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.
After the publication of Callista, a number of preachers, who wrote stories of religious instruction, were enabled by their scholarship, to embellish their work to some extent with a portrayal of Roman life. But even so, their work was often intended primarily for younger readers; their books are commonly classed as juvenile. Books of this kind were written by the Rev. John Neale, the Rev. A. D. Crake, the Rev. G. S. Davies and the Rev. A. J. Church. The last-named author was the most scholarly; and his work was excluded in Section I of this study, rather because it was intended for boys than because it represented the story of religious instruction. In considering the work of preachers, we have to pass over some years before we come to the truly great portrayal of life at Rome in the form of fiction, which is seen in Canon Frederic W. Farrar’s Darkness and Dawn, (1892). This is called by its author An Historic Tale, and he distinctly says it is not a novel; but in spite of his modest estimate of his own work, Darkness and Dawn is a great novel in every respect, except that it lacks a highly-developed artificial plot. And such a plot is unnecessary, since the element of suspense and even a certain unity of effect are attained merely by a faithful and realistic narration of events, either historical or characteristic of the time. Canon Farrar saw that the age of Nero supplied the best material for the work he contemplated; and in portraying life at Rome in Nero’s time with realistic effect, he has surpassed every other English novelist who has written of that period, and is not himself surpassed even by Sienkiewicz, the Polish author of Quo Vadis, (1895).
In writing Darkness and Dawn, Canon Farrar made full, though judicious, use of his profound scholarship, which in its thoroughness equals that of Charles Kingsley. He equals Kingsley’s Hypatia in his portrayal of life in the past,—“the thing which has been,”—though he does not attempt in quite the same way to show that it is also “the thing which shall be.” In spite of its figurative title, Darkness and Dawn does not quite bring the reader to the same realization of the onward sweep of history, the march of civilization, the gradual victory of Christianity, that Hypatia does. But in presenting the contrasts in Christian and Pagan life at Rome with faithful exactness, and in terms of the life of today, Farrar teaches his lesson in a different way. While he does not fit his picture of a period of history into the scheme of universal history in the same way that Kingsley does, he portrays the life of the time of Nero with a minuteness of detail which had not been attempted by Kingsley in his portrayal of the life of the Roman Empire in Hypatia. Farrar leaves the reader more to derive his own lesson from the facts,—but the sermon is there and may be considered universal in its application. It is only fair, however, to consider Darkness and Dawn chiefly for its portrayal of Roman life. As has been hinted, there is a distinct difference in the method of Farrar’s portrayal of the past, from that used by Kingsley. Kingsley selects what he considers the important things in the life of the past, and shows their significance. Farrar, on the other hand, gives everything which may be of any consequence, with the most minute exactness of detail. Kingsley’s history had been unfairly criticised; Farrar’s is beyond criticism. Farrar not only sifts and weighs the finest points in matters of historical accuracy, but also gives the most painstaking and detailed description of manners, customs, habits, dress, and all other things which aid the reader in obtaining an intimate knowledge of the time with which his story deals.
Between the date of publication of Hypatia, (1853), and that of Darkness and Dawn, (1892), there had come about a marked change in methods of scholarship, especially of classical scholarship; and the effect of this is to be seen in Darkness and Dawn. This change in methods of scholarship is chiefly characterized by an insistence upon the minute analysis of historical facts, and of the manners of the ancients. Its effect upon the English novel of Roman life is due to the influence of the painstaking research made by scholars, usually Germans, in the field of Roman private life and Roman archæology; and to the influence of novels of Roman life which made use of such research, and were written by Germans. This influence will be discussed more thoroughly, when we have concluded our study of the English novel of Roman life as written by Churchmen.