“What of her?”
“She has followed thee here. She affects the greatest devotion to thee. She vows that nothing shall make her budge until thou hast recovered from thy ecstasy, and admitted her as thy disciple. She has rejected numerous overtures from the philosopher Theocles; entirely for thy sake, she affirms. She comes three times a day to inquire respecting thy condition, and I fear it must be acknowledged that she has once or twice managed to get into thy chamber.”
“O ye immortal Gods!” groaned Plotinus.
“Here she is!” exclaimed Porphyry, as a woman of masculine stature and bearing, with the remains of beauty not unskilfully patched, forced an entrance into the room.
“Plotinus,” she exclaimed, “behold the most impassioned of thy disciples. Let us celebrate the mystic nuptials of Wisdom and Beauty. Let the claims of my sex to philosophic distinction be vindicated in my person.”
“The question of the admission of women to share the studies and society of men,” rejoined Plotinus, “is one by no means exempt from difficulty.”
“How so? I deemed it had been determined long ago in favour of Aspasia?”
“Aspasia,” said Plotinus, “was a very exceptional woman.”
“And am not I?”
“I hope, that is, I conceive so,” said Plotinus. “But one may be an exceptional woman without being an Aspasia.”