While Paul in chains is writing to Christian churches letters characterized at once by the sublimest reaches of spiritual vision and by the most painstaking condescension to details of practical precept, Simon the sorcerer, with Felix and Drusilla, plots the apostle's death. Simon proceeds by indirection, having it in mind to bring about the death of Felix also. This he accomplishes, with the collusion and complicity of Drusilla. But first, at Drusilla's instance, he procures for her in company with her husband an audience with Nero, of which Poppæa, the emperor's favorite, is secretly an observer. Poppæa notices the impression made on her sovereign by Drusilla, and she is openly present at a subsequent hearing granted by Nero to the beautiful Jewess, during which the latter accuses Paul, together with other crimes, of instigating the murder by poison of Felix. Nero throughout displays, with much license, his reckless and frivolous character.
DRUSILLA AND NERO.
That Phrygian slave did not companionlessHis way Colossæ-ward pursue; he wentBy Tychicus accompanied, who boreAnother letter written from the lipsOf Paul to the Colossian church at large.This gloried and exulted in sublimeProphetic visions of far future things—Things future far and other quite than these.Paul's hand was manacled, but not his soul;That, given the freedom of the universe,Ranged as at will on wing omnipotentThrough all the heights and depths of space and time,And saw unutterable things, which heSeeking to lade upon expression madeThe very pillars of expression bendAnd sway and totter, like to sink, beneathThe burden insupportable they bore.Great soul and free, free in a body bound,So soaring those empyreal altitudesWinged with his native vigor but upborneOn a strong-breasted gale of power divineInspiring and enabling him, who tookUndazzled, like an eagle in full gazeUpon the sun, insufferably brightGlimpses of heavenly glory, he yet deigned—Nay, he ascended but to condescendThe mightier by his lofty lowliness,From exaltation such beheld come down!—Deigned to the level of the mean degreeOf men that needed to be counselled thus:"Lie not one to another, seeing yeHave put off the old man that late ye were,Him with his deeds, and the new man put on,The man made new through knowledge to becomeOnce more the image, long so far defaced,Of that God who at first created him.Put ye on, therefore, as elect of GodTo be His holy and belovéd, allSweet meltingness of heart, kindness and love,A lowly mind most meek, long-suffering,Forbearing one another, and should ever,But that be far! some man among you haveComplaint or quarrel against any, then,As Christ forgave you once, forgive so ye;And over all these vestments of the soul,Completing them and binding them secure,Put ye on love, girdle of perfectness.And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts."Ye wives, to your own husbands subject be,So yielding as befits you in the Lord.Ye husbands, love your wives and nourish notAgainst them any bitterness of heart.Children, obey your parents in all things,For this well-pleasing is unto the Lord.Fathers, good heed give ye not to provokeYour children unto wrath, lest they lose heart.Servants, your masters in the flesh obey,Not with eye-service as men-pleasers, this,But single-heartedly as fearing God.And whatsoever be the thing ye do,Heartily do it, as if doing allFor the Lord Christ in heaven and not for men;Knowing that of the Lord ye shall receiveGuerdon of that inheritance reservedFor your true bond of service is to Christ.But he that doeth wrong shall for that wrongDue recompense receive; and with the LordIs no respect of person or degree.Ye masters, to your servants what is justAnd equal render; for a Master ye,Ye also, have who watcheth from the heaven."While Paul with tongue or pen such things discoursed,Things heavenly and things earthly intermixed(Yet so as earthly things to raise to heaven,Like the sea lifted skyward by the moon),Simon the sorcerer, with the guilty pair,His master and his mistress, otherwiseWas busy, plotting the apostle's death.Plot within plot there was; the sorcerer soughtThe death of Felix too, for hate of him.To compass this, he fed Drusilla's mindWith bitter poison and with poison sweet;The bitter, of innuendo to inflameHer jealous rancor more against her spouse;The sweet, of flattery ever interfusedIn casual hint dropped, whisper by the way,No recognition sought, still less reply,Rebuke, repudiation, tempted not,But inly working to inebriateHer pride of beauty and her sense of power,Till she should dare whatever need be daredOf danger or of crime to clear her wayTo empire hoped over the emperor.At length the double venom took effectSuch on Drusilla's fierce aspiring mind,That Simon ventured on these words to her:"Ill sleeper is thine husband, O my liege!I overhear him oft in troubled dreamBelching forth broken voices of unrest.He sleeps like Ætna or Vesuvius,Say like Enceladus with Ætna piled—Thou knowest their fable of that giant old.I hope he never will by evil chanceWork his wife harm unmeant in his nightmares!Such weight, such strength, are monstrous in such throes!"Drusilla was as deep as Simon; sheWell enough guessed whither he tended so.She made her face an utter vacancy,And listened all as if she listened not,While Simon, who was satisfied, went onWith his approaches neither shunned nor met:"At least, madam, thine own rest needs must beDisturbed: it would be easy to composeThine husband to a sounder sleep." He paused,And she made answer quite as from the point,But Simon did not miss the relevance:"Simon, my lord is still postponed at court,Has had no hearing of the emperor:Reason enough that he should restless be.Procure he have his audience soon, and then—Simon, what thinkest thou? Would it not be wellThat I attend him when he pleads his cause?Thou knowest I have some gift of eloquence,The woman's, and thy master is but man,And somewhat slow of speech—if thick of witToo, that becomes me not to say to thee.I feel that I might help our common causeBy being in presence with the emperorMyself, as loyal sponsor for my spouse.""Excellent," Simon said; "and no doubt I,Permitted to make proffer such as thisFrom queen Drusilla, shall with ease contriveAn early audience with his majesty."The conscious twain each other understood,But neither token gave with lip or eye.Simon bethought him of the beautifulWanton, Poppæa, with the emperorPrecariously omnipotent by her charm.To her, in manner suiting such as he,He wormed at length his way and fawning said:"I have some little skill in certain artsCalled by the people magic, and I fainThus offer thee my services. I thoughtI might amuse a tedious idle hourFor his imperial majesty and soPerhaps, I know not how, but thou shouldst choose,Serve thee, the wonder of the woman world.Nay, this presumes amiss; I crave thy grace,Forgive me, thou who art already queenAnd empress of the earth, and canst not needService from any. I am all confusedBefore thee, like one dazzled by the sun."It is my foolish vanity, I feel,Nothing but that; but here am I in Rome,And it would be the triumph of my life—Just a Judæan magian as I am—To have seen the emperor, and diverted himWith a few rather pretty tricks I know.I on occasion have even awed a mindOpen to superstition (as most mindsAre sometimes, aye, the wisest among men,Let witness the great Julius) with my art.If ever the fair sovereign of his breastShould in aught wish him more amenable,Thou mayst trust me, and I should not despairTo move his mind as thou mightst signify."Not quite at venture Simon drew his bowThus, for from common fame he knew how keenThat very moment was Poppæa's wish,As yet denied to her imperious suit,To supersede Octavia in her rightAnd be the consort of the emperor.The wily sorcerer warped his sinuous way:"Here I have seemed to sue thee for myself;But, sooth to say, I plead another's cause.Wilt thou not see Drusilla? Jewess, who,Declined from royal fortune and degree,Now seeks a hearing from the emperorFor her lord Felix, late in PalestineA ruler, but unhappily since fallenUnder some cloud of doubt at Rome. BeseechThee, give my liege Drusilla speech with thee.She too is fair, if not as thou, yet fair.She fain, I think, would meet the emperorIn person, that her tears might touch his heart."Subtle insinuation was conveyedBy Simon saying this, which the quick senseOf the imperial favorite caught; she said:"It does not need thy lady fair should firstWait upon me; without that, she shall haveHer wished access and opportunity.When her lord Felix presently is calledTo hearing, let Drusilla with him come.Her privilege she will find before prepared;So much I freely undertake for her."Poppæa had her reasons and her scheme;And, as for Simon, he said to himself:"Whichever woman prosper, I am sped."Drusilla girded up both mind and willTo meet her one imperial chance aright.Felix went like a culprit; like a queenWent she, her peerless beauty wielded allWith absolute command infallible—Like a bright weapon edged and tempered trueSeen wielded in the perfect swordsman's hand.Slack heed the youthful emperor paid himStill struggling to support his truculence;His gaze fixed undisguisedly on her.Poppæa from behind a screen set nighSaw and heard all; not unsuspected quiteOf the alert Drusilla wise as sheIn arts of ambush for waylaying wordsOr looks meant to be private: Nero knewPoppæa was there.Drusilla triumphingJoyed in her heart to have her rival seeHow easy usurpation was when oneAppeared whose very birthright was to reign:Nero was willing those eavesdropping earsAnd eyes should witness what would madden them;He took a wanton mischievous delightIn teasing that fierce heart to jealousy.This, too much drunken with her glorying,Drusilla did not guess, and overweenedIn measure of the conquest she had won.The emperor made the hearing short; dismissedFelix dismayed and from his truculenceCompletely broken—to his servile stateRemanded, as in spirit so in mien.Yet did not Nero so his cause conclude:He said frankly to Felix: "Go, my lord,Thy way; I shall not need to see thee more.Let thou this lady at next summons comeWithout thee; she shall better plead thy cause."Sentence of death the emperor had pronounced,Not meaning it, upon that wretched man.Felix resumed his truculence, aloneReturning with Drusilla; he had felt—Insensate as he was, could not but feel—Her separation of herself from himIn the imperial presence, and he nowFiercely upbraided her. But she was softReplying; with indignant tendernessPurged herself clear of all but loving guilePracticed reluctantly in his behoof—His, sole, her husband, father to her son!—To serve him with the amorous emperor.Felix could not resist the witching wilesOf fondness and of faithfulness she plied,And he became a plaything in her handsTrusting alike her loyalty and wit.She presently told Simon: "Full come nowThe time is that thy master should enjoySleep undisturbed with dreams. Compound for meThe quieting potion that thou toldst me of.See that thou make it strong enough; thy lordIs not a puny weakling to be soothedWith what might still a crying babe; and I—Nay, thou, thou thyself, Simon, shalt commendHis opiate to his lips." The sorcerer shruggedHis shoulders and demurred: "O liege, nor thou,Nor I, with our own hands, should to his lipsPresent the potion. Let a trusted slaveBear it unto his master's bath to-night,And say: 'His queen unto lord Felix sendsHealth and the promise of more quiet sleep.'The draught is drastic—for a lullaby—Indeed disturbing in its first effect;But safe sleep it will bring whoever drinks.""Thy sedative will not pain my lord too much?"Drusilla made her tone expressionlessIn asking; and in like wise Simon said:"Not too much, lady—let me be the judge,Or thee who lovest him equally with me."Drusilla summoned Syrus, and said to him:"Thou lovest thy master and thy mistress well—Better, I think, of late than once thou didst.""My master and my mistress both I loveSo as, I trust, to serve them faithfully,"The slave, a little hard bestead, replied."Aye, I have noted thy true love for us;Be sure, lad, thou shalt nothing lose thereby,"Drusilla wheedlingly resumed; whereatSyrus could not refrain himself from sayingIn so much spurning of the sense implied:"Yea, noble lady, none can ever loseAught by obeying Christ the Lord in heaven.""What meanest thou, boy?" Drusilla sharply said."Lord other than lord Felix hast thou then?"Syrus was sorry he had gone so far;Yet loyalty to Jesus and to PaulWrought in him, and, supported as it wasWith instinct of unquenchable revoltFrom Felix and Drusilla both alike,Buoyed him and kept him firm in that assay."Yea, madam," he replied, "I have a lord,Christ Jesus, crucified once, but aliveNow and ascended far above all heightBy the right hand of God in heaven set down."'That is of Paul, that surely is of Paul!'Drusilla reasoned; then, with threatening brow,To Syrus: "Whence these things to thee? The truth—Thou hast heard Paul, and learned such lies from him?""I have heard Paul, yea, madam, and have learnedFrom him such truth as makes me true to theeBeyond what ever I had been before.""Aye, aye, no doubt," Drusilla, musing, sneered.A light broke in upon her mind; she said:"That precious runaway, Onesimus,He, I suppose, heard Paul, and got himselfPuffed up with these same notions of a lordIn heaven, which set him feeling free of us.Tell me, what knowest thou of Onesimus?Did he hear Paul? Where is he now? Tell me,Thou rogue, for verily I believe thou knowest."Shrewd as he was, Syrus conceived a hope,A sudden simple hope that if the truth,The beautiful mere truth, were told her now,Drusilla, yea, Drusilla even, would feelIts power. So he rehearsed the history,How that Onesimus, induced by Paul,Had gone back to his master at Colossæ;How that his master, for the love of PaulWho had erst won him to the love of Jesus,Had bidden Onesimus return to RomeThere in his stead to minister to Paul;How that Onesimus had gladly come,And was that moment gratefully with Paul.Drusilla listened, but she gave no sign;She had in truth been listening absently,Absorbedly considering what fresh proofTo purpose against Paul perhaps was here.She said to Syrus: "Aye, a pretty taleTo entertain thy mistress' ear withal!Why never can you people tell the truth?You always seem to think you must contriveSome falsehood, though the truth would better serve.Well, well, it is your way. But now, my lad,Be ready, when thy master to his bathShall presently repair, bring me prompt word.An errand I shall have for thee to himThat as thou lovest him thou wilt love to do."Syrus, as bidden duly coming, heard:"Take this, my lad, let not a drop be spilled,And bearing it to thy master say to him,'Thy lady sends a sleeping-draught to thee,And with it wishes health and placid sleep.'"Syrus, deep scrupling, 'Fair is this, or foul?'Yet found no way not to fulfill the word.Felix said: "This is strange. What sayest thou, boy?Thy mistress sends me this? Thou liest, thou wretch!This is thine own work; thou wouldst do me dead;Drink it thyself, thou varlet, and go sleep.Thou wilt not? Nay, but yea thou wilt, thou shalt;Now, let me see thee drink it every drop."And with his trembling hand the debaucheeGave Syrus back the chalice."Let me callMy mistress; thou shalt hear from her own lipsWhether she did not send this draught to thee,Charging me not to waste one precious drop.I know I should offend by drinking it.But thou mightst take it somewhat heedfully,Trying it drop by drop at first to proveIts virtue and its fitness to thy case."So Syrus pleaded; and his master said:"That is not spoken like a poisoner.But so thou darest, rascal, cast a doubtOn what thy mistress sends in love to me?Thou shalt pay dear for that; for I shall tellHer thou presumedst to advise to meA care, forsooth, how I partook her cheer.Here, give it me, and I will toss it off—One swallow—there!—and lay me down to sleep."Drusilla, soon thereafter called againTo audience with the emperor, high in hopeWent radiant with her beauty; but was vexedTo find Poppæa seated by his sideAs if assessor of his judgment-throne.She sat resplendent in her robes of state,As queenly in her person and her port;Yet of a soft delicious lovelinessThat took Drusilla captive by its charm.Aspiring as she did to rival herDrusilla thought involuntary thoughtsOf admiration mixed with jealousy:'No wonder that she sits there throned by him,Imperial lovely creature that she is!That bloom of youth and beauty on her cheek!The tempting undulation of reposeSuggested underneath the graceful foldsOf vesture that flow down the supple limbsAnd softening into curves of lusciousnessThe statuesque perfection of her form!But pampered with what pains of luxury!They say five hundred asses follow herWherever she makes progresses abroadAnd spend their milk to brim a bath for her,That her sweet flesh and delicate lose notThat melting softness and that lucency!''The wanton!'—so she virtuously thought.Poppæa was all graciousness; she badeDrusilla trust her friendship utterly.She had had herself her sorrow; whereat tearsOrbed large her lucid eyes and fairer made.She quoted Dido out of Virgil, saying,"'Myself not inexperienced in distress,I learn to succor who are miserable.'My Otho—but that wound is yet too fresh!Why had lord Felix died so suddenly?He had no need to die so—if he tookHis own life rashly in despair; his causeWas far from lost—in fact, was safe enough—""His brother Pallas," Nero interposed,"Had seen to that; but there were reasons of stateWhy his acquittal should not yet transpire.""Indeed I comforted my spouse with hopeAll that I could," Drusilla wiped a tearResponding, "and it was not suicide,I think now, but a prompted murder base.""Murder is rampant everywhere in Rome,"The Rhadamanthine Nero sadly said;"But we think little of it till it stalksInto the sacred circle of our ownAnd strikes down husband, mother, ruthlessly!"Poppæa and the emperor joined handsIn tacit token of sweet sympathy.'Such acting! Can I hope to equal it?'Drusilla, not a little dashed in spirit,Said to herself; 'yet let me not despair.'"Madam, thy husband's death must be avenged,"So Nero, with imperial complaisanceBut in a manner to dismiss the theme.Accepting the dismissal meant, and yetAttaching to her dutiful replyA hint to tempt him on, Drusilla said:"I thank thy majesty for saying that;And the same stroke will many crimes avenge."Had she achieved her wish? She could not guess.Nero, as if with shift of aim, inquired:"Thou art late arrived in Rome from Palestine;What dost thou chance to know of this man Paul,Prisoner here, like thyself Jew in blood?""I thank thee too that thou hast asked me that,"Drusilla with judicial candor said;"Aye, Paul is of one kindred with myself,I blush to say it; he is a renegade,Offscouring, outcast of his countrymen.I pray thee judge thou not our race from him.""But our sage Seneca, my schoolmaster,"Smiled Nero with imperial pleasantry,"Speaks otherwise of Paul. I bade him goVisit the Jew philosopher in chainsAnd sound him of the depth of wisdom his.He brought me back a wonderful report;'A little transcendental,' so he said,'Too much of Oriental mysticism,But sane at bottom, and a man of worth.'Tell us about Paul. I should be much pleasedTo put to blush my old oracularSmug Seneca with proof that he for onceAt least mistook; a fine old gentlemanIs Seneca, but too infallible;In fact, intolerably infallible.I cannot stand infallibility—Except my own and thine of course, my dearPoppæa! When they come to deifyUs, we shall have to be infallible.That is, supposably: I will inquireOf Seneca; he is my arbiter,Know, madam, in these minor points, as isMy superfine good friend PetroniusIn those more serious points of etiquette."Drusilla masked amazement, listening keenWhile this young portent of an emperorLet play his humor of hilarity.Eccentric and incalculable curvesOf orbit, pure caprices of career,Might seem to be the movement of his speech;But always, from whatever apogee,It failed not its return to bitterness:The playful tiger gnashed his ravin fangs.Still turning toward Drusilla, he went on:"Behooves, lady, thine emperor of the worldShould be well schooled in all things; I aboundIn tutors at my elbows to nudge me;Old Burrus there, I have not mentioned him—No disrespect intended—what thinkest thou?Schoolmasters and schoolmistresses and all,Is there not risk they overstep the bound?So few know where, just where, the limit is.My own dear mother—to her ashes peace!—Sacred as was her right, if she had livedMight yet have come to manage overmuch."Poppæa even, in her victorious calmOf conscious power beside him, winced at thisAs at slant notice served upon herself;And poor Drusilla hugged a shudder down.But Nero rattled on licentiously:"What was I saying? Aye, 'infallible'"—And toward Poppæa now his eye he turned—"We two shall have to be infallible—I take it so—when they make gods of us.What a bore that, to be infallible!Bore to be anything because one must!Let us take it as a joke and not be bored—Uproarious joke, my dear, for me and theeTo pose as gods, while we hold both our sidesLest we split laughing and upset mankind!"But for the present here is help arrived,Welcome, while we stay only mortals yet,To make that old prig of a SenecaCome down once from his magisterial throne."Wherewith he to Drusilla spoke once more:"Madam, we listen, tell us about Paul."Besides that menace slanted in his words,The gamesome emperor hurt Drusilla soreDemonstrating before her thus a firmAccord and understanding knit betweenHimself and this Poppæa; worse to bear,Poppæa's easy air of affable—A condescension equal to his ownToward her, Drusilla, air as of a queenDeigning her scepter toward a suppliant!Drusilla would have felt it like a touchOf tonic to her blood, could she have foundOne least hint that Poppæa in her heartHated her: but Poppæa far too wellWas mistress of her part; she sweetly smiledExquisite discomposure on her foe.With sheer exertion of her will, or helpedOnly with the delight to injure Paul—Daunted, yet with a front of dauntlessness—Drusilla entered on her perjury.By the reaction of her eloquenceUpon herself reflected from the fixedAdmiring heed she won, she plucked up heartOf buoyance to be brilliant more and moreAs she went on and told the emperor,Him chiefly, and at length not her at all,How Paul was a disturber everywhere;He at Jerusalem had raised a mobAnd tumult of his outraged countrymenAgainst himself; they, out of loyalty,Would then and there have rent him limb from limb,But that the chiliarch intervened to saveThe wretch from violence—not of the law,Though well deserved—and under escort thenceSent him to her lord Felix, governorAt Cæsarea, to be held and judged.Felix, who was the heart of lenity,Not bearing to condemn him for his crimes,Postponed his trial, until Festus cameSuccessor to her husband dispossessedOf kingdom for his too much clemency—Fault, yet a noble fault, and Cæsar-like('My Otho!' thy word, madam; 'my Felix!' mine)—Then Festus on the point to sentence himWas thwarted by the culprit's hardihood;Desperate hardihood seeking reprieveAt least from doom by refuge in appealTo Cæsar."Aye, a Roman citizenPaul has devised some scheme of fraud to be—Gross profanation of a sacred rightPerverted to asylum thus from crime!Paul is a master mind—no need to swearFalsely that he is not; wise SenecaWas not so much to blame for being deceivedIn him, so upright-seeming, plausible.Their best man, sagest, subtlest of them all,The Jewish councillors picked out to sendHither with Paul to make his sentence sure.Alas, the culprit was too deep for him.One night on shipboard in the voyage hitherHe sought to bribe the soldier guarding himTo make away with this Jew ShimeiBy tossing him in darkness overboard.That plot did not succeed; but Paul contrivedTo hoodwink the centurion and make himBelieve the scheme to murder was not his,Paul's, against Shimei, but Shimei's against Paul!So Shimei was thrown into chains, while PaulStalked the deck free, though for form's sake still watched.This lasted, till the very gods in heavenHad pity on poor Shimei and with strokeOf lightning set him free from men by death.""So, is a stroke of lightning pity then,Sometimes," said Nero, "with the gods in heaven?A piquant way to pity! We, my dear"—The emperor with a frolic feline lookThat made Poppæa shiver turned to her—"When we are gods on earth, may imitateThose our facetious cousins in the skiesWith many a stroke of lightning launched in pity!"An almost boyish blithesomeness lit upThe handsome face of Nero saying this;Had it not been for frightful lightning strokesToo frequent sent in deadly earnest downFrom that Olympus of imperial power,All might have seemed but pranksome playfulness.Drusilla—with profound obeisance bowed—After due deferent pause if it should pleaseHis majesty to be facetious farther,Her weaving at her loom of lies resumed:"Thou wouldst in vain, O emperor, inquireOf that centurion Julius for the truth;He himself fell a helpless prey to Paul.Why, on the wretched island where our shipWas stranded, lost, and where all winter weWere cooped up waiting for reluctant spring,Day after day did that oblivious manAttend upon his prisoner and a crew,That prisoner's dupes about him clustering ever,To hear long tales which seemed to cast a spellOn whoso heard them and bewitch his sense.I grieve to say a Roman knight was foundThere, Sergius Paulus, to lend countenance—A name proconsular so much defiled!Yea, and the Roman governor of the isle,Publius, fell openly into Paul's snare."No very serious matter it might seem,So far, but hearken what a sequel came.A worthy member of our court abroad,Who loyally our fortune followed still,And follows—O Sire, in this degenerate age,Happy if ancient loyalty survives!—Simon, a man of merit and device,Saw when, one morning on an open hillWithdrawn, Paul made a demonstration direBefore all these assembled to beholdWhom I have named, what he could do, and would,With practice of his wicked magic arts.He smote a woman of his companyWho had offended him dead at a strokeOf incantation that his lips let fall.Simon will tell thee, that thou hear first-hand."But to crown all"—and here Drusilla's voiceFaltered, and her eyes, eloquent beforeWith fine indignant passion, now with tearsDimmed, pathos tenfold eloquent took on—"Aye, to crown all, no doubt my Felix fellA victim to his ingrate wickedness.Our slave-boy Syrus bore his lord a drinkPretended as of virtue to bring sleep—Which my poor Felix long had needed sore!—It brought sleep, but the sleep it brought was death.Alas, my Felix! And, last infamy,That slave lad had been primed by Paul to layHer consort's murder at his spouse's door!The frontless varlet had the face to tellHis mistress to her very teeth that sheHad herself sent that sleeping-draught by himTo Felix as he took his evening bath.It was Paul's sorcery made the boy believe,Against his own right senses, what was false.I should have told thee how in lesser sort,That is, in matter of estate—light thingIndeed in contrast of such harm to life—We had before this suffered from Paul's hands;For he beguiled away a slave of ours—By name Onesimus, a Phrygian lad—Through whom perverted first himself from faithThis other servant Syrus was seduced.No end to that wretch Paul's devices evil!Let him go free, nay, let him only live,Though in a prison, the emperor has a foeCannot indeed unfix him from his throne—Where he sits firm as on Olympus Jove(If thus a faithful Jew may fit her speech)—But will the quick seeds of sedition sowTo fill the empire with their harvest wild.Paul teaches all men of another kingThan Cæsar whose sole right it is to reign."While thus Drusilla at the emperor's earArtfully wove false witness against Paul,Paul in his chains was beating out his heartIn throbbing letters of such strain as this:If any consolation, then, in ChristThere be, if any comfort sweet of love,If in the Spirit any fellowship,If any moving of compassion even,Make my joy full, belovéd, that ye beLike-minded each with other, the same loveWithin you all, one spirit, one accord;Far be contention, and vainglory far,But all in lowly-mindedness esteemEach one his fellow better than himself.Look not each man toward his own things alone,But each man also toward the other's look.This mind be in you which in Jesus was:He, in His right, was of the form of God,Yet thought not his equality with GodA thing to be held fast to as His spoil;But freely made himself of no repute,Taking upon Him the bond-servant's formAnd entering the similitude of men.Nor yet was this enough; He, being foundIn fashion as a man, humbled HimselfStill farther and became obedient,To the degree of dying—not a deathSuch as befalls the common lot of men,But that most dreadful death upon the crossThis is the reason why the righteous GodExalted Him so highly and the nameGave Him that over every name prevails,That in the name of Jesus every kneeShould bow, of beings in heaven, of beings on earth,Of beings under earth, and every tongueConfess that Jesus Christ is Lord of allUnto the glory of the Father God.So, my belovéd, as ye have obeyedMe ever, not as in my presence onlyBut in my absence now much more, work outYour own salvation with much wholesome fear,Awed in the thought that God Himself it isThat in you works alike to will and workAs seemeth in His holy pleasure good.No murmurings and no questionings allow,That ye may blameless be and void of guile,Children of God, open to no rebuke,Among a crooked people and perverse,Full in the midst of whom ye shine as lightsSet in the darkness of a world of sin;Steadfastly holding forth the word of life,That in the day of Christ I may rejoiceAs having not in vain run this my race,And not in vain accomplished all my toil.But, let it even be mine to be poured out,As on an altar set for sacrifice,A victim for the service of your faith,Know I rejoice and with you all rejoice;And for the selfsame cause rejoice all ye,Yea, and in fellowship with me rejoice.'From prison this, in face of martyrdom!Whatever fell, Paul's victory was secure.Such love, such faith, such hope, such power in ChristOf joy, such hold on heaven, was to defeatPresent or future, harm or threat of harm—From earth, from hell, aimed—inaccessible,Safe as a star smiling above a storm.So then Paul wrote, and such himself he was,While those vain wicked wished to work him ill.Though the twain listened with all courteous heedTo what Drusilla told and acted then,Nor Nero nor Poppæa was deceived;But both admired, and this Drusilla felt.Having retrieved thus in some part her loss,She heard demurely while the emperor said:"Thou understandest, madam, this is notA formal sitting of our court august.I oft advise myself beforehand thus—Though seldom, lady, so agreeably—What the real merits of an issue are.I have much enjoyed thy story—and thyself—And I shall hope to see thee yet again.Meantime, I pray thee, send thy Simon to me;I might find use for such a man as he."Poppæa, to play out her part of queen,Added a gracious word: "And come thyselfTo see me—by the emperor's leave assumed—And teach me to be Jewess, such as thou.It must be lovely beyond anythingTo hate so and abide so beautiful!"She had mixed a cunning bitter with her sweet;Perhaps her Nero so would be forewarned!
That Phrygian slave did not companionlessHis way Colossæ-ward pursue; he wentBy Tychicus accompanied, who boreAnother letter written from the lipsOf Paul to the Colossian church at large.This gloried and exulted in sublimeProphetic visions of far future things—Things future far and other quite than these.Paul's hand was manacled, but not his soul;That, given the freedom of the universe,Ranged as at will on wing omnipotentThrough all the heights and depths of space and time,And saw unutterable things, which heSeeking to lade upon expression madeThe very pillars of expression bendAnd sway and totter, like to sink, beneathThe burden insupportable they bore.
Great soul and free, free in a body bound,So soaring those empyreal altitudesWinged with his native vigor but upborneOn a strong-breasted gale of power divineInspiring and enabling him, who tookUndazzled, like an eagle in full gazeUpon the sun, insufferably brightGlimpses of heavenly glory, he yet deigned—Nay, he ascended but to condescendThe mightier by his lofty lowliness,From exaltation such beheld come down!—Deigned to the level of the mean degreeOf men that needed to be counselled thus:"Lie not one to another, seeing yeHave put off the old man that late ye were,Him with his deeds, and the new man put on,The man made new through knowledge to becomeOnce more the image, long so far defaced,Of that God who at first created him.Put ye on, therefore, as elect of GodTo be His holy and belovéd, allSweet meltingness of heart, kindness and love,A lowly mind most meek, long-suffering,Forbearing one another, and should ever,But that be far! some man among you haveComplaint or quarrel against any, then,As Christ forgave you once, forgive so ye;And over all these vestments of the soul,Completing them and binding them secure,Put ye on love, girdle of perfectness.And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts.
"Ye wives, to your own husbands subject be,So yielding as befits you in the Lord.Ye husbands, love your wives and nourish notAgainst them any bitterness of heart.Children, obey your parents in all things,For this well-pleasing is unto the Lord.Fathers, good heed give ye not to provokeYour children unto wrath, lest they lose heart.Servants, your masters in the flesh obey,Not with eye-service as men-pleasers, this,But single-heartedly as fearing God.And whatsoever be the thing ye do,Heartily do it, as if doing allFor the Lord Christ in heaven and not for men;Knowing that of the Lord ye shall receiveGuerdon of that inheritance reservedFor your true bond of service is to Christ.But he that doeth wrong shall for that wrongDue recompense receive; and with the LordIs no respect of person or degree.Ye masters, to your servants what is justAnd equal render; for a Master ye,Ye also, have who watcheth from the heaven."
While Paul with tongue or pen such things discoursed,Things heavenly and things earthly intermixed(Yet so as earthly things to raise to heaven,Like the sea lifted skyward by the moon),Simon the sorcerer, with the guilty pair,His master and his mistress, otherwiseWas busy, plotting the apostle's death.Plot within plot there was; the sorcerer soughtThe death of Felix too, for hate of him.To compass this, he fed Drusilla's mindWith bitter poison and with poison sweet;The bitter, of innuendo to inflameHer jealous rancor more against her spouse;The sweet, of flattery ever interfusedIn casual hint dropped, whisper by the way,No recognition sought, still less reply,Rebuke, repudiation, tempted not,But inly working to inebriateHer pride of beauty and her sense of power,Till she should dare whatever need be daredOf danger or of crime to clear her wayTo empire hoped over the emperor.
At length the double venom took effectSuch on Drusilla's fierce aspiring mind,That Simon ventured on these words to her:"Ill sleeper is thine husband, O my liege!I overhear him oft in troubled dreamBelching forth broken voices of unrest.He sleeps like Ætna or Vesuvius,Say like Enceladus with Ætna piled—Thou knowest their fable of that giant old.I hope he never will by evil chanceWork his wife harm unmeant in his nightmares!Such weight, such strength, are monstrous in such throes!"
Drusilla was as deep as Simon; sheWell enough guessed whither he tended so.She made her face an utter vacancy,And listened all as if she listened not,While Simon, who was satisfied, went onWith his approaches neither shunned nor met:"At least, madam, thine own rest needs must beDisturbed: it would be easy to composeThine husband to a sounder sleep." He paused,And she made answer quite as from the point,But Simon did not miss the relevance:"Simon, my lord is still postponed at court,Has had no hearing of the emperor:Reason enough that he should restless be.Procure he have his audience soon, and then—Simon, what thinkest thou? Would it not be wellThat I attend him when he pleads his cause?Thou knowest I have some gift of eloquence,The woman's, and thy master is but man,And somewhat slow of speech—if thick of witToo, that becomes me not to say to thee.I feel that I might help our common causeBy being in presence with the emperorMyself, as loyal sponsor for my spouse.""Excellent," Simon said; "and no doubt I,Permitted to make proffer such as thisFrom queen Drusilla, shall with ease contriveAn early audience with his majesty."The conscious twain each other understood,But neither token gave with lip or eye.
Simon bethought him of the beautifulWanton, Poppæa, with the emperorPrecariously omnipotent by her charm.To her, in manner suiting such as he,He wormed at length his way and fawning said:"I have some little skill in certain artsCalled by the people magic, and I fainThus offer thee my services. I thoughtI might amuse a tedious idle hourFor his imperial majesty and soPerhaps, I know not how, but thou shouldst choose,Serve thee, the wonder of the woman world.Nay, this presumes amiss; I crave thy grace,Forgive me, thou who art already queenAnd empress of the earth, and canst not needService from any. I am all confusedBefore thee, like one dazzled by the sun.
"It is my foolish vanity, I feel,Nothing but that; but here am I in Rome,And it would be the triumph of my life—Just a Judæan magian as I am—To have seen the emperor, and diverted himWith a few rather pretty tricks I know.I on occasion have even awed a mindOpen to superstition (as most mindsAre sometimes, aye, the wisest among men,Let witness the great Julius) with my art.If ever the fair sovereign of his breastShould in aught wish him more amenable,Thou mayst trust me, and I should not despairTo move his mind as thou mightst signify."
Not quite at venture Simon drew his bowThus, for from common fame he knew how keenThat very moment was Poppæa's wish,As yet denied to her imperious suit,To supersede Octavia in her rightAnd be the consort of the emperor.The wily sorcerer warped his sinuous way:"Here I have seemed to sue thee for myself;But, sooth to say, I plead another's cause.Wilt thou not see Drusilla? Jewess, who,Declined from royal fortune and degree,Now seeks a hearing from the emperorFor her lord Felix, late in PalestineA ruler, but unhappily since fallenUnder some cloud of doubt at Rome. BeseechThee, give my liege Drusilla speech with thee.She too is fair, if not as thou, yet fair.She fain, I think, would meet the emperorIn person, that her tears might touch his heart."
Subtle insinuation was conveyedBy Simon saying this, which the quick senseOf the imperial favorite caught; she said:"It does not need thy lady fair should firstWait upon me; without that, she shall haveHer wished access and opportunity.When her lord Felix presently is calledTo hearing, let Drusilla with him come.Her privilege she will find before prepared;So much I freely undertake for her."
Poppæa had her reasons and her scheme;And, as for Simon, he said to himself:"Whichever woman prosper, I am sped."
Drusilla girded up both mind and willTo meet her one imperial chance aright.Felix went like a culprit; like a queenWent she, her peerless beauty wielded allWith absolute command infallible—Like a bright weapon edged and tempered trueSeen wielded in the perfect swordsman's hand.Slack heed the youthful emperor paid himStill struggling to support his truculence;His gaze fixed undisguisedly on her.Poppæa from behind a screen set nighSaw and heard all; not unsuspected quiteOf the alert Drusilla wise as sheIn arts of ambush for waylaying wordsOr looks meant to be private: Nero knewPoppæa was there.
Drusilla triumphingJoyed in her heart to have her rival seeHow easy usurpation was when oneAppeared whose very birthright was to reign:Nero was willing those eavesdropping earsAnd eyes should witness what would madden them;He took a wanton mischievous delightIn teasing that fierce heart to jealousy.This, too much drunken with her glorying,Drusilla did not guess, and overweenedIn measure of the conquest she had won.The emperor made the hearing short; dismissedFelix dismayed and from his truculenceCompletely broken—to his servile stateRemanded, as in spirit so in mien.Yet did not Nero so his cause conclude:He said frankly to Felix: "Go, my lord,Thy way; I shall not need to see thee more.Let thou this lady at next summons comeWithout thee; she shall better plead thy cause."
Sentence of death the emperor had pronounced,Not meaning it, upon that wretched man.Felix resumed his truculence, aloneReturning with Drusilla; he had felt—Insensate as he was, could not but feel—Her separation of herself from himIn the imperial presence, and he nowFiercely upbraided her. But she was softReplying; with indignant tendernessPurged herself clear of all but loving guilePracticed reluctantly in his behoof—His, sole, her husband, father to her son!—To serve him with the amorous emperor.Felix could not resist the witching wilesOf fondness and of faithfulness she plied,And he became a plaything in her handsTrusting alike her loyalty and wit.
She presently told Simon: "Full come nowThe time is that thy master should enjoySleep undisturbed with dreams. Compound for meThe quieting potion that thou toldst me of.See that thou make it strong enough; thy lordIs not a puny weakling to be soothedWith what might still a crying babe; and I—Nay, thou, thou thyself, Simon, shalt commendHis opiate to his lips." The sorcerer shruggedHis shoulders and demurred: "O liege, nor thou,Nor I, with our own hands, should to his lipsPresent the potion. Let a trusted slaveBear it unto his master's bath to-night,And say: 'His queen unto lord Felix sendsHealth and the promise of more quiet sleep.'The draught is drastic—for a lullaby—Indeed disturbing in its first effect;But safe sleep it will bring whoever drinks.""Thy sedative will not pain my lord too much?"Drusilla made her tone expressionlessIn asking; and in like wise Simon said:"Not too much, lady—let me be the judge,Or thee who lovest him equally with me."
Drusilla summoned Syrus, and said to him:"Thou lovest thy master and thy mistress well—Better, I think, of late than once thou didst.""My master and my mistress both I loveSo as, I trust, to serve them faithfully,"The slave, a little hard bestead, replied."Aye, I have noted thy true love for us;Be sure, lad, thou shalt nothing lose thereby,"Drusilla wheedlingly resumed; whereatSyrus could not refrain himself from sayingIn so much spurning of the sense implied:"Yea, noble lady, none can ever loseAught by obeying Christ the Lord in heaven.""What meanest thou, boy?" Drusilla sharply said."Lord other than lord Felix hast thou then?"
Syrus was sorry he had gone so far;Yet loyalty to Jesus and to PaulWrought in him, and, supported as it wasWith instinct of unquenchable revoltFrom Felix and Drusilla both alike,Buoyed him and kept him firm in that assay."Yea, madam," he replied, "I have a lord,Christ Jesus, crucified once, but aliveNow and ascended far above all heightBy the right hand of God in heaven set down."'That is of Paul, that surely is of Paul!'Drusilla reasoned; then, with threatening brow,To Syrus: "Whence these things to thee? The truth—Thou hast heard Paul, and learned such lies from him?""I have heard Paul, yea, madam, and have learnedFrom him such truth as makes me true to theeBeyond what ever I had been before.""Aye, aye, no doubt," Drusilla, musing, sneered.A light broke in upon her mind; she said:"That precious runaway, Onesimus,He, I suppose, heard Paul, and got himselfPuffed up with these same notions of a lordIn heaven, which set him feeling free of us.Tell me, what knowest thou of Onesimus?Did he hear Paul? Where is he now? Tell me,Thou rogue, for verily I believe thou knowest."
Shrewd as he was, Syrus conceived a hope,A sudden simple hope that if the truth,The beautiful mere truth, were told her now,Drusilla, yea, Drusilla even, would feelIts power. So he rehearsed the history,How that Onesimus, induced by Paul,Had gone back to his master at Colossæ;How that his master, for the love of PaulWho had erst won him to the love of Jesus,Had bidden Onesimus return to RomeThere in his stead to minister to Paul;How that Onesimus had gladly come,And was that moment gratefully with Paul.Drusilla listened, but she gave no sign;She had in truth been listening absently,Absorbedly considering what fresh proofTo purpose against Paul perhaps was here.She said to Syrus: "Aye, a pretty taleTo entertain thy mistress' ear withal!Why never can you people tell the truth?You always seem to think you must contriveSome falsehood, though the truth would better serve.Well, well, it is your way. But now, my lad,Be ready, when thy master to his bathShall presently repair, bring me prompt word.An errand I shall have for thee to himThat as thou lovest him thou wilt love to do."
Syrus, as bidden duly coming, heard:"Take this, my lad, let not a drop be spilled,And bearing it to thy master say to him,'Thy lady sends a sleeping-draught to thee,And with it wishes health and placid sleep.'"Syrus, deep scrupling, 'Fair is this, or foul?'Yet found no way not to fulfill the word.Felix said: "This is strange. What sayest thou, boy?Thy mistress sends me this? Thou liest, thou wretch!This is thine own work; thou wouldst do me dead;Drink it thyself, thou varlet, and go sleep.Thou wilt not? Nay, but yea thou wilt, thou shalt;Now, let me see thee drink it every drop."And with his trembling hand the debaucheeGave Syrus back the chalice.
"Let me callMy mistress; thou shalt hear from her own lipsWhether she did not send this draught to thee,Charging me not to waste one precious drop.I know I should offend by drinking it.But thou mightst take it somewhat heedfully,Trying it drop by drop at first to proveIts virtue and its fitness to thy case."So Syrus pleaded; and his master said:"That is not spoken like a poisoner.But so thou darest, rascal, cast a doubtOn what thy mistress sends in love to me?Thou shalt pay dear for that; for I shall tellHer thou presumedst to advise to meA care, forsooth, how I partook her cheer.Here, give it me, and I will toss it off—One swallow—there!—and lay me down to sleep."
Drusilla, soon thereafter called againTo audience with the emperor, high in hopeWent radiant with her beauty; but was vexedTo find Poppæa seated by his sideAs if assessor of his judgment-throne.She sat resplendent in her robes of state,As queenly in her person and her port;Yet of a soft delicious lovelinessThat took Drusilla captive by its charm.Aspiring as she did to rival herDrusilla thought involuntary thoughtsOf admiration mixed with jealousy:'No wonder that she sits there throned by him,Imperial lovely creature that she is!That bloom of youth and beauty on her cheek!The tempting undulation of reposeSuggested underneath the graceful foldsOf vesture that flow down the supple limbsAnd softening into curves of lusciousnessThe statuesque perfection of her form!But pampered with what pains of luxury!They say five hundred asses follow herWherever she makes progresses abroadAnd spend their milk to brim a bath for her,That her sweet flesh and delicate lose notThat melting softness and that lucency!''The wanton!'—so she virtuously thought.
Poppæa was all graciousness; she badeDrusilla trust her friendship utterly.She had had herself her sorrow; whereat tearsOrbed large her lucid eyes and fairer made.She quoted Dido out of Virgil, saying,"'Myself not inexperienced in distress,I learn to succor who are miserable.'My Otho—but that wound is yet too fresh!Why had lord Felix died so suddenly?He had no need to die so—if he tookHis own life rashly in despair; his causeWas far from lost—in fact, was safe enough—""His brother Pallas," Nero interposed,"Had seen to that; but there were reasons of stateWhy his acquittal should not yet transpire.""Indeed I comforted my spouse with hopeAll that I could," Drusilla wiped a tearResponding, "and it was not suicide,I think now, but a prompted murder base.""Murder is rampant everywhere in Rome,"The Rhadamanthine Nero sadly said;"But we think little of it till it stalksInto the sacred circle of our ownAnd strikes down husband, mother, ruthlessly!"Poppæa and the emperor joined handsIn tacit token of sweet sympathy.
'Such acting! Can I hope to equal it?'Drusilla, not a little dashed in spirit,Said to herself; 'yet let me not despair.'"Madam, thy husband's death must be avenged,"So Nero, with imperial complaisanceBut in a manner to dismiss the theme.Accepting the dismissal meant, and yetAttaching to her dutiful replyA hint to tempt him on, Drusilla said:"I thank thy majesty for saying that;And the same stroke will many crimes avenge."
Had she achieved her wish? She could not guess.Nero, as if with shift of aim, inquired:"Thou art late arrived in Rome from Palestine;What dost thou chance to know of this man Paul,Prisoner here, like thyself Jew in blood?""I thank thee too that thou hast asked me that,"Drusilla with judicial candor said;"Aye, Paul is of one kindred with myself,I blush to say it; he is a renegade,Offscouring, outcast of his countrymen.I pray thee judge thou not our race from him.""But our sage Seneca, my schoolmaster,"Smiled Nero with imperial pleasantry,"Speaks otherwise of Paul. I bade him goVisit the Jew philosopher in chainsAnd sound him of the depth of wisdom his.He brought me back a wonderful report;'A little transcendental,' so he said,'Too much of Oriental mysticism,But sane at bottom, and a man of worth.'Tell us about Paul. I should be much pleasedTo put to blush my old oracularSmug Seneca with proof that he for onceAt least mistook; a fine old gentlemanIs Seneca, but too infallible;In fact, intolerably infallible.I cannot stand infallibility—Except my own and thine of course, my dearPoppæa! When they come to deifyUs, we shall have to be infallible.That is, supposably: I will inquireOf Seneca; he is my arbiter,Know, madam, in these minor points, as isMy superfine good friend PetroniusIn those more serious points of etiquette."
Drusilla masked amazement, listening keenWhile this young portent of an emperorLet play his humor of hilarity.Eccentric and incalculable curvesOf orbit, pure caprices of career,Might seem to be the movement of his speech;But always, from whatever apogee,It failed not its return to bitterness:The playful tiger gnashed his ravin fangs.Still turning toward Drusilla, he went on:"Behooves, lady, thine emperor of the worldShould be well schooled in all things; I aboundIn tutors at my elbows to nudge me;Old Burrus there, I have not mentioned him—No disrespect intended—what thinkest thou?Schoolmasters and schoolmistresses and all,Is there not risk they overstep the bound?So few know where, just where, the limit is.My own dear mother—to her ashes peace!—Sacred as was her right, if she had livedMight yet have come to manage overmuch."
Poppæa even, in her victorious calmOf conscious power beside him, winced at thisAs at slant notice served upon herself;And poor Drusilla hugged a shudder down.But Nero rattled on licentiously:"What was I saying? Aye, 'infallible'"—And toward Poppæa now his eye he turned—"We two shall have to be infallible—I take it so—when they make gods of us.What a bore that, to be infallible!Bore to be anything because one must!Let us take it as a joke and not be bored—Uproarious joke, my dear, for me and theeTo pose as gods, while we hold both our sidesLest we split laughing and upset mankind!
"But for the present here is help arrived,Welcome, while we stay only mortals yet,To make that old prig of a SenecaCome down once from his magisterial throne."Wherewith he to Drusilla spoke once more:"Madam, we listen, tell us about Paul."
Besides that menace slanted in his words,The gamesome emperor hurt Drusilla soreDemonstrating before her thus a firmAccord and understanding knit betweenHimself and this Poppæa; worse to bear,Poppæa's easy air of affable—A condescension equal to his ownToward her, Drusilla, air as of a queenDeigning her scepter toward a suppliant!Drusilla would have felt it like a touchOf tonic to her blood, could she have foundOne least hint that Poppæa in her heartHated her: but Poppæa far too wellWas mistress of her part; she sweetly smiledExquisite discomposure on her foe.
With sheer exertion of her will, or helpedOnly with the delight to injure Paul—Daunted, yet with a front of dauntlessness—Drusilla entered on her perjury.By the reaction of her eloquenceUpon herself reflected from the fixedAdmiring heed she won, she plucked up heartOf buoyance to be brilliant more and moreAs she went on and told the emperor,Him chiefly, and at length not her at all,How Paul was a disturber everywhere;He at Jerusalem had raised a mobAnd tumult of his outraged countrymenAgainst himself; they, out of loyalty,Would then and there have rent him limb from limb,But that the chiliarch intervened to saveThe wretch from violence—not of the law,Though well deserved—and under escort thenceSent him to her lord Felix, governorAt Cæsarea, to be held and judged.Felix, who was the heart of lenity,Not bearing to condemn him for his crimes,Postponed his trial, until Festus cameSuccessor to her husband dispossessedOf kingdom for his too much clemency—Fault, yet a noble fault, and Cæsar-like('My Otho!' thy word, madam; 'my Felix!' mine)—Then Festus on the point to sentence himWas thwarted by the culprit's hardihood;Desperate hardihood seeking reprieveAt least from doom by refuge in appealTo Cæsar.
"Aye, a Roman citizenPaul has devised some scheme of fraud to be—Gross profanation of a sacred rightPerverted to asylum thus from crime!Paul is a master mind—no need to swearFalsely that he is not; wise SenecaWas not so much to blame for being deceivedIn him, so upright-seeming, plausible.Their best man, sagest, subtlest of them all,The Jewish councillors picked out to sendHither with Paul to make his sentence sure.Alas, the culprit was too deep for him.One night on shipboard in the voyage hitherHe sought to bribe the soldier guarding himTo make away with this Jew ShimeiBy tossing him in darkness overboard.That plot did not succeed; but Paul contrivedTo hoodwink the centurion and make himBelieve the scheme to murder was not his,Paul's, against Shimei, but Shimei's against Paul!So Shimei was thrown into chains, while PaulStalked the deck free, though for form's sake still watched.This lasted, till the very gods in heavenHad pity on poor Shimei and with strokeOf lightning set him free from men by death."
"So, is a stroke of lightning pity then,Sometimes," said Nero, "with the gods in heaven?A piquant way to pity! We, my dear"—The emperor with a frolic feline lookThat made Poppæa shiver turned to her—"When we are gods on earth, may imitateThose our facetious cousins in the skiesWith many a stroke of lightning launched in pity!"
An almost boyish blithesomeness lit upThe handsome face of Nero saying this;Had it not been for frightful lightning strokesToo frequent sent in deadly earnest downFrom that Olympus of imperial power,All might have seemed but pranksome playfulness.Drusilla—with profound obeisance bowed—After due deferent pause if it should pleaseHis majesty to be facetious farther,Her weaving at her loom of lies resumed:"Thou wouldst in vain, O emperor, inquireOf that centurion Julius for the truth;He himself fell a helpless prey to Paul.Why, on the wretched island where our shipWas stranded, lost, and where all winter weWere cooped up waiting for reluctant spring,Day after day did that oblivious manAttend upon his prisoner and a crew,That prisoner's dupes about him clustering ever,To hear long tales which seemed to cast a spellOn whoso heard them and bewitch his sense.I grieve to say a Roman knight was foundThere, Sergius Paulus, to lend countenance—A name proconsular so much defiled!Yea, and the Roman governor of the isle,Publius, fell openly into Paul's snare.
"No very serious matter it might seem,So far, but hearken what a sequel came.A worthy member of our court abroad,Who loyally our fortune followed still,And follows—O Sire, in this degenerate age,Happy if ancient loyalty survives!—Simon, a man of merit and device,Saw when, one morning on an open hillWithdrawn, Paul made a demonstration direBefore all these assembled to beholdWhom I have named, what he could do, and would,With practice of his wicked magic arts.He smote a woman of his companyWho had offended him dead at a strokeOf incantation that his lips let fall.Simon will tell thee, that thou hear first-hand.
"But to crown all"—and here Drusilla's voiceFaltered, and her eyes, eloquent beforeWith fine indignant passion, now with tearsDimmed, pathos tenfold eloquent took on—"Aye, to crown all, no doubt my Felix fellA victim to his ingrate wickedness.Our slave-boy Syrus bore his lord a drinkPretended as of virtue to bring sleep—Which my poor Felix long had needed sore!—It brought sleep, but the sleep it brought was death.Alas, my Felix! And, last infamy,That slave lad had been primed by Paul to layHer consort's murder at his spouse's door!The frontless varlet had the face to tellHis mistress to her very teeth that sheHad herself sent that sleeping-draught by himTo Felix as he took his evening bath.It was Paul's sorcery made the boy believe,Against his own right senses, what was false.I should have told thee how in lesser sort,That is, in matter of estate—light thingIndeed in contrast of such harm to life—We had before this suffered from Paul's hands;For he beguiled away a slave of ours—By name Onesimus, a Phrygian lad—Through whom perverted first himself from faithThis other servant Syrus was seduced.No end to that wretch Paul's devices evil!Let him go free, nay, let him only live,Though in a prison, the emperor has a foeCannot indeed unfix him from his throne—Where he sits firm as on Olympus Jove(If thus a faithful Jew may fit her speech)—But will the quick seeds of sedition sowTo fill the empire with their harvest wild.Paul teaches all men of another kingThan Cæsar whose sole right it is to reign."
While thus Drusilla at the emperor's earArtfully wove false witness against Paul,Paul in his chains was beating out his heartIn throbbing letters of such strain as this:If any consolation, then, in ChristThere be, if any comfort sweet of love,If in the Spirit any fellowship,If any moving of compassion even,Make my joy full, belovéd, that ye beLike-minded each with other, the same loveWithin you all, one spirit, one accord;Far be contention, and vainglory far,But all in lowly-mindedness esteemEach one his fellow better than himself.Look not each man toward his own things alone,But each man also toward the other's look.This mind be in you which in Jesus was:He, in His right, was of the form of God,Yet thought not his equality with GodA thing to be held fast to as His spoil;But freely made himself of no repute,Taking upon Him the bond-servant's formAnd entering the similitude of men.Nor yet was this enough; He, being foundIn fashion as a man, humbled HimselfStill farther and became obedient,To the degree of dying—not a deathSuch as befalls the common lot of men,But that most dreadful death upon the crossThis is the reason why the righteous GodExalted Him so highly and the nameGave Him that over every name prevails,That in the name of Jesus every kneeShould bow, of beings in heaven, of beings on earth,Of beings under earth, and every tongueConfess that Jesus Christ is Lord of allUnto the glory of the Father God.
So, my belovéd, as ye have obeyedMe ever, not as in my presence onlyBut in my absence now much more, work outYour own salvation with much wholesome fear,Awed in the thought that God Himself it isThat in you works alike to will and workAs seemeth in His holy pleasure good.No murmurings and no questionings allow,That ye may blameless be and void of guile,Children of God, open to no rebuke,Among a crooked people and perverse,Full in the midst of whom ye shine as lightsSet in the darkness of a world of sin;Steadfastly holding forth the word of life,That in the day of Christ I may rejoiceAs having not in vain run this my race,And not in vain accomplished all my toil.But, let it even be mine to be poured out,As on an altar set for sacrifice,A victim for the service of your faith,Know I rejoice and with you all rejoice;And for the selfsame cause rejoice all ye,Yea, and in fellowship with me rejoice.'
From prison this, in face of martyrdom!Whatever fell, Paul's victory was secure.Such love, such faith, such hope, such power in ChristOf joy, such hold on heaven, was to defeatPresent or future, harm or threat of harm—From earth, from hell, aimed—inaccessible,Safe as a star smiling above a storm.
So then Paul wrote, and such himself he was,While those vain wicked wished to work him ill.
Though the twain listened with all courteous heedTo what Drusilla told and acted then,Nor Nero nor Poppæa was deceived;But both admired, and this Drusilla felt.Having retrieved thus in some part her loss,She heard demurely while the emperor said:"Thou understandest, madam, this is notA formal sitting of our court august.I oft advise myself beforehand thus—Though seldom, lady, so agreeably—What the real merits of an issue are.I have much enjoyed thy story—and thyself—And I shall hope to see thee yet again.Meantime, I pray thee, send thy Simon to me;I might find use for such a man as he."
Poppæa, to play out her part of queen,Added a gracious word: "And come thyselfTo see me—by the emperor's leave assumed—And teach me to be Jewess, such as thou.It must be lovely beyond anythingTo hate so and abide so beautiful!"
She had mixed a cunning bitter with her sweet;Perhaps her Nero so would be forewarned!
Simon, sent by Drusilla to the emperor, finds it impossible to reach the imperial presence without help from Poppæa, who grants him her favor only on condition that he will serve her wish at need. The crafty sorcerer buys his way with the necessary promises. Nero flouts Simon with disdainful irony and sarcasm, which excites the sorcerer's resentment. This feeling he dissembles, while he counsels the unfaithful imperial husband how to rid himself of his young empress Octavia—the sorcerer being all the time in doubt whether it is with Drusilla or with Poppæa that the emperor, who speaks darkly, would supplant her.
Nero at length dismisses Simon, bidding him tell his mistress the emperor's desire to pay her a secret visit. This message the sorcerer gratifies his own spleen by conveying to Drusilla in terms the most offensive to her pride. She bursts out in violent anger and spurning; but Simon shows his mistress how she may salve in a measure the hurt to her dignity, and at the same time serve her hatred of Paul, by making it a condition of her complaisance that the emperor shall first put the apostle and his companions to death. The sorcerer returns with her reply to Nero, who again, and even more deeply than before, stirs the Jew's heart to deadly hatred. Simon plots a wild scheme to have his revenge. Meantime with change in certain officers of the government the aspect of affairs grows threatening for Paul and his fellow-Christians. Onesimus and Syrus are arrested and hurried away to suffer on the rack.
NERO AND SIMON.