion.... Those Christians have been frightening him about his sins and their Tartarus.'

She looked again into his bright, clear, fearless face, and was ashamed of her own calumny. And this was the end of him-of Synesius-of Augustine-of learned and unlearned, Goth and Roman .... The great flood would have its way, then.... Could she alone fight against it?

She could! Would she submit?-She? Her will should stand firm, her reason free, to the last-to the death if need be.... And yet last night!-last night!

At last she spoke, without looking up.

'And what if you have found a man in that crucified one? Have you found in him a G.o.d also?'

'Does Hypatia recollect Glaucon's definition of the perfectly righteous man?.... How, without being guilty of one unrighteous act, he must labour his life long under the imputation of being utterly unrighteous, in order that his disinterestedness may be thoroughly tested, and by proceeding in such a course, arrive inevitably, as Glaucon says, not only in Athens of old, or in Judaea of old, but, as you yourself will agree, in Christian Alexandria at this moment, at-do you remember, Hypatia?-bonds, and the scourge, and lastly, at the cross itself.... If Plato's idea of the righteous man be a crucified one, why may not mine also? If, as we both-and old Bishop Clemens, too-as good a Platonist as we, remember-and Augustine himself, would agree, Plato in speaking those strange words, spoke not of himself, but by the Spirit of G.o.d, why should not others have spoken by the same Spirit when they spoke the same words?'

'A crucified man.... Yes. But a crucified G.o.d, Raphael! I shudder at the blasphemy.'

'So do my poor dear fellow-countrymen. Are they the more righteous in their daily doings, Hypatia, on account of their fancied reverence for the glory of One who probably knows best how to preserve and manifest His own glory? But you a.s.sent to the definition? Take care!' said he, with one of his arch smiles, 'I have been fighting with Augustine, and have become of late a terrible dialectician. Do you a.s.sent to it?'

'Of course-it is Plato's.'

'But do you a.s.sent merely because it is written in the book called Plato's, or because your reason tells you that it is true?.... You will not tell me. Tell me this, then, at least. Is not the perfectly righteous man the highest specimen of men?'