Paul declines to undertake the healing of Simon at Felix's request. But Simon had first refused to suffer Paul's access to him, at the same time warning both Felix and Drusilla of the evil likely to result to their little son from a touch to him of Paul's hand which the sick sorcerer had just observed through the lattice. Felix and Drusilla, freshly angered at Paul, resolve together on his destruction. A second meeting assembles to hear Mary's story. This time there is an interruption occasioned by a disturbing written message from Felix, sent to Julius the centurion, one of the listeners.
MARY MAGDALENÉ.
When one set high, but hopeless gross in grainOf nature—and through habit of license longAnd self-indulging pride of place and powerGrown grosser—by reverse of fortune falls,And can no longer wield his insolenceSo widely as his wish were and his wontHas been, then often he will salve himselfThat sore-felt loss of brutal privilegeBy being more insolent still where yet he may:So Felix now wreaked his revenge on Paul.Paul knew him powerless, but he would not turnRetort on the humiliated man,Or aught abate toward him the obeisance dueThe ruler that he lately was—a strictRespect enforced by his own self-respect.Felix had with fair princely promises—Commended to those simple islandersBy large report of recent royal stateHis and of prospects brighter yet at Rome,As by Drusilla's airs of queen—made shiftTo lodge himself commodiously with his train:Under his roof apart Simon lay sick."Thou hast heard doubtless what I would from thee"—So without greeting Felix said to Paul—"Thy trick of healing for a gentlemanI have the humor to regard with love.A fellow-countryman of thine he is,Something too of a fellow-conjurer"—And Felix grinned at his own pleasantry;"He has fallen sick in this accurséd place.'Physician, heal thyself,' thou wilt say to him,For, aye, he is helpless for his own relief.Heal him; thou shalt not unrewarded go.I think that I can serve thy cause at Rome,Where there is need greater than thou wouldst guess.For they love justice there so well they sellIt high; great sums, money in hand, they want;Or preferably sometimes they will commuteFor other things than money still dearer to men.A mighty mart is Rome; they barter thereJustice for pleasure, pleasure in various kinds,Most of it such as thou couldst not provide—Unless indeed thy pretty countrywoman—"But a sharp spearthrust look, shot forth from Paul,Sudden as lightning and as branding bright,Broke that word off, and Felix faltered onWith forced resumption of his insolence:"A good round price they ask, whatever the kind.Have me for friend at court and thou shalt thrive.Simple and easy; make this gentleman well,Nothing but that; just a few mumbled words,A magic touch of hand, presto, all's done.What thou artgivingto these wretches here,These beggarly Melitans, with no rewardExcept the fun of seeing them jump for joy,Look, I ampurchasingfrom thee at great price.But stay, thy patient has not yet been toldWhat thus is planned for him. Let me prepareThy way a little, ere thy task thou try."When Felix entered where the sorcerer layThe peevish sick man was the first to speak:"That Paul had little Felix by the hand;Just now I saw him through the lattice here.It is an evil hand, beware of it.Its touch brings certain mischief where he will,And that toward thee and thine he will, be sure."Felix was startled, but he cheerily said:"Go to, I was just bargaining with PaulTo have him use his laying on of handsFor thee, good Simon. Cheer thee up, my man;We shall soon have thee out of this." But he:"Paul shall not touch me, shall not look at me.I fear him, and I hate him; out upon him!""Listen to reason, Simon," Felix said;"Thou canst not doubt he really works strange cures;There was the father of Sir Publius,And scores of sick among this native rabbleHave come out whole from under those same hands.""It served his turn," piped Simon. "It shall serveNo less his turn to heal thee," Felix said;"I have made it his account to play us true.""Hark thee, my master, for this word stands fast,"Said Simon, rousing halfway from his bed,"I will have none of Paul; I will get wellFrom spite, rather than have those hands on me."And Simon moved in act as if to rise;But Felix stayed him still his bed to keep.Then, thwarted, he returned to Paul, and said:"He will not let thee lay thy hands on him,A fit of foolish stubbornness, he fearsThee, or pretends he fears; he certain hatesThee, no pretence. Well, he is right perhaps;You fellow-Jews ought to know one another.ButIwould trust thee, Roman as I am."(Vaunting his Roman franchise Felix thusHis clinging freedman's quality betrayed);"That is, safe pledge in hand, thou understandest,Such as I hold, thou knowing well thy lifeHangs on my word for thee at Rome;wouldtrustThee, nay, I trust thee, Paul, and thou shalt yetDespite this worthy's Jewish contumacy,Heal him, ha! ha! without his knowing it.Put him to sleep, thou canst; thou hast the drugsDoubtless will soundly do it; compound them thou,And I will undertake he swallows them.Then thou canst fetch thy passes with the handAt leisure over all his ailing frame,And heal him—joke as it were at his expense!"Paul had stood listless with his eyes downcastAnd with his heart withdrawn from what he heard,And Felix had felt effect that penetratedYea even his triple mail of insolenceAnd dashed him sore; he had rallied all his forceAgainst it to maintain his tone assumedOf falsely-festive brutal cynicism.Helplessly dumb he hearkened, while Paul replied:"Lord Felix cannot know the grace of God,Whereof mine is but trust and stewardship.My power of healing is not mine, but God's;I have it, not to use it as I will,But as God wills, who shows His will to me.I dare not, would not, use it otherwise,I could not, He would take it away from me;Would not continue it rather, for it isDependent momently on His immanent will.I had no hint from Him as of behestThat I accomplish thine announced desire.I might have promptly sent thee back such wordBy thine own messenger; but I had seemedSo to be wanting somewhat in the heedDue to thy station; I therefore came myselfTo tell thee, O lord Felix, to thy face,That I am servant of the Most High God,Subject as such to no man's bidding, thineOr other's, and not free to mine own choice.Yet so I half misrepresent myself,For to mine own choice I feel wholly free,My choice being His who works in me to choose.Toward Simon, although he love me not, I bear,God is my witness, no ill will; instead,Would I could serve him! and perhaps I might,I know not, were his heart but right with God.Let him renounce his ways of wickedness;God to all men is good who will repent.But His face is as fire not to be quenched,Wrathful, devouring to the uttermost,Against all, no respect of person, whoStrengthen themselves in their iniquity.None shall escape at last, although, becauseGod's judgment is a while delayed, they mayDream that it never will descend on them.Delay is but forbearance, not neglect;God's goodness leadeth to repentance; woe,Woe, yea, and sevenfold woe, alight on those,All, who despise that grace of God in Christ!"No shudder of terror swept over Felix now,As when that wave of trembling shook him soAt Cæsarea in the judgment hall.He recognized an echo in Paul's wordsOf what he heard that day from those same lipsAnd then thought dreadful. 'Strange,' he dully mused,'How moments of weakness sometimes find out men!Why should I then have feared, and naught to fear,Save words, mere words? Solemnly spoken, aye,And I could not but hearken to the man,Majestic in his gesture and austere.Even now I sit and listen to the voice,But I am fenced and mailed that it hurts not.Would that I felt but half as safe from Rome!'So Felix in a half unconscious sortHeard Paul's words then hollow and meaningless;Only rebounded from them to the doubt,The hateful haunting doubt, of what lay hidWithin the horizon of this present worldFor him; deaf, since that day of final doom,To Sinai thundering from the world to come!Two witnesses had witnessed that which passedThus between Paul and Felix: secret one,Eavesdropper from behind a hanging nigh,Felix's jealous and suspicious spouseDrusilla; one in open view, and frank,Observant while obtrusive not, well-poisedIn sense of self-effacing loyalty,Young Stephen, shadow of his uncle Paul.He, as of course, fulfilling duty, wentWherever his illustrious kinsman went,If aught of peril to him, or need, could thereBy watchful love be guessed. Paul now by StephenAttended from that alien presence forth,Drusilla from her hiding burst, and cried:"A Jewish mother's curse fast cling to Paul,False, renegade Jew, who has his cursing handFolded on little Felix's this day!Heed Simon, and beware of Paul. O, why,Why didst thou, couldst thou, think of summoning him,Hated of all his nation so, to blightThe hope and fortune of our shaken houseWith creeping leper's plague upon our boy;Or perhaps other mischief worse than that!O, Felix! Felix! O, my lord, my lord!"Such woman's wailing and upbraiding brokeAll the man's force in Felix to withstand.He joined his imprecations upon PaulAnd swore her ready oaths to work him woe.Then as the pair conspired in vengeful vowsAgainst him, mutually to each other pledged,"With that young cub of his too," Felix said,"Fair-favored as he is, a meddlesome lad,Following his greybeard uncle round aboutWith spaniel looks and watch-dog carefulness;And our friend Sergius Paulus, understood!"Simon made good his threat of getting well,And fostered and fomented all he couldThe viperous hatch of hatred against Paul.Stephen reported to his companyThe incident and the spirit of the sceneBeheld by him enacted between PaulAnd Felix; and all knew full well the darkPresage of consequence for Paul it bore.A little more deeply shadowed in their mind,Pathetically hopeful yet in God,They met next day again, as had been planned,In the same spot with the same weather stillProlonging that winter interlude of spring,When Mary thus her broken-off tale resumed:"The wonder of the works that Jesus did,Wonderful as they were for grace and power,Was less than of the words that Jesus spake.'Spirit and life' these were, as Himself said.Once I remember, near Gennesaret,On a green grassy mound which swelled so highThat mountain even it meetly might be called,Sitting Him down as on a natural throneOf kinglike gentle state, there, with the wavesOf that bright water kneeling at His feetAnd the blue cope of sky canopying His head,He His disciples round about Him drewAnd taught us of the coming kingdom of heaven.'Blesséd the poor in spirit,' He began,'For unto them belongs the kingdom of heaven;Blesséd the souls that mourn, for in God's timeThey shall be comforted; blesséd the meek,For theirs the heritage of the earth shall be;Blesséd the souls ahungered and athirstFor righteousness, for they shall yet be filled;Blesséd the merciful, for mercy theyIn turn shall find; blesséd the pure in heart,For they God's face shall see; blesséd, who makePeace among men, for they shall thence be calledChildren of God; blesséd, who for the sakeOf righteousness shall persecuted be,For unto them belongs the kingdom of heaven.'""I cannot," interrupting so herself,Said Mary, "cannot ever make you knowHow like a heavenly-chanted music flowedThe stream of these beatitudes from Him.The lovely paradox of blessednessPronounced upon the persecuted, seemedSo like the purest, simplest reasonableness,When those unfaltering lips declared it true!All things seemed easy and certain that He said;Certain, yet some things awful and austere;As when in that same speech with altered strainHe sternly spake of judgment and hell-fire;It was as if the mount whereon He sat,Verdurous and soft, were into Sinai turned,And muttered thunder. But when with a changeAnd cadence indescribable He said:'Love ye your enemies, and them that curseYou, bless, do good to them that hate you, prayFor them that use you only with despiteAnd persecute you still, that ye may beThe children of your Father in the heavens,For He His sun maketh to rise alikeUpon the evil and upon the good,And without difference sendeth rain uponThe just with the unjust. For if ye loveThem that love you, what have ye for reward?Do not the oppressive publicans the same?And if your brethren only ye salute,What more than others do ye do? Do notThe oppressive publicans likewise? But ye,Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is:'And then when, closing, with authorityHe said: 'Whoever heareth these sayings of MineAnd doeth them, I will liken him to oneWho wisely built his house upon a rock;The rain descended then and the floods cameAnd the winds blew and beat upon that house,And it fell not, being founded on a rock:And every one that heareth these sayings of MineAnd doeth them not, he shall be likened to oneWho foolishly his house built on the sand;The rain descended then and the floods cameAnd the winds blew and beat upon that house—It fell, and mighty was the fall thereof;'When thus, I say, He tempered His discourse,Sweetness and awfulness were blended soIn His majestic and benignant mienAs never yet I knew them—never untilThey met and kissed each other at Calvary.That," Mary with a look toward Krishna said,After a pause of reminiscence mute,"That was when Jesus died upon the cross.""Tell me of that," said Krishna answering her,Forgetful for an instant of reserve;Then added with self-recollection swift:"But all in order due, or as thou wilt,For I am debtor to thy courtesy,And I shall listen fain to what thou sayest,All, and however thou shalt order it.I find thy Master's doctrine sweet to hear,And partly not unlike our Buddha's strain.""Perhaps our guest, if I may name him such,"Downcast toward Krishna turning, Mary said—"Most welcome we all make him, I am sure,To this our simple hospitalityOf converse or of audience, wherein ISeem to be bearing here a part too large—Perhaps," repeated Mary, "now our guestWill tell us something of his master Buddha"—She therewith resting, as to yield him room."Another day, if I may choose, for that,"Said Krishna; "pardon me my hasty word,And pray thee let thine own tale choose its way."Then Mary: "It were sad to tell the end,How Jesus died, save that He afterwardRose gloriously, and that before He died,In prospect near of dying, He spake wordsSo gracious and so full of victory!How well we know it now; but, alas, thenOur hearts were holden and we did not know!Strange that we did not know, for oft he said,Oft, and in many ways, remembered since,That He would die and after rise again.Yet, at the last, when He of dying spake,Our hearts were charged with sorrow, and when He diedOur hearts, they broke with sorrow and with no hope."O, it was beautiful, most beautiful—It seems so to the backward-looking eye,Which sees it now, when all is over and done,The shame and sharpness of the cross gone by,And He safe sitting in the glory of God—Beautiful and pathetic beyond words(Pathetic still, though all be over and done,Secure the issue and blesséd), the way in whichOur Savior faced His future welcoming it,That future with its unescapable cross,Its mystery of His Father's smile withdrawn!For truly, though our Lord by faith foreknewThe end beyond the seeming end, the dawnTo be after the shadow of the night—The dawn, the day, the everlasting day!—Yet horror possessed His almost-drowning soulOf that which He must suffer ere the end.Peter and James and John told us of how,Alone of all companionship, retiredFrom them even whom He had chosen to be with Him,He, in the garden of GethsemaneAt midnight of the night before the cross,Prayed, and in agony great drops of bloodShed as in sweat, desiring with desireTo have the cup removed that He must drink.It could not be, it was not, dread of death,Though painful and though shameful, shook Him so—"So Mary, swerved to sudden wonder, said,And question in her look as if for Paul.Paul answered: "Nay, oh, nay, not dread of death;That cup how many, finite like ourselves,Have taken and quaffed with overcoming joyIn martyrdom for truth! Some mixture worse,O, unimaginably worse! to HimEmbittered His inevitable cup,That He, beyond His human brethren brave,So shrank from drinking it. His was to bearAs Lamb of God in sacrifice, the weightOf the world's sin. This crushed Him sinless downImmeasurable abysses into woe,The woe of feeling forsaken by His God.Supported by believing in the joyFar set before Him He endured the cross,Despising the shame, and is in sequel now,We know, and love to know, at the right handOf God His Father throned forevermore,There waiting—He, inheritor of the nameExalted high above whatever name,The name of King of kings and Lord of lords—Until His footstool all His foes be made.""Amen!" in fervent chorus, Krishna heardBreak, soft and solemn, from the lips of all,With Mary, who then thus her tale renewed:"Before His passion in GethsemaneAnd on the cross loomed nigh enough to HimTo cast its solemn shadow deep and darkOver His prophet mind and over us,We had been walking joyous through the land,Green flowery land it was of hill and dale,With flocks and herds, and villages of men,The land of Galilee, gushing with springs,And spreading fair her lake Gennesaret,Now placid a pure mirror to the sky,Anon tumultuous, if rash wing of windSwooped down upon it from the mountain shore—We had been walking through this lovely landWith Jesus, He, like sower gone forth to sow,Scattering His gifts of healing everywhereBroadcast about Him as He passed along;Or sometimes feeding the great multitudesThat, like to sheep having no shepherd, throngedHis way, feeding them freely from a handThat multiplied the bounty it bestowed;—It was like journeying sphered with journeying springCreated for us where we set our feet;Our hearts were garlanded as for festival,So gladsome was it to behold our KingAdvancing in such progress through the landAnd lavishing such largess on His poor.But largess of beneficence from His handWas nothing to the largess from His lipsOf wisdom and of grace and of good news—To the obedient; the rebellious HeJudgments and terrors dire announced againstThat fastened and kindled like Gehenna fire.I was baptized with shuddering but to hearThe woes leap living from those holy lips—Which then nigh seemed to smoke like Sinai topWith indignation—on the Pharisees,The Sadducees, the lawyers, and the scribes,Unworthy found and judged for hypocrites.Most fearful as most fair theophany, He!One looked to see them flame, as lightning-struck,Those cities of people that rejected Him,Bethsaida, Chorazin, and that proudCapernaum, when on them His woes He launched,Hurtling them from His mouth like thunderbolts."To ears fresh wounded from such frightful woes,How balmy and how healing were these wordsCadenced ineffably from those same lips:'Come unto Me, all ye that labor, yeThat heavy laden are, come ye, and IWill give you rest. My yoke upon you takeAnd learn of Me, for meek and lowly in heartAm I, and ye rest to your souls shall find.'"With invitation or with warning HeOr with most sweet instruction heavenly wise,Our soul, our senses, feasting thus, the whileHe wrought too with that easy omnipotenceHis manifold mighty miracles of grace,We walked long time with Jesus; how long timeI know not, for the days and weeks they cameAnd went unnoted and the seasons changed.But at last He, how shall I say it? becameAlmost a different being from Himself.He spake of a mysterious hour, 'Mine hour,'He called it with some solemn meaning, what,We could not or we did not then divine,Couched in the word; that hour was now drawn near.It seemed to frown upon Him imminentAnd cast a somber shadow on His face.He dreaded it, and yet He welcomed it,Hasting the more to meet it as it neared."We were afraid of Him, with a new fear,He looked so awful in His loneliness.For He no longer with us walked; He walkedBefore us, hasting to Jerusalem.How steadfastly His face was thither set!He as if saw the features of His hourComing out clearer and clearer, and always there!He now would oftentimes His chosen twelveTake from the rest apart to tell them howThe Son of Man, oft so He named Himself,Should be delivered up to the chief priestsAnd to the scribes, and be by them condemnedTo death; and how the Gentiles in their turnShould mock Him and should scourge Him and should spitUpon Him and should kill Him; then how HeShould from the dead the third day rise again.But they those sayings understood not then,So simple and easy afterward, though strange.Like a refrain recurring in a song,Some sad refrain that lingers in the earPersistent through whatever else is sung,So did these doubtful boding propheciesAgain and yet again, not understood,At intervals return amid the strainOf other teaching opulent and sweetThat flowed and flowed in changes without end,Unending, from His lips. And all the whileWere miracles and signs, as by the wayAnd little reckoned, dropping from His handsLike full-ripe fruit from an unconscious tree!"And so it came to pass that we at lengthWere nigh to Bethphagé and Bethany.Here resting, to a village oppositeOur Master sent to fetch an ass's coltAppointed for His use, one virgin yetOf touch from human rider to his back;Thereon the lowly King sat Him to ride.How little did what we saw follow lookLike the fulfilment of ill-boding words!For now the people flung their garments downBefore Him in the way, they branches strewedFrom trees on either side to keep the feetOf even that ass's colt which He bestrodeFrom touching the base ground, the while a shoutWent up, one voice, from the great multitudeBefore Him and behind Him where He rode,'Hosanna to the Son of David! Lo,Blesséd is He that cometh in the nameOf the Lord God! Hosanna in the highest!'How little then to us, blind eyes, it lookedAs if this march triumphal of our KingWas to a death of shame upon the cross!"With wondering interruption Julius asked:"But how, but wherefore, was it thus? No crimeHad Jesus done; and what suspicion evenOf crime intended by him could there lieIn any mortal's mind against a manSo wise so pure and so beneficentAs he was in the obvious view of all?"He added: "I could understand how some,Offended at his stern rebuke of themBefore the people, might in secret wishHis death, might plot it, and might compass it,By private means of murder; but how oneLike Jesus should fall under law, be triedIn open forum as criminal, be foundGuilty, be sentenced, and be put to death,All as in process due of justice,thatI cannot understand, that baffles me.And underRomanrule and government!For crucifixion seems to mean so much.Perhaps some reason of state demanded it:Justice must often yield to reasons of state.""A reason of state," said Paul, "was the pretext,And but pretext it was, the real ground not.With deep hypocrisy my nation cameAnd pleaded to thy nation against HimPretension on His part to be a king,Saying, 'We have no king but Cæsar;' soFalsely affecting loyalty to Rome,And therewith falsely too attainting HimOf treason in purpose to dispute with CæsarHis claim of worldly lordship over them.Thy nation, Julius, with full equal deepHypocrisy, believing the charge no moreThan they believed who brought it, washed its handsVainly of guilt, condemning innocent blood.Jew joined with Gentile, Gentile joined with Jew,In one conclusive act of wickedness,That the whole world at once might before GodBe guilty of the death of Christ His Son;Oursin it was that slew the Lamb of God!"While the centurion hung confounded, dumbWith silence that half conscience-smitten seemed,Pondering Paul's words, charged, heavy charged, with blameInvolving him too in complicityOf guilt with the whole world for Jesus' death—A messenger from Felix came once more;This time to Julius with a letter sealed.Julius, unready for intrusion suchUpon that moment's privacy of thought,With petulant gesture broke the seal and readThese brusque words, which, though writ with other's hand,Were self-shown straight from Felix's own heart;No salutation, and no signature,Ambages none of complaisance or form,Frank unrelieved mock-kingly insolence,Drusilla's phrase, but spirit Felix's:"Does it become a Roman officerHonored with grave responsibilityAs thou art for the custody and safeConduct of arrant criminals to Rome,To be consorting with the chief of theseIn affable familiar intercourse?How thinkest thou? If report were brought to RomeOf such acquittal of the office thine,Would it seem well? Dost thou judge nothing at allDue from thee to the dignity of trustReceived from the august imperial hand?Is such thy measure of the faith requiredIn one of Cæsar's deputies? Or thouPerhaps at heart art Christian: ask thyselfIf thine be areligio licita!Apostate from the emperor to ChristAm I to recognize in thee? Judge thenWhat duty will demand from me arrivedAt Rome, me who am loyal still to him,Nero Augustus Cæsar named with gods!"These things read Julius with a knitted browThat discomposure with resentment showed;Then mastering himself to courtesyWherein some air of condescension played,He made his peace by gesture without word,And slowly, like one doubting, went away.With nothing said or signed to set in lightThe meaning of the message thus conveyed,Paul from the person of the messenger,Well-known a slave of Felix's, divinedThe meaning mischievous, but kept his thoughtAnd only said: "With the centurion nowOur guest no longer, and the day so farDeclined from its meridian, meet perhapsIt were to let our interrupted taleFrom Mary—thanks to whom once more we owe—Rest till to-morrow, if to-morrow beOurs, and the weather then still smile as now:God will still smile, through weather fair or foul.And now to God our Father blessing be,From whom all blessing is, and to His Son,And to the Holy Ghost. Amen!""Amen!"They echoed all, with not even Krishna mute;Then silently and solemnly withdrew.
When one set high, but hopeless gross in grainOf nature—and through habit of license longAnd self-indulging pride of place and powerGrown grosser—by reverse of fortune falls,And can no longer wield his insolenceSo widely as his wish were and his wontHas been, then often he will salve himselfThat sore-felt loss of brutal privilegeBy being more insolent still where yet he may:So Felix now wreaked his revenge on Paul.Paul knew him powerless, but he would not turnRetort on the humiliated man,Or aught abate toward him the obeisance dueThe ruler that he lately was—a strictRespect enforced by his own self-respect.
Felix had with fair princely promises—Commended to those simple islandersBy large report of recent royal stateHis and of prospects brighter yet at Rome,As by Drusilla's airs of queen—made shiftTo lodge himself commodiously with his train:Under his roof apart Simon lay sick.
"Thou hast heard doubtless what I would from thee"—So without greeting Felix said to Paul—"Thy trick of healing for a gentlemanI have the humor to regard with love.A fellow-countryman of thine he is,Something too of a fellow-conjurer"—And Felix grinned at his own pleasantry;"He has fallen sick in this accurséd place.'Physician, heal thyself,' thou wilt say to him,For, aye, he is helpless for his own relief.Heal him; thou shalt not unrewarded go.I think that I can serve thy cause at Rome,Where there is need greater than thou wouldst guess.For they love justice there so well they sellIt high; great sums, money in hand, they want;Or preferably sometimes they will commuteFor other things than money still dearer to men.A mighty mart is Rome; they barter thereJustice for pleasure, pleasure in various kinds,Most of it such as thou couldst not provide—Unless indeed thy pretty countrywoman—"But a sharp spearthrust look, shot forth from Paul,Sudden as lightning and as branding bright,Broke that word off, and Felix faltered onWith forced resumption of his insolence:"A good round price they ask, whatever the kind.Have me for friend at court and thou shalt thrive.Simple and easy; make this gentleman well,Nothing but that; just a few mumbled words,A magic touch of hand, presto, all's done.What thou artgivingto these wretches here,These beggarly Melitans, with no rewardExcept the fun of seeing them jump for joy,Look, I ampurchasingfrom thee at great price.But stay, thy patient has not yet been toldWhat thus is planned for him. Let me prepareThy way a little, ere thy task thou try."
When Felix entered where the sorcerer layThe peevish sick man was the first to speak:"That Paul had little Felix by the hand;Just now I saw him through the lattice here.It is an evil hand, beware of it.Its touch brings certain mischief where he will,And that toward thee and thine he will, be sure."Felix was startled, but he cheerily said:"Go to, I was just bargaining with PaulTo have him use his laying on of handsFor thee, good Simon. Cheer thee up, my man;We shall soon have thee out of this." But he:"Paul shall not touch me, shall not look at me.I fear him, and I hate him; out upon him!""Listen to reason, Simon," Felix said;"Thou canst not doubt he really works strange cures;There was the father of Sir Publius,And scores of sick among this native rabbleHave come out whole from under those same hands.""It served his turn," piped Simon. "It shall serveNo less his turn to heal thee," Felix said;"I have made it his account to play us true.""Hark thee, my master, for this word stands fast,"Said Simon, rousing halfway from his bed,"I will have none of Paul; I will get wellFrom spite, rather than have those hands on me."And Simon moved in act as if to rise;But Felix stayed him still his bed to keep.Then, thwarted, he returned to Paul, and said:"He will not let thee lay thy hands on him,A fit of foolish stubbornness, he fearsThee, or pretends he fears; he certain hatesThee, no pretence. Well, he is right perhaps;You fellow-Jews ought to know one another.ButIwould trust thee, Roman as I am."(Vaunting his Roman franchise Felix thusHis clinging freedman's quality betrayed);"That is, safe pledge in hand, thou understandest,Such as I hold, thou knowing well thy lifeHangs on my word for thee at Rome;wouldtrustThee, nay, I trust thee, Paul, and thou shalt yetDespite this worthy's Jewish contumacy,Heal him, ha! ha! without his knowing it.Put him to sleep, thou canst; thou hast the drugsDoubtless will soundly do it; compound them thou,And I will undertake he swallows them.Then thou canst fetch thy passes with the handAt leisure over all his ailing frame,And heal him—joke as it were at his expense!"
Paul had stood listless with his eyes downcastAnd with his heart withdrawn from what he heard,And Felix had felt effect that penetratedYea even his triple mail of insolenceAnd dashed him sore; he had rallied all his forceAgainst it to maintain his tone assumedOf falsely-festive brutal cynicism.Helplessly dumb he hearkened, while Paul replied:"Lord Felix cannot know the grace of God,Whereof mine is but trust and stewardship.My power of healing is not mine, but God's;I have it, not to use it as I will,But as God wills, who shows His will to me.I dare not, would not, use it otherwise,I could not, He would take it away from me;Would not continue it rather, for it isDependent momently on His immanent will.I had no hint from Him as of behestThat I accomplish thine announced desire.I might have promptly sent thee back such wordBy thine own messenger; but I had seemedSo to be wanting somewhat in the heedDue to thy station; I therefore came myselfTo tell thee, O lord Felix, to thy face,That I am servant of the Most High God,Subject as such to no man's bidding, thineOr other's, and not free to mine own choice.Yet so I half misrepresent myself,For to mine own choice I feel wholly free,My choice being His who works in me to choose.Toward Simon, although he love me not, I bear,God is my witness, no ill will; instead,Would I could serve him! and perhaps I might,I know not, were his heart but right with God.Let him renounce his ways of wickedness;God to all men is good who will repent.But His face is as fire not to be quenched,Wrathful, devouring to the uttermost,Against all, no respect of person, whoStrengthen themselves in their iniquity.None shall escape at last, although, becauseGod's judgment is a while delayed, they mayDream that it never will descend on them.Delay is but forbearance, not neglect;God's goodness leadeth to repentance; woe,Woe, yea, and sevenfold woe, alight on those,All, who despise that grace of God in Christ!"
No shudder of terror swept over Felix now,As when that wave of trembling shook him soAt Cæsarea in the judgment hall.He recognized an echo in Paul's wordsOf what he heard that day from those same lipsAnd then thought dreadful. 'Strange,' he dully mused,'How moments of weakness sometimes find out men!Why should I then have feared, and naught to fear,Save words, mere words? Solemnly spoken, aye,And I could not but hearken to the man,Majestic in his gesture and austere.Even now I sit and listen to the voice,But I am fenced and mailed that it hurts not.Would that I felt but half as safe from Rome!'
So Felix in a half unconscious sortHeard Paul's words then hollow and meaningless;Only rebounded from them to the doubt,The hateful haunting doubt, of what lay hidWithin the horizon of this present worldFor him; deaf, since that day of final doom,To Sinai thundering from the world to come!
Two witnesses had witnessed that which passedThus between Paul and Felix: secret one,Eavesdropper from behind a hanging nigh,Felix's jealous and suspicious spouseDrusilla; one in open view, and frank,Observant while obtrusive not, well-poisedIn sense of self-effacing loyalty,Young Stephen, shadow of his uncle Paul.He, as of course, fulfilling duty, wentWherever his illustrious kinsman went,If aught of peril to him, or need, could thereBy watchful love be guessed. Paul now by StephenAttended from that alien presence forth,Drusilla from her hiding burst, and cried:"A Jewish mother's curse fast cling to Paul,False, renegade Jew, who has his cursing handFolded on little Felix's this day!Heed Simon, and beware of Paul. O, why,Why didst thou, couldst thou, think of summoning him,Hated of all his nation so, to blightThe hope and fortune of our shaken houseWith creeping leper's plague upon our boy;Or perhaps other mischief worse than that!O, Felix! Felix! O, my lord, my lord!"
Such woman's wailing and upbraiding brokeAll the man's force in Felix to withstand.He joined his imprecations upon PaulAnd swore her ready oaths to work him woe.Then as the pair conspired in vengeful vowsAgainst him, mutually to each other pledged,"With that young cub of his too," Felix said,"Fair-favored as he is, a meddlesome lad,Following his greybeard uncle round aboutWith spaniel looks and watch-dog carefulness;And our friend Sergius Paulus, understood!"
Simon made good his threat of getting well,And fostered and fomented all he couldThe viperous hatch of hatred against Paul.Stephen reported to his companyThe incident and the spirit of the sceneBeheld by him enacted between PaulAnd Felix; and all knew full well the darkPresage of consequence for Paul it bore.
A little more deeply shadowed in their mind,Pathetically hopeful yet in God,They met next day again, as had been planned,In the same spot with the same weather stillProlonging that winter interlude of spring,When Mary thus her broken-off tale resumed:"The wonder of the works that Jesus did,Wonderful as they were for grace and power,Was less than of the words that Jesus spake.'Spirit and life' these were, as Himself said.Once I remember, near Gennesaret,On a green grassy mound which swelled so highThat mountain even it meetly might be called,Sitting Him down as on a natural throneOf kinglike gentle state, there, with the wavesOf that bright water kneeling at His feetAnd the blue cope of sky canopying His head,He His disciples round about Him drewAnd taught us of the coming kingdom of heaven.'Blesséd the poor in spirit,' He began,'For unto them belongs the kingdom of heaven;Blesséd the souls that mourn, for in God's timeThey shall be comforted; blesséd the meek,For theirs the heritage of the earth shall be;Blesséd the souls ahungered and athirstFor righteousness, for they shall yet be filled;Blesséd the merciful, for mercy theyIn turn shall find; blesséd the pure in heart,For they God's face shall see; blesséd, who makePeace among men, for they shall thence be calledChildren of God; blesséd, who for the sakeOf righteousness shall persecuted be,For unto them belongs the kingdom of heaven.'"
"I cannot," interrupting so herself,Said Mary, "cannot ever make you knowHow like a heavenly-chanted music flowedThe stream of these beatitudes from Him.The lovely paradox of blessednessPronounced upon the persecuted, seemedSo like the purest, simplest reasonableness,When those unfaltering lips declared it true!All things seemed easy and certain that He said;Certain, yet some things awful and austere;As when in that same speech with altered strainHe sternly spake of judgment and hell-fire;It was as if the mount whereon He sat,Verdurous and soft, were into Sinai turned,And muttered thunder. But when with a changeAnd cadence indescribable He said:'Love ye your enemies, and them that curseYou, bless, do good to them that hate you, prayFor them that use you only with despiteAnd persecute you still, that ye may beThe children of your Father in the heavens,For He His sun maketh to rise alikeUpon the evil and upon the good,And without difference sendeth rain uponThe just with the unjust. For if ye loveThem that love you, what have ye for reward?Do not the oppressive publicans the same?And if your brethren only ye salute,What more than others do ye do? Do notThe oppressive publicans likewise? But ye,Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is:'And then when, closing, with authorityHe said: 'Whoever heareth these sayings of MineAnd doeth them, I will liken him to oneWho wisely built his house upon a rock;The rain descended then and the floods cameAnd the winds blew and beat upon that house,And it fell not, being founded on a rock:And every one that heareth these sayings of MineAnd doeth them not, he shall be likened to oneWho foolishly his house built on the sand;The rain descended then and the floods cameAnd the winds blew and beat upon that house—It fell, and mighty was the fall thereof;'When thus, I say, He tempered His discourse,Sweetness and awfulness were blended soIn His majestic and benignant mienAs never yet I knew them—never untilThey met and kissed each other at Calvary.That," Mary with a look toward Krishna said,After a pause of reminiscence mute,"That was when Jesus died upon the cross.""Tell me of that," said Krishna answering her,Forgetful for an instant of reserve;Then added with self-recollection swift:"But all in order due, or as thou wilt,For I am debtor to thy courtesy,And I shall listen fain to what thou sayest,All, and however thou shalt order it.I find thy Master's doctrine sweet to hear,And partly not unlike our Buddha's strain.""Perhaps our guest, if I may name him such,"Downcast toward Krishna turning, Mary said—"Most welcome we all make him, I am sure,To this our simple hospitalityOf converse or of audience, wherein ISeem to be bearing here a part too large—Perhaps," repeated Mary, "now our guestWill tell us something of his master Buddha"—She therewith resting, as to yield him room."Another day, if I may choose, for that,"Said Krishna; "pardon me my hasty word,And pray thee let thine own tale choose its way."
Then Mary: "It were sad to tell the end,How Jesus died, save that He afterwardRose gloriously, and that before He died,In prospect near of dying, He spake wordsSo gracious and so full of victory!How well we know it now; but, alas, thenOur hearts were holden and we did not know!Strange that we did not know, for oft he said,Oft, and in many ways, remembered since,That He would die and after rise again.Yet, at the last, when He of dying spake,Our hearts were charged with sorrow, and when He diedOur hearts, they broke with sorrow and with no hope.
"O, it was beautiful, most beautiful—It seems so to the backward-looking eye,Which sees it now, when all is over and done,The shame and sharpness of the cross gone by,And He safe sitting in the glory of God—Beautiful and pathetic beyond words(Pathetic still, though all be over and done,Secure the issue and blesséd), the way in whichOur Savior faced His future welcoming it,That future with its unescapable cross,Its mystery of His Father's smile withdrawn!For truly, though our Lord by faith foreknewThe end beyond the seeming end, the dawnTo be after the shadow of the night—The dawn, the day, the everlasting day!—Yet horror possessed His almost-drowning soulOf that which He must suffer ere the end.Peter and James and John told us of how,Alone of all companionship, retiredFrom them even whom He had chosen to be with Him,He, in the garden of GethsemaneAt midnight of the night before the cross,Prayed, and in agony great drops of bloodShed as in sweat, desiring with desireTo have the cup removed that He must drink.It could not be, it was not, dread of death,Though painful and though shameful, shook Him so—"
So Mary, swerved to sudden wonder, said,And question in her look as if for Paul.Paul answered: "Nay, oh, nay, not dread of death;That cup how many, finite like ourselves,Have taken and quaffed with overcoming joyIn martyrdom for truth! Some mixture worse,O, unimaginably worse! to HimEmbittered His inevitable cup,That He, beyond His human brethren brave,So shrank from drinking it. His was to bearAs Lamb of God in sacrifice, the weightOf the world's sin. This crushed Him sinless downImmeasurable abysses into woe,The woe of feeling forsaken by His God.Supported by believing in the joyFar set before Him He endured the cross,Despising the shame, and is in sequel now,We know, and love to know, at the right handOf God His Father throned forevermore,There waiting—He, inheritor of the nameExalted high above whatever name,The name of King of kings and Lord of lords—Until His footstool all His foes be made."
"Amen!" in fervent chorus, Krishna heardBreak, soft and solemn, from the lips of all,With Mary, who then thus her tale renewed:"Before His passion in GethsemaneAnd on the cross loomed nigh enough to HimTo cast its solemn shadow deep and darkOver His prophet mind and over us,We had been walking joyous through the land,Green flowery land it was of hill and dale,With flocks and herds, and villages of men,The land of Galilee, gushing with springs,And spreading fair her lake Gennesaret,Now placid a pure mirror to the sky,Anon tumultuous, if rash wing of windSwooped down upon it from the mountain shore—We had been walking through this lovely landWith Jesus, He, like sower gone forth to sow,Scattering His gifts of healing everywhereBroadcast about Him as He passed along;Or sometimes feeding the great multitudesThat, like to sheep having no shepherd, throngedHis way, feeding them freely from a handThat multiplied the bounty it bestowed;—It was like journeying sphered with journeying springCreated for us where we set our feet;Our hearts were garlanded as for festival,So gladsome was it to behold our KingAdvancing in such progress through the landAnd lavishing such largess on His poor.But largess of beneficence from His handWas nothing to the largess from His lipsOf wisdom and of grace and of good news—To the obedient; the rebellious HeJudgments and terrors dire announced againstThat fastened and kindled like Gehenna fire.I was baptized with shuddering but to hearThe woes leap living from those holy lips—Which then nigh seemed to smoke like Sinai topWith indignation—on the Pharisees,The Sadducees, the lawyers, and the scribes,Unworthy found and judged for hypocrites.Most fearful as most fair theophany, He!One looked to see them flame, as lightning-struck,Those cities of people that rejected Him,Bethsaida, Chorazin, and that proudCapernaum, when on them His woes He launched,Hurtling them from His mouth like thunderbolts.
"To ears fresh wounded from such frightful woes,How balmy and how healing were these wordsCadenced ineffably from those same lips:'Come unto Me, all ye that labor, yeThat heavy laden are, come ye, and IWill give you rest. My yoke upon you takeAnd learn of Me, for meek and lowly in heartAm I, and ye rest to your souls shall find.'
"With invitation or with warning HeOr with most sweet instruction heavenly wise,Our soul, our senses, feasting thus, the whileHe wrought too with that easy omnipotenceHis manifold mighty miracles of grace,We walked long time with Jesus; how long timeI know not, for the days and weeks they cameAnd went unnoted and the seasons changed.But at last He, how shall I say it? becameAlmost a different being from Himself.He spake of a mysterious hour, 'Mine hour,'He called it with some solemn meaning, what,We could not or we did not then divine,Couched in the word; that hour was now drawn near.It seemed to frown upon Him imminentAnd cast a somber shadow on His face.He dreaded it, and yet He welcomed it,Hasting the more to meet it as it neared.
"We were afraid of Him, with a new fear,He looked so awful in His loneliness.For He no longer with us walked; He walkedBefore us, hasting to Jerusalem.How steadfastly His face was thither set!He as if saw the features of His hourComing out clearer and clearer, and always there!He now would oftentimes His chosen twelveTake from the rest apart to tell them howThe Son of Man, oft so He named Himself,Should be delivered up to the chief priestsAnd to the scribes, and be by them condemnedTo death; and how the Gentiles in their turnShould mock Him and should scourge Him and should spitUpon Him and should kill Him; then how HeShould from the dead the third day rise again.But they those sayings understood not then,So simple and easy afterward, though strange.Like a refrain recurring in a song,Some sad refrain that lingers in the earPersistent through whatever else is sung,So did these doubtful boding propheciesAgain and yet again, not understood,At intervals return amid the strainOf other teaching opulent and sweetThat flowed and flowed in changes without end,Unending, from His lips. And all the whileWere miracles and signs, as by the wayAnd little reckoned, dropping from His handsLike full-ripe fruit from an unconscious tree!
"And so it came to pass that we at lengthWere nigh to Bethphagé and Bethany.Here resting, to a village oppositeOur Master sent to fetch an ass's coltAppointed for His use, one virgin yetOf touch from human rider to his back;Thereon the lowly King sat Him to ride.How little did what we saw follow lookLike the fulfilment of ill-boding words!For now the people flung their garments downBefore Him in the way, they branches strewedFrom trees on either side to keep the feetOf even that ass's colt which He bestrodeFrom touching the base ground, the while a shoutWent up, one voice, from the great multitudeBefore Him and behind Him where He rode,'Hosanna to the Son of David! Lo,Blesséd is He that cometh in the nameOf the Lord God! Hosanna in the highest!'How little then to us, blind eyes, it lookedAs if this march triumphal of our KingWas to a death of shame upon the cross!"
With wondering interruption Julius asked:"But how, but wherefore, was it thus? No crimeHad Jesus done; and what suspicion evenOf crime intended by him could there lieIn any mortal's mind against a manSo wise so pure and so beneficentAs he was in the obvious view of all?"He added: "I could understand how some,Offended at his stern rebuke of themBefore the people, might in secret wishHis death, might plot it, and might compass it,By private means of murder; but how oneLike Jesus should fall under law, be triedIn open forum as criminal, be foundGuilty, be sentenced, and be put to death,All as in process due of justice,thatI cannot understand, that baffles me.And underRomanrule and government!For crucifixion seems to mean so much.Perhaps some reason of state demanded it:Justice must often yield to reasons of state."
"A reason of state," said Paul, "was the pretext,And but pretext it was, the real ground not.With deep hypocrisy my nation cameAnd pleaded to thy nation against HimPretension on His part to be a king,Saying, 'We have no king but Cæsar;' soFalsely affecting loyalty to Rome,And therewith falsely too attainting HimOf treason in purpose to dispute with CæsarHis claim of worldly lordship over them.Thy nation, Julius, with full equal deepHypocrisy, believing the charge no moreThan they believed who brought it, washed its handsVainly of guilt, condemning innocent blood.Jew joined with Gentile, Gentile joined with Jew,In one conclusive act of wickedness,That the whole world at once might before GodBe guilty of the death of Christ His Son;Oursin it was that slew the Lamb of God!"
While the centurion hung confounded, dumbWith silence that half conscience-smitten seemed,Pondering Paul's words, charged, heavy charged, with blameInvolving him too in complicityOf guilt with the whole world for Jesus' death—A messenger from Felix came once more;This time to Julius with a letter sealed.Julius, unready for intrusion suchUpon that moment's privacy of thought,With petulant gesture broke the seal and readThese brusque words, which, though writ with other's hand,Were self-shown straight from Felix's own heart;No salutation, and no signature,Ambages none of complaisance or form,Frank unrelieved mock-kingly insolence,Drusilla's phrase, but spirit Felix's:"Does it become a Roman officerHonored with grave responsibilityAs thou art for the custody and safeConduct of arrant criminals to Rome,To be consorting with the chief of theseIn affable familiar intercourse?How thinkest thou? If report were brought to RomeOf such acquittal of the office thine,Would it seem well? Dost thou judge nothing at allDue from thee to the dignity of trustReceived from the august imperial hand?Is such thy measure of the faith requiredIn one of Cæsar's deputies? Or thouPerhaps at heart art Christian: ask thyselfIf thine be areligio licita!Apostate from the emperor to ChristAm I to recognize in thee? Judge thenWhat duty will demand from me arrivedAt Rome, me who am loyal still to him,Nero Augustus Cæsar named with gods!"
These things read Julius with a knitted browThat discomposure with resentment showed;Then mastering himself to courtesyWherein some air of condescension played,He made his peace by gesture without word,And slowly, like one doubting, went away.
With nothing said or signed to set in lightThe meaning of the message thus conveyed,Paul from the person of the messenger,Well-known a slave of Felix's, divinedThe meaning mischievous, but kept his thoughtAnd only said: "With the centurion nowOur guest no longer, and the day so farDeclined from its meridian, meet perhapsIt were to let our interrupted taleFrom Mary—thanks to whom once more we owe—Rest till to-morrow, if to-morrow beOurs, and the weather then still smile as now:God will still smile, through weather fair or foul.And now to God our Father blessing be,From whom all blessing is, and to His Son,And to the Holy Ghost. Amen!"
"Amen!"They echoed all, with not even Krishna mute;Then silently and solemnly withdrew.
Drusilla has a confidential conference with Simon the sorcerer, now recovered, though still weak. He tempts her to think of ensnaring the emperor with her charms. He insinuates into her mind the idea of making away with Felix on the ground of his being an obstacle in her path to success With this in view, he forms suddenly a plot to convict Felix in his wife's eyes of infidelity to herself. He easily awakens Drusilla's jealousy, and she, with her own motives, enters into Simon's present proposals. Eunicé is accordingly invited to visit Drusilla as one repentant and desirous of being a Christian—Felix having meantime been filled by Simon with the notion that Eunicé is enamored of him, Felix. She comes with her mother to Felix's house, and the two are there entrapped; but at the crisis of danger they are rescued by young Stephen.
YOUNG STEPHEN AND FELIX.
That bland sweet weather changed to truculentAt sunset, and through all the winter nightRaged with wild wind and sleet of rain and hail.The roofs, the doors, the casements, of the houseWhere Felix and Drusilla sojourned, shookAs toward dilapidation of its frame.Drusilla lay in terror of her lifeTossing upon her couch and could not sleep.Brief intervals and lulls of tempest came;But images of distant danger thenMixed with the imminent menaces of the night.So with the earliest morning—furious yetThe unabated rack of elements—Drusilla sent for Simon, rallied nowOut of his low estate, and, tremulousWith weakness, through that very weakness madeMore searchingly clairvoyant than his wont.Untimely roused, and unrefreshed with sleep,And shaken as still she was with panic fears,The Jewess, ever conscious of herselfAnd proudly the more conscious now beforeOne whom she fain would hold her vassal, satLike a queen giving audience, well-arrayed,Yet artfully in speaking seemed to plead."Simon," she said, "be once more my resource.""Not once more, but an hundred hundred times,Liege lady," Simon said, "if mine art serve.""But, Simon,willit serve for no reward?"Drusilla, not without some pathos, said;Yet also not without some scrutinyOf Simon, which that deep dissembler boreFlinching, but scarcely flinching, as he said:"My fortune I account bound up with thine.""Yea, Simon, what through thee I gain," she said,"Reckon that thou no less gainest through me.As has been, is, our pact; art thou content?""More than content, most thankful," Simon said;"I pray thee of conditions now no more,But speak thy wishes; they shall be commands.""Well, faithful Simon," wheedling now she spoke,"That proud Drusilla thou once knewest in me,Is abject in sheer sense of helplessness.My lord is broken in spirit with lack of hope:I stay him up, as best I may, to showThe world some front of kingly boldness yet,But truth is, I am broken with staying him.What can we do at Rome? How mend our case?Friends have we few, and on the fallen thou knowestEnemies swarm like flies on rotting flesh.All is for sale at Rome, but who can buyThat goes barehanded thither, as do we?Thou hast the truth; now, Simon, like the rest,Leave us, as rats forsake a dooméd ship!""Thou pleasest to be facetious, O my queen,"Said Simon; "thou barehanded never art,Go where thou wilt, with beauty such as thine,Such beauty, and such wit to use it well."With pregnant ambiguity he spoke,And deeply read the features of her face.Those features molded nobly fair, but nowThrough their disfiguring discomposure wronged,Slowly regained the aspect clear and calmWherein the proud possessor long beforeLearned that her sumptuous beauty best prevailedTo make her sovereign of the hearts of men:Habit, with reminiscence of her pastTriumphs, usurped her mind that she forgotSimon, the raging storm, her doubts and fears.Simon considered his mistress at his ease;He saw she was not flattered by his wordsTo be a childlike plaything in his hands;He saw she was too haughty to resent,Too haughty to acknowledge by word or sign,Perhaps too haughty even to recognizeIn her deep mind, much more in heart to feel,Hint as conveyed by him in what he saidThat in the marriage markets of the worldSuch charms as hers were merchantable ware;And that he Simon abode at her commandLoyally ready to renew for her,On some august occasion still to seek,That intermediary office hisWhich once from King Azizus parted herTo make her of the Roman Felix spouse.Drusilla in no manner made response;But not less Simon knew his wish was sped;He knew the Venus Victrix heart in herWas flattering to the height her sense of power.He could not err by over-audacityIn tempting this presumptuous woman's pride.He ventured: "It were loyal service doneThy husband, to whom loyal service thouAlready even to sacrifice hast doneIn being his consort, thou a queen before,And he"—'but lately raised from servile state,'Simon would fain have said outright, to easeThe pressure of hate and scorn he felt for Felix,But knew he must no more than thus arrestThat word upon the point of utterance caught—"It were I say, well-weighed, a service to himIf thou shouldst wake the matchless power thou hastOf kindling admiration and desire,To exercise it in supreme assayAt the tribunal where he must be judged,Making the judge himself thy willing thrall!"The subtle sorcerer watched with wary eyeAskance, to see his mistress give at thisSome sign of pleased and startled vanity:Impassible placidity he saw—Serene, withdrawn, uninterrupted muse.A little disconcerted, he bode mute,Half glad in hope that he had not been heard.When at length she, that queenly creature, broke,Herself, with speech the growing spell of aweHe felt upon him cast by her supremeBeauty suspense in its august repose,Its silence and reserve and mystery,Then Simon knew that she had been beforeHim with the soaring thought of Nero led—The emperor of the world in triumph led—A captive at Drusilla's chariot wheels!A flash of light invaded Simon's mind:'Were there not hidden here the way long soughtTo free himself from the abhorréd yokeOf Felix? This bold woman would not stickAt putting such an obstacle as wasA husband such as he, out of her path—This by whatever means—a path that ledSteep to enthronement by the emperor's side.'Thenceforward Felix's worst foe was oneOf his own household at his table fed."The emperor is a bloody man, if trueBe all, be half, that they report of him—"Drusilla thus, as in soliloquyRather than in discourse to ear addressed,Spoke slowly—"he, the latest story goesSped like a shudder of horror around the world,Has got his mother slain, bunglingly drownedBy accident forsooth, at his command—Accident such as asks design to chance,A vessel foundering in a placid sea,On a serene and starry summer night—And after all not drowned, even awkwardly,But rescued to be stabbed, with mother's cryFirst from her lips, 'I never will believeThis of my son!' but then with, 'Strike mehere!'Confessing that she knew it was her son!And his young queen Octavia, silly sweet,And good, and pure, and fair, and amiable,And in short all a Roman emperor's spouseShould not be—she, they say, leads a slave's life,Or worse, amid her husband's palace scorned,And happy if at last only with deathAnd not with shame he rid her from his side."Thus speaking, his bold mistress, Simon knew,Called up deterrent thoughts so formidable,Not to succumb before them shocked, appalled,But to confront them fairly, know them well,Then with defiance triumph over them.Still, with slant thrust at Felix in his thought,He dared a word of double-edged reply:"Emperors, and those however now ill-placedYet worthy to be empresses, are freeTo seek their consorts, consorts true I mean,Wherever they can find them in the world;And obstacles must not be obstaclesTo them; their pathway must somehow be cleared.Such, one may all too easily judge amiss.Wait till thou see the emperor fitly wed!That emperor-mother Agrippina balkedHer boy too often of his wish. She wouldBe empress of the emperor of the world;Her blood in him made this impossible:It was her folly and crime invoked her fall.As for that young Octavia—thou hast said.""Poppæa"—so Drusilla had resumed,But Simon rashly took the word from her:"Poppæa is a rival to be weighedDoubtless—highborn, and beautiful, and deepIn cunning, and sure mistress of herself—As art not thou too, and full equally?—But then she has a husband in the way,And issheof the stuff to deal withhim?"Simon's hatred of his lord had pricked him onBeyond the mark of prudence; he recoiledFrom his own words before Drusilla spoke,And added, for diversion of her thought:"But doubtless thou wilt need to buy thy wayTo opportunity at Rome; betimesPrepare thee bribes to drop along thy path.Our Gentile brethren have a pretty tale"—And Simon with sarcastic humor leered—"Of how a runner once upon a timeWon him a famous race by letting fallGold apples on the course too tempting brightNot to delay his rival gathering them.Provide thyself with apples of gold to drop,While thou art speeding featly to thy goal.""Gold, Simon!" Drusilla said, "thou teasest me,Too well thou knowest I have no gold; our storeWas swallowed all in that devouring sea.""I speak in figure, my lady," Simon said;"I mean neither literal apples nor literal gold.""Pray, no more parable to me," severeWith air resumed once more of queen enthroned,Drusilla answered, and, with only look,As haughtily disdaining further word,Demanded that he make his meaning plain.Simon, with indirection sly, replied:"Hast thou remarked the daily opening bloomOf beauty in the face, and in the form,Of that Eunicé, our young countrywoman?"Drusilla gave a fiercely jealous start—On Simon, eagerly alert, not lost,Brief though it was, and instantly subdued;It was as instantly interpreted—A welcomed effect, though calculated not.She had recalled what late she overheardHinted from Felix to the prisoner Paul,"Unless indeed thy pretty countrywoman"—And construed it as meaning that his eye,Her husband's, had been levying on the maid."Women are not like men to note such things,"Drusilla answered with a frigid air,Yet not as with unwillingness to learnWhat sequel there might be in Simon's thought.That sequel Simon changed to suit the caseHe had now created unexpectedly.He would torment Drusilla's jealous mind,And whet her temper to the proper edgeFor helpful quarrel with that spouse of hersSo hateful to him."Women that are wives,"Said Simon, "well might condescend to paySome heed to such things! But the present needIs to have bribes in hand of the right sortTo lavish where occasion may ariseWhen we reach Rome. Try if thou canst not gainThis pretty damsel for our purposes.Play patroness to her, have her at courtHere—for wherever the true queen is, thereIs court, though in a desert—flatter her,And ply her to thy will. Arrived at Rome,Where all is venal yet venal not all for gold,Offer her as likest seems to serve thy cause.There is my scheme for thee; and thy lord will,I doubt not, wink at least to forward it."Simon could not forbear the tempting chanceTo end, as he began, with what would baitFurther Drusilla's flushed and jealous mind.'Is Simon playing me false in a deep gameTo serve lord Felix at his wife's expense?'Drusilla wondered; 'would he dare so far?Does he even seek to make a tool of me?Of me, Drusilla, make a pliant tool—Iserve their turn forsooth against myself?Be it so, and let them trow their plotting speeds!I will try to be as simple as they could wish.'In secret with herself she wondered thus;But spoke aloud with cleared and brightened look:"The storm, I see, which I had quite forgot,Thanks to the charms of thy society,Is much abated; let us break our fast,And then go thou and bid her hither to me,That pretty child. Tell her I need her much,For I am deeply sorry for my sins,And think that, with a little guide like herTo take me by the hand and lead me right,I could forsake them all and follow with herHenceforward, a true sister in the faith.A little lure of harmless simple hopeTo win a wicked woman from her ways,I think thou wilt find useful with the maid,If, as is likely, she be loth to come."Felix, Drusilla, and the sorcererThat morning at their simple meal reclinedTogether in a show of amity;But inwardly it was a state of feudOr hollow truce of armed hypocrisy.Eating in silence with small appetite,Their breakfast soon they ended; Simon thenWithdrew and did his errand. He did more;For having perforce to meet the mother too,Whose daughter was seen ever at her side,He feigned to be himself a penitent,Protesting his belief that he was healed,Unworthy to be healed, because Paul cameBut near him where he lay sick in his bed;And this although he had wickedly refusedTo see Paul and to suffer Paul's hands on him.He said his mistress was afraid, as heWas too, of Felix; both of them must moveWarily, no suspicion to exciteIn one so irritable and so violent.They therefore could not ask for Paul to come,Or indeed anymanamong Paul's friends.But Ruth might safely come and bring the maidHer daughter. Simon begged the matron wouldKindly indulge Drusilla's preference,Caprice perhaps it was, for making her childAnd not herself—senior, and so more wiseDoubtless—her chosen guide and confidant.Eunicé's youth had won Drusilla's heart.All Simon's plausible art could not prevailTo gain from Ruth the promise he desired;She only told him she would ponder wellWhat he had said and do as wisest seemed.But Simon, cheering himself that in the endRuth by the tempting bait held out to her,The hope of doing good, would be enticed,Went straight to Felix, and with many a winkOf sly salacious import hinted to himThat he, his master, had quite unawares,With just his manly martial front and port,Taken captive a fair Hebrew damsel who,If all sped as he hoped, would soon appearThere at the mansion, by her mother led,To feed her fancy on his noble looks.The simple mother, she knew nothing of it,But came to visit Drusilla in the hope,Which, naughty child! the daughter had inspiredOf gaining my lady over to the faith.Should Felix condescend to speak to herThe maid would be all blushes, that of course,She coyly would insist she only cameBearing her mother company to waitUpon the mistress of the house with her.Felix would understand how much was meant,Or rather how little, by the pretty airsAnd arch pretexts of feminine coquetry.It was as Simon hoped: Ruth, overcomeIn prudence by her generous desireTo serve a soul in need; some natural zealPerhaps commingling to bring home such spoilOf her Eunicé's winning, a surpriseAnd joy to Paul and all the rest—so led,Ruth with Eunicé to Drusilla went.But not alone; Stephen their counsel shared,And he, deeply misdoubting of it all,Went with them. In the inner court he stayed,Awaiting watchful, eye and ear, while they,Having with all obeisance been receivedAnd ushered inward by the instructed slave,Should do their errand with the mistress there.He was disturbed, when Felix, with a scowlAskance at him, crossing the court in hasteFollowed the women through the selfsame door,Scarce shut behind them ere he entered too.It was of her astute design and art,Drusilla's, that her husband should have scopeTo show at full in act before her eyesWhat ground of truth there was for Simon's hintsAgainst his faith to her. She had hid herself,Not to be seen but see, while in the roomWhither the women were ushered Felix might,Were such his mind, waylay the pretty maid,Proving himself what Simon would have him be."Thou with thy daughter, madam, art well come;These are dull days in Melita for us,"So, with a gross familiar air ill maskedIn mock of supercilious courtesy,Felix to Ruth; who noticed with dismayThat servitor and servitress at once,As if at silent signal unperceived,Vanished from presence and left her alone,Her and Eunicé, no Drusilla seen,With Felix and his bristling insolence.Her fears were not allayed when Felix saidFurther: "My lady will be glad to seeThee, madam, for she dies of wearinessIn this insufferable place, with naughtOf new to while the endless hours away;But as for this our pretty little maid,She shall accept my awkward officesTo entertain her, while her mother waitsApart on dame Drusilla and chats with her."So saying, he stepped to the half-open doorAnd clapped his hands in summons for a slave.One quickly answered, and the master said:"Where is thy mistress? Take this madam to her,"Pointing to Ruth.Ruth in a whirl of thoughtWondered, 'Are these things all a wicked wileOf Simon's to entrap us here? Does she,Drusilla, too, collude? Or does she knowNothing of all? Or, knowing, does she fearFelix, and therefore leave us helpless thus?How far may I abiding true to herInvolve Drusilla in a plea to him?'She stood, not stirring at the servant's beck,And spoke in tones held clear and firm with will:"It is my daughter, sir, the errand hasWith dame Drusilla. She shall go to her,And as the custom is between us twainWe will together go, for twain with usIs one. Dismiss us, then, I pray, to go.""Thou art hard-hearted, madam," Felix said;"One surely is enough to meet the dameDrusilla, and the other might solace me.I pay my lady's taste a complimentIn myself choosing for my company,As seems she chose for hers, thy daughter fairRather than thee; for, without prejudiceTo thine own comeliness, thy daughter is,Thou wilt confess it, madam, nay, with pride,A trifle fresher in her youthful bloom."Eunicé standing by her mother glowedWith an indignant shame sublimely fair;It kindled up her beauty into flameDreadful to see, had he who saw it beenBut capable of awe from virtue shownLovelier with noble wrath; Felix admiredOnly more fiercely and was not afraid.A flash of movement instant changed the scene.Stephen, who, through the door left open, caughtFelix's first ominous words of insolence,Had, winging his feet with his suspicious fears,Fled out into the open—whither, scarce thought—Yet with instinctive wish that went to Paul.He chanced on Aristarchus walking nigh,In solitary muse, after his wont;Him, with such instance as spared needless words,He hurried forth to find and fetch back Paul.Returning he dashed swiftly through the court,Avoiding who perhaps with servile slothReluctant might have moved to stay him there,And through the door where his Eunicé wasDefenceless in that ruthless robber's den.The youth's ear, quivering quick with jealous love,Snatched Felix's last words, his ravening eyeSeized on the splendid vision of his brideBetrothed, gleaming there in her lovelinessIllumined so with virtue and with shameBeside her mother, facing such a foe!His instinct was far swifter than his thought;Counting not odds, not deeming there was odds,He like an arrow from a bow that twangedShot into place between his bride and him,That spoiler, and there stood. His face he turnedDefiantly on Felix, lightning of scornIn sheafs of flashes shooting from his eyes,Distended his fine nostrils with disdain,His right arm raised in gesture to forefend,And his light frame a-quiver with reposeOf purpose to dare all and to prevail.It was a duel of silence betwixt those twain,That slender youth through whose translucent fleshBlushed the bright blood of innocence and truth.That burly man corrupt in every veinWith the thick fœcal currents of debauch.Ruth and Eunicé would not cower or cry:Eunicé's spirit partook of that high strainWhich was her martyr father's, and she nowTriumphed to see transfigured to more fairThan ever with his glorious hardihoodThe youth that worthily bore her father's nameAnd worthily held the empire of her heart.In confidence of Stephen which subtly tooWrought to make him more confident of himself,Eunicé stood confronting the event.Felix succumbed and was the first to speak:"Well, youngster, thou hast struck an attitude!What wilt thou? And what doest thou here? Knowest notThou beardest thus the lion in his lair?"Felix's air of pride and lordlinessWas ever such flatulent swell of windy words.Stephen some space disdained him loftilyWith dumb and blank refusal of reply;Then grudged him this: "I into the wolf's denEnter to rend the ravin from his paw."The youth thus having spoken half-way turnedToward the two women and with instant voice,Low-toned yet less to be inaudibleTo Felix than for intimate passion of love,Said: "Haste, fly! I will follow as I may."Ruth with Eunicé had not reached the doorWhen, frantic to be balked of his desire,Felix lunged after them with lusty strideSeeking to stay the damsel in her flight.For all her fear she still forbore to cry,But could not check her impulse of appealTo Stephen, and she uttered forth his name.The eager agile stripling had no needTo hear that call from his belovéd; he,Already at her side, had, with clenched fist,Which flashing like a scimitar came down,Smitten Felix on the forearm with such mightThat for the moment it was numbed with pain,And dropped as palsied from its reach for her.Eunicé with backhanded movement quickSeized, as she flew following her mother forth,On Stephen's girdle behind her and drew him,Willingly led in that captivity,To share their flight and rescue from their foe.Beside himself with rage at his defeat,And aching still with pain from Stephen's blow,Felix now stamped and shouted: "Slaves! What, ho!Rascals, where are ye all?" Some, trembling, came,But ere their master could possess his witsTo give them orders, Paul before him stood.Worse crazed at that sight, Felix fiercely cried:"Him!Him!Are ye all blind? Seizehim, I say!"Betwixt their terror of Felix and their aweOf Paul, august in his unmovéd calmAnd venerable with virtue and with age,Well-known to them besides as one who wroughtWith other power than mortal, the poor slavesHung helpless to perform their master's hest."These do not need to seize me, here I am,"Said Paul, "and of no mind to fly; I cameHastily summoned as to some distressHere, what I know not, that I might relieve.""Smite him upon the mouth," Felix broke forth,"And make himfeeldistress to need relief!"The freedman's truculence waxed with every word,And swaggering forward he his hand upraisedAs if himself to strike the blow he bade;When, with a maniple of soldiers armedAccompanied, Julius the centurion stoodAbruptly at the door.Stephen with his chargeHad met the band of soldiers on their wayJust as, with circumspection looking back,He saw Paul, by a different path arrived,And earlier, enter at Felix's abode.He quickly acted on a counsel new.For, with a farewell of, "Now ye are safe,Yet hie ye to the uttermost removeFrom Felix," to the women spoken, heTurning walked back with Julius who his paceNow slacked to listen while the stripling toldWhat had befallen and how he feared for PaulImperilled in that violent house alone."Come in good time, however hither called,"Felix to Julius said, with such a toneAs seemed to ask how he was thither called."Thy servant Syrus begged that I would come,"Said Julius, "for the safety of thy houseEndangered by two women and a boy,Who had found entrance and were threatening thee."In truth, that sly young slave of Felix's—For reason ill-affected toward his lord,As much enamored of the Christian folkFor their fair manners, and the comely looksOf some of them, and the beneficentWorking of wonders seen or heard from Paul—Had summoned Julius in the true behoofOf Ruth with her Eunicé and of Stephen;This, shrewdly under guise of service shownHis master. Julius understood the guileAnd humored it, while Felix's thick witsSpread ample cover to render Syrus safe."Of course," so Julius added, "it had not seemedNeedful to come, but that I also heardA prisoner of my charge would here be found,For whose safe keeping I am answerable."Then glancing in a kindly neutral wayAt Stephen, he, with show of grave rebukeThat could not wholly hide his lively senseOf whimsical humor in the part he playedAs mediator in such case, went on:"This Hebrew youth confesses that, in hasteOf spirit, he offered thee some disrespect."With language purposely made light and vagueThus the centurion glozed Stephen's offence,Discreetly shunning to let Felix knowThatheknew from the offender's own reportHow, for good cause, as to a happy end,The indignant youth inflicted on him thereThe shame and anguish of that timely blow."What wilt thou, my lord Felix," Julius asked,"Wilt thou forgive the lad outright? Or pleasestThou ratherIcondignly deal with him?"It was astutely so proposed, to saveAppearancestoFelix andforhim.Gross-witted as he was, he yet was proud,And such end of the incident appearedAt once some homage to his dignityAnd an escape unhoped from threatened shame.He condescended loftily to leaveThe case of Stephen in the centurion's hands;And the centurion presently retiredWith Paul and Stephen both. Stephen he badeSee to it that he never thenceforth actLess worthily of himself than he that dayHad done, and with no other reprimandDismissed him to rejoin his company.As for Drusilla, she now had her proof;And seeing his purpose prosper Simon was glad.
That bland sweet weather changed to truculentAt sunset, and through all the winter nightRaged with wild wind and sleet of rain and hail.The roofs, the doors, the casements, of the houseWhere Felix and Drusilla sojourned, shookAs toward dilapidation of its frame.Drusilla lay in terror of her lifeTossing upon her couch and could not sleep.Brief intervals and lulls of tempest came;But images of distant danger thenMixed with the imminent menaces of the night.So with the earliest morning—furious yetThe unabated rack of elements—Drusilla sent for Simon, rallied nowOut of his low estate, and, tremulousWith weakness, through that very weakness madeMore searchingly clairvoyant than his wont.
Untimely roused, and unrefreshed with sleep,And shaken as still she was with panic fears,The Jewess, ever conscious of herselfAnd proudly the more conscious now beforeOne whom she fain would hold her vassal, satLike a queen giving audience, well-arrayed,Yet artfully in speaking seemed to plead."Simon," she said, "be once more my resource.""Not once more, but an hundred hundred times,Liege lady," Simon said, "if mine art serve.""But, Simon,willit serve for no reward?"Drusilla, not without some pathos, said;Yet also not without some scrutinyOf Simon, which that deep dissembler boreFlinching, but scarcely flinching, as he said:"My fortune I account bound up with thine.""Yea, Simon, what through thee I gain," she said,"Reckon that thou no less gainest through me.As has been, is, our pact; art thou content?""More than content, most thankful," Simon said;"I pray thee of conditions now no more,But speak thy wishes; they shall be commands.""Well, faithful Simon," wheedling now she spoke,"That proud Drusilla thou once knewest in me,Is abject in sheer sense of helplessness.My lord is broken in spirit with lack of hope:I stay him up, as best I may, to showThe world some front of kingly boldness yet,But truth is, I am broken with staying him.What can we do at Rome? How mend our case?Friends have we few, and on the fallen thou knowestEnemies swarm like flies on rotting flesh.All is for sale at Rome, but who can buyThat goes barehanded thither, as do we?Thou hast the truth; now, Simon, like the rest,Leave us, as rats forsake a dooméd ship!""Thou pleasest to be facetious, O my queen,"Said Simon; "thou barehanded never art,Go where thou wilt, with beauty such as thine,Such beauty, and such wit to use it well."With pregnant ambiguity he spoke,And deeply read the features of her face.
Those features molded nobly fair, but nowThrough their disfiguring discomposure wronged,Slowly regained the aspect clear and calmWherein the proud possessor long beforeLearned that her sumptuous beauty best prevailedTo make her sovereign of the hearts of men:Habit, with reminiscence of her pastTriumphs, usurped her mind that she forgotSimon, the raging storm, her doubts and fears.Simon considered his mistress at his ease;He saw she was not flattered by his wordsTo be a childlike plaything in his hands;He saw she was too haughty to resent,Too haughty to acknowledge by word or sign,Perhaps too haughty even to recognizeIn her deep mind, much more in heart to feel,Hint as conveyed by him in what he saidThat in the marriage markets of the worldSuch charms as hers were merchantable ware;And that he Simon abode at her commandLoyally ready to renew for her,On some august occasion still to seek,That intermediary office hisWhich once from King Azizus parted herTo make her of the Roman Felix spouse.
Drusilla in no manner made response;But not less Simon knew his wish was sped;He knew the Venus Victrix heart in herWas flattering to the height her sense of power.He could not err by over-audacityIn tempting this presumptuous woman's pride.He ventured: "It were loyal service doneThy husband, to whom loyal service thouAlready even to sacrifice hast doneIn being his consort, thou a queen before,And he"—'but lately raised from servile state,'Simon would fain have said outright, to easeThe pressure of hate and scorn he felt for Felix,But knew he must no more than thus arrestThat word upon the point of utterance caught—"It were I say, well-weighed, a service to himIf thou shouldst wake the matchless power thou hastOf kindling admiration and desire,To exercise it in supreme assayAt the tribunal where he must be judged,Making the judge himself thy willing thrall!"
The subtle sorcerer watched with wary eyeAskance, to see his mistress give at thisSome sign of pleased and startled vanity:Impassible placidity he saw—Serene, withdrawn, uninterrupted muse.A little disconcerted, he bode mute,Half glad in hope that he had not been heard.When at length she, that queenly creature, broke,Herself, with speech the growing spell of aweHe felt upon him cast by her supremeBeauty suspense in its august repose,Its silence and reserve and mystery,Then Simon knew that she had been beforeHim with the soaring thought of Nero led—The emperor of the world in triumph led—A captive at Drusilla's chariot wheels!A flash of light invaded Simon's mind:'Were there not hidden here the way long soughtTo free himself from the abhorréd yokeOf Felix? This bold woman would not stickAt putting such an obstacle as wasA husband such as he, out of her path—This by whatever means—a path that ledSteep to enthronement by the emperor's side.'Thenceforward Felix's worst foe was oneOf his own household at his table fed.
"The emperor is a bloody man, if trueBe all, be half, that they report of him—"Drusilla thus, as in soliloquyRather than in discourse to ear addressed,Spoke slowly—"he, the latest story goesSped like a shudder of horror around the world,Has got his mother slain, bunglingly drownedBy accident forsooth, at his command—Accident such as asks design to chance,A vessel foundering in a placid sea,On a serene and starry summer night—And after all not drowned, even awkwardly,But rescued to be stabbed, with mother's cryFirst from her lips, 'I never will believeThis of my son!' but then with, 'Strike mehere!'Confessing that she knew it was her son!And his young queen Octavia, silly sweet,And good, and pure, and fair, and amiable,And in short all a Roman emperor's spouseShould not be—she, they say, leads a slave's life,Or worse, amid her husband's palace scorned,And happy if at last only with deathAnd not with shame he rid her from his side."
Thus speaking, his bold mistress, Simon knew,Called up deterrent thoughts so formidable,Not to succumb before them shocked, appalled,But to confront them fairly, know them well,Then with defiance triumph over them.Still, with slant thrust at Felix in his thought,He dared a word of double-edged reply:"Emperors, and those however now ill-placedYet worthy to be empresses, are freeTo seek their consorts, consorts true I mean,Wherever they can find them in the world;And obstacles must not be obstaclesTo them; their pathway must somehow be cleared.Such, one may all too easily judge amiss.Wait till thou see the emperor fitly wed!That emperor-mother Agrippina balkedHer boy too often of his wish. She wouldBe empress of the emperor of the world;Her blood in him made this impossible:It was her folly and crime invoked her fall.As for that young Octavia—thou hast said."
"Poppæa"—so Drusilla had resumed,But Simon rashly took the word from her:"Poppæa is a rival to be weighedDoubtless—highborn, and beautiful, and deepIn cunning, and sure mistress of herself—As art not thou too, and full equally?—But then she has a husband in the way,And issheof the stuff to deal withhim?"
Simon's hatred of his lord had pricked him onBeyond the mark of prudence; he recoiledFrom his own words before Drusilla spoke,And added, for diversion of her thought:"But doubtless thou wilt need to buy thy wayTo opportunity at Rome; betimesPrepare thee bribes to drop along thy path.Our Gentile brethren have a pretty tale"—And Simon with sarcastic humor leered—"Of how a runner once upon a timeWon him a famous race by letting fallGold apples on the course too tempting brightNot to delay his rival gathering them.Provide thyself with apples of gold to drop,While thou art speeding featly to thy goal.""Gold, Simon!" Drusilla said, "thou teasest me,Too well thou knowest I have no gold; our storeWas swallowed all in that devouring sea.""I speak in figure, my lady," Simon said;"I mean neither literal apples nor literal gold.""Pray, no more parable to me," severeWith air resumed once more of queen enthroned,Drusilla answered, and, with only look,As haughtily disdaining further word,Demanded that he make his meaning plain.Simon, with indirection sly, replied:"Hast thou remarked the daily opening bloomOf beauty in the face, and in the form,Of that Eunicé, our young countrywoman?"
Drusilla gave a fiercely jealous start—On Simon, eagerly alert, not lost,Brief though it was, and instantly subdued;It was as instantly interpreted—A welcomed effect, though calculated not.She had recalled what late she overheardHinted from Felix to the prisoner Paul,"Unless indeed thy pretty countrywoman"—And construed it as meaning that his eye,Her husband's, had been levying on the maid."Women are not like men to note such things,"Drusilla answered with a frigid air,Yet not as with unwillingness to learnWhat sequel there might be in Simon's thought.That sequel Simon changed to suit the caseHe had now created unexpectedly.He would torment Drusilla's jealous mind,And whet her temper to the proper edgeFor helpful quarrel with that spouse of hersSo hateful to him.
"Women that are wives,"Said Simon, "well might condescend to paySome heed to such things! But the present needIs to have bribes in hand of the right sortTo lavish where occasion may ariseWhen we reach Rome. Try if thou canst not gainThis pretty damsel for our purposes.Play patroness to her, have her at courtHere—for wherever the true queen is, thereIs court, though in a desert—flatter her,And ply her to thy will. Arrived at Rome,Where all is venal yet venal not all for gold,Offer her as likest seems to serve thy cause.There is my scheme for thee; and thy lord will,I doubt not, wink at least to forward it."Simon could not forbear the tempting chanceTo end, as he began, with what would baitFurther Drusilla's flushed and jealous mind.
'Is Simon playing me false in a deep gameTo serve lord Felix at his wife's expense?'Drusilla wondered; 'would he dare so far?Does he even seek to make a tool of me?Of me, Drusilla, make a pliant tool—Iserve their turn forsooth against myself?Be it so, and let them trow their plotting speeds!I will try to be as simple as they could wish.'In secret with herself she wondered thus;But spoke aloud with cleared and brightened look:"The storm, I see, which I had quite forgot,Thanks to the charms of thy society,Is much abated; let us break our fast,And then go thou and bid her hither to me,That pretty child. Tell her I need her much,For I am deeply sorry for my sins,And think that, with a little guide like herTo take me by the hand and lead me right,I could forsake them all and follow with herHenceforward, a true sister in the faith.A little lure of harmless simple hopeTo win a wicked woman from her ways,I think thou wilt find useful with the maid,If, as is likely, she be loth to come."
Felix, Drusilla, and the sorcererThat morning at their simple meal reclinedTogether in a show of amity;But inwardly it was a state of feudOr hollow truce of armed hypocrisy.Eating in silence with small appetite,Their breakfast soon they ended; Simon thenWithdrew and did his errand. He did more;For having perforce to meet the mother too,Whose daughter was seen ever at her side,He feigned to be himself a penitent,Protesting his belief that he was healed,Unworthy to be healed, because Paul cameBut near him where he lay sick in his bed;And this although he had wickedly refusedTo see Paul and to suffer Paul's hands on him.He said his mistress was afraid, as heWas too, of Felix; both of them must moveWarily, no suspicion to exciteIn one so irritable and so violent.They therefore could not ask for Paul to come,Or indeed anymanamong Paul's friends.But Ruth might safely come and bring the maidHer daughter. Simon begged the matron wouldKindly indulge Drusilla's preference,Caprice perhaps it was, for making her childAnd not herself—senior, and so more wiseDoubtless—her chosen guide and confidant.Eunicé's youth had won Drusilla's heart.
All Simon's plausible art could not prevailTo gain from Ruth the promise he desired;She only told him she would ponder wellWhat he had said and do as wisest seemed.But Simon, cheering himself that in the endRuth by the tempting bait held out to her,The hope of doing good, would be enticed,Went straight to Felix, and with many a winkOf sly salacious import hinted to himThat he, his master, had quite unawares,With just his manly martial front and port,Taken captive a fair Hebrew damsel who,If all sped as he hoped, would soon appearThere at the mansion, by her mother led,To feed her fancy on his noble looks.The simple mother, she knew nothing of it,But came to visit Drusilla in the hope,Which, naughty child! the daughter had inspiredOf gaining my lady over to the faith.Should Felix condescend to speak to herThe maid would be all blushes, that of course,She coyly would insist she only cameBearing her mother company to waitUpon the mistress of the house with her.Felix would understand how much was meant,Or rather how little, by the pretty airsAnd arch pretexts of feminine coquetry.
It was as Simon hoped: Ruth, overcomeIn prudence by her generous desireTo serve a soul in need; some natural zealPerhaps commingling to bring home such spoilOf her Eunicé's winning, a surpriseAnd joy to Paul and all the rest—so led,Ruth with Eunicé to Drusilla went.But not alone; Stephen their counsel shared,And he, deeply misdoubting of it all,Went with them. In the inner court he stayed,Awaiting watchful, eye and ear, while they,Having with all obeisance been receivedAnd ushered inward by the instructed slave,Should do their errand with the mistress there.He was disturbed, when Felix, with a scowlAskance at him, crossing the court in hasteFollowed the women through the selfsame door,Scarce shut behind them ere he entered too.
It was of her astute design and art,Drusilla's, that her husband should have scopeTo show at full in act before her eyesWhat ground of truth there was for Simon's hintsAgainst his faith to her. She had hid herself,Not to be seen but see, while in the roomWhither the women were ushered Felix might,Were such his mind, waylay the pretty maid,Proving himself what Simon would have him be.
"Thou with thy daughter, madam, art well come;These are dull days in Melita for us,"So, with a gross familiar air ill maskedIn mock of supercilious courtesy,Felix to Ruth; who noticed with dismayThat servitor and servitress at once,As if at silent signal unperceived,Vanished from presence and left her alone,Her and Eunicé, no Drusilla seen,With Felix and his bristling insolence.Her fears were not allayed when Felix saidFurther: "My lady will be glad to seeThee, madam, for she dies of wearinessIn this insufferable place, with naughtOf new to while the endless hours away;But as for this our pretty little maid,She shall accept my awkward officesTo entertain her, while her mother waitsApart on dame Drusilla and chats with her."So saying, he stepped to the half-open doorAnd clapped his hands in summons for a slave.One quickly answered, and the master said:"Where is thy mistress? Take this madam to her,"Pointing to Ruth.
Ruth in a whirl of thoughtWondered, 'Are these things all a wicked wileOf Simon's to entrap us here? Does she,Drusilla, too, collude? Or does she knowNothing of all? Or, knowing, does she fearFelix, and therefore leave us helpless thus?How far may I abiding true to herInvolve Drusilla in a plea to him?'She stood, not stirring at the servant's beck,And spoke in tones held clear and firm with will:"It is my daughter, sir, the errand hasWith dame Drusilla. She shall go to her,And as the custom is between us twainWe will together go, for twain with usIs one. Dismiss us, then, I pray, to go.""Thou art hard-hearted, madam," Felix said;"One surely is enough to meet the dameDrusilla, and the other might solace me.I pay my lady's taste a complimentIn myself choosing for my company,As seems she chose for hers, thy daughter fairRather than thee; for, without prejudiceTo thine own comeliness, thy daughter is,Thou wilt confess it, madam, nay, with pride,A trifle fresher in her youthful bloom."
Eunicé standing by her mother glowedWith an indignant shame sublimely fair;It kindled up her beauty into flameDreadful to see, had he who saw it beenBut capable of awe from virtue shownLovelier with noble wrath; Felix admiredOnly more fiercely and was not afraid.
A flash of movement instant changed the scene.Stephen, who, through the door left open, caughtFelix's first ominous words of insolence,Had, winging his feet with his suspicious fears,Fled out into the open—whither, scarce thought—Yet with instinctive wish that went to Paul.He chanced on Aristarchus walking nigh,In solitary muse, after his wont;Him, with such instance as spared needless words,He hurried forth to find and fetch back Paul.Returning he dashed swiftly through the court,Avoiding who perhaps with servile slothReluctant might have moved to stay him there,And through the door where his Eunicé wasDefenceless in that ruthless robber's den.
The youth's ear, quivering quick with jealous love,Snatched Felix's last words, his ravening eyeSeized on the splendid vision of his brideBetrothed, gleaming there in her lovelinessIllumined so with virtue and with shameBeside her mother, facing such a foe!His instinct was far swifter than his thought;Counting not odds, not deeming there was odds,He like an arrow from a bow that twangedShot into place between his bride and him,That spoiler, and there stood. His face he turnedDefiantly on Felix, lightning of scornIn sheafs of flashes shooting from his eyes,Distended his fine nostrils with disdain,His right arm raised in gesture to forefend,And his light frame a-quiver with reposeOf purpose to dare all and to prevail.
It was a duel of silence betwixt those twain,That slender youth through whose translucent fleshBlushed the bright blood of innocence and truth.That burly man corrupt in every veinWith the thick fœcal currents of debauch.Ruth and Eunicé would not cower or cry:Eunicé's spirit partook of that high strainWhich was her martyr father's, and she nowTriumphed to see transfigured to more fairThan ever with his glorious hardihoodThe youth that worthily bore her father's nameAnd worthily held the empire of her heart.In confidence of Stephen which subtly tooWrought to make him more confident of himself,Eunicé stood confronting the event.
Felix succumbed and was the first to speak:"Well, youngster, thou hast struck an attitude!What wilt thou? And what doest thou here? Knowest notThou beardest thus the lion in his lair?"Felix's air of pride and lordlinessWas ever such flatulent swell of windy words.Stephen some space disdained him loftilyWith dumb and blank refusal of reply;Then grudged him this: "I into the wolf's denEnter to rend the ravin from his paw."The youth thus having spoken half-way turnedToward the two women and with instant voice,Low-toned yet less to be inaudibleTo Felix than for intimate passion of love,Said: "Haste, fly! I will follow as I may."
Ruth with Eunicé had not reached the doorWhen, frantic to be balked of his desire,Felix lunged after them with lusty strideSeeking to stay the damsel in her flight.For all her fear she still forbore to cry,But could not check her impulse of appealTo Stephen, and she uttered forth his name.The eager agile stripling had no needTo hear that call from his belovéd; he,Already at her side, had, with clenched fist,Which flashing like a scimitar came down,Smitten Felix on the forearm with such mightThat for the moment it was numbed with pain,And dropped as palsied from its reach for her.Eunicé with backhanded movement quickSeized, as she flew following her mother forth,On Stephen's girdle behind her and drew him,Willingly led in that captivity,To share their flight and rescue from their foe.
Beside himself with rage at his defeat,And aching still with pain from Stephen's blow,Felix now stamped and shouted: "Slaves! What, ho!Rascals, where are ye all?" Some, trembling, came,But ere their master could possess his witsTo give them orders, Paul before him stood.Worse crazed at that sight, Felix fiercely cried:"Him!Him!Are ye all blind? Seizehim, I say!"Betwixt their terror of Felix and their aweOf Paul, august in his unmovéd calmAnd venerable with virtue and with age,Well-known to them besides as one who wroughtWith other power than mortal, the poor slavesHung helpless to perform their master's hest."These do not need to seize me, here I am,"Said Paul, "and of no mind to fly; I cameHastily summoned as to some distressHere, what I know not, that I might relieve.""Smite him upon the mouth," Felix broke forth,"And make himfeeldistress to need relief!"The freedman's truculence waxed with every word,And swaggering forward he his hand upraisedAs if himself to strike the blow he bade;When, with a maniple of soldiers armedAccompanied, Julius the centurion stoodAbruptly at the door.
Stephen with his chargeHad met the band of soldiers on their wayJust as, with circumspection looking back,He saw Paul, by a different path arrived,And earlier, enter at Felix's abode.He quickly acted on a counsel new.For, with a farewell of, "Now ye are safe,Yet hie ye to the uttermost removeFrom Felix," to the women spoken, heTurning walked back with Julius who his paceNow slacked to listen while the stripling toldWhat had befallen and how he feared for PaulImperilled in that violent house alone.
"Come in good time, however hither called,"Felix to Julius said, with such a toneAs seemed to ask how he was thither called."Thy servant Syrus begged that I would come,"Said Julius, "for the safety of thy houseEndangered by two women and a boy,Who had found entrance and were threatening thee."In truth, that sly young slave of Felix's—For reason ill-affected toward his lord,As much enamored of the Christian folkFor their fair manners, and the comely looksOf some of them, and the beneficentWorking of wonders seen or heard from Paul—Had summoned Julius in the true behoofOf Ruth with her Eunicé and of Stephen;This, shrewdly under guise of service shownHis master. Julius understood the guileAnd humored it, while Felix's thick witsSpread ample cover to render Syrus safe."Of course," so Julius added, "it had not seemedNeedful to come, but that I also heardA prisoner of my charge would here be found,For whose safe keeping I am answerable."Then glancing in a kindly neutral wayAt Stephen, he, with show of grave rebukeThat could not wholly hide his lively senseOf whimsical humor in the part he playedAs mediator in such case, went on:"This Hebrew youth confesses that, in hasteOf spirit, he offered thee some disrespect."With language purposely made light and vagueThus the centurion glozed Stephen's offence,Discreetly shunning to let Felix knowThatheknew from the offender's own reportHow, for good cause, as to a happy end,The indignant youth inflicted on him thereThe shame and anguish of that timely blow."What wilt thou, my lord Felix," Julius asked,"Wilt thou forgive the lad outright? Or pleasestThou ratherIcondignly deal with him?"It was astutely so proposed, to saveAppearancestoFelix andforhim.Gross-witted as he was, he yet was proud,And such end of the incident appearedAt once some homage to his dignityAnd an escape unhoped from threatened shame.He condescended loftily to leaveThe case of Stephen in the centurion's hands;And the centurion presently retiredWith Paul and Stephen both. Stephen he badeSee to it that he never thenceforth actLess worthily of himself than he that dayHad done, and with no other reprimandDismissed him to rejoin his company.
As for Drusilla, she now had her proof;And seeing his purpose prosper Simon was glad.