Chapter D: The Novel of Roman Life in a Fully Developed Form (1)

In 1834 was published Bulwer’s[18] _Last Days of Pompeii_, which probably has been as widely read, and for as long a period as any other historical novel. Men still live who consider Bulwer among the greatest of English novelists; and if one were to select only one book for which he is especially remembered, I believe The _Last Days of Pompeii_ would have equal claims with such a novel as _The Last of the Barons_, to which critics usually assign a higher place. _The Last Days of Pompeii_ was a new thing of its kind; it represents a new departure in the historical novel, and in the novel of Roman life. It is true that there remain in it certain elements of the Byronism, which was still so prevalent in the novel of the day, but these elements cannot merely be dismissed as defects. There is the Byronic passion for the terrible in nature, which reaches its height in the unsurpassed description of the eruption of Vesuvius, and its terrible effects. The “Byronic hero,” moreover, can easily be seen in the disguise of Arbaces, the Egyptian, who is surrounded by an air of mystery, and has a lofty scorn of the common herd of mankind. Moreover, Arbaces, to secure his ends, has recourse to Egyptian “magic,” the intricacy and subtlety of which had been well represented in _The Epicurean_. Such motives as these, however, have already been discussed, together with their relation to the novel of Roman life. Let us see what Bulwer added to this particular variety of the historical novel.

It will be recalled that Scott (who must be considered Bulwer’s most important predecessor in the field), in writing his historical novels, always made use of historical characters and events, as well as of purely imaginary characters and events. Bulwer departed from this program, in the first instance, by reducing the number of historical events,—the eruption being the only important one. Moreover, he succeeded, with no loss of effect, in replacing the “historical” characters, which are usually necessary to the historical novel, by imaginary characters such as he perceived would be in harmony with the time he described. This omission of “historical” characters is to be accounted for by Bulwer’s choice of scene. Having chosen Pompeii (and not Rome) for his scene, and finding there were no “historical” characters suitable for a novel portraying the life of this brilliant Campanian city, he decided to make up for their absence by lending an almost “historical” reality to his imaginary characters. Scott had made his imaginary characters appear to be real men and women by reproducing real men and women whom he had observed; Bulwer, in writing The _Last Days of Pompeii_, undertook the more difficult task of representing men and women who might well have lived in the times of ancient Rome,—and succeeds rather well. Around these characters he decided to weave a narrative which would reproduce exactly the life of the time,—and in this he succeeds admirably. Scott had been warned by the mistake made by the antiquary, Joseph Strutt, in a misuse of antiquarian details. Bulwer was an antiquarian of an entirely different sort; he revelled in the use of details, but in putting them into his story, made the whole conduce toward realistic effect. He had read widely in Latin and Greek literature; he climbed Mt. Vesuvius and learned all he could by actual observation, filing every detail in huge commonplace books; he studied Roman antiquities, and compared the results of his study with the manners of modern Italians. In short, he realized in his imagination the decadent life of Pompeii as it had actually been just before the eruption of Vesuvius, and reproduced it in the pages of The _Last Days of Pompeii_. While Bulwer, therefore, did not reproduce historical characters and events in quite the same way that Scott did, he makes an even more concrete use, than Scott did, of that life of the past which is not recorded in formal history. He views the past from the standpoint of the philosopher as well as from that of the student of human nature. Moreover, he seeks for permanent truths in human nature, rather than for merely picturesque elements.

The title and subject of _The Last Days of Pompeii_, was first concretely suggested to Bulwer’s mind by a picture of the same title. This picture, he says in his journal, was one of a collection in the Brera Gallery at Milan, and was “full of genius, imagination and nature. The faces are fine, the conception grand.” And as the author says in his Preface to the 1834 Edition, having chosen for his subject the “catastrophe, the Destruction of Pompeii, it required but little insight into the higher principles of art to perceive that to Pompeii the story should rigidly be confined. Placed in contrast with the mighty pomp of Rome, the luxuries and gaud of the vivid Campanian city would have sunk into insignificance. Her awful fate would have seemed but a petty and isolated wreck in the vast seas of the imperial sway.” Bulwer therefore decided to avoid the temptation “to conduct the characters of his tale ... from Pompeii to Rome,” leaving “to others the honor of delineating the hollow but majestic civilization of Rome.” The last part of this quotation is especially important to us. Bulwer in his preparatory studies spent much time in Rome, as well as in the vicinity of Pompeii. While the story of The Last Days of Pompeii does not actually go to Rome, all of its important elements, save the description of the eruption, could be transferred to a story of the Imperial City. Thus Bulwer’s novel not only shows that the novel of Roman life had become firmly established as a definite type, but it also points forward and shows the way for all important novels of Roman life since its time. The mingling of Romans and Italians, with Greeks and other foreigners in Pompeii, suggests the hybrid population of Rome; the worship of Isis, and her priest, the Egyptian Arbaces, suggest not only the varied forms of pagan religion at Rome, but also the important connections of Rome with Alexandria and the Nile civilization; the early struggles of Christianity (represented by Olinthus, and his converts) with these pagan superstitions recall the even greater trials of the Christians at Rome; the witch of the crater, with her spells and incantations, reminds one of the Sibyl of Cumæ and the soothsayers who appear at Rome in later novels of Roman life. The minor incidents of Bulwer’s novel and his descriptions of the manners of society also are used in novels whose scene is Rome; the banquets and revels, the life of loungers at the bath and spectators at the amphitheatre, the habits and haunts of the gladiators, the busy hum of the forum, are all things which Bulwer showed later novelists how to portray. He realized that he must not make his characters talk in the periods of Cicero, and takes without question the opinion of Scott (voiced in the preface to _Ivanhoe_), that the historical novelist should “explain ancient manners in modern language.” Bulwer’s method was somewhat different from that of Scott; but his purpose was essentially the same. His ideal is fairly stated at the end of the Preface to the 1834 edition, viz., to present a portrait faithful “to the features and costume of the age which I have attempted to paint. May it be (what is far more important) a just representation of the human passions and the human heart, whose elements in all ages are the same.” How well he achieved his purpose and realized his ideal is amply shown in The _Last Days of Pompeii_. Writers of the novel of Roman life who have followed Bulwer have surpassed him in few respects. Their purpose must be essentially the same as his; their ideal could not be higher.

Before the close of the year 1834, _Valerius_ and _The Last Days of Pompeii_ are the only two important novels whose scene is laid almost entirely in or near ancient Rome.[19] This fact is attested by historians of the novel; but if one is not satisfied without hearing an opinion of an author’s work expressed by one of his contemporaries, we have the tribute of Sir Archibald Alison (_History of Europe_, 1815-52, ch. V). He says in speaking of _Valerius_, “The most successful attempt which has yet been made to engraft the interest of modern life on ancient story: its extreme difficulty may be judged by the brilliant genius of Bulwer having alone rivalled him in the undertaking.” If there is any other book written before 1834, which deserves in every respect the title of “novel of Roman life,” I have been unable to trace it, nor do I know of any one else who claims to have done so. In considering the genesis of the novel of Roman life, one may be confident that _Valerius_ first marks out its general outlines, and _The Last Days of Pompeii_ establishes for it a complete and artistic form.

III

PRINCIPAL LINES OF DEVELOPMENT OF THE NOVEL OF ROMAN LIFE FROM 1834 TO THE PRESENT DAY

In considering the principal lines of development which the novel of Roman life has followed in its development from the time of Bulwer’s novel to the present day, one fact seems fairly obvious, but cannot be overemphasized. No important novel of Roman life has been written by an author who lacks classical scholarship of a very high order. Needless to say, such scholarship implies the possession of a highly cultivated intellect, and stands far above mere book-learning or pedanticism. In a general survey of the field it very soon appears that scholarship of this kind was possessed by the great scholar and preacher, Charles Kingsley, and is finely exemplified in his _Hypatia_, in spite of what pedantic critics have said concerning his “history.” After Kingsley, other great scholars, who were also preachers, made the novel of Roman life a vehicle for the presentation of universal truths. Besides such preachers, Ebers, Eckstein, and other followers of Scott in Germany,—whose classic novels constitute the most important influence from abroad on the English novel of Roman life before the time of _Quo Vadis_ (1896),—showed the value of absolute thoroughness in matters of scholarship. While they sometimes were led in their careful research to place undue emphasis on minute particulars, they often succeeded in giving to their work an atmosphere of universal truth. Novelists, whose principal purpose seems to have been to tell a “rattling good story” or to present a series of gorgeous pictures of Roman life, soon came to realize the necessity of scholarly accuracy, if they would attain to realistic effect. This was true of Whyte-Melville, the author of _The Gladiators_ (1863), and of General Lew Wallace, who wrote _Ben Hur_ (1880), though it must be admitted that the latter was somewhat more of a scholar, and had a more serious purpose. The success of men who have made a business of scholarship speaks for itself in the more recent and really fine work of Mr. William Stearns Davis in _A Friend of Caesar_ (1900), and of Mr. Edward Lucas White in _Andivius Hedulio_ (1921). But the finest fruits of the true scholarly mind have ever pointed toward the intellectual, the æsthetic, the beautiful in thought and expression. The beauty of thought and expression of Walter Pater’s _Marius, the Epicurean_ (1885), has perhaps never been surpassed in English prose fiction. Some approach to the quality of Pater’s work, however, is seen in that of George Gissing, in _Veranilda_ (1904), and an even greater similarity to it appears in parts of _Pan and the Twins_ (1922), by Mr. Eden Philpotts. Novelists such as these seek not merely to portray life as it appears to the average observer, but to make possible a fine appreciation of many things, which exist only for those who are seeking truth and beauty beneath the surface.

A. NOVELS OF ROMAN LIFE WHICH SHOW EVIDENCE OF THE SCHOLARSHIP OF GREAT PREACHERS

Let us consider first that phase of the development of the novel of Roman life, which is seen in novels showing unmistakable evidence of the scholarship of great preachers. A significant proportion of the limited list of the best novels of Roman life previously given consists of novels written by preachers. Now in defining the novel of Roman life, those books were excluded, which make use of Roman life merely as an artificial background for religious instruction. But it would certainly be a needless restriction to deny to the novel of Roman life, or indeed to any form of the historical novel, the liberty to present, directly or indirectly, any valuable sort of teaching. It is impossible truly to portray the life of ancient Rome, without teaching many things of lasting value. Moreover, there is a grave error in supposing that those important novels of Roman life which are written by preachers have as their sole purpose the preaching of Christianity; nor do they endeavor to portray the life of the Christians alone, and to deny a fair representation to the Pagan life which all but overwhelmed Christianity. A fairer statement of the case would be to say that preachers of scholarly attainments have been eminently fitted to write of Roman life through their study of that period of the world’s history, which is marked by the formation of the Roman Empire and the beginning of Christianity. Consequently they have produced novels in which the life of the early Christians appears naturally as an essential part of the life of ancient Rome. To include the life of the Christians in the novel of Roman life is not absolutely necessary, though all of our preacher-authors have done so; but it is more natural to do so in a novel, the story of which is laid after the time of Christ, and nearly all authors of such novels have appeared to recognize this. Finally the scholarly preacher has proven to be the best qualified of all men not only to present something of the dramatic struggle between Christianity and the pagan world; but also to portray the life of Rome in such a way as to bring home to his readers universal truths far above the level of mere didacticism. Unless such truths are sensed and illustrated by an author, no portrayal of the past can attain to an entire completeness of realistic effect.

The first significant novel of Roman life by such an author, was the work of the Rev. William Ware, a Unitarian preacher of Boston, and thorough classical scholar. In 1837, three years after _The Last Days of Pompeii_ appeared, he published _Zenobia, or The Fall of Palmyra_. Ware was no doubt led to write a novel of Roman times by the work of Bulwer and other novelists of the British Isles, who had done so; though in his work there is none of the Byronism which had appeared in the work of Croly, the only other preacher whose novel has been discussed so far in this study. Just what influenced Ware in his choice of title and subject is not quite so clear. As far back as 1814 there had been published in London a work by a certain Miss O’Keefe, entitled _Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, a Narrative founded on History_. This combines slow-moving dialogue with narration of the style of a school history book, and can hardly be classed as a genuine novel. While it is fairly accurate in its history, it does not appear to be of sufficient merit to have influenced Ware in his far superior work, even if he knew of it. A much more likely supposition is that Ware was first attracted in the course of his reading by the life-story of the famous queen who dared to lead her army against the hosts of the Roman empire; he then found further encouragement to write the novel from the popularity of historical fiction and from his familiarity with the sources from which the facts of Zenobia’s story are readily derived. In any case, _Zenobia_, among novels so far considered, (when published) had been equaled only by Croly’s _Salathiel_ in the accurate and abundant use of historical facts derived from original historical sources. Pollio, the biographer of Zenobia, Vopiscus, the biographer of Aurelian, and other historians, are accurately quoted to establish important points; and when there is evidence on both sides of a question, Ware weighs it very carefully. On the other hand, he does not make the mistake of crowding his pages with notes. These are condensed within the space of a few pages at the end of each of the two volumes.

_Zenobia_ is written in the letters of L. Manlius Piso, an imaginary personage who is supposed to have been in Palmyra at the time of its fall, and who writes to a friend at Rome. Since the first letter describes to his friend how he left Rome, the scene may be said to open at Rome, and it returns to Rome when Zenobia has been made a captive by Aurelian. Moreover, the character of Piso is distinctly Roman, and the cruel, stern emperor, Aurelian, appears as a true Roman. The military operations of the Romans before the walls of Palmyra, and the Emperor’s triumph at Rome with Zenobia as his captive, are well described. There is thus much of Roman life in _Zenobia_. Its so-called “epistolary” or “Richardsonian” style, is heavily descriptive, but the general effect is one of soundness, and the novel is impressive, not dull. In fact, _Zenobia_ possesses a brightness of coloring and an atmosphere of reality which seem superior to anything in Ware’s later books. While the minor characters do not stand out strongly, they are nevertheless real and human enough. Any deficiencies shown by the other characters are atoned for in Ware’s presentation of Zenobia, whom the author successfully portrays as a real woman and a proud queen. Ware is also true to history in recording that Zenobia had heard much of Christianity, but did not finally decide to become a Christian. Though a preacher, he preferred to state the probable truth, rather than to change the facts for the sake of preaching. In this he points the way for other preacher-authors who followed him in writing the novel of Roman life. _Zenobia_ was widely read on its first publication and attained equal success when it was posthumously published in 1869.

The success of _Zenobia_ led its author to publish a sequel in the following year, 1838. This was called _Aurelian, Emperor of Rome_, when it was republished shortly afterward, and goes by that title, though its original title was _Probus_. The scene of this novel is laid entirely in Rome, and the supposed narrator speaks as though he had survived Aurelian, had seen something of the persecution of Diocletian, and finally enjoyed safety under Constantine. Like _Zenobia_, _Aurelian_ is written in the form of letters; these letters are supposed to have been collected by a freedman of one of the characters. While it contains the story of a conversion to Christianity, _Aurelian_ is not to be classed as propaganda of any sort. Whatever preaching there is in it consists merely of a realistic portrayal of the sufferings of the Christians under persecution. The scenes in which Christians are submitted to various forms of torture are by no means overdrawn, and the martyrdom of some of them in the arena is described in a convincing manner. Over-emphasis on the place of Christianity in Roman life is to some extent avoided by making the Emperor a more important figure than any one of the Christians. _Aurelian_ is a book of one important character, the Emperor being the dominant figure. Ware’s second novel may truly be called a novel of Roman life, since it portrays faithfully some aspects of life at Rome in the time of Aurelian. But even in these terrible times there were other things in the life of Rome than the persecution of the Christians; and a more complete effect would have been obtained by including some of these in the picture. The fault is not overemphasis of one element so much as the omission of others. The author was careful in his study of life at Rome, but limited that study too much to a single phase of Roman life. One of his contemporaries, Miss Mitford, in her _Literary Recollections_, said of _Aurelian_, that it showed “not a trace of modern habits or modes of thinking;” but this is a purely negative compliment. The novel does portray something of ancient Roman habits and modes of thinking; its psychology is good in the case of the Christians and their persecutors. While not making quite the same use of the larger facts of history as appears in _Zenobia_, Ware showed his scholarship in _Aurelian_ especially well in his minutely detailed description of the Roman system of espionage, and of the traits of character which were exhibited in the Roman masters of the world. Though its tone is too sinister for present-day taste, _Aurelian_ made a great impression in its day, and takes an important place in the development of the novel of Roman life.

Ware’s third novel, published in 1841, was called _Julian; Scenes in Judea_. This is also written in the form of letters; and the story is told in the words of a wealthy young Jew, who leaves Rome, where he has been staying, and returns to his native land. _Julian_ can hardly be called a novel of Roman life, since, as the alternative title implies, most of the action takes place in Judea; and it excels rather in its portrayal of the Jewish national life, than in its description of the Romans. A fine conception, however, of the grandeur and extent of the Roman Empire is afforded by the description of the travels of the young Jew. Realistic touches are added in pictures of the stately buildings of Asiatic cities and of wild animals, which are being shipped for the games in the arena. Furthermore the delineation of the Roman governor Pilate and of Roman soldiers in Judea is made with masterful strokes. But the significant thing in _Julian_ in relation to the development of the novel of Roman life, is that it is the first novel approaching that type, which has for its central theme the life-story of Jesus Christ. Though it is beyond the power of any novelist to tell this story with one-half the power of the inspired narrative of the New Testament, even when feebly retold, it is of such tremendous meaning, that any portrayal of Roman life made in connection with it is sure to pale into insignificance. _Julian_ proved conclusively that a novel which is intended primarily to portray Roman life, cannot make the life of Christ its central theme. The Rev. Mr. Ware’s three novels were not only very popular in America and in England, but were translated into German and other foreign languages. They were very favorably received by contemporary critics. In reviewing _Julian_, shortly after it appeared, Dr. R. W. Griswold says, “The romances of Mr. Ware betray a familiarity with the civilization of the ancients, and are written in a graceful, pure, and brilliant style.” No novel in America surpasses the novels of Ware in their importance in the development of the novel of Roman life before the publication of Gen. Lew Wallace’s _Ben Hur_ (1880).

The Rev. Ware’s _Julian_ has just been mentioned as an illustration of the fact that no novel, whether written by a preacher or not, can successfully portray Roman life, while making the life of Christ its central theme. _Aurelian_ was also spoken of, to illustrate the more general truth that in a portrayal of Roman life in a novel, the life of the Christians should not be given undue prominence. Mrs. Webb’s _Naomi_ (1841),[20] is a story which begins immediately after the time of Christ, but much of the life of Christ is brought in by the words of the aged Mary of Bethany and others of His disciples who are still living. Moreover, the life of the Christians, as contrasted with that of the Romans, is given undue prominence. _Naomi_ has, in fact, been mentioned in the first section of this study, and was excluded from consideration as a novel of Roman life, since it is rather a story of religious experience. It is now mentioned again to remind one that it is the first important one of a very great number of religious books that were written from this time on. In other words, the year 1841 marks, as nearly as possible, the exact point at which the story of religious instruction branches off and becomes an entirely different thing from the novel of Roman life. The Rev. Ware’s _Julian_ and _Aurelian_ are not in any sense stories of religious instruction, but they suggested to other preachers and people interested in religious work the possibility of writing such stories. Thus the story of religious instruction was a by-product of the early novel of Roman life; but it continued to exist as a distinct form, and to have an influence in turn on the development of the novel of Roman life. It is important to bear this influence in mind, even though the story of religious instruction showed not so much what the novel of Roman life should do, as what it should avoid.

In 1853[21] appeared Charles Kingsley’s _Hypatia_. This is a great novel, which in its presentation of universal truths far surpasses the stereotyped instruction of any religious tract. It is a powerful picture of the conflict between Christianity and Greek philosophy in the fifth century. Its author fairly presents the beauty of Greek philosophy, before showing that the true spirit of Christianity must triumph in the end. But Kingsley also showed the essential falsity of the teachings of the Greek schools of philosophy, which his heroine, Hypatia, represented; and he pointed out in an equally convincing way, that the Christian Church, while almost entirely shutting out spiritual Christianity, had become an organization, whose chief end was temporal power. By considering this last fact outside of its proper relation, Kingsley’s enemies were enabled to wilfully misunderstand him, although those who still read _Hypatia_ for its own sake are always able to understand him perfectly. In fact, the reasons which led Kingsley to write _Hypatia_, have frequently been misstated. It will be well to consider what the facts were, especially since they have an important bearing on the development of the novel of Roman life.[22]

_Hypatia_ is, in the words of William T. Brewster, Professor of English 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.